The Bloody Cutlass

Chapter Seven

Violet only realized she had forgotten her shoes and her shawl behind, when her bare feet touched the wet deck and the icy wind greeted her on the other side of the slammed door.

She gritted her teeth against her rash decision making. She could not go back in now; not after what he had said. She knew first hand that her father could be cruel, and she was his daughter. He detested pirates; so imagining the savage violence inflicted on any he encountered was not beyond her.

What vexed her most was the act itself. Her whole life her father had preached honour above all else; and now she had come to learn of his cowardly attempt on a young mans life.

Violet moved quickly and quietly through the ship. Most of the men where sleeping, and those that were not, entertained quiet conversation amongst themselves. She bit back a gasp as she reached the floor at the bottom of the stairs and her foot was plunged into glacial water. The ship must not have fared too well during the storm.

Clenching her fists she walked on, hoping to reach the relative safety of the brig, before she could be spotted by the crew in her new ensemble. When she came upon her cell, her heart swelled in her chest. Someone had taken the liberty of stringing up a hammock for her between the bars.

She touched the thick blanket that had been left, folded on top and she blinked tears from her eyes. She did not know who to thank for this small kindness, but she welcomed it.

She crawled into the hammock, draping the blanket over her, against the cold. The water on the floor would not be a hindrance up here. It wasn't as warm as the captains cabin had been, but she would suffer some physical discomfort for the sake of her pride any day.

Violet closed her eyes, only to be met with the image of the Captain as she had seen him earlier. His back was to her when she first awoke to find him across the room, his shirt discarded, hands moving to the laces of his trousers.

She was not surprised to see that his back was broad and strong, from years of rigorous work. Though she blushed even at the memory of this intimate encounter with the young captain, it was not his presence or lack of clothing that prompted her gasp.

It was the long jagged scar that cut through his left shoulder blade, marring his tanned flesh. When he turned, no doubt startled to find she was now awake and observing him; he made no move to conceal his body from her and she drank in this new view of him. His muscular chest, his trousers now resting lower on his hips; she had stopped herself from peering any lower, she hadn't dared.

If he was similarly examining her, it had wholly escaped her notice. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the twin scar on the left side of his chest. Whatever blade had pierced him had cut all the way through.

She had risen from the chair then, and floated across the room toward him. She was not in control of her feet at that moment, nor her hands as she reached out to trace the line of the bold scar with her finger. When he had captured her hand in his, she had shivered at the contact. The skin of his hand was rough and calloused.

That touch, and the look of warning in his eyes as she glanced up at him through her dark lashes; had snapped her back to her senses.

She had already known that some measure of this scheme had been planned. But now that she had discovered the scar that almost took the captains life; a viscous wound left by her own fathers hand. She dreaded what it would take for her safe return to her normal life.

Tomorrow she would confront Charlie, and try to find out what he knew of the plan. Her stomach twisted with the knowledge that her father; the stubborn, vengeful man that he was, might refuse to negotiate with her captures. Especially if whatever had transpired between the two of them had resulted in her father abandoning all honour and decorum as he plunged his sword into another mans back.