Send a comment to the author That day in the bar marked the beginning of our love, Jack and me. The next morning, I woke to the sound of the door closing, a slow creak on wooden hinges, though James was still abed with me, shoved up as far as he could go against the wall. It was not yet dawn, though pale trickles of light leaked through the cracks in my shutters. I wrapped a blanket round my naked body and padded over to the door. Leaning up against the frame just on the inside was a long scabbard, with a blood red rose tucked in the top next the sword. I ignored the flower and drew the blade. A pirate's cutlass, it was, bone handled and lean, short to be easy to handle amid spars and rope. The edge was so sharp it sparked in the weak dawn light. I touched it gingerly, scraping my thumb gently against the blade. It would go through a man, I thought, and he'd not even feel it til the blood started to flow. I stood and took the first fencing stance. I had never handled a cutlass, but it was not so different from a heavy rapier. It had beautiful balance, and I swished it through an invisible opponent's guard. It wasn't a sword. It was an instrument of art. Bound to the cutlass with twine was a long dagger, almost a dirk, and a note: "For the next one who molests you." I heard a sound behind me; it was James, of course, scowling as usual as he rubbed his eyes. "A fine toy for a woman." "I'd lay odds to you that I could beat any man approached me." "You've had training?" "I bested my master last year. Only fenced to stay in practice after that." His lip curled and he turned to the fireplace, busying himself with coffee. How had he afforded that, I wondered. "No wonder you're so mannish. Women should be kept to womanly things." I ignored him. He could hardly spoil my pleasure in such a fine blade. I asked Pierre for the finest hat he owned. Clapping his hands in delight, he sat me down and topped my head with a dizzying array of hats and caps and bonnets, most of them unsuitable to me. We settled on a masculine flat-topped, wide-brimmed beaver decorated with long plumes from peacocks and ostriches. "Tres enchante, darling." I straightened my hair beneath it, admiring my reflection. Beneath the soft blue velvet lining, my red curls were banked coals, shadows with sudden sharp sparks gleaming through. "You're undercharging me for this." He winked. "Consider it advertising. And good business. Calico Jack has spent many a penny in my shop, and it pleases me to please him. He left you a message." I suspected he'd also left a purse with Pierre. The milliner was a dear man, but a sharp businessman, and would hardly sell me a hat worth five guineas for only one. "Did he, then?" "To meet him at the Cork today at noon." "Ah." I was young, but I was no fool. Meeting Jack today would be the same as agreeing to start an affaire de coeur. I would be breaking my marriage vows just as Papa had before me. Yet Papa found joy his second wife, not his first. I suppose I am not so unlike my father. He, like I, was a fool the first time. The second time was his true love. And my second would be mine. Jack was as good as his word. I had to tilt my head a bit to fit the silly hat through the door of the Cork. My eyes took a moment to adjust, and I realized quite suddenly that Jack was staring at me from the back. He raised a bottle to me, eyes sparkling as he stared, stopping at my waist where I'd buckled the sword over my skirt. That, doubtless, drew more stares than the hat. I smiled back at him. "I hear you had a successful voyage last time out." He poured me a cup -- a French burgundy, hard to come by here. "I had a very successful voyage. My men are in town wasting their takings on the doxies." |
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