As Charles sat calmly beside Flint, bound by chains at their wrist, he couldn't help but be irritated by the man who was reading Abigail's testimony in front of the audience. This puppet show had gone on long enough, but at least he'd found something pretty to look at while the man prattled on.

  A young woman stood in the crowd. She was dressed in the latest fashions. Similar to what the young girl he'd tried to ransom off had sported. It was white with long sleeves that came to her elbow. Small blue and yellow flowers stitched into a pattern that ran the length of the fabric.

  Her hair was in a bulk, which resided in a stylish bun at the back of her head, but loose curls were allowed to cascade down her left shoulder. Her hair was the most interesting thing about her. It was several shades of copper. When the sun's rays caught it in just the right way, it created a fiery halo around her head.

  It was the same with her eyes, they were neither blue nor green but flashed both colors simultaneously depending on where she was looking. Which was usually at him, because he was staring at her. It seemed to make her uncomfortable, but she was too much of a lady to react outwardly.

  It humored him to watch her first dismiss his eyes on her with a glance in any other direction. As he continued, he could see a slight blush in her skin building. The blush wasn't caused by lust but by a slow-burning anger.

  When he continued to watch, her shoulders went back and her nose went high. Oh, but when he gave her a wink, that reaction was his favorite. Her fists clenched and her eyes narrowed at him. She looked like an angry bird the way she slowly let her anger build up until she released it in an aggravated huff.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Flint softly growled from beside him, finally taking his attention away from the woman.

  “I came to take your ship, stayed to get you out of all this,” Charles informed him as he turned to look at the man.

  “Figured if anyone was gonna to make a trophy of you, it ought to be me.” Charles almost failed to hide his smirk.

  “This is your big plan? Walk in here and read a girl's diary.” Flint said, expressing his distrust in the whole situation.

  “More or less,” Charles said as he looked back over the crowd, scanning for the young woman.

  “I see.”

  Charles knew Flint was more brilliant than the average bloke and he waited silently for Flint to let on that he knew something was going to happen.

  “So now you have everyone's eyes where you want them,” Flint paused for a moment. “On the two of us. What happens next?”

  Charles looked over at him, again trying to keep the knowing smirk off his face.

  “Once it happens. Once I'm free, whatever it is. You won't want to get in my way.” Flint warned him.

  “Once it happens. We will be moving to the jetty. Then out of this place. Didn't come all this way to have them kill you steps from the gallows.” Charles told the man the truth.

  They're all trying so hard to convince themselves that they have nothing to be afraid of. How's running going to change that?” Flint sounded as vengeful as Charles hoped he would be.

  “What do you suggest?” Charles asked, eager to hear any real suggestion.

  “That we remind them that they were right to be afraid.” Flint's solemn words resonate with Charles's thoughts.

  It was time.

  Charles raised himself to his feet, and there was a collective gasp and subsequent murmurs that fell over the crowd around him at his audacity.

  “I wish to speak on behalf of the defendant.” Charles addressed the people.

  “You have not been recognized. Sit back and you'll have your chance...” A bloated buffoon of a man tries to order him about.

  Charles cut him off. “These men convinced you that they speak for you.”

  “How dare you!” The buffoon bellowed. His face turned red with anger that someone would have the nerve to continue.

  “That the power you've given them is used in your interest,” Charles said over the man.

  “I will not have the order in my court usurped by your foul breed.”

  “That the prisoner before you is your enemy, and they’re your friends! For those of you who live to see tomorrow.” Charles paused. “Know that you had a choice. To see the truth. And you let yourselves be convinced otherwise.”

  “That's enough! Bailiffs remove him!” The man looked back at the guards and pointed towards Charles.

  Charles raised his shackled hands.

  “I said remove him from the dais!” The white-haired man ordered again.

  Charles dropped his arms and smiled at the oncoming onslaught, not a single one of them was expecting.

  There was a loud bang and then pure chaos as cannon fire descended on the town. Charles took the distraction at hand and reached back and grabbed the gun of the soldier who stood behind him. He yanked it forward out of the man's hand and then swung it hard to knock the man out of his way.

  As he began to battle with the other soldiers around him, he could hear Flint grunting beside him and knew the man was fighting alongside him.

  A cannonball landed so close that Charles had to drop to his knees for a moment to protect his body from shrapnel, but the moment the blast settled, he was back on his feet and swinging another gun at the soldiers around him. He used the end of the weapon to take down a small handful of men who converged on the dais as cannon fire continued around him. Men and women alike were being dismembered around him, but he didn't let it distract him as he fought with soldier after soldier who were lucky enough to avoid the destruction like him.

  After a few moments of chaos, the soldiers began to ignore Charles and instead ran out of fear for their lives.

  Charles managed to pick up a fallen musket and searched the crowd for Flint.

  The man had the Governor pinned to the ground under him. Charles didn't know what he was saying to the man, and he didn't care, but he made his way over.

  “Move!” He barked at Flint.

  Thankfully, the man did not need to be told again, and he climbed up off both the Governor and the ground.

  It was now time to battle their way back to the harbor and to the hopefully still waiting ship.

  The two men fought side by side because, despite the horror of what was happening, the Governor's men were still on the attack. They had gotten part of the way there when Flint doubled back a little. Charles was about to curse at him until he saw what Flint was doing.

  The man was trying to free a group of slaves that were still locked in their cages. As Flint banged away at the lock, Charles defended his back.

  It was at that moment that a group of soldiers prepared their guns to fire a volley at the impromptu and ill-planned freeing of slaves. As soon as the soldiers reloaded, half the slaves fell victim to them as they tried to escape the cage, the other half scattered to the wind, and Flint and Charles took off running again.

  The two men are almost to the dock when Charles nearly collides with someone. In utter disbelief, he was stopped in his tracks by the same woman he'd been eyeing in the crowd. Her eyes widened in disbelief that he was standing before her, and she quickly turned away to run, but Charles caught sight of impending danger.

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  He had just enough time to place his body between hers and the explosion of a cannonball before both of them were knocked off their feet to the ground.

  Charles recovered quickly, grabbed hold of the coughing woman's arm, and yanked her to her feet, starting to half-drag her along with himself and Flint. She oddly didn't fight him. Perhaps she was too much in shock?

  As the three of them finally came up the dock, Charles all but shoved the woman in before Flint undid the anchor rope, and both men climbed in themselves. They sat side by side as either man took hold of an oar and began to row towards freedom.

  They had only gotten twenty or so feet offshore before soldiers lined the dock. They aimed their guns, and Charles thought if he were a godly man, a prayer would have been appropriate in this moment, but a loud whistle from behind him drew his attention back there.

  He saw the flash before he heard the sound of a dozen or so cannons being fired. He turned back to see the dock explode into bits of wood and blood. Served those bilge-sucking bastards right.

  Flint and Charles continued to row until they were to the man-of-war, still lying in wait. Flint remained silent as he extended his hand to the woman who had thus far remained silent. She accepted the hand and allowed him to help her board the ship.

  Flint followed her and Charles behind him. Once on board, it seemed the danger was not over. Billy pointed a loaded pistol directly at Charles as soon as his feet touched the deck.

  “There's been a bit of turmoil since you left.” Billy relayed to Flint.

  As Charles stood where he was, Flint glanced around for a moment.

  “Release those men,” Flint ordered Billy.

  “Captain?” Billy's voice was filled with confusion.

  “I know what happened, and I don't care,” Flint growled. “I'll not hold pirates’ prisoner on this ship. Not after today.”

  He then turned to Charles.

  “Keep your men in line.”

  It was a plain and simple warning. All Charles did to respond was nod.

  Flint turned to his crew and ordered the men about, but it wasn't an escape route. He ordered guns.

  “What's the target captain?” Billy asks.

  “Whatever is left,” Flint tells him solemnly.

  As the ship prepared to fire, Charles couldn't help but look at the woman beside him. She hadn't spoken a word or looked at him. Her soul focus was on the town, or what was left of it.

  Once the cannon fire was done and the ship had made its escape, everyone on board seemed to accept her statue-like form aboard their deck. They ignored her. They all probably assumed there was a reason for her being on board, and it would reveal itself in the course of their journey.

  Charles had yet to speak with her. He was having his own battle of wits within his own head. Why the fuck had he rescued her? Or was rescue what you called it? Had he just kidnapped her? Who the fuck was she? It seemed a dim-witted thing to ransom her off back to whoever she belonged to, seeing as how they were likely dead now anyway, and while he might be the reason for it, he'd be damned if he felt guilty.

  The victory was short-lived, though, as the Walrus sailed out of the harbor and started its journey back to Nassau. Familiar sounds overtook the chaos behind them and soon Charles relaxed. The sound of the boat cutting through waves. The sound of fabric sails rustling in a well-captured wind. The murmur of men who had started up conversations about what they had just experienced. This was home to him.

  “We should get these off,” Flint said as he held up his shackled arms and turned away from the scene.

  Flint seemed to still be in the same foul mood. Charles couldn't blame him. It appeared that the Governor had killed the mysterious Mrs. Barlow. Charles knew little about her, and didn't care too much, but judging by Flint's attitude towards her death, the news of Charles' crew overtaking and quick dismissal of it, Flint's mind was brewing its revenge past this moment and years to come.

  Charles held out his hands when one of Flint's men approached, and they hammered out the lock piece, and he was free once more. He massaged his wrist for a moment before his attention was drawn elsewhere. His men.

  Was the humiliation of losing to Flint's crew enough of a punishment for them? He didn't think so. He gathered what was left of his crew and listened to their pitiful story of how Jenks had turned coward and wanted to run. Charles would have beaten the man halfway to his grave if he weren't dead already. Such a fucking waste.

  “Who was behind Jenks?” Charles asked his crew.

  The men relayed the names, all of which had met their death at Flint's crew's hands while they had hunkered themselves up in the captain’s quarters, torturing a single man in hopes of swaying the rest of the crew.

  “If anyone so much as puts one finger out of line, I'll fucking cut it off myself, along with your fucking head.” Charles snarled at them, meaning every single word.

  They all mumbled their understanding. He knew they didn't need any other warning. They had witnessed him take down their leader, Albinus. That and his temper when he dealt with an enemy that wasn't even really his in Low. He admitted to himself that mounting that man's head on a pike in the middle of the beach had been satisfying, though.

  His frustration regrettably did not end there. It seemed that Jenks had badly wounded one of Flint's crew. Silver was his name. Charles was told the man had to have his leg taken off at the knee by the surgeon. While Charles had sympathy for the man and his situation, he knew the man was named rightfully for his slick wit and charming tongue and would do just fine for himself when the wound healed.

  With the matters settled, it was just a matter of getting everyone back to Nassau in one piece with two crews aboard the same ship. There was sure to be tension, but he'd have to deal with it as it came.

  It seemed he was not done with his duties when he was called on deck by one of Flint's crew. He didn't know his name, but he followed the man back up to the deck. He could hear Flint's voice combined with another feminine one.

  When Charles finally caught sight of the show that was drawing the attention of every sailor on board, he stopped in his tracks. Flint stood with a woman in his arms who was kicking and screaming at him to let her go.

  “Put me down!” She demanding.

  Flint did as he was asked, but he turned her around and took hold of her shoulders to get her full attention.

  “You daft woman. You'd drown!” Flint growled at her.

  “I know how to swim!” She hissed back, and it did resemble the throaty sound a cat would make when it growled and hissed its warning.

  “Not with that dress you don't!” Flint shot back. “You'd sink straight to the bottom.”

  “I can take off the dress!” The woman argued.

  That comment got a few of the pirates on board hollering their agreement. It also earned them a scowl from Flint, but it didn't stop a few from whistling.

  When it seemed that the pair had reached a stalemate, the woman switched up her tactics.

  “Sir, please.” The woman started again, this time more calmly.

  “I am not a Sir, nor do I wish to be,” Flint informed her in the tone he usually reserved for Charles. “That shoreline is not as close as you think, and even if you were able to swim that distance, you'd be wounded, and your blood in the water would attract sharks.”

  Flint was referring to the surface scratches she had that would heal without scars, but it was cuts that bled.

  “But I,” She started.

  “NO!” Flint snapped.

  It was then that Flint caught sight of Charles. Flint took hold of the woman's arm and marched her towards him.

  “She's your problem!” Flint said as he thrust the woman at Charles. Charles caught the stunned woman easily enough. “But so help me if I see her on deck again trying to do something foolish!”

  With the warning, Flint made his way past them both and began to shout his orders to his crew. Once Flint was gone, the woman turned her focus on him.

  “You!” She said as she glared up at him.

  “Since these men will not let me swim to shore, I demand that you bring me there.” She hadn't screamed the words at Charles, but he did not want this woman to think he was so easily commanded. No one commanded him to do anything.

  “You demand?” Charles said, pressing closer to her this time.

  Seeing as how the woman was several inches shorter than he, he saw the briefest flash of fear in her eyes when he loomed over her; she even took a step backward, but just as swiftly as the fear came, it went, and she found her courage again.

  “I did not ask to be brought on board this ship.” She made her point a little more arrogantly than Charles likes.

  “Yet, you let yourself be led here,” Charles argued her point.

  He knew his answer made her angry. Her eyes narrowed again, but she caught herself, and her next reply suited him better.

  “Please, I was in shock. You can't expect a person to behave rationally when in such a state.” She couldn't make eye contact with him now.

  “We won't be stopping to take you to shore,” Charles informed her. “There is a bounty on all of our heads, and while we dealt a blow to the Governor's fleet, another could be swift on its heels. I will, however, give you a choice. You can do as you tried before and take your chances with swimming, or you can make yourself useful for now, and once we reach our destination, we can part ways.”

  She looked at the shore longingly for a moment before she turned back to him.

  “What is it you'd have me do?” She sighed, seemingly resigned to her fate.

  “There's a man called Howell. He's the surgeon on this ship,” if he remembered that correctly. “He should be below,” Charles told her.

  Women were good at mending, and Howell could most likely use the help. She looked at him, looked towards shore again, then begrudgingly made her way past him and into the ship. Charles watched her go, and so did Flint. Once the woman was out of sight, Flint came back to stand before him.

  Charles wasn't sure why he hadn't noticed it until now, but Flint and the young woman looked oddly similar. The woman's hair was a similar shade to Flint's beard now that it was out of direct sunlight. She had a few freckles scattered across her nose and a light dusting of them down her arms. Perhaps it was the English blood in them.

  He quickly dismissed those disturbing thoughts as he watched her walk away to find Howell.

  “What are your intentions with her?” Flint asked Charles.

  Charles didn't like how fatherly that had sounded.

  “What does it matter to you?” Charles responded.

  “As long as she's on board, she is another mouth to feed,” Flint answered. “Another responsibility.”

  “You seemed to do just fine with the Governor's girl on board.” Charles probably shouldn't have brought up that issue, but it was true. That girl's diary probably wouldn't have saved Flint's life, but it did have people swaying to her view before Charles's onslaught.

  Flint's face went stern.

  “I will not watch another woman's blood be spilled, Charles,” Flint warned. “So, I ask you now, are we going to have a problem?”

  “Are we?” Charles snarked.

  Flint kept his mouth shut, but his eyes did all the talking. They warned Charles that he had meant every word he had spoken, and his warning should not be taken lightly.

  It took several minutes, but Flint gave up the argument first and went back to whatever it was he had been doing before. Charles did the same.