Page 122 of The Worst of Them

A knife appeared in Cecily’s hand, but Fiero had already leaped away. One of Jack’s throwing knives was embedded in the deck, a finger’s breadth from where Fiero’s shoe had been.

“Don’t threaten me,” Jack said in a menacing hiss. “There’s no violence on this ship. If you start it, I’ll end it.”

Cecily flinched as Copson spoke from the helm. “Stand down, Fiero. I like you, but I won’t stop Jack from enforcing order.”

“Injustice ain’t order,” Fiero ground out, glaring at Cecily again.

Cecily leaned back against the rail, pulling on all the bravado her Copson name allowed her.

“You couldn’t kill me, Fiero,” she said, and it sounded like a taunt even if she didn’t mean it to be. “No one’s managed it, not even Jack. Like I told Morgyn, I’ll kill you first.”

Jack stiffened.

“Don’t be daft,” Copson called to the pirate. “Run along and cool off.”

With an angry huff, Fiero did as he was told, lumbering away to one of the lower decks.

Jack took a moment before he turned to her, but when he did, his shoulders were set and his eyes narrowed with censure.

“Defend me all you like Jack, but I won’t stop doing it myself,” she said before he could scold her. “You’re not going to be there every time someone threatens me. I can take a challenge. I’ve done it plenty.”

He pursed his lips, looked out at the ocean, then gave a resigned sigh. “Fine.”

Her brows lifted. “Really?” She had fully intended to argue with him about the merits of protecting herself in the best ways she knew how, even if it went against the articles.

His gaze remained hard. “Only self-defense, darling. If you kill him in his sleep, even I won’t be able to help you out of that.”

She folded her arms, thoughtful. “Perhaps you should consider putting something in the articles about threats. Seems to come up rather often.”

He wandered back to her side. “No one bothered to threaten me until I met you.”

She was unsurprised to hear him sound put-out about it. “Then you should definitely make a few changes, since I’m staying for a good long time.” She aimed for humor to lighten his mood—not because she wasn’t scared, but because she didn’t like it when he was. “It’s bad luck to have a woman on board, don’t you know?”

He hooked his arm around the back of her neck and pulled her into him, muttering, “Wear all your knives, all the time. Where I and everyone else can see them.”

There was no question that she would, especially as apprehension snuck down her spine. But she only gazed past him at the water and said, “I prefer it that way.”

30

STRANGE WATERS

Weeks passed without incident, though Cecily woke each day expecting something to go wrong, either because of Fiero, the captain, or some other force she’d managed to piss off. Nothing ever did, and she settled into a routine that left her nearly happy enough to ignore her lingering unease.

They weren’t yet halfway to England, but the air cooled as they left the tropics. Each morning, she woke early with Jack, tended the livestock with Hester, then retreated to the galley where she spent the majority of her time with Stede. With his kindness and endless trove of tales, he treated her like a grandfather might, and he was the latest on the growing list of people she considered her family.

Jack reigned at the top of that list, and she only fell more in love with him as their life together fell into normalcy. She had always known him to be consistent, and in the weeks that passed, he did not change. She only got to know him better, love him more, and be loved more by him in return.

During any free time they had, they would abscond to a corner of the main deck where she’d read whatever book she managed to scrounge up while Jack sat with a pencil and parchment, drawing the ship, the sky, or English landscapes. He was a rather talented artist, and he seemed pleased when she told him so.

“It’s really just an amusement,” he’d said. “I’m only good at maps.” But then he’d surprised her with a sketched portrait of herself reading a book. He’d drawn her as content, her face relaxed and her hair blowing in soft tendrils around her face. She thought it was so perfect that she’d smiled to herself for nearly an hour.

Most evenings they spent in their quarters, talking until the lantern burned out or tangling in each other if sleep remained far off.

Life was calm enough to pretend the worst was behind them, and she told herself Fay’s warning to take heart and have courage for all that is to come had only been for Morgyn’s final offense.

Then came the raid.

It was early morning when they spotted the ship. It was smaller than the Fortuna Royale and immediately hoisted a white flag. When they drew parallel, its passengers stood in the middle of the deck, their hands raised in surrender.