Page 8 of Valour

Hester stopped outside Fliss’s cabin and called out, “I’m just going to run an errand.”

“I’ll come. Where are you going?”

“Oh, don’t. It’ll be ever so dull. Stay here,” Hester said, poking her head around the door. There was no point in Fliss coming along. She’d only have kittens, and Hester didn’t want her getting caught up in any repercussions.

“Oh, God,” Fliss whispered, her mouth hanging open as she took in Hester’s appearance. “Why are you wearing a wig? You’re not going to The Harpoon—please say you’re not.”

Hester only laughed, winked, and called over her shoulder, “You might want to lock the door. I’ll lie low at Mei’s for a few days.”

“Hester, I pray, don’t rankle him. I told you—you’ve gone a step too far this time.”

Fliss’s words floated along the corridor as Hester marched for the steps to the deck, and then she was across the gangplank and onto the quayside. The evening darkness drew around her, and sailors whistled from their ships as she strutted towards town, heading for the tavern that served as the Pirate Lord’s court. The spring in her step and the pain on her backside fuelled a hoot of glee. She couldn’t wait to see his reaction to the tattoo. He would be livid. She tugged at the magic in her chest, a cooling breeze rising around her and blowing her hair back.

Hester soon entered The Black Harpoon, and a wall of warmth, light and noise hit her. The musky smell of tobacco and ale a reminder of riotous evenings of the past. A few heads turned her way and eyed her appraisingly. Not everyone could pull off this dress. She swaggered to the bar, making sure to roll her hips as she went, and squeezed into the crush of men waiting to be served, heading for one blonde-haired man in particular. She brushed up against him.

“Can I buy you a drink, sweetheart?” Victor drawled, leaning close enough that the warmth of his breath hit her ear, his stubble tickling her cheek.

She smiled a feline smile. “Whiskey, ice, a dash of lemon,” she purred, stroking his arm. So, he didn’t recognise her. She hid her smirk behind a gloved hand. She’d had him between her thighs last week. The disguise was good, then.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” Victor said, his gaze raking down her figure. He handed her a glass, and she knocked back the whiskey. The burn in her throat was satisfying. Much more satisfying than the measly thirty seconds Victor had lasted between the sheets. Men. Always so quick off the mark. But at least he was nice to look at.

“Are you sure you haven’t seen me? You can’t have been looking very closely,” she said, pressing her hip into his side. “Say, I’m looking for someone. Have you seen a tall, broad man? Lots of tattoos, black hair tied back, beard? Stinking rich?”

Victor stilled. “I know of whom you speak, but what business do you have with him?”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t want me to…disclose it, if you catch my meaning,” Hester said, raising an eyebrow. She tapped her empty glass and nodded to the innkeeper, who refilled it. This was fun. And the real fun hadn’t even begun.

“Follow me.” Victor disappeared into the crowd. Hester swallowed the whiskey, little fires burning down to her belly, and followed. She recognised most of the patrons. Captains Dalforth and Normand frowned as she passed them, trying to place her, but no one else showed the slightest hint that they knew her. Hester hurried to catch up to Victor, who was now at the back of the room.

Septimus sat at a round table, three of his men with him, smoking pipes, drinking ale and playing cards. The fog of tobacco smoke hung over them. A couple of the men turned as Hester approached, and Victor leant down to speak into the Pirate Lord’s ear. Septimus raised his eyes, looking Hester over, confusion marring his brooding features before he scowled again.

“What is it?” Septimus asked, a look of bored dismissal already on his face.

She could barely contain herself. “My lord.” She dropped into a curtsy and batted her eyelashes at him. “I come bearing a message.” She almost sniggered as she emphasised the word ‘bearing’.

“Let’s hear it, then.”

Hester turned on the heel of her boot, bent over and pulled her skirts up around her waist, revealing her backside and the words that Mei had inked earlier, Septimus, kiss me here.

She snuck a glance over her shoulder to see Septimus’s face turn red, a snarl of rage contorting his features as he read the words, his sea-blue eyes sparking with recognition.

Oh, sweet revenge!

She dropped her skirts, pulled the wig from her head and threw it to Victor, who gaped as he recognised her. It was too perfect.

Hester started running with a loud shriek as the Pirate Lord sprang from his chair, knocking it backwards in his fury. He leapt over the table, snatching towards her, but his fingers closed on air.

“Seize her!” he roared, and Hester screeched as a delicious thrill ran through her body. She shoved through the crowd, which closed in around her, shielding her from view. Captain Dalforth gave her a wink and jumped in front of Septimus, slowing his progress.

Hester made it to the door and threw it open. Oh yes, she really was a master. A master of disguise, a master of pranks, a master of—she fell flat on her face across the threshold, pain barking as her nose hit the cobbles.

Gasping, she looked back to see Septimus’s boot on the hem of her skirts.

He reached down and grabbed hold of her hair. Hester beat against his tattooed hands as he dragged her to her feet. Damn and blast, that was not meant to happen. He’d better not have broken her nose.

“Hester,” he growled, low enough that she stilled and gave her most beatific smile. It had no effect on him whatsoever, and he dragged her back inside.

The noise of the patrons had risen to an uproar when they suspected a brawl was about to happen, and Hester steeled herself for pain. He dragged her past the bar, kicking and snapping her teeth. What was he playing at? If he wanted a brawl, she wanted it over with.