Cavalier Prince of Pirates (Post 3)

To say that a celebration ensued would be an understatement. The pirates were over the moon. It was clear that they had chosen their captain well. Fine wines from the French prize were drunk as the booty was divided among the crew. But Howel was not ready to celebrate. He laughed and drank with his crew, ready with his smiles, but I saw it was a facade: He was thinking about his next prize.

I waited until he’d had plenty to drink — and I’d had quite a bit myself — before approaching him. I was hoping the effects of the alcohol would have mellowed him, loosened his tongue, as it had that night at the Black Dog Inn.

He was sitting on a hogshead on the deck, a bottle between his legs, watching as his men danced and sang drunkenly. The French ship had several musicians on board — a fiddler, drummer, oboist, trumpeter, flutist — and now the Frenchmen sat sweating, playing a steady stream of French and English sea shanties for their intoxicated captors. Howel swung his legs, a crooked smile on his lips, his eyes half-shut, taking a swig from his bottle every now and then. He saw me approaching and his smile faded, just a bit.

I sat next to him and, after pretending to watch the crew’s antics for a few minutes, said to him, “Congratulations.”

He looked at me briefly. “Thankee.”

I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Howel, what happened? Why do you suddenly hate me?” I blurted, standing before him.

His eyes widened. “Hate! Egad, Sa — Will! I’ve no hatred for you.”

“We were friends, you and I,” I said, becoming increasingly angry. “And now you won’t even look at me.”

Howel looked around, then said softly, “I thought we discussed this. We cannot be friends.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I insisted. “You may as well get used to having me around.”

He looked directly at me now, his pupils dilating. “And why is that, pray tell? Why have you followed me?”

“Because you need me,” I said, snatching the bottle from his hands and drinking from it myself.

“I’ve no need for a guardian angel,” he grumbled. “You’ll get yourself killed on my account.”

“That’s fine,” I said tartly. “I haven’t got anything better to do. May as well become a pirate.”

He chuckled, shook his head. “You are… like no other woman I’ve ever met.”

I grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He looked at me suddenly, hopping from the hogshead, and said, “Could you accompany me to my cabin, please?”

I was confused as I followed, my heart palpitating nervously. Clearly, he was taking me to the cabin for its privacy. What did he have to say to me? Maybe this was the part where he made love to me. My stomach tightened. I was getting too hopeful.

To my utter disbelief, I was right.

Sort of.

With the door closed, Howel turned to me, his expression lustful, and grabbed my arm. He pulled me up against him with a jerk, pushing the hat from my head. He weaved one hand in my hair as the other groped my butt. He pulled at my scalp so that I was looking up at him and then he breathed, “Why are you here, Sabrina? Why? I am a pirate now, as you predicted, and as such will lay my hands on whatever I please. Is this what you want? Tell me, pray, why you followed me!”

I could smell the liquor on his breath, see the haziness in his eyes. This wasn’t right. No, as a matter of fact, it was all wrong. I wanted him, there was no doubt, but… Not like this, not angry, not pushed to the edge. The whole being “ravaged by a pirate” thing wasn’t working out for me. I began to try and pull away, shaking my head. I felt the tears spill down my cheeks against my will. I was done playing games. “Because I love you,” I said, my voice cracking inconveniently.

His grip on me slackened, his body straightened away from me. Sadness flashed across his face, and he said softly, “Ah. So the truth finally emerges.”

God, he was infuriating! That was his reaction? Oh, poor Sabrina, I thought so? Tsk, tsk… Just one of the many women who throw themselves at me constantly? I let out a strangled cry and, seeing nothing but the red of my fury, slapped Howel across the face — hard.

His head snapped to the side and he blinked, his mouth slightly ajar. Then he looked at me, bewildered. “What the fuck was that for?” he asked, his voice surprisingly calm.

“That,” I spat, “was for being a prick! A self-righteous, pompous prick! Why did you do that to me? Were you trying to force my hand? You big bully!”

“I did that to you,” he answered, “because I had to know.”

“Oh, good,” I retorted venomously. “Now you know. Not that it changes a single thing. And tell me, what would you have done had I been receptive to your uncouth advances? Huh? Would you have laughed at me? Oh, poor Sabrina, she actually thinks I want her!”

He grinned — a devilish, depraved showing of teeth — his cheek red from the slap, his eyes hooded from the alcohol. He said, “I would have taken you right here, against the bulkhead, and dispelled whatever whimsical notions you have of me.”

In spite of my anger, I shivered with delight at the thought. That would’ve been hot. “What notions?” I pressed.

“Ha!” Howel cried, finally rubbing his sore cheek. “That I am anything of a gentleman, a hero, a noble soul. I am none of those things. I am a selfish fiend who uses deceit to survive, and who cannot afford to have anyone depend on him. I will die like the brigand that I am, and there will be no glory in it.” He was tired now, spent. He looked at me and said softly, “You’d do well to stay away from me, Sabrina.”

I slumped. “So you keep telling me. When will you figure out that I’m not leaving you?”

He shut his eyes. “Even after what I nearly did to you?”

I looked at him, and I knew he could see the love in my face. It was liberating, being able to show it. I said, “You wouldn’t have done it.” I didn’t add that I probably would have blissfully let him, in any case.

“The hell I wouldn’t have!” he retorted, gnashing his teeth. “There is nothing that separates me from those free-booters out there, with their evil ways, pillaging without a second thought for human life.”

I sighed impatiently. “Oh, stop being so melodramatic. You know you’re not like them.”

Howel looked at me for a long moment. “Why do you think so highly of me, Sabrina? It’s… it’s maddening!”

I returned his gaze, wiping my eyes with my sleeve. “You set the bar, not me.”

“That must be one of your 2009 expressions,” he replied. “But I get the meaning. And I did no such thing. You perceived that I did something honorable, when, in fact, I was simply using my wit to survive.”

“Not so. You defended Skinner when Edward England and his crew were torturing him,” I reminded him.

He scowled. “I wanted to fight the pirate. I’m an upstart.”

“Liar!” I cried. “How about when you protected me from your crew before you knew I was a woman?”

He grinned. “I knew you was a lass. I wanted to keep the spoils to meself.”

“Liar,” I said again. “And what about the slaves? Why did you treat them so well?”

“I’d no desire to make enemies of the slaves while I was captain,” he said firmly. “I was just watching out for meself, yet again.”

I shook my head slowly. “I don’t believe you, Howel Davis. If all you say is true, then why didn’t you just join England’s crew to begin with? It would have saved you a hell of a lot of trouble.”

Howel pulled off his boots, tossed them in a corner, then removed his brace of pistols and cutlass, dropping them with a thud on the wooden floor. From one of the holsters he took a single pistol and, with it in hand, he crawled into the bunk, his eyes heavy. “‘Aye, ‘tis a fair point,” he replied, tucking the pistol beneath the stuffed mattress. “So I am a fool on top of it all.” As he pulled the plush blanket over himself, he grinned drowsily in my direction and patted the mattress beside him. “Come and lie with me, lass, and I’ll show you what a black-hearted scoundrel I am…”

Before I had time to answer, he was snoring, deeply asleep. I watched him for what felt like an eternity, his face relaxed in his slumber, his body curled, his arm hanging over the side of the bunk. He looked more like a little boy than a dangerous brigand. I shook my head. A black-hearted scoundrel, indeed. My heart heavy, I stood, blew him a quiet kiss, and left him to sleep.

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