In The Arms Of My Pirate

The Devil's Weakness

Octavia spent a restless night as the stormy waves rolled the ship side to side. She tugged and clawed at the manacle around her wrist for hours, until the tender skin was bruised and bloody. At least that rotten pirate Charles Atwell was above deck the entire time.

She spat on the floor at the mere thought of him. Coward. Drunk. Imbecile. There wasn't a word accurate enough to describe how much she loathed that man.

Eventually, she curled into a ball in the corner between the bedframe and the wall, tucking her arms into her legs for warmth. Octavia's eyes drooped. How will I ever save my father now? She wondered as she drifted off into a fitful sleep.

***
Charles kept a firm hand on the helm, shifting his weight between his wide stance as the ship rocked.

It was a week and a half's sailing to North Carolina, and with their plunder from the merchant ships, they didn't need to stop off at any ports for supplies. Barrels were lashed down to the deck, their tops open to catch the rain.

"Rain'll be enough to take us to North Carolina," a voice spoke over the wind, light footsteps sounding on the boards behind him.

"Surprised to see you above deck, Dr. Green," Charles said without turning.

"I wish you'd stop calling me that," the older man griped, wiping rain from his eyes as he paused to stand beside Charles. "I'm not a doctor."

"You're the only one with medical knowledge. That makes you a doctor to these illiterate, brainless sea rats," Charles said, lifting his chin to the scrawny men scurrying across the deck.

"Lafitte will be pleased that you made good time," Dr. Green said, changing the subject.

"I had hoped we would have an excuse to stop in Barataria first," Charles muttered, his eyes narrowing as he eyed the storm.

"Missing your girls at the local pleasure house, eh?" Dr. Green teased, elbowing Charles in the side.

Charles glared at him.

"How is your young charge? Have you managed to kill him yet?" Charles said, his voice lowering dangerously.

Dr. Green held up his hands in surrender at the warning note in his Captain's voice. "Sadly, no. The lad is sturdy. That cut you gave him was cleverly placed. Any lower and you'd have gutted him like a fish."

"Hmm," Charles wasn't sure whether to be pleased or disappointed. He had spared the boy's life... but condemned him to purgatory aboard a pirate ship.

"I heard you have a new little project of your own," Dr. Green said, the teasing note returning to his voice. "Bloody Benny's been belly-aching about it all night."

Charles tightened his grip on the helm at the mention of the little waif chained up in his room.

"You know you can't keep him in your room forever. The crew will talk," Dr. Green said, his tone serious. "With Ramsey only gone a few days, your hold over the crew is tenuous, at best."

"A mutiny would be a blessing at this point," Charles sighed. "At least then I have an excuse to die."

"And give up any hope of finding your sisters?" Dr. Green snorted. "I doubt that."

"That little 'project' of mine knows my sisters," Charles lowered his voice, watching the crew carefully in case one of them tried to eavesdrop on the deck below. "Says they haven't been seen since the riots in Baltimore... but I know it's a lie. That waif knows something."

Dr. Green rubbed his fingers against his thumb thoughtfully. "So that's why you've got him locked up?"

"That... and another reason," Charles said, remembering his encounter with the little waif aboard the HMS Pictou.