The Legacy of Lady Anne: The Loveless Lass

Chapter 1: The Atlas

One year earlier

Anne stood in front of a large window, peering out into the world surrounding her. Beautiful waves rippled in the sea passing her by as the ship cut through it's surface. She could see an island emerging from the distance. Cutting the endlessness of the ocean short. She could spot it's white beach and green palm trees, accompanied by a row of businesses lining a busy pier. Ships flourishing to their trades and merchandise. Finally, Anne thought. We have arrived.

Anne felt an eager hand grab at her midsection from behind and pull her backwards. Pierre hugged her into his chest and nuzzled his nose into her hair. She didn't resist his touch, the excitement of finally getting off board lightening both of their spirits.

They stood in unbroken silence, enamored within each other's embrace. "Tortuga," he finally said, lifting the silence. A hint of passion in his tone. She nodded against his chin that he placed on her shoulder. "And we're richer than ever," he added.

She turned her head towards him and gently placed a kiss on his lips. It's been thirteen months she thought. Finally we're home.

  She reflected upon their lengthy journey scouring the rough seas, their ship, The Atlas, had wandered upon a French merchant ship. El Marquis De La Mar boasted proudly with its colors of rogue red and sage colored trim against the soft blue hue of the waters below. With its Grand, billowing sails fluttering majestic-like in the breeze. It was a meager build, not of anything of grandeur. The build being used solely for the purpose of transport.

To Captain Pierre's surprise- as well as his agitation- his crew had seen the Frenchmen colors hoisted upon their opponents flag. Pierre hadn't calculated the challenge he imposed on his crew who still held onto a sort of nostalgic sense of pride for their former motherland of France.

They had made sport of pillaging and burning the ships and bodies of Spanish sailors and perhaps the Dutch- but these crewmen had been humbled by their similar kinship to the adversary. Deep within them brew a patriotic devotion to their French culture and pride, though France had been the sons of bitches that had discarded many of them to the islands of the Caribbean.

Captain Pierre was vexed by his men's contritions. These men had been the most loyal subjects to him- pirates, who proudly rebelled against their former states. Disloyal to the heads that pathetically bore crowns. Pirates had no allegiance and served none- none, but the gold that is. Or so had been the norm. But this French ship stirred something inside of them; neither Pierre or his wife had witnessed such nationalism.

Discord broke out shortly thereafter; those in favor of their French pride refused their weapons against the crew of Marquis. Those opposing their French shipmates and their displaced loyalties, threatened the cowards with their blades. Controversy dividing the ship before it could even make contact with the Marquis.

   Though Pierre as respected as he had been had was known also for his short temper and refused to let his crews negligence go unpunished.

Pierre stood on the high deck accompanied by his quarter master, a witness to the rivalry. Outraged by their cowardice.

"You bilge sucking men! You would betray your fellow men for the pride of a king and a country who threw each of you to the furthest corner of the world they could possibly stow you?! A king who sits in his fat arse whilst yer French kinsmen starve and beg for a loaf of bread?

"Tell me this: who has been loyal to Yer unholy conquests and judged you not for yer pieties? France or this sorry sack of bones you've pledged as captain?"

He awaited for an unanimous hush to silence them. Every eye raised to meet his. A sense of reverence twinkling in their gaze.

"We do not fly the colors of France, Spain, England, Wales, or any goddamed forsaken blood sucking country and its princes. We take what we want and squander it all to our heart's desire!"