In The Arms Of My Pirate

Pride and Pain

Octavia drifted in and out of consciousness as Captain Hillington carried her through the pirate town of Barataria, following in the footsteps of Lafitte.

He led them to a grand house built in the French style, its sloping roof and whitewashed wooden pillars glinting in the early morning sunlight.

"Dr. Jackson," Lafitte called, and a man appeared on the front step of the stately house. and Octavia eyed him through her fevered haze. At least his hands weren't coated in blood. That was a step up from Dr. Green.

"Attend to this woman." Lafitte ordered.

The man shifted nervously under the gaze of the British, but nodded and gestured for them to follow.

Captain Hillington carried her inside the house and to a side room, where a bed was laid out in the center of the room. He looked around with a perceiving eye before finally nodding and laying her on her side

She winced and fought the urge to curl in on herself. Any movement pulled at the infected wounds and she was too drained of adrenaline to put on a brave face.

Captain Hillington stood resolutely by her side in a military stance, chin lifted. "Please see to her wounds," he ordered Dr. Jackson. "I will return to check on her in a few hours."

"You're leaving?" She asked. The thought of being alone with this strange doctor in this strange house, the house owned by such an awful man, set her teeth on edge and made her stomach twist.

Captain Hillington flushed bright red. "We are not yet wed," he said. "It would be improper for me to see you in such a state."

Octavia fought the urge to snort and looked away, staring at the whitewashed wall across from her. It was too clean, too perfect for a surgery.

"I understand if you can't handle it," she said. "I shall be fine on my own."

Captain Hillington opened his mouth as if offended at her suggestions that he "couldn't handle it," but finally, he bowed to her and left, closing the door tightly behind him.

She swallowed tightly, a flurry of emotions swirling in her chest.

"Do not look so hurt," the doctor snorted. "There isn't a man in the world who would stay by a woman's side with wounds such as these. We don't even watch our women give birth."

The sentiment panged her heart, and all she could think about was how tenderly Charles had cared for her after she received the lashings. Cleaning the wounds with his own shirt, washing her back with his tears... and she had no doubt that whatever lucky woman captured his heart would never have to go through such pains as surgery or childbirth alone.

Tears pricked her eyes, and she closed them tightly as the doctor peeled the shirt away from her back.

***

Charles fought the urge to pace in the elaborate receiving room of Lafitte's manor house. It wouldn't do him much good with his ankles hobbled, but he twisted his wrists inside the manacles until his skin was red and raw.

"Jean Lafitte is the most fearsome pirate I've ever seen," the cabin boy said, eyes wide, with admiration as he looked around the room. "Does piracy always bring such wealth?"

Charles snorted. He doubted that the boy had ever seen a pirate before that night.

"Piracy brings nothing but pain, boy," he snapped.

"But isn't it wonderful to be so free?" The boy asked, looking up at a painting over the fireplace of a woman in a powdered wig, her bare shoulders as white as bone china above a peacock-blue gown.