Undertow

The bed frame thumped against the cabin wall. The rocking causing it to lift it's right side into the air slightly; swatting down with a thud. Debris rained from the outside, pelting the walls with what sounded like hail. Damp with a light sweat, Katlyn twisted onto her side, jolted from her sleep, it took a moment for her to come to her senses in the hazy darkness. A panic jumped from her heart as she grasped to make sense of her surroundings. The fear subsided as her memory put the puzzle together. She was aboard The Intrepid, a maritime transport bound for England. She had retired to her cabin, hoping to pass into a deep sleep as they navigated the open water. Now all seemed to be utter chaos as screams of command and death swept through the night like a gale. The boards of the ship creaking and bending as men ran to and fro, their heavy footfalls conveying shock and terror.

Tossing aside the bear skin that kept her warm, she swung her legs over the bed and made her way to the windows, her night gown doing little to keep out the cold. The amber glow that now filled her vision was inescapable. As she stepped closer, transfixed by the light and it's searing warmth, her soft lips dipped open as she brushed sandy hair behind her ears. The vessel in front of her was engulfed in flames. It roared as it lit up the night some hundred yards away. At that distance, the nauseating horror was all too clear. She watched transfixed as the black sails fluttered and ignited atop masts that soon crumbled into each other. Pirates. It seemed a relief that the invading ship was set ablaze, but as she looked closer she could see more than one burning mass flinging itself from the deck. Men flailed wildly as they crashed into the water below. It was a ghastly death, but what troubled her most was the smaller life rafts headed toward The Intrepid, loaded with bloodthirsty raiders.

A pounding came from over her shoulder. She spun to look at the door, it rattled on it's hinges as someone threw themselves against it from the other side. She could see the plank holding it closed jostle in it's brace. The banging stopped as quickly as it started. She didn't have much time. Katlyn knew that whomever it was would be back, and they would not be alone. Taking a deep breath, she scanned the cabin for her belongings. Hanging over the chair in it's holster was her muskatoon. Bounding to it, she removed it from it's sheath and loaded it, her steely hands vibrating as she dropped the powder & pellet. She then reached under her pillow to retrieve her skiendu, taking it in her left hand, she braced herself between the bed and the cabin door, bending her knees in anticipation. The moments passed like an eternity. The door soon began to rattle.

This time, as predicted, Katlyn could hear and feel the added strength of multiple bodies against the frame. There were at least two of them hollering with each rhythmic crash. The door began to splinter at the hinges. Katlyn steadied her breathing and slowly raised her gun. Her left arm cocked slightly; the dagger in her hand pointing downward. The door fell from it's hinges with a thunderous crack as the trespassers collapsed through it, a blurry mass of muscle and limb. Katlyn aimed & fired. One of their necks recoiled with a snap as the back of his head exploded out into the smokey moonlight, the other two falling past him as they entered. Katlyn thrust her left hand down, puncturing the neck of the one nearest. The cuts were quick and shallow. He reached up as he howled and she rapped him hard with the muskatoon, sending him face first to the floor. Her left hand slick and soaked with blood, she turned to the last of them. He had managed to get to his feet and stood facing her. He swayed slightly, anticipating her attack. She could read his mind as his eyes took her in: the realization of what she was. His lips curling into a slight smile as his bloody lust began to stir.

As he thrust forward, she parried to her right and punched up with her left hand. The dagger catching him clean across the wrist, forcing him to drop his sword as the tendons peel open and his veins spilled into the cabin. The lust gone from his face now, only shock and confusion remained. Katlyn again comes down with the dagger, but he manages to catch her left forearm with his good hand. Yanking hard with all his weight, he throws her across the room. She tumbles over the bed and onto the floor, dropping her weapons in the fall. " Cunt!", he steams as he stomps toward her. Rolling over just as he arrives, she pulls her leg up, delivering one solid foot to his chest. He staggers back; winded. She rolls to her left, reaching her blade and grasping it in her right hand, feeling the warm blood stain her palm. Clutching his wrist, the wounded swings his right foot and catches her across the face, sending her tumbling onto her back. As stars fall into her eyes, the knife slips from her grasp.

Then he's on top of her, his weight holding her down. He wrestles her arms to her sides, and pins them with his knees. The blood from his wrists splashing her throat and chest. Quickly he sits on top of her and begins to tug at his trousers. A distorted and pained grin spreading across his pale face as blood drips down his pant leg. Furious at the possibility, Katlyn bucks with all her might, wrenches an arm out from underneath and pounds her fist into his groin. The attacker buckles and rolls to his side. She quickly slides herself out from underneath him, groping for the dagger. The pirate is still hunched over himself as she rises and reels, determined to end this fight. But as she takes her first step, a voice breaks out through the room. "Woman!" Panting and frantic she looks to the door.

The smoke dancing in the moonlight makes him look like a devil. The amber back light from the still flaming vessel illuminates his black skin and hulking frame, making his features impossible to see. What is clear is that he holds before him a scimitar. Katlyn knows immediately that he had only to take a single step and he could cut her down, leaving her to die with the others. She pants, her feet planted firmly to the floor. The room silent until the one with the open wrist speaks in a nasally whine, "She slashed me wrist!" Moving his eyes over the carnage, the one at the door lets out a humoured grunt.

"You are lucky, Timmer. Dresin & Conners not so much."

"I'm gonna take it out a yer arse, you wench!" squeals the one called Timmer, stumbling to his feet. The one in the doorway finds even more humour in this statement.

"Are you the Captain, Timmer?!" This stifles the wounded man; his bravado suddenly dampened, he instantly becomes meek and diminished.

"No sir" is all he can say.

"So then, it's not for you to decide what's to become of this one." The hulking mass seems to grow slightly larger, the assertion in his voice making him swell.

"No sir." Timmer is dwarfed now, it is clear who is in charge. Katlyn's heart pumps furiously in her chest, fuelling her next move.

"Are you the Captain?", she ventures, directing her question to the man in the doorway. Shifting his attention toward her, she feels his eyes upon her, though they are still masked by shadows. He steps into the light to reveal something different in his gaze. While Timmer's eyes had flashed over her with a drooling hunger, it is a fierce curiosity that is projected here. These large, dark eyes view her with an admirable suspicion.

"No" he says at long last, "I am not the Captain." The man is closer now, the amber light from the window shadowing his billowing red robes, bald head and large hooped piercings.

"But I am quite sure that he would wish to meet you, Madame." It is clear now that though he speaks English well, it is not his first language. He is almost certainly French, likely having come from an island colony, judging by his garments and the ink under his ebony skin.

"I will take you to him.", says the Frenchman. "But he is rather busy, as you imagine."

He steps closer, Katlyn can smell his sweat, his breath heavy with tobacco as he speaks.

"Can I trust you Madame, to remain patient, while we assess our new ship." He looks deeply into her eyes now, trying to interpret her response.

"What of him?" she says, tilting her chin up toward Timmer. The man who is not the Captain looks toward his crewman, who clutches his spurting wrist. "He will not bother you. He will come with me. You will remain here until the Captain will receive you?" Katlyn returns his gaze unflinching. "Yes" is all she says. Holding her eyes a few moments longer, a large yellow smile spreads across the man's face. "Madame" he offers, "I do not believe you." And before she even sees it, his massive palm smacks against her cheek. The stars that fell into her vision earlier, explode in a blast of white light that soars across her mind like a firework, sending her spiralling into unconsciousness.

*

It seemed a modest quarters for a Captain, but then again Captain Paul, was a rather modest man. His cabin containing what one might expect; a bed and a chest; a table littered with maps and navigational tools and the sparse decorations comprised of treasures and trophies; large candelabras illuminating it all. Neither impressively smart or abhorrently stupid, Paul was at his core, no better than the scoundrels who had overtaken his ship. The biggest difference being that the scoundrels had enough pride to live for themselves, while Paul was subservient to the crown.

To be sent all the way to the new world meant one of two things; you were absolutely necessary or completely disposable, and from what little she had known of the man through their negotiation, it was clear that Captain Paul was the latter. He had treated her satisfactorily; he was plain and fair with their agreement, respecting her demands and assuring her that his men would not attempt to take advantage of the sole female on board. Though the thought bothered her little; as she had just proven, she could handle herself. However, sailors acting under the command of the Royal Navy and sea fairing vagabonds pillaging as they please are entirely different beasts. None of that mattered now however, though she had been waiting some time, and had heard very little from outside his quarters, Captain Paul was almost certainly dead.

Katlyn knew that if she were going to be more fortunate, she would need to play her hand well. Ultimately, as she was almost certainly the only woman aboard, she had a great deal of value. These were men who made their life taking what they wanted, and if it was her that they wanted, there was little to stop them. She was not going to let that happen. She had come too far. She had lost too much: fought too hard to get to this point, only to wind up a rag doll for pirates. No; her sex had power, and if need be, she would use it to survive.

Her posture straightened as the cabin door opened. In walked the man who was not the Captain, his red robes fluttering lightly as he carried with him her bear skin blanket. He again looked into her with those perceptive eyes. Standing aside he made way for another man, a gentle jangle preceding his shadow. He was tall, his stature one of strength and poise. His outfit, a juxtaposition of old and new, clearly collected from past pillages. His boots, a knee high black leather. His trousers, soiled with fluids of the sea and the body. His top, unlaced at the chest. She recognized his coat, having last seen it over Captain Paul's shoulders. Though it had been less bloody. A long scabbard dangling from his hip, a musket firmly tucked into a thick belt, which was dangling rather lopsided around his waist. He removed his hat to reveal knots of twisted hair, hanging in loose bangles around his shoulders. He paused to look at her. Raising an eyebrow to the man in the robes he nodded, their knowing glances speaking volumes in a language Katlyn could not understand. The man in the robes then stepped around her, unfurling her blanket and placing the hide over her shoulders. The Captain paused, allowing this to happen, then removed the gun from his belt. He held the weapon at his side for a moment and slowly stepped across the cabin, finding a table opposite her. Setting down the musket and his hat, he spoke over his shoulder toward the door. "Thank you Mawndu, that will be all." The man who was not the Captain let his glaze shift toward Katlyn. If he intended something, she did not know what it was. He then looked back to the Captain and bowed his head slightly, closing the door on his exit.

"My name is Caste." the captain said, turning to face her. Crossing his arms gently, he rested one hand upon the other and let them lay below his midriff. "And what am I to call you?"

Katlyn wasn't entirely sure how to respond. Firstly, she had not expected such a casual introduction. Secondly, it was now that she noticed his eye. Caste's right eye had a greyish hue to it, as though it were not an eye at all, but a smokey marble. A long scar passing through the sphere, leading her to deduce that it was in fact blind. She held her breath, taking in the rest of his features. Darkened skin that could have been colored by birth or by the sun, combined with a strangely indecipherable accent made it difficult to pinpoint his origins. It was impossible to consider him ugly or handsome, he was simply more unique than any man she had known. He cocked his head slightly and raised his eyebrows awaiting her response."You do have a name, do you not?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but found it instantly dry. The Captain's face relaxed, his demeanour, calm and pleasant. "I do not wish to hurt you." He offered. "I'm sure you've heard many a tale about men such as me, and I will assure you, the nastiest of them are undoubtedly true. What ever I want; I will take from you; but violence and intimidation are exhausting dear Lady, and I would much rather save my energy for more congenial sport." He pushed off the table with his backside, letting the momentum carry him forward in a soft glide, he stepped closer to her, stopping himself on the other side of the table at which she sat. "So I will ask you again: what is your name?" Tilting her eyes up to meet his, Katlyn tried to regulate her breath. This was an important moment, how she carried herself now, could be the catalyst for her freedom or her demise. She made her choice. "My name is Katlyn."

He smiled. "Very well, Katlyn, as I said, my name is Caste." He rolled his right wrist over and presented his open palm. It floated there awaiting her response. Cautiously, she lifted her own hand from her lap and brought it above the table, gently allowing her finger tips to land between his palm and digits. He closed his hand around her fingers softly, his coarse touch lightly squeezing and then brushing back and forth. Delicately, he raised her arm while leaning down to touch her hand to his lips. The steely eye that remained in never leaving her own. Despite her resolution, she could feel a sweltering flush push from her core.

Rising from his stoop, he patiently laid her hand upon the table, patting it gently while straightening his posture. He was silent now, his gaze playfully peering into her soul.

"You're travelling to England " he queried. He was matter of fact; his voice determined, yet warm. The danger was very real, Katlyn could sense it. As long as he only knew what he needed to; she might be able to make it off this ship alive.

"I am travelling to England." she said.

"Alone?"

"Yes."

"You wear a ring on your finger." There was a sting. Simply being reminded of Henry flushed a battery of emotions through her heart and mind. She maintained her reserved countenance.

"I am a widow." was all she offered in return. Caste made a face, his pouted lips tightening and turning down. "You are quite lovely Lady Katlyn, a blue eyed lass such as yourself shouldn't have any problems finding a man. Though judging by the way you handled my crew, I'd say the challenge would be in finding a man that could challenge you." She couldn't help but feel a stab of both annoyance and pride at this remark.

"Your deceased husband; by your hand?" Caste's question seemed like a joke, but his plain demeanour made the inquiry genuine.

"I loved my husband deeply. His death was not my choice."

"I am sorry for your loss." he said, his sympathy, though minimal, read as sincere. And with that, she felt her trust replenish.

"And what was it your husband did, may I ask." he said, his gentle eye widening slightly. She breathed deep.

"Henry was a fur trader." she said, "We came to this land together. He, to trap and trade, I to study." The surprise in Caste's face made his eyes widen.

"Study?"

"Yes." she replied. "I study life." Caste was incredulous.

"If you study life, why is it that you have brought me so much death." He corrected himself,

"Well, 3 deaths-a fair count during a siege, but given your womanly disposition, I must say that you are more fiery than most. I'm barely able to surround myself with men that can make their mark, and here I have before me an educated woman! Tell me now; what was it that you came to study in the new world, with your books and your lenses."

Katlyn scrutinized his words.' 3 deaths'. Timmer must have succumbed to his wound and 'Lenses', he meant her binoculars. He had been through her things.

"I am fascinated with the natural world." she said, "The British Isles have been discovered, and the opportunity to see and live like few women have was an opportunity I could not refuse."

"And your husband condoned this?" Again, the feelings she associated with Henry rushed through her heart.

"Henry condoned my will. We loved each other. It's not something I would expect you to understand."

Suddenly a grim shadow seemed to cross his one good eye. "Stand up." He demanded, brushing his coat off his hip and flashing his rapier. Katlyn's heart began to race. Had she gone too far? Wordlessly he stared at her, his gaze reenforcing his command. Katlyn slowly rose. He waited only a moment. " Your gown. remove it." It was only four words, but his eyes promised far more. Taking in the turn of events, Katlyn refused to let her worries get the better of her. If she were to die at this instant, so be it. She would not give in to her fear. She let the bear hide drop and pinched the fabric of her gown in each hand, still wet with pirates blood, she held it in place with her thumbs as she drew the hem from the floor, bunching it as she went. The air was cool on her skin. Her eyes locked with Caste's, neither one of them giving anything away. Once she had sufficiently raised the hem, she crossed her arms so as to pull the gown over her head. Once done, she tossed it to the cabin floor.

Goose flesh rose across her body as the chill breezed it's way through the cabin windows. Her nipples hardening from the temperature. She remained there, fighting the shiver, her hands at their sides. She would not cover herself; she had nothing to hide. "Around the table.", he commanded, using the rapier to point to the spot where he wanted her. She did his bidding. There she stood face to face wth the Captain. She noted that his gaze had not moved once. Though she was naked before him, he looked only upon her face. He stepped even closer, cutting the distance between them to mere inches. Face to face with him now, she got the clearest look at his features. His dark eye, callous; his face uncompromising. She felt his left hand brush against her leg as it swam it's way between her thighs. "I need you to relax lady Katlyn. " he said, his gruff voice muted through the intimacy. "Please." She breathed deeply as his fingers pushed their way inside her. It was not a pleasant feeling as they probed, their cold crudely enveloped in her warmth. Seconds later, he pulled them out.