Chapter Four

The slap stung and she felt the hum of it go right up her arm like some perverse tuning fork. He hadn’t even hit her that hard but the bang of metal on metal was sharp and these things were a lot heavier than they looked.

Will watched as Kate shifted the blade into her left hand and shook her fingers and arm out on her right. “That’s why beginners usually learn with something lighter. Give yourself a chance to work up to it.” He looked solicitous and Kate gave an exasperated sigh.

“Well I’ll just explain that the next time we’re being boarded. ‘Excuse me, sir, but I’m a beginner so please be gentle’ as he breaks my sword in two with his navy issue…I don’t think so.” She gritted her teeth to try what he’d shown her again—lunge right, parry left, parry left, step back. She was just allowing herself a smile when he slapped her blade again and she yelled, “Stop that!”

Will grinned wondering if she might not just yell that at some lobsterback and if it might not just work, as several of the men around them stopped what they were doing on the spot.

“You’ve got to keep your blade up all the time, Kate. If you learn nothing else today, learn that.”

She shook herself out of an inner landscape of endless red waves to poke at him in a different way. “Who knew keeping it up could prove to be so challenging?” she said wryly, and he laughed, as much relieved to hear her tease him again as at what she said.

“Ah but it isn’t for the master,” he waggled his eyebrows at her. “Have at me, woman, and you shall see.” He beckoned her on, easily deflecting every attempt she made and rapidly destroying Kate’s slightly improved mood.

From across the deck Rosie watched him move almost like he was dancing at one of them balls she had heard about where rich folk stalked each other, soundless feet slipping across wood and a twist of his body to move away from another inexpert lunge but still making enough of a play of it to not have his opponent give up altogether. The winds were not kind this afternoon and the billowing sails were moving them no further towards Tortuga fast, so she could afford to hang on the rope some and let her eyes drift to where Will and Kate faced one another.

She gave a little shake of her head as Will pressed his advantage home once more. “He is too tall to take head on,” just a mutter on her lips. Rosie’s status as guest of Captain Sparrow—though in truth she had no clue what that really meant to anyone—somehow allowed her the freedom and the courage to stride across the wood to where Kate stood out of breath and feeling the effect of a heavy blade. Rosie’s hand on Kate’s arm startled her, and she offered an apologetic smile.
“Sorry… ” Rosie struggled with her words for a second or two. What DID one call the mistress of the captain? Well if she had been their sort it would be easy, but this one was educated, high born, and had saved Mary’s life, and for that Rosie owed her a debt. Deciding to pass over that conundrum Rosie smiled, “If you don’t mind me saying, he’s teaching yer to fight like a man and clearly you are not.” The realization that they were the only two able-bodied women on board a ship of men, and that she had of course noticed, flashed for a moment before Rosie bent to whisper, “Save yourself. He is taller and stronger than you. Every time he hits your blade, it drains strength from yer, so move...faster. Get inside his defences,” she couldn’t help but smile a little, “but don’t play by the rules, and you might have a chance.”

Kate screwed up her eyes at the woman in front of her and considered the wisdom of her advice. There was a smirk on Will’s face that Kate didn’t think she’d seen for a while, at least not since he told her the possibly—you never could quite tell with Will—statuesque tale of how a woman by the name of Mademoiselle de Pompidou had been so enamored of his charms that he had to all intents and purposes, her intent and purpose being mainly to keep him in her bed, been held prisoner in her bedroom thus necessitating a midnight escape through a window and a hastily written note promising to return the very next time the ship sailed into port. Anyway a rather teasing and tempting-looking Will stood in front of her now, “Will I take the both of you then?”

A loud “Ha!” from Rosie made Kate’s feet come right off the floor, her hand clutching her heart as she turned to look at Jack, an expression of amusement and something she couldn’t quite decipher on his face.

“I don’t believe the Goddess Fortuna will smile quite that broadly even on you, William, handsome bugger though you are. But perhaps, and meaning no offense luv,” Jack looked pointedly at Kate then turned to Rosie, “a more experienced opponent might be what is called for here.” A big Jack grin, “In fact, it is my experience that she learns very well by demonstration,” which earned him a solid punch from Kate that seemingly did little to deter him. “And perhaps a prize from the Captain’s cellars to sweeten the pot…a bottle of that lovely Madeira to the winner.”

“My port?! My favorite?!” Kate looked rather taken aback.

“Perhaps you might persuade the winner to share,” he whispered back to her, “but I’m guessing that you won’t be invited to that particular celebration.” Kate thought Jack looked altogether too sure of himself.

If Rosie felt her stomach turn she didn’t show it. Her mind traced over the way Will moved—no sailor-for-hire in front of her nor one of Standish’s men that was paid for his loyalty and still knew he was cannon fodder all the same—THIS man was here because he wanted to be, and he moved like a tiger. One with sharp teeth. A small nod to Kate though signaled her agreement, “If you want…Mr. Turner what do you say?”

This was quite a different proposition from a playful joust with a friend and Will let his eyes search all over her face, finding a challenge with a twist “No rules then?”

“None that will save yer…unless you insist on one that forbids a woman to beat a man.” She was pushing her luck perhaps and taking a gamble on what she saw in his easy smile, a tease of confidence that both him and her knew was unlikely to be enough. With a wink Rosie pulled off her large heavy work shirt and stretched up to the sky to feel the movement that her arms were now afforded, circling them and feeling her muscles bare in the sun, then a deep breath in as she took hold of the blade with both hands. “What do those French fellas say? Ah, engarde.”

Will Turner cocked his head at the sight of her in front of him. The masculine shirt had belied the entirely feminine body beneath, which was now enticingly visible in undergarments no doubt purloined from some lady’s trunk and used, it seemed, to the best advantage. Clearly there was some profit in crime. Fine white cotton and an edge of expensive lace buttoned to the top of her breasts and displayed such soft skin that, he had to admit, drew more attention than her blade until her amused voice made him look up.

“What is it, Mr Turner? You never see a woman before?” and it was just as well that he could move fast because her swinging sword came perilously close to his chest.

On deck they circled each other like snakes, though he was the one flicking his tongue fastest, towering over her and confident in his advantage, a cobra to her mamba, his arms easily long enough to hold her at a comfortable distance. Minutes passed as they swung round, clashing looks as often as blades, but a sudden parry from her at the side had him strike back too quickly with instinct honed over years and now he could see a line of red on the brown skin of her forearm. Will winced at Kate’s incredulous voice, “You hurt her...when she was trying to help me learn!” The line between his brows deepened as he watched Rosie’s mouth and tongue wipe over the cut, best known salve anyhow. Right, so he was concerned about infection and not that mouth sucking along soft skin. Of course not.

Ow...that stung. Rosie stared back at him. No rules then.

Lowering his weapon, Will shook his head and stepped forward with the beginnings of an apology on his lips, but Rosie drew her sword in front of her face in defiance. He was damned if he knew how she got there, but all he did know was that his progress was halted by a score along his shoulder that ripped his shirt and ended with a sharp dig in the dip of his throat, a dark haired dervish grinning back it him, “Is that scratch the best you can do? Submit Mr. Turner.”

She had him, and unusual for a circumstance where the opponent could slice his neck right there and then, Will felt himself smile. Leaning forward—well he had to trust she wasn’t going to press this particular point—he breathed into her ear, “Maybe if you call me Will,” before his arms circled underneath hers to send her flying back, Rosie’s feet hardly keeping the wood under them. The curse out of her mouth might even have raised a few eyebrows on the Pearl, and although she was vaguely aware of a collective drawing of breath around her, the surge of scarlet rage she felt focused her eyes on him—long dark clad thighs, hips that seemed to move like the tide water, white shirt that stuck to his body in places the result of both the afternoon sun and her own efforts—and Rosie nodded to herself. Let’s see Will Turner.

While she stepped lightly waiting for a moment of distraction to ease her way closer, she looked for confirmation in his face—you could see a lot in those brown eyes—and there it was, all man and cocky now, he’d got the measure of her, or so he thought. And smug would do just fine. Despite some bone-aching strikes from his sword, Rosie threw herself into an attack, ducking and weaving under his arms so fast that he thought that there might be more than one of her, until they were inches from each other, so close she could taste him. Rosie licked her lips and tasted salt and oak-smoked wood all mixed up with sweat and something like one of them sweet peaches she tried once. It was almost enough to knock her back—maybe he didn’t need a sword after all. Damn that isn’t fair. There was nothing except the strength of his arms holding his sword against hers and keeping her back from his chest. She looked up at him, “Tell me, do you always work to hard to keep women from touching you…Will?”

Every ounce of her was pressing into her sword and he just winked. “Depends on whether they intend to kiss me or cut my throat, love.” A sudden step back sent her flying, wrong footed and stumbling forward she lost the grip on her sword. She could have screamed at the clatter it made skidding away from her along the deck. One or two of the assembled pirates, for whom the afternoon was turning out rather more interesting than they had anticipated, stepped forward to pass her a sword. There weren’t many that could stay upright and in possession of all their required faculties for long when faced against Will Turner, and whatever else, this woman was still just about standing.

A ferocious glare of independence from her eyes might have been enough to make them back off, and any that looked to Jack for direction would have seen him shake his head and whisper to Kate, “She’s learned to fight as a pirate. Rarely been in the happy circumstance of an appreciative crowd to offer assistance.”

Rosie could hear Will behind her, or maybe it was more as if every sense in her body knew where he was, a grit of her teeth that said she wasn’t ready yet...not finished yet. Slowly she turned round to face him, and with her chin up, she stared back as the tip of his sword pointed squarely at her heart.

His eyes were stuck it seemed to where the point of his blade almost grazed the wet skin between her breasts, caught on the drips of salt that slipped downwards, watching the rise and fall of her chest that told him that had got her heartbeat up and evidently that wasn’t all. Will groaned lightly, he’d better finish this before he lost his edge.

“Would you mind?” she asked, her eyes indicating that she wanted him to move, well maybe.

“You are ready to submit then, Rosie?” he squeezed everything out of that question with the burn in his eyes. Despite that there were indeed a score or more of pirates shouting encouragement or commiseration depending on where their bets had fallen, a pirate captain and a lawyer, some of the walking wounded from the Chamada, and no doubt a seagull or two, hardly a sound penetrated her ears except the thud of her own blood.

“If you are ready to take me.”

Will nodded his acceptance of surrender once and stepped back with a grin the very moment before Rosie smiled, the hand behind her back whipped the knife from her belt and thrust it into white cotton, just far enough to feel his belly tighten against it, hard muscle resisting its entrance. “But I don’t think you are.”

His turn to hold his breath, to watch her face and shift his weight closer to feel how much pressure she was willing to use to stop him. “You fight dirty, lass.”

“You have no idea...” Rosie let her knife run down his belly, the quiver of it tingling into her hand, down over leather and circling in the dips of his groin. She thought he stopped breathing, and in truth she couldn’t remember her last one either as the knife ran over the tip of his c*ck. There was a hiss that might have been either of them as she let the blade run down the length of him, barely touching, and just a shred of cotton between hard flesh and harder steel. Rosie presumed the sea was still fluid even though she couldn’t feel it anymore.

“It would appear that this is one of those occasions where a man might be advised to refrain from sudden movements,” his voice was deep and quiet once he had cleared his throat, but he wasn’t done yet either. “Though you might want to consider the wisdom of cutting off a most promising evening…”

She couldn’t suppress the laugh in her throat and in her eyes, letting go of them just seconds before his leg circled behind her catching the back of her knees. Rosie felt her weight leave the floor and a hard bang as her back hit the deck, and she shook her head to clear it. He was standing over her now, legs either side of her hips, his back against the sun, hair all but escaped that knot, and the sharp of his sword teasing at the buttons of her chemise. If she was truthful she was quite stuck for words, “That was cheating, Mr. Turner.”

He was smiling right at her now, and she couldn’t help but grin. They both knew what was coming next…just a word, “Pirate!”

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