10. Swords and Smiles #2
“You should at least have the energy to keep up with me.” It wasn’t cutting—merely a challenge she would absolutely rise to meet. He started for the others gathering by the masts. “I’ll see you at noon.”
Cecily trudged to the galley. Small. Of all the impertinent things for a man to say. It was her fourth day on this ship, and while she’d eaten more and better here than she had in prison, her limbs were still skinny, and climbing stairs was enough to get her breathing hard.
Sure, she was small and starved, but that said nothing for her skill, if yesterday was any indication. Besides, she’d managed to best him easily enough when she was in worse condition than she was now.
Nevertheless, as she walked into the galley and greeted Stede, she grabbed a bit of dried meat and sank her teeth into it before the cook could tell her to do just that.
After several hours of vivid stories, she finished her portion of the fish stew she’d helped prepare and made her way to the main deck. A small group had already gathered, mostly women, though there were a few men too.
Jack’s voice came from behind her as he climbed the steps from the lower decks. “Did you eat?”
She folded her arms. “You’re a busybody.”
There was an extra sword in his hand, the scabbard looking brand new. “Did you?”
“Yes,” she answered without taking her eyes off the weapon. “Though I doubt food will make much of a difference in ability, if that’s what concerns you.”
“I’m not concerned about your ability.” Stopping in front of her, he extended the sword.
All thoughts fled her mind as the smooth leather settled in her palms. Try as she might to school her face into indifference, the moment she saw the hilt’s mother-of-pearl inlays and the way the guard was delicately molded to cover her hand, a grin stole over her face.
Pulling away the scabbard, she gave a short, incredulous laugh.
It was the most beautiful sword she’d ever seen.
Jack looked at her as though he’d won a game.
The edges of his mouth lifted, softening the severity of his features.
His eyes wandered between her hands and her face, drinking her in, noting every way her thorny facade crumbled and broke despite how her mind warned her to let nothing show. To not let Jack see.
But the sword was beautiful. Well balanced. The blade sharp and deadly. The hilt glittered like snow and starlight. She couldn’t help her smile, just as she couldn’t the night before.
Briefly, she wondered how he might use this against her before deciding that he couldn’t, because she’d already lost everything, and even this lovely thing was not hers to keep. He’d take it away at the end of the day, and for now it was a pleasure to simply hold it.
So she let Jack see.
Whatever he thought of her reaction, he kept it to himself. No sarcastic remark. No taunt or challenge. He only glanced over her shoulder toward the gathered pirates and said, “They’re waiting.”
Feeling as though she were floating, she trailed him to the other side of the deck.
The pirates had their weapons with them, and as Jack began explaining stances and the basics of blocking and striking, they adjusted their feet and fixed their grips.
Not one of them looked at the first mate with anything but respect and fear.
Then Jack turned to Cecily, and her stomach tightened under his gaze.
His sword rang from its scabbard. “A demonstration,” he said to the others without pulling his eyes from hers. “Of blocking an attack.”
They hadn’t discussed how they would teach. She’d been so caught up in the beauty of her weapon and the way it made her feel that she hadn’t even considered asking him.
She approached him warily, her sword limp in her hand, mirroring his stance. He gave no indication of what he expected her to do as they circled one another.
He made the first move, swinging slowly enough for her to easily block. Her sword was up in a heartbeat, stopping his blade. She held it there, steady against the force of his swing.
He met her gaze. Lifted one bow.
It was an offer.
She lunged, moving faster than he had with the first attack. Jack dodged, edged past, and raised his weapon to hack at her. She spun toward him and caught his sword with hers a half second before it could touch her.
Their eyes locked. She smiled. He returned it.
She gave over to a kind of dance she’d missed during the last year, a deadly waltz that didn’t draw blood but made her feel beautiful and strong and safe. She fell into the steps as though hardly any time had passed at all.
Their swords rang together, faster, louder, neither of them holding back, and Cecily began to laugh. She didn’t know when she started, only that it burst from her and kept coming by way of relentless snickering, the way it had when she’d fenced with her father.
Eventually, her body couldn’t keep up with a man who had not been forced into stillness for a year like she had, and she was forced to yield, laughing and breathing so hard that her throat burned and her lungs ached.
But damn if she wasn’t happy.
He grinned at her, a slash of a wicked smile she decided not to hate today.
While she caught her breath, he ran the crew through drills to develop their own sense of this dance Cecily adored so much.
Her happiness didn’t subside, not even when Jack dismissed the others and held out his hand for the sword.
“You’ll have it back tomorrow,” he said. The setting sun crowned his fair hair with gold as it lowered toward the sea.
She slipped the blade into its scabbard. And only because of the truce, she said, “Thank you,” and meant it.
Taking the sword, he nodded once. “Best get your supper before the others eat it.”
She could hardly be annoyed at the command. She was famished and would undoubtedly be sore in the morning. So she wolfed down her meal next to Hester and Greyson with Jack sitting silently on the far end.
That night, with a full belly and a mind at ease, she fell asleep and dreamed of home.