12. Poor Ugly Susan
POOR UGLY SUSAN
The next morning, Cecily woke with a single-minded hopefulness that she was sure would not shame her this time.
Today she would be rid of Jack. The moment she stepped off this ship, she’d abandon Copson’s crew, and she would be free of prison, piracy, and any memory of the long days she’d spent knowing Jack Copson.
On the main deck, the crew prepared to bring the ship in to port.
She ignored Jack’s sweltering presence by the quarterdeck stairs where he carried on a conversation with Greyson.
She didn’t even have to look to know it was him.
Eager to get away, she started forward, ready to help the others—and came up short as Susan swaggered past, eye twitching, hips swaying, and made a beeline for the first mate.
Susan threw a glance over her shoulder, made sure she had Cecily’s attention, and crashed into Jack. They both nearly went sprawling, but he managed to catch himself as she fell hard to the deck.
Cecily cringed at the sound of a loud pop. Susan screamed and quickly rolled to free her wrist from where it was pinned beneath her, cradling it against her chest as she panted around the pain.
Jack immediately knelt, his hands on her shoulders to help ease her up to a sitting position, asking if she was alright as he reached for her injured arm.
An odd, infernal feeling stirred in the pit of Cecily’s stomach as she watched him inspect Susan’s wrist with a careful touch while the woman whimpered and hissed in pain.
Morgyn appeared at Cecily’s side with a pompous grin. “Jealous?”
Cecily tried to snort, but it came out as a miserable grunt. “Of Susan? Never.”
Susan was not the kind of woman one would typically consider a threat in terms of seduction. She was in her late twenties, perhaps early thirties, with pinched, rat-like features, from her beady, twitching eye to her large pink ears—alluring by no definition and by no fault of her own.
So it shouldn’t have bothered Cecily as Jack began to wrap Susan’s hand. It shouldn’t have affected her at all as Jack made her laugh. He smiled. She blushed. They talked. Susan’s eye twitched every fifteen seconds.
Jack had looked at her like that too. Like he enjoyed her company even though it was just a ruse to get her to behave.
“You look jealous,” Morgyn cooed into Cecily’s ear. “Grind your teeth any harder and you won’t have any left.”
“I’m happy, actually,” Cecily replied coolly, “that someone can finally appreciate Susan. It must be hard for her to be noticed when Thea looks so remarkably like a horse and you’re so hungry for attention.” She narrowed her eyes. “Is that one of the effects of being a witch?”
Morgyn sucked in a long, loud breath—the only sign that she was bothered at all. “Someday, Cecily, you will be old and alone and no one will love you because you are impossible and unpleasant.”
Across the deck, Susan caught Cecily’s eye and, with a panicked glance at Morgyn, leaned in to kiss Jack’s cheek.
The left one. With the scar.
Her scar.
Cecily kept her face neutral. Nothing about Jack belonged to her—not that she wanted any part of him or his affections. Even if she did, there was no place for a pirate in her life after today.
Clasping Susan’s elbow, Jack helped her to her feet.
She was now outrageously flustered, her cheeks a violent shade of pink.
She gripped her wrist like it was the only thing keeping her upright as Jack wished her well.
Thea appeared and draped herself over Jack’s shoulder, her horse teeth flashing as she thanked him profusely.
It was meant for Cecily. She knew it because Thea and Susan only did what Morgyn told them.
It shouldn’t have annoyed her, and yet she desperately wanted to throw Morgyn over the rail and knock Thea’s teeth into place.
Susan was already punished enough with her eye twitch—how could she stand it?
—so Cecily had no true quarrel with her.
And there was Jack, smiling at them like they deserved it. He may have convinced his father to award Cecily the same respects as the rest of the crew, but he’d hurt her.
Hurt.
The feeling surprised her. While she expected loathing, hatred, and vengeance, a wound had appeared in her cold little heart.
Too late, Cecily realized she was frowning. By the time she smoothed her features into indifference, Morgyn was already chuckling.
“So you can feel something,” Morgyn mused. “Interesting. I didn’t think you had a heart in there. I’d assumed you cut it out with the wine bottle.”
Cecily’s breath hitched, her hand twitching toward her pocket.
Don’t take the bait, said Jack’s voice in her head. Flames flickered against green glass, and though she blinked away the image, she could still hear the fire.
Unsuitable, said Copson’s voice.
I know, Jack replied.
The wine bottle glittered. Her hands shone with blood.
“Are you okay, Ces?” Morgyn asked with false concern.
“Perfect.” She ached to hold her dagger if only to feel like she could breathe as memory tried to marry itself to her present.
Not real. Never real.
Morgyn released a low, rough laugh. “We both know you’re not perfect. You’re not even good enough.” Her lips were suddenly at Cecily’s ear, long fingers wrapping around her bicep. Cecily flinched at the violation, the memories of being forced into places she did not want to go, a nobleman laughing—
And then Morgyn whispered, “Not even a pirate can want you.”
Cecily didn’t consciously reach for her dagger, but it was suddenly at Morgyn’s throat. Its weight in her hand cleared the haze of memory, leaving her brightly aware.
Despite the blade to her neck, Morgyn smiled.
This had been a battle, and Cecily hadn’t realized quickly enough to get ahead of it.
“No,” was all she managed to gasp before a large hand clamped down on her arm, and the knife was jerked from her grip.
Fiero stood over her, his massive fingers swallowing her dagger. He looked like he might happily use the blade to cleave Cecily in two and enjoy every second of it.
“I heard,” Fiero said, “you’re not supposed to have sharp things.”
Cecily’s eyes darted from the knife to Fiero to Morgyn to Jack, who watched from across the deck, his eyes wide. The first mate took one step toward them before she looked away—and saw Copson step out from behind the helm.
The captain met her gaze. He saw the knife. He looked at Jack.
“You’re pretty sharp yourself,” Morgyn said, taking the dagger from Fiero, “but even you know poisoned words only cut so deep.” She balanced the knife in her fingers, laughter shining in her eyes.
“I bet you stole it, didn’t you? Not only a murderer, but a thief too?
” She tsked. “What’ll the captain think of that? ”
Cecily’s lungs heaved with deep breaths that weren’t calming at all as she tried to wrench from Fiero’s hold. It didn’t matter if Morgyn knew what she was—she had found another way to throw Cecily to the wolves, and when she was so close to freedom—
Fiero dropped her arm right as phantom heat seared through her flesh, straight to her heart, which melted, puddled, and pooled into blood and dread.
“What have you done?” Jack’s low grumble came from right next to her. She spun to snap her response, but the first mate glared at Morgyn and the knife in her hand.
“Not a thing,” Morgyn said, her eyes wide and innocent.
“Bullshit,” Cecily hissed. “You—”
The captain’s voice, terrifyingly close, silenced them. “Let’s take this somewhere more private, shall we?” He’d left the quarterdeck and now stood mere feet away, his gray eyes hard. “My quarters. Now.”
Copson turned on his heel and headed for the room under the quarterdeck, followed by Fiero and Morgyn. Cecily trailed a few feet behind.
She’d lost control so easily. And for what—some misplaced, absurd surge of jealousy? Over Jack?
Now Morgyn had goaded her into attacking, then painted her as a thief.
Cecily’s mind scrambled through almost two weeks of memories, searching for what she’d read in the articles.
The punishment for thieving was…what? Flogging?
She wouldn’t be shocked if he wanted to remove a finger or lash her palms.
She curled her hands into tight fists.
Jack stood at the door to Copson’s quarters, his expression unreadable. As Cecily passed, she was tempted to tell him she hadn’t meant to pull the knife. She had tried to keep their agreement.
But she didn’t speak, and neither did he. The door shut behind them.
The captain’s quarters were well furnished with a large bed, a desk, and a long table surrounded by chairs bolted to the floor. The walls were white and covered with all manner of maps, weapons, and books enclosed behind glass doors.
Even with all that, the room said very little about the man she was preparing to contend with.
“Do explain,” the captain said from behind his desk, his tone piqued with either amusement or anger as he addressed all four of them.
Cecily held very still, hands at her sides. Beside her, Jack did the same.
“Cecily pulled a knife on Morgyn,” Fiero said as Morgyn set the dagger on the desk. Jack stiffened.
Copson looked at the knife, then at Cecily. “Why?”
Saying it was a mistake would only sound like she was trying to save her own hide. But it had been a mistake, and she didn’t want to pull the captain into petty politics that she also wanted no part of. It would only serve to anger him further.
Morgyn, however, shared none of the same sentiment. “Cecily’s been trying to kill me since we met.”
“I don’t wish to kill anyone,” Cecily said.
“You pulled a knife on me.” Morgyn’s voice shook as though she were terrified. As though this hadn’t been exactly what she’d intended.
Irritation lined Copson’s face, so Cecily said simply, monotonously, “She startled me.”
It was an oversimplification, but she didn’t assume Copson cared much for the specifics of how and why she had snapped so easily—only that she’d done it.
The captain’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t tolerate fights on my ship. If you two have something to settle, do it in Tortuga. Fight, duel, but don’t bring it back here, or I’ll make you both regret it.” He turned to Fiero. “Mind your wife and keep her from trouble. Go.”
Fiero obeyed. It was a simple order, and hope weaseled through Cecily, eager for the same treatment.
So close. She was so close to being done with piracy, so long as Copson didn’t flog her or kill her.
When Fiero and Morgyn were gone, Copson’s attention fell on the dagger.
“How’d you get Jack’s knife?” he asked Cecily.
“He gave it to me,” she said.
“I didn’t,” Jack said, speaking with blasé confidence that could only be taken for truth.
“I found it.” Her gut clenched with indignation as he forced her into the lie. He had said he would deny his involvement, though she’d half expected that to change after these past days.
He’s a liar, she reminded herself. He’s lied to me this whole time.
Copson’s stony eyes were heavy with displeasure. She met his gaze resolutely, even as it made her want to tremble. “Trouble seems to follow you, Miss Shoard.”
She forced an even breath. “I gave it no invitation to do so.”
“Trouble sometimes follows those who want it least and those best equipped to handle it. Your abilities are impressive, and you seem mindful of the laws governing my company, but you are a continued headache.”
Her stomach dropped. “I truly don’t wish to be.”
Copson nudged the knife, sending it spinning before he pinned her with a look. “I have important business in Tortuga, and I won’t be bothered with you or your trouble. If you become a problem or distract me from my purpose here, I’ll have Jack deal with you.”
Jack released a breath. Cecily gulped, thinking of the captain of the prison ship bound so tightly to the helm. Would Copson make his son kill her if she was caught? Torture her? When she tried to imagine it, she could only recall the feeling of him tucking her hair behind her ear.
Copson didn’t realize the extent to which Jack had already tormented her.
“Why not let me go?” she asked, trying to rein in her desperation. “Release me and I’ll leave.”
“That would be easier.” The captain braced his hands against the desk. “But even better is having a competent sword on my crew who owes me for my generosity.”
Everything in her recoiled at the cruelty, the ownership, the threat, but she remained where she stood. This couldn’t be her lot in life—meant to be a lady and forced into murder, prison, and piracy.
He turned to Jack. “You failed to uphold my order. Luckily no one was harmed, but I distrust her and the chaos that follows her, so you’ll mind her in Tortuga.”
Her jaw fell, so many curses and protests rising to her tongue that none of them made it out. Her freedom, her chance to run away—he had just made it infinitely harder.
But not impossible, she told herself. I can escape Jack.
Beside her, Jack started, “You said—”
“I know,” Copson said. “I changed my mind.”
Jack went deathly quiet, his eyes cold. “I’m not a nanny.”
“Will you defy me, Jack?” The captain posed the question like a dare.
For a breath, the first mate was silent. His lips thinned, like he might object, like he might fight his father as their gazes held. But then he said, “No. I won’t.”
“Then it’s settled. Keep the girl close, lest she end up burning down all of Tortuga by some hand other than her own. If she escapes or manages to worm her way out of the articles, it’ll be on your head. And Greyson’s.” He looked at Cecily. “And your dear friend Hester’s.”
Horror washed through her, so wretched that it took everything in her not to fall to her knees. “You can’t need me that badly,” she breathed. “I’m not—”
Jack grabbed her wrist, his fingers tight with warning. Her teeth clicked as she bit off her words, but she trembled in earnest now, only able to contain so much of herself.
There would be no running away.
“Were you merely some troublesome girl, I’d cast you off this ship.
” Copson didn’t raise his voice, but he was no less intimidating.
“But I collect talents and debts, which are worth more to me than your attitude. And should you threaten my peace, I will threaten you much worse.” He waved them off. “We’re done.”
Cecily barely kept herself from sprinting for the door.