15. Shoard Defenses
SHOARD DEFENSES
Cecily was enjoying the morning in her lavender parlor when someone started knocking on the door. Setting aside her teacup, she stood and drifted into the corridor, heading for the front door. The footman nodded to her as she passed over the threshold…
“Go away, Jack,” she groaned, squinting against the morning sunlight streaming through the window.
“It’s Hester.”
Heaving a sigh, Cecily slid out of bed and plodded to the door.
She’d washed herself last night, but her clothes were still dirty and rank, shapeless and bloodstained from whatever body Hester had taken them from.
She hadn’t had time or space to wash them, nor any inclination to sit around naked while they dried.
She unlocked the door and let it swing open as she returned to bed. “How’d you find me?”
Hester followed her inside. “Greyson said this is where Jack usually stays, so I described you to the barmaid and she said you were here.”
Cecily faceplanted into her pillow, not wanting to know how she might be described to anyone. A sad, reeking girl who looks like she wants to murder a pirate—have you seen her?
Hester sat beside her. “I’ve never seen you so disturbed as you were yesterday.”
Cecily breathed slowly, still broken from the night before and ugly and smelly in her dead-man’s clothing. Not even sleeping in a decent bed had helped her mood.
Hester sighed. “I know you typically pride yourself with being closed off, and for some reason you’ve decided to let me be your friend, however distantly.” She touched Cecily’s shoulder. “Tell me what happened.”
However distantly. That was rich. Hester had made herself distant since they’d been saved and she ran off with Greyson.
“Cecily,” Hester said, not scolding, but not entirely gentle either.
“You sure Greyson won’t come to sweep you away?
” she sniped into her pillow, and immediately regretted it when Hester shifted, as though she might leave.
It wasn’t Hester’s fault that she’d found happiness and chose to chase it.
Cecily had made herself rude and vile at every turn—why should she be anyone’s first choice for company?
With her face still in her pillow, she reached out to grab Hester’s wrist then rolled onto her side to say, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
She hadn’t apologized for anything these last months—not genuinely. If anyone deserved it, it was Hester, who had only ever loved her in spite of everything.
“Yes you did,” Hester said with a soft chuckle. She lifted her arm with Cecily’s fingers still attached to it. “But you won’t chase me off that easily. You can let go.”
Cecily released her, feeling heavy down to her bones. All this time, Hester had been the only good in her life while Cecily had only taken advantage of her, again and again, giving no love or kindness when she received it.
Shame threatened to crush her, so with every bit of sorrow in her soul, she whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Hester.”
The tears were back, flowing as freely as they had the night before.
Suddenly she couldn’t bear how horrible she’d been.
Jack had told her she was too young to believe she deserved nothing good, and she wanted to believe him even though he probably hated her.
She wanted to believe she deserved a friend like Hester, even as she hated herself.
Hester took Cecily’s face in her hands, her smile warm.
“Have you forgotten you saved my life? Do you remember how many men you killed to do it? I know that’s not something you take lightly.
” She wiped away a tear with the pad of her thumb.
“No one’s ever done anything like that for me. Not one, even when I asked them to.”
“Your first husband?” Cecily asked quietly.
Hester nodded sadly. “I told my family and my priest that he had no love for how the good Lord made me. He was awfully flattering till it was just the two of us, but no one would listen or let me leave him because they couldn’t see the wounds he left. So I killed him. Poisoned his soup.”
It was the first time she’d admitted to murdering him, and with it came the first glint of darkness Cecily had ever seen in Hester’s eyes.
“I’m sorry about your first husband,” Cecily whispered. “I’m sorry he was awful.”
“I suppose he’s why I like Greyson so much,” Hester said with a small, shy smile.
“The only thing scary about him is the way he looks, and he holds me like I’ll break.
” She shook her head. “My point is that no one helped me either, Cecily. No one gave a shit about my life till you came along, and you delighted me because you said and did all the things I felt on the inside but never could express. And while I may not be able to return the favor in the same terms, I can give you what I have, even if it’s only friendship and kindness.
” She brought her face so close that it filled Cecily’s vision. “Tell me what happened.”
Cecily hesitated. She didn’t want to require more from Hester, but her friend wouldn’t let her go until she spoke.
So she told her everything—the conversation she’d overheard, the fight in the forest, how angry she was at Jack, and how much it hurt.
And that it hurt because he’d made her like him, and his betrayal had knocked her feet out from under her, leaving her ashamed and embarrassed and caught in a vicious spiral of terrible, traitorous emotions she didn’t know how to escape.
She left out Copson’s threat and that it was the only thing keeping her here. She wouldn’t heap more misery upon her friend, nor would she beg Hester to run and risk her life or forsake the good she’d found.
When she finished, Hester pulled her into her arms. “I knew you were in there,” she said, “behind all the spikes and thorns.”
Cecily wound her arms around Hester’s back. “Don’t tell anyone,” she mumbled.
“Be as thorny as you like. Just know I’d like to see past it every so often.” She pulled back. “It’s alright, you know. A new life is no easy thing to get used to, and handsome pirates certainly don’t make it easier.”
Cecily’s frown deepened. “I haven’t deserved you. I’ve been such a—”
“None of that,” Hester chided. “You’ve been my favorite since the day they dragged you screaming into Bridewell.” Her smile, for once, was soft. “It’s nice to have someone like me.”
Cecily blinked. Someone like her? She’d always thought of Hester as better than herself, someone whose soul was intact and whole. And to think Hester saw her as an equal… The tears rose again.
They would have spilled over, too, had a swift knock not jerked Cecily’s attention back to the opening door.
Fay waved from the threshold, a black scarf hanging from her hand. “Maria and I thought we’d take you both out today. There are some lovely little shops where you can get…” Her eyes dropped to their attire, “clothes that aren’t taken from the dead.”
Cecily couldn’t help her smile. Bless Fay for knowing things. Fresh, clean clothes would indeed be a welcome relief.
Pounding sounded from the hall, followed by Maria’s voice yelling, “Jack! Up, Copson, I gotta talk to you.”
Grabbing her pack, Cecily followed Hester into the hall as Jack’s door swung open.
He stood in the doorway wearing only a pair of breeches, his hair disheveled.
Cecily tried not to stare at his chiseled torso or the hard muscles in his arms as he leaned against the frame.
It was impossible, however, when she spotted the tattoo.
A thin dagger was inked from the top of his left shoulder to the middle of his bicep, and a rose curved behind the blade, its bloom opening near the hand guard where a crown sat atop the hilt. The lines were faded, as though it had been done some time ago.
His eyes narrowed against the light in the hall. “What,” he snapped at Maria.
“Oh, you’re still drunk,” Maria said, taking a half-step back and batting away his breath.
“You’re still loud.”
“We’re taking Cecily,” she said, ignoring his insult.
Jack’s gaze slid to Cecily. He studied her with bloodshot eyes, looking tired and irritated before he grumbled to Maria, “Just don’t let her loose.”
“We’ll do as we please.” Maria gave his cheek a firm pat. “Back to bed, you handsome brute.”
Jack rolled his eyes and shut the door.
The women left the inn and emerged into the warm spring air. Fay lifted the scarf over her head, tying it around her white hair and pulling it low to shield her eyes. When she noticed Cecily watching, she said, “I disturb the good folks in town. They find my appearance distressing.”
Maria’s voice rose over Fay’s. “I say she should play to their fears and call herself the Witch of Tortuga.”
“Eventually,” Fay sighed. “When it suits me.”
“It’ll suit you now,” Maria said, and it sounded as though they’d had this conversation many times already.
“When it suits me,” Fay said again.
Maria carried a knife through the city while Fay…
well, she probably didn’t need one, and Cecily wasn’t sure she wanted to know what kind of power made her so confident as she walked streets lined with pirates with mouths full of curses and catcalls—some of which quieted the moment they saw Fay, despite the scarf covering her hair.
It was only a few minutes before they came to a more tranquil part of the island with shops selling clothing, weapons, jewelry, and trinkets.