15. Shoard Defenses #2
Despite her previous reluctance to spend money, Cecily willingly handed it to shopkeepers when she realized just how much she had.
Even after such a short time with Copson and the fine she’d earned by punching Morgyn, it was an impressive salary.
By the afternoon, she had shirts and pants that fit her, and boots with the slightest heel.
She’d purchased a small bottle of rose perfume and—her favorite thing of all—a long, flowing skirt in a deep shade of blue, which she now wore with a white shirt tucked into it.
She’d fitted a brown vest around her middle that laced up the front to hug her curves.
Though she was still thin, Stede’s meals had ensured she was no longer waiflike, and ties on her clothes would allow her to adjust them as her health returned.
While she waited outside for the others to finish in one of the shops, she braided her short hair into a crown atop her head, woven through with a lavender ribbon.
She sank into her femininity like it was a warm bath.
Her beauty had once been her pride, sometimes to the point where her father had warned her not to stumble into vanity.
But she had liked the way the village boys had looked at her, and enjoyed that she was beautiful enough to marry her friend among the nobility.
Before being given this lot in life, she could hardly resist being vain on occasion.
Nothing about her beauty felt frivolous or self-indulgent now. Today, it became a shield.
Armed with pirate gold, she’d reclaimed a small piece of herself and felt newly formidable.
Her defenses were no longer weak around her cracked and wounded heart, and she was as graceful and unflappable as Jack always was.
He would not unsettle her or play with her.
Even if he thought he could, she would prove him wrong—if not with sharp words and wit, then with the small knife hidden in her skirt.
And perhaps she was a little vain, because she hoped her beauty would bring him to his knees. He deserved it, she thought, because he’d done the same to her.
By the time they joined the men in the late afternoon, she was ready to face him again.
Killian, Greyson, and Frederick waited on a deserted road skirting the edge of a different forest. It was just after golden hour, and the sun hadn’t faded enough to leech the light from the island.
“I dread to know how much damage you’ve done to my coffers,” Frederick said to Maria as he pulled her into his thick arms. He kissed her cheek, then turned to Cecily. His brows lifted at her appearance, far more feminine and put together than it had been before.
“Fine job,” he said.
Cecily hid her surprise with a demure laugh. She didn’t know what Jack had told his friends about her, but if he’d said anything to ruin their fledgling opinions of her, Frederick didn’t show it.
And if Jack had damned her, she could prove him wrong. She thrust out her hand. “Jack didn’t properly introduce us. Cecily Shoard.”
“It seems he didn’t.” He took her hand and shook it. “Frederick Henry.”
“Pirate?” she asked.
He nodded, then jerked his chin to Killian. “We’re with the same crew, but we’re vying for our own ships.”
Fay traipsed to Killian, who looked at Cecily with inquisitive, slightly vacant eyes. “Perhaps one day we’ll rival Copson,” he said, his voice as thin. “The next one, not the current.”
Frederick smirked. “If Jack gets his own ship by birth, we’re sure as hell going to make him earn the name.”
Greyson barked a laugh from nearby. Hester was tucked under his arm, dressed in new clothes as well, though they weren’t much different from what she’d worn previously. However, both she and Greyson seemed pleased.
“He’ll earn it well enough,” Greyson said.
“Best hope he does before we make better names for ourselves, or we’ll never let him live it down.” Frederick nodded to a thin trail through the trees. “Speakin’ of the prick, Jack’ll be late. He’ll meet us at the top.”
“Late to what?” Cecily asked as the seven of them took to the forest.
Walking behind her, Frederick said blithely, “Reconnaissance.” He offered no further explanation. “You know, a skirt might not’ve been the best choice to wear out here.”
“I can do anything as well as you can, and even better in a skirt,” Cecily said. Thankfully, the fabric swishing gloriously around her legs was thick enough to withstand brambles and twigs. “I won’t slow you down.”
Frederick snorted. “Jack said you were fiery.”
She laughed once, like she wasn’t shocked. It seemed far less extreme than the kinds of words she thought Jack might use to describe her. “What else did he say about me?”
Ahead of her, Killian turned around, walking backward as he said, “He claimed you killed six men in a night.”
“He’s preoccupied with death,” Frederick said, nodding to his friend. “We call him Killian for a reason.”
Killian’s face didn’t change as he looked at Frederick. “My mother named me.”
“Call it precognition,” Frederick said. “Must be why you and Fay get on so well. Still, Cecily, emphasis on the kill.”
“Was it really six?” Killian asked, his gaze dark with interest.
“It was,” she said with no pride or regret.
Frederick snorted again. “My first time, I only got through two before I panicked and hid.”
Killian faced forward. “I’ve never had that problem.”
“Oh, we know,” Frederick said, then mumbled, “Soulless bastard.”
“I still have half,” Killian replied woodenly.
“Oh, apologies, you half-soulless bastard.”
Cecily chuckled. Certainly if Jack had scorned her, it appeared they were kind enough to doubt him.
“Where is Jack anyway?” she asked.
“With the captain,” Frederick answered. “Trying to get information outta old Robin. But they’re not getting far—man’s gone mad and wouldn’t know where he put his trousers, let alone his treasure, and that’s only if he even had it in the first place.”
She remembered the story Stede had told her about how Robin had stolen incredible treasure from the captain’s father. “You don’t think he has Copson’s treasure?”
“You’ve gotta understand how big this haul is,” Frederick said.
“Legendary,” Killian threw back at her.
“Copson—the first one—and Robin robbed a royal fleet,” Frederick said.
“That much gold is unconscionable. There’s no way he’d have stolen it and run from Copson in the middle of the night.
The time it would take—the manpower, the planning, the sailing, and to have Copson know nothing of it?
” Cecily looked over her shoulder in time to see Frederick shake his head.
“There’s no probable way. And if Robin did have it, he wouldn’t be living in a shit little house in Tortuga, of all places. ”
Cecily’s legs burned as the ground began to rise in a sharp, rocky incline. “Then why bother looking for it?”
Killian shrugged. “Why do Copsons do anything? Fame, stories, legend, revenge.”
“If there is a treasure,” Frederick said, “I owe Jack a pint for being an ass about it.”
When they eventually crested the hill, they emerged into a small clearing surrounded by thick trees that hid them in shade. One side was open to a sheer cliff that dropped to a spectacular view of the rest of the island below.
Cecily looked down and gaped. They overlooked a massive, stucco home, surrounded by lush gardens crawling with guards.
“That’s the governor’s mansion,” said Killian.
“Should be terribly fun to rob,” said a new voice with a thick, Spanish accent. “That is the plan, correct? Like every year?”
Cecily whirled. Standing behind them was a handsome officer, dressed in a blue uniform with red cuffs and a yellow stripe down the outside of each long leg.
A sword hung at one hip, and his inky black hair was swept back in a style she might have called elegant, were it not for the few careless strands that had fallen into his dark, laughing eyes.
“Hello,” he said to her with a charming smile, his voice like honey or poison. Then his eyes focused on the others. “A new thief for your little crew?”
Her heart stopped. One Spanish soldier against several pirates—would they fight? When none of the others moved, Cecily looked at Frederick beside her.
He merely grinned and said, “Cecily, meet Hector Hein.”