"Just a little bit further," Billy urged Abigail on.

After a cold breakfast of bread and cheese, and a drink Billy insisted was coffee "how they make it on the ship," Billy had turned a peculiar shade of pink, then asked if Abigail would like to bathe.

Abigail first panicked with embarrassment - how badly could she look and smell after three days on a boat and a midnight swim for him to ask that? After that, she panicked a little more when she took a quick stock of their little abode and realized there was no tub, and the fresh water barrels were certainly not enough to provide both a bath and drinking water. She made a choked sound, struggling for the right words.

"Kaya said you'd want that," Billy cleared his throat and made himself busy putting the food back away. It was a slight lie. He'd reminded Kaya to pack whatever Miss Ashe might need to bathe because he knew firsthand how uncomfortable it felt to sit around in your own filth and crusted salt. Kaya had practically hissed at him that she was already doing it, having her own experience with that feeling. Then she stormed up to him with an impressively threatening finger on such a small woman, promising him pain worse than death if she found out he took advantage of the situation.

Billy believed her. If Kaya didn't do it herself, Jackson Kruse would certainly help. For a woman who had been so thoroughly rejected by her own people, Abigail had made quite the little family for herself in Nassau, including a mess of pirates who all seemed to agree they owed her their protection.

She was still sitting at the battered two-person table looking confused. "There's um," Billy swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing against his throat, "there's a small freshwater lagoon not far from here. It's fed by a waterfall, runs out over down the hills, so it's clean water."

"Oh." It came out softer than she intended. This was a problem she'd never faced before and given Billy's fidgeting, it was new to him, too. She had been taken prisoner not once but three times now, survived multiple battles, started a business and even taken part in smuggling. She was nothing if not a woman up to new challenges.

Now they were back to wandering through the New Providence jungle. Billy carried the small bundle she'd packed - a towel, fresh clothes, a bar of soap. He'd taken it from her wordlessly as soon as they left the cottage.

The sound of water was getting louder, overpowering the insects and wildlife that created a cacophony this far from the more civilized parts of the island.

"Here we are." Billy stepped aside to let her pass. It was a nice little spot, and incredibly convenient. He wouldn't have to worry about running out of water for any reason. Billy realized belatedly that Abigail was standing by the pool, chewing on her bottom lip. "Right, um," he thrust her bundle at her and turned away. "I'll be over...here, shout if you need anything." He gestured vaguely back the way they'd come.

By the time he cut a shoot of wild sugar cane to chew on and sat on the ground, he heard the first break in the water discordant with the steady flow from the small waterfall that fed the lagoon. He took a hard bite on the plant, trying to his damnedest to concentrate on the taste of the cane and not wonder exactly what Abigail might look like at this exact moment. He wanted to smack himself almost every time he spoke to her. Surely, if Mr. Gates was still alive, he'd have smacked him by now. She managed to reduce him to a blushing, stuttering boy more often than he cared to admit.

He was a pirate, for chrissakes, and a damn good one. He'd had women, though not as many as his mates, and hadn't been this nervous around one since Gates took him to the brothel for the first time. Billy told himself it was because Abigail was a lady, or at least had been, and would have been out of his league no matter what path his life had taken.

Abigail coming to Nassau presented an unexpected problem for him: he knew she would let him in, but he also knew he would be the final nail in the coffin that was this life for her. Abigail could get her affairs sorted and still return, or at least make a better life in a better colony. She would not have that option if she entangled herself with someone like Billy Bones. More importantly, Billy wasn't sure he'd be able to let her go.

His head jerked back toward the pond when he heard a quiet whimper. He was on his feet when he heard another, and moving quickly when the quiet whimper turned into a louder cry of frustration and pain.

Abigail sat on a large, flat submerged rock in the surprisingly deep lagoon. Here it was up to her waist, so she felt less exposed in her thin chemise. She'd started with a rinse, then rubbed soap over every part of her face and body she could reach. Finally, she got to her hair. It had grown long and wild since she came to Nassau, but at the moment it was a long, matted mess.

Every attempt at running the brush through any knot or lock of hair only made her more frustrated. Every failed attempt reminded her of how little she could help herself. She couldn't even get dressed properly without a maid. What had she been thinking, trying to run a business? She'd had every opportunity to retire to a small country house. No matter what she did, how she approached the problem, she still ended up in shackles at some maniac's mercy.

She ripped her comb savagely through her hair. Whatever soap she'd used hadn't been enough, or she just wasn't being patient. The comb tore at her hair and she even broke off a few wooden bristles. Her shoulders shook with strangled noises somewhere between cries and sobs. When she ripped the comb free, she bent it in her hands, struggling against its solid construction before crying out and throwing it into the brush. It didn't go far.

She sank her hands into her hair and started pulling at the roots. The pain felt solid and malleable, something she could control. Pieces were breaking off in her hands. The more force she could muster, the more it burned and stung.

Abigail didn't notice the splashing, but she did notice when she was out of the water in Billy's arms.

She was too bewildered to speak, her hands flying to cover herself, but his eyes were busy scanning the water. "What's wrong? Was there a snake? Did you get bit?"

When she didn't respond, he finally looked at her. Her brown eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, searching him, unsure. There clearly wasn't anything in the water. "Sorry, I heard...I thought maybe you got hurt." Abigail continued to stare up at him, silent and shaking, her hands clutched at her chest. Billy slowly realized he was still standing up to his knees in water, holding her. He made a dissatisfied noise and set her on her feet on the dirt shore. He fetched her towel and held it out without looking at her.

It left his hand, followed by a small, "Thank you."

By wordless agreement, they made their way back to the cottage. She sat in a damp heap on one of the two dilapidated wooden chairs, still wrapped like a cocoon in the large towel. Abigail wasn't aware of what Billy was doing until a large tan hand held out a tin mug for her.

Abigail took it and caught a strong whiff of alcohol before she took a drink. At her recoil, Billy raised his own mug. "Just rum. Thought you could use a drink."

"I've never had it before." Abigail pondered the cup in her hands, then shrugged and took a tentative sip. Billy snorted when she sputtered and gasped. "It burns."

Billy grinned into his drink. "You get used to it."

Abigail took another sip, and then another, letting the drink warm her from the inside out. "I apologize, you shouldn't have seen that outburst."

Billy took another pull from his own mug, finishing it. He could butcher just about any animal for meat, mend his own clothes, navigate without assistance, climb any rigging, lay down accurate fire with any canon, rifle or pistol, and even make tactical decisions that put Flint to shame.

But comforting a woman was new.

He bent down on one knee before her, forcing her to look him in the eye. "I know what it's like, Abigail. You don't have to apologize to me."

Billy's face held something raw and honest, not unlike the beverage he'd offered her. "I thought it was over." She took another sip. "I thought I finally had some measure of control over my own life, but I'm still just a thing they can take and use and throw away whenever it suits them."

It was probably inappropriate, but they were way past propriety, so Billy sank a hand into her slowly drying hair, rubbing his thumb across her cheek. "You are not a thing." She started to turn her head away but he pulled her back. "No, listen to me, you are not a thing. Men do awful shit to each other, you can't help that. But you have people here, good people who care about you."

Abigail brought a hand up to cover his. "Thank you."

Billy shifted to his other knee and drew himself incrementally closer. "I can't promise it's not going to happen again, but I swear to God, no one is ever going to try without consequence again. Pierce is going to pay for this. I'm just sorry it took so long to get you out of there."

Abigail turned her face into his hand on her cheek and pressed her lips against it in a soft kiss. "I knew you'd come."

Every argument he had as to why he had no business putting his hands on this woman evaporated in an instant. He pulled her face to his, their noses brushing and lips just grazing without full contact. His nearness, his strength, the familiar scent of sweat, ocean air and hemp rope that always followed him, it all made her feel safe and wanted. They'd drifted into each other's orbits and never left, slowly circling closer and closer, and unable to leave.

She ventured closer, pressing his lips to hers in a chaste kiss that instantly sent electricity right to her core. Billy answered with a sharp breath and had an arm around her, pulling her flush to him. He deepened the kiss, groaning with the sensation of her soft body against his, her malleable lips warm and wet and open for him.

Her tin mug clattered and splashed to the floor, only half-noticed by either of them, when she brought a hand to his chest, digging into his shirt, and her other hand fisting into his short golden hair. The hand on her back covered more area than she thought possible, and she could feel the barely-restrained strength pressing into her flesh. She was nearly out of her seat as they both worked to get closer to each other. His hand drifted lower, gripping her hip and thigh, a place she didn't know she enjoyed being touched but God if it wasn't making her head spin.

Abigail teased a tongue into his mouth, which he met voraciously. The noises she was making were sending him over the edge. It had been too long, just a few stolen kisses before he set hard boundaries for himself, designed to avoid this exact scenario. He wanted her too much. It distracted him when she wasn't around, and it was downright exhausting when she was. When she smiled at him, he wasn't up to his neck in shit and piracy. He wanted her to smile. He wanted to be the one to make her smile and feel good. Judging from her tiny fingers grasping at him, now taking a more adventurous exploration of his shoulders and chest, and the sounds she was making, he was successful.

In a swirl of motion not unlike how he'd pulled her from the lagoon, Abigail found herself in his arms for a beat before he lowered her onto the bed. Her head was spinning like a top and Billy felt like the only anchorage in a storm. Her fingers laced behind his head and she was pulling him down with her, their lips parting only to find better purchase on each other. When he braced over her, he stilled. He was no longer kissing her back.

"What…?" Abigail struggled to articulate anything at all.

Billy's eyes were dark with lust and uncertainty. He brushed a curling lock of hair away from her face with a shaky hand. "I can't promise you anything."

It took her a beat to catch his meaning. "Marriage has been off the table for me since Ned Lowe."

"That's just not true." He sat back, letting his hands drift down her legs. She was still mostly covered by the towel, but he could feel the warmth radiating off her skin. His mouth felt very, very dry. "I don't know how this is all going to end. I don't even know what's going to happen tomorrow." He took her hand and turned it over in his palm, running a light touch over the abrasion. "You already got hurt because of your association with me."

Abigail took her hand back and pushed herself up on her elbows. "Spend ten minutes with Lieutenant Pierce. He was looking for a reason to hurt me and would have found one regardless."

"I don't ever want to be that reason." Billy was solemn and intense.

"I chose to come here, Billy. I could have stayed in the Carolinas and lived out my life, quiet and comfortable, but I didn't. You said yourself I built a life here with people who care about me. I know you care for me. I can't see what's so wrong about that."

Billy's eyes flickered from her face, down her body then back up to her face again. His tongue darted out to his lips and he was looking at her in a way that made her extremely aware of her state of undress. "You and me, we cross this line, there's no going back."

The quirked brow and playful lilt to her lips was all the answer he needed. No shit there was no going back, there hadn't been for a long time.

In one fluid movement, he was back, braced over her, their mouths locked together in a tongue-clashing kiss. His hand burned a trail from her knee all the way up to her ribs, where he stopped long enough to unwrap the towel, revealing the damp chemise clinging to her skin underneath.

Abigail's hips rocked against his, the delicious friction of his hardness sent her gasping into his mouth. Between Maggie, and then a significantly more informed Max, all of Abigail's puritanical dame school education and whispered gossip about what exactly went on between a man and woman had long been dispelled. The reality of Billy's weight on her, his work-roughened hands searing her skin, his short scruff of a beard now burning against her neck, where he was alternately sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin, was all so much more than she'd imagined. In truth, she hadn't fully believed either Maggie or Max. She didn't think either woman would lie to her, but she also didn't understand how it was possible to feel so much all at once.

When he palmed her breast, working the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, she saw stars. A low chuckle rumbled through his throat, vibrating from his lips against the skin at her neck. Abigail was grasping at his shirt, tugging it free from his belt and trousers. She felt clumsy, stumbling forward toward something she needed but couldn't name.

Abigail's fingers skimmed under his shirt, making contact with the hard planes of muscle from his hips up his stomach. Billy's breath caught in his throat and, damn it all, the muscles twitched and jumped under her light touch. Her hands froze, and then she giggled. "Mr. Manderly, are you ticklish?"

Billy tore himself away with a growl to pull his shirt over his head and toss it aside. He was about to issue a retort reminding her exactly which of them would have the upper hand if she really wanted to start a tickle war, but when he looked back down at her, she was biting her lip, staring up at him with eyes that had gone nearly black.

She frowned and pouted when she saw the stitching Dr. Howell had left behind, only just peeking out from under his belt. She brushed her fingers lightly over it, and his skin and muscles jumped again in response. "It's nothing," he spoke in a rushed whisper. The look on her face said that she didn't believe him, but she was also profoundly distracted by the sight he presented over her. She had seen her male peers at their sports, she had dutifully studied art; the male form was not a mystery to her. Yet, none of it compared to him.

Her fingers danced lower to his belt, and in an instant they were both fumbling with it. He gave up and returned to kissing her and tangling his hands in her hair while she worked his belt free. Following his lead, Abigail ventured her lips along Billy's jawline and down his neck. She smiled and continued trying new things with her lips and teeth and tongue when the hand fisted in her hair tightened and Billy breathed, "Oh, fuck."

Billy traced his other hand up her leg, slowly working up the hem of Abigail's chemise. He ducked his head, reluctantly breaking the contact between the sensitive skin at his throat and her increasingly skilled mouth, directing his attentions to her collarbone, pushing the shoulder of her garment off her arm. The maneuver left her exposed for only a moment before his lips captured her nipple. Every new touch and kiss and nip stoked the fire curling from her toes to her most intimate of places.

She raked her nails across the broad expanse of his shoulders and writhed beneath him. The soft keening moans she was making and her soft body rocking into him, that pert, perfect breast enjoying his attention, were more intoxicating than any drink he'd come across. It took every ounce of willpower in his body to restrain himself when all he wanted was to drive into her, claiming her in the most savage way imaginable and finally tasting the parts of her he'd dreamed of since first laying eyes on her.

His hand completed its journey up her leg, teasing at the delicate, wet folds he found. Abigail stiffened and Billy immediately halted, raising his heavy-lidded eyes up to find her wide, uncertain gaze. He lifted himself back up to her, pressing his forehead against hers. "Trust me," his voice was thick. "If you don't like it, I'll stop." I'll have to throw myself into the fucking ocean, Billy acknowledged internally.

After a moment's hesitation - a breath that, for Billy, stretched into eternity - Abigail nodded rapidly and took his mouth in a hard kiss. Thank Christ. She broke off with a gasp as he slipped a finger inside her. He watched the swirl of unmasked reactions play across her face in wonder as her mouth quivered and struggled to form some manner of coherent speech. Her hips started rocking against his hand and he continued his ministrations, curling inside her and using the flat of his palm to rub at the sensitive apex of her body.

Abigail couldn't stop reaching for more of him. Everywhere their skin touched sent ripples of pleasure that made her heart stutter and stumble. What he was doing between her legs was nearly unbearable and her body screamed for more. Between that and his lips blazing a path back down her throat, past her collarbone and lower, she felt she was coming apart at the seams. It was too much, yet not enough. She found herself begging, "Please," though not entirely sure what she was asking for.

As he meandered lower, her fingers found their way back to raking hard through his unfashionably short hair. Billy's free hand ran down her thigh to her calf, before planting a languid kiss inside her thigh. His eyes shifted up to hers. "I dreamt of this."

There was too much blood rushing anywhere but her head. Abigail couldn't quite comprehend anything other than the overwhelming sea of sensation. "What are...oh." Billy's mouth joined his hand, adding to the list of things she didn't know were options until, well, now. Her eyes nearly rolled back into her head, but she couldn't look away. No, she didn't want to look away. Watching him lick and lave between her legs felt downright wanton, but pressure was building somewhere deep inside her and she felt ever closer to that indefinable more. Her breath stuttered and she licked her lips when she realized his eyes were on hers. He made a noise somewhere between a moan and a growl that vibrated against her, and then ever so gently slid a second finger inside her.

Abigail arched against the bed, letting out a moan that rose into a soft cry. The new fullness sent her over the edge. His free hand grasped onto her hip, keeping her firmly on his lips even as she rocked against him. A world of sensation exploded through her in waves that left her gasping and crying out. Every curl of his fingers inside her and the press of his lips sent fresh sparks skyrocketing through her body. Muscles she didn't know she had tightened and spasmed of their own accord around Billy's fingers. She was trembling and struggling for breath against the waning ripples that had just shattered her.

In her euphoria, she was dimly aware that Billy had abandoned his post and was trailing light kisses along her jaw with upturned lips. "They didn't tell you about that in lady school?" His voice was raspy and hot against her ear. He was entirely too pleased with himself.

She gave a soft laugh and their lips found each other, deep and slow. She could taste herself on his lips and it made her feel deliciously shameless. The fire was already rekindling - his hands were pushing her shift up and her legs pulled him in closer to feel his hardness working against where his mouth had just been. Abigail stopped touching him long enough to let him pull the garment completely off her. Years of training piped up in a corner of her brain, crowing that she was now fully exposed. She giggled involuntarily at the thought; surely, they had been far more intimate just moments ago.

"What are you laughing about?" Billy attempted to feign seriousness, but he was still all smiles and bright teeth and twinkling blue eyes.

"I...I couldn't explain it if I tried," Abigail erupted into giggles she tried to smother with her hands, but Billy pushed her hands aside, pinning them to the bed and captured her lips with his. He released her and she resumed her eager exploration of the hard lines and cuts of muscle, so foreign to her yet innately familiar.

Her hands finally skimmed at the waist of his breeches, but this time when his skin jumped and his breath hitched, neither of them was laughing. Billy murmured a curse and tore his attention away to nearly rip his half chaps and boots from his legs - no easy feat, as he'd diligently chosen and molded the perfect combination to keep his legs and feet protected even in the worst conditions. From now on, the crew might see him barefoot on deck.

The inconvenient footwear out of the way, Billy returned his attention to Abigail - Abigail, finally, after a chance meeting, letters, months apart, false starts and every carefully constructed barrier, was in his bed. Her hair was spread out like a glossy, dark, curling halo, a sharp contrast from the pale soft skin he'd exposed. Her time in Nassau had given her arms and cheeks a light golden tan, and at just that moment, she was flushed, lips swollen and pink. Gazing down at her, still tasting her on his tongue, Billy considered for perhaps the hundredth time since he started kissing her that if this was a dream, he'd kill whomever had the misfortune to wake him up. No, she was too bright, too sweet, too soft and at turns too hard. In none of his dreams had they ever laughed together like this, and his mind had certainly never been able to conjure what she might taste like, or how the sweat would bead on her sun-dappled skin, or how she'd lean into his every touch.

No, this was no dream. But he did have designs on the individual who left faded purplish bruises along her ribs.

Abigail's attention drifted lower. Her tongue felt heavy and dry in her mouth and her heart thundered in her ears. She brushed her palm over his now extremely prominent hardness, then grew bolder with a tentative grasp that set him moaning and clenching a fist into the sheets. She pushed him further, stroking him over his trousers, and leaned up to take his earlobe between her teeth, gently nipping and sucking. Every muscle in his body had gone rigid and he muttered a stream of curses; if she kept doing that, he wasn't going to last much longer.

He pulled away just enough to divest himself of the last article of clothing keeping them apart, and was back on her, cradling her face in his hands and taking her mouth with his again. Abigail was rocking her hips against him, moaning low in her throat at the new sensations that threatened to tip her into that shattering abyss Billy had already shown her. Billy ran his hands down the length of her body, one stopped at her hip and with the other he took himself in hand. He had stopped kissing her and was looking at her with a question in his eyes he didn't need to verbalize. She only needed to move her chin ever so slightly up and down. He pressed his forehead to hers and slowly, with more self-control than he knew he possessed, he pushed into her.

Her hands dug into the muscles of his back and she sucked in her breath. This was quite a bit more than what he had done with his fingers. He rocked in and out, each time going a little deeper as her body stretched to accommodate him. She thought she surely must be drawing blood down his back, but she could scarcely breathe, let alone will her hands to release their hold on him. The feeling of him inside her lay somewhere between pleasure and pain, but she didn't want him to stop. She cried out when she felt a sharp cramp and Billy froze over her, his face fell into immediate concern but he was as incapable of speech in that moment as she was.

The pain subsided into a dull ache, masked by the foreign pleasure of fullness as her body adjusted to him. "Are you...are…" his throaty voice stumbled and caught on itself. Abigail answered him by sliding her hands down his torso to his hips and grinding against him, bringing him deeper inside and eliciting a string of expletives. A stroke, then another, and he was fully seated inside her. He stayed like that for a moment, clutching her against him with a hand on her bottom and reveling in the sensation of being buried to the hilt in her. Her. It was still not a dream. She was tight and wet and his in the most primal fashion.

Abigail continued rocking her body into his, thrilling in the obvious effect and power she had over him. Their pace increased, near frantic. Every curse and guttural noise conjured from his throat sent a fresh spike of triumph through her and egged her onwards. He dwarfed her, not simply tall but broad and thick with muscle and heavy between her legs. He would have no trouble taking what he wanted, but in this, since the moment he first crashed his lips against hers, he sought permission every step of the way. Every move she made, so much as a muscle twitch, earned an immediate impassioned response.

Right here and now, she held all sway over William Bones Manderly.

She was dragging her teeth against the hollow of his throat when he found his release inside her. His powerful hands brought her as tight to him as possible and feeling him spasming inside her sent her crying out with him. He kept her locked tight to him as his body slowly relaxed, unwilling to part with all the nice feelings that apparently came with having Abigail Ashe wrapped around him.

Conscious of his weight and rapidly depleting energy, Billy eased himself onto his back, taking Abigail with him. He closed his eyes and stroked her hair, her shoulders, her arms, her hips, her bottom, anywhere his hand could lazily wander as he struggled to rein in his labored breathing. He could feel her heart still hammering against his chest. With a gentle sigh, Abigail nestled herself into the crook of his arm, her free hand tracing light patterns across his chest. The sudden loss of her around him was almost painful, but the contented noise she made and the way she fit so neatly against him warmed a feeling in his heart he didn't know he had.

Reason and coherent thought were slowly returning to both of them. Abigail thought she would - should - feel more ashamed; ashamed of what she'd done, ashamed to be with a man to whom she was not married, laid completely bare. But the shame she had been so sure of wasn't coming. Instead, she felt complete and satiated, if a little sore. His breathing grew more steady under her cheek and she found her lips turning up in a faint smile against him.

Ned Lowe muddied the waters of her life by ripping her from one trajectory onto another, and at this very moment she could kiss the awful man. She knew, like all of her school peers knew, that upon reaching her majority, her father would send for her, she'd make the rounds during the social season and then be married off according to whichever match made the most financial profit for all involved parties. It was all hardly a recipe for filling the gaps left behind by her broken little family.

Billy's fingers tilted Abigail's chin until she was shyly looking up at him from under her lashes. The lust-induced haze was fully cleared and now he studied her, his brows knitted in concern. "Are you alright?"

Abigail's eyes sparkled with mischief. Was she alright? After nearly two years of knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt that she would never feel for anyone what she felt for Billy, and now months of this torturous standoff in which he would see her without seeing her, she finally had him in the most tangible and real manner possible, and he was worried that she wasn't alright.

She pushed herself up enough to press an unhurried kiss against his lips. She could feel his heart already speeding up in his chest. "Yes," she smiled and broke the kiss. "I'm fine."

He still looked a shade worried. "I know it hurt. It won't hurt like that again, or, well, it shouldn't."

His concern was endearing. She'd had hushed, illicit conversations with friends who'd gotten married. They had been quick to grimace and hiss with disgust quick words of pain and discomfort and a generally awful experience. Max, on the other hand, had softened to a nearly maternal warmth and gently explained exactly what happened, why it might hurt and exactly how much it didn't have to hurt, especially after the first time. Max also quietly offered her services should "Mr. Bones finally drop the pretense."

"Truly, Abigail," she smiled and spoke with her lilting French accent, "you might be the most powerful woman on all of Nassau."

"And how is that?" Abigail cast a skeptical eye.

"If you let Mr. Bones into your bed, we may never see him again. The Brethren will no longer have their instigator and kingmaker, the resistance will fall apart and you will have handed us all neatly back to English rule."

Abigail had nearly spit out her tea.

Now she lay with him, and she wondered about the dichotomy of the man stroking her hair and checking to make sure she was alright. She knew what he did for the Brethren, in service to a cause to overthrow English law. She had seen first hand what he was capable of. He always seemed so certain she would turn him away, that one day she would finally decide she could no longer bear his presence knowing what he was. With her, though, he was like this; gentle, sweet, considerate.

She could now see what Max had meant. When the man committed himself to something, he committed.

His fingers tangled in her hair and his frowning, concentrated effort to disentangle them without pulling or disturbing her sent her into giggles, which Billy joined in a low, rumbling laugh.

"I didn't finish washing my hair," Abigail explained when the laughter died down. "I must look like something that washed up in a storm."

"We're just going to have to go back to the lagoon and finish the job. As many baths as it takes." Billy's gaze turned heated before his mouth quirked. "You're gonna start looking like a member of the crew if we don't get you cleaned up. I'll have to put you to work."

Abigail's mouth fell open. "You wouldn't dare."

Billy started to argue that he would indeed, if only to see her pretty bottom in boy's breeches running around the deck, but he gave into a wide smile. "You're right, I wouldn't. You had me so distracted, I almost fell out of the rigging on the Siren. Hit my head on a boom and damn near knocked myself unconscious. Crew made fun of me for weeks after."

His chest warmed even as her brown eyes bubbled over with giggles. "Oh, it's funny to you is it?" He raised his chin indignantly, but his wide grin betrayed him. Abigail could only nod through her laughter. Flushed and glowing, her lips were still swollen from kissing. Every time he thought he'd seen her at her most beautiful, he saw her again. Billy captured her mouth with his, slow and deep, then pulled back, stroking her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"I misspoke, earlier."

"What do you mean?" Abigail quirked her head. Most of what had been said between them hours ago was now lost in the foamy sea of delicious pleasure that had finally boiled over.

Billy studied her, carefully considering his next words. "I said I couldn't promise you anything." Her eyes lit with understanding. "That's not true. I love you. I don't know what I can do about that; my name's no good, but I do love you. Shoulda said it a while ago."

A soft smile graced her lips and she ran a hand down his coarsely stubbled jaw. "I know. I knew." Billy visibly relaxed and continued stroking her jaw, her cheeks, her lips, her hair. "I love you."

In a quick movement, he had her laying on top of him, sinking his tongue into her mouth. She moaned as his hands pulled her hips against his. Billy pulled his head back suddenly, eliciting a rather adorable scrunched and confused frown. "Thank God, because you're stuck with me now."

His sky blue eyes twinkled up at her and his humor teased at the corners of his full lips.

Abigail could live with being stuck with Billy Manderly.

Woodes raised his eyes from the papers laid out before his unscrupulous guests with a glint of amusement. He'd dedicated his life to stopping piracy, but that didn't mean he couldn't appreciate their style.

When in doubt, they would always look for more than what was in front of them. That was a sentiment he could respect.

Sometimes what they were looking for was what he least expected.

"Can you repeat that, Mr. Manderly?" He almost had to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep from grinning at the man seated across from him. Even Eleanor was hiding her face by keeping her attentions out the window. Captain Silver was side-eyeing his first mate with his mouth open. He clamped it shut with a resigned sigh and kept his hands steepled over his chest. They would have words about this later.

"You heard me." Billy cocked an ankle over his knee and nodded pointedly at the documents he'd just been offered. "I'm not asking much."

Woodes pursed his lips and assented. "It'll take a few days to put together, but I don't see why not."

"Well, if that is all Billy has left to say on the matter," Silver shot his friend a long-suffering look, "I believe we're done here."

Before Silver or Billy gathered their carefully negotiated documents, Woodes stayed them with a raised hand. "I don't know about you gentlemen, but I think this all around calls for a drink."

Eleanor set out glasses and a decanter of dark brandy, but let them pour their own drinks after she filled her own glass.

Woodes raised his glass. "To keeping the Spanish off our island, and prosperous unions."

Everyone toasted to that.

Silver let Billy walk next to him through the town center in silence. Billy always trimmed his steps to accommodate Silver's limping gate.

He stopped when Silver stopped, turning to look at his former captain with a confused brow.

"Billy, we left you alone with the girl for three days. What the fuck?"

Despite his size and the violence Silver had seen Billy inflict, the man still managed to blush and shrug like a little boy without actually answering the question.

Silver couldn't fight it. He grinned and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Good job, mate. Way to make the most out of a negotiation."

Four weeks passed after Abigail Ashe mysteriously escaped from her imprisonment, conveniently after Governor Rogers and Eleanor Guthrie's visit. Of course, Pierce couldn't pin anything on either of them. Abigail's escape wasn't noticed until well after three bells at the mid watch, hours after his guests had departed, seemingly satisfied with their inspection of her treatment.

It grated on Pierce that he couldn't simply arrest at least the Guthrie woman, who clearly had a hand in Abigail's escape. He couldn't arrest the governor without solid evidence, and the crown was in no hurry to issue any warrants over the matter.

He couldn't even conduct a search of the island for his wayward prisoner. Rogers had gently reminded him of the limits of his authority in Nassau and until the crown declared martial law, he was not responsible for law enforcement on the island.

Pierce had been chided and struck like a wayward child. Oh yes, it grated on him. He refocused his efforts on organizing the militia and remaining colonial naval forces. For the past two weeks, he had the Antilles on roving patrols in the waters around New Providence. Their captures of small pirate sloops had been little consolation for the Brethren prize he'd had in his hands - chained up in his cabin - just a few weeks earlier.

In fact, these little patrols were the only thing going right. His men sent to ambush the Brethren never reported back, but Billy Bones and others he knew to have been part of the crew who walked into jungle had been seen around the town.

It did little to dwell on failures, however. Rather, they were learning opportunities, chances to better one's self and situation. He would not underestimate the Brethren again, not their connections or land fighting prowess, at least.

"Sails!" a voice called from the crow's nest, followed by an instant, seamless flurry of activity. A hand passed the glass to Lieutenant Pierce without having to be told and pointed in the direction the watchman had also pointed.

"She's floundered, Sir," his first mate declared.

Indeed, the ship in his glass was listing badly. Her sails hung limp and useless, a tangle of lines kept them from doing stirring little more than a sad flutter in the wind. The Union Jack flew proud at the stern still, perhaps a bit tattered. It was hard to tell at their distance.

"Could be a pirate trap," the first mate continued.

"If that is a trap," Pierce lowered the glass, "it's the worst trap I've ever seen. They can't have more than 10 guns on that ship, her sails aren't fit and they're carrying enough water, she'll be sunk in hours. They'd be hard-pressed to put up a fight."

His first mate only shrugged and turned to bark out orders to the men. They would approach with caution. He was right - a ship like this could present a number of dangers. Nothing stirred above decks to give any clue as to what happened. The hold could be packed tight with disease-ridden corpses, or a crew of desperate pirates ready to make a stand.

They were also nearly dead center between New Providence and a tiny atoll, and on a strong wind. A ship lying in wait, out of sight, could be on them while they investigated the floundered wreck before they'd have a chance to cut away and mount a defense. He wouldn't admit these risks to the crew, though. They were too used to the loose way of things in the Caribbean. They needed a reminder of the English way. On this boat, he was their captain. He didn't need their suggestions, he needed them to follow orders.

The Antilles came gently alongside the beleaguered ship. It actually looked worse up close. Lines were secured and gangplanks leveled between the two vessels. The first mate lead a small crew across first, clearing the deck. At his, "All clear!" Trent made his way across the rickety, rolling wood, closely followed by the rest of his crew.

"Sir!" a voice called his attention toward the quarterdeck. He shoved his way through the small throng of sailors and found a huddled figure, cowering and trembling near the ladder well. The skirts and size indicated it was a woman, but her clothing was so wretched and a shawl shielded her hair and face from view.

Trent reached a hand out to her shoulder. "Ma'am? Are you alright?"

She was up so quickly Trent nearly dropped to his bottom. The sailors reeled back, hands flew to their respective weapons. She threw the shawl off in a flash of shining dark hair and leveled a cocked pistol in Trent's face, smirking none too prettily.

"Hello, Trent," Abigail ignored the clicks of pistols around them.

Trent raised his hands. The muscles in his jaw were cracking painfully. "Miss Ashe, this is most surprising."

"Is it?" She feigned ignorance, still disinterested in the armed sailors encircling them. "Here I thought you were hoping to see more of me."

Trent huffed and fixed his hat, then straightened his rumpled coat. "I thought you'd be halfway to Cuba, or maybe Saint Augustine by now. I hear Spain is open to English traitors."

A tall figure materialized from the ladder well, pistol drawn and a hand on his sword. The sailors who had accompanied Pierce shifted and turned uncomfortably, unsure of where to point their weapons or the severity of the danger. Pierce's shoulders slumped.

"That's a serious accusation, Lieutenant," Billy said, sidling alongside Abigail. "I ask you to watch your tone around my wife."

Pierce scoffed, then barked a laugh. He gave a mocking bow to the couple with all the flourish of his upbringing. "I believe congratulations are in order! Tell me, was the ceremony conducted by Blackbeard with only pirates as witnesses, or was it a full tribal affair with the Maroons?"

Billy flashed a smile and exchanged an amused glance with Abigail over her shoulder. "Oh, they were at the party, but the ceremony was witnessed by Governor Rogers. Wouldn't want anyone questioning the legality of the proceedings, you understand."

"Is that what all this is about?" Pierce squinted skeptically around the wrecked ship. "You could have sent a letter."

Billy pressed his lips together and whistled. After a beat, shouts sounded from the Antilles, even a few gunshots. Pirates swarmed out of hiding on the listing ship and even Trent's own men whipped their weapons around on each other. Only a handful held a pathetic defense. Abigail involuntarily giggled at Trent's open-mouthed gaping at the unfolding scene.

"Oh, no, Rogers signed a few other documents while he was at it. I'm here to arrest you for the theft of a colonial vessel."

The smaller man blanched. His men were already dropping their weapons and raising their hands. Hardly a shot had been fired. "How the fuck…"

"The deal still stands?" Trent's own first mate cocked his head in question at Billy. "A place on your crew or safe passage back to Nassau?"

"Aye," Billy grinned.

Trent snarled up at him, "After all this shit, every man you've murdered, you took a fucking pardon?"

"A pardon?" Abigail snickered.

"We got something a sight better." Billy clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to send him stumbling. "I got a letter of marque to stop you from making off with this ship." Billy crouched to a knee to get level with Trent's felled figure. "I got another letter authorizing me to use it in defense of colonial interests. The men voted, you're out. I'm now the captain of the Antilles and I'll be taking my ship."

"Gunn!" Billy called. "Secure the men who've surrendered in the hold."

"Aye, Cap'n," Ben Gunn cheerfully replied, already corralling the sailors who wanted no part of the colonial deal.

Trent pushed himself to his feet and raised his pistol at Billy. "I will not have this. You have no authority-"

"Rogers begs to differ," Billy cut him off. He flicked his gaze down to the gun, then back to Pierce's face. "Apparently, you were supposed to leave with the rest of the royal fleet. Committed a little piracy of your own." Billy leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Was it just because you wanted Rogers' house, or because you wanted an excuse to keep my wife chained up in your quarters?"

"You and that whore can go fuck your-"

Billy's fist cracked against Trent's jaw before he could finish that thought. The gun clattered uselessly to the deck and Trent was sent reeling back to his knees. "I told you to watch your mouth."

Billy towered over Trent, his fist still clenched, when Abigail's hand came to rest on his arm. He tore his gaze away and already felt lighter looking down at her face. With the pistol tucked into her belt, ocean-worn skirt and shirt, she almost looked like a member of the crew.

"What do you want to do with him?" Billy asked just loudly enough for Abigail to hear him over the hustle and bustle of the crew getting the Antilles ready to make sail.

Abigail pursed her lips and frowned thoughtfully. "You were advised to arrest him, were you not?"

"Meh," Billy shrugged. "He put up a struggle. Anything can happen out here, Rogers knows that."

Trent's eyes widened and flew between the couple, calmly discussing not arresting him.

Billy turned and cupped Abigail's cheek. "Whatever you want to do, sweetheart. It's up to you."

She stared up at him. On the rolling waves, he was steady and firm. In the weeks that had followed their interlude in the jungle, Billy had cemented himself in her life in more ways than one, in more ways than she had ever dared hope.

They discussed it quietly at first. Billy tentatively broached the subject of whether or not Abigail would like some manner of restitution for the crimes committed against her. She knew what sort of restitution Billy and the Brethren would deliver. The remaining threads of her upbringing balked at the brutality of it, but they were silenced by the overwhelming memories of the repeated violations she'd suffered.

As they lay in bed, he had held her, stroking her hair and pressing his full lips against her forehead. "It's not going to make you feel better, not really. It feels more like...closing a door you don't ever have to open again."

So now she could close this door. She held her chin high over the trembling man who had taken such pleasure in hurting and humiliating her. In his eyes, she saw flashes of Lowe and Vane. With all these sailors about, the two boats were crowded with witnesses who would know Abigail Manderly was not a thing to be taken and used.

"How long did you say this boat has before it sinks?" She blinked innocently up at her husband.

"Half a day," Billy ventured, "maybe a full day before she goes under."

Abigail lowered herself to a crouch, so she could speak to Trent at eye level. "Captain Manderly, have your man fetch some irons." She made the request without looking away from Trent's pale face. "Lieutenant Pierce, I believe you are a danger to yourself. This is for your own good, I'm sure you understand."

Trent was rapidly shaking his head and spitting negatives and denials and promises and anything he could think of that might get him out of the end he already knew was coming. Two sailors appeared and began the process of trussing him up, even as he struggled.

"Wait," Abigail held out her hand. Trent nearly deflated, breathing his gratitude. "Trent, I want you to know," she smiled and his heart lifted. She was a merciful lady, after all, "I want you to know exactly how it feels to be at someone else's mercy. I want you to watch the door and count the seconds, praying for the moment your rescue will come, until you drown in it. Chain him to the desk in the captain's cabin."

Trent blanched, then boiled over, flushing red with anger. "This is piracy! You'll all hang for this!"

Billy pulled a folded parchment from his belt and thwapped Trent's nose with it. "No, mate, this is privateering. You heard the lady," he jerked his chin in the direction of the cabin and his men took up pushing and dragging the nearly feral officer away.

Abigail watched until they were out of sight. Billy watched Abigail in turn. He didn't know if this was the right thing to do, he only knew what had helped quell the rage and fear in him. He waited for the reality to set in. Would she rail against him for leading her down such a dark path? Would she weep that he hadn't taken her off this path?

She looked up at him with clear eyes and a calm expression. "You were right. I'm not sure I feel better, but I feel...I feel like it's over."

They were almost ready to get underway. Billy lead her back over the gangplank to his new ship, before he pulled her into his arms. "I'm sorry I can't offer you anything better."

A laugh bubbled out of her throat. "I'm free, and I'm with you. I couldn't ask for anything more."

He bent to kiss her, but a voice stopped him. "Where are we headin', Bones?" Gunn smirked at them.

"Home," Billy ground out. "And it's Captain, now."

"Right, Captain Bones." Gunn smiled wider.

Gunn was gone, shouting orders before Billy could finish shaking his head and insisting, "No, don't you dare start calling me that!"

"They all call you that." Abigail patted his chest.

The sails unfurled, whipping great swaths of canvas against the wind. Within moments, they were moving and the slowly sinking wreck they'd abandoned Trent to was fading from vision and memory.

Abigail stepped to the starboard rail, facing nothing but open ocean as far as she could see. Billy sidled next to her, wrapping a massive arm lazily around her waist.

"What's next?" Abigail let the breeze cool her face. Sitting on that wrecked boat had been stifling.

Billy's arm tightened and he pulled her closer.

"Let's go home."