Gundam Girl: Well, here it is. My pirate fic. I promise, I did do the
research for this! But a lot of the knowledge came from my uncle, who's
really into the 1800's and stuff, so thanks Uncle Doug!
Disclaimer: I be not claiming to own Gundam Wing, ye scallywags. Yargh!
Raonaid: She's a bit more into it than I imagined. . .
Warnings: R. A bit of couple confusion, no doubt some cursing violence. Drinking, attempted rape, tall tales, sexual innuendo. I think I covered it all.
*~Upper Class~*
He fancied it, for many reasons. The texture, the thickness, the gold swirling in red if the light hit it just right. But he was far from being obsessed with it, nor drunk with it. More, it seemed that his companion would be in a very short time, thanks to the favored red wine he had bought for him.
Treize Khushrenada chuckled into his goblet. If it was a mistake to give the young Governor Quatre Raberba Winner such a generous amount of alcohol the very day his engagement had been announced, then it was the young master himself who would pay for it, not he. His golden hair had been mussed with trembling hands before he had sipped the wine, however, and his original intention was to calm him, not intoxicate him.
Although, Treize though with amusement, Master Winner was certainly making no complaints about being taken far from his usual sober, clear-thinking state of mind.
"She's a fine lady, Quatre. She's beautiful, intelligent, obedient, well endowed. . ." The duke halted his list of positive adjectives when Quatre's face turned a deeper shade of scarlet not caused by the wine. "And, well, she's your fiance, and I would not expect less than a dagger to pierce both of my eyes for speaking of her quite obviously tempting appearance."
Quatre slid his goblet across the table. "You give your drink too freely, my lord. It has me wanting to voice my agreement."
Treize laughed wholeheartedly. "And so you should! It is not every day a man is told he will marry the sister of a nobleman such as Milliardo Peacecraft, a fine baron and friend of mine."
"I do not question her loveliness, Treize, for her face can be likened to an angel." Quatre pressed a hand to his forehead and decided he would leave soon and make for an early nightcap. "And yet with only a painting of her sent to my library it is difficult to really know the spirit inside her angelic body."
"The spirit is an angel's as well."
"So you have met Miss Relena then?"
Treize set his hands flat-palmed on the table clothed in pristine white lace. "I have met her once. Yet it was three years ago that I did, when she was a lady barely having stepped into womanhood. She's one of good manners, and fiery independence. She'll not depend on you for her emotional pleasure, I fear. If it is a question of yours, I do not doubt that she has been not tarnished, Quatre. She will come to you untouched, Milliardo would have seen to that."
Quatre shot to his feet, stumbled for a moment, and then stared at his longtime friend with wide blue eyes that had dimmed a bit of its bright intelligence. He looked as though he would very much like to slide to the floor with fled consciousness. "It was not a question of mine, Treize!" he exclaimed, startled, his face pink to his neck now. "I've not thought for a moment of Miss Relena's. . . Of her. . . Of our wedding night!" he sputtered.
"Come now, my friend, of course you have. You are a man."
Yes, he was a man, and yes, admittedly, he had given a thought to possible - more than probable - lovemaking between Miss Peacecraft and himself. "Your attention flatters me," he said sarcastically.
Oh, what an influence of drink could do to a man, Treize thought. Particularly those of supreme manners such as the one wobbling on his feet right now; he realized it may have been an evil to intoxicate Raberba Winner and chase away his politeness.
"Do not worry yourself, Quatre. God shall not send you to heat and flame for such thoughts." Treize took another sip from his own goblet. "Miss Relena is to do that for you."
Quatre shook his head. "Your speech flows nicely from your groin, Treize. I'm certain if my lady Anne knew of your talk-"
"She would demonstrate my meaning," Khushrenada interrupted, sending more color to Quatre's cheeks. "You will not be on your feet much longer, friend. Do go home and rest yourself from your exerting day."
"I shall, thanks not to you, Duke. This is an accursed drink."
Treize smiled. "I shall see to it that it flows merrily on the day you wed the child, Master Winner. Good night to you."
"And you as well." Proudly stumbling one time alone, Quatre left the dining room and made to the door where his carriage waited in the rain outside.
Once the sound of hoof-beats had faded from Treize's ears, he turned to the doorway of the dining room. "Anne," he said softly, and a woman with long brown hair that fell neatly about her shoulders entered at his call. "Would you finish Master Winner's cup, dearest?"
"I shall, my lord." Lady Anne Khushrenada sat gracefully down by his side and proceeded to sip from the abandoned goblet. "And then, my darling?"
Treize's smile, which had not failed to stay in place, widened. "And then, perhaps you could carry out the meaning I was trying to make clear to Master Winner."
***
A gold richer than any coin touched his face with the faintest of chills brought on by the newly-begun morning. Overhead stars still twinkled, a pale full moon was dissipating between them, and the sun continued to steadily raising, making the gold stretch further and further across the vast ocean the color of a thousand sapphires.
He could prove that, even, because there was no doubt a thousand sapphires and more in his cargo hold.
"A satisfying view this morning is it, Captain?"
Wufei Chang, a man dressed in loose tan trousers and a matching vest over a white shirt squinted at the stretch of land that had been spotted almost thirty minutes earlier. "I expect we shall arrive at Kent in near sixty minutes, sir."
"Aye, Dover will be an opportune choice of location to harbor. Prep the crew to weight anchor in an hour, Mr. Chang."
"Aye, sir."
His crew was not large, nor was his ship. But Captain Heero Yuy did not need excessive materials; they would be but a hindrance to him.
Trowa Barton, his sister Catherine, Duo Maxwell, his wife Hilde, Wufei, and his wife Sally were enough to raid any small island or other ship. They did not often weight anchor. Duo had once claimed it too heavy to take the trouble to lower it only to lift it again later. That was one of the reasons they stayed cast out away from the shore. Another was merely because it was home.
"Trowa!" Heero heard the fair, redheaded Catherine call from below deck, most likely from the kitchen. "Bring me another sack of potatoes or you'll not get any breakfast this morning!"
There was a scurrying from the cabin Heero knew was beneath where he stood on deck, and he could hear Trowa hurry to do his sister's bidding. Barton had struggled for almost a year now, anxious to do whatever would please Catherine, who was the widow of Michael Bloom, a man who had served in the king of England's court. He had been against the instant execution of pirates and once he'd died, Trowa could not bare to leave his sister by herself in Bloom's gigantic mansion in Berkshire. And so Catherine had joined the crew and worked as a cook and fellow pillager of anything that fetched a pretty penny.
Old sailors' tales declared it poor fortune to bring any female on board a ship, yet Heero had always dismissed that as cowardly superstition, and thus he had gained three women on his vessel, the Ivory Damsel. Female they were, and as sinful and coarse-tongued as any men. Heero valued all three of them as much as he did his males.
Because pirates were pirates, and nary a soul could change who they were.
"Captain Yuy." A light-haired, tan-skinned lass with parted hair tied in two twists stood on the top step of the staircase that led below deck. Sally Chang smiled. "Good morning to you, sir. Cathy's just said your breakfast is coolin' and I s'pose you'll be wanting a bite of vittles before we get to shore. Why don't you come and eat now?"
Heero nodded, his dark brown hair swaying gently in the salt-scented breeze. "I'll do so, Sally, and go and wake-"
"Damn you, Duo, you yella' coward!" screamed a raging, female voice from beneath them. "I'll not threaten to slice your hair this time, nay! I'll have your whole head, and toss it to the asses you were born with!"
Sally laughed and led him down the stairs. "It seems the Maxwells are already awake, sir."
Heero's own mouth smirked. "All right. Instead, let them know we approach Dover, and have Duo calm his wife before all the folk of Kent wake too early for my liking."
***
The beat of hoofs clopping on a dirt road. Birds singing. The creaking of carriage wheels.
The vehicle hit a bump in the road, and Relena Peacecraft startled from her sleep. Beside her, two of her maids stirred.
"Forgiveness, please, Miss Relena!" shouted the voice of the carriage's driver, Walker.
Relena drew back the curtain of the door's window and bright late morning sunlight filtered in from outside, and she craned her neck out to look at Walker. "Where are we?" she called up to him, her voice a little hoarse from having not spoken yet.
"Only about a quarter of an hour from Dover, my lady. You should carry on if you wish to freshen a bit before we arrive. I'll stop in a minute or two that you may dress, Miss."
"Thank you." When Relena turned, both of her maids, Christine and Marietta, had woken and were digging through kerchiefs looking for supplies to primp their mistress's appearance for the day.
As soon as a comb began to ease to the snarls in her long hair the color of the setting sun, Relena remembered why she had been traveling in this carriage since yesterday morn.
Lord Quatre Raberba, the newly elected governor of Kent was established in Dover. As it were, he had just arrived back from a month-long trip to Sussex and would be home just long enough for her to wed him: a grand total of five days.
She sighed as Walker held true to his vow and the carriage stopped. She, Christine and Marietta stood and Walker quickly handed in one of Relena's trunks before shutting the door again.
It was difficult enough, Relena thought in irritation, to put on a corset at all, let alone do it slightly bent so her head would not hit the roof on of the carriage. Christine was also kneeling on the seat of the carriage because Relena's feet and her trunk took up the room on the floor. Marietta slipped her into a lovely lavender gown after Christine had seen to it that the tight material that efficiently prohibited her diaphragm from expanding disrupted her breathing. Her hair was quickly and elegantly piled on her head and the correct amount of makeup and jewelry was applied before the carriage continued into Dover.
Relena waited to put on her shoes until Walker opened the door of the carriage to assist her in stepping out. It would be painful to wear the small, pointy-toed pieces of leather all day, but she had been taught the importance of first impressions; and the impression Governor Winner received was to last both of them the rest of her life.
Upon being greeted by a butler who went by the name of Peygan, Relena discovered that her groom-to-be was not presently at home. A small measure of annoyance was paramount before the surprise. For some reason, it was not at all news that the governor was not inside the expansive mansion, and Relena was unaffected when she entered the house that would be her home from this day forth.
Her belongings were carried inside and upstairs a chamber separate from Master Winner's until Sunday, when they would recite the vows Relena could think of as only a decree of her imprisonment. Whether Winner felt this way or didn't was to be found out - provided he returned relatively soon.
And alas, that was not to be. After Relena had sat straight-backed and prim in a decorative parlor for nearly an hour, doing naught but sipping tea, fanning herself from the heat, and causing her body to long for movement, Peygan returned and announced that Master Winner would not be able to arrive home again until five o' clock, precisely three hours and forty-seven minutes. Relena knew, for she had made a poor attempt to chase away boredom for the past sixty by staring at the slowly moving hands of the grandfather clock in the foyer beside the door.
"But my lord feared that you would not be entertained, Miss Relena," Peygan told her, "and he requested that I escort you through the village and buy you something you like as a welcoming present."
Relena smiled; Walker, however, moved forward from his position by the window. "Peygan, sir, I must protest against such an idea. I am sure his honor the governor wishes well for Miss Relena, but Master Peacecraft trusted me with his sibling's protection. Surely a common village street is no place for a noble young woman such as Miss Relena."
Peygan's smile only grew warmer. "No need to fret, young man," he assured him, "no need to fret. Master Winner knows Dover very well, and the people in the village are as courteous as any aristocrat."
"But I do not think it wise-"
"Come now, Walker," Relena chided, fanning herself a bit more energetically now. "My brother trusts you with my life, yes. But my brother must also trust Peygan with it now that he is to be in my service."
Walker looked as though he very badly wanted to further his reasons for her not to leave the mansion, but his position forbade it, and so he kept his tongue still. "Yes, of course, Miss Relena. I shall not intrude."
"Thank you very much." She nodded to him and accepted Peygan's arm. Together they walked out of the house and into the bright sunlight of the afternoon. "Is there anywhere particularly interesting?" she asked.
Peygan chuckled. "I'm afraid there are no balls or parties on Master Winner's agenda until the day of your wedding, Miss Relena. Do stay patient with him."
"Forgive me, I did not specify. I meant is there anywhere in the village - that is public - that would amuse me?"
"Oh, gracious, Miss! If it is restaurants you speak of, it is not in my place to accompany you to one. But here, other - establishment - are quite questionable. Pubs and diners, Miss, I would advise against getting too near those areas."
She supposed she should have heeded the old man. He knew this city well, and she knew nothing of it except that it smelled of salt and sweat and sunlight and that its governor would be her husband in less than one week. Yet when Peygan's back was turned as he counted out shillings to pay for the bracelet she claimed she wanted as the welcoming present from Master Winner, she carefully lifted her skirts and slipped away, darting into the nearest pub in quest of something to quench her parched throat.
The pub was noisy with the music played by a mandarin player with a goatee in the corner and the yells and catcalls of the patrons that filled the tables and bar. Relena felt the slightest bit queasy with the overbearing scent of smoke and whiskey that attacked her nostrils. Suddenly. . .this place did not seem the ideal location for entertainment. However, she thought with a wave of enthusiasm rushing through her, she felt it was the ideal place for excitement.
She wanted to feel herself of a part of it, but that was quite impossible; dressed in an expensive day gown, carrying a parasol trimmed in lace, and carrying a purse filled with several more shillings than the average worker received in three years, there was no way she could feel at place with this lower class.
Relena was brought out of her silent meditation by the feeling of chilled liquid on her back. With a scream, she whirled, and pressed a hand to her heart.
"Damn you, Trowa, you've gone and made me waste half my glass," said a man whose back was to her while he cursed another man who seemed less than completely sober. "None would guess you're clumsy drunk. Now what've we done?" The man turned, and Relena met eyes of a most extraordinary blue.
He was dressed in trousers of a brown a shade or two lighter than his hair, and a sheathed saber was strapped to his waist; his skin, rich and rough and tan, set off his blue loose-sleeved shirt against his vest the same brown as his pants, and forced his eyes to be impossibly more noticeable than they would have been had he been with no shirt at all.
The idea sent pink to Relena's cheeks, and she lowered her gaze to the filthy floor beneath her costly shoes. She was suddenly very aware how unfitting it was for her to be here. Here, standing before a. . .a man who, she realized now, was no more than a pirate.
"Well now." While the lass he'd soiled with his drink scrutinized his face, Heero allowed himself a generous sweep of her whole self. A small woman she was, though not as small as Hilde, and quite fortunate in the giving of appearance. Her tiny waist flared into nicely curved hips underneath that lovely skirt, and the bodice he was certain he'd ruined stretched across ample breasts. Her hair, secured tightly on her head seemed to be spun of pure gold, and he was an excellent judge of gold. However, he realized with a bit of a smirk, he suddenly wouldn't have minded seeing that golden-spun hair cascade down her shoulders and back.
Heero returned his eyes to her face again, which only lifted from the floor when he spoke.
"Apologies, milady. Things so fine as yourself are seen scarce in places such as this, and if I had seen you visible in this mad house, I would have been convinced you weren't real and would have stumbled into you and spilled in any case."
Relena blinked. She couldn't grasp what this pirate meant to tell her. Was he saying he wished for forgiveness, that he didn't think her important, or that he saw her as lovely? "You. . ." She paused when she realized her voice would need to be forced from her mouth. "It was an accident," she gasped out. "This will wash out if I leave quickly. . ."
Heero smirked. He would have a little fun the short time he had to himself. Lifting a hand, he carelessly settled it on her shoulder and slid a finger down the length of her bare arm to her wrist. The finger continued to circle on the back of her hand. "Nay, woman. You wander this pub with no man, and as well dressed as you are, and so beautiful. . ." He raised his finger, this time, to her cheek and falsely caressed it. "One may think you had hoped to bump into me, or any other man with a coin on him."
Relena scrambled to figure the meaning of that assumption. Once she did, her eyes narrowed. "How dare you!" she exclaimed and didn't notice Heero's mounting amusement. "Dare you insult me! Dare you take me so commonly, sir!"
"Hush, darling, they'll hear you over the din."
She didn't want to hush, she wanted to grow louder. The foolish commoner, to so blatantly presume she had intended to catch his eye like one of the many wench's who strutted round the pub.
"Miss Relena!"
Relena gasped, her eyes leaving Heero and focusing on Peygan, who had just entered the pub looking positively frazzled.
Peyan, seeing Heero, drew a pistol from his jacket pocket. "Unhand her!" he commanded sharply, his bushy eyebrows lowering.
Heero's mouth fell open, then grinned. "Relax, good fellow. It's only her face I'm touching. It isn't as though I'm doing this." With a quick move of his arm, he had her pressed up against him, breasts flattening against his chest.
"Scoundrel!" Relena exclaimed in reaction, though her face warmed.
Peygan shook with rage. "Release her!" he demanded again, cocking the small gun. "Or this shot will have your head!"
"Well then, all right." Heero let go of her waist and raised his hands, stepping back. "She's all yours, mate."
"Miss Relena, stand behind me."
Relena did, but only because she feared the old man would die of a heart attack if she did not.
"We will leave now," Peygan said evenly. "And we shall not again speak of this incident."
Relena nodded, then spoke because he could not see her head. "Yes. And this sir-"
"For your information!" Peygan whirled around and looked at her darkly. "He is not a sir."
The smirk dropped from Heero's face.
"He is a pirate, Miss Relena, and unworthy of so much as a glance from you, let alone your regard."
Heero watched her, intrigued, as her expression grew stern.
"Enough, Peygan. It is I whole will decide whom is worthy of my glance and regard, and I ask that you do not interfere, especially in situations I have well under my control. And for heaven's sake, put that gun away!"
Relena took a breath. "You ask that I leave, and so I shall." Her eyes, burning with a blue flame, flicked to Heero's. Her heart skipped two beats when she realized he had been watching her the entire time. "Good day, sir."
Heero raised what was left in his glass. "Good day, milady. I pray this won't stain."
Relena hesitated, then smiled a little. "As do I." And she swept out of the pub so quickly, that Peygan had to fight to keep up with her.
"Miss Relena, please wait!"
Once the old man was gone, Heero murmured almost unconsciously, "Relena. . ."
"Relena has a very charming smile, hasn't she?"
Heero turned. He had forgotten that Trowa was behind him. "Aye," he answered slowly.
A glint of humor appeared in Trowa's one visible eye. "Dare I tell you I see desire in your eyes, mate?"
Heero snarled back, "Dare I tell you Catherine has a charming smile and I haven't once desired to bed her?"
Trowa nodded. "As it should be, captain. I'd better go find her. She was last with Duo, and who knows what trouble that could lead to."
Yuy nodded. "Remind them we meet at the ship before we set our plan to action."
Trowa inclined his head in acknowledgement before striding out.
Heero tilted his head in thought. Maybe once, he decided. Maybe once he had desired to bed Catherine.
Relena. It wasn't likely she was married, otherwise she would not be strolling around with her servant who addressed her so formally. Nay, but what woman of such obvious nobility would voluntarily enter a place so shady as this pub?
Heero shrugged the thought away. His time with her was over, and it was unlikely he would meet her again.
But he would soon discover that fate had an odd way of allowing people to seen each other again.
***
Relena sighed once a new gown, blue this time, had been put on her. She had ignored the looks from Marietta and Christine, though she did not doubt that they wondered why their mistress had managed to have whiskey spilled on her.
She had just finished freshening the powder on her face when she heard the massive front door being opened and Peygan's voice from downstairs:
"Welcome home, Master Winner. Your fiance arrived this afternoon."
"Excellent," a soft voice replied. "Ask her to please wait in my library, and I will meet with her there."
**********************************************************************
Gundam Girl: There you go, guys! This is for Raonaid. Thanks for posting such a wonderful challenge. Part two will be along. Feedback is always appreciated, so please review! Love, GG
Disclaimer: I be not claiming to own Gundam Wing, ye scallywags. Yargh!
Raonaid: She's a bit more into it than I imagined. . .
Warnings: R. A bit of couple confusion, no doubt some cursing violence. Drinking, attempted rape, tall tales, sexual innuendo. I think I covered it all.
*~Upper Class~*
He fancied it, for many reasons. The texture, the thickness, the gold swirling in red if the light hit it just right. But he was far from being obsessed with it, nor drunk with it. More, it seemed that his companion would be in a very short time, thanks to the favored red wine he had bought for him.
Treize Khushrenada chuckled into his goblet. If it was a mistake to give the young Governor Quatre Raberba Winner such a generous amount of alcohol the very day his engagement had been announced, then it was the young master himself who would pay for it, not he. His golden hair had been mussed with trembling hands before he had sipped the wine, however, and his original intention was to calm him, not intoxicate him.
Although, Treize though with amusement, Master Winner was certainly making no complaints about being taken far from his usual sober, clear-thinking state of mind.
"She's a fine lady, Quatre. She's beautiful, intelligent, obedient, well endowed. . ." The duke halted his list of positive adjectives when Quatre's face turned a deeper shade of scarlet not caused by the wine. "And, well, she's your fiance, and I would not expect less than a dagger to pierce both of my eyes for speaking of her quite obviously tempting appearance."
Quatre slid his goblet across the table. "You give your drink too freely, my lord. It has me wanting to voice my agreement."
Treize laughed wholeheartedly. "And so you should! It is not every day a man is told he will marry the sister of a nobleman such as Milliardo Peacecraft, a fine baron and friend of mine."
"I do not question her loveliness, Treize, for her face can be likened to an angel." Quatre pressed a hand to his forehead and decided he would leave soon and make for an early nightcap. "And yet with only a painting of her sent to my library it is difficult to really know the spirit inside her angelic body."
"The spirit is an angel's as well."
"So you have met Miss Relena then?"
Treize set his hands flat-palmed on the table clothed in pristine white lace. "I have met her once. Yet it was three years ago that I did, when she was a lady barely having stepped into womanhood. She's one of good manners, and fiery independence. She'll not depend on you for her emotional pleasure, I fear. If it is a question of yours, I do not doubt that she has been not tarnished, Quatre. She will come to you untouched, Milliardo would have seen to that."
Quatre shot to his feet, stumbled for a moment, and then stared at his longtime friend with wide blue eyes that had dimmed a bit of its bright intelligence. He looked as though he would very much like to slide to the floor with fled consciousness. "It was not a question of mine, Treize!" he exclaimed, startled, his face pink to his neck now. "I've not thought for a moment of Miss Relena's. . . Of her. . . Of our wedding night!" he sputtered.
"Come now, my friend, of course you have. You are a man."
Yes, he was a man, and yes, admittedly, he had given a thought to possible - more than probable - lovemaking between Miss Peacecraft and himself. "Your attention flatters me," he said sarcastically.
Oh, what an influence of drink could do to a man, Treize thought. Particularly those of supreme manners such as the one wobbling on his feet right now; he realized it may have been an evil to intoxicate Raberba Winner and chase away his politeness.
"Do not worry yourself, Quatre. God shall not send you to heat and flame for such thoughts." Treize took another sip from his own goblet. "Miss Relena is to do that for you."
Quatre shook his head. "Your speech flows nicely from your groin, Treize. I'm certain if my lady Anne knew of your talk-"
"She would demonstrate my meaning," Khushrenada interrupted, sending more color to Quatre's cheeks. "You will not be on your feet much longer, friend. Do go home and rest yourself from your exerting day."
"I shall, thanks not to you, Duke. This is an accursed drink."
Treize smiled. "I shall see to it that it flows merrily on the day you wed the child, Master Winner. Good night to you."
"And you as well." Proudly stumbling one time alone, Quatre left the dining room and made to the door where his carriage waited in the rain outside.
Once the sound of hoof-beats had faded from Treize's ears, he turned to the doorway of the dining room. "Anne," he said softly, and a woman with long brown hair that fell neatly about her shoulders entered at his call. "Would you finish Master Winner's cup, dearest?"
"I shall, my lord." Lady Anne Khushrenada sat gracefully down by his side and proceeded to sip from the abandoned goblet. "And then, my darling?"
Treize's smile, which had not failed to stay in place, widened. "And then, perhaps you could carry out the meaning I was trying to make clear to Master Winner."
***
A gold richer than any coin touched his face with the faintest of chills brought on by the newly-begun morning. Overhead stars still twinkled, a pale full moon was dissipating between them, and the sun continued to steadily raising, making the gold stretch further and further across the vast ocean the color of a thousand sapphires.
He could prove that, even, because there was no doubt a thousand sapphires and more in his cargo hold.
"A satisfying view this morning is it, Captain?"
Wufei Chang, a man dressed in loose tan trousers and a matching vest over a white shirt squinted at the stretch of land that had been spotted almost thirty minutes earlier. "I expect we shall arrive at Kent in near sixty minutes, sir."
"Aye, Dover will be an opportune choice of location to harbor. Prep the crew to weight anchor in an hour, Mr. Chang."
"Aye, sir."
His crew was not large, nor was his ship. But Captain Heero Yuy did not need excessive materials; they would be but a hindrance to him.
Trowa Barton, his sister Catherine, Duo Maxwell, his wife Hilde, Wufei, and his wife Sally were enough to raid any small island or other ship. They did not often weight anchor. Duo had once claimed it too heavy to take the trouble to lower it only to lift it again later. That was one of the reasons they stayed cast out away from the shore. Another was merely because it was home.
"Trowa!" Heero heard the fair, redheaded Catherine call from below deck, most likely from the kitchen. "Bring me another sack of potatoes or you'll not get any breakfast this morning!"
There was a scurrying from the cabin Heero knew was beneath where he stood on deck, and he could hear Trowa hurry to do his sister's bidding. Barton had struggled for almost a year now, anxious to do whatever would please Catherine, who was the widow of Michael Bloom, a man who had served in the king of England's court. He had been against the instant execution of pirates and once he'd died, Trowa could not bare to leave his sister by herself in Bloom's gigantic mansion in Berkshire. And so Catherine had joined the crew and worked as a cook and fellow pillager of anything that fetched a pretty penny.
Old sailors' tales declared it poor fortune to bring any female on board a ship, yet Heero had always dismissed that as cowardly superstition, and thus he had gained three women on his vessel, the Ivory Damsel. Female they were, and as sinful and coarse-tongued as any men. Heero valued all three of them as much as he did his males.
Because pirates were pirates, and nary a soul could change who they were.
"Captain Yuy." A light-haired, tan-skinned lass with parted hair tied in two twists stood on the top step of the staircase that led below deck. Sally Chang smiled. "Good morning to you, sir. Cathy's just said your breakfast is coolin' and I s'pose you'll be wanting a bite of vittles before we get to shore. Why don't you come and eat now?"
Heero nodded, his dark brown hair swaying gently in the salt-scented breeze. "I'll do so, Sally, and go and wake-"
"Damn you, Duo, you yella' coward!" screamed a raging, female voice from beneath them. "I'll not threaten to slice your hair this time, nay! I'll have your whole head, and toss it to the asses you were born with!"
Sally laughed and led him down the stairs. "It seems the Maxwells are already awake, sir."
Heero's own mouth smirked. "All right. Instead, let them know we approach Dover, and have Duo calm his wife before all the folk of Kent wake too early for my liking."
***
The beat of hoofs clopping on a dirt road. Birds singing. The creaking of carriage wheels.
The vehicle hit a bump in the road, and Relena Peacecraft startled from her sleep. Beside her, two of her maids stirred.
"Forgiveness, please, Miss Relena!" shouted the voice of the carriage's driver, Walker.
Relena drew back the curtain of the door's window and bright late morning sunlight filtered in from outside, and she craned her neck out to look at Walker. "Where are we?" she called up to him, her voice a little hoarse from having not spoken yet.
"Only about a quarter of an hour from Dover, my lady. You should carry on if you wish to freshen a bit before we arrive. I'll stop in a minute or two that you may dress, Miss."
"Thank you." When Relena turned, both of her maids, Christine and Marietta, had woken and were digging through kerchiefs looking for supplies to primp their mistress's appearance for the day.
As soon as a comb began to ease to the snarls in her long hair the color of the setting sun, Relena remembered why she had been traveling in this carriage since yesterday morn.
Lord Quatre Raberba, the newly elected governor of Kent was established in Dover. As it were, he had just arrived back from a month-long trip to Sussex and would be home just long enough for her to wed him: a grand total of five days.
She sighed as Walker held true to his vow and the carriage stopped. She, Christine and Marietta stood and Walker quickly handed in one of Relena's trunks before shutting the door again.
It was difficult enough, Relena thought in irritation, to put on a corset at all, let alone do it slightly bent so her head would not hit the roof on of the carriage. Christine was also kneeling on the seat of the carriage because Relena's feet and her trunk took up the room on the floor. Marietta slipped her into a lovely lavender gown after Christine had seen to it that the tight material that efficiently prohibited her diaphragm from expanding disrupted her breathing. Her hair was quickly and elegantly piled on her head and the correct amount of makeup and jewelry was applied before the carriage continued into Dover.
Relena waited to put on her shoes until Walker opened the door of the carriage to assist her in stepping out. It would be painful to wear the small, pointy-toed pieces of leather all day, but she had been taught the importance of first impressions; and the impression Governor Winner received was to last both of them the rest of her life.
Upon being greeted by a butler who went by the name of Peygan, Relena discovered that her groom-to-be was not presently at home. A small measure of annoyance was paramount before the surprise. For some reason, it was not at all news that the governor was not inside the expansive mansion, and Relena was unaffected when she entered the house that would be her home from this day forth.
Her belongings were carried inside and upstairs a chamber separate from Master Winner's until Sunday, when they would recite the vows Relena could think of as only a decree of her imprisonment. Whether Winner felt this way or didn't was to be found out - provided he returned relatively soon.
And alas, that was not to be. After Relena had sat straight-backed and prim in a decorative parlor for nearly an hour, doing naught but sipping tea, fanning herself from the heat, and causing her body to long for movement, Peygan returned and announced that Master Winner would not be able to arrive home again until five o' clock, precisely three hours and forty-seven minutes. Relena knew, for she had made a poor attempt to chase away boredom for the past sixty by staring at the slowly moving hands of the grandfather clock in the foyer beside the door.
"But my lord feared that you would not be entertained, Miss Relena," Peygan told her, "and he requested that I escort you through the village and buy you something you like as a welcoming present."
Relena smiled; Walker, however, moved forward from his position by the window. "Peygan, sir, I must protest against such an idea. I am sure his honor the governor wishes well for Miss Relena, but Master Peacecraft trusted me with his sibling's protection. Surely a common village street is no place for a noble young woman such as Miss Relena."
Peygan's smile only grew warmer. "No need to fret, young man," he assured him, "no need to fret. Master Winner knows Dover very well, and the people in the village are as courteous as any aristocrat."
"But I do not think it wise-"
"Come now, Walker," Relena chided, fanning herself a bit more energetically now. "My brother trusts you with my life, yes. But my brother must also trust Peygan with it now that he is to be in my service."
Walker looked as though he very badly wanted to further his reasons for her not to leave the mansion, but his position forbade it, and so he kept his tongue still. "Yes, of course, Miss Relena. I shall not intrude."
"Thank you very much." She nodded to him and accepted Peygan's arm. Together they walked out of the house and into the bright sunlight of the afternoon. "Is there anywhere particularly interesting?" she asked.
Peygan chuckled. "I'm afraid there are no balls or parties on Master Winner's agenda until the day of your wedding, Miss Relena. Do stay patient with him."
"Forgive me, I did not specify. I meant is there anywhere in the village - that is public - that would amuse me?"
"Oh, gracious, Miss! If it is restaurants you speak of, it is not in my place to accompany you to one. But here, other - establishment - are quite questionable. Pubs and diners, Miss, I would advise against getting too near those areas."
She supposed she should have heeded the old man. He knew this city well, and she knew nothing of it except that it smelled of salt and sweat and sunlight and that its governor would be her husband in less than one week. Yet when Peygan's back was turned as he counted out shillings to pay for the bracelet she claimed she wanted as the welcoming present from Master Winner, she carefully lifted her skirts and slipped away, darting into the nearest pub in quest of something to quench her parched throat.
The pub was noisy with the music played by a mandarin player with a goatee in the corner and the yells and catcalls of the patrons that filled the tables and bar. Relena felt the slightest bit queasy with the overbearing scent of smoke and whiskey that attacked her nostrils. Suddenly. . .this place did not seem the ideal location for entertainment. However, she thought with a wave of enthusiasm rushing through her, she felt it was the ideal place for excitement.
She wanted to feel herself of a part of it, but that was quite impossible; dressed in an expensive day gown, carrying a parasol trimmed in lace, and carrying a purse filled with several more shillings than the average worker received in three years, there was no way she could feel at place with this lower class.
Relena was brought out of her silent meditation by the feeling of chilled liquid on her back. With a scream, she whirled, and pressed a hand to her heart.
"Damn you, Trowa, you've gone and made me waste half my glass," said a man whose back was to her while he cursed another man who seemed less than completely sober. "None would guess you're clumsy drunk. Now what've we done?" The man turned, and Relena met eyes of a most extraordinary blue.
He was dressed in trousers of a brown a shade or two lighter than his hair, and a sheathed saber was strapped to his waist; his skin, rich and rough and tan, set off his blue loose-sleeved shirt against his vest the same brown as his pants, and forced his eyes to be impossibly more noticeable than they would have been had he been with no shirt at all.
The idea sent pink to Relena's cheeks, and she lowered her gaze to the filthy floor beneath her costly shoes. She was suddenly very aware how unfitting it was for her to be here. Here, standing before a. . .a man who, she realized now, was no more than a pirate.
"Well now." While the lass he'd soiled with his drink scrutinized his face, Heero allowed himself a generous sweep of her whole self. A small woman she was, though not as small as Hilde, and quite fortunate in the giving of appearance. Her tiny waist flared into nicely curved hips underneath that lovely skirt, and the bodice he was certain he'd ruined stretched across ample breasts. Her hair, secured tightly on her head seemed to be spun of pure gold, and he was an excellent judge of gold. However, he realized with a bit of a smirk, he suddenly wouldn't have minded seeing that golden-spun hair cascade down her shoulders and back.
Heero returned his eyes to her face again, which only lifted from the floor when he spoke.
"Apologies, milady. Things so fine as yourself are seen scarce in places such as this, and if I had seen you visible in this mad house, I would have been convinced you weren't real and would have stumbled into you and spilled in any case."
Relena blinked. She couldn't grasp what this pirate meant to tell her. Was he saying he wished for forgiveness, that he didn't think her important, or that he saw her as lovely? "You. . ." She paused when she realized her voice would need to be forced from her mouth. "It was an accident," she gasped out. "This will wash out if I leave quickly. . ."
Heero smirked. He would have a little fun the short time he had to himself. Lifting a hand, he carelessly settled it on her shoulder and slid a finger down the length of her bare arm to her wrist. The finger continued to circle on the back of her hand. "Nay, woman. You wander this pub with no man, and as well dressed as you are, and so beautiful. . ." He raised his finger, this time, to her cheek and falsely caressed it. "One may think you had hoped to bump into me, or any other man with a coin on him."
Relena scrambled to figure the meaning of that assumption. Once she did, her eyes narrowed. "How dare you!" she exclaimed and didn't notice Heero's mounting amusement. "Dare you insult me! Dare you take me so commonly, sir!"
"Hush, darling, they'll hear you over the din."
She didn't want to hush, she wanted to grow louder. The foolish commoner, to so blatantly presume she had intended to catch his eye like one of the many wench's who strutted round the pub.
"Miss Relena!"
Relena gasped, her eyes leaving Heero and focusing on Peygan, who had just entered the pub looking positively frazzled.
Peyan, seeing Heero, drew a pistol from his jacket pocket. "Unhand her!" he commanded sharply, his bushy eyebrows lowering.
Heero's mouth fell open, then grinned. "Relax, good fellow. It's only her face I'm touching. It isn't as though I'm doing this." With a quick move of his arm, he had her pressed up against him, breasts flattening against his chest.
"Scoundrel!" Relena exclaimed in reaction, though her face warmed.
Peygan shook with rage. "Release her!" he demanded again, cocking the small gun. "Or this shot will have your head!"
"Well then, all right." Heero let go of her waist and raised his hands, stepping back. "She's all yours, mate."
"Miss Relena, stand behind me."
Relena did, but only because she feared the old man would die of a heart attack if she did not.
"We will leave now," Peygan said evenly. "And we shall not again speak of this incident."
Relena nodded, then spoke because he could not see her head. "Yes. And this sir-"
"For your information!" Peygan whirled around and looked at her darkly. "He is not a sir."
The smirk dropped from Heero's face.
"He is a pirate, Miss Relena, and unworthy of so much as a glance from you, let alone your regard."
Heero watched her, intrigued, as her expression grew stern.
"Enough, Peygan. It is I whole will decide whom is worthy of my glance and regard, and I ask that you do not interfere, especially in situations I have well under my control. And for heaven's sake, put that gun away!"
Relena took a breath. "You ask that I leave, and so I shall." Her eyes, burning with a blue flame, flicked to Heero's. Her heart skipped two beats when she realized he had been watching her the entire time. "Good day, sir."
Heero raised what was left in his glass. "Good day, milady. I pray this won't stain."
Relena hesitated, then smiled a little. "As do I." And she swept out of the pub so quickly, that Peygan had to fight to keep up with her.
"Miss Relena, please wait!"
Once the old man was gone, Heero murmured almost unconsciously, "Relena. . ."
"Relena has a very charming smile, hasn't she?"
Heero turned. He had forgotten that Trowa was behind him. "Aye," he answered slowly.
A glint of humor appeared in Trowa's one visible eye. "Dare I tell you I see desire in your eyes, mate?"
Heero snarled back, "Dare I tell you Catherine has a charming smile and I haven't once desired to bed her?"
Trowa nodded. "As it should be, captain. I'd better go find her. She was last with Duo, and who knows what trouble that could lead to."
Yuy nodded. "Remind them we meet at the ship before we set our plan to action."
Trowa inclined his head in acknowledgement before striding out.
Heero tilted his head in thought. Maybe once, he decided. Maybe once he had desired to bed Catherine.
Relena. It wasn't likely she was married, otherwise she would not be strolling around with her servant who addressed her so formally. Nay, but what woman of such obvious nobility would voluntarily enter a place so shady as this pub?
Heero shrugged the thought away. His time with her was over, and it was unlikely he would meet her again.
But he would soon discover that fate had an odd way of allowing people to seen each other again.
***
Relena sighed once a new gown, blue this time, had been put on her. She had ignored the looks from Marietta and Christine, though she did not doubt that they wondered why their mistress had managed to have whiskey spilled on her.
She had just finished freshening the powder on her face when she heard the massive front door being opened and Peygan's voice from downstairs:
"Welcome home, Master Winner. Your fiance arrived this afternoon."
"Excellent," a soft voice replied. "Ask her to please wait in my library, and I will meet with her there."
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Gundam Girl: There you go, guys! This is for Raonaid. Thanks for posting such a wonderful challenge. Part two will be along. Feedback is always appreciated, so please review! Love, GG