First of all, thank you so much for all the wonderful feedback! I am happy to find out everyone likes my story! I very much appreciated the suggestions a few of you gave on developing it and as such, this next chapter should help bring more players into the story and develop the character of Sin and Kate. Sorry it took so long to get out, my computer of 3 ½ years crashed and I lost a few important parts. Hope you enjoy the next chapter!
Renee
*
North of London, England, 11 years earlier
There was no sign of the sun today. It was fitting, really, as if the land itself mourned. One small, perfectly clean hand clung tightly to her father's as 8 year old Kate stood next to a hastily dug 4 by 6 hole in the ground on a slight rise behind the parish church.
She watched as a pretty wooden box was lowered in the hole by her father's servants, the drone of the priest's words offering no comfort.
"Papa, is Momma in heaven now?" she asked, tugging on her father's hand.
Lord Charrington bent down next to his daughter; the agony of loss filled his eyes and wrought new, deep lines in his face. "Yes, she is."
"She's not coming back, is she." It wasn't a question.
"No, baby, she's not." Her father chocked up on the last word, as he stood back up and covered his face with his hands.
Little 8 year old Kate wiped the tears off her face and made a decision to make her papa happy again, somehow. She missed his smiles, like before her momma became sick and went away. As they prepared to leave, Kate noticed another little girl, about her own age standing by another box being lowered into a hole in the ground. She was crying, her grubby little fingers gripping the rough fabric of her skirt and her long dark hair falling out a braid sticking to her face.
"Who's that, Papa?" she asked her father, tugging on his hand again.
Jane, their maid, pulled her aside because she knew Lord Charrington wasn't capable of answering right now. "That is Beth Sanders, the innkeeper's daughter. Her momma passed away from the sickness, like your momma."
"How come she's by herself?" Kate asked, noticing that Beth wasn't holding anyone's hand; she stood alone, apart from the few other grievers.
"Now, you never mind that. Come along now, Kate, your papa is waiting for you." Jane pulled a reluctant Kate towards their carriage.
Just for a moment, Beth looked up and her teary slivery grey eyes met Kate's bright green ones and as Kate lifted her hand before she was lifted into her father's carriage, a hint of a smile flitted over Beth's face. Maybe she wasn't by herself after all...
*********************
Kate and Beth met shortly after their mothers' funerals and within a few years, were practically inseparable. Kate's father wasn't too happy with his daughter's friend being a commoner, the daughter of the local innkeeper, but he didn't have the heart to take away her playmate.
The day of Kate's sixteenth birthday was just around the corner and plans were made for a large party at her father's estate, and invitations were sent out to all their upper class neighbors. Beth had come to stay for a week to help Kate celebrate and keep the chaos down to a minimum.
"Ok, let's go over the guest list again." Beth obligingly picked up the marked and remarked sheet of paper, her pen ready.
"So far, you've settled on the Barremore girls, Alma and Lidia, somewhat quiet but very nice; Miss Phoebe Nettleby... hm, she's a little bit of a fluff, but fun to be around. Also we have Miss Harriet Uppingham, she's a little uppity, no pun intended," giggled Beth, earning a poke in the side from Kate.
"Be nice! I know, Harriet can be a pain and doesn't think she has to be polite to those beneath her class, but she doesn't have any friends. For all we know, she's just lonely."
Beth, a doubtful look on her face, said, "If you say so. I think she's just vain and mean. She probably practices her superior look in the mirror. Like this!" Beth struck a pose, one hand on her hip, her nose so high in the air that Kate could see inside it, an exaggerated brow raised and her mouth pursed.
Kate couldn't help but burst out laughing at Beth's antics, holding her side's and trying not to fall over as Beth began to prance around the sitting room, her eyebrows twitching up, first one then the other.
"Ss-stop!" she giggled, completely out of breath. "You're making my sides hurt!"
The two friends fell laughing to the settee, their cheeks red from merriment, as they continued to exchange ideas, breaking into giggles again whenever Beth would twitch her eyebrows.
*********************
Somewhere in the Indian Ocean, in the vicinity of Madagascar...
Lord Sinclair Harper, know to his shipmates as Sin, had just turned twenty-four a few days ago. More than 5 years had passed since that fateful day when he'd rebelled against his father's wishes and left to seek his own destiny. He had learned all he could about sailing a ship, and his heavier, muscled frame and hard calloused hands proved it.
Sin had saved his wages and purchased a fast ship with light sails and rigging, designed to out run pirates and coastal patrols when necessary. In the last six months he had made almost enough profit to purchase another and was in port to look at a ship for sale by an American ship builder.
For now, though, Sin and a few of his mates decided to go celebrate at a pub in the center of the port town. It was a low lying building, ugly with jagged corners and dirty floors, the windows wide open and the rough hewn shutters creaking a little in the breeze.
"It don't look like nothin' fancy, but the ale's good an' the wenches are easy!" hollered Mick, a muscular seasoned sailor who had dragged Sin's carcass to safety during his first ride through a rough storm. His hands had been sliced to ribbons on the sails lines and he couldn't hang on to his tether. Mick had pulled him back from the edge just when Sin's hands had given out.
"Bring on the wenches! Heh, heh, look at that one, she's got a nice pair of titties on 'er," leered Evan, a sailor know as "Squinty" because his eyes were weak and he had a hard time seeing far away. He had spectacles, but kept losing them to the sea.
"Ah, what do ya know 'bout her titties?" jested his shipmate. "Ya can't hardly see 'em, yer so blind."
"Get 'er over here, and we'll see who's blind!" Squinty stood up and raising his mug of ale, tried to down it all at once only to end up pouring most of it over his face and down the front of his shirt.
Feeling pleasantly drunk and in a good mood, Sin accepted his mates wishes of a happy birthday and excused himself, "Gotta go take a piss, be right back."
Stumbling out the back door of the pub, he wandered a little ways away from the noise and commotion, down to a shallow alley that smelled like rotten fish and other things he didn't want to identify. Loosening his pants, Sin relieved himself and when his clothing was once more in place, he stepped back around the barrels to head back to the pub.
Sin stopped short when three mean looking men moved out of the shadows to stand in front of him. Sin felt himself tense, his instincts warning him that these coarsely dressed men couldn't be up to any good. He cursed under his breath, regretting now that he hadn't tucked his pistol into his belt instead of just his dagger.
Sin glanced over his shoulder, mentally kicking himself for putting himself into a corner, the only way out blocked by these foul thugs. He shifted his booted feet, widening his stance as he reached for his dagger.
"Oy, well what do we have here? Keep yer hands off that there knife, hand over yer coin and maybe we'll only rough ya up a bit." The smallest of the three was the one giving orders, while the two bigger, huskier men moved closer, a menacing fist clutching a small blade.
Sizing them up, Sin decided they would probably beat him to a pulp even if he did hand over his purse, which his was loathe to do as he had just picked up a payment for goods delivered.
The bigger men looked like they were used to overpowering their victims and moved slow. The smaller one was the crafty weasel; he would use sneak attacks and would only join in on the beating once a victim was subdued. In other words, a coward.
Just as Sin grabbed his dagger from his belt and with a quick flick of his wrist, sliced open the first man's belly, a large shadow moved behind the weasel and cuffed him hard behind the ear with the hilt of his sword. The smaller man crumpled face first to the ground with barely a groan. The stranger brought his sword up in one swift movement and pressed the sharp tip to the remaining unharmed man's throat, while the second hulk sat in the dirt clutching his bleeding belly.
"I wouldn't move it I were you, asshole," the stranger said quietly. "Not unless you want another hole to breathe out of."
"Not that I don't appreciate the help, but who the bloody hell are you?" demanded Sin, still ready to fight his way out if necessary.
"The name's Tremaine, I own two of the ships docked here, was on my way to meet my men at the pub and noticed these here roughnecks had you ambushed. Thought I'd lend a hand, three to one just isn't all that fair." He spoke with an American accent, a bit of a twang, his frame slim but well muscled in the arms and shoulders.
