To Sail the High Seas: England x Reader ch7

Chapter 7

After Allistor had lead you back to your new prison, avoiding as many curious glances as possible, he sunk down against the wall and breathed out a great sigh.
“Yer bloody mental lass.” You cocked an eyebrow at him before joining the scot on the floor.
“I was beginning to think so myself.”
“He could 'ave killed ye. Ye should be dead now lassie.”
“I was rather hoping that would be the case.” Noticing his confused glance at your offhand statement, you continued. “I’m a prisoner Allistor, you know that as well as I do. There were maybe twenty women on my ship before we had the misfortune to run into a certain band of pirates, and less than half that number survived. Now, not only am I one of those few women, but I’m also the one who managed to grandly piss off your captain. My future’s not looking too good.”
You watched the red-head shift uncomfortably out the corner of your eye. He was well aware of what the crew would do to you if Arthur were to allow them, and after the earlier incident, he wasn’t so sure that his brother was planning to keep you as his personal pet.
“Ye shouldnea have crossed him lass. Artie has one hell of a temper on ‘im.”
“So what would you have had me do?”
“I… I dunea know.” You found it odd how at that moment the broad man beside you managed to appear so vulnerable when he was anything but. You leant your weary head against his shoulder in a reassuring gesture, though for his sake or your own you weren’t entirely sure.
“I was startin’ tae grow a wee bit fond of ye lass.”
“And I you.” You almost giggled at the absurdity of it all. You really did enjoy the company of the rough pirate no matter how much you told yourself you should hate him. He reminded you of the protective older brother you never had.
The gentle rocking of the ship was comforting, if not somewhat surreal. The calm before the storm as it were. Allistor had no choice but to leave you before Arthur returned, however he only did so grudgingly. His emerald eyes were tinged with regret at his own departure but you understood perfectly; after offering a small smile and a nod of your head in the direction of the door, your companion was gone. You were sure that his regretful look had only mirrored your own. After all, neither of you knew if that would be the last time you’d see each other, or the last time you’d see him at least. Perhaps the Scotsman would glimpse you mangled remains as they were tossed them over the side of the ship. As the thought wasn’t a pleasant one, you forced it out of your mind.

The sun was setting on the horizon, dyeing the calm ocean amber, and yet there was still no sign of the captain. At this particular moment in time you were unsure whether this was a good thing or not; on one hand it meant you were alive and unharmed, but on the other it was only serving to prolong your fear.
Your eyes instantly gravitated towards the cabin door as the handle rattled and uncertainty paralyzed your body. Should you hide? No, you’d caused enough trouble for one day, and there was no point in infuriating him further. Were you going to die, or be subjected to abuse first? Questions whizzed around your mind as the heavy wood was pushed open with a painful sluggishness. You were vaguely aware of the captain’s eyes skimming the room before he found your huddled form against the wall. Every sound seemed enhanced as he paced languidly towards you, each footstep echoing on the floorboards. Your blood pulsed in your ears and you were sure he must be able to hear it too… but the intensity of those eyes. For the first time you realised what a presence Arthur Kirkland had when he entered a room, and his reputation was clearly befitting of him. As your executioner approached you all you could think of was how awe-inspiring he was.
You’re going to die. You’re going to be killed by this man. Why would you choose your last few moments to think about him of all people? What about your father? Your friends? Your regrets? Do you seriously have nothing better to think about?
The footsteps came to an abrupt halt and so did your heartbeat. Your eyes travelled from worn leather boots up the figure who towered over you. The irony of the situation was almost insulting. Here you were a mere 24-hours after your first meeting, once again staring up at the blond, and once again expecting death’s sweet caress. And you were terrified.

Neither of you moved. Your eyes were locked in what seemed to be a battle of will and were it not for your stubborn nature you would have looked away long ago. His gaze was piercing and cold, not at all like the heated fury you’d been expecting. Eventually you were the one to look away as your eyes followed the fall of a round object as it was dropped into your lap.
“Eat.” With that word, the stony-faced captain strode across the cabin and into his private quarters, slamming the door harshly behind him.

You remained staring with confusion at the loaf of bread in your lap, and were reminded of the story of Handsel and Gretel that your mother had told you when you were young. The idea that you were being fattened up to be eaten was absurd to say the least, but at this very moment your starved mind was clouded by hunger; and ulterior motives or not, you were going to eat.
Gingerly you bit into the loaf and were pleasantly surprised to discover that it was not as stale as you’d been expecting. Quickly devouring it, lest the man in the next room change his mind and remove the food, you turned towards the door he had exited through. A stupider woman may have attempted to speak to him, but something told you that was a really dumb idea. Recalling that the large cushion had made a somewhat comfortable mattress, you proceeded to curl up and let slumber steal you away.