#'hey hey ill sell you information about this pirate please let me sell you information' ' i mean i guess we are supposed to be doing that'

[greetthedawn]

AN:

Hey y’all! It took me longer than I expected to write this one, but I’m happy with what I came up with. Shout out to my old roomie who watched me do a full Black Flag playthrough so she could be my beta reader for this story. Luv u girl <3

A twist, a tale, a rip through my sail

And we’re made to watch the walls fall down

Cause goodbye’s too strong, too strong a word

When I’m weak from everything that I’m told

Yes, I’m weak from everything that I’m told

And I’m weak from all the things that I know

            The sun was setting over Havana’s port and color danced across the clouds like a tapestry in the wind. Edward was reclined against the stone wall that loomed over the gently rolling water in the port. He used the tankard in his hands to muffle his amusement while his beloved rebuked their crewmen for their spending habits. As predicted, most of the lot had blown their earnings on an assortment of funs and fancies before their second night in the city had begun. Unfortunately for them, this was not the day to come asking young Master Kidd for extra handouts.

           Mary somehow towered over a gunner no less than a head taller than she was, nearly chest to chest. Her arms were crossed, and she held her chin high. The poor lad she was grinding beneath her metaphorical boot hung his shoulders low and stared intently at anything that wasn’t his quartermaster’s unyielding, narrow-eyed glare. In one hand she held a shiny new knife that would look impressive to most. However, compared to the cutting glint of Venganza menacingly strapped to her hip, he thought it would appear better suited alongside a dinner plate.

           “Tell me, Powder Monkey Herraro,” she condescended. “You bet this strumpet… how much coin, that your cock was more threatening than you new knife?” She gave her wrist a wiggle for emphasis, letting the fading sunlight bounce off the polished blade in her hand.

           Herrero cleared his throat. “I bet half, sir.”

           “Half of what, Herrero?” Mary arched her scarred brow expectantly.

           “Half my wages, sir.” The man rolled his shoulders nervously. Edward could tell he was hoping to appeal to Kidd’s infamous moral scruples with his honesty. He wasn’t sure what her punishment for deception might be, as none had ever dared, but he or any sane man would be loath to find out.

           Mary inched closer to Herrero, peering up at him intently. “Let me finish your story for you, man. Jaysus knows I’ve heard it before. She took up your bet, you had a few more drinks, and when it came time to perform you lost your nerve.”

           Herrero swallowed – his pride, clearly – and nodded with great shame and embarrassment evident in his manner.

           Mary smirked and slapped the flat of the blade to the man’s chest. She stepped back and let him cautiously take it from her hands. “No world-wisened woman believes a boastful man. Those who can support their claims have no need to brag, and they have no need to flash shiny objects for a lady’s admiration. A knife like that says fresh gold. That’s blood in the water to a lady of pleasure, and a mark who’s too pickled to get it up makes for light work.” She turned and strode toward Kenway, leaving Herrero to face the raucous ridicule of his crewmates. “Sell the knife,” she called back as she walked away. “It’ll keep you fed til you prove to me you can handle the gold I give you.”

           Edward passed her the tankard in his hand as she joined him against the wall. “A tongue lashing like that ought to curb his misbehavior for a time.” He offered a toothy grin of pride. He knew few others who could make men of Herrero’s might wither like ferns before the sun. “You’ve always had a handle on these louts. You’ll be a natural parent, far more disposed to it than myself to be sure.” The warmth in his voice was curbed by a touch of selfish hesitancy.

           She rolled her eyes. “A better parent wouldn’t have lost her child to madmen and murderers.”

           “Are you insulting murderers?” He teased her with mock offense and a sly wink.

           “Oy, mind your step,” she warned with a raised brow, but he could see the warmth of humor in her eyes. “A better parent might not be a murderer, herself.”

           “Oh, on the contrary, I might argue it makes you more suited to parenthood. Refined protective instincts, ability to stand your ground…”

           She shook her head in mild amusement and raised the tankard to her lips, but he reached out to stop her with a light hand on the rim. “You’re not genuinely worried about your fitness for motherhood, are you?” he asked softly.

           She set down their drink on the wall between them. “Any sane man or woman would be. It’s unexplored territory and your aptitude decides an unfair amount of the course for a helpless child, not to mention anyone they ever get close enough to affect. Besides, my… professional affiliations won’t make for the safest upbringing. She’ll make me vulnerable, and that vulnerability puts her on the butcher’s block.”

           He squeezed her wrist, desperately wishing they were in private where he could do more to comfort her, but also knowing she likely didn’t need the reassurance. Moments of self-doubt were rare for her, though when they did happen they were fleeting. Her convictions were unshakable but she had to consider the possibility she might get it wrong, else how could she be sure she was right? “Don’t give a thought to her safety. There’s not a Brother among us who wouldn’t cut down a whole fleet themselves to protect your little girl. And Mary... you never need to worry about your fitness as a parent. You’ve raised me into a man of quality and character all on your own, have you not?”

She smiled at that, warming his heart in the process. “Not that you’ve made it easy, mate.”

           He grinned back cheekily. “What child would, in truth?”

           The corner of his vision sparked in that moment with the aura of a friendly face. Mary must have sensed it too because her head whipped around just as soon as Bell broke free from the mingling crowds of the port market. She tugged on the sleeve of his robes, pulling him after her as they went to greet their young friend.

           “What news?” Edward inquired with a terse urgency to his tone once they had drawn within earshot.

           Bell’s eyes landed on the pair through the throng of traders and he gave a relieved and eager sigh and he way his way over to them. “I did as you said, sirs, and scoped out Ignacio du Mont. He’s a man of modest means, though he seems to live more comfortably than one of his post in the shipping business ought to. All those in the neighborhood that I spoke to sang praises of his leadership in their community, but there seems little remarkable about him outside of those two points.”

           “And the house?” Mary pressed, her demeanor measured yet hopeful.

           “Aye, the address you gave is indeed the du Mont residence,” Bell confirmed. “It’s a grand thing, but aging and in need of some upkeep, and its staff seemed well-treated. Their quarters are on the ground floor, while du Mont resides above with his wife and small child.”

           Mary noticeably stiffened at Kenway’s side. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, checking her from appearing too personally invested in this piece of news in front of their crewman. “What can you tell us about this child?”

           Bell shrugged. “Not much. It’s a wee lad, less than a year of age by my eyes.”

           Mary relaxed under the captain’s fingers, a little disappointed, he guessed. He let his hand drop from her coat.

           “Anything else you can tell us?” Mary questioned, shifting her weight away from Edward inconspicuously.

           “Just this: there are many empty rooms in the house that appear to be equipped for children. When I asked after the family, I learned that they sometimes take in urchins off the street. They care for them, find a suitable couple for an adoption. It’s all quite… philanthropic, though the rooms seem to have been empty for a time.” He hesitated for a moment, somewhat unsure of himself. “If I may be so bold as to assume that your true intent is on one such urchin, I feel confident that du Mont will have some valuable information to help you on your way.”

           Edward bristled protectively, but Mary laid a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Aye, you may be so bold, but I’d ask that you make no further assumptions about this matter,” she confirmed. “It’s not your due to go digging in it just yet. Though I’d wager you’re right about du Mont. I expect he’ll prove a willing font of knowledge.” Her fingers graced the ruby pommel of her dagger lightly.

           Edward grinned at her, his tension turning to anticipation. “I do hope he won’t mind us two dropping in for a chat, then.” He reached into his coat and removed a rather sizable pouch of gold, which he pressed into Bell’s grateful hands. “For your family, as promised.”

           “That ought to pay for a physician and keep your family in food and home until your father is well enough to work again,” Mary added. “If his illness draws on, we’ll be glad to send more. You need only to ask.”

           Bell nodded with eyes wide at the wealth between his fingertips. The Assassins both knew he wasn’t the type of boy to waste a single coin on himself when it was needed elsewhere. It would all certainly make it back to his loved ones. “I thank you, sirs. My family won’t forget this kindness.”

           Mary clapped his shoulder. “Nor will we forget yours. You’ve done us a great service. Now off with you! You’ve a courier ship to catch.” She waved him away with a small smile of confidence on her lips. Edward knew she was pleased with herself for finding this one. It was only a matter of time before they welcomed him to the Brotherhood, he was sure of it.

           Bell nodded gratefully again and scurried off down the docks to find the fastest vessel with a course set for London. There was many a captain that would lie hand over foot to get his hands on that purse with false promises of delivery, but the young boy was a pirate himself and would surely see through such ruses to find a trustworthy sea craft.

           Mary put a hand on her partner’s back and led him down the road into town. The city was beginning to quiet around them as children were put to bed and families tidied up after their supper in the tranquility of dusk. The hum of domesticity hung in the autumn air light as a feather, yet Edward felt it smothering him like a downy pillow as he tried to stifle his uncertainty for their near future. He was grateful, however, for the shadows drawing long across the dusty Havana streets. Their cover allowed them to move toward du Mont’s home with fewer anxious glaces about their surroundings.

           “A foster home,” he mused eventually, breaking through the buzz of insects and the gentle breeze. “Odd that Torres would have such a connection. Did he really deal in children with the frequency to render it necessary?”

           Mary frowned and cast a scolding glance, but he could sense by the steady pressure of her hand on his spine that she wasn’t truly irritated at his remark. “I don’t like to imagine my daughter as a commodity to be bought and sold, or any person for that matter. But I can see why the Templars would value a man like du Mont. They can harm and manipulate their enemies as they’ve done me without having to take responsibility for the child’s wellbeing, and it’s more difficult to keep track of where they end up if another party handles the transactions. It’s almost clever, really. Something I might have done, were I of a different mind about the ethics of it.”

           Edward nodded thoughtfully. “I would have thought it too kind a solution for a man of Torres’ disposition. Perhaps he did hold a soft spot in his heart for babes… though it seems perverse to distinguish them from the other innocents he so sought to control.”

           Mary’s lips pressed into a firm line. “I hope you’re right about that. If this du Mont harmed my girl…”

           “I’ll gladly hold him down while you split his skull.” He pressed a supportive kiss to her temple as they walked. “Though I’d rather toy with him a bit first. I know merciful deaths are your color, but mine run darker yet. You’d be welcome to join me in my fun, however.”

           She smirked at his proposition. “I s’pose I haven’t wrung the whole scoundrel out of you yet.”

           “Would I be any fun if you had?” He punctuated his words with a saucy wink.

           Mary eyed him up and down suggestively. “Perhaps it isn’t the worst thing.”

           By the time they reached the address that Ikal had given them some days earlier, the sun had sunk resolutely behind the mountains and the most commanding sounds in the air were the wind and the shuttering of windows. Mary led the way as they circled the residence. It was a two story home, proud but not immodest, with fading green walls and white trimmings that glowed pale in the dawning moonlight. There was no hint of the heavy security that they were accustomed to dealing with when infiltrating Templar bases. In fact, the building gave no more hint of concern toward intruders than its neighbors did. Edward found it highly suspect, but didn’t voice his unease. If Ikal said this was where they would find their man then this was where they needed to be.

           They found a window sitting open on the second floor at the back of the house, its wispy curtains dancing sleepily in the warm breeze. Mary ran at the wall, kicking off the side boards to push herself into the air and grip the windowsill. Edward stayed on the ground, keeping watch for any patrolmen and waiting for her to scope out the interior. She hauled herself inside and disappeared for a long moment before poking her head back out. She signaled for him to follow, but to do so quietly.

           He sprinted at the house and pushed off the side as she had, propelling himself up to the open window. She took his hand and pulled him in. When his eyes adjusted, he found himself in the dimly lit room of a child. du Mont’s infant son slept to his left, letting out the tiniest of snores every handful of seconds. Carefully, Edward crept to where Mary was crouched at the open doorway, peering into the hall. It was empty. Together they slunk into the greater house. Mary headed with purpose toward the door opposite the landing of the stairs, seeming to sense something within, and quietly, gently twisted the knob. She cracked the door open just enough for them to slip into the room.

           Ignacio du Mont laid by his wife’s side in an opulent four-poster bed that had seen some wear. The emerald green drapery hung loosely around the sleeping couple. Edward snuck to the man’s side of the bed and grabbed a fistful of the heavy velvet curtain. With that in hand, he engaged his wrist blade and pressed one long edge against the exposed flesh of his target’s throat, covering du Mont’s mouth and nose with the cloth to muffle his reaction. The Spaniard’s eyes snapped open, fluttering like wings as he adjusted to consciousness and took in his tense situation.

           Mary hovered at Edward’s side. Her hand rested lightly on the grip of her ruby knife, intimidating but not yet threatening. “We have no quarrel with your wife,” she hissed lightly through the darkness. “Best you come with us, so as not to disturb her.”

           Edward tentatively removed the curtain from du Mont’s face and motioned for him to stand, pressing the blade to his neck a little rougher as a warning. Eyes wide but compliant, the Spaniard held his hands just above his head as he was led into the hallway. The Assassins led him past his son’s room to one at the other end of the house, far from the sleeping ears of his family yet still high enough to hurt should they need to throw him from a window for whatever reason.

           The room they had selected was an abandoned nursery. The walls were a gentle, soothing shade of yellow, and two bassinets were nestled along the far wall. An assortment of toys adorned the shelves and two plush, burgundy chairs sat by the window facing each other. Edward pushed du Mont into one and Mary settled into the other.

           Mary leaned forward commandingly, placing her elbows on her spread knees with her hands clasped loosely between them. Her calm was menacing. “Are you the man the Templars call Ignacio du Mont?” she inquired evenly.

           Their target gave her a nervous, but puzzled look. “Sí, that is my name, though I know not of these Templars you speak of.”

           Edward tightened his knife’s grip on his captive’s skin. “Don’t lie, cockrobin. Your hide won’t thank you for it.”

           du Mont tensed, his fingers digging into the upholstery of his seat. “That is my honest truth, I swear to you!”

           Mary raised a steadying hand. The captain met her eyes and he could tell she believed the squirming Spaniard’s words. He eased up, feeling du Mont relax beneath his grip.

           “Is it true to that you work for the former Governor Laureano de Torres?” Mary pressed.

           du Mont shook his head, looking nervous and a bit confused. “I took contracts from the Governor on occasion, sí, but my day to day work is with a shipping company. Rum, tobacco, sometimes armaments if the price is high enough. That sort of thing.”

           The set of Mary’s mouth firmed, but the sparkle in her fawn eyes gave away her eagerness at his admission. “Tell me, Ignacio, did these contracts ever ask you to deal in the trafficking of humans? What is the price for that, I wonder?”

           Their mark’s eyes grew wide and he threw up his hands in defensive objection. “No, never, sir. The slave trade is a dark and immoral business, simply uncatholic. I would not sully my hands or my family name with it. We are not so desperate for the gold it would bring that I need stoop so low. You dishonor me with the accusation.”

           Mary leaned back in her chair with her hands crossed over her lap, skeptical. “So the Governor Torres has never brought you a child to dispense of.” Her tone was pointed, trapping.

           Understanding dawned on du Mont’s face and he backtracked on his indignation. He shook his head and huffed to the floor. “I must explain. My wife has this passion for children, you see. She herself was orphaned as at a tender age, but was lucky enough to be taken as a ward… Others are not so fortunate. We house children in crisis around the city as there is a need for it. You can see from our relatively vacant home that she has quite a knack for finding suitable families for the sweet babes that cross our door, and has gained some pleasant notoriety in the city for her work. This news reached the Governor at some point and he offered to aid our efforts. A few times over the years, Torres’ men would bring us a child or two. Sometimes they stayed for a time before the Governor sent to retrieve them, and other times we were asked to find them loving homes. Such children always came with a hefty donation… and a request for discretion.”

           The man’s passion for his cause seemed true, but his last words stirred Edward’s blood. “Did you not think to ask who these young ones belonged to? Did the cloak and dagger of it not rouse your suspicions?”

           du Mont raised his hands concedingly. “In truth, they did at times. At first we suspected them to be the Governor’s bastards, and might have left it at that had there not been so many over the years. But what power did we have to investigate? And how could we do so without having to admit to ourselves our own part in any nefarious plot? It would ruin my wife. The only power I possess is to care for and nurture these innocent souls and to place them with families who will do the same. And every man must make compromises. Their price has permitted us to take in many others who come to us through honest means, children we might otherwise have needed to turn away.”

           Mary nodded thoughtfully, less irate, more understanding than Edward himself. “I respect your motives, but not your methods. Unfortunately, those are personal to me. You see, one of these little ones came to you straight from my own arms, robbed from me at her birth.” She leaned in closer, her eyes imploring, attempting to appeal to the loving parent in du Mont. “You’re a father. You have a young son. You can imagine how I must find my daughter, how I have died everyday that I have been unable to do so since that morning last April when she was stolen from me.”

           “April?” du Month started. He gave a heavy sigh and glanced at Edward patiently but warily. “May I stand? I have something you may like to see.”

           Kenway let him rise, but kept his blades at the ready should their new friend make a move to escape. The Spaniard led the way down the stairs with the pirates at his tail and took them into a study. He went directly to his desk and ran his fingers along the underside of the table’s lip. There was a soft click and a hidden drawer popped out at the side. He gently lifted a small, blue notebook from within.

           “It was never a direct condition of our arrangement that I wasn’t to keep records on the children Torres brought to me, but I don’t suspect he would be pleased that I have. Regardless, the secrecy made me uneasy and I wanted insurance should their origins come back to haunt me as you have this night.” He handed the book to Mary. Edward loomed at her shoulder, watching as she thumbed through the pages, seeking one dated April 1721.

           “I remember your girl. She came to me still slick from the womb. We seldom get them so small, and we feared for a time that she wouldn’t make it… but she had strength in her. I particularly enjoyed having her here. She was a quiet, agreeable thing.”

           “Not at all like her mother then,” Edward quipped playfully, earning himself a dark glare from Mary.

           “Here,” his partner breathed when she landed on the page. There was an address - a plantation at Matanzas - and three names: the adoptive couple, Thiago and Catalina Reyes, and their adopted daughter.

           “Maria?” Edward remarked incredulously.

           “Sí, that’s the name the Governor gave when she was brought to us,” du Mont confirmed, perplexed at his change in tone.

           His lover laughed out loud, and the sound was angry. “That codger…” She turned to du Mont and explained, “The mother was an englishwoman named Mary. She… didn’t get on with the Governor. Giving her child the Spanish iteration of her name, I suppose it was both a tribute and an insult. A way to honor the mother and their quarrels, yet possess the daughter as spoils of war.”

           du Mont nodded. “Indeed, I knew Torres to have an ever slightly perverse sense of humor. Still, he paid well, and your child was no exception. The money was put to her good care, I can assure you.” He took the book back from her and ripped out the page concerning Jennifer before locking it safely back in his desk. “I don’t know what your quarrel was, but believe you me, I have no affiliation with him past what we’ve discussed, and no stake in his affairs. I am sorry for the part I played in your daughter’s kidnapping, and for the pain it caused your family. I am not in the business of separating parent and child. Quite the opposite, actually.” He offered the paper to Mary, who took it gratefully.

           “Thank you for your help, and for keeping my girl safe during her time here.” After pausing in contemplation for a moment, Mary reached into her coat and pulled out a pouch of gold. It bore the Assassin insignia. She dropped the sack onto du Mont’s desk with a soft thud and the jingling of coin. “You and your wife do noble work here. If you ever seek to do business with a more honorable cut of folk, show this symbol at your threshold. Our friend Rhona will know to seek you out.”

           du Mont smiled amicably. “I will keep it in mind. Now go in peace, dark friends. Your daughter awaits.”

           Mary nodded in farewell and started out the door. Edward lingered a moment, hesitant. His insecurities and fears about this child mounted again at this new information, holding him back from following the person he cared about most. They were so close to finding Jennifer, but every step they took closer to her took him one step closer to an irrevocable change in his relationship with her mother. Jenny would always come first in Mary’s eyes, as she damn well should. Would he be able to prioritize her the same way, this child that should have been his but now never could be? Mary would expect it of him. If he was a good man, he’d be up to the task. Maybe someday he’d get there. He just had to hope that happened before he could ruin himself in Mary’s eyes once and for all.

           The woman he loved paused just outside, looking back at him expectantly. “Coming, Kenway?”

           Looking at her in the moonlight, strong and healthy and alive, he knew this was not the greatest thing he would be willing to overcome to stay by her side.

           “Aye,” he called back, his voice catching every so slightly. He turned to du Mont and gestured farewell. “Cherish your wife and son,” he advised. Looking around the plush, modest study he added, “You’ve been blessed with a good life here. I envy you for it.”

           He followed Mary out of the house, leaving behind their slightly puzzled new friend to mull over the strangest night of his recent years. With a hand on his partner’s back, the two Assassins set off down the road toward what Edward hoped would become the happiness and satisfaction he so craved.

A sound, a light that rips through the night, now too far away

But when I follow my heart, it leads me to you

When I’m weak from everything that I’m told

Yes, I’m weak from everything that I’m told

And I’m weak from all the things that I know

           The moon hung low on the horizon. Its silver reflection reached out across the sea, stretching toward Edward only to be broken apart by the waves just before reaching him on the shore. The captain sat tucked into the sandy slope of a kingston beach, bare-chested and bare-footed. He wiggled his toes deeper into the soft, bleached grains before him, still somewhat warm from the hot, sunny day. The temperature cooled each inch he dug deeper. Flecks of it clung to his arms and legs and hugged the damp bottom-third of the bottle at his side like a sleeve askew.

           While Mary had gone back to the Jackdaw to make the necessary preparations for their trip at first light, he had come to commune with the sea as he always did when he felt he was losing control. The ocean was one thing he knew he had command of. Here, he was a devil and a king. He inspired fear in his enemies and loyalty in his friends. There was no battle he couldn’t win, no place that was barred to him. Try as they might, these West Indies couldn't seem to kill him.

           What he couldn’t control, however, was his future. Tomorrow night, his relationship with Mary was decidedly going to change. Tomorrow, Mary herself was going to change. She would be a mother in more than just blood and name. He couldn’t say for certain how that might affect their dynamic. Their relationship, their partnership, those were sometimes strained and always carefully balanced. This child would throw a very sturdy weight onto one side of all things. Could they learn to compensate? Edward couldn’t be sure. Mary was so firey and he was so hard-headed. How would the responsibilities of parenthood interact with those traits?

           Moreover, he couldn’t control how tomorrow would go for Mary. There were so many unknowns, so many variables, that he couldn’t ensure the day would go to plan. He couldn’t predict how receptive young Jennifer would be to the change, or if she would be able to understand what was happening. His feelings about this girl’s origins and the potential ramifications on his own life aside, Mary deserved to be reunited with her daughter. Even if it meant he had to give her up altogether to make it happen, then so be it. He would do whatever he could to make their mission a success along with their life thereafter, but ever since that night he’d pulled Mary out of that reeking prison cell he’d had a crippling fear of not being able to do enough. A fear of being too late.

           The sound of familiar footsteps at his side flushed his chest with warmth. The small, rough hand on his bare shoulder was a welcome reminder that he didn’t do this - or anything else - alone. He looked up to see Mary, not James Kidd, at his side. Her hair hung loose, gently lifted here and there by the warm breeze winding around them. She was dressed down to a white blouse with simple trousers and no boots. Her expression was more relaxed than he had seen it in a week, much to his pleasant surprise. “Mind if I join you?” she asked in a murmur.

           In response he took her hand and pulled her down to the sand next to him. She leaned her shoulder against his and gazed our across the water. The waves broke with a soothing, steady roar, their crests five deep as they rolled in toward the beach.

           “You’ve been out here quite a while,” she observed after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

           He turned his head and pressed a small kiss to the crown of her head. She smelled like salt, sweat, and smoke. “Aye, I wanted some quiet. Needed to do a bit of thinking. Did you get on all right with the crew?”            She nodded. “The damp louts will be right and ready come dawn,” she said in a scoff, rubbing the back of his hand affectionately with her thumb.

           He smiled lightly at her irritation with their ever-intoxicated crew and squeezed her fingers. “It is my great regret that I didn’t steal you aboard the Jack years ago. If only Adé had forced my hand a year or two soner.”

           Mary laughed at that. “As though you could have talked me into it, at the time. Or as though you’d have even asked. You’re well aware I’d have used it as a chance to guilt you into joining our Creed, and we both know how eager you were to subject yourself to that back then.” She elbowed him in the ribs teasingly.

           He playfully shoved back before letting out a wistful sigh and hanging his head. “No, you’re wrong about that. I would have jumped at the chance to sail with you. I know I wasn’t an easy man-” She cut him off with an arched brow. He returned a cheeky grin and revised his statement. “-am not an easy man to call friend, but Mary, even then I craved your approval. Yearned to stand at your side an equal in character, worthy of being spoken of in the same breath as you and your brothers. I thought I could go about it my own way, thought that riches and reputation could buy me that right. I tried, Lord knows I did, but I almost lost you for it, and did lose so many others.” His thoughts wandered sadly to their motley family in Nassau, long gone. Thatch, Anne, all the rest more colorful and abrasive.

           She held his gaze calmly with affection and concern in her sharp eyes, staying silent as though she could sense there was more he wasn’t saying. And there was. He didn’t want to say it, was loath even to think it in the shadowed privacy of his own mind. Maybe it was the alcohol swimming about in his veins, however, or that look she was giving him, the patience that always broke him to pieces in the end, but he felt it needed said. Tomorrow would be a different life from the one they were living in that moment on the beach beneath the waning moon. If he didn’t tell her that night, he would most certainly take it to his grave.

           With an anxious huff and a heavy pull from his bottle of rum he continued, his words directed at the rolling waves before them. “More than anything, I hope I would have asked you aboard because I wonder what might have been different in our lives if we hadn’t spent those few years apart.” He pulled his hand from hers, ashamed. His fingers dropped to grab fistfuls of sand, letting the grains sift through them like the wasted days he might have spent loving her instead of his gold. “My cursed partnership with Roberts, your arrest, our long months languishing away just there.” He nodded toward the dim horizon where the lights of Kingston jail glittered in the night across the bay, deceptively and offensively beautiful. He swallowed hard as his throat tried to trap his next words in his chest. “But mostly… I hope Jennifer could have been mine. My blood. No other man’s.” He tried to keep the jealous venom out of his tone but it was all he could do to get the idea past his lips. Controlling his emotions was out of the question. With a rough sigh he conceded, “It’s a natural consequence of my past choices that she is not. But I do hope I could have found a way to be worthy of that honor. To win your favor each night, to make you so satisfied, body and soul, that you need not visit another man’s bed or spend your days in the light of his affection. To be enough. A joy and not a burden.”

           Mary was still as he said all this, carrying on with her patient silence. When he dared glance at her, she was studying the horizon. Her wrists were draped loosely over her knees and her thumbs picked absently at her middle and ring fingers as they sometimes did when she was deep in thought, carefully selecting her words. He couldn’t name the emotion on her face.

           “Anne always said he reminded her of you,” she started after a tense moment of quiet had passed between them that, to Edward, didn’t seem like it would ever end. “I never saw what she did in that. But each of you was after the same thing as the other, something more meaningful than base gold and drink. Esteem, respect, community. Perhaps that’s what she always meant. He was the only man dry enough to fight beside us women that night. He was killed in the struggle while the drunken rats cowering below deck got their fair trial. Twisted fate, that. I never had the chance to tell him I was with child, but I think he’d have been happy. Proud, even. I didn’t love him, nor did he love me to my knowing, but we respected each other, and he’d have made a good father. His name was Jamie. My girl has his red hair.” She turned to face him and placed a hand on his knee. “I’m not going to soothe your ego, Kenway. I have no regrets for these past few years, though I can’t speak for what I might have done had things unfolded in any other manner. But I know my course lies with my daughter, and there’s room alongside us if you’re as certain of your heading as I am of mine. Given time, who knows? Perhaps one day there will be a child that’s equal parts your blood as they are mine.”

           Edward’s insecurities didn’t melt away as she spoke, explaining her side, nor did he feel any more settled about the past and his own regrets. Maybe, though, that was a good thing. His ghosts and regrets were almost welcome friends now. They were the driving force for his ambitions, a somber glimpse at the darkness that awaited him should he ever slip into his old ways, the easy ways. Each morning and night he faced them and counted up his deeds to assure himself they would never again be his reality, would not rob him of even one more day of happiness than they already had. Mary, their future together, even a child one day… they would be his reward for staying his course. He had a feeling that Jennifer would serve as both a ghost and a reward.

           He kissed her then, forcefully. “I can wait for that day,” he promised her. “Because Jennifer is a part of you, and there’s not one damned piece of you that I don’t love more than any of my own.” And he meant that. Until the day that they were ready for another, and every day after that, he would love that little girl as though she were his very own, because she was Mary’s and Mary was his from then and forever more. At last.

Do you think of me when you look to the sea?

I know it’s hard to grow when you’re pushed to your knees

I know our time will pass, your love, it will last

Darling, we will never break

Never break, darling

Song: To The Sea - Seafret