Sum of Memories: Chapter 13.

Chapter 13: Infiltrate.

"You look..."

August 27, 1715.

"How are we supposed to rescue Connor from the middle of a Templar stronghold?"

Edward turned to face the crewmate who had spoken, meeting Drystan's green eyes from across the desk in his cabin. The girl in question had an eyebrow raised where she was in the process of cleaning the cut she had sustained to the crook of her neck.

“Some planning and a lot of luck?” He shrugged, and went back to loading his pistols. “Maybe a coconut or two, as well.”

“Be serious, Edward.” Drystan scowled at him, and he had to admire the way her ire made her eyes flash. “Have you any idea at all what to do?”

“No,” he admitted reluctantly. It had been 10 days since their last sea battle, 10 days since Connor had been taken captive. Edward did not want to admit it, but it scared him to think of what could have happened to the other man in that time. For all they knew, Connor could already be dead. “First thing, I suppose, would be to find out whether or not he’s even still alive.”

Drystan hummed, and when he glanced at her again, he found that she was frowning. Only one hand was clutching her shirt to her chest to preserve her modesty, the other busy wiping out the cut on her neck. Edward swallowed forcefully and turned his gaze back to his guns with an effort.

“Well, I believe we can assume that, had they already executed him, they would probably hang his body in a public place,” she commented, to which Edward nodded. “First thing to do is go around the markets and wharves in Havana and see whether or not they’ve strung him up.” She paused, and then grunted. “Ouch. If they haven’t strung him up or gibbeted him, he’ll be in a prison, somewhere. Given that he’s an Assassin as well as a pirate, Laureano will be keeping him close.”

“Hence why we need a plan to rescue Connor from the middle of a Templar stronghold,” Edward quipped, glancing up at her again, this time with a terse smile as he quoted her earlier question. She made a face at him, but was otherwise silent, brow furrowed in some pain as she wiped again at the gash. Edward sighed. The Welsh words that rolled off his tongue were gentle. “Let me do that, feinir. You can’t reach your own shoulder right.”

He rounded his desk and crossed the cabin to her, and she wordlessly handed him the cloth that she had been using. Edward took it from her and gingerly began to dab at the cut on her shoulder. It was mostly healed, honestly. The new skin was tender and pink, which was probably why she was wincing. Edward lightened his touch a bit. Drystan sighed in relief. If she leaned into his hands a little, neither of them commented on it, even if he did allow his fingertips to linger just a little too long on her soft skin. When he was finished dabbing at the pink scar, he wordlessly reached for the bandages with which to wrap it. His fingers brushed against hers.

Drystan’s soft intake of breath made him pause.

Edward could not stop the pounding of his heart when he looked up to find that her wide, green eyes were fixed upon his blue ones, and he could not help the little skip that his heart gave when he saw her gaze flick downwards towards his mouth. He swallowed, tongue flicking out to wet his chapped lips, and saw her swallow in return. They were only inches apart. He could almost taste her; just a little further, and they would meet.

What would it be like, he wondered, were he to kiss her? Every fiber of his being was crying out, screaming at him to close that little gap and take her lips in his. Would she be as sweet as she looked right now, or would she be salty, like the sailor she professed to be? God, but he did not think that she could be anything but wonderful.

It was only when he heard the shouts from above that he swallowed once more and slowly pulled away from her. Drystan released a slow breath as Edward looked down and grabbed the roll of bandages, unable to meet her gaze.

“We should bandage you up,” he murmured, and was surprised by the huskiness of his voice. He cleared his throat. “And then we need to head ashore.”

Drystan took a deep breath. “Right.”

Edward licked his lips again, pinning one end of the bandage to her right collarbone, opposite her healing wound, and carefully wound the fabric around her neck, across her back, and below her right armpit before he drew the bandage over the curve of her right breast and looped it a second time over the wound on the left side of her neck. He did this a few times, fighting down the heat that rushed through him every time he made skin-to-skin contact. Then, using the part of the bandage that he had kept on her collarbone, he gently but firmly knotted the dressing and turned away, allowing her to right her shirt. For a long moment, the only sound in the cabin was the rustle of cloth. Then Drystan sighed at last.

“I’m decent,” she announced, and Edward nodded.

“Let’s go, then,” he replied. Without looking at her, he crossed back to his desk, holstered all of his pistols, and affixed his Hidden Blades to his wrists. Then, together, they headed out of his cabin and onto the deck.

The away party was already awaiting them. Cadell was there, having rejoined the crew when Edward and Connor had re-recruited Drystan, and there were a few other men who would be joining them. Gibbs was also among those who would be going ashore.

“All right,” Edward announced in English as some of the rats tied the ship up to the docks. “First things first. As you all are aware, our friend and mate, Connor, has been taken by the Spanish and most likely awaits execution. It is our job to get him back. The plan is this: we scout the markets and the docks, see if he’s already been gibbeted or hanged. Report back here at dusk and let me know what you find.” There were murmurs of assent from the rest of the men. “Meanwhile, Master Gregson and his mates will be requisitioning the supplies we’ll need for the journey ahead. If Connor is not hanging in some public place for all to see, we must locate where he is.”

Edward waited for the nods and murmurs of assent to die. Connor was popular with the crew despite his taciturnity and his rather faint sense of humor, mostly because although he helped to run a tight ship, he was also fair, and never shirked any task that was given to him. He also cared universally about those around him, which had won him more friends than he probably knew he had.

“What’ll happen once we figure out where he is?” asked one of the crew, a young man named Tom. He was young enough that he did not yet even have a beard on his chin.

“We regroup, and plan,” interjected Drystan, her deep ‘man’ voice a rough contrast to the smooth alto in which she had spoken to Edward when they were in his cabin. “It might take a few days, but we’ll figure something out.”

Edward nodded his agreement. “Nobody do anything stupid. If he’s being held in a prison or other, it’ll do nobody any good if one of you tries to get him out single-handedly and ends up captured or killed. Find out where he is, come back to the ship, and tell me. No heroics. Aye?”

“Aye!” the crew agreed. Edward grinned. It was a feral thing.

“Then what’re you waiting for?” he demanded. “Get movin’!”

There was a cheer, and they were quick to disembark. Edward and Drystan exchanged a smile, and Edward glanced to Gregson where the older man shouting orders from where he was sitting on a crate at the base of the mast. Gregson gave Edward a wan grin, and a nod, and waved at them to ‘get moving’. He would handle things here. Edward gathered Drystan with a glance, and then they were off, making their way down the dock toward the market.

It was time to find their friend.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

August 30, 1715.

“Damn him. I must look a fool.”

Rhian Yates took a second to study herself in the pool of water at the base of the fountain in the square. She was not certain that she still looked the part; she was not certain that she could still act the part. Unfortunately, their plan required some finesse: their search of the markets, wharves, and prisons two days ago had revealed that Connor had not been executed, but that he was being held in the small jail on the grounds of Governor Laureano’s estate. Rhian had been all for sneaking in at night to free him, but then the message had come that the Governor and his fellow Templars wanted to meet with Edward. Rhian had protested immediately. However, Edward had seen this as a perfect opportunity, and had decided that he needed someone to come with him to distract the Templars so that they could free Connor. Connor, himself, was obviously out of the question, so the role of distraction- or liberator- fell to Rhian.

She was to act the part of one Catherine Walpole, wife of “Templar” Duncan Walpole, newly arrived from England to join her husband.

Rhian could have groaned at the thought of it, if she had not remembered that she was to be Edward's wife. Briefly, she wondered what Caroline would think of this. Edward's true wife was, of course, oblivious to this entire debacle, but Rhian was still highly conscious of the other woman's presumed opinion of the illegitimate girl who would be taking her place that evening.

She swallowed at that particular thought, and felt her heart pound. She would be taking Caroline's place for the evening. More than anything, she prayed that Edward would not forget himself, or her, in the charade.

"Are you ready?" The familiar voice, inflected with an unfamiliarly cultured accent, startled her. Rhian jumped slightly and whipped around to face the man who had spoken. Edward had been frowning slightly at her in a little concern, but when she turned to look at him, she watched as the expression was replaced by one of open appreciation. His jaw even dropped slightly. After a second, he whistled lowly, golden eyebrows shooting upwards as his ocean-blue gaze flitted from the top of her head down to the toes of her uncomfortable shoes and back up to her green eyes. Rhian shifted slightly, feeling heat rise in her cheeks.

It was... nice, to be appreciated as a woman, for once. To be noticed by Edward, even, was more than she ever could have anticipated. Her heart raced. Her palms began to sweat with a sudden onrush of nerves. To hide it, she held her hands out to her sides and turned a slow circle for him, eyes only briefly leaving his face.

"Well?" she asked bashfully. "Do I fit the part?"

She was wearing a blue dress whose tight, green bodice was embroidered in white with flowers and hummingbirds. Rhian had found the dress in the Jackdaw’s hold, taken as swag in a previous raid. She had absconded with it and changed into it once they had come ashore to enact their plan. The healing scar on her neck was covered by a ruffled lace collar as well as some carefully-applied cosmetic paste. The collar was dainty enough to be feminine, but still covered her scar well enough to hide it. Upon her head was a blue bonnet, tied beneath her chin with a ribbon. Its skirt was full enough to conceal the fact that she was wearing leggings beneath it, with a shirt tied around her hips.

Needless to say, it was quite the departure from her normal ensemble.

Edward’s gaze shot up to hers from where he had been taking in the sight of her enhanced bust and slender waist, and then he was suddenly right in front of her, with no respect for her personal space. Rhian gasped as he settled his hands around her waist, pulling her into him until they were flush together. She swallowed thickly. He was solid muscle against her front. She could feel his appreciation for her in the tension in his grip.

Edward leaned down, his hand coming up to cup her cheek, and brushed the tip of his nose against hers.

"You look ravishing," he whispered. Rhian's eyes fluttered. She felt light-headed as his warm breath washed over her lips, smelling of rum and tobacco. He bumped her forehead lightly with his. "Are you ready for this?"

Rhian nodded shakily. "As ready as I'll ever be. I still almost wish you'd brought me in as a fiddler for the evening, instead of your wife."

He squeezed her around the waist, leaning down again to brush his lips across her cheek. She shivered as his stubble scratched gently against her skin.

"You'll do fine," he murmured to her. "Just use those incredible acting skills you showed us on the Jackdaw in July, and you'll have no problem."

Rhian shivered again and pulled away slightly to look uncertainly into his eyes. "I think you've got too much confidence in me, Duncan."

Edward chuckled. "I think I've got just enough confidence in you, Catherine." He pulled away and came around to her side, gallantly holding out his arm for her to take. Rhian hooked her arm around his after a second's hesitation, holding him daintily the way she recalled seeing prestigious women do back in Cardiff. "Just act like the lady you would have been had your father not been an arse, and you'll do fine."

Rhian grinned and looked at him as he led the way up the street towards the Governor's mansion.

"I can't believe you just called my father an arse," she muttered, struggling to master herself once more. Edward gave her a sidelong glance, ocean-blue eyes twinkling merrily at her from under his hood.

"Why not?" he inquired. Rhian shook her head, feeling almost giddy from his closeness and the attention she was receiving.

"It's absurd," she chuckled. At his questioning look, she shook her head again. "The poor man isn't even here to defend himself. Arse or not, we shouldn't speak ill of someone who can't support his actions, or lack thereof."

Edward nodded thoughtfully and faced forward. They were coming up on the entrance to the mansion complex. It was after he gave their names and business to the guard at the front that Edward leaned over slightly to her ear.

"I notice you didn't say he's not an arse," he whispered, and Rhian had to bite her lip to keep from bursting out laughing. As the guard returned, she leaned up to his ear.

"If this works, I won't know whether to be impressed or not," she breathed. "You're either completely brilliant, or completely mad."

He chuckled. "It's amazing how often those two traits coincide."

Then they were mostly silent, meandering their way up the long drive to the outermost courtyard of Laureano's mansion. The closer they got, the tighter Rhian's grip on Edward's arm became, until he squeezed her hand.

"You'll be fine, Catherine," he murmured as Rhian spotted an old man and two younger ones gathered around a table beneath a pavilion a short ways away. "Just remember to improvise as needed."

She nodded shakily, certain that she was paler than normal. God, Templars? What was she thinking? And how in Hell had Edward fallen in with them in the first place? Rhian was not sure that she wanted to know. Oh, dear. They had noticed them, and were straightening up to greet them.

God help her.

“Duncan, how kind of you to join us,” the oldest of the trio said, and Rhian saw his eyes lingering upon her. He had a faint Spanish accent. “¿Y quién es esta mujer? She is beautiful.”

Rhian glanced at Edward, and he returned it before he nodded, giving her the go-ahead. Rhian turned back to the Templars and, letting go of Edward’s arm, she curtseyed as Branwyn had taught her, once upon a time.

“This is Catherine, my wife,” Edward explained, and then gestured to the three men. "Kitty, these are my colleagues."

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Rhian straightened again and looked innocently at the Spaniard, seeing him exchanging glances with the other two Templars. “I had just arrived from England when Duncan told me that I simply must accompany him to this meeting so that I might be acquainted with the men whom he so highly esteems.”

She was laying it on thickly, she knew. Judging by the way that Edward squeezed her hand as she returned it to his arm, he knew it, as well. However, the Templars seemed to buy it. The one in the hat came over and took Rhian’s hand in his own, bowing over it before he turned a charming smile on her.

“Enchanté, madame,” he said, and Rhian returned his smile. “I am Julien du Casse.”

“Tout le plaisir est pour moi, monsieur,” she replied. The man looked surprised and pleased.

“Vous parlez français!” he exclaimed, grinning. Rhian had the grace to look a little embarrassed.

“Oui, monsieur, un peu,” she replied. “Je parle français, espagnol, italien et anglais. My father was a merchant with dealings in England, France, Italy, and Spain.”

Julien was still grinning as he turned to Edward. “You did not say she was educated!” He gestured to the others in the gathering. “These gentlemen are Woodes Rogers and monsieur Laureano, the governor of this island.”

Rhian turned a strained smile on the old man, Laureano de Torres y Ayala, and the other, younger man, whom she supposed was Woodes Rogers. Rogers smiled at her, the scars at his left cheek causing the expression to pinch and twist grotesquely.

“A pleasure, madam, I am sure,” he said. “You said that your father was a merchant?”

“Yes,” Rhian replied. She felt Edward’s blue eyes upon her, and glanced up at him with affection. “My father needed a translator for his business, but unfortunately for him, I was not born a boy.” She chuckled, grinning at Rogers briefly before looking back up to her supposed husband. “Still, he had me tutored in the trade languages of the empires. It has come in handy, so far.”

“I would imagine,” Rogers murmured. “How did you two meet?”

“Duncan’s father was one of my father’s clients. We met through them.” Rhian shook her head slightly, feeling breathless. “Oh, but I am truly sorry. I am talking too much, am I not?”

Edward squeezed her hand again, and Rhian looked back up at him to find him smiling softly down at her.

“You’re fine, love,” he whispered to her. The blush that rose to her cheeks was not faked, and neither was the silly, shy little smile that quirked her lips. She was aware of the other men exchanging glances, and then Rogers cleared his throat.

“As touching as this is,” the scarred man began, “we really do have some business to begin.” He gestured to Rhian. “If Lady… Catherine, was it? If Lady Catherine would like to go inside, where it is cooler, we can discuss our business and then take a repast. My lady, you do look a little faint.”

Rhian turned her green gaze to Rogers, and felt her head swim with the motion. She felt the blood drain from her face. It truly was too hot to be wearing so many layers, especially when she was not used to it. Thankfully, Edward was there to steady her.

“You… You are right, of course,” she said, blinking rapidly to clear the haze from her vision. “I am not yet used to the heat. Havana is… very warm.” She sighed faintly and nodded, and politely curtseyed to the Templars yet again. “I thank you, Governor, for your hospitality, and I truly appreciate all three of you for making me feel so welcome.”

“It was nothing,” Governor Laureano replied. His eyes were still flinty, but perhaps a tiny bit softer than they had been before then. He motioned to a servant. “Emanuel will take you to one of the parlors, where you can rest. Adios, señora.”

“Mil gracias, señor,” Rhian sighed. She squeezed Edward’s hand, and then she took the arm of the butler who had approached. As he led her away, she glanced back to Edward, and gave him a reassuring smile when she saw his concerned look.

The butler led her up the way into the mansion, and soon she was ensconced within a roomy, airy parlor. The butler left her after offering her some refreshment. Rhian told him that she was going to have a nap, and requested that nobody disturb her unless it was her husband, the governor, or either of the other two men. He brought a basin, cloth, and a pitcher of water. She lay down and pretended to sleep. After the butler had gone, Rhian quickly shucked her outer layers, bonnet, and collar, stripping down to the belted tunic and leggings beneath, and pulled the hood of her tunic over her head. Then she slipped out through the window and scaled the side of the mansion.

The stucco of the walls and the smoothness of the terracotta roof tiles were hot beneath her bare hands and feet, but Rhian, used to hot ship decks and tar-soaked ropes as she was, simply brushed off the heat before she took a good look around her. Edward had indicated that the holding cells were somewhere else on the complex, so Rhian scanned the area in search of anything that looked remotely like a prison.

There. There, on the opposite side of a low wall about 100 yards to her right, was a low building with a wrought-iron gate that opened onto a small courtyard. She could see a guard leaning against the outside wall.

Glancing around, Rhian took note of a series of fields and low bushes leading up the way to the building. Beside the mansion itself was a large tree, which she could use to get down to the ground and back up to the parlor once she was done. Swallowing, palming the dagger she had shoved into the back of her belt, Rhian glanced around before running, doubled-over, to the tree. She descended it quickly. In less than 10 seconds, the bare soles of her feet hit the soft grass below, and then she was off, sprinting for the nearest cover.

It was slow, tedious going, and more than once, Rhian felt certain that she had been spotted by one of the guards patrolling the grounds. The closest call she had was when she was dashing from one bush to another behind a hut; a guard rounded the small building, and she had to hastily scramble backwards into a supply closet before he could see her. It had been a tense few seconds, during which she had held her breath and strained to hear over the pounding of her heart.

The door had opened.

Rhian had lunged out and grabbed the guard by the lapels. Her dagger had slipped between his ribs an instant later. His heart had stopped in seconds. The guard had been heavy, once dead; he had sagged against her with a gurgle. Rhian had lowered him to the ground and hastily dragged him into the closet, whispering a prayer of peace for the man’s soul as she had slipped out and cautiously continued on her way.

That had been 15 minutes ago.

Now, she was crouching at the edge of the low wall, craning her neck to see around the corner. Her ears strained for any sound that would indicate an approaching guard. As it was, she could hear nothing, and she had seen no other guards in the area during her approach. Taking a deep breath, Rhian decided to risk it. Straightening, she reversed her grip on her dagger and dashed towards the startled guard at the wall.

He opened his mouth to shout a warning. The blade of Rhian’s hand flashed up into his throat, crushing his windpipe. The man choked. She flipped the dagger around again and thrust it into his stomach once, twice, and then lowered him to the ground, sliding him out of the way so that he was not immediately visible from the path. Then Rhian patted down his pockets until she found the ring of keys.

“Connor?” she hissed, pulling the ring out of the corpse’s left pocket. “Connor, are you there?”

Connor’s face appeared at the gate. The surprised expression on his tan features was well worth the extra trouble she had had in getting there.

“Rhian!” he gasped, and then glanced warily around. “Watch out, there is a guard-“ He trailed off, tawny gaze landing upon the corpse at Rhian’s feet. “Never mind.”

Rhian grinned, and came over to the gate, pulling out the first of the five keys. As she tried it in the lock, she looked up at him.

"Have you had enough of Templar hospitality, yet?" she asked, grinning. The key clattered as she tried it.

Connor's soft, rare chuckle was music to her ears, strained though it was. "I have. My ribs cannot take much more abuse, at any rate."

"They've improved on your face, though." She gave a breathless chuckle in response to his glare. "You know I'm teasing." The key slipped again with an ungodly clank. "Mother of Christ!"

They held their breath for a long moment, straining to hear whether or not the sound had attracted any guards. Finally, they exhaled again, and Rhian got back to work.

“Once I get you out, make your way off of the property and get to the Jackdaw,” she told him quietly. “Edward’s distracting the Templars right now, and I have to rendezvous with him, or they’ll know something’s up.” She glanced over at a table underneath a nearby awning as she gave up on the first key and tried the second. “Your things are over there.”

“Right,” Connor muttered. He was staring at the keys in her hand. “It’s the fourth one.”

Rhian blinked, and stared at him for a second. Then she glanced closely at the keys. After a second, she nodded slowly and tried the fourth key. The door came unlocked within a second. Connor stepped out into the mid-evening sunlight, squinting for a heartbeat or two before he looked at Rhian. Rhian, for her part, stepped up to him and briefly wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She was just so glad to see him.

“I’m so glad that you’re safe,” she whispered into his chest as he stiffly returned the embrace. She took a deep breath of her best friend’s scent, and then pushed him away, green eyes flicking up to meet tawny ones. “Now go. I have to get back before they realize I’ve gone.”

Connor nodded, giving her a small smile. Then he moved over to the table for his armaments, and Rhian dashed off the way she had come, dodging patrols and ducking into bushes as she went.

It was as she reached up to scale the tree that would take her back to the roof that Rhian realized that she had blood on her hands. The two guards she had killed had slumped onto her when they had died; the crimson substance had gotten all over her hands and part of her sleeves, and there was a splash of it on her right knee as well. Rhian frowned and quickly wiped her hands off on the hem of her tunic, making sure to get as much of it off as possible. Then she quickly climbed the tree and made her way back to the parlor where the butler, Emanuel, had left her almost 30 minutes earlier.

The parlor was undisturbed. Rhian climbed stealthily back into the room through the window and hastily unlaced her short tunic, slipping it down over her shoulders to expose her bare breasts, and then slid it down over her belt to bunch around her waist and hips. After that, she quickly washed her hands in the water that the butler had brought her. Once they were clean, she pulled on the shift and then the dress, cinching them down around her waist. Rhian studied herself in one of the decorative mirrors on one of the walls; as far as she could tell, she looked as though she was nothing more than a wide-hipped woman. There were no strange lumps or wrinkles that could give away the presence of her other clothing. Rhian sat down upon the chaise and, rolling up her leggings to her knee, she slipped on her stockings and shoes, making sure that she was presentable. Then she quickly redid her hair, combing her fingers through it to get rid of any leaves or hay, before putting it back up in a respectable bun. A second later, her collar and the bonnet settled back into place.

There. Finished and passable.

Her task done, Rhian emptied the basin of its red-tinged water and sighed, seating herself upon the couch, and taking a moment to rest. Her heart was still pounding from her exertions. There had been too many close calls for her liking. As it was, the knock on the door startled her, and she gasped before she got out a weak “come in.”

The butler poked his head inside, and Rhian watched his brow furrow as he scanned her face, taking in the paleness of her skin, the thin sheen of sweat upon her brow, and the rapidness of her breathing.

“Señora, ¿cómo está usted?” he asked. Rhian decided to play upon the concern she read in his features.

“No estoy bien,” she gasped out. “Es posible que yo esté enferma. Necesito retornar a la posada de Duncan.”

The butler nodded slowly, and extended his arm to her. “¿Quiere usted que yo se ayude?”

“Sí, por favor,” she said, and then, rising, took his arm, allowing him to feel the shaking in her hands and leaning on him slightly as he guided her out of the room.

Within a few moments, they were approaching the gathering of Templars, who were all sipping from wine glasses and chatting, by this time. Governor Laureano had departed, but Rogers and Julien du Casse remained in addition to Edward. It seemed as though they had concluded their business and were now taking their ease. Edward looked up at Rhian’s approach, and he immediately frowned, stopping mid-sentence to gaze at her with concern.

“Catherine, are you well?” he asked, rising to meet her. The other two gentlemen did the same. Rhian noticed that he looked a little bit glazed as he set aside his wine cup. “You’re pale as a ghost.”

Rhian nodded faintly, playing up the act just a little bit. “Yes, I’ll be fine once I cool off and get some rest. I’m just feeling a bit faint from the heat.”

Even as she said it, her head rushed a bit, and she wobbled, her knees going weak. She longed for the cool looseness of her slops and the sea air. The air over the land was too hot and stagnant; she was suffocating. When her eyes fluttered open again, Rhian found that Edward was holding her up by her elbows, quietly calling her assumed name.

“Catherine,” he said. “Kitty, look at me. Breathe.”

Rhian did as she was told, looking up into Edward’s ocean-blue eyes.

“I think I need to go to the inn,” she murmured. “Get some rest, change into some clothing more suited to this climate.”

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Edward concurred, frowning down at her for a moment before he tucked her hand into his arm and turned back to the other men. “Rogers, du Casse, I’m afraid my wife is not well. We must bid you farewell, for the time being.”

Du Casse nodded immediately and came over to bend politely over her hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you, madame.”

“And you as well, monsieur,” Rhian replied, and then watched as Rogers bowed to her.

“I also enjoyed this meeting,” he said, and then held up his hand when she made to dip a curtsey. “No, do not strain yourself on my account, lady. I only hope that you will feel better soon.”

Rhian gave Rogers a grateful smile. “Thank you, sir. I enjoyed making your acquaintance, as well. I do hope that we can all see each other again sometime in the future.”

Rogers and du Casse voiced their agreement, and Edward said his farewells before they departed, strolling slowly down the path towards the front gates and the town beyond. As they walked, Rhian noticed that despite the fact that Edward had a slight sway to his step, he was tense as a drawn bow.

“You’ve been drinking,” she observed quietly. Edward hushed her, patting her hand absently. He seemed preoccupied.

They reached the front gate without incident and passed through it into Havana’s busy streets. They continued their slow pace for a while, until the crowds had swallowed them entirely and they were well out of sight of the mansion. It was then that Rhian, short of breath by this time, tugged Edward into the narrow space between two houses and slumped against the wall. He eyed her neutrally as she closed her eyes and tilted her head up, trying to catch a little bit of a breeze on the hot skin of her throat and chest.

“It’s too damn hot for these fucking clothes,” she muttered to him, yanking off her bonnet and collar and fanning herself with her hand. Edward did not reply, but a second later, Rhian felt his hand in the crook of her neck. Her eyes flew open, meeting his instantly.

Rhian’s stomach started fluttering. It felt as though there were a million butterflies in it; she began to tremble.

“Take off the dress,” Edward suggested lowly. Rhian shivered involuntarily as his thumb stroked the delicate skin of her throat.

“My tunic and leggings are bloodied,” she replied quietly. “Had to kill a couple of guards. They’d attract too much attention.”

He stepped a little bit closer. Rhian could feel his calm breaths tickling her skin.

“Then take off the tunic and leggings and just wear the dress,” he advised her. Rhian swallowed thickly.

“Right,” she murmured. Licking her lips, she leaned back away from him, tossed away the bonnet and collar, and started hiking up her skirts. “Keep an eye out, would you?”

Edward nodded, and Rhian turned to her task. She had hiked her skirts up around her waist, exposing the bloodied outfit beneath. As she pulled the tunic up to expose the belt, she realized that she had forgotten her dagger back at the mansion. It was buried in the prison guard’s stomach. She shrugged mentally. No huge loss. Her nimble fingers, though shaking, were quick to undo the buckle of her belt, and she dropped it and her tunic to the ground, kicking it off her feet down the alleyway. Then she allowed her skirts to fall a bit, hiding her from sight as she worked her leggings down off of her bottom, around her knees and stockings and shoes, and kicked those away, as well. She paused, gazing down at the shoes and stockings, and then opened her mouth, looking up to ask Edward whether he thought she should keep them on or not.

Rhian froze.

Edward was staring at her with a look of unhidden desire on his face. She had seen it only once before, when he had been sitting in the tavern the last time they had been in Havana together. He had been with a whore, then, but had never followed through on his desires, as Rhian had been poisoned not long after that, and he had followed her and Connor to the Jackdaw to make sure that she was all right. But there was something else there, now, something that stole Rhian’s breath and made her heart beat a fast staccato against her ribs. There was something soft about his pointed gaze, something indescribable that told her that he did not desire only her body. He wanted her heart, as well.

It was this look, this realization, which made goosebumps rise on Rhian’s skin. She swallowed hard around the pounding of her heart in her throat. Her suddenly nerveless fingers dropped her skirts. They tickled as they swept around the skin of her thighs and calves. She leaned gingerly against the wall of the hut behind her, gazing up into his smoky gaze with a combination of trepidation and excitement.

Edward took a tiny step towards her. Rhian took a tiny step back and to the side. He took another, she took another, and so forth, until they were completely ensconced within the deepening shadows between the twilit houses. It was then that Rhian’s back hit something solid. There was a wall there; the alley did not let out. She was trapped between Edward and a hard place. Surprisingly, Rhian found that she was not afraid.

Not with Edward. Never with Edward.

The man before her licked his lips. Rhian watched the motion with rapt fascination, and then glanced down at his hands when he reached out to encircle her hips with his arms. Once she was flush against his chest, he leaned down and rested his forehead against hers, gazing deeply into her eyes.

“I was worried about you,” he confessed, voice barely a whisper. Rhian sighed and lifted her arms to wrap them around his shoulders. “You took a long time.”

“I was sneaking across the compound in broad daylight,” she reminded him softly. “It’s been a while since I’ve really had to get somewhere while remaining undetected. At least Connor’s free, and the Templars are none the wiser.”

Edward nodded, a shaky sigh escaping his lips. Then he growled.

“I don’t like the way they looked at you,” he muttered, squeezing her around the waist. Rhian gasped as the motion brought her face within inches of his. Edward froze, breath catching in his lungs. After a second, he relaxed a bit, and his sigh rattled with the force of his restraint. “You look all too fetching in that dress.”

Rhian licked her lips nervously, mouth opening as she shivered within his arms. Her heart only pounded harder the longer she remained in his embrace.

“I-I… Thank you,” she rasped. “I thought you were simply being kind, earlier.”

He shivered a little, and bent down so that his breath tickled her ear. “There’s nothing to be kind about. You take care of that all on your own.” His lips brushed her earlobe, and Rhian jumped. “You truly do look absolutely stunning.”

Rhian clenched her eyes shut and swallowed again around the lump in her throat. She had done this to him. She was the reason why he was so tense. She, and she alone, was the reason why he was staring at her with smoke in his heavy gaze. As she opened her eyes again and turned her head to meet Edward’s ocean-blue gaze with her seafoam-green one, she found that she did not have the words to make him pull away as she should. Rhian’s lips parted. He was so close that she could almost taste him.

Oh, but she so wanted to taste him.

“Edward,” she breathed. She saw him swallow, saw him freeze, saw him debate this just as she was.

Then, as though a switch had been activated, she saw the decision, the need, overcome him. His hand slid up her waist, up her back, to cradle her neck. Rhian tensed instinctively at first. Then she relaxed and allowed him to thread his fingers through her hair, gazing up into his eyes with trust and anticipation. His eyes never left hers, glittering through the deepening darkness.

She lifted her hands, clutched his shoulders as he slowly tilted her head up towards his. The muscles of his arms and shoulders bunched and flexed beneath her fingers. He paused, gauging her reaction.

Rhian arched into him, breathless, their bellies meeting so, so intimately; it would be scandalous should anybody catch them now. She could not believe that this was really happening. Was she really about to kiss Edward Kenway, when she was not sure how he felt about her, and when he still obviously carried affection and love for his wife? Rhian was not certain what she thought of that, but as she pressed up against him, reaching up to cradle his jaw between her palms, she realized that she did not really care. She was worried that he might decide that this was a mistake, yes, but at the same time, she wanted this too much. She wanted him so much that it was sometimes a physical ache in her heart. And now she had the chance to share this with him, for however brief a time it might be.

Rhian made her decision.

Leaning up, she paused as the side of her nose brushed against his, waiting for him to push her away from him. Then, when his breathing only picked up a bit, she gingerly closed the gap between them, eyelids falling to half-mast as his soft lips met hers for the first time.

Edward sighed through his nose, parting her lips and deepening the kiss. Oh, but he tasted wonderful. Better than all her wild imaginings had ever allowed her to wonder, all wine and rum and the mint that they had chewed on their way to the mansion earlier. It was absolutely amazing.

Rhian felt as though her restless heart had finally quieted. Sure, it was pounding wildly as he gently slanted his mouth against hers, but Rhian was happy, happier than she could ever remember being before. It felt right, to be there in that alley, kissing the man she for whom she cared so deeply. It felt right, to feel her heart connecting with his as he gazed at her from under his thick lashes while his mouth worked slowly against hers, savoring each kiss.

“Edward,” she breathed, and goosebumps spread across her skin once more. Rhian lifted one hand to twine it in his blond hair; the other one, the one on his shoulder, trailed back around his neck, pulling her closer to him as she sighed and melted into the kiss. He shuddered, and a second later, he had turned them so that Rhian’s back was to the wall. Her heart was pounding in her throat, and her stomach was fluttering as though it was about to fly straight out of her body. Rhian could not breathe, could not think. All she knew was her, him, and the tension between them, and it was in that instant that she knew it to be a fact.

Rhian Yates was in love with Edward Kenway.

She wished she could tell him! She wished he could say her real name as he returned her words, but he could not. He did not know her real name, and she could never, in good conscience, tell him that she loved him, not while his wife was still alive.

“Drystan,” he breathed, pressing a tender, languid kiss to her mouth. As Rhian reciprocated, she could imagine, in that moment, that he did, perhaps, love her, too. “Drystan.” He peppered her face with affectionate little kisses. It was a supplication. “Drystan.”

It was some time before they managed to do anything but stand there, Rhian sandwiched between Edward and the wall, knowing nothing but the affection and the contact between them. They exchanged little kisses from time to time, sighing in pleasure, simply breathing, drinking in each other’s warmth and scent and the feel of their bodies pressed together so intimately.

It was official: Rhian Yates was head over heels for Captain Edward Kenway.

“Edward,” she breathed at length. “I don’t want this moment to end.”

He nudged her nose with his; humming softly, he brushed another slow, sweet kiss across her lips. “Neither do I.”

She felt a silly grin spread slowly across her face. “You mean that?”

Edward pulled back enough to look into her eyes.

“I do mean that,” he whispered. “I don’t want to go back to the ship. I don’t want to fight, anymore. I just want to stay right here, with you.”

Edward initiated the kiss, this time, slowly working her lips with his own until they were both sighing with pleasure. Her heart was beating slowly in her chest, but with every beat, it whispered Edward’s name. Rhian pressed her palm to his chest over his heart.

It took her a moment to realize that his heart was beating in exact time with hers.

Eventually, however, they had to part. It was full dark, now, and it was past time to get back to the Jackdaw. Rhian and Edward parted, stealing a few sweet kisses in the process, and then, arm in arm, they started the trek back to the ship. Rhian simply leaned against his shoulder as they walked, breathing contentedly of his scent. She felt whole, or as close to it as she had ever been.

Soon enough, they reached the place where Rhian had stashed her slops and waistcoat. Edward stood guard at the mouth of the alley as Rhian quickly bound her breasts and happily changed her clothing, and when she tapped him on the shoulder again, he glanced back at her and nodded. There was just the faintest tinge of disappointment in his eyes when he realized that she was Drystan again, but otherwise, there was little else than relief and contentment. It did not stop him from dipping down to feather the lightest of kisses upon her lips.

“Welcome back, Drystan,” he whispered. Rhian was beaming as they left the alley, bundling up the dress in her arms as she went.

When they reached the Jackdaw again and boarded, Rhian was immediately swept into a hug by a tall, broad form. It was Cadell. Her brother held her tight for a few seconds, and then pulled away suddenly, frowning down at her in confusion.

“Drystan,” he began slowly, quietly. “You smell like Edward.”

Rhian felt her cheeks color. Cadell’s eyebrows shot up.

“You didn’t,” he muttered in disbelief. Rhian swallowed.

“No, we didn’t,” she whispered. “But I killed two men tonight… and after sneaking around the Templar stronghold all on my own, I was taut as a violin string. We just… It just… we kissed. That's all.”

The pitying look in Cadell’s eyes sent a stone straight to Rhian’s gut. She glanced uncertainly back at Edward where the blond man was having a quiet word with Connor, who was shirtless but for the bandages wrapped firmly around his ribs. Edward glanced over at her, and their eyes met. A calm, affectionate smile spread across his face, and Rhian felt reassurance and happiness wash over her.

She returned the smile.

“You know,” she murmured, “I’m not sure if he loves me or not, but I can tell you one thing.” She looked back over to her brother, feeling more serene than she ever had. The surprised look on Cadell’s face told her that he saw what it was she felt. “I love him with all my heart, brother, and I’m so happy when I’m with him that I’m willing to go through any heartache to be by his side.”

Cadell stared at her for a moment longer. Then he nodded slowly.

“All right,” he conceded. After a second, he shook himself. “Well, if you’re happy, then I give you my blessing. Just see to it that you don't let your heart get broken, and don’t make the mistake I made.”

“Which one is that?” Rhian asked, glancing back at Edward again. She caught him watching her, and turned back to her brother with a small, secret grin. Cadell chuckled when he realized what had happened. Then he sobered a little, and gently chucked a knuckle across her chin.

“Don’t make the mistake of sleeping with him before he’s wed you,” he intoned quietly. “I don’t want you to have a baby out of wedlock. I love Bobby more than life, but you were right to be angry with me when you found out about him, and I don’t want you to have to go through that with your own child.”

Rhian nodded in affirmation, and leaned her head against her brother’s collarbone.

“I won’t,” she promised. Then she yawned. “Now, I think I’m going to go get some sleep.”

Cadell hugged her again, one more time. Then he let her go, watching as she shambled over to Edward and Connor. Rhian trailed a hand across Edward’s arm as she came up beside them, and then she rested her other hand on Connor’s bare shoulder. The tall, dark Assassin watched her with undisguised affection as she gazed happily at Edward before turning back to Connor.

“I’m glad to see you made it home safely,” she murmured to him. Connor nodded.

“I am glad to see that the two of you made it back, as well,” he answered. Then he gingerly pulled her into a one-armed hug. Rhian returned it, sighing into his chest. Then they parted, and Rhian turned to Edward.

“I’m going to get some sleep,” she informed him, and then hesitated, uncertainty creeping up on her. “I’d like to speak with you, sometime tomorrow.”

He reached up and, catching her hand in his, pressed his lips to her knuckles, ocean-blue eyes glittering at her in the moonlight with a softness she had seldom seen on anyone before.

“Of course,” he whispered. Rhian’s heart fluttered, but she nodded with a small smile, and after squeezing his hand, she headed for the ladder that would take her below. Late that night, she lay awake in her hammock, unable to sleep or to stop smiling for her joy.

Rhian Yates was the happiest woman on the seven seas.