“Let me go! You stupid brutes! Don't you know who I am!? Stop manhandling me you id-”
She was gagged mid-sentence, unable to finish her insult. She kept shouting, muffled and incomprehensibly, for the ugly, grimy men to let her go, but they refused, smirking the entire time.
She was in a hell of a lot of trouble.
They tied her hands behind her and her legs to the sides of the chair she had been thrown on. She lolled her head to the side slightly, wanting to pass out from the sheer fright coursing through her veins, but she kept herself awake by digging her nails in the palm of her hand
Who had captured her, she had not the slightest idea. All she knew was that her family was going to give them hell when they found out that pirates kidnapped her from her room in the middle of the night–Worse, the night before her wedding!-- and taken her far away, out to sea.
It almost seemed like a nightmare, although it was far too real for her to even consider. Nightmares didn’t leave bruises on your wrists, which would slowly turn from navy blue and purple, to bright green and dim yellow. Nightmares didn’t make the stifling heat of being under the deck of a wooden ship so restraining.
Nightmares never played out so clearly around her.
So this was no nightmare. She only had to wait until someone came to inform her of what she was here for. She bit the gag, and then almost threw up. It tasted of sweat and blood and tears.
It was positively disgusting.
She waited a few minutes before the door swung open. She blinked, her eyes having gotten used to the dimness and now suddenly startled by the bright light that shone into the room. All she saw was two silhouettes, at first.
Then, her eyes adjusted.
She would’ve screeched in anger and pain had there not been a gag in her mouth.
The figure, wearing a coat of blood red cloth, a typical pirate hat of the same color, dark black boots, a white, crisp shirt and black trousers, strode in. His eyes were emerald green, glowing with the shadow of the smirk that tugged at his lips. His hair was a mess of dirty blond strands.
Beside him was a boy who looked to be about sixteen. He wore glasses and his cerulean eyes seemed to shine with childishness. He seemed frightened, however, to be in the room, as if he had been there before and hadn't had a very good time in it.
The man with the emerald eyes strode over to her and slid the gag down, so she could speak. She said nothing at first, knowing her voice was hoarse and knowing he wanted to speak. His smirk grew as he began to speak. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Miss Katerina Lockhart. Thought you’d escaped me when you moved to London, did you?” His accented words filled the small room.
A growl rose from her throat, animalistic in nature. “You’re not the only one who’s surprised, asshat.” He chuckled, tsk’ing. “My, my, where did you learn such language?” She turned her face from him, suddenly sickened at the thought of what he was, what he'd become.
He frowned and cupped her chin roughly, forcing her to turn and look at him. Her dark hair swung with the sudden movement and settled itself on her almost bare shoulders. “Look at me when I’m talking,” He spat angrily, his teeth grinding together. She cringed slightly, but kept her defiant glare blazing. “I thought you died, you know.” He smirked again. “Oh yeah? Well so did everyone else.” His last words were bitter and his mouth turned downwards in a slight frown.
His eyes were hypnotizing. The danger, lust and so many other emotions were swirling in his orbs. “I loved you.” She murmured angrily, not wanting to look at him but unable to avert her glare. “Well, now you’ll learn to love me again.” The smirk was back. “W-What?” Her eyes were wide with surprise and fright. She silently cursed herself for stuttering.
He nodded and chuckled, the laugh coming from deep in his chest. “Yes, darling. You’re not going home ever again.” If she’d had a dagger, she would’ve stabbed him.
“Are you mad?! Do you know who my parents are? They’re-.”
“I’m aware that they are the former,” He smirked wider and slowly enunciated ‘former’, “Duke and Duchess of Castilla la Mancha.” She wanted to slap him for the way he so poorly spoke the name of her home land. “It’s pronounced Cas-ti-ya. Not Cas-til-a.”
Her head spun when his hand connected with her left cheek. It stung badly and she hung her head to the side, trying to minimize some of the hurt. His eyes were full of anger now. He clenched and unclenched his fists slowly. “One thing you’ll learn very quickly is that you will never, ever, ever correct the Captain of this vessel.” He looked down at her with a sudden regret. Slowly, he moved to put his hand on her cheek in apology.
She didn’t look at him for moment as she felt his touch. Suddenly, though, she whirled towards his face and screamed, “I don’t care what you are! I don’t care a bloody bit! You left me alone! I died when I thought you had died! My heart was in pieces and I buried them with my memories of you! And now?! Now I find out you’ve been sailing the ocean, the captain of a bloody pirate ship, stealing all the gold off of other ships and probably screwing all the women can find?! You don’t know how much I hate you! You don’t even know my actual name!”
He raised an eyebrow, hardly phased by her screaming. “Your name is Katerina Lockhart of Castilla la Mancha, Spain.”
“It is not, you buffoon! I changed it when we moved to London! My name is Lily Lockhart and you sir!" She reduced her voice to a raging whisper.
"You are someone I don’t even know anymore. Someone I don’t want to know anymore.” Her breath was ragged and her voice hoarse. She slumped over, hanging her head and panting with all the sudden release of years of pent up emotions.
She heard him crouch down and again, he took her chin in his hand, making her look at him and those dazzling eyes that belonged to the man she had once loved dearly. His voice was gentle as he next spoke. She hardly noticed that the boy that had entered with him had gone, closing the door behind him, as if to give them some privacy. “Say my name.” She shook her head, biting her lip and holding back the searing tears that had built themselves up at the corners of her eyes.
“No. No, it’s not yours anymore. You aren’t him. You’re just some filthy pirate who looks like him, who wants to be him and wants me to love you.” She saw the hurt in his eyes and felt her heart flutter with sadness and pity. She shook away the feeling, though. Her true love was dead and had been for a few years, now. “Then say his name. I want to hear it. I haven’t heard it in a very long while.”
She hardly looked at him when she said the name. She stared at her lap instead, remembering another time, another place, where she had been happy and in love.
“Captain Arthur Kirkland of The Voyager Of Seas, said to have been destroyed by pirates and all crew members taken hostage five years ago.”