As he made the walk, he quickly ran through their backstory, what little they had come up with, in his head. He also checked the weapons at his side, cutlass and knife, should he need them. If it came to that, though, they were already dead. He couldn't kill everyone aboard a ship eighty strong. He was confident in his abilities, but that was impossible.
The mate knocked on Grace's door, and when she gave the word, he opened the door for Edward. "Blackstad here to see you, ma'am."
"Thanks, Richard," she said before she waved him away.
Edward watched as the mate closed the door behind him, noticing a broad grin on his face as he did so. He didn't like that grin. As tense as he was in enemy territory, if the mate were expressionless as William, he would have felt the same. The grin just made it more explicit.
"Sit," Grace commanded, pointing to a chair across from the table.
As Edward stepped forward to take a seat, he glanced around the room. It was small and spartan, as it had to be aboard a brigantine, but it was larger than it would be in a sloop. The only light in the room came from a few hanging lanterns and two windows at the back.
One corner held a bed big enough for two, and beside it, a few sets of clothes hung on hooks fastened to the wall. In the opposite corner stood a bookshelf teeming to the brim with sailing books, charts, and other instruments, and next to it a table with various tools, disassembled weapons, and copper. Some of the tools and items had fallen to the deck from the swaying of the ship. Edward saw the same scene on the table in front of them, with sailing charts, books, and weapons and tools from edge to edge.
Edward sat and locked his fingers together, mimicking Grace—a trick Anne and Alexandre had taught him when trying to endear someone to you, mimicking another person's body language to put them at ease.
However, Grace's gaze seemed immediately drawn to Edward's hands, and she instantly changed her posture. She leaned back and folded her arms in front of her and stared at him for a moment.
Edward didn't dare move. He realized Grace was too smart for such tactics, and if he folded his arms, it would be much too obvious. He decided to take the offensive. "What did you need, Captain?"
She didn't respond for a moment, staring at Edward as she waited. Then she relaxed, if only slightly, and reached into a drawer on her side of the table. She pulled out two glasses and a decanter filled with brown liquor. After filling both glasses generously, she passed one of the drinks to Edward.
"I wanted ta welcome ye to our crew," she finally said.
Edward held back his surprise with the motion of taking the cup in hand and took a drink to think up a response. He needed another moment to let the burn of the whiskey subside. "I suppose I passed some test?"
Grace grinned and raised her glass to him after she took a drink herself. "That's right. Ye handled yerself well out there, if a bit slowly for my taste. Next time, try to keep up if ye don' want ta be shot."
"Now that I know about those legs of yours, I'll be more aware."
Grace leaned back and placed her feet up on the table. Dried mud flaked off the bottom of the copper boots onto the papers below, and Edward couldn't help but think Herbert would be appalled that the charts were being soiled. Grace ran her fingers over the copper greaves.
"They're quite a pair, thas' for sure. Pain to reload, though."
Edward nodded. He could tell that she was relaxing around him; perhaps the drink was helping, but maybe this was an advantageous direction to take the conversation. "You must have made them yourself judging by the tools you have there." Edward nodded his head towards Grace's workshop over his shoulder.
"Aye, that I did. These legs've got a few other tricks. Play yer cards right, and maybe I'll show them to you." Grace slid her hands down her legs to her thighs and looked at him with an unmistakable expression of lust.
Edward was in the middle of a drink and had to hold back a cough and sputter. Bollocks! That's what that crewmate meant by not refusing her. I must change the subject. "Your name," he blurted out.
"What about it?" Grace replied, annoyance clear.
"I'm not too learned when it comes to history, but was there not a famous Grace O'Malley whom some would say was also a pirate from a couple of hundred years ago?"
Edward thought he could hear Grace let out a small sigh as she moved her feet off the table. "Aye, that there was." She took another drink of her whiskey. "O'Malley ain't me last name. Had no need of me last one affer…" Grace trailed off but shook her head and moved on. "Probably good fer you to do the same if ye want to go back to yer home someday." Grace pointed with one finger at Edward's ring, sloshing some of the whiskey on the table as she did so.
Edward looked down at the golden wedding ring on his left hand, and he could feel his cheeks flush. Grace took his redness as embarrassment and chuckled, but he was far from embarrassed.
Wrapped around his finger was that familiar gold that was not gold, and he hadn't spared it a second thought. He and Anne had been married for so long it had become a part of him, and it was made of the same material that his father, perhaps more so under the alias Benjamin Hornigold, was known for. He was so worried
