Taylor just about fell to her knees when she was pushed, she was so in shock.

The man in front of her rubbed his beard tiredly, and sneered, “Anglaise.”

“You’re still alive…”

He crouched down, looking at her with utter contempt, before speaking with an even more gravel-filled voice than before, “You came to my island. To my people. You will not take a silver piece, you English dog. Those, are for my children.”

“Arrêt! Père, tu dois arrêter!” A frantic voice whipped out, and Taylor looked over in shock to see the woman she had saved earlier sprinting from the village to where they were standing.

She skidded to a stop in front of Taylor, throwing her hands open wide, “Arrete ca!”

“Pourquoi devrais-je épargner ce voleur anglais?” He said in astonishment, standing up slowly and putting a hand to the hilt of the sword on his hip. A sword that did not look to be the least ceremonial.

The woman dropped her arms, “C’est lui qui m’a sauvé.”

He blinked, and shook his head in amusement. A chuckle beginning somewhere in his bowels before breaking out and thundering across the entire small village. The guards closest to Taylor took half-step backwards, which was not even a little reassuring.

The man cut off his laughter abruptly, stepping forward and shoving the woman aside with one hand. She hit the dirt, as Flint grabbed Taylor by the chin and lifted her struggling to her feet.

He leaned in, nose about touching hers, letting her smell the tobacco on his breath. He spoke with a very quiet sneer, “Why is it, that you saved my daughter?”

“She’s your -”

“Answer the question, dog!” He roared at her, spittle flying and coating half her face.

Taylor flinched, “They were going to rape her!”

“They’re yours.”

“No, they’re not. I am no pirate.” She said firmly, glaring at him, “A man gave me that map. For that gift, they burnt my home to the ground. Both my parents are dead. I am no one, but an idiot who hoped for a better future.”

“And a better future… You will have.” He leaned back, and gave a half smile, “You saved my daughter. You can stand where most men quail and fall. By the laws of this land, the right is yours.”

He turned around, walking back into the hut with a wave of his hand, “Laure is yours. Libérez-la.”

The guards around her relaxed, and she stared in shock as one of them handed her back her weapons, before those from the tunnel began to quick march - presumably back to that underground hellhole.

Taylor’s hands were shaking as she replaced the knife and pistol, before crawling over to the fallen woman. She gave a weak smile to her, “He is quite the father, is he not?”

Laure blinked, and then gave a small smile, “Il m’aime. Il est juste incapable de le montrer.”

She shook her head, standing and helping Laure to their feet. “Sorry. I know it is rather stereotypical, but I’m an idiotic Englishwoman. I speak so very little French. About enough that you could order a pint from me, but little else.”

“Je ne parle pas anglais.” Laure shrugged.

Taylor shook her head and smiled, “Ah. Well, thankyou all the same. Now… Am I free? Or just not about to die? Not that you know what it is, that I’m saying.”

Laure took her by the wrist, kindly but firmly, and led her back towards the houses of the village. In the centre of the small area was a large black pit, stained from so very many uses. There, the other villages were shifting aside some large cauldrons that had been bubbling over the coals, and beginning to add small bundles of sticks.

Her host pushed Taylor to sit on the edge of a fence, sitting beside her and smiling nervously. Laure waved to what the others were doing franticly, “C’est une tradition. On brûle une effigie du père.”

“I’m afraid that I have not a single idea what you just said.” Taylor smiled prettily.

Laure hesitated, and then brushed a hair back behind Taylor’s ear. Their eyes locking as she did. There was fear in them, but also… Excitement? Taylor felt uncomfortable, out of sorts, and like the adrenaline had not faded a single lick.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

All the same, she did also feel… Something else. An expectation of things to come. Flint hadn’t just spared her life, here. He had set things into motion. There was another down in that tunnel, and she doubted that he would sit still, now that his treasure was discovered.

A fortune, captured not to be kept for some pirate’s glee, but so that he could build a home for his family. Dolling out the treasure, a piece at a time, only where it was most necessary. This entire village lived, because he had tried to carve out a new home for himself.

Though… His treasure seeking days were precisely why he had to forge something so private, to begin with.

Laure suddenly grinned and reached up to her ears. She undid and removed her earrings, which Taylor only just noticed were probably gold, and not paste with copper. They had tiny little white stones, encircling a deeper red one.

Taylor frowned, uncertain, as the other woman lifted them up to her ears. “Hold steady, ol’ girl. You might have noticed, mine aren’t pierced.”

That changed.

Her teeth were clenched and gritted, as Laure leaned into her, smiling and looking out at what was clearly an effigy of some kind. They were building a man out of wood, hoping to do it faster than it would catch on fire from the hot coals.

“C’est la manière française.” Laure murmured as she snuggled in, and almost appeared sleepy.

Taylor did have to admit, that having someone’s head resting on her chest was a comfort. There was a wholesome warmness to it all, one she had never felt before.

She did have a brief thought to Vernon, but he could never offer this same comfort. If Taylor had rested her head on his chest, it would have been nothing but burbles and the breath of chewing tobacco. There was no home to be had in that man.

It would greatly help Taylor’s comfort if she had the remotest idea what was currently happening. However, without a translator, all she had was the calm and quiet of the woman who had just saved her life.

She could settle for having a friend in this most trying time.

----------------------------------------

One of the bear-rugged guards strode confidently up, and Taylor braced herself. Laure yawned and stretched, standing up. She crinkled her nose at Taylor, and brushed her cheek. “Ça ira. Coop-er-ate.”

“Cooperate?” Taylor said and put one hand to the sword on her hip.

The guard raised an eyebrow at her, dismissing her skills. Probably rightly, considering how little experience she had, versus his more obvious lifetime.

Laure quickly moved to her side, brushing her hand and gently picking her fingers from the blade. The woman shook her head, still smiling, and slowly pulled Taylor to her feet. There, she gestured towards the guard.

“Escort.” Taylor said doubtfully.

“Escortez!” Laure said brightfully at the understanding, and then gestured off to the side, where Taylor hadn’t noticed another woman standing and waiting. They were older, and seemed to be waiting for Laure, rather than Taylor.

Either the two of them were going their separate ways for some reason, or they were both preparing for the same thing, but in different places. It… Seemed harmless enough.

She shrugged and nodded, stepping towards the bear-guard, as Laure relaxed and lightly skipped away. To her credit, the woman did look back over her shoulder to check that Taylor was okay.

For her part, Taylor sighed heavily, “I doubt it, but is there a chance you speak English? My French is fit for the latrine.”

“Je parle anglais. Je ne le ferai pas.” The man grunted, and then took her by the shoulder and quick-marched Taylor in the direction of one of the huts.

Just as she was piecing together that the man might understand English, he turned, left and slammed the door shut. By the shadow, he had planted himself right in front of the door.

Before Taylor could jump to ‘prisoner’, she saw someone waiting politely for her in a side-room of the hut. Not exactly a room. A space sitting behind a curtain that she could swear was once part of a ship’s sail.

She smiled sweetly at the woman as she entered, “And you are…?”

“It be okay, m’lady.” The elderly woman chuckled, “I am one that is speaking of the English. Many years, but I do remember.”

Taylor breathed out heavily, “I have not a single clue what is happening. I… I’m not lined up to be executed, again. I think. But… No idea?”

The woman put a hand up and laughed behind her hand, “Sacré bleu! This is quite a thing. Well, you cannot go backwards, you understand it?”

“Sure… Backwards from what?”

The elder smiled and shook her head, “The wedding, my dear.”

“Wedding!?” Taylor exploded, staring, “Please tell me I’m not marrying that oaf by the door, he’s such a -”

The woman chuckled and shook her head, “Non, non.”

They began to lay out some clothing onto the bed. Not a wedding dress, like Taylor was expecting. Instead it was a military uniform of a kind, one you would think reflected some standing in the navy. Perhaps a captain, perhaps even higher. There were no badges or other indications, but it was refined.

“We must hurry. The bride will not take long.” The woman continued, “The one you saved, you understand it? She is the bride, and you the groom. Such is the way of things.”

Taylor flushed pink, suddenly realising just how badly she had misunderstood the gracious hugging of Laure. “She… And I… We’re women. The Church… Doesn’t do that…”

“We are not a church.” The woman shook her head.

Taylor gave a brief thought to the mythic rage of the father of the bride, and quickly began to strip down. Careful to place her weapons in reach, and trying to decide how to wear them with the suit in question, all the same.

The older woman helped her remove her clothes, and then was gentle and considerate as she slipped the arms of the silken shirt onto Taylor. She really had never worn anything of this quality. The doctor might have, but even then he would have kept it for his Sunday best.

A brief thought to the lost man did bring Taylor’s heart down. So very much had changed since she was in England. Since she was nothing but a servant in an inn, getting useless fools drunk and separating them from their gold, in the hope that… She didn’t know.

Her life had not had a lot of hope.

She could understand why Flint was so aggressive in protecting his home. The world thought he was dead, gone, and buried. In return he had a piece of peace. There was something to be had, here.

Something she was now being invited to join, simply because she had the decency to stop an atrocity, as any good soul should have.

“Will it crush her, if I… I am not like that?” Taylor asked cautiously.

The elder smirked, “Ce n’est pas la mer à boire. She will teach you.”