Page 63 of The Worst of Them

Cecily couldn’t help her smile. Bless Fay for knowing things. Fresh, clean clothes would indeed be a welcome relief.

Pounding sounded from the hall, followed by Maria’s voice yelling, “Jack! Up, Copson, I gotta talk to you.”

Grabbing her pack, Cecily followed Hester into the hall as Jack’s door swung open. He stood in the doorway wearing only a pair of breeches, his hair disheveled. Cecily tried not to stare at his chiseled torso or the hard muscles in his arms as he leaned against the frame. It was impossible, however, when she spotted the tattoo.

A thin dagger was inked from the top of his left shoulder to the middle of his bicep, and a rose curved behind the blade, its bloom opening near the hand guard where a crown sat atop the hilt. The lines were faded, as though it had been done some time ago.

His eyes narrowed against the light in the hall. “What,” he snapped at Maria.

“Oh, you’re still drunk,” Maria said, taking a half-step back and batting away his breath.

“You’re still loud.”

“We’re taking Cecily,” she said, ignoring his insult.

Jack’s gaze slid to Cecily. He studied her with bloodshot eyes, looking tired and irritated before he grumbled to Maria, “Just don’t let her loose.”

“We’ll do as we please.” Maria gave his cheek a firm pat. “Back to bed, you handsome brute.”

Jack rolled his eyes and shut the door.

The women left the inn and emerged into the warm spring air. Fay lifted the scarf over her head, tying it around her white hair and pulling it low to shield her eyes. When she noticed Cecily watching, she said, “I disturb the good folks in town. They find my appearance distressing.”

Maria’s voice rose over Fay’s. “I say she should play to their fears and call herself the Witch of Tortuga.”

“Eventually,” Fay sighed. “When it suits me.”

“It’ll suit you now,” Maria said, and it sounded as though they’d had this conversation many times already.

“When it suits me,” Fay said again.

Maria carried a knife through the city while Fay…well, she probably didn’t need one, and Cecily wasn’t sure she wanted to know what kind of power made her so confident as she walked streets lined with pirates with mouths full of curses and catcalls—some of which quieted the moment they saw Fay, despite the scarf covering her hair.

It was only a few minutes before they came to a more tranquil part of the island with shops selling clothing, weapons, jewelry, and trinkets.

Despite her previous reluctance to spend money, Cecily willingly handed it to shopkeepers when she realized just how much she had. Even after such a short time with Copson and the fine she’d earned by punching Morgyn, it was an impressive salary. By the afternoon, she had shirts and pants that fit her, and boots with the slightest heel. She’d purchased a small bottle of rose perfume and—her favorite thing of all—a long, flowing skirt in a deep shade of blue, which she now wore with a white shirt tucked into it. She’d fitted a brown vest around her middle that laced up the front to hug her curves. Though she was still thin, Stede’s meals had ensured she was no longer waiflike, and ties on her clothes would allow her to adjust them as her health returned.

While she waited outside for the others to finish in one of the shops, she braided her short hair into a crown atop her head, woven through with a lavender ribbon.

She sank into her femininity like it was a warm bath. Her beauty had once been her pride, sometimes to the point where her father had warned her not to stumble into vanity. But she had liked the way the village boys had looked at her, and enjoyed that she was beautiful enough to marry her friend among the nobility. Before being given this lot in life, she could hardly resist being vain on occasion.

Nothing about her beauty felt frivolous or self-indulgent now. Today, it became a shield.

Armed with pirate gold, she’d reclaimed a small piece of herself and felt newly formidable. Her defenses were no longer weak around her cracked and wounded heart, and she was as graceful and unflappable as Jack always was. He would not unsettle her or play with her. Even if he thought he could, she would prove him wrong—if not with sharp words and wit, then with the small knife hidden in her skirt.

And perhaps she was a little vain, because she hoped her beauty would bring him to his knees. He deserved it, she thought, because he’d done the same to her.

By the time they joined the men in the late afternoon, she was ready to face him again.

Killian, Greyson, and Frederick waited on a deserted road skirting the edge of a different forest. It was just after golden hour, and the sun hadn’t faded enough to leech the light from the island.

“I dread to know how much damage you’ve done to my coffers,” Frederick said to Maria as he pulled her into his thick arms. He kissed her cheek, then turned to Cecily. His brows lifted at her appearance, far more feminine and put together than it had been before.

“Fine job,” he said.

Cecily hid her surprise with a demure laugh. She didn’t know what Jack had told his friends about her, but if he’d said anything to ruin their fledgling opinions of her, Frederick didn’t show it.

And if Jack had damned her, she could prove him wrong. She thrust out her hand. “Jack didn’t properly introduce us. Cecily Shoard.”