Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Will You Teach Me… ?

Hello Everyone ! It is so good to be baaaaack !

I've been working on this for months, and to be honest I didn't know whether to publish it or not. This fiction WILL be toxic and twisted. Yes, this is intentional. No, I'm not romanticizing rape. Yes, the mood of the whole fiction will be pretty much similar to Season 5, episode 10. Brianna will be forced to interact with Stephen but no matter how she feels at some point, she will always seek vengeance and justice. This fic might be some kind of weird redemption arc for Stephen BUT this version of Stephen Bonnet is very much the same as in canon (although a bit more obsessed with our heroin). You have been warned.
I can't wait to read your comments and hope you will be as supportive and amazing as you were during The Clover and The Tartan !

~o~

1. Man That You Fear

June 1773

Brianna Fraser dropped into one of the wooden chairs on her parents’ porch and let out a weary sigh. After two days spent trying to save the crops from the grasshoppers, then another two more washing the sheets they had used to direct the smoke, in order to rid them of any smell of liquid manure and coal, life was back to normal with its share of exhausting chores. Now add to this a three-year-old to raise and a husband who was still slightly upset about the details of her encounter with Stephen Bonnet in his prison cell… It was the first time in days, if not weeks, that she actually managed to sit down and relax. Alone. Roger had left to help the other men in the fields, Claire and Jamie had just returned to Fraser's Ridge after Aunt Jocasta's third wedding, and Marsali was looking after the children somewhere in the house. Only the sound of the wind in the trees and the chirping of birds disturbed the silence. She closed her eyes, enjoying this brief moment of peace, and slowly drifted off to sleep.

The voice that woke her with a start almost knocked her off her chair and her eyelids fluttered before her eyes fell on the stranger standing a few feet away from her. A strict-looking, well-dressed man wearing a white wig was staring at her as if awaiting an answer to a question she hadn't heard.

“Brianna Fraser MacKenzie?”, the man repeated, raising his chin.

“Herself”, she replied, hopping to her feet. “How can I help you?”

The man did not answer and pulled out a sealed letter from inside his jacket, which he handed to her. As soon as the letter was between her fingers, the man spoke again.

“Mrs. MacKenzie, you have been sued and ordered to attend Wilmington court. All the details are in the letter that I just gave you. Now that you are officially informed of the situation, you may know that any refusal to appear in court will have consequences on the judgment that will be passed there. In other words, I recommend you to come…”

Brianna stared at the man, who was probably the equivalent of modern bailiffs. “Sued? In Court? But… who would do such a thing? And why?”

“As I said before, all you need to know is in this letter… Again, I highly recommend that you appear in Court on time and… if possible, in your Sunday best…”, he concluded with a contemptuous look at the simple dress she wore to work in the fields or in the house.

Brianna glared at him but didn't say anything. She watched the man get back on his horse and gallop off Fraser's Ridge before unsealing the letter with shaking hands. It could only be a mistake. She had done no harm to anyone in this century, at least nothing that could not be settled amicably. It had to be a mistake...

Her heart skipped a beat as she read the first handwritten lines on the parchment. This had to be a nightmare. Yes, that was it, she was still asleep and the bailiff’s visit was just a dream. That message couldn't be real… She felt like she was about to scream and put a hand over her mouth.

“Brianna?”, Marsali's voice came from the open front door. “Is everythin’ alreit?”

Brianna collapsed on the porch steps, struggling to breathe, and handed her the letter as her limbs began to shake uncontrollably. Marsali literally snatched the parchment from her hand and read it, her eyes gradually widening with each line.

“I, the undersigned Stephen Bonnet, born in the year 1737 in Sligo, Ireland, hereby summons Mrs. Brianna Ellen Fraser MacKenzie, residing in Fraser's Ridge, North Carolina, to appear before the North Carolina court at a hearing to be held on July 14, 1773 at 2 p.m. If she were to be absent, the defendant is informed that a judgment might be passed against her on the sole arguments of the plaintiff...”, Marsali read in a high-pitched voice. “But… what exactly has he got against ye?”

“Keep reading…”, Brianna whined, still trying to keep control of her breathing and vocal cords.

Marsali's eyes scanned the next paragraph at high speed, before widening again. “Interference with parental authority? Denial of parental reits?... What kind of a joke is th-... Moral damage?”, she yelled, furious at the last word. “What about yer moral damage? Do they even care?”

Without even knowing if her knees would be able to support her weight, Brianna scrambled up to her feet and took the letter back like a robot. She didn't need to read it again, however. Every word, every stroke of the quill was engraved in her mind as clearly as if she had taken a picture of it. She stared for a long time at Bonnet's signature at the bottom of the page, taunting and humiliating her, and realized that he would never allow her to move on and overcome the trauma he had inflicted on her. How could the court allow this man to sue her, his bloody victim? How could he even apply to the court when he had escaped death sentence twice for piracy, murder and smuggling? None of this made any sense and yet the explanation was simple: whatever some men did, they always found a way out, but if a woman dared to commit a tenth of their actions, even to ensure her own safety, she would not be granted any preferential treatment. Centuries passed and some things, no matter how unfair, remained set in stone. Immoveable.

Brianna clenched her fist on the parchment, crumpling it, and wondered how she would break this horrible news to her parents. And Roger. Oh God, Roger… This whole story could only come to a sticky end, in blood, tears and violence. She could never let Bonnet get any rights over Jeremiah. Jamie would probably go mad with rage and commit the irreparable. Roger… She didn't even want to imagine his reaction. They could go back to the twentieth century, but with the significant risk that Jemmy would not be a traveler, or worse, be sent to another era. No, leaving this century with a three-year-old was not an option. But abandoning him into Stephen Bonnet’s hands wasn’t one either.

“Ye’re not actually thinkin’ about goin’, are ye?”, Marsali protested, guessing by Brianna's expression that she was seriously considering complying with the letter's demands. “Ye could run away with Roger. In another colony?”

“No…”, Brianna breathed, shaking her head. “If I don't go, I will not only lose the case, but also Jemmy. And I refuse to live as an outlaw when we are not criminals.”

“But if ye go, ye'll lose anyway!”, Marsali cried, arms folded across her chest. “Ye ken that bairns belong tae their father, no matter what!”

Brianna pursed her lips, refraining from telling her that no, she didn't know, because where she came from, full custody was more and more often given to mothers. “They can't let a man like him win. They just can’t. And the only way to make them understand is to go there and defend myself!”

“I’m afraid Roger willnae agree with ye…”, retorted the blonde with a disapproving pout.

“Yeah, well, Roger isn’t the one being taken to court. I am…” She bit her lip, aware that she had been a little too harsh with poor Marsali. But from the start, she had always and only thought about Roger. How he would react knowing she had been defiled by someone else, that she was pregnant, and finally that she had told Bonnet about her child. Every single time, she had worried about his opinion before even questioning herself about how she felt, about her own suffering, hiding the most squalid details so as not to trouble him. Details that during her many sleepless nights, she ended up drawing in crude black and white. It had been a while since she had last drawn his face. Since she had tossed all her sketches of the pirate into the fire, hoping it would set her free. Boy, was she naive...

July 14^th... She had only a short month left to find a lawyer, prepare her defense and get to Wilmington for the hearing. But with what money? Jamie's whiskey business added a little extra to what they got selling the crops and treating patients. But would that be enough to afford the services of an experienced lawyer? The only one she knew was her aunt Jocasta's, who had asked for her hand four years earlier. A certain Neil Forbes… She didn’t like the thought of asking a man she had brutally rejected for help, but she might have no other alternative. She folded the letter abruptly and was about to slip it into her apron pocket, when Roger's voice rose nearby. “Why the long faces…? Is there a problem?” He noticed the parchment and the red wax seal in Brianna's hands and added: “What is this?”

Marsali glanced one last time at Brianna and disappeared inside the house so as not to get involved in the coming argument. The redhead bit her lip and turned to her husband, trying to look determined. But her eyes were shining with such terror and doubt that Roger’s frown only deepened.

Slowly, she handed him the letter without a word. As if he had sensed that this had something to do with him, Jeremiah came running on the porch, his wubby – one of Brianna’s old scarves he had been carrying around for at least two years – trapped between his adorable and drooling lips. Brianna immediately took him in her arms: reading that awful letter had triggered in her the almost sick urge to hug her son and never let go. She saw Roger’s eyes scan the lines, his eyebrows rising higher and higher on his forehead as he read, before looking up in awe. “Is this a joke?”

“Does it look like one to you?”, Brianna spat, a tad more harshly than intended. “I guess we have a different sense of humor...”

In shock, Roger read the letter again. But every word, every sentence, was perfectly clear, so much so that when he finally looked up, he couldn't help but let his gaze linger on Jemmy, who was patiently sucking on his wubby, his head propped up against Bree’s shoulder and neck. Unfortunately for Roger, Brianna saw it: the flash of bitterness that had crossed his hazel eyes at the sight of the boy's blond hair and blue irises. Jemmy had his mother's eyes, but his golden hair was nothing like the MacKenzies’ or the Frasers’. Roger had not studied genetics, but he knew for a fact that the genes responsible for blue eyes and blonde hair did not stand a chance against brown eyes and hair like his own. Statistically, if Jemmy had been his son, his hair should have been dark. And not as blond as a field of wheat...

“Stop that…”, Brianna said, pulling him out of his dark thoughts. She had read his mind so easily that he wondered for a moment if he hadn't been thinking aloud. “Jemmy is your son.”

“Ye cannae be sure.”

As every time this delicate subject was brought up, he saw Brianna's eyebrows frown in pain. “He is to me. Period.”

Roger raised his eyebrows, nodding slowly. “That's not what ye told Bonnet when ye went tae visit him in jail… And look where it got ye.”

Brianna gritted her teeth. She had already explained her decision to visit the pirate during her pregnancy: she wanted to forgive him before he was hanged, to move on with her life, but also to give him the illusion that there would be something left of him in this world, a child he would never know. At that moment – whether Jemmy was indeed Bonnet's son or Roger's – she had just wanted to bring some peace to a soul that would soon be swept off the face of the Earth. How could she ever have imagined that the pirate would escape and then attempt to get his son back, three years later? And how could Roger even blame her for it? He who had abandoned her to her fate less than an hour before she was raped, then again when he had found out she was pregnant and probably by another man? Roger had his share of responsibility in this story and had only given his support after months of internal deliberation. And not entirely. Nevertheless, Brianna had forgiven him. A favor he didn't seem particularly inclined to return. As she did not want to start yet another argument over a topic that had already been discussed over and over again, Brianna shook her head and went back inside with Jemmy.

~o~

That same evening – after leaving Fraser's Ridge to Ian, Fergus and Marsali – Roger,  Brianna, her parents and Jemmy had left for Cross Creek, hoping that Neil Forbes, Jamie’s aunts’ lawyer, would accept their case. They had decided to go there directly, rather than wasting precious time in unnecessary correspondence. There was less than a month left before the hearing and it would already take eight days to reach Cross Creek, and one more day to get to Wilmington. The only letter Jamie had written, his hand shaking with anger, was addressed to his aunt Jocasta, warning her of their arrival in River Run. Jamie's first impulse as a Scot had been to “find Stephen Bonnit and shoot him reit atween the eyes”, but Brianna had convinced him not to. If Bonnet had succeeded in referring his case to court, then he had probably found a way to clear his name before that. Killing him in cold blood would therefore make Jamie a murderer and he would be sentenced to death. And neither Brianna nor Claire wanted to take that risk. The only reasonable solution was therefore to request Forbes’ services...

“I hope he forgot the trick you and Lord Grey played on him...”, Claire muttered, clutching the edge of the cart as it passed over a deep pothole.

“He is a professional, he'll get over it”, Jamie grumbled, tightening the reins around his right wrist. “Jocasta would nae have made him her closest legal and financial adviser if he wisnae worthy of troost.”

Roger frowned. “What trick?”

At the front of the cart, both parents stiffened and exchanged awkward looks. Behind them, sitting next to Roger, Brianna’s cheeks flushed. The incident with Forbes and how she had wriggled out of his proposal claiming to be engaged to her father's friend, Lord John Grey, had not reached Roger's ears and she had never bothered to tell him about it since this fake engagement had ended the second Roger had reached River Run, ten months after their argument in Wilmington and one month after Jeremiah was born.

“John and I pretended to be engaged so that I would not have to marry Mr. Forbes, as Jocasta wanted me to…”

“When did that happen?”, Roger asked with a hint of annoyance.

“During my pregnancy.” This time, Brianna had been voluntarily harsh with him, so he would understand that “during my pregnancy” actually meant “the nine months during which you decided to abandon me after you slept with me, lied to me and humiliated me”. She had also been able to forgive him over time, but Roger and his recent fits of jealousy did not make it easier for her.

“Any other secret fiancés or men ye want tae tell me about before we get tae Cross Creek? We have a week ahead of us, do ye think it will be enough tae list them all?”

Brianna opened her mouth wide, outraged at his unfair and unnecessarily hurtful remark, and she wasn't the only one: Jamie had brutally pulled the brake and turned around, eyes sparkling with rage.

“I have always been very patient with ye, Roger, because I was ashamed of the way Ian and I had treated ye… But if ye ever hold Brianna responsible fur things over which she had no control, I will bring ye back tae the Mohawks and trade ye again fur a pair of trinkets.”

Roger's mouth closed and he looked away, as Claire reached out to grab her daughter's hand. Brianna smiled sadly and chose to focus on the only person in the cart who did not seem angry, disappointed or unhappy to be there: her son, sleeping soundly against her left breast, her old scarf crumpled between his tiny fingers.

The week's drive to Cross Creek was particularly long and tense. Roger and Jamie had hardly spoken to each other and Brianna hadn't been very talkative either, keeping her smiles and soft words for Jemmy who seemed absolutely delighted with this unexpected trip, spending nights under the stars by the fire and discovering new lands. The kid had always been quite easy-going, curious about everything, and pleasant with everyone. So much so that he was over the moon when he saw River Run, his great-great-aunt Jocasta, the stables full of majestic horses, the pond in the backyard, and especially his favorite person in the whole world (after his mother) : Phaedre, the young maid that took care of Brianna when she visited the plantation. Phaedre adored Jemmy and the feeling was mutual, and after freshening up a bit before they left for Forbes’ office, Brianna knew Jemmy wouldn’t even notice she was gone. As usual, he would spend hours in the kitchen with the young African American baking delicious cookies, devouring them, before taking a long nap with a full stomach and a wide smile plastered on his buttered lips.

Neil Forbes' office looked more like a small aristocratic living-room than a law firm. All of the waiting room chairs and sofas were covered in thick royal blue velvet, highlighted by the subdued glow of candles planted on sparkling silver chandeliers. Everything was decorated and cleaned to perfection, and Brianna didn't even dare to sit down. Roger and her parents, although they were all dressed up for the occasion, seemed to share her dismay as the four of them remained standing for long minutes, waiting for the lawyer’s previous appointment to end.

When the office door suddenly opened, the Fraser-MacKenzies all jumped and straightened up. Forbes appeared in the doorframe and seemed surprised for a moment to see so many unannounced people in his waiting room, when he thought he was done with his day's work.

Forbes was a rather short-legged man with a slender face, close-set eyes and a turned-up nose, which made him look like a weasel. His eyes went from one impromptu guest to another, before finally landing on Brianna. She had expected him to be surprised, but there was something else in Neil Forbes’s eyes. Something that looked like… anger? No. Contempt…, she understood a few seconds later. It didn't matter. If he was as good a lawyer as Aunt Jocasta claimed him to be, he would know how to put their differences aside. Or, worst case scenario, he would refuse to defend her. She had nothing to lose anyway. Walking towards him with a pleading glint in her eyes, she greeted him with a shy smile.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Forbes...”

“Mrs. MacKenzie…” His tone was cold, professional and detached. But he also seemed quite nervous, as if her presence was not welcome. He glanced briefly over his shoulder and half-closed his office door before taking a few steps into the waiting room. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“I need a lawyer”, Brianna blurted out. “I have been sued and have to appear before Wilmington Court on July 14^th. My aunt... says you are one of the best lawyers in North Carolina and strongly recommended that I come and request your services...”

“And you thought it was appropriate to come to my office unannounced?”

“I'm sorry, Mr. Forbes. It's just… we only have three weeks left to prepare our defense and I thought we would waste precious time exchanging letters to arrange a meeting…”

The lawyer pursed his lips and lifted a haughty chin. This time, there was no doubt left: it was indeed contempt that Forbes’ eyes vomited in her direction. Brianna frowned. After all this time – more than three years for Heaven's sake! – he still hadn't got past his failed marriage proposal? He couldn't be serious? Fucking male pride...

“It doesn't matter. I cannot take your case. Now please leave my office.”

“Excuse me?”, Roger and Claire exclaimed in unison.

“My aunt has entrusted ye with the management of her estate fur years and now her niece is in trouble, ye refuse tae help her?”, Jamie growled, leaning slightly forward, his blue eyes flashing with anger.

Brianna narrowed her eyes, analyzing Forbes' demeanor, and let out a sarcastic burst of laughter. “I can't believe it... Are you still mad at me for refusing your hand? We barely knew each other back then, and I was pregnant by another man! It would have taken a lot more than one dinner to become your wife, I'm sure you can understand that?!”

“And yet, you accepted Lord Grey’s proposal…”, Forbes retorted immediately. Roger winced slightly, as if he also shared the lawyer’s opinion, but Brianna didn't see him. She was too amazed by Forbes’ lack of maturity.

“It was a setup! Lord Grey and I were never engaged! I just wanted to save time! Jesus Christ, if I had known you were still obsessed with this stupid incident...”

Forbes raised an eyebrow, and a hint of superiority added to contempt in his small eyes. “How presumptuous of you to think that this is the reason why I will not handle your defence...”

Brianna and her mother exchanged a look. What other reason could he have?

“Our… common mishap would not prevent me from defending you, if I could. I am a professional, Mrs. MacKenzie, whether you believe it or not.” Brianna raised her eyebrows in irony, but he chose to ignore her. “It turns out that I am facing a conflict of interests here… You are a young woman with minimal education and although I don't expect you to grasp the intricate workings of my profession, I am sure you will be able to understand that I cannot represent the plaintiff and the defendant…”

Dead silence hung over the room and Brianna thought for a moment that her ears had failed her. Had he just said he couldn't defend her because...? Behind Forbes, the office door swung open again and Brianna's brain didn't immediately process the information sent by her optic nerves. A man had just appeared on the threshold. His gray-green velvet suit – embroidered with silver thread and adorned with buttons of the same color – looked brand new, as did the immaculate scarf wrapped around his neck. One of his palms was resting on a cane, but his somewhat rude way of holding it contrasted with the elegance he tried to achieve. His blonde hair was tied back in a neat ponytail and an S-shaped scar crossed his left cheek to the corner of his eye. The young woman felt a shiver of terror run down her spine when her gaze finally met Stephen Bonnet's. He stared back at her, his eyes half-closed and his perpetual mocking grin plastered on his face. Those two cold irises, that scar, and that calculating smile were the only things that hadn't changed since their last meeting in his cell, three years and a few months earlier. As for the rest… Bonnet seemed to have crossed paths with his fairy godmother, who had turned his old pirate rags into a gentleman's outfit, without – however – succeeding in improving the rest of the man. The question is… what kind of evil pumpkin does he turn into after midnight?

Bonnet was still staring at her and Brianna only noticed her hands were shaking when she reached for the back of a nearby chair. Roger said something she didn’t make out, but she couldn’t even ask him to repeat it. The pirate's green irises had drained her of all her energy, of all willpower... leaving only one thing: primal fear. Surprise, disgust, anger… She left those up to the other members of her family. Suddenly Bonnet's eyes left hers and his head snapped to the side. Jamie was swooping down on him, but was held back in extremis by Claire who yelled at him to calm down. Rightly so, for Forbes’s voice rose before Jamie had even crossed half the distance between him and his daughter’s rapist.

“Mr. Fraser, if any harm should come to my client, you will have to join your daughter at the dock... And if you still intend to ignore my advice, know that every blow will work in our favor... No judge would ever grant custody of a child to a woman whose parents behave like common barbarians.”

“Would he grant it tae a man who attacked a defenseless young lass like a wild animal?”, Roger barked, turning to Forbes. Claire, who was still trying to restrain Jamie, glanced anxiously at Brianna. Her husband's violent reaction worried her just as much as her daughter's lack of it, and she’d rather not imagine what Brianna felt at that moment, having to face her rapist unexpectedly. It was different from the jail, when she had had time to prepare...

Bonnet opened his mouth, ready to express his thoughts, but Forbes pointed his index finger in his direction. “Do not answer that, Mr. Bonnet.” The Irishman closed his mouth and his smile slowly returned to his lips, as his eyes went back to their initial activity: staring at Brianna. Their gazes no longer met, however, and he saw the young woman’s irises lingering in horror and disbelief on his elegant outfit, from his brand new buckled shoes to his elegant scarf. Deciding that he had caused enough troubles for the day, Bonnet slowly crossed the room, passing with almost insulting ease in front of Jamie – who was still held back by Claire – before stopping by Brianna. This time, the young woman's blue eyes left his expensive clothes and went back to Bonnet’s, much to his delight. Her lips parted, her whole body was shaking and he couldn't help but feel an intense satisfaction. He couldn't have dreamed of a better reaction to his transformation.

“Close your mouth, darlin’… It's not very polite…”, he huffed. He would have loved to put a finger under her chin, in order to force her mouth shut, but then the healer would certainly not have enough muscles in her body to stop her Scottish giant from gutting him alive.

“Ye bloody bast-”, Roger began, taking a threatening step towards him. Bonnet's hand instinctively squeezed his cane, ready to attack or defend himself, but Brianna seemed to come out of her trance and reached out to stop her husband. Before shaking her head, begging him not to do anything stupid. Smirking, Bonnet headed towards the exit, glancing insistently at Roger’s simple clothes. The dark-haired Scot was dressed like a peasant going to church, and certainly paled in comparison. Perfect. He had always hated Roger MacKenzie and his way of judging him, thinking he was better than everyone else. When he had hired him on the Gloriana to work as a simple sailor, MacKenzie had kept discussing orders and questioning his authority as a captain. Again today, MacKenzie had called him a wild animal, trying to establish some sort of superiority... However, the one whose outfit oozed luxury and easy money was definitely not the young Scot’s. And in matters of justice, few were the peasants who prevailed against rich citizens. Especially those who, like the pirate, had won the game of influences...

Bonnet’s contemptuous expression was such that Roger immediately understood its meaning and he could not help but look ashamed for a moment. How could he, the youngest professor in Oxford University, have fallen so low compared to a common thief and murderer? Bonnet silently bit his lip, and his eyes squinted again with intense satisfaction. Turning away from Roger, he looked one last time at Brianna. Even in that modest dress, with her scared doe eyes, delicate features, and flawless, pale skin – the lass could have made a queen turn green with envy. Why she had chosen a lad like MacKenzie was still a mystery to Bonnet. His smile stretched further to the left, causing his scar to twitch, and Brianna shivered when she saw the lust in the Irishman's eyes. The same lust as that night in the tavern. Terrible images immediately came to her mind. The way he had tucked a few locks of blonde hair behind his ears, his shoulders swaying as he made his indecent proposition. His eyes widening as he yanked her scarf off her cleavage. I'm going to be sick… He has to go… Or I’m going to be sick…, Brianna thought as she felt her knees wobble. But luckily, after savoring her terror for a few seconds, Bonnet finally left the room without a word, the sound of his cane echoing in the hallway long after he had disappeared.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Soooo, how was it? Good? Freaky? Bad? Terribly scary? It can only go wrong for Brianna, YOU KNOW IT, but HOW can such a man win? What will happen to her and Jeremiah? Any ideas? I can't wait to read your thoughts! Next chapter will be published next month and believe me, it is a MASSIVE emotional rollercoaster. xD See you next month !

Xérès

Chapter Text

Will You Teach Me… ?

Hello everyone ! Are you ready for this chapter? I don’t think you are, honestly (just as Brianna isn’t). I hope you’ll enjoy it a bit more than she will, though. Just a friendly bit of advice: I love watching my favorite characters SUFFER. The Clover and the Tartan was a therapeutic romance because I needed my sweet pirate to be happy and well after his death in the show. But I’m back to basics here, so… LET THE DRAMA BEGIN.

Thank you for all the comments and kudos !! It’s great to see you hitting those buttons months after I finished The Clover and the Tartan! Enjoy this chapter!

oOo

2.…And Justice For All

After the disaster in Forbes’ office, Brianna quickly realized that finding a lawyer would not be an easy task. From Cross Creek to Wilmington, they had visited every law firm they knew about, always managing to secure a preliminary meeting before being systematically kicked out when the opposing party's name was mentioned. Somehow, Stephen Bonnet had gone in three years from common thief and pirate to business partner of all the greatest names in North Carolina. Feared, he sure still was, judging by the lawyers’ suspicious looks when they admitted they had a quarrel with the Irishman. But he was also influent now. And he had money. Lots of money, as it had been whispered to them several times. After three days, the Fraser-MacKenzies had therefore fallen back on their one and only option: a young lawyer, fresh out of law school, probably too young and carefree – or too desperate to make a name for himself – to refuse to defend them. Mr. John Bellingham, barely twenty-three, had taken on the difficult task of preparing in sixteen days a defense capable of standing up to a whole system that favored rich and influential men. In other words, everything Brianna wasn’t in the eyes of the polite society of North Carolina.

On July 14^th at 1 p.m. sharp, the whole family had gathered on the steps of the courthouse, impatiently awaiting Bellingham's arrival. He soon appeared, in a brand-new outfit he had certainly bought for the occasion, a stack of papers under his arm and a confident smile plastered on his lips. “Are you ready?”, he asked Brianna, who only shrugged. “As I said to your daughter while we were preparing her testimony, our opponents are only going to call one witness to the stand, a drunkard Bonnet was playing cards with the night they met…”

“Raped. The night he raped her. Don’t be afraid of using the right words, Mr. Bellingham”, Claire snapped.

“You’re right. The night he raped her. If your daughter’s story manages to move the Judge, she should be able to have the upper hand in this case. Mr. Bonnet will very likely come out of this court handcuffed.” The lawyer turned to Brianna again and put a comforting hand on her forearm. “Just tell your story the way we prepared it for the past few days, and I can guarantee you that this case will be closed before the end of the afternoon.”

“May ye be reit...”, Roger muttered as he walked up the courthouse steps to the entrance hall.

A few minutes later, they had taken seats in the courtroom and saw Forbes walk down the aisle, closely followed by his client. Stephen Bonnet was once again dressed up to the nines, but his outfit was plainer and less colorful than the one he wore three weeks earlier in Cross Creek.

“Don't look at him”, Bellingham whispered in Brianna's ear. “That would only confuse you even more. You need to stay focused and in control.”

Brianna nodded and turned around in her chair to admire her wonder, her Jeremiah, babbling happily on his grandmother’s knees. The sight of the boy, so oblivious to the drama unfolding before him, reassured her somewhat and she smiled. On the left, Roger was glaring furiously at Bonnet on the other side of the aisle. Her husband had hardly spoken to her in three weeks, but she had put up with it, convinced that everything would be settled the minute the Court decided that yes, he was indeed Jeremiah's rightful father. Roger was like that: he always had to shut himself off in difficult times, until he had come to terms with the problem or until it was solved. He would come back to her eventually. As he always had. Given how long he's been doing this to you, you should be used to it by now…, she thought, in that bitter voice that resurfaced from time to time when Roger was getting difficult to live with. And lately the bitterness had made a big comeback. Far too often to her liking.

Shortly before 2 p.m., dozens of onlookers had settled in the room, while guards stationed here and there, preparing the magistrates’ and the Judge’s entrance. They soon appeared through a door in the back of the room, and strode to their seats on the stage. Everyone stood up, chairs scraping on the floor, and there was a muffled hubbub until one of the guards allowed them to sit down. Brianna took a deep breath, keeping her promise not to look at Bonnet. With a loud sigh, the Judge opened the file he had brought under his arm and put a pair of small round glasses on the tip of his nose.

“Before we begin, would you please confirm that both lawyers have received all the trial records, as well as the lists of witnesses who will be called to testify?”

“Absolutely, your Honor. The defendant has no witnesses to present”, Forbes confirmed, proudly raising his chin, and Brianna had to force herself not to glare at him.

“According to the documents we received, the plaintiff will present one witness-”, Bellingham began, only to be interrupted by Forbes’ annoying voice.

“Excuse me, my dear colleague, but you are mistaken. The documents we sent refer to two witnesses and an expert...”

The young lawyer rummaged nervously through his papers, but there was only one witness reported there – the man from the tavern – he was sure of it. On his chair, the Judge was already showing signs of impatience.

“So?”, he grumbled.

“I... I only have one witness here...”

“That’s preposterous! We sent all documents together. Do you have the acknowledgement of receipt?”, Forbes asked, sounding spuriously annoyed.

“Yes, I do...”

“Then, if you are in possession of the receipt, you must have received all documents. Perhaps you have misplaced them?”

“No, that is impossible...”, Bellingham defended himself, his cheeks burning red. “I always file everything as soon as-”

“As Mr. Forbes said”, the Judge continued wearily, “if you have the receipt, then you have had the entire record. What you do with your documents once they are in your office is no longer our business. Let's move on, if you don't mind.”

Brianna couldn't believe her ears. They could not start the audience with such a legal flaw? And judging by Forbes’ smirk, the file had likely never been complete to begin with. Bellingham was young, but he wanted to earn his spurs by all means, and he would never risk his chances of winning with such a big mistake. A hand rested on her shoulder and Brianna turned anxiously to her mother.

“No need to make a fuss, Bree… This is how it goes here. Consider yourself lucky to have a lawyer because it's not even systematic...”

Brianna nodded and turned back to the Judge. Beside her, Bellingham had lost his smile and his dilated nostrils fluttered gently to the rhythm of his breathing. He too understood that he had been played like a fiddle.

“The case before us is that of Mr. Stephen Bonnet and Mrs. Brianna MacKenzie, who interferes with his parental rights over their child, Jeremiah. Usually, this kind of case is settled out of court, but the defendant has informed the Court of her desire to defend herself and justify her decision to alienate the child’s father. We will start with the plaintiff’s testimony. Mr. Bonnet, would you please take the stand…”, the Judge said, stretching out a hand towards the stand, next to him.

“Why is he the first to go? Isn't there a 'ladies first' rule, for once?”, Brianna grumbled as her lawyer leaned towards her.

“The defendant always comes second, Mrs. MacKenzie. This is why you have to be convincing, because the Judge often no longer has the patience to listen to the testimony of the defendant after the plaintiff’s, and he can interrupt you before you had a chance to finish…”

“Are you kidding me?”, she hissed, but he shook his head.

“It's common practice. They assume that if the defendant cannot prove his or her innocence with one valid argument, then he or she is guilty...”

“You could have warned me?!”

“I didn't want to upset you…”, Bellingham apologized.

“Well done, John, I’m not upset at all!”

Brianna looked straight ahead, realizing at that moment that she couldn't avoid Bonnet now that he was almost in front of her. A shiver ran down her spine, but she still managed not to show any sign of panic. Forbes had also stood up, to guide his client's speech with a few well-prepared questions.

“Mr. Bonnet, can you tell us exactly how you met the defendant?”

Bonnet bit his lip, frowned and, in a perfectly studied manner, smiled as tenderly as he could, which was almost ridiculous when you knew the man. “It was in Wilmington, at the Willow Tree Tavern, near the harbor. Was playin’ cards when Bri-I mean Mrs. MacKenzie entered the room.”

“How was she?”, Forbes asked.

“As she is today… Beautiful…” He brushed his index finger across his lips and shrugged. “Buht sad. She looked like she had shed quite a lot o’ tears, her nose was swollen and she was disheveled. She passed by me and I offered her to blow on a ring I was bettin’, for luhck. Was hopin’ this would bring a smile to her face...”

Brianna was living an actual nightmare. Bonnet was giving the Court a little show, playing the perfect gentleman who had fallen in love at first sight. She felt Bellingham turn his head and motion for her to keep calm.

“What did the defendant do, then?”

“She looked at the ring and claimed it was her mother's, buht I had won that ring in a card game a few weeks earlier. I had no idea where it came from.”

It was Jamie's turn to tense behind the dock. His chair creaked loudly and Brianna's lawyer whirled around, shaking his head.

“She seemed very eager to get the jewel, though. “How moech d’you want for it?”, she said. I joked and said that I was hopin’ for a different kind o’ payment. Since she didn't seem to mind, I offered her to follow me into another room to negotiate the terms of our… bargain… and she did.”

“And then?”

“I repeated me request, more directly this time, and went to shut the door before returnin’ to her...”

Brianna shook her head in disgust. Bonnet was completely twisting the truth. It was indeed what had happened, but he deliberately left out all the squalid details of his actions. She would not fail to add them later, though.

“And after that?”, Forbes urged.

Bonnet let out a small laugh and turned his head to the Judge. “Do I really have to explain what we did after that?”

“You do, Mr. Bonnet”, retorted the Judge in the same tone he had adopted since the hearing had started.

“Well… we…”, his eyes went straight to Brianna and the young woman suddenly felt so naked and vulnerable that she lowered her nose. “We had carnal knowledge of each other.”

“Did the defendant consent to it?”

“Well, she followed me after a few dirty innuendos, she let me shut the door behind us… She really wanted that ring, you know?… and it seems to me that she had just argued wit’ her husband, or future husband at the time…”

“Do you think she engaged in sexual intercourse with you out of revenge after this argument?”

There was a thud on the defendant’s side and a few heads followed the noise, including Bonnet's. Brianna had turned away from them, leaning over the floor. Bonnet’s sales pitch actually made her want to throw up. And it was not a figure of speech.

“Objection!”, Bellingham barked, rising up. “This is all speculation, not facts!”

The Judge nodded. “Objection sustained. The Court shall not take this last question into account. Carry on, Mr. Forbes.”

“I don’t have any other question for the moment, Your Honor.”

“Mr. Bellingham, do you have any questions for Mr. Bonnet?”, asked the Judge, turning to his colleague.

“I'd rather question my client, if you don’t mind”, the lawyer said, putting a hand on Brianna's shoulder. “It is time for the Court to hear her side of the story.” Indeed, it was about time: a trial in the eighteenth century lasted, on average, ten minutes; very few defendants had the privilege of being heard to the end. They were already lucky the Judge had not given Bonnet full custody of the child in less than five minutes, as was often the case.

Bonnet got up and returned to his seat next to Forbes, while Brianna struggled to get up and sit down in the one he had just left. It was still warm, and a smell of burnt hay – his damned cigars – and whiskey lingered in the air. She was instantly reminded of his hot breath when he had taken her on the table, the blonde lock that tickled her neck as he came and went above her. Her heart pounded in her chest and she felt even more nauseous. She had to calm down, control her fear and deliver her testimony. She had repeated it thirty times in the last few days, she knew it by rote. Nothing could go wrong.

“Mrs. MacKenzie…”, Bellingham began with a kind smile. “Considering the testimony we just heard, can you confirm that this is how things happened between you and Mr. Bonnet?”

Brianna took a deep breath. “No, that's not how it happened.”

“At what point does your testimony differ from Mr. Bonnet’s?”

“He didn't win that ring in a card game… He pulled it out of my mother's mouth when he and his men attacked her ship…”

“Objection!”, Forbes interrupted. “There is no evidence that my client attacked the ship of the defendant’s parents. Moreover, we are here to try a case of deprivation of parental rights, not theft or possession of stolen jewelry.”

“Objection sustained. Please focus on the night you met Mr. Bonnet at the tavern, Mrs. MacKenzie.”

Brianna saw Bellingham quietly motioning for her to move on and she blinked in approval. “I didn't think Mr. Bonnet was serious when he told his joke, I thought he was just showing off in front of the other men. So I followed him into the nearest room, thinking he would actually sell me the ring for fifteen pounds. That was all the money I had with me.”

“Once you were alone with him, how did Mr. Bonnet behave?”

“He became more insistent. He walked over to me and started to… touch me. I told him he was wrong about my intentions and tried to leave, but he grabbed me... and punched me in the face.”

“Where exactly?”

“In the nose. I felt blood run down my lips and its taste on my tongue. I fell to the ground, and he knelt down to take off my boots. I tried to crawl out of his reach, but he hit me again and took advantage of the fact that I was stunned to lock the door.”

Sitting upright on his chair, Bonnet was staring at her with an indefinable expression. He couldn’t believe she had the guts to tell such a story in front of an audience, as women usually denied all kind of intercourse to avoid the humiliation. He also couldn’t help but admire her. And maybe he was a bit turned on as well… She wasn’t the only one reliving memories of that night, but certainly not in the same way.

“And after that? After he closed the door, trapping you alone with him, what did he do?”

Brianna's lower lip quivered and she gulped loudly. “He picked me up and laid me down on a table. Then he rolled up my dress and petticoats…”

“I think we can all imagine what happened next. Thank you, Mrs. MacKenzie”, the Judge interrupted, uncomfortable. The magistrates were also nervous, not knowing who to believe between the man seduced at first sight and the abused woman.

“No more questions, Your Honor”, Bellingham concluded with a satisfied smile. He turned to Brianna and gave her a discreet wink before sitting down at their table.

“Mr. Forbes, do you have questions for the defendant?”, asked the Judge to the opposing lawyer.

“Yes, your Honor.” Forbes stood up and Brianna tried to stay calm. Bellingham had simulated dozens of questions over the past few days, each more embarrassing than the next, and she felt ready to face whatever that nasty weasel dared to ask her.

“Mrs. MacKenzie, could you please confirm you had an argument with your husband, Mr. Roger Wakefield MacKenzie, just before you met my client?”

“That's right.”

“This argument… could it have left any marks on your body? Marks that you wrongly attributed to the carnal act perpetrated by my client? Like, your ‘swollen nose’, to use his words.”

“No. Roger never laid a hand on me. We yelled at each other, but it didn't go any further.”

“Then why were you disheveled?”

Brianna paused, as she understood where Forbes was going. He wanted her to be taken for a slut, a girl who went from a man to another in less than an hour. But she wouldn't let him. “I had let my hair loose and I just fastened it again before I slammed the door on my way out.”

Forbes smirked. He admitted defeat on that one, but if he had lost a battle, he was far from losing the war. “I would like to go back over your accusations of assault and battery against my client. Did anyone see you bear the alleged marks of your encounter with Mr. Bonnet?”

“My maid, Lizzie.”

“This… Lizzie, did she see Mr. Bonnet hit you?”

“No, she was in our bedroom... She only saw me later, when I went to bed.”

“So nobody can confirm that Mr. Bonnet actually beat you?”

Brianna pursed her lips. No… By the time she finally got out of that damn room, the tavern had emptied of its occupants because of the late hour, and no one had seen her face as she picked up her boots and went upstairs. “No...”, she whispered.

“Please speak louder, Mrs. MacKenzie, the Court has not heard your answer.”

“No!”, she repeated.

“You know what I think, Mrs. MacKenzie? I think your husband was a bit heavy-handed on that night and when you met my client, who was obviously bewitched by your beauty, you thought you would find comfort in his arms. And then you made up this whole story to keep up appearances with your husband…”

“Objection!”, Bellingham exclaimed from his table. “Mr. Forbes is speculating and insulting my client!”

“Objection sustained...”, the Judge sighed. “Mr. Forbes, please stick to the facts.”

Forbes scratched his right eyebrow, took a few steps as he considered his next question, then turned to Brianna again. “I would like to talk about the day you visited my client, a few months later...”

There were whispers in the room and the magistrates exchanged dumbfounded glances. Again, the announcement effect was perfectly calculated and Brianna muttered a curse.

“You mean, when he was incarcerated in Wilmington Prison awaiting his death sentence for piracy and murder? That particular day?”, she asked, slightly losing patience. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Bonnet laugh and stare at her with a seduced smile. He's fucking twisted...

“That's right. But that is another matter, which cannot be taken into account today. Moreover, my client was pardoned by Governor Tryon over three years ago.”

Brianna sneered. “Pardoned? That’s weird, I thought he escaped?”

“After a group of rebels blew up the prison, he was indeed able to escape in order to save his own life. This is why the governor decided to pardon him, since Death herself did not seem to think that his time had come.”

“Oh, I see the difference… Forgive me if I don’t grasp the intricate workings of your profession, Mr. Forbes. I'm just a woman, after all…”, she quipped, referring directly to the contemptuous comment he had made in his office a few weeks earlier. “But thank you for enlightening me as to why a notorious murderer and smuggler was released serving no penalty...”

There was some laughter in the room and a few men gave Bonnet mocking looks. But the pirate did not seem bothered in the least. “I know, she has a temper… That's what I love about her…”, he scoffed, as the audience – as well as the magistrates – burst into laughter.

“Order in the court! Mrs. MacKenzie, if you insist on talking about other cases that have already been tried, I will have to cut your testimony short…”, threatened the Judge, and Brianna pursed her lips.

“Can you tell me, Mrs. MacKenzie, why after you were allegedly raped by my client… why would you feel the need to pay him a last visit in prison?”

“I needed… to tell him that I was no longer angry and that he had my forgiveness before he died.”

“It's all to your credit…”, Forbes mocked with an approving nod. “Nothing else? After that, I promise you that I will stop torturing you...”

Brianna gulped and glanced briefly at her lawyer, who shook his head.

“Nothing else.”

“Good. No more questions.”

Brianna rushed back to her seat, trying to ignore Bonnet's lustful gaze that had never left her since she had used sarcasm against Forbes.

“You did well…”, Bellingham whispered as she sat down next to him again and thanked him with a smile. Behind her, Jamie had also smiled, proudly nodding his head, and the young woman felt a little more confident. Unfortunately for her, her relief was short-lived. The time had come to call the witnesses, and due to the mysterious disappearance of the trial records, except the shady guy Bonnet was playing cards with, they had no idea who the other witness and the so-called expert were. The drunkard didn't make much of an impression and Forbes' questions all revolved around Brianna's attitude towards Bonnet, her insistence on getting the ring back at all costs, and whether anyone had heard any cry for help from the locked room.

“Oh, we heard her scream, for sure... But not in a way that suggests she wasn't happy to be there...”, the drunkard concluded with a lousy laugh. A few men imitated him in the room, but not a majority, much to Brianna's relief. Things became more complicated, however, when the second witness was called to the stand, and introduced himself as the prison guard who had escorted the defendant to Bonnet's cell.

“Where was this man during your private conversation with Mr. Bonnet?”, Bellingham whispered, leaning towards her.

“Not with us, that's for sure... He opened the door for me and left...”

“Far enough?”

The uncertainty in Brianna’s eyes told him all he needed to know. If this guard had heard anything embarrassing, everything could go wrong very quickly. They could counter Bonnet's own arguments – after all, it was his word against hers – but if someone outside had heard her talk to Bonnet about the baby, the verdict would be hastily reached. Panic was slowly seizing Brianna and she turned back to her only escape from this nightmare. Jeremiah. The boy looked delighted to see his mother's face and babbled a happy “Mama!”, drawing a lot of affectionate looks to them.

“Mr. Johnson, despite the trauma of the Regulator’s attack – which occurred only a few minutes after the matter we’re discussing here and during which you were almost killed – are you able to show me in this room the person you escorted to my client's cell?”, Forbes asked, his bony hands crossed over his lower back. The guard didn't hesitate for a second and pointed his finger at Brianna. “When Mrs. MacKenzie arrived at the cell door, what did she do?”

“She asked me to open it and leave her alone with Mr. Bonnet.”

“Did you?”

“I opened the door, yes, but I did not go too far in case he tried to hurt her or escape.”

“Did he?”

The guardian shook his head. “He only tried to touch her once. When she opened the tails of her cloak to reveal her pregnant belly. But Mr. Bonnet was chained to the wall and it prevented him from doing so.”

Whispers and gasps of surprise ran through the room and Brianna let her forehead fall into her palms.

“You mean… that Mrs. MacKenzie had come specifically to tell my client about her pregnancy? Why?”

The guard shrugged. “As she said earlier, she wanted him to know that she forgave him. But she also wanted him to know, ‘if that was of any comfort to him’, that she was expecting his child and that he would not die without leaving anything behind.”

New murmurs in the room. Brianna didn't even dare to look up at the magistrates' expressions. She would rather know nothing, stay in the dark and pray that the courthouse – and all the people in it – would disappear into nothingness. Forbes nodded slowly, with a pained expression.

“What was my client's reaction to this announcement?”

The guardian frowned for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “He seemed sad… the kind of sadness I often see in the eyes of convicts who leave women and children behind. I don't think, unlike Mrs. MacKenzie imagined, that this news was of any comfort to him.”

“Did you think that was cruel of Mrs. MacKenzie?”

“Objection! This is a subjective opinion.”

Forbes glanced briefly at Bellingham in annoyance. “Let me rephrase that. Did my client express any sign of distress after this announcement?”

“His eyes did... Especially when the defendant yelled that she would never tell her child about him and his existence would be forgotten...” There were contemptuous 'oohs' in the room and Brianna finally looked up. The Judge was staring at her severely and leaning forward, she saw that Bonnet was bearing a sad face, as if the mere memory of their exchange was painful to him.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me...”, Brianna growled, shaking with rage. Unfortunately for her, the hubbub had died down just as she spoke and the Judge looked at her in disbelief.

“You are forgetting yourself, Mrs. MacKenzie! Do I need to remind you that you are here in a Court of Law and not a fish market?”

“Excuse her, Your Honor...”, Bellingham hastily said before whispering to her: “Please calm down! You are not helping!”

Near the stand, Forbes was already asking another question with a satisfied smile. “Is that all you have to say about this encounter?”

“No”, Johnson answered, and Brianna wondered what could possibly be worse than everything he had said before. “When she was about to leave, Mr. Bonnet searched his mouth to retrieve a gemstone he had hidden behind one of his teeth. He handed it to her, saying it was ‘for the baby’s maintenance’.”

“It was actually a red diamond!”, Bonnet interrupted, as if the value of his gift would tip the scales in his favor.

Forbes pointed at his client, as if to support his argument. “Did Mrs. MacKenzie take the diamond?”

Johnson nodded. “Of course, she didn’t need to be asked twice.”

“No more questions, Your Honor”, Forbes finished, taking seat next to Bonnet. The pirate still bore his heartbroken lover mask, and Brianna had to hold back another curse when she saw a few women pout in the audience, touched by Bonnet’s fake tears. You backstabbing… treacherous… bitches...

“I would like to ask a few questions to Mr. Johnson, Your Honor”, Bellingham said, standing up, but the Judge motioned for him to sit.

“I think we've heard enough of you and your client, Mr. Bellingham. I would like to hear the expert you called, Mr. Forbes. Doctor Barnett, from Wilmington, is that right?”

“That’s correct, your Honor.”

In the room, a man in his sixties, with a receding chin and a high, old-fashioned white wig, made his way to the stand and sat down with all the stiffness of an old, haughty bourgeois. “Introduce yourself, Doctor”, the Judge said with a wave of his hand.

“My name is Dr. Joshua Barnett, specialized in women's and infants’ health for over thirty years.”

Claire couldn't help but sneer, wondering what an old coot like him knew about women's health, but luckily no one but Brianna, Jamie and their lawyer noticed her.

“In thirty years of practice, you must have seen a lot of children and parents...”, Forbes began as the doctor nodded. “Tell me, Doctor. Based on your experience, what are the odds for a brown-eyed-and-haired man and a red-haired woman with blue eyes to give birth to a blond child with blue eyes?”

“Almost non-existent. Some children are born blonde to two brown-haired parents, but their hair usually darken in the first few months of their life. As for the eyes, on the other hand, my colleagues and I have noticed that the color brown almost always prevail over all other colors...”

“Same question with a blond man with green eyes and a redheaded woman with blue eyes…?”, Forbes went on.

“In that case the odds would be much higher.”

“Where are you going with this, Mr. Forbes?”, the Judge asked, who was clearly starting to get bored.

“A demonstration, no less.” He turned to Bonnet with a confident smile. “Will my client please rise… and show the court his blond hair and green eyes…”

The Irishman did so, smiling flirtatiously as some of the women in the audience chuckled.

“Now, I’d like Mr. MacKenzie to do the same…”, Forbes said in an excruciatingly soft voice. On his seat, Roger seemed to wish he had some place to crawl and hide.

“Objection, your Honor!”, Bellingham barked. “This is downright humiliating for my client and her husband.”

“Rejected. The scientific theory advanced by the expert must be verified. Please stand up, Mr. MacKenzie.”

With his jaw clenched, Roger obeyed and presented his brown hair and dark eyes to the audience.

“If anyone was kind enough to introduce Jeremiah to the Court… Maybe you, Mrs. MacKenzie? Don't be shy…”, Forbes joked, as all faces turned to the dock. The young woman looked at her lawyer, and he nodded wearily. She’d better obey, if she didn't want the Judge to take offense. Rising from her chair, she took Jemmy from Claire's arms and lifted him high enough so that the child's face was level with hers. Several heads made eloquent back and forth movements between Jeremiah and Bonnet, and for the first time since the start of the trial, Brianna gave up all hope. She was going to lose. Jemmy would be taken from her and given to her rapist. Tears welled up in her eyes and she couldn't help but turn them to the man responsible for all this chaos. Standing in front of his own table, Bonnet stared at her insistently. They had to make a pretty picture, all of them standing, with their physical characteristics too different to leave any room for doubt. Only Jemmy seemed to be taking this rather well, playing with some of his mother's red curls and babbling at the same time.

“You may sit down…”, said the Judge, turning to Forbes. “Any other questions?”

“One, your Honor. And I think that this will make a decisive point in the legal battle between my client and the defendant…” Clearing his throat, he went on: “Can you explain to the Court, Doctor, the recent discoveries that have been made in the field of procreation? And especially the consequences of the lack of consent on it...”

Barnett sat up in his seat. “Of course. It has been proven in a large-scale study that rape cannot lead to procreation, because the woman's body protects itself and repels her attacker’s semen. In order for a child to be created, the woman must not only consent, but also experience pleasure so that the man's seed reaches its goal more quickly.”

“Are you saying that it is impossible that my client actually raped Mrs. MacKenzie, if she was able to give birth nine months later to a child who looks just like him and whose fatherhood she confessed to him in jail?”

“Absolutely. Not only your client did not rape Mrs. MacKenzie, but she consented to and enjoyed this carnal relationship...”

It was too much for Brianna. This final insult to her trauma had just blown the last functional fuses in her brain. Shoving Jemmy in Bellingham's arms, she jumped up and pointed an accusing finger at the doctor.

“You fucking asshole! How dare you call yourself a doctor? You are nothing but a fraud in the pay of these two sons of bit-”

The hammering of the mallet and the outraged exclamations of magistrates and spectators covered the end of her sentence, and Brianna's lawyer hurriedly passed Jeremiah back to his grandmother before grabbing his client and force her to sit down again. But she struggled like hell, while railing against Bonnet and Forbes with a lot of “filthy bastards” and “fucking piece of shit”. To make matters worse, the pirate chuckled, covering the lower part of his face with his hand, but she could see in his laughing eyes that he was delighted to see her sink into insanity. Just as you watch a fruit grow, thinking with delight of the day when it will be ripe enough to be picked and devoured.

“That's enough! Mrs. MacKenzie, I am ordering you to be quiet. No, I'll even do better than that…” The Judge turned to his colleagues. “We will now retire for deliberations. We will take this up tomorrow morning, and hopefully with a verdict. The meeting is adjourned.”

And with one last hammer blow, Brianna understood that her fate now rested in the hands of six old white men for whom she was nothing more than a hysterical slut, taking pleasure in mentally torturing a man sentenced to death in his cell. In other words: she was screwed.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Poor Brianna… You think she went through enough in this chapter? Please, Bonnet hasn’t even played half of his cards yet. I hope you enjoyed his little show (I did ahahah) and let me know your thoughts and theories about what’s next!

Chapter 3 is almost ready and will be updated in about 3 weeks, I think. Until then, I can’t wait to read your comments and I wish you a happy Halloween !

Xérès

Chapter Text

Will You Teach Me… ?

All right! Chapter 3, people! Let me be honest with you, this is going to be a complete shitshow. As a reminder: Brianna is on the verge of losing her mind (and her son), Roger is an absolute ass (like always) and the verdict is postponed until the following day… I hope you’ll enjoy this chapter and I can’t wait to read your reactions at the end!!

Thanks to all of you who read, commented and/or kudozed last chapter!

oOo

3. Got My Name Changed Back

Brianna stormed out of the courtroom, closely followed by her lawyer and family, trying to ignore the indignant stares of the audience as they left. Her brutal fit of anger had had its effect on the Court, but not in a good way. It would certainly cost her Jeremiah’s custody, but she couldn’t help it. Once in the street, she stopped and dug her fingernails into her scalp, ready to howl in rage.

“What in Heaven’s name possessed you back there?”, Bellingham stormed, stopping right next to her.

“Possessed me?” Brianna lowered her arms and stared at him angrily. “You were there, weren't you? You saw what happened!”

“It is quite common to bring in an expert and present scientific facts when the matter goes beyond the Judge’s field of competence-”

“Telling a bunch of old men that I had an orgasm while getting raped, you call that science??”, she barked, so loud that the lawyer looked around in embarrassment. Several people, including women, were staring at them in shock and he raised his hands in front of him in appeasement, but Brianna was still venting. “The trial records were never complete to begin with! Forbes played us. He knew that if I wasn’t prepared, I would react violently and make a fool of myself.” She rubbed her palms against her face and shook her head, moaning. Bonnet's laughing gaze as she insulted the doctor was haunting her. “He laughed… He dared to laugh at me…”

Claire transferred Jemmy to her husband's arms and rushed over to Bree to comfort her. “This trial was a complete farce; I've already told you about justice around here. Especially when a woman faces charges…”, she whispered, stroking her daughter's red hair. She was of course referring to her own trial for witchcraft in Scotland. And to their friend Gavin Hayes, who had been hung here in Wilmington for killing the jealous husband of the woman he loved, in self-defense.

“The situation is not so bad, to be honest...”, Bellingham went on, in a softer tone. “I've seen cases like this before and usually, within minutes, the child is given to the father and the mother is found guilty of unchastity. The mere fact that they did not deliver the verdict immediately proves that they still need to think about it... The detailed account of your rape disturbed them. It’s not something they are used to hearing. Believe me, this is a good thing. What kept you from winning the trial tonight was the testimony of the prison guard. You told me you were certain to be alone with Bonnet that day...”

Brianna took a deep breath and nodded. “I thought so. Maybe I was too busy watching his every move and yelling at him, though…” She heard a growl coming from Roger's throat a few feet away and she crossed her arms on her chest questioningly. “Do you have something to say?”

She didn't want to put up with Roger's moods right now. If he wanted to remain silent, fine; but the last thing she needed was him adding to the humiliation she had just experienced in the courtroom. However, Roger did not have time to express his thoughts: a cart had just stopped in front of the building and footmen in liveries got out, unloading a case of French wines, several platters of seafood and other delicacies.

“Ah! Here they are at last ! Over here, gentlemen!”, said Forbes from the top of the stairs leading to the courthouse. The whole family turned to watch Bonnet and his lawyer motion for the footmen to follow them inside. Bellingham groaned in annoyance.

“What the hell are they doing now?”, Brianna swore. She’d had it up to here with these two scoundrel’s incessant shenanigans.

“It is customary – when a court or jury meets – to ban all fire, food and drink until a verdict is reached, in order to prevent the deliberations from dragging on... But it seems your Mr. Bonnet is making sure their stomachs are full...”

He’s not my Mr. Bonnet, Brianna sighed inwardly, running a weary hand over her face. After falsifying records, telling lies, seducing the audience and presenting tall-tale experts, Stephen Bonnet had just added bribe to his long list of outrages.

“I think we all need to unwind a bit… let's have a nice hot meal and try to rest until tomorrow morning. There's not much to do at this point anyway…”, the lawyer finished, patting Brianna on the shoulder.

“They could run away”, Jamie growled, still holding Jeremiah in his arms. The last thing he wanted was to see his daughter leave this century forever, but it would always be better than losing his grandson to a murderer. “Roger, Brianna and Jeremiah. All three of them.”

“I strongly advise against it”, Bellingham replied before lowering his voice. “Do you see that man with a black tricorn around the corner? And the one pretending to have a look at this jeweler’s shop a little further?” Jamie glanced briefly in the said directions and nodded. “I have seen these men every day since I took on your daughter’s defense and something tells me that they are not the only ones watching us. Bonnet will undoubtedly be warned of any attempt to leave town and at that point, the case would be requalified as child abduction… And you wouldn’t only lose custody, Mrs. MacKenzie: you would face prison for this.”

“It is that bastarrd Bonnit who should be in prrison...”, Jamie snarled, as anger made him roll his R's more than usual.

“Well, he would have stayed there if his cell door had nae been opened just before the Regulators attacked...”, Roger retorted, shoving his hands into his pockets. Bad decision, for he couldn't avoid Brianna’s slap on his left cheek. He had crossed the line. She had just been accused of staying in a tavern, of following a dishonest man, of being raped for a ring, of lying about the said rape, of playing with the feelings of a man sentenced to death... The last thing she needed was to be accused of being responsible of Bonnet’s escape. Roger stared at her in amazement and he was about to protest, when he met Jamie's threatening gaze.

“Fuck you, Roger! FUCK YOU VERY MUCH!”, she barked as she stormed away, unaware of Bonnet watching her from the courthouse entrance, a smirk floating on his lips.

Bellingham groaned and glanced one last time at Roger before rushing after his client. “Remember when I said she needed to unwind, Mr. MacKenzie…?”

~o~

The next morning they were back and the tension between Brianna and Roger had gone up another notch. The Scotsman stubbornly avoided his wife's gaze – something that did not bother her given the circumstances – but he also ignored Jeremiah and rejected any attempt of the child to get close to him. Brianna had gone mad and they had once again spent the evening yelling and blaming each other. And not a single word had been spoken since. As she paced up and down the courtroom corridor, Brianna felt more and more anxious. She had left Fraser’s Ridge rather confident, but was now facing a harsh reality: that of a time when patriarchy reigned supreme, where women had no rights and where her son could be torn from her overnight by decision of an exclusively male court of justice. She almost wished she had left at the beginning of her pregnancy, far from this damned century she would never fully understand. And now she was about to lose the one thing she wanted to bring back home: her son. Whoever his real father was, she loved him more than life itself, and she could never consider returning to the twentieth century without him.

“Nae verdict has yit been reached, there is still hope…”, Jamie mumbled. He wanted to sound reassuring but that only made his daughter even more nervous.

Leaning against the wall, looking glum, Claire crossed her arms over her chest. “If there's one thing I've learned from my years here, it's that a woman has little hope against a man, let alone a whole court...”

Bonnet's schemes had enraged her at first, and she had not imagined for a single minute that a criminal of his kind could obtain justice against her sweet and loving daughter. But this dirty cockroach was well prepared, supported by the right people and enjoying a whole new social status he had certainly bought with a lot of bribes and dirty money.

“I wulnae let him destroy our family, Sassenach…”, Jamie scolded, sweeping his gaze down the hall to make sure no one could hear them. “Should I spend the rest of my life in jail fur murder.”

“No one is murdering anyone...”, Brianna retorted, stopping to glance at the Scotsman. “I'm about to lose custody of my son, the last thing I need is to lose my father as well.”

“Mr. and Mrs. MacKenzie?”, a voice said a little higher in the hallway. Brianna whirled around and saw Bellingham trotting up.

“What are the news?”

“Before the verdict is delivered, Mr. Bonnet said he was ready to negotiate an amicable agreement, so as to spare you the humiliation of losing your parental rights in public at the final judgment. He's waiting for you in the judge's office.”

Brianna frowned and turned to Roger. Knowing Bonnet, this was bound to be another trap, but her mind – clouded with fear and anguish – couldn't imagine what he was up to.

“Follow me, please…”, the lawyer went on, but as Jamie and Claire also stepped forward he added: “Mr. and Mrs. MacKenzie only.”

Brianna turned to give both her parents a reassuring look and followed her lawyer with Roger by her side. He led them to a huge office, where the judge, Bonnet and Forbes were already comfortably seated. As Brianna walked in, she saw Bonnet jump to his feet, as if trying to make the judge believe that his upbringing forbade him to sit in the presence of a lady. The lovey-dovey look he gave her almost made her feel nauseous. What was he playing at?

“Please have a seat, Mrs. MacKenzie…”, the judge said slowly, clearing his throat. Brianna obeyed, ignoring Bonnet, and Roger stood behind her chair, resting his hands on the back. “I will not hide the fact that the situation is not in your favor, ma'am. This is why the plaintiff is now offering you a less drastic solution, which will certainly seem less unfair to you than a complete and permanent loss of your parental rights over your son, Jeremiah Alexander Ian Fraser MacKenzie. Mr. Forbes, would you please tell Mr. and Mrs. MacKenzie the terms of your client’s agreement?”

“Certainly, your Honor.” Forbes turned his weasel's face towards Brianna, and the young woman instantly knew that the lawyer was having the time of his life. “My client will not deprive you of your son, as long as you agree to live with them in River Run, the property of which Jeremiah is the sole rightful heir.”

“I beg your pardon?”, Brianna blurted out, as Roger made an outraged face that could have been comical under other circumstances. But Forbes kept talking, unruffled:

“If you agree, the judge will immediately annul your marriage to Mr. Roger Wakefield MacKenzie here and you will become my client’s lawful wife, thereby retaining all of your rights over your son. However, the management of the property will lie in my client's responsibility until Jeremiah comes of age.”

Brianna leaped out of her seat, cheeks flushed with anger. She was shaking. “That’s it? You did all this out of revenge because my aunt changed her will and left you nothing for all those years of loyalty?”, she spat sarcastically, shaking her head. “This must be a fucking joke...?”

“Please, Mrs. MacKenzie, mind your words…”, Bellingham squeaked, wincing.

“Would you allow me… to say a few words, Your Honor?”

All heads turned to Bonnet, who had just interrupted Bellingham with the softest of voices. His attitude, his tone, his gestures... He was calm and composed, even going so far as to add a hint of... sadness? Was he even capable of experiencing such a feeling? Brianna strongly doubted it and she clenched her fists, bracing herself for the new lies and other manipulations that would surely come out of his mouth. The judge motioned for him to talk, and with all the elegance he was capable of despite his still somewhat rude manners, Bonnet rose from his chair and slowly approached Brianna. The young woman suddenly felt nauseous, like every time he stepped into her personal space, but she lifted her chin and held his gaze.

“We can tell them now, love. We don't need to hide anymo-”

The slap went off at lightning speed and sounded like a whiplash in the judge's office. With greatest pleasure, Brianna felt her own fingers tingle for a few seconds after impact, as Bonnet's left cheek reddened around his scar. Bellingham ran a weary hand over his face, aware that his client was not doing herself a favor, while Forbes bit his lip to hide a triumphant smile. Slowly, Bonnet brought a hand to his cheek and turned to the Judge, his lower lip quivering as if he was facing the most painful rebuttal of his life.

“Mr. Bonnet, you have just been physically assaulted in the presence of witnesses, do you wish to file a complaint?”, the Judge stated laconically as Roger dug his fingernails into the back of his wife's chair. He was fighting hard against his desire to beat Bonnet to a pulp. Brianna had just made yet another mistake, but the pirate had taken her by surprise with his false declaration of love and she had reacted exactly as he had hoped.

As if to confirm Roger’s suspicions, Bonnet turned his attention back to Bree and despite his fake painful expression, there was a sick sparkle in his eyes. As for Brianna, she had realized the trap she had just fallen into. Her eyes filled with tears and she felt ready to fall apart. The writ, the trial, this stupid agreement, everything was calculated to build up pressure, until she exploded or surrendered. A cruel, almost imperceptible smirk reached Bonnet's lips, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

“No, your Honor. I think it is time for me to mourn the loss of… our relationship… As passionate as it was.” He turned away, slowly approaching his chair. “My son is all that matters to me now.”

“This is not happening…”, Brianna moaned, placing both hands on her face. That sick bastard was doing everything he could to set her up as the World’s Meanest Bitch. She felt her chest tighten in her uncomfortable corset as anxiety slowly made her lose control.

The judge sighed and closed the file on his desk. “Very well, then. You may go back to your seats in the courtroom and we will proceed with the verdict.”

Bonnet took his jacket from the back of his chair and was about to leave the room when Brianna grabbed one of the pirate's sleeves between her thumb and forefinger, pulling slightly. Although she had taken care to only touch the fabric and to remain at a good distance from the skin below, she was not sure why she had chosen to make this move, rather than just calling his name. But the result was the same: he turned to her, plunging his cold, calculating gaze into her pleading eyes.

“Don't do this…”, she whispered, hoping to melt even a tiny part of the dark and cruel creature staring at her. Bonnet took a step forward and Brianna immediately let go of his sleeve to avoid touching anything more than the fabric. He stopped a few inches away, towering over her, and leaned slightly to her ear.

“I am not doin’ anythin’, darlin’. As long as we are in this room, you are holdin’ all the cards. This decision is only yours to make…” As he whispered, he caught MacKenzie's hateful gaze on him and brought his lips closer to Brianna's temple, making her twitch involuntarily.

Confused, she turned her head slightly to catch Bellingham's gaze. She hoped to read something in his eyes that would convince her there was still a chance to win, but the lawyer seemed resigned. “I… no…”, she stammered, the sound struggling to make its way out of her throat. Bonnet's gaze immediately hardened and he shrugged.

“As you wish”, he hissed before turning to Forbes: “Let’s finish this.”

Brianna closed her eyes and suppressed a whimper. The journey back to the dock was like a dream: she was floating above her body, watching her own descent into Hell. Her parents and Jeremiah were already seated and she took the child from Claire’s arms like a robot, to hug him and sit with him at her table. Jeremiah was so warm, so soft under her fingers, his hair surrounded by the sweet smell of the honeysuckle Claire used in her home-made soap. The thought that she might be smelling it for the last time broke her heart and she tightened her arms around Jemmy, pressing her forehead against his, rocking back and forth slightly, as if in a trance. Bonnet had managed to break her just minutes before the final verdict. Why? Why is he doing this to me?

The Judge and the magistrates finally arrived, and with her eyes still closed, Brianna waited for them to speak. But the din of her heart and the excruciating buzzing sound in her ears only allowed her to understand a few words. Sole custody… usufruct of the River Run plantation… Her whole body had started to shake without her being able to stop it. In her arms, the emotional sponge that was wee Jeremiah had sensed that something very bad had happened and he fidgeted, moaning loudly. “Mama, I’m scared…”

She couldn’t say how long she had been there, paralyzed and holding her son, but it was only when two strong and rough hands tried to tear the child from her arms that she suddenly came to her senses. Her first instinct was to hug Jeremiah even tighter and the boy let out a cry of terror. “Don’t touch him!”, she barked at the red coat who was trying to get Jemmy away from her. “Back off!”

Hearing his mother's shrill voice, the boy burst into tears, as the man's hands pressed ever harder around his small waist. Behind her, turmoil had broken out in the room and she heard Roger and Jamie’s furious voices in the distance, as they were certainly overpowered by guards. But she didn't really care about Jamie or Roger right now; her whole being was focused on one and only thing: preventing those two callused hands from taking her son. Unfortunately, another guard appeared from behind, twisting her left arm painfully behind her back and before she even had time to scream, Jemmy had left her arms and was carried across the room. “No... No... No...” was all she managed to say as the guard in her back still immobilized her. She turned her head and briefly saw Claire with her arms raised, trying to separate Jamie and the soldiers. One of them had a bloody nose and she guessed he must have had a taste of the Scot’s knuckles.

Seeing that her father had hit one of the soldiers and was still alive, she threw her elbow back into the stomach of her attacker who doubled over with a smothered “oof”. Quickly, Brianna walked around the dock and rushed to the other side.

“I’m begging you, give me my son back!”, she yelled at the soldier who still held Jemmy, screaming and crying, in his arms. “Have mercy, for Christ’s sake!”

“Ma'am, please step back!”, the soldier barked, handing the child to Bonnet, who took it with a smile he certainly meant to be soothing but which, in Brianna's eyes, might as well have been that of Lucifer himself. The pirate awkwardly wiped Jemmy's wet cheeks, muttering a few words Bree couldn't hear, and it was the last straw. The sight of her son in that monster's arms, comforting him, bringing his damn lips closer to his delicate little forehead… She couldn't stand it. That’s when she decided to play her final card, or at least what she thought was her final card. She turned to Bonnet and began to beg.

“Please, don't do this to me… Give me my son… You can't take him away from me, I'll die…”, she whined, but Bonnet's gaze was still focused on Jeremiah, as if he didn't hear a single word. “I'm begging you… Stephen!”

She had almost screamed his name and the green eyes immediately left Jemmy to settle down on her. She had called him Stephen for the first time in her life, hoping to reach the last drop of humanity that had to be somewhere inside him. She didn't know if she had succeeded, but he was now giving her his full attention. However, a spark of triumph was shining in his vicious gaze. What she had reached was not his compassion, but his enormous ego. They were staring at each other for a few seconds – her eyes widening in terror as his own were slowly becoming two thin horizontal slits – when Roger's exasperated voice rose behind her:

“Bree! Be reasonable, for God's sake!”

The sentence, and especially the anger in his tone, tore Brianna’s eyes away from Bonnet and she turned to Roger in disbelief. “What do you mean, reasonable?”

Her husband pushed his way through the soldiers, raising his hands to show them that he was not going to attack anyone, and stopped two meters away from Forbes' table, who was calmly gathering his papers as if nothing that was going on around him mattered.

“Ye'll end up in jail, if ye cause a scene in front of the Judge… Forget it…”, he hissed, glancing worriedly at the red coats around them.

Brianna couldn't believe her ears. “I am losing our son and you want me to forget it?”

“It's ye I do not want to lose... Brianna...”

He had said the words gently, as if it was the most romantic thing he had ever said to her, but he knew immediately that his choice of words wasn’t right when the young woman's mouth opened wide and she looked at him with disgust. She had always felt deep inside her, and especially since she had been sued, that Roger was uncomfortable with Jemmy and that despite the lullabies he sang to him in the evening or the few toys he had carved for him, he avoided almost all physical contact with the child. But she had always hoped that this would pass over the years, that he would manage to put his pride aside and consider Jemmy as his son, even if they couldn’t prove it scientifically.

“You’re ready to abandon our son to him so you can have me?”, the young woman scolded, pointing her index finger to her own chest. Roger rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Be honest, Bree. He has never really been my son... But at least now it's official.”

The words came as a blow to Brianna and she wondered for a moment who this venomous man was. Certainly not her husband, not the man she had fallen in love with more than four years ago. You got a short memory, girl. Remember his first marriage proposal, at the festival… Do you remember it? That romantic moment when he called you a slut just because you refused to marry him on your first bloody date… Bree hated that little voice in her head, the one that reminded her every now and then how Roger had been far from Prince Charming, before growing a conscience and accepting her even if she might be pregnant by another man. “Accept” was indeed the right word. As if he was doing her a favor by marrying her and saving her honor. And now literally throwing the baby out with the bathwater.

“You're an incredible bastard…”, Bree hissed, realizing it as she said it out loud. Roger straightened up slightly, surprised by her harsh words. Brianna glanced quickly at Jemmy, who had calmed down a bit in Bonnet's arms but was still crying, and saw the Irishman enjoying the show. She wouldn't even be surprised to see him suddenly pull a bag of popcorn out of nowhere and eat it while admiring the chaos he had created. I'm surrounded by absolute assholes…, she added inwardly, as her breathing quickened. Nothing made sense anymore and she didn't know what to do. Let Jemmy go was out of the question, but so was living with a man who was ready to abandon him that easily. She was still motionless, panting heavily, when Roger's arm tried to pull her towards him. Towards the exit.

“No!”, she yelled, as her husband ignored her and kept dragging her away. Desperate, she pushed him away with all her might, before running to the judge who was rising from his chair, ready to leave the room. “I take the deal!”

The judge immediately froze, as did everyone else in the room, and looked at her almost tiredly.

“I'm afraid it is too late, Mrs. MacKenzie. The offer is off the table once the verdict is delivered...”

Brianna trotted over to him and clasped her hands in front of her. “Please, there must be a way-”

“One moment, your Honor…”

Bonnet was getting close, still holding Jemmy in his muscular arms. Those same arms that had overpowered her so easily in the tavern. The mere sight of his biceps surrounding her tiny, fragile son made her shiver with horror. He stopped next to her, way too close to her liking, and she had to fight the urge to take three steps back.

“If I still want this offer to be valid... It should not be a problem, aye?”

“Indeed, but with all due respect Mr. Bonnet, you shall both be held responsible for wasting the Court’s precious time...”, the man sighed, giving them a stern look.

“And time is money...”, Bonnet smirked. Wiggling his right arm, he repositioned Jemmy who had slipped to the side of his chest. “I am obviously willing to compensate the Court for any inconvenience caused.”

Brianna couldn't believe what she was hearing: were they actually talking about taking bribes, even though the trial – or rather mock trial – had just ended? The Judge sighed again and held out a hand towards the exit.

“Alright, then please follow me to my office… again.”

A few meters away, Roger had managed to free himself from the guards who had kept him away since Bree's shocking announcement and he barely had time to yell “Don't be stupid!” before the exasperated Judge grabbed his wooden gavel and banged it hard against his desk.

“Clear the Courtroom!”, he barked at the guard.

Oh, now I'm being stupid…?, Brianna spat internally, not giving Roger the slightest glance, before she turned to Bonnet. “You have what you wanted, give him back to me now!”, she hissed. The pirate stared at her for a moment, and seemed to realize that he had played enough with her and it was time to rub her up the right way. Win her trust. Let her hug the son she had almost lost, so that he could control her better later. Rolling his eyes, he transferred Jemmy into her outstretched hands and Brianna instantly slid her fingers through the boy's blonde hair, bringing his forehead to her lips to kiss him passionately. “Mama’s here... Mama’s here, love...”, she whispered, tears welling up to her eyes. Bonnet had left some of his scent on Jemmy's clothes and she tried to ignore it, focusing on Claire’s honeysuckle.

Her eyelids snapped open and she jumped violently as Bonnet's hand slipped down her lower back and he leaned toward her right ear. “This is not over yet, darlin’, we still have to sign some papers… And then you, Jeremiah and River Run shall legally become my property.”

Darlin’… That nickname… That damn nickname he had whispered so many times while he was assaulting her; she couldn't stand it anymore. So much so that she had almost ran away the first time Roger had accidentally called her that, a few weeks after his return. You mean after he abandoned you because he couldn't stand the thought of you being defiled by someone else…, quipped the scathing little voice in the corner of her brain. A tear rolled down her cheek as that one simple word stirred up terrible memories, but she hugged Jemmy a little tighter and managed to control herself enough to follow the Judge into his den. They had just entered the office when their respective lawyers appeared in the doorway: Forbes, as cool as an ugly cucumber and Bellingham who was literally boiling with anger.

“Good, now that everyone is here, let's get this over with… We have already wasted enough time with this case…”, the Judge grumbled, sitting down behind his desk. “Mr. Forbes, I suppose all the papers are ready?”

“Absolutely, Your Honor…”, Forbes smirked, handing him a wad of documents. In other circumstances, Brianna would have loved to spit in his weasel face, but her whole being was focused on one thing: not letting anyone else take Jemmy away from her arms. “First, Mrs. MacKenzie will have to sign an affidavit stating she accepts my client's offer and the terms thereof. Then we can proceed with Mr. and Mrs. MacKenzie’s marriage annulment, and join her and my client in matrimony.”

Brianna suddenly felt the urge to retch and shifted Jemmy's weight onto her left arm to bend over and read Forbes’ affidavit. But the words on the paper didn't make any sense to her anymore, as if she was trying to read something in Cyrillic. Exhaustion, fear and anger monopolized all of her brain functions and she started to shake again, unable to read a single word.

“Do you want me to read it for you?”, Bellingham offered, noticing her distress. Brianna nodded silently, more tears wetting her cheeks. With the softest of voices, the lawyer read the entire document under the patient gazes of the three other men in the room. Even though her mind kept imagining the worst scenarios, Brianna managed to get the gist of what was being read to her. By signing this paper, she would become Stephen Bonnet's rightful wife, make him Jeremiah’s legal guardian and therefore grant him management of River Run until the boy came of age. Any act of rebelliousness, any new attempt to abduct the child from his father, any refusal to comply with her wifely duties would invalidate the agreement and Bonnet would be able to repudiate her, keep her son and the estate. A disgusting sparkle had lit the Irishman's eyes, and she saw him nod slowly at the mention of this paragraph.

When Bellingham finished reading, he looked up at Brianna and asked her if she still agreed to the terms. Her eyes went quickly from the Judge, who seemed quite eager to close the case, to Forbes still staring and smirking at her, and finally Bonnet. His hungry eyes betrayed his desire to see her sign those damn papers, and thereby consent to become his wife. The second he had seen her in the tavern, all he had wanted was to subdue her, possess her, make her his own, untouchable by anyone else. But he had let her go, thinking his desire would die down now he had had his way with her. And it had died down… until that day in the jail.

Brianna closed her eyes again, pressing her nose against Jemmy's hair to inhale his scent and remember why she was doing all this. “Mrs. MacKenzie?” The Judge was getting impatient and she forced herself to open her eyelids. With her trembling right hand, she gestured towards the quill resting on the inkwell, and wedging Jemmy against her chest with her other arm, she wrote Brianna Ellen Fraser MacKenzie, trying not to think about the fact that maybe this was the last time she signed under that name. A long breath of air escaped Bonnet's nostrils – a sigh of relief? – but Brianna didn't look at him to find out. The Judge took the document, added it to his file, and then proceeded to annul her marriage to Roger. Once again, her mind drifted and she signed the second document in a daze, thinking about the third one with a heavy heart. But the third didn't come right away, and it took her a while to realize that all the men around her had stood up and were staring at her expectantly.

“Miss Fraser, would you please stand up and give your son to your lawyer for a moment…”, said Forbes' annoying voice, emphasizing her maiden name now that she was – again and for a very short time – officially single. Brianna got out of her chair and whispered against Jemmy's forehead:

“I’ll leave you to Mr. Bellingham for a while, all right? Just a little while…”

Jemmy nodded limply; the poor child was exhausted by the events of the last hour, incomprehensible to a boy his age, and he let himself be transferred into the lawyer’s arms. Bonnet had already turned to her and she immediately wanted to run like a bat out of hell. She had often read, in period books, about forced or arranged marriages – some ending well and others not so much – and although she had once been aware that this kind of practice was terrible, she had never really captured the full extent of its violence. Or maybe she only found it violent because she had been raised in modern society? Any other woman here would have simply surrendered and prayed that her husband wouldn't treat her like garbage. They probably had lower expectations than in the twentieth century... But as far as she was concerned, here and now, the atrocity of this marriage was matched only by the detachment and casualness of the three men forcing her into it. To them, it was a mere formality. Just like selling a house or a horse. This is a nightmare... Only a nightmare, I just have to wake up...

She flinched as Bonnet made a move towards his waistcoat, almost expecting him to draw a gun and threaten her – which wouldn’t have made this marriage less ignominious to be honest – but instead of a pistol, he took out a small box and opened it with a satisfied smile. The box contained a ring, a plain gold ring with a deep green emerald. Where does that come fr-?, Brianna thought before looking up. That was when she understood something. Something she should have seen coming from the start. Something she hated herself for missing, even if it would not have made any difference. He had it all planned. Somehow, he knew he would win and that she would take the deal. In the morning, when he had put his waistcoat on and slipped the wedding ring inside, he knew he would come out of court married to Brianna Fraser. Never had she felt so humiliated, betrayed and manipulated in her whole life. Her eyes widened in anger and she stared at him in disbelief, contempt, disgust and every other emotion she could concentrate in one single look.

Bonnet’s face looked just like a gentleman’s: patiently waiting for the judge to say the words that would unite them and allow him to slip the emerald on her finger. But his eyes, his two green eyes reeked of guile and victory. Brianna was about to explode and Bonnet must have sensed it because he did the only thing that could defuse the ticking bomb he had in front of him: he gave a quick look at Jemmy, then stared back at her. The message was clear: think about your son.

“Mr. Bonnet, do you take Miss Brianna Ellen Fraser to be your wedded wife?”, the Judge asked, obviously bored by the situation and only thinking about one thing: treat himself to a good slice of apple pie.

“I do.” Without further delay, he pulled the ring out of its box and reached for Brianna’s hand, which she held out with as much enthusiasm as a prisoner approaching the scaffold. One look, one quick glance toward Jemmy's had been enough to deprive her of any will to fight. At least to fight the legal system. Another fight would take place later, between the walls of River Run. With slow movements, Bonnet removed the ring Roger had slipped on her finger two years earlier and replaced it with his own.

“Miss Brianna Ellen Fraser, do you take Mr. Stephen Bonnet to be your wedded husband?”

Anger clouded Brianna's blue eyes and even a human being without empathy, such as the psychopath she had in front of her, could sense it. Despite the tremors agitating her whole body and the hatred she felt towards each of the men responsible of her misfortune, she managed to open her mouth.

“I do.”

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

It's ok, you can scream hahahah. What did you think of this chapter? I don't think anyone would like to be in Brianna's shoes right now. Bonnet is so obsessed with the idea of owning her, and being Jemmy's father, that he will to any lengths to get what he wants… Anyway, he is now the rightful owner of River Run. And that’s when you ask... What is he going to do about Aunt Jocasta ?? You’ll get the answer in the next chapter… :p

See you in 3 weeks for chapter 4! I will be moving house in the next 15 days but I will try to update anyway! Have a lovely week!

Xérès

Chapter Text

Will You Teach Me… ?

Hey everyone, I hope this chapter will be worth the wait! Now that Brianna and Stephen are married, the actual nightmare will begin. At least for one of them. The other is literally living the dream. Ahahah

Thanks all of you who read, commented and kudozed last chapter. I can’t wait to hear your thoughts on this new episode !

oOo

4. Stealing In The Name Of The Lord

Brianna left the Judge's office in a daze, still squeezing Jemmy to her chest. Behind her back, she could hear Bonnet and Forbes congratulating each other on the outcome of the trial, but couldn't find the strength to ask them to shut up. Her mind was obsessed with what would happen next: would Bonnet take her with him as soon as they got out of court? Definitely, for fear she might escape. Would they go straight to River Run? And if that was the case, what would happen to Aunt Jocasta, her butler Ulysses, Phaedre and all the household staff? Were they also Bonnet’s property, just like her, Jemmy and the walls? Would she have to share his bed? The paragraph on wifely duties had been clear, but would she be able to endure it all without throwing herself off the roof? She wasn't sure.

In the hallway, her parents and Roger were pacing up and down, surrounded by suspicious guards. When they saw Brianna, Claire wanted to run towards her but she was held back by the soldiers, to whom she gave a venomous look. At the mere sight of her family, Brianna wanted to run down the hallway to meet them, but a firm arm held her roughly by the waist and she soon felt Bonnet's chest against her back.

“Let me-…Let us say goodbye…”, she growled without even looking back. She knew it: if she met Bonnet's gaze even for a second, she would lose control and do something desperate. For the sake of her survival and sanity, he had to let her find some solace with her family. Slowly, the pressure of Bonnet's hand on her stomach lifted before disappearing completely. Brianna did not have to be told twice and ran to throw herself into her mother's arms, soon joined by Jamie.

“He gave me no choice…”, she sobbed as her mother kissed her forehead, glaring at Bonnet across the hall.

“I know, Bree, I know… We'll find a solution… There must be a way to get you out of there…”, Claire whispered. “At least in River Run, we know where you are… And in some way, it will feel a bit like home: Jemmy won't notice something’s wrong…”

Brianna nodded, sniffling.

“We can still try tae escape, Bree…”, Roger interjected, separating both women irritatingly. “On the other side of the stones, ye’ll be safe.”

“We'll never make it to the stones with coachloads of henchmen chasing us… And we still don't know if Jemmy can travel!”, Brianna protested in a low voice.

“Jemmy... Jemmy... Jemmy, that’s the only word ye know. What about me? Do ye even care? Humiliated in front of a whole courtroom because my hair and eyes are the wrong color? And now losing the woman I left everything for to bury myself here?”

“Roger…”, Claire warned, threateningly. “That's enough.” The young man was reacting just as when he had heard Brianna had been raped and was pregnant. Bringing everything back to him even if he wasn’t the one who had suffered the most.

Brianna scowled through her tears. “Ooooh, humiliated because of your hair? Oh poor Roger, I wonder how you survived...”

“Brianna!”

Bonnet had just called her from the other end of the corridor and she took a deep breath, determined not to let Roger ruin her last precious moments with her parents.

“I'll find something…”, she whispered again. “Anything that will bring him down for good. I don't know if we will be able to communicate, but if I need your help, I will let you know. I'll find a way.”

“We will too, mo leannan…”, Jamie whispered softly, stroking her head. Brianna was smiling sadly at him when Bonnet called her again, much louder this time.

“You should go before he…” Claire's voice broke and Bree saw her mother's lips quiver. “Jesus, I don't even want to imagine what this man could do to you…”

Brianna's face fell for a moment and when she spoke again, her voice was hoarse and gloomy. “Nothing he hasn't already done… He wanted to break me so that I would agree to his terms and he succeeded. But he forgot something…”

Her family stared at her expectantly as her first name echoed angrily through the hallway for the third time. But the anger in Bonnet’s voice could only be matched by that in the young woman's eyes. “Now, I have got nothing else to lose. But he has.”

~o~

As she realized it very quickly, Brianna’s renewed bravery did not last long. Bonnet seemed furious that he had to raise his voice three times before she obeyed, but the presence of the Judge had forced him to keep calm. Outside the courthouse, a carriage with heavy velvet curtains was waiting for them and Brianna froze, terrified to be trapped with Bonnet in such a confined space. The pirate gently pushed her forward and she climbed up inside, snuggling in the opposite corner, with Jeremiah on her lap. Bonnet sat down on the opposite seat, soon followed by Forbes. Brianna wouldn't have admitted it under torture, but Forbes' presence would certainly keep Bonnet’s wandering hands away from her and that thought was quite reassuring. But putting up with that traitor's face for hours, breathing the same oxygen, would still look like crossing the first circle of Hell.

“What is he doing here?”, she spat as Forbes sat down next to Bonnet.

“River Run is on my way back to Cross Creek… And I need to talk to your aunt. As a friend, of course, not as her lawyer as she very recently decided not to call on my services anymore”, Forbes replied with a smirk, while Bonnet let out a sarcastic laugh.

“You’re just going there to gloat...”, Brianna retorted, wincing with disgust.

Forbes smiled and nodded. “You are very astute... for a woman...” There was a jolt and the carriage set in motion, carrying its three passengers on a six-hour journey to River Run. “To be honest, I will only make sure that your aunt leaves the premises within the twenty-four hour period that has been granted to her.”

“You can't... Where will she go? She's a blind old lady; you can’t expect her to leave everything she knows all of a sudden?”, Brianna exclaimed. Her only comfort so far had been the prospect of having her aunt by her side.

“Mr. Duncan Innes, whom she has just married, owns a large estate in Nova Scotia... The climate is quite different from North Carolina, but I am sure they will be very happy up there...”, Forbes concluded with a mischievous smile.

“My aunt will never give up on River Run...”

Bonnet raised an elbow to wedge it against the carriage wall, and smirked. “Why d’you think we’re followed by a whole battalion o’ red coats, darlin’?”

With one hand, Brianna opened the curtain to her right and saw a bunch of English soldiers riding horses around their vehicle. She let the fabric fall, her face dark, and shrank a bit more into her seat.

“Your aunt has been dangling River Run under my nose for years… And then, you and your father appeared”, Forbes said, this time more aggressively. “That’s why I decided that if I couldn't have the plantation, she wouldn't have it either.”

“I don't want to hear another word from you…”, Brianna whispered, looking away. Tears were welling up in her eyes again and she refused to give Forbes the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

“You should have thought twice before you-”

“Shut up!”, she yelled, before he could finish his sentence. Jemmy, who was dozing against her breast, jumped and began to whimper. Brianna immediately began to rock him, overwhelmed with guilt. The child had already cried enough for today. “Oh no... Jem, I’m sorry, I'm so sorry...”

On the opposite seat, she saw Bonnet watch her curiously, fascinated by the way she comforted her son, and especially by the effectiveness of her caring gestures. Less than two minutes later, the boy was already drying his tears, before turning around, obviously looking for something.

“Wubby?”, he asked Brianna, who began to search the carriage, wondering when she had last seen her old scarf.

“I… I don't know where it is, Jemmy…”

“I want my wubby!”

The poor child was exhausted – what could be more normal after what he had just been through – and the slightest contrariety would keep making him whine until he could get some sleep. Before he could throw a tantrum, Brianna raised a hand to her cleavage, usually covered by the same kind of scarf Jemmy used as a wubby… and remembered that she had decided not to wear any today because of the summer heat. Fuck…

“What does he want?”, Bonnet asked, frowning.

“His w-… one of my scarves that he always carries around…”, she said as the child fidgeted on her lap. Bonnet pointed a finger to his own neck, around which was tied a brand new white scarf, which looked much cleaner than the one Jemmy used to chew on. “That kind of scarf?”

Brianna narrowed her eyes. “Yes. Except mine doesn’t smell like an old brothel.”

Bonnet snorted and untied the scarf with one hand. “The boy’s half-Irish. Shouldn't bother him too much…” He was about to hand Brianna his scarf, when he stopped and turned his calculating gaze towards the child. A gaze that smelled like trouble. “Jeremiah?”

The boy whirled around and stared curiously at Bonnet, before his eyes fell on a square of white fabric that vaguely looked like his wubby.

“I'm afraid you've lost your scarf, but until we find it, you can take mine…”, Bonnet offered in an awfully… normal voice. So normal that it sounded weird to Brianna's ears, but not to Jemmy's, who immediately reached out towards the piece of fabric. It didn't exactly look, smell, or feel like his wubby, but it would be enough for now. He tried to grab it, but with a quick flick of his wrist, the Irishman took the scarf away and patted his own thighs. “Want to come sit on my lap?”

Brianna stiffened and Jeremiah turned to her with a questioning look. As the young woman did not make the slightest gesture indicating to her son that he could not go and get the new scarf – he really wanted something to chew on – he fidgeted again, so that Mama would understand he wanted to change seats.

“Everything will be fine, darlin’…”, Bonnet whispered, looking straight into her eyes. “Everything will be perfectly fine.”

Brianna felt Jemmy escape from her hands and watched in horror as the little boy went towards Bonnet, who sat him on his lap. Jemmy had never been a shy child. Whatever he did, wherever he was, he seemed to blindly trust anyone in his living space. And especially people who brought him gifts. Perched on Bonnet’s thighs, the child immediately grabbed the scarf, placed it around his right thumb, and stuffed both into his mouth. The scent of this scarf was different, but new smells didn't bother him too much.

“What do you say, young man?”, Forbes mocked, leaning over the child and pretending to scold him.

“’Ank you, Sir…”, Jemmy replied, unaware of Brianna’s murderous look.

“Please…”, Bonnet cooed, smiling broadly. “Call me d-”

“Sir!”, Brianna barked before he could finish. “Sir will be fine.”

Bonnet bit his lip and leaned back against his seat, as Jemmy was making himself comfortable on his legs. Brianna could no longer bear the sight of her child so quickly conquered by the pirate and turned towards the carriage window, resting her chin on her palm. Her nose was stinging and she tried to take deep breaths so as not to cry again. Betrayed by my own flesh and blood.

“You’re a reasonable lass, darlin’. And a clever one too. I know you need some... time to adapt, to get used to this new life.” Even if Brianna did not take her eyes off the window, Bonnet knew she was all ears. “But if I were you, I’d cooperate, so as not to… disturb Jeremiah. It would pain me greatly if I had to write a letter to the Judge, telling him your behavior compromises our son’s well-being. Do you understand…?”

Brianna's lower lip quivered and that seemed to be a sufficient answer for Bonnet, who nodded appreciatively. Three hours later, the coachman stopped his horses in a small village to let them drink and rest, while the passengers themselves satisfied some natural needs. This unexpected break allowed Brianna to get Jemmy back, and the boy eventually fell asleep against her for the rest of the journey. Unfortunately, he was still sucking on the pirate's scarf and Bree could not help but catch its scent of whiskey, cigars and a hint of sweat. But rather than panicking, she chose to take this opportunity to overcome her fear. She would have to smell him every day now, and if she lost her mind every time she breathed, her life would become a living Hell. I’m already in Hell… Hugging Jeremiah against her, she looked down and sniffed Bonnet's scent while trying to control her heartbeat. Get used to it. Control the fear. Those were the goals she had to achieve before they arrived in River Run. One victory at a time, this was how she would win this war.

When the coach stopped in the driveway, almost four hours later, Brianna had absorbed so much of Bonnet's scent that she hardly smelled it anymore. Jemmy had woken up a few minutes earlier and had abundantly drooled all over the Irishman’s scarf, much to his mother's delight. But Bonnet made no move to take his garment back.

Forbes got out of the vehicle first, followed by Bonnet, who stood by the door expecting Brianna to accept his outstretched hand. But the young woman made a point of ignoring him and jumped out of the carriage, Jemmy on one arm, the other raising the front of her dress. Bonnet broke into a smirk but didn't insist, following the young woman down the gravel path. Realizing where he was, Jemmy fidgeted in her arms and Brianna had to let him go. The door to the house opened and a disheveled Phaedre appeared on the threshold.

“Phaed’!”, Jemmy cried, running at full speed towards the maid. He hadn't seen her in three weeks, which was an eternity for a child his age, but his enthusiasm was just as intense as the distress you could read on the girl’s face. A courier had been sent in the morning to notify Jocasta of the loss of her land, and he had probably arrived long before the carriage. Phaedre bent down to pick up Jemmy and hug him tightly, as she gave Brianna a sorry look over the child's shoulder. The young woman quickened her pace and whispered to her to take Jemmy to her bedroom upstairs. Phaedre nodded hastily and after one last terrified glance towards Bonnet, Forbes and the soldiers gathering around them, she whirled around and disappeared with the child into the house.

“Your property, Mr. Bonnet. Beautiful, isn't it?”, Forbes trumpeted, as the new owner scanned the surroundings appreciatively. The pirate slowly approached Brianna on the front steps and nodded.

“I've always liked to surround meself with beautiful things...”, he whispered, bringing his fingers to Brianna's chin. She pulled her head back just enough to stay out of reach and glared at him, hardly appreciating to be compared to an object.

Most likely to compensate for your ugly soul…?, she thought. But if she didn't want to lose Jemmy, she had to direct her anger at someone else. “And yet, you hang out with Forbes…”, she hissed disdainfully.

The lawyer’s expression darkened, but Bonnet’s did just the opposite: smiling, he turned to his sidekick and raised an eyebrow. “I’d say Mr. Forbes is the exception that proves the rule.”

Forbes’ face at that very moment would have made Brianna chuckle if the circumstances had been less serious, and she just turned away to enter the house. Ulysses was waiting for them in the entrance hall, his angry eyes peering suspiciously at Bonnet. No one in the world loved Jocasta Cameron Innes more than her butler, and the old woman trusted him with her life, to the point that Brianna even suspected a forbidden affair between the two. He was her employee, but also a guiding hand wherever she went. He was the mouth that described what she could not see, her confidant and her dearest friend. Brianna couldn’t even imagine how the man felt seeing a thief like Bonnet depriving his dear mistress of her lands and possessions.

Nothing had changed since her last visit and yet Brianna felt like she didn't recognize a thing. As if the many French windows no longer let in the radiant sun like they used to; as if the ceilings were lower and the walls closer together. Everything had become more suffocating, more distressing. On that sinister July 15, 1773, the Garden of Eden had become an open-air prison. Maybe it always has been and I just couldn’t see it, she thought inwardly as a Black footman approached to take the visitors’ jackets and other belongings.

“Mrs. Cameron is waiting for you in the living room, Mrs. MacKenzie…”, Ulysses said to Brianna, his face expressing concern and compassion at the same time.

“It's Mrs. Bonnet now... Try to get it through your skull if you want to leave this house on your own two legs...”, Bonnet grumbled, throwing his jacket in the butlers’ arms as the African tried his hardest not to drop it to the ground and trample on it.

“Wh-… you’re letting him go?”, Brianna asked, surprised that he already wanted to part ways with one of the major components of the household staff.

Forbes seemed quite disappointed that his partner hadn't seized the opportunity to hurt the old bat even more by separating her from her most faithful friend. “Every decent house needs a butler... Why don't you keep him? He is your property, after all”, he blurted out as Bree and Ulysses both gave him murderous looks.

“I’d ask you to replace him, Mr. Forbes, but welcoming people is not exactly your forte… You have other talents, though”, Bonnet mocked, before getting as close as possible to Brianna, who immediately tensed. “Think of it as a favor, darlin’… I do you a favor, you do me a favor, and so on… The secret of a happy marriage…”

“You’re doing a favor to the woman you just kicked out of her property, not me...”

“Hmm... What do you say?”, the pirate retorted, leaning over her, in a perfect imitation of Forbes when he had scolded Jemmy for not thanking Bonnet quickly enough earlier.

Brianna narrowed her eyes and shook her head before heading to the living room. Sitting like a queen in her royal blue armchair adorned with embroidered flowers, Jocasta Cameron Innes was patiently waiting for them, her blank gaze staring at the ground. She didn't seem bothered in the least by the situation and as a good aristocrat, she even gave a slight smile when she heard Brianna's dress brushing the carpet. The latter almost ran to her great-aunt and took her wrinkled hand between her fingers.

“I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…”, Brianna breathed, tears threatening again. It was becoming an unpleasant habit.

“Dinna fash yerself, lass…”, Jocasta said, patting Bree's hand. “Revenge is a dish best served cold. For noo, let Mr. Bonnit burn his tongue with this feast he was sae hungry for.”

I wouldn't care about the feast if I wasn't the dessert myself…, Brianna thought, knowing that this argument would not move her aunt. She was from another era, when women married more often out of obligation than out of love, and when sex only had a reproductive role. She would certainly tell her to lie down, bite the bullet and let the man get it over with.

When the said man appeared in the living room, Brianna thanked the Heavens that her aunt was blind and could not see Bonnet looking appreciatively at the luxurious furniture. Jocasta must have heard the sound of the pirate's shoes in the room because she suddenly grabbed Brianna's arm and forced her to lean towards her.

“Go tae yer room and lock the duir until dinner. I will have him sleep in another room. Whatever he wants from ye, he wulnae get it taenight. Nae while I am in this house…”, Jocasta whispered and if Brianna hadn't controlled herself she would have hugged the old woman. Without further ado, she left the room again under Bonnet’s and Forbes’ suspicious gaze.

“Mr. Bonnit...”, Jocasta went on immediately so as not to give the pirate time to follow his young wife. “May I ask ye a question?”

The pirate immediately turned his attention away from Bree to the old woman he had just robbed blind. Literally. “Please do...”

“I was wondering what use could a man like yerself, a man... of the sea...”, she began, her tone implying that Bonnet's natural environment was not the first thing she would have mentioned if she hadn't been a well-mannered lady, “…have for a plantation like River Run?”

“The sea is a treacherous place, where creatures prey upon one another. Every man combs to an age when the prospect of ownin’ a comfortable home becombs more attractive than bravin’ the ocean’s perils. And of course, I needed a proper place to raise Jeremiah.”

Jocasta let out a brief icy laugh and raised her eyebrows. “Of course. Dinnae think that the land is safer than the sea, though… It is teeming with snakes as, I am sure, ye will soon find out.”

Bonnet's casual smile faded a little and his gaze turned cold, but he could not let any witness see him losing his temper in front of an old cripple.

“Perhaps you could tell me more about the snakes that live in this part o’ North Carolina at dinner? After all, you only have one evenin’ left to give me the benefit of your invaluable experience...”

“Unfortunately, I am afraid that this wulnae be enough… But sae be it. Ye should go and freshen up a bit, it seems tae me that yer men brought some of yer personal belongings in the afternuin...”, the aristocrat said sharply. She then lifted her chin a little and raised her voice so that Ulysses, who was still stationed somewhere in the room, could hear her. “Ulysses, please lead Mr. Bonnit tae his room. Make sure he gets rid of that stench…” Stung by the accusation, the pirate was seizing the collar of his shirt under his leather waistcoat to sniff it, when his host chuckled: “Oh, my sincere apologies, Mr. Bonnit, this isnae ye: This nauseating reek is that of treachery. Guid evening, Mr. Forbes, I did nae hear ye come in…”

That was a lie of course, for her heightened sense of hearing would have recognized the lawyer's footsteps anywhere, and Forbes knew it. He stepped forward in a huff, increasingly annoyed by Brianna, her aunt and even Bonnet taking digs at him for the past few hours. “I have brought some documents for you to sign, Mrs. Innes. Once these formalities have been settled, you will have until noon tomorrow to leave the premises.”

“How d’ye even live with yerself?”, Jocasta asked, instantly losing the fake smile she had shown Bonnet until then.

Forbes gulped and his nostrils dilated slightly. But Bonnet could not enjoy the lawyer’s retort as the butler invited him to follow him down the hall, then up the stairs. The Black man nodded discreetly at one of the footmen, who immediately went to stand in the living room, in order to keep an eye on Forbes. The house was huge and each hallway had countless doors, which Bonnet could not wait to open as soon as he would get the chance. There was noise coming from the end of the corridor, to the left of the staircase, as well as a voice that sounded like Brianna's, but Ulysses turned right and led him to the other end. Up to an empty room, except for a few trunks and a basin of clear water.

“I’m not sleepin’ with my wife?”, he asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

Ulysses gave him a polite – but satisfied – smile and answered: “Not as long as Mrs. Cameron is under this roof, Sir.”

Bonnet bit his lip. All these people were testing his limits, as if they were waiting for the slightest mistake to prove that he would never be part of their world. Despite his increasing anger, he forced a smile on his lips and straightened up, crossing his hands behind his back. “Good thing we'll be rid of her tomorrow, then.”

With undisguised glee, he saw the butler’s smile falter as he glared at him, before heading back downstairs. Left alone, the pirate stared at the other end of the corridor, where he had heard Brianna’s voice. He felt the urge to go and find her, but restrained himself and closed his door with an annoyed sigh.

Across the corridor, Brianna was pacing up and down her room under Phaedre's sorry gaze, while Jemmy was playing with the toys they kept for him in River Run.

“I can’t do this… I can’t do this…”, the young woman moaned in a low voice. “What the hell happened? This morning, I was still married to Roger and now here I am with... with...”

“Madam…”

“With the man who raped me! And who will certainly do it over and over again, until...”

Until when exactly? Until she found a way to escape and reach a stone circle – the closest being a couple of weeks’ walk away – not even knowing if Jemmy could follow her? Until her family stormed the plantation and killed Bonnet, which would certainly earn them a one-way ticket to the scaffold? Or until she died? Taking her own life in despair? Her eyes fell on Jemmy, sitting on the carpet, and she bit her lower lip. No, suicide was not an option.

“He won't touch you tonight, Madam. Ulysses and Mrs. Cameron will see to that.”

“One night’s respite, Phaedre. And then, what? I won’t be able to escape him forever!”

The maid lowered her nose, not knowing what to say to appease the young woman's torment. “Maybe with Jeremiah sleeping in your room…?”

“I don't want Jemmy sleeping in the same room as this lunatic…” As the young woman kept pacing like a caged lion, Phaedre gave up and walked over to the cupboard to pull out a suitable dress for dinner. She had just chosen a purple blue French summer dress with a square neckline and lace three-quarter sleeves, when Brianna suddenly froze. “Wait… What if Jemmy needs me in his room?”

“What do you mean?”

Brianna walked over to the young girl, her eyes wide. “If Jemmy is having a nightmare or starts crying for some reason, I will have to go and see him, right?”

“I guess...”

“What if he starts crying every night when we go to bed?”

Phaedre frowned, shaking her head. “A child does not cry on cue. Something or someone would have to…”, said the maid before noticing Brianna's insisting gaze on her. “What... what exactly are you suggesting, Madam?”

“Every night, when Bonnet and I will go to bed, you could wake Jemmy up… with a scary little noise or… I don’t know, you’ll find something! That way, I'll have an excuse to leave Bonnet alone in our room. He will probably wait for a while and when he finally gets tired of waiting and comes looking for me, he’ll find me asleep in Jemmy’s bed. He won't dare to wake us up for fear Jem would cry again...”

The poor maid didn't seem too convinced by the plan, nor thrilled at the thought of scaring an adorable little boy in his sleep, but his mother was obviously losing her mind after a disastrous day. And she couldn't blame her. “It won't work forever, Madam… Mr. Bonnet will suspect something, or I'll get caught… And what about poor Jeremiah…”

Brianna buried her face in her palms, realizing her brain was getting out of control. She was so focused on her own fear that she was ready to sacrifice Jeremiah's well-being and imperil her maid just to delay the inevitable for a few nights.

“You are still breastfeeding Jeremiah, aren’t you? You can tell Mr. Bonnet that he needs to be fed?”

Brianna sighed. She had stopped breastfeeding a few weeks earlier. The frugal, crop-dependent diet in Fraser's Ridge had forced her to breastfeed for three years in order to avoid any deficiency, but with the stress of the past few weeks and the hearty meals they were served in Wilmington, Jemmy had started to reject her breast and it had definitely dried up. Sometimes, the child would still crawl into her bed and nibble on her nipple during the night, as he used to do in the past, but it was more a pacifier than actual food. Brianna hadn't had the courage to break him of that habit, especially when Roger was gradually pulling away from his son, making him even more clingy with his mother.

“Not anymore…”, she sighed, before turning away to take off her clothes and freshen up with the cold water and soap that Phaedre had brought to her room. At that moment, she would have loved to dive into a hot bath, filled with scented suds, drink a cold beer while listening to a Beatles LP. No more eighteenth century, no more sponge bathing, forced marriages and plantations full of slaves. Until now, she had enjoyed every minute of her time spent with her family, knowing that she would have to abandon them someday. But today, she almost regretted leaving Boston to save her parents. Renting that damn room in that damn tavern. Arguing with Roger. And everything else after that.

When she was clean, Phaedre helped her dry up, put on her dress and comb her hair, in deafening silence. The maid was running short of arguments to comfort her, and Brianna was beating herself up for every single decision she had made over the past four years. Even Jemmy was as quiet as a mouse. Phaedre had just finished combing her hair when someone knocked on the door, making both women jump. Jemmy, who was nibbling at Bonnet’s scarf and nose-diving on his toys, flinched as well and looked up at the door. Phaedre turned the doorknob and almost cringed when she saw that their visitor was none other than the cause of all their problems.

Bonnet first saw Jeremiah, sitting on the floor with his new wubby and the child smiled, waving his hand to say hello. That kid would follow any pervert offering him candy after school…, Brianna growled internally as she stood up from her chair. The Irishman was smiling back at Jeremiah when her movement caught his eye, which began to gleam with lust. He had always been insanely attracted to her. The second he had seen her in the tavern, he had wanted her. And he had taken her. Then, he had forgotten all about her. Until that day when their paths had crossed again. With her pregnant belly, elegant cape and delicate jewelry, she had awakened his desire for a different kind of life. Far from muddy harbors, from questionable brothels. Away from the sea and jails of all sorts. A few months after that, he had decided to change. Change his social status, his activities, his customers, to go from rags to riches, climb up every rung of the social ladder. It had taken him over three years to get there, and countless intimidations, kickbacks, bribes and backstabbing. And all this for what? So that one day – and every blessed day after that – he could do this.

Raising one arm towards Brianna, he offered her his right hand, keeping the other propped up against his lower back. What was the wording now? Would you do me the honor of accompany me to dinner? Would you please come down to dinner on my arm? He had no idea and it was a bit frustrating to just stand there and say nothing, even if his outstretched hand was sufficiently clear. He thus decided to say the only inartificial thing that crossed his mind.

“You’re beautiful, darlin’.”

But the compliment did not bring any smile on the young woman’s lips. Beautiful… That was the word he had used to describe her in Court. The reason why he had been interested in her in the tavern. Why he had taken her without her consent. Brianna stared at his outstretched hand for a few seconds, then turned to Phaedre.

“Don't worry, Madam, I'll take care of Jeremiah’s dinner and put him to bed”, the maid said before Brianna could even ask. The redhead nodded and tried to thank her with a smile, but to no avail. When she turned back to Bonnet, he was still waiting for her to take his hand and she knew he would never give up on this ridiculous idea. She considered for a moment to ignore him, as she had when getting out of the carriage, but something in Bonnet's green irises told her he would not let it pass twice. Shivering, she raised her left hand, but her arm kept jerking backwards, as if it was trying to escape against her will. It took nearly fifteen seconds before Brianna's fingers finally brushed against Bonnet's, but the man showed no signs of impatience. So much so that it was almost disturbing. But as soon as she rested her palm on his, he trapped it in his fingers and pulled her gently into the corridor, leading her to the dining room.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Poor Brianna is trying hard to delay the inevitable, but Bonnet might have learnt a lesson or two during these last four years… He has a plan to win Brianna’s obedience – if not her heart – and the centerpiece of this plan is… her own son. And yes, this will drive Bree crazy. I hope you enjoyed Jocasta’s retorts, there will be a lot more of these in the next chapter ! x)

Let me hear your thoughts and see you soon for chapter 5 !

Xérès

Chapter Text

Will You Teach Me… ?

Happy New Year everyone! Oh, I’m so glad to say that! You can't even imagine what a shitty December I just had (I got sick, had a car accident, a MASSIVE family drama, and all that combined with the usual Christmas-anxiety… I'm GLAD we’re in January!). And I am also glad to be able to update!

We left Brianna when she was about to join Jocasta and Stephen for their first dinner as husband and wife; trust me, this evening will not be a cakewalk! I hope you have fun reading this chapter as much as I had fun writing it, and I look forward to reading your comments! Enjoy!

And also, thanks to all of you who read, commented and kudozed the previous chapter!

~o~

5. Too Good At Goodbyes

Still holding Brianna’s hand, Bonnet led her slowly down the stairs, as prescribed by decorum when escorting a lady. He could tell from her trembling fingers and stiff attitude that she was uncomfortable, and though it annoyed him, he gave no outward sign of it. The trial was over. He had allowed her to keep her son and her family house. Then why was she acting like this? It couldn’t be about the tavern? That had happened years ago… Yes, he had manhandled her a bit, but a woman like her, alone after dark in such a place… she was looking for trouble. Why would he be the only one to blame? MacKenzie was also partly responsible and yet, Brianna had married him. There had to be something else... Another reason for her behavior.

“Are you angry with me?”, he asked, as they reached the staircase. Brianna froze and stared at him with an undefinable expression. “It’s not because I pushed you over the edge in front of the Judge, is it?”

The young woman frowned and curled her upper lip, both surprised and outraged that he could think this was the only reason why she was not being so friendly with him. He was wrong all along and he didn't even realize it.

“It was necessary, otherwise you wouldn’t have accepted my offer. And I must admit that MacKenzie was splendid in his role as a negligent father. Very helpful… Anyway, can’t we just let bygones be bygones? Start again with a clean slate?”

Brianna gulped and had to force the words out of her mouth. “A... a clean sl-...” No, it was so ridiculous she could not even finish her sentence.

“I'm no longer the man you met four years ago... I now have more than one diamond to offer you. You and Jeremiah.”

I don’t give a shit about diamonds!, she yelled internally, closing her eyes to take a deep breath, just before Ulysses' voice startled her.

“Mrs. Innes is waiting for you in the dining room…”, the butler said, also surprising Bonnet who loosened his grip around Brianna's fingers. She didn't wait for him to pull himself together and withdrew her hand. Ulysses’ intervention had finished getting on Bonnet’s nerves, and he made his way heavily down the stairs, his knees turned slightly outward, and not straight as a gentleman. But he remained silent and followed Brianna to the table where Jocasta already sat, motionless and stiff as a poker. Two more places were set on the huge wooden table and Bree turned to her aunt.

“Won’t Mr. Innes be joining us?”, she asked, as Bonnet walked behind her to pull up her chair and invite her to sit down. She did so, already hating his unbearable little gentleman's show. He then went to his own chair, glancing appreciatively at the wine catties on the table. Without waiting for a footman, he took the crystal stopper off one of them and began to pour himself a drink, before stopping dead in his tracks, visibly embarrassed.

“My husband left in a hurry tae have his hunting lodge in Virginia prepared fur our arrival. We will need a roof over our haids, until we find something more suitable”, replied Jocasta, while Bonnet hastened to correct his mistake by serving wine to both women, then completing his own glass.

The pirate smirked. “This is such wonderful news. I’d feel really bad about myself if you had to live in a gloomy inn or even on the streets. Although the nights are quite warm in the summer, it wouldn’t be that bad…”

“Oh, I am sure ye would have recommended a few places. Ye’re a regular customer, I’ve been told”, Jocasta replied, taking an exaggeratedly slow sip of wine. Bonnet immediately scowled but had no time to retort: footmen had showed up with dishes full of meat, vegetables and sauce.

As they served him, Bonnet kept giving them sideways glances, as if he was expecting them to make an attempt on his life – even the frailest of slaves who coated his meat with a spoonful of sauce. Suspicious, threatening and fearful at the same time... Maybe that’s what you get when you betray every human being you meet..., Brianna thought as the footmen served her as well. He had that look with pretty much everyone, even Forbes, his own partner in crime. At that moment, the pirate's eyes turned away from the footmen and rested on her, going from suspicious to lecherous, with a hint of mischief. Everyone except me…, she corrected, looking down to her plate.

“I hope ye dinnae mind my askin’, Mr. Bonnit, but how exactly dae ye plan tae manage the plantation without any experience in the matter?”, Jocasta asked softly as the Irishman reached for a bread roll and directly bit into it.

“I have no intention of managin’ it”, he replied with his mouth full, which did not escape Jocasta's keen hearing.

“I’m sure you'll leave that to Forbes...”, Brianna spat disdainfully.

“Absolutely not.” This time, both women seemed puzzled, but the Irishman waited until he had swallowed his mouthful of bread before he answered. “I will sell the cultivated land.”

“I beg yer pardon?”, the ex-owner protested, straightening up on her seat. Behind her, Ulysses raised a worried eyebrow.

“I just wanted the house. I have no need for the land around it. My business pays enough to support my wife and son.”

“What kind of business, if I may ask?”

Bonnet smirked at the old lady, although she couldn't see him. “You do not need to know that...” He then swallowed a piece of meat, nodded appreciatively and went on: “You will also take your slaves away with you. I make it a practice to pay every single one of my employees. A way to ensure their loyalty, if you will.”

“Until a more generous offer comes up...”, Brianna muttered staring at her plate, but as he leaned over the table towards her, she couldn't help but glance at him.

“I am always the most generous offer, darlin’...”

Bree frowned – his insistent and lecherous gaze implying there was a double meaning to his words – and brought her fork to her mouth to hide her contempt. Her aunt’s voice rose again, asking who was the bigwig behind Bonnet's meteoric rise in society, but Brianna didn't listen to the man’s answer – which would certainly be puffery, anyway. The young woman was gradually losing her temper, caught between her aunt and her rapist pretending they were able to have a normal conversation despite the recent events. Of course, Jocasta's questions were not innocent: she was trying to figure out how a man like Bonnet had so easily stripped her of her lands and possessions. But the whole situation was too distressing for her niece.

Less than five minutes later, Bonnet had emptied his plate and was now busy soaking up the sauce with a piece of bread, under Ulysses’ and Brianna’s dirty looks. The Irishman noticed them and leaned over to Brianna again. “I'm not supposed to do this, am I?”

“No, you’re not”, she replied coldly.

He hesitated for a moment – his dripping piece of bread stuck between his thumb and forefinger, made a gesture to put it back on his plate, before swallowing it up to make it disappear faster. “You will have to teach me a few things. I'm sure your aunt would be glad to know she leaves you here with a gentleman.”

Jocasta raised a skeptical eyebrow, but Brianna was faster this time. She was starting to lose patience with this mockery of a conversation. “I don’t think anyone can teach you a damn thing.”

“A damn-”, Bonnet coughed, half-laughing and staring at her in amusement. “I’m always surprised to hear language like that from you, darlin’. You think someone lowly like me can’t better himself?” The contemptuous look she darted at him was eloquent enough, but he didn't take offense. “What I need is something I can’t buy.”

“A moral compass?”, Brianna quipped, slamming her fork back on her plate. She had squeezed her fingers so tight around the handle that her nails had left their print into her palm. Fortunately, Bonnet had not heard her – or he had chosen not to – and resumed his little speech without making the slightest move to slit her throat. Good for me, I guess?, Brianna thought. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jocasta turn to Ulysses. The old woman had probably felt that the conversation was getting out of hand.

“To make sure our son knows what to do, how to get on in the world. You can show me how to be in your world and in his. Show me what to do? How to be a worthy gentleman and no harm will come to you.”

He had said that quietly, punctuating his sentences with fake smiles and adorable pouts. As if… As if it was supposed to reassure me? Please me? I don't understand a goddamn thing! What do you want from me?, Brianna yelled internally, her breathing quickening every second.

“Christ”, Jocasta suddenly sighed with a hint of exasperation. “Those could have been lovely words if the last part had nae sounded so threatenin’.”

All sweetness instantly left Bonnet's face and he stared angrily at the blind woman, who had just ruined what he had considered – by his own standards – to be a romantic moment. But before he could say anything, Brianna jumped to her feet, panting heavily and her eyes wide. The Irishman looked at her in surprise, not quite understanding what was going on.

“I can’t!”, she hissed. The fear and anguish that had been rising in her all day were now boiling over like milk out of a saucepan. “I can’t do this! I… If you’ll excuse me…” And without waiting for an answer, she ran out of the dining room to retreat into her bedroom upstairs. Slamming the door behind her, she realized she was alone. Jemmy and Phaedre were probably having dinner in the kitchens. She slowly dropped to the floor, her back against the door and her knees curled up against her, trying to calm her erratic breathing. But the more she tried to take deep breaths, the more the pain in her rib cage got worse and forced her to gasp. Soon the gasps turned into sobs and all the pressure of the day released in a pool of tears.

Three light knocks on the door startled her and she stopped breathing, waiting to know who was there.

“Brianna…”

She closed her eyes, hearing his deep, slightly hoarse voice through the panel. Covering her mouth with one hand in a futile attempt to remain silent, she froze and waited for him to leave… before she realized that she had not locked the door. If he turned the doorknob, he would be able to crack it open and that was already way too much. As quick as lightning, she straightened up just enough to reach for the key and locked the door, causing the Irishman to growl on the other side.

“Open the door…”, he ordered, without raising his voice so as not to alert the whole household.

Fuck off!, she thought, leaning back against the door again, with her hands on the floor.

“Remember what I said after the hearing, darlin’… Think about Jeremiah… Makin’ the lad happy will be much easier with you by me side, but I will not hesitate to take him away from you if you keep-...”

Brianna frowned, scandalized by the threat, but even more so by the fact he had stopped mid-sentence and sighed loudly, as if he had just realized that this was not the right method. She heard his boots scrape against the floor and pressed one ear to the door, on alert. When suddenly something warm and alive brushed one of her hands on the floor. Looking down, she saw that Bonnet had just slipped his fingers into the gap between the floor and the door, in an attempt to stroke her left hand. With a disgusted face, she clenched her right fist and smashed it on Bonnet's fingers, who withdrew his hand cursing loudly. With an indescribable feeling of satisfaction, she heard him get up and the door vibrated behind her back as he tried to open it again. Brianna stifled a cry, but the noise must have reached Bonnet’s ears, for he immediately stopped. There was another sigh, and Brianna knew he was giving up. Soon, the boots turned around and he was about to leave when she felt the urge to ask him something that had been on the tip of her tongue for weeks.

“Why are you doing this to me?”, she whimpered against the door, deliberately insisting on the last word. If he needed someone to teach him good manners and a nanny to take care of Jeremiah, he could have asked anyone. Why was he dogging her, especially? There had to be a reason.

The boots came back near the door and there was a dull thud, as if Bonnet had just plopped his forehead against the panel. He was so close she could even hear his heavy breathing, a few inches behind her back. There was a silence, so long and deafening, that Brianna thought for a moment that he would not give her any answer. But she was wrong.

“You saw something in me. You’re drawn to me; we’re drawn to each other. That’s why fate has brought us together again… and again.” Without even seeing him, she knew from his tone, that he was smiling broadly. “To be parents to Jeremiah. But to make it official, we needed a little help from the Judge.”

He's fucking insane…, was Brianna’s first thought. Her eyes had widened in horror at the mention of this “fate” that had supposedly united her with Stephen Bonnet. Before realizing one thing: Roger was right. His anger when he had known about her visiting Bonnet in prison was justified. Unintentionally, she had created some sort of obsession in the Irishman’s mind. A sick obsession that had driven him to change what he was, hoping to get close to her and Jemmy. Without even actually knowing them. It's my fault... It's all my fault...

Tired of talking to a closed door, Bonnet had eventually left, but Brianna had not moved an inch, mentally flogging herself for that damn prison visit that had started it all. When Phaedre and Jemmy had come up from the kitchens, Brianna had made the maid swear to God that no one else was in the corridor before opening the door. But they were alone; Bonnet was not lurking in a dark corner, ready to pounce on her, as she expected him to be. Seeing the state in which the young woman was, Phaedre had ordered her to go to bed, using the fact that Jemmy was exhausted to convince her. Brianna had finally obeyed and a few minutes later, Phaedre had left the room – which Brianna had immediately locked from the inside – to let her rest with her son. The boy was already asleep, his little fist clenched around his new scarf and for a moment, she was envious of his ability to forget all of this dreadful day and sleep peacefully. Hours passed and though her eyes – dehydrated and swollen from crying – begged her for a break, she still couldn't close her eyelids. Around two or three in the morning, hunger took over and her stomach started to rumble. She had barely touched her plate at dinner and hadn’t been able to eat anything for the rest of the day. With a sigh, Brianna got up silently so as not to wake the child, aware that she would not be able to sleep on an empty stomach. With infinite care, she turned the key in the lock, but it made a loud noise that seemed to echo throughout the house. Brianna cursed under her breath, listening carefully, but there was no movement behind the door. Opening it, she slipped into the moonlit hallway and went down the stairs to the kitchens.

The leftovers of a raisin-almond cake sat on one of the countertops, covered with a dish towel, and her stomach growled again at the sight of the dessert she had missed hours earlier. She took it, placed it on the small kitchen table, then turned to a cupboard to find a plate… freezing at the sight of the camp that the English soldiers had set up in the backyard. Tents, water troughs, campfires had been hastily set up a few meters beneath the windows. A few sleepy soldiers stood guard and she frowned as she remembered that these guys would escort Jocasta Cameron Innes out of her own house in a few hours.

“They'll be gone tomorrow…”, a voice said behind her back, making her jump violently. Bonnet, wearing a simple loose blouse and breeches, was leaning against the doorframe and Brianna immediately took a few steps back to get as far away as possible. Her eyes instinctively searched for a way out, but there was only one exit and he was blocking it. In other words, she was trapped. The pirate seemed to understand he had scared her for he raised his hands reassuringly, and pointed at the cake raising his eyebrow. As Brianna didn't answer, he slowly approached the table, grabbed the pie server and cut two slices. Then he looked up at her and the plate she was still clutching between her fingers. Brianna stretched out her arm and put the plate on the edge of the table, forcing him to lean forward to get it. Once the slice of cake was served, he slid it back towards her, sat down at the table and motioned for her to do the same. Brianna's gaze moved toward the exit again, but fleeing was tantamount to giving up on food and therefore… sleep. Back to square one.

She slowly sat down at the other end of the small table and seized her plate between two fingers to bring it closer to her. Then with a clean three-pronged fork, she started to eat while keeping an eye on Bonnet’s every move. He also grabbed a fork and stuck it in the second slice – directly in the dish – to cut off large pieces of it and gobble them up as if he had not eaten in days.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have told the old hag to take all of her staff away with her… I will definitely miss the cook…”, he said lightly. Seeing that Brianna wasn't reacting, he pursed his lips. “His successor should be here soon; I did not want us to be poisoned after a few days...”

Silence fell again in the room. Brianna patiently swallowed her cake, bite by bite, without paying him any attention and he glared at her. He wasn't used to being ignored, however, so he decided to change his tactics: ask a straight question, so that she would be forced to answer rather than let him struggle like a fool.

“Have you considered my proposal?”

As he had expected, her eyes left the cake to rest on him. She was silent for a moment. “What proposal?”

“To teach me how to behave like a gentleman.”

Bree raised an eyebrow and stabbed her cake with her fork. “I can’t do miracles. I think there is a chapel somewhere in the plantation, though. Perhaps you should try to light a candle there?”

The pirate chuckled and swallowed another cake bite. “By Danu, you sure are a feisty lass... And here I was thinking only the ugly ones had a talent for repartee...”

Brianna winced at his sexist remark, but chose not to react. “Why is it so important for you to become someone that you are not? I’m sure you realize that it wouldn’t bring you any joy. Not that I care…”, she hastily clarified.

“I want to be an example for Jeremiah”, he said looking down, as if ashamed of what he was about to add. “But not only in high society. I want to be able to comfort him when he's sad, scold him when he’s misbehavin’, teach him how to be a decent man and tell him... how findin’ out about his existence made me want to change.”

“Sure. The new Stephen Bonnet is soooo different from the one I used to know…”, Brianna muttered slowly. The old Bonnet would just take whatever he wanted by force, and the new one... does exactly the same thing. But this time with the help of people in high places, she added internally.

The pirate didn't seem to grasp the irony of her answer, however, for a broad smile immediately lit up his face. “Oh, so you’ve noticed, then?”, he said, as she rolled her eyes discreetly. “That's all thanks to you, you know?” He squirmed on his seat to lean towards her, over the table, and Brianna had to fight the urge to push her own chair back. “When you came to me in the jail, and told me that there’d be something left of me on this Earth… I couldn’t forget how that made me feel. For the first time in my life, I wanted more than money or… power. I wanted to have what everyone has: love. To love and be loved. Would you like to teach me that too?”

Brianna gulped, shocked by this unbelievable confession, and she shook her head. “I don’t think love is something that can be taught...”

“Well, I've heard the expression ‘learn to love’... Perhaps you could learn to love me for the sake of our son. I think I could easily learn to love you”, he ended with a convinced nod.

At these words, Brianna choked on a crumb and coughed into her fist, while Bonnet stared at her smiling, obviously very proud of his little speech. Brianna had no idea what to say in response to his sick fantasy. If she rejected him, it would only piss him off for sure, and she had no desire to piss off Stephen Bonnet when she was alone with him in the middle of the night. But she also felt unable to lie to him and accept his proposal. So she did the one thing that seemed neutral and that guaranteed her own safety: give him a little bit of what he wanted, but not too much.

“Elbows off the table in polite society”, she said dryly, speaking in the same tone she used with Jemmy when the boy got into mischief. Immediately, Bonnet straightened up, staring at his elbows accusingly, as if they were responsible for his poor manners. “And don’t bend down to your food. You bring your fork up to your mouth.”

In order to lend emphasis to her words, she took a small piece of cake, stuck her fork in it and with her back straight, delicately raised her elbow. Bonnet had watched her every move carefully, smiling lustfully as the food passed her lips, and imitated her. Despite the half-darkness and the wan moonlight through the window panes, Brianna could clearly see a flash of triumph in his green irises, as if this simple lesson meant to him that she accepted all of his terms. And when they went back upstairs, she was terrified for a moment that he would try to drag her to his room and consummate their marriage.

But Stephen Bonnet liked to savor his victories one after the other. And tonight's victory already had a delicious taste of raisins and almonds. So he just wished her good night, bowing awkwardly, and Brianna was able to return to her room, alone and shaking, waiting for him to close his own door at the other end of the corridor to lock herself in her room.

~o~

After a very short night, Brianna was awakened in the early morning by a terrible din. All over the house, trunks were being dragged, cupboards emptied and their content piled up in the entrance hall. Jemmy could hear it all through the door and looked anxiously at his mother as she opened her sleepy eyes.

“Mama, what that nose?”, he asked, pulling Bonnet’s scarf out of his mouth.

Brianna sighed but tried to sound reassuring. “Aunt Jocasta has to go away for a while with her husband… We’ll stay here and take care of the house while she’s gone… Do you think you can help me with that? Be a good boy and put away your toys when I ask you to?”

Jemmy thought for a few seconds, then nodded vigorously. With him, it was always better to break the bad news and ask him to act like a big boy right after. Jeremiah attached great importance to responsibilities, and he would never throw a tantrum as long as he felt he was being treated like a small adult.

“Is he stayin’ wit’ us?”

“Who?”, Brianna asked as the boy waved his scarf. “Yes, Mr. Bonnet is taking care of the house too. But you don't have to go near him if you don't want to.”

“I do.”

Brianna frowned. Jemmy’s answer had been a crippling blow.

“Yesterday he let me play on his lap.”

“Daddy often puts you on his lap too”, Brianna said with a soft smile, eager to change the subject. But Jemmy shook his head.

“Grandpa does. Daddy doesn’t.”

Indeed, the last time Roger had hugged or played with Jeremiah probably went back to several months ago, and a young child’s memory being what it was, he probably did not remember. But luckily, he had had two loving grandparents and a mother to make sure he never lacked any affection. Still glancing worriedly at the door, Jeremiah had patiently waited for his mother to put on a simple skirt, a blouse and a large leather belt, before dressing him up as well. When Brianna finally unlocked the door, Jemmy rushed outside, and took off like a shot.

“Jeremiah! Wait for me! And don't run down the stairs!”

Only a loud cry answered and she stormed out of the room, already expecting to find her son downstairs, with a broken leg or arm. But Jemmy was perfectly fine, levitating about two meters above the wooden floor and falling back into a pair of massive arms. Bonnet had caught him and thrown him up in the air as if he was barely heavier than a kitten.

“What did Mama say?”, the pirate scolded him. But smiling while scolding a child was a terrible method, and Jemmy just chuckled and shouted: “Again!”, raising his hands to the ceiling. The pirate did not need to be asked twice and sent the boy up in the air again, while Brianna reached out reflexively. For the second time, Jeremiah fell in Bonnet's arms, laughing. But the Irishman had seen Brianna turn pale and decided not to panic her any longer. “Are you hungry, Jeremiah?”, he asked, sitting the child on his shoulders.

Jeremiah seemed delighted to be taller than everyone else, especially since it would certainly be funnier to walk down the stairs that way than on his own two legs, and answered with a solid “yes”. This time, Bonnet turned to Bree and stared at her expectantly, holding out his hand the same way as the night before. The only difference was that his other hand was not on his back but holding Jeremiah's leg on his left shoulder. “Would you… give me another chance?”, he asked embarrassedly. Brianna did not answer and walked down the steps beside him, still refusing his outstretched hand.

After a quiet breakfast, Jeremiah's curiosity was drawn back to the commotion that disturbed the house and especially the heavy trunks in the entrance hall being carried away one by one in several horse-drawn carriages. When Jocasta finally came out of her room, on Ulysses’ arm, Brianna could not help but think she looked ten years older than the previous night. If she had managed to keep her steadfast aristocratic attitude until now, the hustle and bustle of her imminent departure had cast a pall of sadness on her dead eyes. It's all my fault…, Brianna thought, fighting the urge to run to her aunt and hug her. Bonnet had confirmed it last night. She had caused all of this. Out of weakness. Perhaps out of pride, too.

But the worst part of the morning was when Phaedre appeared, wearing a traveling cloak over her usual apron. Brianna had not realized that her only friend and confidante would have to leave as well. She had accepted Jocasta's absence, but Phaedre's… she hadn't even considered it. “Is everything all right, Madam?”, the girl asked, staring at her worriedly.

“I… Yes, I… I just hadn’t realized you'd be leaving as well…”, Brianna stammered, suddenly panicking at the thought of being completely alone with her son, at Bonnet's mercy, with no one to talk to. But now she thought about it, she couldn’t place such a burden on the young maid’s soul, out of pure selfishness. “That was kind of silly of me… Of course you have to go. Please take good care of my aunt...”

A few tears appeared in Phaedre's hazel eyes and she took Brianna's hand in hers. “Believe me, I wish I could stay...”

“Where you go?”, said a tiny, angry voice, about a meter below them. Both women looked down at Jemmy, who was staring at his beloved River Run nanny with betrayal in his eyes. He hadn't blinked when his mother had told him Jocasta had to leave, but Phaedre had never been part of the deal. The maid knelt down to the floor and tried to take him in her arms, as she often did when they were playing together or to carry him from one floor to another. But the child took a step back.

“No! You stay! Not goodbye!”

“Jeremiah…”, Phaedre whispered pleadingly. “Would you please say goodbye, we won’t see each other for a while...”

If ever…, Brianna thought bitterly. Her son's upset expression had shattered her heart into a thousand pieces, but she did not know what to do to comfort him.

“NO!”, the child barked again, before he started whining. This time, she hadn’t had time to find a way to avoid the tantrum and no matter how much Brianna would try to convince him to act like a big boy, it was too late. Much too late.

“What the hell is going on here?”

After breakfast, Bonnet had isolated himself in the living room, and Jeremiah's screams had probably disturbed him in his activities. Fuck…, Brianna swore, trying to grab her son, but he ran out of her reach, now crying his eyes out.

“Don't… wan’… Phaed’… leave…”, the kid gasped, while Bonnet cringed. The noise wasn't pleasant, but if the boy did not even make proper sentences, he would never figure out what was going on.

“What did he say?”

“He does not want me to leave, Sir…”, Phaedre answered sheepishly. “It's my fault. I should have used the back door so he wouldn’t see me. I should go now.”

This time, Jemmy's “NO” pierced everyone’s eardrums in the room and Bonnet jumped, frowning. How could such a small fellow make so much noise? He turned to Brianna, with a questioning expression, as if mentally asking her where was the button to stop this diabolical machine.

“JEMMY, THAT'S ENOUGH!”, Brianna yelled, terrified that Bonnet might lose patience and brutally silence her son. The child froze in surprise, then began to sob again, but at a lower sound level. Bree saw Bonnet squint, like every time he was up to something, then lean down to lift Jemmy up.

“There, there…”, he muttered, resting the boy on his hip. “Yowlin’ won’t help, darlin’… Our son is obviously upset...”

Brianna crossed her arms in annoyance and shook her head. Bonnet was once again planning something to gain Jeremiah’s favor. First the scarf, and now what?

“You really like erm… Phaedre, is that right, Jeremiah?”

Jemmy nodded, rubbing his wet face with his fists.

“What if I told you that I have the power to make her stay with us… Would you like that?” 

Jem's head snapped up and he opened his eyes wide, before nodding frantically.

“It’s settled, then. She can stay!”, the Irishman concluded with a large smile. A smile that widened even more when the child wrapped his small arms around his neck, drying his last tears on his shoulder.

As for Brianna, she didn’t know how to feel: she was relieved to have someone she trusted around, but she was also angry to see Jemmy fall so easily into Bonnet’s emotional trap. The man didn't give a damn about Phaedre. He only wanted Jeremiah to love him. And what was easier to earn the love of such a young child than to give him everything he wanted? His mouth close to Jemmy's ear, Bonnet turned his evil snake gaze towards Brianna and whispered:

“You're welcome, son.” 

Jeremiah straightened up and looked at him with a puzzled frown, but nothing seemed abnormal in the man’s attitude. And as the said man had just prevented Phaedre from abandoning him and saved the day, Jemmy decided not to ask any more questions. With a satisfied smirk, Bonnet put the child back on the floor and after one last glance around him, he disappeared back into the living room, locking the door behind him.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

I’m sure you noticed that I took up some of the lines from the TV show in this chapter. I wanted to keep Stephen's motivations and give a nod to episode 10 (my favorite so far, haha).

What did you think of this chapter? About Stephen's behavior and Brianna's nervous breakdown? Stephen also seems decided to give Jeremiah exactly what he wants when he wants it. Do you think he could succeed and get Jem to love him?

Next chapter will be published in about 3 weeks top. Until then, I can’t wait to read your comments and again, I wish you a wonderful year!

Xérès

Chapter Text

Will You Teach Me…

Hello everyone !

The new chapter is here! If you remember well, Stephen was working himself into Jemmy’s good graces, much to Brianna’s displeasure… Now it’s her turn. But she’s determined to resist! At all costs…

I hope you’ll enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think at the end!!

Thanks all of you who read, kudozed and commented the previous chapter!

oOo

6. A Nightmare To Remember

After his tantrum, Jemmy had clung to Phaedre's skirt all day, following her around like a duckling chasing his mother. Well, almost all day. Much to Brianna's annoyance, he had only left the maid to throw himself into Bonnet's arms, when the latter had finally got out of the living room, escorted by two sinister-looking men. The pirate had lifted Jemmy with a satisfied smile, throwing him in the air to make him laugh, before putting him back on the ground to show his visitors the way out.

Brianna almost wished her son was one of those shy kids, who hid away from any unfamiliar face and cried whenever they were not in their mother’s arms. She wasn't exactly jealous, rather horrified by the ease with which Jemmy had accepted Bonnet into his living space.

Shortly before noon, Jocasta Cameron Innes had left the estate in a carriage pulled by four of her finest horses. Helped on one side by Ulysses and on the other by Brianna, she hadn’t been able to keep her hands from shaking and her empty eyes from filling with tears as she climbed into the vehicle, while Bonnet watched the scene from the porch with an exasperating grin.

Brianna had stood in the driveway for a long time, watching the carriage drive away in the suffocating heat. The last member of her family had just left her, indefinitely, heralding the start of a new life. A life in which every minute spent in Bonnet's company would be a battle, against him but also against herself, her own traumas and the terror that would surely consume her. Everything would soon become extremely complicated and she would have to think about her every move, her every word if she wanted to survive, to be able to keep Jeremiah and to find a way to bring Bonnet down for his many crimes. And all of that without dying of fright every time he would get close to her... or worse.

During the afternoon, the English soldiers had left, replaced by several convoys of men chosen by Bonnet to replace the former house staff. None of them seemed kind enough to become a potential ally to Brianna and they were throwing such disgusting and lustful glances at Phaedre, that both women soon retreated with Jemmy near the pond and stayed there until it was time for the child to have dinner. They had then moved back to the kitchens under the cool, neutral gaze of the new cook. As Phaedre was showing the man where to find the kitchenware, Brianna helped Jemmy to eat his plate of beans. But he seemed more interested in the new cook, a certain Fitzpatrick, than in the spoon his mother held out in front of his mouth. When the kitchen door opened on Bonnet, startling them all – even Fitzpatrick – he snapped his fingers impatiently at the maid.

“You… follow me.”

“Yes, Sir...”, Phaedre replied immediately with a brief curtsey. As she crossed the room, Bonnet’s eyes landed on Brianna and Jemmy (who was grinning at him, his small teeth covered with chewed beans) and he raised an eyebrow.

“Why doesn’t he have dinner with us?”

Because I can't take care of his education and yours at the same time?, Brianna thought without looking at him. She took a quiet breath, put on a neutral expression, and swiveled on her seat.

“Because we are eating way too late for him. He has to go to bed early.”

She could tell by Bonnet’s face that he had not yet said his last word on the matter, but Phaedre was already waiting for him outside the kitchen and he closed the door with an annoyed sigh. Jeremiah had finished dinner for about twenty minutes – and was already nodding off in his mother's arms – when the maid reappeared to put him to bed. The young girl seemed eager to talk to Brianna but closed her mouth shut when Bonnet appeared in turn to lead his wife into the dining room. Grabbing a wine carafe, he filled two glasses, gave one to Brianna and took a long sip from his.

“Well? How was your day, darlin’?”, he asked cheerfully, sitting comfortably on his chair.

My day? He kicked my family out, invited a bunch of strangers into the house and now he’s asking me about my day?? Disbelief and anger had to be written all over her face because Bonnet’s smile immediately disappeared and he bit his lower lip with a fake apologetic look. “Oh, I forgot… Perhaps I should save that question for… tomorrow?”

Even in a fucking millennium, my answer would be the same, but yeah, try again tomorrow…, Brianna thought, as a footman brought their plates. Facing the young woman's silent treatment, Bonnet took another sip of wine and glanced awkwardly at the cold salads and the simple grilled meat they had just been served.

“Our cook did not have much time to get acquainted with his new environment. The quality of the meals should improve very soon.”

I don’t give a fuck about your stupid meals, Stephen… To compensate for her bitter thoughts, Brianna gave him her brightest smile and he was taken aback for a moment. It only lasted a few seconds, however, and his surprised look soon turned into a frown.

“Would you please speak your answers out loud instead o’ thinkin’ them? This way, we could have an actual conversation”, he retorted sharply, his Irish accent stronger than ever.

A shiver ran down Brianna’s spine and she had the unpleasant feeling that he could read her mind. No, my face was just too easy to read, that's all...

“You're holding your glass wrong. Don’t grab the stem like you do… just hold it gently.”

Bonnet blinked, annoyed that she only used her voice to scold him, but he immediately repositioned his fingers around the glass and raised it with a smirk. “Oh I will be gentle tonight, darlin’, if that’s what you want...”

The hint wasn't even subtle and Brianna nearly choked on her wine, as her heart sped up. She started to eat mechanically, without a glance or a word for the Irishman, her mind entirely focused on one thing: get out of the table as quickly as possible, run upstairs and lock herself in her room with Jeremiah. Bonnet must have sensed her panic as he no longer tried to start a conversation and they finished dinner in silence, until Brianna couldn't stand it and left the dining room. She stopped on the second-floor landing and doubled over: fear twisted her insides and she had to force herself to take deep, slow breaths to calm down. Silently, she dragged herself to her bedroom and stared at her son, who was already sleeping soundly in her large four-poster bed.

“Mr. Bonnet had me move all your things into Mrs. Cameron's room… and he took away the keys”, Phaedre whispered behind her back, startling her. “Your room will now be Jeremiah's…”

Brianna started to shake at the thought of sharing Bonnet’s bed for the first time, and grabbed the doorframe so she wouldn't collapse on the floor. After one sleepless night and an exhausting day, she was tired beyond words but already knew that sleeping by his side would be impossible. Let alone if he tried to touch her. He would not restrain himself for long. Glancing painfully at Jeremiah – all alone in her old bed, in the same room she had given him birth – Brianna silently closed the door and turned to Phaedre.

“Could you please try to wake Jemmy up?”, she whined.

Phaedre opened her mouth, but could not give any answer. Bonnet had just arrived on the landing and after a brief glance at both women, entered Jocasta's old room. The maid waited a few more seconds, then whispered:

“Think about it, Madam… What good would that do to you? Mr. Bonnet could write to the Judge and tell him you refuse to fulfill your marital duties… and you will lose Jeremiah for good.”

“I can't go through this again, Phaedre… I can't let him… I do not have that kind of strength.”

“Things have changed, Madam. He is no longer a rapist in a tavern, he’s your husband”, the maid whispered.

“There is no difference to me”, Brianna spat, angrily wiping a tear from her cheek.

“And yet there is one under the law… and he’s taking advantage of it.”

There was a series of creaks echoing in the corridor and Brianna closed her eyes. Aunt Jocasta's bed had always been horribly noisy, so much so that she and Roger used to giggle stupidly in their own room when they heard her go to bed, joking about how embarrassed the house staff must have been when her previous husband, the late Hector Cameron, would proceed with his manly duties. But tonight, she did not feel like laughing at that stupid noise, but rather like throwing herself out the nearest window.

“He is in bed...”, Phaedre unnecessarily commented. “Come on.”

Gently squeezing Brianna's elbow, the young girl walked to the master bedroom and knocked twice before entering. Brianna followed her slowly, being careful not to look towards the bed as she crossed the room. She could feel Bonnet’s eyes on her, following her every step, her every move, until she disappeared behind the dressing screen in the corner.

Phaedre proceeded to take off her dress, with slow movements, and Brianna realized that she was just trying to buy time, staying with her as long as possible. Out of the corner of her eye, over the screen that didn't go above her chin, she saw the pirate lying on the mattress – one leg folded and one arm behind his head – patiently waiting for her to put on her nightgown. Once this was done, Phaedre heard Brianna's breathing quicken and gently offered:

“Would you like me to brush your hair, Madam?”

Brianna lifted up her teary and grateful eyes and nodded. They both knew full well that Brianna never asked her to do such simple tasks. Unlike the women of this time, she always insisted on washing, dressing up and combing her hair alone, except on special occasions requiring more complex outfits and hairstyles. But this time, she was ready to make an exception. If only to take advantage of Phaedre’s reassuring presence for a few more minutes.

The maid walked over to the dressing table, pulling out the chair. Brianna stepped outside, feeling uncomfortably naked despite the long nightgown covering her up to the ankles, and sat down. There was movement on Bonnet's side, but not the slightest noise – except for the bed. Phaedre undid Brianna's bun, letting her crazy curls cascade down her shoulders, and grabbed a brush to untangle them. With extreme slowness. Eager to act like a gentleman, Bonnet never gave any sign of impatience, and after ten minutes Brianna wondered if he had just fallen asleep. Not only was he awake, but he also seemed to enjoy the show.

A few minutes later, it became clear that the brush slid way too easily in Bree’s hair and Phaedre gave up the act. They had stalled long enough and any other man would have lost patience and kicked the maid out a long time ago. Phaedre put the brush back on the dressing table and discreetly squeezed Brianna's shoulder before bidding them good night. Brianna’s throat was so tight that she couldn’t answer, and remained seated on her chair for a moment after she was gone. Like a robot and still avoiding Bonnet's eyes, she walked over to the bed to sit on the other side, turning her back to him. The bed creaked again and she winced, her eyes closed, before leaning over to the small nightstand where one last candle was still burning. She blew it. Whatever happened next, she’d rather see as little as possible. Let her imagination embellish reality. Carrying her far, far away from here and far away from him.

Darkness fell upon them and she laid down on her side, pulling the blanket over her body, stupidly hoping that it would protect her from Bonnet. During a few seconds, absolutely nothing happened, until the pirate moved on the mattress to bring his body closer to hers. Brianna felt an icy chill run down her spine despite the heat that seemed to emanate from the pirate, suffocating her. Her heart raced when one of Bonnet's hands rested on her left leg, slowly sliding her nightgown up her thighs to her hips. When the fabric was high enough for his liking, his fingers brushed her bare skin and Brianna flinched. Surprisingly, it stopped Bonnet's gesture, causing his hand to hover a few inches above her hip and she remained as still as death, her heart pounding. Then he moved closer again, this time pressing his chest against her back. As gently as he had rolled the nightgown up, he pulled the fabric back to her knees and rested his hand on her hip, squeezing delicately.

“Am I supposed to ask for your permission?”, he breathed against her shoulder. His tone was neither aggressive nor bitter. It was an actual question, but Brianna was too tense to answer. She nodded nervously, unable to tell if he could even see her in the dark. Bonnet's hand tightened his grip on her, and Brianna thought for a moment that he had mistaken her nod for consent. But instead, he rolled her onto her back, forcing her to look at him. In this position, with his face just above hers, grim memories resurfaced in Brianna’s mind and she squirmed nervously, casting panicked glances towards the exit. Until he grabbed her chin between two fingers, and she froze like a lizard faking its death to escape a predator. He was going to ask. He was going to ask for her permission and she would be unable to answer. And he would send her back to Fraser’s Ridge without Jemmy before she even knew it...

Bonnet's lips parted, but just as he was about to say the fateful words, a cry echoed down the hall and he looked up, staring at their bedroom door in surprise. In Brianna’s old room, Jemmy was crying at the top of his tiny lungs and his mother suppressed a sigh of relief.

Phaedre… Oh my dear, dear Phaedre…, Brianna thought, ready to burst into tears. Capitalizing on his surprise, she jumped out of bed and ran into the corridor, while Bonnet dropped back on the mattress with a frustrated growl. The hallway was empty and Brianna deduced that Phaedre had taken flight immediately after her crime.

“Jemmy… Shhh… It's okay…”, Brianna whispered as she walked into the room.

The poor boy was hiccupping and sobbing all at the same time, and Brianna couldn't help but feel guilty. “Monster scared meeeee!”

“It was just a nightmare… A simple nightmare… There is no monster in this room, and if there was one, Mama scared him away…” Quite right, indeed, she added inwardly. “Do you want me to stay with you tonight?”

The child nodded, much to Brianna's delight and she slipped under the sheets, hugging her son and stroking his hair. About twenty minutes later, Jemmy was asleep again sucking on his scarf. The bed creaked in the master bedroom and Brianna shivered. As expected, Bonnet was getting impatient and she did her best to keep her breathing relaxed and controlled. But the closer Bonnet was, the harder it got. When she heard him enter the bedroom, she closed her eyes and froze, pretending to be asleep. She could feel him near the bed, just behind her back. She could not flinch, she could not jump when he would surely touch her. With all her senses on high alert, Brianna waited for him to try something, to check that she was asleep. But all she felt was a hand pulling the sheets up to Jeremiah's neck. Half-opening her eyelids, she saw the hand brush past Jemmy's blond hair, then her own – just behind her right ear – before disappearing again. Brianna's heart was pounding in her rib cage, so hard that she could only hear the blood pumping in her eardrums. Each of her muscles was tense, and she felt a slight cramp in her right calf... Until Jocasta's bed creaked again, causing such relief that her whole body relaxed in a second and started to shake uncontrollably.

Bonnet had given up for tonight.

The same process was repeated four nights in a row. Phaedre spent an amazingly long time preparing Brianna for the night, under her husband's lustful gaze, then left the room. Bonnet made an approach on Brianna, who remained as petrified as a deer caught in headlights. Once or twice, he had had time to kiss her – kisses she had never returned, keeping her lips pursed. On the third night, he had tried to rush things a bit, nibbling languidly at the crook of her neck. Brianna's skin had immediately covered with goosebumps and she had almost let out a cry of relief when Jemmy started screaming. But although he seemed increasingly annoyed by these interruptions, he had never done anything to force Brianna back into their room.

Until the fifth night. When Phaedre left them alone, Bonnet followed her with his eyes until she closed the door behind her and Brianna shivered. He was suspecting something and if he decided to go out and catch the maid red-handed, they would both be in serious trouble. When he headed for the door to put his ear against it and wait for any suspicious comings and goings, Brianna rose from her chair. Placing both hands on his chest, she gave him a shy glance. The kind of glance that all men who enjoyed having power over women were unable to resist. Immediately losing all desire to spy on the maid, Bonnet gently pushed her back towards the mattress and sat her on the edge, before kneeling on the floor. With a firm hand, he made her lie on her back and pulled her nightgown up to her stomach. A moment later, he had grasped her thighs and buried his face between them, his tongue caressing the most intimate parts of her body. Brianna had closed her eyes, desperately waiting to be saved by the bell – or rather her son’s screams – and praying that Phaedre would be as quick to sneak off as the other nights.

The next three minutes seemed to last forever. Although Bonnet did everything he could to pleasure her, Brianna resisted by remembering the most squalid details of her rape in the tavern. Never forget who he was. What he had done to her.

After a particularly well-placed stroke of his tongue, Brianna let out an unfortunate moan – instantly blaming herself for it – and had to fight the urge to kick the predator away from his prey. Luckily, Jeremiah started crying at that exact moment and Brianna let out a second moan, of relief this time. Bonnet's growl, on the other hand, sounded so angry and frustrated that she almost snickered. Sitting up on the mattress and faking disappointment, she whispered: “Another nightmare… I have to go.”

But as she tried to get up, Bonnet’s strong arm pushed her back onto the bed. “You… you stay here.”

Brianna's face fell. She could tell by his dark gaze and clenched jaw that he was furious. Hoping to de-escalate the situation, she smiled softly and shrugged. “It’s fine, I don't mind...”

Bonnet ignored her and, wiping his lips on his sleeve, stormed out of the room. Oh my God, Jemmy…, Brianna thought immediately. Furious as he was, Bonnet would surely take it out on the kid, blaming him for every lonely night of the week… Maybe he would even… hit him? Oh no, no, no, no… Ignoring the pirate's order, Brianna readjusted her nightgown and walked silently down the corridor. Not a sound came out of Jeremiah's open door. But Bonnet wasn’t taking revenge on her son. Worse: he had taken the boy in his arms and was clumsily patting his back, groaning “There... there...”.

“Monster came back...”, Jemmy whined, snuggling up against Bonnet's shoulder.

“A monster? In your bedroom?”, he frowned, while Jemmy nodded, sniffling loudly. “That monster… Does it come here… every night?”

“Yes... Mama says he don't exist. I try to be brave and hide... But he pinched my foot!”

“You don’t say...”, Bonnet growled icily. “Looks like Mama really underestimated this… monster…”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!, Brianna swore internally before rushing back to their room. Bonnet had turned around to leave Jeremiah’s, carrying the child in his arms in the corridor.

“What d’zit mean? On-the-restimate?”, Jemmy asked, while his mother tried to climb into bed without a sound. Unfortunately, the whole piece of furniture protested loudly under her weight and she winced, as Bonnet rolled his eyes on the other side of the wall.

“It means that she thinks he’s a fool...”, he muttered, pushing the bedroom door open. Brianna looked perfectly serene, but her exaggerated smile when they appeared didn't fool him for a second. Putting the child down, he closed the door and Jemmy ran towards the bed so that Brianna would help him climb on the mattress. “I think Jeremiah should sleep with us tonight and a few other nights after that. Perhaps he will stop havin’ those mysterious nightmares that always happen when his parents go to bed. Don't you agree, darlin’?”

Despite his sweet tone, Bonnet's gaze was ice cold. He had figured out what was going on, but instead of getting angry, he had offered to have Jemmy sleep in their bed. Thereby giving up on any attempt to consummate their marriage for a little while.

“Yes! Yes, of course!”, she exclaimed with a broad smile. Maybe too broad. Even if her plan had gone down the pan, Jemmy's presence in their bed would keep her safe for a few days and at this point, that was all she needed. Cradling Jemmy against her, she watched as Bonnet lied down again on his side, facing her. He glared at her for a few minutes, to make it clear that he would get his revenge somehow, but Brianna ignored him – focusing on Jemmy, smiling and babbling – until Bonnet ended up turning his back on them. The child seemed quite puzzled, however, by the man's presence and as Brianna tried to fall asleep, his tiny voice echoed in the room.

“Mamaaaa?”

“Yes, Jemmy?”

“Why you not sleepin’ wi’ daddy?”

A sneer escaped Bonnet's mouth and Brianna opened her eyes wide, not knowing what to say. She had expected these questions sooner or later, but she had hoped that he wouldn’t ask them in front of the pirate. Precisely to avoid this: turning around, Bonnet flashed his smuggest smile at Jemmy. “Well, actually, Mama is sleepin’ with daddy now...”

“Shut up…”, Brianna hissed threateningly, but Bonnet ignored her.

“Comb on, darlin’, he’s old enough to know the truth. Aren’t you, Jeremiah?”

The word “old” had been spoken and Jemmy immediately nodded with conviction.

“I am your daddy.”

Jeremiah frowned and turned his doubtful face towards Brianna. However, Bonnet's threatening gaze was defying her to contradict him on pain of immediate retaliation and she just shrugged awkwardly.

“Never saw you before”, Jemmy said, turning towards Bonnet again.

This time, it was too good to pass up and Brianna answered before the Irishman. “Because he was in jail… where bad people who do bad things go.” As expected, Jemmy’s eyes widened. He had already heard about jail: it was a place where grown-ups who did stupid things were sent to, and that was why children like himself always had to listen to their Mama, otherwise they would end up in jail later. Bonnet clicked his tongue in annoyance, but he still forced a smile on his face.

“That is true. It happened before you were born, though. I was a disreputable man back then. Buht… ”, he raised his index finger towards the ceiling before pointing it at Brianna, “… your Mama came to tell me that you were in her belly and after that… I did everythin’ I could to be worthy of you and her… To have a nice house… You do like livin’ in River Run, don’t you?”

Jemmy smiled, nodding vigorously. “In River Run, I have Phaed’ and Mama. At Grandpa's and Grandma’s, Mama always busy.”

“I do like River Run too”, Bonnet said, flicking Jemmy's nose and causing the boy to chuckle. He saw Brianna roll her eyes but ignored her. “That's why I was gone for the last few years and you thought your daddy was that bloody fool MacKenzie. Because I worked hard, so we could live here together, as we should. What do you think, son? Would you rather be here with us or with your other daddy?”

Jeremiah frowned, but the time he took to think was extremely short considering the importance of the question. “Daddy didn’t like me.”

“That's not true, Jem-”, Brianna began, forcing him to look at her, but the child pushed her away.

“Yes, ’is true! Am not a liar!”

Brianna pursed her lips. Even three-year-old Jeremiah had sensed Roger's mistrust and she mentally cursed the Scot’s bad temper for pushing Jemmy a little more into the pirate's arms.

“Better here wit’ Mama”, the child concluded snuggling up against her.

Bonnet's smile widened. “And with me?”

Jemmy shrugged. He was not sure whether he liked this new face, even though the man had given him a scarf and told Phaedre to stay. Brianna smirked, but Bonnet didn't seem to mind this slight setback and brushed Jeremiah's cheek with his finger. “That’s a big question that does not require an immediate answer... All in good time.”

Jeremiah seemed to relax and Brianna tightened her grip around his small figure, as Bonnet turned to blow out the candle and plunge the room into darkness.

~o~

Brianna had waited for Bonnet's breathing to become slow and steady to finally relax and try to fall asleep. Her body had remained on high alert, however, for every time he moved or rolled around in his sleep, her own eyelids sprung open. To say that the pirate had a restless sleep was an understatement: Brianna had been awoken at least half a dozen times, when Bonnet let out a series of nervous grunts, thrashing about under the sheets. It was weird to think that a man like him had nightmares: were you not supposed to have a conscience or to be afraid of something? Two things that did not fit her idea of the Irishman.

She had fallen asleep for good shortly before dawn, exhausted but appeased by the presence of Jeremiah's small body against hers. The boy had woken up at sunrise, and not really knowing what to do in this unknown room – lying next to a stranger who claimed to be his father – he had sought comfort in a familiar gesture. Even though Mama had recently stopped breastfeeding him, he still liked to snuggle up and put his cheek against her breast, especially when Daddy gave him nasty looks – something that had happened quite often lately. At that moment, Mama moved in her sleep and Jeremiah pulled on her nightgown to uncover part of her chest. He settled comfortably against the soft skin, lulled by the steady beats of her heart.

To his left, the man was awake and Jemmy gave him a worried look. Daddy hated it when he took ownership of Mama's breast, saying that he was way too big for that, but Jemmy knew he was just jealous. Would this man be jealous too? He didn't seem like it. Lying on his side, one hand supporting his head, Bonnet watched the child huddled against Bree's bare chest, with a crooked smile. Both happy and surprised by the man’s reaction, Jemmy smiled back and turned to hide his face between his mother's breasts. Great, this new daddy would not shoo him away. Even better, he heard Bonnet chuckle.

“Luhcky bugger…”, the man muttered, reaching out to ruffle the boy’s hair. Jemmy didn't know what a lucky bugger was, but the man's tone and his touch weren't aggressive, so it couldn't be a bad thing. Moreover, unlike daddy, he made no move to separate him from Mama. That’s why, despite the rising sun and his growing hunger, Jemmy closed his eyelids and decided that nothing and no one – this morning at least – would prevent him from enjoying this all too rare moment of bliss.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

That's it for today. A shorter chapter, I know, but that's because the next one is 3 or 4 pages longer, I hope that will make up for it! Stephen and Brianna are starting a sick game of cat and mouse, and believe me it's not going to get better. Bonnet has full power over his family and he knows it...

Anyway… I have to say this chapter was pretty “cute” overall, but it was just a trick to put you at ease. You are absolutely not ready for the next one… x) What do you think will happen?

Let me know in the comments! Until then, I wish you a happy February and see you in 3 weeks!

Xérès

Chapter Text

Will You Teach Me…

Finally, chapter 7 is here, and man it’s going to be a hell of a ride! It’s a tad violent and gory, but I promise you will like it!

Thanks all of you who read, kudozed and commented last chapter!

7. Sucker Punch

The following week had been quieter than Brianna could have ever imagined. Bonnet left the plantation in the early hours of the morning with a few other men, only to return at the end of the afternoon. Every evening, his first instinct when he entered the house was to find Jeremiah and offer him a new toy. Puppets, ragdolls, spinning top... Not a single day went by without another present, and the boy quickly got into the habit of welcoming him with open arms, his eyes shining with glee.

Brianna wished she could talk about this with the child, explain him that his new 'daddy' was not trustworthy and even dangerous, but in his absence Bonnet had told one of his men to stick to the mother and her child like a leech. Probably to avoid this kind of conspiracy. On the fourth day, she knew she had to admit defeat for good when the pirate dropped a tiny, wiggling, wall-eyed American Shepherd puppy in Jemmy's outstretched arms.

You’ve got to be kidding me…, she thought as the puppy frantically licked the laughing child's face. Today a puppy, and tomorrow what? A pony?

Bonnet straightened up, obviously very proud of himself, and then walked over to the second person he always greeted right after Jemmy: his mother. On the first day – when he had come home with the puppets – he had tried to kiss her and she had started back. Even to this day, she remembered every detail of his annoyed face as he whispered that, if he couldn’t get anything better, he at least hoped to kiss his wife when he got home, like any man would. Do it for the sake of your son if not for yourself…, he had added with a threatening look.

Brianna had therefore agreed to let herself be kissed every evening, though keeping her lips obstinately closed. Lucky for her, Bonnet didn't expect her to kiss him back, and he never took offense at her lack of reaction. Thus for the fourth day in a row, she pursed her lips and waited for his mouth to brush against hers. But the pirate did not lean towards her as usual and tilted his head, smirking.

“A… client gave it to me as a peace offerin’ after a minor disagreement. What do you think, darlin’? I thought he would make an excellent playmate to Jeremiah. And a good guard against monsters at night…”

“It’s a puppy that can’t weigh more than a couple of pounds. And Jeremiah already has his mother to protect him from monsters…”, she retorted drily.

Bonnet nodded and got a little closer to Brianna, who tried to move back until she was trapped between a wall and the Irishman's massive chest. “Although I very much appreciate hearin’ our son babblin’ in his sleep, or watchin’ him expose your chest to snuggle up there in the early mornin’...”, raising his right hand, he started tracing Brianna's curves over her blouse with his fingers, “I too would like to enjoy the softness of your breast and maybe more… say, in a few days?”

Shivering with disgust, Brianna frowned. “A… A few days?”

Bonnet gave a confident nod. “I'm sure Jeremiah’s monster will be long forgotten by then. And I will have one of my men guardin’ his door, if that may put your mind at ease… ”

Despite his casual attitude, the threat was not even disguised: if Phaedre ever set foot in Jeremiah's room after putting him to bed, they would both be kicked out of River Run in no time. Smiling to conceal her fear, Brianna nodded.

“That won’t be necessary, he’s just having nightmares... I'm sure sharing our bed will have reassured him for a while...”

“So am I...”, Bonnet whispered, this time leaning towards her to claim his daily reward. Brianna immediately closed her mouth and presented her cheek, but a simple kiss on the corner of her mouth wouldn't be enough for him today and he took possession of her lips, groaning in frustration as she refused to kiss him back. Pulling back again, he caught a flash of apprehension in Brianna's eyes and immediately cursed himself for his own impatience. This was not how he would earn her trust –something he had understood over the past ten days – and he stepped back to a more appropriate distance, smiling again.

“I happen to have somethin’ for you, too...”, he said, going back to his coat, which he had carelessly tossed onto an armchair. As he walked away, Brianna took a deep breath and winced. She had held her breath the entire time he was in her personal space and her lungs were burning. He returned with a box, which he opened before her eyes. Inside was a complete set of silver and emerald jewelry: a necklace adorned with dozens of small silver leaves and which ended with an emerald pendant rounded by small diamonds. There were also matching earrings and hair jewelry.

“Next Sunday we will be hostin’ a reception here at River Run… I would like to officially introduce my wonderful wife and adorable son to my clients and partners. And I want you to wear this.”

A reception? With criminals who will spend their time staring at me and making disparaging comments? Wonderful…, Brianna thought, as her breathing already quickened. A sign that Bonnet mistakenly took for a flattering reaction to his present.

“Do you like it?”

“What?”, Brianna gasped, brutally torn away from her thoughts.

Bonnet let out a brief laugh. “The gift, of course… What else?”

Brianna gulped and pulled herself up, smiling shyly. “It is beautiful.”

Proud as a peacock, the Irishman closed the box and handed it to her. Brianna was about to take it when she noticed Bonnet's knuckles: they were red, sometimes even raw, and small pieces of fresh skin had been peeled away. As if he had hit something or someone earlier today. The puppy…, she reminded herself, hastily grabbing the box. A client gave it to him after a minor disagreement… A disagreement about what?

To hide her confusion, she smiled even wider and turned to put her present away in their room, but Bonnet grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards him again. What now?, she whined internally.

“Sunday is four days away. Can you finish teachin’ me how to... behave like a gentleman by then?”

There’s no way I can achieve that in four days…, Brianna sneered, while forcing herself to nod. “I'll do my best.”

Bonnet nodded in turn and with one last smile, he let go of her wrist and walked back to Jemmy who had already named his puppy ‘Blue’ because of his electric blue eye. In the evening, he had laid Jemmy in their bed, but this time the child refused to sleep between them, preferring to keep an eye on Blue curled up on the carpet near Brianna’s bedside table. The young woman ended up lying in the middle of the mattress, Bonnet against her back. As she expected, as soon as the candle was blown out, he came closer and slipped a hand under her nightgown, slowly moving up her hips, her waist, until he took her left breast in his hand. Barely breathing, Brianna waited, all her senses on high alert, but he had not gone any further. Not when Jeremiah was in the room. Closing her eyes, she tried to calm down. Leave this place... Imagine that this hand on her breast was not Bonnet's but Roger's. Convince herself that the stifling heat emanating from the pirate's body was her real husband’s. But the only thing she saw, thinking about Roger, was his nasty look when he had ordered her to abandon Jeremiah. After two hours spent brooding in the dark and desperately trying to escape reality, Brianna finally sank into a restless sleep, where dozens of burning hot, greedy hands took possession of her body.

She wasn't the only one to have a hard time sleeping, however. Behind her back, Bonnet's body had also twitched throughout the night, waking her from time to time. But when one of his nightmares brought an abrupt end to his night shortly before dawn, Brianna did nothing to prevent him from hugging her a little more against his chest. Someday – hopefully in the not-so-distant future – she would find out what scared him so much. And she would use that against him.

~o~

Unlike what she had imagined – and much to her dismay – Stephen Bonnet's guests were not filthy thugs or bloodthirsty pirates. The people who had showed up on Sunday to share a gigantic buffet in the garden were none other than upper class couples and high dignitaries from North Carolina, some of whom had even already met Brianna here, during social events hosted by Aunt Jocasta. How did these people have the nerve to show up, when their former “friend” had been kicked out of her home by their host? The answer was quite simple. Every rich family in the colony seemed to directly or indirectly benefit from Bonnet's activities and/or afford his services, so much so that they had all rushed to River Run to lick his boots and compliment him on his meteoric social rise. Not to mention all the fat-bellied men in their fifties who also congratulated him for asserting his rights over his son and saving his beautiful young wife from Roger MacKenzie’s clutches. Each lie was a thread that Bonnet had skillfully woven, trapping Brianna like a fly into a spider's web. She wanted to scream. To cry. To beat the shit out of those people. But no one paid her any attention. And the pirate's fabrications were so cleverly thought out that no one would believe her if she tried to yell the truth at their faces. She would certainly end up in a lunatic asylum. And Bonnet would then have control over River Run and Jemmy. She could not let that happen.

Brianna had soon become unable to endure their affable expressions, their smiles, or the flattering comments about the pirate's resemblance to Jemmy, and she had turned to her one and only friend: alcohol. She had even thought of a little game after a couple of hours of bowing, scraping and stupid comments: every time she heard someone say “Oh, what a wonderful little angel!” or “That boy looks just like his father!”, she took one sip. Two sips when a man gave her a lustful glance or said “Congratulations, Mr. Bonnet, she is exquisite”. And she finished her drink whenever someone told her “You must be relieved to have been lifted out of poverty and reunited with your son’s father, my dear”.

She had just finished yet another glass of champagne when it magically disappeared from her hand, taken away by a slightly annoyed Bonnet. “Try not to drink yourself under the table just yet, darlin’. Lord and Lady Tryon have just arrived. Come with me.”

Brianna, who had first opened her mouth to protest about the disappearance of her drink, froze and let herself be led through the crowd of guests. The governor of North Carolina was part of King Bonnet's court? How was this even possible? She refused to believe that the same governor – who had sentenced him to death for piracy four years earlier – was now one of his friends. Beside Tryon, his wife Margaret, a pretty brunette with a turned-up nose and generous hips, didn't seem exactly delighted to be there and Brianna immediately felt connected to her.

“Lord Tryon!”, Bonnet greeted him with a broad smile, as an employee came up with a tray loaded with glasses of champagne. Margaret politely declined, while her husband helped himself with a satisfied smile, undressing Brianna with his small brown eyes. Bree raised her hand towards the tray, but Bonnet caught it before she could take another drink. Message received, loud and clear. “Here is the one I was dying to introduce you to... my dear and loving wife, Brianna...”

“Good Lord, my dear Bonnet, you are a very lucky man indeed!”, Tryon exclaimed, ignoring his wife disapproving pout. “Admit it: this invitation was only meant to make every man in North Carolina jealous.”

Does that count for two sips or a full glass?, Brianna wondered, raising her elbow… before she remembered that her drink had been taken away from her. Fuck.

Bonnet laughed and let go of Brianna's hand to rest his own on her lower back. “This was undeniably one of the pursued objectives...”

“That and bragging about stealing this house from her rightful owner, I’m sure…”, Margaret grunted, under her husband's glare. Brianna raised her eyebrows, pleasantly surprised to find someone who did not seem to swallow King Bonnet's vicious lies. Perhaps she could make her an ally? Bree smiled at the governor's wife, but the woman replied with a contemptuous look. On second thought, maybe not...

Tryon pursed his lips and Brianna saw him discreetly dig his fingers into his wife's arm, who flinched in pain. “My sincere apologies, partner... My wife was a close friend of Mrs. Innes. She believes that this old bat would never have left the plantation to settle down with her new husband. No matter how many times I've explained it to her. You know how stupid and stubborn women can be…”, he concluded with a smirk.

The look he gave Bonnet at that moment did not escape Brianna. Of course he knows it's a lie… Maybe he was the one who helped Bonnet dispossess Jocasta of her land… He called him 'partner'… Again, Brianna tried to attract poor Margaret’s attention and liking, but her husband's gesture had literally petrified her and Bree wondered if she already knew that there would be retaliation for her disrespect. The idea made her blood run cold and she couldn't help but feel bad for the governor's wife. Tryon was a bully, making disparaging comments about his wife’s intelligence in public, intimidating her physically… Compared to him, Bonnet almost passed himself off as Prince Charming.

“Lord Tryon!”, exclaimed an old bourgeois with a thick French accent. The governor smiled and turned to greet the newcomer, soon imitated by Bonnet. “Ah, Monsieur Bonnet! I just saw your son in ’is governess’ armz. ’e looks just like you!”

Oh Lord, here we go again…, Brianna moaned inwardly, her hands shaking. If she were to hear another one of those compliments, she would scream. But the man did not seem to hear her silent plea and grasped her hand in his podgy fingers to kiss it.

“Wat a beauty you ’ave ’ere! You must be ze ’appiest of men-”

“If you’ll excuse me”, Brianna muttered, snatching her hand from the man's fingers to turn around and stride away under the guests’ astonished gaze and Bonnet’s furious eyes. Crossing the garden, she barged into the stables to escape stares and comments, and came up to one of the horses, reaching out to stroke his muzzle. These majestic animals had always had the power to soothe and comfort her. She was just starting to calm down when the sound of shoes scraping the dry straw on the floor made her turn around. Neil Forbes – that evil, wicked cockroach – had just entered the barn as well, proudly raising his weasel nose. Brianna immediately felt her anger rise again and glared at the traitor.

“How are you doing, my dear? Have you adjusted to your new life?”

Brianna bit her lip and turned her back on Forbes, scratching the horse’s muzzle one last time before taking a step back. “I came here to isolate myself, in case it wasn't clear enough. Your presence here is not wanted. Neither here nor anywhere else, to be honest.”

“Believe me, I realized a long time ago that you had no desire to share anything with me… Maybe you regret it today, but it is no longer my concern, isn't it?”, he smirked as Brianna frowned.

“Regret what? Not marrying you? Ah!” Her sarcastic tone made Forbes lose some of his haughtiness, and he swayed from one foot to the other. But she wasn't done with him. Emboldened by alcohol, she decided to tell him a few home truths. “You repulsed me the second I laid my eyes on you, Mr. Forbes. For some reason I couldn’t explain at first... But now I know my first impression was correct.”

“I would not have handed you over to Captain Bonnet if you had given me your hand, Brianna…”, Forbes snapped back, taking a few steps towards her. “But you’d rather play a cruel trick on me. This is why I have taken the liberty of teaching you a lesson: you cannot humiliate a man like me and expect it to go unpunished.”

Brianna's nerves, which had already been severely tested all afternoon, slowly began to crack and she sneered. “So that's the only reason you plotted against me? This is why you took away my great-aunt’s land and fortune? Threatened my family with legal action? Just because I scratched your… miserable ego?”

Forbes didn't need to answer. His face said it all. Brianna had stopped laughing and planted herself in front of him, her eyes flashing with anger.

“Do you have any idea what you did? Do you even realize the damage you’ve done?”

“I just have to look at you… You’re literally consumed with anger.” Forbes lifted his chin a little higher as if trying to look down on her despite his small size. “And I have to admit, this is a sight I am not sure I’ll ever get tired of.”

Brianna clenched her fists. It was time for her to leave the stables, or she might lose control of her emotions. She leaned slightly towards the lawyer and whispered: “Enjoy the show, Mr. Forbes, because that’s all the satisfaction you will get from this arrangement. I will make sure you’ll never see a single penny coming from River Run. And if I can, I'll send you swinging at the end of a rope.”

She saw – with immense joy – an angry sputter hit Forbes in the middle of his right cheek. It was like spitting in his face, in a way, and it felt good. As Forbes did not answer, she stepped back and turned to leave the stables when the lawyer's voice rose one last time in the silence.

“You'll have to spread your legs quite a lot of times before you can have any control over Captain Bonnet and your money”, Forbes taunted as Brianna froze, not believing her own ears. “But I am sure you’ll work with a will, my d-”

Forbes never finished his sentence. If anyone had asked Brianna to explain how a hammer – lying on a shelf near one of the horseboxes – had ended up in her right hand, she wouldn't have been able to tell. In less than two seconds, she had whirled around and aimed at the lawyer's jaw. There was a satisfying cracking noise when the hammer hit Forbes’ chin and Brianna congratulated herself. So much the better if that motherfucker couldn’t eat anything but soup for the rest of his life. She had spent weeks kowtowing to Bonnet, enduring his men’s presence in the house, or feeling her heart break every time Jemmy smiled at him. She had looked for an outlet, a way to blow off some steam, without ever finding it. Unfortunately, her satisfaction was short-lived: unbalanced by the impact, the man staggered back until he rested his heel on a pitchfork handle. As a film in slow-motion, Brianna saw the handle rotate by a quarter turn under Forbes' weight, throwing him even more off balance until he fell backwards. A second cracking noise – much more ominous this time – was heard in the stable when the back of Forbes' skull hit the blacksmith’s anvil, causing the horses to neigh nervously.

Brianna blinked several times, waiting for a reaction, a movement. Forbes would surely soon scream in pain, crawl miserably on the floor holding his broken jaw, and swear up and down that he would have her thrown in jail. He would run out of the stable and denounce her, it was only a matter of seconds... But seconds went by and Brianna started to think that Forbes' response time was extremely long, and an icy shiver ran up her spine, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. With the utmost caution, she took a few steps towards Forbes, watching for the man's slightest gesture in case he tried to attack her as well.

And then she saw it: the trickle of blood gradually spreading on the ground, just under his head. Oh Lord… With a clang, the hammer slipped from her hands and hit the ground at her feet, making her jump violently. “Mr. Forbes?” Trembling, she leaned over the lawyer, reaching out to his throat to take his pulse. He couldn't be dead. Not now. Not like this. She had just lost her temper for a second, it couldn’t be that bad? No, Forbes, couldn't be dead, he was just knocked out and then… What exactly would she do? If he was dead, she would become a murderer. If he wasn't, he would shout from the rooftops that she had tried to kill him and she would lose Jemmy. Maybe even her life, if a court condemned her to death or to priso-

Forbes's left hand rose with lightning speed and his bony fingers closed around Brianna's wrist, as she let out a cry of terror. She immediately shook her arm to free herself, in vain, before looking down at the lawyer’s face. His blood-red mouth was wide open – the lower jaw completely offset from the other – making it look like a grotesque ancient theatrical mask. The man was glaring at her, mad with rage and pain, his feet scraping the muddy straw on the stable floor as he tried his best to get up. The sight was so appalling that Brianna instantly knew it would probably haunt her until her death.

“…ou… ilthy… hore…”

Brianna's breathing quickened. She had only one thing on her mind: force him to let go and run away. From the stable and from her crime. Forbes was alive – at least that was something – but she would definitely not stay another minute watching him squirm and drool. Digging her fingernails in Forbes' hand, she freed herself and scrambled out of the stable without looking back.

Behind the large door where the horses entered – and through which Forbes himself had arrived earlier – a pair of green eyes had not missed a second of the scene and as the lawyer still desperately tried to get up, Bonnet slowly entered the stable, his face expressionless. At the sight of his client’s cold, neutral gaze, Forbes instantly knew the Irishman wasn’t here to help and he tried twice as hard to crawl out of his reach. But the pain in his head and jaw was excruciating, and his gestures too messy. He whined as Bonnet bent down to pick up the hammer his dirty whore had injured him with and his eyes widened one last time in terror as the tool cut through the air before striking his skull.

Brianna didn't stop running until she was in her room – their room – and leaned over the porcelain water bowl that was used for personal hygiene. The water had been changed and she put her hands into the cold liquid, rubbing them frantically. Now that her anger had passed, the fear of the consequences and the horror of committing such an act washed over her and she clapped her wet hands over her mouth to stifle her terrified sobs. In the basin, a few red drops diluted in the water, gradually tinting it pink. She was watching them, sniffing miserably, when the bedroom door creaked open and pulled her out of her contemplation. She turned her tearful face towards the entrance, whining when she saw that it wasn't Phaedre but the last person she wanted to see right now.

Bonnet walked slowly to her, a strange smile plastered on his lips. There was no sarcasm on his features, no dangerous glint in his eyes. He seemed rather… pleased? It didn’t matter, anyway. She did not care about his moods. The man stopped a few inches behind her back and she stiffened, not quite knowing what was going to happen. Was he aware of her altercation with Forbes? If so, was he going to punish her? If not, was he going to ask her why she was crying? And in that case, was it better to lie or tell the truth?

But the pirate ended her questioning in a rather unexpected way: with unusual gentleness, he grabbed one of her wrists between his fingers and pulled. Brianna flinched and tried to free herself, but Bonnet's left arm slipped around her waist to press her against him and keep her from running away. “What-?”

“I knew you had it in you, darlin’…”, he whispered against her ear, while Brianna's eyes widened. He knew? No... He had seen her hurt Forbes. And he had not intervened?

She clenched her teeth. “What are you talking about...?”

“I knew it the first time we met… The way you struggled. I knew I was dealin’ with someone special…” He leaned forward, burying his face into her neck, and let out a brief laugh. His breath caressed Brianna's bare collarbone, above her cleavage, and she flinched again but Bonnet limited her range of motion. “You and I are the same. We’re both hotheads. It pulls us towards one another. I know you can feel it too...”

“No…”, she hissed, closing her eyes. “I’m nothing like you. Nothing.”

Bonnet's lips brushed against the skin of her neck. “I think our dear Mr. Forbes would disagree on that point...”

“Is he all right?”, Brianna moaned as she mentally recalled the disaster that was the lawyer's face when she had left him in the stable.

“Do you care?”

She turned her head sharply, meeting the pirate’s malicious gaze.

“Be honest, darlin’...”, he added.

Brianna felt her lower lip quiver, as always when the Irishman seemed to read her mind like an open book. “Of-of course I-”

Bonnet shook his head and pressed himself harder against her. “Don’t think you can fool me, Brianna…”

The young woman closed her eyes and a tear rolled down her cheek. “I don’t...”, she whispered after a few seconds. “I don’t care.” Saying it out loud was almost as painful as lying to herself. Pretending she was worried about Forbes' condition made her feel guilty about losing control and letting her anger run free. But telling the truth – that she didn't care whether he was dead or alive – revealed something dark inside her, something she knew Bonnet would revel in.

“I’ll end up in jail for this… I'm going to lose Jeremiah because of him and then you’ll have won…”, she gasped as Bonnet pulled her towards him.

“I highly doubt that, darlin’. Mr. Forbes is no longer able to speak: he breathed his last a moment after you left... I couldn't do anything to save him...”

Brianna gave him an startled look, holding her breath. “Is he… Did I…? No… he was alive when I… he was…”

“Barely… The poor fellow was doomed. That head injury… He couldn't survive.”

Bonnet's words – which were intended to be serious – contrasted with his silken tone as he tickled the young woman's neck with his hot breath. She looked up, and saw him subconsciously wet his lower lip with the tip of his tongue. He was craving to kiss her, to take her. Seeing her indulge in violence had probably turned him on and she felt suddenly nauseous.

“He… He was your partner.”

“He was a tool... An old tool that I no longer needed.” He stared at her for a moment – her parted lips, her bewildered expression and furrowed brow. “Dare to tell me that you are not happy he’s dead.”

“I…” No, she was not ‘happy’! She had just killed a human being and he expected her to jump for joy? Just because the man in question was a bloody bastard, who had ruined her life out of sheer pride? Forbes got what he deserved, the little voice squeaked somewhere in the darkest corners of her brain, but even though she wouldn't mourn him, she could not possibly be glad he was dead? Right? She looked up at Bonnet and saw that he was staring at her with a satisfied smirk, as if he had followed her whole line of thought.

“Fear not, darlin’... I will not let this unfortunate incident cause any harm to you.” He pressed her a little more against him and she suddenly felt he was hungry for flesh. “My duty as a husband is to protect you and Jeremiah. Your duty... is to thank me for that.”

It was him... He killed Forbes...

Before she could react or think about this last epiphany, he had grabbed her by the back of her neck and crushed his lips against hers. The kiss only lasted a few seconds, and although Brianna didn't react, he seemed rather satisfied when he ended it. “I’ll take care of everythin’, sweetheart. And as soon as our guests are gone, we’ll finish this discussion…” Matching conduct to words, he brought her fingers to his lips – which were still wet from their kiss – and after one last hungry look, he smiled mischievously at her and left the room without looking back.

As hours went by, the guests had left River Run. From her second floor window, Brianna had carefully examined their faces and attitude, expecting to see shocked or nervous expressions. But surprisingly enough, no one seemed to know what she had done. When the last carriage left the property and Bonnet's footmen invaded the garden to clear the tables and leftovers, the complete lack of reaction among the guests had piqued her curiosity and she decided to venture out of their room. But hardly had she set a foot on the first step of the staircase when Bonnet appeared at the base. He whispered a few words to his most loyal employee – the one he had assigned the painful task of monitoring his wife's actions – and the man nodded before disappearing outside. Bonnet followed him with his eyes before turning his attention back to Brianna, and began to climb each step at an unbearably slow pace. When he stopped beside her, she looked down at her own clenched fingers, her lower lip quivering.

“Is he really…?”, she breathed, unable to finish her sentence. Dead? No... Did I really kill him or did you do it? That’s the real question. Bonnet's hand grabbed her chin forcing her to look at him.

“It's over, we've taken care of everything.”

We? Who is “we”? He and my bodyguard? Or is he talking about someone else? Who had he spoken with? Or rather, who else now had the power to make her out to be a murderer? And how had they gotten rid of the body to make sure no one would be looking for Forbes? Brianna had so many questions, but the state of shock she had been in for the last hours did not allow her to ask a single one. Bonnet must have sensed her confusion for he leaned down to press his forehead against hers and gently grabbed her hands.

“You don't have to worry anymore. No one will ever know what you did.” He smirked and cocked his head slightly to the side. “To be honest, Forbes was not a reliable element. He knew too much about us, our story. And if you hadn’t taken care of him after such insults, I probably would have done it myself…” He paused briefly, letting go of Brianna's hands to slip his own around her waist. “I won't let anyone disrespect us – you, me or Jeremiah. Today, I’ve given you a glimpse… of what our life could be like if you gave yourself to me. You, strolling about in the most magnificent attires and envied by all the other women; me, with more men licking my boots than King George himself... Untouchable. Wouldn’t that be the best kind of revenge for the two wretched souls we used to be when we first met?” He smiled at her and she felt him quiver with excitement as he brought his lips closer to hers. “You just have to accept to live this life with me, Brianna…”

Breathless, the young woman made a mental summary of the situation and of the available options. Bonnet was overexcited, not just sexually, but also by the power he had enjoyed throughout the evening. Not forgetting the murder she had just committed, thus eliminating the only person who could testify against him and expose all the shenanigans he had pulled to obtain River Run and a new family. Without Forbes, his side of the story could now officially become an immutable truth, trapping Brianna a little more with him. If she pushed him away now, the adrenaline pumping in his veins might drive him to do something regrettable: at best she would be kicked out, at worst she would join Forbes in a shallow grave. The only solution was to play his game; it would probably calm him down. But then where would the game end? He was close – way too close – to her and the situation was probably already out of control anyway.

“Don’t you have anything to say to me?”, he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers.

To be honest, she didn’t. She had things to yell at him, though: like “you're fucking insane”, or “hands off, you psychopath”, but nothing helpful in her situation. She therefore opted for a brief and simple answer that would not get her killed. Forcing herself to smile, she lifted her shy eyes to the pirate's.

“Th-thank you...”

Bonnet tilted his head and, like every time he came asking for a kiss, sent her a questioning look, waiting for her to consent. Brianna pursed her lips, closing her eyes to let him know she was ready, and he took possession of her mouth. However, a one-sided kiss would not satisfy him tonight and he pinned her hard against the nearest wall. Bree let out a surprised gasp, which he took advantage of to deepen their kiss, and she soon had no other choice but to follow the movements of his lips, shivering with disgust when their tongues made contact. But she made no move to push him away. Nothing was to make him fall into anger.

When he finally pulled away, panting heavily, she saw in his eyes that he had loved their first “actual” kiss and that he would not stop there. Again, he pressed himself against her, burying his face in her neck, nibbling and stroking her skin above and below the silver and emerald necklace. “You just have to accept this life, Brianna… just… accept… it…”, he whispered into her ear.

Brianna closed her eyes. She could give in. Fake it. Pretend to give up on any attempt to run away from him, only to lure him later. She’d have a much easier time keeping her sanity if she played a part – that of the submissive eighteenth-century wife, conveniently married to a wealthy landowner – than trying to be herself. If she was convincing enough, he would eventually stop being suspicious. And then she could know more about his activities and find a way to expose him for what he truly was: a thief, a rapist, who lived in a sick phantasy. Doing her best to control her shaky hands, she put her arms around the pirate's neck and he stared at her suspiciously for a moment, unaccustomed to this kind of behavior. But what he saw in her blue eyes made him lose his mind: she was giving up the fight, finally accepting her fate to become his entirely. Without further ado, he grabbed the bottom of her dress to roll it up her thighs, with the firm intention of taking her right here in the corridor, but her sudden expression of distress stopped him dead in his tracks.

“Forgive me… where are my manners?”, he winced, taking a step back. Brianna pulled away from the wall and walked slowly to their bedroom, whose door was slammed shut one second before Bonnet came to grips with the fasteners of her dress. He quickly lost his patience though and Brianna soon heard the fabric rip as he tore the whole thing open without a hint of hesitation. When she was completely naked, Bonnet took off his own clothes and pulled her against him again to kiss her.

Brianna shuddered as she felt his arousal pressed against her lower abdomen, but managed to control herself. A moment later, he had pinned her against the wall again and grabbed her thighs to lift her up. His cock penetrated her mercilessly and Brianna gasped, her brain only now becoming aware that Stephen Bonnet was inside her again after all those years trying to forget their first meeting. None of this made sense: this room was not hers, this husband inside her was not Roger, this whole life was just one vast nightmare which she never saw the end of. But in order to escape a nightmare, you had to take control, follow the scenario to better turn it to your advantage. And that was what she planned to do from now on. Whatever the cost. But for the time being, she’d better think of anything else than here and now.

Bonnet's thrusts picked up speed and his growls intensified. That bastard thinks he's won…, Brianna thought, reluctantly clinging on to the pirate's shoulders so as not to fall. But barely a minute or two later, he froze, pushing one last time into her with a groan of intense satisfaction. All that fuss for that?, her sarcastic inner voice squeaked and Brianna, staring vacantly into emptiness, had to hold back a sneer.

Bonnet let his face fall in the young woman's neck, trying to catch his breath, and let out a laugh. “If only you knew how long I've been waitin’ for this...”, he panted, smiling.

I wish I could say the same…, Brianna thought as he pulled back, leaving her with an unpleasant sticky feeling between her thighs. She only wanted to do one thing: dive into a hot bath and scrub herself raw, but obviously that was not part of Bonnet's plans, and the pirate promptly dragged her towards their bed.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

You had been warned, right? This chapter was an absolute nightmare for Brianna… Our dear Mr. Forbes has been wiped from the surface of the Earth; what do you think happened to him? You won’t have the answer before a few chapters, but let me know your ideas!

Brianna and Stephen’s marriage has now been consummated and even if that’s a lot to take in for Bree, she might find out she’s stronger than she initially thought… I hope you enjoyed this chapter! The next one will be published around mid-march, until then I wish you a lot of love, good health, and happy moments with family and friends in these hard times.

Xérès

Chapter Text

Will You Teach Me…?

 8. Cryin’ Wolf

Over the years, Brianna had often wondered how her body and mind would react if Stephen Bonnet ever put his hands on her and raped her again. She had pictured herself screaming, sinking into hysteria or madness. Some days, she thought she could defend herself, and others she just imagined leaving her body so that she would not feel anything. She had often thought about the pain... that stinging burn he had left inside her, and she had always been convinced that she would feel it again, as if it was caused by his presence inside her and not by her lost virginity.

She had waited for the pain, she had waited for hysteria, but none of them had come. She had looked at the window, behind which dawn was slowly breaking, wondering if she wanted to jump out of it and permanently escape this new trauma. But she didn’t. The only thing Brianna was aware of was the complete and almost disturbing absence of feelings and sensations of any kind. She didn't feel any different from the day before. Even the “incident” with Forbes seemed to have happened in another lifetime. She was neither more nor less traumatized than she had been for the past four years. She didn't even flinch when the pirate stirred behind her back and came to press his warm chest against her naked body.

It was at that moment that Brianna became aware of her own strength. She had come a long way in four years, and although the trauma caused by Bonnet was still very much vivid in her mind, she had managed to stay calm and not let this new invasion get to her. She would need that calm and determination if she was to fool Bonnet and get out of this Hell, as she had vowed the day before when he had taken her against the wall. Then during the night, when he had once again quenched his thirst for flesh.

Perhaps things would have been different if he had forced her to have sex with him on their first night in River Run? Without giving her time to get used to the situation and relieve some of the stress accumulated throughout the trial. Perhaps the significant amount of alcohol ingested the day before had also something to do with it. Not to mention her unexpected fit of violence over Neil Forbes. The late Neil Forbes, she corrected, biting her lower lip. The fact that he was alive and well when she left him and that she never got to see his corpse made it hard to believe he was actually dead. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was: it was not her who had struck the fatal blow, but Bonnet himself or one of his henchmen. Not that it mattered now anyway: she had no doubt that a man like him would know how to carefully clean up the evidence. And Forbes had deserved his fate. One couldn’t expect to associate with criminals like Stephen Bonnet without paying the price one day or another.

Behind her, the object of her thoughts stirred again and she knew from the sound of his breathing that he had just woken up. Brianna closed her eyes and tried to relax. She could not let him think she was pushing him away. His story about fate, his delusion... he was desperate to find them common points, in order to justify what he had done to her and her whole family. It was time for her to start playing along once and for all. The more he was under her spell, the sooner she would be able to manipulate him. Before she could even move, Bonnet's hand grabbed her waist and rolled her onto her back to analyze her. With a shy pout and after a brief glance at the pirate, Brianna voluntarily lowered her eyes as she pulled the sheet up over her naked body. Men like him loved these kinds of goody-goody attitudes and as she expected, Bonnet stopped her hand to press his right palm against hers. Determined to maintain his delusion intact, Brianna intertwined their fingers and smiled weakly. Bonnet's eyes were impenetrable and she couldn't tell if he was about to kiss her or kill her. She realized, however, that this was most likely the first option when the Irishman's lips parted and he leaned over her.

Brianna didn't wait and straightened up to initiate the kiss. She felt Bonnet flinch in surprise, before his hands slipped around her waist. If I can kiss him without him suspecting anything, I'll have won another battle…, she thought, trying twice as hard to be sensual. After about twenty seconds, she pulled away again and dropped back onto the mattress, scanning the pirate's green irises for any trace of doubt or anger. But he was still just as indecipherable.

After more than a minute of staring at each other expectantly, Brianna saw the corners of Bonnet’s mouth twitch into a sarcastic smile and he shook his head.

“What is it?”, she asked with a nervous smile.

“You think I don’t know what you’re doin’, darlin’?”

A shiver ran through Brianna’s spine but she managed to frown in amazement.

“I don’t understand…”

“You think that I will let my guard down if you’re playing nice? That you can soften me up and betray me later?”

He sneered again, a mischievous gleam in his eyes, and Brianna gulped. “No, I…”

“Shhh… that's all right, sweetheart… If you want to play this game, I shall not disappoint you”, he interrupted, putting his index finger across the young woman's mouth. “That’s a brilliant idea, even. Just imagine how easier life will be if you become a wonderful wife. For you, for me too obviously… and for Jeremiah.”

“I didn’t mean to...”, Brianna stammered, terrified that she had been so easily figured out.

“Of course you did.”

Brianna closed her mouth to keep her lips from trembling, but strangely Bonnet did not seem angry and with a thrust of his hips, he placed himself on top of her, spreading the young woman's legs in the process. He kissed her again but, still reeling from being exposed, Brianna forgot to react and he pulled back with a mocking grin.

“Come on, darlin’, you’re already givin’ up the game? Givin’ up… on Jeremiah?”

The situation was definitely turning against her. Her plan to fake attraction and manipulate Stephen Bonnet had backfired, and she was now forced to play by his rules so she wouldn’t lose her son. The pirate probably didn't care how she really felt about him. He just wanted her at his disposal, willingly or not. A few inches above her, Bonnet was waiting for her answer – literally gloating.

“You wish”, she grunted, glaring at him. Bonnet chuckled and laid down on top of her, ready to take her for the third time of the night. But at that moment, the bedroom door swung open and Brianna yelped.

“Mama! Mama! Look!”

Brianna violently pushed Bonnet back and pulled the sheet up to her chest. When the same thing happened with Roger, an exasperated growl usually rose from the Scotsman's throat, followed by a nasty comment about “that little brat carefully choosing his moment”. But Bonnet only chuckled and laid back on the mattress, one hand tucked under his temple. Phaedre appeared on the threshold – looking completely panicked – and chastely lowered her eyes at the sight of the naked spouses.

“Forgive me, Madam, I only turned my back on him for a moment… he wanted to show you what his hound can do...”

“That’s all right…”, Brianna hastily answered. The kid had literally saved her from yet another twisted situation and she wished she could smother him with kisses. “What do you want to show us, Jem?”

Grinning from ear to ear, Jeremiah turned to Blue and shouted: “Sit!”

The puppy stared at him, tongue hanging out and his butt wriggling, not really understanding what was expected of him. The little boy looked embarrassedly at his mother and repeated his command, while gently pressing his hand on the animal's lower back. This time, Blue seemed to remember what to do and sat down.

“That’s very impressive…”, Brianna said encouragingly, shivering when Bonnet's hand came to slowly caress her back under the sheet, from the top downwards until he reached her buttocks.

“Not finished!”, Jeremiah retorted, turning to his dog again. “Blue? Down!”  And to avoid failing again, the child laid face down on the carpet to set an example and the dog imitated him, barking cheerfully. Jeremiah was beaming.

“How amusin’… Jeremiah and I both have wild animals to train…”, Bonnet smirked, grinning broadly at the child. Brianna turned her head to glare at him but he ignored her.

“I apologize again for the intrusion, Sir...”, Phaedre said, reaching out to Jemmie to get him out of the room.

“Don’t. This is my son’s home, after all...”

“Jemmy, I already told you to knock before you come in, didn’t I?”, Brianna scolded him gently. The little boy walked over to the door, clenched his tiny fist and knocked three times on the wooden panel. “That's right, love! Next time, don’t forget to do it, all right?”

“Yes, Mama.”

Jeremiah left the room, immediately followed by his puppy, and Phaedre glanced one last time at Brianna. There were so many questions in her worried eyes – Are you all right? Are you hurt? Do you need help? – but Brianna just nodded, and the maid closed the door behind her, leaving the young woman alone again with her husband. She expected him to pick up where they left off before Jeremiah arrived, but instead he brought his mouth to her ear.

“You see that, darlin’? A beautiful morning… pleasant moments as a family… We could have this every day of our lives. It only depends on you…”

And before she could answer, he placed a patronizing and sarcastic kiss on Brianna's forehead and rose up to get dressed.

~o~

After this incident, Brianna had thought long and hard about her situation – taking advantage of Bonnet’s absence during the day to elaborate various survival plans. The main problem she had to solve was the thorny issue of sex. Or rather, how to prevent Bonnet from touching her during her fertile days, without arousing his suspicions. Brianna had the advantage of modern scientific knowledge: to an eighteenth century man, the female cycle was a mystery, so he wouldn't notice anything if she refused him on specific days. But if she wanted him to leave her alone on those days, she would still have to satisfy him every now and then.... Let’s not think about that now.

With a notebook and a stick of charcoal she used to draw, she had created a system to never lose sight of her cycle. However, she would have to be meticulous and never spend a day without referring to it so as not to lose track. She couldn’t write down actual dates, in case Bonnet found the notebook and she rarely knew the current date anyway – unless the pirate left a copy of the local gazette lying around in the house; it had to be clearly understandable to her and no one else. She would just have to mix the code with a few sketches to dispel any suspicion.

Over the weeks, Bonnet and Brianna had shut themselves away in such a perfect life of make-believe that any outside observer might have thought they were a normal family. When the Irishman returned in the late afternoon, he would first spend an hour playing with Jeremiah or watching some of Blue’s new tricks. Then he would join his wife and inquire about her well-being. Brianna always smiled, pretending to be fully satisfied by her daily life (even though she was bored to death most of the time), and made a point of ignoring the blood that sometimes stained Bonnet’s sleeves after his “working day”. Every once in a while, she went fishing for information and asked innocent questions, but he begged them all carefully. So much so that by early September, after more than a month and a half spent in his company, she still didn’t know what he was doing for a living. The only thing she knew – since the party a few weeks earlier – was that Tryon had something to do with it. In other words, she knew nothing. At that rate, she would remain Mrs. Bonnet for another twenty years...

Their perfect couple act, however, had pernicious effects that Brianna had not expected. With his mother smiling and acting normal around Bonnet, Jeremiah had totally welcomed the man into his living space, claiming his attention a little more every day for the pirate’s greatest pleasure. Brianna couldn't tell whether he was feigning interest in the child, or if he actually enjoyed spending time with him. Men like him were usually unable to take care of anything weaker than them, but Bonnet played his role as father just right. So much so that when a violent thunderstorm broke out on a hot September night, it wasn't Brianna’s name that Jemmy cried from his bedroom, but… his “daddy”.

“I'll go look in on him”, Brianna muttered, trying not to sound too angry. But Bonnet was literally beaming as he crossed their room and reached for the doorknob.

“It seems to me that Jeremiah is askin’ for his father...”

“Yeah, too bad he’s in Fraser's Ridge…”, Brianna sneered, with a huge – and fake – smile.

Bonnet froze in the doorway – his own smile suddenly gone – and glared at her. It was the first time she dared to make nasty comments since they had started their little game a month earlier. After staring at each other for a few seconds, the pirate shook his head and disappeared down the corridor, returning moments later with Jeremiah in his arms and Blue trotting behind them. The child had huddled up against Bonnet’s chest, his cheeks wet with tears, sucking on his thumb and scarf. Once on the mattress, Jeremiah crawled to the center of the bed, patiently waiting for his parents to lie down on each side. Brianna stretched out her arms, inviting her son to snuggle up against her, but another lightning bolt and a loud thunderclap tore the atmosphere and the boy thought it smarter to find shelter against the pirate's massive chest, which would surely protect him better against the raging elements than his mother’s frail figure. Bonnet was beside himself with joy and grinned stupidly at his wife.

“Mamaaa?”, Jeremiah said with a tiny plaintive voice, unaware of what was happening between his parents.

“Yes, Jemmy?”

“Can you read a story?”

A few days earlier, Bonnet had come home with a whole box of children's stories and Jeremiah had fallen into an obsession for books. She was about to protest, claiming to be tired, when she heard Bonnet's sweet voice rise from the other side of the bed:

“Oh yes pwease, Mama, read us a story…!”

With an exasperated sigh, Brianna climbed out of bed and went to get one of the books in Jeremiah's bedroom. Well, well... Charles Perrault... Little Red Riding Hood... With a mischievous smile, she grabbed the collection of tales, reveling in advance in all the parallels that she would be able to draw between the story and their own situation. When she came back, Jemmy settled comfortably against Bonnet and waited for his mother to start reading.

“Once upon a time there lived in a certain village a little country girl, the prettiest creature who was ever seen. Her mother was excessively fond of her; and her grandmother doted on her still more. This good woman had a little red riding hood made for her. It suited the girl so extremely well that everybody called her Little Red Riding Hood.”

Bonnet also settled back on his pillow, a protective arm wrapped around Jemmy's small body, and a smirk hovering over his lips. Brianna couldn't tell if he was still smiling because he had finally achieved his goal (to be called “daddy”) or if he was just enjoying the moment. While trying to change her voice with each character, Brianna recounted the misadventures of Little Red Riding Hood, her encounter with the wolf in the woods, then the trap that this same wolf had set to devour her grandmother and take her place in bed. As she read the scene when Little Red Riding Hood sees that her grandmother's physical appearance has changed, Brianna glanced briefly at Jemmy – absolutely enthralled by the story – and Bonnet, who was squinting at her warily. He got the message. Perfect.

“—Grandmother, what big teeth you have got!

—All the better to eat you up with.’ And, saying these words, this wicked wolf fell upon Little Red Riding Hood, and...”

Brianna paused. The last words of the sentence were “ate her all up”, and that was how the tale ended. Wait... what’s that version?? Isn't the wolf supposed to be killed by hunters?, she thought, suddenly panicking. It wasn't the kind of ending she wanted her son to hear. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bonnet raise an eyebrow and she began to stammer.

“And… and…. attacked her! But… Little Red Riding Hood fought back with all her might and managed to scare the big bad wolf away. And no one ever saw him again”, she concluded with a determined nod. Bonnet gave her a suspicious look, craned his neck, struggling to read how the tale actually ended,… and chuckled.

“He won't come back? The wolf?”, Jeremiah inquired, straightening up slightly.

“No, he won’t, and he better not try, because Little Red Riding Hood knows how to defend herself now!” Behind Jemmy, Bonnet groaned and Brianna turned the last page of the book, discovering with tremendous relief that there was indeed a usable moral to this story, produced as a final paragraph.

“Oh, there’s more: Children,  should never talk to strangers, for if they should do so, they may well provide dinner for a wolf. I say ‘wolf’, but there are various kinds of wolves. There are also those who are charming, quiet, polite, unassuming, complacent, and sweet, who pursue young children at home and in the streets. And unfortunately, it is these gentle wolves who are the most dangerous ones of all.”

She had read the last words without taking her eyes off Bonnet and despite his somewhat annoyed expression, there was a mischievous glow in his green irises. Turning back to Jemmy, she lifted her index finger and waved it under his tiny nose. “That means you shouldn't trust just anyone, even people who seem nice.”

“No, it means that when you're a defenseless lassie, you don't walk alone in the woods teasin’ all the wolves lurkin’ there”, Bonnet retorted frivolously.

“Oh, walking in the woods is teasing, now?” There was a hint of exasperation in her voice and anyone over four years old would have understood that the woods had become just another word for “tavern”. But Jemmy simply looked at them in turn, frowning.

“Obviously”, Bonnet hissed threateningly.

“How is Little Red Riding Hood supposed to walk from her house to her grandmother's, then?”

“Well, maybe Little Red Ridin’ Hood should be ridin’ instead o’ walkin’?” He gave her a big smile, obviously very proud of his bad pun, but Brianna was not done with him.

“I think it would be better to teach the wolf how to behave.”

“A wolf is a wolf, darlin’, he attacks before he’s attacked.”

Brianna shook her head in annoyance. “Little Red Riding Hood was no danger to the wolf.”

“You’re mistaken, love: a wolf always risks bein’ coaxed by a pretty face… and endin’ up domesticated like a common sheepdog.”

The tension in the bedroom was palpable and the couple stared at each other for so long that Jemmy grew impatient.

“Bad wolf!”, he declared to put an end to the argument. Brianna instantly smirked, mentally giving Bonnet a one-finger salute.

“You're right, Jemmy, he's a very, very bad wolf.”

After one last angry look, Bonnet sighed deeply and snatched the book from Brianna's hands to throw it to the ground. “And Little Red Ridin’ Hood is pretty reckless, if you ask me… Or maybe she was tryin’ to get eaten…?”

Well, nobody asked, Stephen..., Bree muttered inwardly, lying down on the mattress. She blew out the candle and soon the only light source was the succession of lightning that could be seen through the half-open windows, letting the fresh air in. Bonnet’s stare was literally drilling holes in her back and after a few minutes, she couldn't help but turn to look at him. There was still anger in his eyes, but something else was taking over. Something sweeter she couldn't define. A little bit confused, she decided to put an end to it, whatever it was.

“You know I loathe you, right?…”, she whispered, her lip trembling.

Against all odds, a smile slowly crept across Bonnet's face and taking care not to roll over Jeremiah – who was still snuggled up against him – he leaned towards Bree and whispered.

“I love you too, darlin’…”

~o~

Despite their disagreement over the tale, on the following day Bonnet had reprised his role as a perfect family man and she had done the same with some relief. After spending part of the night torturing herself and imagining all the possible consequences of their argument, this return to normal could only mean that he forgave her insubordination. Or he’s waiting for a better occasion to make me pay…, she thought as he came to the table where she was having breakfast to kiss her on the forehead, as he did every morning before he left.

“Have a lovely day, darlin’...”

The irony in his voice was palpable. He knew full well – from his henchmen stationed in River Run – that she was pacing like a caged lion. One of them had even caught her trying to pick the lock from Bonnet’s office once, but she wasn't sure if he had passed the information on to his boss. The pirate was already turning away, when Brianna slammed her cup on the saucer.

“Busy day today? Meeting customers in Cross Creek?”, she asked matter-of-factly.

Bonnet froze and slowly turned on his heels. “What makes you think I’m supposed to meet someone in Cross Creek?”

“Nothing… I was just asking”, she pouted. “You never tell me anything and I spend hours wondering what you are doing, where you are and with whom...”

The Irishman let out a sarcastic sneer. He was dying to come up with some snappy comeback, but he could not do that when she was only playing his very own game, pretending to be a sweet, loving wife.

“Come on, love. It is not appropriate for a woman in your place to meddle in men's affairs.”

A fake smile spread across Brianna’s face and she chuckled. “Oh right, I forgot. I am probably too dumb to understand anything about it anyway. I’m only good for wearing dresses, jewelry and parading around on your arm.”

Bonnet nodded and waved a finger at her. “Good. You’re gettin’ it, darlin’.”

Brianna's smile immediately fell and he reveled briefly in her angry expression before he left the dining room, whistling a joyful tune. The young woman sighed and picked up her cup of tea, ready to live another useless day. In the evening, the same farce as every other evening was repeated. Bonnet had come home and played with Jeremiah and Blue on the porch, then he had come over to kiss Brianna (not without a sarcastic look, as it reminded him of their morning discussion), and had locked himself in his office with one of his men. She had tried to get close to the door with a tray, a hot teapot and empty cups – determined to spy on them through the wooden panel – but the minion who followed her like a dog had taken the tray from her hands to bring it himself. Message received, loud and clear: she would go no further.

Bummed by this umpteenth setback, she had fed Jeremiah, then put him to bed, before having dinner on her own and heading to their room. She did not want to see his smug face, nor allow him to watch her undress as he usually did when they went to bed at the same time. And he was still locked in his damn office, anyway.

By the time he came out, it was so late that Brianna had actually fallen asleep and Bonnet stealthily crossed the room, took off his clothes and laid down beside her. The bed creaked and Brianna briefly awoke from her slumber, just enough to feel the pirate snuggle up against her body, resting a hand on her left breast. But nothing else. Exhausted and relieved that he was not taking any initiatives, Brianna instantly went back to sleep. Only for a few seconds. Or so she thought.

Her eyelids snapped open and the full moon – that was not yet visible through the open window a few hours earlier – now lit up every corner of the room. She was wondering what had woken her up when she felt Bonnet startle violently behind her back. Brianna turned to look at him, his sweaty forehead and chest, his fingers twisting the bedsheets, the veins and muscles popping in his neck. Unbelievable, he has more nightmares than Jeremiah…

She didn't care that his inner demons tortured him every other night – he definitely deserved it – but she was tired of being disturbed in her own sleep. With an impatient sigh, she reached out and shook Bonnet's shoulder. Without effect. She did it again, a little more violently this time, but the pirate seemed too far gone in his night terrors to be brought back to reality. Oh what the heck, it’s now or never. With intense satisfaction, she brutally slapped the Irishman and he woke up with a start, his eyes wild and breathing heavily. Brianna immediately put on a worried expression and tilted her head on one side. “Is everything all right, dear?”, she asked, her voice literally seeping with sarcasm.

Trying hard to catch his breath, Bonnet did a quick check-up of the situation and raised a hand to his tingling left cheek. “Did you just… slap me?”

Brianna shook her head and shrugged. “I couldn't get you to wake up...”

She thought for a moment that he was going to make her pay for this unprovoked attack, but instead he brought his knees to his chest, rested his wet forehead on them, and wrapped his arms around his legs. She stared at him curiously for a moment: she did not recall seeing him this vulnerable – sincere, even. Except maybe on that day, in prison, when she had told him about her pregnancy. She might as well take advantage of his vulnerability... Slowly, she reached out to push a few strands of sticky blonde hair behind his ear and he flinched at her touch, eyeing her suspiciously. Brianna jumped as well, smiling reassuringly.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Bonnet narrowed his eyes. “So that you can use it against me later?”

Of course, Brianna thought, as she shook her head and moved a little closer to the Irishman. “Of course not. I just know that when Jeremiah shares his fears with me, he does feel better afterwards.”

“This is stupid”, he retorted as he slumped back onto the mattress. “The object of my fears is not going to disappear simply by talking about it.”

Oh, so it's something real, then…?, Brianna thought, making sure she didn't seem too interested. She lay down on her side and smiled. “It won’t disappear. But an outsider’s perspective can help make it less… frightening. Rationalize the fear.”

But the green eyes kept staring at the ceiling in silence and she realized that once again, she would not be able to worm any information out of him.

“Alright, as you wish…”, she mumbled in annoyance, before turning her back on him. “Just try to have quiet nightmares next time. I'm sick of being woken up all the time.”

Silence fell in the room and she sighed, trying to calm down and go back to sleep. But after a minute or two, Bonnet's voice rose again. “I’m drowning.”

What? Taken aback, Brianna was about to turn towards him again but he held out a firm hand, preventing her from doing so.

“Don’t… look at me.”

Is he embarrassed…? Her heart pounding, Brianna waited for him to speak again.

“The sea… It comes for me. Darkness closes in. I cannot move. No one comes. No one ever comes.”

Brianna frowned, stunned by what she had just heard. Water? That is Stephen Bonnet's greatest fear? How am I supposed to use that against him? He’s got to be kidding me… But judging by Bonnet's slightly faltering voice, he wasn't kidding. She tried to turn around again to see whether or not he was laughing at her, but he wouldn't let her.

“Since I was a lad… I have been plagued by nightmares of drownin’ over and over again.”

Oh boy, I am the one having a nightmare, right now…, Brianna groaned internally, rolling her eyes. I’ve spent weeks wondering what scares him so much, and it’s just… water? Plain… stupid… water??

“You’d think I’d foresee it and waken...”, Bonnet went on, unaware that Brianna was only half listening now. “But I never do. Not till the water’s over my head. I know it will be the death of me.”

Oh, he’s a crystal-gazer, now… I can’t believe it… A pirate who is afraid of water… Ah! Why not a cosmonaut who’s afraid of space, while we're at it? Like Neil Armstrong, two seconds before setting foot on the moon... “Sorry, guys… I'm too fucking scared, let’s go back...”

“Gray waters, dark with mud, things swimmin’ blindly in it. Waitin’ for the sea to have her way with me. That they might do the same when she’s done.”

There was a chuckle and Bonnet felt Bree’s back jerk under his hand. He blinked in disbelief before realizing it was a laugh. A laugh that was getting louder by every second. Mad with rage, he grabbed Brianna's waist and rolled her onto her back to force her to look at him, but the young woman’s nervous laughter only intensified as her eyes teared up. She knew she risked a lot laughing in his face like this, but she couldn't stop. Once again, weeks of tension and creepy role-playing had blown out a fuse in her brain; this time, however, it did not cause any outburst of violence, but an insane… uncontrollable… fit of giggles.

“I… I'm sorry… it's just…”, she gasped before laughing again.

“It’s the thought of seeing me die that fills you with joy, I suppose?”

Still chortling, Brianna shook her head and took a deep breath. “No, it's just… Sorry… But a sailor who's afraid of water?”

The Irishman's scowl was enough to make her chuckle loudly again. “I shouldn't have mentioned it. Now I feel like a fool...”

Brianna exhaled deeply, finally getting ahold of herself. “I just didn't expect this kind of nightmare. And if you must know, I think you were… quite brave to spend your entire life at sea despite your fears.”

Without a word, Bonnet sank back onto the mattress, still staring at her both frustrated and fascinated.

“What?”, she finally asked.

“This is the first time you've ever laughed in my presence and it was at my own expense...”

“I'm sorry”, she said, but he immediately shook his head.

“Don’t be. It was nice to hear. It sounded… real.”

Brianna flinched at the words and for a few seconds, she couldn't hide her confusion. She had laughed wholeheartedly as she imagined Neil Armstrong climbing up his ladder three rungs at a time, too scared to walk on the moon. And once it had started, her laughter had broken down every one of her mental barriers. Until she forgot where she was and especially with whom. She cleared her throat embarrassedly, pondering on a way to change the subject. When suddenly, a bell rang in her head.

“There's an apothecary in Wilmington! My mother goes there to buy some plants that she can't grow on her own. I know a few that could help you sleep.” And I could build up a stock of sage in case I got pregnant…, she thought gloomily.

To her surprise, Bonnet narrowed his eyes. “Do you think I'm stupid enough to let you poison me, Brianna?”

“Huh?” The young woman frowned. She hadn't even considered blindsiding him like that, but now she thought about it… she raised her eyebrows, as if she was actually considering it.

“By Danu, now I know I should never swallow anything you serve me...”, he growled, glaring at her, but Brianna rolled her eyes and sat up on the bed.

“I hadn't even thought about it before you mentioned it! And you won’t be the only one to drink, if that's any consolation. I’m tired of waking up every time you jump in the middle of the night.” As he kept staring at her skeptically, she chose to play her trump cards and tell the truth. “Also… I need to get out of this house, Stephen. I really do.”

As she expected, the pirate's eyes softened. This technique was proving its worth every day: pretend until she had exhausted all the other options, then without warning, say something that he knew was authentic. So that he would have a glimpse of the real Brianna. Let him think she was slowly opening up to him.

“All right, then”, he blurted out, while Bree tried not to gloat too much. “It just so happens I have to go to Wilmington for… work.” He pursed his lips for a moment, desperately looking for a way to pass over his deliberately evasive answer. “We will take Jeremiah with us. He will be delighted.”

“Excellent!” The young woman smiled broadly at him and he immediately eyed her suspiciously. “I swear I wasn't planning on poisoning you.” And as he was relaxing again, she put on a mischievous face and whispered: “… until now.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the pirate sit up angrily on the mattress but didn’t wait for his retort and turned her back on him, smiling as she went back to sleep.

Chapter Text

9. Hurt Me Tender

Two days before leaving for Wilmington, Brianna could barely hide her excitement. The thought of being allowed a semblance of freedom out of the plantation – maybe even send a message to her parents in secret, and especially buy some abortive plants – somewhat lifted the heavy burden of the last few weeks. So much so that she even caught herself smiling at the sight of Jeremiah running after Blue in the garden. The gentle late summer heat, the pleasant warmth of the sun on her face, the smell of dry land and flower beds… she could almost imagine Jamie stepping out on the porch to come and laugh with her at the sight of the child playing with his dog.

But instead of her father, it was Bonnet who interrupted her daydream announcing that they would have dinner earlier tonight, and Brianna’s smile faded. That change was not lost on the Irishman, who glared at her disappointedly and disappeared inside the house again. Until Phaedre completely burst Brianna's bubble and brought her back to reality.

“Jeremiah? Would you please go to your room and change? It’s nearly dinner time!”

“Already?”, Brianna wondered, looking down at her left wrist, before rolling her eyes. Four whole years in the eighteenth century, and she still had that damn reflex to search for her watch when she needed to know the time… “Isn't it a little early?”

“Mr. Bonnet’s order…”, Phaedre muttered with an apologetic look. Brianna frowned. Bonnet obviously wanted to rush supper and bedtime, but why? Had he planned something special? As long as I’m not that special thing…, she shuddered as she watched Jeremiah run up to his nanny, Blue yapping happily on his heels. “Did he say why?”

Phaedre shook her head and hurried home with the child, while Brianna started to feel anxious. The sun was not yet about to set, but its golden color and its angle in the sky told her it was probably around six o'clock. Bonnet was a night owl, they rarely had dinner before eight, sometimes even later. He had even given up on getting Jeremiah to eat with them, as the little boy literally fell asleep in his plate after seven-thirty. The curiosity was killing her, and Brianna ran to the magnificent bronze and gold clock (one of the many too heavy and useless pieces of furniture that Jocasta had not taken with her) on the mantlepiece. The hands barely indicated five-thirty. That was more than thirty minutes ahead of the time when Jeremiah was usually asked to get ready for dinner.

In the dining room, the footmen were already busy setting the table for two, debunking her theory of a last-minute guest. Maybe he has to be somewhere after dinner? Two hands suddenly slipped around her waist and she jumped. Too absorbed in her assumptions, she hadn't heard Bonnet approaching behind her.

“Are you going somewhere, tonight?”, she asked casually, trying to escape his wandering hands. But he held on, pulling her back to him as easily as a rag doll.

“No.”

Without giving more information, he leaned towards her neck to cover it with kisses, as if to let her know that the conversation was over and that he had other plans for her mouth. Wincing, Brianna squirmed, craning her neck backwards. If she kept on asking questions, maybe he would lose all desire to grope her. Or not… It’s hard to know with him. “Then why are we eating so early?”

“You always complain that we eat late…”, Bonnet breathed against her skin.

“I know, but I’ve gotten used to it... and now it's way too early, so I'm wondering...”

This time, Bonnet let out a loud groan and straightened up. He looked so exasperated that Brianna had to hide a triumphant smile. Stephen struggled for a moment to stay calm, as his wife waited patiently for answers.

“We eat early so you can go to bed early as well”, he explained with a fake smile. “Satisfied?”

Brianna blinked, analyzing the answer and everything it involved. Stephen was indeed trying to dismiss her for the evening, either because he was planning on sneaking out... or because someone was coming here and he didn't want her around. And above all, he had said “you”, which suggested that he would not go to bed with her, and just for that... Thank, God, she thought with a sigh of relief.

“Fine.”

Now, it was Bonnet's turn to blink stupidly. He certainly hadn't expected her to come to terms with the situation so quickly and frowned as he noticed the happy look on his young wife's face. “Good.” Considering the subject dropped, he relaxed and leaned over her again, but this time Brianna had anticipated his move and backed up sharply towards the stairs.

“I'll go and get ready, then. The sooner we have dinner, the sooner I can go upstairs and lie down. This day has been exhausting...”, she exclaimed emphatically. If it is even possible to be exhausted playing trophy wife... Bonnet's expression was so satisfying that Brianna had to bite her lip to suppress her laughter on the way out. This was not over, though; she was determined to sneak out of her room at nightfall and discover the identity of the mysterious visitor.

Bonnet had been quite silent throughout the meal, his eyes staring at the door leading to the entrance hall, and Bree had made a point of swallowing every bite at snail’s pace. If by any chance she did not finish her plate before their guest arrived, perhaps she would know who it was… In front of her, on the other side of the table, Bonnet saw right through her and regularly glared at his wife's cutlery, which didn't move fast enough for his liking. As she had barely started her dessert – a slice of apple pie – the silent guard usually assigned to keep a constant watch on her burst into the dining room, giving Stephen a simple nod.

“Well, darlin’... it is time for you to go to our room”, said the Irishman, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, before he remembered he had a towel for that and rubbed his hand on it.

“I haven't finished my...”

“Phaedre will bring it up to you.”

Her husband's tone was final – as were his eyes – and Brianna thought it best not to insist. Besides, the guard was already stepping forward to pull up her chair. One wrong word and he would probably throw her over his shoulder and carry her upstairs like a potato sack. Out of sheer pride, she grabbed her plate to carry it herself, with an evil expression that brought a smirk to the pirate's lips. After playing for time at supper, she tried to stall on her way to the stairs but the guard was following closely, forcing her to speed up and she was soon alone in their room, while the man stood in the hallway. Damn… Gobbling up her pie, she waited for him to return to his business, but the man didn’t seem determined to leave his post. After about twenty minutes spent with her cheek glued to the door panel, straining an ear for the slightest creaking of the floor that might indicate he was leaving, Brianna realized her mistake: the guard stayed there because she wasn't moving either. A normal woman would make noise taking off her clothes, then going to bed – especially with a bed as noisy as theirs. Her immobility betrayed her intentions to sneak out of the room as soon as he was gone. I must pretend I'm going to sleep...

She immediately let out a long sigh, as if she was getting tired to play cat and mouse. Then she took off her skirt and boots – dropping them heavily on the floor. Wearing only her underskirt, stockings, corset and blouse, she headed towards the dressing table, moved a few objects, plunged her hands in the water as if to spray herself, before putting on the finishing touch: carefully lifting the side table near the window, she crossed the room and placed the piece of furniture on the bed. The whole structure immediately creaked, as if she had just slipped between the sheets. Brianna leaned on the mattress once or twice – so that the guard would think she was making herself comfortable – and held her breath. Five endless minutes went by, during which she barely breathed for fear of missing the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, and she had to suppress a cry of triumph when he finally consented to go back downstairs.

She waited five more minutes, keeping all of her senses alert, before turning the doorknob to crack the door open. The hallway was clear; there was no sign of the guard or anyone else for that matter. Down the hall to her right, she could hear Jeremiah sucking his thumb as he fell asleep, but that was about it. Noiselessly, she started to go down the stairs with infinite care, avoiding the sixth step which tended to creak loudly.

The closer she got to the entrance hall, the more she heard the deep tones of a man's voice; upper class without doubt and definitely English. It was when the guest suddenly burst into laughter that she immediately recognized the annoying voice of the Governor himself. He sent me to my room because of Tryon? This was not the Governor’s first visit in River Run. It could only mean one thing: Bonnet and Tryon had to discuss something they wanted to keep private, and Brianna immediately felt the adrenaline rush through her veins. She had to get closer and find out what they were talking about. Suddenly, there was a noise on her left, in the corridor that led to the kitchens, and she barely had time to get into a dark corner before her guard passed by, holding two glasses and a bottle of whiskey on a tray. As he opened the living room door with one hand and rushed inside, the young woman could overhear a few snippets of conversation.

“… next spring. I doubt they will receive the crates before that and they might be suspicious if we launch an assault at the same time”, Tryon said as the guard served him a glass.

“Sure. And there will be other interesting events before that...”

Bonnet's voice was suave, a bit lewd even. Brianna frowned, wondering what he meant. There was undoubtedly a double meaning to his sentence, for Tryon chuckled, soon imitated by his partner.

“This night is a try-out before December 25th. It is imperative for us to make good money out of this… and sound out our audience. If it does not work in Wilmington, it will not work in New Bern either…”

“The audience of North Carolina might not be as receptive as in France, but once they get a taste of what we have to offer…”, Stephen sneered.

“I did get a glimpse of Mr. Joyce's collection last week... I was already enthralled, and then he said he was keeping the best part for New Bern. Can you imagine?”

Both men laughed. Brianna was wondering what kind of collection they were talking about, when Stephen's voice rose again. “Close the door.” There were footsteps, then the guard's massive hand fell on the handle to close the panel and Brianna found herself again deprived of light and sound. Cautiously, she got a little closer, walking through the shadows until she slipped behind a thick curtain. Bonnet and Tryon were definitely talking business, but without context, she couldn’t understand a thing. She needed to know more.

“… -ervous?”

“I’d rather meet somewhere else. But you insisted…”, Stephen growled before clearing his throat.

“I wanted to make sure you knew how to keep your wife in check... Did she complain when you confined her to your bedroom?”

“Barely. I have to say she is getting a little more... pliant every day.”

The tone he had used made Brianna feel nauseous as she knew perfectly well what he was referring to. Bonnet's voice was so sweet and lustful that it left no room for imagination.

“As every good wife should be”, Tryon said with a smug laugh.

“I like them best with a little more bite.”

They laughed for a few seconds at this tasteful joke (by their own standards), until Tryon went on in a more confidential tone:

“Between you and me, my dear Bonnet, the only advantage of marriage is that we can legally do to our wives things that would send us to the gallows in other circumstances.”

Motherfucker… This was too much for Brianna. Their sweet tone contrasted with the violence of their words and she no longer felt able to listen to them without screaming.

“Speaking of your wife… Guess who offered me to fight for the Crown against the Scottish rebels?”

There was a silence, during which Bonnet probably shrugged.

“Her father. Jamie Fraser himself almost begged me to join the ranks of our army. That giant fool thinks I don’t know that he is looking for information about his daughter or my involvement in this whole thing… But I must admit that it is quite entertaining to see him betray his Scottish brothers… for nothing.” Another silence. Tryon emptied his glass and put it back on the table. “I think I will ask him to wear a red coat, one of these days. A crushing humiliation for him, and an immeasurable delight for me.”

Behind her curtain, Brianna clenched her teeth, her fists, her eyelids… She would definitely explode and throw herself at the governor's throat if she stayed there listening to them. The sound of a chair being pulled finally convinced her to leave, in case one of the three men inside the room decided to go out. Back in their room, she leaned over her dressing table, her fingernails digging into her palms and breathing heavily. She needed to calm down, make a mental list of everything she had learned during this conversation. Her father was looking for information. Two events were scheduled: one in Wilmington – probably the thing Bonnet had mentioned when she had begged him to go there – and another one in New Bern on December 25th. They were talking about something else when I arrived… Something that would happen next spring? But Brianna no longer knew if she had forgotten the information or if she had simply not heard it.

Another one of Stephen’s sentences played on a loop in her brain, obscuring everything else and making her blood boil. She had let him take possession of her body for one night. One single night. She had played perfect wife for Jeremiah's sake... And here he was, claiming that she was becoming pliant. Truth be told, he had been far too happy to see her ceding ground. She had seen a flame in his eyes. By losing one battle, she had rekindled his sick fantasy of seducing her by any possible means. And if there was one thing that was hard to smother, it was the fire that burned within Stephen Bonnet – no matter what had started it.

About half an hour later, she was still fuming and pacing in front of her dressing table, when the bedroom door opened. Brianna glared at the mirror and noticed Stephen looked surprised to see her standing there half-dressed. But surprise very quickly gave way to the puckish expression he always wore when he played perfect gentleman with her. Soon she felt his hands grab her waist and Brianna closed her eyes, disgusted by the idea of feeling him inside her again, so quickly after his last assault and even more after what she had just heard. She tried to push him away and felt his fingers dig a little deeper into her flesh. Message received: he would never give her a moment’s rest. He wouldn’t stop until he had bent her to his will. Until she had lost all will to rebel.

There was a slight metallic hiss when Bonnet removed his knife from its scabbard to cut off the laces on her back, and Brianna suddenly remembered Phaedre's tears while she was mending the last dress he had torn up, on that night. The man did not seem to know how to remove a garment without ripping it apart. He destroys everything he touches…, Brianna thought as her blouse and corset hit the floor. Bonnet rested his knife on the dressing table, staring at her defiantly. His eyes were literally challenging her to take it, so that she would know what would happen to her if she was stupid enough to use it, but Brianna stood still. Without further ado, he released her from her undershirt, exposing her bare breasts in front of the mirror. Immediately, he covered them with his hands, squeezing and kneading, while pulling Brianna against him so that she felt his desire against her buttocks. Leaning into the crook of her neck, he bit the skin there, gushing over its softness and purity, which he had (according to him) “never seen in any other woman before her”. He felt her shudder under his fingers, but nothing more. Silence means consent… as was Stephen Bonnet's motto when it came to quenching his thirst for flesh. Still stroking her with his eager hands, he then proceeded to pull her hips backwards and force her to lean over the dressing table.

Brianna found it increasingly difficult to stay calm and detached; he could feel it by the way her back heaved and fell to the rhythm of her erratic breathing. He was working on his breeches when she finally let out a threatening growl. “Stop that. Now...”

With a quick and firm motion, he wrapped one arm around her, his fingers tightening around her jaw while the tips of his index and middle fingers gently played with her lips. “Shhh, darlin’… remember what I said last time… it's up to you whether you want to make things harder or not, Brianna…”

The young woman closed her eyes, disgusted by the way her pretty name rolled on Bonnet's tongue. She took a deep breath through her nose, smelling the scent of cold tobacco. Probably a cigar he had smoked with Tryon earlier. Thinking about Tryon – and his way of insulting her father – only enraged Brianna a little more. She clenched her jaw, eagerly awaiting the moment when Stephen would divide his attention. As she wasn't moving, Bonnet’s hand slowly left his wife's mouth. He wasn't quick enough, however, to avoid the young woman's teeth, biting his index finger. Hard.

Cursing loudly, Bonnet first tried to free his finger from the trap that had closed in on it, to no avail. With his other hand, he then spun Brianna around and grabbed her throat to suffocate her. She eventually opened her mouth before his fingers could do any damage to her windpipe and he immediately took a step back. His index finger was bleeding on both sides, where Bree’s teeth had left small purple dashes.

“I thought you liked them best with a little more bite?”, she spat with a cold smile. The expression she wore right now was in no way inferior to the cruelty she had witnessed on Bonnet's face years ago. And her evil smile widened as she thought that he was only reaping what he had sowed.

Stephen's eyes widened with fury, wandering from Brianna to the blade resting on the dressing table. She had brought out the demon. It was almost better that way, as the little number he pulled to North Carolina’s high society literally made her sick. His green irises darkened as he realized she had overheard his conversation with Tryon and he became even more impressive, more terrifying, than a second earlier.

“There we are…”, Brianna hissed between her teeth. “The beast is back, in all its glory... The real Stephen Bonnet.”

He grabbed the back of her neck with his unharmed hand and brutally pulled her face to his. “Seems to make you happy...”

“Honestly? It does... This gentleman masquerade, it doesn't suit you at all… Makes me want to throw up…” Joining her thumb and forefinger as if she was grabbing a grimy rag, she pinched the collar of his waistcoat and winced. “All the finest clothes, all the money in the world, all the title deeds in North Carolina won't change that… I know who you are. You’re the maggot inside the apple; the fleabag disguising as a King.” She felt his fingers squeeze the back of her neck, but rather than scaring her, it made her want to hurt him even more. “You are the scumbag who beat me and raped me in a tavern. I didn’t know someone could do so much harm in barely a minute, by the way. I guess that’s one of your personal bests...”

“You better control your mouth, Brianna”, the Irishman growled, undoing his breeches with his injured hand.

“Or what?” She let out a dry laugh, throwing her head back, before pressing her forehead against his. “You’re going to rape me?” She raised her eyebrows, as if that threat didn't scare her anymore. It wouldn't be the first time, after all... and probably not the last. He pulled her petticoat up over her thighs and was about to penetrate her when she grabbed his face with both hands and whispered against his ear – her voice dripping with sarcasm: “By all means, my love… Do it. Help me remember every day who… you… are.”

Each and every one of Bonnet's muscles tensed at the last three words and as she pulled away, Brianna saw in his emerald eyes the same pain as when he had mentioned is fear of drowning. She had hit a nerve: his desire to change was only matched by his fear of being unable to do so. And now, he would give free rein to his fury; he would take her violently and prove her right.

Seconds passed, as quickly as the panel of emotions in the pirate's gaze: doubt, fear, excitement, anger, fascination… and Brianna prepared to pay the price for her act of rebellion. But he still wasn't moving.

“What are you waiting for?”, she barked, her eyes widening with anger. She felt he was doing everything he could to control himself, for the sheer pleasure of making her lie and proving her wrong. But she was not wrong. He was and would always be the worst louse in her private hell. And it was that immutable fact that kept her from losing her mind in the insane dollhouse that was now River Run. Bonnet didn't answer and let her go to pull up his breeches – with a now neutral and indecipherable expression.

“No…”, Brianna breathed, feeling sick. He couldn't prove her wrong, not now, not like this. She pushed him brutally, her face distorted by hatred. “You won't get away with this. You are a monster. Act like one.”

But all anger had definitely left Bonnet's eyes and he let her mistreat him like a dropped puppet, undisturbed. “It is time for you to accept the new me…”, he said simply as he walked over to his closet, probably to put on a shirt for the night.

Brianna laughed sarcastically, but couldn't stand the sight of him turning his back on her. She grabbed the knife on the dressing table and swept her arm in front of her, feeling a slight resistance as the tip hit its target. A slash a few inches long was now visible in Stephen's sleeve, gradually dying red with his blood. He looked down at the wound, disconcertingly slowly, before walking towards Brianna again.

“Come on... make me pay, I know that’s all you want...”

She could hear her own voice coming out of her throat, without recognizing it. She sounded just like the snake from the Garden of Eden persuading Eve to eat an apple. But surprisingly enough, Bonnet delicately took the blade from her hand and put it back on the dressing table. Brianna was so dejected by this new failure that tears immediately filled her eyes. “If I didn't know you better, my love, I’d think that’s all you want…”, he whispered, using her own words to mock her.

“So that I can keep on hating you...”

“Why? Are you scared of forgetting your hatred in favor of something else?” He grabbed Brianna’s hips to pull her against him.

“Not even in your wildest dreams”, she replied harshly.

He traced his hands up her waist, until his thumbs brushed the delicate skin of her breasts. The anger and the ambient coolness in the room had made them stiff and he had to resist the urge to press himself against her.

“You are nothing if you don’t hate me... And you are terrified to discover who you could be if I became the sweetest of husbands...” As he punctuated his sentences with kisses along her left shoulder, Brianna’s skin covered in goosebumps.

“Stop…”

“See? I too can say things that hurt…”, he whispered against her ear.

She pushed him back and slapped him violently, hoping he would retaliate. But once again, he didn't. Even better: he gave her a smug smile and she felt her last mental barriers break down. “What the hell are you waiting for?!”, she yelled, her eyes full of tears.

A second slap caught him on his left cheek and instead of losing his temper, he blocked her arm and drew her gently to him. Brianna let out a sob. He had got over his anger and she knew she had just lost another battle when Bonnet's lips brushed hers, as softly as the wings of a butterfly. Desperate, Brianna tried her best to provoke but he held on, responding to every attack with more gentleness, more chaste kisses. She was ready to crack up, on the verge of hysterics, and she began to struggle – scratching, biting, hitting the Irishman's body with her fists and knees. But the more she beat him, the tighter he hugged her and any movement was soon impossible. Brianna thus used her last bodily function available and let out a long, heart-wrenching cry as she burst into tears, her forehead resting against Bonnet's shoulder.

As he slightly loosened his grip, his arms – like two dangerous pythons – slipped around her back: one hand going up behind her neck, and the other down to the small of her back. This embrace disgusted her, but it also had the surprising effect of calming her down and Brianna slowly regained control of her breathing.

“Do you want me to go back to my old self?”, he whispered into the crook of her neck. Squeezing her eyelids shut, Brianna nodded. He pulled away from her, just enough to look her straight in the eye, and shook his head. “That will never happen.”

“You won’t be able to play nice forever, it's just not in your nature…”, she snorted.

“Maybe…” He smirked, pushing back a red lock that was stuck to her damp cheek. “It’s a good thing I have you here… every day… to remind me why I am doing all this.”

Brianna's lower lip began to tremble. If he got his daily dose of motivation just by laying eyes on her when he woke up, then there was no hope left for her. He would never slide back into violence as long as she was at his mercy. No one would ever see who he really was and she couldn't leave him without losing Jemmy forever. It was a vicious cycle, a never-ending story. Or rather a never happy-ending story.

Suddenly, Stephen took a step back. The warmth of his body disappeared and Brianna shivered, crossing her arms over her breasts to hide them. Not that she still had any modesty in front of him, but after being pushed to the limit like that, she felt vulnerable. Naked in every sense of the word. And ashamed.

“You should go and sleep with Jeremiah tonight… You could use a little rest. And while you’re at it, think about your situation…” He leaned towards her and without touching any other part of her body, he placed an innocent kiss on her forehead. “What you could win... Or lose…” Then, bending down to grab her dressing gown from the back of the chair, he handed it to her. “And when we leave for Wilmington, I’m sure Mr. and Mrs. Bonnet will undoubtedly be happy and very much in love again.”

Brianna didn't answer. Clenching her teeth and wrinkling her nose, she snatched the dressing gown from Stephen's fingers and rushed for the exit.

Chapter Text

10. Bath Water

On the worm-eaten wooden sign that swayed in the sea breeze, the branches of the willow tree seemed to taunt her. The place had not changed one bit; dust and grime still covered the corners of the lattice windows, the facade had probably not been repainted in a good decade, and the same stench of bad alcohol and sweat emanated from it whenever a customer pushed the door open. The Willow Tree Tavern had remained unchanged since her last visit, more than four years earlier. The day all hell had broken loose. She'd never thought of it before, but the very fact that nothing had changed in this cesspit – where everyone had looked away as she was brutally assaulted and raped – was extraordinarily violent. Why was the tavern entitled to such a privilege, even though Brianna's stay within its walls had altered her life forever?

Darlin’…

The wind stirred the sign again, and it creaked, as if laughing at the frail, motionless figure of the young woman below. An unpleasant buzzing sound filled her ears, gradually blocking the hubbub of the crowd around her in Wilmington, as well as another voice… closer and more insistent than the others. She also felt a painful pressure in her rib cage and her lips parted to let more of the sea air in, as anxiety was slowly taking hold of her. A man pushed the door of the tavern open, and again the smell filled her nostrils, taking her deeper into her sordid memories. She could almost hear her own screams. Taste the blood on her lips.

Brianna...

She knew she had to look away and run as far away from the tavern as possible, but her feet wouldn’t move and her eyes refused to leave the mocking sign. Under her corset, her heart was pounding against her ribs and she wondered how much time would pass before she collapsed in the middle of the street.

“Brianna!”

Bonnet's angry voice as well as the pressure of his fingers around her arm pulled her immediately from her waking nightmare and she jumped, turning her wild eyes in his direction. The buzzing in her ears died away instantly, and the ambient noise from the street took over. Brianna blinked several times and quickly released her arm from her husband's grip. The shock of walking past the tavern again had taken her by surprise and she had frozen, paralyzed by a trauma she had tried to suppress for years. Especially since she was married to Bonnet. Taking a step back, she saw the Irishman’s green irises turn briefly to the tavern, then come back to rest on her, this time with a flicker of embarrassment. Each one knew exactly what the other was thinking, to the point that they didn't even have to say anything out loud.

“Why we standing here, Mama?”, Jemmy drawled. Brianna looked down, escaping Bonnet's insistent gaze, and put on a reassuring smile. Reaching out, she lifted the boy off the muddy ground and, being careful not to soil her dress, held the child against her waist to kiss his forehead.

“It's nothing, Jem. For a moment, I just…” She shook her head, not knowing how to finish her sentence. “I thought I heard a bird up there but it was nothing more than that stupid sign.”

Jemmy narrowed his eyes and immediately craned his neck to have a look. Bonnet's hand seized her arm again, more gently this time, but that didn't stop Brianna from glaring at him. The mood since Tryon's visit and their heated argument had been somewhat strange, but she had done her best to play along, most of the time. However, it had confirmed some of her fears: it was much easier for her to fake happiness (and preserve her sanity) than to provoke Stephen by constantly waging guerrilla warfare on him.

“Let's find your apothecary… People are startin’ to wonder what we're doin’ in the middle of the str-…”, he began before staring at something over his wife's shoulder, and a huge fake smile appeared on his lips. Behind Bree, the French bourgeois she had briefly met at their own reception – just before her fists met Forbes’ face – was approaching.

“Ah, if it izn’t Monsieur Bonnet and ’is adorable son!”, the newcomer trumpeted, stopping beside them and adding coldly: “Madame Bonnet”. The man probably hadn't appreciated her escaping his courteous kiss on the hand at the reception, and the young woman had to refrain from rolling her eyes. “I never thought you would come ’ere with your family...”

“Me neither, actually”, replied the Irishman, nodding. “But my beloved wife needed to buy a few things in town...”

“Ah!”, the Frenchman laughed, his black patch twitching above his lip. “It iz indeed wiser to go shopping with zem... I once made ze mistake of leaving my purse to my wife. Never came back…”

“The purse or your wife?”, Brianna asked, drawing a smirk from Bonnet, while his friend’s laughter instantly died down. The man looked down on her for a few seconds before turning his back on her and pointing at the tavern, a few feet away.

“Bonnet, don't tell me you're staying in zis hovel while you're in town?”

“Lord Tryon was kind enough to let us stay in one of his properties, in a more… respectable neighborhood. Like I said, we're only here to shop”, Bonnet replied, but despite his sweet tone, his expression had darkened. As if he didn't like the only places that once opened their doors to him being called “hovels”.

“Very well, zen. I will not bozher you any longer! We will surely meet again tonight at… ”

Brianna's eyes immediately lit up and although he did not show it, Bonnet had noticed her sudden interest and he spoke hastily to keep the Frenchman from saying anything else in front of his wife.

“I will be there, of course. Have a great day.”

After a brief nod, his friend took his leave and Bonnet watched him for a moment before turning to Brianna again. Her cheeks were less pale and she was obviously doing her best not to look at the tavern. The Irishman smiled encouragingly and offered her his arm. As Jemmy fidgeted against her, Brianna put him back on the ground and mechanically wrapped her hand around Bonnet's elbow as they walked.

The young woman's breath was still a tad erratic when they arrived at the apothecary – where her mother used to buy medicinal plants – but each step that took her further away from the tavern had helped lower her heart rate. She had to stop thinking about it. Bury the memory back in the depths of her brain and go back to normal. Well, as normal as life could be around Stephen Bonnet...

Stephen immediately let go of her arm to open the door and stepped aside to let her in first. His green eyes caught something or someone further down the street again and as she entered the shop, Brianna vaguely thought he had spotted another one of his clients or ‘friends’ in the crowd. She didn’t care, to be honest. She had a more important mission.

Behind the counter, serving a customer, the apothecary looked up and waved his hand, inviting her to wait. Brianna smiled nervously and to hide her embarrassment, began to walk along the shelves. Those were covered with jars of all sizes and shapes, and filled with various herbs, solutions and ointments. Craning his neck, Jemmy immediately began to trot back and forth in the alleys, fascinated by the colorful fluids and the most bizarre contents. He was standing on tiptoes, reaching for a jar filled with yellowish liquid and a certainly poisonous snake floating in it, when Brianna called him to order.

“Jemmy, don't!”, she hissed, but before she could do anything, Bonnet had crossed the store and lifted the child in his arms so that he could have a better look at the jar without breaking any goods. Behind them, two young women in their twenties were whispering at each other and giggling stupidly. A few yards away, the apothecary finally got to the other side of his counter to walk his client to the door.

“What can I do for you?”, he asked Brianna with a smile, while watching Stephen and Jeremiah out of the corner of his eye. Both were making funny faces in front of a large metallic box that distorted their reflections. There was another round of giggles coming from the girls, and Brianna rolled her eyes. She hated him so much that she systematically forgot the effect of Bonnet's good looks on other women. Women who were unable to see the wolf hiding under the silky sheepskin. Bree suddenly wished she could grab them by the collar and shake them like snow-globes. Open your eyes ! Open your fucking eyes, God dammit!

“I would like to buy some chamomile, and also plants to sleep better…”, she began, following the man in the shop. “Linden, passionflower…” The apothecary nodded and after checking that Bonnet could not hear her, she added hastily, “… and sage, too. Please.”

The man paused, his eyes moving quickly from Brianna to Stephen, then back to Brianna. But he was probably used to these kinds of requests and according to Claire, he had always been extremely discreet. So much so that he just nodded again before making his way among the shelves. The young woman sighed in relief and followed him, praying that the second part of her plan would go as well as the first. Luckily, fate seemed to be on her side and offered her a welcome diversion.

“Is this your son?”, asked one of the girls, approaching Bonnet and Jemmy with a smile. The other girl followed suit, not even pretending to pay the boy any attention and batting her eyelashes at the pirate. The latter smirked flirtatiously and nodded, causing his audience to squeal.

“He's so cute!”

“He looks just like you!”

“Not exactly…”, Bonnet said with a chuckle. “He has his mother's beautiful eyes.”

“Really? I didn’t notice...”, retorted the first girl, while Brianna once again rolled her eyes exasperatedly. The apothecary glanced at her and smiled, his arms full of boxes that he carried to the counter, while giving her more information on dosage. Brianna perked up her ears to make sure Bonnet was still busy with his two groupies, and leaned forward, lowering her voice.

“Do you know if Claire Fraser placed an order recently?” The man frowned, suddenly suspicious and Brianna added quickly: “I'm her daughter. I... I would like to send her a message.” The day before, while she was alone, she had written a few reassuring sentences about her situation, wished her mother a happy birthday a few weeks in advance, and addressed a kind word to each member of the Fraser family. Slowly, she pulled the folded piece of paper from her sleeve and casually wedged it between her fingers and the counter. As if he fully understood what was going on, the apothecary glanced at the Irishman, then reached out for the note.

“Mrs. Fraser has not ordered anything from me, but I can send her some samples of the excellent ointments that I just received. I am sure she will find them to be very useful for her patients.”

God bless you…, Brianna sighed inwardly as she smiled and nodded approvingly. Behind her, Bonnet was still enjoying the company of the two flirtatious clients, and when she turned her attention back to the apothecary, the message had already disappeared in his pocket.

“I suppose you know what you're doing with those plants? Your mother must have explained to you how much not to take…”, he went on, preparing pieces of string to tie the different plants into bouquets. Brianna pursed her lips. He obviously wasn’t talking about the chamomile — which she intended for Jemmy's shampoos — or herbs for sleep disorders.

“Yes, she did…”

“Still… You should be careful.” He looked again at Bonnet and Jemmy. “Some men don’t appreciate women who interfere with… God’s will.”

“If there is a God and He heard my plea, then He will make sure that I don't have to use this sage to begin with...”, Brianna whispered gloomily.

The apothecary nodded, his lips pursed, and glanced again at the young woman's family. “May He hear you.” And then added a little louder: “Five shillings, please.”

Brianna reached to her side by reflex, before she realized that she had no purse, no wallet... not even a single penny to give the shopkeeper. She was biting her lip embarrassedly, when an arm appeared on her left to put the requested amount on the counter. The apothecary smiled politely at Bonnet with a “Thank you very much, Sir”, while Brianna cleared her throat to compose herself and quickly grabbed her purchases. As she spun around to leave, she nearly collided with the pirate's chest. He had approached as silently as a mouse… What if he had overheard the end of her conversation with the apothecary? She looked into the Irishman's eyes and analyzed them carefully. There was no sign of anger or betrayal in his green irises. Not wanting to arouse his suspicions by staring at him for no reason, Bree smiled sheepishly and they headed for the door under the jealous eyes of the two seductresses.

For more than an hour, they crisscrossed Wilmington again – walking from shop to shop much to Jemmy’s delight, whom Bonnet spoiled at every opportunity. Even if Brianna would not have admitted it under torture – and despite Bonnet’s close surveillance – she was glad to be here. She had picked up her plants, sent her message, and melting into the crowd like a normal citizen had somewhat taken a load off her mind. She could almost forget her husband’s presence by her side, enjoying every other sensation: the sun on her face, the smell of cooking-pots simmering in the nearby houses, the bursts of laughter coming from sailors standing in front of a brothel. Even the smell of horse dung that smeared the streets was almost pleasant. Just being outside the four walls of River Run sublimated every aspect of this moment. So much so that she noticed neither the recurring glances Bonnet cast in dark corners, nor the crouching figure that hid there and had been following them since they had left the apothecary.

As they made their way back to Tryon’s townhouse, however, Brianna could no longer ignore the fact that the day was coming to an end. And like a prisoner finishing his daily walk, she was going back to her cell, or rather the room she would share with Bonnet, like every other evening. She thought she had gotten used to it, but after today’s semblance of freedom, going back to this new normal was all the more cruel. When they arrived at the carriage entrance that led to the property, she glared at it as if the painted wooden panel was responsible for her misfortune. Bonnet banged his fist twice against the boards and waited for his henchman – the one who was usually asked to watch Brianna when Bonnet was away – to open the door from the inside. Without a word, Brianna was about to cross the threshold when the Irishman grabbed her arm and spun her around, before asking Jeremiah to go and play with Blue before dinner. The little boy didn't need to be asked twice and – his arms filled with his new toys – scampered off into the garden, soon followed by Bonnet's prison guard.

“I'm not coming in, I have to go. There are people I need to see”, he said, pulling his wife close to him.

Oh… That's right, Frenchie said they would meet again tonight… The young woman suppressed a sigh of relief and just nodded. “Will you be home late?” Please say yes, please say yes...

“I might be.”

Silence fell in the alley, except for the rumble of a carriage slowly passing by and the hubbub of the crowd coming from the surrounding streets.

“Very well, then. Have a nice evening…”, Bree muttered, suddenly more tempted by the prospect of pacing the floor alone than hanging around with her husband. She turned away, but Bonnet held her back again and she gave him a questioning look.

“Kiss me.”

It wasn't a question or a request. It was a command, even if the words were soft spoken, and Brianna was determined to resist.

“We’re in the middle of the street, that’s inappropriate…”, she said, giggling like a teenager so that he would not get angry, but Bonnet immediately played along.

“Come on, darlin’, we're almost alone, so to speak...”, he whispered, sliding his hands around her waist. “And I could never bear to leave you for hours without a kiss...”

Like every time he tested her docility, Bonnet did not come to capture her lips and just stared at them insistently. Patiently waiting for her to lay down her arms and initiate the kiss of her own free will. And like every time, Brianna knew she had no choice. Any grimace, any refusal, any rude remark and he could legally take Jeremiah away from her. Plus, the sooner he got what he wanted, the sooner she could take refuge in her room with her son. Hoping he wouldn’t come back until the early morning.

Turning her thoughts into deeds, she closed her eyes and craned her neck to bring their lips together, without even trying to protest when Bonnet pressed her against his chest and slid one hand down to her lower back. The Irishman, however, had kept his eyelids wide open, and if Brianna had done the same, she would have seen that he was not staring at her but at the corner of the alley, where stood the gaunt, shaggy figure that had followed them almost all afternoon.

Stephen hadn't recognized him right away, but as they made their way through Wilmington with the intruder in their wake, he'd come to identify that bastard MacKenzie. He looked scruffy, his beard had not seen a razor for months… but there he was, lurking in the shadows, hatred and rage literally sweating from each and every one of his pores. Stephen had wondered how to increase his wrath – how to push him to the limit; that was why he had played perfect father and husband all afternoon, showering Jeremiah with gifts and giving Bree his arm like a perfect gentleman. He had only thought of the kiss in the final moments of their stroll, and he had to admit he was quite proud of himself. Clenching his fists, MacKenzie had turned away and disappeared down the street before Brianna even ended the kiss. Perfect…

Suddenly, the cool late afternoon air replaced the pleasant feeling of Brianna's lips on his and he looked down, unable to hold back a triumphant grin. But the young woman did not seem to care much about it; she was used to seeing this expression on his face every time he managed to get a tender gesture, a kiss or sexual intercourse from her. She would never suspect that the battle he had just won had not been fought against her. And it was with undisguised satisfaction that Stephen watched her go inside the house and closed the carriage door before blending back into the crowd.

~o~

When Brianna awoke, Bonnet was already up and ready to go about his mysterious business despite his late return during the night. She had pretended to be asleep, somehow ignoring his alcohol and tobacco breath when he had collapsed on the mattress. Even at dawn, waking up, he hadn't done anything to her. He probably could not wait to meet his partners and... and what, exactly? She still had no clue what he was doing for a living and it was downright frustrating. How was it even possible to live in isolation with a person without having the slightest idea of his daily activities? With an annoyed sigh, she prepared herself to spend the next few hours alone with Jemmy. Not that she was complaining, but she had hoped for another “normal” half-day again before they returned to River Run. Get some fresh air, walk free in the streets... And why not try to find help, a friendly face, or some support. Once Stephen was gone, she dressed Jeremiah up and tried to leave – only to come face to face with her chaperone, who was waiting just behind the front door. The man glared at her, probably to dissuade her from venturing out of the property.

His silence and his bulldog face had a knack of annoying her. An entire season had passed since she had become Mrs. Bonnet and despite that, she did not know his name or the sound of his voice. As if Stephen had strictly forbidden him to communicate with her. He was there to watch, and he was watching. Like a goddamn robot.

“Would you fancy a stroll?”, Brianna asked cheekily. No answer. “A little walk around the city?” The man frowned and his upper lip curled slightly, so much so that Brianna half-expected him to growl and bark. “Maybe just in the neighborhood then?”

It was too much for the guard, who towered over her, blocking the way out. He was so massive that he seemed to take up all the space in the doorway, and Brianna almost took a step back. Message received: she would not leave the premises. Even under his watch.

“Very well… Maybe we could get to know each other, then? What's your name?”

Only silence answered and she seriously started to doubt his hearing and talking capacities.

“No name…”, Brianna mumbled as the guy forced her back inside the house. Realizing that the stroll was canceled, Jeremiah ran back into the small living room with Blue – without even wondering why they were not allowed to leave. Bree was envious of his innocence, protecting him from the violence of their situation. She wasn’t so lucky. “Hmm, I guess I’ll have to find you one”, she sighed wearily. To be completely honest, she was just dying to take it out on someone and since Bonnet wasn't around, his lackey would be the perfect victim. She examined his ruddy face, unsightly features, drooping chops and baleful gaze. “Let's see… Sleepy? Sneezy? Bashful?”, she muttered, squinting. The other did not react. “Oh, I know! Happy! It does kind of suit you! I mean, look at you…”

The man blinked twice, the rest of his body perfectly still and expressionless. Devoid of all joy and intelligence.

“Tell me, Mr. Happy… Do you have a wife somewhere? Children?” As he still refused to answer, she went on with ever greater insolence: “Another occupation than just standing there outside my door?”

“Grmpf…”, the man growled, with a disapproving glance.

Brianna let a few seconds pass, just long enough for an extremely awkward silence to settle between them, then a fake smile spread across her lips. “All right, great talk.”

Frustrated, she closed the door again and resigned herself to continue the preparation of Jeremiah's chamomile shampoo that she had started the night before. Trying to coax Bonnet’s bodyguard was useless: he was either overpaid to be tempted to betray his boss, or too terrified of the consequences if he did. The only person who could free her from her prison was her jailer himself, but that wouldn't happen until his return and only to be transferred back to her initial cell.

When Bonnet finally reappeared in the early afternoon, he did not come to ask for his usual kiss. Brianna had no problem with that, but the sullen glances he gave her throughout the eight hour ride to River Run were almost as reassuring as his usual lewd, calculating looks. In other words, they were not. And the only sentences that crossed the barrier of his lips were all addressed to Jeremiah. Something was wrong, and Brianna started to wonder whether Happy had told him about the incident. Impossible... That would have required him to be able to talk instead of simply growl…

The Irishman’s mood, however, seemed to brighten again when they arrived at the plantation, where he asked Phaedre to prepare a hot bath for him after dinner. Brianna was thanking God for this sudden urge that would allow her to go to bed before her husband, when Bonnet wiped out all her plans.

“I would like to try this mixture you intend to use on our son's head... You don't mind, darlin’?”

“Absolutely not,” she retorted disingenuously. So much so that Bonnet slightly frowned before heading upstairs, without a word. Nor did he speak at dinner, which was therefore only disturbed by the annoying sound of cutlery and that – even more unbearable –of Bonnet's mouth devouring his meat and gulping down his wine as if he hadn't had a proper meal in a whole year.

It was, however, with a satisfied sigh that he slid into the bathtub filled with steaming water, casually resting his arms on the edges and throwing his head back. Standing by the dressing table, where she had placed her bottles of freshly made shampoo, Brianna did not move an inch. Her eyes had caught the blade Bonnet used to shave his face; the silver luster of the razor, resting on the varnished wooden surface, seemed to defy her. Inviting her to take it and slit the throat of the man lying in the hot water, relaxed and vulnerable. Put an end to her nightmare and avoid spending her life in the hands of her rapist. The steel reflected the flames of candles on the dressing table, hypnotizing her, and Brianna felt her heart race. It seemed so easy, so obvious. One small, well-placed cut and it would all be over.

About thirty seconds passed, during which her gaze went multiples times from shampoo to razor, then from razor to shampoo. Toying with the idea of a quick ending to this whole situation. Until a movement and the sound of water behind her tore her out of her trance and brought her back to reality. She couldn't kill Bonnet. Not like this. Even if, by some miracle, she managed to finish him off before he pounced on her – all of this without alerting any of his men in the house – she would still have to pick Jeremiah up and leave River Run unspotted. Not to mention the dozens of miles that she would have to travel before she could find any help. And all this to finally be accused of murder and sentenced to death. Because Tryon would never let her live if she murdered his new best friend.

Suddenly, the razor did not seem as tempting as it was a second earlier and she quickly grabbed the bottle of shampoo to pop the cork out, unaware that behind her Stephen had not missed a second of her internal debate. When she turned back towards the tub, however, he had closed his eyes and she put on a neutral face. As she knelt on one side of the tub, near his head, Brianna saw him open his eyes and stare at her with an enigmatic smile. Had he sensed her thoughts, her desire to murder him? Probably. He was one of those wild animals who could detect danger from miles away, simply by sniffing the wind.

“You have to wet your hair first…”

Stephen narrowed his eyes and wondered if after considering slitting his throat she was just opting for drowning him instead. Especially now that she knew about his phobia. With slow gestures, he slid deeper in the bathtub, throwing his head back to immerse his hair but not his face – and watching Brianna the whole time, until he judged his scalp was wet enough. Brianna's expression, on the other hand, had not changed a bit – which was a tad suspicious, to be honest – and she waited for him to straighten up again, before pouring some oily liquid into her palm. Slowly, she spread the shampoo over the roots and lengths, before digging her fingers and rubbing his scalp thoroughly. Bonnet seemed to relax and sighed again, smirking as usual.

Of course, he's having the time of his life…, Brianna thought bitterly. In this posture, washing his hair like a servant, she was in complete submission. Resisting the urge to smack his head against the edge of the tub, Brianna made a point of scrubbing his hair with the utmost gentleness, massaging the scalp as she did with Jeremiah. After a few long minutes, she got up and – wiping her hands against her dress – recapped the bottle as he dived back in the water to rinse. Finally. Maybe he'll get off my back, now...

But of course, getting off her back was not on the agenda and as she put the bottle back on the dressing table, she felt a hand grab her skirt to pull her backwards.

“Take off your clothes.”

Brianna closed her eyes and breathed in slowly. She was exhausted, and just wanted to curl up in their bed and sleep for a week straight. But then again, Bonnet's plans did not include those activities.

“Stephen…”

“Take off your clothes and get in there.”

His tone was final and she knew she had no choice. With an exasperated sigh, she untied her bodice, took all her clothes off one by one and threw them in a corner of the room. Being naked in Bonnet’s presence was not a problem anymore; her irritation was mainly due to the fact that once again he was depriving her of her freedom of decision. Between him and his silent bodyguard, she was tired of following orders unquestioningly.

“With a smile, darlin’.”

Brianna’s mouth dropped in shock. Bonnet had sensed her anger. He was playing with it, even. In response, the young woman smiled hypocritically and stomped into the tub, splashing water on her husband's face as she went. She saw him purse his lips, presumably to hold back a retort, and shivered despite the hot water. His behavior was not normal, he was definitely up to something. Something she was not going to like.

Despite her apprehension, she sat down in the tub and turned her back on him, pulling her knees up to her chest. The space allocated to her was small, but she still made a point of staying as far away as possible from Bonnet's body. A wasted effort, as he immediately extended his legs on each side of her, before sliding an arm around her chest to drag her against him. Wincing, Brianna struggled to free herself but he painfully tightened his grip around her, encircling her throat with his arm. She let out a strangled cry and grabbed the edge of the tub.

“Why are you holding me so tight, I’m not going anywhere!?” She had tried to say something funny to defuse the situation, but her voice was trembling with fear.

“Where were you tryin’ to go?”, the pirate hissed, wrapping his other arm around her waist.

“What?”

“In Wilmington. When the cat’s gone… the mouse tries to slip away.”

Brianna blinked in panic and it took her a few seconds to realize what he was talking about. That filthy snitch… Happy had indeed reported the incident to Bonnet. I just wanted to walk, for God’s sake... And yeah, run away should the opportunity arise.

“Why should I bother explaining myself? You won’t believe me anyway…”, she gasped.

“Try me.”

“I wanted to… go for a walk. That’s it. No chaperone, no husband, no one to tell me what to do or where to go…”

“You know I can't let you.”

“Why?” This time Brianna had almost yelled and she felt Bonnet loosen his grip. Taking advantage of this unexpected turn of events, she freed herself just enough to turn around and look straight in his eyes. “Am I your wife or your prisoner?”

There was a silence, and the Irishman's face darkened. By presenting him with a fait accompli, forcing him out of their sick little game, she reminded him that their whole relationship was just a farce. A mockery of marriage where love had no place, and never would have one. But wasn't it what he claimed to be his deepest desire? To love and be loved?

They stared at each other for a while and Brianna could see Bonnet's expression evolve, like makeup being removed one layer after the other. Only to leave cold, terrifying anger. His voice was barely more than a whisper when he finally decided to answer.

“You are and will remain my prisoner until you behave like my wife.”

Brianna slowly shook her head and sneered. “You really can’t see why this doesn’t make any sense? I will never be able to behave like your wife if you keep treating me like a prisoner in the first place… That’s fine, though. It helps me not to forget.”

Her last words came as blow for Bonnet, who suddenly felt as if the water around them had become ice. If he had indeed believed that by dint of submission, he would eventually make her forget her old life, control her temper and force his way into her heart, he had not realized that this method could also have the opposite effect. Brianna's lips curled into a cruel grin and she shook her head again, as if to laugh at her husband's stupidity. As Stephen no longer moved, she leaned over the edge of the tub and pushed on her legs to get out, but this seemed to tear him away from his thoughts. Pulling her back in the water, he ran his fingers through her red hair and pulled to bring their faces closer together. Pain irradiated her scalp, but Brianna didn't make a sound. She refused to give him this satisfaction.

Expecting him to dunk her head underwater to make her pay for her insolence, Brianna flinched as Bonnet violently took possession of her lips, while his free hand slid underwater, right between her thighs. Pushing the pirate away with all her might, she tried to escape but only succeeded in deflecting Bonnet's mouth from her lips to her neck – which he began to smother with kisses. Pushing would not be enough, and she dug her nails into his massive pecs, barely causing their owner to grunt. Below, his other hand had reached its target and was now languidly caressing Brianna's crotch. This whole situation was getting out of control; clenching her fist, Brianna brutally hit Bonnet in the back of the skull. She was extending her arm again to regain momentum, when the desecrating hand emerged from the soapy water and grabbed her wrist.

“What are you doing?”, she whined, still struggling. With his face still buried in the crook of her neck, Bonnet answered in a whisper, causing Brianna to shiver instantly.

“I’m treatin’ you like my wife, darlin’… That’s what you wanted, aye?”

“Touching me without my consent? No, I don’t think so.”

“Isn't that the only good thing about marriage?”, he went on in a horribly sweet voice, releasing her wrist to go back to her crotch. Brianna winced in disgust, but he was unfortunately right. In this century, forcing himself on a random woman could be considered a crime, but forcing himself on his own wife was not. Quite the contrary. All things considered, maybe being his prisoner isn’t as bad as being his wife…

The apothecary's words came back to her as clearly as if he had just said them: “Some men don’t appreciate women who interfere with God’s will.” And until proven otherwise, she was Stephen Bonnet’s wife before God and men. Her reluctance as a simple female did not matter to either of those entities. Her own body did not belong to her. It was and would remain her husband's property – tonight and every night after that. Her anger rose at this gloomy thought and she hit Bonnet several times.

A storm had broken out in the bathtub – soapy water splashing everywhere on the floor – but as a good sailor, Stephen Bonnet was not impressed. Still holding Brianna with a firm hand, he took the punches as easily as if she was hitting him with cotton balls. Underwater, his fingers had left the young woman's clitoris to penetrate her. His good resolution not to force himself on her already seemed long forgotten.

“Let go of me!”, she yelled angrily, as the arm that was masturbating her pressed her a little more against the pirate. Was it the method he had used to lure her into the bathtub, the morning’s incident, or the fact that he had ignored her all day before submitting her once again to his will? She didn't know, but one thing was certain: tonight, just like the night Tryon had showed up at River Run, she wouldn't play along. She just couldn't. It was too much. Too much pretense, too many unwanted kisses and caresses. Too many fake smiles.

Between her thighs, Bonnet's gestures were becoming more and more unpleasant – the water making any semblance of lubrication impossible. She had to escape as soon as possible. Get away from this umpteenth assault that threatened her fragile mental balance. Losing it meant getting on Bonnet’s bad side and possibly lose Jeremiah. She would not let that happen.

“Stop…”, she begged, now on the verge of tears. “You’re hurting me…”

Knowing she was in pain would perhaps remind him that he was supposed to behave like a good family man. But her attempted escape (or what he had interpreted as such) seemed to have awakened his old demons and Bonnet was turning a deaf ear, just as he had ignored her cries and pleas four years earlier. This thought caused Brianna to panic, and even more so when the Irishman slid his fingers out of her to change her position and have his way with her. Please, no… His fingers had been painful enough, she’d rather not imagine what other parts of his anatomy would do.

That’s when she saw it. The opportunity. A small leeway. Just enough to strike hard. Clenching her fist, she slammed it down on Stephen's left cheek, and his head turned ninety degrees to the right. He only had time to give her a puzzled look when a second punch hit the cheekbone, just below his eye. Taking advantage of his bewilderment, Brianna crawled out of the tub, almost slipping several times, then wrapped herself in her dressing gown, which was resting on the back of a chair. It was the second time she lost control of herself. Why now? Why hadn’t she been able – today of all days – to bite the bullet and let him have her, like last time? She didn’t know. What she did know, however, was that she was going to pay for this.

Bonnet looked so furious that Brianna almost fainted with terror. His usually green irises were now darker than a moonless night, and his scar was twitching, betraying the tension in his jaw. As for his hands, which were now gripping the edges of the tub, every joint and every vein protruded as if about to explode. It's over. If I'm not dead before dawn, he'll send me back to Fraser's Ridge and I'll never see Jemmy again...

Eyes filling with tears, she then did the only thing she felt capable of at that moment. Half-sliding on the wet floor and wrapping herself in her dressing gown, she ran out of the room and went up the corridor to take refuge in her son's room. The key was no longer inside the lock – and Bonnet or his henchmen would eventually force her out of the room – but at least she would be able to hug Jeremiah one last time.

And with that last thought, Brianna crawled under her son’s sheets. Waiting to see her fate.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Chapter Text

11. Happy Birthday To Me

When Brianna woke with a start – Jeremiah's small body curled up against hers – she was surprised to see the first light of day filtering through the thick royal blue velvet curtains. That did not make any sense: unless she had gone back in time or dreamt last night’s altercation, there was no way she could still be in River Run at sunrise. I refused him... I punched him. Multiple times. The only reason I'm still here is because the Judge didn’t have time to send the annulment papers yet.

She looked down at Jeremiah's head. The boy was still sound asleep and sucking loudly on his little thumb. Yes, that was it: they hadn’t forced her out of bed only because Bonnet needed time to officially separate her from her son. He wouldn't take the risk of handling this by himself, without making sure Justice was on his side. But how long would it take? A day? Two, perhaps? And until then, what was she going to do? Hide in this room until two redcoats pulled her out, bound hand and foot? Her eyes filled with tears at the thought and she tightened her arms around her son a little more.

She would have done anything to go back in time and change the course of events. Not try to leave the house in Wilmington. Let Stephen do whatever he wanted with her. The argument might not have happened if she had kept a cool head. And she would have been allowed to stay with Jeremiah.

An hour later, the sun had risen in the sky, as high as her anxiety level. No one had come for her and if she had felt relieved at first, now the wait was becoming unbearable. She had to know. She needed Bonnet to tell her face to face when he wanted her out of the property. That way, she would be able to think about a strategy, or try to change his mind. I could apologize… The thought of begging him to stay revolted her, but this might be her last chance. She moved carefully away from Jeremiah and slipped out of bed to venture down the hallway. Near the stairs, Happy – true to his new nickname – greeted her with a nasty look and Brianna immediately turned left to enter the master bedroom.

The tub had been removed since the incident – probably by the servants – and the floor had returned to its original appearance, without any puddle of soapy water. The bed was empty and the sheets had been pulled. Stephen had gotten up early. Probably to throw me a farewell party…, she thought with a shiver. As she still wore the gown she had put on quickly before running away, Brianna decided to dress a bit more warmly before looking for Bonnet. She was about to take off the said gown when the door swung open and she whirled around, as the object of her thoughts entered and locked up behind him. Happy had probably warned him. That goddamn snitch...

Bonnet’s face was so indecipherable that Brianna almost burst into tears. He seemed cold, neutral, indifferent, as if she was already a stranger in this house. A stranger to Jemmy… With a lump in her throat, she took a few cautious steps towards him. She needed to know what to expect and when. She needed to hear the words aloud. But first, she had to swing for the fences. And fast, she thought as he opened his mouth to speak.

“I'm sorry...”, she said hastily, and he froze with a frown, words dying away on his tongue. “I don't know what possessed me last night… I was exhausted…” Bonnet's frown deepened and she took a few more steps, until she could put her hands on the pirate’s chest. “Please, don't cast me away. I… I'm just starting to find my bearings and enjoy some aspects of my life with you.” It was a lie, of course, but she had to go all out. Especially if Jeremiah's custody was at stake. “Last night was… a momentary lapse in reason. Probably the strain of the journey.”

Brianna saw the Irishman’s eyes squint with a flash of incomprehension. Did she really believe his threats to annul their marriage? He would never let her go, not even if she resisted him. Quite the contrary, even. But she seemed unaware of that detail, and he had to admit this was quite convenient: the fear of losing Jeremiah would keep her obedient. Maybe even for a long time, until she would not even try to go back to her old life. That’s why Stephen chose a similar approach: faking her out. Slowly, he pressed his forehead against hers and cupped her cheek with his right hand, whispering:

“I hate it when we quarrel...”

“So do I”, Brianna answered in the same tone, almost expecting her own nose to grow like Pinocchio’s. “It won’t happen again…”

A slight grin made Bonnet's scar quiver. He was wondering how far he could go… how much he could get from her in fear of losing her child. His lips brushed against his wife’s.

“Promise me…”, he whispered against her mouth. “Promise me and you will not have to worry about bein’ separated from Jeremiah. Not for a single day of your life.”

Brianna frowned and stared at him for a moment, wondering if he was serious. Bonnet kept his eyes on hers, patiently waiting for an answer. Was this yet another test? What if she refused? She had no desire to find out. Being allowed to stay after what she had done was a miracle, and she already felt incredibly lucky. She soon nodded, a smile on her lips. “I promise.”

The pirate's grin immediately turned into a smirk. He could feel her relief, as well as a new kind of confidence – in him or in herself, that he did not know. But when her lips took possession of his, with unprecedented eagerness, knowing the answer to that question did not seem so important to him.

Brianna was not quite sure why she had kissed Bonnet like that. The tension of the past few days, the fear of being kicked out of the plantation, of losing Jemmy... All of that had disappeared so quickly – thank God – that she had stopped wondering if it was all part of another clever plan to subdue her. He was giving her a chance to get away with it and she had taken it… And now, all she had to do was to thank him.

But thanking him with words was unthinkable. She would never be able to say “thank you” to this man who had ruined everything that mattered to her. Her dignity, her body, her mind, her marriage to Roger… However, she had immediately known what to do when Bonnet's eyes had briefly lingered on her naked body, still visible under her loose dressing gown. And the next moment, she had thrown herself into his arms.

After a moment of surprise, Stephen kissed her back with the same passion, slipping his fingers under the fabric to grab Brianna's hips and pull her against him. Carefully, he started to caress every inch of skin within his reach, while controlling himself to avoid taking her on the spot. He had to let her call the shots, show her that she could give herself to him before he even asked for it.

Brianna, for one, tried twice as hard to seem sincere and passionate. But especially convincing. Of course, she would keep her promise... until she found the perfect opportunity to bring her dear husband down. Until then, she would have to be flawless. Stephen would probably not give her another chance. A shiver ran down her spine when Bonnet's hands brushed a sensitive part of her groin, but she did not protest when those same hands delicately took her gown off.

Her brain had switched on autopilot, probably because of the past hours’ flood of emotions. Closing her eyes, she tried to think of a mental scenario to escape reality, but by the time she realized this was impossible, Bonnet had also taken his clothes off and was pulling her towards him again. But not to push her onto the bed or slam her against a wall, this time.

Brianna saw him sit on the bedspread, then lean on one elbow with a lustful gaze – waiting for her to join him. It took her a few seconds to realize what was happening. Stephen Bonnet was not one to let a woman take the upper hand. If he invited her to straddle him, it was not to let her take up the reins... He wants me to let him inside me of my own free will… Not be a rag doll that he can position as he pleases. In a sense, it was another way to impose his dominance over her. If he managed to make her active and no longer passive during sex, then he would win again. Fucking pernicious…

But she was too much on a sticky wicket to refuse, and she climbed onto the bed – which creaked, as usual – placing her legs on either side of her husband's hips. Bonnet was staring at her intently, waiting for the slightest sign of weakness in her acting performance.

If you think you can win that game, you’re wrong… Surprised by her own insolence, Brianna slipped her fingers between her legs to caress herself slowly and prepare her body for what was to follow. Bonnet's pupils flared up instantly, but he waited for her to finish; the last thing he wanted was to rush things. Each of them played their role so well that it became almost choreographic.

When Brianna finally pushed him inside her, he let out a loud satisfied grunt, grabbing her hips to follow her movements. The feeling was exhilarating – so much better than when he just came between her inert thighs. Even if she thought she was in control of the situation, she had never belonged to him more than at this moment.

It was all so delicious that Stephen knew he would not last much longer. Pushing on his elbow, he straightened up to bury his face between the young woman's breasts, then put her legs around his own waist. Holding her tight, he pushed himself deeper into her and saw her gasp in surprise. Brianna’s body tensed around his erection, as she unconsciously sped up her movements. Bonnet knew very well that Brianna had never come in his hands. But this time was different: the violence of their past argument, the fear of being kicked out and finally the relief of escaping punishment had broken down some of the mental barriers she had erected to protect herself. If he acted quickly, she would not have time to restore them...

He knew he had won this battle when after several minutes, his captive’s fingers clung to his blond hair, and her walls tightened again around him. When he looked up, the sight of her closed eyelids, furrowed brow and pursed lips almost drove him crazy. Even though she did her best not to make the slightest sound – certainly out of pride or as an act of rebellion – he knew he had pleasured her for the very first time. And now, he only got one thing on his mind: to do it again.

~o~

November 23^rd, 1773.

Sitting at the dining room table, where she was enjoying her hot morning tea with Jeremiah on her lap, Brianna was watching the flames dance in the hearth. The fire, combined with the soft warmth of her son's body against hers, was making her pleasantly drowsy and she heaved a brief sigh of contentment. Comfortably nestled on her thighs and wrapped in a thick woolen jacket, Jeremiah was gobbling up a huge slice of cake and some summer fruits preserved in syrup.

At the end of the table, Bonnet was also enjoying his breakfast – instead of wolfing it down as usual. Winter had somehow slowed down his activities, whatever they were, and he had been spending more time at the plantation for the past few weeks – managing what was left of the land and taking advantage of this well-deserved vacation to monopolize Jeremiah's attention. Brianna knew he was staring at her, but did not care. She had long stopped feeling uncomfortable when he eyed her like that. And since the ‘bathtub incident’, she had not dared to refuse him or rebel against anything. Worse, she had anticipated almost all of his desires, sometimes even around her fertile days.

Their fake relationship was running so smoothly that the original farce had now turned into something more realistic. Something that bore a striking resemblance to a normal marriage, and it was almost unsettling. Not almost. Absolutely, totally, definitely, fucking disturbing, she corrected herself, wincing when Jemmy accidentally hit her chest with his elbow, causing her to feel as if a red-hot iron was piercing through her left breast. The pain – as well as an obvious increase in size – had appeared two days earlier but she did not want to face the truth yet, knowing perfectly well what was the origin of the phenomenon. And she was not the only one. The day before, she had rolled onto her back in their bed and groaned in pain, putting a hand to her chest… a few seconds before Bonnet's hands landed on her breasts, manipulating them like a cow’s udders at the agricultural fair.

“You're pregnant…”, he had smirked, as she pulled away with a frown.

“I'm not late on my period yet”, she had retorted harshly, before hurriedly leaving the room to hide her confusion. Now was not the time to risk another drama. She would have to keep a cool head if she was indeed pregnant… And do what would have to be done, in a couple of weeks. But since yesterday, Bonnet had been ogling her cleavage and this new grunt of pain caused by Jeremiah's intervention had not escaped his ears. A smile made his scar twitch and he pushed a plate of pastries towards Brianna, who rolled her eyes.

“Stephen, I’m not hungry anym-”

“Eat.”

His tone left no room for discussion, despite the mischievous sparkle in his eyes. Brianna was (once again) about to give in and grab the smallest of the scones, when Happy burst into the room, bringing the morning mail. Saved by the bell, she thought, immediately removing her hand from the plate. The man crossed the dining room, giving Brianna a venomous look in the process. She was wondering why, when the answer appeared before her eyes. Happy had placed several letters, a small parcel, and the Wilmington Gazette on the corner of the table, except for a letter he directly gave to Bonnet.

“It comes from Fraser's Ridge”, he groaned.

Bonnet stiffened instantly, on the defensive, and Brianna turned her head so fast that she felt her neck crack. Despite her curiosity and her fear that Bonnet would destroy the letter before she could read it, she could not resist the urge to take a small dig at the butler-bodyguard.

“Good Lord… he can talk???”, she exclaimed, pretending to be shocked. Happy glared at her and she just smiled, while Bonnet broke the wax seal as if the letter was addressed to him. Brianna saw him frown as he tried to decipher the handwritten lines. After a minute, his expression darkened and he waved Happy away.

It took him another minute to finish reading, ignoring his wife’s signs of impatience. When he finally handed her the letter, he did not seem angry as she feared, but troubled like someone who has just heard some bad news. Brianna almost snatched the letter from his hand and propped Jemmy up on her left thigh to free her right hand and hold the paper in front of her eyes. As for Bonnet, his attention was now on the parcel, but Brianna had completely forgotten about it. She began to read, and her heart leapt in her chest as she instantly recognized Jamie's old, neat handwriting.

Happy birthday, mo chridhe.

Brianna blinked several times, taking an unusually long time to realize that it was indeed around November 23^rd and that it was her twenty-fifth birthday. By a couple of centuries... Her heart sank and she bit her lip to hold back her tears and keep on reading. The letter, dotted with sweet words in Gaelic, contained some birthday wishes, as well as news from every member of the family and Brianna quickly gave up on holding her tears back. Hiding a sob under a nervous laugh, she saw Stephen scowl and felt the need to justify herself.

“Sorry… my sister-in-law Marsali is pregnant… again.” Another weird laugh, as she angrily wiped a tear on her cheek. “Fergus is a real baby machine…”, she added, shaking her head. “Do you hear that, Jem? Germain and Joan are going to have a new sibling… and you a new cousin!”

With all the enthusiasm of young kids, Jeremiah started clapping awkwardly, his hands sticky with syrup. Brianna smiled at him and wiped her right cheek with her sleeve before looking back at the letter. Other than everyone's news, it contained no crucial information and was appallingly trite. Brianna did not really know what she expected… Her family probably suspected Bonnet would read her mail, so they were not going to describe any escape plan. But those few kind words, those snippets of their life at Fraser's Ridge, had felt good and she would always be grateful for that. Not a single word about Roger, though…, she noted with a hint of bitterness. That coward certainly travelled back to the future.

She looked up at Bonnet. The letter mentioned a gift, probably the small parcel he was still holding in his hands. Reluctant to give him direct orders, Brianna pursed her lips and gestured towards the package.

“May I …?”, she asked politely. Bonnet jumped, as if she had torn him away from his thoughts, and handed her the parcel, looking annoyed. His silence was making her uncomfortable. “What’s wrong?”

The pirate frowned, moistened his lips, blinked… A ballet of facial expressions that were not exactly like him. Something is bothering him... for real.

“Today is your birthday?”

Brianna nodded, as she untied the string that held the fabric around her gift.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

She shrugged. “Because it slipped my mind until now. And I didn't think it was important…”

“Important enough for your family to write. Then it should be to me as well. You are my wife, by Danu…”

Brianna stared at him, a bit taken aback. He seemed genuinely frustrated at his own ignorance, and in other circumstances she could have been touched.

“I don't know yours either”, she said in an attempt to appease him.

“I was abandoned on the steps of a church, no one knows exactly when I was born. Except that was the year 1737… And even if I knew, I had no one to celebrate it with.”

“Oh…” Brianna bit her lip. Her attempt to put things right had failed and Bonnet seemed even more gloomy than a minute earlier. “In that case, why don't we forget our birthdays? Personally, I don't mind being twenty-five forever...” She saw Bonnet smirk, and added: “And if you agree, we will only celebrate Jeremiah's.”

She had, in fact, absolutely no desire to celebrate any of her birthdays without her family. And especially not with him… But her offer seemed to please the Irishman, who nodded and smiled.

“He was born on-”, Brianna began, but he finished her sentence before she had a chance.

“May 4^th, I know.” He seemed a bit offended by Brianna's surprised look, but did not make any comment.

“I will have four years old!”, Jeremiah exclaimed, holding up three fingers of his right hand. The boy thought for a moment, then added a fourth finger.

“I will be four years old”, Brianna corrected, before finally opening her present. It was a fairly old book, with a beautiful brown and black leather cover, enhanced with golden details. Hamlet, by William Shakespeare, printed in 1733 as the first page indicated. She already knew the story by heart, from reading it dozens of times during her school years, and had often told Claire and Frank that she would never open that book ever again after graduation. Mama would never give me a book she knows I won’t read... There must be more to it...

Raising her head, she saw Bonnet watching her intently and she smiled at him, holding up the book so he would not ask too many questions.

“Hamlet”, she said, turning the cover towards him. “I love Shakespeare.”

“A thoughtful gift… I very much appreciate the tales of good ol’ Mr. Perrault, but it is sometimes nice to have a little change.”

“Jeremiah is a bit young for this…”

“Jeremiah isn’t the only one to like a bedtime story…”

And here he was, smiling gently again. Brianna nodded, not really knowing what to say. She did not mind reading for him – as long as he listened, he did not try to touch her – but she had to make sure that no visible message was hidden inside this book.

“I'm not that good of a tale-teller... I don’t always use the right tone when I read dialogues...”, she stammered, smiling embarrassedly.

“Even if you read our ledgers, I would hang on to your every word…”

Brianna laughed politely, but the information had not fallen on deaf ears. If such ledgers did exist — and if she managed to get her hands on them — perhaps she would find some information about Bonnet's illegal activities. Or clues about how he concealed them. Meanwhile, the Irishman seemed particularly proud of his compliment and finished his plate with a little more joy.

She therefore had little time to explore the book in search of any hidden message, hoping it would remain presentable and would not arouse Bonnet's suspicions if he came to look at it. Once rid of her husband – who was playing with Jeremiah and Blue in front of the house – Brianna had slunk away to “rest” in their room and comb through her copy of Hamlet. As expected, Stephen had not asked any questions: since he suspected her pregnancy, he had been particularly permissive and caring, and she was therefore able to retire upstairs on her own.

The book looked frightfully normal as she turned it again and again in her fingers. Nothing suggested that the cover had been peeled off to hide a message inside. The edge was intact and the space between the edge and the pages… hopelessly empty. No bulge betraying the presence of a piece of paper, no cut-out pages to hide a gun like in action movies… Nothing at all. With an exasperated groan, Brianna dropped onto the bed – which made a hell of a racket – and tossed the book onto the quilt next to her.

There had to be something. Claire would never give her this particular play. She knows I’m sick of it…, Brianna added inwardly, glancing at the leather binding. Rolling onto her stomach, she picked it up again. Perhaps someone had scribbled on the pages… She had just read the first two (and extremely dull) scenes of Act I, without noticing anything, when she thought about giving up. She was obviously imagining things. Where did she think she was? In a spy novel, exchanging secret messages through a newspaper? She had spent so much time dreaming about her mother finding a way to communicate with her, that this simple book had given her false hopes. And now look at me… thinking I’m some kind of Mata Hari spying on my German husband...

With a heart-rending sigh, she dropped the book – again – and it fell open on a random page (Act 1 scene 4). She immediately glared at it, as if the object was responsible for her misfortune. Then one of the letters caught her eye: it was an “A” with a small inkblot, like a printing defect, and Brianna ran her finger over it. The feel on the paper was slightly different than the other letters and she frowned. On the following page, a “V” also had the same imperfection, and the young woman felt her heart race in her chest. These blots were not original, she was sure of it. Straightening up on the mattress, she went back to the beginning of the text and started flipping through the pages. Here and there, other similar defects appeared and a smile crept its way on her lips. Jamie had been a printer once, he would never give his daughter such a misprinted copy. Here is my message...

The bed creaked loudly when she went to fetch her sketchbook in the back of her closet, along with a piece of charcoal, before sitting back on the mattress. Rolling her eyes, she tried to ignore the fact that she had already asked Bonnet a hundred times to have it repaired – to no avail – and opened her sketchbook to a blank page. On the previous one was a portrait of Phaedre in servant's clothes, a curious succession of tiny lines adorning her apron. Her current menstrual cycle… Above the twelfth line, a dot had been drawn on the apron and she glared at it. Each line represented a day and each dot… sexual intercourse. She usually found a way to avoid it between the eleventh and the eighteenth day, but Bonnet had returned on that evening with yet another extravagant jewel. And like every time he gave her a gift, she had been expected to “thank” him, hoping that twelve days were still early enough to avoid all fertilization. Well, apparently not...

Groaning, she shook her head to get her mind off these gloomy thoughts – she'd have plenty of time to brood later – and started to note each stained letter in her notebook. A long and tedious activity, which she had to interrupt every time she heard a noise in the hallway. First, there was Phaedre dragging a crying Jeremiah to his bedroom in order to change him (apparently after rolling himself in the mud with his dog), then Happy’s heavy and slow footsteps which stopped right behind her door, only moving away after a few seconds. She had also identified Bonnet's gait and had quickly stuffed her work under the bed in case he decided to enter their room. She had sensed him twice on the threshold, probably pressing his forehead or his ear against the wooden panel. Pretending to be asleep with her eyes closed, she could almost imagine him with his hand on the doorknob, wondering whether he should or should not join her. Long seconds passed, as Brianna prayed for him to finally make up his mind: she did not care if he came in or left – but that in-betweenness, that unbearable wait was torture. However, he never ventured into the room, turning on his heels to go back downstairs and she resumed her work as soon as the sound of his leather boots disappeared in the entrance hall.

E… a… p… o… n… The letters appeared one after the other on the sketchbook and Brianna soon got the gist of the message. Reaching the last page, she let out a sigh and read the whole text.

We received your message. Glad to know you are well despite circumstances. Bellingham thinks Tryon and Bonnet are partners. Legal activities but perhaps also illegal. Smuggled goods. Weapons. Other things? We lack information. Tryon was the one who bribed jury during the trial. Not enough evidence yet. Still working on it. More books if anything new. Don't give up hope, Bree. We will not let you down.

A sad smile slowly appeared on Brianna's quivering lips, soon to be wet with tears. The message did not contain anything new: she knew that Tryon and Bonnet had teamed up, and certainly not to donate their pennies to charities. But the simple fact that, somewhere out there, her family and lawyer were still fighting for her was extremely comforting. Just like the ghostly glow of a lighthouse in a heavy fog. Or sunlight at the end of a tunnel.

Of course, she was not alone here: she had Jeremiah and Phaedre to keep her company. And Stephen; although she abhorred the man, he was still part of her daily life. Not to mention the servants and guards constantly gravitating around their little family. Yet, Brianna had never experienced such isolation. And ironically, she had never felt lonelier than since there were potentially another being in her own body.

With a heavy heart, Brianna tore the page from the sketchbook. She could not keep it, no matter how comforting that message was. Folding the paper twice, she slipped it into her sleeve and crept out into the hallway. It was empty. Somewhere in the house, she could hear Jeremiah babbling and Blue barking happily, and she carefully walked down the stairs to the kitchen. It would certainly be empty, as it was not lunchtime yet, but there would be a fire in the hearth. The perfect place to destroy evidence...

As expected, she was alone in the pantry and went to the fireplace, beside which a large copper pot was already set up, ready to boil. She was about to pull the paper out of her sleeve when the door opened, startling her.

“Did you get some rest?”, Bonnet asked, crossing the room as she tried to appear composed. He squinted and Brianna – realizing her bright smile was probably a bit suspicious – bit her lip and nodded.

“Yes, I’m feeling much better...” As he stared at her insistently, wondering what she was doing here, she felt compelled to justify herself. “I was a little cold, so I came to have a cup of tea. Do you want some?”

He blinked, pleasantly surprised that she would willingly share a tea with him and suspicious at the same time. As always…

“You could have asked Phaedre to bring it to our room…”

“I don’t want to waste Phaedre’s time… You may have put an army of people at our service, I still think that I’m perfectly capable of boiling some water.”

Bonnet stifled a laugh and took a few steps towards his wife. For the hundredth time in two days, his gaze swept over Brianna's breasts with obvious satisfaction, and she almost rolled her eyes when he slid his hands around her waist. Shivering, Brianna let herself be hugged, her right hand clutching the paper that was sticking out of her sleeve. Any unfortunate movement and the message would fall, right under the pirate's nose. To avoid this, she raised her arm – forcing the message back into her sleeve – and placed her hand on the Irishman's shoulder until her fingers brushed the back of his neck. Again, he squinted, analyzing her intently.

“What is it?”, she asked with a ridiculous chuckle that was completely unlike her.

“Nothing. It’s just... I like this.”

“What?”

“I may shower you with gold and jewels, but still you insist on preparin’ your own tea...”

Brianna pursed her lips and her expression hardened slightly despite her efforts to play nice. “I will not let money change me, Stephen...”

An enigmatic smile made his scar twitch and he pulled her a little closer to him, until he could whisper against her lips:

“From your lips to Danu’s ears, darlin’.”

Brianna blinked in surprise, half a second before he took possession of her mouth. The kiss was brief, simple, but of a rare gentleness and she could not help but close her eyelids for a moment – her lips and her tongue following her husband’s rhythm. And when he finally pulled away, Bree was suddenly left with an unpleasant feeling of… incompleteness. Bonnet must have felt it too, for he stared at her triumphantly, and left the kitchen without another word.

Taking a deep breath, Brianna waited until his footsteps had completely died away and turned back to the fire. She took the paper out of her sleeve and threw it into the flames. The message ignited immediately and with a slight twinge of sorrow, Brianna watched it blacken, curl up and then consume itself. Taking away with it the Frasers’ message, but leaving her with something new. A spark ready to set fire, rekindling her determination and her thirst for justice...

Hope.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Chapter Text

12. Carry The Blame

December 15th 1773.

This time, there was no longer any doubt. Delayed menstruation and nausea had soon added to the breast pain that had kicked in at the end of November. To make matters worse, this winter was one of the rainiest and gloomiest she had experienced since she had set foot in North Carolina four years earlier. It was not especially cold, but the rain had kept falling all over the coast since mid-November, covering the place with a particularly depressing and sticky layer of greyish mud. If Brianna had been able to enjoy a bit of freedom so far – mostly playing with Jemmy in the garden – the wet and cold grounds had deterred child and mother from venturing outside. Exacerbating her feeling of isolation and loneliness.

Sitting on the large windowsill of the master bedroom – wrapped in her dressing gown – Brianna swallowed a sip of ginger tea. Another luxury that only the wealthiest citizens of the Thirteen Colonies could afford, since at the time a single root of ginger cost the equivalent of a small sheep. And Stephen bought a whole crate just for me…, she thought with a disapproving frown. However, she had not dared to complain about it out loud: the ginger helped with the nausea, which was particularly strong – much stronger than when she was pregnant with Jemmy.

Unconsciously, her gaze shifted to her right towards the cupboard. Somewhere inside, well hidden under thick blankets, was the sage she would soon have to use. Brianna knew there was no time to waste; that each passing day allowed the embryo to cling a little harder to her womb. But something was holding her back. Fear.

Of a dosing error. Of complications from an incomplete miscarriage. Of infection. Of all possible physical and psychological after-effects. But especially of getting caught and handed over to the authorities. The fate of women who aborted in this century was unenviable. But having another child would only add an extra lock to her golden cage. Another obstacle between her and her return to the 20^th century. Not to mention the risk of being separated from her kids during her passage through the stones...

Four years earlier, when her mother had offered to terminate her pregnancy, she had refused. Because she had clung to the idea that the child was Roger's. Because she was already more than two months pregnant and a simple herbal tea would never have been enough to solve the problem. Because she was afraid of dying without suitable equipment and antibiotics. She probably would not have thought twice about it in her time, but not here. Not in a century where scratching yourself with a single rusty nail could kill you.

In other words, she had to act fast… before it was too late. She had no doubts as to her ability to love this child if he or she came into the world – just as she had loved Jemmy the second she had held him for the first time – but the power that Stephen would then have over her would jeopardize her chances of escaping. Not to mention the exhaustion and the hormones that would make her as malleable and fragile as a rag doll.

She had gotten to that point in her thoughts, when a thick blanket was put over her shoulders and she jumped, nearly spilling her tea.

“You'll catch a cold if you stay by the window…”, Bonnet muttered, tightening the blanket around her. As she rolled her eyes and made a gesture to put the cup on a small pedestal table, he pushed her hand (and the cup) back towards her face. “And drink your tea. Need I remind you that it cost me a fortune…”

“Need-I-remind-you-that-it-cost-me-a-fortune”, Brianna mumbled between her teeth, almost at the same time as her husband. She had heard the same old tune almost every morning since the ginger had been delivered to River Run. Bonnet squinted, but a smirk appeared on his lips and he did not even react to Bree's insolence. Instead of scolding her, he turned away to put on his waistcoat and slowly buttoned it up, thinking intently. On the windowsill, Brianna pretended not to notice him and took another sip, while the blanket slipped down her right shoulder.

“I was wondering what to say to Jeremiah…”, Stephen went on, pulling the blanket back up around Brianna's neck, and this time a few drops of tea spilled in the saucer.

“Dammit-… About what?” Silence fell in the room and she saw Stephen staring at her in amazement, before looking down at her lower abdomen. “Oh…”

She had not even considered telling Jeremiah anything, since this pregnancy would probably not last more than a month and a half. But obviously, Bonnet did not know that…

“It is still… a bit early, don’t you think?”, she asked, smiling embarrassedly.

“Aye, you’re probably right…”

She saw his eyes shift to the right and squint, as he always did whenever he was thinking about something.

“He will be delighted, won’t he? Bein’ a big brother is somethin’ that would make a young boy happy, aye?”

Brianna raised her eyebrows, taken aback by this odd question, and nodded. “Of course... Wouldn’t you be in his place?”

“How would I know? I never had any family.”

Hmm, I don't know. Try to imagine it… Use a bit of that empathy of yours? Oh, right... you don't have any..., Brianna sneered internally, still managing to look perfectly neutral and even put a smile on her face. “He will be over the moon. Let’s just wait a bit longer before we break the news to him. Just in case… something goes wrong.”

“Of course, darlin’...”, he repeated softly, staring at her again with a lecherous grin that would make a whore blush. Brianna was not sure if it was because he knew she was pregnant or the mere sight of her swollen breasts, but he had been particularly horny lately, to her great misfortune. Luckily, Brianna was already nauseous, so he did not take offense when she refused to have sex, putting a hand to her stomach and wincing in disgust.

Stephen motioned for her to drink and she rolled her eyes for the umpteenth time that morning. If she allowed herself all these funny faces and effrontery, it was because Stephen himself had become much more permissive since her pregnancy had been confirmed. He had not left River Run once in three weeks, focusing his attention on her, which annoyed Brianna beyond reason. Not only because his presence weighed heavy on her, but also because she found that unexpected change of temper quite pleasant. She was too exhausted by the nausea to keep playing her perfect wife act on a round the clock basis. The fact that he tolerated her mood swings was strangely relaxing, and the last months’ tension had somewhat eased. Obediently, she finished her cup and he immediately took it, his fingers brushing against her hand in the process.

A nervous smile appeared on Brianna’s lips. The problem was not that he had touched her. She had gotten used to physical contact a long time ago… No, what bothered her was precisely to realize that she had gotten used to it. As if she had accepted her status as Mrs. Brianna Bonnet and this new life with him. But… if she accepted it, wasn’t it a sign that she was giving up the fight? No, her thirst for Justice was still there. She had simply admitted that it would take time. Weeks at first. Then months… Years, maybe… She shivered at the thought and immediately heard Stephen growl.

“I knew you would get cold…”

Grabbing the blanket – with Bree inside – he forced her to stand up and pulled her against him, tightening the fabric around her body. When the young woman looked up, another shiver ran down her spine: there was something unusual in his green irises. Something sweet. Tenderness. Another obstacle to her abortion, that she had tried to ignore. Even if she managed to end this pregnancy and get away with it, what would happen between them? Will that be the end of their truce? Would Bonnet go back to being his usual twisted self? Perhaps he would even be worse than before, having lost his new leverage? Because that was all he cared about, right? A man like him could not actually care about a bunch of tiny cells, as fragile as a dandelion in the wind.

“You're right, I’ll go get dressed...”, Brianna said, trying to free herself, but he pulled her back against his chest, sliding his hands under the blanket to grab her hips. One second later, he had rested his forehead on Bree's, closing his eyes. The girl did not move an inch, wondering what would happen, but Bonnet just seemed to... enjoy the moment, without any ulterior motive. One minute later, his eyelids fluttered and he pulled away, kissing Bree's forehead. Ignoring her puzzled expression, he took a few steps back to get a scarf from his closet and tie it around his neck.

“Do you think you will be able to travel to New Bern on Christmas? The governor is invitin’ us to his annual dinner…”, Stephen said simply.

Brianna frowned: the last thing she wanted was to spend the holidays season with the other man responsible for her misfortune… until she remembered the conversation she had overheard a few weeks earlier. A special event would take place in New Bern on the day after Christmas. The only way to find out more was to go there.

“Do we really have to go?”, she grumbled anyway, so as not to arouse Stephen's suspicions.

“I do… and I have no intention to leave you alone here…”, he added with a mocking grin. “You don’t like our good ol’ governor, am I right?”

“Oh let’s see… He’s a misogynist, he’s contemptuous… and contemptible too by the way. He is waging a merciless war against the Regulators, who only demand fair taxes. He contributes to the genocide of native Americans... and a little bird told me that he is teaming up with pirates. I really wonder why I am not fond of him.”

She had deliberately stared at Bonnet stressing on the word “pirates”, and the corners of his mouth twitched, as if he had appreciated her touch of humor.

“A misogynist, no less?”

“I do not like the way he talks about me... and I did not like the way he treated his wife in front of us last summer...”, she replied, shaking her head.

“That’s his wife’s problem, not yours.”

“When he humiliates her under my roof and in my presence, I believe this becomes my problem as well…”

Silence fell again in the room and Bonnet nodded, almost agreeing with her. “And that is the reason why I always treat you like a queen in public...” As Brianna frowned, he finished tying his scarf and winked at her on his way out. “So that no one is tempted to come and save you…”

Brianna watched the bedroom door slam shut. So, that's what it was all about: the beautiful dresses, the extravagant jewelry, the gentleman's act... His only goal was to make her look like a pampered wife, so that no one would know what she really was: a captive. And the embryo growing inside her was just another decorative element of his comedia dell'arte. Her chest tightened as she realized she had to act now. Today, even. She could not let him be so sweet and gentle with her anymore — she'd much rather hate him — or risk him announcing her pregnancy to Jeremiah. Would she still have the strength to abort after seeing Jeremiah’s eyes radiate with happiness at the thought of having a sibling? Probably not.

Rummaging through her cupboard, she took out the small purse that contained the cut and dried sage, then poured some of the leaves into the teapot. The taste, mixed with ginger, would be awful but she couldn't risk going down to the kitchen to boil some water, so soon after finishing her morning tea. Plus, Phaedre would soon come in and clean up the evidence.

Brianna had long weighed up the pros and cons about Phaedre. Although she did not doubt the girl’s discretion, she was also very pious and what Bree was about to do was one of the worst crimes a woman could commit in this religious era. It was therefore wiser not to say anything… even if having another woman by her side would have been reassuring.

The leaves seemed to take an eternity to brew and she jumped at the slightest sound in the hallway, anxious at the thought of anyone interrupting her and taking away the tray, teapot and cup before she could drink. But no one came and soon the liquid in the teapot became darker. With an unsteady hand, Brianna filled her cup to the brim and lifted it. All she had to do was to stop thinking, drink the entire beverage as fast as possible. And wait...

I’m sor-

A wave of guilt, towards the being that had settled in her womb, suddenly overwhelmed her and she quickly raised the cup to her lips to gulp it down. Before filling it up again and drinking the remaining ounces. The taste was worse than she expected. She was slamming the cup back on its saucer, almost retching, when someone knocked three times at the door. Phaedre came in and seemed surprised for a moment to see her mistress bending over the pedestal table, one hand clasped over her mouth and her eyes watering.

“Is everything all right, Madam?”, the maid asked, rushing to her side.

Brianna nodded frantically and waited for the nausea to taper off. “I just felt very sick all of a sudden… I’ll be fine.”

Phaedre gave her a worried look but nodded, taking the tray. Bree saw her wrinkle her nose and look down at the teapot. The smell…, Brianna thought immediately. It doesn't smell like ginger anymore... The young woman straightened up, trying to look as normal as possible, but her every move betrayed how nervous she was. Phaedre's dark eyes went from Brianna to the teapot, before landing one last time on her. First, staring into her blue irises… then slowly looking down towards her abdomen. She knows…, Brianna whimpered internally, hiding her right hand under the blanket so that Phaedre would not see it tremble. But as Bree already saw herself imprisoned and sentenced to death, a sad smile appeared on the young girl’s lips; so full of compassion that Brianna felt a painful lump in her throat.

“Would you like me to prepare a hot bath for you, Madam?”

Brianna's heart nearly exploded in her chest and her eyes immediately filled with tears. This simple question was not just a thoughtful gesture. It was also an oath to remain silent, a pledge of support and a promise to take her secret to the grave. Bree nodded sharply, unable to utter a word, but Phaedre took no offense and tiptoed out of the room, taking the evidence away with her.

~o~

After several days without any particular incident (and three other teapots of sage), Brianna’s condition had gradually deteriorated. The nausea had become unbearable, pain had taken hold of her belly, and she had noticed a few drops of blood on her petticoats. She had more or less managed to hide it, until she had left the house with Jeremiah and Blue to play in the garden between two rain showers. But when she had got home to change and despite the crisp winter air that was supposed to pink up her cheeks and nose… she was livid.

While Phaedre carried Jemmy to his bedroom so that he would not soil the floor with his muddy shoes, Brianna stopped at the top of the stairs to catch her breath after a particularly painful cramp. A little further up the corridor, she heard the office door open, then her husband’s voice and that of another man. She straightened up hastily to conceal her pain, but her pale complexion and her left hand clenched on the banister would not mislead anyone. And especially not Stephen Bonnet’s sharp eye.

“Anoder successful evenin’ like dis one and we could all afford a plantation like yers... or a peaceful retreat in de Caribbean!”, the stranger laughed as he left the office – followed by Happy, who closed the door behind him. His untidy attire contrasted sharply with Bonnet’s and his usual partners’ fancy clothes, and if Brianna's thoughts had not been so focused on the pain she was feeling at that moment, she would have noticed it. “Who’d have thought dey’d all be ready to pay so moech for dese-…?”

“Brianna?”

The young woman took a deep breath and turned to Bonnet and his guest with a polite smile. Before she could even say anything, Bonnet had rushed over to her and was staring at her anxiously. The visitor, on the other hand, had stopped in the middle of the corridor, watching her in an extremely disturbing way, without Brianna really knowing why his gaze was so unpleasant to her.

“Is everythin’ alright?”, Bonnet muttered against her cheek and she nodded.

“It's nothing… I was very tired too… when I was pregnant with Jem-…” The end of her sentence was lost in a groan of pain and she saw the pirate's expression change from worry to something closer to fear. With a fake smile, he turned to his guest and motioned him down the stairs.

“Mr. Joyce, my sweet wife is in a delicate situation… If you don't mind, we could end this conversation on another day?”

The man lifted his chin, his eyes still on Brianna. “Congratulations.”

He was speaking coldly, without any emotion and it was obvious that he did not give a damn about her pregnancy. And it was at that moment – when another painful cramp seemed to tear her womb apart – that Brianna understood what was bugging her about Joyce. He was not looking at her. He was assessing her. Just as one would inspect a horse before buying it. The second he had laid his small black eyes on her, she had felt like cattle, a mere commodity...

Another wail burst from Bree's lips and she bent double in pain. She vaguely heard Joyce take his leave, then Bonnet asking Happy to fetch the doctor in Cross Creek. Then, he took her to their room and laid her on the bed with Phaedre’s help. The maid had just taken off Bree’s boots, gaiters and skirt, when her gaze fell on the white petticoat – the last layer left over her bare legs. The white fabric was gradually reddening in the middle, causing Phaedre to pause momentarily. Although she had implicitly understood what Brianna had done, having a visual confirmation was quite another story and the maid's lower lip trembled for a few seconds before she found the strength to snap out of it. Her dark eyes then met Brianna's wild, feverish gaze, but neither said a word. There was nothing to say, anyway. So much so that when the third person in the room spoke, Phaedre flinched in surprise.

“By Danu…”

He saw right through me. He saw right through me and he's going to kill me... Trembling with pain and terror, Brianna turned towards Bonnet but did not find any anger on his face. The Irishman was staring at the scarlet stain with wide eyes and apart from the blood pulsing in his temples, he remained perfectly still, as if the sight of his wife's bloodied underwear brought back terrible memories. When Brianna wailed again, however, he seemed to snap out of his trance and blinked several times.

“The doctor will never arrive in time…”, he whispered in a quavering voice.

What?, Brianna thought, panicking between two contractions of her uterus. Am I bleeding so much? Does it look like I’m going to die?? Craning her neck, she glanced down at her crotch, but the amount of blood did not seem lethal to her. At a pinch, it was equivalent to very heavy periods but nothing to be concerned about for now.

“Cross Creek is not that far, Sir”, Phaedre said calmly, bringing a basin of clean water and a small towel for Brianna's forehead.

“Last time, she died before me eyes…”

At these words, Bree and Phaedre stared at him in amazement. What last time, exactly? The last time you tricked a girl into marrying you, held her hostage and impregnated her?? Brianna glanced at Phaedre, who was probably wondering the exact same thing, but (un-?)fortunately for them, Bonnet thought it useful to provide an explanation.

“A harlot, in Charleston… She was pregnant, her belly as round as a cannonball. We were doin’ our business when she started bleedin’ just like that.” He pointed a shaky finger at the stain. “She was dead before I could get all me clothes back on.”

This time, both women were so horrified and disgusted that Bree almost forgot her pain for a minute.

“With all due respect, Sir, you should not say such dreadful things in front of your wife! And especially not now!”, Phaedre vehemently exclaimed. Any other rich man of this time would have felt disrespected by the maid’s behavior, but Bonnet was so overtaken by events that he did not even notice. He was staring at Brianna, as if to measure the impact of his story on her, and saw his wife clench her teeth with both pain and loathing.

“Get out.”

“It happened a long time ago…”, he blurted out, as if that changed everything.

“GET OUT OF THE FUCKING ROOM, STEPHEN!”

The pirate jumped violently and took a step back. The thought of reminding her who was giving orders around here crossed his mind, but her sallow complexion, teary blue eyes and fists clenching on the bedsheets – not to mention that damned stain growing bigger by the minute – discouraged him to do so. He had screwed up. That was all he could read in Brianna's eyes: he had screwed up again. One second later, he had left the room as fast as he could.

~o~

A certain Dr. Kent had finally showed up, four hours later, and – despite Bonnet's protests – had locked himself in the room with Brianna and Phaedre, leaving him behind the door like a common stray dog. He had examined Brianna first, then inspected the blood on the sheets, before asking the maid to replace them with clean ones, several times a day. He had spoken for a long time, in a calm and steady voice, as if he did not want to upset her with the “bad” news.

Brianna was only half-listening at first, until he confirmed the expulsion of the embryo, then soon retreated into complete silence – her eyes on the bright, full moon that could be seen through the window. The doctor had drawn a long breath, leaving her side to meet Bonnet in the corridor when Phaedre returned with a cup of steamy amber liquid – inviting Bree to drink it on the window-sill while she changed the sheets. The smell of hot rum, honey and cinnamon immediately filled the room and Brianna could almost see her mother cross her arms and shake her head, as she did every time Jamie “treated” his flus and other ailments of winter with a few glasses of hot whiskey. In other circumstances, she would have refused the drink but after that nightmarish evening, the sweet warmth of alcohol and honey comforted her more than she cared to admit.

In the corridor, the doctor was talking to Bonnet in a neutral voice, and Brianna stifled a sigh of relief when the word “miscarriage” was pronounced. No one suspected her. Phaedre’s hand rested briefly on her shoulder and the young maid gave a sad but encouraging smile, before rearranging the pillows. All those thoughtful gestures were gradually filling Brianna's eyes with tears and she suddenly had the irrepressible need to be alone. Completely alone.

Putting the almost empty cup on the pedestal table, she lay down between the cool sheets and wrapped herself in the thick quilt that the maid had placed over the sheets. Extra layers of linen had been placed in the middle of the mattress to avoid staining the bedding and she carefully placed her hips on them. Phaedre blew out the candles—except for one on her bedside table—and slipped out of the room, leaving the door ajar on the way out. Bree did not know if it was the anxiety, the blood loss, or the brand new and icy sheets around her, but she was shivering. Her whole body was shaking and she curled up, pulling the quilt tighter around her.

“…a fairly common phenomenon. And when I say 'common', I’m talking about two maybe three out of ten pregnancies. Women are more fragile than we are, Mr. Bonnet, even more when they are pregnant. A heat stroke, a cold, malnutrition, a violent emotion… a lot of things can cause a miscarriage, especially inland where life is tougher. My colleagues in the cities would tell you that the mere fact of being afraid of pregnancy can cause a woman to miscarry, but I do not agree. The causes that I have observed during my years of practice are most often physical and environmental.”

Fuck you and your ‘female fragility’…, Brianna internally groaned, cowering a bit more under the sheets. But the thick cocoon of fabric and feathers that she was trying to create around her was not enough to block the doctor's deep voice, and she was considering covering her ears when he spoke again.

“I wouldn't be too worried if I were you, Mr. Bonnet. You already have a perfectly healthy son and despite her current condition, I have good reason to believe that your wife is healthy as well. A few weeks of rest and everything will be back to normal. Do not hesitate to… encourage her. She must not lose herself into unnecessary mourning. Those who already have several children are used to miscarriages, but younger and inexperienced women can abandon themselves to melancholy. They think they failed at their primary function, which is to give children to their husbands. Show her that you are not disappointed, keep trying regularly… and you will most certainly be the proud father of another child before next Christmas.”

Brianna covered her mouth with a trembling hand, feeling suddenly nauseated. Besides the absolutely sickening paternalism of the doctor’s speech, he had raised a point that she had not even considered – being too focused on the immediate problem. She had certainly got rid of that embryo… but as soon as her menstrual cycle would get back to normal, everything would start again. The sex, the secret code to avoid fateful days, the anxiety every time her period was a bit late... How many times would she have to do this? How many days of pain, how many cups of sage tea, how many tears shed, how many, how many, how many-

And all of that because of him...

No.

All of that because of me.

Brianna stifled a whimper as her brain started to make a list of all the bad decisions that had led her to this exact moment, in this room and in this situation. Taking a room at the Willow Tree Tavern. Arguing with Roger instead of reacting like an adult. Following Bonnet into the other room…

Visiting him in that goddamn prison.

Burying her fingers into her hair, she dug her nails into her skull – curling up into a fetal position, now shaking violently.

Telling him Jeremiah was his son. Being stupid enough to think it was a fucking good idea.

Her jaw hurt from clenching her teeth, but she ignored the pain – which was still less significant than her current distress.

Not running away when I had the chance. Thinking I could win the damn trial.

She moaned as the first tears began to roll down her cheeks.

Not giving up on Jeremiah like Roger want-

Stop. No. Anything but that. She could blame herself for a lot of things, but that decision was the only one she knew was right. Jeremiah was her child, her flesh and blood...

Like the flesh and blood Phaedre just sent to the laundry?

Brianna's breathing became erratic and she did not realize she was having a panic attack until it was far too late to stop it. Inside her head, the little accusing voice had become aggressive and bitter.

You could have tried to run away. You could have tried to kill Stephen in his sleep. You could have refused him. Instead, you put on an act. You let him take you... sometimes several times a week... At this point, you can’t call it making bad decisions anymore, but being downright stupid!

These decisions, she had made them in all good conscience. To survive. To be with Jeremiah. Because she was afraid of what might happen if she did not play Bonnet's sick little game. She knew all those reasons by heart – playing them over and over in her mind to reassure herself – but now that she needed them most, none came to her mind. Guilt was making such a racket in her brain that the only thing that brought her back to reality was a deafening creak behind her back. Somewhere between the list of her mistakes and her self-diagnosis of stupidity, the doctor had left and Bonnet had entered the room. All of a sudden, the loud insulting voices died down and Brianna’s brain became as empty and silent as a black hole. Her entire being was now focused on two things: Stephen's presence behind her and finding a way not to explode with rage when he would inevitably touch her.

Fingers brushed against her shoulder and she shifted a few inches forward to stay out of reach. God only knew he must not touch her, or she might do things that would only get her a one-way ticket to Fraser's Ridge. Or a shallow grave.

“Brianna”, he whispered carefully. Could he feel her anger? Could he feel it was directed at him? Or did he just think she was mourning her lost baby? She wasn’t even sure he had enough empathy to understand any of this.

“Leave me alone.”

There was a sigh and Bonnet's hand became more insistent, inviting her to turn around and face him. Bree’s arm rose from under the quilt and slapped his fingers. Even if she could not see him, Brianna knew he was staring angrily at her and that he would unfortunately not stop there.

“Bria-”

“Screw you.”

This time, the words had just popped out. Another thing she would definitely add to her long list of shitty decisions, but she was way too upset and nervous to care. And when Bonnet's arms forced her to turn around, all the self-hate and guilt that had overwhelmed her a few minutes ago poured out on him as a hail of punches and slaps.

Brianna's arms and hands were flailing, punching, scratching, pulling, tearing anything within reach. For a few tens of seconds, Bonnet remained strangely motionless, as if he allowed her to release her emotions. But after a particularly painful encounter between his chin and Brianna's knuckles, he got slightly annoyed and tried to immobilize the young woman's wrists.

A brief struggle ensued – punctuated with furious grunts – until he managed to tighten his arms around her chest. Limited in her movements, Brianna stifled an angry cry and squirmed to escape from his grip, but he held on. She had learned it the hard way four years earlier: he was far too strong for her to break free. When the noose of his arms closed around her, nothing could loosen it.

She shuddered as one of Bonnet's hands slid up her back to dive into her red hair, while the other circled her waist. He did not seem about to kill her, or punish her, or claim any sexual favor… Then what the fuck is he doing? The answer came to her when he buried his face in the crook of her neck. Nothing inappropriate. A simple embrace that he certainly wanted comforting, but which had the opposite effect. How could he comfort her, when he was responsible for all of this? How could he cuddle her like that, like a child after a nightmare, when he was the only reason the nightmare would keep happening every day, over and over again?

“Get off me!”

“No.”

He had spoken calmly – almost gently – rekindling Brianna’s anger as she started to wriggle again.

“I don’t-… I said no… Let go of me!”

He could not act like a loving husband now. Not when everything, absolutely everything bad that had happened to her in the past four years had been his fault. Including what had just happened tonight. But as usual, Stephen Bonnet did not hear the word “no” and he hugged her a little tighter, as if trying to merge their two bodies into one. He did not pull away when Brianna managed to free one of her arms, or when she started pounding at him. He did not move either when she yelled it was all his fault, or when she dug her nails into his sleeve, scratching the skin raw.

The man's stillness disconcerted her almost as much as it pissed her off. She almost wished he'd hit her, so she could blame him entirely for the pain she was feeling—and no longer blame herself for causing it. But even more than the guilt, it was the shame that ate her up. Because little by little, Bonnet's strong, warm arms around her body were taking out some of the tension, calming her down and bringing tears back into her eyes.

“It's all your fault…”, she whispered one last time, her fingernails still digging into the pirate's arm, but at a less frantic pace. Until she just desperately clang to it.

And burst into tears.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Chapter Text

13. It’s The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

December 24th, 1773.

“I'll send a message to tell Tryon we’re not going.”

Brianna closed her eyes, took a long—very long—breath, and ran a tired hand over her face as Bonnet finished dressing up. The sun had not yet risen, but he was already getting on her nerves. One glance at her had been enough for him to decide that she was in no condition to travel, when she was dying to leave this bed and this room for the first time in a week.

“You said yourself that you had to go to that dinner…”, she sighed wearily. He was about to retort, but she left him no time to do so. “And believe it or not, I really want to go.”

“I don't believe a word of it.” With a shrug, he put his jacket on and saw her roll her eyes in the reflection of the vanity mirror. “New Bern is six hours away. We would spend the day on the roads, and then have little time to change before dinner. Not to mention the fact that the evenin’ is likely to drag on. You're in no condition to-”

“I'm perfectly able to sit six hours in a carriage, then six more hours on a chair, thank you very much.”

“You are as pale as death…”

“Anyone would be after a whole week locked in a room. I need air!”

“Open the window.”

Stephen smirked – obviously very proud of his joke – but a stern look was all he got in return and he scowled. Brianna pushed back the sheets and quilt and got up, crossing the room to stand in front of him.

“I need to get out of here and take my mind off things… I’m sick of being bedridden. And I feel perfectly rested now.”

Silence fell in the room, and Bree felt Stephen's green irises analyzing her. Since her nervous breakdown on the night of her miscarriage, they had both dropped their masks and had not really bothered to put them back on in the privacy of their bedroom. No matter how much they yelled at each other during the day, every evening ended the same way. Brianna had hated every single minute of it, disgusted by the pirate's gentle touch, by his overwhelming warmth and tobacco smell. The more she vented her anger to his face – punching and scratching everything she could – the sweeter he was. Until she surrendered and let him cuddle her to sleep, frustrated and exhausted. This truce had yet had a positive outcome: their interactions had been sincere. Violent and frustrating, too… but honest. And she dreaded the moment when she would have to act like the perfect Mrs. Bonnet again.

“Even to have dinner with Lord Tryon?”, he smirked.

“I wouldn’t mind having dinner with the Devil himself, if I can leave this room and see other people than you, Phaedre and Happy...” She suddenly realized that she had been a tad too honest when Stephen’s eyebrows rose on his forehead.

“Who’s Happy?”

Brianna blushed, not knowing what to say but the door opened wide, getting her out of trouble, and she was soon assaulted by an overexcited Jeremiah, who threw himself into her legs.

“Mama! You’re cured!”

Leaning down to pick him up and hug him, Brianna broke into a wide smile before covering every inch of her son's skull with kisses. They had kept him away all week, pretending that she was sick, so that he would let her rest and not see the slightest drop of blood on a soiled linen or petticoat.

“Indeed, I feel great… and I’m hungry. Perhaps I'll have a piece of this little boy…”, she growled, pretending to bite into Jeremiah's arm, and the boy let out a shrill laugh.

Bonnet had frozen and was now staring at Happy, who had just appeared on the threshold. He blinked several times – scanning his henchman's grumpy face – then turned to Brianna with a mocking grin. The young woman's cheeks flushed even more, giving him the confirmation he was waiting for.

“Shall we hitch up the horses, Sir?”, Happy asked, ignoring Brianna and her son. Or maybe he knew he would lose an eye if he ever looked at her wearing only a nightgown.

“Yes, we will leave for New Bern today after all... Mr. Hennessy”, Bonnet added, emphasizing the man's name. Hennessy stared at him in astonishment but did not reply. Brianna, on the other hand, had received the message loud and clear. Happy-Hennessy nodded with a grunt, disappearing down the hall, and Stephen let out a mocking laugh as he understood where the nickname came from. In Bree's arms, Jeremiah had decided to tell her about his entire week, and this in record time.

“… Phaed’ made pie. Daddy and I were to C’oss C’eek, there was horses and sheep and goats. Blue chased a chicken and the man with the chicken was not happy at all…”

“The chicken escaped unharmed…”, Stephen noted, raising his index finger at Brianna.

“…and yesterday, I played thumb war with Daddy, but he always loses. And at night, I tell’d Phaed’ that I don’t want to have a nightmare because you are sick and I don’t want to wake you up!”

“And? Did you have a nightmare?”, Brianna asked, still cuddling him.

“Yes…” The boy pouted, before adding proudly: “But I did not cry! And I sleeped alone!”

“You are very brave! I know a few boys – much older than you are – who aren’t so high and mighty when they have nightmares…”

Bonnet squinted, obviously annoyed by her sarcasm. “How about we let Mama get ready…?”, he grumbled, motioning for Jeremiah to follow him outside the room. Brianna immediately tightened her grip around her son, but the child started fidgeting in her arms and she put him down. No sooner had his feet touched the floor, than the boy ran straight into Stephen's legs.

The child had quickly got attached to him (certainly because of the striking contrast between Bonnet’s and Roger’s affection), but this week away from her had strengthened the ties that the Irishman thoroughly wove with Jemmy since day one. So much so that when they were ready to leave, two hours later, it was not on Brianna's lap that Jeremiah spontaneously climbed but on his father's – determined to win another round of thumb wars. Bonnet purposely placed his finger so that the child's tiny hand could capture it, and Jeremiah burst out laughing every time he won. Very soon, however, the steady rhythm of the horses and the vibrations of the carriage got the better of his excitement and he fell asleep – sucking on his victorious thumb and his tiny fist clenched around his wubby.

Brianna could not help but glare at him. The body her son was curled up against was not hers. Neither was the neckerchief between his fingers. He had not mentioned Roger for weeks. He still sometimes asked for his grandma or grandpa, but for how long? Stopping Bonnet from impregnating her was one thing, but she could not stop time and habit from altering Jemmy's mind and memories. Little by little, he would forget his previous life, his actual family, his home… And Bonnet would sneak into every bit of his memory – overwriting and erasing everything else. Even without intending to.

“I was there, you know...”

Brianna jumped, torn away from her thoughts. On the opposite seat, Bonnet was looking down on Jeremiah's sleepy face.

“When?”, she asked with a slight frown.

“When Jeremiah was born.”

Brianna's heart jumped in her chest and her brain immediately started to search her memory for any trace of Bonnet's presence in River Run on that fateful May 4^th, three and a half years earlier. But there was nothing.

“You didn't know it, but I was.” Seeing her questioning look, he went on: “After I escaped from the jail, I lay low for a while… Away from harbors and red coats. I tracked you down, got hired on a construction site not far from here… Every now and then, I came to see if the baby was born. And one day, I heard you scream.”

Brianna froze. The idea that he had watched her from afar – lurking in the shadows without her knowing and perhaps for several weeks – made her blood run cold. And yet, she had so many questions… But she couldn’t ask them. The moments when Bonnet actually confided in her were rare and she could not risk missing any useful information.

“…For hours. By Danu, I really thought that was the end of ye…”, he said, laughing nervously. “And then, one of the servants came out to tell the good news to the stable lads. ‘It's a boy’, he said. One of them asked if you were alive and well. I waited for the answer and left. At that time, I did not want to know more than this. I had a son. That boy’s mother was alive and he had a roof over his head. Servants, money, a family that would feed him and make sure he would receive proper education. He did not need anythin’ from me, really…”

Silence fell in the carriage, but one of Bonnet's sentences kept playing on a loop in Brianna's mind. At that time, I did not want to know more than this…

“What changed?”, she asked rather abruptly. “What made you want to be in his life?”

Bonnet's smile disappeared and his eyes darkened. “After a few months at sea, I was told you had gone to live in the middle of the woods…” He winced. “And that you got married… to that fool MacKenzie, no less. This was not the life I wanted for our son.”

“No one asked for your opinion.”

“Precisely”, he retorted. Instantly regretting his harsh tone, he pulled himself together and added more gently: “I have often wondered what would have happened if I had walked through that door when he was born... If I had not left...”

“Ulysses would have set the dogs. And we would have been rid of you…”, Brianna taunted. Against all expectations, Stephen smiled and nodded.

“Probably.”

Unable to put words to her current feelings, Brianna had chosen irony as a way out, but her husband's words had confused her. Knowing that he had literally stalked her for months, asked about her every move, watched her on the sly, was terrifying. But she could not help comparing his reaction with Roger’s, who had abandoned her and rejected her (knowing she was pregnant), and later denied Jeremiah any kind of love – so much so that the boy would throw himself into the arms of the first stranger who brought him gifts and attention. Her confusion was probably too obvious, for she saw Bonnet frown.

“What now…?”

Brianna bit her lip, not really knowing how to explain the mess in her head and heart. She considered lying for a moment, telling him what he certainly wanted to hear: that she would have welcomed him with open arms, or fled with him and Jeremiah on his ship, then progressively fallen in love and lived happily ever after. But she already knew that he would not believe her and that she could not tell such a big lie without her nose growing like Pinocchio’s. Moreover, they had stopped pretending a week ago… She might as well be honest while he still tolerated it…

“I do not think… that I would have wanted to know you were alive the day he was born. Let alone see you in the flesh. I would have been terrified and it would not have been good for me or for Jeremiah.” She saw him grit his teeth, accepting the truth lying down. He was so resigned that he did not even expect her to add anything else, and seemed surprised when she whispered: “But today, somehow… I'm relieved to know that I wasn't completely alone that day. Since you were there.”

That was all it took for Bonnet to crack a conceited smile and lean slightly forward, still firmly holding Jeremiah with one arm. “Unlike MacKenzie?”

Bree scowled. It pained her to admit it, but if Bonnet had really spied on her for weeks before Jeremiah’s birth, then he knew full well that Roger had not bothered to show up. “Indeed”, she grumbled, before rolling her eyes at her husband’s cheerful face.

“I am a better father than he was.”

It was not a question, more of a statement and objectively, Brianna could not disagree with him. Even if she had suffered atrocities in his hands, Bonnet had never had a single inappropriate word or gesture towards Jeremiah. He had always satisfied each and every one of the child’s wishes, spoiled him, pampered him, played with him and his puppy… Which was more than she could say about Roger.

“Probably, yeah”, Brianna sighed, admitting defeat.

“And a better man.”

“Don’t push it.”

“A better lover, then?”

This time, Bree let out a mocking laugh, which did not please the Irishman at all and the situation would probably have escalated if Jeremiah had not been in his arms. She had hit a nerve, perhaps she could use it to improve her living conditions.

“There would be a simple way to better yourself as a man… and a husband.” He did not answer, but she knew she had caught his attention. “You just have to respect me. Do not insist when I say no. Do not use force to silence me or submit me to your will. You could be caring, understanding and-”

“Borin’…”, he finished with a grunt.

“Respecting your wife is not being boring…”

“Come on, darlin’, I know you like to be roughed up a bit, sometimes… All the lassies do.”

“No, I don’t. And you should not like that either.”

Bonnet leaned back in his seat again, annoyed at the certainly too progressive concept of taking his wife's opinions and rejections into account. As neither of them spoke anymore, Brianna leaned against the carriage door and allowed herself to breathe a little more freely. If, by some miracle, Stephen accepted her request, her life in River Run would become much more manageable. And so would the risk of unwanted pregnancy…

“And when you say no, but I feel your body says-?”

“When I say no, I mean no.” Jeez, he’s such a pain in the ass…, the young woman added inwardly.

“Fine.”

“Good.” Brianna huffed loudly. Now that she had gotten the message across, she could not wait to change the subject or just stop talking. And to show him that the discussion was over, she conspicuously turned her gaze towards the landscape passing by on the other side of the small window. But Stephen Bonnet was not one to give up the game without picking up a few coins.

“But you will not always say ‘no’, will you?”

Quite frankly, I'm starting to consider it. “No, not always”, she replied drily.

“How often… approximately…?”

Brianna pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. The journey to New Bern would be a long one.

~o~

Lord and Lady Tryon’s residence was a vast red brick palace, surrounded by a 16-acres formal garden designed by Claude Sauthier, a landscape architect from Strasbourg, France, commissioned by the governor to make all of New Bern’s gardens and parks and who followed him wherever he went. Sauthier had rushed on Bonnet to greet him and Brianna immediately recognized the clingy, paunchy Frenchman who had kissed her hand in River Run, and that they had met again in Wilmington.

“Ah, here is the chief attraction of the show!”, William Tryon exclaimed from the entrance hall. The Governor came forward, a glass of champagne in his hand, and motioned to one of the footmen to bring two more for his new guests.

“Are you talkin’ about me or me wife?”, Stephen asked, resting a hand on Brianna's back. Tryon's gaze immediately fell on the blue velvet dress and the shiny sapphires cascading down her cleavage, and a mocking smile appeared on his lips.

“For the sake of our friendship, I will not answer that question…” Seizing the young woman's hand, he brought it briefly to his mouth. “My dear, you seem to shine a little brighter each time we meet. This new life in River Run has done wonders on you…”

Brianna stiffened and felt Bonnet's fingers dig into her back through the thick layers of fabric. Shortly before their arrival at the governor's, Stephen had confessed to her that he had appreciated – “to a limited extent”, in his own words – the sincerity of their interactions over the past few days, but not tonight. No misdemeanor would be tolerated in front of all the top people of North Carolina.

“Maybe it is just the immeasurable pleasure of being in your company, Governor”, she drawled with a fake smile and a slight curtsey. On her left, Bonnet squinted and gave her a warning look, while Tryon chuckled. He was not stupid and probably knew she was mocking him but he chose to ignore it. Holding out his glass of champagne, he invited Stephen to clink glasses with him, which he did.

“She's improving…”, Tryon mumbled, nodding at Brianna. Gulping down a torrent of abuse towards the governor, she raised her glass and took a sip of champagne. Stephen's hand left her back and he took two steps forward to stand in front of her, smirking.

“I’ve seen to it…”

You bloody bast-

The arrival of a smiling Margaret Tryon put an end to Brianna's dark thoughts when two silk-gloved hands grasped hers.

“What a pleasure to see you again, my dear! How was the journey?”

Brianna blinked, taken aback. The last and only time they had met during the summer, Margaret had not been exactly friendly; she had even implicitly accused her of conspiring with Bonnet against her aunt Jocasta to take control of River Run. Her behavior was suspicious to say the least, but Brianna chose to play along and smiled.

“Thank you for having us. We had a pleasant trip, thank you for asking…”

“I’m glad… And how is your little boy? Jeremiah, is that right?”

Their conversation quickly annoyed Tryon, who motioned for Bonnet to follow him. The pirate caught Brianna's eye for a moment, inviting her to come with, but she pretended not to see anything. “Jeremiah is fine, we left him at the inn with our maid and Ha-our butler.” She had almost said ‘Happy’ but corrected herself just in time. Hennessy, dammit, his name is He-nne-ssy!

“I’m glad…”, Margaret repeated, like a skipping record. She regularly cast nervous glances at Tryon, but her husband was already dragging Stephen towards a group of men a few feet away. “My dear Bria-, may I call you Brianna?” The young woman nodded and Margaret immediately went on, lowering her voice: “I wanted to apologize… for my behavior. I believed… well, I thought that you-… oh, that's silly, please excuse me, I am lost for words…”

“I don’t mind”, Brianna urged her gently. Lady Tryon was obviously trying to tell her something unspeakable and she was dying to know what it was. “What did you think?”

Margaret's anxious face turned towards her, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish out of a bowl. “Oh…well…”

“Margaret!”

Lady Tryon jumped so violently that her complicated hairdo trembled on the back of her head and she whirled around; her husband was waving at her from across the room. She quickly mumbled a “we'll talk about that later” and walked away, leaving Brianna deeply unsatisfied and forced to join her own husband, who was staring at her insistently.

A few hours later, dessert had not yet been served and she could not take it anymore. Her dress was terribly heavy, the alcohol had gone to her head quite fast, and her cheeks were unpleasantly stiff from all the stupid and fake smiling. She had held her ground during first course, laughing at her left-hand neighbor’s silly anecdotes – a short, paunchy man named Joseph Byrne, who had made his fortune in the tobacco business and seemed more interested in her cleavage than her conversation. Then she had survived the fish dish, listening distractedly to the wife of one of Tryon's advisers and drowning her boredom in champagne.

The meat dish had been quite an ordeal when the subject of slave trade had come up and she had nearly breathed a sigh of relief when the French cheeses had arrived on the table, with their overpriced wines. The French and their catastrophic management of the Caribbean colonies had then become the new subject of conversation, only providing her a brief respite: no sooner had the cheese been eaten, than the imbecile two seats away from Tryon – James Norrington, tax collector for the Crown – had brought up yet another controversial topic and Brianna was finding it increasingly difficult to hold her tongue.

“At least when the Regulators attacked our convoys, they mostly spared our soldiers' lives... But now that they have formed an alliance with the Catawbas and send them to do their dirty work, we are becoming dramatically understaffed. Not to mention the horses that these savages steal from us…”

“I thought the Catawbas were on our side?”, Mrs. Norrington asked, raising her glass of wine to her lips.

Tryon shook his head. “No, you're confusing them with the Mohawks, my dear… A much more docile and malleable breed, if you ask me.”

“Perhaps the Catawbas would be less angry if you didn't steal their land and push them ever further back into Cherokee territory?”, Brianna asked drily, while Bonnet immediately glared at her from across the table. “The Catawbas and Cherokees are rival tribes and you are only adding fuel to the fire!”

Tryon's eyebrows rose on his forehead and he glanced at Bonnet, stifling a coughing fit. That glance, brief as it was, said a lot about what Tryon thought of his sharp-tongued wife, but Stephen was far too busy glaring at Brianna to notice him. A smile, colder than ice, appeared on the Governor’s face and he leaned slightly over his plate to look straight into Brianna’s eyes.

“Catawbas, Cherokees, Comanches… are just peas in a pod. If it were up to me, I'd have them all hung.”

“It would save an awful lot of time, for sure”, Norrington added, causing a few guests to laugh around the table. But Brianna was not done with Tryon.

“Then, I guess we can thank the Lord that the future of this country is not up to you, Lord Tryon.”

On the other side, Bonnet was fuming and he slumped slightly in his seat, reaching under the table with his leg to kick Brianna’s shin and silence her. But the table was way too wide, his leg way too short, and there were way too many eyes on them. A few seats away, Brianna saw Lady Tryon smiling discreetly at her, confirming her curious change of attitude towards her guest. Jumping at the chance to make an ally, Bree immediately smiled back.

“I didn’t expect you to be so quick to defend those wildlings...”, Tryon went on, as his wife’s smile immediately disappeared. “Don’t you want to get justice for our poor Mr. Forbes?”

Brianna stiffened. She had not thought about Forbes in weeks, reassuring herself thinking it was Stephen who had struck the fatal blow and not her in the argument that cost the lawyer his life. But why the hell was Tryon mentioning him in this conversation? What had that got to do with it? She turned to Stephen, looking for an explanation in his emerald eyes, but the Irishman just gulped down his last piece of bread – his face dark and scary. Bree then turned her attention back to Tryon, who was staring at her quizzically.

“What do you mean?”, she asked, trying to keep her heartbeat in check.

“Haven’t you heard?”, Joseph Byrne asked on her left. “His carriage was attacked after your reception last summer.”

“I heard they smashed his skull open and disemboweled him from here to there”, Norrington added, pointing his finger at his navel and then at his sternum. “And kept his scalp as a souvenir…”

There were a few disgusted gasps among the women as well as grunts from the men, but Brianna—who was turning visibly paler—could not tear her eyes away from Tryon’s mocking grin. With the unpleasant feeling that he knew perfectly well that the Catawbas had nothing to do with Neil Forbes’ fate. When the Governor finally turned away to drink a sip of wine, Brianna once again looked for answers in her husband's eyes – something she seemed to be doing more and more lately – but he for once was not staring at her, but at Tryon. He told him… Maybe they even set this up together to make it look like the natives attacked Forbes?

Byrne's raspy voice startled Brianna, as well as his hand suddenly patting hers. “Come on, Mr. Norrington, spare the ladies the gory details, will you? You have clearly upset our sweet and innocent Mrs. Bonnet…”

Stephen’s smirk and raised eyebrow at the words ‘sweet and innocent’ did not escape Brianna, though he tried to hide it behind his glass of wine.

“If only Mrs. Bonnet could understand the threat posed by these people...”, Tryon finished, looking rather satisfied with the outcome of their conversation.

Brianna glared at him, squinting. “Rest assured, Lord Tryon, I think I understood perfectly...”

The dinner ended in a lighter mood. The men had stood up to talk politics and business while enjoying various liquors, and their wives – most of whom all knew each other – had gathered at one end of the table to talk, leaving Brianna uncomfortable and alone with the last crumbs of her cake. Stephen seemed more and more at ease in this environment, drinking and laughing in good company, and she felt a pang of jealousy. Living in seclusion in River Run, she hardly knew anyone here and the other women did not seem too eager to get to know her. Except maybe Margaret, who had been chatting with Mrs. Norrington for the last twenty minutes, and occasionally cast worried looks towards her. Suddenly, Brianna saw Tryon, Bonnet and a third guest finish their brandies and head for a door across the room. The three men were isolating themselves, presumably to discuss private – or perhaps illegal? – matters and she looked around to make sure no one was paying attention to her. I have to follow them...

She was about to rise from her chair, when Lady Tryon – who had managed to get rid of the gossipy Mrs. Norrington – swooped down upon her like an eagle on its prey. “My dear Brianna... I wanted to tell you again how glad I am that you could come today...”, Margaret said, sitting down on the chair hitherto occupied by Mr. Byrne. Bree’s face darkened as she watched the three men disappear behind the door, and almost rolled her eyes.

“I’ve had a delightful evening”, she lied with a silly smile. Just like when they arrived, Margaret made sure no one could hear them and leaned closer to Brianna.

“I wanted to apologize, my dear… For my behavior towards you, this summer.”

“You already said that… You were about to tell me something when we were interrupted by your husband”, Brianna pressed her immediately, lest Tryon reappeared and cut the discussion short again.

Margaret took a deep breath and bit her lip. She seemed to be weighing the pros and cons, deciding whether she should or should not speak, and Brianna put her hand on hers, smiling encouragingly.

“I received a letter from my friend Jocasta… We were very close, although William does not approve of our friendship. He was – he is – convinced that Jocasta is collaborating with the Regulators. I know, it's silly...” She trailed off, struggling to find her words as Brianna's heart raced. “You see… my husband had told me that you and Mr. Bonnet were madly in love with each other… and that you had planned this whole charade… oh Lord, I apologize… that you had planned this to leave your previous husband and still get your family’s fortune, as well as the plantation.”

Brianna took some time to process the information. So, that’s what was being said about them in the upper echelons of North Carolina. That she and Stephen were… in love – yuck – and greedy? No wonder all the other women turn their backs on me… They must probably think I’m some kind of lying whore.

“Jocasta told me everything… Mr. Bonnet’s crimes, his shenanigans and William’s possible involvement in this whole affair… Please accept my sincerest apologies and I wish… I wish we could be friends. If there is anything I can do to help, if you need someone to talk to…”

“What I need is someone to help me bring Stephen Bonnet and his accomplices down for their crimes…”, Brianna retorted drily.

Margaret closed her mouth and bit her lip again, before lowering her eyes. No, she won't do that. Because that would also mean bringing her own husband down…, Brianna thought bitterly… before realizing that it might not be very wise to reveal her plans to his wife, in his palace. She shook her head. “I'm sorry… I've been a bit tired lately, I said more than I actually meant.”

“That’s all right. Your husband told William about your loss…”, Margaret breathed, and Brianna immediately stiffened. Jesus Christ, are these two sharing every bloody detail of my life? Anger was rising and she started to feel a bit oppressed in her corset, but Lady Tryon persisted. “Two of my pregnancies never came to term, I know how painful it can be-”

“I'd like to freshen up a bit”, Brianna said abruptly, getting up from her chair.

“Oh, of course... You go through that door and you'll find everything you need in the first room on your left-”

Without waiting for Margaret to finish, Brianna scampered off and rushed towards the same corridor as their husbands, a few minutes earlier. Closing the door behind her, she rested her back against the panel, panting and hands shivering. The corridor was empty and she took advantage of the quiet to regain control of herself. In front of her were multiple closed doors and then a dead end. In other words, Stephen and Tryon were bound to be in one of these rooms, provided that neither of these doors led to another hallway. Brianna tiptoed to the first door on her right and listened, but there was only silence. On her left, the room indicated by Lady Tryon only had a few mirrors and ewers full of clear water for guests, as well as commodes. Lifting the tails of her dress to be as quiet as possible, she proceeded to the second door on the right, repeating the same pattern.

She was heading for the next door on the left, when the man who had left with Bonnet and Tryon suddenly came out of a room at the very end of the corridor, closing the door behind him. Brianna straightened up and tried not to look too guilty as the man got closer, staring intently at her. His demeanor and attire were that of a high-ranking nobleman, probably in his late forties; he had beautiful blue eyes, though slightly droopy, and a smug smile. Who was he again? She had been introduced to so many different people… He was working for the governor, that was for sure. But his last name escaped her completely.

“Mrs. Bonnet?”, asked the aristocrat, literally undressing her with his eyes. “Are you looking for something? Or someone…?”

“I… I needed to freshen up…”, she stammered. According to propriety, she should have called him by his name as well, but her brain still refused to open its file about this guest. He must have sensed her dismay, for he let out a brief laugh and bowed politely.

“Josiah Martin, Lord Tryon’s First counselor…” Taking her hand in his, he brought it to his lips before lowering it again. However, he did not let go. “Do not be embarrassed. You have been introduced to more than thirty people this evening, you’re allowed to forget a few names.”

“You all had an advantage over me, since I was the only new face to remember…”, Brianna retorted with a smile. She dared not remove her hand, which the man still held in his.

“And what a face...” His voice was barely more than a purr and she shivered, finding in Martin's eyes the same desire to conquer that existed in Bonnet's. Bree wondered for a moment if he was flirting with her in particular, but she had seen other women making eyes at this seducer all evening, including Margaret. He was probably North Carolina’s very own Casanova…

She was smiling shyly, not really knowing how to get out of this situation, when he came forward so abruptly that she took two steps back and her back hit the nearest wall. But that did not seem to bother Josiah, who took the opportunity to get closer to her.

“Will we have the pleasure of your company tomorrow night?”, he hissed, leaning towards her neck.

Everything clicked in Brianna's brain. December twenty-fifth was a date she had mentally noted the last time she had spied on Tryon and Bonnet in River Run. Something big was going to happen tomorrow, but what? Josiah was obviously invited and also wanted her to be there. This was a golden opportunity and Brianna politely smiled to overcome the discomfort caused by the man's proximity.

“Can Stephen come or are you only inviting me?”, she simpered, mentally facepalming herself. Of course, it was in her best interest to rub him up the right way if she wanted to find out more, but now that she thought about it, maybe it was not so smart to flirt with a stranger in an empty hallway… Martin's smile widened.

“Your husband is one of the organizers, he has to be there...” He leaned a little closer, and his hot breath tickled Brianna's neck. The young woman shivered, unconsciously glancing towards the exit. “So in a way, yes, I am only inviting you...”

Despite his noble hair and attire, Josiah Martin was one of those men who seemed to suck all the oxygen out of a room and even though he unsettled her more than he seduced her, Brianna was surprised to find herself unable to speak for a moment. It wasn't until the door burst open again on Bonnet and Tryon – and she saw her husband's furious expression – that she pulled herself together.

“Well then, I accept”, she said loudly, but Martin was not looking at her anymore. He had turned his head without moving away from Brianna – despite him being dangerously close – and was staring at Stephen with an undefinable smile. The Irishman was seething, and Bree wondered for a moment if he was angry because he had caught her snooping around, because she was in a scandalous position with another man, or because the man in question seemed to taunt him. The counselor chuckled loudly and turned his attention back to her. He brought her hand – that he was still holding – to his lips again and kissed it goodbye.

“Cannot wait for tomorrow.”

With a final smirk, he released her fingers and Brianna was finally able to fill her lungs with oxygen as he reunited with the other guests in the reception room. Tryon glared at the young woman, before turning to his partner.

“We will continue this discussion another day”, he blurted, before glaring once again at Brianna. “The walls have ears…” A few seconds later, he had followed his counselor through the exit door, leaving the Bonnets alone.

“May I ask what you were doing alone with him?”, Stephen scolded. He had not used such an aggressive tone for weeks. The leopard cannot change its spots…, Brianna thought, frowning.

“Nothing at all, I was looking for a quiet place to freshen up and I met Mr. Martin who politely invited me to some event tomorrow night. An event you had obviously planned to attend without me.”

She expected him to roll his eyes and retort that she was too tired or that a woman did not belong to a men’s event, but nothing happened. Worse: in the orange glow of the candleslight, she saw his face fall and turn deathly pale.

“What did you say?”

“I accepted, of course!” Bonnet raised an eyebrow and took a step back, while rubbing a hand over his face. Whatever Brianna had agreed to was not good news for him. Perfect…

“Ye're not goin’.”

“It wouldn't be very polite to let him down now that I've said yes...”

Stephen leapt on her and Brianna hit the wall again, cursing her own knack of getting into trouble.

“I don't give a damn about politeness. You. Are not. Going”, he growled against her lips, making her jump. He was literally foaming with rage but there was something else in his eyes, something unusual. Fear. Her gasp seemed to remind the pirate that he was supposed to behave differently with her, as he backed off and vaguely muttered that he was going to ask for a carriage, but Bree refused to give up and decided to hit right where it hurt.

“If you want people to keep swallowing your lies and believing in our love, you should treat me like your friends treat their wives and not like a bloody prisoner...”, she hissed, pointing at the exit. “They all know each other in there. All of them but me. Can you imagine how embarrassed I was?”

Stephen, who had started to walk away, froze and slowly turned towards her. She knew from the mere sight of his dark green irises that she was going to pay for her insolence and tried to escape, in vain. Grabbing her left arm, he pulled her violently to him, his jaws clenched and nostrils dilated with rage.

“Rejoice, then: it will not happen again. This was the last time you left River Run.” With a quick flick of the wrist, he jerked her arm away, and as Brianna winced massaging her sore muscle, he added under his breath: “Now, we're leavin’.”

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Chapter Text

14. Going Once, Going Twice…

This was the last time you left River Run… The last time…

Bonnet's final words in that dark corridor of Lord Tryon's palace were playing on a loop in Brianna's mind, and she had been on the verge of tears more than once at the mere thought. The evening had not been exactly pleasant but being able to escape her daily life in River Run had felt great. Moreover, she had to meet people from the outside if she wanted to find a charitable soul to help her. That’s why she could not let Stephen carry out his threat. The trip back to the inn had been terribly silent, despite Brianna's attempts to communicate. She had tried everything: the teary doe looks, the pleading hand on his thigh, the quavering voice whispering “You didn’t mean it, did you, Stephen?”… but the Irishman ignored her completely, his green eyes staring pointedly at the velvet curtain covering the carriage window.

Why was he so mad that she accepted the damn invitation? Because he has obviously something to hide. There was something about that party he did not want her to see or hear. That was why she absolutely had to find a way to get there. But she had already got off to quite a bad start...

Even when they went to bed, Bonnet turned his back on her – departing from his habit of snuggling up against her, one hand resting on her left breast – and Brianna was surprised to find herself panicking. Missing it, even. This now normal gesture could have indicated a positive evolution of the situation. Had she made too many mistakes? Enough to lose Jeremiah’s custody? And all this for a stupid party?!! Her breast felt strangely naked without the hand that had been covering it every night for months; As her heart and breathing sped up, she was tempted to beg for his forgiveness and give up on the invitation. To press herself against him, cuddle him until he talked to her again, or even give herself to him... That way, she would fall asleep without fear that everything went sideways in the morning. But as her body rolled on the mattress, she came to her senses. She had already done much worse since they were married and still, he had not kicked her out. Why would it be any different today? Was it really necessary to resort to such desperate measures? To this complete submissiveness? No… Then, why was she freaking out over a lack of physical contact when it was precisely this physical contact that once scared her so much? The situation had reversed and she had no idea how or when it had happened. Disgusted by her own sick attention-seeking and need for safety, she turned her back on him again, praying that Stephen would forget the incident after a good night's sleep.

Unfortunately, the next day was not different: Stephen ignored her, spending time with Jeremiah instead – even taking the child for a walk around town, leaving Brianna with Happy and Phaedre. But at least, she had not lost custody of her son and she was still Mrs. Brianna Bonnet. Christ… when did it become good news??

When Stephen came back to get ready at the end of the afternoon, she had almost resigned to spend the evening locked up with Jem and the maid, under close surveillance, when a knock on the door broke the tense silence and last night’s Casanova appeared, his eternal smug smile plastered on his lips.

“Mr. Martin?”, Brianna asked, getting up from the sofa where she was reading. Behind her, the sound of Stephen's boots told her that he had come running immediately, his waistcoat half-buttoned and a loose neckerchief around his neck.

“I thought we were supposed to meet up there…” Stephen's voice was a threatening growl, and Brianna shivered at the sound. She hated when he used that tone but luckily this time it was not meant for her. Despite his “friend's” aggressiveness, Tryon's counselor remained unfazed and shrugged.

“I live a little higher up in the neighborhood, I thought it would be more entertaining to share a carriage, all three of us together… Mine is far too roomy to be traveling alone.” He gave Brianna a beaming smile, and she bit her lip. Did that guy even know what Stephen was capable of when he was angry? Probably not, otherwise, he would not be here… Or maybe he was suicidal. “I am rather surprised to see you haven’t changed, my dear. I expected you to be all dressed up for the evening…”

Brianna opened her mouth but Stephen pulled the rug from under her feet. “My wife is tired, she will not join us.”

“I feel perfectly fine”, she snapped back. A smirk floated for a moment on Josiah's lips, but she did not pay him much attention, as she was too busy watching Stephen's reaction out of the corner of her eye. In case he tried to throw himself on her, tie her up, and lock her in a closet, for example. But he just glared at her. It seemed that refusing anything to Josiah Martin was not an option, so she might as well take advantage of it.

“Excellent!”, the man trumpeted before noticing Bonnet's furious face. “Oh, come on, my friend… It would be a shame to deprive us of her delightful presence, we see her so little.”

“Shall I prepare a dress for you, Madam?”, Phaedre asked from the bedroom door. But although her sentence was meant for Brianna, the maid’s dark eyes were questioning Bonnet. Everyone in the room held their breath, including Hennessy standing behind the counselor, until Stephen – his nostrils dilated with anger – nodded briefly and Phaedre scuttled away with a victorious Brianna.

Brianna hurriedly put on the last of the two evening dresses she took with her. As Phaedre tied the laces behind her back, Stephen burst into the room, closing the door behind him. Brianna was doing her best to look perfectly normal when Stephen motioned for Phaedre to leave them alone and took over the lacing, tightening the corset a little more roughly. It was the first time since yesterday that he laid his hand on her, and Brianna could not tell if that was a good or a bad thing.

“Whatever you do, never leave my side...”, he breathed into her neck, still tying her dress. His tone was neither threatening nor angry. It was a piece of advice, a plea, whispered in her ear. “And when I tell you it’s time to leave, we leave. Do you understand?”

Brianna turned around, her eyes seeking his own and once again finding the fear that was already there last night. A shiver ran down her spine as she wondered what could frighten a man like him and if it would not be better to stay here with Jeremiah. No. If she wanted to make any progress, she had to know more about him, his activities, and his partners. She nodded, smiling reassuringly and even going so far as to caress the scar on her husband's cheek. She had to put her feet on the right path if she wanted to earn his trust. “I'll behave. I promise...”

Stephen's eyebrows rose on his forehead as if he doubted it, and he turned away. “You, maybe, but I’m not sure about the others…”

Brianna wrinkled her nose, waiting for him to elaborate on that cryptic answer, but he immediately left the room, letting Phaedre finish her work. The tension that emanated from him was palpable throughout the trip to a residence away from the city, surrounded by a huge park and whose main driveway was lit by several rows of candlesticks placed on the lawn. The first thing that struck Brianna upon entering the reception hall was the very limited number of women. Most of the men had come unaccompanied. The second thing was that the few women did not seem stuffy like the night before and moved around with ease. Suddenly, Brianna felt like the victim of a gigantic prank. The only person who did not know what was going on between these walls.

The room was huge and divided into two distinct spaces: the first offered a buffet with alcohol and delicacies, as well as several sofas and loveseats randomly arranged. The other half consisted of a small dais in front of several rows of seats. A show? A speech, perhaps?, Brianna wondered, looking around. Her eyes soon landed on William Tryon himself, striding across the room towards them.

“You brought her?”, the Governor asked Bonnet, without even saying hello to Brianna who squinted. She did not give a damn about Tryon’s greetings, but she hated the way he talked about her like she was not right under his nose. Bonnet rolled his eyes, while Josiah – who had not left their side since they got out of his carriage – smirked.

“I might have forced his hand a little bit. It is so rare that Mr. Bonnet honors us with his wife’s presence…”

Tryon arched a mocking eyebrow and after a quick glance at Brianna, raised his glass of liquor to his lips.

“Margaret is not with you?”, Brianna asked coldly. She expected him to ignore her or to mumble his answer reluctantly, but instead Tryon nearly choked on his sip, swallowed it with difficulty and burst into a scornful laugh.

“Margaret? Here? Good heavens, no. Can you imagine that?”, he chuckled, shaking his head.

His counselor tilted his head to the side and, as he stared into space, a strange smile appeared on his lips. “Quite well, actually…”

This time, Lord Tryon glared at his subordinate. Brianna was getting more and more uncomfortable. Why was this place inappropriate for Margaret? And for me... since I wasn't supposed to be there either. Discreetly, she once again scanned the room as well as its guests. The women’s behavior especially bothered her. Far too relaxed for a civilized evening, far too handsy as well. But never vulgar: they were all well-bred, no doubt. Something did not add up...

The men. The way they glanced at her made her want to run away. They were not looking at her, they were ogling her. Plain and simple. Like a piece of meat. Huh, I remember that face…, she thought, recognizing the man who was in River Run on the last day of her pregnancy. Mister... James? No, Joyce. She turned towards Stephen, who seemed determined to sulk, and tightened her stole around her shoulders; it was not cold per se, but she was shivering. From the small group of men near the dais, Joyce reached up and waved at them.

“I think it’s time…”, Josiah announced lightly, before offering his arm to Brianna. “May I have the pleasure to walk you to our seats?”

Whatever you do, never leave my side… These were Stephen’s words just before they left and for once, she had no desire to disobey him. With an apologetic smile, she slipped her arm around her husband's, but Josiah did not seem to mind and clapped his hand to his heart as if apologizing.

“Of course…I forgot how difficult it is to separate two newlyweds…”

“Thank God, it never lasts…”, Tryon grumbled, draining his glass in one swig and heading towards a seat at the other end of the room.

Brianna waited until he was a good distance away and rolled her eyes. “It's always a pleasure to speak with him...”, she muttered and to her great surprise, Bonnet smiled (the fact that she had deliberately chosen his arm had a lot to do with it) and Josiah chuckled loudly.

“And he’s in a good mood, today...”

A few minutes later, Brianna found herself sitting in the back row, wedged between Stephen on her left and Josiah on her right – but far from complaining about it, she had to admit that their presence reassured her. Since the guests had started to take their seats, their looks had become more insistent, and the bodies of the two men on either side of her soon became a most welcome protection. There was a hubbub for a few moments, then Mr. Joyce climbed onto the dais, bringing silence to the audience.

“Good evenin’, ladies and gentlemen. My partners and I have got a great night in store for ye. I see a few new faces out there, as well as some familiar ones... So I’ll not yammer on too long and before we start the biddin’, let's warmly thank our friend Claude Sauthier, whose gardens are not the only aspect of the French way of life that he imported into our colonies, for our greatest pleasure…”

Laughter greeted his last comment, while the said Claude Sauthier rose briefly from his chair and bowed. Brianna blinked a few times at the mention of the auction but before she could wonder what kind of goods would be put up for sale, Joyce had clapped his hands, and a line of beautiful – and scantily clad – young women walked towards the dais. Brianna's eyes widened and she felt her lower jaw drop, making her look like a freshly caught grouper. This could not be real. She was having a nightmare and would wake up in a minute. It had to be a dream: this could not possibly be a human auction. Women, no less. It was unthinkable. Or was it? Slowly, she turned her head towards Stephen, who pointedly avoided her gaze, but his clenched jaw betrayed his nervousness. He knew I wouldn't like that...

On the dais, the first sale was already starting. Joyce had delicately grasped the first young woman’s hand and she stepped onto the stage with a shy smile.

“As always, we’ll start the evenin’ with our most beautiful gems… Lovers of young and innocent girls, it is time for ye to bid!”

Young and in-what??, Brianna screamed internally, her head swiveling back to the stage. Was he suggesting that they were… virgins? Her bewilderment had not gone unnoticed and on her right, Josiah whispered into her ear.

“Rest assured, my dear, we are all here among consenting adults… The auction is just entertainment and a way to help these modest young women to save a little money. Mr. Joyce and your husband only get a… minor commission.”

He calls that ‘helping’? What does he want? A fucking medal?? This time, Stephen turned his head slightly toward her. You wanted to come, now accept the consequences: that's what his cold eyes were screaming at her, and Brianna instantly regretted accepting Josiah's invitation. His insistence could only mean one thing...

“What… what do you do with these women after the auction?”, she asked, her voice shaking, as the young virgin had just been sold to one of the few couples in the room for the modest sum of one hundred and fifty pounds sterling. Josiah's smile widened and he leaned closer to her. The sense of security she had briefly felt between the two men was completely gone, and Bonnet now seemed to be the last defense between her and the rest of the world. Oh, the irony...

“That is the whole purpose of the second part of this evening… Claude brought these practices back from France. They call it ‘libertinage’, don’t mind my accent. Don't you think the French have a knack for finding fancy names for the most decadent activities?” He chuckled, while Brianna did her best not to scream, which became increasingly difficult when he whispered, just before pulling away: “I hope you will stay, by the way.”

On her left, Bonnet's fist clenched on his thigh and Brianna gave him a look of distress. On the stage, a second young woman was swaying her hips to raise the stakes, and Stephen took advantage of Josiah's bidding to lean over to her and whisper at top speed:

“After the sale, I’ll tie up a few loose ends with Joyce and then we leave.”

Her throat tightening and heart pounding, Brianna nodded hastily, eager to escape this place. She understood now all the stares that had followed her since their arrival. All these men were getting ready for an orgy… and some of them were probably very keen to have a taste of the mysterious Mrs. Bonnet, who was so rare in society. At that moment, her twisted life as a desperate housewife in River Run no longer seemed so unbearable to her, and had she been able to teleport herself there with a snap of her fingers, she would have done so.

Not only had she learned nothing more – except that Bonnet levied a tax on a pimp’s activities, which probably was not even illegal at the time – but even if she had dug up some juicy information, she had no one to pass them on to since most of the officials of this colony… were right here in this room. On the verge of tears, she cursed herself for taking such unnecessary risks. She could have spent the evening with Jeremiah in her arms, humming nursery rhymes by the fire or talking quietly with Phaedre over a cup of tea. Anything would have been better than this...

Brianna almost jumped when she felt Bonnet's warm fingers brush her left hand, probably trying to soothe her. He was still watching the auction — probably mentally calculating how much money he would make once all those girls were sold to the highest bidder — and all of Brianna's anger, disgust, and anxiety was immediately directed at him. The man who was responsible for this and everything else. For all these sick and twisted situations, and for her misfortune. She withdrew her hand quickly.

Brianna watched the whole auction in a state of semi-consciousness. She perceived sounds, bursts of voices, and movement, but without really paying any attention to them. She had quickly realized that the women who appeared on the stage were professionals, whores of high society hoping to become the mistress of a rich man, or pretty young penniless girls selling their virginity for gold. Apparently – as Josiah was quick to let her know – Joyce had tried to sell young women traveling alone whom he had kidnapped, but they had been uncooperative afterward and customers had complained. Everyone this evening was therefore forewarned and/or experienced. Everyone but me… A shiver of disgust ran through Brianna, and she glanced distressfully at Stephen. He would not let anyone touch her, she was sure of that. Not possessive as he was. But at the same time, he does not seem to refuse anything to some of his associates, and especially the one sitting to my right...

Once the last recruit was sold, Stephen got up from his chair and motioned for Brianna to follow him. They made their way through the guests returning towards the sofas – with one or sometimes two girls under their arms – and joined Joyce in a small room. The man was doing his sums in a small notebook, and both men talked for a moment in low voices. Meanwhile, Brianna was leaning against the wall, breathing deeply for the first time since the auction began. In the next room, giggles and grunts could already be heard. She was trying to think of something else, blocking out the voices that reached her ears to imagine herself on a sandy beach – anywhere but here – when the French landscape architect appeared in the doorway.

“Ah Monsieur Joyce, I wantid to congratulate you!”, he said, his waistcoat already half unbuttoned on his paunchy stomach. “You really ’ave a good eye! Again today, your selection iz exquizite.”

“At yer service, Mr. Claude”, Joyce said with a broad smile, before turning back to Bonnet. “As for yer share, do we proceed as usual?”

Stephen nodded, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder, then returned to Brianna to offer her his arm, which she immediately accepted. Nothing mattered more to her now than to leave this damned orgy, curl up under thick blankets and forget everything about the entire evening.

“You’re not staying?”, Sauthier asked with a hint of disappointment, and Bonnet gave him a fake smile.

“We’re goin’ home to rest. Brianna isn’t feelin’ very well…”

That’s an understatement…, the young woman gritted inwardly. Sauthier stared at her for a moment and her anguish must have worked in her favor because he seemed immediately convinced that she was indeed sick.

“What a pity… Anozer time per’aps?”

Much to Brianna's delight, neither she nor Stephen answered that question, and with one last polite smile, he ushered her out. Crossing the auction room was one of the most uncomfortable and embarrassing moments of her entire life: everywhere on the sofas, half-naked bodies, people glued to others, some of them just watching or waiting their turn... Brianna tried to keep her eyes on the exit, but could not help but notice Lord Tryon comfortably sitting on a sofa with a topless young woman straddling his lap. A little further in a dark corner, Josiah watched Brianna quicken her pace, his eternal smirk playing on his lips. He did not make a move to hold her back, did not ask why she was leaving, and she suddenly had the unpleasant feeling that he had not wanted to bring her here to take advantage of her. He wanted me to see… He wanted me to know what was happening tonight… Why?

But she did not have time to think of an answer. Stephen pushed her gently towards the gravel driveway where a carriage was waiting for them. The Irishman muttered their destination to the coachman and they rushed inside. Brianna holed up in a corner, biting one of her fingernails as she avoided her husband's gaze. Now that they were out, however, all the emotions she had suppressed during the evening were rushing back up, threatening to boil over. Everything felt suffocating: the narrow carriage, her corset, Stephen’s presence on the opposite seat. And when the coachman slowed down his horses at the last intersection before the inn, she threw herself on the small door of their vehicle and opened it. Jumping with both feet together on the ground, she tipped forward but managed to regain her balance so as not to fall. Behind her, she heard Stephen’s angry voice calling her name but she had already started to walk away, awkwardly slipping on the muddy ground.

All she cared about right now was walking. Straight ahead, take deep breaths of cold air and calm her anxiety attack. Almost staggering, she began to walk along houses and walls, soon bumping into a wooden crate placed in front of a merchant's shop. The obstacle stopped her in her tracks and she braced herself against it, unable to catch her breath or take another step. A hand landed on her right arm and guessing it was Stephen’s — who else, given that the street was deserted on that December night — she pushed it away.

“You shouldn't have come...”

Brianna closed her eyes, still clinging to the crate, and sneered: “I'm sorry for ruining your evening... You would have been happier without me, I’m sure! With a girl on each knee…”

“I don't care about whores. I don’t buy, I just sell what Joyce brings back to me…”, Stephen answered with a hint of annoyance.

“Oh, what a relief! That’s all right, then!”

Brianna knew without looking back that once again he had taken her sarcasm at face value and she rolled her eyes when she heard him ask: “Really?”

“No!” Straightening up, she whirled around to show him how disgusted she was by his business. “This is despicable! How can you do this? Selling these women like cattle?”

“They are here because they want to… and to make money”, the Irishman argued. He did not seem to understand the reason for this scandal.

“But I gather that hasn’t always been the case!”

His frown told her everything she needed to know. “Whether they want it or not, what's the difference? As long as the customers are satisfied…”

“BECAUSE IT’S WRONG!”

This time, she had actually screamed. Stephen was staring at her in amazement, dumb as a fish, when a second-floor window swung open above their heads, revealing a tall man in a nightgown.

“Oi! Could ye keep it down, down there?”

Brianna shook her head, too exhausted to apologize, and turned around to walk towards their inn. She heard Bonnet follow suit, catching up and planting himself in front of her. “It is not wrong… This business brings in some of the money we live on… you, me, and Jeremiah.”

“What about the women you exploit?”, she answered angrily but in a more confidential tone, in case the occupant of the second floor decided to go down and shut them up for good.

“What about them? I don't know them, you don't know them… how am I supposed to know if somethin’ is right or wrong for them? I can’t read minds...”

Brianna stared at him in disbelief. Did he really not understand or was he doing it on purpose? “What do you feel when you send these girls into the clutches of men twice their age?”

“Nothin’! They don’t matter to me.”

“Then, what do you feel looking at me?”

Stephen raised an eyebrow and smiled seductively. “When I look at you, darlin’, my heart gets warmer… As well as other parts of my body. It’s been like that since I met y-”

“I meant looking at me now! All upset and angry?!”

The Irishman's smile disappeared and he stared at her quizzically. Or suspiciously? Brianna couldn't tell, he was so hard to read... “Upset about what, exactly?”

“About what you do! About this evening… About what could have happened to me in there!”

“I would never let anyone touch you, Bria-”

“I know but I got scared anyway!” Her voice cracked on the last word and a rageful tear rolled down her cheek. Stephen slowly followed her with his eyes, as if he finally realized the impact that tonight's misadventure had had on her. “You scare me! Your actions, your clients… your whole WORLD scares the hell out of me!” She wiped her tears away angrily and shook her head. “I don't know anything about what you do and every time I find something, it's worse… And I know that you are perfectly aware that what you are doing is wrong, or you wouldn't have tried to lock me up at the inn…”

“You’re mistaken, darlin’. I did not want another man layin’ a finger on you, that's all... Some men don’t mind sharin’ their lassies, but I’m not one of them.”

Brianna froze and scowled. “Of course… I don’t even know how I could think it was anything else than that… I’m dealing with a man with no conscience whatsoever…”

Bonnet did not seem pleased by her comment and grabbed her arm. “Unlike you, I did not have the privilege of growin’ up in a lovin’ family, where people have the luxury of teachin’ wee lads what's right and what's wrong... The things I've learned and done in me life only served one purpose: survival!”

“Don't talk about my family, you don't know anything about me or them”, she scolded, looking away. Yes, she had been privileged, she had lived in a modern, less violent era, with an adoptive father who loved her; she had studied at a prestigious university… Of course, he knew none of that: he probably imagined a peaceful childhood in some Scottish castle, with Jamie and Claire… but whatever he thought, she could not let him use that to justify his evil deeds.

“What I am doin’ with Joyce is not illegal, it is part of the business I have started to earn a livin’ without stealin’ or smugglin’. To set an example for Jeremiah!”

“You think whoring women is setting an example?”

“All right, I get it… Women are not a business you approve of, fine! I’ll stop then, I have other things to sell.”

“Like what? Men?”, Brianna spat sarcastically.

“No, but I could if it pleases you…”

“Stop…” She elbowed her way out of his grip. “Just stop talking.”

“Remember what I said on the day we arrived at River Run: I did all of this to better meself. To be a good father to Jeremiah…”

“Shut up…” Brianna could not bear to hear the slightest sound coming out of his mouth anymore and she had to resist the urge to cover her ears and sing a stupid song at the top of her lungs, like a child throwing a tantrum. Instead, she took a few steps back, determined to get back to the inn as quickly as possible. Once near Jeremiah – who was surely sleeping at this late hour – Stephen would stop talking so as not to wake him up and she would finally have peace. But that was clearly not Bonnet's plan, as he immediately caught up to her and pressed himself against her.

“It is not only a matter of bein’ a good father to our son, now...”

“I don’t want to listen to you anymore...” Unable to pull away from his embrace, Brianna turned her head ninety degrees to the left, her jaw clenched and eyes closed.

“… I want to become an honorable man for you...” The pirate's voice was now softer, almost pleading and that annoyed Brianna even more, who struggled harder. To no avail.

“Shut up!”

“...because if I don’t, your body will never stop rejectin’ our children.”

The words came as a bombshell to Brianna, and she froze, unsure how they had gone from a simple argument to him whispering strange words in her ear. Too shocked to free herself, she turned her head just enough to study Stephen's expression. He was frowning, clenching his jaw, and there was a strange glint in his eyes. Guilt? No, it could not be. Despite his apparent smugness, did he have such low self-esteem that he thought he was capable of causing his own wife to miscarry? It was time to change methods, suppress her anger, and try to make the most of this unexpected vulnerability.

“Is it because of what the doctor said?”, she asked softly in order to soothe him. “He told you that he didn't believe in that theory. Plus, if my contempt for you could cause a miscarriage, Jeremiah would certainly not be here…”

She saw the corners of Stephen's mouth curl up slightly, then his brow furrowed as if he had first taken her remark as a good thing, only to realize it was not a compliment.

“What happened between us is one thing… and I don't know if I'll ever be able to get over it…”, she went on, immediately feeling Stephen's fingers tighten around her waist, “but you are a good father. That I can't deny. And God knows if it pains me to admit it, but Jeremiah adores you.” She breathed in and raised a hand to gently stroke the pirate's cheek. If she wanted to soften him, there should be no skimping on compliments. “And there's no reason for our other kids not to love you just as much.”

She must have seemed sincere because Bonnet's face suddenly lit up and his usual smug smile reappeared on his lips.

“And yet, I improvise… I never had a father, or a mother, to show me what to do.”

“I know.”

Silence fell between them, but Brianna still stroked Stephen's cheek, smiling encouragingly. She had to try and go further, worm information out of him before he clammed up again.

“You don't need anyone to show you how to be a good father, but I could be your guide for other things? That way, you would know if your actions are good or bad… What do you do when you’re not hosting orgies for the rich and depraved?”

She had spoken in jest, trying to seem disinterested but she knew he had seen through her when he pulled away and shrugged. “I sell all sorts of things… The only difference is that today I do so legally, thanks to a thought-out partnership with Lord Tryon. So you have nothin’ to worry about, darlin’.”

Shit. She had not been very subtle, but at least she had tried. Any trace of vulnerability was slowly disappearing from Stephen's features, and after adjusting his jacket, he held out his arm to her.

“Come on or you'll end up catching a cold.”

Without a word, she slipped her arm around his and they headed for the inn, a few dozen meters away. The closer they got, the more Brianna relaxed, relieved that this nightmarish evening was finally over. She’d rather not imagine what would have happened if Stephen had not been so fiercely possessive. Would she have been forced to have sex with other men, like Joyce’s kidnapped girls? Stop thinking about it, Bree, nothing happened and you're safe now…, she chided herself, not even realizing that she had just associated safety with her husband. But one detail still bothered her…

“You know… I think you have changed, after all”, she lied with a mischievous smile. “You didn't move a finger when Mr. Martin told me he hoped I would stay. The old Stephen Bonnet would certainly have cut out his tongue…”

A brief laugh escaped the pirate's lips. “I'm just far-sighted… Rumor has it that King George would like to offer Tryon a more important position. In New York. And Josiah would be expected to take over as Governor of North Carolina. That’s why I’d rather keep him as a close friend.”

Josiah is running for Governor? The information was not crucial, but it could still be useful to her. Changes of assignment from London could take years to be effective in the Colonies. If Josiah exposed Tryon for any shenanigans incompatible with his duties, he might be able to become Governor of North Carolina earlier. Brianna would first have to make sure that he was indeed trustworthy before disclosing any information to him against Tryon and Bonnet. And even before that… she had to find the said information. Brianna was about to push the inn’s door open when Stephen grabbed her arm and swung her around, pulling her against him.

“I know you will probably hate to hear this, darlin’, but... there’s somethin’ truly fascinatin’ about watchin’ you wander around my world, as you call it.” He paused briefly, searching the young woman’s eyes for a trace of indignation, but she just stared at him expectantly, waiting to know where he was going with this. “The day our paths crossed, I immediately knew you did not belong in that tavern. You were pretty, and pure... and probably too gullible as well. A diamond shinin’ bright in a pile of junk. And like all rare diamonds, I felt... an irrepressible need to possess you.”

Brianna’s expression darkened and he saw her gulp as if trying to process his lewd confession.

“Later, in prison, you did even better. While there is no more miserable place on this Earth, you were radiant in your magnificent dress, delicate jewels, and round belly… My desire came back, even stronger than before.”

“Get to the point”, Brianna stammered, his monologue triggering her own guilt and feeling of being solely responsible for all of this. Stephen slipped a hand around the back of her neck, bringing their lips closer but never enough to kiss her.

“Tonight, when I saw you walkin’ across that room… my beautiful and perfect Brianna amidst all this debauchery… that desire was still there. Nothin’ would have made me happier than fuckin’ you on one of those sofas... showin’ all those men what they’ll never have... But the very idea of anyone other than me layin’ eyes on your body made me insanely jealous.”

Brianna had no idea how to react. But as she opened her mouth to stammer a few words, Stephen’s kissed it passionately. And was it the relief of escaping this awful party, the twisted eroticism of her husband's confession, herself pretending to be seduced, or the ardor of this unexpected kiss…? It was impossible to know. But the fact is… she kissed him back.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Chapter Text

15. The Wanderer

February 1774.

Staring at the pale moonlight filtering through the half-open curtains, Brianna listened to Stephen’s slow and steady breathing – envying her husband's ability to fall asleep as soon as his marital duty was accomplished. Every now and then, she felt him fidgeting, closing his fingers around her breast or exhaling on her bare shoulders. These small movements did not even wake her up anymore; they were therefore not the cause of her insomnia. No, what was keeping her awake was far more personal…

Her husband’s behavior had changed since that fateful kiss, on that memorable night of December twenty-fifth. Stephen Bonnet knew perfectly well the difference between a stolen kiss on coerced lips and a (con-)sensual kiss – and this one had left no room for doubt, flattering his already outsize ego. Brianna had been expecting him to brag about it for weeks, but he had never mentioned it again. On the other hand, his caresses and solicitations had become bolder and more intimate, but also so much softer that Brianna could not help but flinch every time one of his fingers touched a sensitive part of her body. These twitches were nothing like those she experienced during their first weeks together when she was still reluctant to any physical contact between them… and he had felt it.

As if the pirate's sleeping brain had picked up her thoughts, he stirred in his sleep and his hand slid down her waist to her pelvis, the tip of his middle finger brushing past her pubis.

…an irrepressible need to possess you…

Bree's left leg twitched and a shiver ran through her from head to toe. She had realized it since their return from New Bern: Stephen's words had troubled her, enough to be etched in her mind. It had taken her nights of self-psychoanalysis to figure out why, and several more to accept her conclusion.

She had always blamed Roger for putting her on a pedestal. This had almost destroyed their love story at the Scottish festival when he had started an argument just because she would not marry him after only two days of romance. Because she mentioned that she would hypothetically date other men if things did not work between them. Brianna had not appreciated being scolded like a teenager and insulted for something she had not even done yet and might never even happen. But she had wiped a clean slate (something she would do quite often with Roger) and given each other a second chance. A chance that he had almost ruined when hearing about her rape and pregnancy... And even if he had come back and married her, the way he looked at her had changed. She was ‘damaged goods’; she would never be pure again in his eyes, and she had suffered from it. In silence.

Stephen had brutalized her, defiled her, had taken control of her body and her mind without even caring about the trauma he would leave behind. Years later, he had come back for her but far from considering her as impure, she remained as beautiful and perfect in his eyes as she was on Day One. No matter what she had been through, no matter how she behaved, the way he looked at her never changed. Until a few months ago, she thought this was a bad thing, but today… she was not so sure anymore.

Brianna was perfectly aware of that paradox: she liked being a priceless gem in the eyes of the man she hated, but she hated that the man she loved wanted her to be pure as a diamond! There was no logic in all this; just a plain, unexplainable feeling.

Still, with the recent authenticity and sweetness of their interactions combined with the absence of other dreadful social events, River Run (and Brianna) had entered a comfortable and reassuring routine. She still felt guilty about enjoying this welcome respite… But the more Stephen believed she was seduced, the more freedom and trust he would grant her.

Two months later, however, she had to face the facts: she wasn’t exactly freer – quite the contrary, since Bonnet now seemed much more interested in staying at home than going about his various occupations – and the sex, that had once been a source of distress and disgust, became more and more… normal. Pleasant, even, on occasions.

Every time she tried something to turn the situation to her advantage, the trap closed a little more around her. Bonnet thwarted each and every one of her plans – sometimes even unintentionally – or something happened and brought them closer together instead of bringing them apart. Her fake miscarriage was a blatant example of this. She had terminated her pregnancy to avoid being permanently trapped with Bonnet… but they had been more intimate than ever since that day. Both psychologically and physically – when she took out her anger on him and he retaliated by cuddling her, or when they had sex. And especially since he allowed her to be honest and authentic in his presence alone.

Stephen thrashed behind her again, more violently this time, and she turned around to have a look at him. Months ago, after he had told her about his nightmares, she had taken a malicious delight in watching him squirm, sweat, and wince while picturing him drowning in dark, grey waters. Then she had gone through a phase of weariness, annoyed when his erratic movements woke her up almost every night. But these past few weeks, she had found herself waiting impatiently for Bonnet's eyelids to open, revealing two frightened eyes frantically scanning the surroundings... before they landed on her. Just as the distress she read in Jemmy's eyes vanished the second she crossed the threshold of his room to comfort him, Bonnet displayed deep relief or a burning desire as soon as he saw her questioning gaze, parted lips, or a bare shoulder under the bed sheets. And she did her best to react in the most perfect way: with a soft reassuring smile, a cool hand on his wet forehead, fingers delicately pushing back his blonde hair behind his ears. It did not matter if they had spent the previous day fighting or pretending, as long as she was there to reassure him at that exact moment when he was most vulnerable.

However, Bonnet did not wake up that night and it was not until much later that Brianna fell asleep as well. She was sleeping so soundly that the sun had already been up for a while when she opened her eyes again, in a cold and empty bed. Considering the racket it made at the slightest sudden movement, that could only mean one thing: Stephen had been very careful to get out of the covers, get dressed, and leave the room without waking her. A few months ago, she would have suspected a meeting with a partner in crime he did not want her to know about, but not anymore. Since her pregnancy and its fateful end, he had often let her sleep to her heart's content, even if it meant having breakfast alone in the dining room. Something he wouldn't have tolerated before last November...

After putting on a simple skirt, blouse, and belt, Brianna walked up the second floor’s corridor. Jem's room was empty, so she peeked out the window: her son was already outside, running after his dog under Hennessy’s close surveillance. Reassured, she went down to the kitchens, where Phaedre gave her a cup of tea and some pastries to share. That kind of morning was definitely Brianna's favorite: no husband, a nice conversation with a friend, and a hearty breakfast, while her son was having fun in the great outdoors. Both young women had just swallowed one last scone with jam when Happy burst into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water, looking as friendly as usual. Phaedre immediately jumped out of her chair to clear the table and as Hennessy drank his glass in one gulp, Brianna frowned.

“Wait a minute. If he's here, who's watching Jeremiah?”, she asked, casting a worried look at Phaedre. The question was meant for the butler, but since he never talked to her, she did not really expect any explanation from him. Phaedre shrugged but, to their surprise, a groan escaped Hennessy's mouth.

“One of the footmen is watching over him.”

Brianna twisted her neck to look at him, her eyebrows almost disappearing in her hairline.

“What is this? What do I hear? Did you...? Yes, you did speak to me!”, she taunted, while Hennessy pointedly rolled his eyes.

The man put his glass down on one of the kitchen counters. “Orders have changed.”

Interesting…, Bree thought, her eyes shining. She could have stopped there, but the temptation to tickle her mute butler was too strong. “That’s marvelous! The prisoner is finally allowed to chat with her jailer… What are we going to do now? Shall we have a drink, do our nails, and tell each other some dirty little secrets?”

Near her bucket of clear water where she was rinsing dishes, Phaedre giggled as Brianna smiled at Hennessy, who remained unmoved. “Be careful what you say, Madam. I would hate to have to tell Mr. Bonnet about your insolence.”

“Oh, of course... Where is he, by the way? My dear, sweet husband... the apple of my eye... sunshine of my life...?”

This time, Phaedre let out a high-pitched chuckle, earning a murderous look from Hennessy who answered anyway. “A potential buyer came to visit the western parts of the land…”

He did not have time to finish his sentence. The kitchen door had just swung open and Jeremiah appeared, tears streaming down his crimson cheeks and closely followed by the footman. Holding one of his arms against him, the child ran straight towards Brianna, whose smile instantly fell.

“What is it, Jem? Are you hurt?”

The child did not answer, frantically sucking on his thumb, his face buried in his mother's skirts. She and Hennessy looked up at the footman questioningly, but the butler probably looked more threatening than she did, because the young man turned pale and took a step back.

“I don't know what happened, Madam. He wanted to play hide and seek and as I was trying to find him… he came out of the stables, crying his eyes out.”

Brianna slowly moved away from Jeremiah to squat and look at him, her eyes scanning every inch of the child in search of a detail, a bruise, a bump, or anything that could tell her what was going on. That's when she spotted a red mark on his wrist, just below his sleeve.

“Can I have a look at your arm, Jem?”, she asked, taking his wrist between her fingers. Brianna felt the arm very carefully, but nothing seemed broken and Jeremiah did not flinch. She then slightly moved his hand, and let out a sigh of relief. “I'm going to roll up your sleeve, all right?” It was now time to investigate this redness...

Her heart pounding, she opened the two small cufflinks on Jeremiah's wrist and rolled up the fabric to the elbow, suppressing a surprised gasp. There, on Jeremiah's pale skin, was imprinted the characteristic shape of five fingers and a palm all around his frail arm. Someone had obviously grabbed the child violently. But who? And why? Brianna made a mental list of potential culprits and their motives. Stephen? No, in spite of all her grievances against the Irishman, she knew deep down that he would never raise a hand against Jemmy. Not without an excellent reason (like to prevent him from getting hurt or something) and above all, he would have brought the child home himself. Hennessy was with her and Phaedre in the kitchen, and the servants would never have done such a thing, as they knew full well they would lose their job (or a limb) if they touched a single hair on Jeremiah Bonnet’s head.

Her son was in the stable. Perhaps the groom had grabbed him a little too hard to save him from an angry horse? But then, why hadn't he brought the child back home and explained the situation? No, none of the people who lived in River Run could be responsible. It could only mean one thing: an intruder had entered the stable, someone who had wanted to take Jeremiah away against his will. Brianna stood up and headed straight for the back door.

“I'm going to the stables, maybe someone there will be able to explain what happened...”

“I'll go get Mr. Bonnet....”, Hennessy retorted, but Brianna had already left the room and did not hear him.

Running across the yard, she rushed into the stables — which were empty except for the horses in their stalls. The animals seemed a little nervous and she approached the first horse to put a soothing hand on his muzzle.

“Is there anyone there?”, she called, squinting in the darkness. A horse snorted and she suddenly started to panic, as a gloomy shiver ran down her spine. She had rushed here thinking she would find a member of her family, which would explain Jemmy's attempted kidnapping, but she wasn’t so sure anymore. Abandoning the horse, she took a few steps into the stable, her heart racing, when a dark figure suddenly jumped from a stall and clasped his dirty hand on her mouth. Brianna let out a muffled cry – while her assailant's arm grabbed her waist – and thrashed around like a madwoman... until the stranger's voice rose, and a strong Scottish accent echoed in the stables.

“Fur God’s sake, Brianna, it's me!”

The young woman stopped moving and turned her questioning eyes towards the intruder, soon identifying Roger's features despite the shaggy beard darkening his face. Her ex-husband had lost weight, looked like he'd been wearing the same clothes for a whole month, and probably had not seen a comb for as many days. The grimy hand left her mouth and she took a step back to get a better view of the Scotsman. “Roger? What are you doing here?”

“I came tae get ye!”

Brianna blinked several times, torn between relief — that Roger had not abandoned her in the eighteenth century — and anger. Not only because this attempted rescue mission was totally stupid, but also because Jemmy seemed more traumatized than anything. Roger suddenly lunged forward, but she backed away again out of his reach.

“Was that you? Did you hurt Jeremiah’s arm?”, she spat angrily.

Roger groaned and rolled his eyes. “He didnae recognize me, I tried tae take him tae safety but he kicked me...”

“If you jumped on him from behind without any warning, like you just did to me, I can’t blame him!”, she hissed, while Roger glared at her. “He hasn't seen you in ages and you're unrecognizable... What did you expect?”

Roger did not answer and looked around nervously before grabbing her arm. “We have nae time tae lose, we must go…”

“What about Jem? He's inside the house and with the jitters he got, I doubt he'll come out anytime soon...”

“I'll come back fur him another day. For noo, we have tae get ye tae the stone circle and-”

“No way!” She freed herself from Roger's grip and gave him a venomous look. “Didn’t you learn your lesson at the trial? I. Will not. Give up. My son. I will leave with him or I won’t leave at all. End of discussion.”

“Christ, ye and Jamie make quite a pair… He wants tae go through the legal path too, saving ye both at the same time… But it's been seven months, Brianna, and we're still at square one!”

Silence fell in the stable as the ex-spouses glared at each other. Brianna crossed her arms and pursed her lips. “You left the Ridge, didn't you? That's why you look like a wanderer. You thought you could just show up here, even if that could make matters worse… and my father did not agree. Is that right, Roger?” As he remained silent, she shook her head. “Do you have any idea of all the things I have to do so that my daily life isn't a living hell? Do you imagine how fragile the balance between danger and safety is in this house? And you… you turn up just like that… Putting Jeremiah at risk? Putting me at risk? And you dare… you DARE to ask me once again to follow you and abandon my baby?”

She saw Roger's nostrils flare; he did not like being lectured like that, especially when he knew he was wrong. Unable to find words, he grabbed Brianna's arm again and pulled her towards the exit.

“Let go of me... Let go of me, you selfish prick!”, she growled, digging her fingernails into every inch of accessible skin. But Roger did not seem to feel the pain and kept dragging her on the damp straw covering the ground. After a harder punch on his nose, he immobilized Bree's second arm and pulled her against him to subdue her.

“Goddammit, Bree, stop that nonsense. Ye'll get us caught!”

The stable doors swung open, flooding the stalls with light and causing them both to squint. Stephen, Hennessy, and two men usually posted at the gates entered the building and despite the backlight, Brianna could perfectly see Bonnet's facial features. He was furious, obviously, but there was also a hint of pure disappointment and sadness in his eyes, and for a second Brianna wondered what was causing it. Until… it hit her.

Looking down, she became aware of the position she was in: trapped in Roger's arms, in a dark building, her cheeks most certainly pink from their heated conversation. But if Stephen had heard nothing of their argument, the picture he had in front of him could be interpreted in a very different way. At the sight of Bonnet and his minions, Roger instinctively let go and Bree pulled away from him with a pleading look at Stephen. “This is not what you th-”

“Seize him”, the Irishman interrupted abruptly, nodding at Roger.

The Scot whirled around to run away through the back door, but one of the henchmen drew a flintlock pistol and pointed it at his skull, forcing Roger to give up on any attempt to escape while his sidekick twisted both his arms behind his back. Sensing the danger of the moment, Brianna rushed over to Stephen. “Wait, let me explain…”

Stephen's hand grabbed her right arm and pulled her violently to him. “Explain what, exactly? That this is all just a misunderstandin’? That MacKenzie is not standin’ in my stables, on my property, with his hands on my wife? After hurtin’ my son?” His voice grew hoarser and more threatening with each new possessive pronoun and Brianna found herself panicking. “Does he come here often?”, he hissed, bringing his face closer to hers. As she stared at him in amazement, he shook her slightly and repeated, a little louder: “How many times did he come to visit, Brianna?”

“Never!”, she yelled, shaking her head. “I... I didn't even know he was there when I walked in...”

“Balderdash…” With a growl of annoyance, he pushed her away, focusing on his men who were now gagging and tying up Roger like some big roast beef.

“I’m telling the truth! This is the first time I've seen him since the trial!” As Stephen still refused to look at her, she grabbed his face with both hands and forced his gaze into hers. “Stephen-”

“What was the plan, huh? Runnin’ away with me son?... No... He does not give a damn about Jeremiah…”, he added contemptuously. Another flash of sadness crossed his eyes, and in other circumstances – if a man was not pointing his gun at Roger's head – Bree would have been touched. “No, he's here for you… God knows I can't blame him.”

“Sir…?”, Hennessy asked with a questioning look at Stephen. The Irishman's eyes went from his butler to the gun his henchman was still holding, then back to Brianna. Gently grabbing his wife's hands, he tore them away from his face and before she could react, snatched the gun from his man’s hands and stuck the barrel to Roger's temple. The Scot tensed under the ropes that kept him tied.

“Don’t!”, Brianna implored, holding out her hands. The pirate's cold irises landed on her.

“Why?”

“If you kill him... I'll never forgive you.”

Stephen's hand twitched around the butt. “You still love him…”

Brianna shook her head and moved closer to him again, putting her hands on his chest and not giving Roger a single glance. “No. He lost my love the day he wanted me to abandon Jemmy…”, she breathed, her eyes watering, but the pirate did not seem the least bit impressed. “Believe me, you have been much more of a father to him these last few months than Roger has ever been in three years…”

Roger could not believe his eyes and ears and he was staring at Brianna in such disbelief and anger that it was better for her not to see his face. The young woman played her role perfectly, mixing truths and persuasive lies; she had to if she wanted to save her skin, but also Roger's... and preserve the hard-earned quietude of these last weeks. Trembling, she raised a hand to caress the pirate's cheek tenderly.

“But whatever my feelings for him today, he was dear to me once. He's part of my family, whether you like it or not. So please, don't kill him.”

Stephen stared at her in silence. Nothing moved except his chest, rising and falling regularly with each breath. Brianna pressed her body against his, begging him, reassuring him, and punctuating her sweet words with caresses. She tried not to look too relieved when she saw him lower his gun. With a delicate and cautious hand, she grabbed the pistol and immediately felt Bonnet tense. He must have expected her to try and turn the gun on him, but Brianna had no intention of doing so. She wasn't that stupid. Slowly, she disarmed him and placed the pistol near a stall to her right before returning to the Irishman, without a single glance at Roger.

“He never touched me, I swear... I wouldn't let him”, she whispered against Stephen’s lips. “He wanted to abandon Jemmy again…”

The green irises briefly glared at Roger, his filthy outfit, his shaggy demeanor… Nothing suggested this encounter was actually a lovers’ tryst, but rather MacKenzie’s attempt to retrieve what he had been stupid enough to lose.

“Handling things with violence… was the old Stephen Bonnet’s way”, she whispered pleadingly. As always when the subject of his transformation came up, Brianna knew she had caught his attention. “I know you don't want to be that man anymore. Let Roger go, he's learned his lesson.”

About ten centimeters above her, her husband narrowed his eyes as he did every time he was assessing her honesty. But Bree was getting good at this game now and she suppressed a sigh of relief when he took a step back. Did he really believe her or was he just pretending to give in? She did not know. Placing both hands on his chest, Brianna smiled flirtatiously at him and pushed him towards the exit. But at this exact moment, Roger managed to expel the handkerchief stuffed between his teeth.

“What d’ye think ye’re doing, Brianna? Have ye gone bonkers?”

It took less than half a second for the young woman to turn around and slap Roger's cheek with all her might. To silence him mostly, because opening his big mouth was not the best method to convince Bonnet to spare him. But also…

“Don’t ever... call me crazy”, she growled, while all the other men around them exchanged snide looks. You have no idea what I had to do…, she added in her head. Turning away from the Scotsman, she went back to Stephen. The latter had narrowed his eyes and was staring at Roger with an imperceptible smile, his scar barely quivering. What else is he up to? Willing to get him as far away from Roger as possible, she grabbed Stephen’s arm. “Come on, these gentlemen will walk him out.”

“Go ahead, I'll be right behind you...”

Brianna gulped. He had spoken gently, far too gently, and she feared for a moment that he was only sending her out to spare her the sight of a bullet going through her ex-husband's skull. But he must have sensed her fear, for he immediately added:

“Fear not, darlin’, I just want to have a word with Mr. Hennessy.”

The butler stiffened somewhat, unsure if Bonnet was going to hold him responsible for the incident, or if he actually had instructions to give him – and Brianna internally sneered. She was not the only one to walk on eggshells with Stephen Bonnet in this house. Her guts churning, she nodded and slowly walked out of the stable, expecting to hear a gunshot at any moment. But after less than a minute, Bonnet walked out as well – his men still dragging Roger with them – and she suppressed a cry of relief.

“I have to finish showin’ the land to me buyer... I won't be back before mid-afternoon”, he smiled, a little too happy for this situation.

Brianna cast a worried glance at his minions, who were still restraining Roger. “Promise me nothing will happen to him.”

The Irishman chuckled, his mischievous gaze flicking briefly towards his rival before resting on her. “I'm not sayin’ that he won't take a few well-placed blows on his way out…”, he quipped, stroking his wife's chin, “but we’re not plannin’ to have him ‘attacked by savages’, if that is your question.” The hint about how he had covered up Forbes' murder was not even subtle, but Brianna did not comment. “I would love to find a way to hurt him without hurtin’ you in the process… but I'm afraid that’s impossible.”

He smirked at her again and Bree chose to smile back before placing a quick kiss on the corner of his lips. Behind them, Roger cursed loudly at the sight and she had to refrain from rolling her eyes. You idiot, did you really think that after all this time I would still be screaming in terror at every physical contact? She was way past that. But the Scot seemed to think that she had spent all these months just staying there, whimpering and waiting for Prince Charming to come and rescue her...

“Will you be all right if I leave you alone? I mean... Mr. Hennessy will be with you, of course.”

Like Saint Roch and his dog…, she thought before nodding. “Everything will be alright. I should get back to Jeremiah. He got really scared…”

Stephen's features hardened slightly at those words and he nodded before riding his horse back to his guest. When Bree went back to the house with Hennessy, the footman who had escorted Jeremiah was waiting for them with a pang of anguish.

“Miss Phaedre is upstairs with Jeremiah, Madam... He's a bit shaken, but hopefully more frightened than hurt...”, the footman stammered, fiddling nervously with one of his cufflinks. “I... I'm not getting fired, am I?”

Brianna opened her mouth, glancing at Hennessy – who seemed ready to answer that it was indeed a possibility – and shook her head with a reassuring smile. “Absolutely not. Nothing that happened is your fault.”

The footman’s relief was palpable and she gave him a final encouraging nod before heading for the stairs, Hennessy standing on the landing as usual. In his bedroom, Jeremiah was curled up on his bed, his hand clutching Stephen's neckerchief. When she saw her, Phaedre – who had been stroking Jem's hair – stood up cautiously.

“He fell asleep…”, she whispered as Brianna lay down on the bed next to him. “What was in the stable?”

Bree frowned, a sudden urge to cry causing her nose to sting. Now that the adrenaline was slowly leaving her bloodstream, other emotions were taking over. “Roger…”, she said simply and Phaedre clasped a hand over her mouth. “Jeremiah didn't recognize him and put up a fight. He tried to convince me to run away with him again…”

“But… Jeremiah was inside…”, said Phaedre, noticing Bree's darkening eyes. “He wanted you to leave without him?!”

“Are you really surprised…?” The servant did not answer and Brianna rested her head on the pillow, her fingers gently stroking her son's blonde hair. “If only Jeremiah had recognized him, we could have…” She stopped mid-sentence. Even if the child had known it was Roger, the options were still limited.

“You would have had to flee, leave the grounds while avoiding the guards, travel for days… and for what, exactly? Getting caught by Lord Tryon's soldiers and losing your son? With all due respect to Mr. MacKenzie, Madam, what he did was stupid”, the girl said vehemently. “He could have put you in a more precarious situation. More than it already is.”

Brianna did not bother to answer. She already knew all that and that was precisely why she had yelled at Roger in the stables. Wincing, she curled up around her son's small body, and understanding that she needed to be alone, Phaedre slipped away. Bree closed her eyes, shutting herself in a quiet cocoon of darkness and silence, and only realized she had dozed off when a small hand moistened with saliva landed on her cheek, waking her with a start. Pleased to see her open her eyes, Jeremiah pulled his hand away and immediately put his thumb and neckerchief back in his mouth. How long had she slept? Judging by the incredibly long time it took her to come out of sleep, it had probably been several hours.

“How are you feeling, Jem?”, she muttered, sitting up on the mattress.

“Fine... We sleeped a looooong time!”

Bree smiled. She considered telling him the truth about the incident: explain to him that he should not have been afraid, that the man in the stables was not a stranger and meant no harm... But then, as she was about to speak, Hennessy's head appeared through the half-open door.

“Mr. Bonnet is back, Madam.”

“Daddyyyyyyyyy!”, Jeremiah immediately yelled as he jumped out of bed and rushed down the corridor. Bree ran a weary hand over her face, muttering a “Great” that did not fall on deaf ears.

“Is there a problem, Madam?”, Hennessy asked coldly.

The young woman stood up, smoothing down her dress with an annoyed look. “A problem? Please, I could give you a list…”

The butler glanced at her sarcastically and followed Jeremiah, who was already running down the stairs, his right hand gliding on the balusters. Bree appeared at the top of the stairs just as a smiling Stephen lifted her son off the ground.

“Well, son? How's your arm? Do you need to see a doctor?”

Jeremiah shook his head with the cutest of smiles. “I don’t hurt anymore. Is the bad man gone?”

“Yes, he is. Daddy got rid of him...”, he answered, glancing at Brianna, “...with dignity and decorum, of course.”

“Does it mean you kick’d his arse?”

“Yes, that's exactly what it means”, Bonnet added before noticing Brianna's furious face. “…But I chose to be a tad more polite.”

“Is he all right?”, Brianna asked, her voice unfortunately too low and covered by Jeremiah's.

“Can I have some cake like when I fall?”

Stephen chuckled. Phaedre always comforted the boy with a big piece of pie when he scratched his knees or hands as he played, and suspected that he sometimes intentionally hurt himself to have a delicious treat.

“Oh, you surely have your head screwed on right… Phaedre gives you cake when you’re in pain. And I thought your arm wasn’t hurtin’ anymore…”

“Just a little bit”, Jeremiah lied, rubbing his arm.

“Is he all right, Stephen?” Brianna had raised her voice, as he was obviously begging her question. The Irishman looked at her and his face hardened.

“The more you ask, the more I regret it… Yes, he is doin’ fine.”

Brianna took a deep breath and nodded.

“What did the man want?”

Again, Bree felt the urge to tell him the truth, but besides the trouble it might cause her with Stephen, reminding Jemmy of his other life, his other father – who seemed now out of his mind – would only confuse him more. She was about to answer vaguely or with a simple ‘I don't know’, when Stephen spoke up.

“What do you think about your mother, Jeremiah? She is very beautiful, isn't she?”

The little boy nodded, smiling broadly. “Most beautiful Mommy in de world.”

“That's true. Daddy also thinks she is...”, the Irishman agreed with a smirk. Before he went on frostily: “The problem is… daddy is not the only one.”

Bree opened her mouth, outraged by his almost accusatory remarks. She was in no way responsible for Roger's nonsense, let alone being caught in his arms when she had pushed him away repeatedly. “Could we not have this conversation in front of Jeremiah?”

Stephen's jaw tensed slightly, but he had the same eerie glint in his eyes as when they had left the stables. “You're right... Go see Mr. Fitzpatrick in the kitchen, he'll give you a slice of pie”, he added to Jeremiah, who scampered off as soon as his two feet touched the ground. Without another word, Stephen headed for the stairs, and if Brianna had immediately spun around to follow him, she would have seen the brief, knowing nod he gave to Hennessy. But she did not. Instead, she listened as his heavy riding boots climbed each step of the staircase until their bedroom door slammed shut. And it was only after a deep – very deep – breath… that she decided to follow him.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Chapter Text

16. We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together

Slowly, Brianna entered their bedroom and closed the door behind her. Sitting on the windowsill, Stephen was leaning forward and pulling off his riding boots with angry movements. Quite uncomfortable, the young woman remained motionless in the middle of the room, not knowing where to start. He had just taken off the second boot when she finally decided to speak up.

“Whatever you think you saw, I was in his arms because-”

“I'll have the security tightened around the property”, he cut her off, heading for the basin of cold water and soap to wash his hands, which had been soiled by his boots. “He’d better not set foot here ever again...”

That means Roger is alive and well…, Brianna thought with a mental sigh of relief. “No harm was done. Jeremiah is fine and-”

“But I am not fine… And neither are you.” He crossed the room towards Brianna, who did not seem to understand the meaning of his sentence. “I can see it in your eyes. His visit disturbed you. You’re still in love with him…”

Brianna did not know what disturbed her the most: Roger's visit, the bitterness she sensed in Stephen's voice... or the fact that she had felt absolutely nothing but anger in Roger’s presence, despite them being separated for months. But maybe it was just because he had surprised her. And now, she felt that anger again thinking about the red mark he had left on Jemmy’s arm. And the way he treated me in court… She had been so absorbed in her chaotic life with Stephen that she had never taken the time to really think about the impact of Roger’s behavior on her and the love she felt for him.

“He hurt our son”, she said indignantly, taking a step forward. It was time to give her best shot and be convincing. “And he wanted to take me away from him again… Seeing him did not disturb me, it has only confirmed that you are what is best for Jeremiah.”

“And for you?”, Stephen said, slowly coming closer until he was right in front of her. “Am I what’s best for you?”

Brianna’s lips parted but she was unable to utter such a big lie. He would sense her hesitation; he would hear her voice quiver… So she just smiled shyly and nodded. Stephen stared at her for a long time, indecipherable, before replacing a red lock behind her ear with a sad smile.

“I wish I could believe you.”

“Please... Stephen, we've had this conversation before: I've told you many times that you're a much better father than Roger...”

“Just like I’ve told you many times I also want to be a better husband.”

Another silence. This time, Brianna knew she had to say something, even if it was not exactly the answer he was dreaming of.

“You're on the right track…”, she whispered, nodding slowly. Immediately, Stephen's hands gripped her waist and he buried his head in the crook of her neck, breathing in the scent of the jasmine perfume he had given her a few weeks earlier. Her clothes, her jewelry, her smell, everything about her bore the mark of Stephen Bonnet… his mark. Everything except her heart.

Placing a kiss on every inch of skin in his path, Stephen moved up her neck and jaw, until he reached her mouth. He paused, waiting for Brianna's eyes to find his, before slowly capturing her lips. Without haste or greed. With such devotion that Brianna surrendered to it.

She had never experienced such a kiss since they were married. It was not stolen or placed against her will on her closed lips. It was not libidinal like when he dragged her to their bed. Its exquisite slowness gave Brianna time to adapt, to accept, to imitate – so much so that she was in no way surprised when his tongue caressed the entrance to her mouth, begging her to let him in. She allowed it and Stephen deepened their kiss by pulling her closer. But the slow pace he imposed on her soon became unbearable and she found herself wanting more. As if reading her mind, Stephen left her mouth the second she was about to speed up the movement and she almost let out a sigh of frustration. Jesus, what was that?, she thought, panting. But before she could figure out the answer, he had pressed his forehead against hers.

“I do not want to be on the right track...” His fingers squeezed her waist a bit harder for a second. His desire to please her and provide for her was so evident that Brianna felt her heart race. “Show me... I'll be anythin’ you want me to be, darlin’... But I’ll need your help with that...”

Brianna had absolutely no idea what to think. She could no longer put things in perspective, and tell what was true or fake. Her husband's plea seemed so sweet, so sincere... or maybe she just wanted to believe him? She found out that the answer to that question did not really matter to her when he breathed again, right against her lips:

“I need you, Brianna…”

In one second, her numb brain kicked into gear. What would happen if she met his full demands? Would he believe her? Was she capable of acting sincere enough? Her whole body was screaming ‘yes’, despite the sirens of reason trying to warn her that something was odd. I could let go... Just once… He will forget about Roger, he will be reassured… It can only benefit me. This would restore peace to their home, appease Stephen's anger and jealousy, as well as help her forget about Roger and the disappointment he had once again caused in her heart. Brianna could have found a thousand excuses to justify what she was about to do. Just this once…

She would give in and stop worrying, stop pretending, stop being scared. She would let go, forget who they both were, and just be two intertwined bodies. Yes, she felt capable of it. And this languorous kiss they had just shared made her want to be convincing. She looked up, which was enough for their lips to join again. As she closed her eyes, the image of Roger in the stables and his strong arm tugging hard on hers to lead her away came back to Brianna’s mind and she pressed herself harder against Stephen to chase it away. Have ye gone bonkers? His voice now. Incredulous, almost contemptuous. The young woman frowned, her fingers instinctively taking on her husband’s waistcoat buttons. No, she was not crazy. Everything she had done, or was doing right now, was for Jeremiah. Oh please, I’m sure ye’re startin’ tae like it, ye lyin’ whore…, another small voice squeaked in her head – an unpleasant mix of Roger's low, gravelly voice and her own, more high-pitched and sarcastic.

The young woman jumped when two hands grabbed hers to pull them away from the waistcoat and she opened her eyes, coming back to reality. Bonnet was staring at her with unusual seriousness, analyzing the depths of her soul through her blue irises. After a few seconds, he slowly guided Brianna's wrists back to his chest without taking his eyes off her, and she instinctively knew what he wanted. Her attention, her gaze on him… He wanted her with him, body and soul, and not brooding on some dark thoughts in one corner of her brain. How could this man – who had done her so much harm – know her so well in only a few months? That was a mystery… especially when Roger had never been able to fully understand her even after years of living together.

She would give him what he wanted, then. For Jeremiah's sake, but also to thank him because his intervention had stopped her from blaming herself mentally for all of her decisions. Careful not to break eye contact, she proceeded to unbutton his waistcoat gently, and he waited for her to remove the garment along with his blouse to unlace her bodice himself. No hasty movements, no knife to cut the ties, this time. The slowness with which he loosened them, eyelet after eyelet, was unusually sensual, and Brianna almost wished he went faster. But he did not and it took him about three minutes to remove most of his wife's clothes, except for her last petticoat and stockings. Sitting on the noisy bed, he pulled her to him between his spread legs, before taking one of her nipples into his mouth as his hands slowly pulled her petticoat up, slid under the fabric, and grabbed her buttocks.

Bree was gently throwing her head back, closing her eyelids by reflex, when Stephen's hands shook her slightly to make her open them again. Not knowing what to do with her own hands, she slipped them into the Irishman's hair, messing up his ponytail – just as her petticoat and stockings joined her other clothes on the floor. Slowly, but firmly, he whirled her around to lay her on the bed, which emitted another incongruous noise. The young woman rolled her eyes, and Stephen chuckled.

“I promise I’ll do something about this bed…”, he breathed, grabbing her thighs to bring her closer to the edge of the mattress, before kneeling down with a smirk. “But not right now…”

“Not right now, no…”, Brianna whispered, propping herself up on her elbows as he placed his face between her thighs – their gazes still relentlessly connected. Despite his overwhelming desire, Stephen's tongue dived in her folds, skillfully varying pressure and speed. For some reason she could not explain, maintaining eye contact increased Brianna's sensations, and she felt her breathing quicken. When Stephen's hand moved away from her thighs to get closer to her sex, time seemed to slow down again, giving her plenty of time to anticipate the moment when his fingers would enter her, completing the movements of his tongue.

The intrusion was exquisite. The coordination between his tongue on the outside and his fingers on the inside was perfect. Stephen had already managed to pleasure her a bit like this on several occasions but nothing more; her refusal to surrender completely combined with Stephen’s haste had never allowed it. For once, though, he seemed ready to take his time and a long sigh soon escaped her lips, as pleasure rose inside her. Bonnet's gaze grew darker, more calculating, and intensely obscene, and Brianna almost blamed herself for feeling aroused by it. But that did not matter. Today, she would give in. And she would live with the consequences, whether good or bad – for the sake of her son and to go back to her reassuring routine. Without violence or arguments of any kind.

A rougher flick of his fingers made her quiver and she let out a loud moan. Her legs tried to close up reflexively, but Bonnet's other hand firmly pushed her right thigh back into position. The hand that was masturbating her picked up speed and force, and Brianna let herself fall back on the mattress, not giving a damn about the noise of the bedding. Or her own gasps. Her back arched and Bonnet's free arm immediately slid in the space created between her and the sheets to imprison her waist and prevent her from inadvertently escaping his delicious torture.

When she finally came, her legs squeezing Stephen's shoulders, he kept going until her pleasure subsided. Panting, Brianna let out a final moan as he withdrew his fingers, and barely saw him get up – a smirk on his lips – to remove his last clothes. When he came back to the bed, she barely had the strength to sit up but could only see that he was far from done with her. With a shy smile, she turned towards the headboard of the bed to crawl under the sheets and feel a little less exposed, but the whole structure creaked loudly when he climbed on the mattress to hold her back. Brianna felt hot already, but it was nothing compared to the heat that emanated from Stephen's chest when he pressed his wife's back against it. With his left arm circling her waist, he methodically kissed and nibbled at her frail shoulders, then her nape, while his right hand reached up to undo her bun.

Brianna gave her husband a questioning look, but Stephen Bonnet was no longer there. In his place was a man absolutely mesmerized by the sight of her red locks cascading over her pale skin. She should have been used to it by now since Stephen spent hours staring at her hair, her lower back, or any other part of her body he liked when she was naked in front of him… But lately, the fire that ignited the Irishman’s eyes had become so indecently ardent that Bree herself could feel her body burning. And this time was no exception.

Still watching him, Brianna pushed her knees a few inches apart on the mattress, before arching her back slightly and pressing her buttocks against his groin. Bonnet seemed on the verge of insanity: his dilated pupils followed her every movement, like a snake watching its prey until it found the right moment to pounce and sink its fangs into it. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly as their bodies made contact and his arm immediately wrapped around her waist to hold her in this position, while he responded to her silent request by positioning his cock under her buttocks.

Seconds later, he was inside her, fascinated by the undulations of her hips, the twitch of her breasts with each movement, the way her lips parted as he pushed deeper between her thighs. The sight of their two bodies on their knees, pressed against each other, pleased him more than reason, but the position limited their movements and he felt Brianna grow impatient between his hands.

“What do you want, darlin’…?”, he whispered against her ear.

Brianna turned her head towards him, both excited and panicked. His feverish gaze was sparkling with mischief, just like when he was preparing – or had already played – some bad trick. She was thinking about an answer when Stephen's hands slid down her waist to grip her hips and she instantly knew what she wanted. As she bent forward to rest on her palms, he cracked a triumphant grin… one second before he thrust hard into her, causing Brianna to gasp with both surprise and pleasure.

It was the very first time since they were married that Stephen dared to have her like this, on all fours. A few months earlier, she would have refused such a position, but the desire she read in her husband’s eyes was so violent that she would rather escape it. She did not want to see how crazy she drove him. Would she be able to resist this desire if she looked him in the face? Probably not. Few men had looked at her like that in her entire life. He was even the only one, to be completely honest. And she dreaded the effect it was having on her, especially since their relations were more peaceful.

Each thrust caused her to sigh, gasp, or scream as he went deeper and deeper into her. Around them, the bed protested loudly and if she had not been so distracted by the waves of pleasure rising from her lower abdomen, she would have laughed. A little embarrassed of the racket they made, she wanted to ask him to change places or slow down the pace to be more discreet, but all she managed to say was:

“Stephen…”

Bree's eyes widened, knowing that blurting out his name like this could be confusing, and she resisted the urge to turn around and see the effect on him. He was probably bloated with pride, smiling smugly from ear to ear… As if to reward her, Stephen leaned forward and one of his hands slipped around her thigh to reach for her clitoris. Brianna took a deep breath, the bedding issue already far from her mind.

“Say that again.”

He was jubilant. She could hear it in his voice… in the way he had grunted those three words. She could feel it in the way he fucked her ruthlessly. Hearing her moan his name for the very first time made him feel all powerful – totally controlling her – and he did not plan on stopping there.

“Again.”

Another thrust. Brutal, deep. Breathtaking. So much so that he had time to give her the same order a third time before she could comply, completely out of breath. Her obedience was rewarded with an orgasmic quickening of his movements and Brianna felt herself losing her mind. Stephen poured into her as she climaxed, just before his hand left her clitoris to grab her throat – throwing her head back to carry her away in a long, deep kiss. His other hand still holding one of her hips to keep their bodies together. Brianna knew he was only doing this for one reason: he did not want a single drop of his semen to go to waste, hoping for another child – but it was not likely to happen at this point of her cycle, so Brianna let it pass and took a few seconds to catch her breath.

Stephen pulled out after a minute, whistling a joyful tune that caused Bree to roll her eyes, then left the bed to freshen up as she plopped down on the mattress. Stephen usually forbade her to stand up after intercourse, but for once she had no intention to do so. Her pleasure had been so violent that her hands were tingling unpleasantly and one of her ears was ringing. Even if she wanted to, she felt completely unable to stand on her own two legs. She was still staring blankly at the ceiling when the sound of clothes being put on made her turn her head: Stephen was putting his breeches back on with an exasperating smirk and she frowned.

“Where are you going?”, she asked bitterly before castigating herself for it. But no matter how twisted their relationship was, there was nothing pleasant about being abandoned naked after sex. Stephen chuckled.

“Don't you worry, darlin’. I’ll just ask for somethin’ to eat… And don’t put your clothes back on, you won’t need them.”

His hungry look left no room for imagination as to his plans for the rest of the day, and possibly even the night, and Brianna gloomily watched him leave. She waited for his footsteps to disappear down the stairs and carefully got out of bed, her legs still wobbly. Rummaging through her closet for a handkerchief, she used it along with clean water to wash her sex and remove any substance within reach. Then, she hid the folded handkerchief in her things and went back to bed incognito.

Back in her cocoon of sheets and quilt, she waited for Stephen, her mind relentlessly replaying some images of what had just happened. His strong hands on her hips. His rasping voice asking her what she wanted. His demented gaze as he admired her red mane. God, those eyes... The intensity of his desire had always terrified her. One had to be crazy to want to possess someone so much, without knowing anything about them, completely ignoring their feelings, their fear… their consent. Like owning an object. However, after seven months in his company, not only did she start to get used to it but she also enjoyed it somewhat. She had always thought she was pretty growing up and the boys’ interest in her in high school and then in college had confirmed it. But in Stephen’s eyes, she was not just pretty. She was beautiful; better than that, she was...

Brianna jumped when the bedroom door opened and Stephen reappeared with a fruit platter in his arms which he placed on the dressing table while ogling the shape of her naked body under the sheets.

“Divine…”, he whispered with a lustful grin.

A smile involuntarily appeared on Brianna's lips. This compliment ended her own thinking surprisingly well – but before Stephen could congratulate himself for making her blush, she stood up and grabbed a bunch of grapes, swallowing two before lying face down on the mattress to eat the rest. Her husband's gaze literally burned her skin and she finally looked up, her mouth full of fruit. Comfortably seated on the edge of the dressing table, Stephen stared at her with an enigmatic grin.

“Why don’t you have me painted? It’ll last longer…”, Brianna taunted with a cheeky pout. She had almost said “take a picture” but corrected herself at the last moment. A chuckle echoed in the room and Bonnet straightened up, taking his clothes off again. A few seconds later, he was back in their bed… and pinched a grape directly from her bunch.

“I would love to… but the idea of lettin’ another man look at your naked body just doesn't sit well with me…”, he muttered, letting his fingers run down her thighs and up the curve of her buttocks. “It’s a shame I can’t draw like you do…”

Brianna stiffened slightly but hid her embarrassment by swallowing another grape. “You… you saw my sketches?” She wanted to sound indifferent, but the idea that he had noticed something strange in her drawings terrified her. There was no way he would understand her code or even its purpose, of course, but he knew how to read her so easily that she still dreaded his answer.

“You had left some of them on your dressing table one morning. If you ever need a model or some inspiration…”, he joked, waving a hand at himself.

Relieved to see he suspected nothing, she smirked. “What would I do with a portrait of you? I see you quite enough every blessed day…”

Stephen's hand slapped one of her buttocks, causing her to wince in pain. But the sex — and the relief of avoiding the worst after Roger's visit —had put her in a good mood, and she just raised her eyebrows as she defiantly placed another grape between her lips. Stephen chuckled, captivated by the sensual contrast between her pink lips and the green color of the fruit. With a quick gesture, he stole the bunch from her hands and ignoring her protests, placed it on the bedside table.

“I was eating that, in case you hadn't noticed!”

“You’ll finish later…”, he growled, grabbing her thighs again before adding against her lips: “I have better plans for your mouth.”

Brianna rolled her eyes at the inelegance of his remark but did not have time to retort. Stephen was kissing her again, and she instinctively put her arms around his neck as he carried her away in another embrace.

~o~

The night had been long and incredibly sweet. The few hours of sleep had been interrupted by more intoxicating caresses, kisses, and orgasms. Stephen seemed determined to erase any traces of Roger or her old life from Brianna's brain and although that was unlikely to happen, the young woman had no problem with him trying. He had never cared that much about her pleasure in seven months – or maybe she had always refused to surrender to it. Bree would still have to restore some distance between them after this night if she wanted to keep control of herself and her feelings. She would have to pull herself together. Remember who she was, and who he was. Neither routine, nor Bonnet's good manners, nor sex – no matter how good it felt – should distract her from her goal: to regain her freedom.

But every time Stephen's hands roused her from sleep, the sky was still stubbornly black and studded with stars, and she indulged again guiltlessly in pleasure. Until a new day finally dawned.

When the first rays of sunlight entered the room and her eyes fluttered, the soft feel of the sheets on her bare skin made her shiver, all the more so when one of Bonnet's warm hands slipped around her waist to drag her closer to him.

“Good mornin’…”, he whispered in her ear. Brianna winced, before smiling more “sincerely” when he made her face him. The pirate was already dressed and combed, and Brianna wondered how he could get up, get prepared, and then lay down next to her without waking her. But that was not her biggest problem: Bonnet seemed extremely satisfied (which was rather encouraging) but the glint of mischief was still visible in his eyes as if he was about to say or do something that she wasn’t going to like.

Gradually moving down Bree's body, he began to trace a vertical line of kisses from her breasts to her navel. “Believe me, darlin’… I have never hated leavin’ this bed so much as this mornin’… but I have things to do… and I am starvin’…”, he finished, before nibbling on the skin of her stomach. Brianna shooed him away with a giggle, and almost rolled her eyes at her own acting performance. “Come and have breakfast with me, it’s been a while since we last shared a mornin’ tea…”

Brianna sighed. She just wanted to be alone and think about that disastrous night, and how she had shamefully indulged in lust. But as usual, what she wished for did not matter. Therefore, she opted for a solution that would allow her to have a few minutes of respite. “I'll come down in a moment. Let me just stay in bed a little more… I got very little sleep last night. I wonder why…”

Bonnet laughed and bit his lower lip. “All right… but don’t be long.”

Without waiting for an answer, he got up and left the room, glancing one last time at his wife's naked body. No sooner had he closed the door behind him, than Brianna rolled onto her back and sighed angrily. Yes, she had saved Roger’s life, she had convinced her husband she was faithful and attracted to him, but she had mixed feelings about that victory. The way he had seduced her during the night, his caresses, the pleasure he had given her and that they had given each other… everything had gone way too far. It was too realistic, too… tangible. She could not let that happen again. She would have to find a solution, a parry to put some distance between them again, or just go back to pretending. A few minutes later, she decided to get up so he would not get impatient. After a quick wash, putting on a simple outfit, and a ribbon in her hair, she felt ready to face the day. Or so she thought as she left the room.

Because what Bonnet had in store for her this morning, she had not seen coming. A few yards from the door, on the second-floor landing, was Roger – still tied up but this time to a chair and gagged with thick pieces of cloth. And with his hands resting on the chair bars behind Roger, Bonnet was patiently waiting for her to come out of her lair. Upon seeing her, Roger's eyes expressed such violent disgust and contempt that Brianna took a step back. What the hell…?

“I wanted to show you that I am a man of my word, darlin’. As you can see, he's still alive...”, the pirate said happily, ruffling Roger's shaggy hair with one hand. “Nights are still a bit chilly for the season. I felt bad sending him back on the roads like this… How was your night in the corridor, Mr. MacKenzie? Have you been warm enough?”

He… he spent the night… here?, Brianna thought in horror. The idea that Bonnet had calculated everything was slowly creeping into her mind. The torrid night, the multiple orgasms, the noisy bed that he was reluctant to have repaired or replaced... He only needed the last piece of the puzzle... and the piece had showed up voluntarily at the gates of River Run. With his mouth still full of rags, Roger did not answer Stephen's question, but his furious eyes spoke for him.

“Oh, silly me…”, the Irishman sneered, untying the gag to allow him to speak. “I had forgotten that tiny detail.” He then leaned over Roger's shoulder and nodded. “I, for one, haven’t been cold at all… As you can imagine…”

Brianna felt her stomach churn inside her, and if it had not been empty, she would probably have vomited on the carpet. Roger was staring at her with unprecedented aversion and disgust. His mouth – that she had once loved to kiss – was twisted into a venomous grin. He knew how she moaned, how she cried in pleasure… He had certainly understood that she was not faking it and the incessant noise of the bedding throughout the night had not helped. A slut... That's what you are. A filthy little slut… And a traitor, on top of that… Another retch. She wanted to disappear, to run away, to disintegrate into a million pieces, but her body refused to move. She was still frozen in amazement when Bonnet's expression changed dramatically and became threatening. He walked around the chair to face Roger and grabbed his jaw between his fingers.

“Don't you dare comin’ back on my property, Mr. MacKenzie... Brianna will not always be there to save you...”

Roger looked away from his ex-wife – who had started shaking all over in shock – and shook his head. The hatred in the Scotsman's gaze was matched only by that in Stephen’s. “Dinnae fash, ye willnae see me anymore. I would be remiss if I disturbed yer marital bliss, Mr. and Mrs. Bonnit…”

“Good man…”, Bonnet retorted, patting his cheek. He straightened up and snapped his fingers at the stairs. Immediately, three men – including Hennessy – carried Roger and his chair downstairs.

Brianna watched the Scotsman leave like a nobleman in his sedan chair, then disappear down the entrance hall where he would probably be released and walked out. Her legs buckled under her and her back hit the closed bedroom door, preventing her from falling. Her lungs were starting to burn as if she had forgotten how to breathe and she opened her mouth wide to no avail. Not the slightest trickle of air passed in her throat and she wondered for a moment if she would just die there, on the landing, from simple lack of oxygen. Her eyes scanned the surroundings frantically before settling on the one and only person who was still there in the corridor. Stephen.

He was staring at her carefully with narrowed eyes, ready to subdue her if she ever decided to try and murder him with her bare hands. But Brianna could not move. There was doubt in his green eyes – as if the idea that he had perhaps pushed things a little too far had crossed his mind – but his lips quirked into a wide smile.

“You have nothin’ more to fear, darlin’. I’m sure Mr. MacKenzie learned his lesson and will not bother us again.”

His words seemed to give Bree the boost she needed and she took a deep breath. Her head was spinning, her hands and legs were shaking – she probably looked miserable but Stephen was ignoring any sign of her distress and kept on acting as if nothing had happened.

“I'm starvin’. Let's have breakfast if you don't mind.”

“…n…ute…” was all Bree managed to say and she saw her husband frown and tilt his head forward.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear that. You were sayin’...?”

Brianna felt her face burn. With rage, shame, hatred, and sadness. Her eyes were tearing up and her throat tightened. She did not even know how she found the strength to repeat in a loud, intelligible voice: “Give me a minute.”

Stephen nodded – as if she had just asked him to give her a few more moments to perfect her look – and after one last triumphant glance, he went down the stairs. Turning around, Bree first collapsed against their bedroom door, but the thought of having to look at the ragged sheets or inhaling the smell of their antics was unbearable to her – and she dragged herself to Jeremiah's empty room. Phaedre had probably already gotten him up and taken him downstairs to have breakfast.

Her once slow and hesitant movements became hasty, and frantic, and she rushed to the bed, grabbing her son's pillow to bury her face in it and muffle her screams. Soon, she felt a stinging pain in her throat and along her vocal cords. The more she screamed, the more her voice suffered, and the yelling turned into barely audible gasps interspersed with heartrending sobs. If she had hoped to go back to Roger one day and pick up their lives where they left off, that hope had vanished the moment she had read in his eyes all the disgust and revulsion that she inspired in him. Stephen had played a trick that was almost as cruel as the day he had forced her to marry him. Brianna had played his game of seduction and let more mental barriers down, convinced that it would benefit her or at least bring her some peace of mind. And he had used that to wipe out what was left of Roger’s love for her.

She did not even cry out in pain when her legs let go of her and she fell to her knees, still holding the pillow tight against her. Tears were rolling down her cheeks and she slowly slid down to the floor to cry her broken heart out.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Chapter Text

17. Sweet Catatonia

Brianna did not even see Jeremiah's bedroom door open, or her son's curious gaze staring at her for a second before Phaedre dragged him back into the corridor and sent him off to play in the garden with a footman. The maid had no idea how long her mistress had been there, curled up on the floor, with Jem's pillow crushed against her chest and her eyes blank. She had caressed her cheek and tried to bring her back to reality with a few soft-spoken words, but Brianna did not react to any external stimulus. And the maid soon felt tears pool in her eyes.

Bonnet had not even tried to get his wife down for breakfast, despite his request to eat together. He knew she would not come. Worse, he was fine with it. The more devastated she was, the sooner she would surrender, right? That was at least the conclusion Phaedre had reached when the pirate had slammed the door and left River Run an hour later. She had waited until his horse had disappeared in the distance to brace herself and ask Fitzpatrick for help. The cook was not a bad fellow – unlike Hennessy who had never trusted her since she and Brianna had faked the “monster” attacks in Jemmy's room – and he kindly agreed to help her put Brianna to bed.

The pair grabbed Brianna by the armpits and legs and hoisted her onto Jeremiah's bed, where she immediately curled up into a fetal position. Desperately silent. Fitzpatrick looked around, saw a blanket on an armchair, and handed it over to Phaedre. The maid covered Brianna with it, caressing her forehead one more time in the process.

“I could make her some herbal tea? To calm her nerves?”, the cook asked as they crept out into the hallway, closing the door behind them. Phaedre nodded and smiled at him, and he went on: “I wonder what’s gotten into him...”, he grumbled, Phaedre understanding he was talking about Bonnet just by the way he lowered his voice, “Why would he do that when Mrs. Bonnet seemed happier these last few weeks?...”

Phaedre pursed her lips, not daring to tell him that this happiness was only a pipe dream. Even though Fitzpatrick was the only employee she trusted a bit, she was not so stupid as to tell him anything that could be used against her or Brianna.

“Perhaps Mr. Bonnet will apologize and make it right…”, she said, lifting her dress to go down the stairs. Behind her, the cook let out a sarcastic grunt.

“Right... and I'm the Queen of England...” Shaking his head, he ran down the stairs alongside Phaedre. “Mr. Bonnet is one of those men who could not apologize even if their life depended on it. If he wasn't my employer, I'd drag him up to that room up there and-”

“And what, Mr. Fitzpatrick?”, Hennessy drawled as the cook jumped, his hair instantly standing on the back of his neck. “Please, finish your thought, I’m intrigued.”

Phaedre lowered her nose, while her sidekick shifted nervously from one foot to the other.

“Well… I… um… with all due respect, I… I think I… would strongly encourage him… I mean politely encourage him…”, he stammered as Hennessy waited patiently for him to finish his sentence, “…to apologize to Mrs. Bonnet.”

Both men stared at each other in an awkward silence, well aware that this was not at all what he would have said if Hennessy had not caught him in the act. He let out a long sigh. “I’d appreciate it if you knew your place in the future, Mr. Fitzpatrick, and not assume what Mr. Bonnet – your employer – should or should not do.”

“Aye, Mr. Hennessy”, the cook muttered before hurrying back to the kitchen to brew some herbal tea. Phaedre remained alone for a moment with Hennessy, who gave her his usual wary look, and she was about to follow Fitzpatrick when the butler spoke again, in a much less sour tone.

“How is Mrs. Bonnet doing?”

Phaedre stiffened and gave him a curious look. It was the first time that Hennessy seemed to have any compassion for his prisoner. But despite the surveillance to which she was subjected, despite her husband's dirty tricks and everything else, Brianna had never been bad or rude to the house staff. And even if it pained him to admit it, Hennessy was no exception. Just like the Frasers' friend, Lord John Grey, had once told Bree: she was really impossible not to like. Even a tiny bit.

“What do you think?”, she retorted. That answer would not endanger her but was eloquent enough for him to grasp the extent of the damage. And before Hennessy could ask more questions, she turned on her heels and joined Fitzpatrick in the kitchen.

~o~

Any attempt to get her to eat or even drink had failed. Untouched fruits, cold cups of tea, and slices of cake piled up on the bedside table. Brianna had not moved an inch all day, and Phaedre had several times felt the urge to check that she was even breathing.

In the middle of the afternoon, as torrential rain struck River Run, Bree’s blank eyes had closed and Phaedre had left her alone to play with Jeremiah and his dog in the living room. The game was soon cut short, however, when high-pitched screams of pure distress rang out upstairs, startling Jeremiah who also started to whine. Phaedre had rushed up the stairs, only to find a crying and shaking Brianna who had just woken up from a terrible nightmare. Phaedre’s arms had wrapped around her and Brianna had let herself be rocked for a few minutes before immediately falling back into her catatonic state.

Later in the afternoon, Jeremiah had thrown a tantrum as he did not understand why he could not enter his own room or see his mother. Phaedre had finally let him upstairs, making him promise not to make any noise and just cuddle his sick mother. Jeremiah had promised and climbed onto his bed to curl up against Brianna. Phaedre had hoped that her son's presence would cause some reaction, but nothing had happened and she had reluctantly left the two Frasers alone.

The atmosphere was extremely gloomy in the house and the heavy rain did not help. Hennessy had taken a seat at the dining room table to sort out some papers, but Phaedre knew that his heart was not in the work. He had not even scolded her when she had plopped down on one of Jocasta's royal blue armchairs. Lloyd – the young footman who had been playing with Jeremiah before the kidnapping attempt – was also brooding in a corner and let out a long sigh before imitating Phaedre and taking a seat in another chair. There was a disapproving grunt coming from Hennessy's throat, but nothing more. With Brianna on a hunger strike, Stephen absent and Jeremiah holed up in his room with his mother, the three of them – as well as Fitzpatrick in his kitchen – were idle and utterly dejected.

So much so that when Bonnet came back to a dark and silent house around eight o'clock in the evening, Phaedre was already dozing in her armchair and no one had moved or prepared anything. Lloyd stood up, as if spring-loaded, and nervously patted the seat of the chair to erase any trace of his presence. Hennessy jerked his head up – one of his papers sticking to his chin – and groaned when he saw the time on the dining room clock.

Bonnet burst into the room – whistling a joyful tune and drenched to the bone – only to be greeted by three dark and almost accusatory faces. He froze – surprised at the sight and especially by the eerie silence in the house – and frowned.

“By Danu, why the long faces? Did someone die or somethin’…?”

Lloyd approached to rid him of his dripping coat and Stephen watched him walk away with a weird look, before turning back to his other two employees standing in the dining room. A dining room that was far from ready, given the late hour.

“Are we no longer havin’ dinner in this house? Where are Brianna and Jeremiah?”

Phaedre opened her mouth and looked at Hennessy, who got the message and answered for her.

“They're upstairs, Sir.”

“Get them here.”

“Quite impossible, I'm afraid, Sir…”, Phaedre intervened. The maid saw the Irishman's jaw twitch and she knew he was well aware of why Brianna was missing. He knows he did something unforgivable. He knows it, but he still tries to pretend that everything is normal… If anything could be normal in this house.

Hennessy crossed his hands behind his back and cleared his throat. “If I may, Sir, you-”

“I would like to have dinner.”

The butler paused – realizing that what he had to say was of no interest to his employer – and nodded silently before motioning for Lloyd to help him set the table. Bonnet then turned to Phaedre and frowned.

“Don't you have better things to do? Help my wife change before dinner, for example?”

Phaedra lowered her eyes again. “Mrs. Bonnet will not come down.” As Bonnet was getting angry at her for questioning a direct order, she added hastily: “She has remained... prostrate since this morning.”

“Since this mornin’?”, the pirate repeated in amazement. “Come on, she must have come downstairs to eat somethin’…”

“She has neither eaten nor drunk, Sir. I'm not even sure she moved a finger.” The advantage of simply stating the facts – whether or not they were hard to hear – was that she could not be accused of being insolent or overstepping authority. And Bonnet probably knew it, because he just glared at the stairs. That’s why she added one last detail, something that she thought might trigger something in him. “I think she is in a lot of pain.” And it's entirely your fault, she added inwardly.

Bonnet's eyes became so hard and piercing that she wondered for a moment if she had said the last part aloud, but he did not answer and left the dining room to run up the stairs. Brianna was not in their room, so he walked over to Jeremiah's and gently pushed the door open. Nestled against his mother, the boy was sleeping soundly and Stephen carefully picked him up, placing him on their bed before returning to Bree.

As he walked round the bed to take a look at her, he could not help but shiver at the sight of her impassive, expressionless face. Her dead eyes staring into nothingness. The only thing indicating she was alive and well was the lock of red hair that moved along with her slow and steady breathing. It was as if she was fast asleep… with her eyes wide open.

Come on, darlin’. Get up, let's have dinner...

His voice sounded extremely distant to Brianna and even though her brain picked up the words, she had no reaction. If she had been able to see him, she would have noticed how Stephen seemed increasingly uncomfortable. But where she was – lost in a dark, hopeless fog – no image could reach her. Apart from Roger's, and his disgusted face.

She was aware that Stephen kept talking to her, though, just as she had been aware of Phaedre’s kind words during the day. But she was too tired, too broken to actually hear them.

…thought I was goin’ crazy… seein’ you in his arms… I wanted to hurt you. Hurt both of you.

Brianna was exhausted. And Bonnet's words made her want to sink deeper into darkness. Sleep for a year or two. And wake up in Fraser's Ridge. Eat peanut butter and jam sandwich made by Claire. Drink a glass of whiskey with Marsali while getting an update on the latest gossip. Hunt in the woods with Ian. Hug Jamie and let him rock her like a little girl.

Frank's reassuring face appeared as Stephen leaned over her, probably to make sure she was not faking it. Go back inside, Bree, it's late..., her father called from the front porch of their Boston home. Bree could almost feel the handlebars in her hands as she hoisted her child's bike up the stairs leading to the entrance. In the living room, a Louis Armstrong LP was playing and the comforting smell of Frank’s cigarettes filled the air. In a few minutes, they would have dinner, then Frank would tuck her into bed as he did every single night.

On the other side of the invisible wall that separated Stephen from Brianna’s alternate reality, the Irishman started to feel unusually anxious. This lifeless doll was not the woman he coveted and admired. His Brianna should be yelling at him, hitting him, insulting him, and then he would hug her tight and bury the hatchet in a sweet embrace. The idea that he might have gone too far and had broken her was slowly creeping into his mind and he had to resist the urge to shake her out of her sinister trance. Finding her in MacKenzie's arms had awakened his old demons, and he had let his temper get the better of him. It was just a bad joke; one day away from River Run to release some tension was all they needed, and the case would have been closed. How could the situation escalate so quickly in his absence? Did he regret his actions, though? He was not sure yet: the Scotsman’s face in the morning had been a sight for sore eyes. But Brianna’s face right now made his blood run cold. He was not even sure he could stand it… Out of anger, he knocked over the bedside table, scattering the tea and various snacks on the bedroom floor. His eyes immediately went back to Bree, searching for any surprised gasp or any change in her demeanor. But there was nothing.

“I'm sorry”, he breathed abruptly, before striding out of the room.

The door closed and silence fell again on Brianna and her limp body. Frank's smile widened as she set her bike down at the top of the steps, and his warm hand ruffled her hair. Come on, kiddo.

Tiny Bree smiled back and nodded. Adult Bree, on the other hand, did not smile. But from her frozen eyes escaped a single tear.

~o~

When Brianna opened her eyes, it took her about ten minutes to remember who and where she was. Her last memories were of Frank sitting on her bed and reading her a story. He then had turned off the light, leaving the corridor lamp on, and had wished her good night shortly before she fell asleep, a wide smile on her lips. But the room she was in was not in Boston, her body was not eight years old anymore and her dry, cotton mouth reminded her that she had not eaten or drunk since… she did not even know how long.

Turning over on the mattress, she identified Jeremiah's room despite the darkness of the night and her eyes searched for the child. She had the feeling that her son had been snuggled up against her for a few hours before someone took him away. Probably St…

She rubbed her eyes. The mere thought of his name was torture and she did not feel strong enough to bear any pain, either physical or psychological. Now that she was slowly coming to her senses, her body also seemed to be slowly rebooting and she heard her stomach growl while her bladder threatened to explode. She got up on unsteady feet and went out to relieve herself and then eat something.

Downstairs, her gaze fell on the clock; it was four in the morning. Almost a day? Maybe I even slept several days in a row? Was it even biologically possible? She was not sure. Her stomach rumbled loudly again and she walked toward the kitchens.

Cup. Hot water. Spoon. Milk. Tea leaves. Brianna gathered objects as slowly as a snail. She felt like an empty shell. In other circumstances, she would have been worried about “disappearing” for an indefinite period of time. She would have wondered what would happen to her if her behavior had not pleased St-her husband, or she would have looked for Jeremiah. But not today. Eat and drink were her only goals at first. As for the rest… she would think about it later. One problem at a time.

Little did she know that her shuffling gait in the upstairs corridor had awakened Bonnet, who had followed her as soon as she had reached the kitchen so that she would not hear the bed creak. He had let her prepare her tea in peace, watching her slow movements and tired face through the half-opened door – as he remembered their first night in River Run when they had shared a slice of cake in that same room.

Brianna had just poured into the teapot some of the water from the kettle they kept by the fireplace and was staring vacantly at the swirling tea leaves when the door creaked. The young woman did not jump and barely turned her head to the side as if she was not even surprised that she was being watched.

“I see you decided not to let yourself starve and die, after all?”, Stephen said awkwardly as he crossed the threshold. A deathly silence fell over the room as Brianna closed the teapot, acting as if she had not heard his question or even noticed his presence.

“Jeremiah was very worried about you. Phaedre had to tell him that you were sick…”

Still moving like a robot, Brianna grabbed a plate and cut off a slice of pie – frowning slightly when a hard piece of dough resisted her. Guilt tripping her obviously did not work better than sarcasm, and Stephen grew impatient.

“All right, I'm sorry… Is that what you want to hear?”, he blurted out, raising his voice. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I…am…sorry. I stupidly thought this bad joke would be entertainin’, and it was… for a while. But it seems I'm the only one in this house with a sense of humor...”

Brianna straightened up and blinked a few times in disbelief. Stephen felt glad he had finally found the words to get her to react. That is, until she opened her mouth.

“Get out.”

She had spoken calmly, without any aggressiveness. So much so that Stephen almost felt tempted to obey and spun towards the exit, before he changed his mind.

“I did this for us, Brianna.”

A scornful chuckle came from the other side of the kitchen and he saw her shake her head with a mocking grin. “Just shut up, you’re embarrassing yourself…”

“I did it so that he would stop hoverin’ ‘round us… Followin’ us in Wilmington wasn’t enough. He had the nerve to break into our house…”

This came as a blow to Brianna and she slowly turned her head to look at him, her apparent calmness slowly giving way to surprise, then to anger.

“You… you saw Roger in Wilmington…?”

“Discretion is not exactly his forte.” Stephen took a step toward her but she immediately took a step back, as she still tried to process this new information. “Trust me, darlin’… He will be much happier now that he is free of you. He can move on…”

“Shut up”, she breathed, as rage suddenly reinvigorated her limbs and she clenched her fists, digging her fingernails into her palms instead of Stephen's face. “Shut up before it's too late.”

“And you too will be happier… Right now, you're just mad at yourself because you enjoyed that night as much as I-”

There was a whistling sound in the air near his left ear when the teapot crossed the room and smashed against the wall behind him. Stephen jumped, not expecting such a turn of events. The slowness of Bree's reactions so far had given him a false sense of security. He had barely realized the loss of the teapot when an empty cup hit him in the chest, before shattering loudly on the floor. He turned his attention back to Brianna – whose face was contorted with hatred – and only had time to step back in order to escape the poker that she was swinging at him like a baseball bat. The air whistled again when the poker passed a few inches away from his nose and Stephen cursed loudly.

“What do you know about my fucking happiness, huh?”, she yelled, this time slamming the poker down on the table, causing a plate to explode. “Who are you to assume that I'll be happier like this or like that?” Another swing and the poker sent a candlestick flying across the room. “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, FOR FUCK’S SAKE???”

Brianna's voice broke as she yelled the last word, and Stephen stared at her blankly from across the table. He had no doubt that the entire house staff was awake at this moment, but strangely enough, no one came to help him. Not even Hennessy. Maybe he deserved it after all. Determined not to end the night skewered on the poker like a spit-roasted chicken, he started circling the table – avoiding blows, until he could seize the poker as it flew past. The impact of the iron bar against his forearms caused him to groan in pain, but he held on and snatched the tool from Bree's hands.

Deprived of her weapon, the young woman did not back down and started to throw every object within reach at his face. Glasses, loaves of bread, fruits, and plates flew across the room, hitting their target (or not) depending on how quickly the Irishman dodged them. Taking advantage of a few seconds when Brianna was out of ammunition, he jumped on her – seizing her wrists and pinning her between him and the hutch. But she was still thrashing about and Stephen got slightly annoyed when one of his wife's knees hit dangerously close to his crotch. In order to avoid any further attack against his precious manhood, he pressed himself against her but she retaliated by biting his left shoulder.

“By Danu…”, he cursed, releasing Brianna's wrists. Immediately, she opened one of the drawers behind her and pulled out a long meat knife, pressing it across Stephen's throat.

Time seemed to stop. Neither of them moved. Brianna was shaking with rage – her hand clutching her weapon – and Stephen had become as still as a piece of wood the moment he had felt the blade on his skin. Despite this most precarious position, his green eyes showed no fear. Worse, they seemed to challenge her. If grabbing the knife had first felt extremely satisfying to Bree, the more time passed, the more it felt like a mistake, and the knife started to tremble in her hand. Her lips were trembling as well, and Stephen chose that moment to lean forward – pressing his throat a little harder against the blade. Brianna jumped as if she was worried he would hurt himself, which was completely silly considering she was the one threatening his life.

“Do it.”

Brianna stared at him in amazement and he took the opportunity to press his forehead against hers, while sliding one hand around her waist and then the other in her red hair, cupping her upper cheek.

“But don’t forget that we are married, darlin’… And once you’ve been hanged for my murder, we will be reunited. In the grave.”

Brianna pursed her lips and closed her eyes in pain. There was no way out. No solution to her problem. No light at the end of the tunnel. Whatever she did now, they would remain together forever. Stephen had made sure of that. And by giving Roger a glimpse of their intimate life, he had also made sure that she would never pick up her life where she left off if she ever ran away from him. The hand on her cheek slid to the back of her skull while the other went around her back, hugging her so sweetly it was almost sickening.

Brianna’s strengths were fading again, leaving her even more exhausted than she was when she left her room. Slowly, the blade moved away from Stephen's neck and Bree's arm fell limply to her side. The hand in her hair moved to disarm her gently, and she heard the knife land a few feet away on the stone floor with a metallic clang. One second later, he was hugging her again with both arms and Brianna’s nose was soon stinging. She would have given anything to let herself be rocked like a baby, but the only available arms being Stephen's, that was not an option.

“How could you do this to me?”, she sobbed, her voice barely audible. “I took a step… one tiny step towards you… and you used it to hurt me…”

“I did not want to hurt anyone but MacKenzie…”

“You let me enjoy that night…”, Brianna went on, not even noticing that he had cut her off. She was not really speaking to him anyway, or anyone in particular. She was crying, sobbing and between two sniffles, words just happened to come out of her mouth. “You let me enjoy it so that you could hurt me in the morning... I'm stupid... I'm so stupid...”

This time, he could not let her go astray like that without being listened to, and Stephen pulled back slightly.

“I, too, enjoyed it...”, he breathed before adding with a stern look: “What I did the next mornin’ and what we did durin’ the night are two different things to me, and served two very different purposes.”

Brianna shook her head, her lower lip quivering. “Not from my point of view.”

“I can see that now…” Frowning worriedly, he stroked her cheek and Bree fought the urge to pull herself out of his reach. “I did not expect it to hurt you so much. I won't do it again.”

Brianna sneered, wiping her tears away. “You’ll do something else. You always do…”

“Not this time, darlin’… I promise you…”

His sweet tone, his caresses, his empty words, everything told her that he was doing his best to calm her down – even if it meant lying through his teeth. Brianna saw the Irishman's mouth split open – his eyes looking for hers – and she knew he was planning to end their argument with a long kiss, maybe even more than a kiss. But he would not get what he wanted. Not after what he had done to her. Or maybe he just deserved to be given a taste of his own medicine… Their lips made contact a few seconds later and Bree kissed him shyly at first, then passionately, long enough for him to think he had won. She could feel it in the way his fingers roamed over her body above her dress, in the sighs he let out against her mouth, in his tongue just waiting eagerly to caress hers.

The pain startled him when Brianna closed her jaw on his lower lip and he jumped before pushing her away. As he raised a hand to his mouth, a few drops of sticky, red liquid mixed with saliva covered his fingertips, and he stared at Brianna in amazement.

“It doesn’t feel great, does it?”, she spat icily. “When you're having a good time and someone deliberately hurts you...”

Stephen blinked stupidly several times, and Brianna wondered if he was a bit slow or if he was doing it on purpose. Little did she know that her husband had learned his lesson but the sight of her messy red hair, her red and watery eyes – not to mention the tiny drops of his blood on her mouth – had made him forget his anger. He felt the irrepressible urge to undress her and have his way with her in the devastated kitchen but it was absolutely not the right time. She could bite more important things than his lip in retaliation, and he was not crazy enough to risk it...

Now that he knew sex was no longer an option, the harsh reality of their feud hit him hard and he decided to play a card he had been keeping in his sleeve for months in case things got bad. Wiping his lip with one hand, he stared at Bree coldly.

“You are angry. I can see it. And nothin’ I can say or do will change that…”

“You catch up fast…”, she mocked with a sarcastic grin. Grin that disappeared immediately when he spoke again.

“That is why it would be better for us to start behavin’ like we used to. Pretending to be a happy and well-matched couple… Until you pull yourself together.”

Stephen saw her open her mouth, first in amazement and then in panic. “No… No, please, I’ll do anything… anything but that…”

“It's for your own good.”

“Stephen, I… I don't want to put on an act anymore…”, she begged, taking a step towards him, but he backed away from her with an inscrutable expression. She had to hit a nerve: his desire to be loved. “How do you expect me to fall in love with you if we never are ourselves?”

“It's temporary until you get past the incident. I don’t want to upset Jeremiah.”

He sounded so harsh that it cut Brianna short in her pleas. She would not get anything out of him when he clammed up like that. Stephen gave her one last look and turned on his heels towards the exit.

“Upset Jeremiah?”, she repeated contemptuously, “…or upset you?” He stopped on the threshold, without looking back. “You live in an illusion... it can't last forever and you know it...”

Bonnet's shoulders sagged imperceptibly, but that was the only sign that Brianna's words had hit the mark. A moment later, he had disappeared down the corridor, leaving her alone and desperate.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Chapter Text

18. Love The Way You Lie

March 1774.

Despite Stephen’s wish to play pretend again, Brianna’s anger since Roger’s visit had not allowed her to be as convincing as she had been before. She only did her bare minimum: breakfast and dinner with her husband and son (in a weird silence), letting Stephen kiss her closed lips when he came home in the evening, answering politely but shortly if he ever spoke to her. She also spent her nights with Jeremiah, and Stephen had never tried to drag her back to their bedroom. Although he tried to pull up a front, Stephen also failed to keep his illusion of a perfect marriage intact and he spent as little time as possible in River Run.

Over the weeks, however, what angered Bree the most was no longer the dirty trick Stephen had played on her and Roger, but the fact that the pirate had been right about one thing. Now that she had gotten over the initial shock, she had to face the facts: losing hope of any kind of future with Roger had been liberating. Until now, every single day spent with Stephen took her further and further away from her ex-husband. Each caress, each sexual intercourse with the Irishman was an outrage to her love for Roger; a betrayal, even. Not to mention all the questions that played on a loop in her mind on sleepless nights, such as “will he still want me after months of being touched by someone else?”.

Little by little, all of that had disappeared and Brianna had gradually let go. It felt like coming out of a long mourning and realizing that life just went on. The memory of her first love was still there, but less painful, less burdensome. Her mind was also clearer, for she could focus all her energy on her revenge. And it was better not to dwell on the awful memory of Roger’s disgusted face anyway. She had already suffered enough as it was.

Stephen’s attitude had also changed over the weeks. His looks became less stern, more questioning, as if searching Bree’s eyes for any sign of forgiveness. And almost one month after the incident – as the end of March approached and with it the beginning of spring – he decided to take a chance. Brianna was about to join Jeremiah in his room like she did every night, when he grabbed her by the wrist. His fingers were putting just enough pressure to make his presence known, and if she had wanted to, Brianna could have freed herself easily. But she did not. She knew that sleeping with her son and ignoring her husband could not be a permanent solution and it was already a miracle that Stephen had allowed her to isolate herself for an entire month without complaining. The time had come to take another step toward him. But she would not make it easy for him and when Brianna turned to face the Irishman, her blue eyes were still vaguely accusatory.

“Stay with me tonight…”, he whispered, almost pleading. But Brianna pursed her lips coldly.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. We might yell at each other again and I-”

“I don’t care…” Tightening his fingers around her hand, he pulled her closer to him, giving her yet enough space to feel comfortable. “I’d rather have you beat me to a pulp for hours than sleep another night without you.”

Stephen’s smooth tone, his thumb gently caressing her hand, his amorous and childish smile, everything reeked of manipulation – especially his green eyes that were analyzing her as usual. He was pulling out all the stops, even if it was useless: Brianna had already made up her mind. Squinting, she cocked her head to the side.

“For how long would you let me do that, approximately? Two hours…? Four? More than that?”

The Irishman chuckled and shrugged. Brianna could read in his eyes that he already thought he had won, and she would not prove him wrong. After all, he was not the only one who had mastered the art of manipulation. “As many hours as you want, darlin’. Nothin’ would be more painful than lyin’ alone in that big, ice cold bed.”

Bree let out a long sigh and nodded. “I’ll tell Phaedre that I’m changing rooms.”

“Don’t. She’s a clever lass, she’ll understand.”

Brianna suppressed a sigh. He would not leave her out of his sight tonight, and she half-heartedly followed him into their bedroom. Nothing had changed since the last time she had slept there — on that night — and yet everything felt strange to her. It was like coming home after a long trip: the traveler had changed but the place had not. And everything seemed smaller or bigger, reassuring or inadequate. This room that once terrified her now also stirred sensual memories, and paradoxically the more terrible pain she had ever experienced.

In order to dispel her uneasiness, Brianna walked behind the screen to undress but as she reached behind her back to untie her bodice, Stephen’s hands came up to rest on hers and the young woman stiffened.

“Let me help you…”

Her arms fell back on each side of her hips as Stephen’s fingers worked to unlace the garment with unusual slowness and gentleness. One by one, her clothes left her body. Every now and then, her husband’s hands brushed her skin, caressing without ever insisting, just enough to make her shiver. And when the Irishman’s mouth placed a trail of feather-light kisses down her right shoulder, Brianna closed her eyes. After all these weeks of uncertainty about her future within these walls, of anger, sadness and other negative feelings, these simple displays of affection – like the hand he used to rest on her left breast every night before their argument – were quite reassuring… Still, she felt the urge to call him to order.

“What you did was terrible. You know that, right…?”

“I do…”, he breathed against her skin between kisses.

“This must not happen again. I might not survive it...”

Everyone had a limit. A point of no return before sinking into madness and Brianna had come very close to it a month earlier. Taking her hand, he spun her around to look into her eyes, and her eyes only – which was quite an achievement considering she was completely naked.

“I know, I shouldn’t have…”

“Promise me…”

She saw him bite his lip, think and then grin. “I promise you. I will not do it again…” He paused long enough to let her savor her victory, then went on: “The next time I see MacKenzie, I will not play with him: I will shoot him in the head.”

Bree cringed and stared at him in horror, before noticing the mischievous twinkle in his eyes, followed by a chuckle.

“You’re hilarious...”, she grumbled, pretending to walk around him to go to bed, but he stepped aside to stop her and cupped her face between his hands. An entire month of forced celibacy had mellowed him out, and Brianna knew he was doing everything in his power to seduce her. That’s why she did nothing to stop him when he leaned in to kiss her. This first real kiss since that night was a perfect reflection of the last few minutes: delicate and sensual, and Bree instantly hated herself for finding it comforting. She was not supposed to enjoy these moments, and she had managed to feel nothing for several months. Until her miscarriage, when Stephen’s arms had gradually become a strange but safe haven… and despite their quarrel, despite a whole month of rare and cold contacts, that had not changed.

The sex was brief, slow and a little awkward, as if neither of them knew how to behave with the other. It was not unpleasant, not amazing either, but Bree wasn’t complaining: she could not let Bonnet make her feel pleasure anymore. Even for pretense. Pleasure blurred the limit she had set in her relationship with him; and she did not want to cross it. Not anymore. One final kiss, one final thrust, and Stephen finished his business before rolling onto his back on the crumpled sheets. Without a word, Brianna lay down as well, pulling the covers up to her chest.

“Oh, by the way, I just remembered...”, Stephen said in a tone suggesting that he had actually thought for a moment about what he wanted to say. “There’s a feast at Tryon’s Palace in two days. We’ll leave tomorrow.”

Bree’s loud sigh said a lot about her desire to return to New Bern. “Did you have sex with me just to tell me that?

“No!”, Stephen protested vehemently. Brianna gave him a wary look and he added: “…maybe. We had to bury the hatchet first.”

“You could have just told me at dinner…”

Stephen chuckled. “Tonight’s dinner was nowhere near good enough to sugar that pill…”

“Well, the sex wasn't great either, and yet…”, Brianna blurted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She waited for an outraged retort, a growl, maybe even a slap on her butt, but nothing happened. Turning her head, she saw that Stephen did look offended, which made the lack of retaliation even more puzzling. After a few seconds, he let out a long sigh.

“I guess I deserved it…”, he mumbled before rolling onto his side and waving at her to do the same. “Turn around…” Bree frowned, but complied and turned her back on him – one second before he curled up against her and took her left breast in his palm. “By Danu, I’ve missed this...”

Brianna's brain desperately looked for another disparaging remark, a joke, or just an unflattering way to say that no, she had not missed this at all. But she could not find anything and simply closed her eyes, doing her best to ignore the incredibly sweet warmth of her husband’s hand.

~o~

“Tell me about you.”

Rocked by the steady rhythm of the horses' hooves, Brianna had dozed off in the carriage when Stephen's voice startled her. As promised the day before, they had left the plantation for New Bern in the morning, leaving Jeremiah at home with Hennessy and Phaedre. Brianna blinked several times, stared at Stephen and his joyful smile, and wondered if her brain had been playing tricks on her. He could not have asked her that question, she must have been dreaming. He was not exactly one to care about people if it did not concern him directly.

“Did… did you say something?”, she asked, rubbing her sleepy face.

“Aye, I would like you to talk to me. About yourself.”

I wasn't dreaming, Brianna thought, staring at him in disbelief. Her husband must have sensed her skepticism because he rolled his eyes and nervously readjusted the tails of his jacket.

“You said somethin’ that was quite true durin’ our last… argument. I don't know anythin’ about you”, he shrugged. “I know what you mean to me. I know how you make me feel. But those things are not you. They’re not what really defines Brianna Ellen Bonnet, aye?”

Brianna's eyes quickly scanned her surroundings, searching for a sign that she was dreaming or had traveled to another dimension. Had she been in the twentieth century, she probably would have searched the carriage for a hidden camera. Meanwhile, Bonnet was patiently waiting for an answer and she eventually muttered an unconvinced “I guess…?”.

“Then, please, tell me everythin’. Let's start with the day you were born and... your childhood in the Highlands, with the skirt-wearin’ giant.”

“The what…?”, Bree said before realizing he was referring to Jamie and his traditional Scottish kilt. “He’s not a skirt-wearing giant…”

“Really? Does he wear breeches too?”, Stephen joked before immediately shutting up at the sight of his wife's glare. He pursed his lips to suppress a mocking smile and with one hand, pretended to turn a key into an imaginary lock in front of his mouth and motioned for her to continue.

In a slow and soothing voice, she started to tell him an acceptable version of her childhood, withholding information about time travel and just telling him Claire had had a lover that had disappeared on the battlefield. She told him about Frank, a teacher and history buff who had raised and loved her like his own daughter. About everything he had taught her since she could not tell that she had been to school and even graduated from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. She told him about bed time stories, playing chess and board games on cold Sunday afternoons, and trips to Cape Cod in the summer. Frank had taught her everything, had made her the woman she was today – no offense to Jamie – and she missed him dearly. Especially since he had barged in her dreams, one month earlier. She was about to start telling Stephen about Frank’s accidental death, when she saw him frown and fidget in his seat. He was obviously dying to talk.

“What now?”

Stephen seemed to think intently before he spoke, and Brianna was almost getting impatient when he finally opened his mouth.

“What about your mother?” Brianna stared at him for a moment in amazement, and he went on, “You're inexhaustible on the man who raised you, but where was your mother the entire time?”

Bree's jaw dropped slightly to her chest and she frowned. “Mama… was very busy. She was studying medicine and then she had her patients…”, she mumbled, and he squinted at her obvious embarrassment. “All right, if you must know, she’d rather spend as little time as possible at home. Because at home, there was me reminding her every day of Jamie, and Frank… who was not Jamie. This is what happens when two people who love each other more than anything are separated against their will. They suffer.”

She had hoped to draw an obvious parallel between her parents’ situation and her own since she had been forced to divorce Roger – but Stephen did not seem to make the connection – or if he did, he chose not to show it. A chuckle came from the opposite seat and she stared at her husband in amazement.

“Well, well, well… It seems like we have somethin’ in common… you don't know what a happy couple is any more than I do. That explains a lot, when you think about it…”

Brianna blinked, annoyed by his insightful remark but even more by the fact that she had already come to the same conclusion before the trial and her marriage to Bonnet. After everything she had endured and forgiven – Roger's insults at the Scottish festival, his lies, his reaction to her rape and pregnancy, the recurring arguments and so many other things – she had often wondered if she would have accepted such a situation if her parents had been in a wholesome and happy relationship. If she had not spent her childhood hearing her parents yelling at each other, catching Claire's sad, bitter looks when Frank entered the room instead of Jamie. The answer had come to her: no. She could not have taken it all without a flinch.

Another chuckle snapped her out of her thoughts. “You know I’m right… You're just too proud to admit it”, he sneered before leaning over, elbows resting on his thighs. “But that’s all right, darlin’. I quite like it when we fight. We used to make love much more often this winter, when we weren’t playin’ perfect Mr. and Mrs. Bonnet, remember?”

Cut to the quick, Brianna pretended to think and shrugged. “I don’t... It must not have been very memorable.”

She expected him to scowl, but he chuckled a third time as if appreciating her sense of humor. “You should be glad, anyway…”, he went on after a few seconds. “It didn't take me two decades to be part of your life again.”

Bree stared at him silently for a moment. He had indeed drawn the parallel between her parents' situation and theirs, but not in the right way. Or – and this was the most likely option – he had switched roles on purpose.

“Let me be clear, Stephen…”, Brianna began with a smirk. “You're not exactly Jamie in this story.”

“Gods, no.” He flashed her a bright smile. “I dress much better than he does.”

She was tempted for a moment to correct him but there was no point in playing his little game. Stephen knew full well that he was not the great lost love of this story, but he would never admit it. The way he obstinately tried to steer the conversation away with jokes proved it and she just shook her head with a sigh. Not really knowing what to say, she leaned back in the corner of the carriage and rested her chin in her hand, watching the land on the other side of the window. Unaware that Bonnet's expression had darkened...

…with infinite sadness.

~o~

Far removed from the formal Christmas dinner, the day at the Tryons’ looked more like a garden party, much to Brianna's relief. This time, there would be no single huge table, no controversial subjects and boring conversations: the garden of the governor's palace was dotted with small round tables for one or two people maximum, and she soon regretted not bringing any good novel to read in the sun, while ignoring the other people around. As they walked down the aisle, Brianna recognized many guests from Christmas’ Eve (as well as from the other party on the following day) and among them, Josiah Martin and Margaret Tryon, who came to greet the Bonnets with broad smiles on their faces.

“Mr. Bonnet… Brianna… I am so happy to welcome you again in New Bern. Did you have a good journey?”, she asked a little too cheerfully, as Josiah and Stephen shook hands. Bree was about to answer when a booming voice interrupted her.

“Aaah, Mr. Bonnet!”, exclaimed tax collector James Norrington, as Margaret rolled her eyes. “Always a latecomer…”

“You know me, I can’t resist a big entrance…”, Stephen replied, shaking his hand.

“I have heard you’ve been making some changes, lately? How is it going with your property?”

Stephen’s smile became so sarcastic that Bree instantly knew the answer was not going to please her. And she was right. Wrapping an arm around her lower back, he let out a brief laugh.

“My lovely wife is doin’ fine, as you can see.”

Bree’s murderous look did not go unnoticed. Margaret shook her head disapprovingly, while Josiah coughed in his fist to hide a fit of laughter, and Norrington's eyes went from Stephen to his wife in panic. What should he do ? Laugh and incur Mrs. Bonnet’s wrath or not laugh and risk offending her husband? Luckily for him, Stephen chuckled loudly, thus putting a welcome end to his dilemma.

“Oh, you were talkin’ about River Run!!’

‘Of course…”, Norrington muttered with a nervous smile. “I would never…”

“I'm teasin’ you, Mr. Norrington. Try to relax, you seem a little tense…” Giving the tax collector a manly pat on the shoulder, Stephen then turned to Josiah. “Where is Lord Tryon?”

“Near the buffet, with his… niece.”

Brianna saw Margaret stiffen imperceptibly, and cast a questioning look at the counselor who just grinned at her.

“Oh, we met her earlier”, Norrington went on, turning around towards the buffet. “A delightful young lady. I think she is my son's age. Perhaps Lord Tryon would allow me to introduce him to her…”

As they all turned towards him, Tryon spotted their small group from afar and – after waving at one of the servants – came over to greet them, followed by a very young woman who looked kind of familiar to Brianna. The young lady, who was barely eighteen or nineteen years old, wore the most beautiful attire but strangely lacked of elegance and it was when she slipped her arm around Tryon's – looking as arrogant as a beggar on horseback – that Brianna recognized her. And the reason it had taken her so long… was because she had never seen the girl with so many clothes on. The young woman was none other than Tryon’s “purchase” at the auction, and Bree almost gasped. How dare he appear with her when his own wife was there? And that poor Margaret, was she aware that this so-called family tie was a lie? Judging by her clenched jaw and downcast eyes, she probably was. With a polite smile, Brianna grabbed a glass of white wine from the footman’s tray and took a sip as Tryon stopped beside them, the courtesan still parading on his arm.

“Bonnet! Now that you're finally here, the four of us shall meet in my office”, William Tryon said without even bothering to say hello or anything polite to Brianna, but she was getting used to it. Then, he let go of the harlot’s arm and turned to his wife. “We’ll be back in a moment.”

“I feel like we've met before”, Brianna said to the girl, who looked a little taken aback. “Were you also here on Christmas’ Eve, Miss…. ?”

“Miss Jane Scott is my niece and she arrived from England in February”, Tryon interrupted her sharply. “Therefore, it is impossible for the two of you to have met in December.”

Brianna shrugged with a stupid smile, ignoring Stephen's right hand which had left her lower back to pinch the skin of her arm, just above the elbow. “My apologies, I must be thinking of someone else. I see so many new faces every week that I sometimes get confused. »

Beside Margaret, who was still oddly silent, Josiah coughed to stifle a laugh, but Tryon said nothing. Waving his hand, he invited the other three men to follow him; Josiah and Norrington immediately did while Stephen glared at Brianna, squinting as if to tell her not to cause any scandal. Bree squinted back, perfectly mimicking the Irishman who frowned at her, more threateningly this time. She frowned in turn, unimpressed, and they were both shooting daggers at each other when Tryon himself put an end to their gesticulations by grabbing Bonnet’s arm and dragging him along. A few seconds later, the three women were left alone in an uncomfortable silence and Brianna took a sip of wine to hide her embarrassment. The way the young courtesan stared at her made her very uneasy.

“It sure is hot for the season, isn’t it my dear Brianna?”, Margaret blurted suddenly, waving her hand near her face to cool it down. “Shall we sit down in the shade?”

Bree smiled and nodded. “Good idea.” Margaret immediately walked over to the smallest empty table she could find, with only two chairs around it. Taking the hint, Brianna hurried to sit down on one of them while Margaret dropped on the other. Miss Scott clenched her jaw and looked around, but all the other chairs were taken and she had no choice but to remain standing.

“Isn’t Jeremiah with you?”

Brianna shook her head. “We thought he would be better off at home. After all, we’ll only be gone for three days. The journey to New Bern and back would have been exhausting and boring to him.”

“Of course. I just happened to have a present for him, you see? Oh… I think I left it inside the house…” With an extremely convincing sigh, Margaret closed her eyes for a second. “Silly me. I wanted to give it to you now lest I forget. He’s getting to an age where he has to learn how to read and write correctly and I have just found one of my daughter’s manuals. The Rudiments of English Grammar, by Joseph Priestley. It is an excellent book, very clear, especially for the little ones…”

Leaving her words hanging and still fanning herself with her right hand, Margaret cast a pleading look at Miss Scott, who stared at her darkly.

“If only I had the courage to cross the whole garden again in this heat…”, Margaret added, as she seemed determined to get rid of the unwanted 'niece', but the girl seemed to ignore her on purpose. “I think I left it in my boudoir, on the drawer cabinet…”

Brianna looked up at the young prostitute, quite impressed with her ability to remain unmoved when given a near-direct order by the governor’s wife. Either this girl had a hell of a nerve, or she had been ordered not to let the two other women out of her sight. What if I offered to go?, Brianna thought, staring at her.

“Jane, dear…”, Margaret went on, “you would be a darling if-…”

“Would you like me to fetch it for you, Lady Tryon?”, Bree offered, and as she expected, the courtesan straightened up and put on a fake smile.

“Don’t bother, Mrs. Bonnet, I won't be long”, she asserted, and Brianna wondered for a moment if that was a promise or a threat. Margaret thanked her with a weary smile, eyes shining victoriously, and Miss Scott walked away as quickly as allowed by decorum. Silence fell between the two women, until Margaret sat up slightly in her chair.

“Is she gone?”, she mumbled. Brianna nodded and Lady Tryon let out a sigh of relief. “That should keep her busy for a while; the book is actually in the entrance hall, ready for you to take when you leave.”

“You seem happy to be rid of her...”, Brianna chuckled. She had no idea whether Margaret knew about the courtesan's true identity, it was therefore better not to speak too bluntly at first.

“That girl is by no means William's niece…”, Margaret growled contemptuously. “She's his mistress. He doesn't even bother to be discreet anymore, you see? I even suspect he's using her to keep an eye on me and…” She fell silent, suddenly afraid of talking too much. “Never mind, I’m not here to pour my heart out about the dereliction of my marriage. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“What?”, Brianna asked, leaning a little more over the table.

Margaret's lower lip wobbled and she looked around nervously, but no one was paying attention. She lowered her voice anyway. “I have to send a message to your Aunt Jocasta. And through her, to all Scots fighting against my husband for a fairer system…”

“Why don't you write to her?”, Brianna asked, surprised that Lady Tryon might be on the Regulators’ side.

“I did. Multiple times… But I think William is intercepting my mail.” She bit her lip again and shook her head. “Don't get me wrong, Brianna, I do not support the rebellion... but what is coming is so terrible... I can't condone it, even on behalf of the Crown.”

A cold shiver ran down Brianna's spine. Whatever Tryon was up to, it had not achieved unanimity even within his own family. What about Stephen? Was he also part of this? Bree hoped for it about as much as she feared it. Knowing more about his activities would always be progress, but everything she learnt about him was always both terrifying and disappointing. “What is it about?”

“As you must already know, your husband uses his ships to deliver weapons from Europe to the English soldiers here in the Colonies. As a former pirate, I imagine that none of his fellows dare to attack his fleet…”, Margaret began. Little did she know that Brianna was not aware of that fact. However, she did not let her ignorance show. “Anyway. I heard my husband talking about a special shipment, recently. Rifles that are not intended for our army. The weapons will be handed over to men infiltrated within the Regulators…”

“Wait a minute... you're saying Stephen is supplying guns to the Regulators?”, Brianna repeated. With her mouth wide open, she must have looked like a fish out of her bowl, but the idea of the Governor and Stephen teaming up to betray England was absurd. Yet, Brianna felt her heart beat a little faster in her chest at the thought of her husband working in the shadows for the independence of the United States, and she unconsciously smiled. And it was when she saw her smile that Margaret realized Brianna had no idea what she was getting at.

“Brianna… these guns… they've been tampered with”, Margaret whispered, her eyes watering. “Sabotaged, even. Anyone who tries to fire one of them will end up killed or crippled.”

The corners of Bree's mouth fell immediately and an icy chill crept up her spine. Of course, she thought. How could she have imagined any other explanation than this? Slowly, her brain started processing the information when a name suddenly came to her mind. Murtagh… And not just him. All the Scots who had joined him, some of whom were friends and relatives of the Fraser and MacKenzie clans. All were now in great danger.

“We have to warn them… or stop this delivery… or place our husbands under arrest… we have to… There must be something we can do!”, Brianna whispered, as a wave of panic washed over her.

Margaret looked around nervously, but no one was paying them any attention. Yet, she placed a soothing hand on Brianna's fingers, startling her.

“Place them under arrest? If you think they are acting illegally, you are wrong, my dear. This trick was most certainly approved in high places. Perhaps by King George himself. The only way to outflank them would be to warn the rebels.”

“Unfortunately, I don't have any more means of contacting them than you do”, Brianna mumbled. She had no idea of the expected delivery date, but by the time she convinced Stephen to go to Wilmington, visit the apothecary to pass a message on to the Frasers, then to the Regulators… it would most certainly be too late. And Stephen would never let her write a letter without checking its contents. “We have to find something else against them. Something reprehensible, even illegal… Considering Stephen's past, that shouldn't be too hard to find…”

Margaret's pout did not go unnoticed and Brianna sat up quickly. “Do you know something?”

“No, I... these are just guesses, I have no proof...”, Lady Tryon stammered, before waving at a footman for a drink. A tense silence fell between both women the whole time it took for the footman to come, fill their glasses and leave, but Brianna would not let go. As soon as the footman was far enough to her liking, she grabbed her glass and leaned towards Margaret again.

“What does my husband do for yours, exactly? And don't tell me you don't know because I won't believe it... Not after the face you just made...”

Margaret stared at Brianna, stunned by her pressing and familiar tone that was far from the rules of decorum people usually followed around her. “I already told you, I'm not sure...”, Margaret whispered, blushing. “Transporting weapons, for sure. Josi- Mr. Martin also told me about obscene parties, but these are not offending anyone, except maybe our Lord Jesus... And then...”

Lady Tryon stopped talking again and Brianna grew impatient. “The Crown doesn't care if the Regulators are alive or dead, just like they don’t give a damn about their little swinger’s club. Give me something I can use! Think, please!”

Margaret looked around before pursing her lips. “Taxes…”, she whispered. “I believe… your husband makes sure everyone pay their taxes… plus an additional charge.”

Brianna frowned. “What do you mean, an additional charge?”

“Well… I believe the amount set by King George is lower than the amount William is asking for. And your husband makes sure everyone pays without question.”

“They're stealing the Crown…”, Brianna breathed, her eyes wide. She was definitely on to something. Squandering and misappropriation of public funds – the King of England would certainly not like that, especially now that every penny was needed to cover the monumental debt caused by the latest war. The good news was no one could commit such crimes without trace: forged ledgers, unregistered money transfers, codes… “There must be a paper trail, a system to launder the stolen money…”, Brianna muttered, while Margaret seemed to panic.

“I shouldn't have shared my assumptions with you... I'm just an idiot woman who doesn't understand business and is imagining things”, Lady Tryon stammered with tears in her eyes, and Brianna knew these weren’t her words but probably Tryon’s every time his wife voiced her opinion about something. Margaret modestly turned away in her chair to wipe the underside of her eyes with a tissue… and froze in horror. Near the porch leading to the palace, Miss Scott had just appeared with Tryon and his partners, and she was whispering something in the governor’s ear. “I’m begging you, Brianna, forget what I just said. We are lucky to have wealthy husbands taking care of us and our children. And that's all that matters.”

Brianna blinked several times before following Margaret's gaze. Tryon and Stephen had just left Norrington, Miss Scott and Josiah on the porch, and were striding toward their wives. By the time they reached them, Margaret had regained control of herself, greeting the two men with a wide smile.

Stephen immediately stood by Brianna and like a perfect gentleman, took her hand in his and kissed it gently. “What were you ladies talkin’ about?”, he asked in a sweet voice, causing a few warning lights to blink in Brianna's brain. But Margaret hastened to answer emphatically, one hand clasped just below her cleavage.

“Oh, I was showing Brianna the wonderful diamond William got me last week”, Lady Tryon gushed, giving her husband a loving look and smile.

“And I was wondering why my husband only gets me plain and ordinary emeralds…”, Brianna added, with a ridiculous aristocratic tone.

“Emeralds look better on you, darlin’…”, Stephen quipped, before turning to Tryon. “And now she wants diamonds.”

The Governor laughed sarcastically. “They all do. Diamonds are what keeps women smiling, and in return we men have peace.”

“Isn’t a feigned peace more harmful than a formally declared war?”, Brianna spat before she could even stop herself, and despite his casual smile, Tryon's eyes became as cold as ice.

“Then it is fortunate that women are incapable of waging a war. At worst, you just give us the silent treatment and we pretend to be bothered, when it is in fact a fucking relief.”

Hearing him use such a rude word, Margaret jumped in her chair and Bonnet tensed imperceptibly, while Brianna and Lord Tryon both glared at each other in silence. Their mutual contempt was electrifying the ambient air, so much so that Stephen grabbed Brianna by the waist and forced her to look at him.

“A delicious buffet is waitin’ for us over there...”, he whispered, his face dangerously close to hers, but from an outsider’s perspective, he looked just like a man whispering some sweet words in his wife’s ear. “You’d better eat somethin’ before the alcohol and the heat have an unfortunate effect on your audacity, darlin’.”

Brianna forced herself to smile and leaned closer to him. “He started it.”

Stephen discreetly rolled his eyes and glared at her for a split second. Just enough to beg her to behave herself. And this time, she would. At least for now. She knew where Lord Tryon's office was, since last Christmas. All she needed to do now was to disappear for a few minutes. And find his damn ledgers.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Chapter Text

19. Return To Sender

The sun had set over New Bern and the garden party had gradually turned into a dinner dance in the governor's reception hall. To the sound of three violins, the guests carried out contredanses, allemandes and minuets amid bursts of laughter and loud conversations. Brianna had kept staring gloomily at the door in the corner of the room, which opened on a corridor leading into the bathroom and ultimately Lord Tryon’s office. Margaret's words had been playing on a loop in her mind since early afternoon and she was sure that all the evidence she needed would be in this office or in Stephen's in River Run; But she had already tried to check this one out without much success.

However, the opportunity to creep out of the party never came up. She had managed twice to go to the bathroom, but there had always been people to prevent her from snooping around. And Tryon's eyes had almost never left her. She was playing all alone in a corner of the room with her fork and the last crumbles of her apple pie, when Stephen left Mr. Norrington and walked towards her. Holding out his hand.

“What?”, Brianna grumbled, her mouth full.

Stephen was not put off by her grumpy attitude and raised his eyebrows. “Would you like to… dance with me?”

“Absolutely not.” Bree rolled her eyes at her husband’s offended look and added: “It's not that I don't want to dance with you… I don't want to dance at all. I don't know the steps”, she added in a low voice.

“Frank didn’t teach you?”, he asked.

Brianna jumped as she heard him say her adoptive father's name so casually. It was not something she was used to with Jamie, Claire or anyone else in the family to be honest. But it was quite nice to be able to mention him without hurting or saddening anyone.

“He liked… other kinds of dances”, she said, as she remembered them dancing a crazy rockabilly jive in their living room in Boston. The Irishman seemed to relax a little bit and dropped into a chair next to her. “You can go and dance with other women, though. I promise I won’t be jealous…”

Stephen sneered before leaning towards her ear. “Well… I was countin’ on you to guide me. I don't know the steps either.”

At these words, Brianna chuckled loudly, and Stephen soon imitated her. He then sighed and leaned against the back of his chair, spreading his legs in a very ungentlemanly way.

“We are the worst aristocrats in this room.”

“Probably in the whole town”, she added sarcastically.

Before she had time to realize that she was smiling, she saw Stephen smugly staring at her. He loved those rare moments when she acted totally natural and she felt her cheeks burn under his intense gaze. After letting his green irises linger a little longer over her pink cheeks and lips, he nodded at the exit. “Shall we go?”

Nothing could have made Brianna happier, despite her frustration of not finding the evidence she was looking for, and she let out a sigh of relief. “Yes, please.”

Stephen smirked and jumped to his feet. “I'll ask for our carriage, then. Wait for me here.”

She nodded and watched him walk away, thinking intently. What if this was the opportunity she had been waiting for? Turning her head towards the dancers, she caught sight of Tryon making Miss Scott twirl all over the dancefloor. Margaret was talking to Josiah Martin in a corner of the room and no one was paying attention to the young redhead finishing her cake. Putting her plate on the nearest table, she stood up slowly, smoothing the tails of her dress and pretending to head for the bathroom. As she reached the corridor, the odds were finally in her favor: there was not a soul around.

Brianna trotted to the last door down the corridor and put her ear against the panel. Nothing. At worst, if she came face to face with a guard inside, she would pretend to be a little tipsy and looking for the exit. The knob turned immediately when she seized it and she rushed into the empty room, closing the door behind her. The governor's office was all that could have been expected from a man of his standing. Beautiful carved and varnished wooden furniture, a huge map of North Carolina on the wall, hundreds of books and rich carpets on the floor. The centerpiece being the mahogany secretary in the middle of the room and its multiple drawers adorned with brass locks. Brianna walked around it, looking at the carved leather desk pad, the precious quills and inkwells, the letter opener that looked as sharp as a razor blade, and some paperwork casually left all over it.

Brianna carefully turned a few documents, flipped through a notebook in an open drawer, but nothing seemed suspicious. Several drawers were locked and after spending a few minutes feeling every corner of the desk in search of a key, she used the letter opener but to no avail. The drawers did not move an inch and she put the blade down with an exasperated sigh. What did she expect? That the notebook containing all the details of Tryon’s crimes would be in plain sight, stored between the last signed decree and a copy of the New Bern Gazette? She had no time to go through the whole bookcase or find something to pick the lock with, and her reckless adventure suddenly seemed very stupid.

Especially when she heard footsteps in the hallway. Footsteps that were getting too close to be a guest heading for the bathroom. Fuck, Brianna swore, looking for a hiding place. No piece of furniture was big enough to disappear behind it and the door was the only way out. The windows. Opening one of the French doors, Brianna leaned over the railing to assess the height. They were on the ground floor, which was above the semi-basement where the servants worked. There couldn't be more than eight feet between her and the lawn below. Pulling up her dress, she got to the other side of the railing and just as she was about to hang from it and let herself fall, the door to the office swung open on Tryon's counselor.

Brianna stifled a cry, but it was too late. Josiah Martin had looked up at the window, meeting her frightened eyes just when her bulky dress made her lose her balance. As in slow motion, Brianna felt the stone scrape her palms as she slipped and fell to the ground. She tried to brace her legs for the impact, but as her feet touched the ground, a searing pain shot through her left ankle and she moaned loudly. But she had no time to lose: straightening up, Brianna hobbled as fast as she could towards the entrance, hoping to make it back to the hall and find Stephen before someone gave the alert.

Her ankle was burning horribly with every step, but she made it to the entrance hall unscathed. Stephen, where are you for fuck’s sake?, she grumbled, looking around.

“Mrs. Bonnet?”

Brianna was so tense that she almost screamed in terror when she heard her name. But that was nothing compared to the fear she felt as she turned and saw Josiah striding towards her. She was screwed. In a few minutes, she would be arrested for espionage or treason or witchcraft – or whatever they could find to lock her up – and probably executed. Her breathing quickened and she felt like she was about to faint.

“Look, it’s not what you think…”, she began in a voice that was barely audible over the din of her heartbeat.

“You forgot this…”, Josiah said with an enigmatic smile. Brianna frowned and looked down at the object he was handing to her. The Rudiments of English Grammar, by Joseph Priestley. Margaret's book...

Frowning, she looked up at the counselor and was opening her mouth to ask him for an explanation when a warm hand slipped around her arm.

“There you are, darlin’… I told you to wait for me inside…”

Stephen placed his own jacket on her shoulders and Brianna pulled the fabric around her in a state of semi-consciousness, wondering why Josiah had not denounced her already.

“Lady Tryon wanted to give you this, for your son... It is an excellent grammar book”, Josiah said, smiling broadly. Stephen nodded silently, while Bree was gradually recovering her composure.

“Would you thank her for me?”, she asked the counselor, her voice still slightly shaky. Josiah stared at her, and she suddenly knew that her little expedition would be a well-kept secret. Whatever was going on between Margaret and Mr. Martin, Lady Tryon seemed to trust him and right now, Brianna had no choice but to trust him as well.

“Of course”, Josiah replied with a nod and a friendly glance at Stephen. “I wish you both a safe journey home...”

Stephen nodded back, before gently leading Brianna towards the carriage that had just pulled into the driveway.

“Are you cold?”, Stephen asked, frowning. Brianna wondered for a moment why he was asking her this before realizing her whole body was shaking. Probably the adrenaline.

“A little bit”, she whispered, wrapping herself a bit more in his jacket. “It was much warmer inside…”

In front of the carriage step, Brianna took a deep breath. She would have to climb with her good foot, which meant supporting herself on the other while she lifted her leg. Gritting her teeth, she managed to get on board without moaning in pain and sat just before Bonnet settled next to her instead of in the opposite seat as usual. Before she could say anything, the Irishman's right arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her against him as the carriage headed for their hostel. The steady pace of the horses, the warmth emanating from Stephen's chest, and the emotions of the last minutes soon got the better of Brianna. Slowly, her head dropped on her husband's shoulder and she closed her eyes.

“What were you and Lady Tryon talkin’ about this afternoon?”, Stephen blurted out, startling her. “And don't say ‘diamonds’ because I won't believe you... You were both pale as death.”

Bree stared at him in bewilderment; she was far too exhausted and in pain to lie. Moreover, she had failed in her search for evidence and right now, a shipment of defective weaponry was making its way to the Regulators, or was probably already in their possession. And the only person who probably had the power to stop it was in front of her.

“I know everything… about the weapons…”, she whispered, careful not to sound accusatory, but rather desperate. A few inches from her face, she saw her husband's eyes darken. “We have to stop this delivery, Stephen.”

“It's too late...” He breathed loudly, expecting another drama, another fight, another reason for Brianna to hate and despise him. “They already got the shipment.”

“I see…”, she breathed softly and he gave her a surprised look when she pressed herself closer to him. “Then let me send a letter to my family. The leader of the Regulators... Murtagh Fitzgibbons... he’s Jamie’s godfather. He’s family.” Bonnet's face paled slightly and Brianna did not have to force herself for too long to bring some convincing tears to her eyes. “Please, I have to warn them. If something bad happened to Murtagh or other people I love, I would die… Stephen… I just recovered from Roger’s visit…”

Telling the truth and begging him to help her was a tried-and-tested technique, and the more she begged, the more she felt Stephen was ready to give in to her every wish. He must have thought she would get angry, and this unexpected reaction was working in her favor. His green irises were analyzing her and he seemed truly worried that their relationship would take another step back after an entire month apart. Finally, after a long minute of thinking, he nodded.

“We'll write to them as soon as we get to the inn”, he whispered, his face becoming more and more emotional, and Brianna smiled happily.

With the utmost gentleness, she reached out to the scar on Stephen's cheek and brought his face closer to hers. “Thank you… Thank you so much…”

Her words, moaned in a moment of extreme vulnerability, hit Bonnet’s heart as violently as a bullet fired at point-blank range. Closing his eyes, he placed a kiss on Bree's forehead and hugged her. They remained silent until the carriage stopped and the coachman had to tell them twice that they had reached their destination before they decided to move. Stephen got out of the carriage first to help her get down. Despite all her precautions, the pain was still very present and when Brianna tried to set foot on the ground, her ankle gave way again and she fell forward with a cry.

“Are you all right?”, Stephen asked, catching her before she hit the ground.

Brianna shook her head, actual tears rolling down her cheeks. “My ankle… I twisted my ankle”, she moaned, leaning forward. The next moment, Stephen had picked her up and made her comfortable in his arms – like a bride entering the marital home for the first time – and carried her to the inn. In the privacy of their room, he then laid her on the bed and gently rolled up her dress to reveal her shoe, which he carefully removed. Then, as gently as ever, he undid her garter and slid her stocking down her thigh and calf, until he revealed the purple disaster that was her ankle.

“Is it bad?”, Brianna asked, craning her neck to take a look at her foot above the frills of her outfit. Stephen's warm fingers gently seized it, wiggling it one way and then the other.

“It doesn't look broken, just twisted. Don’t move…”

Brianna watched him walk over to their trunk and pull out a clean shirt. He tore the garment into long strips of fabric and plunged them into a porcelain basin that had been placed in their room by the staff. Once the makeshift bandages were soaked in cold water, he quickly wrung them out and started wrapping them around Bree's ankle. The cold water was doing her a world of good, and as Stephen finished his work, she couldn't help but ask.

“Where did you learn to do that?”

Stephen smirked, obviously delighted by her keen interest. “When you spend most of your life roamin’ the ocean, you have to learn how to heal a few wounds...”

Brianna nodded with a knowing smile. “Maybe you were mistaken about your true calling and should have been a healer instead of a pirate...”, she joked. “Have you ever thought about doing something else for a living?”

At those words, Stephen's expression changed completely – the tenderness of his smile only matched by that in his eyes – as he looked up at her.

“Aye. When I saw you all round with me child…”

Silence fell in the room, and they stared at each other for a long time — as if lost in their bubble — until a horse neighed in the street below, startling Brianna and bringing her back to reality. She looked down, nervously smoothing her dress and clearing her throat.

“The letter…”, Stephen remembered as he got up to look around the room. There wasn’t the slightest bit of paper, pen or ink to write a message. “I'm going to ask the staff for something to write with. Stay here.”

Bree nodded – thinking she wouldn't get too far with a bad ankle anyway – and watched as Stephen left the room, her heart pounding. She could not believe he had allowed her to write a letter to her family. Was he craving for love enough to sabotage one of Tryon’s operations? Apparently, he did. Either way, not getting angry or accusing him of anything had worked and she had to keep acting that way. When Stephen returned a few minutes later with a quill, an inkwell and a sheet of paper, he put it all on the small table and before Brianna could get up, he picked her up and carried her in his arms to the chair. She knew that it was useless to protest. Apart from the incident with Roger, whenever she had been hurt or unwell – both emotionally and physically – Stephen had always pampered and cuddled her even more than usual.

In a very neat and not too modern handwriting, Brianna started to write a brief introduction, ignoring Stephen's staring eyes. She knew he was dying to know what she was writing but would not dare reading above her shoulder so as not to start an argument. This is why after a few minutes of torture, Bree looked up and – looking more innocent than ever – she asked:

“Do you know when they received these weapons? I need a date or any information that would help them identify the shipment if they received more than one at the same time…”

Stephen's gaze shifted to the floor on his left, as he always did when he was thinking, and then frowned. “Tell them that Murchinson is a traitor and that everything he gave them must not be used.”

Brianna nodded and wrote the information down immediately. “That man, Murchinson… they will kill him when they find out…”, she said apologetically, in case the man was one of Stephen’s friends. But the Irishman just shrugged.

“He knew the risks.”

Without another word, Brianna finished her letter and put the quill down, blowing on the paper to dry the ink. And to Stephen's surprise, she read it aloud.

“My dear parents”, she read, glancing quickly at Stephen to get his attention. “I have recently been informed of an act of sabotage against the Regulators that could cost many of them their lives. Stephen joins me in telling you that any equipment or weapons that were delivered by a certain Mr. Murchinson have been tampered with and could injure or kill anyone using them. I hope this letter reaches you in time for you to pass the information on to them. Jeremiah is doing fine and so do I. Stephen gave him an adorable puppy who watches over him day in day out. Take care and hug Marsali, Ian and Fergus for me. Your daughter who loves you.”

She took a breath and looked up at Stephen. She knew her parents would be surprised at the way she talked about him, but not mentioning him at all was not a good idea either. The Irishman seemed quite moved by her thoughtfulness and stared at her, making a weird face.

“Stephen joins me…?”, he repeated in disbelief.

“You gave me valuable information, so yes you join me in passing it on.” She smiled encouragingly. “You're on our side now, whether you like it or not.”

“I'm not on the Regulators’ side…”, he protested, before she interrupted him.

“No, you're on my side and Jeremiah's. The Fraser-Bonnet clan, if you like.”

Oh, how he loved the sound of that; she could tell by the way his eyes were glistening in the candlelight and his breathing was faster than a second earlier.

Still smiling, Brianna folded the sheet in three and flipped it over to write “Claire & Jamie Fraser, Fraser's Ridge, North Carolina” on the back.

“I'll have it sealed by the staff downstairs”, Stephen said as he came to retrieve the writing equipment and the letter. Bree handed him the letter with some apprehension and she searched the Irishman's gaze for the slightest trace of lies or malice indicating he would not send the letter. But for once, she saw nothing but tenderness in his green irises and sweet smile. Her little scheme had worked well, beyond her expectations even.

“Thank you…”, she whispered, as he leaned down to kiss her forehead. A moment later, he had left the room.

~o~

Stephen closed the door behind him and walked down the corridor towards the main staircase leading to the first floor, the letter clutched between two fingers while the others held the quill and inkwell. With his still swaying gait – despite his efforts to correct himself – he went down the stairs (passing by a couple who stiffly stared at his scar and attitude) and soon found the man who had provided him with the paper and quill in the small living room.

“I'm returnin’ this to you.”

The man thanked Stephen politely and raised an eyebrow at the letter that was still in his client’s hand. “Would you like me to send a messenger, Sir? We have our own postal service for our customers. Discretion assured, of course.”

Stephen opened his mouth, his hand ready to give the paper to the employee, but stopped his gesture.

“Would you pour me a glass of whiskey? I'll be over there by the fireplace...”, he said, pointing at a comfortable armchair in front of the hearth. “Oh and… please have our basin of clear water changed in our room.”

“Of course, Sir.”

The man disappeared, and Stephen walked slowly to the armchair, dropping into it with a sigh. With his elbow bent on the armrest, he tilted his head towards his left hand while his fingers unconsciously played with his own wedding ring. In his right hand, the letter was there, taunting him. He was still staring at it when the employee returned with his drink and he nodded vaguely as a thank you.

What should he do? Should he take sides with his sweet Brianna, betray Tryon and risk losing everything he had built in the past four years? Or should he burn that damned letter and endanger his new marital bliss? He could not bear sleeping without her warm breast in his palm anymore. Without her red curls tickling his face on the pillow. Without the extraordinary sight of her curves under her thin nightgown in the early morning. Without her smile when she joked or simply talked with him. For all of these things, he almost felt ready to ride all the way to Fraser's Ridge and deliver the letter in person. He lifted the glass to his lips and gulped half of it down.

But warning the Regulators meant betraying the Governor and their successful partnership. It meant endangering himself, but also Brianna and Jeremiah, because he knew Tryon would not do things by half if he decided to get his revenge. Stephen and all his descendants would suffer. But wasn't it worth it if that could bring him Love...? The love of the woman he had been coveting for more than four years?

Drinking the rest of his whiskey in one gulp, Stephen got up and put the empty glass on the armrest behind him. No... even Love was nothing compared to the threat of seeing Brianna and Jeremiah at Lord Tryon’s mercy. After all, letters often got lost, were received too late or were simply destroyed when the mail coach was attacked by the Catawba tribes. Besides, even if they sent the information today, the next assault on the Regulators was expected to happen very soon... so there was little chance that they would be warned early enough anyway.

Clenching his jaw, Stephen leaned toward the flames and with a flick of his wrist, threw the message. Stuck between two logs, the paper immediately caught fire and he watched it burn for a while, with a painful lump in his throat. And then left the living room without even looking back.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Chapter Text

20. What’s Done Is Done

They remained silent almost all the way back to River Run. Brianna wondered why Josiah had remained silent about her presence in Tryon’s office, and the slightest suspicious noise or every single English soldier they met on the road scared her to death. With that and the prospect of a coming massacre, the terrible pain in her ankle, Stephen's worried gaze that never left her, plus the grammar book that contained nothing but actual grammar in it… she had bitten all of her fingernails within a couple of hours.

Halfway through the journey, they had stopped to water the horses and Stephen had dipped Bree's bandages into the stream to cool them down, before replacing them around her foot. However, his slow and dexterous movements could not distract her from her gloomy thoughts, and he eventually sat down beside her after delicately resting her foot on the carriage floor. And it was eventually the touch of his soft, warm thumb on her chin that brought Brianna back to reality.

“Everything will be all right, darlin’…”, he whispered, as his wife's eyes filled with tears. “The die is cast and you did everything in your power… the rest is out of your control.”

“We could go straight to Fraser's Ridge?”, she begged, turning to him.

“The messenger left with our letter during the night, they have relays with fresh and rested horses at strategic points all over the Colony, just as the postal services do. Whatever happens, we would arrive several days after him and it would be too late.” He had said that in a hushed, soothing voice – the way one whispers into the ear of a frightened horse. “Unless you know someone closer to home?”

Nervous as she was, Brianna did not even understand the hidden purpose of this question. She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No, I don’t know anyone… How do you know it will be too late?”

“The date of the battle is unknown to me. Despite my acquaintances with Lord Tryon, military information remains out of my reach...”, he breathed, stroking her cheek. At least that was not a lie. “I just know it will happen very soon.”

Brianna nodded, her lips pursed, and did not even protest when Stephen pulled her close and rested her head on his shoulder.

“I can only imagine your distress right now... and you will probably not like what I'm about to say, but all we have to do now is wait.”

She wouldn't have confessed it under torture, but this sweet embrace felt good, warming her freezing heart and body. He was right: she did not have time to do anything more than what she had already done. In another era, a phone call, a telegram or a fax could have changed everything; but here, in 1774, there was no other solution. The sudden urge to grab something made her unconsciously raise her hand and her fingers closed around Stephen's jacket, a few inches below his heart. Was there any heart at all, under all the muscle and bones? To make sure of that, Brianna slid her hand a little higher, almost relieved to feel the organ beat steadily under her palm.

“Well, Doctor, is everything all right in there?”, he quipped in a low voice, startling her. She tried to pull away from his chest, but he held on, smirking and holding her tight against him. Little by little, however, his sarcastic smile was replaced by a sweet one and he cocked his head to the side to get a better look at her face. “Are you relieved?”

Brianna let out a nervous laugh, but said nothing. There was a time when she would have hated that he could read her so easily. But not today. And she soon drifted to sleep, comfortably nestled in Stephen Bonnet’s arms, until the end of the ride.

~o~

Three days went by during which Brianna lived in constant anxiety, while Stephen showed unwavering patience. The first morning, they were having breakfast with Jeremiah when Hennessy had brought the local newspaper as he always did. Stephen’s poor reading skills did not allow him to read it entirely, so he usually only read the headlines and then selected the articles that really interested him. Brianna had fidgeted on her chair until he gave her the paper, shaking his head. She had no doubt that such an operation against the Regulators would make headlines if Tryon’s army was victorious, and each coming copy of the Gazette, each messenger knocking at the door, made her a little more nervous. The only quiet moments were those she spent at night in their recently renovated bed, swaddled in the pirate's arms like a terrified baby in her blanket.

On the third morning, as Stephen reached for the newspaper, Brianna was quicker and stole it, then started walking around the room with her eyes scanning the headlines.

“You could at least give me a few pages…”, Stephen grumbled, as Hennessy filled Brianna’s cup with some soothing herbal tea. Two large paper sheets were immediately thrown to his face, landing limply on his plate of scones and jam. With a long sigh, he spread them out on the table in front of him, only to notice she had given him the obituary column. “Great…”, he grunted, turning the page and switching to the publication of the banns.

Brianna had just passed behind his back again, still limping a bit on her sprained ankle – mumbling at every page that mentioned Tryon and sighing in relief when she saw no mention of him or the Regulators.

“Oh, darlin’, listen… Miss Elizabeth Swann is about to marry a certain William Turner… Do you know them?” Not a single word came out of Brianna’s mouth. “Neither do I. But congratulations to them, I guess… although they have absolutely no idea what they’re gettin’ into.”

His sarcastic joke was ignored and he felt a tad disappointed. Brianna continued to pace for a few minutes, then sighed loudly as she tried to fold the newspaper properly. But the cumbersome pages were putting up a fight, and she finally crumpled the whole thing up and placed it—or rather crushed it—near Stephen’s plate.

“Nothing”, she said, as her husband stared at the destroyed newspaper like some dead animal on the side of the road. Suppressing a sigh, he reached out to straighten the pages and Brianna dropped into her chair, bringing her tea cup to her lips under Jeremiah’s bewildered gaze. “Ugh… Jesus, that disgusting herbal tea again? Who do I have to shag to get a decent tea in this house?”

Across the table, Stephen raised his eyebrows and nodded his head, as if the answer was obvious to him, but Brianna did not pay him any attention.

“Mamaaaaa, what does ‘shag’ mean?”, an adorable voice asked to her right.

Disappearing behind his newspaper, Stephen chuckled loudly. “Something Daddy would like Mama to do more often.”

“I didn't say ‘shag’, Jem, I said ‘gag’, which is a bit like… muzzling someone”, Brianna said as the upper part of the newspaper dropped slightly, revealing two green eyes – both angry and amused by her sharp tongue. But Jeremiah suddenly seemed bothered by his father's answer.

“Daddy, why do you want Mommy to gag you more often?”

“Good luck answering that one”, Brianna muttered, hiding her smile in her cup. However, Stephen did not have to. Lloyd had just entered the dining room and was waving at Hennessy. Brianna immediately craned her neck to see what the young man was giving to the butler and got up from her chair when Hennessy handed the message to Stephen.

“What is it?”

Stephen broke the wax seal and unfolded the letter, frowning to decipher the three words that were written on it, which was the current date. Over his shoulder, he heard Brianna catch her breath and took a look at her.

“Who sent you this?”, she breathed.

“One of my men who enlisted in Tryon’s militia… I always keep a watch on the people I work with, darlin’.” As Brianna suddenly turned pale and twisted her fingers nervously, he tossed the note on the table and stood up to pull her against him. “I will stay with you today. We will wait together until we know more…”

Brianna stared into his deep green eyes, searching for any trace of mischief or lies but found nothing. Nothing but concern and sweetness, and she felt her heart race. Had he really learned his lesson after Roger? Would he stop hurting her for good, even by accident? She wanted to believe it… And that’s the moment Stephen chose to place a chaste kiss on her parted lips, without trying to go any further.

“Why don’t we go for a walk in Cross Creek…? Just the three of us? It will take our minds off things… and you have to get that ankle walking again”, he offered with a flirtatious smile. Brianna opened her mouth to refuse, but he grabbed her chin with two fingers. “…And not just walking around in circles in our living room.”

“Oh please say yes, Mama! I want to go see the chickens in C'oss C'eek!”, Jeremiah added, leaving the table to jump around. “Pwease! Pwease! Pwease!”

Brianna first looked down at her son who was clasping his hands under his tiny chin, then looked up at a triumphantly smiling Stephen. He knew he had already won, and she could not deny that some time outside these walls would do her a world of good. As he had said a few days earlier, the die was cast…

“Fine”, she sighed as Jeremiah jumped around like crazy and Blue started barking to mimic his young master’s excitement.

After an hour ride with an overexcited Jeremiah, Brianna got out of the carriage. Stephen immediately grabbed her by the waist to help her – as he still refused to let her jump from too high – and eased her to the ground as if she was as light as their son, then gallantly offered her his arm. The sun was already shining high in the cloudless sky and Brianna took a deep breath, enjoying the spring wind on her face and feeling her anxiety ease a little more with each step. She was even about to smile when a booming voice echoed in the street.

“Good morning, Mr. Bonnet!”

Stephen raised a hand to greet the man and noticed Brianna's questioning gaze. “Oh, he's one of the farmers who bought some of our land”, he said vaguely, as he admired the local blacksmith who was forging what looked like a long dagger with his hammer. Brianna was nodding knowingly when it was the turn of the grocer next door to greet them warmly.

“Good day to you, Mr. Bonnet!”

Again, Stephen smiled and waved his hand, purposely ignoring Brianna's deepening frown.

“Did you sell him some of our land too?”, she asked sarcastically.

“No. But can you believe that your aunt imported almost all of her food from Virginia…? As far as I’m concerned, I’d rather buy what our local farmers produce. It’s cheaper and… that’s how you get to know the people around, and build relationships… This man is now River Run’s sole fruits and vegetables supplier.”

Of course, the same thing happened as they passed by various stores and workshops. They were greeted in turn by the cobbler, the pig farmer who was passing by to do some shopping, and the jeweler, who already had a few of Brianna’s sets of jewels to his credit. Stephen’s smile grew wider with each greeting and Brianna finally asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm:

“Is that why you wanted to come here? So I could see how much you take care of the local economy?”

Stephen chuckled discreetly and looked around before turning back to his wife. “None of this was planned, darlin’, believe me. But I’m quite satisfied of the outcome…”

“Of course you are… Oh boy, who is it this time?”, Brianna sighed as someone else behind them called out for “Mr. Bonnet!”.

As she turned to the man who had just spoken, the building in front of her felt oddly familiar, yet different. The ground floor had been completely refurbished with stalls, that were covered with breads and pastries of all kinds. It took Brianna a few seconds to remember why she felt like she knew the place and it was Stephen's sideways glance that jogged her memory. Forbes… It was Forbes’ office… She shivered as the memory of Stephen walking into the waiting room – sizing her up with his treacherous and libidinous eyes – forced itself into her mind. Yes, it was here that she had tried to seek the lawyer’s help. But the office (just like its owner) had disappeared, and was replaced today by a bakery.

“Oh, you brought your wife?”, the baker exclaimed with a beaming smile before leaning over to Jeremiah. “Now I know where you got those pretty blue eyes…”

“Can I have a slice of pie, Sir? Like last time”, Jeremiah asked, smiling broadly.

“May I have a slice of pie, please”, Stephen corrected, but the baker did not care much about politeness, as long as he could spoil the boy with one of his creations. Nevertheless, Jeremiah sheepishly repeated the correct sentence.

“What would you like this time? I have lemon pie, apple pie, pear tart and blueberry pie”, the man said, leaning towards the child.

Putting a finger in his mouth, Jeremiah thought for a moment, waddling a bit. “Ummm… Apple pie! No, blueberry pie!”

“Is that your final answer?”

Jem nodded vigorously, jumping around as the man cut a slice of pie and handed it to him.

“Thank you, Sir!”, he exclaimed, immediately taking a huge bite. Behind Jemmy, Brianna could not help but feel slightly uneasy. So this was where Stephen had taken Jeremiah when she was ‘sick’? Building relationships with the locals and playing father of the year? She had to admit that he had done pretty well…

“Does your missus want something?”, the baker asked the Irishman, who turned to Bree, squinting his eyes a bit. He could have sensed her discomfort from a mile away and Brianna had to shake it off to answer normally.

“That's very kind of you, but you don't have to…”, the young woman politely declined, but the man waved his hand.

“I insist, it’s my pleasure…”

“Then, I guess I’ll try this...” She pointed to a small cake shaped like a boat hull, with a slight bulge on top.

“Ah, madeleines… They are very popular in France, in the court of King Louis the fifteenth. Here you are…”, he said, placing a madeleine in the palm of her hand and she thanked him with a nod, blushing.

“Thank you…”

She waited until Stephen had chosen a slice of pie, argued for a few minutes with the baker who refused to charge him and then walked away, to raise an questioning eyebrow at him.

“I sold him the place”, the pirate answered before she even had time to ask.

“The ‘place’… you mean the late Neil Forbes’ house?”

Stephen gave her an annoyed look while biting into his pie. “People around here couldn’t afford it. He could, though. He needed a large house to set up his bakery.”

“And you needed a big oven to make some files disappear…”, she taunted tit for tat. She had said that as a joke, but Stephen’s sudden smirk made her realize that she was probably not far from the truth.

“Well, you know… a favor for a favor...”

Brianna stared at him with big, round eyes, as he wolfed down his pie with a mischievous grin, and she shook her head. “Well, I guess it’s just as well: Forbes would never make such delicious madeleines...”

This time, a genuine laugh escaped her husband's full mouth, and she wondered for a moment if it was right to joke about a man’s death, no matter how loathsome he was. Especially when she was the one who had hurt him and Stephen the one who had finished him off and covered his murder. Their eyes met for a moment, and the collusive glint in his green irises strangely warmed up Brianna's heart. As if he was silently swearing to protect her in all circumstances, even when she smashed a lawyer’s jaw with a hammer. She broke eye contact embarrassedly, pretending to look for Jeremiah and make sure he did not wander off too far.

The day flew by like a dream – almost too perfect to be real – and Brianna started to dread the moment she would have to go back to reality. Not the marriage reality – she had gotten used to it by now – but a reality in which her letter had never reached its destination and the Regulators were currently dying one after the other. On several occasions, Stephen had sensed her dismay and had let go of her arm to take her hand in his, stroking the skin with his thumb. So gently that it had almost brought tears to her eyes. She did not know if he was sincere or if he was just taking advantage of her vulnerability, but she could not deny it: without him and his attempts to take her mind off the battle that was raging miles away from here, she would probably have sunk into hysteria.

After dark, she had just slipped into their bed when Brianna realized that the answer to all her questions would probably be on the front page of the next day's newspaper. And although she had spent three days expecting this, her heart filled with terror at the thought. She would have given anything for a moment of respite, so much so that when Stephen came to beg for affection, she threw herself into his arms to spare herself an hour of mental torture. The sex was like the rest of the day: sweet and reassuring, almost therapeutic—and she let herself enjoy every moment of it.

The next morning, as she slowly woke up, her first instinct was to run her hand over the mattress – hoping to find Stephen's warm body for one last cuddle. But her fingers only felt the cold, empty sheets. With her heart in her boots, she slowly crawled out of bed and prepared to go downstairs for breakfast. But when she reached the top of the stairs, she saw Stephen’s back in the entrance hall. And he was talking to Hennessy, who looked even grumpier than usual.

“How am I supposed to tell her that…”, she heard Stephen growl in a low voice.

Bree's blood raced in her veins and she froze on the second floor landing. “Tell me what?”

Both men jumped and turned around in perfect synchronization. Stephen did not need to say anything. Everything about his shifty, worried gaze, his clenched jaw, and the newspaper he held between his fingers was enough for Brianna to know that their plan had failed. Stephen folded the Gazette in his hands, involuntarily answering Bree’s question. Murtagh's portrait – easily recognizable since it was the same illustration as on the wanted notice that was plastered all over the Colony – was on the front page and her eyes immediately filled with tears.

“Brianna…”, Stephen began as she shook her head and closed her eyes.

Two tears rolled down her cheeks, the first of a long series. Murtagh… She did not want to imagine her family’s pain right now. She thought about Jamie, who had just lost his godfather and friend. About Jocasta, who had probably lost the only man she had ever really loved, as she always married out of convenience. About what was left of the Regulators, who would soon surrender according to History books. Her mother had warned her many times. The past could not be changed. You could save the fate of one or two people, maybe… But the main events were inevitable, no matter how hard you tried to prevent them.

She turned around to go back to their room and let her tears run free, perhaps even vent her anger and helplessness on the furniture. But Stephen was following her, his boots stomping on the wooden steps, and she quickened her pace to escape him.

“Brianna!”

She was about to slam the door to their bedroom when Stephen's hand slipped between the panel and the doorframe, and he cursed loudly in Gaelic when the wood crushed his knuckles.

“Leave me alone…”, she begged, burying her face in her hands. She did not want to be responsible for another drama or argument; all she needed right now was peace and solitude to grieve, but also accept that she had not been able to stop the course of events. Stephen's arms wrapped around her and she lifted her red and wet eyes toward him. The Irishman was staring at her with a sad and worried frown. But Brianna needed more than that… She needed to ask him one last time. She had to be sure...

“You did send it, didn't you? The letter…”, she whispered, as tears kept running down her cheeks. “Can you look me in the eye and tell me you sent it?”

The next seconds seemed to drag on forever. Slowly, Stephen’s hand cupped her left cheek, as he wiped away her tears with his thumb. There was no trace of guilt in his eyes, and he was not trying to beg her questions or divert her attention either. Thus, for the first time since they were married, Brianna was absolutely convinced that he would not lie to her.

“Aye, I did, darlin’.”

Brianna smiled painfully and nodded, before resting her head against her husband's comforting chest and crying her heart out.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Chapter Text

21. Birthday Boys

April 1774.

A month had passed since the battle that had claimed the lives of Murtagh Fitzgibbons and many of his followers, cutting the head off of the Regulators' vendetta against Governor Tryon. During that time, Brianna had spent days brooding over how she could have warned the Regulators earlier. Stephen, for one, had been nothing but gentle towards her – bringing her tea out of the blue, showering her with gifts, whispering sweet nothings in her ear on an hourly basis, or even taking her for walks around the estate or in Cross Creek with Jeremiah.

One day at a time, Bree had mourned and made peace with herself. She knew it: she and Stephen had done everything they could to prevent this tragedy and they had failed, just as her mother and Jamie had tried to prevent the Culloden massacre but to no avail. She was not responsible; it was meant to be, and blaming herself forever did not make any sense.

“Blue! Come here!”, Jeremiah squealed, startling his mother. Blinking, Brianna snapped back to reality and saw the small shepherd trotting towards them, as the colony of pigeons he had just disturbed landed a little further on Cross Creek's main square. “Don't eat pigeons!”, the child added, waving a threatening finger at the yapping dog.

“Are you all right?”

Stephen's soft, worried voice made her turn and she nodded, smiling reassuringly. He had gotten used to seeing her silently rehashing dark thoughts and even if these moments grew rare, he always asked her how she was doing.

“Let me get you somethin’... a piece of jewelry maybe?”, he suggested, pointing at the jeweler’s storefront a few yards away.

Brianna rolled her eyes. “Stephen, I have more jewelry than occasions to wear them…”

“Who said you needed occasions? Don't queens wear their jewels every blessed day?”

“God, I hope not...”, she laughed before looking through the store windows. The jeweler sat on the other side, bending over his work and surrounded by a few other creations, and Brianna watched his careful gestures, his focused gaze and slender fingers shaping the stones with convoluted tools. Frowning, she noticed one of the finished objects on one side of the table. A pocket watch surely designed by a watchmaker but whose back had just been engraved with a deer's head and its majestic antlers. An ornament that immediately reminded her of the Fraser clan. And Jamie, whose fifty-third birthday was coming up and that she would miss, just as she had missed her mother's last fall. Or maybe I won’t… She would never have asked in October, when she was still a prisoner and the toxicity of her relationship with Stephen was peaking, but things had changed now. Maybe enough to allow her to see her parents, or so she hoped.

“See somethin’ you like?”, Stephen asked.

“Yes… well, not for me…” She took a deep breath and started. “This watch… it reminds me of Clan Fraser... and it’s my dad’s birthday in a few weeks...”

“We can buy it and send it to him”, Stephen offered with a broad smile.

“Actually… I was thinking…” She pursed her lips, using the same trick she had been using for the last few months: wish for something out loud, pretend he could not give it to her, and watch him do anything he could to satisfy her. “No, forget it, you'll never agree to it…”

“Brianna, darlin’…”, the Irishman growled, rolling his eyes. “If I don't know what you want, it will indeed be difficult for me to get it...”

The young woman suppressed a smile. “I would like… my parents to visit us in River Run. For Jamie’s birthday on May 1^st and Jeremiah's on May 4^th”, she said in one go.

Stephen froze and his eyes darkened immediately, so much so that Bree thought the battle was already lost. However, she had a trump card that she had neglected until then and which manifested itself by howling happily.

“Grandma and Grandpa are coming???”, Jeremiah exclaimed, his eyes widening.

“Ummm…”, Stephen began, looking like he was about to refuse, but Jeremiah already thought his decision was made.

“Grandma and Grandpa! Grandma and Grandpa!”, the child chanted under Brianna's sarcastic gaze.

“I'm sorry”, she cringed even if she didn’t mean it at all, “I think he got it wrong... I'll try to explain to him that they’re not coming..."

Jeremiah's screams immediately stopped and he turned toward Stephen, with pleading eyes. Brianna could almost hear her husband swear internally and had to bite her cheeks not to giggle.

“No, no, it’s fine, they can come”, Stephen grumbled, as Jeremiah roared again, leading Blue into a grotesque boy-and-dog dance in the middle of the street. “Four days, not one more”, he added to Brianna, who nodded and threw her arms around his neck as a thank you. Stephen's hands slid around her waist, and she knew from the pressure of his fingers that he did not regret giving his consent if only to enjoy her gratitude for a few seconds.

Brianna pulled away from him and looked at the watch again. “May I… ?”, she smirked, and he handed her his purse, still grumbling. “Thank you!"

And with her heart filled with joy and excitement, Brianna pushed the door of the store open.

~o~

On the afternoon of May 1^st – almost three weeks after buying the watch – a two-horse cart drove through the gates of the estate. Standing on the porch, with Jeremiah hopping up and down impatiently and Blue wiggling his tail at her feet, Brianna felt her heart explode in her chest as she saw the three figures of Ian, Claire and Jamie in the front of the carriage. Eight and a half months had passed since she had last seen her family and she barely realized that she would soon be able to hug them.

With a nervous hand, she smoothed the folds of her white summer dress, whose flowery patterns matched the fiery red of her hair. Added to this was a delicate set made of rubies, silver and diamonds that Stephen had specifically bought for the occasion. He wanted her to be perfect. Pampered and spoiled.

“You’re happy, aren't you?”, he whispered in her ear, as the carriage got closer. “You and Jeremiah… you do like it here, aye?"

Brianna gave him a questioning look. She globally understood where he was going with this and smiled encouragingly. “Yes, of course..."

“Make sure they know it, then."

It was an order. She stared at him for a moment; he seemed tense, anxious even, and she could not really blame him. This whole sham he had set up, the web he had woven around her, everything could be ruined in an instant if things got a little too stormy with the Frasers. But she had no intention to provoke him or to let her family ruin everything she had managed to get from Stephen so far. The only thing that mattered was giving Jamie the watch and somehow telling him to disassemble it. Earlier this week, she had opened the case to insert a message, a few words scribbled on a tiny piece of paper about the misappropriation of taxes. She, therefore, had no interest in screwing things up and had promised herself to get into her role and carry it out to perfection.

Ian was the first to jump out of the cart, giving a bemused look to all the people lined up on the porch. Stephen, Brianna and Jeremiah on one side, but also Hennessy and Phaedre, as well as two footmen, were there to welcome them. Brianna could not help but smile when Hennessy wrinkled his nose at the young boy, with his Mohawk hairstyle and facial paint. Then it was Jamie and Claire's turn to set foot on the land, and Jeremiah could not hold back any longer. With a delighted squeal, he ran to the cart and threw himself into Jamie's legs.

“Happy birthday, grandpa!”, the boy exclaimed as Jamie picked him up from the ground and hugged him tightly.

“Oh, mo bheag, we missed ye sae much”, the Scotsman growled as Claire took Jem in her arms to shower him with kisses.

“Hello, cousin…”, Ian said with a huge smile, completely ignoring Stephen. “Ye didnae tell me tae put on my best bib and tucker, or I would have worn somethin’ else..."

“Do you have something else?”, she taunted as she walked down the steps to greet him.

Ian chuckled. “What d’ye think?” He hugged her tight and Brianna felt her eyes sting. It would be a miracle if she could hug everyone without bursting into tears. “Marsali and Fergus send their regards. They would have loved tae come but Marsali’s already as roond as a barrel..."

Brianna laughed and walked over to her parents. Jamie's eyes immediately dived into hers, silently asking a thousand questions about her well-being, her safety, her health – mental and physical.

“Da’…”, she said, on the verge of tears.

“Mo leannan…”, he whispered before hugging her tightly. The strength of his arms, his smell, and the feel of his hard jaw against her skull, all came back to her and she had to fight against the urge to cry. Which became even more difficult when Claire's arms joined Jamie's, sandwiching her between her parents. They had been standing like that for about ten seconds when Stephen's voice rose from the porch.

“Welcome to River Run, Mr. and Mrs. Fraser… and Mr. Murray”, said Stephen, who had learned his lessons over the past few days. Ian did not answer and Brianna heard her father growl against her ear. She had to dot the i's and cross the t’s without delay, and Brianna pulled away from her parents with a broad smile.

“Stephen and I are delighted to welcome you here. Two rooms have been prepared for you, as well as some nice hot baths so that you can clean up a bit before dinner… I know you came a long way!"

As in a bad comedy, Brianna saw her parents slowly turn their heads to exchange a puzzled look. Had they expected to find her chained up in a cage? Or emaciated, covered in bruises and bumps? Stephen had – alas? – never raised a hand on her, or did anything indicating they had not married for love. And even if he had been violent to her, it would not have helped much in this century when women had no rights over their husbands. Still, they seemed surprised to see her so radiant, perhaps even more radiant than when she lived with Roger in the mountains.

“Where is Rollo?”, she asked to fill the awkward silence and Ian replied immediately, as if he had understood before everyone else what she was trying to do.

“I left him at home…”, he said kneeling down near Jeremiah and his dog, “…and I’m glad I did! This ferocioos hoond of yers would have eaten him up alive! Look how scary he is!"

Realizing that he was the subject of the discussion, Blue barked happily and rubbed his nose against Ian's outstretched hand.

“It's not true!”, Jeremiah laughed. “He's too small!"

Ian nodded. “Aye, ye're probably reit... But Rollo would still be terrified!"

Two meters away, Jamie was slowly climbing the front steps, towering over Bonnet while Claire stayed close to Brianna, refusing to let go of her hand. When her father was on the last step, Stephen realized the Scot was about four inches taller than him, but he did not move to try to look more impressive. His green eyes were as cold as ice, but his polite smile did not falter and he outstretched an insolent hand towards his guest – daring him to refuse it or to be rude under what was now his roof.

Jamie did not move for a long – very long – time, so much so that Hennessy wrinkled his nose again and Phaedre raised two worried eyebrows. Jamie took it as a plea, an injunction to comply and greet the pirate if he did not want things to get ugly. Clenching his jaw, he raised his hand in turn and shook Bonnet's. Memories of his sweet smile and voice as he begged them to help dig Hayes's grave, more than four years ago, came back to him, and for the millionth time Jamie regretted not handing this Irish scumbag over to the English when he had the chance. Many tragedies would have been avoided.

To lighten the mood, Brianna let go of her mother's hand and climbed back onto the porch to slip her arm around Stephen's. “Phaedre will take you to your rooms, I’m sure you’d like to clean up a bit..."

Phaedre bowed briefly and smiled, motioning for them to follow her. The small group entered the entrance hall and as soon as her parents and Ian were down the stairwell, Bree turned to Stephen – who was as tight as a drum. With utmost gentleness, she cupped his face in her hands and smiled.

“Everything will be fine…”, she whispered before placing a kiss on his lips. Nothing was to prevent her from giving her father the watch. Nothing. And Stephen must not suspect anything either.

When she stepped back again, she saw that Claire had one foot on the first step of the stairs and was staring at her incredulously. Almost in horror. Yeah, I know… I’m pretty convincing, aren’t I?, she thought before smiling at her and blushing like a young bride who just got caught in a tender moment with her husband. She will get it… She will understand that I am just pretending.

An hour and a half later, when the Frasers came downstairs for dinner, all clean and changed, the three Bonnets were already waiting for them in the dining room. On the sofa, Brianna was watching Stephen and Jeremiah play with his spinning top. Stephen was winding the string around the toy when the child saw his grandparents, and immediately got up to run toward them.

“Grandpa! Do you know how to play?”, Jeremiah asked, raising his spinning top at arm's length to show it to him.

Jamie frowned and put his small round glasses on his nose. “I'm afraid I've never seen such an object before, mo bheag..."

“Well, you have to wind the string around like this..."

“Have you been able to get some rest before dinner, Mrs. Fraser?”, Stephen asked politely, pulling out a chair for her. Claire sat down like a robot and answered as Stephen pulled out another chair for Brianna, planting a kiss on the top of the redhead’s head as he did.

“Yes, this bath did us a lot of good… I guess we should thank you for this."

Brianna briefly glanced at her mother. This was her favorite way of telling someone that she could thank him… but just didn’t want to. Stephen still seemed satisfied and sat down at the table, before turning to Jeremiah.

“Jemmy, a couple more spins, and then you come and sit down to eat”, he said with a nervous smile. The child answered “yes, daddy” before returning to his toy and Stephen went back to Claire. “I hope you're hungry. I'm afraid our cook, Mr. Fitzpatrick, put down a great spread for us tonight."

Brianna took a deep but discreet breath and tried to calm herself down. While Stephen had made progress in socializing and small talk, she doubted Jamie’s or Claire's ability to do the same. Especially with the man they considered a sworn enemy. But luckily, she seemed to be able to count on Ian’s support; The young man was sitting right next to her, and his smile was almost as fake as the Irishman’s.

“Guid! I'm sae hungry that I could eat a whole buffalo!”, he said, winking at Brianna.

The young woman chuckled and unfolded her towel on her lap. “No buffalo here, this is a distinguished house..."

Lloyd appeared, holding a large tray that he handed to Hennessy. The butler immediately started to serve small slices of meat on Claire and Brianna's plates, before covering them with dark red sauce.

“Veal liver with apples and Port wine sauce”, he announced before Claire could even ask. Brianna saw Stephen glance at his mother-in-law, searching her eyes for anything that would tell him this first course was not genteel enough for a birthday. But Claire did not express any disgust, and he suppressed a cocky smirk. As Hennessy coated Ian's plate with sauce, Jamie helped Jeremiah sit into his chair as Phaedre brought him a small plate containing a slice of apple and a tiny piece of liver without sauce. Jeremiah thanked her with a greedy smile; He loved to eat “like grown-ups” and even if he did not like some dishes, he always made a point of tasting and swallowing at least half of his serving.

“Well, Mr. Bonnit…”, Jamie began stiffly, settling down in front of his plate. “I was told ye got rid of some of our lands tae local fairmers these lest few months… I hope that ye didnae sell them off cheaply?"

Oh shit, here we go…, Brianna thought as Hennessy served the wine. When he came up to her, she whispered in his ear: “Mr. Hennessy, would you make sure to refill my father's and Stephen's glasses as little as possible?"

Hennessy gave her a knowing glance. “Of course, Madam."

“I may be a man of the sea, Mr. Fraser, but I know the value of land, and this land is far too vast and rich to only produce cotton. Moreover… Unlike the previous owners, Brianna and I have decided to promote local farmers by consumin’ their products. This way, everyone gets somethin’ out of it..."

Jamie stuffed some liver and apple in his mouth without a word and Brianna decided to intervene and save the day. “And there is not a single slave left in River Run, since the local farmer cultivate the lands themselves”, she said with a smile.

“Indeed.” Stephen seemed pleased that she brought up the subject and reached out to his side to briefly caress his wife’s hand. “Mr. Innes and Mrs. Cameron left with their slaves. And if they hadn’t, I would have transported them to Nassau, where they would be free. The Republic of Pirates is now ancient history but their modern and fair ideas still live on."

Claire raised an eyebrow. She was certainly pleased to hear that there were no more slaves in River Run, but could not resist the urge to take swipes at her son-in-law. “I forgot that you pirates had a different opinion on slavery."

“An opinion we share, Mama”, Brianna reminded her with a nervous smile.

“What about the Indian tribes, Mr. Bonnit? Are ye plannin’ tae moove them tae Nassau as well?”, Ian asked, wolfing down his food. There was no aggressiveness or sarcasm in his voice, but Brianna still gave him a warning look. Ian ignored it, though, as he was too busy analyzing his host's reaction.

Stephen chewed and swallowed slowly, and Bree knew he was using this time to think about an adequate answer. “I, unfortunately, met very few Indians durin’ me years at sea, Mr. Murray. But I mean them no harm, as long as they return the favor…” Stephen then stared at the young man and grabbed his glass of wine. “Do you know them well?"

“I’ve spent too years with the Mohawks… And it was quite enlightenin’… especially when it comes tae what is happenin’ in the Colonies, but also under Laird Tryon’s orders."

A deathly silence fell in the room and Brianna took a long sip of wine. “Come on, enough about politics”, she said lamely. “We haven't seen each other since last summer. How are you doing? Have you finished extending the house?"

Claire seemed delighted to move on to a lighter topic and jumped at the chance, knowing full well that the conversation would exclude Bonnet de facto since he knew neither the places they were talking about nor the inhabitants. The veal liver was followed by beef tenderloin and mixed vegetables, turbot with Hollandaise sauce, Italian cheeses, and two desserts: raspberry cream (Jeremiah's favorite) and lemon pudding.

The mood had substantially lightened and Jamie started to relax, as long as he did not look at the man who sat at the other end of the table and watched them interact as a family in complete silence. While they were having dessert and laughing about Germain’s first mischiefs at the Ridge, Brianna turned to Jeremiah.

“Would you please go get grandpa’s gifts?”, she asked, whispering loud enough for everyone to hear.

Jemmy jumped out of his chair and ran to a chest of drawers, opening one of the doors within his reach to pull out a box and a folded piece of paper. He then returned immediately to the table, giving everything to Jamie.

“Happy birthday, grandpa!”, the child said with a beaming smile. “The box is from Mama and this is from me."

Jamie started by unfolding the paper and discovered a rough drawing of stick figures, a dog that looked like a spider and a rectangular house with a river next to it.

“It's us!”, Jeremiah explained, putting his finger on the paper. “Daddy, Mommy, Blue, me, grandpa, grandma, Ian and Phaed’. And the house!"

“It is wonderful, mo bheag. Almost as wonderful as yer mother's drawings. We'll frame it on the wall at Fraser's Ridge. It’ll look greit above the fireplace... What d’ye think, Sassenach?”, Jamie said, handing her the drawing.

“Hey, the portrait I made of you two is above that fireplace!”, Brianna protested with a chuckle.

“Well, I’m sorry, Bree. But this artwork is much better…”, Claire joked, turning the drawing over to show it to her, while Jeremiah beamed with pride.

“I'm almost scared tae open yer present now, mo leannan. I'll inevitably be disappointed after such perfection…”, Jamie added.

Bree squinted, curling her upper lip like a child. “Gn-gn-gn."

Now she was with them, she realized how much she had missed her parents and the silly family banter. Four days… She only had four days with them, and she did not intend to waste a single minute of it. Jamie opened the box and came face to face with the pocket watch, taking it in his hand.

“Turn it over”, Bree said enthusiastically, and he complied, his expression immediately softening at the sight.

“A stag…”, he whispered with a smile.

Brianna nodded. “Je suis prest."

“It's a bonnie gift, mo leannan, and I shall treasure it."

The young woman nodded, both moved and thinking intently to find a way to make him understand that he had to crack it open later, but a long yawn interrupted them. Jeremiah was rubbing his eyes with his tiny fists.

“I think it's time for the artist to go to bed…”, Claire said, looking at him.

Brianna turned to her son. “Jeremiah, do you want grandma to tuck you up like she used to?"

The child had a sudden burst of energy and nodded briskly, running over to Claire to be carried upstairs. Jeremiah’s room looked completely different from what it was when Brianna used to sleep there. Books and toys filled every trunk and shelf. The pedestal table where her daughter liked to draw had been replaced by a small child's desk covered with scribbled pages, on which Jeremiah had tried to write some capital letters as well as his own name. As she walked around the room, Jeremiah went to a porcelain basin to undress and clean up a bit with a soaked cloth and soap – oblivious to his grandmother's gaze, who scanned every inch of skin for a bruise, hematoma, or scar that would suggest any kind of abuse. But she couldn’t find any.

Once in his nightgown, Jeremiah climbed into his bed and slipped under the covers with a smile on his face. It had been so long since he had been tucked up by anyone other than Mommy, Daddy or Phaedre... Claire sat down on the bed next to him and smoothed the covers around his small frame.

“Are you happy here, Jeremiah…?”, she asked in a reassuring voice. If Brianna was old enough to put on a perfect act, a four-year-old would be easy to figure out. But unexpectedly, Jeremiah nodded. “I can see you have a nice room and lots of toys..."

“Daddy brings me surprises. He got me Blue too”, he said, pointing at the dog sleeping peacefully on his mat near the bed. “We do lot of things together. We walk with Blue, we play... Sometimes, we go to Wimigton or New Be’n, but it's boring..."

“And do you think Mama is happy too?"

This time, Jeremiah paused to think. “Yes… Except when she was sick..."

“Sick?”, Claire repeated, tilting her head to the side.

Jeremiah nodded. “She said sick but I know something sad happened. She cried a lot."

“When was that?"

“Before and after Christmas. But Daddy and Mommy did a lot of cuddles and she got better…”, he whispered, as if sharing an official secret. Claire smiled – vowing to find out what had happened – then stroked Jemmy's head.

“Your grandpa and I are very happy to see you…”, she said to change the subject. “Germain, Uncle Fergus, and Aunt Marsali also miss you very much… and Roger too."

“Who?”, Jeremiah frowned.

“Your daddy from Fraser's Ridge?"

Jeremiah yawned before answering without much enthusiasm. “He was not my daddy..."

“Still, do you miss him?”, Claire insisted with a raised eyebrow, but Jeremiah just shrugged. “All right… Enough with the questions. Have a good night’s rest… We'll still be here tomorrow”, she finished, stroking his blond hair one last time.

“Good night, Grandma..."

Claire tiptoed out of the room and closed the door behind her before walking back to the first floor, more confused than she had imagined. Nothing in the child's words suggested that he or Brianna were being held against their will. Worse: Jeremiah had mentioned trips to Wilmington or New Bern and recurring strolls in the surroundings. Was Bonnet's hold so strong that Brianna did not even try to escape when they were off the property? She wanted to believe it, because the other solution—that she stayed here of her own free will—was unthinkable. And she had to investigate these two ‘sicknesses’. Brianna had always had an iron constitution, except for one flu that had laid her low for a week in high school. Therefore, being sick twice in such a short period of time was exceptional.

“Ah Sassenach, I was jist tellin’ Brianna that we were exhausted by our trip and that we shood go tae bed...”, Jamie said, leaving the dining room with a knowing look. He did not doubt for a second that his wife had interrogated their grandson and was probably impatient to hear the answers. Behind them near the table, Bonnet was watching them from afar. His polite gentleman's facade was gradually giving way to something darker, probably because he was tired of pretending to be perfect for a whole evening.

“Of course. We'll have plenty of time to talk tomorrow”, Brianna said with a smile. “I'm so glad to have you here, all three of you."

Both Frasers and Ian smiled back and took their leave, heading back upstairs to their respective rooms. But as Brianna was not following them, Claire slowed down halfway up the stairs. She saw the butler cross the hall with empty plates – followed by the young footman who had helped serve dinner – and went back downstairs, taking care not to make a sound. Quiet as a mouse, she headed back to the dining room, peered inside… and cringed. Brianna and Bonnet were huddling together face to face. Bree had slipped her arms around his neck, with a smitten look all over her face, as he hugged her thin waist in his huge sailor hands.

“See? That wasn’t so bad?”, the young woman asked, stroking the pirate's neck with her right hand.

Bonnet rolled his eyes. “How could it go wrong? They wouldn’t even talk to me..."

“Give them time…”, Brianna said, standing on tiptoes under Claire's astonished gaze. “… Just like you gave me time…”, she finished before kissing her husband tenderly. Bonnet did not need to be asked twice and hugged Brianna a little tighter against him, deepening the kiss in such a voluptuous way that Claire suddenly felt… embarrassed. But she could not watch them any longer: A noise coming from the kitchen startled her and she hurried to join Jamie in their room.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Chapter Text

22. A Horse With No Name

When Claire closed the door to their bedroom, Jamie immediately knew that something was wrong. Throwing his waistcoat over the back of a chair, he approached her and whispered:

“What is it, Sassenach?”

Claire walked into the room, crossing her arms over her chest. “I… I don't know what to think, Jamie.”

“Please dinnae tell me ye’re buyin’ Bonnit’s farce?”, Jamie grumbled with a contemptuous expression.

“It’s not Bonnet I want to talk about… I saw them kissing… Twice.” Claire saw Jamie open his mouth to protest but cut him off. “The first time, I thought she knew she was being watched and was forced to play along. So I ignored it, but this time they thought they were alone. And it was… much more sensual.”

“Bonnit must be forcin’ her tae kiss him, whether they’re alone or not...”

“She initiated the kiss. Both kisses, actually.”

Jamie froze, understanding from Claire's appalled look that she was absolutely certain of what she had seen. He bit his lip and thought for a moment. “What aboot Jeremiah? Did ye see anythin’ when he undressed? Is the wee lad hurt?”

Claire shook her head. “No. I asked him a few questions but he seems to like it here… You should have seen his room, Jamie… He’s treated like a prince.”

“And Brianna?”

“Jem said that she is happy too, except when she got sick. Twice, he said”, Claire replied, making quotation marks with her fingers at the word ‘sick’. “The thing is Brianna hardly ever gets sick. Twice in such a short time seems odd, to say the least…”

“D’ye think he’s poisoning her?”, Jamie groaned immediately, ready to get on his high horse.

“Jesus, no… Jem said she cried a lot, and he knew the illness was just an excuse and that something sad had happened, to use his words. But apart from that…”

Silence fell between them, and then Jamie shook his head. “I cannae believe that the three of them are happy here… Did ye see how uncomfortable Bree was at dinner? She’s walking on eggshells with Bonnit, and Jeremiah must be too scared tae tell the truth.”

“Jeremiah doesn’t seem scared of anything... and to be completely honest, Bree didn't seem more nervous to me than any young woman whose family is having dinner together for the first time.” Claire ran her hands over her face and sighed. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, this is unbelievable.”

“She sent us a message, Sassenach…”

“To tell us that she was doing well.”

“Because he is sequestering her in this house…”

“I thought so too, Jamie, and yet they invited us!” She took a deep breath, before lowering her voice in order to avoid drawing attention to them. “You didn’t see them kissing down there… It was…” The sight of Brianna capturing Bonnet's lips as he eagerly caressed her hips and back haunted her and she could not finish her sentence. “When Roger came back to the Ridge and told us what had happened, I thought… he was overreacting. That jealousy and pain had got the better of him, but now… I don’t know…”

Jamie walked toward her, moved by the distress in Claire's blue eyes. “D’ye think she would have lied aboot the rape?”

The Englishwoman immediately glared at him. “No. The only time Brianna lied to Frank and me about a stupid pack of cigarettes in high school, her lie was so pathetic that we’d rather avoid her any humiliation and pretended to believe it…”, she said, while Jamie smiled briefly. “She didn't lie about the rape; I know it and I forbid you to even consider it. But something has changed in the way she acts around Bonnet. And I will find out why.”

Jamie nodded and seeing his wife's chin tremble, he took her in his arms and hugged her tight.

~o~

“Blue? Give me a paw!”, Jeremiah commanded, and the dog stared at him blankly. Ian gently grabbed Blue's paw and placed it in his own hand before releasing it. Sitting on the front steps – while Brianna, Claire and Jamie finished their breakfast on the sunny wooden deck – the boys were trying to teach Blue some new tricks. Which was quite difficult, the dog being more interested in Ian (and the smell that Rollo had left on him) than in his learning.

“How have you been spending your days?”, Claire asked with an encouraging smile. Brianna took a sip of tea and glanced over at Hennessy, who was patiently waiting to clear up the table.

The young woman let out an embarrassed laugh. “Well… I don’t have a lot to do, to be honest. Stephen has been spending a lot of time at home, lately, and the three of us have been going for walks. Jeremiah loves going to Cross Creek and Blue has a certain appetite for poultry hunting…”

“Give me a paw!”, Jemmy repeated.

“I also draw a lot and I’ve been reading too…” She paused to take a sip. “A little more action would be great, though. I kinda miss working hard in the fields, designing and making instruments for your practice or simply tinkering…”

“What's keepin’ ye from doin’ any of that?”, Jamie asked, although the real question was: who?

Another “Give me a paw!” was heard on the porch, followed by Ian’s and Jeremiah’s triumphant roars.

“Oh... I'm not sure...” Another glance at the unfazed butler. “Stephen would probably not like me coming home covered in dirt and dust”, she finished with a tight smile.

Bonnet’s sweet voice suddenly came out of nowhere, startling Jamie and Claire, but not Brianna – who was used to his way of moving as quietly as a hunting lion. “How would you know if you don’t ask?”, the pirate said, leaning over her shoulder.

“Well, I'm asking you now!”, Bree said defiantly, with an adorable pout.

“What do you think, darlin’? Would I like to see my gorgeous wife covered in mud from head to toe?”, he said with a sarcastic smile, before whispering in her ear. “Yes, absolutely.”

Brianna giggled, under her parents’ puzzled gaze, and Jeremiah finally noticed his father's presence and began to shout excitedly. “Daddy, daddy, look!”

Stephen straightened up and walked towards him, while Jemmy turned to Blue and commanded again: “Give me a paw!” Under his delighted eyes, Blue lifted a front paw and placed it awkwardly on his master's palm. “Did you see, daddy? Ian teached him that!”

As Stephen nodded, looking very impressed, Jamie put down his empty teacup and stood up, adjusting his waistcoat. “Mr. Bonnit, if ye dinnae mind, I'd like tae have a look aroond the plantation and see what’s left of its cultivable lands...” The Scotsman's tone was as cold as ice and his contempt uttering the words “Mr. Bonnit” had ruffled a few of Stephen’s and Hennessy’s feathers, causing the butler to give him a venomous look. Stephen was about to ask Jamie why he even cared, but the Scot spoke first. “After all, Jeremiah is the sole heir tae River Run... fur his sake, I'd like tae make sure there’s something left of the property on the day he comes of age...”

The pirate thought intently before he spoke, probably looking for an answer that would not cause the two of them to jump at each other's throats. But nothing came to his mind, so he turned to Hennessy.

“Ask the O’Donnell brothers to prepare two horses for us and also two for them…”, he said before turning his attention back to Jamie. “I’m sure you don’t mind if two of my men come with us?”

“I dinnae mind, Mr. Bonnit, but I wonder… Don’t ye trust yer own father-in-law?” Jamie's voice was dripping with sarcasm, but Stephen chose to answer with his brightest smile.

“I trust you as much as you trust me when it comes to manage my son's assets...”

A heavy silence fell on the porch, except for Jeremiah who was still training his dog with Ian's help.

Brianna let out a nervous laugh. “Please try not to murder each other between two rows of crops…”

Jamie just groaned but Stephen turned to his wife and smirked. “Don’t worry, darlin’. Captain Bonnet would have eaten him alive, but the new me respects the elderly now…”

The “elderly person” glared at the Irishman, who ignored him completely. And for good reason: Brianna seized the slice of lemon that was floating in her tea and threw it to her husband’s face. Stephen caught it as it flew past, laughing, then put it in his mouth and sucked on it, winking at her seductively before walking to the stables with his usual swaying gait. Bree watched him walk away – shaking her head with a smile on her face – before picking up her cup of tea as the Fraser couple stared at her in complete horror.

“Christ, Brianna, will you finally tell us what is going on?”, Claire hissed, leaning over the table.

Brianna blinked, wondering for a second what her mother was talking about, before realizing that her behavior must raise a lot of questions or even concerns. “Mama… listen, things are just easier that way… When we get along, all goes well, you know?”

“Oh, you two seem to get along more than well!” Claire shook her head. “What did he do to discourage you from fighting?”

“I haven’t-”, she began vehemently before lowering her voice, “I haven’t lost hope, Mama…”

Jamie interrupted her. “Then why the farce and masquerade in our presence? He knows that we willnae believe a word of it... Is he hurting ye, mo leannan? Is he subjugating ye tae his will by force?”

Brianna opened her mouth wide and was about to answer when she saw Jeremiah's puzzled look; the kid had not missed a bit of their conversation. And behind him, Hennessy was striding back from the stables. No, Stephen did not hurt her anymore. Since Roger's visit and even more so since Murtagh's death, he had been nothing but gentle and thoughtful towards her, and she certainly wasn’t going to complicate things by upsetting Jeremiah or letting Hennessy think she was talking behind Stephen’s back. Her parents would understand everything thanks to her message anyway. So she just shook her head.

“No... I know Stephen hasn't exactly been a saint to me in the past... but he’s changed. A lot. Everything is fine between us now.”

Jamie scoffed. “A saint-?”

“Mr. Bonnet is waiting for you, Mr. Fraser”, Hennessy pompously said behind Jamie's back. The latter fell silent, nodded and after one last look at Claire and Brianna, walked to the stables. “Are you finished, Madam?”, he then asked Brianna who nodded.

Hennessy waved toward the entrance hall and Lloyd immediately appeared with a tray to take the dishes away. Brianna congratulated herself on her discretion: the footman was probably within earshot, and although he seemed like a nice young man, she did not have the luxury of trusting anyone.

Claire then motioned for Ian to walk away with Jeremiah, and the young man complied, taking the child and his dog to play in the garden. Great, now she’s gonna interrogate me…, Brianna internally grumbled. She had dreaded this moment, when she would probably be asked to justify her decisions and behaviors, and her blood started to boil almost instantly in her veins. They weren’t there... They don’t know all I had to do to stay sane...

“Jeremiah told me you got sick just before Christmas?”, Claire asked with a worried look. “But also… that you cried a lot.”

She didn’t waste her time... Brianna gritted her teeth. Hennessy was still nearby, and though he was staring straight ahead, she was sure he was listening to their every word. She looked down embarrassedly. “We… we went through a rough patch.”

“He hurt you, didn’t he?”

Brianna was so good at acting surprised that even Hennessy looked convinced and relaxed a little bit. “Who, Stephen? Don’t be ridiculous…”, she chuckled, her smile gradually fading to be replaced with sadness. Jesus, I deserve a fucking Oscar… “Stephen and I… we’re trying to have another child.” Claire gasped at the news, but Brianna just stared at Blue and Jeremiah, a few dozen feet away. “I miscarried. It’s the kind of things that just happen. You know it better than anyone… Anyway,” she shrugged but deep down, her heart was not in it, “it’s over now. But I didn’t expect Jeremiah to be so insightful.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could easily make out the bewildered expression on her mother’s face. But she pulled herself together after a few seconds and bit her lip.

“And the second time…?”

Brianna looked down at her fingers, which were playing nervously with the fabric of her dress. She could not tell her what had happened after Roger left. Stephen’s cruel trick, the catatonia, the weeks without touching each other that only made her crave even more for human contact and that turned Stephen into an ever more considerate and caring lover.

“I was… so sad when I heard Murtagh passed away.” At least that was not a lie. “If only our letter had reached you sooner…”

“Your letter?”, Claire asked, glancing at Hennessy, but he did not seem surprised by what he was hearing. That was no secret.

“About the weapons… Stephen let me write to warn you they had been tampered with. When the Gazette announced the victory of the Crown, we thought that the letter had arrived too late or had been most likely lost on the way…”

Did Bonnet even send that letter?, Claire wondered, but she could not ask this in front of the butler. In the distance, a bark and a burst of laughter broke the silence.

“Did Jeremiah mention anything else in his report?”, Bree laughed to lighten the mood.

“Not really…”, Claire raised her eyebrows briefly, as if she did not believe what she was about to say. “He looks very happy and healthy. I have to say I’m quite surprised. I imagined… a very different situation.”

Brianna could not blame her. Not when she had herself spent entire nights imagining everything Stephen could do to her and Jeremiah after they got married. She had pictured them tied up in the basement, beaten and scared, until they eventually died of their wounds – thus giving Bonnet full control over the Camerons’ assets. Hundreds of tawdry scenarios had crossed her mind, plaguing her nights with insane nightmares, making her jump every time her husband invaded her living space. But reality had been very different. The physical violence she had imagined had not happened – at least for the most part – only to be replaced by a more silent and elusive form of abuse: manipulation and psychological subjugation. Until things finally became easier. Livable. At least for her. Jeremiah had been luckier: he was much too young to realize what was really going on, and Stephen had made sure to be kind to him and satisfy his every wish from the very first day.

“If there’s one thing I can’t deny”, Brianna went on, this time facing Claire, “it’s that Stephen is a wonderful father. I mean it. And I think… that Jeremiah needed this.”

Claire looked at her sadly. “If only Roger had-”

“I expected too much of Roger”, Brianna cut her off. The last thing she wanted to talk about right now was how everything could have been different if Roger had been a better father. “Roger and his damn morals… I should have known from the start of our relationship that I could not rely on him to support me. I forced him to live with Jeremiah… hoping things would work out… but I was wrong.” She took a deep breath and exhaled, a tight smile on her face. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Now, Jeremiah has a father who adores him and takes good care of him. That’s all that matters to me.”

The sorry expression on Claire's face deepened. “Bree…” Just by the tone of her voice, Brianna knew she would not let go so easily. “You would tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?”

Behind the young woman, Hennessy straightened up, his hands behind his back, and almost imperceptibly cleared his throat. But Brianna did not need any reminder. This had become like a second nature over the months and considering Stephen’s latest behavior, it wasn’t even a lie. Letting out a half-amused, half-exasperated sigh, Brianna rolled her eyes.

“Mama… I’m fine. I swear.” Smiling brightly, she pretended to remember something important. “Oh, by the way... I haven’t thanked you for sending me Hamlet. I really love it… Every time I read it, I feel like I’m discovering another detail or double meaning that I had never seen before. I never get tired of it…”

A conspiratorial gleam immediately shone in Claire’s eyes, who smiled at her daughter. “Good. I knew you would love to have it here.”

“I hope Jamie will love his gift as much as I did mine”, Brianna added, mentally praising herself for her subtlety. “When I saw that watch, I immediately thought about him and the symbol of his clan. The case details are amazing and the mechanism inside? Pure wonder. Absolutely fascinating.”

“You know your father, he’ll certainly crack it open to take a closer look”, Claire chuckled, shaking her head.

Oh, I’m counting on it…, Brianna answered inwardly and the spark in her mother’s eyes was enough to tell her that she had understood the hidden message.

A few feet away, Jeremiah was hopping up and down, waving his arms. “Mama, mama, look!”

Brianna turned her attention back to him as he spun around, soon imitated by Blue. She felt a sudden urge to run and go spinning with her son and his dog, so she got up from her seat, smiling broadly.

“Would it work if I’m the one spinning around?”, she asked. Jeremiah and Ian shrugged as one. “Let’s see...” Gathering momentum with her arms, she performed two 360 degrees rotations, her long dress swirling around her. Blue recognized the signal and imitated her, to the applause of Ian and Jem. Her cheeks aching from a stupid grin, Bree bowed and greeted her audience with a laugh. Feeling light-hearted for the first time in months.

~o~

The next two days were quieter than Brianna or her parents could have imagined. Hennessy had probably reported Brianna's exemplary conduct to Stephen, because  he did not insist on staying with them all day – leaving the family under the constant watch of the butler and his men posted at each entrance. Even Jamie – who had returned quite annoyed from his tour – had been more cheerful after a brief conversation with Claire before dinner.

Brianna had not smiled so genuinely in ages. The presence of her parents and Ian, the days spent together talking and laughing, the happiness she read in Jeremiah’s eyes: all of this had cheered her up, bringing back a little hope in her heart, and for the first time since that fateful July 15^th when she married Stephen, she felt… happy and confident about the future.

Stephen had noticed it too, but with mixed feelings. He loved to see her smile and laugh with a sparkle in her eyes, but he hated the fact that other people were the cause of her joy. She had understood this on the evening of May 3^rd, the day before Jeremiah’s birthday when after a particularly funny dinner, during which Jamie had treated the family to a few hilarious anecdotes about their life at the Ridge, Stephen had pounced on her like a hungry lion to devour her with kisses. And when she had asked what had gotten into him — as he rolled up her skirts and untied his own breeches — he had whispered a few words. It’s the way you laugh… By Danu, I love the way you laugh…

He had then taken her on the windowsill, reveling in her erratic breathing as he did his best to pleasure her. Promise you’ll keep laughing like this with me... Promise me, Brianna... Breathless and her body racked by pleasure, she had moaned a promise, seconds before Stephen came and carried her away in an intense last kiss.

Brianna shivered. The memory aroused her much more than it should and every detail had engraved itself in her brain and flesh, in the most disturbing way. The coldness of the window behind her back, Stephen's burning hot hands clinging to her thighs, the strong back and forth movements of his pelvis seconds before he came inside her-

“Mama!”

Brianna jumped violently, her glass of wine escaping her fingers and spilling its contents onto the tablecloth. “Fuck”, she swore, as Lloyd ran over with a towel to mop up the mess. Lost in her thoughts, she had completely forgotten that she was still at the table, eating Jeremiah’s birthday cake. At least, that’s what was happening before her brain switched off. Her cheeks burning, she looked up at the other guests – all standing near their chairs – and especially Stephen, who was staring at her with piercing eyes.

“Fuck!”, Jeremiah giggled, before immediately clasping his hands over his little mouth when he saw Bree's angry gaze.

“Jeremiah, language…”, Stephen sneered, as the child pouted.

“But she says it all the time…”

“I’m sorry, I think my mind drifted away... Are you leaving already?”, Brianna panicked when she saw her parents standing. They had planned to leave River Run in the afternoon, but she hoped she would spend a few more hours with them.

“Nobody’s leavin’, darlin’,” Stephen answered for them, “I just told Jeremiah that our present was waitin’ for him outside.”

“Come on, Mama! Get up!”, the child said impatiently as he headed for the exit.

“I’m coming, I’m coming…”, Brianna sighed but Jeremiah had already disappeared into the entrance hall, followed by his grandparents and Ian. Stephen waited to offer her his arm and as soon as she seized it, he leaned a bit toward her.

“Your mind drifted away, huh? Where?”

His question was neither aggressive nor sarcastic. He was just wondering what was on her mind, something that Brianna was used to by now. That’s why she did not try to lie; even better, she wondered what his reaction would be if she told him the truth. He couldn’t do much about it anyway, with her family a few feet away.

“On… a windowsill”, she whispered with an enigmatic smile. As she expected, Stephen frowned for a second before he finally understood the hint. She saw his eyes indecently undress her from head to toe, and blushed when he buried his face in the crook of her neck to whisper a few naughty words.

Ten yards away, Jamie was watching them from the entrance hall, frowning. He now understood a little better what Claire had wanted to say, on their first evening in River Run. The difference between the old Brianna – scared to death by Bonnet’s presence – and the one who was openly flirting with her husband was obvious… and disturbing. But a sudden high-pitched cry snapped the Scotsman out of his thoughts. On the porch, Jeremiah was squealing with delight, about ten seconds before Brianna arrived and discovered the cause of the ruckus.

“A poney?!”, she exclaimed along with her son, the latter with much more enthusiasm. And as Jeremiah ran towards his gift led by the groom, Bree let out a long sigh.

“Hmm, Mrs. Bonnet disapproves?”, Stephen quipped as he went down the front steps beside her.

“No, I always knew it would happen… The day you brought the dog back, I remember myself thinking: what will it be tomorrow? A pony?... And here we are...”

Stephen chuckled, as Jamie and Claire helped Jemmy climb onto the animal. “Our son needs to learn how to ride properly… The sooner he gets comfortable, the better.”

“You’re right, it would be a shame if he reached the age of thirty-seven years old and still looked like he wants to jump off the horse, like his father...”

“Is it my fault that I’m much more comfortable on a galleon in the midst of a storm than on the back of those damn horses?”, Stephen muttered as Brianna let go of his arm to follow Jeremiah.

“You're not more comfortable in a storm... you’re just more motivated to stay on the ship!”, she scoffed over her shoulder, laughing when he nodded approvingly.

The early afternoon went by peacefully, punctuated by Jeremiah's joyful screams and the Frasers' cheering. But each passing minute brought Brianna inexorably closer to her family’s departure, and she felt the nonchalance and carelessness of the past few days slip away with each chime of the clock. Having Jamie and Claire at River Run – even if they had not been able to talk freely and had been forced to act out – had been a welcome interlude of pure happiness in her daily life and she prayed that Stephen would agree to do it again.

The moment Claire and Jamie hugged Jeremiah goodbye almost brought her to tears, but Brianna managed to push them back when it was her turn to be cuddled like a baby.

“We'll be back, mo leannan”, Jamie whispered in her ear. “And you’ll be rid of him for good…”

Brianna nodded against her father’s chest, forcing a smile to her lips as he released her and climbed into their cart. He did not say a word to Stephen, who gladly returned the favor, and both men just nodded at each other icily. Sitting at the front of the cart, Claire craned her neck to stare at Bree and Jeremiah for as long as she could, until the greenery and the distance made them disappear. It was the second time in her life that she left Brianna in Stephen Bonnet’s hands, and she hoped it would be the last, but she was not as nervous as last time. The fear of seeing her daughter and grandson killed or maltreated was not as strong as it used to be. Bonnet did not seem to abuse them at all, and even if Brianna was not free to come and go, her life was not in danger. No, the biggest risk was her getting used to this life. Perhaps to the point of being satisfied with it. Or that Jeremiah's happiness became more important than her own and she chose to stay with Bonnet. Or worse… she could grow attached to him.

Claire could vaguely hear Jamie’s and Ian’s voices debriefing the last few days, punctuating their phrases with disapproving grunts. But she chose not to listen to them, replaying the moment Brianna had confessed to her about her miscarriage. Stephen and I… we’re trying to have another child… Was it a lie or the truth? Did he regularly rape her to conceive a baby, or had their relationship become consensual? Did she really miscarry or did she voluntarily end the pregnancy? Too many questions remained unanswered, and while she was sure Brianna was still out for revenge, she wondered how long it would last before her lies and pretenses eventually became her only reality.

“…Sassenach?”

Claire jumped and turned to Jamie, who gave her a questioning look.

“What?”

“I was wonderin’ if we cood stop here and take a closer look at this watch or if ye'd rather wait until we’re at the inn fur the night…”, Jamie repeated without taking offense. He understood only too well how disturbing the last days had been.

“No… let’s do it here. I had to refrain myself from ripping the damn watch open for two days, now I need to know what Brianna wants to tell us.”

“Why haven’t ye tried openin’ it in yer room?”, Ian asked with a shrug.

Jamie shook his head. “What if someone had caught us in the act, or if we had accidentally dropped the message fur Bonnet to find it later? It wouldn’t have done Brianna any guid.”

Ian nodded, while Claire spread a cloth over the seat of the cart and handed Jamie his small reading glasses as well as a pair of tweezers from her surgery kit. With infinite caution as he did not want to ruin his gift, Jamie unsealed the case of the watch and opened the back, revealing the complicated mechanism. The Frasers held their breath. The inside of the watch was empty. Claire was starting to panic when Ian gasped.

“The lid! There’s somethin’ stuck in the lid.”

Indeed, a tiny roll of paper was stuck in the convex part. Jamie pulled it out with the tweezers and as he unrolled it, Claire ran her finger over the material Bree had used to secure the paper, and licked it.

“She made glue”, the Englishwoman smiled proudly, “with honey and flour.”

“What does the message say?”, Ian urged, craning his neck.

Jamie did not answer. His eyes were staring at the few scribbled words, and he had to read them several times before fully realizing their importance. Claire could not bear it any longer and snatched the paper from his hands to read it aloud:

“Tryon raised taxes. Stephen makes sure everyone pays. They share the surplus.”

The three Frasers slowly raised their heads to exchange blank stares. According to Bree, Tryon was making North Carolina taxpayers pay more money than necessary. And he shared it with his enforcer. The Crown would certainly not like that. A corner of Jamie's mouth twitched, his eyes sparkling with joy and excitement.

“We got him…”

“We have to find proof first… This paper alone will not be enough for the authorities”, Claire tempered, but Jamie dismissed her remark with a sweep of his hand before replacing the lid on the watch. He checked that it was still working and slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket.

“We'll find proof, Sassenach. We'll find everythin’ we need, and rid Brianna as well as North Carolina of these common thieves...”

Before it breaks Brianna’s heart…, Claire thought with a hint of concern. Jamie must have sensed her turmoil, because he stroked her cheek with one hand and smiled.

“I kenned it... Our Bree never stopped fighting...”, he whispered, his eyes shining.

Claire smiled back a little less cheerfully and put the cloth and tweezers back in her kit, trying to ignore a small voice in her head. A voice that kept telling her that it would probably be too late.

~o~

After her parents’ departure, a wave of conflicting emotions forced Brianna to isolate herself for a moment in order to let her tears run free. She was happy and grateful for these few days with her family, but also sad to see them go. She was relieved that no one had come to blows, but also frustrated that she could not be completely honest about her situation. Watching her parents leave with the watch – and the message it contained – had brought her some hope, but now she had to get back to her daily life with Stephen.

Then, she had stopped crying only to doze off for an hour. It wasn’t much but it was enough to stop this emotional roller-coaster – and when she woke up, her first instinct was to smile. Regardless, these four days had been incredible and she felt invigorated. So when she heard the distant chime of the clock announcing that dinner would be ready soon, Brianna cheerfully jumped out of bed and left the master bedroom, looking for Jeremiah.

The child, however, was not in his room, and the small jacket full of pony hair lying on the floor told her that Phaedre had already changed him for dinner and abandoned the dirty clothes there to pick them up later. But as she was coming down the stairs, the young servant appeared, her arms filled with clean laundry that must have been drying in the yard. And the boy wasn’t with her.

“Where's Jeremiah? It’s time for him to have dinner…”, Brianna asked as Phaedre stopped beside her, craning her neck behind the pile of laundry to look at her.

“Oh, Mr. Bonnet is already with him in the kitchen… He did not want to wake you up…”

Brianna thanked the young girl with a smile and went all the way down to the ground floor, hearing loud voices coming from the kitchens. The door was open and Brianna stopped in the doorway, watching as Jeremiah swallowed his mashed potatoes and peas while Stephen cut his meat into tiny pieces.

“Is it good, lad?”, Stephen asked him, putting the knife out of his reach. Jeremiah nodded vigorously.

“I like peas.”

“Aye, I did too, when I was your age… but I not to eat them.” Jeremiah frowned, inviting his father to keep talking and Stephen did not need to be asked twice. “At the orphanage, vegetables were rare and precious, so I usually ate them all down to the last bite… Except for the peas, because it’s impossible not to play with them...”

“Mama always says: don’t play with food…”, Jeremiah recited, as Stephen nodded solemnly, grabbing a teaspoon and three peas.

“And she's absolutely right”, he finished. Just before spooning his ammo and catapulting it towards Jemmy. The peas hit the boy in the forehead, before falling limply on the table. The child giggled and tossed two of the peas back to their sender, who dodged them. As Stephen bent down to pick up the peas on the floor, Brianna crept into the kitchen, putting a finger on her lips to tell Jemmy to be quiet. The little boy clapped his hands over his mouth to keep from giggling, and Bree scooped up a large spoonful of mash and threw it at Stephen. The mashed potatoes hit him on the cheek, then slid down on his jacket as he got up with the peas. Taken aback, he first looked at Jeremiah – whose hands had no traces of mashed potatoes, thus clearing him of any wrongdoing – then saw Brianna, with her lips pursed into a mischievous smile and a spoon in her hand.

There was something incredibly satisfying about seeing Bonnet dripping with sticky food, and she chuckled loudly at his half-annoyed, half-surprised expression. Hearing his mother giggle, Jemmy removed his hands from his mouth and laughed in turn, as his father slowly scooped up the potatoes that were dangerously dripping toward his thighs, not taking his eyes off Brianna. Piling up the food in the palm of his hand, he slowly stood up to walk around the table while Brianna threatened him with her now empty spoon.

“Do not play with food, Stephen!”

“She says after throwin’ potatoes at me…”, the Irishman retorted with a smirk.

Brianna started trotting backwards, glancing behind her so as not to trip on something. “I only did so because you attacked Jemmy firs-…”

Before she could get to the end of her sentence, more mash landed under her chin, trickling down to her chest and cleavage.

“Ewww, it’s dripping inside my dress…”, she whined, wincing in disgust, but Jeremiah and her husband just laughed at her. Incited by his parents, Jeremiah also loaded up his spoon and hit Stephen right in the face, just when the pirate was considering catching Brianna and smearing the food all over her. His miffed face as the potatoes dripped down his cheek was so hilarious that Bree immediately burst into a hearty laugh.

A smile slowly made its way to Stephen's lips and when Bree met his fascinated gaze, she immediately remembered her promise of the previous night. To laugh with him like she did with her parents. She did not know if she could keep that promise in the long run, but the joy of the last few days would at least allow her to do so today. As he scooped up the food on his face to retaliate, Bree let out a high-pitched scream and tried to escape from the kitchen but Stephen was quicker and circled her waist with one arm while covering her cheeks with potatoes. Jeremiah was laughing so hard that he almost choked on a piece of meat and it was in the midst of this happy ruckus that Fitzpatrick and Phaedre barged in – both horrified at the state of the room. The spouses immediately froze, like two children caught with their hands in the cookie jar, and Brianna cleared her throat embarrassedly. She hated giving the staff extra work and blushed when she saw the mash and peas littering the floor.

“We will clean this up right now, Mr. Fitzpatrick”, she apologized, while Bonnet winced. But her offer did not seem to please the cook, who shook his head.

“With all due respect, Mistress, I’d rather have you out of my kitchen… both of you.”

“I’ll help Jeremiah finish his dinner”, Phaedre offered before biting the inside of her cheeks to suppress a giggle. “But first, I’ll ask Lloyd to prepare the bathtub…”

“Um, aye, we sure could use a bath…”, Stephen mumbled, dropping a handful of mash into the waste bucket under Fitzpatrick’s surly gaze. Phaedre immediately went looking for the footman, while Brianna tried to leave the kitchen with what was left of her dignity.

Stephen and her remained silent the whole time – while Lloyd prepared their bath and as they removed their soiled clothes after the footman left. But when Brianna undid her corset and let out a disgusted sigh at the sight of the mash between her breasts, another chuckle escaped Bonnet’s lips. A chuckle that was soon followed by an uncontrollable fit of laughter, and Brianna couldn’t help but imitate him.

“I thought Fitzpatrick was going to fry us in one of his pans… Did you see his face?”, Stephen laughed as he got into the tub.

“I really don’t understand why he didn’t let us clean up...”

Stephen briefly immersed to wet his hair, then rose back to the surface. “Because he knows we could have found a way to do much worse with water and soap…?”

Brianna nodded and stepped into the tub with a sigh. “Probably…”

Chuckling again, Stephen let her settle comfortably between his legs, smiling as she lay back in the water, her shoulders propped up against his chest. It wasn’t uncommon for them to share a bath, but he loved how natural it had become for her to strip and settle into the tub with him. Whether she liked it or not, she had gotten used to a few aspects of their life and letting him touch her naked body was definitely one of them…

Reaching out, he grabbed the cloth and soap that had been left for them and lathered the soap on the cloth before gently massaging Brianna's neck and shoulders with it. The first time he had done that – a few days after Murtagh’s death – Brianna had burst into tears as the gesture released all the tensions and emotions she had accumulated. He had done it again, at her request, on the following bath and every bath after that. With a satisfied sigh, Bree sat up to expose her back and allow him to proceed, which he gladly did. But Stephen knew from her chin resting on her knees, her eyes staring at the wall and her ruminative pout, that she was still lost in thoughts. Still, he kept cleaning her slowly, until she finally snuggled back against his chest. He was now placing the soapy cloth on her chest – and more specifically on her left breast – when Brianna seemed to snap out of her reverie and turned her head to stare deep into his eyes.

She was aware that the game she was playing was dangerous, that faking this perfect domestic life would inevitably have pernicious effects – and it might even already be too late – but Bree could not deny that Stephen had bettered himself. And that deserved to be rewarded. His behavior toward her had been of unparalleled tenderness and patience since Murtagh's death… he had even accepted to celebrate Jeremiah’s and Jamie’s birthdays with her family. Something that would not have been possible even a few months earlier... They had to keep going down that path. And then, everything would become much easier. Or more complicated…, a small voice snorted in her brain, but she ignored it.

“Thank you…”

Stephen immediately stopped admiring her breasts, beaded with hot water, to look  straight into her eyes. He did not ask why she was thanking him. He did not tell her to forget it or that it was normal, because she knew full well that meeting the Frasers had wracked out his nerves. Dropping the cloth – that slid slowly down Brianna's stomach – he cupped her cheek with his hand. Brianna held her breath. The Irishman's green eyes were burning through her soul, while his hot hand made the water around them almost cold in comparison, and she unwillingly shivered. In a good way.

“The things I’d do for you, darlin’…”

Brianna’s lips parted, letting oxygen in for the first time in a dozen seconds, just before Stephen’s joined them into a languid kiss.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Chapter Text

23. Lover’s Pond

July 15th 1774.

The general atmosphere had greatly improved since the Frasers’ visit two months earlier, and while Brianna had not made any progress in her search for evidence, she had won a few personal battles. After four days of complete bliss, she had fully exploited her happy mood and newfound energy to take her perfect wife act even further. Stephen flirted more and more openly with her and the sweet little things he had started doing after Murtagh’s death had now become daily habits. And even when was away for several days, Brianna and Jeremiah had been allowed to continue their walks around Cross Creek in peace, with Hennessy or one of Bonnet’s henchmen escorting them from a distance. The range of her freedoms widened a little bit more every day, as Stephen’s trust in her and in their relationship grew. And Brianna did her best to keep it that way.

Soon, however, it was not Stephen who put an end to his wife and son's strolls, but the climate itself. The heat had been scorching for several days and Brianna had run out of ideas to keep Jemmy inside the house. Life itself had stopped in River Run: the grooms had taken their horses up the hills, in stables carved into the rock to protect them from the fire that was literally falling from the sky. The farmers were patiently waiting for the sun to do its work on the plantations. The house staff provided minimum service, keeping the house in the dark all day long and favoring cold meals. Everyone was worn out by the heat wave that had hit North Carolina. Everyone except Jeremiah, who did not seem to suffer as much as the adults from the extreme temperatures. On the contrary, it had only made him more curious about the pond in the back of the garden. The water level had somewhat declined but it was still wide and deep enough to tempt anyone to take a dip.

That morning was no exception and when Brianna came into the kitchen to help Phaedre with the boy’s breakfast, she found the young maid – a spoon of pudding in her hand – trying to convince Jemmy to get down from the chair he was standing on. The boy was pouting, his eyes stubbornly staring at the peaceful green and blue waters visible through the window. Brianna sighed and the child turned to her with an accusing look on his face.

“I want to go play in the water!”

“Jem…”, his mother began wearily. “We already talked about it, you can’t swim…”

“Yes, I can!”, Jeremiah instantly yelled, stomping on the seat of the chair. Below, Phaedre put her spoon back in the pudding that the child had barely touched and breathed a long sigh. The same scene had happened almost every morning since the beginning of the summer, and despite being very fond of Jeremiah, her patience had limits. Brianna walked over them and stood in front of her son, raising one sarcastic eyebrow.

“Splashing around in the bathtub isn’t swimming. And I’m not familiar with this pond. It could be deep and dangerous…”

She knew full well that there were no hidden dangers in the pond. When she had lived with Jocasta for several months during her pregnancy and after her delivery, she had often seen the slaves coming to bathe at the end of their working day on a small natural beach, near the wooden pontoon. The water was shallow on a few dozen yards and there had never been any accident, even when they came with children. But sometimes a water snake slithered around – she hated snakes – and there was also a significant risk of sunstroke in this heat. She had therefore hoped that Jeremiah's obsession with the pond would eventually pass, but as a matter of fact, he seemed every day a little more frustrated than the day before. And it was precisely this growing frustration that prompted the child to play a card that Brianna hated more than any other.

“FINE! I’ll ask daddy, then!”

Before his mother or Phaedre could stop him, Jeremiah jumped to the kitchen floor and scampered off in the house looking for Stephen.

“Jemmy, come back here!”, Brianna called, rushing after him.

But all she heard in response was the noise of his little shoes running on the stone floor, and then Stephen’s voice in the entrance hall. “Where are you running off to, lad?”

“I wanna play in the pond, but Mama won't let me!”, Jeremiah whined, squeezing Stephen's neck in his little arms. Bree instantly glared at her son but his nose was buried in the scarf around the pirate’s neck and he did not see her. However, his father's reaction was not what he expected. Instead of immediately giving him what he wanted, Stephen’s face fell and he frowned.

“The... the pond? Absolutely not.”

Jeremiah pulled away from Stephen and stared at him as if his father had betrayed him. Daddy always said yes, which was precisely the reason why he had asked him to begin with! This change of situation did not please him at all and the boy began to fidget in his arms, until Stephen put him down. No sooner had he touched the ground than he began to stomp.

“But whyyyyyy?”

Stephen tensed and Brianna instantly knew he was projecting his own phobia onto Jemmy.

“It's too dangerous. And I forbid you to go anywhere near it.”

The tone he used was so threatening that the child turned pale and his eyes immediately filled with tears. Daddy had never spoken to him like that. But if there was one thing Jeremiah could not stand, it was being treated like a baby and being forbidden things without a good reason (by his own standards). And in those moments, he felt the need to rebel.

“I will go alone, then!”

Bonnet's eyes widened and his jaw clenched; he seemed on the verge of losing his temper. As for Jeremiah, his obstinate look boded no good and Brianna quickly weighed the pros and cons: her son would find a way to go to the pond whether they wanted it or not. Was it better to keep refusing and take the risk that he would sneak out and drown, or to teach him how to swim and thus minimize the danger if he ever tried to go and swim alone? The second option, definitely.

“All right, I'll teach you how to swim…”, Brianna surrendered with a sigh and as Jeremiah turned a victorious face toward her – while Stephen stared at her as if she had just gone mad – she waved her index finger at her son. “But you do not go to the pond on your own. Always go with an adult and you will do what you are told! If you disobey, I swear you will be grounded until the end of the summer...”

“Can we go now???” Jeremiah yelled, jumping up and down on the marble floor.

“Darlin’, I'm not sure this is a good idea…” Despite the polite phrasing, the Irishman's tone betrayed his nervousness.

“Go get some old breeches that you don't wear anymore, come back and wait for me here in the hall…”, Brianna told the child who scampered up the stairs, screaming with joy. “And I said in the hall! Not by the pond!”

An exasperated “Yes, Mama” came from the upper floor and she rolled her eyes as she approached Stephen, who was chewing on his left thumbnail, his other arm across his abdomen.

“Don’t worry, everything will be fine...”

“I don't like the idea of him goin’ anywhere near water…”, he growled, as she forced him to lower his hand and stop torturing his fingernails.

“I know... but I also know that his obsession with the pond will not magically go away. And what do you prefer? A child who falls into the water but can swim back to the shore or a child who just sinks like a stone?”

Stephen's dark gaze spoke volumes, and Brianna smiled reassuringly.

“Don’t worry… I was about Jeremiah’s age when Frank taught me to swim. And it wasn’t in a pond, but on the beaches of Cape Cod... Yes, right in the Atlantic. At least here, Jeremiah won’t get knocked over by the waves…”

Loud footsteps echoed in the hallway, as if a herd of elephants was running down the stairs instead of one single four-year-old boy.

“I'm ready!”, Jemmy trumpeted, his feet bare and wearing tight-fitting breeches as well as a small half-sleeved blouse.

“You definitely take more time to change when you have to go to bed...”, Brianna scolded, following the child outside.

Stephen watched them go, his chest tightening with fear. He had a few accounts to keep in his office—just enough to keep him busy for an hour or two—but he doubted he could focus on anything with Jeremiah near the pond. And indeed – once in front of his open ledgers, clumsily holding his quill between his fingers – he had to admit his defeat. Writing still required a lot of mental effort from him, despite now having two or three years of experience – an effort that he obviously could not make at the moment. With an exasperated grunt, he put his useless quill down next to the inkwell and started to walk around his office like a caged lion. The room did not overlook the back of the estate, and he could not even watch his wife and son from afar.

After twenty minutes of self-torture, he could not stand it any longer and left his office, mentally preparing himself to face the heat. Mother and son were both several yards from the shore – Brianna standing chest-deep in the water and Jeremiah lying on his back on the surface, struggling to hold position.

“...that way if you're too far from the shore or if you're too tired to swim, floating like this will allow you to save your strength...”, Brianna explained, as Stephen walked silently on the pontoon. A heap of fabric lay on the wooden planks and he recognized his wife's dress, as she had only kept her bodice and smallest petticoat on.

“Hey, daddy? Look at me, I’m floating!”, Jeremiah yelled, raising his head which caused him to stop floating. Brianna placed one hand under his body to support him and he started to kick around like a puppy to stay afloat. Turning her head toward Stephen, she suppressed a smirk at the sight of Stephen’s worried face.

“Do you want to see me jump?”, the boy went on.

“Is that really wise?”, Stephen winced, but the child ignored him and continued to “swim” with Brianna’s help until his feet touched the sand again. Jeremiah ran up the small beach and walked to the middle of the pontoon, not even noticing that his father wasn't looking at him anymore. His green eyes were staring at Brianna who had gradually come out of the water, that was now only reaching her thighs. Her white bodice and petticoat were drenched, hugging her body perfectly. Stephen's gaze changed from preoccupied to lustful, and the tip of his tongue lingered for a moment on his lower lip as his eyes unconsciously followed a few droplets of water sliding down from Brianna's collarbone to her cleavage. Despite her best efforts, it was nearly impossible for Bree to ignore the fire burning in her husband's irises and she felt her cheeks blush.

“Hey, daddy, you looking at me??”

Stephen's eyelids fluttered and he turned his attention back to his son, nodding. “Of course, I only have eyes for you, son…”, he lied and Brianna raised a cocky eyebrow.

Puffing out his cheeks, Jeremiah pinched his nose with one hand, bent the knees, posed his behind backward and his chest forward, before jumping into the water with all the strength of his small legs. There was a loud 'splash', a few ripples under the surface, then after a few seconds the child's head emerged again and he took a deep, loud breath as if he had just set a new world diving record. With his eyes still closed to keep the water out and his feet kicking frantically below the surface, he cried out, “Did you see me, Daddy? Did you see me?”

Brianna took him in her arms so he could rub and open his eyes.

“I don't think I've ever seen anyone dive so gracefully. Well done, son”, Stephen said sarcastically, but the child took it as a compliment and smiled brightly.

Brianna tightened her grip around him and carried him to the shore. “Come on, that's enough for today. You need another bath, but this time in the tub and with a lot of soap. You smell like dead fish…”, she said before sniffing her own shoulder, “… and so do I.”

Jeremiah began to protest and fidgeted, but as soon as he was within reach, Stephen snatched him from Bree's arms and flew him into the air, causing the child to scream with joy.

“Oh, look at that great catch! A big plump roach!”, the Irishman laughed.

Behind them, Brianna was picking up their clothes and smiling fondly. She had not even realized it: her lips had stretched on their own at the sight of her son being lifted off the ground in his father's arms. Until she felt Stephen's eyes staring at her with that soft yet triumphant look he had when he saw her relaxed. And happy. Really happy.

Bree’s smile fell slightly, but Stephen had already turned away and Brianna cursed herself for letting reality overtake fiction. Pretending to be happy was one thing, but enjoying a single moment spent with him was another story. A single one? Who are you kidding, Bree? She could not deny it: since they had both tried to warn the Regulators, a new bond had been forged between them; a strange sense of complicity and trust that she had never felt towards him before. But one good deed did not make up for all the evil he had done. Stephen Bonnet still was a criminal who had abused her many times without ever repenting, and nothing he could do or say would fix that, right? Enjoying his company – while she was basically his prisoner – meant absolutely nothing.

After a well-deserved scrub, Jeremiah had spent the rest of the day playing in the living room, allowing Brianna to retreat in their bedroom with a cup of sweet red clover tea Stephen had brought to her on a tray. The heat had become stifling in the middle of the afternoon and until nightfall, when a pleasant onshore breeze had finally rustled up to bring down the ambient humidity and temperature. This was Brianna's favorite moment. Every evening after the sun had gone down and Jeremiah was in bed, she ventured into the gardens to breathe in the fresh air and the scent of warm land and grass. Stephen rarely followed her, for he knew these peaceful moments were important for her sanity. She was therefore quite surprised when – on her way back to the house – she spotted his tall figure on the pontoon. He was turning his back on her and had his hands in his pockets, gazing at the unfathomable depths of the pond and the silver glint of the full moon that reflected on it.

Brianna could have pretended not to see him and gone home without interacting with him, but her feet unwittingly led her to the pontoon that creaked under her weight, tearing the Irishman out of his thoughts. He looked over his shoulder, just enough to identify her and smiled softly, before turning his attention back to the pond.

“You hate that, don’t you?”, Brianna asked, stepping towards him. “Watching Jeremiah play in the water…”

Stephen let out a brief and nervous laugh, crossing his arms over his chest. “To be honest, darlin’, I was considerin’ dryin’ up the whole damned thing…”

Brianna stared at him in horror and was about to protest when her husband's smirk told her he was joking.

“You’re hilarious…”, she grumbled, rolling her eyes. He laughed again and she was about to leave him alone with his bad sense of humor when he spoke again, more seriously this time.

“I don't like it... but I also don't want him to be afraid of water because of me.”

“I could teach you both to swim at the same time…?”, Brianna offered, with a sarcastic smile. The very idea of having one of the most dangerous pirates in the Atlantic scared to death in five feet of water was delightful. “If a four-year-old can do it, you should be fine.”

“The four-year-old has one major advantage, darlin’: he is not distracted by the sight of your body and the thousands of droplets that beautify it. As if you were covered in small shiny diamonds.”

Bree looked up into Stephen's eyes. He was staring at her quietly, narrowing his eyes, and a half-smile floating on his lips. No sarcasm, just tenderness and a palpable interest in her reaction. Time seemed to stop for a moment, and it was when she suddenly heard the deafening sound of crickets and other nocturnal insects that Brianna realized she was holding her breath. Stephen had complimented her so naturally that she was not sure if that was pure flattery or if he actually meant it. But his burning gaze – when he had seen her come out of the water in the morning – led her to the second option.

Stephen was enjoying the confusion he had managed to stir up in his wife's mind and perhaps even in her heart. A heart that was now racing but Brianna had no idea who or what to blame for this phenomenon: perhaps the atmosphere of this summer evening – the chirping of crickets, Stephen’s eyes shining in the moonlight, the pleasant breeze on her skin – had turned his comment into something more romantic than it actually was. Or perhaps she was just caught off guard.

The longer they stared, the more Stephen felt his desire for her overwhelm him, but before letting his passion run wild, he had something to tell her. Something that could not wait until tomorrow. Brianna knew before he even opened his mouth that he was about to say something important. She had sensed it, barely a second before his voice – sweet and reassuring – rose in the night.

“It's been one year today.”

Brianna frowned. “One… year?”

Stephen did not need to explain. The frown was soon replaced by a surprised, then gloomy expression. It's July 15^th…, Brianna realized, her chest tightening. They had been married and living in River Run for one year. One year of forced cohabitation, sick games and not always consensual sex. One aborted pregnancy, a couple of depressions, gallons of tears shed... But also more recently, some peaceful moments, gentleness and progress in her research. One year without Roger, without waking up in her bed at Fraser's Ridge, without happy moments with Marsali, Fergus and the kids. But also a lot of time spent with the son that she had almost lost, and with an actual father to take care of him. The outcome of these twelve months was not entirely positive, but it wasn’t entirely negative either. There had been good and bad times – sometimes very bad – but she had always come out stronger, improving her daily life one step at a time.

“I know you didn't want any of this…”, Stephen continued, startling her. He had turned to her silently and was now cupping her cheek with one hand. “…I know that the things I’ve done to get you back were incredibly violent to you…”

No kidding…, Bree grumbled internally, but her heart was not in it. Stephen's warm hand on her face and his hypnotic eyes – staring at her like a man admires a priceless work of art he’s proud to own – had more importance than her own sarcasm.

“…but I have no regrets.”

Bree's lower lip quivered at the words, and Stephen's thumb immediately came to rest on it in appeasement. His words might be violent, but the intention was not, and just as she had sensed that he was going to speak a little earlier, she knew that he would explain.

“Havin’ you and Jemmy here with me... It is the most beautiful thing I've ever experienced. How could I regret any of this when I felt better in a year than in a lifetime before that…”

“I wish I could say the same…”, Brianna muttered. Stephen's selfishness did not really surprise her anymore, nor did the fact that he totally denied her trauma. But a little wake-up call could not hurt him. Stephen staggered under the blow, inhaled and exhaled, looking a bit tense as his hand left her cheek.

“I wish some things had gone differently, though… Like MacKenzie’s visit to begin with…”, he said and Bree nodded, expecting him to list each and every one of his mistakes since their marriage. “…and the way we met too.”

The young woman stiffened defensively. Stephen never broached up the subject of the rape, as it questioned his entire defense in Court and shattered his delusions about their current relationship. But tonight, on their first wedding anniversary, he felt ready to lance the boil.

“I wish the circumstances had been different…”

“Oh, you mean you’d rather rape me on your ship instead of an inn? I didn’t mind being on land, to be honest. I get seasick easily…”

Stephen cringed at her dark, accusing look, and Brianna could see he was doing his best to keep calm and finish his speech.

“I meant… if I had been a respectable man the day our paths crossed.”

“A respectable man…”, Bree sneered bitterly. “Interesting... Please, tell me what you would have done, if you had been ‘respectable’. Because I’ve spent months – no, years – imagining all the ways this day could have turned out, and you weren't a gentleman in any of them…”

There was a silence between them and the Irishman lowered his head, staring obstinately at his feet. Brianna waited for him to react, but since he was not moving, she assumed he did not know what to answer, and she shook her head before turning away. But Stephen's right hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her gently towards him.

“I would have met you during one of your aunt’s fancy dinners…”, he whispered, his eyes still glued to the floor. “I would have courted you and showered you with gifts. I would have listened to you talk about this and that, for the pure joy of hearin’ your voice or your laughter…”

Taken aback, Brianna slowly turned to stare at him – his sheepish expression, his furrowed brow and his slightly watery eyes.

“When appropriate, I would have asked your father for your hand. We would have gotten engaged, and then married – in a church this time and not in a small, dark office…”

Brianna closed her eyes. She did not need to be told in detail about an idyll she would never experience. The past was the past, and if there was one thing she had learned in four years, it was that brooding over things that could have been, brought absolutely nothing except unhappiness. She was about to tell Stephen to shut up, when he slid his hands around her hips, sensually squeezing the fabric and the skin underneath.

“I would have deflowered you in our bed, on our wedding night… admired your rosy cheeks at the thought of me seein’ you naked for the first time…”

Brianna felt her throat tighten. Not only had her first time with Roger ended in a very humiliating way, but her first time with Stephen, a few hours later, had broken her forever. She would have given anything for a different experience, without any violence, any argument, disappointment or trauma. An experience such as the one Stephen had just described… but which had been definitely stolen from her. Don’t, she moaned, but only in her mind, because no sound escaped her mouth.

“I would have held your hand when Jeremiah was born…and I would have held his later to help him take his first steps.”

Bree shook her head, her chin trembling and her eyes filled with tears. “That's enough…”, she managed to whisper, but Stephen ignored her.

“I would have given you the life you deserve and we could have been happy four years earlier…”

“I said enough!” Pushing away Stephen's hands, she faced him again, her eyes bright with anger and pain. “Your words are vain. You can’t change what you did by imagining what you could have done! Rewriting history and denying what really happened… all of that is easy! You know what is hard, though? To apologize! To face reality!” With these words, she sank her index finger hard into Stephen's chest, who took a step back in surprise. “To take responsibility!” Another tap of the finger. “And find a way to fix the shit you did instead of pretending it never happened!”

Stephen blinked stupidly, and his face darkened as he saw a first tear roll down his wife's cheek. He had wanted to celebrate their first anniversary with a few sweet words, and now she was getting angry again. Was there a single special occasion in his life that he would not ruin? How could everything about Brianna get out of hand so quickly? It was inexplicable.

“I did find a way, darlin’... I gave you this life...”, he tried, waving at the house.

Brianna's eyes widened. “Did it ever occur to you that I didn't want it?” Stephen's silence was a sufficient answer, and she went on: “It didn’t, right? Once again, you only did what you needed to do. I never mattered to you. Everything you do, you always do it for yourself, and yourself alone.”

“I disagree… you and Jeremiah mean the world to me”, he muttered, still stung by the young woman’s analysis.

“We do mean the world to you, now…” Brianna sniffled miserably, before looking up into the Irishman's green eyes. “But we did not when you came up with this plan to take River Run… Not back then.”

Stephen thought for a few seconds and the guilt he suddenly felt must have shown on his face, because Brianna nodded slowly, as if his reaction confirmed her words.

“You broke me, Stephen. First by raping me in this tavern… and a second time by taking everything I had managed to rebuild afterwards. I don't even know if I will one day be able to put all the pieces of me back together... but one thing is certain: it is not by dangling alternate versions of our story before me that you can mend what you broke.”

Silence fell between them, and the night breeze rustled the high reeds along the shore.

“How, then?”, he blurted out, his voice hoarse.

“You know how...”, Brianna sniffled, but despite the sobs forming an increasingly painful lump in her throat, she held on. “At least, you know where to start…”

For a second, Stephen’s snake eyes shifted on one side, like every time he was thinking about a way out of a sticky situation. Bree clenched her fists but still tried to keep calm. She had to give him a chance.

“I’m sorry.”

He had spoken quickly, in a neutral tone, as if he had just apologized for bumping into a passer-by on the sidewalk. Brianna decided to react quickly, too, and a second later, a loud slap left a stinging feeling on his left cheek.

“What the Hell, woman? I said I was sorry!”, he barked, raising his left arm to protect the left side of his face. In response, Bree's other hand landed on the unprotected cheek and Stephen groaned angrily.

“I'm not convinced”, she retorted, enjoying the sight of him floundering in his own apology. An apology she had been waiting for, hoping for, for months but it had never come, despite them living under the same roof.

“I wish to sincerely apologize to you, then!” The pirate's tone was a tad annoyed, and it earned him another pair of slaps – on one ear and shoulder. “By Danu... Brianna, I am sorry!”

She hit the top of his skull and then kicked his shin with all her might. Stephen was about to get really angry when a sniffle and a barely audible sob escaped his young wife’s mouth, and his anger died down immediately. He averted two more blows, while begging for her forgiveness, then managed to pull her toward him and hug her tiny frame against his chest.

“Forgive me…”, he whispered again. Brianna's movements slowed down as her back started to shake under his hands. She was still trying to hit him, but with less determination, and more out of reflex than to actually hurt him. “Forgive me, mo fhíorghra…”

Very quickly, Brianna stopped fidgeting and let herself be lulled by the sound of his voice, tirelessly repeating his litany of apologies with ever more tenderness and sincerity. Until he finally shut up and simply enjoyed the warmth of Bree's body against his.

When the young woman stepped back slightly to stare at him, he noted that no more tears were running down her wet cheeks and he smiled encouragingly. A shy hand came to caress the scar on his cheek, tracing the line from his cheekbone to the corner of his lips. He saw her eyes linger for a few seconds on his mouth before moving up his face. She was so beautiful when she cried. He would have gladly contemplated her for hours if he did not feel so guilty for being the cause of her tears.

The moonlight – which until then had been half-hidden by heavy clouds – enlightened Stephen's features, his thin lips, his worried pout, his eyes analyzing hers… And she couldn’t help but stare, soon matching the rhythm of her breathing to his own. Imperceptibly craning her neck to bring their almost motionless faces closer together. So much so that when a slightly stronger gust of wind lifted her hair and made her shiver, they both came out of their weird trance with a start.

“Let's go back home before you catch a cold…”, Stephen muttered embarrassedly, before turning away. But Brianna did not follow him. She even took the opposite direction, toward the dark waters of the pond a few feet behind them. She had absolutely no idea what she was doing. All she knew was that hearing that first apology had been a relief. Like a huge weight had just been lifted off her shoulders. Of course, Stephen was far from being forgiven, but hearing these words allowed her to get some closure and move a little further on the road to recovery. Not to mention that he had seemed sincere, for once. She knew very few words in Irish Gaelic – and all of them were alcohol and/or St.-Patrick-related – but what he had said sounded unmistakably like one of the Scottish words that Jamie whispered to Claire when they thought they were alone: fìor ghaol, in other words “my love”. My true love, even, if translated literally.

When Stephen turned around, realizing that she had not followed suit, his heart skipped a beat. Despite the moon that was once again partially hidden by a cloud, he could clearly make out Brianna's silhouette in the freshly mown grass near the shore. Her arms behind her back, she was slowly untying her dress and before Stephen understood what was happening, a bundle of fabric fell limply around her legs. Then another one: the petticoat. She was now working on her bodice when he came to his senses and trotted down to the pond.

“What are you doing?”, he asked, glancing hesitantly at the house, but apart from an orange glow in a top-floor window, the whole building was shrouded in darkness. “It's a tad late to take a dip, don’t you think?”

Brianna remained silent. Swimming was not part of her plan. Stephen's apology had done her a world of good, and not just because she needed it, but also because it proved the power she was gradually wielding over him. She had felt him vulnerable and sincere the whole time, and she could not let him close himself off again without trying to go even further. But above all, this apology was giving her the opportunity to regain control of her own body tonight, and to make peace with her traumas for good. As she slipped out of her bodice, exposing her bare breasts to the stunned pirate, she finally turned to him and without a word started undoing the top buttons of his waistcoat. The expression on Stephen's face was priceless: half-turned on, half-worried about her unusual behavior, he raised an eyebrow, and his eyes almost looked like they would pop out of their sockets.

“Brianna…”, he whispered, struggling to hide his arousal. “What are you-?”

“I want you…”, she blurted out, and Stephen blinked in surprise. “But not in this house you stole from my family. Or in this bed where you’ve taken me so many times without my full consent…” She slid his waistcoat down his arms and threw it on the other clothes in the grass, before her hands went down to his crotch and untied his breeches. “I want you here, in a place that isn't plagued by painful memories. Where you’ll be able to give me that perfect wedding night you told me about earlier.”

Against her fingers, she felt Stephen's cock harden with each word and when the fabric fell down his legs, liberating the impatient limb, he cupped Brianna's face in his hands. “I'll do anything…”, he breathed against her lips.

A few seconds went by and Stephen finished taking his clothes off before gently laying Brianna down on their improvised mattress. He immediately buried his face in the crook of her neck, before leaving a trail of kisses down to her breasts – where he bit a nipple in the process – and her stomach. Stephen then reached her navel and let out a loud and satisfied sigh. As he continued his journey toward her crotch, his hands caressed every inch of flesh within reach – kneading her hips and buttocks, slightly scratching her thighs, and smiling when his touch made her shiver in the most delicious way.

Brianna's back arched slightly as Stephen's tongue lapped her entrance, first in large circles, then smaller ones. Each circle more precise, and more efficient than the previous one. After a year together, he knew exactly how to satisfy her – despite all the mental barriers she had raised to protect herself and never give in to pleasure. But she had stopped using them a while ago, much to his delight. And she would certainly not use them tonight.

Soon, Brianna's fingers started twitching around his blonde locks, pressing Stephen's head ever closer to her sex; it was time to speed things up. He did not need to be asked twice and his right hand immediately left Bree's thigh to slide under his own mouth and skillfully penetrate her. He made her come once like this, before going back up, his hands lingering on her lower abdomen and caressing it gently. Begging her womb to welcome the new life he wanted so bad to plant there. A final kiss on her navel and he sat up between his wife's thighs, admiring the curves of her body, the red halo of her hair around her face and her gorgeous mouth just waiting to be kissed. With infinite gentleness, he entered her, joining their pelvises and their lips simultaneously, and Brianna moaned, overwhelmed by his sweetness and thoughtfulness. He did know how to do it: respect his partner, pay attention to her needs and desires. And while this was quite good news, it only made the memory of the many times he had simply dismissed her consent more bitter.

Another thrust, another kiss. Brianna inhaled deeply as Stephen pushed deeper inside her, his breath tickling the sensitive skin of her neck. New sensations were taking hold of her and she only realized after a few minutes that for the very first time, the sex was consensual and even ardently desired. For the very first time, there was gentleness and respect.

For the very first time, Stephen and Brianna Bonnet were making love.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Chapter Text

24. Drowning Lessons

August 1774.

When Brianna opened her eyes, the morning sun was already shining down on her. Through the open window, she could hear the soft and steady cooing of a dove, as well as Jeremiah’s shrill voice, as he probably played in the garden with Hennessy or Phaedre. And right before her eyes, with his head propped up in the middle of his pillow, Stephen was still sleeping soundly, thanks to the sweet warmth of Bree's body against his chest.

Since his apology three weeks earlier, Brianna had been more at peace than she had ever been in the last five years. Somehow, she felt like the balance of power had evened out and for the first time since they were married, she and Stephen were finally on an equal footing. Of course, she was still a prisoner in River Run, but she had recently realized that Stephen was one too. He was a prisoner of his own fascination, of his insane love for her, a love that filled him with joy but also made him suffer deeply. Out of guilt. Guilt was the burden that had once weighed on Brianna's shoulders and that Stephen had just naturally transferred to his own. But when this feeling had made Bree unhappy, Stephen simply reacted by making more efforts to be forgiven. With kindness, respect, sincerity. And pleasure… more pleasure than ever.

Brianna's fingers hovered down her husband's nearly hairless chest, brushing the sparse blond hairs on his massive pecs. To be completely honest, her guilt had not entirely switched sides. A new feeling had replaced Brianna's contempt for her own bad decisions; a fleeting but very much present shame had overwhelmed her every time they had made love since their first wedding anniversary. And yes, she had to admit it: during the last three weeks, sex had become much more than just sex. Finding closure and making peace with her past had a pernicious effect: that of making her want to regain control of her sexuality and her own body. And forget her awful memories to embrace happiness, comfort… and lust.

From prisoner and sex object of the man lying next to her, she had now become a goddess that he tirelessly worshipped with unprecedented devotion. His kisses had become prayers, his caresses a sacred ritual and each intercourse a communion, that she awaited more and more impatiently every day.

Brianna knew where the shame came from. Because even if she needed to hear his clumsy excuses, Stephen had also confessed to her that he did not regret what he had done. That she could not forgive. And the fact that she had gradually started to enjoy the sex despite this lack of complete forgiveness was dangerous and toxic. Because if he managed to seduce her in these circumstances… if he knew she could love him despite everything he had done to her and without an actual absolution… wouldn't he try to do worse? Brianna did not want to know the answer to that question.

Her dark thoughts were about to ruin her morning, when Stephen's eyelids flew open and his green eyes immediately rested on her. A smile slowly appeared on his lips – causing the scar on his cheek to twitch – and much to Bree’s dismay, all the negative feelings that had been invading her heart… instantly vanished.

“Good mornin’…”, Stephen whispered, pulling her close to kiss her, and Brianna welcomed his lips with delight. The kiss was slow, languorous, and she hated herself for enjoying it so much. She hated her own arms that slid around her husband's back. She hated to feel her body pressing against his without her brain's permission. But what she hated above all was the thought that this situation was preferable to anything else she had experienced before with Stephen Bonnet. And that she always wanted more.

Unfortunately, Stephen pulled away and stared at her with a lewd smile. “I know what you’re doin’, sweetheart…”

“You do?”

“You’re tryin’ to keep me in this bed, hopin’ that I forget the Tryons are comin’ for luncheon in just a few hours…”

Brianna whined and pouted like a brat, causing her husband to chuckle loudly. “And here I thought I could fool you...”

To be completely honest, she had no intention of missing lunch and while the men would leave them alone to talk business, she intended to do the same with Margaret and convince her to help her find evidence of their husbands’ evil deeds. Bree’s feelings had changed too much over the past few months and she felt like she was on a slippery slope. The isolation, the games they had been playing for too long, Stephen’s apologies, his impeccable behavior toward her… Despite her determination to do justice, Brianna was aware that her own attitude had evolved. She had to get out of this marriage before the worst happened. The worst being: actually falling in love with Stephen Bonnet. And to do that, she needed Margaret Tryon.

With a thrust of his hips, Stephen rolled her onto her back to lie on top of her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. Against Brianna’s lower abdomen, his sex was already hard and she immediately wrapped her legs around the pirate's pelvis, as he pressed his crotch between her pale thighs.

“I must have earned a few points if you’d now rather stay in bed with me than have lunch with William…”

“Maybe it’s just William who lost points…”, she hissed, trying to ignore the excitement of her own body at the touch of her husband's.

“That’s good enough for me…”

After brushing her wet entrance with his fingers, Stephen placed himself between Bree’s thighs and penetrated her – in such a slow and voluptuous way that Brianna’s body didn’t even need any preparation to naturally adapt to the intrusion. She moaned loudly when the Irishman's pelvis started moving back and forth languidly, each thrust going deeper and deeper inside her.

Lazy morning sex. Brianna’s once favorite kind with Roger, but that she had not experienced for more than a year now. Back when she had been naively convinced that the Scot was the only man who could satisfy her like this. But when a long sigh escaped her lips after yet another slow, intense thrust – as her fingers desperately gripped Stephen's powerful shoulders to welcome him further inside her – Brianna had to admit… that she had been all wrong.

~o~

“…try to make these buffoons in Charlotte Town see reason… A dozen families, at most, but who are spreading their ideas of independence throughout the bloody Colony…”, William Tryon cursed, swallowing a bite of blueberry pie. He had spent the last ten minutes grousing to anyone who would listen — i.e. Stephen only — about why they had to travel to Charlotte Town, but the other guests (namely Brianna, Margaret and Jeremiah) were bored to death.

“Language, dear…”, Margaret said gently, nodding at Jeremiah, but the child had completely switched off and kept glancing through the window, where he could see the blazing sun. Tryon opened his mouth but for fear he would start ranting again, Margaret hastily changed the subject.

“And that is why we are bothering you today... River Run is just halfway between New Bern and Charlotte Town”, she concluded with a smile, which Brianna promptly returned. The opportunity to escape the governor's monologues was too good.

“You’re not bothering us at all. Jeremiah actually had something to tell you…”

Jemmy looked up at his mother questioningly, then remembered the sentence she had him rehearse in the morning, and recited it with a monotonous tone and a gloomy face. “Thank you for the grammar book, Lady Tryon.”

Margaret giggled at the child’s obvious lack of enthusiasm. “Well, that comes straight from the heart”, she teased him gently. “Have you started studying, Jeremiah?”

The child looked at Brianna, silently asking permission to lie, then turned back to Margaret. “Yes, Lady Tryon.”

Brianna cleared her throat to keep from laughing. “Um… To be honest, I'm saving grammar lessons for this autumn, when the rain and bad weather will get the better of his current obsession with swimming.”

As planned, William Tryon was starting to show signs of impatience, since the discussion no longer revolved around his own precious self or his revolutionary problems, and he gobbled up his slice of pie. Probably so he could sneak away with Stephen and talk business before hitting the road again.

“And he's absolutely right”, Margaret chirped, tapping the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “It’s far too hot in the summer to study. I wonder how William and his counselors even manage to think properly in this sweltering heat.”

“Speaking of which, Bonnet, I would like to talk to you before we leave. In private”, her husband cut her off, turning to the Irishman.

Stephen shrugged. “We could go to my office…”

“Don’t bother… Margaret and I will have tea in the blue parlour”, Brianna interrupted, then adding for Margaret, “it is the coolest room in the whole house, we will be much better there while these gentlemen talk about politics, money or any other subject that would baffle humble women like us.”

Her voice was dripping with sarcasm, but Tryon didn’t flinch and nodded. “At last you admit it! You certainly took your time.”

Brianna's smile twitched slightly and she had to resist the urge to shove her dessert fork down his throat.

“But you said we’d go to the pond…”, Jeremiah protested in a very small voice.

“When Lord and Lady Tryon are gone”, Brianna whispered with a warning look. “Until then, you’ll stay here with Daddy. Look, you have plenty of toys over there.” Matching her words with action, she pointed at the corner of the dining room. The truth was she did not want Jeremiah to hear her conversation with Margaret. Who knew what he could remember and involuntarily repeat to his father.

Brianna did not beat around the bush for long. Margaret had just taken seat on Jocasta's old sofas, arranging her dress around her, and Hennessy had barely left to get them some tea and pastries, when Bree leaned over her and whispered.

“Forgive me for insisting, Margaret... But I really need your help to prove that William and Stephen are stealing tax money. It’s been months and I have noth-”

“Oh Lord, haven’t you stopped thinking about all this?”, Margaret whined, glancing worriedly toward the exit, as if she expected Hennessy, her husband or the entire guard to appear and lock them up for high treason.

“How could I stop thinking about it? Thinking is the only thing there’s to do around here. I’m not asking for much, Margaret. A tiny notebook, or even a page, half a page, a scribbled note on a piece of paper, anything!”

“Have you searched your husband's office?”, Lady Tryon asked, nervously fiddling with the fabric of her dress.

Brianna sighed. “I tried to get in months ago, but our butler always has an eye on me. Besides, I'm trying to win Stephen's trust: if he catches me going through his things...” She trailed off. He would go mad with rage, for sure. It would destroy everything she had managed to build during the last few months and he would take all her privileges away. Maybe he would even lock her up in their bedroom, until she gave him the children he wanted, before selling her to the highest bidder… Brianna shook her head to chase away all of these horrid thoughts. “You have more freedom than I have. I’m begging you to try first and I will make a move if I have no other solution. I’m on a razor-edge in this house.”

Margaret looked down and bit her lip. “I guess...”, she whispered, her eyebrows furrowed, “... I guess I could ask Josiah for help...”

Josiah… Not Mr. Martin, as propriety would dictate, Brianna noted, squinting. She had already noticed on several occasions that Lord Tryon's first counselor and his wife were close, and there had been that weird sentence in March, when Margaret had speculated that she and someone else were watched by Lord Tryon’s whore. Not to mention the night Josiah had covered for her when Brianna had broken into the governor's office.

“How do you know you can trust him?”, she asked and Margaret's cheeks instantly turned scarlet, confirming Bree’s suspicions. “Are you two… having an affair?”

Again, Margaret looked around the room, all senses on alert. “Do not judge me”, she said bitterly. “No one judges my husband when he does the exact same thing with his young hussy!”

“I'm not judging you”, Brianna reassured her, shaking her head. “And I won't blame you either.”

Lady Tryon smiled gratefully, as Hennessy's heavy footsteps echoed down the hall. The two women fell silent, thanking the butler when he placed a tray on the small table between them, and went back to a more harmless conversation as he stood in a corner of the room.

“Well, I'll see what I can do. Do you also want me to write to my daughter’s former tutors, to ask if they have anyone available for Jeremiah? They are excellent teachers, and part of the first generations to settle here. They know the fauna, flora and geography of the Colonies inside out. And between you and me, they are much cheaper than those who come directly from England…”

“I'll think about it…”, Brianna thanked her with a smile. “For the time being, I quite like teaching him how to read and write. And I want to keep my baby all to myself for a bit longer.”

“You’re absolutely right, they grow up so fast…”

About twenty minutes later, as they were finishing their cups, the parlour door opened and Lord Tryon held out a hand toward his wife.

“Margaret, we're leaving…”

Lady Tryon carefully put her cup back on the tray and stood up along with Brianna. They exchanged a knowing smile and Margaret took both of the young woman's hands between hers. “I hope to see you again soon.”

“I'll see you out”, Stephen offered, stepping aside to allow them to go back to the entrance hall. Brianna followed them, with a heavy but hopeful heart. On the bright side, Margaret had not completely refused to help her, but seeing her leave without knowing how much time would go by before they met again was somewhat discouraging.

As they walked past the dining room doors, Brianna spotted Jeremiah's toys scattered on the floor, but the child was nowhere to be found. “Jemmy?” The young woman walked into the room, but it was empty. “Where's Jeremiah?”, she asked Stephen, who shrugged.

“He said he was going up to his room…”

“JEM?”, Brianna yelled, but as no one answered, she climbed the stairs four steps at a time, pushing the bedroom door open in a huff. This room too was empty, and her concern turned into horror when she saw the boy’s  clothes on the floor. And those he used to go swimming… were missing. For fuck’s sake…

“Is there a problem, Madam?”, Phaedre asked behind her. Brianna turned around and stared at the maid, her arms full of the dirty sheets she had just removed from the master bedroom and probably intended to wash.

“Where's Jeremiah?”

Phaedre's eyes scanned the room, and Brianna knew she expected to see him where she had just left him a few minutes ago. The maid turned dangerously pale and dropped her pile of sheets, which Brianna stepped over to run back down the stairs.

“Did you find him?”, Stephen said, seeing her come down.

“I think he went to the pond.” The fear in her voice sent a violent electric shock through the Irishman’s body, and he immediately abandoned his departing guests to head for the front door, Brianna at his heels.

“Jeremiah!”, Stephen barked, in such a loud voice that everyone within a mile must have heard him.

There was no one in front of the house or on the porch. The couple began to run around the house and toward the pond, still screaming their son’s name. And when Jem's blonde head appeared in the distance on the pontoon, Brianna let out a cry of relief. But it was short-lived. Knowing full well that he was going to be scolded, Jeremiah decided to risk his all: if he was to get spanked, he might as well have fun before that. Gathering momentum on the algae and moss-covered wood, the child ran to achieve the most impressive jump of his short life; but two steps before reaching the edge, his left foot slipped on one of the wet boards. The heel shot forward, while the rest of his body fell backwards and his skull hit the surface of the pontoon hard before Jeremiah completed his fall into the pond under Brianna's horrified eyes.

“JEMMY!”

Brianna broke into run, lifting her bulky dress in an attempt to buy a few precious seconds, but Stephen had already outrun her. The pirate ran as if the Devil himself was after him and crossing the pontoon in four long strides, he dove headfirst into the pond. He had already disappeared below the surface when Bree put her first foot on the wooden planks. She was getting rid of her heavy skirt when Stephen emerged, holding Jeremiah's head above water. Seeing that he was awkwardly trying to swim his way back to the small beach, Brianna ran in the sand and got into the water to help him.

“Jemmy! Breathe, baby. I’m begging you, just breathe!”, Bree sobbed as she laid her son's limp body on the sand. Now out of the water, Stephen seemed far away in another world. He was staring at Jeremiah, his face livid and completely paralyzed. Probably because of the combined effect of diving into the water despite his phobia and imagining his son dying because of it.

I can't lose him… not now… not like this… Brianna patted her son's cheeks with a trembling hand, in a vain attempt to wake him up, when a distant memory forced itself into her mind. That of a high school day that had been entirely dedicated to first aid measures and especially how to react in case of drowning.

“Check pulse… check breathing… put in recovery position”, she whispered, wiping away her tears with the back of her sleeve. With one hand, she grabbed Jeremiah's wrist and leaned over his chest to put her ear against it. A soft purr could be heard through his ribcage and the pulse, although weak, was there. Without waiting, she rolled Jeremiah on his left side and positioned his head so as to clear the airways as much as possible, and as she finished her work, Jemmy coughed, spitting out all the water in his lungs… and started crying loudly.

“Oh my baby… my baby…”, Brianna cried, sitting him up and hugging him. And as the boy moved again, the Irishman also seemed to come back to life. Without a word, he pulled Brianna and the child to him, hugging them desperately.

“Jesus, Mary, Joseph…”, came Margaret's voice from a little further in the garden, before turning to Hennessy who was running toward them, looking downright terrified. “You, ask someone to go fetch a doctor!”

Between Stephen and Bree, Jeremiah alternated between loud sobs and coughing fits, tears mingling with the water on his cheeks.

“It's over, baby, it's over…”, Brianna repeated, rocking him gently. She had no intention of scolding him anymore; Jeremiah had been punished enough as it was and something told her he would not be going back to the pond alone anytime soon. “It's alright…” Brianna's voice cracked but no one noticed, as Stephen's – hissing and terrified – voice rose over hers.

“Never do that again, son… Don’t you ever do that again…”

Still crying, Jeremiah left Bree's embrace to snuggle up against his father's chest and Stephen welcomed him there with passion, pressing his mouth against the little one's forehead and squeezing his tiny body between his torso and his right arm. The left one was desperately clinging to Brianna's waist, as if he had decided he would never let go of either of them again. The adrenaline comedown was brutal and Brianna suddenly felt very tired. Unable to hold herself straight, she slumped against Stephen and closed her eyes to regain control of her heartbeat. The Irishman's mouth left Jem's forehead for a moment only to kiss Brianna's, and a sad smile briefly appeared on her lips.

“Come on, get up”, Margaret said in a reassuring voice, “we need to change his clothes, warm him up, and let him rest.”

Brianna nodded and got up, reaching out to pick up her son and allow Stephen to stand as well, but the Irishman managed to get to his feet while hugging Jemmy against him.

“Children... It seems that their sole purpose in life is to worry their parents...”, Tryon said, his hands crossed behind his back. “I have been on more battlefields that I can count… But never in my life have I been as scared as I was when our daughter Maggie almost died from scarlet fever…”

For the first time since she knew him, Brianna heard no sarcasm, no wickedness or contempt in Lord Tryon's voice, and after the fear she had just experienced, she most certainly took his word for it. The small group walked back inside in silence: Jeremiah was still sobbing, but more softly. And by the time they took him upstairs to his bedroom, he had completely stopped, his cheek resting on Stephen's shoulder and firmly sucking on his thumb. Phaedre was already waiting for them with a clean towel and clothes, but it took at least a minute before Stephen agreed to let go of the child to undress him. Brianna had to caress her husband’s face and whisper to him a dozen times to go and get changed, before he finally left the room without a word. And he returned to Jemmy's bedside as fast as he could.

Once the child was lying on his bed between his parents, the Tryons decided that they could leave them alone and discreetly declared they wanted to take their leave.

“I'll see you out…”, Stephen muttered, leaving the room behind the Governor, but Margaret stalled a bit to stay with Brianna, who was still sitting on the bed and stroking her son's head. The Governor's wife waited a few seconds for the two men to reach the first floor and stepped into Jem’s room.

“You should stop this madness, Brianna...”

The young woman looked up and frowned. What madness was she talking about exactly?

“Your revenge has lost its meaning. Can't you see?”

“See what?”, Bree spat.

“How much he loves you… You and Jeremiah.”

A cold shiver ran through Brianna's body as she understood what the other woman meant. “You’re wrong...”, Brianna protested, clenching her fists.

“You’re clinging to your hatred like a castaway to his raft… but that hatred… it’s blinding you. You have no idea how lucky you are...”

“Lucky?” Brianna had to contain herself so as not to scream. Fortunately, Jeremiah was far too stunned by his mishap to care about the adults’ conversation. “Have you lost your mind, Margaret?”

A pained expression appeared on Mrs. Tryon’s features and Brianna knew she had lost her the second the Englishwoman shook her head, her eyes watering. Her harsh tone must have sounded in Lady Tryon's ears like her own husband's constant humiliating retorts, and Brianna immediately regretted her words, but it was too late.

“Open your eyes, Brianna… I’m begging you. This man loves you with all his heart…”

If he has one... Brianna thought, but deep down she knew he did. A dark, tortured and probably atrophied heart due to a cruel lack of love from the moment he was born, but a heart nonetheless. A heart that she had gradually managed to open to others. To me…

“He forced me to marry him…”, she said in a barely audible voice.

“This happens to a lot of women… And yet they don’t try to have their husband sentenced to death.” Lord Tryon's voice calling from downstairs made her turn for a moment, before looking back at the young woman. “I am ready to help you, Brianna, if you really want me to. But you have to think about the consequences. For you, but also for Jeremiah. Mr. Bonnet is a good father and, from what I’ve seen, a good husband as well.”

“I don’t want to hear another word…”

Margaret pursed her lips, and as her name echoed for the second time in the staircase, she turned away. “Please think about it, Brianna.”

Bree's bottom lip quivered as she fought back her tears. Margaret had only spoken aloud what Brianna's mind had been telling her for a while now. Thinking… that was all she could do. About her situation, the pros and cons, about her life with Roger and her life with Stephen. About the huge disappointment that was the first and about her shameful hope to see the second better himself. And in the middle of it all, two other conflicting factors: Jeremiah and her desire for revenge. Planted like rickety pillars in the middle of the mess that was her life, between ruin and reconstruction.

“Ma-ma…”, Jeremiah moaned behind her and Brianna forced a smile on her lips before she turned back to her son. Tenderly, she lay down to hug him and the child let himself be rocked, sniffling; While on the ground floor, the front door closed behind her one and only ally.

~o~

“…get some rest and try not to scare your poor parents until the end of the summer, all right?”

Dr. Kent left Jeremiah's room with a reassuring smile and Brianna felt like she was breathing properly for the first time in hours. Beside her, Stephen also relaxed and gave the doctor a questioning look.

“Jeremiah is fine, aside from a big bump on the back of his head...”, Kent began, as the pirate breathed a short sigh of relief, “however... I would recommend to watch him closely over the next few days. If you notice anything out of the ordinary – vomiting, diarrhea, a persistent cough, or even just an unusual pale complexion – please let me know. But I really think that everything will be fine.”

Brianna nodded, but as she smiled at him, Dr. Kent looked her up and down and raised an eyebrow. “Mrs. Bonnet, would you be so kind as to walk me out?”

“I'll see you out, Doctor”, Stephen replied, but Kent shook his head.

“No, no, Mr. Bonnet. I have a few medical questions for your wife, I simply didn't want to embarrass her in front of you. Come with me, my dear…”, he ordered gently before picking his jacket he had left on the staircase railing. They walked downstairs in silence – leaving Phaedre and Stephen alone with Jeremiah – and Brianna felt her heart race. Did the doctor suspect anything about her induced abortion? Was he going to tell her that he wanted to investigate the incident? No, she was imagining things. It was impossible for anyone to suspect her of anything. Unless the apothecary had spoken. Or Phaedre. No, that was impossible... Are you sure about that?, she thought, but before her anxiety could reach the point of no return, the doctor spoke again with a gentle smile.

“How do you feel, Mrs. Bonnet?”

“Me?”, she said, before the doctor's eyes shifted to her lower abdomen.

“Have you been bleeding regularly again since the miscarriage?”

Oh Christ, leave my fucking womb alone…, she swore in her mind before humming affirmatively.

Dr. Kent nodded with a smile. “Good. No pain or abnormal bleeding…?”

“No, none of that.”

“Perfect. Are you still drinking red clover tea?”

There was a silence during which Brianna stupidly wondered how Dr. Kent could know about the type of herbal tea Stephen loved preparing for her, before her brain made the connection. Oh....

“You know… the fertility tea…”, he saw fit to add in front of her lack of reaction.

 Well, that’s fine and fair…, Brianna thought, ignoring the doctor's questioning look. I drank herbal tea without his knowledge to kill his child... and he makes me swallow another without my knowledge to make another one. She wasn't even angry. Little or nothing surprised her coming from Stephen Bonnet and this was not even close to the worst thing he had done to her. She would just have to make her own tea from now on.

“Yes, yes, of course…”, she corrected herself, shaking her head. “I’m sorry… The afternoon was...”

“I understand.” Kent gave her a final smile and nodded. “I expect to see you again very soon, then. Under more fortunate circumstances, I hope.”

“Right. Have a safe journey home, Doctor,” Brianna retorted with a fake smile, before slamming the doors of River Run behind him. Two yards away from the door he should have closed himself, Hennessy raised an eyebrow and stared at Brianna. That filthy cockroach would probably tell Stephen that the cat (or rather the tea) was out of the bag, and she glared at him before heading back up the stairs, taking deep breaths. No, she would not get angry. No, she would not say anything. She did not have the strength to cause an argument tonight and all she cared about was that Jeremiah was alive.

And anyway, when she reached the second floor landing and her eyes fell on Stephen’s silhouette, sitting on the bed and stroking Jeremiah’s sleepy face, her annoyance instantly vanished. The Irishman cautiously got up at the sound of her footsteps and joined her in the corridor. The look of pure distress in his green eyes, as he turned toward her, made Brianna’s heart and breathing race again.

Can’t you see… how much he loves you?

Margaret's words came back to her mind and if she had been asked again at that exact moment, Brianna would certainly have answered “yes”. Stephen's hands grabbed Bree's waist and pulled it against his hips, before resting his forehead against hers, his eyes closed.

“I can't believe we could have lost him today…”, the Irishman whispered against her face.

Brianna swallowed the painful lump in her throat; she didn’t want to think about that possibility and tried to lighten the mood. “And I can't believe you jumped into the pond to save him.”

“I would never have let the water take him away from me…”

“I know…”, she whispered, caressing his cheek.

After a few seconds, Stephen opened his eyes and stared at her darkly. “I’ve spent all my life thinkin’ that I would never fear anythin’ more than drownin’. But I was wrong... When I dived, I wasn’t afraid of the water, Brianna. I was afraid of losing Jeremiah.”

Bree had never imagined that Stephen Bonnet would one day make her eyes watery by simply speaking, and yet, here she was. Before he had time to add anything, she grabbed the Irishman's cheeks with her hands to kiss him. An eager, greedy kiss, in which he found as much comfort as she did after the terrible events of the day.

You have no idea how lucky you are...

“Thank you for saving him…”, she gasped against his lips.

“I’ll do it again as many times as necessary, mo fhíorghra…”

Again, their mouths collided, as if all the stress, the fear, and anguish since Jeremiah had fallen from the pontoon had found a way out through their lips, tongues and hands, caressing and gripping each other's body relentlessly. And it wasn't until Phaedre – with an embarrassed smile on her face – gently closed the door to Jeremiah's room to give them privacy and not wake the child, that the couple realized they were still in the corridor. Without thinking twice, Stephen lifted Brianna up and carried her to their room, kicking the door shut before slamming her back against the wall.

Stephen buried his head in her cleavage, kissing the upper part of Brianna's breasts as he struggled with the ties of her bodice, then with his own breeches. Brianna took a deep breath, literally intoxicated by the exquisite sensation of his mouth on her breasts and that of his hands rolling up her skirts before lifting her up again.

This man loves you with all his heart...

He was about to penetrate her, when Brianna opened her eyes; Margaret's words were impossible to ignore. She had to know. Figure out if Lady Tryon had been imagining things or if she had actually understood something that Brianna refused to see.

“Do you love me?”

Stephen looked up at her, completely taken aback. But surprise soon gave way to understanding, and Brianna gasped loudly as he thrust into her, his green irises locked with her blue ones.

“Aye, I love you… You and Jeremiah… more than anythin’…”

Stephen started thrusting up and down, digging his fingers into the soft, warm flesh of her buttocks, while Brianna grabbed his shoulders for support.

“Say it again…”

Stephen complied, punctuating his thrusts with more “I love you”-s, his voice growing hoarser every time, and Brianna realized... that she actually believed him. Deep down, she was sure he was telling the truth, and a different kind of pleasure started to build up in her belly. Looking up, she suddenly caught her reflection in the mirror of her dressing table and the memory of their awful first sexual intercourse – shortly after Forbes' death a year earlier – came back to her. Same wall, same position, same everything, except something important had changed.

She remembered her blank, expressionless face as Stephen emptied himself inside her like an animal. She remembered precisely her own disgust as she felt him inside her again after four years of traumatic memories and nightmares. And also her sarcasm as she judged his fast and disappointing performance.

But the disgust was gone. Just like her sarcasm. The Brianna who was looking at her in that same mirror was no longer a rag doll patiently waiting for the abuse to end. Her red cheeks, her feverish gaze and her half-open mouth all showed how much she desired him. Pleasure was written all over her face as clearly as if the word was carved into her flesh.

And as Stephen once again chanted his love for her, Brianna's eyes widened in horror at the realization.

Fuck.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Chapter Text

25. He Hit Me (And It Felt Like A Kiss)

September 30th, 1774.

After their last heated argument in Jeremiah's room, Brianna had not expected to hear from Margaret Tryon for at least a few months. It was therefore quite surprising when on the last morning of September, Hennessy brought a message for her with the usual morning mail.

“From Lady Margaret Tryon, to Mrs. Bonnet”, the butler announced, tapping his finger on the message he had placed at the very top of the pile. Brianna raised her eyebrows over her slice of toast and outstretched her left arm across the table to grab the message, but Stephen seized it and broke the wax seal.

“Hey!”, Brianna protested, ten seconds before Stephen gave her the message, which only contained a few words.

“Lady Tryon is restin’ in her Cross Creek house after a bad flu, she wants to come over and have tea here this afternoon”, he summed up with a bright smile, as if to make up for the fact that he had shamelessly opened her mail. Brianna opened the message and – since it contained no other information – tossed the paper on the table as nonchalantly as possible. She didn't want to look too excited or else Stephen would try to sneak in and listen to their conversation.

“Are you two gettin’ along well?... When you’re not sharin’ military intelligence, if you catch my drift…”, he asked with a hint of sarcasm, but Brianna smiled and nodded.

“Yes… it’s a pity that we see each other so little, by the way. I really like spending time with Margaret. There’s never a dull moment with her…”

“Her husband would certainly disagree…”, Stephen scoffed as he skimmed through the daily Gazette.

Brianna rolled her eyes. Maybe because her husband is a world-class motherfucker?

The dining room door opened again and it was Phaedre's turn to come forward with a small tray and a steaming cup, the smell of which immediately made Stephen wince.

“Coffee again?” He glared at the cup, while Brianna thanked Phaedre with an overly broad smile. “By Danu, that horrid smell… You know that if the word spreads that my wife has discovered a passion for this nasty brew, I could be in trouble…?”

Brianna smiled as she added a little sugar to her drink. Since the Boston Tea Party of 1773, drinking coffee – the tea’s new rival – was almost considered a revolutionary act, but imagining that anyone would show up and search River Run for coffee was a bit far-fetched. Stephen was just annoyed that she had started to shun his fertility tea.

“I had enough of red clover tea… That’s all you’ve been buying lately…”

Stephen cleared his throat and unfolded the Gazette to disappear behind it. “Yes, there have been… supply issues.”

“Oh really? That’s awful... Not a single tea flavor on the market beside red clover?”

Brianna's voice was dripping with sarcasm and she caught a warning look from Hennessy. Surprisingly enough, the butler had not told Stephen about her conversation with Dr. Kent, but his current expression was screaming at her not to go too far. A long and loud sigh came from behind the Gazette and Brianna stifled a giggle into her coffee cup, before taking another look at Margaret's message. Perhaps Lady Tryon had changed her mind and was finally willing to give her evidence? Or would she once again try to convince her to reconsider?

The morning and early afternoon passed unbearably slowly for Brianna, despite a two hour reading and writing session with Jeremiah, an hour-long walk with the child and his dog, thirty minutes spent frolicking with Stephen when she went upstairs to change after Blue put his mud-soaked paws on the bottom of her dress, and an extra hour spent with Phaedre cleaning out her closet after they discovered a moth among her petticoats.

Finally, at four o'clock sharp, a small two-horse carriage pulled up the driveway and Brianna stood on the porch to greet her guest. Further away in the garden, under a large weeping willow, she had placed a small table and two chairs – to enjoy the warm autumn sun but also to avoid any prying eyes and ears inside the house. Stephen was in his office, Hennessy would be the victim of various pranks diligently prepared by Jeremiah in the afternoon, and hopefully the two women would have time to talk their hearts out. It was therefore with a confident smile that Brianna watched the small door of Margaret's carriage open. A smile that froze at the sight of the woman’s strange outfit.

Despite the pleasant weather, Margaret was wearing a long-sleeved, dark winter dress, along with a thick scarf draped around her neck and a traveling cape. She was obviously suffocating, judging by her sweaty red face, and Brianna frowned. Was she still sick? No, she would never have taken the risk of coming and contaminating the whole family and their employees, especially knowing that there was a young child with them. There was something else, but Brianna pretended not to notice anything.

“Margaret, what a pleasure to see you again!”, Brianna greeted her as she climbed down the carriage with difficulty. Lady Tryon – who was usually dazzling with her regal bearing and her fluid gait, regardless of the weight of her dress – seemed to move more stiffly, as if a latent pain limited her movements. Behind Brianna, the sound of Stephen's boots echoed in the entrance hall, and she prayed that he had simply come down to greet Lady Tryon and not invite himself to their tea party.

“Lady Tryon, welcome to River Run”, Stephen trumpeted as he walked down the porch to offer her his arm, Brianna following closely. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“I was not far from River Run, it would be a shame not to spend some time with your sweet Brianna...”

Stephen darted his green eyes on his wife and gave her the cutest of smiles. “How could I blame you…”

Brianna felt her cheeks flush as her husband's bewitching gaze almost made her forget they weren't alone. “Did you come down to have tea with us?”, she asked casually, but praying for him to say no. And he did, much to her relief.

“No, I just came to pay my respects to Lady Tryon. I have some paperwork to deal with…” He turned back to the Englishwoman one last time and put a friendly but respectful hand on her arm, unaware of Margaret’s slight wince of pain. “I’ll leave you two alone. Make yourself at home, Milady.” Then he walked past Brianna, kissing her temple as he passed, and disappeared inside the house.

Margaret had watched the scene with such a tender look on her face that Brianna had no trouble guessing her thoughts. Can't you see how much he loves you? That’s what she had said during their last conversation, and Brianna was pretty sure Margaret was thinking the exact same words right now.

The young woman approached her guest and offered her arm. “Come on, I've had a small table set up for us under the willow...”

As planned, Hennessy slipped away to get the tea and cookies in the kitchen, and Brianna discreetly nodded at Jeremiah who was playing on the porch. The child grinned and went back to his toys, waiting for his time to shine. The walk to the willow was much longer than expected. Margaret was indeed walking slower than usual, but perhaps she had really just recovered from a bad flu and it wasn’t a fake excuse as Brianna had initially thought. They were walking so slowly that Hennessy was already returning with his tray when they finally sat down on their chairs.

“How are you feeling? You said in your letter that you’ve been ill?”, Brianna asked as Hennessy poured the tea into the cups and dropped lemon wedges into them. No more clover tea: the smell of good old Earl Gray tea wafted through the air, and Brianna made a mental note to later ask Stephen if the “supply issue” was finally settled.

“Oh, I feel much better, thanks for asking. I’m still a little bit tired, but it is probably normal, considering...”

The words died in Margaret’s throat as she noticed Jeremiah creeping up behind Hennessy with a small wooden sword in his hand. Brianna bit the inside of her cheeks to keep herself from smiling. The tip of the sword soon hit the butler's left buttock, and he spun around with an outraged look.

“En garde, villain!”, Jeremiah shouted, waving the sword at Hennessy who glared at him.

“Would you please not wave that thing at us, you’re going to hurt someo-”

Once again, the sword hit his bottom, and Hennessy turned his red face toward Brianna, hoping for her to call her offspring to order. But the young mother simply smiled.

“We read a story about knights, this morning… Jeremiah loves History…”

“I said, en garde!”, Jemmy roared, poking Hennessy several times in the buttocks and thighs. The butler took a threatening step toward him, and Jemmy scampered away, only to stop a little bit further and stick his tongue out.

With all the patience required by his function, Hennessy suppressed a long sigh and grabbed the jam to spread it expertly on the scones.

“Hmm, that looks delicious”, Bree complimented him, picking up her napkin… which accidentally fell into the grass. “Oh, dear, I’m so clumsy…”

“Let me pick it up for you, Madam”, Hennessy said, putting the jam down to bend over and pick up the napkin. But before he could straighten up, a loud “yaaaaa” echoed through the garden and Jeremiah jumped onto Hennessy's back, holding on to his clothes.

“Come on, gee up!”, the child bellowed as if trying to ride a reluctant donkey.

“What in the Devil?!” Hennessy did his best not to bolt up, as he did not want to knock Jemmy off his back, but the boy held on.

“Trot! Trot!”

“Is Jeremiah always so… energetic?”, Margaret asked with wide eyes, as the butler walked away to get rid of the child without knocking the whole table over. With a broad smile, Brianna grabbed her cup between her fingers and stared at her guest.

“No, he’s not. It’s just for today…”

Margaret frowned for a moment, before realizing what was happening. Brianna was just making sure her butler was busy somewhere else so they could talk freely.

The young woman took a sip of hot tea. “How about you tell me now why you are here? I’m sure it’s not a simple social call…”

Margaret looked down at her scone and pursed her lips. “I got what you asked for…”, she whispered and Brianna felt her heart race.

“You do?”

“This is one of last year’s ledgers. William should not notice it’s missing for a while…” Margaret reached inside her cape and put a small notebook, bound in red leather with gold borders, on the table. After a quick glance at Hennessy, who was still busy playing horse, Brianna flicked through the pages and tucked it away under her own dress.

“Are you sure this is the evidence we are looking for?”

Lady Tryon nodded. “Josiah gave me a description…”

Bree frowned. “If you trust him and if he is willing to help, why didn't you give him the ledger?”

“He's away… for several weeks.” Lady Tryon's voice cracked slightly. “He left me alone with William and…” She sniffled. “Excuse me”, she finished, pulling out a handkerchief to dab the corner of her eye.

Spit it out, come on…, Brianna thought impatiently, but Jeremiah was executing his mission perfectly and Hennessy would not be coming back to bother them anytime soon. “What happened, Margaret?”

The governor's wife looked up in distress, opened her mouth, seemed ready to say something, then changed her mind and closed it again. Unable to stand it any longer, Brianna's hand flew over the table and grabbed her guest’s, tugging a bit too much on the wrist and Margaret jumped, suppressing a small cry.

“Margaret, talk to m-...” The redhead fell silent. Under the midnight blue sleeve, a yellowish and purplish spot had caught her eye. Brianna let go of Margaret’s hand, which immediately disappeared under the table. “Did… did he hurt you?”

The other woman unconsciously readjusted her scarf around her neck, but did not answer. Her outfit, much too warm and covering for the season, finally made sense. She's covered in bruises…, Brianna realized, anger soon making her blood boil in her veins.

“It’s my fault, I… I caused an argument.” Brianna's neutral face told Margaret that she didn't believe for a second that anything was her fault, but Lady Tryon went on. “I was at Mrs. Norrington… but I wasn't feeling very well so I went back home early.” Her chin quivered and she looked away at the fields surrounding the property. “He was in our bed… with her.”

“Miss Scott?”, Brianna asked, and Margaret nodded, sniffling. It seemed that William Tryon had not yet tired of his Christmas whore. “I knew that my husband was unfaithful… But seeing it with my own eyes… In our bed. Where I gave birth to my daughter…”

“I can’t imagine how painful that was...”

“I flew into a fury. I can’t fault him for cheating on me, considering I am not exactly faithful either… but I would never do that with Josiah under our roof. And certainly not in such a demeaning position as this…”

Whore, Brianna finished internally. Although she had the greatest respect for sex workers, this particular one was only trying to take Margaret’s place. A common home breaker... with ambition, no less.

“He lashed out at me… The two of them had been drinking. His breath reeked of alcohol…”, Lady Tryon went on, still shaking at the mere memory. “He had never hit me for so long... I have been slapped around a few times, like all women… and I don’t mind... But this…”

Brianna did not even know what to say anymore. What seemed normal to a woman in 1774 was not to her, a twentieth-century girl raised by a man who had never done more than raise his voice over her own mother. Or break a few dishes. And other than the night he had raped her, Stephen had never laid a hand on her either. Not even to scare her. Of course, they had their share of psychological violence, at the beginning of their marriage, but the limit of physical violence had never been crossed. At least not like this.

“I thought I would never see my daughter again…”, Margaret whispered. “But you know what’s worse?”

Because there's worse?, Brianna thought bitterly. The level was already quite high.

“When I was on the floor and William was kicking me… Miss Scott was quietly sitting on the bed. She was sipping her drink, paying no attention to me whatsoever. I was screaming, I was begging... and she was just there… drinking her wine, as if... I didn't even exist.”

Bree felt a shiver run down her spine and she unconsciously rubbed her arms, as if to warm herself. She could feel a strange urge to snuggle up against a protective chest and she imagined herself doing just that for a moment, in order to mentally protect herself from the violence Margaret depicted. She could almost feel the stifling heat of a man’s skin against hers, and soft words being whispered in her ear. Everythin’ is all right, mo fhíorghra…

“The next day he took her to a party at the Norrington’s… I decided to stay in Cross Creek for a while, and I went in his office before I left. Josiah being away, I did not know what to do with the ledger…”

“And here you are...”, Brianna finished darkly.

“And here I am.”

There was a silence, during which Bree looked for some comforting words, but Margaret spared her the trouble.

“Don't feel sorry for me, I don't deserve your sympathy. I'm just a selfish woman...”

“Don't be silly, Margaret…”

“I did not want to help you because I feared my name would be dragged through the mud. Because I was afraid of losing everything: my husband, my fortune, my reputation and that of my daughter…” She shook her head, wiping away a few tears. “But I've had enough. I know that, if the time comes, Josiah will marry me to save me from disgrace and that my daughter should be able to find an acceptable husband even if her father ends up with a rope around his neck. I'm sorry it took me so long. You lost precious time because of me... but I would completely understand if, at this point, you don’t want to use the ledger anymore and give your marriage a chance. For my opinion has not changed about your husband. The way he looks at you… The way he hugs you or Jeremiah… I know you and Mr. Bonnet were hardly a love match, but very few marriages are. However, affection is sometimes born between two people who were a terrible fit at first. And that affection then lasts for a lifetime…”

Brianna took a deep breath and cleared her throat, while her nose dived into her cup of tea – and Margaret got the message.

“My apologies, Brianna. William always say that I talk too much, and he is probably right.”

“No”, Brianna snapped, causing Margaret to jump slightly in her chair. “I mean… It’s all right to give your opinion. Please never stop doing that. It’s just that I…”

But the young woman did not finish her sentence. Not a word came to her mind, but a sad smile outstretched her guest’s lips.

“You are getting fond of him, aren’t you…?”

Bree frowned and in a futile attempt to hide her nervousness, she started to stir her tea, but Margaret's hand gently came to rest on hers and forced her to put the spoon down. And when Brianna looked up again, her eyes were reddening. Lady Tryon had just entrusted her with probably one of the greatest traumas of her life; she had no reason not to do the same.

“It terrifies me…”, Brianna whispered, her voice wavering. “I have hated and feared him for so long, and now… Sometimes when I look in the mirror, I can see myself with my bleeding nose, my messy hair and bloodstained petticoat after he raped me… and… I feel like the woman I am today – the one who enjoys his touch and allows herself to be seduced – is spitting in her face.”

Margaret bit her lip and there was another silence, that she used to organize her thoughts into words. “Haven't you changed since the first time you met Mr. Bonnet?”

Brianna frowned. “Of course, I have. I was too naive and reckless for my own good… That certainly changed after our encounter…”

“And from what Jocasta told me when she informed me of your situation… Mr. Bonnet himself has changed a lot after he met you. He was just a common pirate back then.”

“What’s your point, Margaret?”

Lady Tryon sighed and wrapped her fingers around her cup. “Well... what would make most sense to you? To base all of your reasoning on an event that happened many years ago when the two of you were completely different people… or on your current situation and personalities, and all the things that unite you today?”

Brianna stared at her in bewilderment, before bursting into a nervous laugh. “You do realize that you are not helping me at all, Margaret?”

The other smiled softly, but said nothing and they both remained silent for a moment, enjoying the feeling of being able to confide in each other.

“Wait… Why would you give me the ledger and then convince me to give Stephen a chance?”, Brianna suddenly asked and Margaret’s smile grew wider, nodding as if she had been expecting that kind of question.

“My life is a disaster and I would pay good money to run away from it… but it is mostly behind me now and at my age, I don't have half of the strength you have to change anything anyway.” Lady Tryon leaned forward, and for a moment Brianna felt like she was facing Claire, offering her best advice with her wide doe eyes and discreet smile on her face. “But you are young, Brianna. And brave. You deserve to have a choice. You were denied that choice when you were raped. And later married to save your honor. And then married again to protect your child. Every single time, men have made decisions for you. It is time you can decide again what is right for you. And whether you use this notebook or throw it into the fire, I know you will do what is best for you and for Jeremiah.”

~o~

When Margaret left, Brianna had to refrain from hugging her – which would have been completely inappropriate – but their open-hearted discussion and the abuse that this poor woman had suffered had triggered in Brianna a pathological need for physical contact. That is why, when she crossed paths with Stephen as she went to their room and despite the presence of the ledger discreetly tucked under her corset, she did not try to escape his arms when he drew her gently to him.

“Are you all right, darlin’?”

Brianna was not surprised that he asked—she must have looked pretty glum—and rested her head on his shoulder before snuggling against his chest. She waited for a few seconds, weighing the pros and cons of what she was about to say, and finally spoke.

“He beats her, did you know that?”

She heard Stephen exhale through his nose and knew what answer he was going to give before he even opened his mouth. “Aye, he sometimes brags about it…” Brianna tightened her fingers a little more on his shirt and he chuckled. “So that’s what you’ve been doin’ for the last couple of hours? Tryin’ to figure out which one of you has the worst husband?”

Brianna smiled and looked up at him. “Well, as surprising as it may sound... I didn’t win this contest.”

Stephen seemed to think for a moment and his eyes drifted to their bedroom door, while his wife quickly thought about all the ways she could keep the notebook from falling when he would take her clothes off. But luckily, the universe had other plans for her.

“Hmm, I promised Jeremiah I would take him and his pony for a ride before dinner”, he muttered, grabbing her ass through the dress. “You’ll have to wait until after dinner to ride yours...”

“Ride my-?”, Brianna repeated under his lustful but laughing eyes. “I see… Mr. Bonnet is a poet.”

Stephen chuckled and letting go of her buttocks, he turned to meet Jeremiah downstairs. “Well, Mrs. Bonnet is a wonderful muse...”

Brianna rolled her eyes and waited for him to disappear into the living room to breathe a sigh of relief. She rushed into her room – where Phaedre was cleaning Stephen's closet in case other moths would have settled there – and squirmed to dislodge the ledger out of its hiding place. Phaedre walked towards her, frowning at what her mistress held in her hands.

“What is this, Madam?”, she asked when Brianna handed it to her.

“Evidence that Stephen and Lord Tryon embezzle and misuse tax money for their own benefit… I need you to hide it from me. No one ever searches your room, right?”

Phaedre shook her head. “Not to my knowledge. But what are you going to do with it, Madam?”

“Ideally, I should pass it on to my family. They could send it to whomever it might concern, but…”

“Why don’t you go back to the apothecary?”, Phaedre suggested; Brianna had told her about it shortly after receiving her parents' response hidden in Hamlet. “He turned out to be a trustworthy man.”

“Yes… but slipping a tiny piece of paper between two fingers was easy. Giving an entire notebook in front of Stephen will be much more dangerous…”

“Not if I’m the one going… In October, there’s this fabric fair in Wilmington. Mrs. Cameron sent me there every year to find material for new dresses… You can find the finest and most delicate fabrics there. I could ask Mr. Bonnet if I can go, pay a little visit to the apothecary for Jeremiah's lotions and soaps, and then come back home.”

Brianna nodded thoughtfully. “It could work, yes…”

“However… if I may…”, the young maid began and Brianna knew what she was going to ask before she even spoke. “Are you sure you want to do this, Madam?”

Why is everyone asking me this?, Bree moaned internally. But she knew full well why – because even if she tried to ignore them, she had serious doubts herself. With a dejected sigh, she plumped down on the bed. “I've been waiting for this opportunity for months...”

“May I speak to you in all honesty?”

“Of course, Phaedre…”

The maid pursed her lips and sat down next to Brianna, facing her. “If you had received this notebook last September, we wouldn’t have had a moment’s hesitation, obviously... But today...?”

“Nothing has changed.”

“Everything has changed…”, Phaedre retorted, shaking her head. “And I know you can feel it. Mr. Bonnet has changed. You have changed. Jeremiah… finally has a father worthy of the name…” Brianna was about to protest but Phaedre raised a hand in appeasement. “There’s no need to try and convince me otherwise. You know it, I know it, Mr. Bonnet knows it, everyone knows it.”

“Stephen hurt me…”

“So did Mr. MacKenzie… Have you forgotten what happened when your parents came home without him, after Jeremiah was born?”

Brianna scowled. “I had a few crying spells, nothing to be alarmed about…”

“Oh, really?”, Phaedre exclaimed before choosing a more respectful tone of voice. “You were bedridden for three days in a daze… We had to find a wet-nurse for Jeremiah because you couldn’t even breastfeed him properly.”

Brianna's eyes filled with tears. She had very few memories of this period and had not really tried to find out more when she came to her senses. Roger had returned a few days after that and that was all that mattered to her.

“But I'm not here to rank your husbands depending on the level of suffering that each of them inflicted on you...”, Phaedre went on quietly. “What I meant is that for the past few months… you have been radiant.”

“Oh please…” Brianna rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Of course I’m radiant: Stephen literally showers me with jewels and ridiculously expensive dresses.”

Phaedre squinted, aware that her mistress was pretending not to understand what she actually meant. Brianna herself could not explain why it had been so easy for her to tell Margaret about her possible nascent feelings for Stephen, and yet denying it in front of Phaedre. Perhaps because they were closer, knew each other for a long time, and Brianna feared her judgment. The young girl stood up, the ledger in one hand, and put the other on Bree's arm.

“I will gladly help you, Madam, but I need to be certain that you will not regret it. For you and for Jeremiah… For there will be no going back once the proofs are out of our hands. The fabric fair is on the last week of October, so you have a little less than a month to think about it. There is still time…”

As Brianna did not answer, Phaedre turned away in silence and was about to leave the room when the redhead spoke in a weak, almost shameful voice.

“Is it wrong to think that everything would be so much easier if I could forgive him for what he did to me?”

With her hand on the doorknob, Phaedre froze and gave her a compassionate look. “No, Madam. Of course not. There are no rules; people do what they can and what they want. You have suffered more than some women, and less than others. If you want to forgive him, that is fine. If you don’t, that is fine too. It is up to you to do what you feel capable of.”

“Would you? If you were me?”

Judging by Brianna’s confused expression, it was an actual question, and Phaedre thought hard for a few seconds. “When Mr. Bonnet became your husband, I was terrified. For you. For Jeremiah. I was desperately waiting for someone to break down the door and snatch you from his clutches… I am not one of his henchmen: just because he pays me doesn't mean I condone all his actions…”

“He’s paying you?”, Brianna wondered, blinking. She had never really thought about it. It was true that Stephen had claimed from day one that he only trusted paid employees, but she had not thought that Phaedre would be one of them as well.

“Yes, he does... I didn’t expect it either when he allowed me to stay, but the next day he paid me two pounds, then a pound each week. Which is more than I could say about the Camerons…”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

Phaedre looked down embarrassedly. “I was worried… that you would not trust me anymore. That this would change our relationship…”

“Of course not…”, Brianna reassured her with a smile, but with the paranoia and panic that had taken hold of her at the very beginning of their marriage, perhaps it was indeed a good thing that Phaedre had left this detail untold. “On the contrary, I am quite pleasantly surprised… and happy for you.”

“This does not mean I’m free, though...”, Phaedre tempered. “I have no document proving that I am an employee and not a slave… Mr. Bonnet never broached the subject with me.”

Brianna rolled her eyes. “He must think that money magically fills out all the paperwork...”

“He probably does, indeed…”, Phaedre chuckled before putting on a straight face again. “Anyway, just like you, I got to know him. I have seen his progress. He is not perfect, and no man on this Earth is… but…”

“He’s trying…”, Brianna finished with a hint of sadness.

Phaedre nodded. “He tries very hard to make you happy. And I understand that you want to take this into account when making your decision.”

Brianna took a deep breath as Phaedre pocketed the ledger in her apron. “Three weeks, huh...?”

The servant smiled. “I’m not forcing you. I’m sure I can find an excuse to go to Wilmington on another day.”

“No, that's fine… I have to make up my mind now before it is too late…”, Brianna sighed before smiling kindly. “Thank you.”

Phaedre opened the door and after a brief curtsey, slipped out of the room, leaving Brianna alone with her thoughts.

Chapter Text

26. Burning Books

October 1774.

While Brianna was making up her mind about whether or not she should use the ledger, Phaedre had asked for Stephen's permission to go to Wilmington for the fabric fair. They had agreed that Brianna would let her know before she left if she had to pay a visit to the apothecary. Which gave her three weeks… twenty-one days to decide if she really wanted to go on the offensive against Stephen Bonnet and William Tryon. Twenty-one days during which she would put the Irishman to the test and decide if he was worthy of her forgiveness.

A part of her was confident: as far as she knew, Stephen had had an impeccable behavior toward her since last March and if he kept going like this, her choice would be simple. She would keep the ledger for a few months, years maybe, and then get rid of it permanently. But if he were to make another stupid mistake… she would show no mercy. Of course, it would all depend on how stupid the mistake is…, she thought, mechanically stirring her morning coffee.

“YAAAAAAAAAYYYYY!”

Brianna jumped so hard she almost dropped her teaspoon and knocked over her cup. Jeremiah had just squealed with joy somewhere in the house, and she soon heard his little feet scurrying down the hall to the dining room.

“Mommy, mommy! We're gonna sleep outside!”

Brianna frowned. “S-sleep outside? What do you mean?”

Jeremiah was about to answer when Stephen entered the room and walked around the table to kiss the top of his wife's head.

“I have to leave for a few days at the end of the week, but before I do there is one last plot of land that I would like to sell. It is quite far from here, on the banks of the Cape Fear River. But it looks like the measurements on the old deed are wrong, so I have to go and check them before I can sell… And I thought…”, he fell silent, turning his head towards his son who was  hopping up and down impatiently. “What did I think, Jeremiah?”

“That we could go and camp there!”, the child answered enthusiastically and Stephen nodded.

“You’re right! But also?”

Jem scowled slightly and looked down. “That we had to ask Mommy first…”

Brianna swallowed a sip of coffee and her eyes widened. “Why are you making that face?”

“Because you're going to say no. You always say no...”, the boy muttered.

“I don't say no all the time, Jeremiah...”

“So, is that a yes then?”, Stephen added with a triumphant grin.

Brianna alternately looked at her husband's mocking face, then at Jeremiah’s hopeful eyes, and suddenly felt like she had fallen for it hook, line and sinker. If she refused, Jeremiah would have one more reason to think she was a killjoy. Also, she had to spend some time with Stephen before making her decision. Especially if he had to leave soon.

“All right”, she sighed and winced when her son let out another joyful and deafening howl, before looking up at Stephen. “Where are you going?”

“I must be escortin’ the tax money convoy to New Bern. The Catawbas have been out of control lately. They attack everythin’: mail coaches, goods, anything that belongs to the Crown… Lord Tryon does not want to take any chances.”

“When will you be back?”

“Probably a week or so before Phaedre's departure for the fair...”, Stephen answered and a cocky smile appeared on his lips. “Why? Will you miss me?”

Brianna chuckled loudly and rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah, definitely”, she said in a tone that implied the exact opposite, but far from being offended, Stephen shook his head in amusement while cutting a piece of bread in his plate.

“You ungrateful woman… I should tie you to a chair every time I leave. My presence between these walls would be a bit more appreciated.”

Squinting and tapping her chin, the young woman pretended to think and Stephen's smile widened as he wondered what she was going to answer. “Well, I guess… it depends on the chair…?”

A ball of breadcrumb hit Brianna right on the nostril, but she immediately sent it back to its owner with a mischievous smile. Stephen was about to throw it again when a cute moralizing voice rose between them.

“Do not play with your food!”

Brianna cleared her throat and immediately put on a serious face. “You are right, Jeremiah. We’ll stop immediately”, she promised, as Stephen threw the crumb again at his son. Fortunately, the ball missed its target and Jeremiah went to sit in his chair while Bree mouthed “That’s enough” to Stephen, as the pirate hid his smile in his cup of tea.

“Is this land so far away that we have to sleep there?”, she asked, helping Jeremiah spread jam on his toast.

“It’s a three or four hours’ drive in cart...” Brianna raised her eyebrows so high that Stephen felt the need to explain. “From what I’ve seen in your aunt's paperwork, the late Mr. Cameron had bought it for next to nothin’, hopin’ that he could later buy all the surroundin’ land up to the plantation. But when he died, your aunt stopped expanding the estate and this land has remained isolated and untilled ever since. We’ll get nothin’ out of it as it is and I need a bit of money, anyway...”, he finished with a smirk.

“What for? Is everything alright?”

The Irishman's lips stretched a little more and he nodded. “Aye, do not worry, darlin’. It's a surprise...”

Knowing from his enigmatic look that she wouldn't worm the information out of him, Brianna finished her breakfast in silence, trying to ignore the strange feeling that twisted her insides at the thought of being left on her own for more than a week just when she wanted to be around Stephen as much as possible. How would she make an informed decision if he was absent most of the time? If she sent Phaedre to deliver the ledger, wouldn't she regret it later if her husband made no further mistakes? Or on the contrary, if she chose to keep it, wouldn't she regret it the next time Stephen did something wrong? No… After all, she had already waited more than a year to find information and the hardest part of their marriage seemed behind them. She would know how to be patient, if another opportunity presented itself...

Two hours later, comfortably seated in a simple cart, the three Bonnets left the property to reach the land where they would spend the next twenty-four hours. The place was a vast stretch of sparse forest bordering the Cape Fear River, and Brianna immediately felt at peace there. The murmur of the wind in the leaves, the deafening noise of the river waters flowing between the rocks in small rapids, and the whistling of hundreds of birds above their heads reminded her of her first months at Fraser's Ridge, when she was pregnant and slept in a makeshift cabin near the house under construction. Unspoilt, natural landscape, never yet touched by human hand. At least until now: Stephen had just delicately picked a wild azalea flower to tuck it behind her ear.

“A flower among flowers…”, he said pompously with a theatrical wave of his hand, causing her to laugh. “You like this place, aye? One word from you, darlin’, and I won’t sell it...”

Brianna shook her head. “No, it just reminds me of… Fraser’s Ridge.” She had almost said home, but had changed her mind for fear that he would get offended.

“One word, Brianna…”, he purred, brushing the flower with his finger.

“No, sell it… It's in the middle of nowhere. We won’t use it, unless you’ve decided to settle a whole colony in the area...”

“Mama, can we play hide and seek??”, Jeremiah's excited voice came from behind them.

“We will… after lunch! I think Mr. Fitzpatrick put a delicious meat pie into our basket…”, she announced with a greedy smile. Jeremiah loved meat pie and rushed to the cart to unload the heavy basket which contained a few dishes, their two meals of the day and some snacks for the next morning. Stephen rushed to help him and after Brianna spread a blanket by the river, they settled on the floor to enjoy their lunch.

“He even thought about the wine. Good man...”, Stephen said, taking a bottle and two glasses from a velvet-lined wooden box.

“Can I taste the wine?”, Jeremiah asked, watching the red liquid flow into the glasses.

Brianna cringed. “Absolutely not, Jeremiah.”

“But why????”, the child whined. She was about to scold him, but Stephen beat her to it and handed Jeremiah his own glass.

“Why not, indeed?” Jeremiah grabbed the glass and put it to his mouth, as his father went on: “If you do like wine, then you will officially be a man.”

But Jemmy winced at the first sip and stared at his father as if he had just betrayed him by giving him the most disgusting drink on Earth.

“Hmm... It seems to me you're still a little boy, son...”, Stephen said apologetically. “And what do little boys do? They listen to their Mama. So when Mama says no... she means no. Come on, give me your plate.”

Under Brianna's amused gaze, he served Jemmy a piece of pie before doing the same to her. “I thought for a moment that you would actually allow him to drink wine…”

“Who do you think I am, ye woman of little faith?”, he joked, before smiling when he saw her giggle. “If he’s like me, the day he’ll start drinkin’ will come soon enough. Might as well take advantage of his young age to disgust him a little…”

If someone had told Brianna a few years earlier that she would one day have a picnic with Stephen Bonnet – AND have a great time – she wouldn't have believed it and would have seriously questioned the other person’s mental health. However, she had to admit it: this moment away from their home in an idyllic setting, was not only pleasant but also did her a world of good. She was breathing again – just like when she freed her ribcage from her corset after a long social event and she could finally lay in her cozy bed, with a warm hand resting on her breast. Not a hand… 'his' hand, she corrected internally, her cheeks burning. Her confusion did not go unnoticed and she quickly finished her plate of pie and her glass to blame this change in complexion on the alcohol.

“More wine?”, Stephen asked, grabbing the bottle.

“No, thank you... and you shouldn't either, or we might have some surprises when you measure the land.”

Stephen chuckled and corked the bottle, putting it back in the basket. “You're probably right… But before that, I think we promised a game of hide and seek to a little boy…”

“Me, me!!”, Jeremiah roared, putting his empty plate on the blanket to jump on his father's back. The latter somehow got up with the child perched on his shoulders, while Brianna put their leftovers in the basket and gathered the dishes to go rinse them in the river. But Stephen rolled his eyes.

“We’ll deal with that later… Close your eyes, cover your ears and count to twenty, Jeremiah and I are goin’ to hide.”

Brianna sighed and watched them walk away before turning and yelling over her shoulder. “Jeremiah, you stay away from the river!”

“Yes, Mama!”, the child answered and Brianna covered her ears confidently. She had called him to order out of habit, but since his mishap in the pond, Jeremiah had refused to put a single toe in any body of water that wasn’t his bathtub and she doubted that Stephen would let him venture too close anyway.

“18...19...20! Ready or not, here I come!”

Brianna removed her palms from her ears and opened her eyes, momentarily dazzled by the brightness of the autumn sun. Turning around, she saw that neither of the boys was visible and walked first towards a huge oak tree, probably torn down by a storm and whose massive trunk was lying across the forest. But no one was hiding behind. A large rock, a hollow trunk, tall grass, she searched so many possible hiding places but those contained nothing but a few bouncing grasshoppers and a blackbird that flew away on a nearby tree.

The characteristic sound of a breaking branch made her turn around, and a little further on she noticed some thick thickets that were high enough to hide a grown man. Brianna walked around the bush to spring on the other side, with a triumphant “ah-ah!”… but there was nothing. That’s weird... I could have sworn-

Two strong hands grabbed her waist and she whirled around with a brief cry, beathing a sigh of relief as she recognized her husband. “You scared me to death!”, she protested, before feeling Stephen's hands roll up her skirt. “What are you doing?”

“I want you, mo fhíorghra…”, he purred against her ear and Brianna felt her heart race, despite her firm intention to get her hands on her hidden son.

“I haven’t found Jeremiah…”

Stephen straightened up with a mischievous look. “I hid him under the covers in the back of the cart. And I told him not to move until we found him. Which gives us some time…”

Brianna opened her mouth to refuse, but a pleasant shiver rising from her lower abdomen made her reconsider the question as Stephen buried his face in the crook of her neck. Under other circumstances, she would certainly have found an excuse, but here far from River Run, far from any kind of pressure and in this heavenly place, nothing came to her mind. And that is why she just clang to the Irishman’s shoulders and panted: “All right, but let’s make it quick.”

Stephen did not need to be told twice. Grabbing her bare thighs under her dress, he lifted her abruptly, before taking a few steps to lean her against a nearby tree trunk. Brianna grabbed a large branch to take some of her weight off him and after untying his breeches, he penetrated her unprepared. She let out a loud moan before remembering that Jeremiah was only a few dozen yards away and pursed her lips for more discretion. There was something strangely exciting about doing this in the wilderness, where any boat sailing on the Cape Fear could catch them in the act, and Bree could not say she didn’t like it. For a few minutes, Stephen gave quick and powerful thrusts between her thighs and even if it wasn't long enough for Brianna to actually climax, she didn’t end up frustrated – going as far as to conclude their antics with a languorous kiss after Stephen had released himself inside her. A kiss that Stephen reiterated just before they came out of hiding and went to look for Jeremiah.

But as he lifted the blanket, no little boy came out springing like a devil from its box, asking whether he had chosen a good hiding place. Jeremiah was there – curled up between the tents and a heavy bag – and he was sleeping soundly, his tiny chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his breathing.

“Poor child”, Brianna whispered with a fond smile. “He waited for so long that he dozed off. I feel bad…”

Behind her back, Stephen grabbed her hips and circled her waist with his arms, staring fondly at their son. “Hmm, for some mysterious reason… I don’t.”

~o~

The next day, as they rode back to River Run, Brianna Bonnet’s cheeks were colored with a persistent and bright shade of pink. After their little sexcapade against the tree, Stephen had left to take his measurements and she had set up camp for the night, then made a fire. Right after sundown, Jeremiah had snuggled up in the cart between bags and warm blankets, and his parents had laid down under the tent where they had made love. Again.

Brianna discreetly turned her head towards her husband, who was holding the reins and her cheeks flushed when he smiled imperceptibly. Even with his eyes focused on the road, he could feel her blue irises on him, and Brianna’s face turned crimson this time. And we did it again at dawn…, she thought as she finished her internal debriefing. After these two perfect days, she hated that she had to go home and then spend at least a week without her husband. Brianna fought the urge to roll her eyes. After months of running away from him, she was now always wanting more. What had happened to her? Had he turned her into a hormone-wrecked teenager? No, a pragmatic voice said in her mind. I’m just a woman who’s attracted to her husband. Nothing extraordinary.

But maybe it was extraordinary, considering the marriage was not a love match and the groom had more than one crime to his credit? Brianna did not have the answer to that question. Many other women before her had certainly married men they did not like or did not know, and yet affection was born over time, with children, tragedies and happy moments. Why would she be an exception?

The next day, Stephen had taken his horse and left the property – his saddlebags filled with food and spare clothes for the trip. Brianna had watched him leave – with a surprisingly painful lump in her throat – and had decided to take her mind off things by going with Jeremiah for a walk in Cross Creek, chaperoned by Hennessy. Her mother's birthday was coming up and she wanted to find and send a gift for her.

A vial caught her attention at the local apothecary: “Frobenius’ Liquor”, a chemical used as a solvent in Europe but whose analgesic and especially recreational properties had been discovered by some curious scientists. A product that would be better known in the future under another name…

“Ether…”, Brianna whispered with a victorious smile. Immediately, the wheels in her brain started turning and she began to imagine how she could make a mask and offer the complete system to Claire, allowing her mother to anaesthetize her patients and perform more complex procedures. Still smiling, Bree grabbed the vial, as well as natural sponges displayed on another shelf, and after having Hennessy pay for her purchases, they went to the carpenter’s to buy a pretty wooden box, then a velvet fitting and some very thick fabric in another shop.

“May I ask what you intend to do with all of this, Madam?”, Hennessy finally asked, his arms full of boxes, as Jeremiah dashed towards a flock of pigeons, making them leave the ground in a concert of rustling wings and angry cooing.

“I want to send a present to my mother for her birthday…”

The butler immediately frowned and shook his head. “I don’t know if I can allow you to send anything without Mr. Bonnet’s approval...”

“He did allow me to buy a gift for my father”, the young woman reminded him and as Hennessy remained unyielding, she added in a childish voice: “I’ll let you check the package and the letter, if that’s what’s bothering you. Please…”

Hennessy opened his mouth, frowning, but did not have time to speak.

“Please-please-please-please-please-”

Around them, some people cast a few curious glances in their direction and Hennessy groaned. “Yes, Madam...”

As Brianna let out a cry of triumph, he hastened to add: “But if Mr. Bonnet hears about it and disagrees...”

“I promise I will put in a good word for you at your trial”, she taunted, rolling her eyes and running after Jeremiah.

“Oh, there will be no trial…”, Hennessy muttered, dragging his feet behind them. “He will drag me by the collar to South Carolina and feed me to the alligators…”

“What did you say?”, Brianna asked from a few yards away, but only a gruff growl answered her.

~o~

Eight days went by faster than Brianna had expected. She had first made some sketches and patterns of the mask, then a compartment for the sponge and the product so that they were not in direct contact with the patients’ respiratory tract, and arranged the box nicely to place the precious liquid and her gift before putting the whole thing inside a beautiful blue velvet bag. Then, she had written a few standard and absolutely not suspicious words, had them checked by Hennessy, who approved the gift and had it sent by courier. Brianna was convinced that her mother would love this new tool and this thought alone made the days less monotonous.

But Stephen did not return. On the ninth day, a letter had reached River Run, explaining that the journey would take longer than expected but that he would be back as soon as possible, and Brianna started to find the time quite long. And it wasn’t just because she needed to spend time with him to make her mind about the ledger. To tell the truth, her daily life within these walls lost its entire meaning when he was gone. She had nothing to look forward to, no activity except taking care of Jeremiah, and no body to warm up her own after dark.

On the tenth day, her sketchbooks—usually blackened with portraits and landscapes where the little lines and dots of her menstrual cycles were hidden—were covered in technical sketches, notes, and other inventions she had always wanted to recreate here in the eighteenth century, in order to make her parents’ life at the Ridge easier. A paddle wheel, matches, a spinning wheel, a storm lamp, gradually appeared on the pages and she started to feel the urge to scout around the outbuildings of River Run for tools and materials.

The dawn of the eleventh day, on the other hand, put an end to her creative impulse when the pain of her coming menstruation forced her to stay in bed, with nothing else to think about than the cold, empty spot next to hers. No big, toned chest to snuggle up against, no hands to caress her body, no legs to intertwine with hers, no green eyes burning with desire for her. Brianna sighed as her right hand unconsciously slipped between her thighs, rushing to ease the pain of her contracting womb but also to fill up the cruel void caused by the pirate's absence.

The orgasm came quickly under her expert hand but far from satisfying her, she only came out more frustrated. Because of the first drops of blood that now smeared the tips of her fingers, but also because the name “Stephen” had escaped her stupid lips in pleasure. A name that she had hated, even feared, and that she now moaned in her most intimate moments. Fuck...

Finally – after fifteen days of absence and three days before Phaedre's departure to Wilmington – Stephen’s horse had showed up at the gates of River Run, much to Jeremah’s delight but also his mother’s, even if she would rather have died than admit it. The two of them were playing in the child's room when Stephen’s voice echoed in the hallway and Jeremiah immediately screamed like a madman, piercing Brianna's eardrums, before scurrying down the stairs.

“Daddyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!”

Brianna sat on the floor for a moment, trying to decide how she felt about Stephen's return, but finding no answer, she decided to figure it out by herself and got up to follow Jeremiah. Her son's happy voice echoed in the entire house, and as she walked down the stairs, the sight of the little boy floating in mid-air and falling back into his father's arms made her smile. But the screaming soon stopped when Stephen put his son down – so that Lloyd could take off his traveling coat – and his eyes finally landed on the one and only woman who had haunted his thoughts for two weeks.

“Brianna…”, he breathed when she reached the last step and looked up at him.

The intensity of the Irishman's gaze hit her hard and for a moment, she felt like Claire every time Jamie and her reunited after being separated more than a week. Her heart raced and when he ran to kiss her passionately, Brianna abandoned herself heart and soul in his arms.

“I missed you, mo fíorghrá…”, he breathed, pressing his lips on her forehead, while Brianna whispered a shy “I missed you too” that caused him to smile. “You were in my thoughts, every moment of every day… ’thought I was losin’ me mind…”

Hennessy briefly cleared his throat from the service corridor to catch Stephen’s attention. “Mr. Bonnet?”, the butler said simply with a nod, before turning away and heading toward the kitchens.

“I'm comin’, Mr. Hennessy…” Stephen looked down at Brianna again, most likely already thinking of the blissful moment when he would be able to undress her and quench two weeks of unbearable thirst for flesh. “I'll be right back.”

Bree nodded with a tight smile, and he kissed her again before following their butler down the corridor. What the hell does he want to tell him?, Brianna thought as she watched him walk away. If Happy wants to blab about my mother's present, he could at least do it in front of me, so that I can defend myself... I have done nothing wrong, after all!

Leaving Jeremiah with Lloyd, Brianna silently followed them and stopped by the kitchen and its half-opened door. Hiding in the shadows, Brianna peeked inside the room and saw Hennessy grab something from a drawer. Something that looked like a leather-bound book.

“Another book came from Fraser's Ridge, Sir...”, Hennessy mumbled, handing it to Stephen who took it, his face darkening. “Do you want me to burn it, like the others?”

Brianna's heart skipped a beat and she miraculously managed to suppress a cry of surprise. For more safety, she clasped a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound of her quickening breath. Do you want me to burn it, like the others? Like the others… The others… Hennessy's words were playing on a loop in her mind, as if her brain needed that to process the information and all that it implied. There had been other books, other hidden messages from her parents. But they had been destroyed, without her even knowing of their existence. When? How many times? Why? Had Stephen discovered the hidden message in Hamlet? Or was he just being suspicious? Her eyes were tearing up and her vision blurred as she now stared at Stephen, his blank stare and pursed lips. And she started to beg.

Don't do this... Not now... I’m begging you, Stephen, be honest and give me that book... I'll forgive you for all the other books, but only if you give me this one...

Stephen turned the book over in his hands, examining it from every angle before exhaling through his nose. Meanwhile, Brianna's mind was literally screaming and she wondered how he could not hear it.

Show me that you changed... Show me that you trust me... Show me that you love me... Show me that I have no reason to use the damned ledger... STEPHEN!

“You are not even sure if there’s anything hidden inside, Sir...”, Hennessy went on in a soft voice. “Maybe these are just books…”

The slowness with which Stephen was making his decision threatened to drive Brianna crazy, and the hand holding her mouth shut started to shake uncontrollably, so she clapped her second hand over it and squeezed. As hard as she could.

I'm begging you, Stephen, don't do this… I don’t want… I don’t want to do this… Stephen, give me the book, please, love-

“Burn it…”, Bonnet blurted abruptly, handing the book back to his butler, who suppressed a disapproving sigh.

In the corridor, Brianna felt her heart shatter into a thousand pieces and she instantly knew she had to leave at all costs before exploding with anger, sadness and disappointment. She left as quickly and silently as possible, climbed the stairs four steps at a time and locked herself in the small closet where Phaedre stored the household linen. Panting, she leaned against the nearest wall and took a long breath, occasionally broken with sobs. She needed to calm down and regain control of herself. Stephen could not know that she had spied on them, he could not even suspect her emotion. But that was easier said than done and for a minute or two, she let her tears run free before grabbing an embroidered handkerchief from the shelves to dry her wet cheeks and lips.

Maybe it was better that way. It would definitely make things easier. It would make her decision easier. He would never really change. Even if he managed to make her the happiest of wives, he would still have this fear, this mistrust, this sick need to keep her all to himself and himself only, to lock her up, to isolate her, to lie to her… And he had just proved it once again. Everything could have been different. He could have walked out of that damn kitchen with the book in his hand and he could have given it to her. He could have chosen to trust her and she would have followed the path of forgiveness. She would have written to her parents to tell them that she didn’t want to get revenge anymore, that she wanted to give their couple a chance. They could have been happy, but-

Burn it.

Two words. Another shitty decision. One last chance wasted. Brianna wiped her eyes, took a deep breath, and waved her hands in front of her face to blow some fresh air on her red nose and eyes. And when she felt ready, she left her hiding place, coming face to face with Phaedre on the left side of the corridor and Stephen on the right, as he reached the second floor landing.

Brianna immediately smiled, trying to ignore the pain in her heart when Stephen smiled back at her, as naturally as usual. Without any single trace of guilt.

“What were you doin’ in there, darlin’?”, he asked, frowning bemusedly.

“I…” Brianna cleared her throat, holding up the wet square of cloth between her fingers, “I was looking for a handkerchief. I think I caught a cold…” And to back up her diagnosis, she gave a short sniff.

“Hmm… this is what happens when I'm not here to warm you up…”, he joked, reaching out for her hand. She took it stiffly, thinking that she would have put a lot more effort into it if he had just given her the goddamn book.

“Come on, let me take care of this cold and shivery little body...”, Stephen muttered with a charming smile and Brianna let him take her to their room; only to stop and turn toward Phaedre when they reached the door.

“Oh, Phaedre…”, she said matter-of-factly, “I forgot to tell you… When you go to Wilmington, would you please buy some chamomile at the apothecary’s? I would like to make more lotion for Jeremiah's hair…”

Phaedre blinked, obviously surprised by this turn of events, but Brianna would surely tell her the reason later. The young servant did a brief curtsey and nodded. “Yes, Madam.”

One second later, Brianna had disappeared inside the bedroom, abandoning herself – probably for one of the last times – to Stephen Bonnet's arms.

Or so she thought...

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Chapter Text

27. War Cries

October 30th, 1774.

“Why do you have to goooo??”, Jeremiah whined, stomping on the porch.

A few meters away, Lloyd, Hennessy and the two O'Donnell brothers – usually in charge of River Run’s security – were loading a cart with food, money and crates to transport the fabrics that they would bring back from Wilmington. Sighing loudly, Phaedre placed her own travel bag on top of a crate and turned back to face the sulky child.

“I'll be back soon, Jeremiah. Three more sleeps and I’m home. It is not that long for a big boy like you, is it?”

Jemmy thought for a moment – he liked it when Phaedre called him a big boy – and then scowled even more. “It is… a bit long… just a little bit.”

Brianna, who was watching the men load the cart apprehensively, was about to reassure him when the child was lifted off the ground by Stephen’s powerful arms.

“Come on, Jeremiah... Don’t you want some new clothes? And especially... don’t you want your Mama to wear the most breathtaking dresses created by a human hand?”, he asked cheerfully.

“What does breastaking mean?”

Stephen pretended to think. “Hmm… you know when Mama’s beauty takes my breath away…? Well, that means her dresses will be as beautiful as she is.”

Brianna bit her lip nervously. A few days earlier, that compliment would have lit a blazing fire in her belly, or made her blush, but since she had overheard Hennessy and Stephen’s conversation in the kitchen, all those displays of affection only wrung her heart. Not that she doubted they were sincere – Stephen had always praised her beauty – but it just made the whole situation and decision-making process more difficult.

As if she had read her mind, Phaedre gave a brief questioning look at her mistress – one hand resting on her belly, where the ledger was discreetly wedged between her blouse and her corset – but Brianna did not give any sign that she had changed her mind.

“Three sleeps?”, Jeremiah asked again with more confidence this time. Phaedre nodded and the child fidgeted in his father's arms until Stephen put him down, before running to the maid for one last hug. “Three sleeps are fine.”

“Be nice with Mommy and Daddy. If you’re not, I will know...”, she threatened him gently and Jeremiah nodded.

“Everything is ready, Sir”, said William O'Donnell to Stephen.

“Good... and remember: if you see anythin’ that looks like a Catawba, you shoot on sight...”

The other brother, James, cleared his throat loudly and spat on the floor, causing Phaedre and Brianna to wince at the same time. “And how are we supposed to know dey’re not Cherokees or somethin’?”

“The Cherokees will not attack you, they are on our side...”, the Irishman replied impatiently.

“Idjit…”, William said, slapping his brother on the back of the head. “And it’s just as well, because I couldn’t tell those savages apart even if my life depended on it!”

“They can perfectly tell the White savages apart, though…”, Brianna groaned, glaring at the two men, but if they understood her cutting remark, it didn’t show on their stupid faces. Stephen, on the other hand, chuckled quietly and placed a soothing hand on her lower back. But once again, instead of blushing or smiling shyly as usual, Brianna remained unmoved and he frowned imperceptibly, wondering what he had done to deserve that. Again.

Hennessy rubbed his hands to get rid of the dust and dirt that covered some of the crates, and solemnly turned to Phaedre. “Be careful, Miss Phaedre, and have a safe journey.”

Phaedre stared at him, completely taken aback. It was the first time he had a kind word to her, and it took her a few seconds to answer. “Thank you, Mr. Hennessy.”

A few minutes later, River Run (as well as its inhabitants and Jeremiah, who was waving at them from the porch) disappeared in the distance and Phaedre turned around on her seat to face the road. James was holding the reins by her side, while his brother – comfortably seated between bags and crates in the back – was watching the surroundings with a long rifle in his hand and a preloaded flintlock pistol on his belt.

The sun was just rising over North Carolina, coloring the sky with light shades of blue, yellow and pink. Once again, Phaedre placed a hand on her stomach. The ledger felt as heavy as a lead plate and she dreaded seeing it fall from her dress in front of the two O'Donnell brothers, who would then probably hang her from the first tree available. No, it was impossible. The ledger couldn’t fall, her bodice was as tightly lashed as it could be. I’m just terrified… I need to calm down…  

“When do you think we'll get to Wilmington?”, Phaedre asked to break the silence. A little conversation would certainly help to get her mind off things.

“Oh, we should be there by nightfall, that’s why we had to leave early…”, William answered from the back, and Phaedre turned around again to look at him. “Why? Are ye already tired, Miss Phaedre?”

“No, it’s… I was just asking, that’s all.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the trio, but William’s lustful gaze literally burned her skin and Phaedre started to wonder whether it was indeed a good idea to speak to them. But the wheels were already in motion...

“It’s a pity we don’t see ye around very often. Ye’re always inside the house and we're always outside...”, he went on, taking some chewing tobacco out of his pocket. “Are ye married?”

Oh Lord… Why did I have to open my big mouth?, Phaedre moaned internally before answering. “No.”

“Would ye like to?”

Phaedre rolled her eyes. If she answered “yes”, he would take that as an incentive. If she said “yes, but certainly not to you”, which was the truth, he might get offended.

“I’m a lady’s maid, Mr. O'Donnell, I can’t get married without Mrs. Bonnet’s permission.”

“Ha…”, the man simply blurted out, shoving some tobacco inside his mouth.

“Willy, ye're botherin’ her with yer questions...”, James grumbled, taking both reins in one hand and holding out the other to ask his brother for some tobacco. Next to him, Phaedre’s face said it all, but “Willy” shrugged.

“She’s old enough to tell me if I bother her, aye?”

“Aye, then ye are botherin’ me with yer questions. Happy now?”, James added, chewing on the tiny bit of tobacco his brother had just left in his palm. He then turned towards the road again while William went back to staring at the surrounding forest, obviously sulking.

Quite relieved that this awkward conversation was over, Phaedre reached into her bag and pulled out a book she had borrowed from Brianna, opening it where she had stopped reading the day before. She had barely read two lines when this time it was James’ puzzled look that distracted her.

“Ye can read?”, he asked, and Phaedre sensed a hint of admiration or jealousy in his voice.

“Mrs. Cameron taught me years ago, so I could read to her when she started losing her eyesight. I can also write… a little bit,” she added modestly.

James nodded, looking very impressed, before glancing at his brother in the back of the cart. “She’s definitely too good for ye, now, brother…”

“I don’t see why I couldn’t be her husband even if I can’t read or write, ye numbskull!”

“Oh yeah? Ye’ll sure look great at yer wedding when she’ll sign her full name and ye just put a stupid cross on the paper, ye feckin’ idjit!”

With her mouth wide open on a silent sigh, Phaedre rolled her eyes as the two brothers barked at each other like two dogs fighting over a bone. This was going to be a long journey. Fortunately for her, the men’s vociferations ended about twenty minutes later and the trip went on for a few hours in a rather pleasant silence that was only broken by the hooves of horses and the creaking wheels on the road.

So much so that when the first gunshot blared, digging a small hole in a tree nearby, the three travelers did not immediately understand what was happening. Until they could hear it. The screaming. High-pitched, threatening, ear-splitting screams...

“Goddammit, savages!”, William bellowed, pointing his gun at the trees. But the thick vegetation still hid the enemy from sight. James gave the reins a shake and the horses started on at full gallop – causing Phaedre to yelp when the change in pace almost threw her off the cart. Her hands clinging to the wooden frame, her eyes scanned the surroundings looking for the Natives, but she couldn’t see anything. A second gunshot echoed through the forest, the bullet whistling as it flew past their heads, and she jumped, curling up in her seat.

“I can see one!”, William roared behind them, shooting at the Indian and only missing him by a few inches. More angry cries came from the forest, as well as the sound of hooves hitting the damp ground. A lot more hooves than they had.

“Hold tight, Miss Phaedre!”, James ordered, although it was useless. Phaedre was already holding tight to everything she could, as if trying to merge with the cart itself.

The man shook the reins again, yelling to push the horses to the limit. The cart was picking up speed – a little too much considering the many potholes on the road – and Phaedre almost fell over several times.

“We can’t outrun them! There’s too many of them and they’re fast!”, she cried, glancing backwards. Behind them, the Catawbas were multiplying, appearing from between bushes and trees, galloping just behind the cart or on the sides. Some of them had bows and arrows, or even rifles that were certainly stolen from English soldiers or taken from their corpses. Others had simple hatchets.

“Well, I’m sure gonna try-”

A clap of thunder ripped through the dust-laden atmosphere and Phaedre instinctively looked up to the persistently blue sky. It wasn’t until James O’Donnell’s limp body fell slowly forward – a gaping hole replacing one of his eye sockets – and hit the ground below, that Phaedre realized it wasn’t the thunder.

“JAMES!”, William cried, watching in horror as his brother’s body receded into the distance, abandoned by the unstoppable horses. Eyes filling with tears, he loaded his gun again. “Motherfuckers!”

At the front, Phaedre grabbed the reins before they slipped out of reach. She had never ridden a horse – let alone driven such a vehicle – but it looked quite simple, right? All she had to do was move her arms and shout at the top of her lungs. The horses were already going straight ahead, she wouldn’t have much more to do...

Meanwhile, William seemed caught in murderous fury. The loss of his brother had sent a dose of adrenaline through his veins, making each shot more precise and deadlier than the previous one. Several Natives fell under his bullets, as Phaedre could guess from his triumphant yells every time he hit his target. But the joy was short-lived when coming out of a turn, the only thing Phaedre had time to see before the whole world went upside down was a huge tree trunk blocking the way.

The horses tried to avoid it, but the speed and the weight of their vehicle made it impossible to stop and the cart rolled in an awful concert of cracking wood and panicked neighs. In one second, the sky became the ground and the ground became the sky, and Phaedre realized she was falling. Right on a huge stone. One sinister crack, a sharp flash of light ripping her skull apart, and everything went dark.

William shook his head, still stunned by the fall, and miserably crawled to his rifle that had been ejected a few feet away under a large thorn bush. One of the horses was dying on the ground, a branch of the fallen tree piercing through his abdomen. The other animal was struggling with the harness to get back on its feet. In the distance, the Natives were cheering and picking up bags of money; another was walking around, holding a head by the scalp. Probably James’s… And all of them were getting close to him and the destroyed cart.

It was at this moment that William saw the maid. Lying near a rock, her face covered in blood, she wasn’t moving. Her dress flaring out around her, like a wilted flower fallen to the ground.

“Feck…”, William moaned. He was about to run towards her, to check if she was dead or alive, but leaving the bushes would expose him to the enemy. He didn’t want to end up with a bullet in his head and beheaded like his brother… No, thank you. And given the amount of blood that had flowed out of the gaping wound on her temple, if by some miracle the girl was still alive, she wouldn’t be for long. Giving one last look at the lost cargo and at Phaedre’s motionless body, William O’Donnell scampered off through the woods. Heading straight back to River Run.

~o~

The day had been somewhat gloomy at the plantation. Jeremiah had been shunning his toys since Phaedre had left, and Brianna had spent most of her time curled up in an armchair in the living room, staring into the flames that were dancing in the fireplace. Stephen sensed something was wrong, and – maybe out of habit or paranoia – he had the feeling it had something to do with him. But after dinner, he couldn’t bear it any longer and put his hands on Brianna’s shoulders, his thumbs gently stroking her neck.

“Is somethin’ wrong, darlin’?”

Brianna exhaled through her nose, closing her eyes briefly. Oh, how she wished she had never overheard this conversation. How she wished she could keep living in ignorance and enjoy his sweet caresses without feeling so angry and sad… In order not to arouse suspicion, she raised her arm and stroked Stephen’s fingers, trying hard to ignore how electrifying this simple touch was.

“I’m fine… I’ll feel better when Phaedre comes home…”

Stephen hummed, digging his thumbs in the back of her neck and slowly massaging the tense muscles, until Brianna soon felt her head nod involuntarily.

“Me too, actually… Poor Jeremiah looks miserable. Just as I do when you’re not around.” Stephen leaned towards her ear and sneered. “I think he’s sweet on his nanny…”, he whispered, although it wasn’t really a secret.

Brianna couldn’t help but smile, slowly luxuriating in her husband's delicious massage. “How perceptive of you… It only took you fourteen months to figure that out?”

The pirate chuckled. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not very good at sensin’ other people's feelings...” One of his hands left Bree's nape and slid over her collarbone, coming to rest just above her breasts. “It’s not all perfect yet, but I’m learnin’…”

Brianna opened her eyes and let her head fall on the backrest. True, he was not perfect, but nobody was. And he had indeed made a lot of effort over the past few months… What if I was too hard on him? Maybe this book thing wasn’t important… Maybe I overreacted? A wave of doubt suddenly washed over her, as Stephen leaned forward to kiss her, his hand trailing sensually up Brianna's throat to cup her jaw with his fingers. What if I made a big mistake? What if I was too quick to make up my mind on this one?? The more she questioned herself, the greedier and more desperate the kiss became. And when he finally straightened up, Stephen looked very much aroused.

“Let’s go to bed, darlin’...”

She was nodding and getting out of her armchair when the front door swung open and the sound of a body sprawling across the marble floor echoed through the house. The two Bonnets turned their heads as one, then ran into the entrance hall as Hennessy got out of the kitchens. There in the middle of the hall, with his clothes crusted with dried blood and mud, was William O'Donnell, looking exhausted, panting and sobbing.

“By Danu… what the Hell are you doin’ here?”, Stephen vociferated, feeling like his nice evening with his wife was being taken from his hands.

William straightened up on all fours, then on his knees, supporting himself with one hand on the tiled floor. “Mr. Bonnet… we… we were attacked…”

Brianna looked in horror at the front door that O’Donnell had left wide open on the pitch black night, and rushed outside to find… absolutely nothing. No trace of the cart, of the second O'Donnell brother and most importantly... where is Phaedre?

“Savages, not far from Lumberton... dey ambushed us before we could get out of de woods... Dere was nothin’ we could do, Sir...”

“Where is Phaedre?”, Brianna asked, trotting back inside.

William’s face darkened and he shook his head with a pained expression. “Dey killed me brother first. A bullet in de head. Miss Phaedre tried to take control of de horses while I was shootin’ ’em… But dey had felled a tree across de road… It all happened so fast…”

“WHERE THE FUCK IS SHE?”

Brianna had screamed this time. The loss of the ledger was one thing. She would get over it somehow. She would find another way. But losing Phaedre... it was unthinkable. And yet, the man’s answer left no doubt.

“She... she’s dead, Mistress... And if she wasn’t already, de savages probably finished her off... I... I’m sorry...”

The news came as a blow. Hennessy, Fitzpatrick and the footmen had frozen in a corner of the room, while Brianna’s mouth opened, gasping for oxygen and trying to let out the heart-wrenching cry that was stuck deep in her throat. She did not see Stephen’s worried look gradually turn into anger. A cold, murderous rage. They had dared lay hands on his property and his house staff. The audacity. No one but him had power of life and death over the people of River Run. And the Catawbas would soon understand that, even if he had to carve it in capital letters on the forehead of every Indian who got in his way.

“GET UP!,” Stephen barked at O'Donnell, who jumped. “Wake everyone up. Give a horse to every man who can carry a weapon in this house. Send someone to Cross Creek to ask the soldiers there to meet us at the end of the forest near Lumberton, on the road to Wilmington.” He swirled around toward the house staff, his face distorted with hatred, and all of them (except Hennessy) took a step back. “Fitzpatrick, Lloyd, can you shoot?”

Two timid “yes, Sir” sounded in the entrance hall.

“Join the others outside, then. Mr. Hennessy, you will stay here with Brianna.”

“What?”, she protested, taking a few steps towards him. “No-no-no, I’m coming with you.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Stephen, I know how to handle a gun, I’m a good shot! And… it’s Phaedre, for God's sake, I’m not letting her down, I w-”

Stephen grabbed her wrists, a little roughly at first and then loosening his grip enough not to hurt her. He was doing his best to contain himself, and when he talked to her, his voice was suddenly much softer.

“I’m sure you are, mo fíorghrá…” Letting go of her wrists, he cupped her cheeks with his hands. “But I can’t stop thinkin’ that it could have been you… If you had gone with them, you would probably be dead by now. You or Jeremiah. I would have lost my mind, Brianna. I would have lost me damned mind…”

“Stephen…”, she protested again, but he cut her off.

“I want you here at home with our son...” He gulped, and Brianna saw in his eyes that he presumed the worst. “Because if Phaedre has indeed been killed, Jeremiah will need you. He’ll need you by his side.”

Brianna closed her mouth. As much as she hated to admit it, Stephen was absolutely right. Phaedre's death would deeply affect their son, and letting Hennessy or anyone other than his parents break the news to him or comfort him was out of the question. So she gave up and nodded limply, her eyes filling with tears.

“Mommy, what’s going on?”, a voice came from the top of the stairs. Everyone in the room looked up at Jeremiah in his nightwear, rubbing his small sleepy eyes with his sleeve. Brianna felt her chin quiver, but as her brain made a mental list of all the things one could say to announce the death of a loved one to a child, Stephen brought her attention back to him and kissed her passionately.

“I love you, Brianna…”, he whispered against her lips. And without waiting for an answer – since she never gave any – he turned on his heel, snatched his coat from Hennessy's hands, and ran down the porch steps, followed by his men.

~o~

Once the men were gone, Brianna had tried to explain that Phaedre had an accident and that Daddy had left to bring her back home. Putting the child to bed after that had been harder than usual, and Brianna — who only wanted to curl up in bed and cry her heart out — started to lose patience. But after an hour of fighting and whining, Jemmy had cried himself to sleep and Brianna was able to retire to her room. She had been sobbing for another hour when Hennessy knocked on the door, bringing a steaming cup of tea on a small tray.

“I’m sure she’s alive, Madam…”, he said softly, leaving the tray on the nightstand. “She’s probably just injured and waiting for help somewhere. O’Donnell is a coward. I’m sure he ran away without even looking back.”

Brianna gave him a sluggish nod and the butler disappeared without a sound, leaving her alone again. When she woke up the next morning, it was nearly ten o’clock and no one had come back. Jeremiah was still sound asleep, and Brianna got dressed and went downstairs alone. She wasn’t really hungry, but Hennessy handed her some pastries as well as a strong coffee to put her right again, and she gulped it down halfheartedly. Finally, around eleven o’clock, horses came up the driveway and Brianna ran into the entrance hall just as the door opened... but Phaedre was nowhere in sight.

With a heavy and tired tread, Stephen climbed the front steps and stopped in the doorway. But when he saw his wife's inquisitive gaze, he looked down and shook his head.

“We found the place… and what was left of the cart. The Indians set it on fire... There was at least one body in there, as well as the carcass of a horse… »

Slowly, Brianna's right hand went to her stomach and the left hand to her heart. A sharp pain was piercing its way through her body, while her eyes filled with tears again. Stephen did not wait a second and hugged his wife as hard as he could.

“Soldiers are after them, they will find them… But they are already many hours ahead…”, he whispered, stroking her hair.

In other words, they would not catch them anytime soon, especially if the tribe constantly moved as Indians often did to escape from the settlers, who were gradually annexing their lands. Brianna clung to Stephen's waistcoat, as his massive arms cradled her, wrapping her in their sweet embrace. Suddenly, the subject of the burnt books seemed terribly futile and her reaction idiotic. Like that of a spoiled child who throws a tantrum when she doesn't get what she wants.

Behind the couple, William took off his hat and spoke in a low voice. “I’m sorry, Mr. … and Mrs. Bonnet. I did everytin’ I could to defend us and our cargo. Mr. Bonnet… if ye wish, ye can deduct de stolen money from me pay…”

Stephen let go of his wife so abruptly that Brianna nearly fell forward, but he held her back at the last second.

“I don’t give a damn about the money, Mr. O’Donnell!”, he barked, his eyes as dark as the depths of Hell. “Those bastards murdered one of my men, your brother! And they killed Miss Phaedre!!”

A tiny gasp and a sob were heard near the stairs, and everyone turned around to find a barely awake Jeremiah, dragging along with him his wubby – Stephen's scarf that he had never returned since day one. The little boy was staring at him, his eyes widening in horror, his chin quivering and big tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Jem…”, Brianna whined, taking a step towards him, but the child swirled around and started to climb the stairs as fast as his little legs would let him. Brianna rushed after him, and just as she was about to catch up with him on the landing, Jeremiah's feet caught in the rug and he fell flat on the floor. Brianna dove to the ground to rock him, as he wailed and sobbed uncontrollably. “I'm sorry… Baby, I'm so sorry…”

Amid the tears that blurred her vision, Brianna saw Stephen come up the stairs, walk around their prostrate bodies and sit behind them on the floor, before his arms wrapped around his wife and son without a word. The sweet warmth that emanated from him made Brianna nauseous. Not because it disgusted her, but because she couldn't find any reason to escape it anymore. Every time she tried to plot against Stephen, he won. Sometimes even unknowingly, like today. And some other times, she caused something terrible to happen. Phaedre's death was just another item in the long list of disastrous consequences of her refusing to accept her fate. Of her selfishness and whims. Everything would have been so much easier if she had surrendered from the start. Stephen was objectively not a bad husband. If they had trusted each other from the early days of their relationship, they would have saved each other a lot of drama. At least three deaths could have been avoided. If she had decided not to use Margaret’s ledger, Phaedre would still be alive. And all that for a burnt book. I sent my friend and Jeremiah's to death FOR A STUPID FUCKING BOOK.

Brianna sobbed harder, letting herself go in Stephen's reassuring arms. It was time to stop this nonsense. The lousy plans, the stupid squabbles, the resistance... Phaedre died because of my overweening pride. Because I just can't admit defeat. It had to stop now. She was and forever would be Brianna Ellen Bonnet, cherished wife of Stephen Bonnet, mother of Jeremiah Bonnet and all the other children God would grant them. Stephen had won. But somehow, Brianna did not see herself as a loser. She had a husband who loved her like crazy, a son they both adored, and she also had grown very fond of Stephen these last few months. I should have stopped this madness a long time ago...

In her arms, Jeremiah was still wailing and she tightened her embrace around his frail frame, while Stephen did the same around them both. Then she turned her head towards her husband, who was staring at her with worried and reddening eyes. He had never showed such feelings before and it confirmed Brianna’s new decision. The man she was facing was no longer a monster. He had changed. She and Jeremiah had changed him. No, he was not perfect, but he had fought against himself and his own flaws with more determination than any other man she had met.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Brianna…”, he breathed, one lip quivering.

She nodded and buried her face in the crook of his neck. A few seconds before she whispered between two sobs:

“Thank you… I love you…”

Brianna did not know why she had said that, all of a sudden. Maybe it was her subtle way to accept defeat and let him know. Like soldiers waving a white flag at the enemy. But she did not look up to see the effect of those three words on the Irishman. She felt him stiffen slightly, and then his arms tightened around her again, almost breaking her bones in the process. And it was when a single drop of salty water fell on her cheekbone that Bree realized he was crying.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Chapter Text

28. All We Need Is An Island

November 20th, 1774.

An awful din woke Brianna up with a start, and it took her a few seconds to come to her senses and let her head fall back on the pillow, groaning. God only knew what was going on downstairs, but it sounded like a herd of elephants had just walked across the living room. Beside her, Stephen’s half of the bed was unfortunately empty and as she couldn’t snuggle up against him, she pulled the covers over her own body to keep it warm for a few more minutes.

Since Phaedre’s tragic death a few weeks earlier, the general mood had been quite gloomy in River Run, as if everything and everyone moved in slow motion. Jeremiah got up and dressed without any enthusiasm, took twice as long as usual to eat his meals, and even his favorite games had lost their appeal. The tea and scones that Brianna once shared with her maid in the afternoon did not taste the same without a pleasant and friendly conversation. Even Hennessy seemed to miss seeing her in the corridors with Jeremiah clinging to her skirts. And strangely enough, Fitzpatrick – the cook – seemed utterly devastated, to the point that Brianna wondered whether he had a crush on his colleague.

Meanwhile, Stephen had embarked on a vendetta against the Catawbas, asking Tryon to send reinforcements and requiring help from the governors of Virginia and South Carolina, in order to arrest the Indians if they tried to cross a border. But he had not left the plantation once, as if he was scared of leaving his wife and son behind for more than a minute. Brianna was not complaining. She had seen nothing but vice and violence outside the walls of River Run, and Stephen’s arms had become the only place where she felt truly safe. No Indian rebels, no perverted men, no wife-beating Governor, no slaughtered Regulators… all of that ceased to exist the moment she curled up against him in their bed, or when they made love in a desperate attempt to forget grief, if only for a few minutes.

Ten days after the attack, Stephen had offered to find a new maid, but Jeremiah had burst into tears and Brianna had flat-out refused. The very idea of letting a stranger into their lives, seeing her move into Phaedre’s room, take her place and her job, was unbearable to her. Phaedre was irreplaceable and this simple statement had marked the end of the recruitment process before it had even started.

The sound of a falling crate echoed in the entrance hall — soon followed by Blue’s nervous barking — and Brianna sighed in exasperation. God knew what she would find in a few hours if she did not intervene now. She might as well get up if she wanted to prevent any disaster… After a quick wash, she put on a simple dress, tied her hair with a ribbon and strode out of the masters’ bedroom. Downstairs, Lloyd, Hennessy and other men were busy moving huge crates and trunks towards the wide-open door, and she frowned – wondering what was happening – when Stephen saw her from the living room and smiled broadly.

“Good mornin’, darlin’… I hope we did not wake you up…?”

 “Yes, you did…”, she said, reaching the last step and staring at him warily. “What is going on? Are we moving?”

Stephen chuckled and placed a kiss on her forehead. “Not exactly... We’re goin’ off on a journey!” Then in a more serious tone, he added, “I thought that some time away from the house and all… the memories that go with it would do us good. To us and Jeremiah.”

Brianna nodded. It was not a bad idea. “Where are we going?”

“That is actually… a surprise. You will know soon enough.”

“A surprise?”, the young woman repeated, analyzing Stephen’s smug face. “Could it have anything to do with that land you sold last month?”

“Nothin’ gets past you, huh…”, he chuckled, “but you can try to worm the information out of me as much as you want: I’ll never tell.”

Brianna was about to protest but her husband’s smile was so sincere that she decided to let him surprise her. “All right… When will I know about this mysterious destination, then?”

“In three days. We will travel today to New Bern, where a ship is waitin’ for us and then… we will get there.”

She squinted, and the more she closed her eyelids, the wider Stephen smiled. “So… it’s less than a day away from New Bern by ship…”

“Enough, Brianna, my lips are sealed.”

Bree craned her neck in response, and placed a kiss on the Irishman’s mouth. The latter immediately kissed her back greedily, but the young woman recoiled with a mocking smile.

“Not that sealed, apparently…”, she scoffed and Stephen snorted.

“Sir, now that Mrs. Bonnet is up, may I go and pack her trunk?”, Hennessy asked from the staircase.

Brianna shook her head frantically. “Oh no, don’t bother, I'll take care of it!”

“On your own, Mistress?”, Hennessy exclaimed with a hint of disapproval, as if packing up her own belongings was a serious offence under the rules of propriety.

“Don’t listen to that commoner, Mr. Hennessy, she has no manners”, Stephen joked, motioning for him to go pack the trunk and taking Brianna’s hand in his. “Come to the dinin’ room instead; Jeremiah and I were about to have breakfast.”

A few hours later, everyone had left River Run but two men in charge of maintaining the house in their absence. It took them two days to reach New Bern, at a slow pace so as not to wear out the heavily loaded horses, but also to allow the guards – including the now single brother O’Donnell – to walk along with them. But at the end of the journey – as Brianna dreamed of skipping dinner, taking a bath and laying down in a cozy bed – she had the displeasure to find out that they would not sleep at the inn when their vehicle entered Lord and Lady Tryon’s gardens. She did not protest, however. Visiting the Governor wasn't high on her list of favorite obligations, but checking in on Margaret before they left seemed like a good reason to sacrifice some of her own peace of mind. Especially after their last meeting… 

Tryon’s greetings to Bree were icy as usual and he immediately ushered Stephen into the living room, while Margaret swooped down on her and Jeremiah with a beaming smile.

“Good evening, young man, and welcome… Please make yourself at home, and if you need anything, please come to me and I will get it for you, all right?”, Margaret promised, ruffling the child’s blond hair.

“Can I have a sword?”, Jemmy asked immediately while sucking on his wubby.

“He’s still in his knights phase…”, Brianna apologized, leaning over to him. “Nice try, Jem…”

Margaret giggled and motioned for them to follow her. “Follow me, I’ll show you your room. We have had a light and quick dinner prepared, and when you go to bed, a hot bath will be waiting for you there.”

“Hallelujah”, Brianna replied, causing her host to laugh. But as the two women, the child and his dog made their way to the bedrooms, a figure appeared in a dark hallway and watched them walk by, and Brianna recognized the graceful but treacherous face of Tryon’s prostitute. She could not imagine what Margaret’s daily life was like, having to live with a so-called “niece” and an abusive husband. A shiver ran down her spine as Margaret’s words came back to her. She was sipping her drink, paying no attention to me whatsoever. I was screaming, I was begging... and she was just there… drinking her wine, as if... I didn't even exist.

Brianna unconsciously clenched her fist; the sight of that despicable schemer revolted her, and she squeezed harder until a small “ow” echoed in the entrance hall. Looking down, she put on a sorry face and apologized to her son, whose fingers she had just accidentally but mercilessly crushed. “Oh my God, Jemmy, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to!”

“It’s fine”, the child simply said with a shrug.

Margaret led them down a hallway and entered one of the bedrooms, which also contained an area to wash and dress, and another door leading to a smaller room where Jemmy could sleep. Brianna raved for a moment over the rich decor, the master paintings on the walls, the beautiful furniture and the imposing four-poster bed, then allowed Jeremiah to discover his own room with Blue.

“I wanted to say… that I am sorry for your loss, Brianna…”, Margaret whispered and the young woman stiffened for a moment, then thanked her with a nod. Talking about Phaedre was still too painful. “I often met Miss Phaedre when I visited Jocasta. She was a lovely girl.”

“Yes, she was…” Brianna felt her chin quiver and after making sure Jeremiah was not paying attention to them, she continued in a low voice, “She died because of me…”

Margaret frowned. “What do you mean? William told me they were attacked by the Catawbas…”

“I sent her to the fabric fair… She was supposed to pass the ledger on to someone who knows my mother…” Brianna’s voice broke and she ran an angry hand over her cheeks, while Margaret had simply stopped breathing. “And now she’s gone...”

Lady Tryon rushed to hug her and Brianna clung to the Governor’s wife like ivy around a tree, trying not to cry too loudly. “Do not worry, Brianna, we’ll find something else to do…”

The young woman shook her head, sniffing. “That’s the problem, you see...? I don’t want to fight anymore. I have no reason to fight anymore. But I had to lose my friend to understand it… I feel bad… I feel so, so bad…”

“Shhh….”, Margaret said, stroking her hair. “You are not to blame for her death. No one could have imagined that the Catawbas were going to attack this specific cart on that specific day.”

“If I had not sent her to the fair, she would have stayed home...”

“And if the Catawbas had eaten some bad meat the day before, they would have been too sick to attack anyone...”, Margaret retorted before wiping one of Brianna’s cheeks with her thumb. “Some things are much bigger than you or me. Do not blame yourself for the things you cannot control…”

Brianna nodded, keeping her thoughts to herself. Blaming myself is all I’ve been doing... Since day one...

“Mama, Mama, look! There’s a horse in my room!!”, Jeremiah said excitedly and Brianna wiped away her tears before turning back to her son with far too much enthusiasm.

“A horse?? How is that even possible??”

“It is my daughter’s old rocking horse... I found it in the attic and thought that Jeremiah would love to play with it...”

Indeed, an old threadbare rocking horse stood in the middle of the room and Jeremiah climbed astride its back before rocking back and forth with a delighted smile. Brianna watched him for a moment, then turned back to their host.

“Thank you, Margaret…”, she said, hoping Lady Tryon would understand that she was not just thanking her for the toy, and Margaret simply nodded in return. “I'm sorry I lost our evidence.”

“Don’t be. Giving you the ledger was an informed decision: I wanted you to make that choice. I have been living all my life with other people making decisions for me. I am forty-two years old now and even if I wanted to, I couldn’t live otherwise... So please, do not worry about me.” Brianna nodded sadly, and Margaret cracked a mischievous smile. “And also… Josiah is back from his journey, now.”

Bree smiled back; she was glad to see that Margaret had found some comfort in another man’s arms while her husband frolicked with a loose woman. “Are you not afraid that William will find out? Or anyone else for that matter?”

Margaret waved her hand dismissively. “I do not care about William. And if you fear that it might cause a scandal, well… I know enough about every great family in this Colony to dissuade them from gossiping about me. And especially the editor of our local newspaper: that man will never publish anything bad about me, you can be sure of that…”

Brianna laughed and stared at her with a hint of admiration. “Who knew you were such a fearsome foe…”

“Still waters run deep, Brianna…” Both women shared a knowing smile and Lady Tryon motioned for her to leave the room. “Come on, you must be starving.”

On the ground floor, a magnificent table was waiting for them. Two massive chandeliers had been placed in the middle, surrounded by crockery emblazed with the Tryons’ crest, plates with gold edges, and crystal glasses sparkling in the candlelight, so much so that Brianna was almost dazzled.

“We kept it simple, since you’re probably exhausted by the journey...”, Lady Tryon said, offering her a seat and Brianna stifled a laugh. They clearly did not have the same definition of simplicity.

As Brianna settled Jeremiah into his chair at the end of the table, their husbands and Miss Scott appeared. She's eating with us?, Brianna groaned internally as Miss Scott sat down to Jeremiah’s right and Brianna to his left. With ice cold eyes, the young prostitute glared contemptuously at Jeremiah. The child frowned – unused to people showing him no affection at all – but remained silent. No sooner were they all seated than the footmen appeared with the first course and some wine, that they generously poured in every glass. Brianna motioned for Jeremiah to put his towel on his lap and Margaret swooned as he obeyed immediately. While the conversation was going well between both men, the atmosphere at the end of the table was quite different with Jane’s presence literally electrifying the air.

Jeremiah – who wasn’t a fan of pumpkin soup – kept glancing sideways at Miss Scott and when the woman finally noticed him, the child discreetly stuck his tongue out at her. Outraged by his insolence, Jane looked up at Brianna, who immediately turned her face toward Tryon, pretending to be fascinated by the shipping problems in North Atlantic and also congratulating herself for bringing into this world a child with such a sharp sixth sense.

But Jeremiah wasn’t exactly done with the unwanted guest and after wolfing down most of the main course (rabbit fillets and vegetables), he decided to discreetly get rid of his peas by flicking them at her. The first pea landed in her plate, the second rolled over to her glass, and Brianna only needed a quick glance at Jane’s cheeks to realize they were slowly but surely turning crimson. The third pea was the straw that broke the camel’s back, and raising her chin high, Miss Scott turned to Bree.

“Could you ask him to stop?”, she whispered, emphasizing the last word.

Brianna raised her eyebrows. “Stop what ?”

Jane took a slow, deep breath. Despite her status as Lord Tryon’s “favorite”, she had no more power than a morning mist and she knew it. And it just made her… mad with rage. She still managed to restrain herself and with a fake smile, she pointed her index finger at the peas on the table.

“Oh, that… Wait, let me think…” Brianna grabbed her glass of wine, squinted as if she was thinking intently, took a long sip and gulped it down, reveling in the whore’s anger. “Hmmm…. Nope”, she blurted out, raising her glass as if to give a toast and winking outrageously at Jemmy.

“She did not say please…”, Jeremiah whispered to his mother, who nodded in approval. A few seats away, Margaret was pretending to listen to the men’s conversation, but Brianna knew she had not missed one bit of the scene: the corners of her mouth were struggling to go back to a normal angle and she soon hid them behind her glass of wine.

“…can’t go on like this anymore. The Catawbas have been killin’, lootin’ and maimin’ with complete impunity for far too long. And the damage to the trade business goes well beyond a few attacked convoys: messengers, carriers, some of them now categorically refuse to venture to Cross Creek by the central roads and are forced to take paths on the outskirts of the Colony. Or they don’t even deliver at all… The resultin’ delays and shortfalls are colossal”, Stephen mumbled on Brianna’s left, waving his fork threateningly.

Tryon nodded slowly, but instead of answering his partner, his eyes went to Brianna, who was smiling and talking quietly with Jeremiah.

“I bet you are not so quick to defend the savages now that they attacked your house staff, Mrs. Bonnet…”

Bree stiffened, taken aback by his question, but Stephen’s hand immediately came to rest on her thigh. Not to dissuade her from losing her temper like she used to, but in a gentler way, as if he knew how sensitive the subject still was to her.

“I do not blame the Catawbas for the death of Phaedre and James O'Donnell, Lord Tryon.” I know very well how to take all the credit for that..., she added bitterly in her mind. “They are just doing what every human being does in this world: they try to survive.”

Tryon chuckled sarcastically. “I’m also trying to survive, but I’m not killing anyone in the process.”

“Anyone? Is that how you call the Regulators?”, she scoffed, and this time Stephen’s hand squeezed a tad harder.

“In case you forgot, we were at war with those people…” Tryon was losing patience. It was incredible how much they got on each other’s nerves, to the point that the slightest exchange of words got out of hand in less than two minutes… “But the difference is probably too complicated for your feminine intellect.”

“Or maybe your masculine intellect does not allow you to solve conflicts other than through violence...”

“Oh, dessert’s here!”, Margaret exclaimed with a hint of relief, while Brianna and William glared at each other the whole time it took the footmen to serve them some apple meringue.

At the end of the meal, Stephen thanked their hosts, announcing that they were going to bed and get some rest. Brianna tucked Jeremiah in, and when she returned to their bedroom, Stephen was already taking off his clothes to take a bath and gave her a wry look that spoke volumes.

“Yeah, I know…”, Brianna muttered dryly.

“I didn’t say anythin’, darlin’…”

“I can’t help it. He gets on my nerves. No… he’s downright insufferable. I hate his opinions, I hate his face, I hate his whore-”

Stephen’s hands grabbed her waist and he smirked, pulling her against his body. “At the risk of repetition, Brianna…I didn’t say anythin’.”

The young woman frowned amusedly as he stripped her naked. “You’re not mad that I disrespect the Governor? Your partner…? Your best friend in the whole world?”

Stephen snorted and let out a theatrical sigh as Brianna’s skirt fell to the floor around her feet. “I should be mad... but I’ve always loved the fact that Lord Tryon annoys you more than I do...”

“You were not too far behind, don’t worry…”

“Were?”, he asked, surprised to hear her use the past tense. “Now that’s encouragin’...”

Slowly, he took possession of her lips and Brianna immediately wrapped her arms around his neck. Before letting out a shrill cry when Stephen lifted her up to carry her to the tub. Stephen entered the warm water first, and Brianna joined him, snuggling up comfortably against her husband’s chest and her head resting on his shoulder. They remained like that for a few minutes – simply enjoying the soothing effect of the hot water on their stiff muscles after two days spent in a cart – until Brianna spoke again.

“You really don’t want to tell me where we’re going tomorrow?”

Stephen, who was absentmindedly playing with Bree’s breasts at water level, chuckled and turned his head to kiss her temple. “I was considerin’ tellin’ you tonight, but you’ve been a very naughty girl with our Governor, so...”

And under the Irishman’s mocking gaze, Brianna sagged into the water up to her neck with a disappointed grunt.

~o~

The morning of November 23^rd was extremely cold for the season, and Brianna had to wrap Jeremiah up in several layers of wool before boarding a small schooner that was waiting for them in the harbor. Once all their belongings were in the holds, the ship left the docks at a slow pace before setting all her sails to pick up speed, leave the Neuse River and enter Pamlico Bay. Leaning against the railing – snugly bundled up in her coat, with fur around the hood and wrists – Brianna couldn't help but think back to the last time she had traveled by ship to Wilmington in order to find her parents.

She had left her era a single woman, at barely twenty-one years old, dreaming about all the adventures ahead and her encounter with Jamie. And today, she was celebrating her twenty-sixth birthday, married to an Irish pirate and mother of a little boy. A little boy who was currently in his father’s arms, while the latter explained to him in detail what each part of the ship was and what it was used for. Jeremiah was hanging on to his every word and Brianna couldn’t help but smile at them, which did not go unnoticed. But Stephen had (recently) learned to be humbler in triumph, and he just smiled back as he proceeded with this improvised sailing lesson.

About five hours went by until a distant strip of land – studded with large houses – appeared several miles away and Brianna searched her memory for what it might be. But her knowledge of the geography of North Carolina and the many islands that dotted its territorial waters was limited. Fortunately, Stephen snuggled up against her back at that very moment and she decided to ask for his insights.

“What is that island over there?”

The pirate rested his head on her shoulder. “That one? That’s um… Ocracoke.”

“Oh…”

Silence fell over the pair, but a brief glance at Stephen’s smug face was enough for Brianna to understand.

“Is it where we are going?” Stephen’s smile widened and Brianna spun around. “It is, isn’t it?!”

But Stephen just grabbed her by the shoulders, swung her around again toward the approaching island, and pointed at the farthest house at the end.

“And more precisely there. Happy birthday, mo fíorghrá”, he whispered in her ear.

Bree’s mouth dropped open. First because she was convinced that he had not memorized the date, second because they had agreed to celebrate Jemmy's birthday only. And third...

“You bought me a house?”

“Let’s say it makes up for all the birthdays that I missed. Don’t get your hopes up for next year, though. You’ll just get a bag of potatoes”, he joked as she hugged him.

“But when I asked you if we were moving, you said no…”

“It’s not permanent... Think of it as a second home; a nice place by the sea, where we can go whenever we want and stay as long as we want to...”

Brianna turned around again to cling to the railing and better admire the large building, by the sand and the crashing waves. It was a white three-story house, with high lattice windows overlooking the bay and the mouth of the Neuse River. “Jeremiah will love it…”

“And he won’t be the only one...” Stephen’s slightly gloomy tone made her turn around again and she gave him a questioning look. “Living as a noble man in River Run... isn’t as excitin’ as I thought it would be before I married you. I’m not talkin’ about our family, of course. I love our life together and it fills me with joy every single day…”, he hastened to add in case Brianna took it as criticism. “But these last few months, I felt the need to return to sea, to be free again… Escape Tryon and my duties… But the ocean is not safe for you and Jeremiah, so I started lookin’ for somethin’ in-between.”

“A house… in the ocean”, Bree whispered.

He nodded against her cheek. “When I visited this one at the end of my escort mission in October, I felt free. Much freer than I had been in a long time.”

“What happened to the owners?”

“I slit their throats and buried ’em in the sand, right there…”, he replied, tongue-in-cheek.

“You’re hilarious.”

“It belonged to an elderly couple. The old man died and his wife wanted to sell and go back to London.”

“That’s better”, Brianna sighed and Stephen chuckled into the crook of her neck.

“There was a time when you would have believed me…”, he said, faking disappointment.

“There was a time when you would have murdered them for real.”

Stephen raised his eyebrows and nodded, getting caught up in her little game. “There was a time when I wasn’t your husband yet.”

Brianna lifted her chin, proud to be given all the credit for the drastic change in Stephen’s personality. “Good answer.”

And to reward him for this compliment, she kissed him passionately.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Chapter Text

29. New Beginnings

Everything was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

The song of the herring gulls hovering above the island, the iodized scents that naturally filled the place, the soothing sound of the waves crashing on the beach below... Brianna had also fallen in love with the house itself at first sight. It was smaller than River Run, more intimate and also warmer with its orange and deep green décor; it had quickly felt like home. And Bree never grew tired of admiring the bay every time she opened a window, taking in the invigorating air of the ocean.

Stephen was right. Just a few months ago she would have hated to admit it, but for once, she was totally in tune with her husband’s latest fad. This house was everything they needed. A new start, a new environment, a place just for them to discover each other and get used to their new dynamic – away from duties, memories, and guilt. Phaedre would have also loved this place, and as Brianna was putting away her things in her new cupboard, the idea that they could have done it together – while chatting before having tea on the beach with Jeremiah – had brought a few tears to her eyes.

As she had not packed herself, Brianna realized that several things that Hennessy had deemed “unnecessary” had been left behind. The butler had taken some drawing materials, but her finished sketches – and especially those she used to keep track of her periods – had not made the trip. Brianna was not too worried, though; after Phaedre’s death, she had forgotten to do it for a while and had gradually lost track of it. What was the point, anyway? She had surrendered. She had therefore no reason to refuse Stephen a second child. And the idea did not bother her either. This would literally be the beginning of a new life…

Once her cupboard was organized to her liking, Brianna got up and peered out the window, where Jeremiah and Blue could be seen running on the beach a few yards away from the foamy waves. Sitting on the gentle slope of the dune, Stephen was keeping a watchful eye on them. Brianna grabbed a thick woolen shawl, covered her shoulders and left the bedroom to join them. But as she came near the kitchen, there was an angry groan and she stopped in front of the half-opened door. Inside, Fitzpatrick stood amidst crates, pots and pans of all kinds – spinning around and obviously looking for something.

“Are you all right, Mr. Fitzpatrick?”, Brianna asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

The cook spun around and shook his head. “No, I am not. I’m afraid I forgot my Arkansas stone in River Run, the one I use to sharpen my knives.”

Brianna suppressed a smile. “I’m sure we can have it sent here in a while... or buy another one.”

“But this will take time. Some ingredients are delicate, Mistress. Cutting them with blunt knives can crush them and turn a beautiful plate into an absolute disaster…”

“I think we’ll survive a few aesthetically questionable meals, Mr. Fitzpatrick”, Brianna promised in a soothing voice. “But... thank you for caring.”

The cook nodded solemnly. “I’m just doing my job, Mistress.”

Brianna smiled at him and walked away, shaking her head. Everyone dealt with grief as best as they could, after all. And if getting upset over a missing stone made him feel better… who was she to judge? She had also found the strangest way to numb her pain, and she was about to indulge in it right now. Crossing the small garden to reach the dune, she stopped in the sand next to Stephen. Instinctively, he straightened up and spread his knees for her to sit between his legs, and once that was done, he wrapped his arms around her shawl and shoulders.

Brianna closed her eyes, enjoying the pleasant contrast between the cold wind on her face and Stephen’s warm body all around hers. A few moments later, when she opened her eyelids and turned her head to stare at the Irishman, she was once again struck by the sweetness and peace she could read on his features. That happened quite often since they had set foot on the island, and she had to admit that she never grew tired of it. And it was not the only fascinating thing she had recently discovered...

“I really like this place. Thank you…”, she murmured and without even looking at her, he smiled imperceptibly until she spoke again. “… I love you.”

As she had expected, Stephen jumped slightly and looked at her, a bit taken aback at first, then with… infinite gratitude. Since her first declaration of love a few weeks earlier, Brianna had developed a relentless obsession with this reaction. She was not sure yet if she meant those three words the same way she had once meant them with Roger, but one thing was certain: she liked the effect they had on Stephen. And every now and then, she just whispered them unexpectedly for the mere pleasure of seeing the surprise and joy on his face.

Stephen must have interpreted the silence that followed as disappointment, for he let out a nervous laugh. “I love you too, darlin’… Forgive me if it took so long for me to say it back. I’m not used to hear it yet... and I always flinch like it’s the first time.”

Brianna chuckled and returned her attention to Jeremiah. The boy had paused to watch them from afar, smiling widely, then bent down to pick up a stick and throw it away for Blue to fetch. The sight of her happy son wrung her heart and she bit her lip.

“I would like to apologize as well…”, she began and Stephen frowned, as if the idea of her having anything to be ashamed of was unthinkable. “I realize that my resentment… towards you… caused me to miss so many things with Jeremiah. I was a prisoner of my own hatred and I... I did not take care of him like I should have.”

“Don't be ridiculous…”, Stephen said softly. “I took care of him. Whenever… my bad behavior and other tragedies were causin’ you sufferin’, I took over. Before we got married, you had no time for weakness because he only had you, but not anymore. He has me too.” Brianna's eyes widened slightly upon hearing him admit that he had not exactly been a saint to her, but she did not make any comment. “Besides, I am sure that Jeremiah does not blame you. Your love for each other is unconditional. I must say that I quite envy him…”

“Oh, you have every reason to be jealous…”, Brianna joked with a smug pout. “He is the greatest love of my life. No one can do better.”

Stephen stifled a laugh. “I said I envied him, not that I was jealous. He’s the only man in this world with whom I don’t feel like I have to compete...” He kissed the top of Bree’s head and went on: “I know I would lose.”

Silence fell between them – only troubled by Blue’s joyful barking – and Stephen tightened his arms around Bree to protect her from the increasing wind.

“I've often wondered if my mother loved me that way…”, he whispered a few minutes later and Brianna frowned, her mind visualizing the blurry image of a woman, dropping a newborn child on the forecourt of Sligo’s cathedral.

Whatever her reason for abandoning her baby, she had her share of responsibility in everything that had happened next. The loveless childhood in a squalid orphanage, the poverty, theft and crime as his only means of subsistence, then his career as a smuggler and ultimately… their encounter and all the resulting violence. Would things have turned out differently if Stephen had grown up in a loving family? Would he have become the same man or someone entirely different, someone who respected others, had empathy and less taste for robbery? Brianna liked to think so. That one could not become a Stephen Bonnet without a good reason. But above all, she wanted to believe that what a lack of love might have broken in him, she could fix it by giving him what he had always needed. He had partially proved to her over the months that it was possible, and perhaps after a few years they would achieve together some sort of appeasement and mutual forgiveness.

“I’ve often thought about her abandonin’ me…”, Stephen continued, pulling Brianna out of her thoughts, and the young woman frowned. “I hope it broke her heart.”

“What a strange idea. Why?”

Stephen pursed his lips and his gaze drifted out toward the bay and the coast of North Carolina that was barely visible on the horizon. “Because it would mean that she cared. If only for a moment.”

Brianna turned around – not without difficulty – in the Irishman's arms and gave him her sweetest smile. The reason why this woman had to separate from her child did not matter; Brianna did not know her story and never would. But she knew one thing: whether they were born or still a bunch of cells in the womb, whether they were wanted or not, it was never easy to part with a child.

“I'm sure she did…”, she whispered and as the pirate's shining green eyes watered, Bree pressed her lips against his and kissed him tenderly.

~o~

The neighs of a dying horse filled the air, along with the acrid smell of gunpowder and dust stirred up by the overturned cart and dozens of hooves. Added to this were the triumphant voices of their assailants, the jingling of the gold bags being loaded onto their horses, and the deafening hiss that had invaded her ears since her skull had hit a massive stone in her fall. Everything was blurry, the sounds were either muffled or more violent when she came to, before the excruciating pain in her skull made her fall back into a state of semi-consciousness where nothing could reach her. Not even the terror she had felt realizing she could not move an inch.

Under her left cheek, the lumpy soil smelled of rain, humus and clay. Small pebbles uncomfortably sank into her temple, but she could not move to dislodge them. One of the second horse's hooves swung dangerously close to her forehead as the animal struggled on the ground to get up, and she vaguely thought her suffering could have ended right there, with a simple kick that would have been more than enough to blow the rest of her brains out. But the Lord above would apparently show no mercy on her today.

She tried to scream, but the faint sound that escaped her mouth was not enough to cover the surrounding din. She tried to crawl, but her body no longer responded and the slightest attempt to move triggered a series of violent electric shocks in her neck, paralyzing her brain and wiping out any desire to escape. It’s too late anyway, she thought as two shoes made of leather and animal skins stopped a yard or two away. Their assailants would certainly finish the job, loot what was left of their cargo, scalp them and leave them to rot in the middle of the woods. A feast for wolves and maggots.

It was at this point that Phaedre of River Run decided to start praying. In thinking. The only brain function that would not cause her any pain.

Hail Mary, full of grace; The Lord is with thee.

If she were to leave this world today, away from her home, away from wee Jeremiah and her friend, without a priest to grant her absolution, then she might as well try to get it herself. And enter God’s Kingdom confidently, after one last prayer.

Blessed art thou amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

The shoes became knees as the Indian stooped down to touch her face and Phaedre gasped at his touch. This was the end of her. Hopefully, it would be quick and she would soon be at peace. The Indian shouted something in his own language and stood up again. His knees, then his feet, disappeared from Phaedre’s field of vision. Behind him, she could now see his fellow men bustling about the overturned cart. Inside was O’Donnell’s body – his long leather coat making him easily identifiable – but there was nothing where his head should have been, and she gasped again.

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, Now and at the hour of our death.

Two powerful hands lifted her unceremoniously, causing her so much pain that Phaedre barely had time to realize it was the end before everything went black. Her face distorted with distress and her mind picturing Jeremiah's small arms hugging her one last time.

Amen.

Phaedre woke up with a start, sitting up on her makeshift bed like a devil coming out of its box. Underneath the loose blouse that she used as her nightgown, her skin was entirely covered with a sticky layer of sweat, and the unpleasant contrast between the stifling heat of her body and the ambient cold made her shiver. Wincing, she raised a hand to her head, her trembling fingers feeling the scars under her raven-black hair. Sudden movements were still a bit painful, but the healing process was coming to an end. The gesture had become nothing more than some sort of habit over the weeks, as if she still feared the wounds might reopen. She was closing her eyes to regain control of her breathing when a soft female voice rose in the semidarkness of the tepee.

“Nightmare?”

Phaedre turned toward Angeni's bed and nodded – although the young Indian girl probably couldn't see her despite the first rays of the morning sun filtering through the animal skins over their heads.

“Yes. Sorry if I woke you up…”, she muttered before laying on her mattress, made of leaves, dry grass and animal skins.

“I was not sleeping. I was thinking about Onacona…”, the young girl chuckled, turning over on her mattress. But an annoyed “shhhh” rose from another bed and forced her to lower her voice and move closer to her friend. Their teepee was one of those for single women, widows or young girls. It was therefore always difficult to have a real conversation at night without disturbing the other three sleepers. But Angeni loved to chat and practice her English, and it would take much more than a few angry women to stop her.

Phaedre smiled briefly, but she was still too shaken up by her dream to pay attention to what Angeni had to say about the young man from their tribe that she coveted. Despite everything that had happened since that fateful last day of October, the memory of the attack kept haunting her. She had looked death in the eye, she had said her last prayers, so much so that when she came to many hours later – naked and surrounded by Indian women spreading various ointments on her wounds and bruises – her first thought was that she was lost in limbo, with celestial beings preparing her imminent entrance into Heaven or Hell. She had then realized that she was alive and well. Broken, lacerated, covered in blood, but alive.

Angeni – one of the few English-speaking members of this Catawba tribe – had explained to her that their warriors had brought her back with them after the attack, but not out of kindness. They had taken her in, cared for her, hydrated her and fed her; but once healed, when she had expressed the wish to leave them and find her mistress's family, the Catawbas had not let her go. Worse: the chief of the tribe had strongly admonished her, explaining that she now belonged to the tribe and that she should work hard to thank them for their good care.**

Phaedre had therefore stopped broaching the subject of her departure, keeping the existence of the ledger secret and patiently waiting for an opportunity to run away from them and to Fraser’s Ridge.

But it was easier said than done. Things had soon become complicated when the tribe had started to migrate towards Virginia – as they did not want to linger around Lumberton for too long – and moved every few days. Phaedre had spent the first journeys on horseback, as she was still too weak to walk – but having never ridden in her life, she had been assigned a rider. And that was when she had met...

“….-li was looking at you last night?”, Angeni’s voice said, close to her ear. Phaedre jumped, feeling ashamed as she realized she had not listened to a word of what her friend was telling her.

“What did you say? Sorry, I’m still a little bit sleepy…”

Angeni sighed loudly and there was another annoyed whisper somewhere in the teepee.

“I said… did you see how Wohali was looking at you last night?”

Phaedre felt her cheeks heat up, to the point that she wondered if she was coming down with a flu. “No, I did not…”

She was lying, of course. Wohali was the young rider who had carried her on his horse when she was still recovering and the mere mention of his name, the mere memory of his hard chest against her back, his gentle smile, his dark almond-shaped eyes and his long braided black hair adorned with bone beads… had a strange effect on her. Unfortunately, the language barrier had not really allowed them to get to know each other properly and Phaedre could not imagine flirting with him using Angeni as an interpreter. Not to mention the fact that she did not really feel at her best with her head covered in bandages and scars. Still, that did not seem to bother the Indian boy, and he kept staring and smiling at her on every occasion.

“I really don’t know what you’re waiting for… If Onacona looked at me like that… I would have found the courage to make him a necklace years ago…”, the young girl whined, ignoring the grunts that came from the other beds.

“A necklace?”, Phaedre whispered, turning her head towards her friend.

“In our tribe, when a woman fancies a man and wants to let him know, she makes him a necklace like those our warriors wear...” Angeni lowered her voice and chuckled. “…Then, the families agree to the union and they can have their own teepee and children.”

Phaedre took a deep breath – convinced that if her skin had been clearer, she would have been as red as a tomato. Was it as simple as that? A few beads on a string, a pendant carved in a piece of wood… Was that all it took to be back in Wohali's arms? The young maid shook her head to chase the impure thoughts from her brain.

“Seems like a quick and inappropriate thing to do…”, she mumbled, as if to convince herself that this was actually a bad thing.

“Really? How do your people proceed?”

Phaedre thought for a minute. Her people – as in ancestors – were a complete mystery to her, since she was born and raised in River Run and had always lived apart from the other slaves. But “her people” – as in North Carolina's citizens – were following different and more complicated rules.

“Well, a man has to court the woman he fancies. He has to ask her family for her hand… then they can plan to marry… and have their own teepee and children”, she finished with a smile.

Angeni let out a groan. “Seems like a long and boring thing to do”, she retorted, humorously misquoting Phaedre. “I can’t wait to have my own teepee. I'm pretty sure it's much more pleasant to sleep with a man… than with these old frumps…”, she added when one of the two widows who shared their tent grew impatient and hissed something in their language that Phaedre did not understand, but the meaning of which was not difficult to guess. The two young women fell silent again, holding back their laughter.

“It sure can't be worse…”, Phaedre chuckled a minute later and this time Angeni's laugh shook the entire tent, marking the end of their night's rest once and for all.

~o~

Somehow, a new routine was setting in on Ocracoke, and although Brianna had a hard time finding her bearings around her new home, seaside living suited her perfectly. No responsibilities, no obligations… She, Stephen and Jeremiah could spend hours in bed in the morning, playing, reading, talking or just cuddling. Then they set off to explore the island, meet the few neighbors, play on the dunes or dip their feet in the water. Stephen had also taken them to explore the ruins of what had once been the lair of Edward “Blackbeard” Teach – killed here by the Army of Virginia after a bloody battle in November 1718 – and treat Jeremiah to some of the greatest feats of the famous pirate.

For long winter evenings or rainy days, Stephen had also invested in an impressive number of games of all kinds, including a magnificent chess board imported from England and its pieces made of ivory and ebony. Several months ago, hearing her talk about the games she played with Frank during her teenage years had piqued his curiosity and Brianna – pleasantly surprised that he had remembered that kind of details – had promised to teach him how to play.

Far from fancy dinners, from Tryon’s influence and their various activities, Stephen was literally reborn. Brianna discovered a relaxed and rejuvenated man who did not really care what people thought of him and whose entire universe revolved around her and their son. When many other men would have gotten tired of this role of doting father, Stephen for one literally dogged Jeremiah’s footsteps and the child gladly returned the favor, following him around like a little chick and asking ten questions a minute. About ships, about the sea, about Stephen's youth – a subject that he had been obsessed with since his father had revealed he used to be a ship's captain during the journey to Ocracoke. The Irishman was happy to answer, sometimes forgetting he was talking to a four year old, until Brianna intervened to gloss over the naughty details of the pirate’s life.

Once a week, a ship came from New Bern to bring the islanders supplies and for a few hours, an improvised market took place in Silver Lake, Ocracoke’s small harbor where Fitzpatrick and Lloyd filled their cart with food, candles and other useful consumables. And that was where the three of them were coming from right now – walking along the beach with Blue trotting by their side – after Fitzpatrick had gone home with all their brand new goods.

If Brianna had first feared that she would feel cramped on this thin strip of land of barely nine square miles, the well-being that she found a little more each day had soon swept her doubts away. The island was a welcome break from their daily lives on the mainland. It was also far less isolated than she had originally thought, and she hoped to be able to come there as often as possible. And why not with her parents? Stephen had agreed to invite them last May, he would probably be willing to repeat the experience in a few months... She was also looking forward to spending time there in the summer, when she could really enjoy the ocean and its warm currents. A vision of Stephen’s flabbergasted face as she stepped into the water wearing a bikini – just like those she used to wear at the beach – made her smile and she jumped when her husband’s voice reminded her that she was neither alone nor in the 60’s.

“What are you thinkin’ about?”

“Nothing in particular”, she lied, tightening her arm around his. “I was just thinking how much I love it here. I’m sure my parents would too…”

Stephen cringed exaggeratedly and shook his head. “Hmm… I knew it, I should have bought the other house… Ocracoke is much too close… Ow!”, he protested when Brianna pinched his arm through his thick coat. “Usin’ violence now, are we?”

“I learned from the best”, she retorted tit-for-tat. “What other house?”

“It was a joke, darlin’, there is no other house…” Stephen sighed and his gaze shifted slightly to the right, towards the mouth of the Neuse River and New Bern across the bay. “My search area was somewhat limited…”

Silence fell between them, as Brianna understood that he was talking about Tryon and the impossibility of leaving North Carolina as well as their profitable partnership. For a second, an imperceptible frown brought back on Stephen's features his continental concerns, and Bree almost blamed herself for bringing up the subject. Forcing an enthusiastic smile to her lips, she cocked her head to the side.

“Where would you have taken us if Tryon had not been holding us back?”, she asked mischievously. “Would we have roamed the seven oceans, as… you did?”

“You mean like common pirates?”

“Your words, not mine…”, she sneered, but Stephen chuckled and shook his head.

“No, I don’t want this life for Jeremiah. The ocean is no place for a four-year-old lad… The thought that you could both perish in a shipwreck revolts me.”

“Where, then?”, Brianna urged him, but Stephen seemed reluctant to answer.

“What’s the point of talkin’ about somethin’ that will never happen?”

Brianna shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt to dream a little bit…”

Both spouses exchanged a look and Stephen sighed, knowing full well that she would not let go. In front of them, Jeremiah pretended to reach for a stick to throw at Blue, but his dragging feet and frequent backward glances indicated he wasn't missing one bit of his parents’ conversation.

“Well, for starters… I would choose a Spanish or a Dutch colony. I've had enough of English people!”, he finished in a loud voice, drawing the disapproving looks of two of their neighbors who were walking in the other direction towards the market. Brianna chuckled and looked around, but thankfully there was no one else than the couple silently judging them on the other side of the path.

“All right, no Sassenachs, then. Anything else?”

“A place with better weather. And more beautiful beaches. These are an absolute disgrace…” He waved his hand dismissively, and Brianna laughed harder at his fake jaded attitude. “And palm trees. Warm waters all year round…” He leaned over to her with a mischievous smile. “… Light clothing.”

“Obviously…”, Brianna sneered, pushing his face away with the palm of her hand. “As for palm trees, I can’t do miracles… But we’ll just have to come back in the summer to have everything else...”

“And we will…”

“…with my parents”, the young woman added laughing, reveling in her husband’s long tired sigh.

“I guess I have no choice…”

Brianna grinned at him, knowing she had won another battle. Or even war? She wasn't even sure there was any conflict going on yet. Maybe she had not won the war the way she had imagined it, but her life was pleasant nonetheless. It was simply different.

“I would like everyone to make peace with the past and move on. The trial, our separation. It was incredibly violent for them too. The family can't be reunited if they don’t fully realize that I…” Gave up?, she thought, before changing her mind. It was a bad choice of words, that did not convey exactly how she felt. “…decided to give us a chance. And I also want them to give you a chance.”

Stephen slowed his pace, then came to a halt in the middle of the road, turning toward Brianna. His eyes were glowing with such devotion and gratitude that the young woman's cheeks began to turn pink.

“You know when I told you that, although I was sorry I had to resort to such methods, I had no regrets because you were finally mine? Well, it’s not true. My only regret is that I couldn't meet and love you sooner.” He tucked a lock of red hair behind her ear and went on. “You made me the man I am today… Every day I spend with you and Jeremiah brings me more happiness and peace of mind than I ever experienced in my entire existence…”, he smirked. “…With you by my side, I wouldn’t have attacked as many ships, or smuggled as many goods, for sure…”

“Hmm… Well, thanks to me, sailors in the North Atlantic can now rest easier. I should get a medal for domesticating you”, Brianna joked, putting a humble hand to her chest and Stephen laughed.

“I can always have a word with Tryon about that, but I think he’d rather be hanged than give you any kind of reward.”

“Let’s face it, the hanging would be my reward”, she chuckled and Stephen gave her a long smile, until Brianna stopped giggling at her own joke and got lost in his emerald eyes.

“If all you need to be happy is for your parents to be part of our lives…then I can hardly refuse. You gave me everythin’ I wanted most in the world, I would be a complete ingrate if I did not return the favor.” He saw her smile but before she could say anything, he went on: “And I too want to put the past behind us. Stephen Bonnet the orphan, vagabond, smuggler, pirate, criminal,… the newly rich with his rather unscrupulous ways…”, he added, making a face, “I do not want to be those men anymore. I just want to be the man you made of me: Stephen Bonnet, happy husband and father.”

Tears were slowly welling up in Brianna's eyes, but she still managed to push them back long enough to answer, her voice slightly hoarse.

“Good, because it is with him that I want to be.”

Their kiss was long – soft and shy at first, then gaining in passion and ardor as they pressed a little more against each other. Stephen's hands traveled from her waist to her back, up and down (and especially down), before venturing towards her buttocks. And the more his fingers went down her corset, the more Brianna felt her desire rise, making her forget where they were, but also with whom...

“Ewwwww…”, Jeremiah said nearby, and Stephen chuckled against Bree's mouth, ending the kiss prematurely. The child had recently asked many questions about kisses and what they were for, and despite Brianna's explanations about the romantic value of the process, all he had remembered from it was the unappetizing exchange of saliva.

“Thank you, Jeremiah, for this highly scientific analysis…”, Brianna sneered, discreetly wiping her lips, while Stephen put his arm around her waist and started walking again.

“He’s just jealous because I’m Mommy’s favorite”, the Irishman said with a sly wink at his son.

“No, you’re not! I am!”

“No, lad, I am!”

“I am! I am Mommy’s favorite!”

Brianna rolled her eyes as both “children” bickered for a while before Jeremiah decided to settle the argument once and for all.

“Mama, who’s your favorite?”

“It is you, angel”, she replied without an hesitation, and Stephen immediately looked outraged.

“If I were you, I would think about a better answer, darlin’… The nights can be chilly on the beach at this time of year…”

Brianna clapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide with feigned terror. “Oh dear, Daddy is threatening me! Sorry, Jeremiah, but I have to change my favorite!”

The kid burst out laughing. “It’s fine. I know it’s a lie.” And to put an end to their funny argument, he stuck his tongue out at Stephen, who narrowed his eyes, trying to look scary. But all he got was a great laugh from Jeremiah.

The era of the bloodthirsty pirate who terrorized the Atlantic was well and truly over.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Chapter Text

30. Language Barrier

December 1774.

The cold had once and for all settled on Ocracoke and with it, the long winter nights and the gloomy, damp dullness. A few strong gales had shaken the island several times, treating the Bonnets with an astonishing show of raging seas and crashing waves. But every time the sun would eventually come back, like the day before when they had taken Jem to play near a small grove, a hundred yards away from the house. The grove contained some tall Eastern red cedar trees as well as those wide Southern live oaks – with their elegant, horizontally spreading branches – that could be found everywhere in the southeastern part of the colonies. And one of them especially had caught Brianna's attention.

A loud crackling sound made her look up and she glanced at the embers – to make sure none had bounced over the firewall onto the living room rugs – before looking back down at her work. Snuggled up comfortably in one of their mustard yellow armchairs, her feet propped towards the flames, Brianna put her piece of charcoal in her left hand and rubbed some parts of her drawing with her right ring finger to add shadows and perspective.

“Do you need anything else, Mistress?”, Lloyd asked, clearing away her empty teacup, but Brianna shook her head, smiling.

“No, thank you. Good night to you, Lloyd."

“Good night, Mistress."

A few seconds after Lloyd’s departure, the footsteps of Stephen – who had just tucked Jeremiah in – echoed in the hallway, and Brianna soon felt his warm hand rest on her shoulder, near the crook of her neck.

“What are you drawing?”, he asked, grabbing the first sheet of paper she had put aside and which contained the “technical” part of her project. In other words, several views of two wooden boards brought together by three wooden braces nailed across the underside, with holes for ropes on each end. The second drawing represented the device hanging from one of the lower branches of a magnificent oak tree that looked strangely like one of those they had discovered the day before.

“Jeremiah hid behind that tree yesterday when we were playing tag...” Brianna craned her neck to look at him. “This branch here is thick, strong and horizontal… I thought I could make a swing for him."

Stephen raised an eyebrow and admired the level of detail in each drawing, the dimensions she had scribbled down in order to guarantee the safety of the user and the solidity of the device, as well as the nice shadows added for more realism.

“Could I ask you a favor?”, he said suddenly, his eyes still glued to the sketches. Brianna nodded. “I would like you to draw a portrait of me with Jeremiah on my lap. And another of you... So that I can always have you with me, wherever I go."

Brianna gritted her teeth not to let her emotions take over. She was both flattered by the compliment and amazed to see him indulge in such sentimentality, but it also meant that he was planning their return to River Run, where he would resume his duties for Tryon. And her chest tightened at the very idea.

“What size?”, she asked to chase away any dark thoughts.

Stephen seemed to think for a moment, and rushed out of the living room only to return a few seconds later with one of his jackets, opening it to expose the inside breast pocket. The one at heart level. “Somethin’ like that?”, he asked, pointing at the pocket.

“I can manage that”, she agreed with a smile. “That would be your Christmas present."

"My what?"

Brianna bit her lip. The tradition of gifts was not yet popular at that time, but she had a ready-made excuse to justify herself to Stephen.

“It is one of my mother’s family traditions: every year, on December 25^th, she brings the whole family together to share a hearty meal and exchange presents..."

The Irishman nodded, then frowned. “I don't remember receivin’ any present from you last year..."

“Last year, you forced me to spend Christmas with Lord Tryon and then dragged me to an orgy…”, she grumbled, raising an eyebrow. Stephen’s first reaction was to smile at the memory, but he immediately put on a serious face when his eyes met his wife’s. “So if you don’t mind, we will do Christmas my way, this year."

“Of course, darlin’... We’ll reschedule the orgy for Easter”, he retorted with a mocking grin.

“Too bad, my mother has another family tradition on Easter, so..."

Stephen chuckled and leaned down to place a kiss on the top of her head. “Can't wait to find out what it is. Are you comin’ to bed?"

Brianna looked down, checked again that all the technical information she needed was there, and judging that the artistic part was good enough to her liking, she nodded. “I’m coming."

With one hand, she placed the sheets of paper and the charcoal on the pedestal table near the armchair, then stood up, taking care not to rub her blackened fingers on her dress or on the velvet-covered seat. Behind her, Stephen had grabbed the only candle left and started to walk away to their room, taking with him some of the ambient light.

“Hey, not so fast!”, Brianna shouted, trotting to catch up with him and the Irishman smirked as she wrapped her arm around his.

“I quite like it when you run after me..."

“I don't really have a choice if I don't want to climb the stairs in the dark. And here’s for being a bad husband…”, she added, wiping her charcoal-stained fingers on his white sleeve. Stephen winced disapprovingly but remained silent. “I can’t wait to make that swing... I think I could use some of those nice wooden boards in the shed..."

“When you’re done, I’ll hang it for you..."

Brianna shrugged. “I intended to do it, but since you wish to join the action..."

At that, Stephen chuckled loudly as if she had just said a good joke, before his mirth slowly died down facing Brianna’s glare.

“I fail to see what you find so amusing... I've climbed up my share of trees in my life, you know..."

“Oh of course, sweetheart, I’m sure you have”, he lied with the worst patronizing voice. “But you’re not a fifteen-year-old lass anymore and I wouldn’t want you to break your neck. Jeremiah and I would miss you very much..."

Brianna rolled her eyes but said nothing. She also kept her mouth shut the next day, when after making and presenting his future swing to Jeremiah, she heard Stephen proudly announce to him that he would set it up after lunch. But it became more and more difficult not to make any comments when Stephen started to climb up the tree, whose trunk was still dripping from the latest rainfall. The first time he slipped – about 1,5 feet above the ground – surprised him somewhat, and he landed between the roots of the tree with a nervous laugh.

“Oh… bit slippery up there… You two stay back, aye?"

Standing with her arms crossed ten feet away from the tree and with Jeremiah clinging to her skirt, Brianna raised an eyebrow but remained silent as he climbed up again. The knots, holes and branches of the oak made good grips but the rain had greased the bark, making the ascent a little more perilous than it should be. However, Stephen Bonnet was stubborn and perhaps that was his greatest quality (or his biggest flaw, some would say). This time, he was almost six feet high when a large beetle – which he had certainly disturbed in its nap – took off to fly angrily around him and the Irishman began to sweep the air with one hand, before sliding back down to the ground. He landed on his feet again, with the agility of a cat, and straightened up immediately, readjusting his jacket and looking slightly annoyed. And then pointed a finger at Brianna, who had not uttered a single word.

“See? That’s why I wanted to do it meself. This is no place for a lassie… There are… insects and Danu knows what else."

“Hmm hmm?”, the young woman hummed, pursing her lips to hold back a mocking smile. The third attempt was successful and Stephen finally made it to the branch that would soon hold the swing, with a triumphant “Ah-ah!".

Brianna chuckled as she bent down to pick up the first rope. Twirling one end to give it momentum, she threw the rope in the air toward the branch, and it hit Stephen right in the face before falling back limply to the ground.

“Why didn’t you catch it?”, she asked.

“I was not ready! I was securin’ my position on the branch, Brianna. It’s a basic principle, when workin’ at heights... rah, that damned bug!”, Stephen grumbled, waving his hand once more to scare the furious beetle away.

Brianna chuckled again and turned to Jeremiah. “Do you know why women don’t need to make fools of men? Because most of them are the do-it-yourself type..."

“Hilarious, darlin’…” Stephen let go of the branch with one hand and held it out. “Come on, try again. This time I’m ready."

Smiling, Brianna swung her rope up again, hitting the branch but this time a little too far, barely brushing the pirate’s fingers. The latter waved at her to try again immediately and this time, he caught the hemp braid as it flew by and tied it around the branch.

“See, Jeremiah?”, Stephen called out, as the child craned his neck to look at him. “I’m goin’ to use a marine knot called the clove hitch. You will be safe on that swing, trust me… I bet your mother knows nothin’ about clove hitches."

“Yep, thank God you’re here…”, Brianna said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, but Stephen didn’t hear her (or he chose not to).

Jeremiah clapped his hands and jumped up and down in delight. “Will you teach me how to do it, daddy?"

“Of course… this one and dozens more if you like”, he said, tying the knot and tugging on the rope. He then proceeded to crawl carefully along the branch, while Brianna bent down to pick up the second rope. But there was a loud crack above her head, followed by a furious “In ainm Dé!”" and she looked up.

“Everything all right up there?”, she asked with a hint of concern. If the branch wasn’t strong enough, she would not let Jemmy use the swing, but Stephen immediately reassured her.

“Aye, I tried to hold on to a small branch above me head, but it broke...”, the Irishman grumbled before waving at her again. “Admit it, darlin’, you planned all of this to kill me and make it look like an accident?"

“Oh damn, you got me all figured out…”, Brianna drawled. “Seriously, if you’re scared, just get down and I’ll do it-"

A loud “No!” made her close her mouth. “May I be damned if I let my own wife climb up trees like an alley cat..."

An adorable pout appeared on Jeremiah’s face. “You can do it, daddy?”, he asked worriedly.

“Jemmy, would you please say the exact same thing, without makin’ it sound like a question? You can do it, daddy!”, he exclaimed as an example.

Jeremiah turned a worried face toward his mother, who sighed and threw the second rope at the Irishman. It reached the branch and Stephen grabbed it immediately, before tying it with another knot. “There you go!"

Proud as a peacock, Stephen began to crawl back toward the trunk.

“I have another one, Jem. What is the difference between men and treasury bonds?”, Brianna asked her son, who shook his head as he had no idea what treasury bonds were. “Well, at least bonds mature."

“Tsssk, woman of little faith…”, Stephen muttered, his feet feeling awkwardly the surface of the trunk as he looked for a good hold

“Do you want help getting down?”, Brianna offered with a smirk.

“Are you jokin’?” Stephen carefully placed his foot into one of the holes in the tree. “That’s the easiest par-"

It was then that a bit of damp moss chose to betray him and after feeling his foot give way beneath him, Stephen crashed into the thick grass and greenery that lined the ground while swearing heavily in Gaelic.

“Are you all right, Daddy?”, Jeremiah cried, running towards him. Meanwhile, Brianna picked up her swing, hung it to the ropes dangling from the branch, and sat on it to secure the whole thing.

Stephen stood up, dusting his dirt-stained outfit. “I’m fine, I’m fine… Look, Mama is playin’ without you…”, he grumbled, pointing at Brianna who was swinging gently with a mocking smile. Jeremiah rushed to the swing and she immediately let him take her place to push him as Stephen stood next to her, looking sulky.

“No comment”, he muttered to Bree, who shook her head to let him know she had no intention of saying anything. But after barely three minutes (and a dozen sideways glances), she couldn’t hold it any longer and whispered as Jeremiah rose higher into the sky, screaming with delight:

“Gravity, huh?"

His exasperated face was so comical that Bree had to bite her lip not to burst into laughter. And as if she knew in advance that he was about to jump on her, she scampered off like a rabbit to escape any attempt of retaliation, laughing her heart out.

~o~

“And this?"

Phaedre turned around to look at what Wohali was pointing at. The tribe had reached the borders of North Carolina, with Virginia to the north and the Cherokee territory to the west. Tryon’s armies had pursued them relentlessly since they had attacked Phaedre’s cart, and there had been some tension among the Catawbas over her; as some of them believed that returning the slave to her White masters would de-escalate the situation.

Fortunately for her, Angeni and Wohali disagreed and had always defended her when others had suggested to abandon the young girl near a settlers village. Wohali had even taken on a mission: to follow her wherever she went, which she did not particularly complain about. The way the young Indian looked at her made her cheeks heat up and the time they spent together was entirely devoted to a mutual teaching of vocabulary, which could sometimes veer off on a naughty tangent.

Wohali was pointing at the waters of the New River, a few yards away from them, rushing in gorges that the Catawbas had chosen specifically for their difficulty of access. Almost no white people ventured into this part of the Colony, so they had established their camp there, until things settled down.

“You mean the water?”, said Phaedre, raising her eyebrows. “Yehiye?” But Wohali shook his head and waved his arm wider to signify that he was talking about the water as a whole. “Oh, the river!"

“Iswa,” he translated, nodding his head, and Phaedre repeated the word, carefully copying each sound. Wohali smiled and grabbed a pebble in his hand.

“A stone. Oh, wait, I know that one…umm… inti? It’s inti, isn’t it?” Wohali nodded and the girl gave a triumphant smile. “Your turn.” Cheeks burning, she put an index finger to her own lips and the corners of Wohali’s mouth curled up imperceptibly.

“Is it… the mouse?"

“Almost... mouth”, she corrected, emphasizing the sound. This one was complicated because it did not exist in the Catawbas’ language, but Wohali was a diligent student and she had no doubt that he would get there very soon. And she was right: Wohali’s hand suddenly rose to her face and his brown thumb gently caressed Phaedre’s lower lip as he perfectly repeated “mouth”. So much so that the young woman felt her entire body stupidly shiver under his touch.

Was that it? The feeling that had changed the relationship between Mr. Bonnet and Brianna? When he had started to shower her with small intimate gestures, had she felt her body shiver, her breathing quicken, her cheeks heat up just like Phaedre did right now? Did all men have this effect on women or was it just something Wohali and Mr. Bonnet could do? Phaedre did not have the experience needed to answer these questions, and even if she had it, she already used all of her mental power to prevent herself from parting her lips and kissing the tip of Wohali’s thumb. She didn’t know why she had this sudden urge, or where it came from, but one thing was certain: the gesture was un-Christian and she refrained from doing it. Although not without difficulty. And Wohali made it even harder for her when he seized one of the pearl necklaces he wore around his neck with his other hand to pull it away from his chest.

“Neck-lace”, he uttered with an insistent gaze and Phaedre’s breath caught in her throat. Angeni had kept harping on to her about those necklaces and now Wohali was making it clear that he wanted to get one from her. But not just any necklace. The kind that would allow him to be with her. In the same way that Mr. Bonnet “was” with his wife in their room. And if at the beginning of their marriage, the only sounds escaping from the room were that of this horrible old creaking bed, the situation had changed over the months and Phaedre had repeatedly felt a strange and obscene embarrassment hearing Brianna’s moans as the pair made love. Would she moan the same way if she gave Wohali a necklace? She really wanted to find out...

"Wohali!"

A booming voice startled them both, popping the small erotic bubble they had created around them and they turned their heads at the newcomer. Another man from the tribe was waving at Wohali and spoke to him very quickly in their language. Phaedre understood the words “rabbit” and “hunting”, and realized that their little Catawba/English lesson was being cut short. Wohali looked embarrassed for a moment, but she shook her head and smiled.

“Go… they need you..."

The Indian smiled at her one last time and removed his thumb from her lips, depriving them of the soft warmth to which Phaedre had – very quickly – gotten used. She watched him walk away as she slowly started breathing again, and heaved a long, exasperated sigh. Her decision was made. And she did not care if it was un-Christian or inappropriate or forbidden for a girl like her. She wouldn’t be the first person of African descent to marry a Native American, after all. Though it was rather uncommon. Leaving the banks of the New River, Phaedre trotted back to the camp, spotted Angeni – who was sitting on an old stump and making some kind of basket – and stood in front of her with her arms crossed.

“All right, how do I make one of these necklaces?”, she whispered, and Angeni immediately looked up from her work with a broad smile.

“By Manatou, I thought you’d never ask..."

~o~

December 24^th, 1774.

“Why can’t I have my presents tonight???”, Jeremiah whined for the umpteenth time as Brianna tucked him in and Blue curled up quietly on his rug near the boy’s bed.

Brianna frowned. “Because we open presents on December 25^th or not at all... and if you keep throwing a tantrum, I’ll ask Lord Tryon to remove December 25^th from the calendar and move us straight to the 26^th..."

“I think you overestimate the extent of his power, darlin’…”, Stephen muttered, grabbing the candle on Jeremiah’s nightstand. Brianna gave him a pointed look and he closed his mouth, pursing his lips to hide a smirk.

However, the threat had paid off, and Jeremiah obediently laid back on his pillow, admitting defeat. “Will grandpa and grandma be here tomorrow?”, he asked pleadingly and Stephen looked rather embarrassed.

“No, Jem…”, Bree whispered, stroking his hair. “But I can already tell you they will be with us next Christmas. And also, they will be visiting us more and more often this year... won’t they, dear?"

Stephen looked up; this time Brianna was speaking directly to him, and after a second he nodded, knowing that he had to let the Frasers into their daily lives at some point. For the sake of his wife and son. They had yet to convince the family that the three of them were now really happy, but Brianna could handle it. He was sure of it. She had been literally beaming lately.

“And for my birthday too??”, Jeremiah said excitedly.

Brianna smiled. “Yes, for your birthday too, just like this year!"

“And for Easter?"

“Yes, why not for Easter as well..."

“And for your birthday? And for Daddy’s birthday?"

“Umm…”, Brianna began, knowing that he would keep asking questions hoping she would forget it was way past bedtime already.

“And for grandpa’s birthday? And for grandma’s birthday? And Ian’s birthd-"

“Calm down, Jeremiah, it’s time to sleep!”, she said, waving her finger at the child, who finally fell silent.

“Yes, Mama..."

Stephen bit back a chuckle and headed for the door with the candle. “Good night, son."

“Good night, Daddy. Good night, Mama."

Brianna closed the bedroom door and let out an exhausted sigh, causing Stephen to burst into silent laughter.

“Can you imagine if we had four or five more children to put to bed?”, he sneered, pulling her close, but Brianna backed out of his reach with an outraged look, and the flame of the candle flickered.

“God, no. What would we do with so many children...? Croquet tournaments?"

Stephen nodded, determined to push the joke further. “There’s a new game everyone is talkin’ about, hockey… I’ve heard you need five players..."

“Back off, pirate. I won’t let you touch me as long as you have that in mind…”, Brianna threatened, taking a few steps ahead of him in the hallway. But Stephen did not insist and followed her obediently to their bedroom, admiring her out of the corner of his eye as she began to unlace her dress. He went to his own cupboard and took out a small box that he hid in his fist before coming to stand in front of her and presenting it to her.

“Merry Christmas, mo fíorghrá."

Brianna tilted her head to the side, giving him a both surprised and disapproving look. “I just told Jeremiah that we will open presents tomorrow..."

“His presents, aye. But I’d rather open ours now."

The young woman narrowed her eyes, but knowing full well that Stephen would not let go, she shrugged. “Fine, let me find yours.” Rummaging through her dressing table drawer, she pulled out a leather pouch and handed it to him. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Bonnet. Even if you partially know what it is."

Stephen frowned at the word “partially” and took the pouch with a smirk, though keeping the small box in his left fist.

“It’s a wallet. I didn’t want the portraits to get damaged in your pocket, so I thought about a way to protect them. There are different sized compartments to store important papers... and here...”, she unfolded one of the leather flaps, behind which were slipped the drawings he had asked for, “...is what you wanted."

Stephen stared for a long moment at the drawing of Jeremiah on his knees, and his face lit up with such sincere tenderness that Brianna felt her heart race and her eyes sting. Stephen then took the portrait she had made of herself – with her curly hair down over her bare shoulders, just the way he liked it – and the sparkle she saw in his green eyes told her everything she needed to know. Taking the drawing out of its compartment, he placed it next to the real flesh-and-blood Brianna and made a fake unconvinced face.

“Hmm… I still like the real one better…”, he hummed, before pulling her close to kiss her on the forehead. “They are perfect, mo fíorghrá. Thank you so much."

Brianna raised her chin proudly. “Can I have mine now?"

Stephen nodded and put the wallet and drawings on the dressing table, before handing her the small box. Inside was a beautiful Claddagh ring; the silver ring formed the hands, which carried a heart cut in a magnificent emerald, surmounted by a crown and three small white diamonds. The Irish symbol of love, friendship and loyalty. It was gorgeous, but as always when Stephen was overly romantic with her, she couldn’t help but add a little humor – as if her mind was still sporadically resisting the budding love in her heart.

“Another ring…?”, she joked, pretending to be jaded with all the jewelry he gave her, but Stephen raised a finger to the ceiling with a mischievous smile.

“That’s where you’ve got it wrong, darlin’... ’Tis not just any ring..."

“Oh really?”, she quipped, before her smile faded at her husband’s suddenly serious expression. Taking her left hand in his, he slowly slid her wedding ring off her ring finger, and Brianna gave him a bewildered look.

“Stephen, what are you doing?"

The pirate bit his lip and Brianna realized he was focusing on her hand on purpose to avoid her eyes. There was a silence, during which she waited for him to find his words – as always when he was about to express difficult feelings – but this silence stretched much longer than usual and she decided to give him a little push.

“Stephen…”, she whispered, caressing his cheek with her right hand.

“I could not stand the sight of it anymore…”, he muttered, glaring at the old wedding ring, as if it was solely responsible for everything. “I don’t like the way I put it on your finger. I used to be proud of it. I considered this moment as a victory but then… my feelings changed."

Brianna stared at him, taken aback, moved, but also happy that he finally measured the extent of his actions. She was about to thank him when he looked up and threw the useless ring in a corner of the room...

... and got down on one knee.

“Brianna Ellen Bonnet..."

The young woman could not help but giggle in surprise, while he presented the Claddagh ring in front of her left ring finger. “Stephen, you don’t have to..."

“…will you do me the honor of… continuing to be my wife?"

Laughing nervously, Brianna shrugged. “We’re already married, it’s not like I have a choice..."

But Stephen did not seem in the mood to laugh and he gently stroked her hand, the ring still waiting an inch from her fingernail. “You have it… now..."

Brianna’s eyes widened and she stared into her husband’s gaze for a few seconds. The pirate’s irises – as green as the emerald he was about to slip on her finger – expressed true repentance as well as a terrible fear of rejection and abandonment. But Brianna had made her decision two months earlier and even if she wouldn’t have confessed it under torture, she was at peace with her choice to remain Stephen Bonnet’s wife. So he had absolutely nothing to fear.

With a lump in her throat, she nodded and he gave her another questioning look, prompting her to gasp a “yes”, before slipping the new ring on her finger and getting up to hug her. Brianna admired her gift with a shy smile, then put her arms around his neck to devoutly kiss him, as if they were in a church in front of a hundred witnesses and not in the privacy of their bedroom.

“Thank you…”, she breathed against his lips. But when she pulled back to look at him mischievously, Stephen instantly knew that she was about to joke again. “Does that mean we will now have two wedding anniversaries?"

Stephen chuckled at her not-so-disinterested question and shrugged. “I don’t know, darlin’… Do I have to give you a present on both occasions?"

“Obviously."

Stephen winced as he dragged her towards their bed, under Brianna’s muffled laughter. “One is more than enough, then..."

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Chapter Text

31. Right Back Where We Started From

December 30th, 1774.

Despite the freezing cold that had settled on the heights of North Carolina, the temperature inside Wohali’s teepee was stifling, even more so under the skins and furs of his bed. Our bed…, Phaedre internally corrected, her cheeks burning.

A few hours earlier, Phaedre and Wohali being both orphans, the tribe’s shaman  had blessed them both and they had been able to marry and enter together in what would henceforth be their teepee. The young woman still couldn't get over the fact that she had taken the plunge so quickly – barely two months after her arrival in the tribe – but the attraction she felt for Wohali (and that he felt for her) was irrepressible, animal, and she had decided to give in to it. The Catawbas did not consider marriage to be sacred, but more like a way to celebrate Love between individuals: divorce was a common and simple procedure, and polygamy – although not encouraged – was also not prohibited. And now here she was, lying next to him, her skin covered with a thin layer of sweat and a slight pain in her lower abdomen to remind her that she would never be the same again. A wife. I’m a wife, now. His wife…

Wohali’s hand rested on one of her arms, startling her, as he wrinkled his nose. “Hot.”

Phaedre chuckled and nodded. “Yes, I am… a little hot. I wonder why…”

She barely had time to finish her sentence when Wohali’s other hand grabbed the skins covering their bodies and sent them flying to the other end of the teepee. Phaedre squealed, trying to hide her most private parts with her hands before she stopped. Wasn’t it silly to cover up like that after what they had just done? Especially since she never tired of seeing the Indian’s dark eyes light up each time they met the curves of her body.

“Less hot now”, Wohali concluded with relentless logic, and Phaedre chuckled loudly.

She had to admit that their private conversations weren’t exactly elevated yet. Phaedre’s Catawba skills were very limited and Wohali’s progress in English did not yet allow him to make long speeches, thus forcing them most of the time to resort to Angeni’s translation services. But Phaedre was not worried; they would have plenty of time to learn together.

“You and I...”, the Indian went on, placing his index finger alternately on Phaedre's heart and his, “...are one. You are Catawba now.”

The young woman smiled brightly. African, slave’s daughter, servant, confidante: Phaedre had been given many labels in her life, Catawba being by far the most unexpected… but perhaps the one she liked most. The one that promised her a life of freedom, in the great outdoors, closer to her own roots than she had ever been. However, this life – if she embraced it now – had a price: that of the nightmare her friend Brianna might be enduring every day with a man she had not chosen. Of course, Mr. Bonnet had changed over the months, but her mistress had made up her mind. On a whim and out of anger, certainly. But that was not for Phaedre to judge.

She had to know, though. With a bit of luck, maybe she’d be able to make it to the Ridge and would find Brianna, Mr. Bonnet and Jemmy visiting the Frasers? Or maybe the Frasers had received a recent message from Brianna telling them that she had forgiven Mr. Bonnet and was no longer seeking revenge? … Or perhaps the situation was worse than ever and it was necessary to act as quickly as possible? Either way, Phaedre could not just sit there, wondering whether or not she should try to pass on the ledger. She had to know more about Brianna’s situation and find out if she still wanted to end her marriage. And like every time her thoughts brought her back to her unfinished mission, her face darkened and her smile fell as quickly as it had appeared.

“What?”, Wohali asked anxiously.

Phaedre bit her lip and, bringing her knees up to her bare chest, she sat down on the skins of their mattress. “I am Catawba… does that mean I’m free, like all Catawbas? Free to go wherever I want?”

Wohali frowned for a moment as he analyzed her sentence to be sure he understood the message. Then he nodded. “We are one. Where you go…I go too.”

“Anywhere? Could we leave the tribe? Temporarily?”

“Tempo…”, Wohali repeated slowly, showing signs of anxiety. He had understood the words “leave” and “tribe” perfectly, and the idea obviously made him uncomfortable. Why did his young wife seem so eager to leave when they had just been united by their shaman? Was she trying to bring him back among white people, to a world he knew nothing about? Taking advantage of their union to make him betray his own kind? After all, it would only be fair since they had kidnapped her and forced her to remain among them. But still… As doubt and incomprehension settled on her young husband’s features, Phaedre raised her hands in appeasement.

“I'll go get Angeni.”

The mere mention of their interpreter’s name seemed to bring some of the pressure down and Wohali nodded again, while Phaedre put on one of her brand new skin dresses. Her old servant’s clothes had not resisted very long to her life in the wild.

It was dark outside, but Phaedre easily found her way to her old tepee in the pale moonlight filtering through the trees. She crept inside and stepped over two sleepers before crouching down where Angeni used to spend the night. Putting her hands on the girl’s chest, she shook her gently to wake her up. Nothing. So she repeated her gesture, a little harder this time, and the teenager sat up briskly. She was about to scream when Phaedre clasped a hand over her mouth.

“It’s me! Phaedre!”, she whispered, as the girl immediately relaxed and frowned.

“What are you doing here?”

“I need you to translate something. Would you please come with me?”

“Ummm…”, Angeni said hesitatingly. “I don’t know if I really want to translate that kind of things for you and Wohali...”

“What?” Phaedre blinked a few times before she remembered that she was indeed in the middle of her wedding night and that the situation could be confusing. “No, no, no, we’re done with that part. I just have to say something very important to Wohali and I want to make sure he understands me. And besides… I wanted to tell you about it too. I have kept this secret for far too long...”

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow? Because everyone is sleeping, in case you haven’t noticed…”, the young Indian girl yawned.

“I noticed. I don’t want anyone else to hear, so…”, Phaedre murmured, this time tickling her friend’s curiosity, and Angeni grabbed a blanket to wrap it around her shoulders.

“All right, I’m coming.” Angeni stifled another yawn and both girls left the teepee to go back to Phaedre’s. “By the way… how was it?”, she chuckled and the servant felt her cheeks heat up, knowing full well what her friend was talking about.

“How was what?”, Phaedre mumbled casually. “Oh, that… Hmm, no, nothing exceptional. I don’t understand why people make such a fuss about it...”

Angeni gave her a puzzled look, before noticing Phaedre’s mischievous smile, and punched her arm silently. “Liar.”

With a sly shrug, Phaedre pushed aside the skins covering the teepee’s entrance and walked in, closely followed by her friend. Inside, Wohali was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the tent. He had lit another candle, made from oily fish residues, and seemed rather worried when he spoke in his native language, causing Angeni to wince.

“What did he say?”, Phaedre asked, taken aback.

“He says that if anyone sees me here tonight, my mother will make him regret being born”, the girl translated.

Phaedre let out a sharp laugh. “Really?”

“Even the chief is afraid of my mother… One day, a bear stole one of her freshly caught fishes. And she went to get it back.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Inside the bear.”

A cricket chirped somewhere in the peaceful night, while Phaedre pictured Angeni's mother – a small woman of quite average-looking build – ripping open the bear's belly with her bare hands to recover her property.

“All right, I'll try to be quick, then… Sit down”, Phaedre added, motioning for her to sit between her and Wohali.

A few seconds later, the two Natives were staring attentively, waiting for her to reveal this dark secret she had kept from them for the last couple of months. And she did. In a low voice – and translated by Angeni, when some sentences were too complicated for the young man – Phaedre told them everything. Brianna and the pirate who had ruined her life for years before he had forced her to marry him. River Run, the trial and how she had become Brianna’s servant when her former Mistress had been robbed of all her possessions. She told them about the anxiety Brianna felt living with her rapist. Bonnet’s manipulation and countless low blows. Her unbearable distress and his insatiable desire. But also, the tenderness that had gradually appeared. The love they shared for their son, and Brianna’s relief after Bonnet’s heartfelt apology. The mutual feelings that had blossomed in their hearts. Until his last betrayal, the one that had changed everything. The ledger she was meant to give to the apothecary… the Catawbas’ attack…

“…and here I am”, she finished, reaching into her belongings to pull out the precious ledger.

Silence fell again in the teepee, as both Indians glanced at Phaedre and at the book she had placed on the ground in front of her.

“You mean… you could get rid of Governor Tryon, but because of our idiot warriors you are stuck here with the proof of his crimes?”, Angeni summed up, getting an angry look from her compatriot.

Phaedre began to stammer. “Uh... yes, well no... you’re missing the point...”

“Leave tribe? For this?” Wohali’s deep voice rose under the tent and Phaedre pursed her lips, nodding apologetically as Angeni opened her mouth wide.

“What do you mean? You want to go all the way back to Wilmington?”

“Shhhh”, Phaedre hissed, motioning for her to lower her voice. “No, we are too far from the coast and I’ve wasted enough time as it is…” She turned back to Wohali and grabbed both of his strong hands in hers. “I’ll leave… but I’ll come back here. I want to stay with you… and the tribe…”

Wohali relaxed slightly and gave her a sweet smile.

“…but first I have to help my friend.”

Angeni nodded silently to let her know she understood. “You said they were falling in love with each other… Maybe your friend has changed her mind and does not want your help anymore.”

“That is why I must not go to Wilmington, but to her parents’ house. They live not far away from here and will surely have heard from her. Mr. Bonnet had promised Brianna that the family would get together more often.”

Wohali patted Angeni on the arm and the girl hurriedly repeated the last few interactions in Catawba.

“Where they live?”, he mumbled at last and Phaedre shook her head.

“I do not know exactly, but Fraser’s Ridge is in the mountains, a little further south from here. Along Cherokee territory.” As Wohali and Angeni jumped at the mention of their enemies, she added hastily. “It will be a quick journey. We’re close to the border with Virginia, aren’t we? As far as North Carolina goes?” Angeni nodded and Phaedre went on. “I remember hearing someone say that it took a little over two days to go from the border to the Ridge on horseback. Two days to get there, two days to go back…”

Again, a dead silence fell on the three young people, but despite her nervousness, Phaedre gave them time to process all the information.

“Your friend... not in danger”, Wohali said, shaking his head.

Phaedre opened her mouth to retort, but was cut short by their interpreter’s outraged voice.

“Did you listen to a single word she said?” She went on with a series of quick sentences in Catawba that probably summed up Brianna's situation, until Angeni switched back to English. “I mean... of course we wish her friend to be happy, but I do understand why Phaedre still wants to make sure of it. Especially if she has a way to help.”

Phaedre smiled. “Exactly. I just want to make sure everything is fine between them”, she concludes, stroking Wohali’s fingers.

“What if her parents don’t know anything more than you do, though?”

Slowly, Phaedre turned to Angeni and lowered her eyes. “If they have not heard from her, it will mean the situation has not improved. And I guess I’ll give them the ledger.”

Between her hands, Wohali’s fingers moved and she turned her attention back to him, stifling a sigh of relief as he smiled. “We go together”, he whispered, and Phaedre nodded as a thank you.

“Wait”, Angeni interjected loudly, “I refuse to let you two go...”

Phaedre frowned. “You can’t stop me.”

“That’s not what I said… I said I refused to let you two go.” The Native girl left her sentence hang for a moment before explaining her plan. “Onacona and I are coming with you.”

Wohali muttered something in Catawba, and Phaedre looked at Angeni questioningly, but she ignored her.

“And who is in charge of watching the horses here, huh?”, she retorted to her friend, who rolled his eyes before answering.

“Onacona…”

“Exactly.” Angeni looked very proud of her plan to rescue Brianna (and to get closer to the boy she liked). “Tomorrow, I will go talk to him.”

“So if I understand correctly… you plan to convince Onacona to steal the tribe’s horses and come with us to Fraser’s Ridge?”, Phaedre summarized with a grimace. “Won’t we… get into trouble?”

Angeni waved her hand in front of her. “Nooo. We will be back soon. And we will all be together, the four of us. They’ll probably think we’re off doing something stupid, like all young people do.” There was a silence, then Angeni added, her voice suddenly a little less assured. “And the chief cannot punish all four of us... right?”

“Not worried about chief…”, Wohali growled. “But your mother…”

And as Phaedre muffled a giggle in the palm of her hand, Angeni glared at the other Indian.

~o~

An icy draft rushed into the hallway of the Bonnets’ home on Ocracoke, and Brianna pulled her thick woolen shawl tighter around her. One of the French doors leading to the terrace and the beach was open, and as she went to close it, she noticed Stephen leaning on the railing. He was bending forward – his muscular butt hugged in skintight beige satin pants – and like she often did these past few weeks, Brianna took the time to admire him. To appreciate the feeling of safety, the warmth, the tenderness that she now felt when she laid eyes on him. Stephen Bonnet was a handsome man, much more handsome than the average man actually, but his beauty – hitherto tainted by his actions – had only been revealed to her recently. And Brianna was a little more amazed every day as she discovered a feature, an attitude, a nicely drawn muscle, or any other detail she had once missed and now adored. He must have sensed her presence, though, because his face turned toward her —immediately breaking into a soft smile — and Brianna stepped forward, noticing the letter in his hands. A crumpled, folded letter… stamped with Tryon’s seal. With a sigh, Brianna moved forward. Stephen straightened up to face her and allow her to snuggle up comfortably against his chest. Which she almost instinctively did.

“Bad news?”, she mumbled, glancing at the message and Stephen shrugged.

“We will have to go back to River Run… probably by the end of January or early February.”

Brianna did not protest. She had always known that Ocracoke was a second home and that sooner or later they would return to the continent. She had prepared for it, but having a deadline was somewhat heart-wrenching. Stephen’s hand caressed her chin, forcing her to look up, and Brianna immediately answered his silent question with a reassuring smile.

“It felt good to be here. I feel strong enough to go back…”

“We'll come back as often as you want, mo fíorghrá…”, he whispered, his green eyes still probing hers for the slightest trace of sadness or doubt. But there was none. His love, the way he had expressed it to her, his adorable attentions, all of that had paid off and had swept away the resentment and hatred from his sweet Brianna’s heart. The peace he even read in her blue eyes was taking his breath away. He still could not believe he had succeeded. In finding love. In keeping it. Making it grow and blossom, like a rare and precious flower. An achievement that had always seemed impossible to the old Stephen Bonnet; but the man he was today had just proved him wrong.

“Late January, huh?”, Brianna repeated, gently rubbing her cheek against Stephen's fingers. “That gives us an entire month to enjoy the premises.”

Slowly, one of her hands slid down between their bodies to suggestively brush the pirate's crotch, causing him to chuckle.

“Indeed… you haven’t finished teachin’ me how to play chess, by the way”, he announced, so seriously that Bree took a step back.

“Are you seriously thinking about playing chess now?”

For a moment, his blank expression made her doubt, until the usual glint of mischief reappeared in his eyes. “Absolutely, darlin’... Ye won’t mind if I take the queen, do ye…?”

Matching words with action, he lifted and shouldered Brianna, who let out a shrill laugh that echoed against every wall of the house.

“Another bad pun like that and I promise you that you won’t take anyone at all…”

Brianna let him carry her inside, to the living room, where he sat her on the long solid wood table, and she immediately spread her thighs so that Stephen could place himself between them.

“Where’s Jeremiah?”, he asked quickly. His hands were already rolling up his wife's skirts, and the latter was busy unlacing his breeches.

“In the kitchen, with Fitzpatrick. I believe they’re making pies…”

“Oh...” A toothy smile settled on the pirate's lips, as his fingers reached their goal and started to caress his wife's sex. “Looks like Jeremiah and I will both have something in the oven very soon…”

Brianna's eyes narrowed at that second dirty innuendo. “Would you please stop?”

The Irishman chuckled loudly again and planted his gaze in Brianna's, as well as two digits deep inside her. The young woman opened her mouth wide, her breath slightly cut off by the arousing brutality of the intrusion. Before he whispered in her ear:

“Make me…”

Brianna's heart was pounding against her chest, as if each new beat could burst it open. When had she allowed her desire for this man to get the better of her? Enough to laugh at his bad jokes? To beg for intimacy every time she could? To never have enough of his touch, his caresses, his eyes on her? She had no clue. The fact was she wanted him. Right here and now, and she would not let his bad sense of humor ruin the mood. With an impish grin, she took his word for it and her lips crashed onto his. A few seconds later, their tongues met, dancing to the rhythm of his wrist between her thighs.

Pushing Brianna back with one hand, Stephen stopped pleasing her with the other and pulled his cock out of his unlaced breeches. But it wasn't until he was about to penetrate her, with her back laying on the table, that he noticed her sudden blank expression. Brianna was not looking at him anymore; she was staring absently at the varnished wood to the right of her head, and a cold shiver ran through Stephen’s spine as a memory — probably the same as hers — came back to his mind. May I be damned…, he swore to himself, not daring to make the slightest move.

A litany of insults crossed his mind. Idiot, insensitive, boor, imbecile… How could he even forget – for a tiny second – that tables were off limits? Since they were married, he had purposedly avoided that kind of furniture, for fear of making her trauma, hatred and anger resurface… He had relaxed his attention for ten seconds. Ten bloody seconds, and now...

“I…I’m sorry, love, I… come on, get off…”, he muttered, holding out his hand to help her get off the table. But instead of complying, Bree put her hand on his wrist, pulling gently to bring her husband back to her. A husband who categorically refused to meet her gaze.

So she pulled a little harder, forcing him to look up and stare right into her eyes. Where he would undoubtedly see the good old reproachful glint in her blue irises. But it wasn’t there. Instead of reproaches, he only found forgiveness. An encouraging and sweet smile, as well as delicate fingers that were not pushing him away. Even better, her hand invited him to return to his previous position between her spread legs.

“It's alright…”, Brianna breathed, as if she was whispering into the ear of some scared and wounded animal. “It’s alright.”

Was she reassuring herself as much as she was reassuring him? Maybe. But even then, her desire for him was still there, intact. Stephen's breathing quickened. What if she was wrong? What if she mistakenly thought she had made her peace with that night and started screaming again as he released himself inside her on that bloody table? No, he could not take the risk. He could not mess everything up again. He would not survive it... Not now, not after all the happiness they had managed to find these past few months.

“It’s alright... It’s alright...”

Brianna repeated the same words like a mantra, slowly tightening her grip around his arm, and Stephen felt the last barriers of his reluctance crumble. His desire was making a strong comeback, raising his sex ever higher towards its target. Towards this divine body that he never tired of possessing, day after day.

“Brianna…” He was panting, torn between apprehension and excitement. “Are you sure that-”

The young woman nodded. “Everything is different now. Everything…” With a sad smiled, she pressed her forehead against his, her hand moving up his arm to caress his cheek. “You are the one who put us in this mess… and you’re the only one who can get us out of it. Make love to me, Stephen.”

Brianna could feel the pirate's rapid breathing against her lips. She had always thought that such a situation would bring back some of her old anxieties. But she could never have imagined that Stephen would feel the same. And for some reason she couldn't really explain, it only made her love for him grow tenfold.

“Everything is different?”, he asked under his breath, as his arms wrapped around Bree again.

“Everything…”

A second later, their mouths met again, and Brianna grabbed Stephen’s cock to guide him inside without him needing to pull away from her. She would not let him duck out, not this time. Not when they were about to overcome the last obstacle, to pass the ultimate test: going back to where it all began, before she could grant absolute forgiveness. Stephen awkwardly leaned forward – taking care to lay his wife down on the wood without hurting her – while gently and slowly thrusting back and forth. Everything was different and everything would be different. He would take care of every detail: the punches would become kisses, he would caress her breasts with devotion instead of tearing off her bodice, he would turn her terrified screams into blissful sighs, he would intertwine his fingers with Brianna’s rather than use them to pin her wrists down.

There was only one thing he did not wish to change from that night. One and one only: Jeremiah. His wonder, his universe, the small being who gave him the strength to want a different life. Perhaps the miracle would happen again today with the making of a second child? That was what he wanted from the bottom of his heart and soul.

With Brianna’s legs on either side of his pelvis, he kept moving back and forth, sporadically leaning forward to place a kiss at the top of her breasts, whisper a few words of love, or even allow Brianna to run her eager fingers through his blonde hair.

He had succeeded. A single glance at Brianna’s face had confirmed it: her rosy cheekbones, the moans escaping her parted lips, the intense adoration in her eyes, were all betraying the pleasure she felt in this act of love and forgiveness. And when their gazes met and the young woman whispered “I love you”, Stephen immediately knew he was losing control. Gasping, he came inside her like an impatient teenager. But Brianna did not seem to mind and after catching her breath, she raised herself on her elbows and sat on the edge of the table. As close as she could to her husband, who still hadn't pulled out. It was a matter of habit: Stephen Bonnet always loved to linger for ages even when the party was over.

“Did you do it on purpose?”, she whispered, stroking the scar on his cheek.

“Do what?” He had answered tit-for-tat, on the defensive, like someone who is used to being criticized for every single action. But Brianna had no intention to do that and she smiled, shaking her head.

“Doing the exact same thing... but in a different way...”

Stephen’s breath caught in his throat, and he searched into Bree's irises for a clue, anything that would tell him what he should or should not answer.

“You noticed…” And as she nodded slowly, he added: “Are you mad at me?”

A few seconds passed as Brianna considered the answer she wanted to give. No, she wasn’t mad at him. It had taken her several minutes to notice the pattern he was both repeating and changing, then a few more minutes to observe the effect it had on her, before finally giving way to pleasure and even… to mercy.

“No. I think it was a good way to… ward off the spell, you know. I think I needed that.”

She kissed him tenderly, and he indulged in the kiss, pulling her frail body against his until his limp sex slipped out of Brianna and fell lazily between his own thighs. The young woman giggled at the sensation and glanced – almost mockingly – down, as Stephen pulled his exhausted penis back inside his breeches.

“What about you?”, she asked after a few seconds.

There was a silence and just like her, he took the time to analyze his own feelings before speaking again. “Aye… I think I needed that, too.”

To forget about the old Stephen Bonnet. To be forgiven for every infamous action, every wound inflicted to his beloved. To better move forward. To better respect each other, to better love each other. They both needed it…and he had delivered. A smug smile crept across his face, and Brianna instinctively knew this was the end of their romantic moment when Stephen patted her thigh, as one would pet a big fleshy cow.

“Well… I’ve done my share of the work. You make us a beautiful baby, now, darlin’...”

Jumping off the table, Brianna threw her head back as she readjusted her dress. “Jesus, we were having a moment, right now. Why do you always have to ruin everything?”

“The only thing I ruined here is you, sweetheart...”

“Oh God, I said enough with the puns…!”, she sneered, avoiding a slap on the butt.

As Stephen tied up his breeches, Brianna left the living room and her smile immediately fell the second she set foot in the corridor. Her heart was still pounding; the experience she had just lived had moved her deeply, and if Stephen had not been in the next room, maybe she would have let her tears run free.

The progress Stephen had made was colossal, and on that last day of December 1774, Brianna Ellen Bonnet felt terribly lucky. Lucky to have a husband capable of such questioning, when other men would have just given meaningless apologies without changing any of their personality traits. She felt liberated too; liberated from her past and confident in her future. As soon as they would get back to River Run, she would send a letter to her family. The most heartfelt message she could write, to ask them – no, beg them – to accept Stephen into the Fraser clan. Because if Roger had barely deigned to honor them with his presence after months of hesitation, Stephen had truly earned his place in the family. By making the most prodigious efforts.

“Why are you smilin’ like that?” The Irishman's voice suddenly rose in the hallway. She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she didn’t realize he had left the living room. And he was right: she was smiling so widely that her cheeks almost felt cramped.

What was the point to even deny it? The Irishman's reaction if she told him the truth would be all the more interesting to watch... so Brianna crossed her hands behind her back, tilting her head to the side.

“No reason… I was just thinking how proud I am of my husband…”

And after reveling for a few seconds in his flabbergasted face, his green eyes shining with emotion, and his mouth that was desperately gasping for oxygen, Brianna giggled and abandoned him to his delicious torment.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Chapter Text

32. Love Is A Losing Game

January 1775.

There are places on this Earth where you immediately feel at home, on familiar ground and safe, even if you have never set foot there. Fraser’s Ridge was definitely one of those. Perhaps it was due to the many drawings that Brianna had made of the house, or to Jeremiah’s inexhaustible rambling about the cattle paddocks and the vegetable garden where he used to play… but Phaedre knew instinctively that they had reached their destination when they finally saw the large beige wooden house, its two red brick chimneys, Claire’s practice, as well as the stilted terrace that surrounded most of the building.

“This is it!”, she called, and Angeni immediately tugged on Onacona’s arm – who was holding the reins of their horse – to make him stop.

“Are you sure?”

Phaedre winced. Unlike what she had hoped when they left the tribe four days earlier, the journey had been no picnic. The vegetation was dense and the mountains steep in this part of the colony and even if they knew the right direction, they had already gone too far south once, turned back, got stuck in a dead end after a scree and had unwittingly scared to death a German family building their cabin near the river. They had no desire to repeat the experience. But Phaedre was now sure they were at the right place. Well…

“Pretty much. I recognize the house.”

“I hope so. I do not want to have another rifle pointed at me today…”, the young teenager grumbled, but she was interrupted by Onacona who said something in Catawba. And his tone was not very friendly.

“What did he say?”, Phaedre asked, wincing again.

Onacona was not a bad bugger. Aged eighteen or nineteen years old at most, he constantly looked annoyed, but it had only gotten worse in the last couple of days. He could not speak a word of English (and categorically refused to try) and had made it perfectly clear to Phaedre that he was not there to help her, but only because he refused to let Angeni take part in this reckless adventure without him.

“He says you better be sure, because if we go down into the valley, we will be exposed. Easy targets…”, Angeni translated, gazing worriedly at the Fraser’s house below.

“I understand… I can go alone, if you want-”

“No.”

This time, Wohali – sitting behind her on their horse – had been the one to speak and Phaedre suppressed a delicious shiver as the Indian tightened his arms around her. To shorten the reins and prepare the horse to move again, but also to tell her that he would not let her go on her own.

“Phaedre and I, together…”, he added, digging his heels into the horse’s sides.

“We’re not waiting for you here either…”, Angeni sighed before motioning for Onacona to follow their friends. The Indian boy breathed a loud sigh but complied anyway and Phaedre pursed her lips to hide a smile. Despite his grumpy looks, the young man could not refuse anything to Angeni – which also explained why he was here today.

For about another hour, they carefully came down the mountain, until they reached the edge of the trees and paused. Once in open land, they would be vulnerable – as noticeable as a red fox in immaculate snow – and Phaedre searched her memory one last time for any clues that might confirm that this was indeed the right house. Yes, she was ninety-nine percent sure it was, the remaining one percent being just fear. A stupid fear of throwing herself and her friends into the White lion’s den.

“Let’s go…”

They trotted off, slowing down around the house to show they were not a threat, and just as she had expected, the front door opened when they were still a hundred yards away. Jamie Fraser appeared, staring at the newcomers and his rifle leaning against the wall behind him, just in case. He let them get closer, until Phaedre – helped by Wohali – jumped down from the horse and raised both hands on either side of her head. She was about to identify herself when she saw Fraser’s expression change dramatically as the man shouted at the house.

“Clairrrrre!”

Phaedre's sigh of relief was so loud that even Jamie heard it, and he ran down the wooden stairs to meet her. Behind him, Claire Fraser had just closed the entrance door, and it took her a few seconds to understand why her husband was running to greet four lonesome Indians as if they were old friends. Until her gaze rested on Phaedre.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ…”

Wiping her hands on her apron, she came down the steps and joined her husband, her eyes going frantically from Phaedre to the Natives and from the Natives to Jamie in complete awe.

“Good Heavens, Phaedre, everyone thought you were dead!!”

Phaedre smiled. Of course, such an attack on one of North Carolina’s most influential and wealthy men must have hit the headlines. But she still liked being thought dead better than being listed as a ‘runaway slave’.

“I was taken in by the Catawbas. They took care of me, fed me and…”

But Claire wasn’t listening anymore. Her doctor’s eye had immediately spotted the swollen scar that was still visible under the young woman’s frizzy, short hair.

“Christ, that’s one hell of a wound you’ve got here... Come inside, you must be freezing... and I’ll have a look at this head...”

Claire gently pushed Phaedre’s back, but things got a little awkward when both Frasers and Phaedre started moving, while the three Catawbas exchanged uncomfortable glances.

“Don’t be sc-”, she began, but a young man’s voice with a heavy Scottish accent rose behind them.

“I told ye she wasnae dead, Uncle Jamie…”

Everyone turned around on a pale-skinned young boy wearing a stunning and eclectic mix of settler’s clothing, with Mohawk jewelry, feathers and make-up, and whose partially shaved skull was topped by long, braided hair that ran down his neck. And on his heels, a huge wolfhound that yawned lazily. The young man smiled at the three Catawbas, who once again exchanged a long (and eloquent) skeptical look. Ian did not mind; he was used to inspire curiosity – sometimes even contempt – among both people: the settlers who thought he looked too much like an Indian or the Indians who thought he looked too much like a settler. But to Phaedre, he was just her savior, who had come just at the right time.

“This is Mr. Ian Murray… He is my friend Brianna’s cousin. Sorry… I mean, Mrs. Bonnet…”, she added, but Claire smiled gently, indicating that it would not be considered disrespectful here. “He spent two years among the Mohawks.”

Ian nodded and there was a silence, during which she cast pointed glances at her traveling companions, as if to make them understand that they had absolutely nothing to fear and that this family was one of the most open-minded she had ever met. Finally, after a few seconds, Angeni started speaking hesitantly and Phaedre breathed another sigh of relief.

“My name is Angeni, this is Phaedre’s husband Wohali and… my future husband, Onacona”, she added, aware that the said future husband would not contradict her since he neither understood nor spoke a word of English.

Phaedre’s lips stretched into a discreet smile, which turned into embarrassment when Claire’s eyes went from Wohali to his wife, as if the sight of the young man and his manly charm were enough to explain why Phaedre had so quickly embraced this new way of life. Jamie introduced himself as well as Claire, whose brain had already started working intently. Finding out Phaedre was alive was quite surprising, but her presence at the Ridge was even more mysterious. Why – if she had been offered the chance of a new life as a free (and presumed dead) woman – had she come all this way at the risk of being captured and returned to slavery? It could only mean one thing.

“Is Brianna all right?”, Claire asked immediately, while Ian and Jamie invited the travelers inside the house.

Phaedre frowned. “I was about to ask you the same question, Mrs. Fraser… Haven’t you heard from her? Mr. Bonnet was quite satisfied with the outcome of your visit... Didn’t you receive another invitation?”

Claire’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “An invitation? We don’t even know where they are!”

A shiver ran down Phaedre’s spine. Did she hear correctly? How was it possible to lose track of a woman and a child who hardly ever left their home? She began to stammer. “What do you mean you don’t know…?”

“River Run is empty… except fur a few servants”, Ian said, as they entered the house and led their visitors to the dining room. “They’re gone.”

“Gone? But…? Are you sure they aren’t visiting the Tryons in New Bern? Or… or in Wilmington? This is where I was going when we were attacked... Maybe Brianna is looking for me there?”

Jamie and Claire exchanged a knowing look, and Jamie shook her head slowly as Claire left the room to make tea.

“It’s been said that yer body and that of one of Bonnet's men were burnt with yer cart…”, said the Scot in a soft voice. “Nae one was looking fur ye, Miss Phaedre. Nae one at all.”

“As for New Bern… Marsali and Fergus moved there in October. Fergus initiated publication of a newspaper. Trust me, we would know if Brianna was there…”, Claire added as she rummaged through the cupboards. Her nervous gestures betrayed her disappointment. She had foolishly hoped to find out through Phaedre where Bree was hiding, but the young servant was not even aware of her disappearance. Back to square one.

Phaedre sank into one of the chairs, completely disconnected from reality. The gears in her brain were smoking, desperately searching for a solution, some sort of logic to what was happening. Brianna and Jeremiah couldn’t be in danger, it was simply unthinkable. Phaedre could not imagine anything that would ruin the relationship between the Irishman and his captive enough for him to hurt them. It was just ridiculous, unimaginable and she ruled that first option out without even considering it. The second option could be Bonnet’s duties. Perhaps Tryon had asked the Bonnets to move closer to New Bern so that his partner would be more available? Brianna would hate that…, she thought before changing her mind. No, it was very unlikely. Besides, Bonnet had already been away for days, even weeks, and he had never asked Brianna to leave with him. He was too attached to River Run. Not emotionally, of course… but the plantation was the symbol of his victory. He would not let it go anytime soon.

Bonnet had never mentioned any desire to exile themselves before Phaedre was kidnapped by the Catawbas. If he had had the idea, it was therefore necessarily after her own death. That’s it… Brianna could not bear to live there anymore… He took her somewhere else to ease her pain… Definitely… The young girl smiled before she realized that this option was not good news. It was good for Brianna and Jeremiah, who were now probably living in a heavenly and expensive place, but not for her family, who had lived in uncertainty ever since. But chances were high that it was just temporary: Bonnet would not have kept River Run or posted people to take care of the house in their absence if he did not intend to come back.

“I understand your concern, Mr. and Mrs. Fraser, but… I sincerely believe that Brianna is safe and sound. Though I admit that I wished I knew more about her current situation…”, she mumbled before thanking Claire for the steaming cup she placed in front of her, as well as a dish filled with scones and other pastries made by Mrs. Bug.

“How was the daily life at the plantation?”, Claire asked, as Ian offered the Native Americans food and took the opportunity to try and break the ice. “Our visit... was courteous, but there was still some sort of...”

Phaedre let out a chuckle. “…Uneasiness?” Claire nodded and the maid took her cup between her fingers to warm them, thoughtfully fiddling with the handle. “Well… I won’t lie: they had a difficult start. Brianna was… terrified. Mr. Bonnet’s mere presence in the same room was unbearable to her. Especially as he was constantly trying to get closer, to touch her, or catch her attention.”

“Did he…” Claire pursed her lips, sickened at the mere idea that the Irishman could have raped her daughter again. “…forced himself on her?”

Phaedre frowned. “I… I do not think so. I remember they had a few arguments during the first weeks, some of which might have got out of hand... but Mr. Bonnet was... determined to project the image of a respectable man... Not only in the eyes of society, but also in private. He let her come to him… even at the very beginning, before she consented to be intimate with him… he allowed Jeremiah to sleep with them. Because he knew it made her feel safer, more comfortable.”

Claire’s relief was palpable and she closed her eyes for a few seconds, before turning to Jamie who had not missed a bit of the conversation.

“But they cannae be in love. The kisses, the smiles… it was an act sae that our visit wouldnae end in a bloodbath, reit?”, the Scotsman asked, eager to prove the theory he had been mulling for months.

But the face Phaedre made at that moment did not bode well. “Well… For several months, the answer to that question would have been very easy to give. But the miscarriage, then Mr. MacKenzie’s intrusion, your godfather’s death… those events brought them closer... so to speak.”

Claire Fraser’s features expressed no surprise, unlike her husband who seemed utterly gobsmacked.

“Brrrought them closer? That’s rrrridiculous…”

Claire shrugged. “Not so much…”

“Aye, Sassenach, I ken what ye think of all this… But Brianna is nae fool. Bonnit actually behaving like a human being once or twice isnae enough tae-”

“Mr. Bonnet has been nothing but a caring and loving husband for almost a year now, Mr. Fraser. And no, Brianna is not stupid. She would not have been fooled by a few sweet words or empty promises if that did not entail sincere efforts and actions”, Phaedre retorted vehemently.

She did not really know why she had lost her temper so easily, or why she had suddenly felt the need to restore the pirate’s image in front of his in-laws, but their tendency to systematically paint too dark a picture of the situation exasperated her. They weren’t there, they had not seen what she had seen. Of course, things had been pretty grim sometimes between Brianna and Mr. Bonnet, but he had made efforts. Outstanding efforts to make life pleasant for his wife and son, to become a better man, a respectable father, and a considerate husband. The same could not be said for everyone...

With a devil of a din, the door leading to the hallway and stairs to the bedrooms swung open, the handle hitting the wall and causing the crystal glasses to rattle in the dresser. The three Catawbas jumped out of their skin, ready to defend themselves, but Ian raised a reassuring hand while gazing disdainfully at the intruder.

Roger MacKenzie staggered into the dining room, with a nearly empty bottle of whiskey in one hand and a shaggy beard hiding three-quarters of his face. He took a few steps forward, wondering how Ian had quadruplicated during the night, then shrugged and opened a cupboard looking for food – only to find another bottle of whiskey (that one a little bit fuller). The alcohol seemed like an acceptable snack to him, as he put the empty bottle in the cupboard and took the new one with a satisfied grunt, under Fraser’s murderous glare. Jamie did not exactly like hosting a drunkard at his own expense, especially when he was trying to prove that the said drunkard was a better choice for his daughter than a pirate seemingly turned saint.

Roger turned around, ready to go back where he had come from, when his eyes fell… on Phaedre. And growled.

Brianna definitely dodged a bullet with that one…, she thought with a contemptuous scowl. Her hand went unconsciously to the leather satchel she was carrying tight against her waist and that contained the precious ledger. She wished she could be sure of her choice, to take responsibility for giving the ledger (or not), and bear the consequences of her actions. But the more time she spent at Fraser’s Ridge, the more she feared she had made a mistake. No matter how much respect she had for the Fraser family, none of them knew enough about the situation to help her make her decision. They had no news from Brianna, no idea what she had been through or how fond she had grown for their enemy. They would not have Bree’s best interests at heart: their only goal was to get their daughter, their grandson, and their plantation back, and finally defeat the dastardly Captain Bonnet. In other words, they and their opinions were all stuck in 1773.

“What the Hell…?”, Roger grumbled, spreading his arms, which made him lose a bit of his balance.

Phaedre was determined not to answer him — after all, that boor had almost endangered Brianna with his stupid decisions — but she had not reckoned with Angeni and her two compatriots. White people’s liquor kept most of Native Americans away as easily as lemongrass repelled mosquitoes. Drinking made the settlers dumb, aggressive and above all dangerous. Now that a completely drunk man was in the room, the three Catawbas would surely want to scuttle away before things got complicated.

“Phaedre, please give them the ledger so we can leave!!”

The young girl turned around in shock. She could not believe Angeni had just done that to her. Now she would have a hard time convincing the Frasers to contact Brianna and make sure she still wanted to part ways with Bonnet before they did anything.

“A ledger?”

Dammit… Phaedre swore internally, getting up from her chair. But all eyes were on her, especially those of the Frasers, in whom Angeni’s intervention had rekindled some hopes of finding a way to avenge their daughter.

“Brianna had asked me to have a ledger passed on to you, through your apothecary… But that was two months ago, and she did it on what I thought was a whim… Mr. Bonnet had done something silly, but…”

“D’ye still have it?”, Jamie urged her. He had also stood up, towering over her. He was so impressive that Phaedre could not help but take a step backwards, clutching her satchel to her side and Wohali jumped on his feet, ready to attack anyone who touched a hair on his young wife’s head.

“Yes, but... please do not act in haste... You must try to get in touch with Brianna. I would feel better if she approved the use of this evidence…”, Phaedre begged hastily. The situation was getting out of her control, literally: two hands appeared out of nowhere and grabbed her satchel, stealing its contents from her.

Roger MacKenzie had put his bottle down by the fireplace and was now busy leafing through the ledger, with the concentrated look of someone who had miraculously sobered up.

“Hey!!”, Phaedre protested, but Roger walked away toward Jamie, taking the book with him.

Claire got up and trotted over to them. “What is it?”

Jamie had put on his small reading glasses, and was going through the names, the amounts, the sums indicated on each page. “Taxes… Brianna told us that Tryon and Bonnit were embezzling tax money fur their own benefit. I believe that this ledger would help us prove it.”

“Ha!”, Roger exclaimed with a triumphant smile. “We got him! I kenned it… I kenned my Brianna was pretendin’…”

Claire made a face. It was wrong, of course. Roger had spent months calling her daughter a whore, and she had only put up with it by convincing herself that alcohol and sorrow were to blame. Watching him pretend that he had always believed in her left a bitter taste in the healer’s mouth.

“She was, at first, but today-”, Phaedre interjected, but Roger completely ignored her and spoke again in a loud voice.

“We should make this ledger public!”, he shouted, although Jamie and all his interlocutors were at a reasonable distance and not at the other end of the valley. “Send it tae Fergus fur his newspaper!”

Outraged, Phaedre opened her mouth wide, but this time Jamie took it upon himself to call his ex-son-in-law to order.

“D’ye want an insurrrrection, Roger Mac?”, he growled, his Scottish accent at its peak. “Warrr is comin’, and if an angry mob rushes tae Tryon’s palace and drrrags them out of their beds, they willnae dae things by half. And wherever they are, the Bonnits will suffer the same fate when they get their hands on them. We willnae dae anything tae put Brianna and Jeremiah's lives at risk. I will write tae Laird Grey, he’ll ken what tae do so that this matter can be settled without endangerin’ our family.”

Silence fell in the room as Roger sulked again, and Phaedre took advantage of the calm to restate her opinion.

“I still think we should try to find Brianna first and make sure that-”

“She gave ye the ledger, aye?”, Roger barked, pointing at the book.

“Yes, but that was over two months ago and the situation-”

“Her mind hasnae changed in two months.”

“How would you know??” The conversation was heating up. Phaedre was tired of being cut off, but also tired of them sweeping aside her friend’s feelings just because they thought they knew better what was good for Brianna. “She was already changing her mind!! Mr. Bonnet is a whole different man! The situation itself is different!”

“Nonsense…”, Roger spat, running a hand through his beard. “I say ye’re quick tae defend yer Master… If I didnae ken ye better, I’d say he messed with yer brains, Miss Phaedre, or perhaps he bribed ye with money or gifts? Maybe he seduced ye too?”

Her hand went off on its own and hit Roger’s cheek like a whiplash. Phaedre stood dumbfounded for a moment, her palm still sore from the impact, and a wind of panic washed over her as she made a quick list of all the punishments she faced for laying her hand on a white man. Behind her, Wohali was close to dig up the hatchet. He had not understood all of Roger’s words, but he knew that it was nothing pleasant to hear. Though none of the Frasers moved to arrest her and hang her up to dry, she lifted her chin defiantly to hide her fear.

“How dare you… ?”, she hissed, both furious and terrified by her own temerity. But fortunately, Claire rushed towards her and grabbed her gently by the shoulders.

“Everyone calm down! You too, Phaedre. And don’t be scared, absolutely no one saw that you slapped Roger.”

“Slapped who?”, Ian quipped, as Roger glared at him. Jamie was not the only one who could not stand seeing Roger limping along around the Ridge like a human mop. And watching him being put in his place was extremely pleasant.

“Jamie is right, Lord John will know what to do with this evidence. Better than all of us,” Claire went on. “As for Brianna, it will be difficult to contact her before they get home… But they can’t have gotten far. Tryon would not let his partner slip away. All we have to do is wait for them to reappear.”

A weak smile made its way on Phaedre’s lips, but a persistent bad feeling kept twisting her insides. And as she held out her hand to put the ledger back in her satchel, Roger snatched it from Jamie and held it out of her reach.

“Thank ye, Miss Phaedre, but we’ll take it from here.”

Phaedre gloomily watched the book disappear along with Roger down the corridor, but none of the Frasers moved to stop him and give the evidence back to her. As for the Catawbas, they looked like they considered their mission complete and the young servant nearly burst into tears when Angeni and Onacona got up from the table, dryly thanking the Frasers for their hospitality. Wohali was the only one to sympathize with her situation and he gave her an encouraging smile, backing away towards the exit.

Phaedre knew full well that the Catawbas would not want to linger here for too long and her own resentment toward the Frasers after this heated conversation would not allow her to stay without causing more arguments. All she had to do now was to hope they would get in touch with Brianna to know whether or not she wanted to be rescued.

“Thank you for your time.”

With tears in her eyes, she ran off without even looking back and joined Wohali near their horse. They were ready to leave when Claire burst out of the house and strode towards them.

“Why… all the hesitation?”, the Englishwoman asked, her eyes digging into Phaedre’s soul. She wanted to understand, and that’s why Phaedre decided to play her trump card. To help Claire Fraser understand that the priority here was Brianna and not the family’s revenge. Phaedre remained silent for a few moments, searching for the right words.

“At the very beginning, Brianna and Jeremiah were in my prayers every night. I also prayed for Mr. Bonnet to become a good husband, a good father, a good master… And one day… I realized… that I had stopped praying.”

“Why?”

Phaedre bit her lip and gave a faint smile. “Perhaps because I had the feeling… that my prayers had been answered?”

Claire frowned, looking completely lost, and Phaedre instantly knew she was about to ask her the question.

“Do you think she loves him?”

Phaedre looked down at this worried mother, to whom she was about to speak the unspeakable. That her daughter had fallen in love with her rapist and that despite all the hatred the family felt toward him, they had to take that fact into account. But the lump in her throat betrayed her, and she just nodded approvingly. Both women smiled sadly at each other and Claire took a few steps back to let the horse turn around. And after one questioning look at his young spouse, Wohali pulled on the reins to take Phaedre back into the forest, her mission finally accomplished.

~o~

“Checkmate...”

Brianna’s forehead banged loudly against the surface of the coffee table, as Stephen flicked down his wife’s black King, which was surrounded by various white pieces. The Irishman cracked a smirk and reached over the chessboard to pat Bree on the shoulder in consolation.

Around them, everyone was bustling about: Hennessy and a few men were busy packing all their belongings into trunks and loading them to the ship that would take the Bonnets back to the mainland in the afternoon. But far from taking part to the preparations, Brianna and Stephen had decided to play a few final games of chess during Jeremiah’s nap. As if to make this last day of vacation last a few more hours.

“I can’t believe it... I’ve only just taught you and you’re already beating me? How is that even possible?”, Brianna lamented, raising a sulky face. I mean, come on... The man can barely read and write... while I went to MIT... and it took him only three weeks to win all our games of chess...

Stephen modestly shrugged. “Beginner’s luck?”

“No, you’re an evil genius, that’s the only explanation...”

The pirate burst out laughing and leaned comfortably against the back of his chair to savor his victory. “Your mistake, darlin’, is that you play the game… instead of playin’ the opponent. And you’ve always been my favorite opponent, so...” Bree scowled and he smiled. “If you had figured that out earlier, you might have won the trial... but then we wouldn’t be here today.”

The young woman squinted while putting the different pieces back in their respective places, on each side of the board. “Liar. I could not win. It was cruel.”

“Cruel, but necessary…”

Bree nearly choked at his words. “Absolutely not!”

The pirate straightened up, resting his elbows on his knees and pointing his index finger at her over the chessboard. “Oh you mean that… if I had put on my best suit and knocked on your door askin’ for your hand, you would have called off your wedding to MacKenzie and married me instead?”

There was a moment of silence during which Brianna made a point of putting on the most hypocritical yet comical face possible. “Obviously, dear”, she drawled ironically.

Stephen was not offended, though. “You’re a terrible liar”, he blurted out and Brianna let out a sarcastic laugh as she finished placing the last pawns. “And yet, look at yourself today. You’re a happy woman. Maybe even happier than you would have been with MacKenzie.”

Brianna sighed and tilted her head to the side, her lips sealed. She would not give him the satisfaction of condoning his crimes, even if the outcome was happier than she had imagined. But as usual, Stephen took her silence as a “yes” and his smug smile widened.

“That’s what I thought… I did all of this for your own good and I’m glad you finally realize it. You’re welcome, darlin’.”

This time, Brianna couldn’t help but smile. “You’re unbelievable. You would say the most stupid things to justify your evil deeds…”

Stephen did not answer and stared at her with his insufferable smirk, until she finally cut short and took her first pawn in the game. Before looking back up into the Irishman’s green eyes.

“I love you, Brianna…”

A dumb smile made its way to her lips, but she would not let him get away with it so easily after such nonsense, so she sighed and leaned back in her chair.

“Right… just shut up and play. You will not leave this island undefeated.”

And with a loud chuckle, Stephen and Brianna Bonnet entered their final game.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Chapter Text

33. Backstabbers

Alone. Roger was completely alone at the Ridge on that February morning, and the thick mist that had rolled in the valley only strengthened the feeling that nothing else existed but him, the house and the cattle outside. Jamie had been away for several days to meet with Lord John, Claire had been fetched by a young dad in the middle of the night to help deliver a child a few miles away, Ian was scouring the countryside as usual, and now that Marsali, Fergus and the children lived in New Bern, there weren’t many people left to liven up the family home.

So much so that he was almost relieved when the sound of a horse’s hooves broke his monotony, and before the newcomer had even time to dismount, Roger was already waiting for him on the porch.

“I have a letter for Mr. or Mrs. Fraser…”, the man announced, landing on the damp earth and reaching into one of the bags that were tied to the sides of his horse.

Roger nodded approvingly and walked down the steps. “I am… Mr. and Mrs. Fraser’s son-in-law. They’re away at the moment, but I will give it tae them when they come back.”

“Here you are, then.”

Roger looked down at the letter in his hand and felt his blood boil in his veins. The outside only bore a few words – the Frasers’ name and address – but the handwriting was easily recognizable. The Scot stared at it in silence; he had completely forgotten about the messenger, so much so that the latter startled him when he wished him a good day and disappeared again in the fog. As he climbed up the stairs, locking himself inside, Roger’s fingers unsealed the letter and he went to read it by the fireplace.

River Run, January 27^th, 1775

Dear Da’, dear Mama,

“And I can fuck off as usual, huh, Brianna…?”, Roger grumbled before continuing to read.

I am aware that this letter will seem strange to you, even inconceivable, and I’d rather make it clear right now: it was not written under duress. It is I and I alone who made the decision to send you this request.

Stephen has committed countless crimes, outrages and low blows. It's undeniable. But the man who shares my life today has questioned himself more times than I can count, and scrutinized every single one of his behaviors to correct them and better himself. Jeremiah had a cathartic effect on him and from day one, Stephen felt the need to satisfy his every desire and protect him. And despite his clumsiness, sometimes even with a high level of insensitivity, his only desire has always been to do the same with me.

Frank used to love this quote from Voltaire: “For most people, correcting themselves means changing their defects.” I could not fault him: Stephen used to be vile, cold, calculating and completely lacked empathy. He only traded these defects to become an impulsive, sometimes jealous, overprotective braggart, with a severe tendency to always go the extra mile in order to compensate for his own imperfections. But these are flaws that I can – and love to – live with. Because he has changed for me and for Jeremiah.

Stephen and I achieved many milestones in nearly eighteen months. Obstacles that it was up to us to overcome and I can safely say today that I forgave him. That the tremendous work he has done on himself, as well as his love for his family, have made him a man worthy of my forgiveness.

These milestones, as I said, had first to be achieved in the privacy of our home. There could be no forgiveness from your side before I granted him mine. It is now done and this is why I am writing to you at this very moment. So that you too can achieve new milestones with us. By giving Stephen a chance to show you he's worthy. Of me, of Jemmy, but also of you and your amnesty. It won't be easy – God knows it took me a while – but he deserves it. I deeply believe it.

The doors of River Run will always be open to you. Stephen and I have come to terms with our past, and we sincerely hope you’ll find the strength to do the same. For Stephen and I, for Jeremiah, and the happiness we found together.

Your daughter who loves you.

Brianna

Roger groaned. The hand holding the letter had clenched so hard on the paper that one of the joints cracked. Eyes watering with rage, he slammed his fist against the mantelpiece, causing the silver candlesticks to wobble.

“Milestones... I’ll give ye bloody milestones...”

Roger had seen what kind of “milestones” Brianna had achieved with Bonnet. A pathetic apology, some good deep-dicking… She had certainly been quick to forgive him in the sack. Stephen Bonnet knew his way round women. And Roger had always known – since their very first lovers’ quarrel in the twentieth century – that Brianna was a bitch in heat. She had asked for sex shamelessly, before they were even engaged or married… and after a few days of romance. Roger was sure Bonnet had smelled that in the tavern. That kind of girls gave off vibes that attracted predators like flies on rotten meat. And years later, Bonnet had used that weakness for lust to keep her under his control. Lavish jewels, beautiful dresses, a small palace as a home… and sex, lots of sex as Roger had witnessed a year earlier during his short stay at River Run.

His fist tightened around the letter, as Brianna’s constant cries of pleasure played on a loop in his mind. She had never made such indecent noises in his arms. Obviously, virtuous men did not arouse her enough. She needed a rich pirate, a murderer, to have an orgasm... Roger looked down at the bottom of the message, glaring at each of the letters forming that name he had whispered so many times in her ear, thinking he could satisfy her.

“Ye filthy whore…”

The idea of getting rid of the mail suddenly crept into his mind, and a wicked smile appeared through his thick brown beard. If the message burned, Claire and Jamie would go ahead with their plan and contact John Grey. Bonnet would be arrested, along with his accomplice, then put to death. His marriage to Brianna would be annulled and perhaps she would even automatically become a MacKenzie again. He could then get her back on the straight and narrow. Make her a simple, pious and virtuous wife again. No more garden parties, no more extravagant lifestyle, no more unbridled sex. Roger would have her all under control and their lives would finally get back on track.

A dry laugh escaped his lips and he cast one last contemptuous look at the letter before he bent down and quickly stuck it between two burning logs. The paper immediately caught fire and with undisguised pleasure, Roger MacKenzie watched Brianna Bonnet’s wishes burn and disappear forever.

~o~

Late February 1775.

Stifling one last cry into her pillow, her buttocks high up in the air, Brianna paused for a breath as Stephen came inside her, his fingers deliciously squeezing the flesh of her hips.

Since their return from Ocracoke, the sweetest kind of fever had taken hold of her. Everything – absolutely everything – left her wanting for more: more caresses, more kisses, more of Stephen’s seed inside her. Brianna never had enough. Every gesture, every look, every touch electrified her. She would have loved to spend the rest of her life in their bed, cuddling him, devouring him, riding him. Far from complaining, Stephen had quickly got into the game – making love to his wife at all times of the day, in every room where they ended up alone, until their bodies threatened to faint.

This time, they had landed in the marital bed – at a time when nothing and no one could disturb them until morning – and no sooner had her husband pulled out and limply fallen back on the mattress than Brianna snuggled up against him, rubbing her naked body against his with a naughty smile.

“Easy, darlin’… I need a moment…”, the pirate chuckled, as Bree shook her head, her eyes greedily roaming over Stephen’s abs. “I’d very much like to know what’s gotten into you, lately…”

“Beside you, you mean?”, Brianna whispered as she left a trail of kisses down Stephen’s torso, jumping mischievously over his navel and stopping just inches above his pubic hair.

Stephen snorted and Brianna giggled against his skin as she crawled back up and stopped just above his face, presenting her breasts to Stephen’s greedy mouth. He did not need to be asked twice and nibbled at the nearest nipple, causing Brianna to laugh. However, who wishes to travel far spares their steed, and she obediently lay down on the Irishman’s chest to give him a brief respite, nesting her head in the crook of his neck.

“Nothing’s gotten into me, if you must know…”, she yawned as he pulled the sheets up on her back to protect her from the ambient chill. “I’ve just been thinking lately… Jemmy will be five years old this year and… it’s a great age to become a big brother…”

Despite the semi-darkness, the Irishman’s green eyes sparkled and he tightened his grip around Bree’s body, as if to hold her back in case she changed her mind. His hot hands delicately followed the curve of her buttocks, that of her lower back, and all the way up to her shoulders, making her breathe a sigh of pure contentment.

“I’d love to have a girl this time…”, he mumbled, his fingers stroking the red curls that cascaded down Bree’s back and shoulders. “We could call her… Amandine.”

Brianna looked up and frowned. The name – Amandeene, with the same ‘an’ as in ‘want’ – did not sound English at all. “Bless you?”

“It’s French.”

As she was obviously waiting for an explanation, he sighed and looked up at the ceiling, as if reliving some distant memory.

“Before I came to the Colonies, I used to smuggle goods between England and Normandy. One morning, I was waitin’ for my crew to finish loadin’ the ship in Cherbourg… and there was this cute, well-behaved little girl watchin’ me on the quay. She smiled at me, as only young children can smile: without second thought, without malice nor judgment. And then a woman started shouting her name: Amandiiiine! She saw her daughter next to me, came runnin’… and she made the face.”

“The face?”, Brianna asked with a questioning smile.

“Aye, the face everyone used to make when they saw me back then.” Straightening up slightly, he frowned his nose and brow, curled his upper lip, while the corners of his mouth took a dramatic turn downward.

“Oh, that face!”, Brianna quipped, as if she knew exactly what he was referring to.

“The little girl, though… she kept smilin’ and wavin’ at me until her mother disappeared round the corner.” He sighed and rolled his eyes. “It’s silly, I don’t know why I even remember this.”

“Ah-men-deene…”, Brianna repeated with an awful accent. “I think the English equivalent would be Amanda…”

Stephen smiled and placed a quick kiss on her forehead. “I like the sound of that too. Amanda…”

Silence fell in the room and for a good fifteen minutes, they did not utter a single word – simply enjoying the warmth of each other’s bodies, the sweetness of their mutual caresses, and the comforting idea of having a new life to cherish together soon. Lulled by the steady rhythm of Stephen’s breathing, Bree was close to falling asleep when the pirate rolled her on the mattress with a hungry grin.

“Come on, get off your butt, darlin’… Amanda won’t just make herself…”

And with a shrill laugh, Brianna let herself get carried away in yet another embrace.

~o~

Late March 1775.

“Ouch!”

Brianna winced as she opened the window of the master bedroom to let in some fresh morning air. The movement had caused an unpleasant tugging pain in her left breast, just like pretty much everything she had done since she had woken up: rolling on the mattress, getting up, bending over to pick up her dressing gown… Her breasts seemed to weigh a ton and by now, Bree knew how to read the signs. Removing her dressing gown and her nightdress, she stood in front of the mirror of her dressing table and grabbed her breasts with both hands. They were swollen, hard as wood and painful: there was no doubt. Something was happening inside her body and even though she was not late on her period yet, she knew what it was.

A smile appeared on her lips, as her hands slid gently along her stomach to rest on her lower abdomen. She had truly enjoyed some aspects of pregnancy when she was pregnant with Jem. Feeling the baby move and kick had fascinated her and had caused her to die from love for this little human being growing inside her. But the experience had been rather marred by the circumstances of his conception. The nightmares, the countless nights spent reliving her rape or pacing around for fear of falling asleep and dreaming again, her uncertain future, and Aunt Jocasta’s schemes to marry her off to Forbes… Stress had been omnipresent.

But this time there would be none of that. This baby would be the fruit of love, and would fill the future father with joy (as soon as he returned from his latest mission for Tryon) but also the future big brother. And Brianna herself would be able to enjoy a “normal” pregnancy, overwhelmed with the happiness of welcoming a new member into their family.

She was looking forward to it.

Looking forward to spending hours in bed with Stephen’s hands on her baby bump. Looking forward to hearing him whine because he would always arrive too late to feel the baby move. Looking forward to finally admiring his beaming smile when a small foot would kick his palm for the first time through her skin. Stephen’s smile—the real, genuine one that hadn’t left him for months now—made him look a decade younger, and Brianna never grew tired of admiring it. Not because she was the cause of his smiles, but rather her Creator – the only person (along with Jeremiah) who had been able to spark joy into the heart of the once most feared pirate in the North Atlantic. And she couldn’t wait to see his face light up again when he would get back to River Run and hear the wonderful news.

It would not be a big surprise, if she was being honest. They had spent the last four months literally jumping on each other like horny teenagers, and it was even surprising that she had not gotten pregnant sooner. Brianna chuckled in front of her mirror before her smile fell slightly, as a far less cheerful thought invaded her mind.

She had no news of her family. Her letter of January 27^th – in which she begged them to give Stephen a chance – had gone unanswered. She had not really expected any reply in February—she knew how long and uncertain mail delivery was in this century—but the tension had escalated in March. March was now coming to an end, and there was still no sign of the Frasers. Had their answer been lost along the way? Or had they decided to turn their backs on them, unable to forgive the man who had attacked their boat, slaughtered their friend and then raped their daughter a few weeks later? I admit, it’s a lot when you say it like that…, Brianna thought with a grimace.

It was indeed their right to refuse to welcome him into their clan. But Brianna had hoped they would keep in touch with her. At least Claire. The young woman angrily rubbed her watery eyes. Perhaps she should send one last letter. A message to ask them for a clear answer, so that they could move on. With or without them. Maybe announcing her pregnancy would change their minds? Claire would not want to be separated from her daughter in a time like this, and maybe that was what Jamie needed to put his grievances aside...

Yes, she had to write to them again. If only to know for certain. Because even if their budding love filled her with happiness, Brianna did not want Stephen to become her only support in this world. Claire was the pillar, the solid rock, on which she had always rested since she came to this era years ago. Of course, they had had their differences and their share of arguments in the twentieth century – so much so that Bree had always felt a little closer to Frank than to her mother – but here, in the eighteenth century, Claire had never let her down. No matter what she had done, no matter what choices she had made, her mother had always been there for her. Losing her was not an option.

Puffing loudly to loosen the muscles in her face and keep herself from sobbing, Brianna turned away from the mirror to head to her closet and find clothes for the day. She was going through her stockings and petticoats when her eyes landed on a thin cord, tied around a small leather pouch. What was left of her sage stash, and that she had not used for over a year now. Slowly, as if handling an unpinned grenade, Brianna tugged on the pouch to dislodge it from her cupboard and placed it in the palm of her hand.

The sight of the object brought back a lot of unpleasant memories and feelings, but was also a proof of the progress she and Stephen had made. A year earlier, she would not have hesitated and would have poured the contents of the pouch into her morning tea before gulping it down to the last drop. But not today. The touch of the leather in her hand almost disgusted her and the idea of ending this new pregnancy was purely revolting. She had every reason to abort in December 1773 and she did not regret her decision… but things had changed in March 1775. Today, she felt ready to expand the Bonnet family. Even better: the prospect filled her with joy.

With shaky hands, she untied the cord and opened the pouch, heading toward the open window. And slowly, the sage leaves flowed out of the pouch, carried by the wind toward the surrounding fields. Until there were none.

~o~

Early April 1775.

Brianna finished tucking some folded fabric into her slit panties and straightened up, glancing in the mirror to rearrange her petticoats and dress around her. She knew this precaution was unnecessary, since her period should have already arrived a few days earlier and that she was therefore now officially late, but you could never be too careful. She was about to leave her room when an awful din, aggravated by Blue’s barking, came from downstairs and she immediately ran out in the corridor.

“DADDYYYYYYYY!”

Jeremiah’s screams made Bree’s heart leap in her chest and she raced down the stairs, before deliberately slowing down when she realized that it would be stupid to fall down the stairs on a day like this.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you, lad...”, Stephen’s muffled voice came from the living room, and Brianna figured he must have lifted the child off the floor and hugged him.

“More than Mama?”, Jeremiah chuckled mischievously and Brianna couldn’t help but smile as she entered the room, where both boys were hugging tightly.

“A lot more, but don’t tell her, she’d be jealous.”

Jeremiah burst out laughing, as Stephen’s eye caught some movement in his peripheral vision. He turned around, noticed Brianna in the entrance hall, and his face lit up instantly. Planting a final kiss on the top of Jeremiah's head, he put him down, then swooped down on his wife like an eagle on its prey to lift her off the ground.

“Ten days... ten days without you, mo fíorghrá... That’s nine and a half days more than I can take...”, he hissed before kissing her greedily, ignoring the “yuck” that Jeremiah blurted behind their backs.

After a passionate kiss that was already setting her whole body on fire, Brianna hugged her husband, a strange smile plastered on her lips. “I missed you too…”

“Do we have visitors?”, Stephen asked suddenly, looking around for possible guests, but Brianna frowned.

“No, why do you ask?”

The Irishman shrugged. “Part of the road to the translation was scarred. As if an entire battalion had come here for tea…”

Bree shook her head. “Whoever they were, they must have turned off towards Cross Creek at the last moment…”

The answer seemed satisfying for Stephen and his eyes only betrayed his desire to carry Brianna upstairs and celebrate his return. But his stomach – which was empty after riding all night without stopping to get home as quickly as possible – rumbled loudly and reminded him that he had other natural needs to fill.

“I’m starvin’…”

“Well, you got here just in time for breakfast…”

“I wish I could just spread you on my toasts. Two birds, one stone...”, he added in Bree’s ear, and she giggled in return.

Hennessy’s voice suddenly made them jump, and Brianna bit back a smile. A part of her loved it when they were in their own little bubble, completely oblivious of the rest of the world around them.

“Would you like me to take your coat, Sir? Lloyd will be serving breakfast soon.”

Stephen detached himself from his wife with a nod, and the butler hurriedly stripped him of his thick traveling coat to take it away and have it cleaned. But when he looked back at Bree, the most enigmatic of smiles was lightening her face and he frowned.

“What’s the matter, darlin’?”

“Oh, nothing...” Brianna’s smile widened, obviously meaning there was a lot more to it than ‘nothing’, but she turned away to take a seat at the table and Stephen followed her, thinking that the morning had not yet revealed all of its surprises. And boy, he was right.

The first gunshot rang out after Lloyd brought the tea with Bree’s coffee, scones and marmalade. Around the table, Jeremiah and his parents jumped like one man, before exchanging bewildered looks.

“What is going on?”, Brianna asked, her heart pounding. Stephen was about to tell her he had no clue when a second shot rang out, followed by sustained fire somewhere in the gardens. They were rising from their chairs when Hennessy appeared in the room, breathing heavily.

“Mr. Bonnet...soldiers...coming out of nowhere...we have to get your wife and son to safety...”

Shaking, Brianna walked around the table to lift Jeremiah up and turned toward Stephen. The Irishman was thinking at top speed, trying to figure out any reason why Tryon would turn against him, but he couldn’t. It was… something else.

“Can we slip out the back?”, he asked Hennessy, who shook his head in denial.

“They’re surrounding the house, Sir. We can’t get out.”

Stephen turned to Brianna – who looked as lost as he did – and to Jeremiah who had started to sob, terrified by the gunshots. But they did not have time to make a decision. The front doors of River Run swung open, slammed in by a horde of red coats that rushed through the entrance hall, then into the living room, where Hennessy and Lloyd raised their arms to show they were unarmed. Meanwhile, Stephen had rushed in front of his wife and son to use his own body as a shield, with threatening eyes.

“Get away from the woman and the child!”, one of the officers bellowed, while several soldiers pointed their weapons at the three Bonnets. Brianna shrieked, her voice covered by Jemmy’s terrified cries, but Stephen did not move an inch.

“What the Hell is goin’ on here?”, he growled, but his murderous gaze had no effect on the military men. Something was wrong. William would never treat him like this. “You break into my home, you terrorize my wife and my son? Lord Tryon will hear about this…”

“William Tryon…,” a voice drawled behind the soldiers huddled in the dining room, “was relieved of his duties and arrested just like you, at dawn, two days ago.”

Stephen wrinkled his nose, as he recognized the voice of the man who was making his way through the red coats. “Martin…”

Josiah Martin appeared between two soldiers, looking very proud in his brand new war uniform and a disarming smile floating over his lips.

“Stephen…”, Brianna whined, but Josiah cut her off.

“Stephen Bonnet, in the name of King George III and on behalf of the Crown, you are under arrest for embezzlement of public money, aggravated violence against taxpayers, criminal association... and I could go on and on for several more minutes, as the list… is… long,” he drawled, his face showing intense satisfaction. “Oh…and it’s Governor Martin now.”

Stephen’s eyes were shooting daggers, and if a look could kill, Josiah would have already been dead for a minute or two. “I’ve always told Lord Tryon that you were unreliable...and that you would betray him...”

“Oh please, don’t give me all the credit, my dear…”, Josiah chuckled, his piercing eyes shifting to Brianna. “I could never have done it without… your wife.”

Brianna’s eyes widened and she wondered for a moment what the Hell she had to do with all of this. The only actual action she had taken against Stephen had failed and resulted in Phaedre’s death, so there was no way she could be involved in what was happening right now. Though she had another problem now, a much bigger problem.

Stephen had turned to her, his unbelieving eyes searching hers for an explanation. Brianna shook her head frantically. Her whole body was overheating, her heart was pounding in her chest, her eyes were threatening to explode with tears, her stomach… her stomach was twisting painfully and she suddenly felt terrified. Terrified of the possible consequences.

“I haven’t done anyth-…”

But once again, the new Governor pulled the rug out from under her feet.

“Mrs. Bonnet passed on valuable evidence of your and Tryon’s crimes… Crimes that, of course, I had no knowledge of. Without her, the citizens of North Carolina would still be wronged by their leader and his unfair taxes...”

“You’re lying…”, Brianna spat vehemently. But part of her had doubts. What if... What if Phaedre was not dead. What if she had put their plan into action. What if... what if... “I had evidence many months ago, but it’s gone...”

Brianna fell silent. By defending herself, she had just publicly admitted to conspiring against Stephen and when she turned to him again, the look on the Irishman’s face instantly made her want to crawl into a hole and die. Betrayal was all over his features, but not only that. His eyes were expressing a pain that was only matched by the one Brianna was feeling right now. And she was pretty sure she had heard the sound of both of their hearts breaking in unison.

“Stephen…”

The Irishman took a step back. Utterly dejected.

“That was a long time ago… I stopped seeking revenge months ago…”

Another step back. Tears started streaming down Brianna’s cheeks. She wanted to get close to him, hug him, whisper in his ear that it was a horrible mistake and that she had never been happier with him than in the past few months…but her legs did not answer. Her whole body was paralyzed and any attempt to move could cause her to fall to the ground, with Jeremiah in her arms.

“Stephen, please…”

Something as cold, hard and deadly as a steel blade, appeared in his green irises, but even that could not outweigh the ever-present sorrow in his eyes. After all they had been through, had this woman – that he loved so passionately – never stopped faking it? Had she really managed to fool him for all this time? No, he wanted – needed – to believe that she had been sincere, if only for a minute… but the presence of the soldiers in River Run proved otherwise. This time, maybe he had to admit defeat.

Without taking his eyes off Brianna, the pirate slowly raised his arms to the ceiling, showing the soldiers that he would let them arrest him without a fight. He did not really have a choice, anyway. About twenty soldiers were surrounding him in his dining room, and judging by the screams and noises he could hear outside, three times as much were probably posted all around the house.

“Take him.”

Josiah’s voice rose in the room, tearing Brianna from her state of shock, and as several soldiers moved forward to grab Stephen’s arms and tie them behind his back, her limbs finally answered and she put Jeremiah down to rush to her husband.

“No! No, stop, please, it was a mistake! Let him go!”

One of the soldiers slapped her hard to push her away and let them do their job. And as she came to her senses, pressing a hand on her sore cheek, she heard Stephen growl.

“Touch her again and ye’ll go down to Hell with me...”

The soldier gulped, slightly impressed by the Irishman’s murderous aura, then motioned for his peers to lead their suspect outside. But it was without counting on Jeremiah, who ran into the legs of one of the soldiers to knock him down, kicking, punching the boots, biting one thigh, scratching the other.

“LET MY DADDY GO! LET MY DADDY GO!”

The soldier let out an annoyed groan as he struggled to get rid of the child, and Stephen’s voice rose, authoritative and scared at the idea of anyone raising a hand on his son.

“Jemmy, go back to Mama.”

“NO!”, the child yelled, his voice hoarse from crying.

“JEREMIAH, THAT’S AN ORDER.”

The boy jumped with fright and looked up at his father. Daddy had never spoken to him like that, but he couldn’t let these people take his daddy away for no reason. He had to do something... Right??

Stephen softened immediately; he refused that his last words to his son were to yell at him. “Jemmy, be a big boy… Go back to Mama, aye? I need you to take care of her until I come back…”

Jeremiah sniffled loudly and shook his head, sobbing even harder. For once, he did not want to be a big boy. He only wanted to cuddle up in his daddy’s arms and let himself be rocked for hours. However, he let go of the soldier’s leg and the men started moving again, carrying Stephen out of the property.

The twenty or so soldiers spun around, weapons clanking and boots pounding on the floor, and Brianna went to Jeremiah – who was prostrate on the floor. Nothing made sense. This had to be a nightmare; maybe it was even her hormones. She would wake up soon, then the three of them would have breakfast, she would tell Stephen the happy news, and later they would have sex. Passionate, intense sex.

The idea that her second child would also grow up without a father made her nauseous and her whole body started progressively giving way. Her ears began to buzz, her vision blurred, her mouth and throat became dry, her breath short and the pain in her insides ever more powerful.

“Bree…oh Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ…Brianna!”

Somewhere in the thick fog that surrounded her, Brianna perceived her mother’s voice and figure. But the last thing she actually saw – and which would haunt her for many weeks after that – was Governor Josiah Martin’s smug and victorious smirk. And as Claire and Jamie Fraser appeared among the soldiers heading for the exit, Brianna’s legs buckled under her and she collapsed on the floor.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Chapter Text

34. And The Tide Rushes In

Sitting with Jeremiah in the nursery in Fergus and Marsali’s house – where she had been locked up for weeks – Brianna could hear the ruckus of the mob coming from the streets. Since the crimes of William Tryon and his underling Stephen Bonnet had been revealed to the general public, a crowd of angry citizens had invaded New Bern and established their base camp outside the Courthouse where both men had been on trial for three days now. The trial – more than embarrassing for the Crown – was held behind closed doors, so that no one (besides the criminals’ close circles, who received information from their lawyers) had the slightest idea of what was going on inside. Or what was taking so long.

After fainting in the middle of her dining room in River Run, Brianna had spent the following few weeks in a daze. A strange state of relief from being with her family mixed with anger, because they had ignored her wishes. Her parents had been surprised to hear that she ignored the army would take over River Run. They had passed the message in the last book they had sent and that had arrived one day before the attack, but Brianna had pretended that she never had time to decipher the message to hide the fact that the only book she had actually received was Hamlet and the others had probably been burnt by Hennessy. Like last September’s book. The one that had started this whole fucking mess.

And then the anger had turned into rage when she had mentioned her letter sent in January. Her parents had also seemed genuinely surprised by the letter’s existence, but Roger’s face, on the other hand, had betrayed him. A quivering corner of the mouth, a fleeting smirk that had hit Brianna as hard as a truck driving at full speed. And she had understood.

This simple, tiny expression had caused her to fly into a fury of which she barely remembered anything. Flashes of her swooping on Roger with all claws out, without any explanation, knocking him to the ground before straddling him, punching and scratching every bit of his body within her reach. Someone had separated them; another voice had made a worried comment about her sanity. And then they had her locked up.

She had not been allowed to see Stephen since his arrest in their own dining room. This separation at this stage of their relationship caused the most unbearable pain in her body, and it was probably the same for Jeremiah who spent most of his days sobbing against her. But not because of the Frasers. Orders had been given to keep the families away in order to protect them. Margaret had been elevated to the status of heroine of the Colony, the one through whom the scandal had been revealed, while Brianna was said to be a victim, held against her will by Stephen Bonnet and now recovering from her trauma with her family and her child.

Jamie and Claire had also convinced themselves that her current behavior was only the aftermath of being freed from Bonnet and out of the four walls of River Run. On one evening, Jamie too had almost come to blows with Roger, when the latter swore that Brianna was in love with the pirate, while her father insisted that she had pretended for so long that she simply couldn’t tell what was real and what was not anymore. And that it would take time to find her bearings in a world without constant lies. Brianna had not interfered; Obviously both men knew her feelings better than she did, since they had never directly asked her the question. So why even bother to start debating with them, just to disappoint Jamie and see Roger triumph? The last thing she wanted was to hear Roger cry victory.

Any visit to Stephen’s cell had also been forbidden to her. If a guard or anyone saw them kissing or sweet talking and spread the word, the mob would surely quench its thirst for blood with her. Mr. Bellingham – who had become the Frasers’ permanent lawyer since their first trial – had been very clear: no contact. And when these new restrictions to her freedom of movement had caused Brianna to burst into another fit of rage, Jamie had had no choice but to lock her up in the nursery. Again.

Her angry screams and thumps against the heavy wooden door had eventually turned into dark, almost hysterical laughter when Brianna had realized that it wasn’t Stephen who was now keeping her away from her family, but her family who was keeping her away from Stephen. Oh, the irony.

The next day, when Claire had finally unlocked the door, Brianna had not even tried to leave. She had no desire to see them, no desire to eat, drink, sleep, or even breathe. The only thing she wanted was to see Stephen, to tell him the truth, that she had finally accepted her love for him, and that her delayed revenge was just an unfortunate combination of circumstances. She also wanted to tell him that she was finally expecting their second child. But all of this had been denied to her. Well, if she was not allowed to see her husband, she would not see her family either. She would stay locked up here, with Jeremiah and his future sibling, until things settled down. And then she would go back. To her home, in Boston, in the twentieth century.

To Hell with her family, to Hell with this century that she could not even stand anymore, to Hell with betrayals and violence. She had had enough.

The only person she had been happy to see – although the feeling had been somewhat marred by the situation – was Phaedre. The maid had come to visit her shortly after their arrival in New Bern and both young women had fallen into each other’s arms, tears streaming down their cheeks. Phaedre had told her everything: the Catawbas’ attack, how they had taken her in, her trip to the Ridge to deliver the ledger. Then her banishment from the tribe, when she had returned with Wohali and the others. The chief had severely punished her accomplices for stealing the horses and disappearing for several days, before ordering her to leave. Wohali had told her to go back to the Ridge while he would try to convince the chief to give up on the punishment. And if he didn’t, he would leave the tribe forever and meet her at the Frasers’.

One last kiss, and she had walked all the way back alone for days. She had been captured by a family of settlers who thought she was a runaway slave, before finally convincing them to bring her back to the Ridge by early March. Being declared dead in the slaves registries, the Frasers had welcomed her as a free woman and she had been given Bree’s old bedroom until Wohali had arrived and taken her back to the tribe. She had then only made the trip to New Bern to see her former mistress after hearing the news of Tryon and Bonnet’s arrest.

Brianna did not blame Phaedre for accomplishing her mission. The only thing that mattered was that Phaedre was alive. Delivering the ledger was not the cause of her misfortune. Roger and his shenanigans, on the other hand…

Three knocks on the door startled her as well as Jeremiah, who was frantically sucking on Stephen’s scarf, his tired little eyes red from crying. Brianna didn’t say anything. Why even bother? The people who wished to enter, entered. It wasn’t like she had a choice anyway. But when the door swung open on Josiah Martin’s affable face and droopy eyes, Bree’s blood immediately ran cold.

“Jeremiah… Would you please go downstairs with Grandma for a while?”, she whispered in his ear and the child gave her a pleading look. He did not want to go downstairs with Grandma. He wanted to stay with Mama. But the flame that he had only too often seen dancing in Mama’s eyes lately frightened him a little bit and he understood that she was surely going to get very angry with the man who had just walked through the door, so he nodded and trotted down the hallway and stairs. Josiah stared at his back with a smile he probably meant to be nice but Brianna knew it was fake. Like the rest of the man, actually. But she could not provoke him: there was one last card to play and she could not screw up. The new Governor was the only person who could save Stephen now.

“How are you, Miss Fraser? Have you been able to adjust to the new situation?”

Josiah’s joyful tone and the way he had stressed on her maiden name immediately made Brianna’s hair stand on end, but she forced herself to stay calm and gave him a crooked smile.

“Oh you know, being locked up here or at River Run... it’s a matter of habit. How is Margaret?”

“She and her daughter are doing well, thank you for asking. Their future is secured. We plan to get married in a few months.”

“Congratulations.” Brianna’s voice was ice cold. “Can we leave the niceties at the door and get to the heart of the matter?”

Josiah let out a chuckle. “That is why I’m here for. I thought you might want some explanations.”

Brianna took a quick breath and crossed the room to close the door. Before turning to Josiah with a determined look on her face.

“I didn’t want to get revenge anymore. I love Stephen and I will do anything to be able to go home with him. I’ll testify at trial, I’ll soften the jury. I’ll tell them what a fabulous father he is, I’ll tell them-”

“Miss Fraser, this is not a travesty of trial for a family matter. Stephen Bonnet is accused of embezzlement, among the many crimes committed on behalf of William Tryon.”

But Brianna wasn’t listening. “Make him pay back his share of the embezzled money, put him under house arrest, sell River Run if you want! I will accept any punishment if it can save his life.” Josiah rolled his eyes, visibly annoyed by her demands and she decided to swing for the fences. “You could pardon him. You are the Governor of this Colony, you have the power to-”

A dry laugh echoed in the room and Brianna fell silent, offended to hear him sneer at her suggestions.

“It would be incongruous if my first action as Governor of North Carolina was to pardon such a criminal. Stephen Bonnet has always been a plague on society: first as a pirate and smuggler, then as my predecessor’s henchman. It was time for someone to stop him. These almost two years that you spent away from everything have made you selfish, my dear, if you really think that your love is worth more than justice and more than the well-being of the citizens of this Colony…”

Josiah’s last sentence came as a blow to her. This was about more than her and Stephen; this was about more than a family affair. Living in a world exclusively made of a husband, a child and their household staff, she had almost forgotten the extent of the Irishman’s other crimes. Crimes that had plagued thousands of families over the years and for which he was being tried today. The situation was beyond her, but somehow she had not fully realized it. Or had not wanted to realize it.

A painful lump formed in her throat and she felt her eyes water, causing the man in front of her to sigh in annoyance.

“Well… I was expecting different questions from you. I would be lying if I said I’m not disappointed. I’ll leave you to your sorrow, then…”

But as Josiah was about to open the door again, Brianna leaned against the panel, looking up with teary, angry eyes.

“Was that your plan from the start? Inviting me to the auction? Keeping my intrusion into Lord Tryon’s office a secret? Seducing Margaret and getting her to tell me about her nightmarish marriage? You wanted me to see who he was, what he was doing and with whom, the dark side he was trying to hide from me. All of this so that I would go all the way in my revenge... and help you become Governor?”

“Ah, finally… Here’s the Brianna Fraser I met all those months ago, in all her glory…”, Josiah hissed, squinting. His expression almost reminded her of Stephen’s snake-like look whenever he was up to no good.

“Wasn’t it easier to expose Lord Tryon to King George yourself? To steal the ledger and send it straight to London? Why would you go through me? Why would you wait all this time?”

The smile that played on Josiah’s lips irritated her to no end. He looked like all the movie villains who are about to reveal how they committed their crimes behind the heroes’ back.

“People who have money, and power, like to know that their little secrets are safe. If I had exposed my immediate superior, the King would never have chosen me to take his place. Who says that I would not find another scandal – involving people in higher places this time – and thus discredit or even heap the opprobrium on the Crown…? No, no, no… no one would have trusted me after that. It had to be someone else. You, your parents and especially Lord Grey have done a fabulous job, I must say…”

“You could have just exposed Tryon-”, Brianna interjected, but he cut her off again, this time with a look of contempt and arrogance she’d never seen on his aristocratic face before.

“Stephen Bonnet is a street rat, who thought he could find a place among us. It was rather entertaining to watch him extricate himself from the filth he was born in. Strutting around like a peacock in a world that was not his. I let him make himself comfortable. Until… you arrived, my dear.”

“You used me…”

“Margaret was far too weak to help me with this at the time and even if she had helped from the start, I could not resist killing three birds with one stone. Annihilate William, take his position as Governor as well as his wife and… rid North Carolina of Stephen Bonnet. At first, I thought that being betrayed by the only woman he ever loved would be the chief attraction of the show. But being betrayed by the only woman who ever loved him...? It was so... Shakespearian, don’t you think?”

Brianna was literally shaking with rage, and if the reasonable part of her brain had not kept her still, she probably would have pounced on Josiah to commit her first political murder. But she had to contain herself, if only for Jeremiah’s sake. And she just groaned:

“Get the Hell out of my room.”

Josiah pursed his lips and clasped his hands behind his back as she turned the handle to let him out. Unable to bear the sight of this man any longer, she walked across the room to the window, pointedly turning her back on him. But just as he crossed the threshold, with one foot in the corridor, Josiah turned around one last time.

“Thank you for your help, Miss Fraser. I promise you North Carolina will be a less corrupt colony than it was in the hands of William Tryon... if that’s any consolation.”

It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. In three seconds, Brianna whirled around, her face contorted with fury, and lunged at the Governor, but he slammed the bedroom door and turned the key—that was always on the outside—in the lock. The young woman’s fists pounded the panel with such strength that Josiah worried for a moment about its solidity, before she started to yell.

“Fuck you! Fuck you, you fucking bastard!”

Inside the room, Brianna continued to scream and rant for a few minutes, before realizing it was pointless. Josiah was long gone and she had no more cards to play. No matter what happened now, Stephen Bonnet would be hanged alongside Lord Tryon after the verdict. And she would be alone again, with her heart in shambles.

~o~

The next morning, Claire had brought her some food but as usual, Brianna did not even look at her, pretending to be asleep. She knew she should not, but she resented her mother for not helping her move heaven and earth to save Stephen. Claire herself had faced English soldiers and broken the law many times to save Jamie, so why couldn't she do the same for her own daughter? It was an unfair thought, though, and Brianna hated herself for it. Claire had played tricks on one small regiment in Scotland. Not an entire mob and army. That was why she had never said it out loud, and just inflicted silence and indifference on her mother.

The verdict would be announced shortly and Mr. Bellingham had already told them a few days earlier that both criminals would not be hanged publicly but out of sight, in the courtyard of a government building. Therefore, Brianna already knew that she would never see Stephen again. She had tried her last chance with Josiah the day before, without much success. All she had to do now was to accept the inevitable. And live with it.

Sometime in the morning, when the screams of the mob had died down in the surrounding streets, Jeremiah had come to snuggle up against her and they had sobbed together, hugging each other and crying themselves to sleep. But despite the background noise and the occasional shouting of her family downstairs, the only thing that woke Brianna up was the opening front door and Bellingham’s voice. Her heart pounding, she carefully slipped out of bed without disturbing Jeremiah, and crept down the corridor to hear their conversation.

“-ver Run has been legally returned to your Aunt Jocasta, she’ll be able to move back into her home as soon as we square away the paperwork…”

“Dat’s guid news”, Jamie said darkly somewhere in the room.

“The marriage between your daughter and Mr. Bonnet has been annulled. I would also like to speak with her to know if she wishes to marry Mr. MacKenzie again or…”

“Of course she wants tae...”, Roger said presumptuously and Brianna clenched her fists, so hard that some of her fingernails painfully dug into her palms. “She would still be my wife if that small-time crook had left us alone.”

Bellingham cleared his throat. “I’d rather talk to my client about it first, if you don’t mind.”

“What about the sentence? Are they… ?”, Claire asked, not finishing her sentence for some reason. Much to Brianna’s relief.

“Tryon was hanged earlier this morning, in the presence of a few representatives of the Crown and the new Governor. A public execution was unthinkable: the crowd would have lynched him before the executioner even had time to do his work.”

“And… Bonnit?”, Jamie growled.

“Only a matter of time, now. A few hours until high tide...”

Brianna’s eyes widened in horror. High tide?

“High tide?”, Claire wondered, unknowingly expressing the thought of her daughter who was spying on them from upstairs. “He won’t be hanged?”

“Death by drowning is the rule for pirates, and he has been one for most of his despicable career. In order to avoid a stampede, he was secretly taken to a small secluded cove at the mouth of the river, near the bay. And tied to a post until the water… takes him.”

The pain in Brianna’s chest was so strong that she thought for a moment she would just die there, at the top of the stairs, heartbroken. Between hanging and drowning, she would have preferred him to hang. The mere thought of him all alone, watching the water inexorably rise, was unbearable – especially knowing his phobia – and Brianna’s whole body started to shake. But one sentence gave her the strength to get up and start thinking. A few hours until high tide. A few hours. This was all the time she had left to try and save her husband. The father of her children. She had to think of a way out of this house. Stephen, for one, was already outside, which greatly simplified things. All she had to do was to find him and save his life.

She had already considered jumping out of the nursery window before, but it overlooked the cellar entrance and a steep stone staircase that led down under the house. The fall would be too dangerous and she could end up with a broken leg, or worse. On the other hand, Marsali’s and Fergus’ room, at the end of the corridor, overlooked an eave on the street side. If she was careful, she could escape that way. As she walked past her bedroom, where Jeremiah was still sound asleep, she froze and took one last look at his small, curled up body on the mattress. Brianna opened her mouth wide to muffle the sound of her breathing and sobs, before wiping away her tears. I will come back for you. I will find a way, baby. You stay here and be a good boy.

Without further ado, she entered Fergus’ room, where their own children’s cribs had been temporarily moved. Their youngest son was sound asleep and Brianna internally swore. She would have to be extra careful not to wake the child. If he cried, someone would come up and notice her absence. Jamie and Roger would catch her before she could even reach the end of the street. Slowly, she opened the window and leaned over to assess her route. The eave was higher than she thought, so climbing on it wouldn't be a problem, but the fall to the ground could easily twist her ankle. I have no choice, anyway. Gathering the tails of her dress, she climbed onto the windowsill and slipped outside, pausing halfway to wipe away her tears and clear her view. She then pushed the window from the outside without locking it and let herself fall on the eave. A few seconds later, her feet touched the muddy cobblestones and she scampered off toward the river.

She ran breathlessly through the streets of New Bern. Once at the port, she would only have to walk up the bank until the outskirts of the city and find the small cove Bellingham had talked about. She had to try. It was her last chance. On a street corner, her gaze was drawn to a craftsman’s workshop – more specifically to the small hatchet that he had left on an outdoor workbench – and she seized it, running again despite the craftsman’s angry yells.

About ten minutes later, she reached the end of the port and paused to catch her breath. Move it, Bree. You have to find him. Lungs burning, she set off again at top speed, further and further away from the city. The vegetation soon became thicker, and the ground muddier, causing her to slip several times and scrape one of her elbows on a sharp stone. But just as she was losing heart – when the idea that they had brought Stephen on the opposite side of the river threatened to trigger an anxiety attack – a man screamed, scaring the birds that were quietly resting on the water.

“Stephen…”, Brianna whispered, straightening up to look around, but no one was there. At least not in this part of the river, the rest being hidden by thick trees and bushes. Beneath Bree’s feet, the ground had been trodden, indicating the presence of a large group of people. Stephen wasn't far away.

Another scream echoed and this time, Bree managed to locate it. Going around the thick bushes, she came to a small creek and her gaze immediately turned to the water. Stephen was there, less than three hundred feet away, his arms bound in thick irons above his head and with water up to his waist. His green, astonished eyes on her. Brianna dropped the hatchet on the sand and hastily unfastened her dress, keeping only her stockings and bodice before diving into the water with her tool. Advancing despite the current, the seaweed and the mud was not an easy task, but she managed to reach the post... and desperately flung her arms round the Irishman's neck.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry…” Tears were streaming down her cheeks again, and as she placed several nervous kisses on Stephen’s dry lips, the latter kissed her back with equal eagerness.

“I know, mo fíorghrá, I know…”

“No, you don’t know, I didn’t want this, I didn't want it anymore, I-”

“Brianna, Brianna…”, he whispered soothingly, and she froze in bewilderment at the sight of his soft smile. Too soft considering the circumstances. “Phaedre wrote to me in the jail, after she visited you and saw that you were not allowed to see me. I know…”

Relieved that she no longer needed to explain everything to him, Brianna burst into loud sobs and hugged him for a few seconds, before the weight of the hatchet in her hand reminded her of her mission.

“Let’s get you out of here…” Sniffling, she showed him her weapon and immediately began hitting the huge wooden post to which he was shackled. With several hours ahead of her, she would manage to overcome it, she was sure of it.

“Brianna…”

“Don’t worry, you will be free before the tide is high…”

“Brianna, stop…” But she ignored him, hitting the wood harder with her tiny hatchet.

“No, I don’t have time to stop! I only have a few hours. And then we’ll have to go back and get Jemmy and-”

“Brianna, I have shackles around my feet too.”

Brianna froze and looked down at the unfathomable muddy waters around them.

“Even if you manage to free my hands, it won’t save me.”

He was speaking in a much too calm voice that only freaked Brianna out a little more. “B-but… that doesn’t mean it’s impossib-”

“You won’t be able to use your hatchet underwater like you do now. The water will put up too much resistance.”

At this point, Brianna started to panic. “I-I'll find a solution… If I can't cut the pole then… m-maybe I can… maybe I can saw your feet off? To g-get them out of the shackles?”

Stephen burst out laughing and when he looked back at his bewildered wife, his green irises were overflowing with love. “Saw my feet off? So that I can bleed out and die on the beach? Brianna…” He moved an arm, probably trying to caress her face soaked with tears, only to remember he couldn’t. “I’m glad you’re here, mo fíorghrá. Let’s just enjoy the time we have left together… Tell me… how is Jeremiah doin’?”

Through her tears, Brianna gave him an accusing look. How could he give up so quickly? Without a fight? The situation could not be that desperate, right? They had finally found each other, they loved each other, they had to find a way to liberate him?!?! It could not end like this, not now. Not after everything they had been through together.

“I can’t abandon you here. I want to go back to Ocracoke with you and Jeremiah”, Bree sobbed, pressing herself against him. “Everything has become so hard. I don’t know what to do and everyone around me keeps screaming all the time, everything is so loud and violent, and I can’t hear myself think anymore, I can’t fucking breathe anym-”

“You'll be all right, mo fíorghrá…” Unable to touch her with his hands, Stephen tilted his head to rub his face against hers. “If there’s one thing I learned as your husband, it’s how strong you are. Today, you just have to be stronger... and let me do the right thing for once.”

“The right thing??”, she shouted herself hoarse, on the verge of hysteria. “How is this the right thing?? For me?? For our son??”

“I have done far too much harm to escape justice forever…” His lips stretched into a sad smile. “I know it, you know it, everyone knows it.”

“I forgave you”, Brianna moaned, stroking his cheeks. Against her abdomen, another wavelet raised the level of the river by an inch or two, soaking half of her corset.

“I know... and that’s all that matters to me, darlin’. Once I’m gone, everythin’ I’ve done to you will be gone too. And you can be free again.”

“Stop”, she whined, a new stream of tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Let’s just enjoy these last hours. Just the two of us, mo fíorghrá…”

Brianna looked up. His quiet, soothing tone contrasted with her own uncontrollable sobs and quivering lips. But he seemed determined and at peace with what was about to happen to him. Especially since she had arrived. Crying, Brianna lowered the hand that held the hatchet and slowly opened her fingers. The tool slipped from her hand, disappearing into the muddy waters, and she clung to Stephen’s dirty blouse.

“Just don’t leave me, all right?”, he whispered against her forehead and Brianna shook her head frantically.

“I will not leave you. I’ll stay until the end, I promise.”

The Irishman took a long, shaky breath that betrayed the terror he must feel despite his calm demeanor. “Can we pretend, just a little bit longer?”

Brianna looked up and stared at him blankly for a moment, before realizing what he was asking for and it took her all of her strength to force a smile on her face.

“The tide will never rise that high...”, she whispered, her voice broken by tears and sniffles. “The water will stop rising under your chin… and then it will go down again. We’ll be able to go home… to Ocracoke.”

Stephen let out a brief laugh. “Jeremiah will be thrilled to have his swing back.”

“I can already see the two of them arguing over who gets to climb on it first…”, Brianna laughed in turn, pressing herself closer to his chest.

“The two of them?”

She looked up at him and smiled. “I am pregnant.”

“For real or-?”, he asked, suddenly serious.

“For real... That’s what I wanted to tell you that morning when the soldiers-” Her voice cracked again but that was not what had interrupted her. Stephen had just turned dangerously pale and frowned.

“Brianna, get out of there right now. The water is cold, you’ll catch your death-”

“No, no, I’ll be fine. I’m staying. I promised you, I’m staying.”

The panic he read in her eyes must have convinced him for he relaxed a bit, and worry soon gave way to joy on his face.

“You’re really pregnant, then?”

Brianna nodded and leaned forward to kiss him passionately. But when she ended their kiss, Stephen’s smile and red eyes broke her heart.

“I am so happy, mo fíorghrá…”

“You just have to be patient”, Brianna whispered, stroking his cheek. “It will be over soon. And then we can go home.”

Stephen placed a kiss on her forehead and they remained like this, completely silent for a long time. Around them, life itself seemed to have come to a standstill. There was not a living soul around, a few birds and a family of squirrels being the only spectators of the tragedy that was playing out in the cove.

“When your belly gets round, know that I won't be able to keep my hands off it...”, Stephen whispered.

Brianna’s face was painful and cramped from crying but she managed to smile anyway. “I hope so. And she’ll kick you a lot. That’s all you deserve...”

“She?”

“Yes, it’s a girl this time. Don’t ask me how I know it, I just do.”

“I see…”, he chuckled, giving her a sly look. “May she be as beautiful and smart as her mother…”

“Oh, she is.”

Both spouses exchanged a knowing look and as the wavelets now licked Brianna’s shoulders, she captured the Irishman’s lips again, probably for one of the last times. Bree never quite knew how long they were there, huddled together imagining the life they would never have, until the situation became critical... and impossible to ignore. Brianna was barely touching the ground and had been clinging to Stephen for a while so the current wouldn’t carry her away. The pirate, on the other hand, had water up to his chin and even though he was doing his best not to panic, Bree now clearly read terror in his eyes.

“Brianna… the soldiers… they took my jacket and wallet in the jail. Go get them, please? Give our portrait to Jeremiah for me… I don’t want them to burn it or throw it away…”

Brianna nodded frantically, spluttering as a little water came through her parted lips. “I will.”

It was a white lie, however. Jeremiah had the advantage of still being a young child. He would forget. Maintaining the memory of his father for years while she tried to pick up her life where she left off in Boston would only disturb him even more. But Stephen could not and should not know that.

Three hundred feet away, on the beach, a horse appeared among the greenery, and judging by the furious look on Stephen’s face, Brianna knew before she even saw him that it was Roger. But she would not let his presence ruin her last moments with Stephen and she passionately kissed her husband several times, ignoring Roger’s burning gaze on her back and the treacherous waters, that sprayed their faces more and more regularly.

A few minutes later, it was becoming difficult for Stephen to keep his face above the surface, and they exchanged a last “I love you” as a stronger wave washed over the pirate.

“No…no…no, please…”, Brianna whined as panic was getting the best of her again. Taking a deep breath, she sank below the surface and pressed her mouth against Stephen's, blowing as much air into it as she could before going back up for a refill. How long before the tide went down? One hour ? Maybe two? Would she be able to keep feeding him with air for so long? Yes, she felt capable of it. It was her last option, anyway.

She repeated the process four or five times before Stephen’s face escaped her life-saving kiss, and she stared at him in surprise through her squinted eyes as he slowly shook his head from side to side.

Let me go…

Bree’s hands came to cup his face one last time and she pressed her forehead to his, closing her eyes as the Irishman’s whole body began to thrash, fighting death with all its might while big bubbles escaped his mouth and rose to the surface. Brianna's lungs were also starting to burn, but she held on and it wasn't until Stephen stopped moving forever that she placed one last kiss on his forehead and resurfaced.

It took her a few more minutes to let go of Stephen, whose lifeless body was now gently swaying with the waves. She stroked his hair, his left cheek, his scar, memorizing every detail of his last touch, of their last embraces and his last sweet words. And when she finally felt ready to move – both broken and relieved that this infamous torture had come to an end – she spread her fingers and let the current separate them forever.

Slowly, using what little energy she had left after all those hours in the cold water, Brianna swam back to the shore. As stiff as a robot – and feeling like she had cried until the last ounce of water in her body – she picked up her skirt and put it on, while Roger, who had remained silent until then, dismounted his horse to meet her.

“Were ye pretendin’ now too, Brianna?”, he asked contemptuously.

Roger never knew how close to death he had been at that exact moment. That simple phrase, that dismissive tone he had used, had almost caused Bree to lose her mind, but one thing had held her back. Or rather two. Two children she had now to take care of and protect. Two children she would love as ardently as she had hated then loved their father. That was why she ignored his outrageous question and just drawled:

“I wanna go home.”

Roger nodded and pointed at his horse. “Get on, I’ll take ye back.”

“No.” The look Brianna gave him was so deadly that the Scotsman took a step back. “I wanna go back to Boston.”

And with one last look toward the water, where only Stephen Bonnet’s lifeless arms were still visible, she headed for the city.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Chapter Text

35. Epilogue

August 1983.

Claire had made no protest when Brianna had expressed the wish to go back to the twentieth century. She understood better than anyone else how it felt to live in an era in which Love no longer existed. Jamie, however, had argued for a few days before resigning himself. Brianna was nothing but a shadow of her former self, and when her nausea became impossible to hide, the family concluded that it was indeed best to reach the stone circle in Virginia and allow her to leave before being once again stuck with a baby unable to time travel.

Roger had come with her and Jeremiah. He had wanted to pick up the pieces of their relationship, to convince her that their marriage was not impossible to save, but telling him that she was expecting Stephen Bonnet’s second child was all it took to put him off. After traveling through the stones, they had travelled back together to Boston. Brianna had visited Gayle’s parents’ (her former college roommate who had moved to Oregon two years earlier) to retrieve the spare keys to the Randall’s house, and lent Roger some money to take the first plane back to Scotland. She had only seen him again on rare occasions, when he came to conferences or gatherings of Scottish clans – introducing him to the kids as “Uncle Roger”.

No big loss…, she grumbled inwardly, squinting to read the Interstate-95 road signs despite the sun shining through the windshield. Raleigh. She hadn’t driven halfway through North Carolina yet, but she had never been so close to River Run in eight years. And the closer she got, the more her mind drifted away from the driving. For the first time since she had ended her psychotherapy two years earlier, she was thinking about what she had left behind, but especially everything she had been though on her own. A path of healing, that had been difficult but necessary, but also a search – for her own, individual identity, then for a fulfilling job in mechanical engineering. For the very first time in her life, she had to build her own existence, without submitting to any parental or marital authority, and that had been no easy feat. To be completely honest, she wouldn’t have made it without Dr. Pittman.

She would always remember the first time she had walked into his practice, very pregnant and an emotional wreck. She had asked him if he would agree to help her overcome a trauma that would certainly raise a lot of questions; questions that would not be answered if they involved names, places or dates. She only needed to understand what had happened to her, to learn how to live with her feelings and to grieve. Pittman had been intrigued, but he had accepted and she had therefore described everything from her rape, to her forced marriage with Stephen, the manipulations and psychological violence, and against all odds the attraction and the love that had bloomed between them, until his tragic death. And now, her terror of giving birth to a child who would never know her father, as well as raising another child who had lost his dad forever and would surely blame her for it one day.

The psychologist had listened attentively, aware that despite the elements she was hiding from him, all of this could not have been made up. They had therefore worked for many years together, taking each event in chronological order, starting with the rape and her first pregnancy. Brianna had so many things to settle with herself (and Stephen) that this event alone had needed almost six months of weekly sessions before they could move forward. Step by step. Until that blessed day of 1981 when they had shaken hands for the last time, promising to contact each other again if she needed it.

But she was at peace. She had accepted her feelings – no matter how twisted and problematic they were. She had healed, and traded her anger and frustration for gratitude. Brianna had two beautiful children, a stable job she had gotten after months of searching (employers being somewhat put off by the six-year gap in her resume) and also… she was supporting herself. She didn’t need anyone and that was perhaps her greatest pride. She had had more than her share of men to tell her what to do. That time was definitely over.

Yet, the more she drove, the more she felt the irrepressible urge to go have a look. To see what was left of the plantation, what had become of the places she had known two hundred years earlier. Just as the stones buzzed in her ears and dragged her to them like a magnet, North Carolina was calling her. But she would resist. It was easy after all; all she had to do was to stay on that damn highway and drive to their destination.

“New Bern…?”

Jeremiah – 13 years old and sitting in the front passenger seat – startled her and she swerved a bit, glancing at the central rear-view mirror in panic. The slight jolt had not woken Amanda up, and the seven and a half! year old – as she always proudly pointed out – was still sleeping soundly, with her mouth ajar and her head tilted in a weird angle. Too engrossed in her thoughts, Brianna had almost forgotten that she was not alone in the car and that the three of them were in the middle of their road trip from Boston to Orlando, Florida – stronghold of Mickey Mouse’s kingdom, where they had planned to spend a few days of family fun.

“Sorry, I was focused on the road. What did you say?”, Brianna asked, glancing at her son who was studying the huge road map of North Carolina. Jeremiah loved maps and road trips. And he had insisted on buying a complete and detailed map for each and every state they would drive through on their journey. He also religiously kept a travel diary where he noted each stopover town, as well as each historical building they visited and photographed using small disposable cameras.

Jeremiah gave her the weary signature look that every teenagers had at some point, and tapped on his map. “New Bern. I was wondering why we stopped going there...”

A cold shiver ran down Brianna’s spine. Eight years earlier, she had decided not to speak about Stephen to Jem anymore. At five years old, he was still young enough to forget, and the change in environment and time had accelerated the process. The nightmares and nighttime crying caused by Stephen’s arrest had stopped within a few months. Then, attending primary school had gotten his brain busy enough to distract him from his childhood memories. Brianna was certain that any trace of their past had been washed away, but she had been obviously wrong. And she was sure she hadn’t said the words New Bern, Wilmington, Fraser’s Ridge, or River Run once in his presence.

“We used to live around here, right?”, Jeremiah went on, looking down at the map. “With daddy.”

Brianna clenched her fingers on the steering wheel, summoning all her inner strength not to panic and look completely normal.

“Before we moved to Boston and changed our name to Randall. Something about a river…”, he muttered, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

“River Run”, Brianna whispered before she could help herself. There was an eerie silence in the car. Jeremiah had put his hands on the map – crumpling the forests and the Raleigh Ring Road a bit – and was looking at her. Calmly, as if he expected – wanted – her to say more.

Bree pursed her lips, keeping her eyes on the road. “You never told me you remembered…”, she eluded, chuckling nervously.

Jeremiah pouted. “When I was little, I didn’t want to forget. Every night, I told myself that daddy would come back. I used to think about him, about River Run, I was trying to memorize images and sounds but… I forgot stuff anyway. Like his face…”, he finished darkly as if he had just announced an F in Math despite working hard for it.

Brianna’s heart was pounding in her chest. She felt like she’d lived a lie for years, deluded herself into naively thinking that Jeremiah had no memory of their old life. A wave of guilt washed over her as she realized that she had totally neglected that aspect of her son’s psyche. But then, if he had tried to hold on to his memories without ever telling her, how was she supposed to know? She took a deep breath.

“Do you remember anything else?”

Jeremiah’s face lit up and he nodded. “I had a puppy! But I forgot his name.”

“His name was Blue”, Brianna said with a tight smile. The dog had stayed with the Frasers, which had caused more screaming and crying when Jemmy had to leave him behind. But luckily, that wasn’t the memory he had chosen to hold on to.

“And I remember River Run was some sort of castle. Much bigger and nicer than our current house…”

“Hey! Your grandfather Frank loved that house and took great care of it. Have some respect!”, Bree joked as Jeremiah rolled his eyes.

“I also remember falling in the water one day, and dad saved me. That’s why I hate swimming lessons at school and why stupid Billy Malone always makes fun of me...”

They drove past a large green sign on the right, that indicated the exit to Selma/Pine Level/Goldsboro. If I get out here and take the 70, we can be in New Bern in an hour and a half. It’s just a small detour… Carolina was calling her, ever louder, ever more insistent, and she gripped the steering wheel again. The deceleration lane was getting inexorably closer. At first a distant point on the horizon, its curve was now becoming clearer and before she could stop herself, Brianna opened her mouth.

“Do you want to stop in New Bern? And then drive along the coast to Wilmington?”

Jeremiah took two or three seconds to answer. Something seemed to be breaking. As if an invisible wall made of ice between them had just started to crack.

“Yeah.”

The car had just reached the exit when Brianna urgently left the highway, raising dust in her wake. Jeremiah made a funny face and immediately turned around to see if his little sister had been awakened by the sudden change in direction. But the little girl… was still soundly sleeping.

A few minutes later, they were on the U.S. Highway 70, which would take them straight to town, and silence fell again between Brianna and her son. But there was some sort of excitement mixed with apprehension floating in the air. Jeremiah had opened a door that would be hard to close again. But maybe it was for the best. He was old enough to understand and she was feeling ready to talk. He wouldn't know everything, of course, but just enough to fill in the blanks of his childhood.

After another hour of driving, they had just passed Kinston when Jeremiah spoke again.

“Why don’t you ever draw dad?”

Brianna’s eyes involuntarily drifted to her purse. According to Stephen’s last wishes, she had collected his belongings from the jail. She had even worn his jacket the entire trip from New Bern to the stones circle, until her own scent eventually replaced Stephen's and she had left it in the past. She had not been able to do that with the wallet and its contents, however. But Jeremiah did not know that.

“I think… it hurt too much.”

“Because he’s dead?”

Brianna jumped. She had been pretty vague the few times Jeremiah had asked why he didn't have a dad, lying to him about a breakup gone wrong. Jeremiah must have expected this reaction because he sighed again and sulked, staring at the road.

“Uncle Roger told me.”

“What? When?”, Bree growled, both surprised and angry. How had Roger been able – during the few days he had been around her kids over the last eight years – to tell Jem about this??

“I don’t know… I think that was before the reading contest at the end of primary school. He had spent a few days here, you guys had argued again and when he left he told me that it was time for you to stop living with the memory of a dead person or something like that… That’s how I knew.”

Brianna was speechless, as the memory of the said argument and contest came back to her. “Wait a minute, that’s why you stopped talking for days and completely failed your contest?? You told me you were just nervous!”

“I lied”, Jeremiah said with a pointed look, meaning she was not exactly a role model in that area either.

Brianna gritted her teeth and shook her head. “Roger, you fucking dickhead.”

Jeremiah’s eyebrows rose and a smirk – that always reminded Bree of a certain Irishman’s – crept across his lips. “That’s two dollars for the swear jar.”

“Believe me, I could easily add three hundred more if I didn’t stop myself…”

“Please do. The garden would look so cool with a portable pool…”

Bree chuckled, gradually forgetting her anger thanks to her son’s humor and maturity despite the situation. By wanting to overprotect him, she had more or less forced him to face all of this alone, but that was a mistake she would not make again. It was time to lift the veil on all her secrets. Before Roger – out of sheer malice – could do it. And she would give him what he deserved over the phone when they got back from Orlando.

“Look inside my purse.” Jeremiah leaned down to grab Bree’s purse at his feet and as he unzipped it, she added: “There’s an old leather wallet near the house keys. Open it.”

Frowning, Jeremiah complied and grabbed the item. Inside, his mother had put a few credit cards, business cards and dollar bills. But his eye was immediately caught by a yellowed piece of paper protruding from one of the compartments. Jem carefully took it out and his heart skipped a beat. There was the portrait of a little boy sitting on a man’s lap. No need for explanations. Out of pure instinct, and even if he had come across the drawing by chance, he would have recognized himself as well as his father. The resemblance between them was striking, even on a black-and-white sketch, and Jeremiah gulped, trying to get rid of the painful lump in his throat.

“Yes, that’s him”, he said simply.

It was not a question, but a simple statement, as if the last missing pieces of the jigsaw puzzle that was his memory had just been put together. As for Brianna, it was becoming increasingly difficult for her to suppress her emotions and she discreetly rubbed her left eye to get rid of the few tears blurring her vision.

“He looks like he’s wearing Grandpa’s clothes…”, Jeremiah scoffed.

“Yeah, it’s…um…you know, Grandpa and Grandma were working in a theme park, with old costumes and… I made this drawing of you and your dad wearing these costumes, so…”

Brianna's voice died in her throat as she saw Jeremiah’s weary, disapproving look. A look that screamed: bullshit. So she breathed a long sigh and went back to staring at the road.

Jeremiah glanced at his little sister, who was still sleeping, and turned back to his mother. “We’re not from around here, right?”

Brianna laughed nervously. “No, Jem, we are not aliens from another planet…”

“I’m not stupid, mom. We have History lessons at school, remember?”

Silence fell in the car, and Jemmy looked down at his father’s proud, smiling face on the paper. Until Brianna talked again.

“We are from around here. But also, not really.”

Jeremiah nodded, as if that sentence made perfect sense to him. Oddly enough, Brianna sensed that he would not ask more questions on the matter. Maybe the thought of having mysteriously traveled back in time or being born in another era still scared him too much. Instead, he leaned back more comfortably in his seat, kicked off his sneakers, and put his feet up on the dashboard, holding Stephen's portrait at eye level to memorize every detail.

“I will ask one day, you know…”, he muttered without looking at his mother, and Bree nodded, her eyes on the road.

“And on that day, I will give you answers.”

~o~

Brianna parked the car in downtown New Bern and after waking Amanda up, the three of them went to find a small restaurant on the banks of the Neuse River for lunch. Then after wolfing down their burgers, they had gone for a walk around the city. Jeremiah had seemed rather wary during their visit, as he did not recognize the town he had once known. But he had not broached the subject again and focused his attention on Amanda, taking her to a playground near the river. That was when Brianna had realized he was doing with his sister the exact same thing she had done with him as a mother. Hide the truth as a way to protect. It was an unnecessary precaution, however, since Amanda had never known anything else than the twentieth century.

The star attraction in the children’s playground was a small wooden pirate ship, whose name was proudly displayed across the bow on a sign painted in black letters: the Sturdy Beggar. A rope net allowed kids to climb onto the deck and various small seesaw games had been placed all around. Brianna smiled as Amanda – with Jeremiah’s help – climbed up the net, and as she backed off toward the river, a metal sign dug painfully into the flesh of her back. And she turned around.

The tide was low, making the tall, modern metal pole erected in the mud even more impossible to ignore. A feeling of déjà vu made her shiver and she looked down at the sign she had just bumped into. It was one of those tourist signs, full of historical details, and she read the few lines carved into the metal.

“Here died many pirates, executed for their crimes between 1650 and 1780, including Stephen Bonnet (1737-1775), notorious smuggler and adviser to Governor William Tryon (1729-1775).

The condemned were tied by the feet and hands at low tide, waiting hours for the high tide that would end their lives.

This metal pole was erected here in their memory. May they rest in peace.”

Brianna held her breath. Without even knowing it, she had decided to stop here of all places, where her heart had broken forever eight years (or rather two hundred and eight years) ago. Her gaze went back to the pole and she immediately felt the cold water on her skin, through her clothes; the waves splashing her face every now and then; her trembling lips as she kissed her husband one last time. It was too much. She turned away, ready to run, when her eyes fell on Jemmy and Amanda still playing on the Sturdy Beggar. He would have loved to know them, to watch them grow up… and this place – this stupid playground right next to where he had died – was perhaps the only time both her children would be geographically close to their father.

So she changed her mind and backed up again to stand next to the sign. Her fingers gently brushed the Irishman's name and a sad smile appeared on her lips as she turned toward Jem and “Amandine”.

“They’re perfect, see…?”, she whispered, her voice broken. “I’m glad I have them…”

This time a tear managed to make its way out of her eyelid and roll down her cheek. She didn’t wipe it. Because it would be the last. It was time.

She was about to go back to her children when a feeling of intense warmth, like a tight embrace, washed over her and for a few seconds, she could have sworn that Stephen was right here, his chest pressed against her back and his arms circling her waist. And the sea breeze coming from the shore became a hot and comforting breath in the crook of her neck.

The feeling didn’t last long, though. And no sooner had she started to realize it was there and abandoned herself in Stephen’s arms, than the heat and pressure around her body disappeared. There was no one here but her and her kids, and yet there had been something else. Something that had hugged her tight and whispered in her ear.

“Mommy, mommy, look!!!!”

Brianna turned back to the playground, where Amanda had climbed on the top level of the pirate ship, waving her arms in victory.

“I’m coming, Mandy!”

Her fingers brushed the words “Stephen Bonnet” again, her gaze fell one last time on the lonely pole in the muddy water, and she smiled.

Goodbye, mo fíorghrá.

THE END