Mary left too quickly for Charlotte's liking, and the memory of the night you two shared was bright and brazen. She dreamed of her touch every night she was gone, the feeling of her lips on Charlotte's skin a buffer until she was here again in person.

To keep her mind free from worry, she continued working at the tavern with Matthew, and the new woman, Anne.

Anne was a wonderful woman and between the two of you manning the tavern, you both kept an eye out for one another. Though Anne needed looking after more than you did.

Anne was a beautiful Irish woman, and it was known that she was a flirt, a tease even. She was a free woman after leaving her good for nothing husband, and since her departure from marriage, the men have come flocking.

None more persistent than Jack Rackham, of course. The pillock drove Charlotte crazy, and she hadn't cared for his lecherous hands and his silver tongue. She had experienced his nature one too many times for her liking, and it had left a sour taste in her mouth.

But not Anne's. Anne gave it back to him as badly as he gave it to her. The twisted words with a double, lusty meaning. The hidden glances and smooth talking, Anne and Rackham were toying with each other.

But as long as he wasn't toying with Charlotte. She didn't want any of his attentions. He could save it all for Anne.

"Another letter, Captain Kenway?" Charlotte had stepped toward his table and set his rum down on the wood followed by his glass.

He seemed frustrated by whatever he was supposed to be writing, and upon her arrival, he crumpled the paper and threw it to the side.

"Another attempt. I'm afraid I haven't got the right mind to write what should be said." He abandoned his quill for the rum, and instead of using he glass, he stuck to the bottle.

"Who are you trying to write to?" She took the seat opposite of him, sparing a glance to the table where Mary usually sat.

"Someone from my past." His tone was guarded, rightfully so, and after another drink, he turned the questions to her.

"Heard you've taken a pirate to bed. Couldn't be Kidd, could it? Devil in the sea and the sheets." Her eyes widened as her breath caught in her throat, making Charlotte cough rather loudly.

"H-how did you find out?" She hadn't told anyone and she wasn't aware of Mary telling anyone that she been her latest conquest.

"'Fore Kidd left he told the whole tavern that no one was to touch ye. Put the pieces together lass and it seems like he's got quite the claim on ye. Couldn't do better to be honest. Could be Vane. Bastard's been known to be rough with women. Hell, we all have." Charlotte looked from the man in question, to Edward. Did he mean hitting women? Beating them? Was Vane a man with too quick a temper and too loose of morals?

"I'd never lay my hands on a woman, lass. I'd been raised better than that and no respectable man would hit a woman out of spite. But if yer so curious about his toughness with women, suppose I should tell you." Charlotte knit her eyebrows and a sneer crossed her face.

"I understand. No clarification needed." She stood from the table and grabbed her wooden tray and the cup she'd brought.

"Did Kidd really stake a sort of claim on me?" She was curious and confused.

"Aye. Thatch calls him a fool. Says there's more women in Nassau and Kidd shouldn't stick to just one." Charlotte must've seemed disappointed and hurt, because the next moment, Edward was shifting in his chair, hands firmly placed on the table in front of him.

"Kidd would never hurt ya lass. And he would never make ya feel hurt. Ignore what Thatch thinks. Thatch is stuck in his ways. Kidd wouldn't hurt ya like that." She quickly thanked Edward for his advice and went back up the stairs to the tavern, setting your wood tray down and the glass.

She hadn't thought about the lack of faithfulness the pirates who frequented the island kept, and the thought of Mary going to another port and laying with another woman had made her feel sick.

But she couldn't control her or her needs and wants, charlotte just hoped that Mary would wouldn't feel the need to lay with another.

/—/

"These British bastards. They wear the kings colours and they think that gives them an excuse to do whatever the hell they want." Charlotte wiped her hand against her forehead, the sun hot and sweltering

Matthew was pissed off more than normal since the newest arrival of Bristish soldiers came to Nassau. He, and many of the pirates and privateers here, wanted nothing to do with the redbacks. They didn't like their politics, their ideals, their brutishness or the way they butt their heads into others business.

"They drive away my damn business when they walk by with their swords and guns. They can piss off and go back to England!" She looked over her shoulder to the soldiers walking by, their eyes narrowing in the direction of the tavern.

"But ye don't mind sleeping with our women do ye pricks?" Charlotte licked her drying lips and turned back to Matthew, almost warning him to shut up.

The soldiers had now stopped and were staring right at him. If he pushed too far, they'd snap and he'd be arrested or shot.

"Matthew, stop." When the chatter in tavern had picked up again, and the soldiers were gone, Matthews irritation lessened.

"Those pricks will get what's coming to them. Just you wait." She rolled her eyes and picked up her tray, along with the rum bottles, and walked to a table waiting drinks.

Just as she set down the drinks, the sound of gunfire and cannon fire drew the attention of everyone in the tavern, including Edward. Charlotte raised her head, first looking at Anne and Rackham, then Edward. Charlotte saw Edward stand, his hand grazing over the sword on his hip.

"What is going on?" Forgetting the tables and the men waiting for drinks, charlotte tore down the stairs and followed Edward as he walked down the worn path.

"Edward! What's going on?" She had just grabbed his arm when Edward mmoved and pulled her tightly to his side.

"I recognize that man. The one with the scars." Charlotte furrowed her brow and looked where he pointed, finding a trio of three well dressed men on the beach.

"His name is Woodes Rogers. He's a governor." As her eyes swept over the two other men, one was instantly recognizable and made her heart stop.

The man with the blue eyes and dark hair, tall and well built, a scar over his lip, she knew. She recognized him, unable to forget the sneer on his face.

"Father?"