The Flight of the Valkyrie

[ladydeathfaerie]

Title: The Flight of The Valkyrie
Chapter Eight: Come the Morning Light
Fandom: something like the Marvel Universe
Rating: 18 and up
Warnings: lots of sex and violence, language, anything else i can toss in. flagrant abuse of a Scots accent and loads of pirates. much badly mangled pirate speech
Disclaimer: the recognizable characters and places contained herein are the property of Marvel. i'm merely borrowing for the sake of entertainment. no money is being made from this venture. the Sues are the sole property of their originators, Ginevra, Dazzledfirestar, Nanaea, SilverFoxChan and ladydeathfaerie. the concept and title of The Mary Sue Virus are used with permission from Dazzledfirestar.

The Flight of the Valkyrie - The Index

His hands, so capable of giving pleasure, ghosted along the bared flesh of her back, tracing the line of her spine until he came to the curve of her arse. There, his fingers hesitated, as if they weren't sure which way to go. She thought, for a moment, that they would follow the crease between the twin globes. But he detoured, one going to the left while the other went to the right, where they plotted a course along the top of her bum before trailing along the outer edge until it came to the fold where leg met cheek. From there, his fingers grazed lightly inward, meeting one another where thigh met thigh. Where the swollen folds of her woman's flesh eagerly awaited his touch.

Her breath caught in her throat when a single finger traced the seam, spreading the wetness that had gathered there across her flesh. Very slowly, he pushed a finger inside of her, stroking the tiny bundle of nerves there until she cried out softly. Her body tensed, her muscles contracting with the mere brush of his fingertips against that one spot. "Say it." His voice was a mere whisper, his breath hot against her ear as his words drifted across the delicate shell.

She shuddered with the sensation, shook her head in refusal. She wouldn't give him the pleasure.

His finger slid away from that spot, pressed deep into her and began to stroke with a slow, steady rhythm. Her hips writhed, rose and fell in time with his hand. And they tensed when his thumb pressed against the bit of flesh he'd shown her once. He'd called it her pearl, told her that it was a buried treasure. Then he'd proceeded to show her just why when he'd dipped his head between her thighs so that he could wrap his lips around it and suck hard. She'd come up off the bed, the feelings had been so intense.

His thumb tapped out a rhythm, a slow beat that drove her over the edge in hardly any time at all. But it was always that way with him. Her body tensed again, another cry leaving her throat. His teeth caught her earlobe and bit down, sending a sharp bolt of pain through her. "Say it," he hissed just before his tongue traced the arch of her ear.

She cried out once more, his thumb beating out a relentless staccato against that one spot so that she was caught in a never ending circle of pleasure. Her body was strung so tightly that it hurt. She wanted nothing more than for it to end, to relax against the softness of the bed and catch her breath. But he wouldn't stop until she gave him what he wanted. She knew this from past experience. And yet, even though she knew it, she always tried to wait him out, sure that she could force him to give in. It still hadn't happened. "Say it, my sweet. Say it and I shall cease."

"Verra well. I love ye!" The words came out breathlessly. Almost immediately, his fingers stopped their actions, allowing her to go limp against the bedding. She lay for long minutes, simply drawing air into her lungs, before prying her eyes open to look up at him.

He was staring down at her, his eyes clear and blue. There was a soft smile on his face. "I love you, too, my sweet."

Blue washed away, faded from view. She found herself looking up into red eyes that burned against the blackest night, demon's eyes in an angelic face. And there was a smirk on that sweet face. Then long, agile fingers were slipping between her thighs again, drawing a long cry from her throat. His mouth opened and she waited for the words that she knew he was going to say.

"I am mightily pleased, wench. Tis only the dawning and already your body is wet and willing for me."

The Viking lord's words shattered the sweet, gentle shell of the dream and brought Dare awake with a start. She felt the questing touch of the blonde's fingers as they did their best to slip inside of her. She reached for him, wrapped her hand around his wrist and tightened her hold until she knew that the tips dug into his flesh. Her gaze met his. "What the bloody hell do ye think yer doin'?"

He merely stared for a heartbeat, then his lips spread in a knowing smirk. "My lady seems confused this morn. Mayhap another lesson in what it is I am doing is in order." Before she could process his words, his hand pressed inside of her. Much against her better judgement, her eyes fluttered shut as she gave herself over to the feel of his fingers gliding in and out of her body. Already, the sensations were more than enough to melt her will into a puddle of hunger.

He was right. She was so wet, so eager for the feel of his touch. So eager for the teasing caress of long, thin, nimble fingers. Like those that from her dream.

The recollection of her dream broke her from the spell of lust that Thor's hand worked to weave about her, a dash of ice water that brought her fully back to herself. Muttering a curse, she brought a foot up and planted it firmly in his muscled chest. With all the strength she possessed, she kicked him away from her. Dare used her actions to roll away from him so that she was on the opposite side of the enormous bed. The blonde was studying her with clear blue eyes that reminded her vividly of the pair in her dream. Finally, a smile lit his face and he reached for her. "You wish to wrestle before the bed sport. Excellent. `Tis fair I warn you, wench, that there is none among mortals and gods alike who can best me at wrestling."

He gave a tug and she found herself sliding across the bed toward him. There was so little effort in his actions. Anger took her and she kicked out with her free foot. One of his large hands caught that foot easily. Another tug brought her close enough to him that he laid down over her, effectively pinning her beneath him. "Get off me, ye oaf!"

The only answer she got was the brush of his erection as he shifted positions. Bloody hell. If he touched her again, she'd give in to him without any further fight. For some reason, the idea that he should think any worse of her bothered her. It was bad enough that he already thought she was a tart. If she gave in to him now, after all she'd said and done, he'd decide that she was something more. Something worse.

"If ye dinnae get off me now, I'll set yer arse afire!" she spat at him, one hand seeking out the length of his hair. The silken locks slid through her fingers for a bit before she curled them into the golden mane and pulled hard. Thor's head bent backward, earning her a scowl. "Get off. Ye've had yer turn."

"You try my patience, wench," he growled at her. Dare snarled something under her breath and pulled harder on his hair. The man had no choice but to lift up lest he lose a handful of blonde tresses. The moment he'd reared back far enough, she brought her legs up, planted them against his chest and heaved with all her might. She had enough leverage to push him off of her and as soon as she was free of him, she threw herself off the bed and ran for her weapons. "What madness is this, lady? Have you taken leave of your senses?"

"Come near me again and ye'll find my blade buried in yer gullet!" she spat at him, a cutlass in her hand. With her free hand, she scooped up his tunic and held it up against her body. He said nothing, simply stood on the other side of the bed and watched her with cold, assessing eyes. "Ye had yer fun last night. I'll no' be repeating the experience again. No' today. No' ever. Sae stay right where ye are."

Thor was kind enough to listen to her while she bunched his tunic up until she could lift it up over her head. She made quick work of tugging it on, her hand still holding the cutlass even on him. half of the tunic dropped down until it covered her arm. She slid it into the arm hole, then transferred the blade to that hand so that she could repeat the action with her newly emptied hand. When she was draped in his tunic, she hefted up her belt and threw it over her shoulder. "I'll thank ye tae stay away from me while I'm here. If ye dinnae leave me be..."

Thor sighed and shook his head, then casually advanced across the room. She waved the cutlass at him menacingly. He ignored the immediate danger to his person, closing the distance between them until he was within reach. She growled at him and swung.

Dare had been in too many fights to count in all her years upon the sea and she'd never seen a man move so fast as Thor did. He dodged her blade, ducking beneath it so that it passed over head before springing back up into a standing position. One hand took hold of her wrist, his fingers squeezing down until she felt her bones grind together. Pain shot up her arm and she'd have dropped the sword if not for the training she'd received when she'd first taken to the water. Drop yer sword, lad, and yer dead. She'd learned that from an old pirate she'd served with on her first ship. And she'd seen the truth of it in the deaths of friends and fellow sailors. Those words echoing in her head, she held tight to her blade.

The blonde grinned at her as he leaned his body into hers. It took a mere push from his legs and she found herself backing up. Motion stopped when her shoulders touched the wall behind her. "Such fiery spirit, lady. Our coupling will be sung in sagas until the end of days. `Tis a shame that Stark has laid claim to you. Had he not done so, I would have taken you as my own."

There was nothing else he could have done that would have left her as stunned as had his words. Her mind tried desperately to take in what he'd said, to process it all. At the same time, her body went numb and her sword slipped from suddenly nerveless fingers. It clattered noisily to the ground, forgotten in her shock. Thor molded his body to hers, pressing her against the wall behind her. She was still trying to sort out what he'd said when his mouth covered her own.

Thought fled and, for a moment, the ability to move went with it. She softened against him, some foreign part of her mind basking in the warmth that his words brought. His lips moved with certainty against hers, his tongue stabbing into her mouth before pulling back only to repeat the action again. His hands slid up her sides, dragging the bottom hem of his tunic with them. The length of his cock, hard as steel, rubbed the tender flesh of her belly. Her body ached with the need of him. She lifted a leg to wrap around his waist, silently offering him access to herself.

A deep chuckle rumbled up his throat. He drew back, leaving her gasping for breath. She managed to flutter her eyes open to find him watching her again. "This will be a glorious joining, wench. When I finish with you, your body will hunger only for me. None other shall please you as I do."

His words brought her back to herself. He was smirking at her, looking for all the world as if he were some great thane, lording over his domain. Lording over her. Dare didn't waste anymore words on him. She merely smiled at him and motioned toward the bed. Thor's smirk became a grin and he stepped back, waiting for her to accompany him back to his love nest. As soon as there was enough room between them, she doubled her fists up together and swung hard.

Her balled hands took him square in the jaw and there was enough force in the blow to turn him around. She didn't wait to see if he fell over. She simply scooped up her sword belt and the bared blade, then rushed for the door. She'd barely made it out into the hallway when an angry bellow chased after her.

Turning, sword clasped loosely in hand, she found the blonde Viking stepping out the door after her, still working on slipping into his leggings. A hasty glance showed her that her act of defiance had only served to heighten his arousal. If he cared that anyone might see him sporting such an impressive erection, he gave no indication of it. Instead, he stalked after her, mouth and chin set firmly while his hair flew wildly about his head. She put a hand out behind her to ensure that she didn't run into anyone as she continued down the hall.

"You try my patience, wench. Even my brother Baldr, always smiling and joyous, would go mad in your presence. Your backside will see the palm of my hand when I catch you." His voice rumbled ominously, like thunder that announced a rapidly coming storm. She lifted her blade a little higher and waved it, again, in his general direction.

"Touch me and I'll have yer hand off!" she hissed in return.

"Think you that I fear your puny mortal blade?" He actually stopped a moment, a smile spreading across his face. His head tipped back and he roared in laughter. When he stopped, he propped ham sized fists upon his hips and scowled at her. Dare noticed with a hint of satisfaction that she'd left a mark where her fists had struck him.

"I'll teach ye tae fear me," she replied, casually slicing at the air with her cutlass. The look on his face suggested that he was less than impressed with her threat. Frowning at his casual disregard of her abilities and the danger she represented, she lifted her sword until the tip touched a torch set in the wall. Using it to cover her actions, she summoned her Witchbreed powers and pushed them down into the blade of her cutlass. Pure blue flame flickered to life along the edge of the weapon. Then she turned it back upon him. "I'm no' afraid o' ye. Big brute of a mon. I tauld ye before that ye'd had yer fun."

She watched as his eyes flicked from her face to the flame coated sword. For a second or two, she thought she saw uncertainty in his expression. Then it was gone and a cunning look took its place. "Mayhap I was too quick to allow you out of my bed. Mayhap you misunderstood my intentions. `Tis easy for a wench to do."

She rotated the blade, turning it into a blur of icy blue heat. With a snort, she let him know what she thought of his assessment of women. "I didnae misunderstand anathing, oaf. If ye think that one tumble in yer bed is enough tae tame me, yer daft."

"Return to my chambers with me, wench, and I shall show you how a Viking tames a wild woman."

"Come put yer throat against my blade sae I can take yer head. I've tauld ye no more than once. I'll no' say it again." He followed her as she turned a corner into the hall that would take her back to the hall. Perhaps if she had members of her crew standing at her back, the addlepated arse would understand that she had no interest in him. "I'm no' yer whore. I'm no mon's whore. Dinnae make the mistake o' thinkin' that I am. `Twill cost ye yer life."

He said nothing for a long time, simply studied her with shrewd eyes as she continued to back away from him. Her attention remained fixed on him, her free hand still feeling behind her as she made her way toward the hall. As soon as she was free of him, she was returning to the ship. She'd sleep there until they left. There was no way she was going to remain anywhere near the bloody bastard until he was gelded or he turned his attentions elsewhere.

His gaze flicked to some point behind her and hung there for a moment. When he returned his stare to her, he smiled knowingly. The look gave Dare a bad feeling and she risked a glance over her shoulder. It was a mistake.

She barely had time to take note of a rather disheveled looking Remy standing close behind her before the vibrations under her feet told her that Thor was using the distraction to charge her. She turned back to find him almost on top of him. "Shite!"

The word came out strangled as she threw herself backward in the hopes that she could avoid his open arms. One of his fists knocked the blade from her hand, sent it spinning to the floor. She pulled back her power to keep the building around her from going up in flames while dropping to the floor so that she could roll away from him. Shouts echoed in her ears, shouts that were made in Gaelic. She called him everything she could think of, voice loud in the narrow space of the corridor. When she came up to her feet, it was to find that Remy was offering her the sword that Thor had knocked from her hand.

He was making a second attempt on her. She stopped it when the edge of her sword touched his throat and stopped there. He came to a halt so suddenly that it was as if he hadn't been moving. She kept her gaze on him, lips pressed together in a thin line. "If ye touch me again," she whispered, her hand dragging the tip of her sword down over his bared chest. It dipped into his navel and continued on. She could feel his muscles tense beneath her steel, felt him go utterly still when she brought the weapon to a halt over his cock. "If ye even come near me without my permission, I'll take that which ye prize most. Remember that."

"You okay, petit?" Remy asked her. She felt the heat of his body as he moved up to stand behind her. She leaned back into him without taking her eyes off the blonde before her.

"Aye. Let's go fer a walk. I think I need some fresh air."

~*~*~*~*~

The gentle press of lips against one nipple drew Haley closer to consciousness. She sighed softly, trying to decide if she wanted to wake up or not. Sleep had been hard to come by during the night. She'd found that Clinton had a ferocious appetite where bed play was concerned, so she'd only slept in short bursts. Each time she'd just started falling into a deep, restful slumber, he'd found a new way to wake her. Lips skimmed across her belly before stopping at the indentation in her stomach. The touch of his tongue decided her.

She fluttered her eyes open and felt a rush of pleasure at the sight of his golden head hovering over the center of her body, his beautiful blue eyes rolled up to watch her face during his assault. She lifted a hand to run through his hair, silent encouragement to continue what it was he was doing. She caught the corner of his mouth turning up in a smirk before he attacked her belly with vigor. Another sigh rolled up her throat, her eyes slipping closed once more.

She lost herself in his touch. His mouth moved slowly around her navel, kissing and sucking at the flesh surrounding it. His hands stroked gently up and down her legs, fingers tickling at her knees before kneading at the muscles that lay beneath her skin. His touch was familiar and sensual, made to both excite and relax her. She found herself caught between the growing need that his mouth and hands brought to life and the lingering exhaustion clinging to her limbs and her brain. The need for sleep was winning.

She relaxed into the bedding and allowed him to do what he wished.

His head lifted briefly. She could feel his gaze lingering on her face before moving to her breasts. Just knowing that he was looking at them brought her nipples up to achingly tight peaks. He chuckled, the sound filling the room and touching her someplace deep inside that hadn't been touched in so long. Haley ignored the strange feelings, forced herself to instead focus on his gentle ministrations.

He used only hands and mouth. His fingers stroked and plucked, teased sighs and soft moans from her throat. When he lifted a foot and began kneading the arch, she thought she'd died and gone to heaven. At the same time, he pressed tender kisses to the top of her foot, to her ankle and calf. His tongue trailed lightly against the curves and lines of her lower leg, rising high enough to nip at the tender flesh behind the bend of her knee.

She barely took note when he set her leg back down upon the bed. But she responded when he dragged the tips of his fingers against the bottom of her other foot. It was half tickling, half sensual, and it drew a long, hoarse moan from her throat. He began working the muscles at the bottom of that foot while, once again, his mouth mapped the shape of her calf and tickled her knee. She didn't think she'd ever met a man with such capable hands. His touch left her as limp as the vegetables in four day old stew even while a fire of lust and need raged in her veins.

When he was finished with her lower legs, he moved up higher. Those amazing hands led the charge, fingers creeping ever higher while his mouth rained kisses down on the smooth length of her calves and thighs. Again, a moan rolled up her throat. Even though he never once touched the parts of her body that she associated with sexual gratification, the simple, easy caresses he showered her with were enough to draw a small climax from her. Clinton waited for the slight tremors to pass before he continued his pleasurable assault on her senses.

"There's nothing more beautiful than a woman in the height of her pleasure," he murmured softly as she relaxed even further into the bedding. Haley managed to pry her eyes open so that she could look up into his eyes. He smiled at her, a look she returned with one of her own. "I plan to spend as much time possible studying the way your breasts flush. The way your nipples tighten. The way your body becomes pliant under my touch."

His words brought another moan to life. She wanted to say something in return, but words failed her. And then there was no need for words when his head descended and his teeth took hold of a bit of flesh on her thigh. He bit down, nipping at the taut skin there before soothing it with the tip of his tongue. She found the strength to lift her hands and drive her fingers into his golden locks. He rose up long enough to smile at her again, caught her gaze with his own.

They stared at one another for a long, drawn out span of time. She had to close her eyes first because she couldn't stand the look she saw there. In the depths of his eyes, she could see the future. It was a future that included him. It was a future she knew could never, would never come true. Not when he didn't understand what he was considering, when he didn't know...

If he saw what she felt, if he knew why she'd closed her eyes, he didn't show it. His mouth went back to her thighs, his teeth nibbling and biting before his tongue traced patterns against the spot he'd abused. After a minute or two, she let thoughts of why they shouldn't be together slip from her mind and relaxed once more into the mattress.

He climbed higher with slow, measured touches, worked his way toward the juncture of her thighs. Each time his teeth closed over her skin, she tensed and relaxed simultaneously. Her heart pounded in her chest. Her body was eager for what she knew was coming, wanted it more than it wanted to draw the next breath of air. Her legs fell open under his earnest attack, inviting him to take what it was they both wanted.

She sighed softly when his hands finally slid up under her arse, cupped both cheeks so that he could lift her hips off the bed. Bending her knees, she planted her feet on the bed to give herself support. And leverage. The ends of his hair brushed gently against the flesh of her inner thighs and she felt the heat of his breath plume across the sensitive folds between her legs. Anticipation speared through her, a sharp sensation that stopped her breath in her lungs.

The moment was shattered by a loud masculine cry of rage. Clinton lifted his head away from her and, together, the two of them stared toward the door. It was followed by silence. Haley's eyes met her companion's and they stared at one another for a few moments. When it was obvious that no other sounds would be forthcoming, he grinned and shrugged one shoulder. "It sounds as if someone was woken by a pitcher of ice cold water over the head."

Haley chuckled, thinking briefly that some of her friends would resort to such tactics. Perhaps one of the men had upset them. But that thought was dashed when laughter echoed through the door. She shrugged the whole incident off and reached for him, drew him down to her so that she could kiss his perfect lips. He settled his body down on top of hers, kissing her deeply as he did. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and held him close.

"Shite!"

That single word was loud and filled with a mix of anger, fear and surprise. It came in Dare's voice. Haley broke her lips from his, shoved him aside so that she could get out of the bed. She was on her feet when Clinton's hand caught her wrist and tried to tug her back into the bed with him. "Whatever is happening out there, it has nothing to do with us. Come here and let me tease the concern away."

"That was Dare. She's in trouble." Haley reached for her gown from the night before.

"I think your friend can handle what's going on without your help," he replied.

"I have to check." She was just lifting the gown up when the heat of his body closed in behind her. Every inch of his well muscled body was pressed up against her back. She had no problems determining just how much he wanted her to return to the bed with her. "She might need me."

"You've proven to me that you're a pirate, Haley. By extension, that makes your friend a pirate. If she can't handle a man on her own, she's got no business sailing the seas. I think she's capable of defending herself from one over ambitious man."

She opened her mouth to say something, but her words were cut off by a string of Gaelic. The Scots wench had never been shy about cursing in her country's native tongue. And, over the years, Haley had learned much of the woman's most used oaths. So she knew, by what she heard, that whatever event was taking place was not something that her friend would consider a normal situation. Haley shook her head at him. "No. This is different. I should go see if she needs my help."

"I need you, sweetling." The seductive note in his voice had her turning back to the bed. The man had obviously bedded his fair share of wenches because he'd purposely posed himself in a manner that was innocent and seductive all at once. She felt her body respond so intensely that her breath stopped in her chest. Seconds ticked by as she stood and stared at him, the sounds coming from the hall fading into the background.

She watched as one of his hands slid down his chest, fingers idly raking across a nipple. The tiny bit of flesh hardened under his own touch, making her mouth hunger to be wrapped around it. Her gaze followed the path of his fingers, throat catching when he finally reached his goal and he curled his fist around his shaft. After a quick squeeze, he dragged his hand up to the tip. There was no way to miss the little snap of his hips as they rocked his cock up into his hold when he dropped it back down to the base. "My body aches for your touch, Haley. Surely my needs are of more importance than anyone else's?"

His words brought her surroundings back in a rush. She strained to hear any further sounds of a fight, but the hall had gone silent. Perhaps he'd been right and Dare had been capable of dealing with whatever trouble she'd gotten into without assistance. She lifted her eyes to his and allowed their gazes to lock. They stared at one another across the distance between them, her ears turned to the hallway outside the door. She wanted to be sure that there would be no further interruptions before she returned to the bed.

He smirked at her, idly stroked his hand up and down his cock while he waited for her to return to his side. She allowed minutes to pass, strained to hear something. When it was obvious that nothing was happening, she gave him a sultry look and closed the gap between herself and the bed. "Just your needs, hmmm?"

"You know that I'll tend your needs properly, love." That single word brought a small pang of pain to her heart, but it was gone in an instant. He reached out and grabbed hold of her, then pulled her down onto the bed with him. She tumbled to the surface laughing and quickly found herself pinned under him. She barely had time to draw air into her lungs before his mouth was covering hers, his tongue questing deep inside of her mouth.

His hands stroked up and down her sides, teasing at her breasts and nipples, trailing softly over her thighs. She knew that it was the best she'd get from him before he slipped inside of her again. He'd woken her with all the foreplay he was going to give her. Not that she needed any further teasing by his hands to prepare her for their eventual coupling. Her body was so hungry for him that it literally ached.

Their mouths remained locked together as he began shifting her legs further apart. With little insistence on his part, she lifted them and wrapped them around his waist. She could feel the length of his rigid shaft riding against the soft flesh between her thighs. Her body shuddered in reaction, prompting her to rub her body along his. A silent invitation he was quick to take.

He lifted his lips so that he could stare down into her eyes. Without a word, she reached down to curl her hand around his cock while her hips rose up to meet the head. He pressed into her, groaning low in his throat as her body swallowed him up. When he was fully sheathed inside of her, Haley caught his mouth again and she kissed him with hard.

His hips drew back until only the head of his erection remained inside of her. Clinton held himself there, the muscles in his arms bunching with the strain. When she didn't think she could take it any longer, she curled her nails into his back and silently urged him to fill her again. He flashed her a quick smile, then drove himself deep into her body. Haley gave a soft cry, her arms and legs tightening around him. His mouth took hers in a heated kiss.

He thrust fast and hard, shoved himself into her over and over again as deeply as he could go. She held on to him tightly, the muscles in her body coiled tight with her need to reach her climax. Her hips rose to meet his while her nails dug into his back. Almost as soon as it had begun, it was over. His body tensed over hers, his cock pressed deep. The feel of him grinding against her set off her own climax. They came together, collapsing as one back onto the bed. He rolled off of her, pulling her up against him as he settled into the mattress. Haley rested her head on his shoulder, determined to enjoy the moment while it lasted. Once they left the island, she wouldn't see him again.

There was silence between them as they recovered from their amorous activities. She was caught up in the soft afterglow of her release. Clinton's hand stroked up and down the length of her arm, a soothing gesture that nearly put her back to sleep. Only the sounds of life moving in the hall and rooms around them kept her from fully giving in to slumber once again. But it was hard and she was so close.

Perhaps it was because he sensed this that he chose that moment to take advantage of the situation. "Who is this strange man that Dare was with at the table last night and what does he mean to her?"

Haley blinked and lifted her head so she could stare him in the eyes. There was no warmth left in them, only cold determination. She kicked herself for letting her defenses down for even a moment, pulling herself up into a sitting position. A frown crossed her face as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Why are you so interested in Dare and who she happens to keep company with?"

"I don't care who she spends her time with. But Lord Stark does." He sat up and dragged a hand through his hair. "What is the man to her? Is he a lover? A family member? Tell me."

"Just who and what he is to Dare is her business. Not mine, not yours and not Lord Stark's." She climbed from the bed and began the search for her gown. "Not that it appears to matter, but I know nothing about the man. Dare's counsel is her own." She found the gown and picked it up, then turned to face him with it pressed tightly against her body. "I'm so sorry to have wasted your time. I'm certain it was an onerous task for you. Perhaps Lord Stark will make it well worth your while."

It wasn't until she had the gown unbundled that she realized the bodice was ripped to shreds. Muttering under her breath in disgust, she threw it to the floor and glanced around for something to put on. "Haley, last night was no waste of time," he tried, but she refused to listen. Instead, she started cursing at him, using every bit of Gaelic she'd learned from the Scots wench over the years. "Damn it, woman. `Tis truth. And `tis most unbecoming of a lady to use such language."

"I'm no lady, Mr. Barton. I'm a pirate to my core and I'll use whatever language I see fit." Her eyes landed on his tunic and decided it would work well enough. He must have seen the intent in her stare because he was across the room, scooping it up before she could even think of moving. Almost absently, he pulled it over his head. Fortunately for her, it covered the most enticing portions of his body. Unfortunately for her, it left her with nothing to put on.

"My loyalties lie with Lord Anthony Stark," he began. She shot another curse at him and searched the room again. "And he will be most displeased to find out that I have no information to give him about your friend and her companion. However, that doesn't mean that I feel I wasted my time."

"Of course not," she retorted, her gaze still roving the room. She really only had one option and that was to wrap the sheet around her. She could make her escape once that was done. But she didn't want him to know that was her plan. So she brought her stare to rest upon his breeches, allowed him to see the false intent in her eyes. "You felt that spending the night with me, fucking me time and again, would help loosen my tongue so that you could ply me with questions and I'd be happy to answer them."

She took a step toward his breeches and, as she'd hoped, he moved faster so that he could scoop them up before her. But that didn't matter. She returned to the bed and pulled the coverlet off, then dragged the top sheet from the mattress. She was winding it around herself when he looked up at her again. "Allow me to enlighten you, Mr. Barton. I am no simpleton to think that you would be interested in anything beyond a tumble. And I am no blushing virgin to allow a man to use bed sport to gain the answers to questions that he has no business asking me. Kindly stay away from me or I will pick up the fight where we left it off last night. And I'll be sure to have breeches on so that you won't have an unfair advantage over me."

She had to get out of there. Soon. Before her composure crumbled. She wouldn't admit it to anyone, but his callous manner hurt her deeply. For a brief moment, she'd thought that perhaps he really had cared about her. That he'd only asked last night about Dare as a personal favor to Lord Stark. To know that he'd done so because the man had asked him to was a wound to her heart and soul that she'd never recover from. How could she trust a man when he could lie so beautifully with his hands and mouth and body?

How could she trust herself?

The door opened easily for her, despite the haste she was in. Her name, called in his voice, followed after her. She didn't stop and wait for him, started striding up the corridor toward the main hall. She needed to get out of there, needed peace and quiet where she could think. She thought perhaps the ship might be the best place for such a thing to happen. She didn't know of anywhere else to go that he wouldn't follow. At least on the ship, she could leave orders that she didn't wish to be disturbed. There were always men left on the ship to tend it, no matter where they were docked. This time would be no different from any others.

"Haley, wait. Allow me to explain." Clinton's voice came only a second before the touch of his hand. It wrapped around her arm and swung her around to face him. It held tight, its grip strong, when she tried to pull away from it. From him.

Panic took her, rushed through her the way she'd seen the ocean flood into a ship that had been broken in battle. It ate away at her ability to think, to remain calm. To do anything other than to simply react. Driven by the fear, her Witchbreed powers surged through her. Her skin turned to stone as she became a living, breathing statue before his eyes. Eyes that held confusion and shock. His hand slipped away from her arm. He stood there, staring at her as if he'd never seen her before. "Haley, I..."

Oh no. By God, no. Images flashed through her mind, images of pale face surrounded by flames. Of wide green eyes staring defiantly out at the crowd that cheered on the encroaching fire. Of auburn colored hair that caught and burned away in an instant. Of skin that sizzled, bubbled and blackened under the midday sun. She swore that she could feel the heat of the flames beating at her flesh, could hear the calls and cries of an angry mob. A sob tore from her throat as she jerked back. Back from the memories and back from the man before her.

Clinton was watching her with eyes gone wide with confusion. His hand hung in mid-air, as if he didn't know what to do with it after it had touched someone with Witchbreed powers. Someone like her. She took a step back and felt her foot slap hard against it. Glancing down, she saw the marble foot that was her own peeking out from under the borrowed sheet. By all that was holy, he'd seen her! He'd seen her change. He knew her powers, knew her secret. Sheer force of will drove the stone back, made her resume her human form. And still, he stood staring. She whirled from him.

"Haley!" Her name didn't stop her. Not the first time he called it. Not the second time, after she'd started running and was nearly to the end of the corridor. She didn't pause as she burst into the hall, ignored the curious stares of the men and women who were gathered there. She could only think of one thing. She had to get away, had to find someplace that was safe. There was only one place she could go. To their ship. To the sea. That was where she was safe. Protected. That was where she needed to go.

And, as soon as she stepped out into the early morning sun, that's exactly where Haley went.

~*~*~*~*~

The cupola was, as usual, empty. Hardly anyone ever came up here. The way up was too hard for most people. Only the very determined would ever use the cupola as a hiding place. It was one of the reasons that Morgan came up here when she needed to be away from everyone else. And she needed to be away now more than ever.

Four days. Four long, confusing, frightening days had passed since the night she and Remy had returned from their date to find Trevor Fitzroy on the school's lawn. Four days since he'd disappeared from her life. She'd already given up asking the professor for any information on him. Every time she did, she got the same answer. Professor Xavier didn't know where he was and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't find Remy. Anywhere. No one would tell her what had happened that night. Not a word. Not even Faye would say anything about it. She'd finally had to resort to stealthy tactics and a search of the school's computers had told her that Fitzroy was able to manipulate time.

Which meant that Remy could literally be anywhere in time.

For reasons she couldn't understand and didn't dare explore, that depressed her more than she thought it should. Sitting in the window, she curled her arms around her knees and stared out at the lawn. Even now, she could still see patches of black where Dare's fire had scorched the earth. And there were places where she could see the destruction that had been left behind by one of Remy's exploding cards.

Something about the sight made her want to look away, made her heart ache in strange ways. But she forced herself to look at the mess left over by the fight. Maybe, if she continued to do so, she'd discover something, some hidden clue that would enable them to find Remy.

Why couldn't she get her mind off of him? Why couldn't she stop thinking about him? It wasn't as if they'd been in love or anything. They'd gone out on several dates and that was it. There was no great love affair between them, no matter what Dare thought. Too many nights of getting her brains fucked out by the Wolverine had left the other girl with the impression that everyone needed to be warm and fuzzy. Dare knew better. Morgan had never done warm and fuzzy. And she never would. They both knew that Remy was nothing more than a diversion for her. Eventually, she'd move on and find herself someone else to sleep with. She hadn't done it yet with the Cajun because she'd been having too much fun with him to want to give it up. And it didn't hurt that the sex was fucking fantastic.

"If you were only with him for the sex," Faye's voice came from behind her. Morgan didn't bother to turn and look at her twin. What was the point? She knew what she'd see there. "Why haven't you gotten back on the horse yet? I know you haven't gone through all the names in your little black book yet."

"Maybe I'm taking a break," Morgan suggested, shrugging one shoulder as if it didn't really matter to her. "Putting my thoughts together before I start chasing after someone else."

"Of course," Faye snorted. She sat on the window seat across from Morgan and mimicked her position. "You've never wasted so much time between men before."

"What are you? My shrink? I'll date when I want to." Morgan looked back at the view outside the window, holding on to the sigh that wanted to escape. She wasn't willing to admit it, but Faye had a point. Why hadn't she picked someone to date yet? It wasn't like there weren't any eligible men available. Hell, there were new kids coming to the school all the time. And it wasn't as if she hadn't thought about it. Because she had. It was just that every time she considered asking some guy out, images of demon's eyes popped into her head. And then she felt the ghostly touch of long, agile hands. She missed the sound of his laughter and it seemed as if she couldn't remember what it sounded like anymore.

Why did it bother her so much that she couldn't remember what Gambit's laughter sounded like?

Faye began to speak, her voice coming out with that authoritative edge that annoyed Morgan so much. But it was stopped by the sound of angry shouting from below. Sighing, both sets of green eyes turned to watch as a familiar black head appeared. Dare was storming angrily across the lawn.

She was followed closely by Logan. He caught the girl soon enough, turned her with one hand to face him. She brought a fist up and nearly clocked the Wolverine. But he caught her wrist in his hand and held it out to the side. "Let me go or I'll light your ass on fire!" Dare snarled at him. There was no teasing in her voice and it wasn't an idle threat. She meant it. God help them, she really meant it.

Whatever he said to her was too soft to be heard, but the way she struggled against his hold suggested that it hadn't been pleasant. Even across the distance, Morgan could see the other woman's hair floating around her head, a sure sign that she was about to let go of her hard won control and set something on fire. "Dare!" Logan barked out her name.

"Let me go, old man! Right now! I'm going and nothing you can do will stop me. Fuckhead in there isn't doing a fucking thing. Its up to me." Again, Morgan couldn't hear what he said, but she suspected it was something to make Dare pause. Because only seconds after threatening to do whatever she had to so that she could leave, Dare was sinking to the ground on her hands and knees, head hung. Morgan didn't have to see her face to know that Dare was crying.

"She won't last much longer like this, Morgan. I can't help her remain calm anymore." There was worry and fear in Faye's voice. "Logan can't channel her anger elsewhere anymore, either. If something doesn't change soon, it'll be like she never came here."

"And what am I supposed to do about it?" Morgan asked, watching as Logan helped Dare to her feet, then escorted her back into the mansion. Faye muttered something under her breath that sounded vaguely French, than got up and started pacing.

"You love her, don't you?"

"You know I do. You know that as well as I know you love her. What does that have to do with this?"

"You've withdrawn from her. She needs you now as much as you need her. She blames herself for this."

"It isn't her fault. Fitzroy would have sucked her dry before she could have done anything to hurt him."

"We both know that. But she doesn't. She doesn't believe that there was nothing she could do to prevent it from happening. She's starting to think that maybe she deserves whatever Fitzroy would have done to her. She blames herself for what happened to Remy."

Morgan turned to look at her twin. There was disbelief on her face. "She's fucking nuts."

"Tell her that," Faye replied quietly. "Tell her before we can't help her anymore."

Morgan fell silent at that. She had kind of been avoiding Dare lately. Ever since waking up in the Infirmary, she'd had a hard time being around any of her friends. And she knew that Dare didn't really understand why. If she'd been paying attention like she was supposed to, she would have seen this coming. Frowning, she began pacing and tried to turn everything over in her head. It was all so confused. She still really didn't know why this bothered her as much as it did. But it did. And her friends had obviously noticed that it did.

Even though she'd failed to notice that her best friend was spiraling down into a dark pit, she hadn't missed that the rest of her team was treating her with kid gloves. Haley, Jehnna and Roxxy were cautious around her each time she saw them, always so solicitous and careful. As if they expected her to fall apart if they did or said the wrong thing. Worse than that, she'd noticed that some of the other students at the school and even the staff was handling her as if she was losing her grip on reality.

Was there something in her face that she didn't see? Did they know something she didn't? She turned to look at Faye, who was studying her with a faint smile on her face. Why hadn't she left yet? Why was she still there? Was she right? Had Morgan been avoiding dating because she'd developed deep emotions for Remy?

"Why does Dare blame herself?"

"Because she knows how you feel about Remy and she feels it was her inaction that resulted in what happened to him. Because somewhere, deep down inside, she still loves him and she feels guilty about that." Morgan stared at Faye, her look suggesting that Faye could expand upon her statement. Faye sighed and shook her head.

"She's fucking nuts."

"You've already said that. Its getting so bad that your team doesn't even want to be around the two of you."

Faye was right about that. In their last training session, it had become obvious that they were being cautious. They did their best not to mention Remy in front of her, as if doing so would be painful for her. And she'd seen the way the other girls had reacted when Dare'd lost her temper. At one point, Haley'd actually ordered them out of the Danger Room when the pyrokinetic wouldn't shut off her flames. Logan had had to douse her with water to get her to shut down. How could she have missed the signs?

Morgan sighed. She'd missed the signs because she'd been so wrapped up in telling herself that there was nothing wrong. She knew it now for the lie that it was. She missed Remy. Missed him so much that it hurt. She wanted him back so bad that she could taste it. And she knew, even though it scared her to admit it, that she might actually be in love with him.

Faye smiled at her before wrapping her arm around Morgan's shoulders. "You are in love with him. We both are. Its about damn time you admit it."

"Where's Dare? And the rest of the girls? Where are they?"

"They're in the library. Logan took Dare to his room. He's trying to talk to her. She isn't listening." There was no need for Faye to add that she was crying. Morgan nodded and sighed.

"Let's go to the attic rec room. Then I want you to go get everyone. Tell them I need to talk to them. Please?"

"Of course." Faye agreed, then blinked out. Morgan took a look around the cupola before she blinked out a few seconds later.

~*~*~*~*~

The days crawled by at a snail's pace. Each one saw the girls going down to the docks to inspect the repairs on the sloop. Each day, it felt as if they were moving along slower than the day before. The mast had cracked and needed replacing. Several sections of railing needed to be patched up, as did several sections of the hull. The figurehead had been splintered off and had only recently floated into the bay where the ship was docked. The image of the valkyrie required sanding and painting before she could be remounted on the prow of the ship.

Several of the sails had been torn and ripped, making using them impossible until stitching repairs were completed on them. They'd had to be taken off their masts and dropped to the decks for such patching to be done. another time consuming measure that only added to the growing list of problems found every day with every inspection. When not called upon by their host to join him for some reason or another, all five of them contributed to the repairs, working side by side with the crew so that The Valkyrie would be ship shape and sailable soon.

Hard work left several of them so tired that they did nothing more than sleep at night.

There was a feast thrown every night, with copious amounts of food served for the large number of people who resided at Thor's hall. Mead flowed like water and those who weren't too tired to enjoy the festivities drank themselves into a stupor. Games of skill and chance were played out at the tables while musicians played in a corner and wenches sought out dance partners. Men passed out where they sat, left there by their laughing comrades when the night worked its way to dawn. All around, there was decadence and gluttony.

It was often noted that, during the feasts, Haley would slip away to the room she'd been given. Some minutes after, Barton would leave the table and disappear into the halls leading toward the sleeping chambers. Of course, it was often noted that Haley would slip off during the day, her blonde shadow not far behind her. Her fellow crewmates would joke about it, but no one ever said anything to her face.

When not working on the sloop, Dare took Remy off to an empty expanse of open ground and drilled him on the use of the cutlass. She was pleased to see that he had a working knowledge on the use of a bladed weapon. But it wasn't enough to keep him alive if he were attacked during a fight. So they drilled and drilled and drilled some more. She was always short, always curt and seemingly angry during their lessons. She drove him endlessly, her skills evening out any advantage that he had because of his agility.

Every day when they quit, his muscles throbbed and ached, his arm complaining fiercely with the abuse it took. Her hits jarred him up to his shoulder, made him realize that he'd never really known the meaning of training until now. She refused to stop coming at him, kept slashing away until her hair and clothes were soaked with sweat and her chest heaved with exertion.

Something had changed between them, something that he couldn't put his finger on. He'd noticed it the morning after her fight in the hallway with Thor. A kind of guilty sadness surrounded her like a cloud, kept him from getting close enough to her to talk about it. She'd sit with him at the table during the feast, sleep in the same bed with him, but she wouldn't talk about what bothered her. And the feeling only intensified as the days went on.

Time not spent working on the sloop saw Morgan in Robert's company. It was the only time one could see the softer side of the infamous pirate captain. In Robert's arms, Morgan became a lady. The two of them always sat together, always ate together, always retired together. Even when working on the ship, they were with each other. She adopted a softer persona with him, smiled and laughed more often. No one dared say anything to her about it and risk ruining her good temperament.

Rosemary found that the feasts were trying and difficult. She spent every moment of her spare time roaming the island by herself. It was one thing to confine herself to a ship on the high seas when there were maybe twenty men there. It was another thing entirely to purposely lock herself away in a hall with hundreds of people every night. The press of bodies, the cacophony of noise and the odor of unwashed bodies, was more than she could handle, forcing her to seek solace in her explorations. She stayed away from the hall for as long as she could before finally giving in and returning to find her bed. As it was, she discovered many peaceful little nooks around the island that helped soothe the beast that growled and clawed inside of her.

Jehnna spent much of her free time speaking to the refugees crowding their host's hall. Many of them were, she knew, Witchbreed like herself and her friends. She traded stories and gathered news from around all of Europe, made friends and passed the time simply in the company of people who were no different than she was. It was refreshing to be among those who didn't fear her for things that were beyond her control. She spent hours chatting away, finally giving in and seeking out her bed only when her eyes fluttered shut and the person she was conversing with told her gently to get her rest.

There was no rest to be had for any of them, but no one minded. It was a good kind of tired that they all knew wouldn't, couldn't, last.

~*~*~*~*~

Samuel stared at the lad that came tearing into his study, a wooden sword in one hand and a patch over one eye. A wistful smile crept across his face even though sorrow filled his heart. Every day, the boy looked more and more like his father. And, every day, Samuel died just a little more inside.

Etienne didn't remember his father. The boy had been so young when his father had died. He couldn't even recall what his father looked like. Of course he'd seen paintings, but they meant nothing to him. They were just images upon a canvas. But Samuel remembered. He could never forget. "Look, Uncle! I'm a pirate!"

"Of course you are, my boy," Samuel nodded and went back to the letter that had arrived from France just this morning. It was boring, nothing to really keep his attention. A missive about the running of his family estates in that country. Samuel hated this part of the title. Up until five years ago, he'd never had to deal with it. His brother had done it all. He'd had to learn fast, had been forced to do so upon the death of his older sibling. He'd rather put it aside and join Etienne in one of the boy's games, but he had to send a reply. There were duties he had to see to.

"I am the dreaded pirate Le Diable Blanc," the boy chimed in. Samuel lost all train of thought at the announcement and lifted his gaze to stare at the lad sadly.

"Where did you hear that name, Etienne?" he asked quietly.

"From Peters. He told me a story about pirates and..." Etienne looked up at his uncle, falling silent once he saw the look upon the older man's face. Immediately, the boy's lower lip quivered while his eyes grew large and moist. He always had taken after his mother in that respect. Sighing, Samuel set aside his quill and the letter, then stood and moved over to where the boy stood, sword hanging limply from his hand. "I'm sorry, Uncle. Did I do something wrong?"

"Of course not, my boy. You just surprised me." He would have spoken more, but there was a knock upon the study door. "Come!" he called and returned to his desk.

The door opened up and allowed his butler to enter the room. Richards was frowning, his gaze moving from the door to the boy to Samuel and back in a continuing loop. Stopping only a few feet from the door, the man bowed and motioned with one hand in the direction he'd just come. "You have a visitor, sir. He says you're expecting him." The butler held up a tattered piece of parchment that bore the family crest on it. Samuel nodded.

"Take Etienne with you, Richards. Escort him down to the kitchens and see that Cook gives him some tasty morsel."

"Very good, sir." At the mention of something sweet, Etienne forgot to be upset and hurried for the door, sword once more waving madly in his little fist. Richards exited and the visitor entered. The door closed firmly behind him.

"Good day, my lord," the man bowed before advancing toward Samuel. He was of medium height, with unremarkable features and rather drab clothes. "You're looking well."

"Let's skip the pleasantries, shall we? I assume you're here because you have brought word to me?" Samuel leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers before his chin as he studied the man. A nod was his answer. "What have you found out?"

"The one you're seeking is on an island off the western coast of Scotland. `Tis said it is a difficult place to reach if one doesn't know where to look. But a reliable source has informed me that someone of your particular...talents should be able to get there with little trouble."

"And you're certain that I will find the person I seek here?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Excellent," he smiled, casting a glance toward the paining that dominated the wall over the hearth. The man glanced at it, too.

"I never noticed before how much you resemble your brother."

"We share a few similar traits. But no one would mistake us for twins." Samuel sighed and stood, moving silently across the room toward his messenger. "I believe that you are owed compensation."

"You promised me a purse of gold coins, sir," the man agreed, turning to look once more at Samuel. "I'll take payment..." His words trailed off as Samuel so carefully, so easily drove all thought from his mind. It took no time at all to plant a few suggestions in the man's brain. One of them was that he forget about their ever having met and everything to do with him. Quickly, and quietly, Samuel whispered his orders to the man, then released him. As soon as the fog cleared, the man shook his head and looked around. "Sorry, sir. I must be on my way. You have a good day now."

A moment later, the man was gone.

Samuel turned back to the painting and stared up at it. Blue eyes stared down at him from a face that bore a striking similarity to his own. Long hair in the same shade of brown framed high cheekbones while a slight, knowing smile tilted the corners of his lips up. His brother. Robert Lord. Murdered some five years ago.

"Soon, my brother. Very soon. I shall avenge your death. I swear it."