Thomas had been walking along with a look of detached interest, one hand clasped behind his back, and the other tending the glass of wine. When Commander Murray spoke however, Thomas could not maintain his guise of indifference. He froze in his tracks, and a bit of wine sloshed across his hand.

Copper eyes burned into the face of Robert Murray, and Thomas’ mouth became a grim line. His mind reeled, wondering at just how this man knew of Antonia being among his crew, and just where the Commander’s inquiry could possibly lead. A final thought ran through his mind, and it brought ice to his veins.

[i]How many others know of Antonia? How can she ever be safe again?[/i]

“What game do you play at, Robert?” Thomas said, his voice venomous. 

"Isn't [i]that[/i] rich?" The Commander could not help but laugh, softly, just under his breath, shaking his head incredulously. "Oh come now Thomas, that [i]was[/i] a touch humorous. Just think for a moment on the words you spoke. The game that [i]I[/i] am supposedly playing - considering the lady of whom we speak?"

He laughed once more, as if he simply could not stop himself. "I am well aware you think me a stiff, overly-regimented dullard - or perhaps a besotted fool?"

"The latter might be closer to the truth, but no, I am playing no game - or rather not one that would harm a hair on [i]her[/i] head. But I see I have made my point, hit my mark." His dark eyes turned meaningfully toward the ruby beads of wine just drying on Thomas' hand before returning to that intent copper gaze with a small, smug smile. 

Thomas found no humor in the Commander’s response, and his features did not soften in rejoinder to the man’s assurances and mirth. 

“I have never thought you a fool, [i]Robert[/i],” Thomas spat out the Commander’s name, “but what I can assure you is that you [i]are[/i] indeed playing a game, and a deadly one at that. No matter your good intentions, if any harm befalls that woman, I will hold [i]you[/i] personally responsible.”

Thomas stepped forward and pressed a finger firmly into the Commander’s chest. “If that should occur, old friend or no, I will make it my life’s work to make you suffer. I give you my solemn word.”

Confusion and anger boiled within him, and his jaw clenched with painful tightness. Thomas knew that he had been allowing his emotion to steer his action thus far, and he was now woefully behind the Commander in this exchange. Subterfuge was not his strong suit. Plain speech and direct action was Thomas’ forte, and against a man like Robert Murray, he was not about to stray from that path.

“Speak plainly. One gentleman to another. What is your interest in her, [i]truly?[/i]

"Save your threats for a man not in command of the guns of Fort Charles, Thomas," Robert snorted his derision with a sardonic twist of his lips. Some quick riposte about 'gentlemen' flashed through his thoughts, but he let the moment pass. "My [i]interest[/i] in her, is only ever [i]her[/i] best interest."

"Take a look around you, Thomas. A good, [i]long[/i] look... " He held his arms wide, encompassing the immaculate grounds, the grand plantation style home with its sweeping double staircase to the veranda, its immense stables. "I would give her this, to the very last. [i]That[/i] is my intent. Can you say the same, Thomas? Can you, or a single 'privateer' in your crew, offer her anything to match the grandeur? The security or the life such a brilliant, magnificent woman deserves?"

"And even if her devotion does not rest with me exactly, not yet, her heart most [i]certainly[/i] lies here in Port Royal. Have I been plain enough for you, Captain Lightfoot?" 

Thomas veritably shook with rage. It was rage of impotence, and of poignant hatred. For a long moment he could only stand there, his eyes alight like stoked embers, impaled upon the Commander’s words. The apparent truth in the man’s speech, coupled with his abundant and smug confidence dominated Thomas’ mind, and he could not but stare.

Then, slowly, like the graceful dawning of the sun over the horizon, Thomas’ face began to soften. His gaze became confident, and the corners of his mouth curled upward into a smile that was cruel and poised. He removed his finger from the Commander’s chest, and pulled it behind his back to clasp the other.

“Your status is not lost to me, Commander. Your coin, your prestige—I am keenly aware of it all. But…” Thomas cocked his head fractionally to the side, “…perhaps you forget our past? Perhaps you forget how you came to know me? I shall remind you of something that you [i]should[/i] fully recognize. You indeed command all the bronze of Fort Charles. You can order me clapped in irons, send me to the gallows, have me rot at the blocks, burn my ship, [i]ad infinitum[/i].

Thomas moved even closer to the Commander, his voice dropping to an even whisper. “But what you forget is that I do not command soldiers, I command pirates, and [i]loyal[/i] ones at that. They are not men that fear the roar or your cannon, nor the muskets of your soldiers. They are not deterred by stone walls and the promised vengeance of some monarch from across the line. Honor is not their master. Kill me, cull my existence from this earth, and the last thing you will feel is the blood pooling in your throat as you choke upon it in your bed, lying [i]alone[/i] and unloved.”

“For you see,” Thomas said, his voice now hard and icy, “when it comes to [i]her[/i], you will always be found wanting.”

Something dark, feral and eminently dangerous flashed across the Commander's face, contorting those stern features for a single, blazing instant to a mask of wild fury - a visage shadowed in a moment, manacled and caged by years of iron, unrelenting discipline as a dawning realization overcame him. 

"You truly do not know, do you Thomas?" he growled with a throaty laugh, shaking his head with unfettered amusement. "You have [i]no[/i] idea, why I have no need of a single cannon in my arsenal, no need to sink your precious [i]Skate[/i] - not even to have you arrested or executed - to keep her here forever, one fine day to come. Oh, I was only ever vying for a little extra time this past day... "

The Commander's laugh grew, louder and longer, truly jovial now as his dark eyes crinkled at the corners with malevolent merriment, all at the expense of the pirate captain. "How Antonia does love her secrets. Like little else in all the world... " He turned on his heel, his back to Thomas now, waving one hand dismissively over his shoulder without a backward glance. 

"Enjoy the party, Thomas!" he called, "The red is truly delicious, but it does stain horribly, splashed about in shaky hands. Perhaps best to stick with the white tonight... "

Thomas stood there, watching the retreating back of the red-coated Commander with all the seething turbulence of an autumn tempest in his veins. His rage and astonishment were a potent elixir, stinging and burning like acid as Thomas struggled to react. It took every ounce of restraint, every vestige of will, to stay his own hand from unsheathing the dagger at his flank, and burying it to the hilt in the Commander’s spine.

There was something strangely comforting in the very idea of such violent and rash action. The feral simplicity of it fed Thomas’ inner pirate like flames stoked by a bellows. For all of this violent pondering, in the end Thomas allowed himself only the riposte of a grim smile and a raised salute of his half-filled glass of red before draining it empty.

With a sharp breath drawn through his teeth as he swallowed the wine, Thomas turned on his heels and began to march towards the closest bar table. Wine was not the vital spirit at this point; it lacked the gravity, the weight, and the potency to accompany the night’s revelations. He needed something stronger to lubricate his thoughts, for at this moment Captain Thomas Lightfoot found himself staring into the face of the worst quandary he had yet known. 

He had literally danced his way into a deadly chess match, and against a man he never fathomed would be sitting across the board. Worse yet was that Thomas was playing with his Queen’s intentions revealed, and she was left exposed and vulnerable beneath the obsessed gaze of a king named Robert Murray. 

[i]Damn the bastard! Damn that man and his desires![/i]

“Gunfire,” Thomas barked to the servant behind the bar, “and sharply too.”

The young man saw the look upon Thomas’ face, and set to making the traditional drink of the King’s Army without so much as a whisper of pleasantries. In short order Thomas had a tumbler of cold black tea, and a tall shot of rum set before him. 

“Here you are, sir.” 

Thomas said nothing. He took the rum and dropped the shot glass into the tumbler of tea. In one large gulp he drank the inky black liquid, and thudded the tumbler back upon the bar top. The taste was horrid, and it curled Thomas’ mouth into a scowl, but the liquor had its desired effect. With the Gunfire still burning in his throat, Thomas felt his mind clearing, and the scowl eased off his face. In its place was left the mask of a cool and confident privateer captain that had not a burdensome care in the world.

[i]Time for the next move.[/i]

With chin aloft, Thomas set out across the lawn, weaving through the guests on his way to where Antonia, Nicolette, and Jax stood in conversation with Commander Murray. Thomas caught the soldier’s eye as he approached, and he nodded to the Commander. The man nodded back, a slight but unmistakable smile of satisfaction upon his face. 

“Good evening,” he said, offering a slight bow and nod to Nicolette and Jax. “What a pleasant night, wouldn’t you all say? I see you have met Commander Murray. Among His Majesty’s finest in the New World, if you appreciate the soldiering type.” He added with an easy chuckle.

Thomas kept his voice light and natural as he teased. It was not the easiest of feats, but he did his best to channel Antonia’s roguish essence. 

“Though I’m no angler,” Thomas continued with a smile, “I should say that it would be a fine evening for catching silverfish wouldn’t you all agree?”