At the sound of the unmistakable Creole French, Thomas’ eyes widened in horror. The sudden and deafening sound of silence, like the calm before a storm, filled the cabin as Antonia stopped in mid-sentence. Thomas’ breath caught in his throat, and he found himself frozen in place. He knew what the rogue saw, and he thought in that moment that karma was collecting upon a debt of ill-fortune that had been long overdue.

Thomas turned his head to Antonia, just as her laughter, her painful and biting laughter, split the silence. The look of shock and betrayal upon her face burned into his mind, and his heart fell into his boot heels. In an instant the rogue was gone, the thunder of her own footsteps echoing the lighting shock of her admonishing and mirthless laughter. 

He released himself from the First Mate, his body now shaking and slow to recover. His mind screamed at his limbs to chase after Antonia, to not let the woman who had unwittingly whittled her way to the interior of his soul leave without knowing the truth. 

“No,” he muttered, almost incoherently, “dear God, no.”

At last, his own will overpowered his leaden feet. Thomas rushed from the First Mate’s cabin without another word, and he raced after Antonia. The stairs to the main deck were taken three at a time in great bounding strides until he was in the bright midday sun. Thomas spun about, following the still distinctive percussion of Antonia’s heels upon the decking. Her quick walk had taken her almost to the gangway, and Thomas sprinted after her.

Though he did not perceive it, the attention of the entire crew present on the [i]Dusk Skate[/i] was singularly directed at the captain and the quarry he chased. Even some on the docks stopped their work to view the spectacle of Captain Thomas Lightfoot, running as fast as his legs would carry him, dash after the mysterious and exotic woman.

His legs bore him well, and Thomas managed to catch Antonia just as she reached the [i]Skate’s[/i] port railing. Without thinking, he grasped at her trailing wrist, and whipped her around to face him.

“Antonia wait!”

It was only then, only when his mouth exclaimed those words that reality broke through to Thomas, and the import of what he intended to do shone in stark clarity. The eyes of his crew could be felt upon his back, and their silence spoke volumes. These men had followed Thomas for years. They knew him to be a rascal, a scoundrel, a killer, a womanizer, a drunkard, but never once had they seen him care enough to pursue a woman from his cabin. Never once had they seen him with love in his heart. 

Though he did not take his copper eyes away from Antonia, Thomas thought of all of this. He realized that this very instant marked a shift in his entire persona, and the abounding and general wonder of all that implied set his skin to tingling. There was nothing for it now. The cards had been laid out before him, and he could either fold, or gamble and hope to providence that his winning hand lay just beyond the next turn. 

“Antonia,” Thomas said, his voice quiet and ragged, “please, I can explain. It wasn’t what it seemed, to all the gods of the seas and the stars I swear it.”

He took his other hand to clasp it around Antonia’s, not wanting to give her the chance to flee before his courage failed. “It was not what it seemed because I follow the stars, and you, Antonia, are the only star I ever want to guide me home. I am a man of imperfections, and a man plastered and defined by my past deeds, but I swear…”Thomas allowed his voice to climb in volume “…My heart is yours, and yours alone if you will have it.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake…” A rough voice said from behind Thomas, and it was immediately accompanied by the [i]snick[/i] of a pistol hammer being locked into place. Before he could turn, Thomas felt the barrel being pressed against the base of his skull.

“You expect us to just sit back and smile like good little dogs now that you’ve got your cock tucked between your legs, Cap’n?” The voice continued.

Thomas scowled. The voice was plain enough to him now, though it sounded as though the man was speaking through sail cloth. [i]Cooper[/i]

Releasing Antonia’s hand, Thomas turned to face Cooper. The pistol barrel now faced squarely between his eyes, but Thomas did not shy away. His features spoke of defiance and exacting disdain, as if Cooper was nothing more than a pile of horse shit that had soiled Thomas’ boot.

Cooper’s steely gaze faltered slightly beneath the withering stare, but he continued. “Ever since you brought those two cunts aboard, this ship has turned into nothing more than a floating hen house. We deserve better than that, for all we’ve been through. For all the blood we’ve spilt.”

“We deserve a captain not hamstrung by the smell of quim, eh boys?” As Cooper continued to speak, he began glancing back and forth to the other sailors upon the ship. The steel of his conviction bending without the accompanying laughter of his compatriots.

Thomas pressed his forehead against the pistol. Unadulterated ire now oozed from him like the plague, and if his eyes had shone any brighter, they would’ve been alight with flame. When he spoke, his voice boomed challenge, and spat malice.

“Then pull the trigger you sniveling piece of shit. Put your money where your mouth is, and cast your lot.” 

Thomas raised his arms, encompassing the entire crew of the [i]Dusk Skate[/i].

“Have I not brought you fortune beyond your wildest dreams? Have I not seen to sate your lusts, fill your bellies, and quench you thirsts? Have I not fought and bled right alongside you?”

Once again Thomas turned his eyes to bore into Cooper. “If I am wrong, then I say once more: pull that trigger.”

An eternity seemed to pass. Sweat beaded upon Cooper’s quaking face, and it ran in rivulets down his cheek and jaw. All sound seemed to have ceased, as even the lap of the waves and the call of the gulls did not reach Thomas’ ears. In the back of his mind, through all the exhilarated fear and adrenaline, Thomas realized in that silent and endless moment that if he were to die this very day; having declared his faith in a woman whom he called his Right Hand, and having pledged his whole heart to another with eyes of grey, that it would not have been a wasted life.