Through Dark Storms (Beneath Black Sails, #4)

by Clare Sager

Her gleaming hair, left loose and long across her bare shoulders, blew in the wind. Someone had woven yet more flowers in a crown upon her head—all white, so they stood out against her dark locks. A gauzy blouse hung off her shoulders, with that intriguing corset cinched over the top. On the bottom half, she wore the tightest pair of crimson satin breeches he’d ever seen.

“Thought I’d add the corset, since I noticed you staring the other day.” “You noticed that? But I was so subtle.” “I’m very observant… especially when your tongue’s hanging out of your head.”

“It’s a good omen—it means your marriage will always”—she cleared her throat—“burn with desire.”

But now he saw her taking in the moonstone and aquamarine studded crown design that would sit upon her finger and look like an extension of the engagement ring, he cursed himself. She didn’t want to be a queen and had insisted that she wouldn’t have a crown, but here he was offering a wedding ring in the shape of one.

Knigh swallowed and grazed his thumbs over Vee’s knuckles. For some reason, this was the part that had his heart hammering again. He wasn’t a poet. When he’d sat down and tried to write something for today, he found out he’d used up all his pretty words when proposing.

“When we met, it wasn’t exactly a fairy tale beginning. For one thing, you jumped out a window to escape me.”

“But that wasn’t the beginning, really, was it?” He gave a rueful smile. “Not that our childhood meetings were any better. You thought me too arrogant to talk to you. I thought you were the most frightening and fascinating creature in the world.”

little—“our story doesn’t end there. It didn’t end with us as pirate and pirate hunter or lovers or enemies or friends or crewmates. And it doesn’t end here, either.”

“Today is only the start of another chapter in the story of our lives together.”

“I can’t pretend to know how long that story will be, especially not with fae blood involved, but as long as it’s spent together, I don’t care.”

“From now until the end of my days, I am yours, my lady, my Vee, my love, and I’ll sleep well and live happily knowing you are mine.” He brushed a kiss to her knuckles, even though perhaps he wasn’t supposed to yet. “Today. Tomorrow. Always.” “Always.”

“I used to think love was weak, but now I realise I was wrong.”

“It takes so much to open yourself to someone, to bare your soul. How can that be weak? It takes bravery to admit your feelings. It takes humility to apologise when you hurt your beloved.”

“It takes ferocity to be willing to die for them. It takes strength to fight to live for them.”

“I used to think love was weak,” she went on, “but now I know it’s only for the strong.”

“Come here, Wife.” His voice came out low and gravelly as he tugged Vee closer and slid a hand around her waist. “Already ordering me around, Husband?”

There, under the sun, before the sea, upon their cove, Knigh Blackwood kissed his wife.

“Meet my husband”—she smiled sweetly and slipped an arm around Knigh’s waist—“Admiral Consort Knighton. Well, he goes by Blackwood now, but he used to be the Viscount Villiers.” “Not even remotely a pleasure.”

Mama’s last words to her echoed in her ears: Don’t submit. Don’t end up like me.

“Would you look at that: our Avice is home at last.”

“I knew you weren’t dead. My girl.” She crossed the floor, hands clasped over her chest, a pull at the corner of her mouth. “My darling little girl.”

“You never let me down.” She looked her up and down, a smile spreading as colour bloomed on her pale lips. “I’m not sure what you’ve become, but I can see you did not submit. You did not end up like me.”

Instead, she’d chosen a rich jewel-toned teal like a deep stretch of sea on a clear day.

“Not only is he my admiral and the most handsome man in the room, but he’s also my husband.”

“I wasn’t rescuing you; I was rescuing her. Couldn’t have the poor woman falling madly in love with you when you’re already taken.”

“This perfectly fitted jacket”—she smoothed her hand down his chest, the gold braid scraping her calluses—“that’s just short enough to show off your backside—” “You can’t see my backside.” He rolled his eyes. She shrugged. “I was watching earlier.” “Pervert.”

“Oh yes, breeches. They’re tight enough to display every sinew of those powerful thighs.” He muttered something about objectification,

“Whoever designed this uniform is a genius.” “You designed it,” he growled. She let her grin come slowly. “Yes, I did.”

“You’re everywhere I go”—she leant into him—“with these completely kissable lips”—she brushed them with her fingertip—“this ridiculous hair”—she stroked it and it sprang right back up again—“and these damn shoulders.”

He kissed her. Like it was their first kiss and their last. Like she was the sea and he a creature who lived in it. Like there was no one else in the world, never mind this room.

“So, will you be fooling me into opening this window for you, so you can climb out and run away again?”

“No more. The only windows I climb out of these days are either with you or to you.”

“No more runnin...

“Say that again.”

“No more running away.”

Thank you. May your rum be spiced, your winds fair, and your cabin full of troublesome kittens.