London, England - 1700
James McGraw was alone. Scared. Uncertain. His mind raced feverishly as he sat dazed, his fingers absentmindedly toying with a pebble in the freshly dug dirt that was his grandfather’s grave. The sudden departure of his only surviving relation was more then he could bear at the moment. In his short 19 years of life he had lost so much in such an abbreviated amount of time. An image of his father swinging unjustly from the end of a constable’s rope flashed in his memory, and he squeezed his eyes tight against the illusion, furiously willing it out of his head. It had haunted him on too many occasions; now was not the time to dwell on the bitterness that quelled inside him from that unrighteous travesty.
Eventually, as the sun started its dip below the horizon, James sighed heavily, bowed his head and whispered in the best Gaelic he could summon, “ Tahm Fois Seanair” ( Rest in Peace Grandfather), a fitting tribute to his Jacobite ancestor. Although it felt like the weight of the world was sitting on his fledgling shoulders, James realized he had to reinforce his strategy to escape England and all that he detested there. He could not stay and suffer the empire that initially took his mother, then his father, and presently his beloved grandfather from his life.
No...No...Please don’t take him..He didn’t do anything wrong...Pllleeeaasseee!! James awoke with a gasp, a cold sweat beading his body as the memory of his father being hauled away by the corrupt constabulary that "ruled" his small shire in London at that point in time. He quickly wiped the perspiration away from his face and furtively took a glance about. It was dark, dank and reeked of unwashed bodies, but to James this was the vessel that was his passport to paradise; The vessel that Hal Gates had secured him passage from Wales on. He rested his head back in the modest hammock he had commandeered when he embarked on this voyage and quietly sighed. Try as he might, he realized that though he was traveling the thousands of miles away from the London he detested so thoroughly, the animosity and rage that he harbored for the assemblage of politics that corrupted the whole of that unscrupulous realm would remain for him for an eternity.
Sleep was torture for James, the nightmares that plagued him whenever his closed his eyes tormented him to his very soul, the atrocities that he and his family had endured at the hands of "just" and" righteous" ministry had scarred him from a tender age, abominations that would never vacate his memory.
James expelled a frustrated breath twisting in his hammock to face a bulkhead of the ship. He was partnered with hardened men on this journey, he could not show any signs of vulnerability or fragility, he would be conversely torn to shreds with no remorse. But the disturbing images would never subside, always be with him to provoke and harass him, every single day of his young life. He had to find a way to adjust and deal with them or he would never last in the world that he had chosen for his existence.
There is a clandestine tavern that‘s far off the beaten path in Wales that pyrates frequent when they make the junket inland to hunt for recruits.
James hearkened to his grandfather’s voice whispering through his memory.
I have a trusting friend in a pyrate that I know will take you under his wing with the utmost care and concern ,and teach you the ways of the pyrate code. He’s a fellow Jacobite and loyal to the core. I sent word to him when I found out I was failing in health. You have more adventure in you, James, then to follow in your father’s footsteps in carpentry. I realize that you would regret that decision for the rest of your life. I see your soul, grandson. You crave an entirely different existence. England has brought nothing but misery for you. The rage you harbor and thirst for revenge for everything she has done to this family is palatable. I know you will not rest until you have satisfaction against England and its factions. You are destined for something greater. Go to Wales and meet this man who will help you find reconciliation and peace for your tormented spirit.
His name is Hal Gates.
Three Months Later...
Nassau, New Providence Island
James had heard glorious tales about this storied haven from his grandfather's acquaintances. Where there was no tyrant rule or law; you made your way as you deemed fit. After the hardships that James had suffered, he craved this new found freedom; he needed to feel liberty coursing through his blood. He was free of stagnating and seething in a corrupt shire, he perceived , as his grandfather had instilled in him, that he was bound for something grander. He stood on the weathered deck of the ship that Gates had arranged him passage in Wales, after he had necessitated the arduous journey to meet him at the pre-arranged meeting locality. This was fate carrying him to his anticipated existence and he breathed deeply of the salty sea air, feeling the relentless pull of destiny beckoning him to his new world. He allowed a faint smile to touch his lips as he thought of the endless possibilities that awaited him in his new life. Just a thousand miles more....
The day dawned bright as James splashed down in the crystal blue water of Nassau Beach. He paused for a slight moment, awestruck at the serene beauty that surrounded him. He closed his eyes letting the entity of this paradise wash over him, feeling cleansed of his native domain, like a purifying storm. He was finally here, where he knew he was meant to be and it instantly felt like home.
“It’s breathtaking, isn’t it? ” A affable voice jolted James out of his reverie, and shielding his eyes from the sun, he made out Hal Gates plunging his way toward him through the turquoise waves.
James nodded his agreement, his gaze ambling appreciatively over the white sandy beach, tall sturdy palm trees and lush green vegetation further beyond.
Gates grunted as a rather strong wave sent sea foam sprinkling into his eyes. “ I can see where the charm of Nassau could take you in whole, being green as you are.” He swiped an irritated hand across his brow. "But heed my warning James, danger does skulk unheeded in the shadows here.“ Gates met James’ attentive glance with his own steely one. “ You need to learn which peril you can tempt, and which you must back away from , or trouble will find you..And it may not release you easily from its encompassing grasp.”
James tilted his head, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at Mr. Gates. “ My grandfather relayed to me stories of Nassau, of its notorious reputation for unscrupulous behavior of all types." He unconsciously scratched at the burgeoning scruff on his chin. " But he also verbalized there were no tyrannical laws that could falsely accuse a man and unjustly cause irrevocable harm..or even solicit an unwarranted hanging." James winced painfully as his father’s demise briefly flashed in his subconscious, and he hastily shook it out of his thoughts. “ So, Mr. Gates, Nassau can throw anything and everything it wants in my direction...I’m eagerly awaiting to see what she brings me."
Gates stared at James intently for a reticent moment, coolly appraising his young recruit, feeling his burden substantially lightening. He perceived something raw and primal in James….This one he wouldn’t have to oversee so much. He knew of what James had endured in England and how James had steadfastly soldiered on, not so much as one complaint uttered from his lips. Gates also knew of the rage and torment that lie inside of this complicated man, and he intended to harness that anger and restless energy and groom James into something the world had not yet seen..The fiercest, most cunning pirate of all time. A feared myth…A revered legend… A mortal amongst the Gods.
And from what Gates could ascertain from first impressions, James was, much sooner than later, going to take absolute command of Nassau, and its’ ambiguous, savage den of thieves and marauders.
Nassau, Bahamas 1715
“RAISE THE BLACK !!” Captain Flint’s imposing roar bellowed throughout The Walrus, a vessel that he had spilled much of his own, and albeit more of his crew’s blood to be in thorough command of. His sharp eye and keen sense of ability to perceive which itinerary the tremendously profitable merchant ships were going to be navigating facilitated his meteoric rise to the status of Captain within a few short years of his arrival on Nassau Beach. One of the youngest but astute Captains in all of the pyrate kingdom…… Highly esteemed for his resourcefulness on how to catch, capture and compel the best prices for the prizes he netted, but merely just the whisper of his epithet struck terror into the hearts of any merchant captain who had the sheer misfortune of being conquered under his flag.
For Flint was not only cunning and shrewd, he was also known to be unmerciful and unrelenting, especially to the ill-fated merchant ships that happened to bear the ensign of British markings. Flint was especially relentless in hunting and acquisitioning those vessels, even though some exclaimed he was fool-hardy to take some of the chances he did, and he had lost many a decent crewman, the prizes that he won were staggering amounts in comparison to most other pyrate captains. Eager men clamored to serve underneath the illustrious Captain, fully aware of his bloodthirsty lust, but brash enough to want to be amongst his crew when they took prizes of substantial abundance like he was fully known to.
"RAISE THE BLACK!!" John Silver shouted a split second after his Captain gave the command. The crew under their quartermaster’s direction jumped to service, switching the Union Jack that had been fluttering sharply in the wind to divert the other ship's Captain into presuming they were a British merchant ship as well, to hoist the banner of Captain Flint, bringing Silver to a wry grin. He was rather sure that the poor unlucky slog that was unfortunate enough to be head of that vessel had more than a trickle of piss running down his leg right now.
Silver’s sharp eye surveyed the crew and their readiness for the inevitable clash that was to befall them and the faction that was poised for their approach on the merchant ship’s deck. His gaze wandered over the agitated men before settling on Captain Flint’s merciless scowl; the unflinching resolve in his eyes…His desire to exterminate his enemy and utterly vanquish his rivaled foe was almost palatable.
Silver felt a sharp pang of remorse for he knew that Flint would have no mercy for the hapless opponents positioned at the ready on the expansive deck of their opponent’s ship. He immediately let it pass. There was not a damned thing he could do to influence Flint’s decision to massacre every single crewman on each and every British vessel they ran across, it was Flint’s course of action and he rarely, if ever, deviated from it. Silver expelled an uneasy breath as he made ready to take up Flint’s orders and relay them to the crew.
A bloodbath in its’ inception.
Captain Flint stood on the forecastle of The Walrus , purposefully fingering his scabbard, adrenaline coursing wildly through his veins. He glorified in the frenzied activity before he pillaged a vessel; it thrilled him that the acknowledgement of a virulent battle was only a few scant moments away. A malicious grin formed viciously on his lips. It was proximately that moment…. Time to gratify the monsters once again.
“ PREPARE TO BOARD!!!!" He thundered to his crewmen, a frenzied glaze washing over him as he oversaw his men propel the grappling hooks to the rail of the nearly conquered British merchant ship, just the scant crew to overcome, and the bounty would be his once more. Flint bounded furiously off of the deck as his men flooded over the bow and stern of the ill-fated vessel, their blood curdling war cry sure to strike terror in the enemy they were about to vanquish.
Flint unsheathed his cutlass and deftly hurdled both ship’s balusters, landing directly in the middle of the already raring melee. His body hummed with the sheer energy he exuded from the fierceness of the battle he was about to make himself known to.
Flint gritted his teeth in a feral smile and raised his cutlass, ready to reign down holy hell on these British curs whose damnation Flint was ultimately going to deliver them to.
Lunge…Thrust... Kill...
That was for his mother who was savagely raped by a cowardly British officer and left for dead in the desolate forest that surrounded his shire. Only to be found days after she was deemed missing, by her son James, in a horribly atrocious state. An abhorrent scene which would forever torment his memory for as long as he should live.
Destroy... eliminate... slaughter…
That was for his father who refused to acquiesce to a deceitful British constable who wanted to cheat him out of reparations for the numerous barrels that he had crafted for the shifty lawman, who in turn was bootlegging gin with them. His father then threatened to expose the malefactor for justly prosecution. In retribution, the constable trumped up treason charges on his parent, and with the assistance of a thoroughly bribed jury, had his father unlawfully found guilty and hanged like rifraff in the center of town, on full display, for everyone, including an adolescent James, to bear witness to.
Rival blood spattered into Flint’s eyes, reddening his vision, but he fully savored it. He cried in maddening delight as he continued his assault on the feckless British abettors. This was his catharsis. He felt the brute within slowly relinquish its dark power on him with every sacrifice he offered it.
A dismal memory of his protégé Hal Gates exploded into his brain and he felt fury fuel his revulsion once more. Hal was his mentor and tutor, with Flint being the most willing and adept pupil Hal had ever instructed in the methods of pyracy. Hal was not only his advisor, he also considered Gates his confidant, his ally…and ultimately his friend. Gates was the person who urged him to change his surname, as it would help him to acclimate into his identity as a pyrate, and Flint decided to utilize a title he had stumbled upon in a tale his grandfather had tendered to him before he passed into the great unknown. Soon thereafter, Captain Flint was conceived, and the legend was therefore born.
But, Hal Gates would not live to see Flint ascend to his full potential as King of the Pyrates. He was astonishingly slaughtered in a skirmish with a British merchant ship in the West Indies just a few years after he had brought Flint to Nassau. He had instructed Flint in every aspect of pyrating, but Flint still couldn’t save him that day in that particularly brutal battle. For that, Flint still felt the disgrace of not being able to fight intensely enough to protect the only friend he would probably ever have in his life. And he had to carry that burden with him for the rest of his conscious existence.
After the voracious bloodletting had finally ceased in the dim early evening gloaming, Flint and his crew were exhausted, but triumphant yet again. Flint congratulated, than ordered his men to gather the spoils of their victory and secure it into the hold of The Walrus. They would be immediately sailing back to Nassau to negotiate a bargain with Ms. Guthrie and then, and only then, would the actual festivities begin.
John Silver could oversee the necessary logistics. Flint was absolutely depleted, devoid of all of the rage and furor that was usually festering his inner recesses . Bloodied and thoroughly drained of all emotion, he wearily trudged to his cabin, firmly bolted the door, and collapsed headlong into his bunk. After each brutal skirmish and the ultimate victory, his unyielding monsters were completely satiated, and then, and only then, could he actually have a semblance of peace and sleep a dreamless, tranquil slumber. That was…Until the demons became hungry once more and demanded requital. They were intrinsically entangled with his spirit…Try as he might, he finally succumbed to the fact that he would never become liberated from them, they were the albatross forever tied to his neck.
NASSAU, New Providence Island - 1715
Evangeline Webb (nee Powell) seized the most substantial bottle of rum that she could locate, tears running down her cheeks, as she chaotically reeled out of the reception...HER OWN UNDESIRED WEDDING RECEPTION.
She sobbed wildly as she ran through the throng of palm trees that skirted the white sands that she was trying so desperately to progress to. Evangeline halted for a split second to fling off her shoes, wailing vehemently as she hurled each one into the tranquil ocean, her mood juxtaposing how resplendent the calm sea was at that moment.
Evangeline screamed in sheer resentment, swinging the rum bottle bitterly to her lips, letting the dark alcohol sear her parched throat. She needed to feel something other than the outright exasperation that permeated her every pore. If she could only get inebriated enough so that she could tolerate what she assumed her new husband would want from her later that evening, she might be able to get through the act without feeling anything but utter revulsion.
Evangeline dropped to her knees in the satiny sand, her heart feeling like a leaden weight in her chest. Her head was spinning with the effects of the rum and one burning irresolute question ... WHY?
Why had her father still coerced her to marry the heartless Lord Webb when she had discovered he was a brute in the brothels and had not an ounce of true affection for her… Or anything but money and status for that matter. Right at this very moment her new husband was in the grand ballroom with his other male colleagues, hoisting brandy decanters and getting quite raucous and rowdy, she doubted he would notice that she had clandestinely slipped out of her own reception, heartbroken and completely despondent.
Most of the guests had offered their farewells and bid them good wishes, including her father, whom she stiffly and tearfully bid adieu. She was devastated beyond words, and furious, she would never forgive her father for this, for as long as she lived and breathed, she could never hold him in her heart as she did before this debacle, she was hurt, anguished and worst of all..utterly alone.
Evangeline lay her flushed face on the cool, moist beach, letting the rivulets of tears flow unchecked, she detested feeling sorry for herself like this, but she felt trapped, and it agitated her to her inner core. She was so intent on trying to find a resolution to the predicament she now found herself in, and of course, the alcohol was feeling its’ effects, so much so, that she didn’t notice the silent figure emerge from a frock of palms just behind her, quietly observing her for a conflicted moment, trying his best to decipher the situation at hand before him.
Flint was finally able to savor the latest prize he and his crew had captured, for it was exceptional cargo for The Walrus and its’ troupe, more than enough to see them through a multitude of fortnights. After bartering amicably with Ms. Guthrie, and coming out on the preferred end of the bargain, a jubilant Flint awarded his crew a week’s sabbatical, though he knew there would probably be no rest for his nefarious, lusting bunch…The taverns and brothels of Nassau would be rich with the enticement of flowing libations and libidinous women, and his men would fully partake in the trappings of both. That was what was therapeutic for them after a profitable score, but it wasn’t exactly to Flint’s liking.
Flint bid his men well, advised them to keep themselves fairly disciplined, and took possession of a full bottle of rum that was calling his name on the extremity of the bar in the bawdy tavern. Not that Flint didn’t like to partake in drink and revelation, he just preferred less distraction while he rejoiced in his victory.
Flint’s ruminations gradually turned inward as he meandered along the moonlit path that led from the center of Nassau and its' rowdy hustle and bustle….. Even more so since his crew was celebrating boisterously tonight ... To the ivory, unspoiled beach that was going to be his serenity tonight. He needed seclusion this twilight, a place to ponder and reflect on his standing in the universe. It had been 15 years since he had come to this haven, this place that aided to placate his aching soul, a sanctuary where he had become Pyrate King, inflicting revenge the best he knew how on the abomination that was England...by plundering every vessel bearing the Union Jack that dared cross his path.
Flint swallowed a lengthy drink of rum , his thoughts lingering on how each conquest had aided to temporarily ease the temperate upheaval that threatened his very fragile identity whenever it decided to rear its wretched tendency. Each acquisition abated the hostility he harbored for a time, but then soon after every acquisition, he could feel the rancor rise up again in him like a plague, and he ultimately had to be out on the open sea once more, searching for something of “theirs” to destroy … Completely annihilate…. Something that would quench his appetite for retribution... That was, until the monster within called for an added sacrifice to quell its’ undeniable hunger.
Flint was nearly to the welcoming sanctuary of the beach when a woman’s shrill shriek stopped him dead in his tracks. Not that a woman’s scream was uncommon around these parts, but this one appeared particularly harrowing to Flint’s discerning ear. He hastily veered towards the direction of the unexpected interruption, his engrained instinct to assist a damsel in distress fully roused at the sound of her cry. As he came upon the threshold of the beach, he stopped short, hidden within a grove of palm trees, his curiosity piqued at the scene he inadvertently had just chanced upon.
From his partially concealed vantage point, Flint quietly observed whilst a visibly shaken young woman in a pearl white….wedding?....dress hurried upon the beach openly sobbing and wailing, vigorously hurled her shoes into the ocean, before abruptly crumpling into an unceremonious collection of crinoline and satin near the very fringe of the tidewater whirling on the sand.
To Flint, she appeared forlorn, despairing and desolate, desperate to be anywhere but the situation that she apparently found herself entangled in. Flint swore silently under his breath, inwardly debating whether he should interfere with her tirade, a rouge mishandling a woman he could deal with headlong, but a women’s intimate sensitivities was a whole other complexity that he didn’t require in his life at this moment. But something in the deep abyss of his soul was screaming at him to go to her, she needed protection, most insistently, more what she needed was HIM.
Flint sighed wearily as he nudged aside the palm fronds and apprehensively cleared his throat to make himself known to the distraught creature now lying listlessly on the dewy shoreline. He didn’t want to alarm her, just let her know that he was present..That she wasn’t exclusive to the beach anymore. His breath hitched in this throat as she suddenly twisted to face him, and he was met with a wide-eyed terrified stare from the most bewitching emerald eyes he had ever gazed upon in his existence. In an instant, astounding Flint with her sudden dexterity, the vision was on her feet with a wicked looking pearl handled dagger, the sharp end pointed directly at Flint’s midsection.
"BACK SLOWLY AWAY FROM ME NOW...OR...OR..." she quivered.
Flint cautiously threw up his hands in thorough submission, noting the slight tremor in the hand that wielded the dagger and the high pitch panic-stricken shrill in her tone as she continued to gape helplessly at her unknown assailant. Flint realized immediately that she wasn't adept at skirmishing, she was petrified, and he was going to have to talk her down from her timorous state.
"Ma’am," Flint began delicately, his soft gaze never leaving her terrified stare, “it’s ok. I'm not here to cause you any harm.” He spoke in a soothing calm tone as he continued to keep his hands in plain view. “I just noticed you seem distressed and I came to offer you my assistance." Flint's eyes flickered towards the dagger quivering in the terrified woman's grasp. " Just lower the anlace, ma’am, and hopefully I can help you with whatever may be troubling you."
Flint gently nodded as he tentatively reached for the weapon in the distressed lady's possession. “Trust me," he whispered, his voice soft and delicate. “I mean you no misfortune."
Evangeline's bosom heaved with trepidation as her mind raced in fear, her instinct trying to quickly determine if the stalwart, yet gentle speaking man reaching for her dagger was sincere or misleading her to cause her unspeakable irrevocable mischief. She allowed her gaze to stay even with his, and though she was still terrified, she couldn't help but notice how entrancing his emerald eyes were, dancing with flecks of gold that sparkled off of the reflection of the moon lit sea. She stared for a lengthy moment, suddenly perceiving the sincerity glowing in that gaze, and with an apologetic gasp, she let the dagger abruptly fall to the sand, bringing her trembling fingers to her lips and collapsing to her knees in utter abandonment, a strangled sob escaping her lips once again.
"I'm sorry," Flint heard the bewitching creature murmur through her frantic breaths, as he kneeled tentatively beside her, allowing his fingers to graze her shoulder in a demonstrative show of sympathy.
“It's all right, I understand you were frightened." Flint glanced about for the dagger and finally locating it, tucked it firmly in his waistcoat for safekeeping. You could never be too vigilant when there was a tempestuous female abound. “Tell me, please, if you can," he prompted gently, "Who may you be ?"
Flint's breath once again caught in his throat as she shyly lifted her head to meet his concerned gaze. He had never before bore witness to something so lovely in his life. Her alabaster skin shown luminous in the moonlight, her long blonde tresses swayed slightly in the tropical breeze, and her eyes were resplendent emerald jewels, shimmering with the promise of heaven above.
"Evangeline," she whispered, curiously peering up at the gruff, yet somehow, entrancing stranger who was her saving grace from the infuriation and frustration that she was experiencing from her fraudulent nuptials. She promptly felt a calm pass over her as he ensconced himself next to her on the cooling sand. Just by him being in such close proximity to her, she felt strength roll off of him in waves, he was dauntless, but she also perceived that there was compassion and tenderness rooted inertly in him. Something he kept very well hidden.
Flint awkwardly shuffled out of his waistcoat and gingerly placed it on Evangeline's fragile shoulders to help shield her from the slight chill in the air. "James McGraw," he offered, not yet wanting this delicate specter to realize he was most infamous for being a murderous pyrate, he had just succeeded in partially calming her, he didn’t wish to upset her yet again. Flint smiled gently at the still shivering beauty resting so very near to him.
" I don’t wish to pry, Evangeline, but can you tell me why you were in such distress and all by yourself out here ? And... is there anything I can do to assist you in any capacity?"
Evangeline inhaled a fluttering breath and noticeably shuddered under Flint’s sheltering waistcoat. She tentatively lifted her gaze to meet Flint’s and silently contemplated her new found protector. Should she give her trust to a man who had just happen to arbitrarily materialize on the beach at the same time that she had? She fervidly searched his eyes for an answer, and after an acute soul searching moment, her heart delivered the response she was so adamantly seeking.
Flint waited intently, inadvertently holding his breath, somehow nothing was more important at this very moment then immersing his attention in Evangeline’s revelation.
Evangeline shifted her diminutive frame to face James, ready to confide her unsettling mystery to this noble interloper, when suddenly a chilling voice snaked its way through the inky darkness.
"Eeeevangeline..."
Evangeline blanched, her face a ghostly pale, and a horrified expression flashed across her graceful features once more. It was her husband, Lord Webb, and he sounded thoroughly intoxicated, and full of rancor.
"Where are you.... you little minx? Come give your husband what is owed him on his wedding night." Lord Webb's timbre took a malicious turn. " Don't make me try to ferret you out, my love; I don’t think you will enjoy the consequences whilst you play hide and seek with your Lord.”
Evangeline froze in absolute fear, her petrified expression sending Flint's heart sinking into his nether regions. But rising above his dread for Evangeline came the red hot fury that so often consumed him, and he sneered with hostility. This "Lord" may be this gentle lassie's bridegroom, but there was no way in hell Flint was going to turn Evangeline over to this "gentleman" after he just witnessed how completely terrified she was of him.
"Stay put, Evangeline, and let me handle this unfortunate situation." Flint growled, his eyes sparking unrestrained malice, a dark scowl settling over his facade, his demeanor instantly veering in a totally diverse direction from what he was just a scant few minutes prior.
Evangeline gasped in utter shock at the sudden turn of her merciful savior, but she couldn't let him bear the burden of her impropriety, and she clutched at his arm as he started to rise and make his way towards the object of her torment. " No, Mr. McGraw. No, this is not your battle. Just... Don’t anguish over me. I'll handle this unsuitable turn of events. Don’t get entangled in my turmoil... please, make your leave while you can. "
Flint abruptly halted mid-step as Evangeline's plea vented the furious fog that had overtaken his senses. He fiercely shook his head to clear the frenetic haze that had overtaken him, and gazed purposefully at his new found tribulation.
"There is no way in hell that I am leaving you here alone to deal with that unscrupulous brute."
Flint suddenly grasped Evangeline by her shoulders and gently elevated her from her sandy perch. "Come with me." He rasped hastily. "I have a vessel that we can abscond to that will offer you complete protection ... I will personally guarantee that you will be unconditionally secure and thoroughly unharmed." Flint met Evangeline's perplexed gaze with his own determined stare. Flint thrust his hand in her immediate direction, anxiously imploring her to grasp it.
" Please. I beg of you. Trust me."
Confusion and terror wrinkled Evangeline's brow, her thoughts swirling in a million different directions, but something innate implored her to grab hold of James' hand and take flight with him...Far away from all of her concerns and barbarous husband...Somehow she sensed James would alter her entire existence..Make everything right again in her disorderly universe.
Evangeline expelled a decisive breath, nodded, and captured James hand in a tight grip. She tenaciously met his imploring gaze with her own determined one. Then she brazenly let her new found guardian, James McGraw, lead her to her promised safe haven. And quite possibly, an entirely fresh start to a wholly different journey.
Toby Stephens as Captain Flint, Gabriella Wilde as Evangeline
Artwork by 
Fanfic from the series Black Sails created by Starz