Siren Ch. 05

Roland smiled to himself, debating whether to leave his task to tease her again, when she picked up the thread of her tale.

"Where the changeling had been, there now sat a small child. Her black hair curled softly behind her ears in a perfect imitation of Anwara's and she gazed up at Yanno with eyes as blue as his own." Her voice grew strained as Roland began to work his tongue and lips against her in earnest. He shifted her legs over his shoulders so he could feel every push and pull of her muscles as she reacted to his touch. The cry that left her lips as he worked his tongue against the hard nub of her clit made his cock throb.

"The villagers looked shocked but the child reached for her mother and opened her mouth to laugh, filling the space--" Kenna's breath picked up, the words became harder to understand. "--with the joy that had been stolen from them all..." She trailed off, her body twisting even as Roland pinned her hips to the table, feasting on her in earnest as he felt her muscles tense below his relentless tongue. Her entire body arched, her hips pressing against him and he felt the tremors of her orgasm rip through her body. He tasted the flow from her clenching channel and decided to claim his prize.

He stood up, towering over the table as Kenna lay there, stunned to stillness. He was on her quickly, plunging into her waiting cunt, groaning as the tight channel gripped his length. He leaned over so he could bury himself deeper and watch her face as she came apart for him again.

Her wide green eyes met his, the dreaminess from her peak vanishing as she focused on him. Her expression lacked the defeat he felt he was due, and instead her gaze grew recalcitrant. She took a breath even as he increased his pace. But while she tempered her responses, he still felt her tighten around him.

"It was that day in Saint Ann when the..." She gasped as he pounded her into the table, her pussy clamping down on his cock. "...child laughed for the second time..." Her shoulders rolled back, her back arching off the table as her body tensed under his assault. "...that joy returned from the moor, and the creature who took its place..." She cried out as he reached down to rub her clit but she would not give in. Her legs wrapped around his bottom, pulling him into her with every stroke and still she fought him. "...was never--"

His mouth came down on hers, cutting off the story. It was an admission of his own, that he'd been unable to deter her from finishing what she'd begun, just as she had failed to keep him occupied with her tale. It was an unfair tactic, but that had never troubled him before. This however, this kiss, was beneath him, and yet he relished it. Her tongue caressed his, her lips still soft from her story forgot to try and shut him out. Her body pressed against his, her control finally shattered and she clung to him.

His thrusts become more forceful, and the table rocked beneath them. This was the moment he enjoyed the most, when her resistance was overwhelmed and all that was left was softness he could plunder. Kenna called out as her sweet body shook, wracked with tremors as pleasure overwhelmed her again. He drank in her sounds, her pink lips and inexperienced kisses as if she had offered them up to him. When he felt his own climax approaching, climbing up his spine and spreading through his groin, he pulled away from that tempting mouth of hers, watching the peace that came over her face as she came down from her peak. He chased his own, joining her in a chorus of deep inhales after the waves had passed.

Kenna laid awake that night, his arm like a lead weight over her waist holding her against him. She'd failed to keep him preoccupied with her story, though she'd calculated it so precisely to him. And what was more he had waited till the end, to mock her and make her think she had a chance to weave her spell over him. But that couldn't be so. She had had him, had felt his attention on her as she told the tale. Had she lost him at some point? Misjudged his attention to the drama? Perhaps he'd felt her judgement of the kidnapping fae and seen it as a reflection back on his actions. It had been unintended but she could not disguise it entirely.

She shook her head in frustration but stilled when he stirred. She did not want to wake him again. The last time she had disturbed his sleep she had been punished in a way that still confused her. How he could make such wonderful sensations into torture baffled her still. She quieted, trying to relax into sleep but found herself turning the story over and over in her head, trying to find where she'd gone wrong.

***

"What do you mean, entertain them?" she looked at him aghast.

"Is that a difficult order to understand?" The look on his face when he said 'order' made her blood boil, all the more so because it told her he knew it would have precisely that effect.

"You want me, the siren who murdered their captain, to march up onto the deck in a tattered men's shirt, and sing them a song?" She crossed her arms and glared back at him. "You do recall what siren's songs do to sailors, do you not?"

His eyes ran slowly over her body, inching down and then back up. The slow perusal made her flush with shame, and something else she dared not dwell upon. "I suppose a change of costume is in order," he said with a smirk. "But I should be clear that you are going up there as Mrs. Kenna Bell, human woman. This nonsense about sirens should be laid to rest."

She glared at him to cover her surprise. From what she had assumed he was using the story from the previous captain to keep his position on the ship. Why would he give up that point of power? But perhaps the illusion costs more than he might gain. After all, a terrified crew is not as efficient as one who believes all is well. Which leads again to her part in all this, distracting and entertaining the men.

"Why now?" she asked, watching his implacable face for any sign that there was something more going on.

Roland did not crack. "You will do it because I told you to." He stepped very close to her, daring her to move away. She did not and he made his point simply by towering over her. "No one lives on this ship without playing their part. You have a gift to share, and so you shall." She did not meet his eye but she clenched her jaw as if to say she would do nothing of the sort. But what could she do? What would refusal mean? He had not beaten her, not yet, but she knew him capable of violence. There was always a chance he had simply chosen not to employ it yet.

And it would mean leaving this room, getting the accursed rope off her ankle. Of course she would do it, just for the chance of breathing fresh air for a moment. It was not lost on her that the same desire had been what brought her on deck with Captain Jenkins just before the attack. But the heavy air of the cabin, steeped as it was in his presence and deeds, was punishment in and of itself.

She nodded and he brought his hand to her chin causing her to flinch and take a tiny step back before she managed to control herself. He brought his face towards her, his lips so close they were almost on hers. She trembled and immediately hated herself for it. "That is very wise, Kenna," he said in a soft voice. And he brushed his lips against hers too lightly to warrant a response or a rejection from hers. Her hatred shifted back to its rightful place and she cursed his games silently.

He smiled as if he knew her mind and he handed her a set of men's clothing. Her jaw tightened again. Roland simply turned and left, leaving her holding the bundle, none the wiser as to when he would deem her services necessary. She recognized the clothing as a uniform from her ship, possibly from spares taken with the rest of the plunder. Kenna felt a stab of guilt. She had been so concerned with her own fate she hadn't thought for a moment about the people left alive on that ship. And poor Agnes, who had heard the whole bloody affair, who had rescued her from that cramped trunk? Kenna sat down on the berth clutching the clothing to her chest, suddenly overwhelmed with thoughts of that day and imagining only the worst possible outcomes for her former companions.

Hours later Roland came to collect her, undoing the knot at her ankle with an ease that did nothing to quell the anger bubbling inside her. She struggled into the venetians-- despairing at leaving her calves and ankles bare. But how could this possibly get any worse? At least she had clothing to cover herself at last. He graciously provided her with a length of rope to secure the overly large breeches and she snatched it so as not to touch his hand. She noted that some of her anger was due to her heart racing at the prospect of facing the crew of pirates, some of whom likely thought she was a siren best pushed into the sea. And he wanted her to entertain them. The notion seemed even more ludicrous now that she'd had time to ruminate on the topic. And what was fresh air when it meant facing a bunch of killers and singing for her supper?

Everything felt sinister again, the man at her back, the ones waiting for her beyond the door, the open deck full of railings to toss her from. She had no say, no tools to bend the situation away from what now seemed to be obviously heading towards disaster. The lack of control was not unfamiliar, but not knowing ate at her. The more she thought about it the more it seemed that these may well be her last moments, and she would spend them with that insufferable man behind her. But there was no way to know, no one to ask.

Roland came up and she leapt away from him, spinning and holding her hands up to ward him off. It was instinctual rather than logical, but she saw his face grow dark.

"Come, Kenna, enough of this." Her fear annoyed him, she knew that. But when she took his hand she felt slightly more in control of herself. What was wrong with her? One moment she was angry, the next terrified. Why was she always being buffeted from side to side while he stood there, tall and magnificent, never blinking when he did not intend to.

She followed him up onto the main deck, her eyes focused on the way his large hand had wrapped itself completely around her fingers so that she saw only the smallest slivers of white skin between his tanned grip. She closed her eyes and breathed in the air, more grateful for that lungful than any that had come before it.

The sky was deeply blue and hurt her eyes when she looked up at it through the billowing sails. The sun warmed her skin and she took another sweet breath of the salty air. She let Roland pull her towards the quarter deck, focusing back on his hand to avoid looking about at the men she could hear around them.

When Roland released her hand she felt unsteady. He stepped away from her to address the men gathered around on the main deck below, or hanging along the gunwales. She swayed a bit, her stomach taking an unexpected plunge as she saw the faces of the men who had terrorized her ship, and she was to sing to them, all because of that man. Her eyes went to Roland's broad back. That man, who had tossed her at the former captain like she was nothing more than a handkerchief to be used and discarded. Who had dragged her back to his own ship and used her to secure his position, one he was solidifying by pushing her in front of a crowd of murdering pirates in order to entertain them to distraction.

The men hooted and cheered at something Roland was saying, but Kenna found she couldn't focus on his words. She was consumed with rage towards him, he who used her, raped her and defiled her body, and who made her like it. He dismissed it so casually, taking her as if she were worth no more consideration than a trinket he had taken a shine to. And now he'd found a new way to play with his toy. She tightened her jaw as if she might lock it closed from him, keep her voice from his twisted games, save her dignity with her silence.

When he turned to her she did not mask her fury and she saw his eyes narrow at the sight of her tight lips and fiery glare.

"Come, Mrs. Bell," he said, the warning in his voice obvious only to her. She considered defying him; her anger told her to do just that. But the thought occurred to her that she could do something worse. He might not be susceptible to her skill as a storyteller, but the crew were simpler men, and could be swayed more easily. The decision took only a fraction of a moment but her anger purred in response when she made it.

Kenna stepped to the rail and she ran her eyes over the gathered crew. Some were quiet and wary, others grinned at her inappropriate dress and tousled hair. She looked over at Roland's stormy face and she opened her mouth to sing.

"Oh, there was a lofty ship, and she put out to sea

And the name of that ship was the Golden Vanity

As she sailed upon the low, and the lonesome low

As she sailed upon the lonesome sea"

Roland grew cold as she sang. He knew at once that she was fully aware of what she was doing, and he had foolishly underestimated her. She'd chosen a song about a conniving, untrustworthy captain who would betray a man on his crew, and done so intentionally, knowing it would only serve to stoke the ill will that already existed. The instinct to cut her off and drag her back inside rang out in his mind, but he quelled it quickly. It would not do to show weakness, and there was more at stake here than she was aware of.

"Oh, she hadn't been at sea, more than two weeks or three

When she was set upon by a Spanish revelry

As she sailed upon the low, and the lonesome low

As she sailed upon the lonesome sea"

And what was worse, she'd slowed the song down, eschewing any of the jaunty tune in favor of a mournful ballad. Her clear, high voice was so beautifully sad when she sang of the "lonesome sea" that everyone who heard her could not help but sympathize with what was to come.

"And then up spake our little cabin boy

A-sayin' 'What would you give to me, if I do them destroy?

If I sink 'em in the low, and the lonesome low?

If I sink 'em in the lonesome sea?'"

She sang the part of the boy with such sweet courage, a pluck that made him even more the paragon of a bold hero doomed for his tragic end.

"'To the man who them destroys,' oh, the captain then replied

'I'll give five thousand pounds, and my daughter for a bride,

If he sinks 'em in the low, and the lonesome low

If he sinks 'em in the lonesome sea.'"

The captain, of course, spoke in a fair approximation of Roland's accent. The revelation that she could do so unsettled him. He turned his eyes out to the crew, seeing how enraptured they were, how they moved with the song, elated and devastated with the smallest change in her pitch. And while the cabin boy threw himself into the sea, determined to sink the enemy ship, Roland considered the woman before him. He'd seen her anger but he hadn't expected this. She couldn't be aware of his position with the crew but she was smart enough to realize that his control would not be absolute, and she was prodding it.

The cabin boy sank the Spanish enemy while Roland quelled his rising tide of frustration with the Widow Bell. She had been so soft, so easily handled at first that he'd assumed she had less fight in her. He had misstepped here and he would need to set it right. The song might be the best weapon she had in her arsenal, but it would not be enough. He settled back to listen as her plucky cabin boy came swimming back to the ship, begging to be taken back up on deck.

"'No, I will not pick you up,' oh the captain then replied,

'I will not pick you up, I will sink you in the tide.

I will sink you in the low, and the lonesome low

I will sink you in the lonesome sea.'"

The captain's cruel words rumbled with malice, even glee at being able to leave the boy to die in the waves. She had, of course, chosen a version where the captain was the worst type of villain. Roland reluctantly appreciated her skill even as he began to imagine all the ways he could teach her never to cross him again.

"Then our boy bowed his head, and down sank he

Farewell, farewell to that Golden Vanity

As he sank in the low, and the lonesome low

As he sank beneath the lonesome sea."

This last part was slowed down even more, the boy's last moments bled for every possible drop of emotion. Roland was appalled to find even he was moved by her song, the beauty of her voice and the tragedy she seemed to so effortlessly lay at their feet.

The last note was followed by a hushed silence from the assembled crew. Roland clapped first, breaking the spell she'd woven. "Wonderful, Mrs. Bell. You sing beautifully. Does she not?" he asked the men, who applauded in turn. "Did you enjoy it?" he asked, egging them into their cheers a bit more. "Does anyone have a request for our Mrs. Bell?"

The men began shouting out songs, some popular enough that she would know them, others too crude to have made their way to proper society. He chose one for her from the lot, an easy tale of spring and renewal. As she began he stepped off the quarterdeck and walked away from her, up to the men at the foremast who were working more slowly than they should have been in order to hear the show.

"Captain," one of them said as he approached. "Are you going to have her singing to the next watch as well?"

"Of course, Tom," he said, always familiar as he'd always been. It worked to keep the men at ease with him. "Though I think we might leave out that last song." He saw their glances. "Didn't it remind you lot of Captain Dougray back from the grave? Last thing I need is another reminder of the man who got us into this mess."

"Aye," Tom muttered. The other men agreed. Roland smiled at him, genuinely glad the man was there. He was almost as much of a gossip as Jasper and would serve to spread the sentiment throughout the crew.

Roland chuckled. "Perhaps we have something else to be grateful to Mrs. Bell for," and he stalked off, the damage controlled; the men would now all deflect whatever emotions the song had stirred up back on his predecessor.

Down on the gun deck he saw the ship's Master Gunner, William Abbott, frowning at the men gathered to listen. Roland avoided being seen, and the subsequent grousing from the man, and slipped below deck. The Master Gunner had been on the ship for as long as Captain Dougray had been in charge and he was not taking the man's death well. He'd vocally rowed about the idea of "siren" singing them all into a watery grave. Roland had gotten his way by simply allowing the curmudgeon to be as unlikeable as always and the men sided against him. The man's position was weak now, but Roland would watch him all the same.

He went to check on repairs and talk things over with his navigator before returning to the main deck. If he loitered a bit longer than necessary, so be it. He would let that woman feel his absence so she might be made to understand what it would mean for her if he did abandon her. But the presence of the scowling Mr. Abbott put a bit of urgency into his step as he turned back towards the main deck.

When he stepped up to the quarter deck she'd retreated again behind her cold mask. Her face barely registered his appearance and she said not a word as he led her back to the cabin. He tied the rope and left her again in silence. She wanted to exert her control, to try and influence affairs she should best leave alone, and he could not allow that. But to take her on while she was angry would only serve to strengthen the conviction she had that she had been successful and Roland would not encourage the notion.