Chapter 8 - The Prisoner (Flynn's POV)

(Flynn's POV)

The sun was already baking the back of my neck, and I hadn’t even finished checking the final knots on the spare rigging. We weren't even an hour out, and already I was playing errand boy for half the bleeding ship. Not that I minded the work—better to keep moving than be caught standing still. Men respected a captain who pulled his weight. They whispered about the ones who didn’t.

I was halfway through a mental tally of our biscuit barrels and debating whether the bloody cat was earning his keep yet with the rats, when I heard the familiar gait of boots behind me—light on the toes, quiet as a whisper.

“Cap’n,” Jasper said, low enough not to draw attention, but there was something in his voice that made my stomach knot.

I turned. “What?”

He jerked his chin toward the main deck. “The girl. She’s topside.”

I froze.

“The hell d’you mean she’s topside?” I hissed, stepping toward him and peering past his shoulder.

“I mean she’s standin’ at the rail, feedin’ the fish.”

Sure enough, there she was—barely holding herself up, clinging to the railing like a dying gull. Her body heaved violently as she retched over the side.

Christ.

"How did she get out?” I seethed, already marching toward her with Jasper close behind. My boots thudded against the deck as I approached the scene with purpose.

"Didn't ask. Came straight to tell you," he replied.

Half the bloody crew had gathered around her like a swarm of gulls around a carcass—curious, cautious, a few with expressions I didn’t like.

"God's wounds! Who opened the bloody hatch?!" I bellowed as I shoved my way through the gathering crowd.

Her hair was matted and wild, sticking to her face. Blood—old and fresh—mingled with sweat along her hairline. She looked half-dead as she dry heaved over the side, her face pale as bone, her knees half-buckled beneath her. She didn’t even register me until I was stood right beside her.

"It was me, Captain," Declan's voice called out in response as he pushed his way to the front of the ever-growing crowd. "Mouse was complaining he heard ghosts in the hold. I had to show him there was no such thing. Then this one came tumbling out. She a stowaway then?"

I took her by the elbow, spinning her around to face the crew.

She flinched but didn’t resist as I hauled her upright.

Christ, she was scarcely decent—by any man’s reckoning. She wore britches that barely covered her thighs, and her shirt—if it could be called such—had no sleeves and clung to her like wet linen. Too much of her was on show, and none of it safe.

"Lads, this is," I paused, realizing I didn't know her name. "What's yer name, lass?" I asked, giving her a shake.

She blinked up at me, squinting like the sunlight offended her.

“Morgan,” she rasped.

I frowned. “Morgan?” The name didn’t sit right.

That were a name for a lad. I looked her over again, but her clothes left little doubt—she was no boy. Young, too. Younger than I’d first thought in that cave. Eighteen, maybe less. Definitely a girl.

Maybe it was her surname... but that stirred up thoughts of Henry Morgan...

"Is that yer Christian name? Or yer surname?" I pressed. "Or are ye just tryin’ to be clever?”

She looked like she wanted to answer, but instead, she turned and retched over the railing again.

I stepped back sharp—she looked one heave away from ruining my coat.

There was nothing left to get from her right now. She was barely upright, and clearly out of her wits. I needed answers. I needed to know why she was in that cave. I needed to know who sent her and what she saw. But she was in no state to answer my questions.

“Well, then,” I went on, addressing the crew again. “Lads, this is Morgan. She’s a prisoner on this ship, and I expect a pretty penny for her ransom. So, keep yer hands to yerselves. I don’t tolerate raping on this ship. Anyone tries it, they’ll swing."

The truth was, I had no clue whether she was worth anything. I had no clue whether I'd even be letting her live once I knew her story. But until I knew who she was working with and what she knew, she was worth more to me alive than she was dead. The men didn’t need to know she might be a liability though. Not yet. I needed time. A few days, at most.

But I couldn't let them know that...

A few heads nodded. One man muttered something under his breath and earned a glare from Jasper sharp enough to silence a cannon.

"A prisoner?" Paddy asked, sounding concerned.

Of course it would be him... The superstitious bastard.

The girl looked up at me with pleading eyes, still clutching the railing like her life depended on it.

"Lemme... Lemme off," she whispered, her voice soft but raw.

I shook my head. “Sorry, lass, that’s not how this works.”

I couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at her discomfort. Hopefully it would encourage her to give me some answers.

“Back to work, lads!” I waved them off, turning to leave.

"What should we do with her, Captain?" someone from the back of the crowd asked.

"Leave her be—unless ye fancy scrubbin’ sick off my deck," I replied as I skirted back to the spare rigging.

One thing was for certain. The longer she stayed on my ship, the more dangerous this situation became.