Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Upon a Painted Ocean ❯ In the Presence of Greatness ( Chapter 5 )

Historical notes: (totally optional, and won't affect reading of the fic!)

London Bridge: One of London's most admired landmarks during the time of this fic, heads of traitors were stuck on pikes over the gatehouse to warn those of what would happen should they oppose the British crown. At times, heads counted up to a maximum of 35 at one time. Foreign dignitaries and visitors often commented on the usefulness of this method of deterrence, as the Bridge was such a high traffic area.

Greenwich Palace: Queen Elizabeth's court often traveled around and rested a few days at the different residences of her nobles. However, during the summer months when the Queen wasn't traveling, her favourite place of residence was Greenwich Palace. Born there in 1533, Elizabeth I preferred this place to her more elaborate homes such as Hampton Court, and Windsor Castle. The building itself was very asymmetrical in style and had been added onto by previous monarchs, including the Queen's father, Henry VIII. This, in turn, gave it a very 'British' look, far removed from the influences of the Renaissance.

Robert Deveraux, Earl of Essex: Although it was not been proven that Elizabeth had any lovers, she did have four major male 'favourites' during her reign. The first three, William Pickering, Christopher Hatton, and Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester (to whom she devoted over 30 years), all came before this story. During the period in which this story takes place, her current and last favourite was Robert Deveraux, the Earl of Essex. He was an arrogant and self-centered man and being almost forty years the Queen's junior, he tried to make himself a place in court. Despite his shortcomings, the Queen forgave him much, probably because he was a very handsome young gentleman, and Elizabeth always did have a soft spot for young, good-looking men (which bodes well for Ran and Ken, doesn't it? ^_^). However, in 1598, Essex publicly disputed with the Queen over the appointment of the Lord Deputy of Ireland, which caused him to fall out of favour. On February 25, 1601, after provoking a rising against the crown, the Queen's former favourite was executed.

(***)

Upon a Painted Ocean

Chapter 5: In the Presence of Greatness

London, England

1596

The first thing Ken noticed about London was the smell. Standing on the quarterdeck of the Redemption as she coasted toward the docks, he had to force himself to take short, shallow breaths to avoid the gagging reflex that was triggered at the stench of discarded human refuse and decaying garbage. His eyes began to water at the effort and thus, he blinked rapidly in order to get a clear view at the city, one of the fastest growing political and commercial centers of Europe. Grey and dull were his first impressions of the place, the sun-deprived sky providing a complimenting backdrop to the muted browns of the buildings and the colourlessness of the overworked people. He had been told that London was a city of contrasts, because only here could one find the aristocratic townhouses belonging to bishops and nobility of the Strand a stone's throw from the open air, proletarian marketplace of Cheapside. And only here could one find the deceiving umbrella of an increasing political power masking an ever-growing criminal world - why else would the statuesque residences of the aristocracy mingle so closely with the dozen plus prisons that littered the city itself?

At the thought of prisons, Ken's mind immediately turned to Ran. It had been well over six weeks since he'd seen the redheaded captain being taken away in chains, an image that he'd tried to desperately but unsuccessfully erase from his memory. By his calculations, Ran should've arrived a good week before him, seeing as how the Redemption had met with a mid-Atlantic storm during the crossing. It had taken Ken a whole day to re-chart and re-navigate their route, by which time, the British naval ship they had been tailing had sailed beyond the horizon. That, and the daily hour-long arguments with Lieutenant Smythe over the proper sailing of the ship had frayed the brunette's nerves to no end; he just wanted his captain back, and every second they spent bickering over such petty details meant that Ran would be locked up that much longer. Only when the whole crew had refused to work unless it was under Kit or Ken's directions did the lieutenant finally accede defeat and let Ken take over. But still, he had lost so much time and Ran was probably locked away right now in one of the numerous prisons that London city boasted, waiting for his trial and execution with that tired defeated look in his eyes.

Ken's gaze shifted downriver toward the image of one of the city's crowning glories. London Bridge stood proudly spanning the river Thames, its twenty arches supporting a narrow, covered way that ran its entire length. From what he had been told, underneath that was a line of neatly built timber houses belonging to the slow growing group of wealthy merchants and tradesmen. But that wasn't what had piqued his attention. No, it was the poles over the gatehouse tower that drew his eyes, poles that were adorned with the heads of executed traitors, rotting in the damp, English air as scavengers picked greedily at the decaying flesh - a warning to all those who dared plot treason against the English crown.

"They say that pirates sometimes get put up there, too."

Ken jumped at the voice that had interrupted his private musings and turned to the approaching figure of Kit.

"It's sick," Ken spat as the first mate joined him to appraise their new destination.

"Yes, but the public always loves an execution and what better way to appease the crowd than to place the head of the criminal up there where everyone can see it."

The brunette didn't respond, knowing all too well the morbid pleasures the darker side of human nature liked to take. Instead, he allowed a moment of comfortable silence to descend between the two of them, giving him some time to reflect on the situation at hand.

"Do you think he's wondering where we are, Kit? Or how we're doing?"

Kit looked over at the pensive brown eyes of the former slave, the younger man's gaze still directed at the pikes over London Bridge. The kid had proven to be a remarkable sailor these past few weeks, but even more surprising were his skills as a commander. As the days had worn on, Ken had slowly broken out of his slavery-induced submissiveness and had managed to run the ship almost as efficiently as Ran. The men had instinctively followed him and Kit had been pleasantly shocked to see him take it all in stride, his orders and decisions coming out clear and precise. Yet, throughout these changes, the younger man's actions were still somehow tempered, and it wasn't until Kit found the brunette sitting in Ran's cabin staring off into oblivion that he realized the former slave was excessively worried over Ran's arrest and missing the man himself.

"I don't know, Kid. But we'll get him out, you'll see. He didn't do anything wrong and he is the last person in the world who would commit treason," Kit answered reassuringly.

Ken closed his eyes briefly, and then turned to look at the older man, wishing for once that he possessed that kind of optimism. "But his face, Kit, when I last saw him … I couldn't get that out of my mind. He looked so … so defeated and empty. I've never seen him like that before."

The first mate nodded, clearly recalling the look and the hidden pain that belied it.

"Why? Why, Kit, did he give up so easily? He should've fought them. He should've demanded that he be allowed to prove his innocence, but he just … he just gave in. Why?"

Kit met the brunette's imploring gaze, anger and helpless frustration swimming in their dark depths. "It's not my place to tell, Kid. But suffice to say that Ran has been running from himself for a long time, and I think he's tired of it."

Ken could feel his hands clench, so tightly that his nails bit into his palm. "Then he should turn and fight, goddamnit! Not give in like some coward. And I know he's not that! I may not have known him for very long but I do know he's not a coward … why …"

The first mate didn't say anything and wisely let the younger man vent his emotions as needed; it was good for the kid.

After some time, he finally spoke. "We're almost finished docking. We'll be ready to cast anchor soon. Would you like to join me?"

Ken forced himself to relax and leaned against the rail. "Can you handle it without me this once?" he asked quietly.

"Of course."

With that, Kit was gone and Ken was left once more to revel in his own thoughts. He heard the distant shouts of humanity along the dockside. He smelled the overwhelming stench of civilization, a sharp contrast to the revitalizing ocean air he was used to breathing. And he saw the intricate world he would have to navigate through to gain Ran's freedom, a world of twists and turns, political maneuverings and intrigue. But this was London … this was England … a land he had been told about a long time ago when bedtime stories were one of the true highlights of his day.

"I'm here now, Mother, in England," he whispered to the wind. "It's nothing like you said it was but still, I regret you couldn't see your homeland again with me …"

(***)

"He's here," Schuldich stated plainly as he watched the neat, British-like clipper competently dock itself along the wharf. The captain of the Valiant stood beside him on the London dockside, the man's attention equally diverted by the arriving vessel. They had landed in London over a week ago, and had sat idly by ever since, waiting patiently for their prey to take the bait. Schuldich didn't know exactly what Crawford had planned for the brunette he so wanted to snare, but he could hazard a guess: one did not survive as long as he did without understanding the cunning machinations of a ruthless mind.

"What do you intend to do now?"

Crawford glanced over at the redhead with a look of pure calm and self-assurance. "We wait and watch, Schuldich. The players have all been given their roles, so now we just let it all play out." The younger man saw a flash of gold glint almost imperceptibly in his captain's fingers and realized the man was toying with the ring the redhead had talked off a plundered Spanish captain back in Port Royal.

Pirates, the Spaniard had claimed, pirates of untold ferocity had stolen everything of worth from his ship and left him disgraced in the eyes of his king and country. Schuldich had listened disinterestedly as the olive-skinned man drunkenly blabbered on and on about the horrific travesty that had befallen him. That was, until the ranting captain had produced a gold ring that had been left behind by the leader of those raiding pirates. It was then that Schuldich had managed to glean enough information about the plundering ship to match the one he'd been ordered to observe, and about the infamous captain at her helm. Before long, he'd swiped the ring from the then-drunk Spaniard and reported to Crawford with a little more insight as to where the brunette was staying.

Schuldich knew what the ring his captain fingered looked like intimately for he'd analyzed the thing meticulously before handing it over: a gold, signet ring, engraved with a family crest and overlaid with a cursive 'F' - the symbol of a noble house, much like those of his own country. And yet, he couldn't identify any significance in it other than its tie to the captain of the Redemption. However, Crawford had thought differently and had immediately set sail to play his newly devised game, one that undoubtedly involved that brunette he'd been forced to observe.

"Stay here and watch that ship, Schuldich. Report to me the moment anything happens. I'm heading back to the Valiant."

"Aye, Captain," Schuldich imitated his cruder crewmates with a deceptively submissive answer. Crawford didn't spare him a glance as he walked away, and the redhead wondered why he continued to stay aboard the man's ship. If he wanted, he could leave, take off and see the world as he had originally intended when he'd first stowed away on the Valiant. It wasn't as if he couldn't survive out there on his own. On the contrary, he had mastered the art of cutthroat survival from the moment he first drew breath. Otherwise, he would never have lived as long as he did in the treacherous world of his youth. Then why? Why did he continue to stay aboard the Valiant? Why did he stay with a captain who couldn't have cared less if he remained or left?

'Because he's the first person in your life who hasn't betrayed you,' something within him answered. 'And for that, you owe him everything.'

(***)

"What do you mean I can't leave the ship?" Ken yelled at the man sitting behind the desk - Ran's desk - as he angrily slammed his fists on the wooden surface.

Admiral Richard Whyte stared unwaveringly back, his clear blue eyes serious and his expression unflappable. This man, the one that Ken had first presumed to be the British captain who had arrested Ran, had sauntered aboard the Redemption without a by-your-leave, and had placed the whole crew under arrest, much to the former slave's consternation. It took every ounce of his self-control not to reach across the desk, pull the man out of Ran's chair, and throttle him.

"It's like I said: this crew is under arrest on suspicion of treason, and until such time as it is proven otherwise, this ship is under my jurisdiction. This means that no crewmember shall leave the ship without my expressed permission."

Ken glared at the middle-aged man, wondering how he could spew such words so calmly. "Then what of our captain? Why is he not here with us?"

He wanted to see Ran; he needed to see if the redhead was all right, and to remind himself why he was doing this. Night after night for the past several weeks, he had questioned his motives as to why he continued to do what he did, why he was hell-bent on saving a man who meant nothing more to him than one more master in a long line of people who tried to manipulate him. After all, those words from that drunken night in Port Royal still rang clear in his head, inexplicably causing him more pain than he cared to admit. And yet, time after time, he couldn't come up with a definite answer, save for the fact that he had to. He had to save Ran because to not save him would be unthinkable.

"Your captain has been tried for treason two days ago and was found guilty."

The admiral's words caused a lump to form inside Ken's throat. He had a good idea what was going to be said next.

"He's scheduled for execution in five days. The only thing left to decide is whether his crew follows him to the gallows or not."

Fury blinded Ken then. "How? How can he be guilty of treason when the whole crew doesn't ever remember him acting against the British crown? Ask the first mate, ask me, ask any damn sailor on this ship and see if Ran has ever done anything seditious!" He was leaning over the desk now, anger fueling his barely containable rage as Admiral Whyte sat calmly in his seat.

"Captain Randall Fielding was seen raiding one of Her Majesty's ships and making off with the treasures. After that, he had the gall to sink the ship as well."

"There's … no … possible … way …" Ken ground out through clenched teeth. "They have no evidence."

"They have first hand eyewitness accounts, as well as some hard evidence, boy."

"What evidence?" Ken quipped.

"I'm not at liberty to say."

He wanted to hit the man for being so deliberately elusive, but had to refrain for fear of making the situation worse. He needed to calm down, think rationally, because going on a rampage wasn't going to do Ran any good.

"Then let me speak to the Queen. Let me find a way to prove his innocence."

For the very first time, the older man's stony façade threatened to break, incredulous laughter hovering in his eyes, but one look at Ken's determined and unsmiling face quelled any urge he might have had.

"You're serious?"

Ken nodded solemnly.

Admiral Whyte shook his head. He had seen many things during his tenure as an officer in Her Majesty's Royal Navy, but this … this was definitely the first time he'd encountered such a man. "My boy, not just anyone can see the Queen. What are you planning to do? Walk up to Her Royal Majesty casually as you please, and ask her to release your captain?"

"If I have to, yes," came Ken's response without any hesitation.

The Englishman just stared at the young man before him, the brunette's unerring loyalty and determination either a product of sheer stupidity or blind devotion. Either way, he felt the stirrings of admiration begin to form somewhere inside him for the boy.

"Please, Admiral. My captain allowed you to arrest him without a fight. He went willingly and freely with you, so in deference to that, I ask for your consideration of my request. Let me leave this ship. Give me four days to discover why he has been wrongfully accused. If I can't do it by then, I will return to this ship, and you may do as you like then. I give you my word on that."

Sheer stupidity, definitely.

But the boy would go far with that attitude, the admiral knew.

"Very well then. Four days. From what Lieutenant Smythe has told me, you could have easily sailed this ship anywhere in the world and escaped, and yet, you chose to follow your captain here where your fate could easily be death. It is because of this that I will trust you, boy. Four days and no more. Don't make me regret it."

Ken felt a slight easing in the tension that had gripped his body earlier. "Thank you, Admiral," he said as he turned to go.

"Wait, boy." The Englishman watched the brunette pause, his shoulders straightening as if he was expecting the permission to be retracted and was readying himself to argue once more. The admiral felt a small smile tug at his usually bland expression. "Her Majesty is residing at Greenwich Palace this time of year, so I suggest you start there."

The boy relaxed and nodded his head in acknowledgement. That done, he left the room with swift, sure strides.

Admiral Whyte watched unmoving as the door closed with a final click. Shaking his head at the foolhardiness of youth, he let the small smile he'd been fighting break through.

"And good luck, boy," he whispered. "Good luck."

(***)

Greenwich, England

Greenwich Palace was a sprawling building that was situated close to the riverbank, its long, irregular shape crowned with battlements and jeweled with north-facing transomed windows. There was no symmetry to the thing, which gave it a very 'English' look far removed from the new trends that were arising in Italy, Ken thought as he scrutinized the edifice before him.

It had taken him less than half a day to travel here, a time that could have been greatly improved upon had he access to the Redemption's resources, but he knew he had already taxed Admiral Whyte's generosity in seeking temporary passage off the ship. Lying just south of London along the river Thames, Greenwich was easily accessible by boat, which explained how the Queen managed to transport her whole entourage here during the summer months year after year to visit her favourite residence.

Ken knew he stood out the moment he arrived: he lacked the fancy doublets and velvet jackets with inane brass buttons that were a prerequisite for court gentlemen seeking admittance into the Queen's domain. Never had the fact become clearer than when he had been refused entrance into the palace just moments ago. He understood as he idled helplessly before the palace that what he had to do was near impossible, but he couldn't think of any other way. If he didn't start with the Queen, he didn't know where else to start. Time was running out, for him, for the crew of the Redemption, … and for Ran.

"Sir, I couldn't help but notice your predicament …" The accented voice cut through Ken's frustration, causing the brunette to whip around toward the new arrival. There had be a steady stream of traffic in and out of the palace since he'd attempted access, but the fact that this expensively attired man had approached him while others had dismissively passed him by made the former slave instantly suspicious.

Dark, that was his first impression of the man. From the top of the unruly crop of black hair, to the inky immaculateness of the pointed beard, to the finely woven material of the obsidian hose, the man exuded an inexplicable darkness that was barely concealed by the complimenting nature of his physical appearance. By the liberal sprinkling of grey in his hair, and the few lines marring his face, Ken put the newcomer's age at no more than forty years.

"Who are you?" Ken asked, eyes narrowed.

His deep, brown gaze - almost black - glittered as the man's face broke into a friendly, smile. "My apologies. Allow me to introduce myself," the stranger said as he bowed, making an elegant leg that couldn't be faulted. "My name in Nikolai Markhonen, a … businessman, if you will, from the Continent."

"And …" Ken prompted, suddenly uneasy at the politeness that was being directed his way.

"I see that you have been trying to enter and have met with unsatisfactory results, no?"

The brunette nodded slowly.

"Well, my dear boy, I merely wish to assist you. You see, it is in my power to help you inside since I have business with a few of these English nobles."

"I need to see the Queen," Ken stated rudely, eager to know exactly what this man wanted. In his experience, no one ever offered anything without expecting something in return.

Nikolai smiled indulgently. "The Queen, if I recall, has an appointment with the Archbishop of Canterbury on the morrow. You can easily intercept her once she is finished with him, can you not?"

Ken continued to assess the man, subtly trying to determine the motives behind such a generous offer. "And in return, what must I do for you?"

The man actually had the gall to chuckle. He reached out and patted the brunette's shoulder in a gesture of good humour. The contact almost caused Ken to jump back, the learned instinct of avoiding such invasions of personal space coming to the fore.

"Nothing, my boy, nothing," the dark-haired man replied innocently. "This is my first time visiting this country and I merely wish to make a good impression. All I ask is that you visit my country one day."

Ken felt his distrust growing toward the man, in spite of the generous offer placed before him. No one had ever willingly done anything for him without exacting a price, and he had a difficult time believing that this man, this stranger, didn't follow that rule. Nevertheless, the offer gave him a chance to save Ran's life, and he couldn't just discard it. If he had to pay the price later, whatever it was, then so be it.

"Very well then. I am indebted to you."

Nikolai nodded happily, a satisfied gleam making its way into his eyes. "Good, good."

(***)

Ken heard them before he saw them, the footsteps sounding more like the marching of an army than the arrival of a royal procession. He had waited patiently in the corridor since Nikolai had snuck him in for his chance to present his case to the Queen. He gave no thought to what he was doing; he didn't question how he had gotten to this point. All he knew was that he was the only hope Ran had of being set free and thus, the moment the entourage came into view, he moved without any second thoughts.

"Your Majesty, a moment of your time," Ken blurted out as he sank to one knee in the path of the monarch. Almost instantly, he heard the hiss of swords being unsheathed and the rapid rhythm of footsteps surrounding him. Ignoring the guards who had leveled their weapons at him, Ken raised his eyes to search for the person he had striven so hard to find.

He identified her immediately amidst the throng of her elaborate royal party. From the tales he had been told, Queen Elizabeth had been a lovely woman in her earlier years, not beautiful but lovely in the mysterious way that only youth could bring. Now, in her sixty-third year, that freshness had faded, but the grace and confidence that had made this woman one of the most powerful rulers in Europe, if not the world, still shone brightly in those dark eyes and the long, oval face, attributes that were said to have been inherited from her mother, Anne Boleyn.

"What is the meaning of this?" Her clear, clipped words ignited a spark of hope within Ken. Although the austerity in her expression should have deterred him, he was fuelled by the driving need to make his plan succeed.

"Your Majesty, I come before you to humbly beg for the life of a condemned man. His name is Randall Fielding, and he is my captain."

Ken watched the shrewd eyes of the monarch as she took in his plea and carefully assessed the kneeling man before her.

"You are one of his crew?"

"Yes, your Majesty," he replied unwaveringly as he maintained his gaze with the Queen. No matter how hard he tried, he could not read her, neither her thoughts nor her emotions, as her face remained a perfect blank, a skill that undoubtedly served her in good stead as a ruler. Ken found this somewhat unsettling.

"And you have traveled all this way to beg for his life?"

"Yes."

Her expression betrayed nothing of her next words. "We regret, young man, that We can not release your captain. He has been tried and found guilty of treason against Our most noble state, a charge even We can not revoke. His execution will stand."

And with that, she signaled the rest of her procession to continue.

'No,' Ken silently screamed. 'This can't be. I can't let this happen!'

"Your Majesty! Please …" The moment he rose and tried to approach the exalted monarch, he felt the cold, metal kiss of five, sharp swords glide along his neck. Uncaring of his predicament, he sought and held the gaze of the Queen with determined, brown eyes, stopping her departure with his uncharacteristic audacity.

"My mother used to tell me stories of you," he said in a calm, level voice. "The invincible Regina Gloriana, the queen who married her country and brought it into the sun. I've heard of your graciousness, your cunning, and even your ruthlessness. But of all that I have been told, the most admirable was your Majesty's mercy. Mercy, my mother spoke of … the epitome of mercy, she called your Majesty, the mark of the most civilized rulers in history. And so I entreat you and ask that this mercy be bestowed upon a man who faces death not four days hence."

The queen remained unmoving, apparently weighing the words that had just been directed at her. Ken could hear the rapid beat of his heart pound mercilessly in his ears during the ensuing silence, his breath held in anticipation at the upcoming seconds that would decide his fate … and that of Ran's.

After a brief, and yet too long, moment of agonized waiting, she finally spoke. "Young man, you do know how to turn a phrase and flatter a woman. Therefore, We shall provide you with a condition. If you can prove to Us and the court that your captain is innocent of any wrongdoing, We will release him."

"But your Majesty …" Once of the men in her entourage, a young, handsome gentleman, objected. "That man is a confirmed traitor! I do not think it wise to …"

"Enough, Essex! When We wish for your opinion, We will ask for it." The Queen cut off his outcry with a warning hand and continued to stare at Ken. "Your captain will be moved to the Tower of London today, and will remain there until his execution. We will grant you three days, young man. Should you prove his innocence by then, We will set him free."

Ken did not know what to say, and yet, he knew he could not refuse, not when the Queen was making the offer. "Thank you, your Majesty," he replied quietly as he bowed to acknowledge her generosity. He realized then that he would not be able to ask for more and thus, humbly took his leave.

Queen Elizabeth watched the young man walk away, his movements quick but purposeful.

"Essex," she called, her eyes still not leaving the back of the brunette.

"Your Majesty."

"The captain is still here, is he not?"

"Yes, your Majesty."

"Then bring him to Our private chambers." Her tone held no room for argument, and Essex was forced to swallow any complaints he may have had as he moved to carry out her orders. The monarch smiled knowingly, her courtiers treated to a rare display of emotion. "We wish to speak with the man … alone."

(***)

Ken's mind was racing the moment he exited the palace, mentally creating a list of what he needed to do within the next three days. Rapid steps pounding furiously on gravel, he made his way toward the riverbank in hopes of hiring a boat back to London. His task was clear to him now, and although the path itself was still obscured, he must forge ahead, heedless of the dead ends he would undoubtedly encounter.

"My, my, you sure seem to be in a hurry."

Ken stopped, knowing all too well the voice he had just heard did not bode well. Turning, he saw Crawford leaning casually against a tree, sunlight innocently glinting off his dark hair and immaculate clothes, and painting an idyllic portrait of Lucifer basking seductively in the Garden of Eden.

"Crawford. What are you doing here?" the brunette hissed.

"Guess." The man smiled, and raised an eyebrow at his former slave's anxious state. "In a little trouble, are we?"

Ken didn't have time for this. "It's none of your concern." Forcing himself to move before he was caught again in the older man's hypnotic presence, he turned and made to leave.

"This wouldn't happen to do with a certain redheaded captain, would it?"

The brunette froze, not liking the feeling of trepidation that was slowly winding its way through his body. "What do you know about it?"

Crawford continued to smile, but the look held neither warmth nor good intentions in its depths. He slowly straightened and walked casually toward the younger man, eyes focused solely on his obsession. "Let me tell you a story, Ken love," he drawled softly as he began to circle the former slave. "There was once a man who owned a treasure so precious to him that he would not have parted with it for the world. Only, one day, that treasure was stolen from him, taken away before he even had a chance to blink. And so, he vowed that no matter what the cost, he would get his treasure back."

Ken watched the man for a moment with guarded eyes before the spoken words finally registered. Realization dawned. "You did this." It wasn't a question but a statement of fact, deduced from dark experiences of a past that Ken would've done anything to forget.

"Did what?" the older man asked innocently.

The brunette felt a surge of helpless fury seize his mind, and yet, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make himself attack the man. He had futilely done so numerous times before, and each time, he had paid for it with a little bit more of his soul.

"You framed him. You framed Ran."

A chuckle, amused and yet, mirthless. "And what if I did?"

Ken was too stunned to respond, his thoughts suddenly thrown into chaos. "He's chained up because of me. He's going to die because of me …" he stated weakly.

"Like I said, love, no matter what the cost." Crawford stopped moving and gave the brunette a sidelong glance. "Besides, it wasn't too difficult to raid that British ship and convince the survivors I spared to bear false witness. I just forced them to admit that they were being attacked by your ship … what was her name … the Redemption?" When Ken failed to respond and stared only sightlessly at him, Crawford took out the ring he had been carrying for the past six weeks. "And how convenient that your captain should leave this behind …"

The shining metal caught Ken's eye as the sun danced playfully off the reflective gold. Ran's ring … when had he … the Spanish raid! He recalled the redheaded captain's injury that day, a neck injury that he had volunteered to treat before he'd been callously pushed away.

Eyes narrowing, Ken watched Crawford toy with the gold. "What do you want, Crawford?" he asked, voice now devoid of all emotion.

The dark haired captain let the ring roll into his palm and closed his fingers over it. Eyes fixated on Ken, he said, "I could save him, you know."

"What do you want, Crawford?"

The older man smiled at the former slave's trademark stubbornness. "What would you do to save him? How much does he mean to you?"

"What do you want?" Ken repeated, undeterred.

In one fluid motion, Crawford brought his hand to the younger man's chin and tilted his head up. Steely gaze locked with steely gaze as a brief moment of pregnant silence surrounded the two men. "You know what I want, Ken love," Crawford said silkily. "But the question is, is he worth the price I'm asking of you?"

End Chapter 5