"Head in the clouds Edward!"

A female voice jolted Teague out of his thoughts and back to reality.

"Sorry Bláthinn," he said to his aunt, stepping aside to let her through the door.

Patriach met Teague's gaze from across the room and jerked his head.

He followed him outside, grateful to escape the overcrowded house.

Patriach sat down on the garden wall, turning his attention to Teague.

"You've been distracted since the party," he began in Gaelic.

Teague nudged a stone with the toe of his boot.
"I didn't think you noticed," he replied in his native language.

Patriach raised an eyebrow.
"I have noticed. It's the girl, isn't it? The governor's daughter with a sailor's tongue?"

Teague nodded, smiling slightly as a dog padded up, sniffing his hands before lying at his feet.

"No chance," said Patriach.
"You're branded for heaven's sake!"

"I want to see her again," Teague murmured, sitting on the ground next to the dog, his back to his cousin.

Patriach snorted.
"You're asking for a hanging if you go back there."

"You ask for one every time you see Rosabel. It's the same thing," said Teague sharply.

"We usually meet at night and we're careful," Patriach responded defensively.

"I'll go at night and find her window. I just want to see her. She's different to other aristocrats. There's something about her, a free, firey spirit. She...she's independent, fierce and extremely beautiful. I want to see what she thinks of me."

"She thinks you're a pirate."
Patriach drummed his heels against the wall.

"She didn't scream or try to throw me out," Teague reminded him, running a hand thoughtfully along the brindled coat of the dog beside him.

"Luck," said his cousin.
"She'll see you differently when it's not at a social event."

Footsteps sounded.
"What're you two talking about?"

"Nothin'."
Teague didn't turn to look at his sister, fondling the dog's ears instead.

"There's tae made. Ma said to tell ye."

"Thanks. We'll be in," Patriach said with a nod.

Teague sighed and rose to his feet.
"Come on. We'd best go in or there'll be none left for us."

They returned to the house.

The kitchen was noisy and full of people.
Teague spotted his mother's dark head in the corner, bent over papers.

He sighed as he ducked a knife on his way to the table.

"Here," said a voice behind him.
Teague turned to meet bright blue eyes belonging to his younger brother.

Padaí was holding a plate of sandwiches.

"I'm not stupid enough to trust you," Teague told him, scooping up a mug and filling it with tea.
He knew the contents of Padaí's sandwiches were probably not edible.

Stirring sugar into his tea, Teague intercepted Roisín, Patriach's sister and took two sandwiches off the plate she carried.

"Aine you little shite!"

Teague turned at his sister's angry exclamation.

Hazel had her hands on her hips as she glared at their youngest sister.

Aine's gaze was defiant.
"I didn't do it!"

Hazel let out an exasperated sigh, turning to their mother.

Teague finished his sandwiches and took a sip of tea, ignoring whatever Hazel and Aine were arguing about.

He stood and helped himself to more of Roisín's sandwiches before refilling his mug of tea and sitting back down.

Hazel crossed the room, dropping into the chair beside him.

"What'd Aine do?"

"Never mind," said Hazel wearily, pushing away strands of light brown hair escaping from her plait.

Patriach drew out a chair on Teague's other side, offering him a platter of biscuits.

He took two, passing one to Hazel before dipping his in his tea.

"That's disgusting brother," said Hazel.

"Isn't," Teague responded with his mouth full.

He swiped another biscuit from Patriach, then cursed as something hit the back of his head.

"Go to hell Padaì!" he growled in irritation.

"Nah," retorted his brother with a smirk.

Teague rolled his eyes in annoyance then turned his attention back to his tea.

As he raised the mug to his lips, he found himself picturing Roxanne Sparrow, the flash of anger in her eyes as she'd told the gentleman to fuck off.

His mother went to the door, returning with a slender young woman following her.

"Hello, Sahara."
Teague switched to English to greet his visitor, who returned the greeting.

"Didn't mean to land in on you all at tea," she said apologetically.
"Just wanted to let you know the Misty Lady is fully provisioned and ready to sail when you are Captain Teague."

"Thank you, Sahara. The usual alcohol on board?"

Sahara nodded.
"Crew are also ready. All she needs now is her captain."

"Right. Expect me when ye see me, savvy?" Teague said.

Sahara nodded again before leaving the house.

Teague drained his mug and left the kitchen, going upstairs to his room.

The springs in his mattress creaked as he sat down, reaching under the bed and carefully drawing out a bundle of faded scarves, which he unwrapped to reveal the smooth wood of a beautiful guitar.

His fingers plucked lightly at the strings, coaxing forth melodies.

Irish tunes passed down generations, a snatch of something vaguely Spanish he'd heard in a tavern.

He brought them out, allowing them to envelope him as he thought of Roxanne again.

"I'll go and see her," Teague said quietly to himself.
"I'll go and see her tonight."

************************************
Roxanne paused in her needlework, glancing out the window.

Her concentration was wavering, an Irishman invading her thoughts.

"Shite," she murmured as she pricked her finger.
Then she blinked, realising she'd said it the same way Edward Teague had said it at the party.

Sighing, she laid her sewing aside.

Crossing the room to her dressing table, she opened the bottom drawer, moving aside the contents to reveal several well-read leather bound books.

Selecting one, Roxanne closed the drawer before sitting down and finding the ribbon that marked her place in the book.

Soon she was lost in a world of swordfights, ships and sailing.

She was travelling with a famous pirate captain, Henry Morgan and his crew.

They were as free as the wind that carried their ships, bound to nothing but the timbers of the mighty vessels.

Roxanne lost track of time until a loud tap on the window gained her attention.

It was dark outside and when she lifted her candle she saw a silhouette perched on her windowsill.

Roxanne was ready to scream when the window was opened from the outside.

"Keep your mouth shut."

The flame of her candle picked out eyes outlined in black, shaded by the wide brim of a hat.

She shrank back as their owner dropped silently off the windowsill to land in the room.

"Oh fuck, I scared the crap out of ye, didn't I?"

Roxanne recognised the voice and raised her candle to cast light over the figure of Edward Teague.

"What the devil are you doing here?!" she hissed.

"If that's your reaction to seein' me, leavin'."
Teague turned, hands on the windowsill, ready to depart.

"No. I didn't mean...don't leave."

He faced her again, removing his hat and she could see he now looked more like a pirate than he had at the party.

A dark green bandana held back his black dreadlocks and black musketeer boots gave him an authorative stance.

He was wearing a loose white shirt with a deep neckline and lace trimming the sleeves.

Roxanne noticed the handle of a knife in the waistband of his breeches.

Teague pulled at the lace on his cuff.
"I can't stop thinking about you," he finally said.

She raised an eyebrow.
"Really? Haven't you got a prostitute in every port?"

He looked offended.
"No I do not. I've never slept with anyone I had to pay."

"So you can't stop thinking about me. Why?" Roxanne asked, examining her nails.

"You're beautiful. You didn't react with fear or disgust when you saw my brand. You have a tongue as sharp as any pirate's sword."

Roxanne's gaze was fixed on her fingernails but he noticed the blush on her cheeks.

She lifted her head to meet his eyes.

"I've been thinking about you since that night too."

Roxanne rose to her feet.

"May I join your crew, Captain Teague?"

Teague smiled.
"Aye, Miss Sparrow. Ye may."

"Don't call me that," she snapped, "It's Roxanne. Understood?"

Teague nodded and glanced at her

"You don't want to climb down a rose trellis in your nightdress, do you? Find a dress, something short and simple preferably."

She nodded and crossed to her wardrobe, looking through it's contents before turning with a plain dark burgundy dress.

"Will you...umm..."

"Lace stays?" Teague guessed.

Roxanne nodded.

"I will once you put a shift on."

She crossed to her dressing screen, reappearing after a moment in a shift.

Teague helped her lace the stays, his movements deft from practice assisting his mother and Hazel.

Roxanne finished dressing, slipped on shoes and put her hair up.

Her gaze swept around her room, then she disturbed it's contents as though a struggle had taken place.

"Let Father think I was taken rather than left willingly," she murmured softly.

Teague nodded in approval of her idea, then guided her to the window.

"Down the rose trellis."

He waited inside the room until she called softly to let him know she was down.

Teague descended quickly to join her in the garden.

"This way," he murmured, crossing the garden.

The Sparrow was free.