Pirate Orlando!
Title: The Doctor and the Pirate
Author: Montmorency
Fandom: None specifically - historical AU
Pairing: Orlando/Elijah
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Well, we all saw that picture of Orlando from POTC2. The boy looks unbelievable in period costume. So I figured it was time for a quick crack!fic. Which I started writing. And then it started to seem more serious… long story short, I realized that I had found my Orlijah historical AU that I was wanting to write. Because I love historical stuff, and I love Orli and Lijah, but just didn’t know when/where to put them. Hence this starts out more jokey than it ends up. Yes, it’s going to be an ongoing series, but first I have a couple of Christian knights who need rescuing from the Levantine desert. So for now this is all there is.
Warning: This could be FULL of historical errors. I don’t care; it’s crack!fic. I’ll care more when the real story starts. Furthermore, what I know about sailing ships could be scrimshawed onto a two-inch square piece of walrus tusk and there’d still be room for a detailed representation of the Battle of Trafalgar. Mostly I’m just channeling the Aubrey/Maturin books which spawned the beautiful Master and Commander film; I could not more highly recommend both the movie and the series of books, which are hilarious, exciting, beautifully written and even slashy. ;)
THE DOCTOR AND THE PIRATE
The dread pirate Orlando leapt up the steps three at a time and bounded atop the lido deck. The peg-legged mate slapped a spyglass into his open palm. Orlando un-telescoped the contraption and put it to his eye, scanning the vast horizon.
“Ahoy, there she is!” he cried. “A three-master!”
His valet appeared at his side, bearing a silver tray with a perfectly prepared mint julep.
“She’ll make a fine prize,” Orlando said with great glee, lifting the julep and downing it in two gulps. “Bosun, hard to port and unfurl all masts!”
The pirates cheered wildly and set to their tasks with a right good will, swarming up the rigging like goblins in Moria.
+
It took the better part of three days to catch the schooner, which cut sadly into the pirate crew’s karaoke nights, but at last the schooner was forced to turn her broadside and unveil her guns.
[Insert battle scene involving much derring-do, several grappling hooks, lots of smoke, a smattering of blood, and an eventual pirate victory]
+
The pirate captain clattered down the steps into the lower decks to find the makeshift sick bay. Several of his men were scattered around on the floor, clutching rags to their wounds and moaning like a load of schoolgirls on their first ferry crossing of the Channel.
“You there, Blind Snoggins!” Orlando barked at a man with an eye patch. “What are you caterwauling about? Break a fingernail?” Not waiting for an answer, he kicked another pirate out of his path and made his way to the improvised surgery table, where the doctor of the schooner worked, suturing a long gash on Parson’s forearm.
The young doctor was short enough to stand without stooping belowdecks, and pretty enough to make Orlando look twice and even longer, so he propped his back against a bulwark, folding his arms and crossing his ankles, and waited for the doctor to notice him.
It happened that he had to wait awhile. The doctor’s hands worked efficiently at the task, while Parson winced and slugged back more rum. At last the task was done and the doctor tied off the piece of gut. He took the bottle of rum from the surprised Parson’s hand and poured a copious amount over the wound. Parson bellowed like a bull, then hobbled off clutching his arm.
The doctor looked up for the first time. “Are you the leader of these vagabonds?” he asked brusquely, wiping his blood-covered hands on his fine linen trousers.
Orlando nodded, while a smile played across his striking features.
The doctor hesitated. The sight of all those large metal buckles and leather straps was very distracting. He recovered his composure and addressed the pirate captain with disdain. “Now that all your fellow ruffians are taken care of, rather better than they deserve, I might add, I should like to tend to the men of my own ship. If you don’t mind.”
Orlando unfolded himself and stepped aside, bowing low and sweeping one arm out to indicate the egress. The doctor edged past him warily, not failing to note the gently mocking smile on the pirate’s scrumptious lips. When he got to the stairwell he grasped the railings and prepared to climb the steep steps.
“You will join me at dinner tonight, will you not?” Orlando called after him. “I will be dining in your captain’s quarters with my officers and his.”
“I do not believe I shall have the leisure,” said the doctor.
“Oh, but I insist,” insisted Orlando, moving closer and placing his own hand on the railing next to the doctor’s smaller, paler hand. “It would not be the same without Doctor - what shall I call you?”
The doctor moved his hand away from the pirate’s. “Call me doctor,” he said, and hurried up the stairwell, pursued by the sound of the pirate’s mocking laughter.
+
Everybody showed up at dinner miraculously clean and dressed in spotless and highly fashionable clothing. The (ex-)captain of the Montmorency - for that was the name of the captured schooner - maintained a glum silence. He and his officers, some with sticking plaster over small but manly head wounds, occupied the end of the table opposite Orlando, who took the head seat and insisted the doctor sit to his right. A rather undernourished-looking young lady with a wicked underbite and a silk gown commandeered the seat to his left and attempted to flirt with him, but Orlando had eyes only for the doctor.
“Any casualties?” Orlando asked gaily, slicing up the roast beef and placing the largest portion on the doctor’s plate.
“None, no thanks to you,” snapped the doctor.
“Don’t be angry at me. All’s well that ends well and all that,” said Orlando, not one whit discouraged. “Your captain keeps a fine larder. And this wine is quite delightful. Can I not interest you in a glass?”
The doctor glared at him with blue fire in his eyes. “What will you do with the passengers and crew?” he asked.
“Do?” Orlando paused in the motion of taking another sip of wine. The glass suspended in his hand, he looked around the cabin. “I am uncertain. What should I do? What do you recommend?”
“Put us ashore,” was the response. “As soon as may be.”
Orlando considered thoughtfully. He took a swallow of the wine. Then he looked at the doctor closely. “Very well, that’s quite reasonable, all I really want is the ship, the cargo…” a smile curling his lips “… and you.”
“Me?” the doctor sputtered, blanching at the tone in the pirate’s voice. “Whatever for?”
Orlando grinned. “Our last doctor died of dysentery in the Seychelles. We could use your skills.”
“And if I choose not to join you?” The doctor would not look at Orlando.
“I suggest you accede to my wishes,” Orlando said firmly, “or I will put them all to death, starting with this one here.” He grabbed the bony shoulder of the young lady.
“Doctor Wood, save me!” she cried, deciding that she didn’t want to flirt with the handsome pirate captain after all.
Orlando smiled broadly, looking from one to the other. The lady’s eyes leaked fear; the doctor’s, resignation.
“Do not worry, Miss Knightley, I will make a devil’s bargain with this hooligan. You shall be safe.”
“Ohthankgod,” Miss Knightley said in a whoosh of breath. She had been subjected over the past half-hour to the conversational ministrations of Orlando’s first mate, Dutch Ribaldry, and it hadn’t been at all pleasant.
The captain of the Montmorency finally cleared his throat and spoke. “It is not your duty, doctor. It is mine. I shall stay behind as captive so that all others may be released and put ashore.”
Everyone turned to the captain. His own officers fairly glowed with pride at their captain’s nobility of action.
Orlando’s officers snorted and quaffed more rum.
Orlando raised one dark eyebrow. “But I don’t want you,” he said to the captain. “I have no need of a captain. I have need of a doctor.”
“Zounds, man!” cried the first lieutenant of the Montmorency. “This is no mere captain, this is Lord Belvoir and he will fetch a fine ransom. You may then hire any doctor you like!”
The captain’s chest puffed up a bit at the mention of his title, but Orlando didn’t look impressed. “I don’t want just any doctor, my fine fellow,” he told the lieutenant. “I want this doctor.”
Doctor Wood turned pale, then pink. He had a good idea of what the pirate wanted him for, and it had nothing to do with sutures or chloroform or tonic concoctions.
“And now,” Orlando said, shoving his chair back and standing up and leaning upon the table with both fists, “I hope you will all excuse us. It is time for dessert and I do not wish to share it with any of you.”
Chairs scraped along the floorboards and napkins were discarded on the table.
“Dutch, would you see these gentlemen to the brig? The lady can stay under guard in her own quarters. Parson, take charge of the ship for the night.”
The two pirates, only a bit the worse for drink, nodded and herded the Montmorency’s crew and Miss Knightley from the cabin.
“Not you, doctor,” said Orlando, and Doctor Wood sat back down with a thump.
Orlando straightened and sashayed to the door of the cabin. He pulled it closed and shot the bolt, observing with pleasure that the sharp sound made the doctor flinch. Slowly he circled the table, stopping when he was behind the doctor’s chair. “Do you doubt my intentions?” he asked softly.
“I fear them, yes,” came the terse reply.
Orlando’s hands rested on the doctor’s shoulders. He began to knead them gently. “You are tense, you have had a difficult day,” he said in a low, soothing voice. “As have I. And I know an excellent way to relax.”
“Then I suggest you go do it.”
“This is my intention, my dear Doctor Wood. Let us repair to the inner cabin for dessert.”
“I am not hungry, thank you.”
Orlando stepped to the side and, grasping the chair, turned it halfway around. He gestured politely. “Indulge me, if you will.”
Slowly, with profound reluctance, the doctor pushed himself upright. Like a man going to his own hanging, he crossed the room and went through the dark maw of the doorway to what could only be the captain’s sleeping quarters. Behind him, Orlando pinched out the candles in the main cabin as he followed, bringing one remaining candle with him. Closing this door behind them as well, he moved to the desk and tilted the candle so that a few drops of hot wax fell onto a china dish. Setting the candle onto the dish and holding it until the wax drops cooled sufficiently to affix the candle in place, he turned to scrutinize his guest.
The doctor looked nonplussed. On the desk were two wine glasses, an unopened bottle of brady, two heavy silver forks, and two Limoges plates with slices of pie. “I thought you meant -“ he began.
Orlando used the tine of a fork to pry the seal from the bottle of brandy. “What did you think?” he asked, filling both glasses.
“Nothing.”
Orlando offered one glass to the doctor. He looked around the cabin. Dark as it was, there was the candlelight and also moonlight from an open casement. The sound of the ocean slapping against the barnacled sides of the ship was soothing. “I think I’ll take this ship for my own,” he said. “It’s a very fine ship. Parson has been itching for a command, and he will do well with the Pearl.”
Doctor Wood tasted the brandy - which, although excellent, seemed without flavor to him, so preoccupied was he.
Orlando pulled out one of the two small chairs that, along with the built-in bed, the small desk, and a tiny washstand, comprised the only furniture in the small cabin. “Doctor?”
The doctor sat.
Orlando took the other chair and pushed a pie slice closer.
The doctor stared at it as though it had been laced with rat poison.
But it hadn’t.
While he chewed slowly on the pie, he reflected on the attack and subsequent victory by the pirates. No one had been killed, and he had been permitted to treat all the wounded. No one was forced to walk the plank. The horrid rumors he had heard about pirates had not taken place. There hadn’t even been that much coarse language, he reflected with gratification.
“You are from the colonies,” Orlando mumbled around a mouthful of pie.
The doctor nodded.
“Heading for the Canaries?”
“I am to work with the missionaries. There is much to learn about diseases of the tropics.”
“You could learn about such diseases sailing around the Caribbean.”
“On a pirate ship?”
“Naturally. The crew has all sorts of interesting diseases and medical conditions. They’re a scurvy lot, all told.”
“I’ve no doubt.”
“But not bad men,” the pirate continued.
The doctor laughed shortly. “Not bad? You thieve and maraud and you aren’t bad?”
Orlando set down his glass and fork. He looked into the doctor’s eyes. “Have we harmed anyone?” he asked in deep earnest.
Doctor Wood blinked in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“We have killed no one,” Orlando continued. “We are not really evil. Once I myself was no more than an orphaned blacksmith.”
The doctor fought to retain his composure. He had certainly seen much bloodshed, had bandaged many wounds and had closed the eyes of more than one corpse. This, however, was entirely unexpected. It did not help at all that the pirate - nay, blacksmith - was looking at him with such warmth in his eyes. The cutlass-holster was gone, but there remained a thick leather belt fastened around slender hips and buckled in silver - all very distracting. And that was without even mentioning the curly locks of chestnut hair and the exposed expanse of smooth chest where vest and shirt had been left open.
“But you have stolen,” the doctor insisted rather petulantly, since nothing else came to mind.
Orlando shrugged minutely. “Only from wealthy merchants. Do you really think Lord Belvoir doesn’t have a load more where this ship came from? In any case, I need it to pursue my dream.”
“Dream?” Did pirates have dreams?
“Yes, my dream,” Orlando continued excitedly. “A fleet of ships that will sail around the Caribbean and take on paying passengers solely for pleasure. There will be fine dining, and nightly entertainment, and only the best accommodations. The ships would put in at various ports and the passengers could go into the towns and help support indigenous cultures.”
The doctor thought it sounded like a foolish idea, but he was rather entranced by this new Orlando.
“- and so you see we’ll be needing a doctor,” Orlando finished, looking up at him expectantly. “What do you say, Doctor Wood? The crew are good men, really, a little rough around the edges, I grant you. All orphans,” he added, as though that explained it.
“You may call me Elijah,” said the doctor, swallowing around a lump in his throat.
Orlando smiled and it was like the sun rising over a still sea. “Elijah,” he said softly, as though to try out the sound on his tongue.
“You have -“ Elijah gestured by touching his own forehead.
Orlando looked surprised.
“Here,” said Elijah, reaching out to touch the mark of dried blood on the pirate’s head. “I have cared for the wounds of everyone else,” he added hesitantly. When there was no response, but only a small smile on Orlando’s lips, Elijah rose stiffly, pushing his chair back awkwardly. He went to the washstand and poured some water from the ewer into the basin. A soft cloth hung from a rail; he took that and dipped it into the basin and wrung it out. Then he moved to stand beside Orlando.
He was comfortable with the motions of doctoring, so his hand was steady as he placed it on Orlando’s cheek and turned his face to take advantage of the low lighting. Gently he cleaned the caked blood from the gash. Orlando winced once, so Elijah took even more care. “It is not deep,” he said. “It should heal nicely.”
He turned to set aside the soiled cloth and felt hands on his waist. In a moment he was pulled onto Orlando’s lap and Orlando’s arms were looped around him.
“You cannot have mistaken my intentions when I spoke earlier,” Orlando was saying, but Elijah almost could not hear for he was so taken with the feeling of touching Orlando in so many places at once. It was discomfiting and unprofessional to say the very least.
On the other hand, it felt wonderful.
Now Orlando took Elijah’s chin in his hand and turned his face about. “I should like to kiss you,” said the pirate.
“I should like to be kissed,” the doctor said, greatly to his own consternation.
And now, dear reader, we shall draw the curtain and permit them their piracy privacy.
On to part 2!
Author: Montmorency
Fandom: None specifically - historical AU
Pairing: Orlando/Elijah
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Well, we all saw that picture of Orlando from POTC2. The boy looks unbelievable in period costume. So I figured it was time for a quick crack!fic. Which I started writing. And then it started to seem more serious… long story short, I realized that I had found my Orlijah historical AU that I was wanting to write. Because I love historical stuff, and I love Orli and Lijah, but just didn’t know when/where to put them. Hence this starts out more jokey than it ends up. Yes, it’s going to be an ongoing series, but first I have a couple of Christian knights who need rescuing from the Levantine desert. So for now this is all there is.
Warning: This could be FULL of historical errors. I don’t care; it’s crack!fic. I’ll care more when the real story starts. Furthermore, what I know about sailing ships could be scrimshawed onto a two-inch square piece of walrus tusk and there’d still be room for a detailed representation of the Battle of Trafalgar. Mostly I’m just channeling the Aubrey/Maturin books which spawned the beautiful Master and Commander film; I could not more highly recommend both the movie and the series of books, which are hilarious, exciting, beautifully written and even slashy. ;)
THE DOCTOR AND THE PIRATE
The dread pirate Orlando leapt up the steps three at a time and bounded atop the lido deck. The peg-legged mate slapped a spyglass into his open palm. Orlando un-telescoped the contraption and put it to his eye, scanning the vast horizon.
“Ahoy, there she is!” he cried. “A three-master!”
His valet appeared at his side, bearing a silver tray with a perfectly prepared mint julep.
“She’ll make a fine prize,” Orlando said with great glee, lifting the julep and downing it in two gulps. “Bosun, hard to port and unfurl all masts!”
The pirates cheered wildly and set to their tasks with a right good will, swarming up the rigging like goblins in Moria.
+
It took the better part of three days to catch the schooner, which cut sadly into the pirate crew’s karaoke nights, but at last the schooner was forced to turn her broadside and unveil her guns.
[Insert battle scene involving much derring-do, several grappling hooks, lots of smoke, a smattering of blood, and an eventual pirate victory]
+
The pirate captain clattered down the steps into the lower decks to find the makeshift sick bay. Several of his men were scattered around on the floor, clutching rags to their wounds and moaning like a load of schoolgirls on their first ferry crossing of the Channel.
“You there, Blind Snoggins!” Orlando barked at a man with an eye patch. “What are you caterwauling about? Break a fingernail?” Not waiting for an answer, he kicked another pirate out of his path and made his way to the improvised surgery table, where the doctor of the schooner worked, suturing a long gash on Parson’s forearm.
The young doctor was short enough to stand without stooping belowdecks, and pretty enough to make Orlando look twice and even longer, so he propped his back against a bulwark, folding his arms and crossing his ankles, and waited for the doctor to notice him.
It happened that he had to wait awhile. The doctor’s hands worked efficiently at the task, while Parson winced and slugged back more rum. At last the task was done and the doctor tied off the piece of gut. He took the bottle of rum from the surprised Parson’s hand and poured a copious amount over the wound. Parson bellowed like a bull, then hobbled off clutching his arm.
The doctor looked up for the first time. “Are you the leader of these vagabonds?” he asked brusquely, wiping his blood-covered hands on his fine linen trousers.
Orlando nodded, while a smile played across his striking features.
The doctor hesitated. The sight of all those large metal buckles and leather straps was very distracting. He recovered his composure and addressed the pirate captain with disdain. “Now that all your fellow ruffians are taken care of, rather better than they deserve, I might add, I should like to tend to the men of my own ship. If you don’t mind.”
Orlando unfolded himself and stepped aside, bowing low and sweeping one arm out to indicate the egress. The doctor edged past him warily, not failing to note the gently mocking smile on the pirate’s scrumptious lips. When he got to the stairwell he grasped the railings and prepared to climb the steep steps.
“You will join me at dinner tonight, will you not?” Orlando called after him. “I will be dining in your captain’s quarters with my officers and his.”
“I do not believe I shall have the leisure,” said the doctor.
“Oh, but I insist,” insisted Orlando, moving closer and placing his own hand on the railing next to the doctor’s smaller, paler hand. “It would not be the same without Doctor - what shall I call you?”
The doctor moved his hand away from the pirate’s. “Call me doctor,” he said, and hurried up the stairwell, pursued by the sound of the pirate’s mocking laughter.
+
Everybody showed up at dinner miraculously clean and dressed in spotless and highly fashionable clothing. The (ex-)captain of the Montmorency - for that was the name of the captured schooner - maintained a glum silence. He and his officers, some with sticking plaster over small but manly head wounds, occupied the end of the table opposite Orlando, who took the head seat and insisted the doctor sit to his right. A rather undernourished-looking young lady with a wicked underbite and a silk gown commandeered the seat to his left and attempted to flirt with him, but Orlando had eyes only for the doctor.
“Any casualties?” Orlando asked gaily, slicing up the roast beef and placing the largest portion on the doctor’s plate.
“None, no thanks to you,” snapped the doctor.
“Don’t be angry at me. All’s well that ends well and all that,” said Orlando, not one whit discouraged. “Your captain keeps a fine larder. And this wine is quite delightful. Can I not interest you in a glass?”
The doctor glared at him with blue fire in his eyes. “What will you do with the passengers and crew?” he asked.
“Do?” Orlando paused in the motion of taking another sip of wine. The glass suspended in his hand, he looked around the cabin. “I am uncertain. What should I do? What do you recommend?”
“Put us ashore,” was the response. “As soon as may be.”
Orlando considered thoughtfully. He took a swallow of the wine. Then he looked at the doctor closely. “Very well, that’s quite reasonable, all I really want is the ship, the cargo…” a smile curling his lips “… and you.”
“Me?” the doctor sputtered, blanching at the tone in the pirate’s voice. “Whatever for?”
Orlando grinned. “Our last doctor died of dysentery in the Seychelles. We could use your skills.”
“And if I choose not to join you?” The doctor would not look at Orlando.
“I suggest you accede to my wishes,” Orlando said firmly, “or I will put them all to death, starting with this one here.” He grabbed the bony shoulder of the young lady.
“Doctor Wood, save me!” she cried, deciding that she didn’t want to flirt with the handsome pirate captain after all.
Orlando smiled broadly, looking from one to the other. The lady’s eyes leaked fear; the doctor’s, resignation.
“Do not worry, Miss Knightley, I will make a devil’s bargain with this hooligan. You shall be safe.”
“Ohthankgod,” Miss Knightley said in a whoosh of breath. She had been subjected over the past half-hour to the conversational ministrations of Orlando’s first mate, Dutch Ribaldry, and it hadn’t been at all pleasant.
The captain of the Montmorency finally cleared his throat and spoke. “It is not your duty, doctor. It is mine. I shall stay behind as captive so that all others may be released and put ashore.”
Everyone turned to the captain. His own officers fairly glowed with pride at their captain’s nobility of action.
Orlando’s officers snorted and quaffed more rum.
Orlando raised one dark eyebrow. “But I don’t want you,” he said to the captain. “I have no need of a captain. I have need of a doctor.”
“Zounds, man!” cried the first lieutenant of the Montmorency. “This is no mere captain, this is Lord Belvoir and he will fetch a fine ransom. You may then hire any doctor you like!”
The captain’s chest puffed up a bit at the mention of his title, but Orlando didn’t look impressed. “I don’t want just any doctor, my fine fellow,” he told the lieutenant. “I want this doctor.”
Doctor Wood turned pale, then pink. He had a good idea of what the pirate wanted him for, and it had nothing to do with sutures or chloroform or tonic concoctions.
“And now,” Orlando said, shoving his chair back and standing up and leaning upon the table with both fists, “I hope you will all excuse us. It is time for dessert and I do not wish to share it with any of you.”
Chairs scraped along the floorboards and napkins were discarded on the table.
“Dutch, would you see these gentlemen to the brig? The lady can stay under guard in her own quarters. Parson, take charge of the ship for the night.”
The two pirates, only a bit the worse for drink, nodded and herded the Montmorency’s crew and Miss Knightley from the cabin.
“Not you, doctor,” said Orlando, and Doctor Wood sat back down with a thump.
Orlando straightened and sashayed to the door of the cabin. He pulled it closed and shot the bolt, observing with pleasure that the sharp sound made the doctor flinch. Slowly he circled the table, stopping when he was behind the doctor’s chair. “Do you doubt my intentions?” he asked softly.
“I fear them, yes,” came the terse reply.
Orlando’s hands rested on the doctor’s shoulders. He began to knead them gently. “You are tense, you have had a difficult day,” he said in a low, soothing voice. “As have I. And I know an excellent way to relax.”
“Then I suggest you go do it.”
“This is my intention, my dear Doctor Wood. Let us repair to the inner cabin for dessert.”
“I am not hungry, thank you.”
Orlando stepped to the side and, grasping the chair, turned it halfway around. He gestured politely. “Indulge me, if you will.”
Slowly, with profound reluctance, the doctor pushed himself upright. Like a man going to his own hanging, he crossed the room and went through the dark maw of the doorway to what could only be the captain’s sleeping quarters. Behind him, Orlando pinched out the candles in the main cabin as he followed, bringing one remaining candle with him. Closing this door behind them as well, he moved to the desk and tilted the candle so that a few drops of hot wax fell onto a china dish. Setting the candle onto the dish and holding it until the wax drops cooled sufficiently to affix the candle in place, he turned to scrutinize his guest.
The doctor looked nonplussed. On the desk were two wine glasses, an unopened bottle of brady, two heavy silver forks, and two Limoges plates with slices of pie. “I thought you meant -“ he began.
Orlando used the tine of a fork to pry the seal from the bottle of brandy. “What did you think?” he asked, filling both glasses.
“Nothing.”
Orlando offered one glass to the doctor. He looked around the cabin. Dark as it was, there was the candlelight and also moonlight from an open casement. The sound of the ocean slapping against the barnacled sides of the ship was soothing. “I think I’ll take this ship for my own,” he said. “It’s a very fine ship. Parson has been itching for a command, and he will do well with the Pearl.”
Doctor Wood tasted the brandy - which, although excellent, seemed without flavor to him, so preoccupied was he.
Orlando pulled out one of the two small chairs that, along with the built-in bed, the small desk, and a tiny washstand, comprised the only furniture in the small cabin. “Doctor?”
The doctor sat.
Orlando took the other chair and pushed a pie slice closer.
The doctor stared at it as though it had been laced with rat poison.
But it hadn’t.
While he chewed slowly on the pie, he reflected on the attack and subsequent victory by the pirates. No one had been killed, and he had been permitted to treat all the wounded. No one was forced to walk the plank. The horrid rumors he had heard about pirates had not taken place. There hadn’t even been that much coarse language, he reflected with gratification.
“You are from the colonies,” Orlando mumbled around a mouthful of pie.
The doctor nodded.
“Heading for the Canaries?”
“I am to work with the missionaries. There is much to learn about diseases of the tropics.”
“You could learn about such diseases sailing around the Caribbean.”
“On a pirate ship?”
“Naturally. The crew has all sorts of interesting diseases and medical conditions. They’re a scurvy lot, all told.”
“I’ve no doubt.”
“But not bad men,” the pirate continued.
The doctor laughed shortly. “Not bad? You thieve and maraud and you aren’t bad?”
Orlando set down his glass and fork. He looked into the doctor’s eyes. “Have we harmed anyone?” he asked in deep earnest.
Doctor Wood blinked in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“We have killed no one,” Orlando continued. “We are not really evil. Once I myself was no more than an orphaned blacksmith.”
The doctor fought to retain his composure. He had certainly seen much bloodshed, had bandaged many wounds and had closed the eyes of more than one corpse. This, however, was entirely unexpected. It did not help at all that the pirate - nay, blacksmith - was looking at him with such warmth in his eyes. The cutlass-holster was gone, but there remained a thick leather belt fastened around slender hips and buckled in silver - all very distracting. And that was without even mentioning the curly locks of chestnut hair and the exposed expanse of smooth chest where vest and shirt had been left open.
“But you have stolen,” the doctor insisted rather petulantly, since nothing else came to mind.
Orlando shrugged minutely. “Only from wealthy merchants. Do you really think Lord Belvoir doesn’t have a load more where this ship came from? In any case, I need it to pursue my dream.”
“Dream?” Did pirates have dreams?
“Yes, my dream,” Orlando continued excitedly. “A fleet of ships that will sail around the Caribbean and take on paying passengers solely for pleasure. There will be fine dining, and nightly entertainment, and only the best accommodations. The ships would put in at various ports and the passengers could go into the towns and help support indigenous cultures.”
The doctor thought it sounded like a foolish idea, but he was rather entranced by this new Orlando.
“- and so you see we’ll be needing a doctor,” Orlando finished, looking up at him expectantly. “What do you say, Doctor Wood? The crew are good men, really, a little rough around the edges, I grant you. All orphans,” he added, as though that explained it.
“You may call me Elijah,” said the doctor, swallowing around a lump in his throat.
Orlando smiled and it was like the sun rising over a still sea. “Elijah,” he said softly, as though to try out the sound on his tongue.
“You have -“ Elijah gestured by touching his own forehead.
Orlando looked surprised.
“Here,” said Elijah, reaching out to touch the mark of dried blood on the pirate’s head. “I have cared for the wounds of everyone else,” he added hesitantly. When there was no response, but only a small smile on Orlando’s lips, Elijah rose stiffly, pushing his chair back awkwardly. He went to the washstand and poured some water from the ewer into the basin. A soft cloth hung from a rail; he took that and dipped it into the basin and wrung it out. Then he moved to stand beside Orlando.
He was comfortable with the motions of doctoring, so his hand was steady as he placed it on Orlando’s cheek and turned his face to take advantage of the low lighting. Gently he cleaned the caked blood from the gash. Orlando winced once, so Elijah took even more care. “It is not deep,” he said. “It should heal nicely.”
He turned to set aside the soiled cloth and felt hands on his waist. In a moment he was pulled onto Orlando’s lap and Orlando’s arms were looped around him.
“You cannot have mistaken my intentions when I spoke earlier,” Orlando was saying, but Elijah almost could not hear for he was so taken with the feeling of touching Orlando in so many places at once. It was discomfiting and unprofessional to say the very least.
On the other hand, it felt wonderful.
Now Orlando took Elijah’s chin in his hand and turned his face about. “I should like to kiss you,” said the pirate.
“I should like to be kissed,” the doctor said, greatly to his own consternation.
And now, dear reader, we shall draw the curtain and permit them their piracy privacy.
On to part 2!