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The REAL ending, for SSR The storm passed as quickly as it had begun. The small sloop had survived the gale, although her sails hung in tatters and the rigging was tangled. The fair-haired gentleman made his way to the quarterdeck. "Can you right her?" he asked the captain anxiously. The captain glanced up at the two masts with a practiced eye. "Aye, we have plenty of extra canvas belowdecks. She'll be shipshape and Bristol fashion by the dogwatches." The gentleman licked his lips. "And then we shall continue our trip as planned." "That we will, Sir William. That we will." The captain walked away, and Sir William's eyes followed the retreating figure hungrily. The captain's prediction proved true, as the small but well-disciplined crew had the rigging sorted out and the new canvas spread before the sun dipped below the western horizon. A fair wind had sprung up, and the captain gave orders to the helm that would lead them into and across the Atlantic toward the West Indies, where they would find a home amongst the numerous deserted tropical islands, all white sands and warm turquoise seas. The young man at the helm grinned and adjusted the course, his long, fair hair blowing back from his face. The captain joined the fair-haired gentleman forward, where he stood by the rail watching the sea fly past in the twilight. He had exchanged his restrained town-clothes for the bare feet and looser raiment of the sailor, and he looked as young and trim as he had before his marriage. He reached for the captain's queue and playfully pulled the ribbon, then ran his hands through the plait, loosening it. The wind blew against the captain's figure, outlining it and displaying to the world the captain's true gender. She shook out her shaggy blonde mane of hair and wrapped her arms around the gentleman's waist. "Just as we planned, darling Will," she said huskily as her two hounds, Alexander and Archie, frolicked on the well-scrubbed deck. "Just as we planned, my darling Captain," he murmured in his deep, resonant voice. "I could not have done it without you. So coldbloodedly pushing poor Penelope overboard! Not that I haven't wished to do something similar these past five and twenty years, but I needed your daring to accomplish the task. And it was a stroke of genius to send one of your men back in a rowboat to tell everyone that the ship capsized and all were lost. They can keep Kellynch, that pile of brick. It's been nothing but a drain on my resources. I have enough money in a secret account in Antigua to keep us forever, to speak nothing of the proceeds of the prizes you take." "And now you are free," she said, slipping her hand up to stroke the nape of his neck, where his fair hair curled damply in the warm salt air. "And poor Penelope is in a better place. Down in Davy Jones's locker feeding the sharks." They laughed together as a tall, curly-haired sailor approached and knuckled his forehead. "Cap'n, the truite muniere and brandied peaches you ordered for dinner are ready." "Thank you, Oldroyd," said the Captain. "We will be along shortly." The sailor grinned; he knew his captain wanted to be alone with her passenger, and he withdrew as any well-trained servant would. The captain and the passenger gazed into one another's eyes, and then their lips locked in a passionate kiss, as the Sea Spot Run sailed on into the sunset. |