"Well, I've never really wanted for much..." Rose mused out loud, realizing it was quite true. She was still alive, when they could have struck her down, perhaps this ruffian realized that it was worth it to keep her unmolested and in one piece. Surely they would just ransom her for a tidy sum and she would be returning to her future husband. They would have to see the reason in that, right?

She wanted to protest the commandeering of her ladies maid to help out the man who had near broken her wrist, but she thought better of it. She looked tot he tender flesh, it was red and she was sure would bruise, which would not do to meet with her husband to be. Perhaps she could cover it with some of the beautiful bangles she had been gifted. That is if she still had any jewelry left after these men were done. Thankfully they hadn't found the small chest, which was tucked away in a drawer under the bed. Fancy mew at her and pawed at her skirts, she picked up the small frightened animal.

She watched Ariel ushered away and frowned, a lady should not be left alone with these men, it wasn't proper. She wanted to demand they leave, but they didn't look like they'd obey her command. A strongly worded letter would be in order, the King would take care of them. Her stomach growled, reminding her that the dinner meal had come and gone. "I don't suppose some food would be an absurd request?" Her attempt at a coy smile failed, she wasn't practiced in the art like many of the other ladies at court. As a princess she didn't have many opportunities to seduce men.

===

Gerard grinned, well he couldn't have the princess, but the feisty one might just do. He held the lacy fabric to his chest, stopping the blood for the moment. As the woman gathered supplies he tore off his blood stained shirt, the gash was large but not too deep, the edges clean. Blood still seemed to gush from it, he felt the effects but didn't let it show. It wouldn't do to look weak, either in front of the woman or the other men. Perhaps it would be needing stitches, a slightly painful prospect, but he didn't care overly much. A number of scars already littered his chest, arms and back, proof of his many battles. He wasn't all that old, but he had been fighting since he was about ten years old.

He founded a stool and plopped down on it. "Fetch me some ale before you begin, and not the cheap shit." Nothing like a drink to numb him up. He watched as the rest of the men dug through crates, coming and going as they took stuff up to the main deck, ready to be transferred to their ship. This ship was far nicer than they one he called home, far larger as well, sadly they didn't have the crew to man it properly. A shame to burn it, really, but who was he to argue? It's what they did.