He had dreamed of Britain’s past, when men were warriors and Vikings ruled the shores, fancying himself at the helm of a longboat, ferociously tattooed like an ancient Scottish warrior. At eighteen he was a pirate, and at twenty-two he captained his own ship, the Flying Poppy. By a few years later, just a glimpse of a black flag emblazoned with a blood-red flower would make a hardened seaman quiver with fear. No one knew that Griffin’s ship was named for his wife, whose name was Poppy. He had even tattooed a small blue poppy high on one cheekbone in her honor, although he had known her for only one day—and never consummated the marriage. Yet he always felt a certain satisfaction in that small sign of respect. Over the years, Griffin had forged his own code of honor. He never shot a man in the back, never walked anyone down the plank, and never offered violence to a woman. What’s more, he sacked any of his crew who thought that the Flying Poppy’s fearsome reputation gave them the liberty to indulge their worst inclinations.
What do You think about With This Kiss: Part Three?
