He had met her when she had tried to steal from him. He’d been staying in the little port town for a few days between voyages and decided to take a little walk in the woods when suddenly, he was on his knees, a dagger at his throat. She had severely underestimated him and before she could make her demands, he’d had her on the ground, her own dagger pressed against her neck.
He couldn’t see her face, she wore some sort of mask but her eyes were a piercing green (he’d dreamt about them for months after), darting between his, determined and sharp. He’d pulled down the fabric covering half her face with the dagger and then pushed it closer to her neck, forcing her chin up.
"You’re not a very good bandit are you? Attacking an armed man in broad daylight."
She had frowned and had been about to answer when he had heard the clopping of horses behind him. He still isn’t sure what had possessed him to grab her and pull her behind some trees as the carriage passed them. He had then proposed they rob it together and though a little incredulous, she had agreed.
That was the beginning. It had taken a year, many successful heists, a lot of chasing and following her about on his part and her almost dying to get where they were now. Now, he sees her whenever he comes to port and sometimes, when they cannot bear being apart, she sails with him.
He is ridiculously in love with her and late at night when the mask and the leather are gone and it is him and it is her, he is infinitely grateful that she had picked him to steal from that day.