Fic: 'Harry & the Pirate VI: Blood and Treasure (Jack/Harry, etc. - 16/20)
Chapter Sixteen: Confrontation
Anne struggled up from the depths of her drugged sleep, grimacing at the taste still lingering in her mouth.
Laudanum.
How she had forgotten the flavor of it she couldn’t imagine, it was so horridly distinctive. But she had rarely been dosed with it, and she never would have imagined that Tom would serve her such a trick, slipping it into that punch he’d made for her.
Punch, and dinner by candlelight in that private chamber at the Golden Lion. What did it matter that she had thought it a dear gesture, a farewell of sorts? That she had acquiesced to such a clandestine and extremely improper scheme told her precisely what sort of woman she was. It was no more than her just desserts that she had been kidnapped by an unscrupulous pirate.
He deserved to be flogged. And probably would be, once her father caught up with them. Flogged, or worse.
Oh, Tom!
Her fingers curled, then clenched on velvet, and she set her teeth and opened her eyes. There was a small, elegant hanging lamp lighting the cabin, swinging with the motion of this vessel - not the Pearl -- and for a moment the shadows swayed sickeningly.
She squeezed her eyes closed again and fought her nausea, and to her relief she gradually won, though the motion and the sound of the sea still filled her senses. But she had always been a good sailor; it was only the drug that had made her feel queasy.
She remembered all too well, saw Tom’s face in her mind’s eye, the way his odious satisfaction had turned to dismay when he realized that she had been more strongly affected than he’d apparently planned.
“Tom, what have you done?” she’d asked him, just before her knees gave way.
He’d caught her, though, and had half carried her to lie upon the settee by the fireplace.
“Annie, listen, it’ll be all right. I had to do it, don’t you see? I can’t let you marry Hartfield.”
“Tom, no… not this way…” But he hadn’t stayed to listen, and she’d drifted off, waking only once more, when he’d laid her down in the carriage. She hadn’t been able to speak then, but he’d kissed her forehead and whispered, “It’ll be all right. You’ll see, love.”
Oh, Tom.
But as minutes passed and the effects of the drug faded, her distress began to turn to anger. What did he think he was doing? They weren’t children any longer. The repercussions of such a scandal would hurt everyone involved, everyone she loved. Including him!
The sound of footsteps brought her suddenly alert, and she opened her eyes again, just in time to see the cabin door open and a face peek in - not Tom’s! She gasped, but before she could react further the startled face disappeared and the door was jerked firmly shut.
“Captain! Captain! ” yelled the retreating lad, whom she’d recognized as one of the Black Pearl’s younger crewmembers.
She struggled up and off the bed, her head still swimmy, and looking about she realized what ship this must be: the Christiana! She had only half believed the descriptions of the interior, but now she saw that words barely did it justice. Everything of the finest, materials, craftsmanship, and appointments, the prettiest cabin she’d ever seen. And the bed: carved, gilded, and painted with an absolute orgy of mythological figures, from small winged cupids, satyrs and nymphs, to a beautifully rendered and very suggestive depiction of Venus taming her Mars on the headboard, and the bedding itself all sky blue velvet and white satin.
Just the thing for ravishing a maid!
She could imagine Tom’s rakish smile, hear his voice. Hot color stained her cheeks, cleared her head. Anger at his stupidity and presumption swept through her like a tide, and her eyes narrowed when she heard his familiar booted steps approaching from without. Swiftly she grabbed up the first things that came to hand - a silver flask from the nightstand, and a hairbrush off the vanity - and when he opened the door, she set her teeth and threw them, one after the other, as hard as she could.
He flinched, eyes widening, as the flask crashed against the bulkhead beside him, and then the handle of the hairbrush just grazed his forehead. “Ow! ”
“You bloody fool! ” Anne roared, above all furious that he had made her hurt him. As he slammed the door she grabbed up a pillow, the only other loose item she could get to in time. But he was fast, and he was on her, violently seizing the pillow as she tried to hit him with it, tossing it aside, and then grunting as her closed fist caught the side of his face. Unfortunately, the sound and feel of hitting him so horrified her that she hesitated for a fatal half second, and then he had her, gripping her wrists with terrible speed, and she gave a frightened yelp as she was thrown backwards onto that cloud of a bed, Tom landing atop her, pinning her with the length of his body, his eyes blazing.
It was then that she noticed he was soaked through. “You’re all wet!” she squealed, anger reasserting itself, and she struggled madly, trying to bring her knee up hard between his legs.
But he countered the move and leaned in, his hands squeezing her wrists. “Oh, no you bloody will not! And who taught the prim and proper Miss Norrington that I wonder?”
“Julietta told me, and how dare you call me that, you odious beast! Let me go this instant!”
“Not ‘til you settle and see reason.”
“Reason? When you’ve ruined me? And ruined yourself into the bargain?”
“Have not. Just saving you from yourself, is all. Hartfield. How on earth you even thought of marrying such a…”
“Gentleman?” she supplied, acidly.
His lip curled. “Gentleman? What about Vauxhall?”
Vauxhall. The scene came rushing back: Hartfield’s insistent advances; that horrid kiss; her panicked response. Then Tom tearing the earl away from her, the wide eyes of the two girls Tom had been with taking in the whole.
Anne stared at Tom. Her friend. And yes, her love. She swallowed hard, trying not to cry, and said in a tight little voice, “Please let me up.”
“Only if you promise not to hit me again.” But as he eased his position, he let go of her wrists.
She reached up. He shied slightly, but then stilled and allowed her to gently touch the side of his face where it was a mottled red, and would soon be bruised. “I’m sorry I hit you.”
“Annie,” he said, unsteadily. “I love you.”
She gaped. “You… but why didn’t you tell me?”
“I would have-“
“And what about all those other girls?”
“At Vauxhall? Anne, they were nothing! ”
“They were not nothing!” Anne’s voice shook. “They were not, and I… that’s why I went with Hartfield to the Druid’s Walk.”
“You were jealous?”
She felt herself flushing again. “How was I to know? You never… why did you never write to me?”
“Because I’m a fool.”
And she laughed, but then sobered and said, “Tom, I thought you had forgotten me.”
“Never,” he said, and brushed some strands of her hair from her cheek, and kissed her there.
She closed her eyes, but only briefly. Her eyes were wide open when she turned her head on the pillow and took hold of him. Her breath hitched at the first touch of his lips on hers, and then she was lost, quite lost. Her arms slipped about him, damp, solid, beloved. How this kiss - his kiss - could be so different… but it was, it was… Tom… her friend, her love… his strength and passion veiled by a tenderness that told her the truth of the matter more clearly than any words.
He had to end it finally, rolling them onto their sides. “Lord!” he said, chuckling, breathless, a pulse in his neck visible.
She was very pleased that he was so affected, but she did not smile as she reached up to caress his bruised cheek again. “Tom, what are we going to do?”
“Marry. Just as I told you all those years ago. We’ll marry, and Hartfield may go to the devil. You love me, too, don’t you?”
She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “I’ve always loved you!”
He had to kiss her once more for that, but when she could finally speak again she repeated the question. “Tom, what are we going to do? ”
But even as he grinned and said eagerly, “I have it all arranged-“, a cry, faint but clear, rang out-Sail Ho! -and there were the sounds of running feet on deck, and then the sound of cannon fire, a single shot.
With an oath, Tom swung around and was off the bed, striding to the door, opening it just enough to converse with the crewmember that brought the message, though Anne could hear the words plain enough.
“It’s the Pearl, Tom. She came out of that fog before we even knew what was happening and fired across our bow.”
“God’s teeth. How did my… well, no matter, now. The game’s up. Bring her around and luff the sails, Reed. We’ll be on deck in a trice.”
Continued in Chapter Seventeen: Deus ex Machina