Harry & the Pirate
Chapter 25: Enemy
Jack and Harry both slept, surprisingly deeply, until the thin, cool light of dawn began to filter down through the high barred windows of the storeroom. Harry woke first, from a lovely dream, a sigh and a smile on her lips, and her eyes drifted half open. She found that she was lying in Jack’s arms, very close against him, her head on his shoulder, his coat around them both. This seemed to be in keeping with her dream, somehow, and she lay still, studying the dear face for a time in the dim morning light, until his eyes opened too, and looked into hers for a long moment. She reached up, then, feeling she must touch that face, lay her palm against the brown cheek. But in that moment sounds came to then that brought back the exigencies of their situation: crude talk, laughter, and footsteps growing closer. Bliss vanished, and, all unprepared, sudden terror gripped her. “Jack!” she gasped, panicking, clutching at his shirt.
Jack wondered if their friends had indeed deserted them, for it was now many hours since they’d been thrown into this prison, but he thrust the thought aside and mastered his own startled fear quickly. “Courage, now, Harry!” he said roughly, giving her a little shake. She nodded, biting her lip, her eyes huge. “You let me do the talking!” he told her, his face hard. “Not a word, no matter what happens! Savvy?”
"Yes," she said, but was obviously distracted, for the sounds were very close now and someone was fooling with the trapdoor.
“Promise me!” he said in a fierce whisper, shaking her again.
She looked into his eyes as she briefly considered this, then said unhappily, “I can’t!”
The bolt was thrown on the trapdoor. “God’s life! Just don’t do anything stupid!” he groaned. Then they were scrambling to their feet. The trapdoor creaked open on its hinges. Harry, standing a little behind Jack, reached up and quickly pulled out a few stray pieces of straw that had got stuck in his hair and brushed more bits from his coat, then stood peeking around his shoulder, her heart in her mouth.
It was Cray himself that looked down at them through the trapdoor, a pistol in either hand. He descended the stone stairs with studied nonchalance, followed by Marks, who bore rope and Stone who was armed with a cutlass.
“Well, my birds! Have you had a pleasant rest?” said Cray, cheerfully, aiming one pistol at Jack’s head.
“Aye, we did,” Jack drawled, “although I must say, the accommodations do seem to be somewhat lacking.”
Cray smiled broadly. “Ah, Sparrow. You and your ready tongue! I’d forgotten about that. Last evening you seemed nearly to have lost your sense of humor. A night alone with your pretty lad seems to have restored it! Perhaps I’ll try him out myself a little later. You won’t mind, will you? Stone, take the boy aside there.”
Stone carefully eased around Jack, staying out of the line of fire, and reached for Harry, who started to back away, but then halted at the sound of the pistol being cocked, She looked over at Cray.
“That’s right, boy. A little cooperation if you please, or your Captain will find a rather nasty hole in him. Take him, Stone.”
Harry set her teeth as the villain reached for her again, shuddering as he took her arm in a meaty hand, She found herself pulled away from Jack, and held about five feet from him. Stone laid the edge of the cutlass against her throat, the metal cold against her skin.
“Now, Sparrow: if you’d be so good as to remove your clothing. Not the boots and breeches. Yet. But all the rest, if you please.” When the pirate hesitated, Cray added silkily, “Unless, of course, you’d prefer I start with the boy.”
Harry kept her face carefully expressionless as she watched Jack take off his coat, waistcoat, and shirt, dropping each to the floor, her eyes silently taking in her first sight of him unclothed. He was very beautifully made, slim but hard with muscle, his skin bronzed from the sun, although she suspected he’d be as fair as she was herself under different circumstances. But there were other things that drew the eye: tattoos of a varied and exotic nature that decorated his upper body and arms. And the scars. Scars that spoke of truly dreadful encounters; of hands that had caused him excruciating pain with brand, or whip, or blade; of other hands that had both hurt and helped him, removing a bullet, stitching closed a saber cut. She was horrified and fascinated all at once.
As was, revoltingly, Cray.
The man stepped up to Jack and, pushing the end of the pistol beneath the chin with its little beaded braids, tipped the pirate’s face up slightly. For a long moment the two men studied each other, Jack’s dark eyes ice cold, Cray’s sickeningly warm as he smiled down at his intended prey.
“Why you’re a pretty lad, too, aren’t you, Sparrow?” said Cray, his voice like velvet. He watched Jack’s lip quiver ever so slightly in disgust and smiled. “I think we may have to consider trying you out as well. Later.”
Cray stepped back then, but kept the pistol trained on Jack. “Wrists, Sparrow! Marks: tie him.”
Marks came over with the rope, and, there being nothing for it, Jack held up his hands, wrists together, to be tightly tied in front of him, his face set like stone.
“Good,” said Cray, when Marks stepped back. “Bring them along.”
Cray led the way up the stairs. Marks took Jack’s arm in one ham-like hand and pulled him along after his leader, moving quickly. Stone turned Harry around by her arm and she found herself tossed over his shoulder, rather as he would have done with a sack of grain. He trotted up the stairs in the wake of his cohorts, and she bounced uncomfortably against his hard shoulder.
As Jack had feared, their destination was the smithy where he and Will had found Judah. The wooden frame was waiting, and there were irons in the fire.
“Bring our bird over here and hang him up, Marks,” Cray said, blithely, gesturing with the pistol.
Jack managed to catch Harry’s eye for the briefest second as Stone set her back on her feet, trying to will her to silence, and suddenly regretting that he had not told her outright that rescue might be imminent. Although, it was getting to be late days for it now, he thought grimly.
As the thug Marks pulled him roughly toward the wooden frame, Jack decided to make an attempt to at least delay the apparently inevitable.
“Cray, wait!” said Jack. “Perhaps we can come to an accord here. I’ve a good deal to bargain with, y’know.”
“Do you?” Cray sounded amused. “What, then?”
Marks stopped, and Jack went on in his most persuasive tones. “I have the bearings to the greatest treasure in the Caribbean: Isla de Muerta. Barbossa an’ his crew stored ten years o’ swag there, not to mention all that was there before they came. Of course there’s the little matter of the curse on that chest of Aztec gold, but really, there’s plenty to be had without touchin’ that bit, unless you’ve a fancy to try immortality. It’s an interesting feelin’, I’ll grant you. A bit odd, seein’ yer bones and all, but one could grow accustomed-like, eh? What do you think? You let me an’ the boy go, an’ I’ll take you to the richest treasure you’ve ever seen, bar none.”
Cray looked at Jack, and chuckled softly. “Jack, old son! You do spin an excellent yarn. Indeed, I may even let you show me this Isla de Muerta, presently. Presently. But not just now. No. Not just now. Hang him up, Marks.
Jack made a sudden move to get away from the huge man, but was given a cuff on the side of his head that brought little spots to his eyes for the effort. Then his wrists were pulled up in Marks’ hands and the man lifted him by them and hung him by the rope bindings on the big iron hook in the center of the crossbeam of the frame, his booted feet barely able to touch the stone floor.
“Thank you, Marks,” said Cray, smoothly. “Go outside and guard the door, now, there's a good lad.” He watched Marks trot off and slip out the door, shutting it behind him. He turned to look at Harry, standing in front of Stone, the beefy hand on her arm and the cutlass ready. He smiled. “And so it begins, little one.”
Cray walked calmly over to the forge and picked up one of the metal rods that were stuck into the glowing heart of the fire. He held it up. The end of it glowed red, smoking slightly. Cray smiled, and, turning, walked slowly toward Jack.
Jack went quite pale under his tan.
Harry, however, had a much more extreme reaction. The control that she had been exerting over her emotions at Jack’s behest, snapped utterly.
“No!” she screamed, and, terror lending her strength, turned like lightning and slammed her fist in Stone's eye. Fortunately, in his absorption with Cray's activities, the thug had foolishly loosened his hold on her, and allowed his cutlass to sag, so this sudden attack was a resounding success. Stone gave a yell of pain, releasing both Harry's arm and the cutlass, and he fell back a step, nursing his eye. Harry grabbed up his discarded weapon and bolted across the room toward Cray, shrieking, “I am the Dowager Duchess of Wyndham and by God if you touch him I shall see you flayed alive!”
“Harry!” gasped Jack in horror, then shouted, “Harry, no!” and struggled uselessly against the ropes that bound him.
But she was beyond hearing him.
The little fury raised the cutlass to attack Cray, who’d turned toward her, his countenance brightening with surprise and delight at her words. He threw up the heated brand and parried her first blow (which would, indeed, have been deadly) with ease, sparks flying. She countered swiftly, striking at him again and again, but Cray had no trouble fending her off, a smile hovering on his lips at this unexpected treat. He jumped away from her suddenly, tossing aside the brand and grabbing up a shortsword that lay close at hand, then turning back just in time to meet her blow, the weapons clashing loudly. She was lacking somewhat in skill, but was most enthusiastic, and Cray played with her, his eyes alight with appreciation-how on earth had he not perceived she was a girl? What a very interesting encounter this was going to be…
And then, several things happened very quickly.
The door to the smithy burst open and a great number of people began to pour in. Cray, distracted by this, dropped his guard enough that the little Dowager Duchess actually touched him with her weapon, slicing viciously through his shirt and into his upper arm. He gave a shout of pain, and, losing his temper as well as realizing he must make an end, he skillfully reversed the shortsword and swung it at the lady, managing a glancing blow to her forehead. She staggered and dropped, the cutlass clattering against the stone floor, and Jack Sparrow gave a howl of anguish.
But as Jack’s cry faded to an echo in the vast stone room, Will was there, cutting through the ropes that bound the pirate’s wrists. Jack’s eyes met his friend’s for a split second, and then Will thrust his sword into Jack’s hand.
“Kill him,” Will said, his own eyes as hard as Jack had ever seen them.
Jack said nothing, only nodded briefly, his hand gripping the hilt of the sword. Will stepped back as Jack swung to face Cray, and Cray snarled, seeing his death written in the pirate’s face.
Will grabbed up another sword, in case Jack should need assistance in eliminating the villain, but in the event he had only to watch in admiration. The Jack Sparrow that fought with cunning and skill to avoid killing or even seriously wounding an opponent was an entirely different man than the one before him now.
Jack let all emotion drain away, except for the cold determination to cause as much pain and injury as possible before destroying his enemy. He dealt Cray cut after cut, slipping under the man’s guard time and again, to Cray’s apparent astonishment and obvious terror. And the man’s fear merely spurred Jack to greater effort. He played with Cray, uncharacteristically callous, until finally, Cray screamed for him to end it, slipping in the blood that ran from a dozen wounds, and dropping his guard as he did so. Jack’s sword bit deep into Cray’s neck, without hesitation.
Cray fell to the floor. Jack swiftly moved over him and, before the man’s eyes glazed over, he plunged his sword into his chest. There was a convulsive shudder, and then Cray was still.
“He’s dead,” Will said, stating the obvious with great satisfaction, and stepping up to put a hand on Jack’s heaving shoulder.
Jack, breathless, stared down at the body, palpably disappointed. Then, awareness returning, he looked up to locate Harry, his heart freezing in suddenly renewed fear.
But she was standing, twenty feet away, by her niece. She was pale but smiling at him, the bloody wound at her hairline not withstanding.
His expression of relief gave way to mounting anger as he strode over to her, and he was pleased to see her smile falter and her eyes widen.
“What in bloody hell were you about, doing that?” He grabbed her shoulders hard, hurting her, and shook her. “I thought you were killed! Can you never do as I tell you?”
As his voice rose, she reddened, fury taking her, too. She tried to push away, not succeeding, then beat her fists against his bare chest, and shouted: “Oh! And I suppose you expected me to just stand there and watch them torture you! Not bloody likely!”
There was a sudden silence between them, and then, as if compelled, Jack pulled her against him in a fierce embrace, closing his eyes. After a moment, noticing her muffled squirming, he loosened his grip slightly. She shoved her arms up around his neck, and pulled him down to kiss her. He obliged most willingly.
It was some time before the murmured comments and embarrassed shuffling of the rest of the company penetrated their notice. Jack stopped kissing her, but slid his cheek across hers, wet with tears, and whispered gruffly in her ear, “Abominable wretch.”
“Stupid man,” she replied, her voice a slightly shaky caress. She drew away a little, and looked at him, and smiled mistily.
He kissed her again, soundly but briefly, and then let her go. They fell apart, facing the company.
Harry sniffed, rubbed her wet cheek with a dirty hand, leaving behind a large smudge, and smiled at everyone. “I was never so happy to see anyone in my life!” she said.
“Aye, and none too soon,” added Jack. “Cuttin’ it a bit close, there, weren’t you?” he said to Will, gripping his hand.
“Sorry. Took us a while to arrange the slave uprising!” Will said, smiling back at him.
“Yes!” Elizabeth agreed. “Aunt, you won’t need to bring the Navy into it at all: the island is secured!”
“Secured? All Cray’s ruffians are dead?”
“Or captured,” said Gibbs. “We can make a tidy sum on those if we sell ‘em for indentured slaves, Captain.”
“Excellent idea,” said Jack. “That’s what I like about you, Gibbs: ever an eye to a profit.”
“Let us go outside: I wish to see for myself!” said Harry.
On to Chapter 26
Jack and Harry both slept, surprisingly deeply, until the thin, cool light of dawn began to filter down through the high barred windows of the storeroom. Harry woke first, from a lovely dream, a sigh and a smile on her lips, and her eyes drifted half open. She found that she was lying in Jack’s arms, very close against him, her head on his shoulder, his coat around them both. This seemed to be in keeping with her dream, somehow, and she lay still, studying the dear face for a time in the dim morning light, until his eyes opened too, and looked into hers for a long moment. She reached up, then, feeling she must touch that face, lay her palm against the brown cheek. But in that moment sounds came to then that brought back the exigencies of their situation: crude talk, laughter, and footsteps growing closer. Bliss vanished, and, all unprepared, sudden terror gripped her. “Jack!” she gasped, panicking, clutching at his shirt.
Jack wondered if their friends had indeed deserted them, for it was now many hours since they’d been thrown into this prison, but he thrust the thought aside and mastered his own startled fear quickly. “Courage, now, Harry!” he said roughly, giving her a little shake. She nodded, biting her lip, her eyes huge. “You let me do the talking!” he told her, his face hard. “Not a word, no matter what happens! Savvy?”
"Yes," she said, but was obviously distracted, for the sounds were very close now and someone was fooling with the trapdoor.
“Promise me!” he said in a fierce whisper, shaking her again.
She looked into his eyes as she briefly considered this, then said unhappily, “I can’t!”
The bolt was thrown on the trapdoor. “God’s life! Just don’t do anything stupid!” he groaned. Then they were scrambling to their feet. The trapdoor creaked open on its hinges. Harry, standing a little behind Jack, reached up and quickly pulled out a few stray pieces of straw that had got stuck in his hair and brushed more bits from his coat, then stood peeking around his shoulder, her heart in her mouth.
It was Cray himself that looked down at them through the trapdoor, a pistol in either hand. He descended the stone stairs with studied nonchalance, followed by Marks, who bore rope and Stone who was armed with a cutlass.
“Well, my birds! Have you had a pleasant rest?” said Cray, cheerfully, aiming one pistol at Jack’s head.
“Aye, we did,” Jack drawled, “although I must say, the accommodations do seem to be somewhat lacking.”
Cray smiled broadly. “Ah, Sparrow. You and your ready tongue! I’d forgotten about that. Last evening you seemed nearly to have lost your sense of humor. A night alone with your pretty lad seems to have restored it! Perhaps I’ll try him out myself a little later. You won’t mind, will you? Stone, take the boy aside there.”
Stone carefully eased around Jack, staying out of the line of fire, and reached for Harry, who started to back away, but then halted at the sound of the pistol being cocked, She looked over at Cray.
“That’s right, boy. A little cooperation if you please, or your Captain will find a rather nasty hole in him. Take him, Stone.”
Harry set her teeth as the villain reached for her again, shuddering as he took her arm in a meaty hand, She found herself pulled away from Jack, and held about five feet from him. Stone laid the edge of the cutlass against her throat, the metal cold against her skin.
“Now, Sparrow: if you’d be so good as to remove your clothing. Not the boots and breeches. Yet. But all the rest, if you please.” When the pirate hesitated, Cray added silkily, “Unless, of course, you’d prefer I start with the boy.”
Harry kept her face carefully expressionless as she watched Jack take off his coat, waistcoat, and shirt, dropping each to the floor, her eyes silently taking in her first sight of him unclothed. He was very beautifully made, slim but hard with muscle, his skin bronzed from the sun, although she suspected he’d be as fair as she was herself under different circumstances. But there were other things that drew the eye: tattoos of a varied and exotic nature that decorated his upper body and arms. And the scars. Scars that spoke of truly dreadful encounters; of hands that had caused him excruciating pain with brand, or whip, or blade; of other hands that had both hurt and helped him, removing a bullet, stitching closed a saber cut. She was horrified and fascinated all at once.
As was, revoltingly, Cray.
The man stepped up to Jack and, pushing the end of the pistol beneath the chin with its little beaded braids, tipped the pirate’s face up slightly. For a long moment the two men studied each other, Jack’s dark eyes ice cold, Cray’s sickeningly warm as he smiled down at his intended prey.
“Why you’re a pretty lad, too, aren’t you, Sparrow?” said Cray, his voice like velvet. He watched Jack’s lip quiver ever so slightly in disgust and smiled. “I think we may have to consider trying you out as well. Later.”
Cray stepped back then, but kept the pistol trained on Jack. “Wrists, Sparrow! Marks: tie him.”
Marks came over with the rope, and, there being nothing for it, Jack held up his hands, wrists together, to be tightly tied in front of him, his face set like stone.
“Good,” said Cray, when Marks stepped back. “Bring them along.”
Cray led the way up the stairs. Marks took Jack’s arm in one ham-like hand and pulled him along after his leader, moving quickly. Stone turned Harry around by her arm and she found herself tossed over his shoulder, rather as he would have done with a sack of grain. He trotted up the stairs in the wake of his cohorts, and she bounced uncomfortably against his hard shoulder.
As Jack had feared, their destination was the smithy where he and Will had found Judah. The wooden frame was waiting, and there were irons in the fire.
“Bring our bird over here and hang him up, Marks,” Cray said, blithely, gesturing with the pistol.
Jack managed to catch Harry’s eye for the briefest second as Stone set her back on her feet, trying to will her to silence, and suddenly regretting that he had not told her outright that rescue might be imminent. Although, it was getting to be late days for it now, he thought grimly.
As the thug Marks pulled him roughly toward the wooden frame, Jack decided to make an attempt to at least delay the apparently inevitable.
“Cray, wait!” said Jack. “Perhaps we can come to an accord here. I’ve a good deal to bargain with, y’know.”
“Do you?” Cray sounded amused. “What, then?”
Marks stopped, and Jack went on in his most persuasive tones. “I have the bearings to the greatest treasure in the Caribbean: Isla de Muerta. Barbossa an’ his crew stored ten years o’ swag there, not to mention all that was there before they came. Of course there’s the little matter of the curse on that chest of Aztec gold, but really, there’s plenty to be had without touchin’ that bit, unless you’ve a fancy to try immortality. It’s an interesting feelin’, I’ll grant you. A bit odd, seein’ yer bones and all, but one could grow accustomed-like, eh? What do you think? You let me an’ the boy go, an’ I’ll take you to the richest treasure you’ve ever seen, bar none.”
Cray looked at Jack, and chuckled softly. “Jack, old son! You do spin an excellent yarn. Indeed, I may even let you show me this Isla de Muerta, presently. Presently. But not just now. No. Not just now. Hang him up, Marks.
Jack made a sudden move to get away from the huge man, but was given a cuff on the side of his head that brought little spots to his eyes for the effort. Then his wrists were pulled up in Marks’ hands and the man lifted him by them and hung him by the rope bindings on the big iron hook in the center of the crossbeam of the frame, his booted feet barely able to touch the stone floor.
“Thank you, Marks,” said Cray, smoothly. “Go outside and guard the door, now, there's a good lad.” He watched Marks trot off and slip out the door, shutting it behind him. He turned to look at Harry, standing in front of Stone, the beefy hand on her arm and the cutlass ready. He smiled. “And so it begins, little one.”
Cray walked calmly over to the forge and picked up one of the metal rods that were stuck into the glowing heart of the fire. He held it up. The end of it glowed red, smoking slightly. Cray smiled, and, turning, walked slowly toward Jack.
Jack went quite pale under his tan.
Harry, however, had a much more extreme reaction. The control that she had been exerting over her emotions at Jack’s behest, snapped utterly.
“No!” she screamed, and, terror lending her strength, turned like lightning and slammed her fist in Stone's eye. Fortunately, in his absorption with Cray's activities, the thug had foolishly loosened his hold on her, and allowed his cutlass to sag, so this sudden attack was a resounding success. Stone gave a yell of pain, releasing both Harry's arm and the cutlass, and he fell back a step, nursing his eye. Harry grabbed up his discarded weapon and bolted across the room toward Cray, shrieking, “I am the Dowager Duchess of Wyndham and by God if you touch him I shall see you flayed alive!”
“Harry!” gasped Jack in horror, then shouted, “Harry, no!” and struggled uselessly against the ropes that bound him.
But she was beyond hearing him.
The little fury raised the cutlass to attack Cray, who’d turned toward her, his countenance brightening with surprise and delight at her words. He threw up the heated brand and parried her first blow (which would, indeed, have been deadly) with ease, sparks flying. She countered swiftly, striking at him again and again, but Cray had no trouble fending her off, a smile hovering on his lips at this unexpected treat. He jumped away from her suddenly, tossing aside the brand and grabbing up a shortsword that lay close at hand, then turning back just in time to meet her blow, the weapons clashing loudly. She was lacking somewhat in skill, but was most enthusiastic, and Cray played with her, his eyes alight with appreciation-how on earth had he not perceived she was a girl? What a very interesting encounter this was going to be…
And then, several things happened very quickly.
The door to the smithy burst open and a great number of people began to pour in. Cray, distracted by this, dropped his guard enough that the little Dowager Duchess actually touched him with her weapon, slicing viciously through his shirt and into his upper arm. He gave a shout of pain, and, losing his temper as well as realizing he must make an end, he skillfully reversed the shortsword and swung it at the lady, managing a glancing blow to her forehead. She staggered and dropped, the cutlass clattering against the stone floor, and Jack Sparrow gave a howl of anguish.
But as Jack’s cry faded to an echo in the vast stone room, Will was there, cutting through the ropes that bound the pirate’s wrists. Jack’s eyes met his friend’s for a split second, and then Will thrust his sword into Jack’s hand.
“Kill him,” Will said, his own eyes as hard as Jack had ever seen them.
Jack said nothing, only nodded briefly, his hand gripping the hilt of the sword. Will stepped back as Jack swung to face Cray, and Cray snarled, seeing his death written in the pirate’s face.
Will grabbed up another sword, in case Jack should need assistance in eliminating the villain, but in the event he had only to watch in admiration. The Jack Sparrow that fought with cunning and skill to avoid killing or even seriously wounding an opponent was an entirely different man than the one before him now.
Jack let all emotion drain away, except for the cold determination to cause as much pain and injury as possible before destroying his enemy. He dealt Cray cut after cut, slipping under the man’s guard time and again, to Cray’s apparent astonishment and obvious terror. And the man’s fear merely spurred Jack to greater effort. He played with Cray, uncharacteristically callous, until finally, Cray screamed for him to end it, slipping in the blood that ran from a dozen wounds, and dropping his guard as he did so. Jack’s sword bit deep into Cray’s neck, without hesitation.
Cray fell to the floor. Jack swiftly moved over him and, before the man’s eyes glazed over, he plunged his sword into his chest. There was a convulsive shudder, and then Cray was still.
“He’s dead,” Will said, stating the obvious with great satisfaction, and stepping up to put a hand on Jack’s heaving shoulder.
Jack, breathless, stared down at the body, palpably disappointed. Then, awareness returning, he looked up to locate Harry, his heart freezing in suddenly renewed fear.
But she was standing, twenty feet away, by her niece. She was pale but smiling at him, the bloody wound at her hairline not withstanding.
His expression of relief gave way to mounting anger as he strode over to her, and he was pleased to see her smile falter and her eyes widen.
“What in bloody hell were you about, doing that?” He grabbed her shoulders hard, hurting her, and shook her. “I thought you were killed! Can you never do as I tell you?”
As his voice rose, she reddened, fury taking her, too. She tried to push away, not succeeding, then beat her fists against his bare chest, and shouted: “Oh! And I suppose you expected me to just stand there and watch them torture you! Not bloody likely!”
There was a sudden silence between them, and then, as if compelled, Jack pulled her against him in a fierce embrace, closing his eyes. After a moment, noticing her muffled squirming, he loosened his grip slightly. She shoved her arms up around his neck, and pulled him down to kiss her. He obliged most willingly.
It was some time before the murmured comments and embarrassed shuffling of the rest of the company penetrated their notice. Jack stopped kissing her, but slid his cheek across hers, wet with tears, and whispered gruffly in her ear, “Abominable wretch.”
“Stupid man,” she replied, her voice a slightly shaky caress. She drew away a little, and looked at him, and smiled mistily.
He kissed her again, soundly but briefly, and then let her go. They fell apart, facing the company.
Harry sniffed, rubbed her wet cheek with a dirty hand, leaving behind a large smudge, and smiled at everyone. “I was never so happy to see anyone in my life!” she said.
“Aye, and none too soon,” added Jack. “Cuttin’ it a bit close, there, weren’t you?” he said to Will, gripping his hand.
“Sorry. Took us a while to arrange the slave uprising!” Will said, smiling back at him.
“Yes!” Elizabeth agreed. “Aunt, you won’t need to bring the Navy into it at all: the island is secured!”
“Secured? All Cray’s ruffians are dead?”
“Or captured,” said Gibbs. “We can make a tidy sum on those if we sell ‘em for indentured slaves, Captain.”
“Excellent idea,” said Jack. “That’s what I like about you, Gibbs: ever an eye to a profit.”
“Let us go outside: I wish to see for myself!” said Harry.
On to Chapter 26