More Than One Way To Live Forever -Chapter 5
Chapter 5: Make Your Bed
The pair slipped into Elizabeth’s harbor just as the sky was beginning to turn gray with the coming dawn.
First Elizabeth thought it best to check in with Norrington, and to make a plan. If Francisco and his ship full of devils had not beat them to Jamaica, he needed to make the fort ready for an onslaught. Jack had a few ideas of how to prepare their defense.
“I can’t say I’m too fond of the idea of paying the Commodore a visit,” said Jack. “I doubt the years have tempered his nasty lil’ dislike of my humble person.”
“Don’t be a coward, Jack,” Elizabeth teased and traipsed past the pirate. They had to get to James’ house before true dawn, when the town would awaken to start another day, completely identical to the one previous.
Jack made a face at her back. “I resent that, your highness.”
Elizabeth was glad her back was turned to Jack. He couldn’t see the obvious pleasure she took in being referred to by her pirate title once again, written across her face.
“Say it with a smile, Jack. You’re the one who voted me King, after all.”
“Only out of necessity,” he defended. “And don’t think I haven’t regretted it. You’ve been impossible to live with ever since...”
“It doesn’t seem to matter anymore,” she said glumly. Her days of mad hijinx on the sea seemed to have slipped away, with the green flash of the Dutchman leaving her world, returning to its own and taking her husband with it.
“It might come in handy again, someday,” mused Jack. It was an offhand remark, but Jack’s remarks were never so random as they appeared. It made her wonder what kind of authority she might still wield within the Brethren Court, but before she could ask they arrived at the commodore’s less than humble abode. It was a mansion nearly the size of the governor’s, a huge house for a man to occupy alone.
She knew the way quite well, and the hiding spots for all the keys, to the gate and the front door. James would be expecting her for their early morning session de sabre, and hopefully would not even realize she had been gone.
“Someone’s right familiar with the way in to the Commodore’s home,” insinuated Jack. “Perhaps our little Lizzy has not been quite so lonely as she makes herself out to be...”
“Stow it, Jack. We --”
“Elizabeth!” She found herself interrupted by the Commodore, and obviously quite a relieved one at that. So much for slipping away unnoticed. James rushed across the foyer, crushing her in an unexpected embrace. “Thank God you’re alright.”
He leaned back, cupping the side of her face with his hand as though he simply couldn’t believe she was alive and well. Ironic, for she assumed he knew nothing of the scrape she’d just gotten herself out of. “I saw what is left of Puerto Moreas. The Padre was right, it was an absolute massacre, and not by human hands. I went to see you when I arrived back and when you weren’t there. You’ve been gone for days! I thought the worst--” He crushed her in another hug. Over James’ shoulder Elizabeth looked to what Jack thought of this uncharacteristic display of emotion from James.
Jack merely raised an eyebrow, a seemingly knowing smirk in place, his dark eyes laughing at her silently. She could hear him already. Just friends, luv?
“Easy there, former Commodore,” said Jack, feeling he’d waited long enough for James to express his gushing love-sick-puppy emotions to the fullest extent. “She is a married woman, after all. Watch those mitts.”
James drew back, but a hand still rested on Elizabeth’s arm. “What is he doing here?” he demanded with disdain.
“Jack’s going to help us get rid of these vampires,” said Elizabeth confidently.
James eyed the pirate with the most skepticism he could muster. “Indeed? We’ve hung quite a few pirates already this year, Captain Sparrow. Brave of you to return to Port Royal.”
Jack gave an infuriating little bow, doffing his cap. “It would be in extremely bad taste t’hang a man for his past indiscretions when he has returned to said port with the intention of lending a hand.”
Truth be told, Jack still wasn’t sure what the devil Elizabeth thought he could do about it all. Sometimes the faith she put in him could be quite daunting. He’d always made a point to keep his life free of anyone he might fail. Funny how the lass threw all his hard won plans to the wind, again and again.
James narrowed his eyes, clearly still considering seeing Jack to the gallows. Perhaps he was no longer the Commodore, but he could still very easily see it done with just a flick of his finger.
“James,” said Elizabeth in her most placating tone, placing a hand upon the former Commodore’s arm. Immediately James softened, and Jack rolled his eyes heavenward.
Never mind she had the very same effect upon the pirate too.
Elizabeth went on, “I too saw the massacre at Puerto Moreas, and then a personal eyewitness account of the subsequent attack, on Tortuga.”
“Tortuga? How did you get there? What were you doing in that cesspool of human filth? ”
“Oi!”
Both ignored Jack’s outcry. “Looking for someone who would know something about our supernatural foe.”
James looked to Jack. “And you found him?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose there were no churches to take shelter in, in Tortuga, godless lot that you are.” James’ tone was snide, taking a stab, but in truth after his experience with the other side, he couldn’t really even truly say he believed in a God these days. Not the way the Bible told it, at any rate.
“Churches don’t help much mate, when the beasties burn them down around you.”
James’ expression darkened with the thought. “Are we next?” He concealed his fear well, as a seasoned navy officer, but Elizabeth could still see the dread in his eyes.
“Dunno,” said Jack. He looked around the room in an annoying pause, building the suspense. “But the chief vampire, Don Francisco de Vargas, seems t’have taken quite a liking to our Lizzy here. Perhaps we should expect it.”
Jack turned to see the effect of his revelation, and was pleased to see Norringon’s face turn just a shade paler.
Elizabeth didn’t appreciate the delight Jack took in torturing Norrington. “Don’t exaggerate, Jack, he didn’t want my blood any more or less than the others out of the street.” She glared at the pirate, who merely deflected her disapproving stare with a gold glinting smile.
“It does bring us to the point, though, James. The vampires could come here tonight, or any other after. You must prepare the fort.”
“How? How does one prepare for such an onslaught?” lamented James, thinking of what he’d seen at Puerto Moreas.
Jack recognized his cue. Best make himself seem useful, lest Norry still had a thought to lock him in irons. Helping himself to a quill upon James’ desk, Jack began to draw upon a blank sheet of letter parchment.
It was soon apparent that it was a plan of the fort.
“How do you know the battlements so well?” asked James suspiciously, but Jack only shrugged with a smirk.
Once upon a time a great deal of gold had been locked up in the fort. As a younger man Jack had plotted to steal it. But then the Aztec gold lead had come up, and history was written from there.
“’Been locked up there a time or two,” was all he would say. “Jack pointed to one of the towers at the mouth of the harbor. “For whatever reason, they can’t cross water, and they sink like a stone. They’ll have to anchor their ship and take longboats ashore. Put extra cannons here. Sink the flagship before they have a chance to disembark and you’ll be sittin’ pretty.”
Norrington nodded, an eyebrow raised. What Jack suggested was, essentially, elementary defense of a harbor town. Happy to play the skeptical and snide Commodore once more, he looked to Elizabeth. “And you sailed all the way to Tortuga for this?”
Elizabeth looked to Jack, a small smile curling her lips.
She’d sailed literally to the end of the world for Jack once. A few days jaunt to Tortuga seemed like nothing at all.
Despite the danger looming over their heads, she found that she felt undeniably…happy.
She lifted her chin at James, pouring all her hard won training as an unaffected English lady into her tone.
“If you insist on being rude, James, we will simply leave.”
Jack watched the exchange with interest, dark eyes glittering with amusement.
Immediately, Norrington’s expression fell, especially vexed that Elizabeth’s use of the world we did not include she and he.
It included she and Jack.
Nothing had changed at all, it seemed.
The former commodore effectively cowed, Elizabeth looked to a map of their island upon the wall. She gestured to the more deserted stretches. “What if they anchor somewhere else off the island?” asked Elizabeth, her stomach sinking like a stone for the thought. “They were devilishly fast, I imagine they could make it here in a night with time to spare to cause trouble.”
Jack made a face as though he’d tasted something nasty. “If it comes to a land battle, they don’t appreciate a mortal wound, but t’kill ‘em requires a good ol’ fashioned beheading. Start with arming your soldiers with crosses, fire, weapons of a decapitative choppy chop nature. And I haven’t seen it for me self, but an ol’ bokor told me they don’t appreciate bein’ stuck with silver. If ye’ve got any layin’ about, I’d say start casting it into musket balls an’ grape shot.”
James’ eyes went wide. He didn’t think the townspeople would appreciate being asked to donate their silver to the cause, even for the defense of their own city. “That may prove difficult.”
Jack shrugged. “Your funeral, mate.” He gestured towards the town through the window with wiggling fingers. “Or theirs.”
The former commodore sighed. “Very well. What else?”
“Ye can put the priests on this island to some use for once. Have them consecrate the fort. Make it holy ground that the vampires cannot cross. If they do strike, have the townspeople evacuate there.” Jack tapped his chine pensively. “They also might not like hot tar bein’ poured on ‘em. It’s a bit medieval, but it could keep ‘em from scalin’ the walls.”
James nodded, thinking he had a busy day ahead of him.
“I always thought vampires were just another myth. I should know better by now, shouldn’t I?”
Jack shrugged. “Anything’s possible in this ol’ world, mate.” Elizabeth paid him an extra long look. He was thinking about his Agua de Vida, no doubt, stashed away in his sash.
James stood from his chair, a sudden aire of purpose about him, his old Naval Commander-self peeking through. “I must begin immediately then,” he said, no doubt a list of all the things he had to accomplish before the sun set running through his mind. And there was a haunted look in his eyes, no doubt remembering the carnage of Puerto Moreas.
He shook his head, as though the image could be cleared off so easily. It won’t be Port Royal, he assured himself. I will see to it. He wished he felt as confident as the voice in his head.
As Elizabeth and Jack made for the exit, Norrington stopped Elizabeth with a gentle hand on her arm. “When night falls, will you come here?” he asked quietly, although there could be no hiding his request from the eavesdropping ears of Jack. “I would feel better if I knew you were safe.”
His eyes were mournful, fearful, and Elizabeth hated that she was only going to compound upon his discomfort. “Probably not, James,” she said truthfully.
James looked to Jack suspiciously, who only raised his eyebrows, not relieving any questions at all. “Why not?”
Elizabeth sighed. “I’m not a child who must be minded. My house is out of town, its probably the safest of the lot, if the vampires come to feed. If I hear the fort bell, I will come.”
Nodding resignedly, James knew he couldn’t change her mind. She’d become even more hard headed these days. Was that what the title of Pirate King did to a woman? No, he was certain it was simply her.
“And where’s he going to stay?” asked James, shooting an icy glare in Jack’s direction.
“On his ship,” Elizabeth smoothly lied. James didn’t know Jack had lost the Pearl again, and there didn’t seem to be any reason for his need to know.
Stealthily, Jack and Elizabeth slipped out of the commodore’s mansion, and through the back streets, hoping to go unnoticed.
Finally they quit the sprawl of the city, and walked along a well-worn path lined by high grass on both sides. “So seein’ as I don’t really ‘av me ship at this point, and Port Royal’s not exactly been friendly to blokes of my professional persuasion...”
“Don’t be silly, Jack, of course you’ll stay with me,” said Elizabeth, feeling suddenly quite possessive of the wayward Captain. She found the thought that he possibly wouldn’t filled her with an undefinable anxiety. Quickly she covered her eagerness, glancing back at Jack with a smirk. “If you dare, that is? I might feed you to a Kraken when you’re not looking.” Jack merely narrowed his eyes at her, and she laughed, enjoying being able to get under his skin. “Unless you eat that Agua de Vida for breakfast now, Captain, I’d be happy to treat you to a meal or two.”
However, Elizabeth’s slip did not escape Jack’s notice. Worse yet, he had to clamp down on the urge to grin from ear.
“Sounds highly agreeable, luv.”
Jack noticed Elizabeth picking flowers along the way, but thought little of it.
After that the trail began to wind uphill, and Jack had little breath to make any remarks, smart or otherwise. Elizabeth, on the other hand, traipsed as though the path’s incline affected her not, well used to it by now. She went along with her plucking of tropical flowers, the whole way up. Finally, they reached a clearing at the top of the bluff.
“You weren’t joking when you said you live at the edge of town,” Jack wheezed. “You’ve got ol’ Jack feelin’ his age with that climb.”
Elizabeth laughed a little, and Jack stiffened with surprise as she took his hand in hers. It was warm, and soft, and her long fingers laced so perfectly between his own. “I think you’ll find it’s worth the exertion once you see the view. Come on.”
She tugged him to follow her, and in that moment Jack knew what James must have felt earlier. In that moment, Jack knew he was utterly lost to her. That all his previous intentions of holding her at arm’s length just went up in smoke.
He wanted Elizabeth. He always had, and he was surrendering now to the devil inside that whispered wickedly what he should do to make her his, even if only for a day.
Surely after all they’d been through, the whelp could be so generous as to allow him just one day?
Oblivious to the war raging within Jack’s heart, Elizabeth led him to the edge of her clifftop plateau. The waters of the Caribbean stretched out below, a great glittering blue roiling blanket, sparkling and breathtaking to behold. At least two hundred feet below, the waves crashed against the sheer cliff face, a familiar and comforting sound.
The salt sprayed breezed lifted Jack’s hair from his shoulders, and he smiled for the feel of the familiar wind upon his face. To Elizabeth’s surprise he squeezed her hand in his, and they stood there for quite some time, content with the view and the company, even if they couldn’t quite admit it aloud.
“Quite a view, luv.” said Jack, quite sincere for once.
“It’s no crow’s nest, or view from behind a helm, but it suits me for now.”
“For now, eh?”
“Aye,” she sighed. “For now.”
Eventually Elizabeth slipped out of his grasp, retreating to a rock at the edge of the yard, and rested her now large handful of flowers upon it. Dozens and dozens of old and dried out blossoms lay below it, almost like a grave. But the rock didn’t look like a tombstone to Jack. An altar? Had Elizabeth taken up a hobby of witchcraft as well? It didn’t seem likely.
Jack siddled up behind her, watching curiously. “What’s with the rock?” he asked.
Elizabeth pursed her lips hesitantly, weighing whether or not she really wanted to answer. She’d never spoken of it to anyone, and yet she felt the strongest urge to tell the tale to Jack.
Finally, she decided to go ahead with it, staring out at the endless waters, not wanting to look at his eyes. It was too much.
“It’s a...memorial stone, Jack. Will and I...made a child. But I lost it, early on. Three months after he’d left me. Too active for my own good said the doctor. Too many long walks on the beach. But I think it just wasn’t meant to be. One day for no seeming reason at all I started bleeding. I bled and bled and a piece of me went with it I will never get back.
“I wonder if it would have been a boy or girl sometimes. Sometimes I am so relieved that it did not happen. I cannot truly imagine how I would have managed a child, by myself. I know women do, I know it is possible--but perhaps I am wicked, and selfish. Sometimes I am just glad. I decided to leave it all behind. I moved here, to be alone and do exactly as I please.”
She turned on her heel to go to the house, but before she could get far a warm firm hand gripped her upper arm, stopping her in her tracks, turning her back. She looked up to those intense black eyes, searching. For what? She did not know. But she felt that his knowing gaze could pierce straight through her, straight to her soul. What? She demanded in her head, but the terse word died on her tongue.
“M’sorry, luv,” he said quietly. No hint of mockery, no teasing, no joke. Just Jack. A serious Jack. Well, that was depressing.
Sympathy.
She could have stood anything but sympathy, especially from him. Biting her lower lip, she held back the tears, held back the choking sensation she felt at the back of her throat.
“S’no easy thing, luv, raisin’ a brat by yer onesies. Me own mum tried, and look how I turned out.” He tried to make a joke of it, and she offered the barest of smiles.
“She didn’t do such a bad job, Jack. I imagine she was a very strong and brave woman. Braver than me.”
Jack shook his head, a strange and niggling little pain surfacing in his chest. He had not thought of his mother in God knew how long. It hurt. It all just hurt, and he tried not to think serious thoughts.
Ever.
Usually he managed to keep them at bay with rum. Hopefully, Elizabeth had a stash of good ol’ fashioned kill devil in the house so he could stop rambling like a damned fool. He hadn’t gone this long without a drink for a long time
“She would have laughed with delight to hear a Pirate King say it,” he found himself saying. He could remember his mother’s laugh. It was the one of the few things he could really remember, truth be told. Her laugh, and soft kisses upon his forehead. She’d called him Jackie. He’d been the eldest of her pack of brats, crammed in a little sailor’s shack in Portsmouth.
He’d left home very young to find work as a cabin boy, to give the others a chance at getting enough gruel in their bellies. He’d spent his tenth awful English winter without shoes, and decided it would be his last. He still had odd feeling in his pinky toe from the frost bite. Sometimes it tingled, and sometimes he could stick it with the point of a knife and not feel it.
His fate as a man of the sea was written from there.
Elizabeth tilted her head to regard Jack, surprised to hear him speak of something so real as his mother. It was hard to imagine such a legend of a man having something so normal as a mother. Didn’t he spring from the skull of a deity, or emerge fully formed from the sea foam?
It was endearing, and made her want to know more of his past. Not the stories, though they were fun, but the truth. She had a feeling he would lock her out of the fortress shortly, however.
“Me point is, luv, what’s happened happened and sometimes there’s nothin’ to be done. Doctors love to lay the blame at a woman’s feet, but I’m sure it weren’t yer fault. After all you’d been through…these things just happen. Er--ye can’t blame yerself.”
He was rambling, and Devil knew he was no expert on childbirth, though he’d picked up a thing or two hanging around the tarts--mainly he wanted to see that pain go from Elizabeth’s eyes, and he knew the usual pleasant placations wouldn’t do with her.
Elizabeth frowned, absorbing his words, wanting to believe them. “It’s hard not to blame yourself, Jack,” she finally sighed. “I was so angry for a time. Angry, and empty. I tried going to the church in Port Royal. It used to bring me some solace as a girl, but I found myself surrounded by people in the pew, yet completely alone, and trying so hard not to laugh out loud at the sermons. The minister, the flock, none of them had any idea what real life is like. What’s out there. Their little holy book is full of fairy tales, it doesn’t apply to half of what I’ve seen and done and had to do. Do you ever feel that way, Jack? So alone, because you’ve seen so much?”
Pressing his lips, Jack found himself nodding. He was a sailor and a pirate and had been an outcast for most of his adult life. It was not where he’d expected their morning to go at all. Down this damnable path of truthiness. “I know what ye mean, luv,” he said sadly, wanting a swallow of rum more than ever.
Elizabeth recognized that he was trying to make her feel better, and making himself quite uncomfortable in the process, and she wasn’t helping matters.
Yet somehow, saying something true rather than the usual prattle to someone who understood did help, more than anything else ever had.
“Thank you , Jack.” She squeezed his arm, and hoped he knew just how much she meant it. “But it’s alright now.” She waved at the stone. “This is my little way to remember it wasn’t all a bad dream. I’m…happy now.”
Jack raised one dark eyebrow, not entirely convinced. “Are ye?”
She looked around the yard, to the sea, anywhere but his eyes. But she truly considered his question. Well, was she? Finally, she bobbed her head, minutely. “Most of the time, yes. I like this,” she said, waving towards her house. It was small, simple, white washed and blinding in the morning sun, for strings and strings of seashells hung as a curtain on the porch, and lined the walkway, and the bougainvillea bushes out front. Their pink and white blossoms exploded in a froth of color. A few chickens scratched about the front yard, clucking the morning gossip. “This is mine, completely mine. No husband to wait on, no brats to run after. Just mine. I think you understand, don’t you, Jack.”
It wasn’t really a question.
And yes, he understood her, perfectly well. Peas in a pod, luv. Looking down at her, this changed and hardened yet suddenly infinitely even more interesting woman, Jack knew he didn’t have to say it aloud.
“Let’s talk about something else,” she offered, linking her arm with his and pulling him towards the house. “Tell me about your mother.”
Jack sighed, almost inaudibly. “I don’t remember much about her,” he admitted. “I left home very young. She passed of a fever, many years ago.”
“I don’t really remember my mother either,” Elizabeth confessed. “She died giving birth, and my father was never the same afterwards. I think he blamed himself. They were a love match, not an arranged marriage. It was something of a scandal in London, for a season anyway. I think that’s why my father was so accommodating of my marriage with Will.”
She smiled wistfully, thinking of her stodgy periwigged father as a younger, brasher man, madly in love and making some grand romantic gesture, spiriting away with her mother and causing London society to howl. God, how she missed him.
For a time she’d watched the shores after James’ return, hoping her father too would wash up someday, another gift from the sea.
It never happened. Perhaps he was too old? Perhaps he’d been ready to go to the other side? She would never know. Eventually she gave up hoping she could see him again, cauterizing the wound in her heart with so many others, so that she would not bleed dry.
“Ah.” Jack could see that she expected him to say something about his own parents. A sweet love story between Teague the pirate and his doting Ma. It didn’t exist. As a child Jack hadn’t been sure what was worse, when his Da was away at sea and they lived dirt poor, or when the ol’ man came home with his wages and spent most of it on whiskey. He would knock Jack around for the slightest offense, such as looking his way. And Jack took it, because the others were too little. When the children went to bed it would be his Ma’s turn for the same.
Jack did remember the sound of his mother crying.
Jack never wanted to be like his Da, but fate has a way of passing that curse from father to son. In the end, he’d become a pirate too. A better one, maybe, but a pirate none the less.
“I s’pose me Mum and Da were in love at one point, but a hard life chipped away at that. She was a good woman, me Ma, but Da was no good for her, m’fraid.”
Elizabeth frowned, thinking she’d brought up a happy subject, and finding she’d tripped into another mire. “Captain Teague seemed rather charming, at Shipwreck Cove.”
“Aye, he’s a charmer,” Jack agreed. “A charmer and a devil underneath it all. His soul is black as char. Make no mistake about that, luv.”
Sensing that Teague had made Jack’s childhood not a happy one, the Pirate King squared her shoulders. “Then tell me, what shall be his punishment for mistreating you? I shall address it at our next convening of the Brethren Court.”
Jack chuckled for the thought, patting Elizabeth’s hand upon his arm. “I don’t think bein’ a bad father’s a punishable offense among the Breathren, dearie. You’d have t’hang them all.”
“Hmm,” was all she said, and a chill ran down his spine as he realized she was considering just that.
“Or y’could feed ‘em to a Kraken.”
A slight smile curled her lips. “Jack, I only do that to pirates I like.”
In a rare moment, Elizabeth seemed to have managed to stupefy Captain Jack Sparrow. They closed the distance to the front porch in silence.
“How do fresh eggs sound? My girls should have a few waiting for us.”
“Girls?” Jack asked, paying her a quizzical look. Had Lizzy become a madame without him knowing it?
“My hens,” she clarified, laughing a little, and the dark cloud above them began to lift.
Jack’s stomach grumbled. He would eat Agua de Vida for breakfast if he could, but unfortunately the life giving waters just had no substance to them.
“Lead the way, luv.”
The house was small, but clean. Cozy. The dimensions of the space rather reminded him of a great cabin. The floorboards did not creak as they crossed them, and all the lines were straight and true. It was not a house of brick like the English style abodes in town, but of wood. Wood that would give a little when the frequent earthquakes shook the ground beneath them.
“Who built the house?” asked Jack, wondering who she’d bought the place from. Who else would wish to live like a hermit up on the cliff, a steep walk from town?
“I did,” she answered, taking off her coat.
“You?” Jack exclaimed with disbelief, imagining her hauling timbers and sinking pegs all by her onesies.
Elizabeth laughed for his incredulous expression. Twice in one day she managed to dumfound Captain Jack Sparrow. “Well, I paid a local shipwright to do it. A fine job he did, too,” she commented, patting a wall with affection.
Jack considered the cottage, and what a change it was from the Governor’s mansion she once occupied. He wondered if the downgrade was a necessity or a choice. Not many would gladly give up the life of luxury Elizabeth once led, yet the girl was just full of surprises. She had different priorities than most. “Quite a change from the surroundins ye was used to,” he pried a little, eyeing a knickknack upon the mantle. It was a whale tooth ocarina used by sailors for entertainment. Blowing out a few notes, he smiled with satisfaction.
“I prefer it,” she confessed, wondering if indeed Jack was inquiring as to the state of her finances. Was he worried she was close to ruin, or curious where she kept the gold? Either seemed possible. “There’s really no such thing as privacy when there are servants around, and being waited on has always made me a little uncomfortable. Besides, with father gone I couldn’t very well remain in the Governor’s mansion. I stayed at his cane plantation for a time, but that didn’t agree with me either.”
“Oh? I didn’t know the guvnor had his fingers in the cane pie.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Father liked to diversify, I suppose. The governor’s stipend is a pittance compared to the yield from the cane. But oh Jack, it’s so terrible. The way they treat the slaves…it made me sick to have a direct hand in it. After looking over the books for the plantation and seeing the profit margins I asked the overseer why we couldn’t just pay the Africans a decent wage to work for us. You would think I proposed I hang all the good citizens of Port Royal. He quickly suggested that I should let a man handle my affairs.”
Jack was not surprised to hear that Elizabeth had a head for sums, but the talk of slavery inspired a familiar lurch in Jack’s gut. It was a nasty business, and he’d seen it from far too close. “It would cause an up risin’ on the whole island, if just one plantation started payin’ decent,” said Jack, understanding the mind of men like the overseer all too well.
“Yes. I was soon after invited to dinner with the new governor, Sir Buckley, to address this silly little notion of mine. I was informed it would be quite illegal to pay the slaves. When I asked to see the law in writing I was also informed that I would be tried as a criminal or removed from the island for initiating such an absurd trifle.” Elizabeth sighed. It had been the beginning of the end of her interest in taking part in Port Royal society. “So I decided to sell the plantation to a neighbor. The slaves would have gone with it, so I went under the cover of night to their quarters, and offered to evacuate anyone who wanted to leave. And out of all of them, only ten stepped forward. All young men.”
Jack thought of the terrible punishments devised for runaway slaves, and understood that all too well too. Being beaten bloody and burned alive from the feet up was a horrible fate.
“You yourself could have been hanged fer that, Lizzy,” he said, looking at another bauble on a shelf so that she would not see the alarm on his face, thinking of the danger she’d faced alone. This one was a chased sterling lantern, covered in repousse designs of waves and sea monsters. The bottom was weighted, so that it would always remain upright. He poked it, watching it wobble back and forth. It bore an ornate monogram of EMS.
Jack wondered what the M stood for. Mary? Margaret? Maria? He realized that he very much wanted to know. He wanted to know everything about her.
“I didn’t care. A few of the men knew their way around a boat, so I…I gave them the Free Swann and a heading for Tortuga.” Jack blinked, turning to face her once more. She hadn’t had an accident with her first boat. She’d done something dangerous and honorable with it. Maybe she was the Pirate King, but there was a streak of the whelp in her too.
“Ye could ‘ave told me, luv. What happened to the Free Swann the First.”
“I know, Jack. I suppose I’m just in the habit of not talking about the whole affair, as I’m sure you can imagine why.” Elizabeth continued, “The boat couldn’t make an ocean crossing, it wasn’t big enough, and the only other occupation I could think of that they could take part in without being pressed again was to become pirates. A search was made, but no one found. The overseer suspected me, of course, but what could he really do? I sold the plantation after that, and used some of the money to buy this land.” Lizzie gestured around. All Jack could see through the windows was yard, lined by jungle, and blue mountains in the distance. It must have cost pennies compared to the arable land useable for cane crops.
In other words, she was sitting pretty, and he was glad to hear it. Will wasn’t exactly sending any coin home, and there wasn’t much left to a woman forced to fend for herself. The thought of Lizzy taking part in some of the more sordid professions of a solitary woman made his stomach drop like a stone.
“Yer obviously a little daft but I’m proud of ye, Lizzy. That took a set o’ cods any sailor I know would be envious of.” Jack paid her an appraising look, punctuated by his characteristic leer. “Ye haven’t got any, have ye?”
Laughing, Elizabeth smacked his arm. “No, thank you very much. Everyone else thought I was daft too, buying this mountain. But I think someday it will be very good for growing coffee. I’ve been experimenting with some Arabica seeds from Cuba, and the plants are doing exceptionally well so far.”
Jack raised an eyebrow at her enterprising nature. “How did ye get seeds from Cuba?” he asked, a little afraid of the answer. He imagined her sailing into Santiago, an unfriendly Spanish port where it was illegal to trade with anyone but Spain herself, with that tiny little boat of hers. He imagined her blatantly English lion’s mane of golden hair shining in the sun beneath a jaunty tricorn hat, and demanding to buy goods. Ye Gods.
“I bought them from a gentleman unloading a bit of cargo that was seized from a Spanish ship,” she imparted cheekily.
She bought them from a pirate, she meant.
“Ah. But isn’t coffee considered highly uncouth for a lady of your stature? Makes the blue blood turn muddy brown?” he teased. Tea was considered the suitable beverage for the gentile, but Elizabeth liked the heady brew of the red berry very much.
“You can’t be surprised.”
“Not in the least,” Jack affirmed with a grin that glinted gold.
“Perhaps someday I’ll have my own coffee plantation here,” Elizabeth mused. “It will be a cash crop, and I will divide the profits evenly amongst us. I of course, as administrator, will get two shares.”
Like the Captain of a pirate ship.
Her eyes sparkled with the thought as she daydreamed aloud. “And any old pirate who needs a warm place to come ashore may find shelter with their King. We’ll be a merry band of misfits and thumb our noses at the stuffy citizens of Port Royal from atop our beautiful blue mountain. And we’ll have so much bloody money they won’t dare scoff.”
Jack smiled warmly, liking her vision, even if it was a completely unlikely endeavor.
Coffee?
The English were far too in love with their precious bleedin’ tea.
Elizabeth noted his wan little smile. There was a hint of sadness in it, and her spirits fell a bit. “Do you think I’m crazy, Jack?”
“Nah, lass. Just ahead of yer time. The world will catch up in a few centuries or so.”
“Do you think it ever will? That someday slaves will be free, and women will be free, and that men will be able to live free without risking hanging for piracy? That a poor man who works hard can make an honest wage without being treated like scum? That someday people will have power over their own destinies, rather than owing everything to a king who has done nothing in his life but had the luck to be born into the right family?”
“Listen to your seditious talk, Lizzy. I’d be careful who ye let hear ye say such things,” cautioned Jack with a wily smile, loving every treacherous word.
“It’s just you and me, Jack. And you know me better than anyone. You always have.”
Jack grunted uncomfortably, even if he knew it was true. Peas in a pod indeed.
Going on as though she didn’t notice his expression, though it absolutely did not escape her notice, she asked, “Do you ever think about things like that?”
All the time.
And when it got to be too much he knew it was time to visit his old friend Rum.
“Sometimes, luv,” he lied, unsettled by the earnest way she was looking at him. As though she expected some great pearl of wisdom to fall from his lips at any moment.
Yes, it was getting’ high time for that drink.
Jack continued to examine the contents of the room. A painting hung on the wall of a ship sailing ahead of a storm, sails full to the bursting and riding a great wave. He took a step closer, admiring the fine brushwork. He noticed interesting details on the brigantine: black sails, and the colors of a jolly-roger flying high.
It was the Pearl, without a doubt.
A smug little smile curled his lips at the thought of Elizabeth commissioning this from some law abiding bloke in town. It was a small wonder she herself had escaped being branded with that tell-tale P, gatting about with her egalitarian ideals, rocking the boat of the establishment. He felt certain the town must have whispered a great deal after her return from World’s End, and perhaps it too had something to do with her move out to the clifftop cottage.
There were also maps and charts on the walls, and a pair of sleek swords hung above the mantle. Everything about the space spoke of a person who longed to be at sea but was kept from it, and made do in the meantime. The thought made Jack a bit sad. She claimed she was happy. Far as she knew, perhaps she was. But he had a different feeling. Jack had a feeling Elizabeth was simply stuck in waiting.
Waiting. That perpetual state most people live in, just waiting for life to begin. You silly silly mortals, he thought to himself. When will you realize life will only happen when you reach out and take it for yourself? Grab it greedily and never let go. No one will hand it to you. Pretend to sell it to you, maybe, but never hand it for free. Sometimes fate intervenes...but more often than not, life simply slips away.
Lizzy led him out back where she had a separate cook shed for the stove and kitchen accoutrements. Cooking inside the house was a dubious prospect at best in the tropical heat of Jamaica. Having a cook shed not only kept the house cooler, but reduced the risk of burning the house to the ground.
Jack sat at a roughhewn table in the shade and watched her work. She extracted the prized eggs from a chicken coop beside the shed, having a few words with the hens that milled about her feet. She built a fire in the stove, and soon the air was filled with the smell of frying eggs and salt pork. It was a fine morning indeed.
He liked watching her like this, efficient and confident in her tasks, humming as she went. Not many governor’s daughters could do much of anything for themselves, but Lizzy put the whole lot to shame. He was glad that she’d managed to make such a life for herself here, on her own terms. She seemed content, but for the shade of loneliness in her honeyed brown eyes.
Yet, at this moment, she was in a very good mood for a lass who’d just had a disturbing encounter with a fangy bitey monster, and likely would again sometime soon. Ah, but Jack understood. Jack knew, because he felt it too. An unexpected lightness inside, in the company of an old friend once again.
Blasted girl.
“How are we going to get the Pearl back, Jack?” she asked, bringing forth two plates heaped with sundries and smelling of heaven. Jack’s stomach rumbled. It beat weevil-ridden hard tack, that was for sure.
Jack raised an eyebrow at her use of that word again. We. He liked it, far more than he should. Oi, mate, yer up t’yer eyeballs and sinkin’ fast. Crazier yet, he wasn’t sure he minded.
“I’ll think of somethin’, darlin’,” he assured her, and they shared a fine meal in the shade.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx
Jack watched curiously, as Elizabeth carried water in from the well outside, making to fill a tub. She did not struggle with the buckets as she might have once, with those skinny lass-of-leisure arms. Underneath that shirt Jack suspected she wasn’t just slender and soft but had a bit of muscle.
How unladylike.
The thought made him tingle, just a bit. Oh, just a dangerous, little, bit.
“Is that for me, luv?” he asked, leaning against the door of the washroom, where Elizabeth was emptying crystal clear water into a hip tub. A kettle with hot water, soap and a sheet lay on a stool nearby.
Elizabeth looked up from her pouring, expression contorted as though Jack had grown three new heads. He smiled mischievously, gold glinting in his mouth in the morning light. He so loved keeping the lass on her toes. “Are you serious?” she asked, when he didn’t burst out laughing heartily at his joke and strut away.
“ ‘Aven’t had a good dip in a while,” he confessed, though utterly without shame. “Not a luxury one has when fresh water is limited on a ship...and I always seem to be busy with getting dirtier when we make port...”
Elizabeth gave a much exaggerated eye roll. She certainly believed that.
She siddled up to him, hands clasped behind her back. “If you are serious, I will more than happily relinquish it to you. Jack Sparrow asking to take a bath is not an event to be taken lightly...”
Jack reached up to brush a knuckle under that infuriatingly haughty chin jutting out from her graceful swan neck. “We can make a trade, luv. I’ll wash your back if you wash mine...”
“Could you be so lucky, Captain Sparrow,” she taunted.
Those bee-stung lips curled in a bewitching smile, and it was all he could do not to claim them for his own. He inched closer and closer to the edge, he realized, with every moment he found himself in the company of Elizabeth Swann. Hang it...Mrs. Turner. Well, her husband wasn’t here, was he? In fact, the pointy end of that sword was a whole five years away, till it could next make landfall... Convenient. Deuced convenient.
As long as he stayed on land.
Which wasn’t something he did well.
Bloody hell.
In a quick bounce of footwork she was suddenly several feet away. “Enjoy your bath,” she called over her shoulder, flouncing out of the house with something of a triumphant skip in her step.
He glared at the place in the doorway where she’d just been.
What the bloody hell was he thinking?
She would stab you just as soon as kiss you, mate.
Pirate.
Pirate King.
Very interesting.
Jack undressed and tempered the cool water with the kettle, just enough to take the edge off. In the tropical heat of Jamaica, a salty breeze wafting through the open windows, the lukewarm water felt very nice indeed.
He set to work scrubbing himself clean, making use of a sponge and soap that smelled of coconut oil. In very little time the water turned from crystal clear to murky gray.
Some sailors swore up and down that baths were a dangerous endeavor, scrubbing away all the dirt and grime that shielded a man from disease. Jack always found the superstition silly. Jack sat back in the tub, enjoying his moment of cleanliness. The breeze came in off the ocean, stirring the palm trees outside.
True paradise.
Yet something was missing.
He could hear Elizabeth puttering in the other room, singing softly. She was going through her drawers and shelves, gathering up the silver items she owned in the house, just in case. He thought on the breakfast they’d shared, eggs and sausage and tea in china cups, and the unlikely domesticity of the scene. It left him feeling uncharacteristically soft around the edges.
“Lizzy luv?” he called in his most honeyed voice. “Will ye do me the vast and coveted honor of washin’ me back?”
Elizabeth froze as she heard the request from the other room, her heart suddenly pounding for no discernible reason. She’d thought he was joking before. He usually was. It would be terribly improper, and yet she was already in for a penny, cavorting with pirates again.
Not just pirates. Her pirate. The incredible indomitable Captain Jack Sparrow.
Cautiously she put down her dusting rag, and quiet as a mouse she padded into the room off the back of the cottage where Jack bathed. She paused at the sight of him; he appeared to be sleeping, long wiry limbs brown as a nut splayed out over the edge of the tub, a myriad of tattoos and scars in plain view. Hungrily her eyes roamed over him, a hot blush creeping over her cheeks.
She hadn’t seen a man like this since her night on the beach with Will, and even then she didn’t remember seeing much. It filled her with an unexpected heat inside, her palms suddenly balmy in her clenched fists. Only with Jack here did she feel her loneliness like a palpable weight upon her skin.
Eyes closed, his head rested against the back of the tub. The bandana was gone, leaving his wild ropey hair to do as it pleased. Something seemed a little off. He looked years younger, almost angelic, his high cheekbones and strong jaw unadorned by dirt. And then Elizabeth realized that he’d washed away his kohl. It left him less fierce and wild, yet no less beautiful to her.
The latter was an alarming thought.
“Like what you see, luv?” he asked softly, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a smirk.
“I can’t see anything,” she quipped cheekily. “The bathwater is nearly black.”
Jack opened his eyes to find Elizabeth sitting on the stool beside the tub, closer than he’d thought. His own heart did a little skitter about the inside of his chest.
“Aye, I was due fer a wash. But I need yer help t’finish.” He held out the sponge, and much to his great surprise, Elizabeth took it, moving the stool to sit behind him.
She wet the sponge with the water from the kettle, and found her hands were shaking a little.
Steady, girl, she scolded herself, reaching for the soap. Jack leaned forward, holding his hair out of the way, and Elizabeth went to work. At her first touch a hissing sigh escaped Jack, surprising himself as much as her. It was ridiculous, and a little pathetic, he thought, how badly he wanted her to touch him.
“Too hot?” she asked, afraid she’d hurt him, and afraid she understood the cause of his sigh all too well.
“No, luv. It feels wonderful.” He hoped the tremor that ran through his frame was something only he felt, and couldn’t be seen.
Somehow this gave her an injection of bravery, and she stroked the lathered sponge over his shoulders with hands that no longer shook, fascinated by the contours of his musculature. A round of rinse water from the kettle revealed in stark detail a smattering of long, deep scars that ran across the length of his back. Some were jagged and raised, torn flesh that healed badly.
She knew they had come from a cat o’ nine tails.
She knew the life of a common sailor could be frightfully hard, a man at the mercy of his captain, and sometimes a cruel one. Yet Elizabeth had always hoped, perhaps naively, Jack had not tasted the worse of it.
“Oh, Jack,” she said softly, tracing the scars lightly with the tips of her fingers. They were wicked and raised, and her heart hurt for him in that moment. She would have turned pirate too, after receiving a beating like that.
Jack had forgotten about the scars and the questions they might bring. He’d had them so long he barely saw them, and the doxies had seen so many similar marks on their sailor customers they barely batted a lash.
For a lady like Elizabeth, he imagined it could be a frightful sight.
“S’alright, luv,” he assured her, his voice low and seeming far away. “It happened a long time ago.” And yet a chill still racked his body for the memory.
He really needed a bottle of rum. Life was becoming far too…vivid for his liking.
And the inevitable question came. “What happened to you?”
Jack sighed heavily, leaning back in the tub again.
“I’ll tell ye if you’ll rub me shoulders. I’ve had an awful pain ‘round ‘ere,” he said, waving to his right side with a hand that glittered in the sunlight for all the rings upon it.
He expected her to flee and leave him with his ghosts alone.
Much to his surprise, he felt her hand light upon his shoulder, her long digits drumming upon his collarbone. “Here?” she asked, squeezing his muscle gentle.
Jack groaned with pleasure before he could stop himself. “Aye, there.” Elizabeth watched with fascination as the Captain seemed to melt beneath her massaging hands. It made her feel powerful and wicked, and warm and tingly inside.
“Oh luv,” he said after a while. “You have been to Singapore.”
Elizabeth laughed lightly, enjoying this seemingly innocent contact.
Seemingly.
The thread of tension growing between them did not escape her. She almost wanted to waive her payment of the story, so that he could stay like this, happy and relaxed and not speaking of his demons.
“S’pose you’ll be wantin’ that story now,” he said, his eyes closed once again.
“You don’t have to tell me just now,” she said quietly. Her touch wandered from his shoulders, tracing the long line of his neck, and the graceful curve of his earlobe. There was a piercing in the center, but no earring.
Beneath the black waters, Jack’s abdomen clenched. He knew if she didn’t stop touching him like that he was going to do something a little crazy.
What could be crazier than letting the woman who had killed him have his back?
Plenty. He could think of a few things.
Clasping her hand in his, he squeezed her fingers, and marveled when she didn’t pull away, or try to slap him, or set something on fire…
“I was third mate aboard an East India Trading Company brig,” he started, his voice low and gravely for the memory. “We were supposed to be dealing in tea and spices and silk, that was what I signed on for.”
Elizabeth imagined Jack as a younger man in a clean officer’s uniform, perhaps clean shaven or with a neater beard. Black hair pulled back in a queue, no wild dreadlock waving in the wind. It was an intriguing thought, but seemed too strange to think it could have ever been true.
Jack went on, “But the Captain declared we had a new heading, and in no time we found ourselves off the wretched mosquito infested coast of Africa. We were to make a slave run to stock the Captain’s sugar plantation on Barbados. He didn’t want to pay the exorbitant markup of the traders, and resolved to go right to the source for his latest business endeavor. One of the…captives had tried to hit me, as any man in his right mind would. He was already in shackles, so what more could I do to him? When I did not address it Captain Cutler Beckett decided to give me a lesson in what discipline really is.
“Slaver ships live in constant terror of a slave uprising. There were more of them than us, and as a general rule they were bigger and stronger men. So ol’ Cutler made a public example out of me. Tied me to the main mast and had his quartermaster shred me back with the cat. If the whites were willing to do that to their own, what horrors did the slaves have in store for them if they acted out? It was horribly effective.”
Elizabeth wasn’t sure who gripped who’s hand more tightly as he spoke. “Is that why you took the Pearl?” she asked, having heard whispers of this story from Gibbs on the late watch when the old man was in his cups. That Jack had taken the Pearl from the East India Trading Company, and Beckett had hunted him down, set the ship afire. Davy Jones resurrected the beauty from the deep for a hefty price, and she was rechristened the Black Pearl.
“First, I nearly died,” he confessed, shuddering as he remembered the infection and fever. He’d lain in his hammock, at death’s door for days. “But when I pulled out of it, it didn’t take much to convince the rest to mutiny. We put the slaves ashore, the officers off in a longboat, and sailed away with Beckett’s prized flag ship.”
All the slaves but one, he corrected his memory. There had been one bloke who spoke passable English and claimed he had nothing to go home to ashore. His village had been burned, and he had been sold off to the whites by a rival tribe. Kemobe had decided he wanted to see the world instead, and some treasure too. He and Jack had become good friends, and Kemobe had been the one to show Jack how to fix his hair into dreded ropes with beeswax.
Kemobe had been killed in the mutiny staged by Barbossa for the Pearl the first go round. Another reason on a list of many Jack loathed his former first mate.
Jack went on, “Africa was easy pickins. We took slavers all up the coast, until we had the supplies and crew for a crossing t’ the Caribbean.”
“Bravo, Jack.”
He was uncharacteristically quiet for the praise. She stroked his cheek with a finger, turning his wild black gaze back to her. He’d been a thousand miles away. “What’s wrong?” she whispered, and Jack pressed his cheek to her hand.
“Of all the wicked deeds under me belt, bein’ apart of that slaver business is the only thing I’ve done that was truly evil. That’s the thing I’ll burn for someday.”
“But Jack, you didn’t know. You didn’t sign on for it. You were following orders, and in the end you set them free.”
“Aye, but I helped load the boat with ‘em, and I’d say a third died o’ pure fright before we even set sail. Me hands ain’t clean, luv.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” she soothed, squeezing his shoulder. “You’re a good man, Jack.”
The pirate, however, shook his head. “M’really not, darlin’. Maybe I ain’t as wicked as some, but it don’t make me good. You’d best remember that.”
Elizabeth knew that she should retreat, yet something held her there with Jack. She could have moved a mountain more easily than her own person at that moment. A delicious shiver ran down her spine as she leaned forward, resting her chin on Jack’s shoulder. His skin was smooth and warm, the muscle taut beneath, and he now smelled deliciously of her coconut milk soap. She fought the urge to lick her lips, as though she wanted to take a bite of him.
For a moment Jack could not hide the surprise on his features, dark brows shooting sky high. He quickly adjusted, lowering one brow, the corner of that wicked mouth curling upwards. He weighed her with that dark gaze and waited, very curious to see what the Pirate King had in mind.
Finally she spoke, “I see you, Jack.”
“From this close, I should hope so, luv.”
She smiled, and there was a hint of mischief in that curl of lips that caused Jack’s guts to twist. Part in fear, but mostly, oh mostly, with longing.
“No, I mean, I see you. You can’t hide from me. I know who you really are. The legend of Captain Jack Sparrow is mighty good fun, but I think I prefer the man himself.”
The pirate’s heart dropped like a stone. He felt the urge to bolt just then, an uncomfortable tingle prickling over his skin. Suddenly, he felt that he was the one being hunted, and he didn’t particularly like it.
“This me reward for tellin’ ye something true?” he asked, and there was a sadness in his voice that broke Elizabeth’s heart.
“No.” She sat up a little, her gaze drawn to his mouth. She could think of something he might like a little better than being held under a magnifying glass. Suddenly her heart thundered in her chest; she could hear her pulse in her ears.
She wanted to kiss Jack again.
If she were honest, she would admit that she’d wanted to since laying eyes upon him in the pub in Tortuga.
Jack’s chest rose and fell with a deep breath, searching for oxygen and only getting the soft feminine scent of the woman so close to him. Last time he’d been this close to her, he’d been shackled to the main mast of the Pearl and shortly fed to a Kraken.
Most men would have run screaming.
Leave it to ol’ Cap’n Jack Sparrow to run into the fire.
It seemed she was fresh out of manacles, at least.
Filled with apprehension and anticipation, the pair leaned closer, until mouths hovered a breath away from touching. It was torture, and yet neither of them could quite bring themselves to close that last hair’s breadth.
Suddenly the blast of a loud and piercing crow ripped through the room, startling both Jack and Elizabeth straight into the air.
“Barbossa, you blasted old cock!” shouted Elizabeth at a frightfully large rooster suddenly appeared in the window frame. A comically large red comb folded over the side of his head. It looked rather like the sweeping brim of a hat, and was the cause of his namesake. The bird puffed up his chest, filling its lungs for another deafening crow.
Anticipating the explosion, a livid Elizabeth threw the soggy sponge at the cockerel. It missed its mark, but the chicken scrabbled from the window sill squawking with alarm all the same.
Jack chuckled, equal parts disappointed and relieved for the interruption.
“Ye named the rooster after Hector?” he asked, amused.
“Yes. He’s very annoying. Shall we eat him for supper?”
Laughing again, Jack nodded. “Aye, I like that idea.”
Elizabeth rose to go to the window, looking out. The rooster had crossed the yard, and was holding court with his ladies, chuckling over a bit of grass he fancied that he had provided for them. Roosters and men, they’re only good for one thing, Elizabeth mused with a small smile. Her favorite hen Penelope was broody and would have chicks soon. Barbossa had done his duty, and would soon be put to better use.
She picked up the sponge from the floor.
“He’s not used to having another man around the house,” she mused, looking back over her shoulder. “I think it makes him jealous.”
“I pity any fool who would think he could lord over you like a hen, luv.”
Pleased by the compliment, Elizabeth gave a small curtsy.
It was the first chance Jack had to peruse the costume she’d changed into. When Lizzy wasn’t parading around in men’s clothes it seemed she gatted about in her undergarments. In truth it was a lovely white chemise, light and airy and perfect for the Jamaican heat. It had no sleeves, quite scandalous, and pretty little trims of lace at the collar. Jack liked it immensely, and it made infinitely better sense than trying to wear layers of petticoats and a corset in this heat.
Noting his stare, Elizabeth looked down at her chemise. “I suppose you think me terribly improper,” she said cheekily, obviously pleased with herself.
“Only the English would insist on going about in London fashions in this weather. I like it. Reminds me o’ the island.”
Elizabeth canted her head to regard Jack, surprised. She herself remembered their little desert isle with fondness, for up to that point it had been her best adventure yet, but she’d gotten the impression the pirate had not enjoyed their sojourn quite the same way.
She had burned all the rum, after all.
In truth Jack remembered their marooning with mixed feelings. The proposition of being abandoned alone with a stunning specimen of the female sex and a cache full of rum sounded like a fine time at first. But the shadow had hung over his head, the knowledge of the agony that awaited them a few days without fresh water. He’d dreaded the thought of shooting Elizabeth in an act of mercy, and relished starving to death himself even less.
It had been enough to drive a man to drink far too much.
Elizabeth noted his brooding expression, and misinterpreted it. “I had to burn the rum, Jack. I saved us, you know.”
Jack’s mouth twisted in a wry grin, his dark eyes sparkling again. “Was the thought of one more night alone with me so awful?”
Elizabeth smiled, looking away shyly. “Perhaps if there’d been a source of fresh water, we could have stayed a little longer.”
Jack found himself sitting up a little straighter for the admission, and Elizabeth laughed. “You look like you need a drink, Jack.”
“Aye, now that’s a sane proposition.” He began to stand from the tub, and Elizabeth squealed, covering her eyes and fleeing from the room on fleet bare feet.
There had been far more laughter than terror in her little scream.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this much pure joy.
It had been her last adventure with Jack, truth be told. He had an uncanny way of making her feel so alive. No one else, not even Will, ever managed the same way.
Jack dried himself with the sheet and knotted it firmly about his waist.
Something was changing between he and Elizabeth. It was scary and exciting and wrong and yet felt entirely too right.
He regarded the pile of dirty clothes on the floor dubiously. He didn’t fancy putting them back on again in that state, but nor did he think Elizabeth would appreciate a request to wash them. Shrugging, he picked up the foul smelling pile and the soap, and went to draw more water from the well.
Elizabeth spied on Jack from the window in awe. Never in her lifetime did she think she would see Captain Jack Sparrow doing his own laundry. He looked like a native chieftain with a sarong of the towel knotted about his waist, bare footed, his lean upper body darkly tanned by the sun. She watched the muscles ripple beneath his skin as he worked over the laundry bucket, and felt that damnable heat welling up deep inside her again.
It had nothing to do with the tropical weather.
She’d made her bed. Too bad for her, that maybe it was the wrong one.
Shaking her head sadly, she went to check on the biscuits she was baking for their midday meal.
Click Next Entry for Chapter 6.
The pair slipped into Elizabeth’s harbor just as the sky was beginning to turn gray with the coming dawn.
First Elizabeth thought it best to check in with Norrington, and to make a plan. If Francisco and his ship full of devils had not beat them to Jamaica, he needed to make the fort ready for an onslaught. Jack had a few ideas of how to prepare their defense.
“I can’t say I’m too fond of the idea of paying the Commodore a visit,” said Jack. “I doubt the years have tempered his nasty lil’ dislike of my humble person.”
“Don’t be a coward, Jack,” Elizabeth teased and traipsed past the pirate. They had to get to James’ house before true dawn, when the town would awaken to start another day, completely identical to the one previous.
Jack made a face at her back. “I resent that, your highness.”
Elizabeth was glad her back was turned to Jack. He couldn’t see the obvious pleasure she took in being referred to by her pirate title once again, written across her face.
“Say it with a smile, Jack. You’re the one who voted me King, after all.”
“Only out of necessity,” he defended. “And don’t think I haven’t regretted it. You’ve been impossible to live with ever since...”
“It doesn’t seem to matter anymore,” she said glumly. Her days of mad hijinx on the sea seemed to have slipped away, with the green flash of the Dutchman leaving her world, returning to its own and taking her husband with it.
“It might come in handy again, someday,” mused Jack. It was an offhand remark, but Jack’s remarks were never so random as they appeared. It made her wonder what kind of authority she might still wield within the Brethren Court, but before she could ask they arrived at the commodore’s less than humble abode. It was a mansion nearly the size of the governor’s, a huge house for a man to occupy alone.
She knew the way quite well, and the hiding spots for all the keys, to the gate and the front door. James would be expecting her for their early morning session de sabre, and hopefully would not even realize she had been gone.
“Someone’s right familiar with the way in to the Commodore’s home,” insinuated Jack. “Perhaps our little Lizzy has not been quite so lonely as she makes herself out to be...”
“Stow it, Jack. We --”
“Elizabeth!” She found herself interrupted by the Commodore, and obviously quite a relieved one at that. So much for slipping away unnoticed. James rushed across the foyer, crushing her in an unexpected embrace. “Thank God you’re alright.”
He leaned back, cupping the side of her face with his hand as though he simply couldn’t believe she was alive and well. Ironic, for she assumed he knew nothing of the scrape she’d just gotten herself out of. “I saw what is left of Puerto Moreas. The Padre was right, it was an absolute massacre, and not by human hands. I went to see you when I arrived back and when you weren’t there. You’ve been gone for days! I thought the worst--” He crushed her in another hug. Over James’ shoulder Elizabeth looked to what Jack thought of this uncharacteristic display of emotion from James.
Jack merely raised an eyebrow, a seemingly knowing smirk in place, his dark eyes laughing at her silently. She could hear him already. Just friends, luv?
“Easy there, former Commodore,” said Jack, feeling he’d waited long enough for James to express his gushing love-sick-puppy emotions to the fullest extent. “She is a married woman, after all. Watch those mitts.”
James drew back, but a hand still rested on Elizabeth’s arm. “What is he doing here?” he demanded with disdain.
“Jack’s going to help us get rid of these vampires,” said Elizabeth confidently.
James eyed the pirate with the most skepticism he could muster. “Indeed? We’ve hung quite a few pirates already this year, Captain Sparrow. Brave of you to return to Port Royal.”
Jack gave an infuriating little bow, doffing his cap. “It would be in extremely bad taste t’hang a man for his past indiscretions when he has returned to said port with the intention of lending a hand.”
Truth be told, Jack still wasn’t sure what the devil Elizabeth thought he could do about it all. Sometimes the faith she put in him could be quite daunting. He’d always made a point to keep his life free of anyone he might fail. Funny how the lass threw all his hard won plans to the wind, again and again.
James narrowed his eyes, clearly still considering seeing Jack to the gallows. Perhaps he was no longer the Commodore, but he could still very easily see it done with just a flick of his finger.
“James,” said Elizabeth in her most placating tone, placing a hand upon the former Commodore’s arm. Immediately James softened, and Jack rolled his eyes heavenward.
Never mind she had the very same effect upon the pirate too.
Elizabeth went on, “I too saw the massacre at Puerto Moreas, and then a personal eyewitness account of the subsequent attack, on Tortuga.”
“Tortuga? How did you get there? What were you doing in that cesspool of human filth? ”
“Oi!”
Both ignored Jack’s outcry. “Looking for someone who would know something about our supernatural foe.”
James looked to Jack. “And you found him?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose there were no churches to take shelter in, in Tortuga, godless lot that you are.” James’ tone was snide, taking a stab, but in truth after his experience with the other side, he couldn’t really even truly say he believed in a God these days. Not the way the Bible told it, at any rate.
“Churches don’t help much mate, when the beasties burn them down around you.”
James’ expression darkened with the thought. “Are we next?” He concealed his fear well, as a seasoned navy officer, but Elizabeth could still see the dread in his eyes.
“Dunno,” said Jack. He looked around the room in an annoying pause, building the suspense. “But the chief vampire, Don Francisco de Vargas, seems t’have taken quite a liking to our Lizzy here. Perhaps we should expect it.”
Jack turned to see the effect of his revelation, and was pleased to see Norringon’s face turn just a shade paler.
Elizabeth didn’t appreciate the delight Jack took in torturing Norrington. “Don’t exaggerate, Jack, he didn’t want my blood any more or less than the others out of the street.” She glared at the pirate, who merely deflected her disapproving stare with a gold glinting smile.
“It does bring us to the point, though, James. The vampires could come here tonight, or any other after. You must prepare the fort.”
“How? How does one prepare for such an onslaught?” lamented James, thinking of what he’d seen at Puerto Moreas.
Jack recognized his cue. Best make himself seem useful, lest Norry still had a thought to lock him in irons. Helping himself to a quill upon James’ desk, Jack began to draw upon a blank sheet of letter parchment.
It was soon apparent that it was a plan of the fort.
“How do you know the battlements so well?” asked James suspiciously, but Jack only shrugged with a smirk.
Once upon a time a great deal of gold had been locked up in the fort. As a younger man Jack had plotted to steal it. But then the Aztec gold lead had come up, and history was written from there.
“’Been locked up there a time or two,” was all he would say. “Jack pointed to one of the towers at the mouth of the harbor. “For whatever reason, they can’t cross water, and they sink like a stone. They’ll have to anchor their ship and take longboats ashore. Put extra cannons here. Sink the flagship before they have a chance to disembark and you’ll be sittin’ pretty.”
Norrington nodded, an eyebrow raised. What Jack suggested was, essentially, elementary defense of a harbor town. Happy to play the skeptical and snide Commodore once more, he looked to Elizabeth. “And you sailed all the way to Tortuga for this?”
Elizabeth looked to Jack, a small smile curling her lips.
She’d sailed literally to the end of the world for Jack once. A few days jaunt to Tortuga seemed like nothing at all.
Despite the danger looming over their heads, she found that she felt undeniably…happy.
She lifted her chin at James, pouring all her hard won training as an unaffected English lady into her tone.
“If you insist on being rude, James, we will simply leave.”
Jack watched the exchange with interest, dark eyes glittering with amusement.
Immediately, Norrington’s expression fell, especially vexed that Elizabeth’s use of the world we did not include she and he.
It included she and Jack.
Nothing had changed at all, it seemed.
The former commodore effectively cowed, Elizabeth looked to a map of their island upon the wall. She gestured to the more deserted stretches. “What if they anchor somewhere else off the island?” asked Elizabeth, her stomach sinking like a stone for the thought. “They were devilishly fast, I imagine they could make it here in a night with time to spare to cause trouble.”
Jack made a face as though he’d tasted something nasty. “If it comes to a land battle, they don’t appreciate a mortal wound, but t’kill ‘em requires a good ol’ fashioned beheading. Start with arming your soldiers with crosses, fire, weapons of a decapitative choppy chop nature. And I haven’t seen it for me self, but an ol’ bokor told me they don’t appreciate bein’ stuck with silver. If ye’ve got any layin’ about, I’d say start casting it into musket balls an’ grape shot.”
James’ eyes went wide. He didn’t think the townspeople would appreciate being asked to donate their silver to the cause, even for the defense of their own city. “That may prove difficult.”
Jack shrugged. “Your funeral, mate.” He gestured towards the town through the window with wiggling fingers. “Or theirs.”
The former commodore sighed. “Very well. What else?”
“Ye can put the priests on this island to some use for once. Have them consecrate the fort. Make it holy ground that the vampires cannot cross. If they do strike, have the townspeople evacuate there.” Jack tapped his chine pensively. “They also might not like hot tar bein’ poured on ‘em. It’s a bit medieval, but it could keep ‘em from scalin’ the walls.”
James nodded, thinking he had a busy day ahead of him.
“I always thought vampires were just another myth. I should know better by now, shouldn’t I?”
Jack shrugged. “Anything’s possible in this ol’ world, mate.” Elizabeth paid him an extra long look. He was thinking about his Agua de Vida, no doubt, stashed away in his sash.
James stood from his chair, a sudden aire of purpose about him, his old Naval Commander-self peeking through. “I must begin immediately then,” he said, no doubt a list of all the things he had to accomplish before the sun set running through his mind. And there was a haunted look in his eyes, no doubt remembering the carnage of Puerto Moreas.
He shook his head, as though the image could be cleared off so easily. It won’t be Port Royal, he assured himself. I will see to it. He wished he felt as confident as the voice in his head.
As Elizabeth and Jack made for the exit, Norrington stopped Elizabeth with a gentle hand on her arm. “When night falls, will you come here?” he asked quietly, although there could be no hiding his request from the eavesdropping ears of Jack. “I would feel better if I knew you were safe.”
His eyes were mournful, fearful, and Elizabeth hated that she was only going to compound upon his discomfort. “Probably not, James,” she said truthfully.
James looked to Jack suspiciously, who only raised his eyebrows, not relieving any questions at all. “Why not?”
Elizabeth sighed. “I’m not a child who must be minded. My house is out of town, its probably the safest of the lot, if the vampires come to feed. If I hear the fort bell, I will come.”
Nodding resignedly, James knew he couldn’t change her mind. She’d become even more hard headed these days. Was that what the title of Pirate King did to a woman? No, he was certain it was simply her.
“And where’s he going to stay?” asked James, shooting an icy glare in Jack’s direction.
“On his ship,” Elizabeth smoothly lied. James didn’t know Jack had lost the Pearl again, and there didn’t seem to be any reason for his need to know.
Stealthily, Jack and Elizabeth slipped out of the commodore’s mansion, and through the back streets, hoping to go unnoticed.
Finally they quit the sprawl of the city, and walked along a well-worn path lined by high grass on both sides. “So seein’ as I don’t really ‘av me ship at this point, and Port Royal’s not exactly been friendly to blokes of my professional persuasion...”
“Don’t be silly, Jack, of course you’ll stay with me,” said Elizabeth, feeling suddenly quite possessive of the wayward Captain. She found the thought that he possibly wouldn’t filled her with an undefinable anxiety. Quickly she covered her eagerness, glancing back at Jack with a smirk. “If you dare, that is? I might feed you to a Kraken when you’re not looking.” Jack merely narrowed his eyes at her, and she laughed, enjoying being able to get under his skin. “Unless you eat that Agua de Vida for breakfast now, Captain, I’d be happy to treat you to a meal or two.”
However, Elizabeth’s slip did not escape Jack’s notice. Worse yet, he had to clamp down on the urge to grin from ear.
“Sounds highly agreeable, luv.”
Jack noticed Elizabeth picking flowers along the way, but thought little of it.
After that the trail began to wind uphill, and Jack had little breath to make any remarks, smart or otherwise. Elizabeth, on the other hand, traipsed as though the path’s incline affected her not, well used to it by now. She went along with her plucking of tropical flowers, the whole way up. Finally, they reached a clearing at the top of the bluff.
“You weren’t joking when you said you live at the edge of town,” Jack wheezed. “You’ve got ol’ Jack feelin’ his age with that climb.”
Elizabeth laughed a little, and Jack stiffened with surprise as she took his hand in hers. It was warm, and soft, and her long fingers laced so perfectly between his own. “I think you’ll find it’s worth the exertion once you see the view. Come on.”
She tugged him to follow her, and in that moment Jack knew what James must have felt earlier. In that moment, Jack knew he was utterly lost to her. That all his previous intentions of holding her at arm’s length just went up in smoke.
He wanted Elizabeth. He always had, and he was surrendering now to the devil inside that whispered wickedly what he should do to make her his, even if only for a day.
Surely after all they’d been through, the whelp could be so generous as to allow him just one day?
Oblivious to the war raging within Jack’s heart, Elizabeth led him to the edge of her clifftop plateau. The waters of the Caribbean stretched out below, a great glittering blue roiling blanket, sparkling and breathtaking to behold. At least two hundred feet below, the waves crashed against the sheer cliff face, a familiar and comforting sound.
The salt sprayed breezed lifted Jack’s hair from his shoulders, and he smiled for the feel of the familiar wind upon his face. To Elizabeth’s surprise he squeezed her hand in his, and they stood there for quite some time, content with the view and the company, even if they couldn’t quite admit it aloud.
“Quite a view, luv.” said Jack, quite sincere for once.
“It’s no crow’s nest, or view from behind a helm, but it suits me for now.”
“For now, eh?”
“Aye,” she sighed. “For now.”
Eventually Elizabeth slipped out of his grasp, retreating to a rock at the edge of the yard, and rested her now large handful of flowers upon it. Dozens and dozens of old and dried out blossoms lay below it, almost like a grave. But the rock didn’t look like a tombstone to Jack. An altar? Had Elizabeth taken up a hobby of witchcraft as well? It didn’t seem likely.
Jack siddled up behind her, watching curiously. “What’s with the rock?” he asked.
Elizabeth pursed her lips hesitantly, weighing whether or not she really wanted to answer. She’d never spoken of it to anyone, and yet she felt the strongest urge to tell the tale to Jack.
Finally, she decided to go ahead with it, staring out at the endless waters, not wanting to look at his eyes. It was too much.
“It’s a...memorial stone, Jack. Will and I...made a child. But I lost it, early on. Three months after he’d left me. Too active for my own good said the doctor. Too many long walks on the beach. But I think it just wasn’t meant to be. One day for no seeming reason at all I started bleeding. I bled and bled and a piece of me went with it I will never get back.
“I wonder if it would have been a boy or girl sometimes. Sometimes I am so relieved that it did not happen. I cannot truly imagine how I would have managed a child, by myself. I know women do, I know it is possible--but perhaps I am wicked, and selfish. Sometimes I am just glad. I decided to leave it all behind. I moved here, to be alone and do exactly as I please.”
She turned on her heel to go to the house, but before she could get far a warm firm hand gripped her upper arm, stopping her in her tracks, turning her back. She looked up to those intense black eyes, searching. For what? She did not know. But she felt that his knowing gaze could pierce straight through her, straight to her soul. What? She demanded in her head, but the terse word died on her tongue.
“M’sorry, luv,” he said quietly. No hint of mockery, no teasing, no joke. Just Jack. A serious Jack. Well, that was depressing.
Sympathy.
She could have stood anything but sympathy, especially from him. Biting her lower lip, she held back the tears, held back the choking sensation she felt at the back of her throat.
“S’no easy thing, luv, raisin’ a brat by yer onesies. Me own mum tried, and look how I turned out.” He tried to make a joke of it, and she offered the barest of smiles.
“She didn’t do such a bad job, Jack. I imagine she was a very strong and brave woman. Braver than me.”
Jack shook his head, a strange and niggling little pain surfacing in his chest. He had not thought of his mother in God knew how long. It hurt. It all just hurt, and he tried not to think serious thoughts.
Ever.
Usually he managed to keep them at bay with rum. Hopefully, Elizabeth had a stash of good ol’ fashioned kill devil in the house so he could stop rambling like a damned fool. He hadn’t gone this long without a drink for a long time
“She would have laughed with delight to hear a Pirate King say it,” he found himself saying. He could remember his mother’s laugh. It was the one of the few things he could really remember, truth be told. Her laugh, and soft kisses upon his forehead. She’d called him Jackie. He’d been the eldest of her pack of brats, crammed in a little sailor’s shack in Portsmouth.
He’d left home very young to find work as a cabin boy, to give the others a chance at getting enough gruel in their bellies. He’d spent his tenth awful English winter without shoes, and decided it would be his last. He still had odd feeling in his pinky toe from the frost bite. Sometimes it tingled, and sometimes he could stick it with the point of a knife and not feel it.
His fate as a man of the sea was written from there.
Elizabeth tilted her head to regard Jack, surprised to hear him speak of something so real as his mother. It was hard to imagine such a legend of a man having something so normal as a mother. Didn’t he spring from the skull of a deity, or emerge fully formed from the sea foam?
It was endearing, and made her want to know more of his past. Not the stories, though they were fun, but the truth. She had a feeling he would lock her out of the fortress shortly, however.
“Me point is, luv, what’s happened happened and sometimes there’s nothin’ to be done. Doctors love to lay the blame at a woman’s feet, but I’m sure it weren’t yer fault. After all you’d been through…these things just happen. Er--ye can’t blame yerself.”
He was rambling, and Devil knew he was no expert on childbirth, though he’d picked up a thing or two hanging around the tarts--mainly he wanted to see that pain go from Elizabeth’s eyes, and he knew the usual pleasant placations wouldn’t do with her.
Elizabeth frowned, absorbing his words, wanting to believe them. “It’s hard not to blame yourself, Jack,” she finally sighed. “I was so angry for a time. Angry, and empty. I tried going to the church in Port Royal. It used to bring me some solace as a girl, but I found myself surrounded by people in the pew, yet completely alone, and trying so hard not to laugh out loud at the sermons. The minister, the flock, none of them had any idea what real life is like. What’s out there. Their little holy book is full of fairy tales, it doesn’t apply to half of what I’ve seen and done and had to do. Do you ever feel that way, Jack? So alone, because you’ve seen so much?”
Pressing his lips, Jack found himself nodding. He was a sailor and a pirate and had been an outcast for most of his adult life. It was not where he’d expected their morning to go at all. Down this damnable path of truthiness. “I know what ye mean, luv,” he said sadly, wanting a swallow of rum more than ever.
Elizabeth recognized that he was trying to make her feel better, and making himself quite uncomfortable in the process, and she wasn’t helping matters.
Yet somehow, saying something true rather than the usual prattle to someone who understood did help, more than anything else ever had.
“Thank you , Jack.” She squeezed his arm, and hoped he knew just how much she meant it. “But it’s alright now.” She waved at the stone. “This is my little way to remember it wasn’t all a bad dream. I’m…happy now.”
Jack raised one dark eyebrow, not entirely convinced. “Are ye?”
She looked around the yard, to the sea, anywhere but his eyes. But she truly considered his question. Well, was she? Finally, she bobbed her head, minutely. “Most of the time, yes. I like this,” she said, waving towards her house. It was small, simple, white washed and blinding in the morning sun, for strings and strings of seashells hung as a curtain on the porch, and lined the walkway, and the bougainvillea bushes out front. Their pink and white blossoms exploded in a froth of color. A few chickens scratched about the front yard, clucking the morning gossip. “This is mine, completely mine. No husband to wait on, no brats to run after. Just mine. I think you understand, don’t you, Jack.”
It wasn’t really a question.
And yes, he understood her, perfectly well. Peas in a pod, luv. Looking down at her, this changed and hardened yet suddenly infinitely even more interesting woman, Jack knew he didn’t have to say it aloud.
“Let’s talk about something else,” she offered, linking her arm with his and pulling him towards the house. “Tell me about your mother.”
Jack sighed, almost inaudibly. “I don’t remember much about her,” he admitted. “I left home very young. She passed of a fever, many years ago.”
“I don’t really remember my mother either,” Elizabeth confessed. “She died giving birth, and my father was never the same afterwards. I think he blamed himself. They were a love match, not an arranged marriage. It was something of a scandal in London, for a season anyway. I think that’s why my father was so accommodating of my marriage with Will.”
She smiled wistfully, thinking of her stodgy periwigged father as a younger, brasher man, madly in love and making some grand romantic gesture, spiriting away with her mother and causing London society to howl. God, how she missed him.
For a time she’d watched the shores after James’ return, hoping her father too would wash up someday, another gift from the sea.
It never happened. Perhaps he was too old? Perhaps he’d been ready to go to the other side? She would never know. Eventually she gave up hoping she could see him again, cauterizing the wound in her heart with so many others, so that she would not bleed dry.
“Ah.” Jack could see that she expected him to say something about his own parents. A sweet love story between Teague the pirate and his doting Ma. It didn’t exist. As a child Jack hadn’t been sure what was worse, when his Da was away at sea and they lived dirt poor, or when the ol’ man came home with his wages and spent most of it on whiskey. He would knock Jack around for the slightest offense, such as looking his way. And Jack took it, because the others were too little. When the children went to bed it would be his Ma’s turn for the same.
Jack did remember the sound of his mother crying.
Jack never wanted to be like his Da, but fate has a way of passing that curse from father to son. In the end, he’d become a pirate too. A better one, maybe, but a pirate none the less.
“I s’pose me Mum and Da were in love at one point, but a hard life chipped away at that. She was a good woman, me Ma, but Da was no good for her, m’fraid.”
Elizabeth frowned, thinking she’d brought up a happy subject, and finding she’d tripped into another mire. “Captain Teague seemed rather charming, at Shipwreck Cove.”
“Aye, he’s a charmer,” Jack agreed. “A charmer and a devil underneath it all. His soul is black as char. Make no mistake about that, luv.”
Sensing that Teague had made Jack’s childhood not a happy one, the Pirate King squared her shoulders. “Then tell me, what shall be his punishment for mistreating you? I shall address it at our next convening of the Brethren Court.”
Jack chuckled for the thought, patting Elizabeth’s hand upon his arm. “I don’t think bein’ a bad father’s a punishable offense among the Breathren, dearie. You’d have t’hang them all.”
“Hmm,” was all she said, and a chill ran down his spine as he realized she was considering just that.
“Or y’could feed ‘em to a Kraken.”
A slight smile curled her lips. “Jack, I only do that to pirates I like.”
In a rare moment, Elizabeth seemed to have managed to stupefy Captain Jack Sparrow. They closed the distance to the front porch in silence.
“How do fresh eggs sound? My girls should have a few waiting for us.”
“Girls?” Jack asked, paying her a quizzical look. Had Lizzy become a madame without him knowing it?
“My hens,” she clarified, laughing a little, and the dark cloud above them began to lift.
Jack’s stomach grumbled. He would eat Agua de Vida for breakfast if he could, but unfortunately the life giving waters just had no substance to them.
“Lead the way, luv.”
The house was small, but clean. Cozy. The dimensions of the space rather reminded him of a great cabin. The floorboards did not creak as they crossed them, and all the lines were straight and true. It was not a house of brick like the English style abodes in town, but of wood. Wood that would give a little when the frequent earthquakes shook the ground beneath them.
“Who built the house?” asked Jack, wondering who she’d bought the place from. Who else would wish to live like a hermit up on the cliff, a steep walk from town?
“I did,” she answered, taking off her coat.
“You?” Jack exclaimed with disbelief, imagining her hauling timbers and sinking pegs all by her onesies.
Elizabeth laughed for his incredulous expression. Twice in one day she managed to dumfound Captain Jack Sparrow. “Well, I paid a local shipwright to do it. A fine job he did, too,” she commented, patting a wall with affection.
Jack considered the cottage, and what a change it was from the Governor’s mansion she once occupied. He wondered if the downgrade was a necessity or a choice. Not many would gladly give up the life of luxury Elizabeth once led, yet the girl was just full of surprises. She had different priorities than most. “Quite a change from the surroundins ye was used to,” he pried a little, eyeing a knickknack upon the mantle. It was a whale tooth ocarina used by sailors for entertainment. Blowing out a few notes, he smiled with satisfaction.
“I prefer it,” she confessed, wondering if indeed Jack was inquiring as to the state of her finances. Was he worried she was close to ruin, or curious where she kept the gold? Either seemed possible. “There’s really no such thing as privacy when there are servants around, and being waited on has always made me a little uncomfortable. Besides, with father gone I couldn’t very well remain in the Governor’s mansion. I stayed at his cane plantation for a time, but that didn’t agree with me either.”
“Oh? I didn’t know the guvnor had his fingers in the cane pie.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Father liked to diversify, I suppose. The governor’s stipend is a pittance compared to the yield from the cane. But oh Jack, it’s so terrible. The way they treat the slaves…it made me sick to have a direct hand in it. After looking over the books for the plantation and seeing the profit margins I asked the overseer why we couldn’t just pay the Africans a decent wage to work for us. You would think I proposed I hang all the good citizens of Port Royal. He quickly suggested that I should let a man handle my affairs.”
Jack was not surprised to hear that Elizabeth had a head for sums, but the talk of slavery inspired a familiar lurch in Jack’s gut. It was a nasty business, and he’d seen it from far too close. “It would cause an up risin’ on the whole island, if just one plantation started payin’ decent,” said Jack, understanding the mind of men like the overseer all too well.
“Yes. I was soon after invited to dinner with the new governor, Sir Buckley, to address this silly little notion of mine. I was informed it would be quite illegal to pay the slaves. When I asked to see the law in writing I was also informed that I would be tried as a criminal or removed from the island for initiating such an absurd trifle.” Elizabeth sighed. It had been the beginning of the end of her interest in taking part in Port Royal society. “So I decided to sell the plantation to a neighbor. The slaves would have gone with it, so I went under the cover of night to their quarters, and offered to evacuate anyone who wanted to leave. And out of all of them, only ten stepped forward. All young men.”
Jack thought of the terrible punishments devised for runaway slaves, and understood that all too well too. Being beaten bloody and burned alive from the feet up was a horrible fate.
“You yourself could have been hanged fer that, Lizzy,” he said, looking at another bauble on a shelf so that she would not see the alarm on his face, thinking of the danger she’d faced alone. This one was a chased sterling lantern, covered in repousse designs of waves and sea monsters. The bottom was weighted, so that it would always remain upright. He poked it, watching it wobble back and forth. It bore an ornate monogram of EMS.
Jack wondered what the M stood for. Mary? Margaret? Maria? He realized that he very much wanted to know. He wanted to know everything about her.
“I didn’t care. A few of the men knew their way around a boat, so I…I gave them the Free Swann and a heading for Tortuga.” Jack blinked, turning to face her once more. She hadn’t had an accident with her first boat. She’d done something dangerous and honorable with it. Maybe she was the Pirate King, but there was a streak of the whelp in her too.
“Ye could ‘ave told me, luv. What happened to the Free Swann the First.”
“I know, Jack. I suppose I’m just in the habit of not talking about the whole affair, as I’m sure you can imagine why.” Elizabeth continued, “The boat couldn’t make an ocean crossing, it wasn’t big enough, and the only other occupation I could think of that they could take part in without being pressed again was to become pirates. A search was made, but no one found. The overseer suspected me, of course, but what could he really do? I sold the plantation after that, and used some of the money to buy this land.” Lizzie gestured around. All Jack could see through the windows was yard, lined by jungle, and blue mountains in the distance. It must have cost pennies compared to the arable land useable for cane crops.
In other words, she was sitting pretty, and he was glad to hear it. Will wasn’t exactly sending any coin home, and there wasn’t much left to a woman forced to fend for herself. The thought of Lizzy taking part in some of the more sordid professions of a solitary woman made his stomach drop like a stone.
“Yer obviously a little daft but I’m proud of ye, Lizzy. That took a set o’ cods any sailor I know would be envious of.” Jack paid her an appraising look, punctuated by his characteristic leer. “Ye haven’t got any, have ye?”
Laughing, Elizabeth smacked his arm. “No, thank you very much. Everyone else thought I was daft too, buying this mountain. But I think someday it will be very good for growing coffee. I’ve been experimenting with some Arabica seeds from Cuba, and the plants are doing exceptionally well so far.”
Jack raised an eyebrow at her enterprising nature. “How did ye get seeds from Cuba?” he asked, a little afraid of the answer. He imagined her sailing into Santiago, an unfriendly Spanish port where it was illegal to trade with anyone but Spain herself, with that tiny little boat of hers. He imagined her blatantly English lion’s mane of golden hair shining in the sun beneath a jaunty tricorn hat, and demanding to buy goods. Ye Gods.
“I bought them from a gentleman unloading a bit of cargo that was seized from a Spanish ship,” she imparted cheekily.
She bought them from a pirate, she meant.
“Ah. But isn’t coffee considered highly uncouth for a lady of your stature? Makes the blue blood turn muddy brown?” he teased. Tea was considered the suitable beverage for the gentile, but Elizabeth liked the heady brew of the red berry very much.
“You can’t be surprised.”
“Not in the least,” Jack affirmed with a grin that glinted gold.
“Perhaps someday I’ll have my own coffee plantation here,” Elizabeth mused. “It will be a cash crop, and I will divide the profits evenly amongst us. I of course, as administrator, will get two shares.”
Like the Captain of a pirate ship.
Her eyes sparkled with the thought as she daydreamed aloud. “And any old pirate who needs a warm place to come ashore may find shelter with their King. We’ll be a merry band of misfits and thumb our noses at the stuffy citizens of Port Royal from atop our beautiful blue mountain. And we’ll have so much bloody money they won’t dare scoff.”
Jack smiled warmly, liking her vision, even if it was a completely unlikely endeavor.
Coffee?
The English were far too in love with their precious bleedin’ tea.
Elizabeth noted his wan little smile. There was a hint of sadness in it, and her spirits fell a bit. “Do you think I’m crazy, Jack?”
“Nah, lass. Just ahead of yer time. The world will catch up in a few centuries or so.”
“Do you think it ever will? That someday slaves will be free, and women will be free, and that men will be able to live free without risking hanging for piracy? That a poor man who works hard can make an honest wage without being treated like scum? That someday people will have power over their own destinies, rather than owing everything to a king who has done nothing in his life but had the luck to be born into the right family?”
“Listen to your seditious talk, Lizzy. I’d be careful who ye let hear ye say such things,” cautioned Jack with a wily smile, loving every treacherous word.
“It’s just you and me, Jack. And you know me better than anyone. You always have.”
Jack grunted uncomfortably, even if he knew it was true. Peas in a pod indeed.
Going on as though she didn’t notice his expression, though it absolutely did not escape her notice, she asked, “Do you ever think about things like that?”
All the time.
And when it got to be too much he knew it was time to visit his old friend Rum.
“Sometimes, luv,” he lied, unsettled by the earnest way she was looking at him. As though she expected some great pearl of wisdom to fall from his lips at any moment.
Yes, it was getting’ high time for that drink.
Jack continued to examine the contents of the room. A painting hung on the wall of a ship sailing ahead of a storm, sails full to the bursting and riding a great wave. He took a step closer, admiring the fine brushwork. He noticed interesting details on the brigantine: black sails, and the colors of a jolly-roger flying high.
It was the Pearl, without a doubt.
A smug little smile curled his lips at the thought of Elizabeth commissioning this from some law abiding bloke in town. It was a small wonder she herself had escaped being branded with that tell-tale P, gatting about with her egalitarian ideals, rocking the boat of the establishment. He felt certain the town must have whispered a great deal after her return from World’s End, and perhaps it too had something to do with her move out to the clifftop cottage.
There were also maps and charts on the walls, and a pair of sleek swords hung above the mantle. Everything about the space spoke of a person who longed to be at sea but was kept from it, and made do in the meantime. The thought made Jack a bit sad. She claimed she was happy. Far as she knew, perhaps she was. But he had a different feeling. Jack had a feeling Elizabeth was simply stuck in waiting.
Waiting. That perpetual state most people live in, just waiting for life to begin. You silly silly mortals, he thought to himself. When will you realize life will only happen when you reach out and take it for yourself? Grab it greedily and never let go. No one will hand it to you. Pretend to sell it to you, maybe, but never hand it for free. Sometimes fate intervenes...but more often than not, life simply slips away.
Lizzy led him out back where she had a separate cook shed for the stove and kitchen accoutrements. Cooking inside the house was a dubious prospect at best in the tropical heat of Jamaica. Having a cook shed not only kept the house cooler, but reduced the risk of burning the house to the ground.
Jack sat at a roughhewn table in the shade and watched her work. She extracted the prized eggs from a chicken coop beside the shed, having a few words with the hens that milled about her feet. She built a fire in the stove, and soon the air was filled with the smell of frying eggs and salt pork. It was a fine morning indeed.
He liked watching her like this, efficient and confident in her tasks, humming as she went. Not many governor’s daughters could do much of anything for themselves, but Lizzy put the whole lot to shame. He was glad that she’d managed to make such a life for herself here, on her own terms. She seemed content, but for the shade of loneliness in her honeyed brown eyes.
Yet, at this moment, she was in a very good mood for a lass who’d just had a disturbing encounter with a fangy bitey monster, and likely would again sometime soon. Ah, but Jack understood. Jack knew, because he felt it too. An unexpected lightness inside, in the company of an old friend once again.
Blasted girl.
“How are we going to get the Pearl back, Jack?” she asked, bringing forth two plates heaped with sundries and smelling of heaven. Jack’s stomach rumbled. It beat weevil-ridden hard tack, that was for sure.
Jack raised an eyebrow at her use of that word again. We. He liked it, far more than he should. Oi, mate, yer up t’yer eyeballs and sinkin’ fast. Crazier yet, he wasn’t sure he minded.
“I’ll think of somethin’, darlin’,” he assured her, and they shared a fine meal in the shade.
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Jack watched curiously, as Elizabeth carried water in from the well outside, making to fill a tub. She did not struggle with the buckets as she might have once, with those skinny lass-of-leisure arms. Underneath that shirt Jack suspected she wasn’t just slender and soft but had a bit of muscle.
How unladylike.
The thought made him tingle, just a bit. Oh, just a dangerous, little, bit.
“Is that for me, luv?” he asked, leaning against the door of the washroom, where Elizabeth was emptying crystal clear water into a hip tub. A kettle with hot water, soap and a sheet lay on a stool nearby.
Elizabeth looked up from her pouring, expression contorted as though Jack had grown three new heads. He smiled mischievously, gold glinting in his mouth in the morning light. He so loved keeping the lass on her toes. “Are you serious?” she asked, when he didn’t burst out laughing heartily at his joke and strut away.
“ ‘Aven’t had a good dip in a while,” he confessed, though utterly without shame. “Not a luxury one has when fresh water is limited on a ship...and I always seem to be busy with getting dirtier when we make port...”
Elizabeth gave a much exaggerated eye roll. She certainly believed that.
She siddled up to him, hands clasped behind her back. “If you are serious, I will more than happily relinquish it to you. Jack Sparrow asking to take a bath is not an event to be taken lightly...”
Jack reached up to brush a knuckle under that infuriatingly haughty chin jutting out from her graceful swan neck. “We can make a trade, luv. I’ll wash your back if you wash mine...”
“Could you be so lucky, Captain Sparrow,” she taunted.
Those bee-stung lips curled in a bewitching smile, and it was all he could do not to claim them for his own. He inched closer and closer to the edge, he realized, with every moment he found himself in the company of Elizabeth Swann. Hang it...Mrs. Turner. Well, her husband wasn’t here, was he? In fact, the pointy end of that sword was a whole five years away, till it could next make landfall... Convenient. Deuced convenient.
As long as he stayed on land.
Which wasn’t something he did well.
Bloody hell.
In a quick bounce of footwork she was suddenly several feet away. “Enjoy your bath,” she called over her shoulder, flouncing out of the house with something of a triumphant skip in her step.
He glared at the place in the doorway where she’d just been.
What the bloody hell was he thinking?
She would stab you just as soon as kiss you, mate.
Pirate.
Pirate King.
Very interesting.
Jack undressed and tempered the cool water with the kettle, just enough to take the edge off. In the tropical heat of Jamaica, a salty breeze wafting through the open windows, the lukewarm water felt very nice indeed.
He set to work scrubbing himself clean, making use of a sponge and soap that smelled of coconut oil. In very little time the water turned from crystal clear to murky gray.
Some sailors swore up and down that baths were a dangerous endeavor, scrubbing away all the dirt and grime that shielded a man from disease. Jack always found the superstition silly. Jack sat back in the tub, enjoying his moment of cleanliness. The breeze came in off the ocean, stirring the palm trees outside.
True paradise.
Yet something was missing.
He could hear Elizabeth puttering in the other room, singing softly. She was going through her drawers and shelves, gathering up the silver items she owned in the house, just in case. He thought on the breakfast they’d shared, eggs and sausage and tea in china cups, and the unlikely domesticity of the scene. It left him feeling uncharacteristically soft around the edges.
“Lizzy luv?” he called in his most honeyed voice. “Will ye do me the vast and coveted honor of washin’ me back?”
Elizabeth froze as she heard the request from the other room, her heart suddenly pounding for no discernible reason. She’d thought he was joking before. He usually was. It would be terribly improper, and yet she was already in for a penny, cavorting with pirates again.
Not just pirates. Her pirate. The incredible indomitable Captain Jack Sparrow.
Cautiously she put down her dusting rag, and quiet as a mouse she padded into the room off the back of the cottage where Jack bathed. She paused at the sight of him; he appeared to be sleeping, long wiry limbs brown as a nut splayed out over the edge of the tub, a myriad of tattoos and scars in plain view. Hungrily her eyes roamed over him, a hot blush creeping over her cheeks.
She hadn’t seen a man like this since her night on the beach with Will, and even then she didn’t remember seeing much. It filled her with an unexpected heat inside, her palms suddenly balmy in her clenched fists. Only with Jack here did she feel her loneliness like a palpable weight upon her skin.
Eyes closed, his head rested against the back of the tub. The bandana was gone, leaving his wild ropey hair to do as it pleased. Something seemed a little off. He looked years younger, almost angelic, his high cheekbones and strong jaw unadorned by dirt. And then Elizabeth realized that he’d washed away his kohl. It left him less fierce and wild, yet no less beautiful to her.
The latter was an alarming thought.
“Like what you see, luv?” he asked softly, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a smirk.
“I can’t see anything,” she quipped cheekily. “The bathwater is nearly black.”
Jack opened his eyes to find Elizabeth sitting on the stool beside the tub, closer than he’d thought. His own heart did a little skitter about the inside of his chest.
“Aye, I was due fer a wash. But I need yer help t’finish.” He held out the sponge, and much to his great surprise, Elizabeth took it, moving the stool to sit behind him.
She wet the sponge with the water from the kettle, and found her hands were shaking a little.
Steady, girl, she scolded herself, reaching for the soap. Jack leaned forward, holding his hair out of the way, and Elizabeth went to work. At her first touch a hissing sigh escaped Jack, surprising himself as much as her. It was ridiculous, and a little pathetic, he thought, how badly he wanted her to touch him.
“Too hot?” she asked, afraid she’d hurt him, and afraid she understood the cause of his sigh all too well.
“No, luv. It feels wonderful.” He hoped the tremor that ran through his frame was something only he felt, and couldn’t be seen.
Somehow this gave her an injection of bravery, and she stroked the lathered sponge over his shoulders with hands that no longer shook, fascinated by the contours of his musculature. A round of rinse water from the kettle revealed in stark detail a smattering of long, deep scars that ran across the length of his back. Some were jagged and raised, torn flesh that healed badly.
She knew they had come from a cat o’ nine tails.
She knew the life of a common sailor could be frightfully hard, a man at the mercy of his captain, and sometimes a cruel one. Yet Elizabeth had always hoped, perhaps naively, Jack had not tasted the worse of it.
“Oh, Jack,” she said softly, tracing the scars lightly with the tips of her fingers. They were wicked and raised, and her heart hurt for him in that moment. She would have turned pirate too, after receiving a beating like that.
Jack had forgotten about the scars and the questions they might bring. He’d had them so long he barely saw them, and the doxies had seen so many similar marks on their sailor customers they barely batted a lash.
For a lady like Elizabeth, he imagined it could be a frightful sight.
“S’alright, luv,” he assured her, his voice low and seeming far away. “It happened a long time ago.” And yet a chill still racked his body for the memory.
He really needed a bottle of rum. Life was becoming far too…vivid for his liking.
And the inevitable question came. “What happened to you?”
Jack sighed heavily, leaning back in the tub again.
“I’ll tell ye if you’ll rub me shoulders. I’ve had an awful pain ‘round ‘ere,” he said, waving to his right side with a hand that glittered in the sunlight for all the rings upon it.
He expected her to flee and leave him with his ghosts alone.
Much to his surprise, he felt her hand light upon his shoulder, her long digits drumming upon his collarbone. “Here?” she asked, squeezing his muscle gentle.
Jack groaned with pleasure before he could stop himself. “Aye, there.” Elizabeth watched with fascination as the Captain seemed to melt beneath her massaging hands. It made her feel powerful and wicked, and warm and tingly inside.
“Oh luv,” he said after a while. “You have been to Singapore.”
Elizabeth laughed lightly, enjoying this seemingly innocent contact.
Seemingly.
The thread of tension growing between them did not escape her. She almost wanted to waive her payment of the story, so that he could stay like this, happy and relaxed and not speaking of his demons.
“S’pose you’ll be wantin’ that story now,” he said, his eyes closed once again.
“You don’t have to tell me just now,” she said quietly. Her touch wandered from his shoulders, tracing the long line of his neck, and the graceful curve of his earlobe. There was a piercing in the center, but no earring.
Beneath the black waters, Jack’s abdomen clenched. He knew if she didn’t stop touching him like that he was going to do something a little crazy.
What could be crazier than letting the woman who had killed him have his back?
Plenty. He could think of a few things.
Clasping her hand in his, he squeezed her fingers, and marveled when she didn’t pull away, or try to slap him, or set something on fire…
“I was third mate aboard an East India Trading Company brig,” he started, his voice low and gravely for the memory. “We were supposed to be dealing in tea and spices and silk, that was what I signed on for.”
Elizabeth imagined Jack as a younger man in a clean officer’s uniform, perhaps clean shaven or with a neater beard. Black hair pulled back in a queue, no wild dreadlock waving in the wind. It was an intriguing thought, but seemed too strange to think it could have ever been true.
Jack went on, “But the Captain declared we had a new heading, and in no time we found ourselves off the wretched mosquito infested coast of Africa. We were to make a slave run to stock the Captain’s sugar plantation on Barbados. He didn’t want to pay the exorbitant markup of the traders, and resolved to go right to the source for his latest business endeavor. One of the…captives had tried to hit me, as any man in his right mind would. He was already in shackles, so what more could I do to him? When I did not address it Captain Cutler Beckett decided to give me a lesson in what discipline really is.
“Slaver ships live in constant terror of a slave uprising. There were more of them than us, and as a general rule they were bigger and stronger men. So ol’ Cutler made a public example out of me. Tied me to the main mast and had his quartermaster shred me back with the cat. If the whites were willing to do that to their own, what horrors did the slaves have in store for them if they acted out? It was horribly effective.”
Elizabeth wasn’t sure who gripped who’s hand more tightly as he spoke. “Is that why you took the Pearl?” she asked, having heard whispers of this story from Gibbs on the late watch when the old man was in his cups. That Jack had taken the Pearl from the East India Trading Company, and Beckett had hunted him down, set the ship afire. Davy Jones resurrected the beauty from the deep for a hefty price, and she was rechristened the Black Pearl.
“First, I nearly died,” he confessed, shuddering as he remembered the infection and fever. He’d lain in his hammock, at death’s door for days. “But when I pulled out of it, it didn’t take much to convince the rest to mutiny. We put the slaves ashore, the officers off in a longboat, and sailed away with Beckett’s prized flag ship.”
All the slaves but one, he corrected his memory. There had been one bloke who spoke passable English and claimed he had nothing to go home to ashore. His village had been burned, and he had been sold off to the whites by a rival tribe. Kemobe had decided he wanted to see the world instead, and some treasure too. He and Jack had become good friends, and Kemobe had been the one to show Jack how to fix his hair into dreded ropes with beeswax.
Kemobe had been killed in the mutiny staged by Barbossa for the Pearl the first go round. Another reason on a list of many Jack loathed his former first mate.
Jack went on, “Africa was easy pickins. We took slavers all up the coast, until we had the supplies and crew for a crossing t’ the Caribbean.”
“Bravo, Jack.”
He was uncharacteristically quiet for the praise. She stroked his cheek with a finger, turning his wild black gaze back to her. He’d been a thousand miles away. “What’s wrong?” she whispered, and Jack pressed his cheek to her hand.
“Of all the wicked deeds under me belt, bein’ apart of that slaver business is the only thing I’ve done that was truly evil. That’s the thing I’ll burn for someday.”
“But Jack, you didn’t know. You didn’t sign on for it. You were following orders, and in the end you set them free.”
“Aye, but I helped load the boat with ‘em, and I’d say a third died o’ pure fright before we even set sail. Me hands ain’t clean, luv.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” she soothed, squeezing his shoulder. “You’re a good man, Jack.”
The pirate, however, shook his head. “M’really not, darlin’. Maybe I ain’t as wicked as some, but it don’t make me good. You’d best remember that.”
Elizabeth knew that she should retreat, yet something held her there with Jack. She could have moved a mountain more easily than her own person at that moment. A delicious shiver ran down her spine as she leaned forward, resting her chin on Jack’s shoulder. His skin was smooth and warm, the muscle taut beneath, and he now smelled deliciously of her coconut milk soap. She fought the urge to lick her lips, as though she wanted to take a bite of him.
For a moment Jack could not hide the surprise on his features, dark brows shooting sky high. He quickly adjusted, lowering one brow, the corner of that wicked mouth curling upwards. He weighed her with that dark gaze and waited, very curious to see what the Pirate King had in mind.
Finally she spoke, “I see you, Jack.”
“From this close, I should hope so, luv.”
She smiled, and there was a hint of mischief in that curl of lips that caused Jack’s guts to twist. Part in fear, but mostly, oh mostly, with longing.
“No, I mean, I see you. You can’t hide from me. I know who you really are. The legend of Captain Jack Sparrow is mighty good fun, but I think I prefer the man himself.”
The pirate’s heart dropped like a stone. He felt the urge to bolt just then, an uncomfortable tingle prickling over his skin. Suddenly, he felt that he was the one being hunted, and he didn’t particularly like it.
“This me reward for tellin’ ye something true?” he asked, and there was a sadness in his voice that broke Elizabeth’s heart.
“No.” She sat up a little, her gaze drawn to his mouth. She could think of something he might like a little better than being held under a magnifying glass. Suddenly her heart thundered in her chest; she could hear her pulse in her ears.
She wanted to kiss Jack again.
If she were honest, she would admit that she’d wanted to since laying eyes upon him in the pub in Tortuga.
Jack’s chest rose and fell with a deep breath, searching for oxygen and only getting the soft feminine scent of the woman so close to him. Last time he’d been this close to her, he’d been shackled to the main mast of the Pearl and shortly fed to a Kraken.
Most men would have run screaming.
Leave it to ol’ Cap’n Jack Sparrow to run into the fire.
It seemed she was fresh out of manacles, at least.
Filled with apprehension and anticipation, the pair leaned closer, until mouths hovered a breath away from touching. It was torture, and yet neither of them could quite bring themselves to close that last hair’s breadth.
Suddenly the blast of a loud and piercing crow ripped through the room, startling both Jack and Elizabeth straight into the air.
“Barbossa, you blasted old cock!” shouted Elizabeth at a frightfully large rooster suddenly appeared in the window frame. A comically large red comb folded over the side of his head. It looked rather like the sweeping brim of a hat, and was the cause of his namesake. The bird puffed up his chest, filling its lungs for another deafening crow.
Anticipating the explosion, a livid Elizabeth threw the soggy sponge at the cockerel. It missed its mark, but the chicken scrabbled from the window sill squawking with alarm all the same.
Jack chuckled, equal parts disappointed and relieved for the interruption.
“Ye named the rooster after Hector?” he asked, amused.
“Yes. He’s very annoying. Shall we eat him for supper?”
Laughing again, Jack nodded. “Aye, I like that idea.”
Elizabeth rose to go to the window, looking out. The rooster had crossed the yard, and was holding court with his ladies, chuckling over a bit of grass he fancied that he had provided for them. Roosters and men, they’re only good for one thing, Elizabeth mused with a small smile. Her favorite hen Penelope was broody and would have chicks soon. Barbossa had done his duty, and would soon be put to better use.
She picked up the sponge from the floor.
“He’s not used to having another man around the house,” she mused, looking back over her shoulder. “I think it makes him jealous.”
“I pity any fool who would think he could lord over you like a hen, luv.”
Pleased by the compliment, Elizabeth gave a small curtsy.
It was the first chance Jack had to peruse the costume she’d changed into. When Lizzy wasn’t parading around in men’s clothes it seemed she gatted about in her undergarments. In truth it was a lovely white chemise, light and airy and perfect for the Jamaican heat. It had no sleeves, quite scandalous, and pretty little trims of lace at the collar. Jack liked it immensely, and it made infinitely better sense than trying to wear layers of petticoats and a corset in this heat.
Noting his stare, Elizabeth looked down at her chemise. “I suppose you think me terribly improper,” she said cheekily, obviously pleased with herself.
“Only the English would insist on going about in London fashions in this weather. I like it. Reminds me o’ the island.”
Elizabeth canted her head to regard Jack, surprised. She herself remembered their little desert isle with fondness, for up to that point it had been her best adventure yet, but she’d gotten the impression the pirate had not enjoyed their sojourn quite the same way.
She had burned all the rum, after all.
In truth Jack remembered their marooning with mixed feelings. The proposition of being abandoned alone with a stunning specimen of the female sex and a cache full of rum sounded like a fine time at first. But the shadow had hung over his head, the knowledge of the agony that awaited them a few days without fresh water. He’d dreaded the thought of shooting Elizabeth in an act of mercy, and relished starving to death himself even less.
It had been enough to drive a man to drink far too much.
Elizabeth noted his brooding expression, and misinterpreted it. “I had to burn the rum, Jack. I saved us, you know.”
Jack’s mouth twisted in a wry grin, his dark eyes sparkling again. “Was the thought of one more night alone with me so awful?”
Elizabeth smiled, looking away shyly. “Perhaps if there’d been a source of fresh water, we could have stayed a little longer.”
Jack found himself sitting up a little straighter for the admission, and Elizabeth laughed. “You look like you need a drink, Jack.”
“Aye, now that’s a sane proposition.” He began to stand from the tub, and Elizabeth squealed, covering her eyes and fleeing from the room on fleet bare feet.
There had been far more laughter than terror in her little scream.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this much pure joy.
It had been her last adventure with Jack, truth be told. He had an uncanny way of making her feel so alive. No one else, not even Will, ever managed the same way.
Jack dried himself with the sheet and knotted it firmly about his waist.
Something was changing between he and Elizabeth. It was scary and exciting and wrong and yet felt entirely too right.
He regarded the pile of dirty clothes on the floor dubiously. He didn’t fancy putting them back on again in that state, but nor did he think Elizabeth would appreciate a request to wash them. Shrugging, he picked up the foul smelling pile and the soap, and went to draw more water from the well.
Elizabeth spied on Jack from the window in awe. Never in her lifetime did she think she would see Captain Jack Sparrow doing his own laundry. He looked like a native chieftain with a sarong of the towel knotted about his waist, bare footed, his lean upper body darkly tanned by the sun. She watched the muscles ripple beneath his skin as he worked over the laundry bucket, and felt that damnable heat welling up deep inside her again.
It had nothing to do with the tropical weather.
She’d made her bed. Too bad for her, that maybe it was the wrong one.
Shaking her head sadly, she went to check on the biscuits she was baking for their midday meal.
Click Next Entry for Chapter 6.