fic
This is the promised birthday James/Elizabeth fic for sinister_beauty, and it is L-O-N-G. Not epic, but no ficlet either. I blame this on the fact that the bunny percolated for a solid six months before I got around to it. Rated NC-17 for smut -- yes, het smut. Much with the wow, on my part. I had to remember that there was a clitoris instead of a prostate and it totally isn't in the same place. Anyway....
Adaptation
“You’re sure there were no others about?”
“We swept the beach end to end. There was a bit of driftwood - not nearly enough to indicate a wreck - and him.”
“That head wound looks like it might need stitches. Ana?”
“Already got th’ needle.”
“Wait, I think he’s coming ‘round.”
“James? Can you hear me?”
A few of the other voices had sounded somewhat familiar, but that one he definitely recognized. He opened his eyes, looking up into Elizabeth Swann's concerned face. Her hair was loose, the ends of it nearly touching him. Behind and beside her, he saw a pretty dark-skinned woman and several rough-looking sailors, as well as Will Turner and Jack Sparrow.
He immediately shut his eyes again, stifling a groan. Of all the likely rescuers...
“Don’t think he’s very happy t’ see us,” said Sparrow in a too-loud whisper. A rustle of clothing from above might have been someone elbowing him in the ribs. James sincerely hoped so.
“Ah, Commodore Norrington, sir,” said Will, still polite despite his recent slide into piracy, “if you could sit up, we’d get your wound looked at.”
“You’re drippin’ blood all over the deck, an’ we did just swab it,” Sparrow added.
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself and tell us what happened,” Elizabeth ordered. When he did sit up and rub his aching temples, he saw that she had her hands planted on her hips. Which were clad in breeches and swathed by a yellow sash. He said nothing, but his disapproval was apparent in the tight lines of his mouth. Elizabeth, instead of being properly shamed, merely quirked an eyebrow. “Well, go on.”
He sighed heavily, reaching up to touch the gash above his right ear, which was still bleeding. “The Dauntless came upon a small boat of British merchants floating in the open sea. The storm that was brewing this morning - it broke while we were pulling them in. I suppose I must have been accidentally hit in the head with something loose, because the last thing I remember is being knocked overboard.” He looked out at the sky, calm and pale now, trying to keep his skin from flushing. It had been a ridiculous mistake, born simply of paying too little attention. Admitting it to Sparrow and his mates, not to mention the two former residents of his own town, was most humiliating.
“You washed ashore on a small beach where we happened by,” Will told him. “We didn’t know if you were alive or dead.”
At the moment, James wasn’t sure which fate he favored. He didn’t have any real fear for his safety, but then again Will and Elizabeth had been gone for months, and who knew what vile personalities they had adopted since their disappearance?
The woman bent over him, brandishing her needle and thread. “We’d best get that sewn up ‘fore he faints.” When James shrank away from her, her brows drew together and she flung the supplies on the deck. “Take care o’ yerself then!” She stalked off, muttering about ungrateful buggers and how they should have left him to rot.
“I’ll do it,” said Elizabeth, retrieving the needle and stretching out a hand to him. She rolled her eyes and grabbed his wrist when he hesitated, yanking upward with a strength that surprised him. He shook the dizziness from his head, realizing that Sparrow had drawn Turner some distance off. It looked like they were having a heated discussion.
“Come on.” Elizabeth tugged on his waterlogged sleeve, calling to the captain as she passed, “Using your cabin, Jack.” He waved a hand at her in dismissal and went back to making his point, whatever it was, with emphatic gestures while Will shook his head.
He couldn’t keep a bit of a sneer from his face upon seeing Sparrow’s cabin. It was large and luxuriantly decorated, in all manner of exotic fashions. He found it cluttered and ostentatious. The desk, however, was solid, beautiful oak. Elizabeth prodded him into the green velvet chair behind it and perched herself on the surface, sticking the point of the needle in the flame of a hanging lantern. From this angle, he got a view of her chest, noticing the deep tan to her skin as well as the linen beneath her shirt that served to bind her breasts. He had heard of women posing as sailors and going to such lengths, but never had he thought to actually see such a creature, much less one who was the progeny of the King’s governor.
Quickly he tore his gaze away, focusing on the stained wood of the desktop. “I am relieved to find you and the blacksmith alive, Miss Swann - or is it Mrs. Turner by now?”
“Your first instinct was correct. I’m quite fond of my name and have no intention of giving it up.”
So she was not just living in the den of vice that was the average pirate ship, she was living in sin with William Turner. The day just kept looking up.
He continued, watching out of the corner of his eye as she threaded her needle. “Nevertheless, I am distressed to see what you’ve made of yourself.”
“Is that so,” said Elizabeth absently, drawing her lower lip between her teeth as she fiddled with the thread. Her lack of response to his admonition was galling. He tried a different tack.
“Your father has been frantic with worry for you, you know.”
At this, she looked up with the hint of a frown. “I left him a note.”
James snorted. “And that was supposed to be sufficient? I have been combing the Caribbean for you and Turner all these months - or for the Black Pearl, I should say, since it was perfectly obvious where you would have turned - and you care not a whit for my efforts or your father’s concerns. For shame, Elizabeth! You are his only child.”
Her face hardened and she made her first stitch with less care than she might have. He made an effort not to wince. “If you think to guilt me into returning to Port Royal, James, you may as well give up. The Pearl is home to me now, as it is to Will, and we’ve no desire to leave her.”
“But -”
“If you don’t be quiet, Commodore, I might slip and put your eye out,” she told him, smile much too similar to Sparrow’s for his liking. He held his tongue, staring resolutely past her as she worked. The pain distracted him from his increasing unease over her blasé attitude. He'd suspected she and Turner might pull something like this, but had been sure they would find life as outlaws entirely unlike the romantic ideals they’d cherished, and be more than ready for him to escort them home once he caught up to them. So far, Elizabeth had exhibited no sign that this was the case.
“Aha!” she said when she was finished, hazel eyes triumphant. “And Jack claims I can’t sew to save my life. You won’t even have much of a scar once that’s healed up.” She reached - God, he couldn’t believe he was actually seeing this - between her legs to pull open a desk drawer. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror she held up, admitting to himself that she’d done a good job, but he was more interested in her hand so close to his face. Catching her wrist, he took note of the unkempt nails, the small scars across her knuckles, and the calluses he had felt while she doctored his cut.
“You are better than this, Elizabeth.” She looked down at his hand on hers, so that her sun-bleached hair fell forward and he could not see her face. He took this as a sign that she was considering his words and layered his voice with soft passion. “You’re better than this and you know it. Please, reconsider before it’s too late, before you have committed crimes which must needs be -”
She snorted softly, her wrist flexing, although she didn’t attempt to pull away. “It’s already too late. Those people you rescued in the storm? We are the reason they were set adrift. They were the ones smart enough to surrender.”
That news alarmed him, but there were still loopholes to be found. “Then there isn’t much I can do for Turner, but you - all you need do is say that you were coerced into following him. You’re young and well-born, and the admiralty would be much happier to not have to hang you.”
For a long moment she didn’t speak. When she did, her voice was cool. “If I were you, James, I’d be careful about making enemies, woman or not. There are few aboard who would speak for you.”
“You can tell her that I apologize,” he said, annoyed at her evasive maneuver. “She merely startled me.”
The arm he held stayed perfectly still while the other drew a knife from her belt. The blade was pressed against his throat before he could even register the fact that she had moved. Now she looked at him, and her eyes burned a little. “I wasn’t talking about Anamaria.”
Slowly, carefully, steel cold against the jump of his pulse, he released her.
“Better,” she said. His relief when she put the knife away was short-lived, because she pulled a pistol on him instead. “Get up. Out of respect for your friendship with my father and our mutual history, I won’t put you in the brig, but I can hardly leave you in Jack’s cabin, either.” He followed her to the door, where she drew back and waited until he moved to walk in front of her. Men jeered in their direction as she led him to a tiny, bare space next door, not unlike the one where he had kept Will Turner on their return journey to Port Royal. The irony was not lost on him, nor on Elizabeth, he suspected.
She directed him inside and stood against the doorframe, idly twirling the gun in her fingers. “There’s nothing in here that can be used as a weapon, so don’t even try.”
“What’s to be done with me?” He still spoke to her with a measure of respect and grace, because he could not allow himself to believe that she was truly lost.
Elizabeth shrugged. “That’s up to Jack, really. I trust he’ll be by to see you eventually.” And she left, locking the door behind her.
Night had fallen by the time the captain came. James had long since lowered himself to the deck, leaning against a bulkhead and counting cracks in the boards.
Sparrow knocked, entering before James had the chance to say anything. He balanced a plate on one hand with a roll, thick slices of pork and cheese, and some grapes. James was surprised at the rich fare until he remembered that the Black Pearl had taken a prize just that morning. He stayed on the floor as an expression of insolence, which seemed to go right over Sparrow’s head.
“Evening mate,” he said heartily, offering the plate and a tin cup. James merely looked at him, hands resting on his knees. Unfazed, Sparrow set his delivery down at James’ feet. He leaned back against the door and crossed one ankle over the other. “How’s the head? Looks like Lizzie sewed you up neat enough.”
“Let’s cut the pleasantries, Sparrow,” he broke in, getting perverse enjoyment out of the sour face and silently mouthed ‘Captain.’ “What exactly are you planning on doing with me?”
Sparrow studied his tar-stained fingers. “How ‘bout you venture a guess?”
James hated being answered with a question. “Well, you would have killed me already, if that was what you wanted.”
“Not necessarily,” Sparrow countered. “You’re quite the infamous capture. Might want to make a show of it.”
“But I’d do you more good as a hostage.”
Shaking out his sleeves, Sparrow chuckled. “Bargaining for our life, are we?”
“Hardly,” said James evenly. “Merely attempting to reason from your deranged point of view. So far we have - the pleasure and honor of killing me, versus what you may be able to gain from those who’d rather see me alive. A dilemma.”
Sparrow fluttered his fingers with a dismissive air. “Oh, none o’ this dancing about, Commodore, adept though you may be. I intend on taking you back t’ Port Royal for ransom.”
“Assuming you get one, you realize you’ll have the full wrath of the Royal Navy upon your head once I’m free.”
His mouth twitched sardonically. “And you’ve done such a spectacular job hunting down the Pearl so far.”
Face flushed, James bit out, “If you are fond enough of the boy and girl to risk sheltering them aboard your precious ship, you ought to have sense enough to send them home.”
“For one thing, you speak of them like they’re wayward children,” said Jack quietly. “Neither is a babe in arms any longer. They’re fully grown and capable of making their own choices, complete with concern over all possible ramifications resulting from those choices. For another, ‘m hardly sheltering the pair, as you so succinctly put it. I don’t give free rides, Commodore. Both Will and Elizabeth work as hard as any man on this ship - harder, at some tasks.” His absent-minded smile bespoke of some fond memory to which James was not privy. “And fin’lly, you ever tried getting a burro t’ do something it didn’t wish t’ do?”
James blinked. “I must admit that animal husbandry is not among the skills a naval officer is expected to possess.”
“Of course not,” said Jack, holding up both forefingers to point at him, “but I trust you’re familiar with the generally stubborn nature of the common ass, yes? Well, think o’ that contrariness bolstered by extreme youth and near constant solidarity betwixt lad and lass, and then we will talk about making those two do anything.” His tone took a turn for the aggrieved. “I’m their bloody captain an’ I can hardly get ‘em to listen t’ a word I say.”
He sounded remarkably like the governor lamenting his daughter’s headstrong behavior. James changed the subject in order to stifle a sudden urge to smile. “We were about a fortnight’s sail from Port Royal this morning. You ought to be able to take at least a day off that time.”
“While I do thank you for the compliment, who’s t’ say we’re in such a hurry as all that?” An impish grin made James want to dash his mangy head against a rock.
“Then how long might I expect to remain a prisoner here, Captain?” He spoke through gritted teeth.
“Afraid that would be telling, Commodore. Really though, think of yourself as a venerable guest.” He dipped at the waist in a mockery of a bow as he turned to go. “Eat that or Marty’ll know the reason why,” he added over his shoulder. “An’ don’t be thinkin’ you can steal a boat. You may not be chained, but rest assured, you’re well-watched.” He left without locking the door.
James stared at his supper and wondered how long he would have to endure this. It was one thing to be locked in a brig with the rats, half-starved, or beaten, or tortured - but Sparrow’s genial manner was simply unforgivable. What was more, the things he’d said about Will and Elizabeth were very much in line with what he had seen so far. That had been no dreamy-eyed girl tending his wound. She had grown up, and he knew he had to stop thinking along these lines or he was going to picture the worst possibilities of how it had happened.
Eventually he ate the food, which was very good, and not long after, the woman he had so offended came by to drop off a pallet for him to sleep on. Remembering what Elizabeth had said, and seeing how fiercely she glared, he swallowed his pride and attempted to rectify his earlier mistake.
“I - I apologize if I caused you any distress the first time we met, miss,” he said haltingly. “Perhaps we could start again. You are called Anamaria, is that correct?”
She gave him a withering look, tossed the pallet at his feet, and stomped out the door.
“No harm in trying,” he muttered, rolling out his bedding. It was comfortable enough - they had even provided him with a pillow - but try as he might, he could not get his eyes to rest. After what felt like hours of tossing around, he got up and peeked out the small window in the door. It was, after all, unlocked, and no one had forbidden him from leaving his makeshift cell. He had believed Sparrow’s words that he would be constantly watched, but there was no reason for anyone to apprehend him if he did nothing wrong.
Straightening his clothing (and doing little good, for it was wrinkled and stiff with salt, but the gesture buoyed his spirits), he stepped out beneath the full moon.
Either it was not as late as he’d thought or Sparrow’s crew kept abominable hours. A motley group of folk was arrayed across the forecastle deck. They were drinking, shouting at each other, roaring with laughter, and generally being rowdy. As he crept closer, he could see that Sparrow, Will, and Elizabeth were at the opus of it all. The captain was leaning against the wheel, stroking his fingertips along its spokes as he watched the two young people engage in some sort of drinking game. It was impossible to tell how far along they were, as the bottles rolling about the deck could have belonged to anyone, but neither of them looked sober. Will in particular was swaying unsteadily, his face reddened, and he kept having to blink moisture from his eyes. Elizabeth was grinning like nothing he’d ever seen as she raised her bottle to her lips and waited for Will to catch up. He lifted it about halfway before shaking his head and letting it drop. Sparrow stooped to fetch it before it lost its precious contents. He was nearly bowled over as Elizabeth, letting out a wild yell of victory, flung herself at Will and tumbled them both to the deck. The lookers-on laughed or grumbled good-naturedly, depending on which direction their coins were changing hands.
He knew he ought to be filled with righteous indignation at this shameful display, and in a corner of his mind, he was. But he was distracted by an unexpected ache in his throat. Will had taken his defeat gracefully, rolling onto his back with Elizabeth in his arms. She chattered brightly, propping her elbows on his chest. After downing what remained in Elizabeth’s bottle, Sparrow plunked himself down on Will’s legs, ignoring the boy’s indignant shout. The three of them might as well have been the only souls on deck. It had been a long time since he’d last seen such a comfortable sprawl, and he couldn’t help being envious of their companionship.
As the crowd began clearing away, Elizabeth glanced up and caught his eye. The afternoon’s hostility was either forgotten or assuaged by drink.
“Hallo, sailor!” she called, waving an arm at him. “Something you wanted?” Seeing him, Will immediately tried to struggle upwards, letting Elizabeth bump to the deck and sending Sparrow sprawling.
James backed away, ducking his head. “Nothing,” he said, barely loud enough for them to hear. He beat a hasty retreat to his temporary quarters, unwilling to see Will bear her off to wherever they spent their nights. It had not been nearly so torturous seeing them around town, since the constant presence of chaperones meant that their touches and longing looks had to be as discreet as two starry-eyed twenty-year-olds could possibly keep them. Then, too, there hadn’t been such a palpable connection between them as there was now. It was the sort of thoughtless intimacy - her hand pressed against his chest, his fingertips lightly grazing the swell of her hip - that two people could only share after they had shared a bed. Remembering his own fumbling courtship, having been painfully aware of every single time his skin had brushed Elizabeth’s in those days before the Black Pearl came to Port Royal, the difference was that much more pronounced - and that much more painful.
He slept at last, but fitfully, and he woke from half-remembered dreams in an embarrassing state of arousal. Deciding it was more practical to take care of it than wait until it went away, he slipped his hand beneath the coverlet and thought of the last whore he had visited, nearly three years ago. It worked for a few blessed seconds. Before he realized what was happening, black hair watered to sun-burnished bronze, bold curves softened to lithe modesty, small hands became weathered until they were closer to his own callused palm. And before he could put a stop to this unwanted progression, he was biting his knuckles to stifle a cry as he came.
Stepping out on deck was a bit like emerging from below as a young officer, when someone would have undoubtedly heard his recent activities and needled him about it. No one seemed to notice anything amiss, however, Elizabeth least of all. He wandered, uncomfortable from the many stares, until Sparrow found him at mid-morning and offered to give him tasks. Since it was better than being bored out of his skull, James reluctantly agreed. Once he got over the indignity of being put to work like a common sailor, he actually enjoyed the opportunity to get into the business of running the Pearl. Her master treated her as well as any legitimate captain he had seen, and much better than most. The crew were wary of him at first, but upon seeing that he didn’t shirk duty, mostly accepted him in their midst.
He did his best to avoid Elizabeth, who spent most of the morning practicing swordplay with Will. James was surprised at her skill, though with the blacksmith to teach her, it was really no wonder. Sparrow popped in from time to time, offering advice or clarifying a point Will was making, and James was irked to see that he was likewise proficient. He didn’t meet many pirates with formal training; mostly they relied on the hack-and-stab school of fencing. A few moments came when he had to bite his tongue to keep from offering his opinion. When the afternoon stretched out and the air became hot and stale, Elizabeth climbed aloft and remained there for hours.
James ate his meals alongside the crew, sharing a bench with Joshamee Gibbs, a man with whom he was acquainted. The tale of exactly how he’d come to leave the king’s service served to distract James’s attention from Will popping grapes into Elizabeth’s open mouth at the other end of the table. He only looked over once; when he noticed Sparrow watching him with keen, dark eyes, he dropped his gaze to his own plate.
For a few days, the routine was much the same. The affection between Will and Elizabeth still stung him without ceasing and she still occupied his thoughts at night. Once or twice, to his utter shame, the hands he saw on her body were either several shades darker than his own or flecked with tiny burn marks. He blamed these fantasies on the general state of lawlessness surrounding him.
At least, he reasoned, he was able to move freely about the ship. On the fourth day after he was taken aboard, he went down to the food stores for whatever fresh morsels might still be lingering. Due to a stroke of bad timing, he got a shock instead of a piece of fruit.
It was not uncommon to catch two men having a tryst aboard one of his own ships. His policy was to pretend he hadn’t seen it or, if that was not possible, impress upon the involved parties the importance of discretion. This time, however, the first thing he recognized was Sparrow’s twisted black locks, and being infernally curious as to whose fingers were tangled in them, he hesitated. In that fraction of a second, Sparrow turned his head just enough for James to be able to see that it was Will Turner pressed up against a water barrel, moaning his captain’s name.
He was aware of making some kind of panicked sound, probably much too close to a squeak. In any case, it caused Sparrow to twist his upper body around, though his hips remained firmly aligned with Will’s. He blinked at James, pupils dilated.
“D’you mind?” he rumbled. Will made a petulant noise and tugged on his braided beard, recapturing his attention and his mouth.
“Oh...I’m sorry,” said James. He beat a hasty retreat, muttering, “So very, very sorry.” As luck would have it, he stumbled into Elizabeth.
“James, is something wrong?” she asked, steadying him. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.” Her smile petered out. “You haven’t, have you?”
“Elizabeth, forgive me, but you are being deceived,” he blurted out before he had the chance to think. Her blank look only tied his tongue in a bigger knot. “I saw them - I didn’t mean to, but there they were and - Sparrow and Turner, they were...” he trailed off, unable to find an explanation suitable for mention to a lady.
Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Caught them out at last, did you? Bugger, I’ve lost the bet. I put three shillings on tomorrow between noon and five.” Suddenly she frowned. “They weren’t in the mess again, were they? I’ve told Will time and again, we have to eat on those tables...”
“You - you know?” He was aware of his mouth falling open again, but he was too astonished to care. Tears and screaming he had expected, perhaps even violence. He could have handled those reactions better than this indifference.
She shrugged, lifting one leg to rub at a spot on her leather boot. “Of course. They’re hardly familiar with the practice of self-restraint, although they’ve been making an effort these past few days - I suspect it’s because I insinuated that Jack was fundamentally incapable of it. He takes offense at the strangest things.”
“And you don’t...”
“Mind?” Elizabeth finished, with a laugh at his befuddled expression. “I’ve no more claim on Will than I have on you, James.”
Remembering the hazy fog of his dreams, he cleared his throat to hide a stab of shame. “But when you left,” he said, still trying to work this new development out, “you and Will Turner were engaged.”
“Yes,” said Elizabeth simply, “and now we are not.” She touched her right earlobe, where a modest diamond caught the sunlight. “See where the ring’s gone?”
“I - I’m sorry,” he said, thinking he had spent too much of his day making excuses for himself.
“Why should you be?” Elizabeth asked. She tilted her head and smiled at him as if she thought he were a bit daft and needed to be humored. “Your sunburn is healing, I see.” And she swept her fingertips along the pink skin just above his shirt collar, leaving him standing there flustered and blushing.
It seemed to James that, their secret now unveiled, the two men began to go out of their way to flaunt their relationship. He blamed this mostly on Sparrow, although really, Will was as likely to initiate it as he was to scowl and push the captain’s roving hands away. As if he simply weren’t there, James was witness to simple contact similar to what they shared with Elizabeth, the only difference being frequency of the touches, as well as long, lingering embraces approaching the fervor he had seen in the hold.
For a little while, he was scandalized into incoherency. It wasn’t as though he was a stranger to what men did while they were at sea, or even those who maintained their tastes on land. Yet it was impossible to imagine his two lieutenants behaving in this manner, and he knew they’d been lovers for years. It simply wasn’t done, even among those who were sympathetic to deviant love lives. Sparrow’s crew, however, showed little reaction beyond the occasional eye-roll or indulgent smile. It was clear they liked both the captain and the boy, and they seemed to regard the two as some form of entertainment. If Elizabeth resented Sparrow hanging off of the man she’d once prepared to call husband, she didn’t show it. Whenever it began to look as though some privacy would soon be needed, she merely found a task to occupy herself or someone else to talk with.
One afternoon, he found himself the new focus of her attention. Sitting by himself while he sewed a patch into his borrowed breeches, he noted Will dragging Sparrow past in the direction of their cabin, but didn’t look up until Elizabeth poked a sword blade into his lap.
“Changed your mind about doing me in?” he asked mildly, eyeing the blade and its mate in her other hand. No matter how comfortable he became with the Black Pearl herself, he never stopped wishing for a weapon close at hand.
“I suppose we’ll see.” Elizabeth held one sword out hilt-first, jiggling her hand impatiently when he hesitated.
He gave her a doubtful look. “You want to match me?”
“Yes.” She tossed her long braid over her shoulder. “I’ve fought every competent soul onboard; I desire new blood.”
“Elizabeth, I really don’t think -”
“Do you refuse a lady’s request, sir?” She raised her voice, grinning wickedly as others glanced over. “Or do you yield to my sword?”
Pride, already wounded by this whole ordeal, stirred anew. He would not be shown up in front of this rabble, least of all by a girl who used to come to Sunday service with muddy shoes and twigs in her hair. “Certainly not, miss.” He took the proffered sword - a Turner blade by the looks of it, as was Elizabeth’s. Hers was lighter, its balance suited to her slight frame; a custom order, as his own had been. The loss of it struck him with a pang. The boy was a shameless sodomite, but he was also a master craftsman, and that sword deserved a fate better than rusting on the sea floor.
Still, this one would have to do. As Elizabeth raised her arm, James felt an anticipatory thrill before he remembered that he was facing a woman rather than a seasoned opponent. This would be no opportunity to hone his skills, for all that her stance was nearly perfect and she held the weapon like she’d been born to it.
And she was quick. He stumbled over his own feet within seconds, having failed to anticipate the swift pressure of her drives. The crowd that had slowly been gathering spread out to form a rough circle around them, murmuring in low voices. He had only a fraction of concentration to spare, however, because Elizabeth was pressing him hard, making him retreat and sidestep from her advances. It was easy to see how she might win a fight with a man who was loathe to face her in the first place; defense was putting the greater strain on him, and he would become exhausted and careless long before she would.
Apparently, this strategy was not enough for Elizabeth. Her face became grimmer and grimmer until her lips were thin and pale, her eyes storming. Stepping in close, she shifted her weight to one foot and kicked him.
“Attack me, damn you!” she said under her breath.
Ignoring the twinge from his shin, he decided it would be favorable to listen to her. He’d disarm her rather than dancing about like a fool, putting a quick stop to this silly match. Elizabeth’s face split into a fierce grin when his thrusts grew sincere.
After a few minutes, he was faced with a new problem: she was as good at beating him back as she’d been at driving into his defenses. Rarely did she allow herself to be drawn in close where he could use his superior weight to advantage, and even then, she somehow managed to skip away from him again. She was breathing harshly and blinking sweat from her eyes, but weariness was affecting her no more than it was affecting him. Just as he was wondering if he’d have to call a truce before they both collapsed on the deck, she feinted to the left, swept a leg behind his knees, and stepped on his right wrist when he threw out his hands to catch his fall.
Blowing honeyed strands of hair out of her face, she held the tip of her sword to his throat. He flexed his fingers, letting the sword she’d trapped fall free.
“Now that,” Elizabeth panted, “was more like it.” Releasing him, she reached out her hand.
What he wanted to do was turn her own tricks on her, tug her down beside him, seek victory until she surrendered with his name on her lips and those long legs wrapped around his waist.
Fortunately for his sanity, unfortunately for the ache in his groin, the cheers going up brought him back to reality. He got to his feet under his own power, mystified by the sympathetic pats he received. It seemed a few men had been rooting for him, including the captain.
“Cor, I’d’ve liked t’ see you trounce ‘er,” said Sparrow, thumping him between the shoulder blades. “She beats the whelp two times outta five.”
“Only because she’s a horrid cheat,” said Will, making a face.
Elizabeth gave him a shove. “You lose very poorly, Turner. Much more poorly than James here.”
James was fidgeting, sweeping his sweat-soaked hair back with his hands, hoping no one would glance down. Which, of course, was exactly what Sparrow did. He raised an eyebrow, then reached a groping hand out to herd Will in some other direction, leaving James relatively alone with Elizabeth. He didn’t know whether he should be grateful or suspicious.
She laughed breathlessly, picking up his fallen sword. “Good God, that was a battle. I don’t know how much longer I could have lasted, to be honest. I thank you for putting me through my paces.”
James made a noncommital noise as she brushed past him. He skipped supper that night in order to retire early. In his sleep, he processed the day’s new information - her strength, the way she pursed her lips in concentration, the beads of sweat slipping down her neck to soak her shirt between her breasts. His dreams were rich and detailed, and contrary to his brief fantasy following the duel, he did not always end up as the one doing the pinning.
(To Part 2)
Won't fit, dammit! Putting up the second half in a moment.
Adaptation
“You’re sure there were no others about?”
“We swept the beach end to end. There was a bit of driftwood - not nearly enough to indicate a wreck - and him.”
“That head wound looks like it might need stitches. Ana?”
“Already got th’ needle.”
“Wait, I think he’s coming ‘round.”
“James? Can you hear me?”
A few of the other voices had sounded somewhat familiar, but that one he definitely recognized. He opened his eyes, looking up into Elizabeth Swann's concerned face. Her hair was loose, the ends of it nearly touching him. Behind and beside her, he saw a pretty dark-skinned woman and several rough-looking sailors, as well as Will Turner and Jack Sparrow.
He immediately shut his eyes again, stifling a groan. Of all the likely rescuers...
“Don’t think he’s very happy t’ see us,” said Sparrow in a too-loud whisper. A rustle of clothing from above might have been someone elbowing him in the ribs. James sincerely hoped so.
“Ah, Commodore Norrington, sir,” said Will, still polite despite his recent slide into piracy, “if you could sit up, we’d get your wound looked at.”
“You’re drippin’ blood all over the deck, an’ we did just swab it,” Sparrow added.
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself and tell us what happened,” Elizabeth ordered. When he did sit up and rub his aching temples, he saw that she had her hands planted on her hips. Which were clad in breeches and swathed by a yellow sash. He said nothing, but his disapproval was apparent in the tight lines of his mouth. Elizabeth, instead of being properly shamed, merely quirked an eyebrow. “Well, go on.”
He sighed heavily, reaching up to touch the gash above his right ear, which was still bleeding. “The Dauntless came upon a small boat of British merchants floating in the open sea. The storm that was brewing this morning - it broke while we were pulling them in. I suppose I must have been accidentally hit in the head with something loose, because the last thing I remember is being knocked overboard.” He looked out at the sky, calm and pale now, trying to keep his skin from flushing. It had been a ridiculous mistake, born simply of paying too little attention. Admitting it to Sparrow and his mates, not to mention the two former residents of his own town, was most humiliating.
“You washed ashore on a small beach where we happened by,” Will told him. “We didn’t know if you were alive or dead.”
At the moment, James wasn’t sure which fate he favored. He didn’t have any real fear for his safety, but then again Will and Elizabeth had been gone for months, and who knew what vile personalities they had adopted since their disappearance?
The woman bent over him, brandishing her needle and thread. “We’d best get that sewn up ‘fore he faints.” When James shrank away from her, her brows drew together and she flung the supplies on the deck. “Take care o’ yerself then!” She stalked off, muttering about ungrateful buggers and how they should have left him to rot.
“I’ll do it,” said Elizabeth, retrieving the needle and stretching out a hand to him. She rolled her eyes and grabbed his wrist when he hesitated, yanking upward with a strength that surprised him. He shook the dizziness from his head, realizing that Sparrow had drawn Turner some distance off. It looked like they were having a heated discussion.
“Come on.” Elizabeth tugged on his waterlogged sleeve, calling to the captain as she passed, “Using your cabin, Jack.” He waved a hand at her in dismissal and went back to making his point, whatever it was, with emphatic gestures while Will shook his head.
He couldn’t keep a bit of a sneer from his face upon seeing Sparrow’s cabin. It was large and luxuriantly decorated, in all manner of exotic fashions. He found it cluttered and ostentatious. The desk, however, was solid, beautiful oak. Elizabeth prodded him into the green velvet chair behind it and perched herself on the surface, sticking the point of the needle in the flame of a hanging lantern. From this angle, he got a view of her chest, noticing the deep tan to her skin as well as the linen beneath her shirt that served to bind her breasts. He had heard of women posing as sailors and going to such lengths, but never had he thought to actually see such a creature, much less one who was the progeny of the King’s governor.
Quickly he tore his gaze away, focusing on the stained wood of the desktop. “I am relieved to find you and the blacksmith alive, Miss Swann - or is it Mrs. Turner by now?”
“Your first instinct was correct. I’m quite fond of my name and have no intention of giving it up.”
So she was not just living in the den of vice that was the average pirate ship, she was living in sin with William Turner. The day just kept looking up.
He continued, watching out of the corner of his eye as she threaded her needle. “Nevertheless, I am distressed to see what you’ve made of yourself.”
“Is that so,” said Elizabeth absently, drawing her lower lip between her teeth as she fiddled with the thread. Her lack of response to his admonition was galling. He tried a different tack.
“Your father has been frantic with worry for you, you know.”
At this, she looked up with the hint of a frown. “I left him a note.”
James snorted. “And that was supposed to be sufficient? I have been combing the Caribbean for you and Turner all these months - or for the Black Pearl, I should say, since it was perfectly obvious where you would have turned - and you care not a whit for my efforts or your father’s concerns. For shame, Elizabeth! You are his only child.”
Her face hardened and she made her first stitch with less care than she might have. He made an effort not to wince. “If you think to guilt me into returning to Port Royal, James, you may as well give up. The Pearl is home to me now, as it is to Will, and we’ve no desire to leave her.”
“But -”
“If you don’t be quiet, Commodore, I might slip and put your eye out,” she told him, smile much too similar to Sparrow’s for his liking. He held his tongue, staring resolutely past her as she worked. The pain distracted him from his increasing unease over her blasé attitude. He'd suspected she and Turner might pull something like this, but had been sure they would find life as outlaws entirely unlike the romantic ideals they’d cherished, and be more than ready for him to escort them home once he caught up to them. So far, Elizabeth had exhibited no sign that this was the case.
“Aha!” she said when she was finished, hazel eyes triumphant. “And Jack claims I can’t sew to save my life. You won’t even have much of a scar once that’s healed up.” She reached - God, he couldn’t believe he was actually seeing this - between her legs to pull open a desk drawer. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror she held up, admitting to himself that she’d done a good job, but he was more interested in her hand so close to his face. Catching her wrist, he took note of the unkempt nails, the small scars across her knuckles, and the calluses he had felt while she doctored his cut.
“You are better than this, Elizabeth.” She looked down at his hand on hers, so that her sun-bleached hair fell forward and he could not see her face. He took this as a sign that she was considering his words and layered his voice with soft passion. “You’re better than this and you know it. Please, reconsider before it’s too late, before you have committed crimes which must needs be -”
She snorted softly, her wrist flexing, although she didn’t attempt to pull away. “It’s already too late. Those people you rescued in the storm? We are the reason they were set adrift. They were the ones smart enough to surrender.”
That news alarmed him, but there were still loopholes to be found. “Then there isn’t much I can do for Turner, but you - all you need do is say that you were coerced into following him. You’re young and well-born, and the admiralty would be much happier to not have to hang you.”
For a long moment she didn’t speak. When she did, her voice was cool. “If I were you, James, I’d be careful about making enemies, woman or not. There are few aboard who would speak for you.”
“You can tell her that I apologize,” he said, annoyed at her evasive maneuver. “She merely startled me.”
The arm he held stayed perfectly still while the other drew a knife from her belt. The blade was pressed against his throat before he could even register the fact that she had moved. Now she looked at him, and her eyes burned a little. “I wasn’t talking about Anamaria.”
Slowly, carefully, steel cold against the jump of his pulse, he released her.
“Better,” she said. His relief when she put the knife away was short-lived, because she pulled a pistol on him instead. “Get up. Out of respect for your friendship with my father and our mutual history, I won’t put you in the brig, but I can hardly leave you in Jack’s cabin, either.” He followed her to the door, where she drew back and waited until he moved to walk in front of her. Men jeered in their direction as she led him to a tiny, bare space next door, not unlike the one where he had kept Will Turner on their return journey to Port Royal. The irony was not lost on him, nor on Elizabeth, he suspected.
She directed him inside and stood against the doorframe, idly twirling the gun in her fingers. “There’s nothing in here that can be used as a weapon, so don’t even try.”
“What’s to be done with me?” He still spoke to her with a measure of respect and grace, because he could not allow himself to believe that she was truly lost.
Elizabeth shrugged. “That’s up to Jack, really. I trust he’ll be by to see you eventually.” And she left, locking the door behind her.
Night had fallen by the time the captain came. James had long since lowered himself to the deck, leaning against a bulkhead and counting cracks in the boards.
Sparrow knocked, entering before James had the chance to say anything. He balanced a plate on one hand with a roll, thick slices of pork and cheese, and some grapes. James was surprised at the rich fare until he remembered that the Black Pearl had taken a prize just that morning. He stayed on the floor as an expression of insolence, which seemed to go right over Sparrow’s head.
“Evening mate,” he said heartily, offering the plate and a tin cup. James merely looked at him, hands resting on his knees. Unfazed, Sparrow set his delivery down at James’ feet. He leaned back against the door and crossed one ankle over the other. “How’s the head? Looks like Lizzie sewed you up neat enough.”
“Let’s cut the pleasantries, Sparrow,” he broke in, getting perverse enjoyment out of the sour face and silently mouthed ‘Captain.’ “What exactly are you planning on doing with me?”
Sparrow studied his tar-stained fingers. “How ‘bout you venture a guess?”
James hated being answered with a question. “Well, you would have killed me already, if that was what you wanted.”
“Not necessarily,” Sparrow countered. “You’re quite the infamous capture. Might want to make a show of it.”
“But I’d do you more good as a hostage.”
Shaking out his sleeves, Sparrow chuckled. “Bargaining for our life, are we?”
“Hardly,” said James evenly. “Merely attempting to reason from your deranged point of view. So far we have - the pleasure and honor of killing me, versus what you may be able to gain from those who’d rather see me alive. A dilemma.”
Sparrow fluttered his fingers with a dismissive air. “Oh, none o’ this dancing about, Commodore, adept though you may be. I intend on taking you back t’ Port Royal for ransom.”
“Assuming you get one, you realize you’ll have the full wrath of the Royal Navy upon your head once I’m free.”
His mouth twitched sardonically. “And you’ve done such a spectacular job hunting down the Pearl so far.”
Face flushed, James bit out, “If you are fond enough of the boy and girl to risk sheltering them aboard your precious ship, you ought to have sense enough to send them home.”
“For one thing, you speak of them like they’re wayward children,” said Jack quietly. “Neither is a babe in arms any longer. They’re fully grown and capable of making their own choices, complete with concern over all possible ramifications resulting from those choices. For another, ‘m hardly sheltering the pair, as you so succinctly put it. I don’t give free rides, Commodore. Both Will and Elizabeth work as hard as any man on this ship - harder, at some tasks.” His absent-minded smile bespoke of some fond memory to which James was not privy. “And fin’lly, you ever tried getting a burro t’ do something it didn’t wish t’ do?”
James blinked. “I must admit that animal husbandry is not among the skills a naval officer is expected to possess.”
“Of course not,” said Jack, holding up both forefingers to point at him, “but I trust you’re familiar with the generally stubborn nature of the common ass, yes? Well, think o’ that contrariness bolstered by extreme youth and near constant solidarity betwixt lad and lass, and then we will talk about making those two do anything.” His tone took a turn for the aggrieved. “I’m their bloody captain an’ I can hardly get ‘em to listen t’ a word I say.”
He sounded remarkably like the governor lamenting his daughter’s headstrong behavior. James changed the subject in order to stifle a sudden urge to smile. “We were about a fortnight’s sail from Port Royal this morning. You ought to be able to take at least a day off that time.”
“While I do thank you for the compliment, who’s t’ say we’re in such a hurry as all that?” An impish grin made James want to dash his mangy head against a rock.
“Then how long might I expect to remain a prisoner here, Captain?” He spoke through gritted teeth.
“Afraid that would be telling, Commodore. Really though, think of yourself as a venerable guest.” He dipped at the waist in a mockery of a bow as he turned to go. “Eat that or Marty’ll know the reason why,” he added over his shoulder. “An’ don’t be thinkin’ you can steal a boat. You may not be chained, but rest assured, you’re well-watched.” He left without locking the door.
James stared at his supper and wondered how long he would have to endure this. It was one thing to be locked in a brig with the rats, half-starved, or beaten, or tortured - but Sparrow’s genial manner was simply unforgivable. What was more, the things he’d said about Will and Elizabeth were very much in line with what he had seen so far. That had been no dreamy-eyed girl tending his wound. She had grown up, and he knew he had to stop thinking along these lines or he was going to picture the worst possibilities of how it had happened.
Eventually he ate the food, which was very good, and not long after, the woman he had so offended came by to drop off a pallet for him to sleep on. Remembering what Elizabeth had said, and seeing how fiercely she glared, he swallowed his pride and attempted to rectify his earlier mistake.
“I - I apologize if I caused you any distress the first time we met, miss,” he said haltingly. “Perhaps we could start again. You are called Anamaria, is that correct?”
She gave him a withering look, tossed the pallet at his feet, and stomped out the door.
“No harm in trying,” he muttered, rolling out his bedding. It was comfortable enough - they had even provided him with a pillow - but try as he might, he could not get his eyes to rest. After what felt like hours of tossing around, he got up and peeked out the small window in the door. It was, after all, unlocked, and no one had forbidden him from leaving his makeshift cell. He had believed Sparrow’s words that he would be constantly watched, but there was no reason for anyone to apprehend him if he did nothing wrong.
Straightening his clothing (and doing little good, for it was wrinkled and stiff with salt, but the gesture buoyed his spirits), he stepped out beneath the full moon.
Either it was not as late as he’d thought or Sparrow’s crew kept abominable hours. A motley group of folk was arrayed across the forecastle deck. They were drinking, shouting at each other, roaring with laughter, and generally being rowdy. As he crept closer, he could see that Sparrow, Will, and Elizabeth were at the opus of it all. The captain was leaning against the wheel, stroking his fingertips along its spokes as he watched the two young people engage in some sort of drinking game. It was impossible to tell how far along they were, as the bottles rolling about the deck could have belonged to anyone, but neither of them looked sober. Will in particular was swaying unsteadily, his face reddened, and he kept having to blink moisture from his eyes. Elizabeth was grinning like nothing he’d ever seen as she raised her bottle to her lips and waited for Will to catch up. He lifted it about halfway before shaking his head and letting it drop. Sparrow stooped to fetch it before it lost its precious contents. He was nearly bowled over as Elizabeth, letting out a wild yell of victory, flung herself at Will and tumbled them both to the deck. The lookers-on laughed or grumbled good-naturedly, depending on which direction their coins were changing hands.
He knew he ought to be filled with righteous indignation at this shameful display, and in a corner of his mind, he was. But he was distracted by an unexpected ache in his throat. Will had taken his defeat gracefully, rolling onto his back with Elizabeth in his arms. She chattered brightly, propping her elbows on his chest. After downing what remained in Elizabeth’s bottle, Sparrow plunked himself down on Will’s legs, ignoring the boy’s indignant shout. The three of them might as well have been the only souls on deck. It had been a long time since he’d last seen such a comfortable sprawl, and he couldn’t help being envious of their companionship.
As the crowd began clearing away, Elizabeth glanced up and caught his eye. The afternoon’s hostility was either forgotten or assuaged by drink.
“Hallo, sailor!” she called, waving an arm at him. “Something you wanted?” Seeing him, Will immediately tried to struggle upwards, letting Elizabeth bump to the deck and sending Sparrow sprawling.
James backed away, ducking his head. “Nothing,” he said, barely loud enough for them to hear. He beat a hasty retreat to his temporary quarters, unwilling to see Will bear her off to wherever they spent their nights. It had not been nearly so torturous seeing them around town, since the constant presence of chaperones meant that their touches and longing looks had to be as discreet as two starry-eyed twenty-year-olds could possibly keep them. Then, too, there hadn’t been such a palpable connection between them as there was now. It was the sort of thoughtless intimacy - her hand pressed against his chest, his fingertips lightly grazing the swell of her hip - that two people could only share after they had shared a bed. Remembering his own fumbling courtship, having been painfully aware of every single time his skin had brushed Elizabeth’s in those days before the Black Pearl came to Port Royal, the difference was that much more pronounced - and that much more painful.
He slept at last, but fitfully, and he woke from half-remembered dreams in an embarrassing state of arousal. Deciding it was more practical to take care of it than wait until it went away, he slipped his hand beneath the coverlet and thought of the last whore he had visited, nearly three years ago. It worked for a few blessed seconds. Before he realized what was happening, black hair watered to sun-burnished bronze, bold curves softened to lithe modesty, small hands became weathered until they were closer to his own callused palm. And before he could put a stop to this unwanted progression, he was biting his knuckles to stifle a cry as he came.
Stepping out on deck was a bit like emerging from below as a young officer, when someone would have undoubtedly heard his recent activities and needled him about it. No one seemed to notice anything amiss, however, Elizabeth least of all. He wandered, uncomfortable from the many stares, until Sparrow found him at mid-morning and offered to give him tasks. Since it was better than being bored out of his skull, James reluctantly agreed. Once he got over the indignity of being put to work like a common sailor, he actually enjoyed the opportunity to get into the business of running the Pearl. Her master treated her as well as any legitimate captain he had seen, and much better than most. The crew were wary of him at first, but upon seeing that he didn’t shirk duty, mostly accepted him in their midst.
He did his best to avoid Elizabeth, who spent most of the morning practicing swordplay with Will. James was surprised at her skill, though with the blacksmith to teach her, it was really no wonder. Sparrow popped in from time to time, offering advice or clarifying a point Will was making, and James was irked to see that he was likewise proficient. He didn’t meet many pirates with formal training; mostly they relied on the hack-and-stab school of fencing. A few moments came when he had to bite his tongue to keep from offering his opinion. When the afternoon stretched out and the air became hot and stale, Elizabeth climbed aloft and remained there for hours.
James ate his meals alongside the crew, sharing a bench with Joshamee Gibbs, a man with whom he was acquainted. The tale of exactly how he’d come to leave the king’s service served to distract James’s attention from Will popping grapes into Elizabeth’s open mouth at the other end of the table. He only looked over once; when he noticed Sparrow watching him with keen, dark eyes, he dropped his gaze to his own plate.
For a few days, the routine was much the same. The affection between Will and Elizabeth still stung him without ceasing and she still occupied his thoughts at night. Once or twice, to his utter shame, the hands he saw on her body were either several shades darker than his own or flecked with tiny burn marks. He blamed these fantasies on the general state of lawlessness surrounding him.
At least, he reasoned, he was able to move freely about the ship. On the fourth day after he was taken aboard, he went down to the food stores for whatever fresh morsels might still be lingering. Due to a stroke of bad timing, he got a shock instead of a piece of fruit.
It was not uncommon to catch two men having a tryst aboard one of his own ships. His policy was to pretend he hadn’t seen it or, if that was not possible, impress upon the involved parties the importance of discretion. This time, however, the first thing he recognized was Sparrow’s twisted black locks, and being infernally curious as to whose fingers were tangled in them, he hesitated. In that fraction of a second, Sparrow turned his head just enough for James to be able to see that it was Will Turner pressed up against a water barrel, moaning his captain’s name.
He was aware of making some kind of panicked sound, probably much too close to a squeak. In any case, it caused Sparrow to twist his upper body around, though his hips remained firmly aligned with Will’s. He blinked at James, pupils dilated.
“D’you mind?” he rumbled. Will made a petulant noise and tugged on his braided beard, recapturing his attention and his mouth.
“Oh...I’m sorry,” said James. He beat a hasty retreat, muttering, “So very, very sorry.” As luck would have it, he stumbled into Elizabeth.
“James, is something wrong?” she asked, steadying him. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.” Her smile petered out. “You haven’t, have you?”
“Elizabeth, forgive me, but you are being deceived,” he blurted out before he had the chance to think. Her blank look only tied his tongue in a bigger knot. “I saw them - I didn’t mean to, but there they were and - Sparrow and Turner, they were...” he trailed off, unable to find an explanation suitable for mention to a lady.
Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Caught them out at last, did you? Bugger, I’ve lost the bet. I put three shillings on tomorrow between noon and five.” Suddenly she frowned. “They weren’t in the mess again, were they? I’ve told Will time and again, we have to eat on those tables...”
“You - you know?” He was aware of his mouth falling open again, but he was too astonished to care. Tears and screaming he had expected, perhaps even violence. He could have handled those reactions better than this indifference.
She shrugged, lifting one leg to rub at a spot on her leather boot. “Of course. They’re hardly familiar with the practice of self-restraint, although they’ve been making an effort these past few days - I suspect it’s because I insinuated that Jack was fundamentally incapable of it. He takes offense at the strangest things.”
“And you don’t...”
“Mind?” Elizabeth finished, with a laugh at his befuddled expression. “I’ve no more claim on Will than I have on you, James.”
Remembering the hazy fog of his dreams, he cleared his throat to hide a stab of shame. “But when you left,” he said, still trying to work this new development out, “you and Will Turner were engaged.”
“Yes,” said Elizabeth simply, “and now we are not.” She touched her right earlobe, where a modest diamond caught the sunlight. “See where the ring’s gone?”
“I - I’m sorry,” he said, thinking he had spent too much of his day making excuses for himself.
“Why should you be?” Elizabeth asked. She tilted her head and smiled at him as if she thought he were a bit daft and needed to be humored. “Your sunburn is healing, I see.” And she swept her fingertips along the pink skin just above his shirt collar, leaving him standing there flustered and blushing.
It seemed to James that, their secret now unveiled, the two men began to go out of their way to flaunt their relationship. He blamed this mostly on Sparrow, although really, Will was as likely to initiate it as he was to scowl and push the captain’s roving hands away. As if he simply weren’t there, James was witness to simple contact similar to what they shared with Elizabeth, the only difference being frequency of the touches, as well as long, lingering embraces approaching the fervor he had seen in the hold.
For a little while, he was scandalized into incoherency. It wasn’t as though he was a stranger to what men did while they were at sea, or even those who maintained their tastes on land. Yet it was impossible to imagine his two lieutenants behaving in this manner, and he knew they’d been lovers for years. It simply wasn’t done, even among those who were sympathetic to deviant love lives. Sparrow’s crew, however, showed little reaction beyond the occasional eye-roll or indulgent smile. It was clear they liked both the captain and the boy, and they seemed to regard the two as some form of entertainment. If Elizabeth resented Sparrow hanging off of the man she’d once prepared to call husband, she didn’t show it. Whenever it began to look as though some privacy would soon be needed, she merely found a task to occupy herself or someone else to talk with.
One afternoon, he found himself the new focus of her attention. Sitting by himself while he sewed a patch into his borrowed breeches, he noted Will dragging Sparrow past in the direction of their cabin, but didn’t look up until Elizabeth poked a sword blade into his lap.
“Changed your mind about doing me in?” he asked mildly, eyeing the blade and its mate in her other hand. No matter how comfortable he became with the Black Pearl herself, he never stopped wishing for a weapon close at hand.
“I suppose we’ll see.” Elizabeth held one sword out hilt-first, jiggling her hand impatiently when he hesitated.
He gave her a doubtful look. “You want to match me?”
“Yes.” She tossed her long braid over her shoulder. “I’ve fought every competent soul onboard; I desire new blood.”
“Elizabeth, I really don’t think -”
“Do you refuse a lady’s request, sir?” She raised her voice, grinning wickedly as others glanced over. “Or do you yield to my sword?”
Pride, already wounded by this whole ordeal, stirred anew. He would not be shown up in front of this rabble, least of all by a girl who used to come to Sunday service with muddy shoes and twigs in her hair. “Certainly not, miss.” He took the proffered sword - a Turner blade by the looks of it, as was Elizabeth’s. Hers was lighter, its balance suited to her slight frame; a custom order, as his own had been. The loss of it struck him with a pang. The boy was a shameless sodomite, but he was also a master craftsman, and that sword deserved a fate better than rusting on the sea floor.
Still, this one would have to do. As Elizabeth raised her arm, James felt an anticipatory thrill before he remembered that he was facing a woman rather than a seasoned opponent. This would be no opportunity to hone his skills, for all that her stance was nearly perfect and she held the weapon like she’d been born to it.
And she was quick. He stumbled over his own feet within seconds, having failed to anticipate the swift pressure of her drives. The crowd that had slowly been gathering spread out to form a rough circle around them, murmuring in low voices. He had only a fraction of concentration to spare, however, because Elizabeth was pressing him hard, making him retreat and sidestep from her advances. It was easy to see how she might win a fight with a man who was loathe to face her in the first place; defense was putting the greater strain on him, and he would become exhausted and careless long before she would.
Apparently, this strategy was not enough for Elizabeth. Her face became grimmer and grimmer until her lips were thin and pale, her eyes storming. Stepping in close, she shifted her weight to one foot and kicked him.
“Attack me, damn you!” she said under her breath.
Ignoring the twinge from his shin, he decided it would be favorable to listen to her. He’d disarm her rather than dancing about like a fool, putting a quick stop to this silly match. Elizabeth’s face split into a fierce grin when his thrusts grew sincere.
After a few minutes, he was faced with a new problem: she was as good at beating him back as she’d been at driving into his defenses. Rarely did she allow herself to be drawn in close where he could use his superior weight to advantage, and even then, she somehow managed to skip away from him again. She was breathing harshly and blinking sweat from her eyes, but weariness was affecting her no more than it was affecting him. Just as he was wondering if he’d have to call a truce before they both collapsed on the deck, she feinted to the left, swept a leg behind his knees, and stepped on his right wrist when he threw out his hands to catch his fall.
Blowing honeyed strands of hair out of her face, she held the tip of her sword to his throat. He flexed his fingers, letting the sword she’d trapped fall free.
“Now that,” Elizabeth panted, “was more like it.” Releasing him, she reached out her hand.
What he wanted to do was turn her own tricks on her, tug her down beside him, seek victory until she surrendered with his name on her lips and those long legs wrapped around his waist.
Fortunately for his sanity, unfortunately for the ache in his groin, the cheers going up brought him back to reality. He got to his feet under his own power, mystified by the sympathetic pats he received. It seemed a few men had been rooting for him, including the captain.
“Cor, I’d’ve liked t’ see you trounce ‘er,” said Sparrow, thumping him between the shoulder blades. “She beats the whelp two times outta five.”
“Only because she’s a horrid cheat,” said Will, making a face.
Elizabeth gave him a shove. “You lose very poorly, Turner. Much more poorly than James here.”
James was fidgeting, sweeping his sweat-soaked hair back with his hands, hoping no one would glance down. Which, of course, was exactly what Sparrow did. He raised an eyebrow, then reached a groping hand out to herd Will in some other direction, leaving James relatively alone with Elizabeth. He didn’t know whether he should be grateful or suspicious.
She laughed breathlessly, picking up his fallen sword. “Good God, that was a battle. I don’t know how much longer I could have lasted, to be honest. I thank you for putting me through my paces.”
James made a noncommital noise as she brushed past him. He skipped supper that night in order to retire early. In his sleep, he processed the day’s new information - her strength, the way she pursed her lips in concentration, the beads of sweat slipping down her neck to soak her shirt between her breasts. His dreams were rich and detailed, and contrary to his brief fantasy following the duel, he did not always end up as the one doing the pinning.
(To Part 2)
Won't fit, dammit! Putting up the second half in a moment.