(no subject)
James sat on the floor of his cabin, leaning back against the bed. He wore breeches with no shirt and bare feet, less than an inch left in the bottom of what had once been a full bottle of Pirate Wench’s rum. He studied the label on the bottle closely, noticing that the red-haired buxom wench had multiplied into two. Soon he would be seeing three of her.
Wouldn’t he feel it? He thought. Wouldn’t he somehow know she was dead? Wouldn’t he have known the moment that she died? He had loved her…no, he thought miserably, it was more akin to adoration, for years. He could tell when her eyes lightened from chocolate to honey that she was content, and that she pouted more than any woman on earth, she seemed to have a pout for every emotional state. He knew the kisses bestowed by those lips were as ripe as he had suspected. It would never have occurred to him weeks ago that their second kiss would be their last. That their engagement would end in death.
If only he had listened and had enlisted Sparrow’s help perhaps he could have gotten there first and saved her, if only he had sent someone to the Governor’s Mansion the night of the attack, if only he had married her years ago, promotion or not…James wondered vaguely when his life had become a series of “if onlys”.
How could he possibly go on? And how, on earth, could he return to Port Royal and tell the Governor he had broken his promise? That his daughter was dead, and that he, James, had failed?
He stared at the wench on the label again, wanting to ask her what he could longer ask Elizabeth. What was the fascination with pirates? Why be a Pirate’s Wench when she could marry a good man who would love her, take care of her every need, devote himself to her, and never, ever leave her for a life of crime on the high seas? He had spent his life making sure pirates got what they deserved - a short drop and a sudden stop. What was so appealing to women about pirates? Like most women, he decided, the wench was silent on the questions that mattered most to him. He took the last swig and smashed the bottle against the wall.
James awoke where he had fallen asleep, on the floor in a puddle of rum and his own vomit. The one manly skill he had never mastered was drink. He cursed the daylight as it streamed through the porthole. He had been having a dream and now he wished he could sleep forever. In his dream, her golden hair was splayed out on the pillow, her long legs wrapped around him.
James was a practical man. He got up and cleaned himself as well as he could in the wash basin. His men were undoubtedly worried and needed to know what was happening. They surely expected to head back to Port Royal, but he just couldn’t do it. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. He hoped Gillette had had the foresight to gain the coordinates to Isle De Muerta from the other Naval vessel because that was where they were going. Morbidly he wanted to know exactly what had become of his beloved fiancé, and perhaps Mr. Turner could fill him in. And perhaps Elizabeth’s body was still there, if the pirates hadn’t tossed her out to sea, and he could return her to her father for a proper Christian burial. They would take nothing more from her than they already had. And perhaps the pirates were still there. Every last one of them.
The Black Pearl was gaining. “But this is the fastest ship in Caribbean!” Elizabeth insisted.
“You can tell them that when they’ve caught us”, Anna Maria remarked.
Will was almost glad she had a distraction. Elizabeth had done nothing but wander about the deck for days and said nothing except, “I cannot believe he didn’t come.”
Suddenly she was up and moving, issuing orders and ideas, insisting they try to lose the ship on the shallow shoals and loading the cannons with whatever refuse had not been discarded to gain more speed.
As the anchor was dropped, the Interceptor swung around, presenting her guns rather than her stern to the gaining pirate ship. They would get off a shot at any rate.
The battle went as expected - badly. The Interceptor had lost her mast and would be nothing but an expensive wooden heap ever again. Elizabeth was back in the hands of Barbossa and his crew, along with the enigmatic Jack Sparrow, a man she could not decide whether she trusted or not. And to top it all off, Will was missing. Elizabeth screamed as the Interceptor exploded into sharp wooden bits.
“Will?” she asked in terror.
As if he had merely answered her call, he popped up on the side of the Pearl with a pistol. “Elizabeth goes free!”
“You’ve got one shot and we can’t be killed”, Barbossa said with a laugh.
“You can’t. I can. My name is William Turner and his blood flows through my veins. Do as I say or I’ll pull this trigger and be lost to Davy Jones’s locker!”
“Name your terms, Mr. Turner“, Barbossa said.
“Elizabeth goes free!”
“Yes, we know that one”, Barbossa said dryly and Elizabeth wondered when the pirate had become a wit.
Elizabeth and Jack pulled themselves from the water. The island was hopeless as far as survival went, but when you were drowning, any land looked like the Promised Land.
“How did you escape last time?” she asked.
“Last time I was here for a grand total of three days, a’right? The rum runners used this island for a cache. From the looks of things, they’ve long been out of business. We probably have your bloody friend Norrington to thank for that.”
The last thing on earth she needed to be reminded of was James. She took the proffered bottle of rum, a thing that was likely older than she was, and knocked back a gulp. It was unlike the Scotch her father preferred to be shipped in from Great Britain, which tasted hellish in her opinion. This was sweet and heady and she knew she could drink a lot of it. All the better.
Elizabeth and Jack danced around the fire, singing and carrying on like the pair drunken fools they were. They collapsed onto the sand.
“This must be really terrible for you, Jack” she said, as he wrapped an arm around her.
“Yes, but the company is better and the scenery is much improved”, he said, giving her a squeeze.
“Mr. Sparrow, I don’t believe I’ve had enough rum to allow that kind of talk.”
He handed her another bottle.
“I know exactly what you mean, luv”, he answered and moved in.
Their lips met and it took her all of a second to realize the man had kissed women. Lots of them. His lips were greedy and generous in turns, his tongue a soft weapon he used expertly. How any woman could resist Jack Sparrow was beyond her. She was shocked to remember that she had been so concerned about kissing James and then not marrying him weeks ago, and she had kissed three men now in as many weeks. What a trollop, she thought. Trollop. Mollop. Poppet! Good God in heaven she was drunk.
Will was her dear friend and would always hold a special place in her heart, and this Sparrow character was as gifted as walking sex, but none of those kisses held a candle to the one she had shared with James the night she was taken, the night of their engagement when he had finally shed his inhibitions and dragged her against him, promising to dedicate to his heart and soul to her forever.
An excited fluttery feeling moved through her heart, her stomach, and finally to the apex of her thighs as she thought of him. Her strong man. Her able man, and best of all, he loved her. But why wasn’t he here? Had he not come for her at all? Perhaps he had simply not caught up yet. She pondered how like the men were to the ships they sailed. The Interceptor was fast, stolen, uncatchable (almost), fun and spry, but not much when the battle came down. How like Sparrow and even Will. The Dauntless was slow, steady, reliable, well-armed, and could sink a fleet if need be. Despite its relative speed, or lack thereof, she knew why James had chosen the Dauntless. He was the Dauntless. It was his ship and he felt comfortable there, but he had also planned on not being able to get her back without a fight. “The Dauntless is the power in these waters”, the people of Port Royal said. But really, James was the power in these waters. She shivered at the thought of how hard his fist would come down on these pirates once he was assured she was safe.
“Oh, go away, to hell with it!” Sparrow shouted. “Never in my life has a lass been so distracted while I was kissing her. Most think I’m talented at making love!”
She smiled. “You are talented”, she said sadly.
His look and tone softened. “What is wrong with you? Are you in love or something? Don’t worry luv, we’ll find a way off this island, and you will see Mr. Turner again. I promise.”
She smiled. If James was looking for her, in the morning, she’d send him a direct message herself.
Jack could not believe it; the palm trees which provided their only food and shelter, were alight, and clearly the fuel had been the most precious loss of all.
“You’ve destroyed the rum!”
“Yes, the rum is gone”, she said.
“But why is the rum gone?!”
“First, rum is a vile drink that turns even the most respectable men into complete scoundrels. Second, that signal is over a thousand feet high. The entire Royal Navy is out looking for me, do you really think they won’t see it? Give it an hour, maybe two, keep a weather eye open, and you will see white sails on that horizon”, she said with confident joy.
Jack nearly shot her himself.
He wandered the beach cursing the name of Elizabeth Swann, when just such a ship appeared and grew closer, seeing their signal.
“There will be no living with her now”, he said.
The tiny lifeboat which had come to pick them up was manned by two midshipmen who had been sent to pick up Sparrow, in hopes the man could be of assistance in finding Isle de Muerta. They were shocked to find a woman with him, not a woman, a lady. And her name was Swann, and wasn’t that the name of their Captain’s dead fiancé?
They smiled wider than they had since they were lads. There would a second serving of grog tonight.
James looked down into the lifeboat, expecting to see the Sparrow creature, who was indeed present, with the sarcastic look on his face James was accustomed to. But there, with him in the lifeboat…”Elizabeth?”
“Get her up here now! Get her up here!” He attempted to climb the rope ladder down to the lifeboat until his men suggested she could get onboard faster if he moved his arse out of the way, not that they would state it quite that way.
“Elizabeth!” he cried. It couldn’t be. And yet…it was.
“I thought you were dead! We were told…it doesn’t matter”, he said as she climbed over the side and he wrenched her into his arms, holding her so tight she couldn’t breathe.
“James”, she sighed, collapsing into his arms. Now she could relax, let go, now she was safe.
She was clothed only her shift and bare feet, and was clearly exhausted. He lifted her in his arms and carried her to his cabin.
He lay her down on the bed as gently as if she were made of china. “Are you well? Did they hurt you, did they….?”
“No, no, I’m fine”, she said, still not bothering to hold herself up and snuggling into his shoulder.
He wanted to kiss her for hours, for days. But she looked too frail for even one kiss. They would pay.
“They’ve taken Will”, she said, “We must go after him.”
“I have to return to the deck for a moment. I’ll be right back”, he said.
“Promise me you will find Will”, she said.
“Oh, I promise”, he said. “You close your eyes now.” He made a motion to sweep the hair from her face, to kiss her cheek, but held himself back and choked, wiping a tear away.
He went back up onto the deck after he collected himself. He knew only one thing. She was alive.
“Clap ‘im in irons right?” Sparrow asked, holding his hands together for them.
“No. You will provide my men with a heading to Isle de Muerta, after which, you will spend the rest of the journey contemplating all possible meanings of the phrase “silent as the grave.” Do I make myself clear?” James said.
“Inescapably”, Jack answered as he was led to the wheel.
It was there he would find the pirates who had done this to her. And a certain blacksmith. They would have that discourse sooner than he'd thought.