GIVE ME LOVE, GIVE ME LIFE

Author: Lady A
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: You/Jack
Categories: Romance, General

Disclaimer: I don't own PotC or any of the characters.

Summary: Sequel to "After The Boys of Summer Have Gone". Your pirate lover returns to you...

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CHAPTER 1

His kisses were deep and longing and his hands were that familiar yet strange combination of smooth and rough as they flowed over the skin of your body. He slipped himself into you easily, the sword in the sheath, a perfect and comfortable fit. His hands held yours down, crossed at the wrist and above your head, claiming your willing body as he did almost every night and sometimes during the day. You rose to meet his every thrust, the longing more then you could possibly take, until you screamed his name, wanting him to take you over the edge into paradise.

“JACK!” You sat bolt upright, sweating. Looking around the room of your villa, still dark in the pre-morning hours, you realize that is but another dream. You didn’t know whether to love the dreams or hate them. At least in the dreams you had a few more moments with your pirate lover, Captain Jack Sparrow, but as always, it left you tingling with that unfulfilled desire and that aching loneliness when you awoke.

It had been almost three weeks since Jack had left again, returning to his life on the high seas. You reached down between your breasts to the new silver chain around your neck, and the sapphire ring that hung on it there. He had insisted you keep his precious band, and of course he kept his new hair ornaments made from what used to be your necklace.

Six glorious and utterly surprising weeks you had spent with Jack before he was called to leave upon that business which pirates do, and what a six weeks it was. It ended up being nothing like you expected it to be. Nothing in your life would ever be the same after that short time with him. You had come to realize that head over heels could not even begin to describe what you felt for Jack Sparrow. He was your one, and while you could never be sure exactly what the pirate really felt for you, you knew from that six weeks that at least a part of him just maybe felt something real back.

The long road of your realization of just how deeply you had fallen for the buccaneer started the moment he had enclosed your hand in his and literally swept you off your feet. He clutched you to his body, kissing you like a man finally given sweet water after being denied drink and parched for too many days, his strides long and determined as he whisked you inside as if he carried nothing at all.

You were surprised to see Miss Ester waiting just inside the door in your room, and with a small smile nonetheless. She must have known he had come, and let him in, and had been preparing all this time. While the older woman had not been thrilled with the idea of the pirate after your initial flight with the Sparrow many months ago, and had seemed happy when he had left the first time, your sober moods and more solitary demeanor after he had gone did not go unnoticed. It must have meant something to the lady when Jack had actually made the effort to find you and returned (one of the things she insisted to you that someone of his caliber would not do). Or maybe it meant something to her that if even for a short while in your tumultuous life you might have some true happiness if even only for a brief instant.

Jack set your down carefully upon your feet in the center of the room, keeping his arms wrapped around you, spooned close against you his head next to yours. “Miss Ester,” he said in his drawn out eloquent way, “if you would be so kind. Its been a long stretch gettin’ ‘ere, and I am pro’lly just a tad too smarmy for decent company. Perchance would you have any hot water handy fer washin’ up?”

With a small curtsey and a knowing tone she replied, “I think I have some about ready now, sir,” and with a swirl of skirts and petticoats left the room. Your long time servant’s answer only confirmed your suspicion that Jack had been let in, and not snuck in.

“Jack,” you said, twisting in his arms, ”I don’t have the same fancy accoutrements here that I did the last time we met. The imports here aren’t quite as numerous as Port Jarvis. My big porcelain tub is no more. Merely a small wooden tub here.” You motioned to a roundish half-barrel wooden horse trough in the corner that you used for your washing.

Jack pursed his lips as if in deep thought, staring at the large basin, his long finger softly tapping against them. He let go of you and slowly paced over to it, studying it as if it were some great work or puzzle to be contemplated. With a melodramatic flourish wave of his hand he, whirled back, his sash and hair flying. “It’s still bigger then mine on the Pearl. It’ll do me just fine, I’m sure.”

He tossed his battered hat off onto the end of your bed, and without taking his eyes from you, lifted the leather cross buckler that held his cutlass from across his chest. He hung that on the edge of the simple chair that sat before your writing desk. His pistol as set with a thunk on the top of the desk. His fingers deftly unwrapped the long tail of the waist belt that looped over and around in a holding knot before the large metal buckle. The long strap of leather was quickly pulled out from the buckle and pin, and set on the seat of the chair.

You watched, mouth slightly agape in growing longing as Jack unwound the same worn long red and white linen sash that he still sported to help buffer the heavy cutting leather belt. That just fell to the floor in a silent puddle. He slid his arms out of the 12 button long vest and folded in half to set on the back of the growing burdened seat.

His heavy boot heels scuffling and thumping ever so slightly on your stone floor, Jack stepped back to you, his fingers resting lightly on the frilly edges of the housecoat on your shoulders that had once hid his effects a few months back from the soldiers’ eyes. “Wouldn’t want to get this too wet,” you scarcely heard him murmur. He played with the delicate lace briefly between his pads, before taking the fabric it was attached to more firmly and drawing it back off your arms. The green flowered garment landed with a rustle on the floor. “Did ye miss me?” Jack asked out the blue, tracing his finger on your skin around the neckline of the chemise that remained, and up your neck to your cheek.

“Yes,” you heard yourself breathe, almost lost in his dark, clouded eyes that you couldn’t drag yourself away from. A firm hand on your hip, and a quickstep up, and Jack was body to body with you. His breath was hot on your face as his lips stopped just a hairsbreadth from yours. You completed the contact, taking the pirates soft lips with your own. His moustache and beard tickled pleasantly against your sensitive skin as lips parted and you relished that addicting taste that was Jack’s kiss. His hands roamed up your sides to cup under your breasts through the chemise.

You barely heard the knock on your door and the creak of the jam as it opened. There was a discreet silence until Jack reluctantly pulled away from the deep kiss, but not once taking his eyes from yours once they opened.

“Ma’am?” You heard Ester warily inquire, and looked away over his shoulder to see her silhouetted in the doorway with a large steaming bucket. “I have young Tom with more water on the way for Mr. Sparrow’s wash.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Young Tom?”

You smiled reassuringly. “Orphan boy I have taken in for my service. Good lad. He will be of no harm. Knows naught about your true profession. You will be but a merchant sailor that I have a fancy for in his knowledge.”

“Well then,” Jack said, and regretfully unwrapped himself from your arms, ”there be business at hand to take care of first. And then,” he pulled his linen shirt off and flung it aside, striding over and taking the heavy bucket from Ester, “I expect to be taking care of your business for a long, long time.” Jack directed his attention back to the house servant. “Lady Ester, I expect the lady to be late rising in the morrow, and quite indisposed to normal business probably for most of the day. Can you ensure that refreshments are routinely left for our…her leisure?”

“Quite discreetly milord,” the clipped voice of the maid concurred, all well knowing what the intentions of her lady and the lover were to be and what her duties were to entail.

Jack turned back to you and flashing that disarming smile of his, inquired, “So ye never did answer me.”

“About what?”

“Me back…”

Jack would keep a low profile for the most part, going under the name John William Smithy. He seemed to get some sort of giggle over the false identity, but wouldn’t elaborate any further on it. While he had put his life on temporary hold so it seemed, it wasn’t something you could quite do. He just couldn’t stay in complete anonymity while with you, so after that night and most of a day of wonderful re-acquaintance, you had to resume more or less your normal routine, except with a pirate in the background.

At first you were very concerned about his safety out in the city. Jack had laughed at you as you expressed your concerns, squeezing you tighter against his chest as you lay together in the bed after that wonderful day of lovemaking. It was not mocking laughter, or out of callousness, but one of amusement, as you would at a child who said the most misguided honest statement.

“Don’t you be frettin’ that much o’er the likes of me here, luv,” he finally said after his good chuckle. The pirate sighed contentedly, and kissed the top of your head. “Do you even hazard to guess how many pirates and like ilk wander the streets of this and most towns in these waters? As tempting as it can be, we cant all live in Tortuga all the time. Even for there we would be too much for the dear place.” He went on to say that this was the Caribbean, and if the buccaneers were smart, life went on without too much incident. Just try not to do anything STUPID. He liked to emphasize that last word a lot as if it had some hidden secret meaning to him. “Besides, if the not too sharp rabble get themselves in trouble, they distract the guard, satisfy the hangman’s quota, and keep the eyes from the rest of us.”

His assurances were tested that afternoon when he stated loudly and without room for argument that he was escorting you to your current ‘workplace’. “There be a good storm a comin’ in anyway from what I can see, so I don’t know when I’ll get the chance for a bit of the nip once it hits. The big ones can last a few days and ye don’t really want to be going out in them. But I can think of lots of other things to keep me occupied,” he crooned suggestively. “But I’d rather spend it watching you tonight then some other fat, sweaty drunkard getting sick in his own boots, ” he commented while giving you a half grin half leer. You weren’t quite sure how to take that, and just snapped your mouth shut, knowing better then to question the odd musings of the pirate.

The walk over was pleasant. It was early evening, or late afternoon, depending on whom you asked. The sun was setting, the indentured were heading home or out, and the townsfolk were closing up their shops. From the windows of some of the homes was a warm glow of oil lamps as the twilight arrived, and out wafted a mixture of mouthwatering aromas as evening meals were readied.

A few hundred people lived in the town, in a variety of homes and shops. Your new home was a small, French governed settlement, on a slightly out of the way island. It was the French government’s attempt to keep up with the English in control of the many islands that dotted the Caribbean. The English still had a firm grip on a vast part the Caribbean, and under the edict of the French crown, their own strongholds were being cultivated to keep in step with the other trading countries of Europe. The settlement itself used to be an occasional Spanish outpost, a weigh station for the plunder they took from the new world to take back to the old one. Through some political placating for some aristocratic slight, the Spanish had surrendered it over to the French without much of a peep.

Much of the flavor of the town still had that Spanish influence. The main streets were roughly cobble stoned, but many of the newer side streets were still dirt and mud. The Governors mansion was a new construction, set up at the base of a large towering hill, above the regular town, that started a line of small rocky outcroppings akin to small mountains. Thick forest and jungle coated the land further inward, but the land directly around the new house had been stripped of its vegetation. The Governor had been using the forests behind his mansion for lumber, planning to convert the land into either his own personal playground, or sell it off for farming.

You yourself had purchased a small villa that had been leftover from some Spanish gentry that had fled when the takeover was near. You were located on the far side of the harbor, above the main town line. As most port towns went, the further inland you got the more upscale the amenities became. This one, being relatively new, was still a simple place. Even being out of the way, it still got a fair load of trade and traffic, as the Governor was trying to, in your opinion, turn this into his own miniature France.

While Jack was given the leery eyeball from the entire building the first time he walked in with you on his arm at your inn of the moment, they probably didn’t think outlaw at the time. Jack was very un-pirate like in the fact that he was clean, without his customary kohl and in mostly fresh clothing; shirt, breeches, and a handsome dark green overcoat. He insisted on keeping his red and white sash, vest and headgear. He had brought with him this gold topped walking stick, which he claimed he acquired on Tortuga a couple years back.

You thought he looked rather smart, even with the tattered cloth under belt and weathered leather hat, and swore you saw some interested eyes as he sauntered in with you, sliding into a seat near the front side. Jack could have almost passed as any merchant from Europe, if it were not for his wildly adorned hair and treasure-laden smile. He ordered a huge flagon of ale, and happily settled back as you went about your business.

After your normal bit of schmoozing with the clientele, and dodging a few questions as to your new friend’s identity, you started your ‘show’ with a few audience arousing singalongs, like Roll Your Leg Over, and some other bawdy tavern fair that drew the new folks in and gave the experienced folks a basis to participate and get some of their energy out before you went solo and needed a quieter more serene atmosphere.

It was about halfway through your performance, your fortitude was challenged when you noticed several nubile young ladies join your escort on his bench, flirting and pawing at him. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Jack eat it up, laughing and smiling, and speaking in hushed tones during a short break where you had planned to switch and your play on your harp. You dared not go over, filled with an apprehension that concerned you and occupied yourself with talking with some of your ardent drunk male fans as you usually did. It helped the coin fall more generously into the large clay cup you passed around at the end.

Part of you cringed, part of you angered, and part of you knew that this is what he was. Did you really expect Jack Sparrow to toss his wayward life out the window for the likes of you? He was a true free spirit, as solid and sturdy as the foam that rolled in from the ocean. You were just the beach that it landed on this day, and with the rolling waves that beach would change. Spirits and foam and waves could not be held back nor chained down. The reasonable part of you won out. Be thankful to be the beach today, you thought. You strove to ignore it as you went on with your music, instead keeping to an upbeat and more boisterous set to distract you.

When you did start to play again, he quieted the girls and paid rapt attention, and this made you smile in your heart just a bit. Your final song that night was your only slower one for that evening, Come by the Hills. You picked it out gracefully on your harp, a pretty little ditty that just called out for you to play. The final line of each verse seemed to be what you needed to focus on: And cares of tomorrow must wait until this day is done.

The whole room quieted for it, and from the corner of your eye, you saw Jack watching you intently, each arm draped over a girl, but his focus was on you. It was in his eyes, those dark expressive eyes, you saw it, that same look he had given you that first time you met him, full of appreciation and what you knew now to be a fiery desire. When you had finished and the last harp string had silenced, he was the first to beat his now fifth large empty tankard on the table in appreciation as you took your bows and collected your coins.

One of the inn keep’s children took your harp back into its corner, and you hesitantly went over to the table where Jack sat. He sprung up, and swept his arm towards you. “Ladies, let me introduce you to me woman. As I have told others in the past, I swear she is an angel on this ‘arth.”

His woman? Your eyebrows rose.

Jack just grinned, and ushered the girls out with a kiss to their hands. “It was a pleasure ‘aving your company, but now I have things to attend to.” The girls ‘awed’ a bit but wandered off, smiling.

One of them leaned in close as she passed and whispered, ”I envy your fortunes, milady.” Your fortunes? His woman? This was quite strange and almost unnerving, you thought as you sat down, and left you in quite the perplexed state as you reached for your customary glass of wine after it was set in front of you.

Jack didn’t say a word and just sat transfixed as you drained your drink. He seemed amused; silent laughter played across his face.

“What?” You finally asked.

“I was just waiting,” he replied, reaching over and brushing back a tendril of your hair that had fallen loose and draped across your cheek.

Your red flags started waving in the back of head and you suspiciously eyeballed him. “Waiting for what?”

Jack scooted closer to you, wrapping his arm around your waist. He softly kissed your neck, right under the ear, where he knew you really liked it, and murmured, ”To be slapped, chastised, or something akin to being in trouble. Ye aint said a word yet.”

The light touch of his lips to your skin sent shivers down your spine, and you had to take a deep breath before you could answer. “Slap you because of the girls? Do I look like a common dolt, Jack? Why should I get angry? What good would it do for me? You’re a pirate.”

“Right now I’m your pirate as they might say,” he chuckled.

“Yes, let them say what they want, but do you think I would try to expect more then I know you can give? You have done nothing but treat me well and respectfully, but I know you do what’s best by you, and I can ask for nothing more then that.”

Jack’s eyes widened in shock at your statement. He sat back and looked you up and down quizzically.

“What now?” you asked again, a bit more perturbed this time, unsure how to take his reactions.

“Are you SURE you warnt a pirate at some point in your life?”

“I’m pretty sure on that account, Jack. What ever would give you the idea that I was a pirate?”

“It’s just… you just… I would have sworn…,” he faltered, then licking his lips to dampen them, he blurted out pointing a finger in your direction, “You keep surprising me woman. That’s all. Was yer father a pirate at one time perhaps?”

You laughed, “No, Mr. Sparrow. He hated ocean travel himself, being very prone to seasickness, which thankfully, I am not.” Ironic that what he hated finally took him, you thought.

“You, milady,” he said, taking your hand and bringing it briefly to his lips, ”are a treasure, if I haven’t mentioned that before, but I think I have. Ye just seem to need a bit’o remindin’ every now an’ again, I think.”

You blushed at his offhanded compliment, still confused at your conversation, but figured that you weren’t going to get a straight answer from the rogue. He was off in own special place, on his own line of thought, and it was just easier if you didn’t understand at the moment. He disrupted any further thoughts in your mind when he pulled you in close, catching you up in a deep, impassioned kiss.

“I want to go home… with you. Now!” Jack breathed hotly in your ear. “I want to ravage every blasted inch of your coastline, repeatedly, greedy bastard that I am.”

You shivered as an excited chill raced up and down your spine. You knew that many eyes were on you right now in this very public display of affection, but this was just an inn and pub and not the governor’s house. People did this all the time with the wenches, but you weren’t a wench or a person they would have thought of as doing this sort of thing. Wiping that from your mind you turned your head to catch his lips again. Jack practically yanked you up into his lap, and you could immediately tell by the hard bulge in his trousers pressed against your posterior, that he could have ravaged your coastline right there and now on the table.

When the two of you parted, you knew you had to be as flushed and breathless as Jack was, his dark brown eyes practically blazing. Slamming his leather hat upon his head and grabbing his cane, Jack took your arm and scooted out, trailing you behind him. His intentions to the rest of the world was probably quite obvious after your brief show, and the crowd seemed to part for him as he approached, a mixture of mostly approving or envious and the occasional mortified expression on their faces.

Oh, the hell you would face the next time you came into the inn, but it was well worth it, you thought. You were barely able to grab your shawl as you passed the hooks at the door as Jack stormed out.

“Jack,” you gasped, struggling to throw the crocheted covering over you as he half ran, his fingers digging into your arm. “Slow down. I would like to keep some of my flesh on me. We can make it home in due time.”

The pirate glanced over, an odd anxious mixture of emotions on his face, and he stopped dead in the street and looked around. “Not in due enough time for me luv,” he drawled out, his eyes searching for something. Seeing whatever it was he wanted, Jack snapped his fingers and started off again, this time clenching your hand rather then your forearm.

When Jack led you into a dark alley between a couple of shops, you dug your feet in and ground to a stop. “Where are we going? I am not going any further until you tell me where you are dragging me to!”

Jack whirled on a boot heel, and sashayed the several steps back to be chest to chest with you, still holding your hand and bringing it up to rest at his shoulder. “Right here is good,” he mysteriously whispered, and silenced any comeback with another deep kiss. He pressed forward, making you step slowly backwards, until you ran against a hard surface. You found yourself backed against a wall.

“Jack, you’re drunk,” you hiss in a loud whisper as if that would solve it all and bring him to his senses.

“Not that drunk, luv,” he chuckled and if to emphasize the point took your hand and placed in on the front of his rather hard and swelled trousers, breathing out in a almost inaudible moan with the pressure from your touch. “Its not liquor that has me reeling now. It’s the taste, scent and touch of the most intoxicating woman I know. That sweet nectar just screams for men to do the most incriminating things to get at it.”

“Jack!” you exclaim flabbergasted, “We can’t do that here.”

“Why not?”

“First off, anyone could come by and see us. This isn’t Tortuga where you can fornicate in the streets. If the guard caught us…”

Jack made an exaggerated gesture of looking around the dark alley. “There aren’t that many anyones running about here this time of night that I can see, and the few guard here on this spit of an island are preoccupied in their little fort. The gov’ner o’ this place does not have a man like the Commodore to ensure the public safety.” When he saw the non-recognition in your gaze, he just shook his head. “You haven’t had the pleasure of Commodore Norrington then, from Port Royal? No loss. He’s bad fer me business.” His hand wandered to the low clamshell line of the dress you wore that night, to fondle the bountiful cleavage it gave you. “Those long dresses you ladies wear are quite convenient fer this sort of thing. Have ye not been tempted to do something not quite acceptable because it’s just that? Its that risk that gives you that extra thrill when doing it, and the utter euphoria when you’ve done it.” The possibility of this minor corruption brought an eager and anticipatory edge to Jack’s tone.

His feather soft touch on your breasts brought goosebumps to your flesh, even as warm as the night was. As scared and astounded as you were, the mere thought of him taking you here quickened your heart. “Like pirating?” you breathed.

”Aye, like pirating,” he whispered back, nuzzling his face into your hair and neck. His teeth grazed your throat as he teased the sensitive skin. Your fingers wove into the orderly mess of dreadlocks on his head, encouraging him to continue his exploitation.

You could already feel the liquid heat pooling between your thighs, the longing for him to touch you and take you almost overwhelming. You felt Jack pull up the heavy fabric of your dress bit by bit, until he could reach under allowing the rest to drape down discreetly. When his fingers found your center, and the incredible wetness there, he matched the pained and longing moan that came from your lips. There was no hiding that Jack’s actions and overtures had garnered the very reaction that he had wanted, and tenfold even. You shuddered with pleasure as the calloused digits slid easily between your folds and into your depths. Jack slowly eased his fingers in and out of your slick opening.

You felt him smile into your neck when you bit back a cry as he softly began to run his thumb in firmer and ever widening circles on your swollen flesh. Your body arched against him, straining for more and yet needing to escape that direct assault on your most intimate and sensitive region. Jack nuzzled his way back up to your lips to kiss you again, invading your mouth with his tongue, his own breathing haggard with unfulfilled desire.

Against the wall you were somewhat trapped and limited in your movement, and unable to return any of the pleasurable ministrations, so you decided to savor what you had until Jack released you. As of its own accord, your body rose and fell on the fingers that penetrated it. Jack’s one free hand went back to fondling a breast that he pulled from its tight holding. The tips of his fingers expertly manipulated your contracted and sensitive nipple, eliciting stifled gasps as he did so.

Jack began to work you harder and faster, using his finger to internally stretch and stroke your passage. You allowed your fingers to dig dangerously into his overcoat. If it had been bare flesh, there would have been rivulets of blood from the holes from your nails. You felt the sweat beading up on your head as a long rumbling whimper grew from the depths of your lungs.

It was at that point that Jack suddenly stopped all his actions and leaned back where you could see his face. You recognized the smoldering of his need in his eyes and the tautness in his cheeks that indicated his forced reserve. You felt his other hand go down fumbling between your bodies. His hands came up to grasp your sides and lifted you a couple inches up the wall, pressing and holding you there, your legs ever so slightly on either side of his hips.

Jack bent his knees just a tad, and under the protected covering of your draped skirt, you felt something hot and hard that you knew were not his fingers press its way into your body. He let out this hushed throaty vocalization that was halfway between a growl and a moan. Jack held you almost painfully against the rough wood and bricks of the building behind you as he pulsed and rocked his hips to move his member inside you with as little upper body movement as he could. Unlike all your previous lovemaking where he had taken his time and built up to the crescendo, this was abandoned and driven by need. Then you realized in his own way he HAD taken his time, when he fondled you so intensely before sheathing himself in your heat. Jack had known good and well what he was doing. The liquor and his passion and just the sheer excitement of it all had brought him to that point where the instinct of completion once started overwhelmed the aspiration to please the partner. In this way he had driven you nearer to the point that he in his human male urges already was.

It had worked too, for before you realized it, your body surprised you and you felt yourself flung over the cliff that was your pleasure and were flying. You heard Jack strangle a cry as you muffled your own in the space between his neck and shoulder, your body shivering in its stifled release. Jack sought your mouth again as he reached his own climax, deep and delving as you felt his body start to spasm.

It was then you heard the deep French accented voice from the shadows behind Jack. “Hey there! You two. What’s going on here?” One of the French soldiers stationed on the island peered into the blackness where you were, his rifle raised. The pirate froze, and you felt his face contort in exasperated effort as he strove to control himself during his orgasm.

You quickly shifted your visible leg down to rest on the ground, and tried not to look the solider too long in the eye as he approached. “Are you alright mademoiselle? Is this man harming you in any way?” Jack kept his back towards the soldier, but glanced in his direction.

Reflecting quickly on his words, and thanking the angels that you knew French as fluent as English, you replied quickly, “No, milord. He...I mean we… I am so sorry.” Jack took a silent shuddering breath, and carefully let the rest of your skirt fall, hopefully concealed by the darkness and his body, and stepped behind you before turning.

“I’m sorry sir,” Jack said in a strained tone. “Just swept away by the beauty of your fair island.”

The Frenchman looked surprised. “English are you?” he asked, switching over to that tongue but with a very thick accent.

Jack shrugged and smirked. “I guess I am sorry about that too if it makes you feel better.”

The footman must have seen the residual embers of your passion in either yours or Jack’s face, and gave the two of you a cockeyed stare. Directing his question at you, he asked,””

Your eyes widened in surprise, and it struck you. Of course! You had never considered that a man of the other Crown running across a heated scene between a lady and a man in a dark alley might be concerned about rape.

“Oh! No sir. He was not forcing me to do anything.. I mean.. there was nothing for concern.”

Jack must have understood enough French to get the gist of the Gendarmes implication, and smiling in his beguiling way, stepping out next to you again, wrapping his arm around your waist lovingly. Somehow the uncanny pirate has been able to arrange and fasten himself in that prior brief moment behind you much to your relieved amazement. “You see good sir,” Jack drawled out, “My lovely wife and I here were just married a few days ago, and I was overcome with the love of ‘er beauty and ‘er being as we went on a late night stroll to see the stars before we retired. As I stared into her eyes, I felt the uncontrolled desire to kiss her in such a desperate manner I must have lost all reason, sense and sensibilities. I am beggin’ your forgiveness in my unbridled ardor for my buxom blushing bride, and I’m prepared to face the penalty for undying, utter devotion to her.”

You struggled amazingly hard to keep your face straight and not hyperventilate, trying not to fall down on the ground laughing, in the light of the elaborate story that Jack was weaving. Thankfully the French soldier must have not noticed your unease, as he was enthralled with Jack and the tale, just as most people seemed to get with him.

Lowering his weapon, the soldier grinned and winked at the pirate, ”Ah, Monsieur, I was once a new husband and I know the passion that burns men’s souls. It is good to see new love between a husband and his wife. But..” and the Gendarme took a more serious tone, “You cannot be too careful out here. While you are kissing said lovely wife, any matter of serious consequence could befall you while you are so engaged, including not getting such an understanding officer coming across you.”

“Oh yes,” Jack solemnly intoned, ”I shall endeavor in the future to remember that, and I thank you for your indulgence. I will try and find a more suitable time and place to engage in that disreputable act of kissing my love senseless.”

“Oh, its not the act of kissing,” was the reply, “its what that kissing could lead to!”

Jack gave him a look in mock aghastment. “No, I suppose we couldn’t ‘ave that now could we. We can’t ‘ave it lead to that, right here. It would be so inappropriate.” You let out a small snort as you choked back a series of snickers.

“Well, I wouldn’t worry too much if such inappropriateness in the great night air might show up in say, the ostler’s back stable. The old man is in bed promptly early, and he keeps nothing but nags back there. Nothing worth stealing to worry about.” The Gendarme winked again at Jack, as if the subtleties of their manly conversation were going above your head.

“Ah, yes. In bed early. I see. Many thanks to you for your guidance,” Jack smiled back. “And I hope your own bonny good wife sees fit to make you feel as newlywed as we are tonight!”

“Ah, I could but hope, but she is very large with child, so I fear that will not be the case for a while.”

Jack grinned. “But that is what got ye thar in the first place, so you can’t look too down on it.”

“Ah oui, Monsieur, So you are right…”

The two men chatted on there, completely ignoring you, while you just watched on in utter amazement, not knowing whether to feel terrified, relieved, ashamed at having been caught, or any combination of the mixed emotions that were running through your head at the moment. Jack, in his calm collected way, just bandied on until you felt you were nearing the point you wanted to bash him the head.

Finally, whether sensing your ire or tiring of his game, Jack slid his arm in yours and gave the Gendarme an exaggerated bow. “Well, I ‘ad best be off, and take me dear lady back to our humble room for rest.” Jack leaned over towards him and whispered loudly, ”I’ve discovered she can be quite the bear in the morning wi’out ‘er proper beauty sleep.”

“Madame,” the Frenchman said, changing your title to the married formal and kissing your hand. He gave Jack a wink and a grin and a small salute, and strode off back to the main road.

When he was out of sight, you turned to look at Jack, who was intently following the soldier with his senses. You supposed he was listening, for a minute later he relaxed and sighed, ”He’s gone.”

You clutched the material at the armholes of Jack’s undervest, and buried your head in his chest. Jack must have thought you were crying as your body started to shake softly against him. “Oy, luv? Please don’t cry. No harm no foul was done.”

“Who’s crying?” you gasped, after catching your breath from the peals of laughter that burst out as the dam of angst ruptured, and the whole incident was now the funniest trauma you had ever been in. Wiping a tear from your eye, you finally were able to look up and see a bemused Jack looking quite askance at you. “So much for your assertations that no fine Gov’ners men patrol these alleys. I just can’t believe,” you were able to finally say, ”that we were caught doing what we were doing and we were able to convince the constabulary we were doing nothing.”

Jack shifted in an embarrassed unease. “Well, thank what higher bein’ ye will that he’s half blind and its dark with a cloud cover tonight to hide the moon. Damn bastard couldn’t have arrived a minute later? Teach me a lesson it did to be thinkin’ with the wrong head. That bloody well HURT!”

You grasped Jack’s hand firmly. “I’m glad we did it though.”

“You are?” His eyebrows shot up, and he looked down at you from that odd cocked angle of his that he used when he was. “Even after the run in wi’ said local constabulary? Our near…how would they say it? Faux paux?”

“Yes,” you slowly started walking, out into one of the small narrow streets, leading him back towards your home, happy to get out of the alley now that your nerves had stopped their wild dance. “You were right about that euphoria. It was…exciting. But now, though, I want to go home, and let you try that again, with less interruptions this time?”

“I can see a lot o’ merit in that line of thought, milady,” he grinned, and entwined his arm through your before re-clasping your hands. Jack exaggerated his usual swagger in his obvious pleasure at this pronouncement from you, swinging the cane in long, lazy circles. The wind from the encroaching weather had picked up again, blowing his hair so the trinkets tied and woven into the long dark tangles clinked together melodiously as you wandered through the near empty streets back to your room for a long active evening.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 2

The conditions the next morning were hideous, just as the captain had predicted.

All his years of seafaring experience did eventually add up to being a fountain of knowledge with all that was the great blue oceans and its related kindred. Through the night you had not initially paid attention to the storm, being otherwise occupied or exhausted, but the winds had amplified so much as to be blowing more then merely the dead branches from trees, and the rains fell more sideways then straight down.

Jack had risen early when he heard the screaming gales, throwing on his breeches, shirt and boots and grabbing his hat. Your sleepiness and Jacks soft murmuring to rest entreated you to stay between your warm covers for a while more. He apparently rousted or appropriated your young servant Tom, who went helping the older man to batten down the remaining windows and shutters that had not already been nailed shut and board up the slatted doors of your house.

You came down a couple hours later, sitting at the small wooden table in the kitchen as Ester prepared some hot water for tea and boiled grains for breakfast. You did not stand on formalities of eating separate from your servants like many of the gentry did. Unless you had guests, you spent your time with the people who were important in your life.

Shortly after, your side door flung open, aided by the blustering wind, and amidst driving rain and leafy vegetation, Jack and Tom came stumbling in, drenched to the bone. You jumped up and threw your shawl around the eleven-year-old boy, his small frame shivering being chilled for so long. “Tom, you go change from these wet rags right away,” you say, drying the sandy hair a tad with the wool shawl, “then crawl into your bed, and I’ll have Ester bring you some hot tea and mash.” You watched the lad you practically adopted in the last port four months ago scurry off towards his quarters.

Jack dropped the open wooden box that held your household tools with a loud thud onto the stone floor, some of the straight nails flying over the side and landing next to it. His loose, unmatted hair that stuck out from under the leather hat was plastered against his neck, and water dripped off every part of his body, including a stubborn drop that refused to fall from the end of his nose.

“And what does one have to do around here to get such rapt attention, not to say hot tea and mash,” Jack burst out in a teasing tone, “although I daresay I’d rather have you undress me and I crawl into your bed with you.”

“Jack!” you exclaim glancing over at Ester who was filling a small teapot and setting up a tray. The old lady didn’t even flinch at Jack’s statement.

The pirate followed your glance and threw up an arm towards her. “Do ye think the lady daft luv? I dinna’ think that she assumes we are engaged in a game of nine man morris all the time now - do you? Hell, girl, have you not noticed her walking in on us during on a couple of occasions? No, I would guess maybe not since I had ye a bit occupied at the time.”

The normal purse on Esters lips softened, and she almost smiled. Looking up at Jack she gave him a brief nod and picked up the tray and headed after where Tom had gone.

“No,” you timidly chuckle, once it was just you two alone. “I know Ester is well aware of our activities, but I like to pretend to keep some sense of propriety in my life. I would like to think the poor woman didn’t have to be subjected to watching us make the beast with two backs.”

“Don’t begrudge the girl. Pro’lly the most excitement she’s ‘ad in a long time.

In fact I would lay good gold on that fact if I were a bettin’ man.”

“Jack Sparrow! You are simply incorrigible!” You go stand in front of the soaking wet man, not quite touching him, and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, for everything,” you warmly say. “I had not gotten to a lot of that myself, and Tom is really too young to be doing too much of that yet.” You reach out and start to untie the fastenings on Jack’s shirt, the fabric almost translucent from the moisture.

“Ye should be hiring someone, an’ not doing it yourself either. The maintenance on this new abode of yours leaves something to be desired, luv, and not demeaning you, its not a woman’s place, even your place, to be having to crawl on rooftops or ladders to fix things,” he wearily sighed, removing the very wet hat and hanging it on one of the chair back posts. Amusingly enough his red headscarf was dry on the top, attesting to the great weathering of the leather. “I would highly suggest getting cross bars for the shutters rather then havin’ to nail them all the time each time a bloody hurricane comes by. Im surprised they don’t ‘ave any, since they have the hinges for them.”

“They might have at one time, and got misplaced or sold before I moved in. Iron can be a valuable commodity, especially to people fleeing. I will order some new ones from the blacksmith straight away after this clears up a bit. I never expected the storms to be this strong.”

Jack laughed. “And it aint even started yet. This is but the beginning. The brunt of the beast is pro’lly not comin’ until later, an’ the worst part even more after that, just when ye think it be done. The eye of the storm they call it. A deceiving lull that quickly turns evil if it catches you unawares.”

“Worse then this?” you worriedly ask. You had already begun to grow anxious as the intensity had increased earlier, and had only set aside fear by thinking it had to be near over or at its maximum. Jack’s assertations that this was nothing yet set your insides churning.

“Aye love,” Jack replied, stripping off the wet shirt. He hands it to you, and proceeds to remove his boots and set them upside down in a corner, a great puddle of water streaming out of each one. He grimaced at the mess and said, “I shoulda’ jus’ gone barefoot.”

“Don’t worry about that. Sit down,” you practically ordered, pulling out a chair that he promptly sat in. “I’ll go get you a warm blanket and some dry clothes.” You started to turn to leave and Jack grabbed your arm pulling you into his lap.

“Jack, you’re soaked. You’re getting me soaked, “you practically shrieked in mild happy annoyment.

He only held you closer, the dampness of his body and his remaining pants seeping into your garments, and he kissed you soundly. “You’ll have plenty of time to dry, whilst ye be warmin’ me up,” he smirks, “but first, I heard rumor of hot tea and breakfast. So some of that first, if ye wouldn’t be mindin’.”

You tsked, and pulled yourself up, giving him a playful swat on the arm. You took another ceramic teapot from a cabinet and started to measure the loose tea into it, Jack’s eyes on you’re the entire time.

“Tell me about the boy, Tom, “ you heard him ask. “How did ye end up with him?”

You reflected back to that day in the open-air market several months ago. It was not long after Jack had left the first time. You had gone shopping (or more the reality was being ordered by Ester to get you out of the house) for some fresh produce and meat for dinner. There were a few stalls where the local residents still sold items from meager subsistence farms, or from where people gathered items from the jungles and forests of the island. There was lots of fish and seafood, and even a variety of livestock that could be purchased for those without their own yards to raise them. Many items were still imported and available for quite the price in couple of adjacent shops run by local merchants, such as the flour and sugar and oil and more such upscale items that had to be imported from Europe or the Americas.

Your thoughts really were not on the melons that you weighed in your hands, or the squawking chickens in their cages waiting for the quick flick of a wrist around their neck to snap it after a buyer chose them. Your mind was somewhere in the vast unknown, on the rolling waves, staring off onto the endless horizon on a wooden ship, until a sharp howl from behind you caught your attention.

Whirling around, you saw a dirty young boy in torn rags that presumably passed for clothing, dangling in the iron grasp of a beefy merchant. The boy was gaunt, painfully thin, and his steely blue eyes were wide with anger, terror and frustration as he futilely wriggled in the hands of his captor. A pair of ripe mangos rolled across the ground, one stopping nearly at your feet.

“Filthy li’ile maggot,” you heard the man growl. “Go stealin’ my hard gained goods would ye?” He raised a clench fist above the boy’s head.

“Stop!” You cried, rushing forward. The merchant drew back only inches from the boy’s ear, startled by your outburst. “What’s the meaning of this violence against this child?”

“Bastard was stealin’ me fruit. I’s naught but givin’ ‘im a lesson ‘e won’t soon forget. What bus’ness is it of yers now there milady?”

“It is my business,” you harshly replied, getting up close and in his face, “when he is being assaulted for doing but what I asked of him. I needed two fresh mangos for a fruit salad I had planned for a special dinner party. He was but seeing if they were what I desired before I paid for them, him being a small boy and all.”

The man looked quizzically at you up and down in your fine brocade and satin, and then the bedraggled little boy, whom he now let rest on his feet. You knew for an instant that he probably didn’t believe a word of what you said, but wouldn’t and couldn’t voice his misgivings of your explanation. You were an upstanding and known social lady, and your word was not to be disputed without good reason.

Wanting to exit this situation as quickly as you could, you fished out your small velvet money pouch from the folds of your skirt, and removed a few small coins. “I presume this will be enough to cover the fruit, sir?”

The man nodded, and released his grip on the boy. You nodded to the fallen fruit. “Go ahead lad. Pick them up and lets get going. I haven’t any more time to waste today.”

The boy blinked several times at you, then scurried over and grabbed the fallen food, and rushed to your side. Herding him along, you waited until out of earshot before calmly asking,” What’s your name boy, and why were you pilfering from the market? You know he could get you stockaded and lashed, after making you deaf from boxing your ears. Don’t be lying to me now.”

The boy’s voice was scared and soft, but full of determination, an odd mix that suited you. “Tom. Tom Whitter,” he said. “I was hungry. That’s all.”

You would always remember that astonished and disbelieving look in the stormy eyes of the child, as for the first time he could ever recall, he was treated with the smallest amount of kindness and mercy, and how he inhaled the bowl of stew he was given, staring at you and Ester fearfully over the spoon. He didn’t say anymore, and disappeared into the twilight afterwards. You really didn’t expect the small knock on the door the next day, but there he was, and to you it said something about the boy’s character. Tom returned that day and everyday, to do small chores for you without complaint or grumbling, until the day he just stopped leaving.

The first time, Ester found him sleeping by the back door, and the next on the kitchen floor. It was then you had a small cot set up for him. Life seemed to whirl by in the next few weeks and Tom blossomed out into what a child should be in your eyes; eager, smiling and boisterous. You started to sit him down to teach him his letters and to read and write, which was more of an dire effort then getting him to scrub floors. You never asked him about his family, until the day you had to tell him you were leaving the island. You did not expect the flood of tears, and the pawing at your skirts as he begged on his knees that you not leave him behind. It was then you insisted you had to arrange with his parents his leaving. “It doesn’t matter,” Tom tried to say, and you should have listened.

His mother was a wretched woman, wasting away from consumption or some horrible festering disease; barely able to recognize anything in the laudanum haze she was in. The hovel was rotting and leaking and she sat in filth and empty bottles and smelt of old alcohol, death and decay. The perfumed handkerchief at your nose was barely able to keep you from gagging in the stench. In the end you left a small bag of coin, and wondered if the great Paracelsus ever imagined his medicine being used as such to keep a person in such a misery. Or perhaps maybe it kept her from misery. You did not know and did not want to ever have to know.

But in your mind, Tom was, and probably would soon be, an orphan, and you were determined to consider him as such, and not as the indentured servant your payment legally made him to you. You had kept him in your care and service right up to the present, and would until he was old enough to strike out on his own. Hopefully by then you would have him educated and taught in some skill so the boy could make his way in the world better then his kin had done.

Taking a folded cloth you lifted a heavy cast iron pot filled with steaming water from over the coals and carefully filled the delicate little vessel on the table as you spoke. “He’s the son of some poor wretch of a woman, probably a whore, from back in port where we first met. I caught him stealing some food from a vendor, and saved his little hide from a good thrashing when he was caught. I could tell he wasn’t a bad boy, just hungry, and I took pity on him, and made restitution to the merchant. I had Tom make it up to me by promising to come to my home each day and do chores around the house, which he did. I made sure he was well fed, and he ran my errands. He is smart, eager and a good boy, even though he has been forced to grow up too fast. He just needed a guiding hand. When it came time to for me to leave, he wanted to go with me, so I went to arrange the possibility with his family. I can’t say his mother was too distraught to see him go, which is sad, but I think it is for the better. The boy has been nothing but a godsend to Ester, and me, despite the trials of having a small boy around the house. Why? Was he a problem for you outside there?” You set the tea on the table to steep and turned back to grab a bowl.

Jack shook his head. “Nay, not at all. Does ‘ave a tendency to prattle on about e’erything and anything like a noisy little bird, but he listens well. Did what I said, and when. And I was even able to teach him a tad about woodworking there.”

You laughed, spooning out some thickened porridge of various grains into the dish, and drizzled some honey over it.

"What’s so funny about that?” he inquired quizzically.

You set the steaming food in front of him, and just stared at him a moment. “It’s funny to think of you teaching woodworking, I guess. That’s all.”

“Because I’m a pirate and not a carpenter?”

You shrugged. “I suppose so. It’s not the thing that would come forefront to my mind.”

Jack took a careful bite of the hot gruel after blowing on it. “Let me ask you something. Do ye think I could last 20 years on various WOODEN ships, without learning at least something about being able to handle a hammer, saw and nails, luv? I can even wield a lathe with the best of them. Well maybe not the BEST of them, but I can wield one.”

“No, I suppose not,” you said, slightly disconcerted at first at your assumption and his correction. “Im gladly willing to unlearn and relearn what makes you Jack, Mr. Sparrow. There seems to always be interesting layers to you that I would not expect to find, but it’s a pleasurable discovery I think. I may only see a few of those layers, but I will be grateful for that peek inside a pirate.”

“Not just any pirate, lass. The infamous and succinct ‘Captain’ Jack Sparrow.” Jack grinned, and poured himself a steaming cup of black tea.

“I don’t know if succinct is the right word to describe you.”

“Of course it is!” He matter-of-factly stated while spooning some of the dark raw sugar from your little bowl into the dark liquid and watching it dissolve with a swirl of his spoon. Jack leaned back, delicately holding the thin curved handle of the cup, and stared at you over the rim as he sipped the hot drink. “See?”

You groaned in exaggerated exasperation, and turned to get yourself some of the food, when several loud thumps on the walls followed shortly by a huge crash made you practically jump from your skin with a shriek. Jack quickly opened the door, fighting the gusts, and looked out.

“Just the palm tree, luv, ripped right out by the roots,” he tried to say comfortingly. “Have some wall work you need to do, but it missed the house. I think the savage lady is about to pull ‘er skirts through the door.”

Your hands still shaking you meekly sat down, your appetite gone.

For the first time in a long time you were terrified. Even the wildest thunderstorm you had ever seen in England was nothing like this. The winds were sounding like the screeching, wailing and howling of the reputed banshees of the old Irish and Scottish tales. Perhaps the old angry faerie women, haunting the Cairns, and announcing death with their arrival, spent part of their time down here, honing their skills before returning to the Old World.

Not wanting to seem weak, you tried to will yourself to hide you fear. It made you feel childish and horrible to be letting something as simple as a storm get to you, but then you tended to forget this was just not any storm.

Your growing dread only escalated as the minutes and hours ticked by. You had tried to distract yourself with some paperwork on a shipping deal were contemplating getting in on, but the violent storm just drew your complete attention with its fury. Although it was midmorning, near midday, it was black as night outside. The rain came down in sheets, flooding the chimneys to where the fires had to be put out to keep the house from being consumed in clouds of billowing smoke. The creaking of the trees trying to withstand the extreme weather force of the winds that picked up nigh everything not bolted down culminated in echoing crashes all around the neighborhood. Wagons were tipped onto their sides. Roofs were pulled from houses and sent flying streets away.

Jack had taken his leave to your chambers after eating, presumably to rest. When you gave up the idea of accomplishing anything and sought out your blankets to cower under, wanting to feel his warm body against yours, your room was where you found him, but not sleeping. He stood just outside on your veranda, under the shade roof, just out of the line of direct rain but still damp in the spray, staring out into the dark and fog and clouds where the inlet could usually be seen. He squinted against the forceful gusts and bits of his own hair and other wind blown items that battered his face. For an instant you could almost picture him on his Pearl guiding the ship through an ocean squall, despite the fact you weren’t quite sure what his ship looked like.

Somehow above the screaming winds and deafening clashing and crashing of the world around you, Jack managed to hear you come in and up behind him. “The Greeks and Romans were convinced that the spirit of the sea was a man,” Jack solemnly yet loudly said out of nowhere, his voice naturally attuned to rising above the surroundings when needed, ”but I am convinced that if there is a great spirit whom controls these ‘ere waters, it is most surely a woman. Men are not like the sea. The sea is fickle and yet she is predictable. The sea is soothing and compliant, and yet she’s a harsh mistress. The sea can be insurmountable if ye cannot understand her, if ye cannot ply her properly, and yet she can reach out and strike ye down when ye least expect it. You need to know when to glide over her caressing waves like a lover, when to ride her out, and when to let her work through her rages with as wide a berth as possible. So, you see, I am convinced that concealed in the deep blue depths are the soul and spirit of a woman.” He continued to gaze out into the savage weather, arms folded and stoic in expression, as if in some form of deep concentration.

“Are you worried about your ship? Do you need to go to her?”

Jack turned back, and regarded you silently. “Nay,” he finally replied. “Actually, with where she is moored, she is fairly well sheltered from the brunt of this lady. She will roll and drift a bit, but out and not in. Gibbs, me Bo’sun, will be watching her for me this time. He’s planning to careen her for a bit after this hurricane decides to be done. One of the reasons I have a spot ‘o time here wi’ you.”

“What’s careening?”

“Ah, yes,” Jack said. “Forgive me forgettin’ at times that not everyone is up on all me nautical terms. Careening is when we beach her on low tides and the men get to scrape all the barnacles and creeping crud from the poor girl’s bones ‘for the worms bore right through her. We can also get repairs done, and actually get some of that brackish bilge water drained from her. You can see that on a bark like mine an activity as such would take a while to get accomplished, and as such can be a tricky and dangerous proposition being a pirate ship and all. So what brings you up here now other then your sudden interest in maintaining a seagoing vessel?"

Your mouth opened and nothing came out. You hadn’t a clue how to answer him. You certainly did not want to tell him that this hurricane had turned your blood into ice, and that you only wished to ride it out from under your bed. You didn’t want to hear the wailing and whining of it any longer. The pirate must have known, or gathered, or assumed, for his face softened with a warm compassion.

Jack ambled back inside, shutting the barricaded and planked wood and glass door, and oozed up against you, enveloping you against him. While he wore a fresh shirt, he was still damp from the soaking he had taken earlier and even more from blowing rain and mist he had just come in from.

“Its just wind and rain and a brilliant show. She can’t hurt you now. She can’t hurt you here. Tell yourself it’s just a storm. You’re warm, and relatively dry, and safe. I promise ye that you’ll be safe luv.”

“You can make that promise?” You guardedly asked, your misgivings evident.

“Of course luv,” came the confident reply. “Captain Jack Sparrow does not a promise make that he can not incontrovertibly keep.”

You stood in his encompassing grasp, ignoring the chill that traveled up and down your limbs until it struck you that part of the shivering was also coming from Jack.

“Let’s get you out of these wet clothes,” you said shakily as another rumbling roar of something ripping apart outside tried to drown you out.

Jack grinned with that glint of pearls and gold that you found so appealing, sliding his hands to either side of your head to cradle it tenderly. “Last time I heard that from your lips, I think I responded with something about an invitation? So not to be presumptuous…” He pressed his lips to your neck, and then to your jaw line, and to your ear to whisper, “Is that an invitation?”

In that instant all the alarming turmoil around you vanished and all you could feel and hear was Jack’s lulling tones and his warm breath coursing through the little hairs on the nape of your neck, and his soft lips with the courser brush of his short beard and such tickling your skin. There was nothing more you wanted right now then to feel his body connected with yours. “Yes. Oh yes, Jack.” You still don’t know whether you actually said the words or just murmured something unintelligible and vocally guttural yet inspiring enough to get your desire across. Those strong hands tightened on your head, and pulled you into a long, deep kiss, his tongue venturing through your willing open lips to caress yours in small supple motions.

Perhaps your hands reaching back to grasp his buttocks and pull him close also gave him that encouragement to proceed with fervor. His already hard erection pressed eagerly into your stomach through his breeches. Jack traced his fingers through your hair, and down around your neckline to the swell of your breasts, where they softly stroked the pliant flesh through the light shift. His fingers found the pebbled nipples, and he flicked at them tantalizingly, following that with the barest touch of his palms in measured circles over the tips. Trembling again, but this time not from cold, you fought the mind numbing desire that the little jolts of pleasure from his touch sent coursing through you. You breathed out in a shaky, low moan.

Needing to fight fire with fire, you found the end of his erection through the tenting pants and outlined the ridge of the head several times before tracing the shaft back and forth as it strained against the thick fabric. You fumbled with the middle metal button that held the loose flap of material that hid the drawstring to his breeches and covered the open fly. Once undone you were able to slide you hand into the pants with no obstruction to grasp the velvety steel object within to free it. It pulsed under your caress, and you swore you felt it grow even firmer as you languidly slid it back and forth clutched firmly in your hand. You released it only long enough to allow the pants to drop to his feet on the floor, helping it over his hips with your free hand.

With some sort of unmentionable exclamation that started in your mouth, Jack reached back over his head, and yanked the clingy linen shirt off. The garment went flying unseen to somewhere in the room. “I think we have a horrible inequity here that must be rectified, I think,” Jack said in a low, rumbling tone, as if his voice was being waylaid in his throat. He stood there naked in all his aroused glory before you, reflecting on the thin nightgown that you still wore.

“Be patient,” you murmured, unable to remove your eyes from his body. He was so beautiful in your eyes, even though he was not even close to the epitome of what a perfect man was in the high too-doo society. You just wanted to look at him, burn him into your memory for that when he would be gone again. He was not overly tall for a man, perhaps being a tad on the short side in fact, yet still a bit taller then you, and Jack was still in excellent shape for a man his age. He was not emaciated as many sailors became from scurvy and malnutrition, actually more on the nicely rounded side in certain areas of his middle and backside. Perhaps a cross between the perks of being a Captain of the ship, a pirate in general, and outwardly spoken in his love of fine food and drink, could help attest to that. Where he had a little extra though he was not weak or soft. There were plenty of layers of strong, firm muscle that made the opportunistic buccaneer a formidable opponent, a valuable ally, and a dreadfully dangerous enemy.

Jack’s limbs and body were well bronzed from all his time in the unforgiving Caribbean sun, except for the area hid by his pants. Yet that was still darker then the average pale British resident as well, but a few shades lighter then the rest of him. The thought of how he got his posterior and related privates exposed to the sun was an interesting line of reflection you would have to peruse later on.

You eyes were drawn then to the pale scar of the East India branding that stood out brightly on his right forearm. Someday you would have to have him tell you about how he was able to escape the Trading Company, no small feat in and of itself. You were strangely attracted to his various scarring in an odd sort of way, and had been since the moment you saw him. They were a testament to a man of a long and intriguing life.

Many times while lying in bed, cradled in his arms, you would just trace the lines on his flesh one by one, over and over again with your finger. Each rippled and puckered mark was not a blemish on his beauty. It was an additive. It was part of the essence of Jack Sparrow; a part of his life etched forever on his body that he would never be able to forget. You were determined never to forget either.

His bronzed skin was only made darker in places by his coal black body hair most evident on his limbs, but with smatterings across his torso. The hair that covered his legs and arms was pleasantly soft and not scratchy like you had experienced in the past. Right now they stood up quite straight away from his skin as goose bumps from the cold lifted the hair high. That did put the spur in your mind that he would probably be more appreciative of being under a set of warm covers then having you admire him as if he were some Italian renaissance statue. Still, you did not see in his face any irritation at what must have been a slight discomfort to him, only a cocky amusement as he waited out your inspection.

A sudden eerie silence grabbed your attention, and you turned towards the closed door.

“It’s the eye, “Jack knowingly said, your unspoken question obvious. “A bit o’ peace before the backside hits. This,” he emphasized, ”is the calm before the storm.”

With a small smile, you walked over and pulled the spread down on your great bed. Knowing better then to let Jack at your clothing in his manly frustration, especially with what happened that first time you two had an intimate encounter, you slipped out of the gauzy sleepwear and laid it over the end of the bed. “Better?”

With a devilish gleam and a lustful expression, Jack chuckled,” Aye, much better luv’. I was beginnin’ to wonder there what yer plans were to be doing with me, ‘cause it didn’t seem to be there for a moment what mine were to be doing with you!”

In a blink of an eye he was with you, gently pushing you back down into the soft wicking of the cotton filled mattress, following you into its depths. Kneeling next to your prone form, with a touch that one would use for handling valuable porcelain, Jack skimmed his hands just over the surface of your skin, raising your own goosepimples in the wake of his almost imperceptible stroke. “You’re so beautiful, so beautiful,” you heard him mumble under his breath before his lips started leaving languid wet trails over your neck and chest. When he brushed against your nipples, he eagerly took one in his mouth, sucking and teasing it, his hands encircling the firm globes in a solid grip.

“Oh Jack!” Your body rose in pleasure against him, wanting and demanding more, placing one of your hands on top of his to encourage his soft kneading. You wrapped your other arm around his back to play with the long hair from his head that rested there. Using his tongue and teeth, Jack pulled and rolled the hard pink nipple, peaking it as far as it could go, before turning his attention to the other.

You let go of his hand and slid it down and under to wrap around his member, sliding it gently back and forth in your palm, using your fingers to apply varying pressures as you moved it. Jack groaned and pressed into your slow stroking. Lifting his head, lips shining from the moisture he was leaving on your skin, his eyes ablaze with pleasure and face taut with emotion, he affirmed your actions without words and barely without breath.

With a throaty sigh, he nuzzled back against your chest, starting under your breasts and measuredly covering every inch of skin back and forth across and down your torso. You trembled expectantly as he kissed the tender area right above the hairline at your apex. He hadn’t moved down between them like he usually did, but stayed sideways next to you, pressing your legs apart. His hands massaged the entire thigh closest to him, from the knee up to the inner joint, digging into the muscle brushing your center without ever touching it. Turning his head he licked the area his hand had been kneading with long deliberate stroke leading into small delicate circles when he reached that responsive area where your leg and hip met just before your mound.

Jack had brought every nerve ending in your body to life, and then to the brink of exploding. You were practically dying waiting for him to touch you more intimately, to help sate the need that was boiling in your center. The wetness between your thighs grew by the minute, dampening the tight little curls, and carrying with it that musky aroma of your yearning. You heard yourself whimper, and shifted desperately, trying to urge him closer.

He reached out to grasp your far hip, and gently rolled you slightly onto your side, but kept your legs apart. Then he shifted so that he was more or less parallel with you, but his head still down above your sex, and his groin suggestively in reach of yours. Hoping you were responding correctly to Jack’s silent implication, you took his length and ran your lips tantalizingly across the velvety surface. The sharp intake of air from him affirmed your assumption, and was returned as an exhalation of long hot breath that he directed into your pubis and between your lips.

Cutting to the chase and with a loud moan you wrapped your lips around his head, already glistening with leaked fluid, while pushing your hips up and you leg down so that his mouth connected with your slit. He parted the soft lips with his fingers, and pulled on the small blood swollen organ between then with his teeth and laved it repeatedly. It was so hard for you to keep your mouth and hand moving on his shaft as he pleasingly tortured you so.

You knew how much Jack liked extra attention on the area right under and at the base of his head. You would take him in as far as you could into your mouth, and then slowly draw him out, increasing your suction, until you just reached the tip. Then without removing it from the heat of your mouth you flicked at the small opening with your tongue, running it around the exposed ridges from the pulled back foreskin. Jack began to thrust his hips gently, trying to increase the speed and pressure of your suction and stroking, as he delved further down and added his tongue and fingers to your channel, alternating between that and your most aroused inner flesh. You felt Jack biting occasionally at your inner thigh, hard enough to make you jump, but not enough to cause real pain or draw blood.

Bodies moving and undulating in unison, and desire and bliss expressed in mutual louder and louder gasps, grunt, and groans, Jack turned, guiding you with his body, so that he was face down over you and his knees on either side of your head. Balanced on his forearms, he was able to grasp your hips and get wider movement, spreading your legs down wide, and you could more easily reach up and caress his posterior and legs.

Your body helplessly twitched and thrashed under Jack’s careful and skilled ministrations. Your spine tingled and you felt your insides tighten like the wool around a spindle. The more it twisted the stronger it got, yet the more it threatened to snap. Suddenly you felt that smoldering in your core explode, and an uncontrolled shuddering overcame you and you had to pull your mouth away from him. Jaw clenching and body bucking, starting in the pit of your gut, emerging through your teeth and ending as a long and protracted wail you screamed Jack’s name repeatedly, invoking the Christian almighty several times as well.

You felt your muscles practically turn into jelly as the euphoria partially subsided and you limply collapsed. Jack twisted and rolled off, crawling up your body like a large cat. He towered over you up on his arms, staring down at you, his eyes mirroring that feral glow of the predator, a wild feline stalking the unaware, with his sights on the prey. His baubles and bangles clinked down as his hair fell down to frame his face, as he stayed there, not moving, not talking, and not perceptively breathing, the sinews in his arms standing out as he held up his weight.

Almost imperceptivity the pirate tipped his hips and his rigid shaft began a long unhurried slide between your legs through the new immense amount of fluid that soaked your bed and your body. He ran it through several times, thoroughly lubricating himself before pressing it down, the tip sliding deeper into the curls. It parted your lips, and sought the comforting entry to your passage. Jack needed no guidance to find home, and it was when the head passed into the tight opening and into the sweet depths, he allowed himself a deep sigh. He closed his eyes as he relished the feel of your heat from the smooth slick joining.

Jack began to move his hips in a deliberately slow pace, drawing himself out and then re-sheathing it just as slowly. His arms began to tremble under the strain of not moving, and yet he did not allow himself to shift anything other then his groin. His calculated actions rekindled the flame that he had not allowed to die out, fanned the desire for more. You wanted him to take you, not play with you like he was. You wanted to feel his body deep and hard within you. You wanted to be driven to the edges of passion and beyond.

“Please Jack,” you whispered, raising yourself against him, trying to increase the contact. Trying to sate what your soul was screaming for right now.

“Please Jack what?” he whispered back, his own resilience starting to fade against his own desire.

Your fingers ran up through his short beard on the side to the top of his cheeks, your thumbs tenderly caressing the high bones. “Make me yours Jack, completely. Please.” Just then, screaming howls rattled the shutters and the house, and you paled, knowing the horrible storm had started again.

Jack quickly lowered himself down, and grabbed your chin with one hand, forcing you to look at him. “Its only the wind and the rain and a lot o’ hullabaloo. It canna’ hurt ye. I wont let it hurt ye.” He pressed his lips to yours and kissed you tenderly. You still tasted yourself upon his lips. He started to resume his thrusts into you, but with a purpose and a passion and a need. You felt something different in that kiss, something more, something deeper, something wanting. He broke off the kiss, his body still plunging and delving eagerly into yours and said, “Its only the wind and the rain… Say it luv.”

Haltingly you said, ”Its... Its just wind and…rain.” The fear and the pleasure were a fascinating juxtaposition, vying for your attention. He was feeling so good, drawing you away from the world outside as he fed your body’s hunger.

“Say it again. Its just wind and rain.” Jack sounded so serious.

“Its just wind and rain.” As you looked into his dark brown eyes, you saw that they were unveiled and open. The windows into his soul were there and free for you to see into, and you saw compassion, and sincerity and… no…you had to be wrong. Were you? Almost breathlessly you added, “And you won’t let it hurt me.”

“Nay sweetness,” he gasped, ”I wont let it hurt ye. Not while I live and breath.” Jack doubled his efforts as if the renewed ferocity of the storm fueled his desire, grabbing your wrists and holding them down while he took you, not once letting go of your eyes. His thrusts became more erratic and harsh, and you knew that he was on the verge of his climax when he was forced to look away as he fought for control, a pained grimace on his face.

That touched something in you, and it aroused you further to know he was so close. You loved that bit of power, knowing he was trying to keep from losing it, and having trouble. Your legs wrapped around his and you urged him onward with your calves. “Take me now, you pirate scoundrel. Claim me and mark me. Make me yours Jack,” you said, reaching out for that inner ego you knew he had, your lips suggestively open and inviting, wanting to taste him again as he came. You squeezed around him as he entered, enhancing the pressures of the walls within you, right around his manhood.

Jack groaned and crushed you in the searing kiss you sought, and you felt him start to spasm against you. The flood of new heat as he loosened his essence inside and the wrenching cry that tore from his lips acted like a lit trail of gunpowder to the magazine, and you joined him shortly after in that explosion of passion. Your cries mingled for that brief instant, and then slowly subsided. The pirated lay weakly on top of you, his face nestled in your neck, his favorite spot after this until he regained his breath.

You felt Jack’s grip loosen on your wrists, and then felt his hands caressing your head, stroking over your hair, tousled and tangled. He pulled his spent body apart from yours after a moment, and moved next to you, drawing up the downy comforter over you both, and pulling you into his arms. He sleepily stared into your face from the pillow, thoroughly drained from his day’s activities even though it was early still. Tracing your lips and your eyes and all the curves of your face with his thumb, he regarded you silently, as if he was searching for words. Finally he softly kissed your forehead, and his eyes slid shut as he slipped off into blissful, well-needed sleep.

You lay gratefully curled in his arms as the weather raged on outside. Jack believed what he said, and right now, you believed it too. Tonight he made them a reality. Deep inside you though you knew that you would not always have his strong protective arms shielding you from the world. You only hoped his words and his memory would be enough. Tonight they were more then just a memory and tonight they were enough.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 3

You blinked sleep from your eyes looking round your room to gain your bearings, and carefully extracted yourself from under the limp arm of your lover. Surprisingly you had fallen back asleep that afternoon after your rampant escapades with the pirate, and now it was very late in the evening so it appeared by the clock on your desk. Almost nine o clock… A small, lit oil lamp sat on your desk, a gift from Ester no doubt for when you did get up.

Slipping from the covers, you wrapped your housecoat around your naked body and padded over to the door leading to your veranda. Jack lay in a dead sleep on his stomach, face sideways deep in the pillow, his arm flung out over where your body used to be. Glancing back to check, he hadn’t even stirred at your leaving. Jack just lay there in the bed so peacefully, such a change from before. Jack had gone to sleep the first couple of nights with the loaded pistol under his pillow in his grasp and the cutlass well within reach. He had stirred a lot, tossing and turning, speaking to unseen ghosts of his past, never slumbering for more then a couple of hours without waking, murmuring something about it being too still.

He needed the extra sleep now, having gotten none too much the restless days before from this, the sex, and the storm. You wondered how much true rest he ever really got. The life of a hunted man did not afford one much serenity you figured, even on the perceived safety of his own ship. He was always trying to stay ahead of something; the law, other pirates, even his own crew. He had survived a horrible uprising once only through the miracle of luck or the kindness of fate. You tried to imagine being rousted from your bed at knifepoint by the same men whom you entrusted all your dreams and endeavors to, and being forced overboard to swim to some strip of an island, expected to die an excruciating death by either your own hand or the elements. It did not leave one with much trust you expected.

Today he dozed like a baby, completely relaxed, his weapons not even near him and not once awoken in a near full eight hours that you knew of. Was he used to the solid ground now? Or was he actually comfortable here, not worried that any minute he was going to be strung up, or raided, stabbed in the back, have his throat cut or have mutiny committed upon his person?

The silence outside was almost deafening, and your heart skipped a joyous beat that it might be actually over. Carefully you opened it not wishing to wake him. You could not see in the darkness the devastation that the storm had left. The waves were again the normal soft breakers you were used to hearing, and not the monsters that had been pounding the island. Leaving the door ajar to allow in some of the fresh gentle breezes that the islands were known for, you tiptoed to your desk, setting the burning lamp off further to the side. You slid open the right hand drawer and quietly as you could, pulled out a neatly folded letter. The red wax seal was already broken from when you had earlier read it several days prior to when Jack had arrived.

It was from a Frenchman by the name Gabriel de Clieu. His family was associated with the vineyards you owned back in France, and they still worked them for you in your absence. Gabriel had chosen a life in the French navy though, working his way to an Officer by his titular signature you saw, and you were very intrigued to have been first contacted by him back in your previous home. It was upon his urging you had come to this island, where he had sworn to meet you with an urgent business proposition. The second letter, the one you held in your hand, had arrived, informing you that de Clieu should have been arriving tomorrow on the ship La Mère de la Mer, and that you should meet him down by the docks that afternoon. Now with that awful storm you did not know when his ship would come in, if at all.

He did not state what the meeting was about specifically, just that it concerned coffee. You did not understand why he would want to deal with coffee, as many merchants dealt and transported the beverage beans from Alexandria and Smyrna, the two largest exporting cities of coffee. Coffee was a hot commodity, but it was quite difficult to get ones hands on a steady supply of the beans outside of the normal shipping companies. There were small groves of coffee trees in Paris, originally a gift to King Louie XIV, and an effort by the merchants to cultivate them more homebound, but the climate was not too hospitable in Europe for the plant to really take hold there. That is why Yeman, Arabia and Egypt, the main Arab growers were so successful in holding the monopoly on coffee, and they used that to their full advantage.

Did he want to see you try and open coffee houses down here in the Caribbean, akin to the penny universities in England? Edward Lloyd’s coffee house was very successful and he was able to market in other avenues of business rather successfully into that simple business. He had branched out into an entire line of insurance he was now calling Lloyd’s of London. Cafés in Venice and Paris were quite successful. Venice itself had close to 2000 coffee houses, but it was a lot easier to get coffee to Italy then to the South Atlantic.

You must have been deep in thought, for you screamed wildly when a hand snaked down your front from behind to fondle your breast under the robe. Leaping up, you whirled around to see Jack standing there wrapped in a decorative wool knit blanket from your bed, a tad surprised by your reaction, but with a gleeful smirk of amusement.

“Dear lord Jack. You will have my heart someday,” you gasp out bringing your hand to your neck like an old woman with vapors.

“You mean I don’t already?” Jack suggestively asked, with just a tinge of staidness behind it. His dark eyes twinkled in the soft glow of the lamp.

You wanted to believe that the undercurrent of seriousness in the glib little statement was real. You wanted so desperately to admit that you had fallen in love with him harder and faster then you thought ever possible in the history of men and women. The logical part of you feared that revealing such information could be the move that sent the sparrow flying away to another perch because you got to close to him. You were standing on a precipice, a foot on either side, not knowing which way to jump to, not knowing quite how to traverse this chasm.

As off the cuff as you could muster, keeping your voice and face as straight as you could, you nonchalantly replied, “I suppose for good or ill you get into everyone’s heart eventually. Whether they want to kill you or kiss you is anyone’s guess.”

If he sensed anything out of the ordinary from you, he didn’t let it show. “So, do you want to kiss me or kill me, luv? I definitely have my own preference.”

“Right now, killing you for scaring me to death is looking like a workable option.”

Jack leaned forward, whispering in your ear, “I’d rather have you kiss me.”

You smiled. “I’m sure you would,” and calmly turned away, slipping your letter back into the desk.

“So what’s with all the French?” Jack inquired nodding towards the drawer where you had placed the parchment.

“Merely business.” You slid back into his arms, slipping against him under the blanket, feeling his nakedness and enjoying it.

Jack wrapped the edges tightly around you. “What kind of business?”

His impetuousness never ceased to astound you sometimes, but strangely enough you expected it. “Business business. The business that brought me here to begin with. My business, Mr. Sparrow. Why do you want to know?”

Jack shrugged. “Just curious, that’s all. I don’t know all what you do to get all this that you have. I know what I do to get mine. You know what I do to get mine.”

“Okay,” you say, twisting to face him and come nose to nose, “you tell me where your island is, and I’ll tell you what my letter says and what my business is.”

“Oye, now,” Jack sputtered. “That’s not right. My island and your letter aren’t even in the same league.”

“And how do you know that? Perhaps my letter is concerning a shipment that I would prefer not being waylaid by someone whose fortunes tend to rely on waylaying just such shipments.”

Jack got a hurt expression. “Sweetness, I would never do that to you.”

You watched him very closely as you asked, “Even if it were a huge cargo of gold and jewels and silks?” Jack had a pining flash in his eyes at the thought. “Which it isn’t, mind you! Jack, you are a pirate. I would not leave a loaded pistol in the hands of a young child, and I will not tempt you, yet, with the knowledge of my goings on.”

“Ah, so little faith in me?”

“Then tell me where you keep your treasure.” When Jack hesitated in responding, you added smartly, ”Ah, so little faith in me?”

A gleam lit up Jack’s face, and he gave you a silent ooh with pursed lips. “Thinking you’re a right smart one there aren’t ye, missy. Testin’ ole Jack aren’t ye? That little cherub that sits on ones shoulder for the conscience, opposite of that little devil that gives me my weasly black guts.”

You kissed Jack chastely on the lips and said solemnly, “Jack, I don’t think you would honestly do anything to hurt me like that, or hope so anyway, but dare I lay the temptation there, and I wonder if I merely set myself up for a fall that would harm not only me but you.”

“It’s not your money, or potential for money, that draws me to you like a bloody moth to a flame. I have debated this in me own head for hours on end, woman.” He slipped his hands under your robe to caress your skin. “I can only relate it in my own terminology, being a simple pirate and all, so I speak to ye of what I know and are familiar with, treasure, booty and victuals. Booty can be hidden away, and as much as you treasure it, it can remain hidden and out of sight, out of mind for ages. You’re more than that. You are as compelling as the strongest drink, full of the fire that burns in a man’s belly, salves his senses and numbs his pain, driving him to have more to feel that slow spread of warmth and contentment. But ye aren’t like rum… “ Jack lined your throat with a string of nibbling kisses, catching the skin in his teeth ever so softly as he made his way down. You gasped softly and leaned into him. Then he was whispering again into your ear, his breath searing every nerve you had. “No… Rum is a guzzlin’ drink, made for any man, and one to make you forget quickly. Quick pleasure, quick release.”

The pirate’s hands slid over your sides to your buttocks, cupping them firmly. He took your earlobe between his teeth, biting it gently, and tracing the small ridges with his tongue. You shivered under that experienced touch, amazed not only that your body was responding again so soon, but had so many times since he returned. “Nay luv, you are more… like a sweet Brandy. Sophisticated and smooth. A drink that needs to be sipped…” He sensuously took your lips with his for but a moment. “…and savored…” And then a few moments longer, with his fingers wandering across your skin to make you whimper quietly as he teased your senses. “Yes. A brandywine that one loathes to share because it is so rare and wonderful, so full of flavor and personality. Something that a man with any wit about him wants to hoard in his own personal stock. My sweet, searing Brandy, with her kisses that simply set me afire…”

“Are you trying…” you forced out, trying very hard to ignore the incredible desire he was building up in you again, ”… to butter me up… and steal my sensibilities, Mr. Sparrow?”

“Mebbe,” He chuckled. “Why? Is it working?”

“It’s working… in a way, but not in the exact way you might want. I’m still not going to tell you.”

“Hmmmmmm, but do ye really know what I really want right now?” he smiled, capturing your lips with his.

Jack took his time on this kiss now, his tongue delving into every crevasse in your mouth he could reach, fighting with yours for dominance and control. He sighed long and loudly, his arousal growing more evident every minute. Then he pulled away, and out from the blanket, drawing it around you as he stepped back. There was an almost anguished cloud in his gaze as he looked longing upon you.

“And like any fine drink,” he regretfully said, “there is a time when you must put it on the shelf, to keep your senses clear for what must be done. And for the moment, my sweet Brandy, I must take my leave of your sirens call, before I am set back and taken in the waves of its intoxication any further then I am right now.”

“Jack?” There was an uneasy tremor in your simple one word question.

Seeing your anxious and bewildered expression, he apologetically said, “I need to run and do some of my own business.”

“At ten o’clock in the evening?” Had he figured out you were in love with him, and this was his retreat? You weakly sat down in your desk chair.

“The best time for slippin’ off wi’out prying eyes. I need to go make sure Gibbs is set, that’s all. It’s a several hour walk across the island to the sandbars. Tis best not to let the whole place know where she is holed up. I picked the place ‘cause ship traffic don’t want the sandbars and shallow bay, but in my case, I do, so I be somewhat assured that I am relatively safe there exposing me poor lady’s bones. It’s a lot more noticeable when I take off into the jungle for no reason in the daytime, than the night. Took me about three hours to walk in, and that was in mostly daylight, so I’m figgerin’ it will be at least four for me to navigate back though the dark.”

The pirate, needing the chill in the air to help him regain some of his own control, walked naked over to a small wooden trunk that you had gotten for him to keep his clothing in while he stayed. He opened it up and took out another set of pants and another new shirt and started to put them on. Part of you wondered if you were merely a way for the pirate to get new attire without having to beg borrow or steal for it, as you always seemed to be adding to his wardrobe each time. Actually it was more Ester’s doing. She just sort of showed up the day after Jack came back with an armload of clothing for him, which he accepted with a flourish and a comment about her remembering his taste.

Jack buttoned up the grey pants, and pulled the white shirt over his head, leaving the ties unfastened. Within a minute he had donned all his gear, and capped it all off with the long deep blue Captain’s coat with its gold trim and buttons that he had arrived in. He had that dashing roguish look that caught your eye the first time you saw him.

Though you said nothing, it seemed Jack could read you well, even with your masks up. He sighed and came over to you. “I’m not running off, my Brandy. I promise you. I may be a pirate but I’m a man of me word. You know that.”

“Even if you were, Jack, running off that is, it’s not my place to hold you here,” you nervously replied in a barely audible whisper. You did not want to believe what you said anymore, having grown quite enamored of his presence in your life.

Jack knelt down on one knee, and took your hand, bringing it to his lips. His eyes bored into you, and as much as you wanted to look away so he couldn’t see your apprehension, you couldn’t. He wouldn’t let you. “Like they say, although I’m not quite sure who these they are really… you can’t rape the willing. You’re not holding me anywhere if I’m willingly staying now. Isn’t that right luv?”

“I... I suppose. It’s just… why me?”

Jack was rather taken aback by your question. “I don’t know exactly. Why not you?”

Why not you indeed? You couldn’t answer his question and chose to remain silent, forcing yourself to stare at the open wooden slats on the floor. There was nothing about you in your opinion to make you special in the eyes of a man who dealt with riches and adventure every day of his life so it seemed; a man free to come and go as he willed in every aspect of his life. So you could answer his question, really, and chose not to. You could not tell him how you feared so much the inadequacy of your own existence, and how you barely believed he took notice in the first place of it, even for a moment. You were petrified of that moment being whisked away.

“You don’t think too highly of yourself now do ye?” Jack questioned. “I’m not talking your talent nor your sense, cause you know you have that in spades, and ye work that to your full advantage. I’m talking about what’s in here,” he reached out and tapped you on your chest, above your heart, ”that makes you special. Makes you YOU. Makes people give a damn about you, and maybe get close to you. But you don’t get close to people now do ye?”

Perhaps it was almost being murdered by your husband so long ago, but you had felt no desire to form any manner of a relationship of any sort past convenience to yourself and your goals. Until Jack, finally feeling something for someone was unspeakable. For years it had not concerned you in the least about what someone thought of you, especially of the male persuasion. You had no interest in pursuing anything, so it did not matter if they stayed or went. In many cases you encouraged them to go through your disinterest. Why now did you so desperately want him to stay?

That was the unspeakable question and the unattainable answer. Why now and why with this man (who most certainly was not the solid steadfast fellow women searched for) did you suddenly get rocks in the pit of your stomach when you thought of him being gone. Why did you miss him already? Why were you so afraid?

Pushing his braids and trinkets back behind his shoulders, Jack rose up on both feet to a squatting position between your knees. “I have to go now, ‘fore it gets any later, but I want you to stop and think about something while I’m gone. Number one, I said I’ll be back, and Captain Jack Sparrow keeps his word. Number two, is it smart to be doubting the judgment of a pirate when it comes to things of value? Any pirate worth his cutlass is not going to waste their time on common junk, so if they be after something, you can lay money on its inherent worth.”

As he rose to leave, you blindly grabbed the large, ornate cuff on his coat. “Jack,” you said with a catch in your throat.

“Yes, me Brandy?”

“Be careful. Please.”

The pirate grasped your hand and pulled you to your feet. “I always strive to,” he grinned in that cocky, sardonic way of his. Before you could respond he swept you backwards, and strove to kiss you into unconsciousness. He set you back upon your feet as the giddiness began to over take you, making a few odd gestures with his hands when he released you. You thought you heard him mutter, “Shelf shelf shelf.”

“Now,” he said loudly and dramatically, “I must find my boots and my hat, and perhaps have me a nip o’ tucker before I’m on my merry ole way.“ With a flourish he swung an arm out towards the door. “After you, me Brandy. I believe I left them out in the common area.”

He followed you out in that odd, floating gait of his, to the kitchen. Ester sat at the table, reading some old book by lamplight, not seeming surprised to see you two there, but surprised to see Jack dressed to leave. Grabbing a couple pieces of fruit from a bowl, he stuffed them in the pockets of the great coat. You picked up the weathered leather hat, and held it patiently as he searched the room.

“I should be back in a day or so,” Jack said as comfortingly as he could muster as he grabbed his tall brown boots and pulled them on with a grunt. Whisking his hat from your hands with a small bow, he set it smartly atop his head, swaggered away toward the door and stopped with his one hand on the handle. His leather-covered hand played with the hilt of his sword, not out of fear, but out of nervous habit. On the sole of one boot he slowly circled one hundred eighty degrees, and regarded you with his cocked head as silently as you had been following him.

“You’re a fine lass, me Brandy.” Jack solemnly stated. “An’ don’t you be forgettin’ it, cause I ain’t gonna be letting ya’. If’in it weren’t fer the fact that me lady was going up on her dry sides…” He sounded almost apologetic.

“Go, you sodding pirate you,” you replied with a small smile. “She’s your ship Jack. How can I not understand? She’s to your life like my music is to mine. It’s not like I can’t take care of myself.”

Jack broke out into that thin, pleased smirk of his that just curled the edges of his lips. “That’s me girl,” he almost laughed. “That’s me Brandy that I love.”

Ester suddenly stuffed something into his hands. It was a folded and tied cotton cloth with something in it. “For your journey, Mr. Sparrow,” she stoically said.

Jack leaned forward and gave the old woman a peck on the lightly wrinkled cheek. “I’d swear if I didn’t know better, milady Ester,” he crooned, “that you had a thing for this old pirate here. I think you almost like me.” The housekeeper made an exaggerated sigh and gesture of irritation, but you swore you saw a quick blush flash across her cheeks as she stepped back.

As he started to move, you blurted out, “Jack?”

He froze. “Yep?”

“You know quite well my name is not Brandy.”

Jack beamed quite wide and gave you a wink. “It is to me luv,” and with that vanished into the darkness.

You sighed and sank down into one of the straight-backed chairs after the door shut. Ester set a small plate of foodstuffs in front of you. “Won’t do you any good to be wasting away now,” she said, “so eat up, and I’ll get us some cards to play for a mite before I turn in. He’ll be back, dear. No need to fret.”

“What makes you so sure of that when we both know he is a man of questionable character and obvious reputation?” You wistfully asked, nibbling on a hunk of cheese.

Ester shrugged and simply replied,” Because he has that look in his face every time he sees you.”

Your eyebrows rose in uncertainty. “Look? What look?”

“The one your deceased lord husband, may he burn in hell forever, never ever had for you.”

* * * * *

CHAPTER 4

Jack’s story

Jack Sparrow ducked a low branch as he carefully made his way through the evening jungle. In the unusually quiet darkness, residual moisture from the torrents of rain dripped eerily from the tops of the tall trees to splash in the numerous puddles and fresh swamps that had developed around their roots with resounding splashes. The normal accompaniment of small animals and nighttime creatures were silent, still hiding. He could hear the breaking waves of the ocean to his right, not far through the wall of vine and moss covered trunks.

It had been quite easy to slip through the streets earlier, as the entire town was still holed up from the storm, and nothing much could be done that late at night. The morning would be a different story as everyone crawled out to clean up the aftermath of the hurricane.

To dispel his underlying uneasiness and bolster that outward appearance of confidence he liked to keep, Jack haltingly whistled a couple lines from some unnamed sea shanty. Not having much of a singing voice himself he had never paid much attention to the words or tunes past the enjoyment he got from listening. He wasn’t very good at whistling either, since he spent most of his time aboard ship, and everyone knew that whistling aboard one’s ship would only bring a wicked whistling wind to disrupt ones travels and perhaps a storm.

Using the pounding and rushing of the sea as his main guide, he kept the sound of it in his ears, running parallel to the shoreline, even though it would take a bit longer then heading straight though the rainy, congested woods. He had always prided himself on his good night vision, unaided as of yet by the earring that other pirates swore by to improve it, and in the low light of the quarter moon, he was thankful for what he had. Nighttime in the blackened forest, when he couldn’t see quite as well as he liked, was not the time to be risking a fall into quicksand, or against some sort of large creature that might be haunting the trees. Fortunately he had traversed enough small islands to know that said dangers usually didn’t occur this close to the edge. The shoreline itself would have been too rough and dangerous to walk directly, as it tended to disappear into steep cliffs and treacherous rocky shorelines. These islands weren’t all peaceful rings of sandy beaches.

Tripping over the occasional exposed root and downed branch, he figured he was holding his own quite well, and making rather good time considering. Holding his sword out in front, he swept it back and forth in a steady rhythm. He kept it not only in case of ambush, he was able to use it to cut through some of the leafy vegetation, and keep from running nose first into any large objects he might have just missed.

Jack figured that in a few hours AnaMaria and Gibbs would have the Pearl in that small bay he had been told about by a fellow pirate in Tortuga a few months back, and once the tide went out, the ship would be beached and tipped. Since all the plunder had been removed and stored earlier or doled out as payment for services, she was quite light at the moment, better able to get into and out of the shallows. The remaining articles on the ship, such as the cannons and munitions would be removed by hand to make the ship lighter and easier to move if need be.

Having some rather fine sandbars in the sheltered cove would be of great use, making the process a bit easier. The Pearl would not have to be marooned on the beach, or have the workers set up a block and tackle to aid them in tipping it. The drawback was they only had during the low tide to be able to work on her. Despite the relative security of this obscure island and cove, Jack was loathe to leave her completely helpless for the weeks it would take to clean her. It also afforded them the option of moving her out to deeper water if need be in case of another serious storm, which would be impossible if he had paid the enormous amount to have her hauled completely out of the water and dry docked. During this season, Jack surmised that this was his best chance of safely getting the Pearl cleaned up. Fewer ships would be traveling which meant fewer navy scouts and guards to give him headaches.

The Pearl had not been careened or dry docked since well before Barbossa’s mutiny. Part of the speed and maneuverability of a ship came from her ability to cut through the water, and all the crud that liked to call a ship home really reduced that ability. Barbossa never felt the drag as the current captain did, as part of the curse on the sailors kept the poor Pearl under some said spell as well, giving her even more unholy abilities. Now, with the curse being lifted, Jack could tell his ship needed a bit of loving attention.

Jack was in the odd position of being one of the few pirate Captains that actually “owned” his ship, so to speak. Most pirate ships were run by a twisted form of democracy, where no one actually owned the ship and all the hands voted their leaders; the Captain, the Quartermaster, the Gunner and the Carpenter. On the Pearl, Jack was Captain, first and foremost. AnaMaria was his first mate and Gunner when need be. Gibbs was his other right hand man, and closest thing to a confidant, and the Quartermaster and acting Bo’sun of the ship.

Jack shrugged. Perhaps the crew giving him back command of the Pearl after picking him up from the waters off Port Royal was their way of voting him in. To this day none of his crew ever spoke of the Pearl as anything but Jack’s ship, and all new recruits were all laid down the law as to how this ship was run, and who was in charge. Jack made sure his crew was well paid, and well treated, and firmly believed in the loyalty of this group of stout men and women who worked for him. Old betrayals died hard though, and Jack still had a hard time rationalizing the part of him that realized this, and the part that went though the mutiny that lost him the Pearl so many years ago.

The men he had staying on to do this daunting task of scraping the razor sharp barnacles were in for a chore, but Jack figured he was compensating them quite well for their efforts, and out of his own pocket nonetheless. Normally Jack would stay there and monitor the situation closely, but with AnaMaria and Gibbs staying on, he was kind of superfluous, especially if he checked in on them frequently. Jack could do more good scouting around the town, getting word on potential future plunders, and keeping his eyes open for any sign that the islanders knew they were there. Besides, Jack thought merrily, while it was not the familiar comfort of his own cabin, a warm soft bed and good food was better then a bug ridden hammock between two palm trees and old stew and coconuts any day of the year.

He hadn’t told Gibbs were he was staying, figuring that his personal life was just that… personal. Jack suspected that Gibbs notion was that the Captain was hooked up with some flouncy trollop or two, wasting his gold on the fabled wine, women, and song. Never was the man farther from the truth and would probably have keeled over to see Captain Jack Sparrow climbing around like a monkey fixing windows that day.

It was then it struck Jack that he still carried the bulky unopened pouch from Ester. Deciding a breather was in order, he sheathed his sword and sat on a rather large uprooted tree and carefully untied the knot that held the edges of the cotton cloth together.

“Ah, Ester, ye darling,” Jack grinned as he saw a stash of vittles and a clay bottle that the housemaid had apparently thrown together for him. He eagerly dove into the hard cheese and bread, as his grumbling stomach reminded him he had eaten nothing but that fruit he pocketed since the gruel that morning. Uncorking the small bottle, he sniffed at the contents. The faint smell of vinegar under the sweet minty odor gave him pause, and then the sip told him it was a sekanjabin. Boil sugar and water and vinegar together along with a flavoring such as spices, fruit or herbs, down to a thick substance, and you had the makings of sekanjubin. The sweet beverage was a pleasing substitute for regular plain water. If you carried the concentrate separately, it didn’t spoil easily and gave murky, poor water a better taste, and the sugar and vinegar helped replenish the body, especially on hot days or long journeys.

Not wanting to waste too much time dawdling, Jack tied two ends of the cloth through his belt to make a pouch he could reach into, so he could eat as he walked. It was sheer luck that the island where he found the woman who seemed to compel him as much as the Pearl did, was also the perfect place to do the careening he needed so badly.

Jack thought back to when he returned to where he met her, and discovered she was gone. The landlord had no clue where she had headed, other then it was by ship, and since it was an island, that seemed to speak for itself. A few well placed drinks at her previous place of employment, and he was able to discover that she had left on a ship called the Leopold. A few raid and pillages later, and he was able to trace the Leopold to here, with a few stops in between.

He had kept his relationship, if you wanted to call it that, a secret. He knew there was much speculation when he had arrived back without his merchandise, cleaner then any of them had been in months, with new clothing and missing his traditional hair ornaments. Jack just claimed he stole the clothes, and lost his hair in some scuffle with a soldier and a careless bayonet. He never did give them an answer about the precious stones he replaced the colorful beads with.

Jack slashed at the passing vegetation with a renewed ferocity as he slogged his way to his hidden cove, his mind whirling in thought. Life was easier when you had no strings. Now he had given himself a whole spindle of strings, and he routinely desired to kick himself in the arse for it. His existence had always been the Pearl and the piracy, and the freedom it gave him, to go and do whatever he chose. That made things simple, and easy to understand. The day she had stuffed him down in that tub things became increasingly more complicated.

He had never planned to stay like he had. At first he thought it was merely his weakness for pretty female flesh, and she was more than good looking enough for him. Jack Sparrow was going to ply her with wine, take what he wanted and leave in that grand glorious style that pirates did. He couldn’t quite put his finger on the moment that all changed in that short day and a half, or why. All Jack Sparrow knew was that it did.

He had meant what he had written in that letter he had left on her bed. There was something about that woman that called to him and drew him to her almost as much as his Pearl and the sea did. Perhaps it was because she seemed to see beneath the masks he worked so hard to wear, and because she asked for nothing from him but himself. She was another lost soul, searching for something that society was denying her, and living life more then what she was supposed to be able to have. She had not once ceased to amaze him with her willing eagerness, and her thirst for adventure, even vicarious adventure. She was like him, only a girl, and much prettier, so he thought.

The humidity had risen drastically, and Jack sighed, wiping beads of sweat that trickled down his face, burning in his eyes. He could feel his shirt sticking to his skin under his long sleeved Captains coat. The heavy coat was a bit too much for the rainforest here, but it did offer good protection from the scratching branches and underbrush. He drained the rest of the sekanjubin to replace the fluids he knew he was sweating out, and tried to figure how long he had been walking.

He didn’t have to ponder on it long, as he broke through the line of trees and brush and to the top of a large cliff overlooking the moonlit ocean with its sparkling whitecaps. Jack smiled as he saw the familiar black outline of his Pearl, anchored there in the deeper part of small inlet. Seeing his first love always lifted his heart. A couple of lighters were tied off next to the hull, to be used for hauling anything off the Pearl that needed to be offloaded. He didn’t see a long or a jollyboat on the shore, so he figured the crew that had stayed on were camped aboard the ship till the early dawn. Well, he wasn’t going to swim to the ship; he would find a way to bring them to him.

Even with the quarter moon waning, Jack could see enough to pick his way warily down the rocky outcrop to the pebble and sand beach below. When he reached the shore directly across from the Pearl, he noticed that large unlit torches had been set up in a semi circle around the beach. Trust Gibbs to think of everything, he thought with glee. Reaching into one of the deep pockets on the inside of his long coat, Jack removed a small box with flint and steel, and set to lighting all the torches. He then sat down on a large rock in the center and waited.

It wasn’t long before he heard the splashing of oars in the water, and a jollyboat carrying Ana Maria and Gibbs appeared. Jack stood up and grinned wickedly at the two as the sloshed through the shallows, grounding the small boat.

“Jack,” Gibbs growled as he faced the Captain, ”You have all the timing in the world, and it be poor, I tell ye! I was just dreamin’ of that red’ead in Tortuga when Cotton and his blasted parrot come a wakin’ me up, and Jarod is sayin some damn fool is settin’ our torches afire. Then I have me a looksie thru the eyeglass, and by the lord, he be right if it aint some damn fool! Yer a day late or few hours early.”

“I missed you too, Mr. Gibbs.” Jack drawled, placing his hands on his hips in amusement at his friends blustering. “I didn’t feel like sittin’ out here all by me onsies in the dark, so I figured I’d either have some light, or some visitors or a bit o’both. I gather she weathered the tempest wi’out too much trouble?” He let his eyes rest on his First mate.

Ana Maria just glared at him in her usual perturbed way. “Where have you been?”

“Right where I said I would be, luv,” Jack replied nonchalantly, running his boot through the sand to make an abstract pattern with the toe.

“You said that you be checkin’ on the guard an’ a letting us know! I didna’ think it took t’ree whole days to check da port and make ye way back!”

“Well, I wanted to be thorough…”

“You got distracted!”

Jack winced and then shrugged, “Mebbe a bit, but I knew you wouldn’t be startin’ wi’out me, and then we had that terrible bit o weather there…”

“While me an Gibbs are out here churnin our guts out in that mess,” the young, mulatto woman pointed vaguely out towards the open water, ”you are doin’ what? No, let me guess!” She got up nose to nose with Jack. “Checking out every tavern and empytin’ every cask of grog and rum and tossin’ every wench that would even considerin’ having ye on that side o’ the island!”

“I hit me one tavern and had a few nips o’ Brandy! So disparaging a line of thought ye have for Jack now,” he said in an obvious mock affront. “You would think I was responsible fer the entire rum and whore trade in the Caribbean the way everyone describes me now.”

“And I t’ink they be right.” AnaMaria snapped, her dark eyes practically shooting sparks.

Jack reached out and gingerly touched her shoulders, not quite a grasp, but not quite a caress. “Now, AnaMaria,” he consoling said, “I was doin’ what I said. Can’t help it if part of me job lands me in the occasional… establishment. I had more then enough confidence that ye could handle such a little squall wi’out me runnin’ and takin’ over like ye be a infant or somethin’.”

“That’s right!” she scoffed, tossing off his fingers. “We did jus’ fine wi’out the likes o’ you!”

“See!” Jack exclaimed proffering his hands, palms out. “Consider it experience well gained, luv.”

AnaMaria glowered at Jack with that small pout of hers, shaking her finger wordlessly as she searched for a response. Looking at Gibbs, she blurted out, “Remind me agin’ why I’m here, Mr. Gibbs, wastin’ me time on this old peacock?”

“Perhaps it’s the 20 extra gold Guineas you be earning from this venture,” Jack murmured, cleaning his nails with the tip of a small dagger he had retrieved from being hidden somewhere in his clothing, “and the fact you find me simply irresistible.”

“Incorrigible is more what I be t’inkin’. One day, Sparrow. One day, you will be turnin’ round to findin’ me stickin’ ye with something and ye won’t be likin’ it much.”

Jack laughed, and gave the lady pirate a blatant leer. “Nay, lass. I think it sounds much more realistic that I’ll be doing the stickin’, you’ll be loving it in spades, and it wont be my dagger I’ll be stickin’ ye with!”

AnaMaria’s mouth curled into an offended ‘oh’ shaped and she growled, whirling, and stomped her way up the beach.

“Why do ye insist on tormenting her like that?” Gibbs sighed and scowled at Jack. “Ye know she’ll never bed ye, and you know its bad luck to make mad a lady, especially that one. Women scorned and all, ye know. An’ AnaMaria can git madder then most.”

“Aye,” Jack cheerfully said, nodding his head. “Already been down that path a couple o’ times, but it’s too much fun to remind her what she’s missin’.”

“I don’ think she be missin’ it, Jack.” Gibbs said bluntly, scratching his short grey hair.

Jack, chuckling quietly, watched the hotheaded woman melt into the dark. She was a lovely little spitfire all around, Jack bemused in his thoughts, a spicy dish he had heartily enjoyed once upon a time ago. He had bedded her many years back to get his hands on her leaky old boat when he had to get to Port Royal, right before he got his hands back on his Pearl.

Now that she was a crewmate, despite the long, lonely nights, and as tempting as she was, to him she was off limits. They had their run, and despite the excellent sex, he felt nothing deeper for her then friendship and an extremely high respect. AnaMaria was one of his men, and to take it further even if just for physical release, seemed ludicrous and stank of perfidy to the Captain. He was determined not to let his base male desires destroy the working relationship he had with her.

As much as they goaded each other, Jack and AnaMaria had a silent understanding.

Jack never questioned her abilities or made light of her being a woman in front of the men, and she backed him up one hundred percent as his first mate. Here in private, with Gibbs, they always let loose on each other, part of the love-hate relationship the two had. As much as she threatened, Jack knew that the test of their relationship had come and gone, back on the Pearl not a few months after the curse had been lifted.

To have a properly run pirate ship the size of the Pearl, or practically any ship for that matter, you needed more then the diminutive collection of survivors that was left, so Jack needed to add to his crew. They had sailed into Tortuga after the quick getaway from Port Royal with the pride and grandeur of a crew who had defeated the devil, as so they had.

The story of the Black Pearl and Barbossa was legendary in the buccaneer town, and here it was, back under the command of the very man whom it was stolen from to begin with. That he was able to overcome ancient black arts with a handful of a mish-mosh crew, and actually win, to many people this just proved that Jack Sparrow was teeming with the mad luck of a raving lunatic. The attention was both a hindrance and a blessing, as some good pirates wouldn’t think of signing with the Pearl for all the promise of booty in the world, and others, not always of the highest caliber, tried to worm their way on for the nostalgia of it.

With Gibbs at the forefront weeding out the sputum as best he could, Jack had been confident that the Pearl had acquired a half way decent crew. Some were old salts, wanting one more grand adventure; others were barely boys out of puberty needing a place to go and a place to call home. While many of the new men seemed a bit leery of the idea of AnaMaria being on board, none who finally signed the contracts seemed to make any further issue of it. Jack was soon to discover that this would be a large test of his commanding abilities, and a lesson to mark down in his book of experiences.

Three days out to sea was when the fateful events took place. It was mid-morning, and Captain Jack Sparrow strode from his cabin in an excellent mood. The air was crisp and the weather as beautiful for sailing as you could imagine. Hands in his pockets, Jack ambled over the deck, sidestepping the men in their seemingly endless tasks. Some were scrubbing the decks with wiry bristle brushes while others were polishing the many metal and brass bits from bells to knobs.

He looked up and observed the variety of men crawling up and down the shrouds of the various masts. Mr. Cotton sat quietly with his parrot prominently at the mizzentop, his watchful eyes on the several young men unfurling the topsails on the fore and main masts, their great mainsails already set and tied down. With such a prevailing wind, the additional sails would speed the already swift ship up significantly to their intended destination; the prime shipping lanes of the Spanish Main.

Jack rocked back and forth on his heels, taking in a deep breath, relishing the feel of the salty air and droplets of spray on his face. He saw Gibbs, right in his element, amidst the crew on the deck, directing them to various chores that need to be done. Most of the crew was up and working now, before the sun got too high in the sky, and the heat too oppressive. The few on the first and grave watch were sleeping in the numerous hammocks strung in the berth-deck below.

“You man,” he called, motioning to one of the new recruits closest to him, who scurried over right quick.

“Luis, sir,” the man replied, his accent thick with his native Spanish tongue.

“Luis,” Jack said slowly, trying as best he could to commit that to memory. It would take him a while to get to know all the new names, and speaking with the hires was the best way for him to go about it. His eyes darted around, searching for an excuse to have called him over. “Grab that cordage there, and stow it, ‘for someone gets waylaid by it. Make it your duty to be sure that none of this gets ly’in around to be lost or ruined.”

“Aye, Captain.” The dark haired Spaniard said, and took off to moving the length of rigging rope that was coiled at the base of a mast from having been replaced the previous day.

Jack turned back and started searching the decks, and not finding what he wanted, marched over to the older Quartermaster. “Gibbs!”

“Aye there Captain. Fine morning aint it now? Dawn came bright and clear as any man could dream of. I have good feelings for today. Any clue where be ‘offen to in these here waters yet?”

“That is why I’m here actually,” Jack said, his fingers aimlessly playing with the two small braids on his chin. “AnaMaria was s‘posed to come to me cabin after mess to discuss routes, and she hasn’t shown up yet. Have ye seen her?”

Gibbs looked around the decks of the great ship, squinting against the bright sun. “Last I saw ‘er she was goin’ to the aft cockpit to check on somethin’. I’m supposin’ she got held up in whatever she was doin’”

The trinkets threaded and braided in the mass of black hair clinked and jingled as Jack nodded. “Aye, that would be her. Attention to the details. I’ll go have me a looks