Chosen Path

The next morning, Elizabeth woke with the bell, and, William in tow, joined the crew on deck. She set about finding a task that needed doing, and something to keep William occupied, when Barbossa descended from the helm.



“I’ll be needin’ yeh in me cabin.”



She looked up suddenly. “Captain Barbossa, I’m not sure that’s entirely appropriate.” She glanced nervously at the crew, who were throwing appreciative and distressingly suggestive grins at the captain.



“Have ye any idea where we are, Captain Swann? Any idea where we’re goin’?”



She had only just joined the crew, and though she was a Captain in her own right, she wasn’t this ship’s captain. She should hardly be expected to know. “No.”



“High time yeh learned.”



The faces of the crew had fallen, and she rose haughtily and followed Barbossa into his cabin. There were charts spread over his table and she stood, taking them in. She had never been permitted to pore over the charts in the Governor’s mansion. It wasn’t considered knowledge necessary for a lady to possess.



The topmost chart detailed the Caribbean, another displayed the Americas in less detail. She started to reach for another chart below, but Barbossa stilled her curious hands and sat her down at the table. “This one’ll do for now.” Perhaps she had looked disappointed, because he added, “we’ll get to those later. Patience, girl.”



“Don’t call me that.”



“Don’t act like one.”



“I’m not.”



“Ye are now.” He grinned triumphantly, and she opened her mouth to protest. “Stop.” He laid his hands across the map. “Show me what you know.”



She turned to the map, childish arguments forgotten. She found Port Royal immediately, and Tortuga, Cuba, the equator, and the island on which she had spent the last two years. He nodded, approvingly, then asked her to find their current position.



She considered that they had left her island four days earlier, headed for Tortuga, and took a rough guess of their current position.



“Usin’ yer head, that’s a start. But we’re over here.” He indicated a small red marker a small distance from her finger.



“That’s miles off!”



He lifted an instrument with pointed feet that expanded and contracted and walked the measuring device from the marker to her finger. “Two an’ a half miles, roughly. Good for a beginner. Ye’ll be a fine navigator when I’m through with ye.”



He was a surprisingly good tutor, and she quickly absorbed everything he told her. He took her on deck at noon and showed her how to find their latitude with a sextant. He showed her how to keep the ship’s log, and soon his angled scrawl was replaced with her own neat script.



Still, the lessons were not without their setbacks. She did her best to remember everything, but the first time she forgot a lesson previously taught, he bellowed something fierce until she forced the memory from her mind.



“Stop shouting, you’re making me nervous!”



“Explained this yesterday! Need that heading now, Mrs. Turner!”



“How do you expect a person to be able to think with you shouting like that?”



“Ye best be able to think when I’m shoutin’! When a storm’s a-ragin’, winds howlin’, and I’m shoutin’ orders best I can, I’ll be countin’ on ye to do yer duties. Now what be our bleedin’ heading?”



Elizabeth trembled under his tirade, but he was right. She had learned to keep her head under pressure years ago, but she feared her years on land had made her soft. She checked the compass, the charts, and the compass again. “Twenty five degrees?”



“Yeh askin’ me or tellin’ me?”



Elizabeth swallowed. “Telling you. Twenty-five degrees north-northeast, Captain.”



Barbossa leaned over her and checked the instruments, then clapped an approving hand on her shoulder. “Aye, Captain Swann. That be our headin’ then.”



When Barbossa left the cabin, she was beaming.



When he asked her to meet him on deck after she put William to bed that night, she felt a flutter of nerves, but complied. She was surprised to see him gazing skyward, admiring the stars. With a smile, she moved to his side. “They’re beautiful tonight. It’s usually so cloudy, but tonight you can see them all.”



“Yeh know yer stars?”



She already knew some of their names, knew their stories. “Some. My governess let me admire them when I was a girl in England, but when I got older it wasn’t very ladylike to be out at night.”



“Stars are more than just beautiful.”



“I know their stories, some of them. Orion the hunter. Cygnus, the swan.” She smiled; she had always felt important, having a constellation named for her.



“Ahh, but did yeh know ye could use them to find yer way?”



She knew it was possible, but didn’t know how. “Show me.”



“Yeh know Polaris? The North Star?”



“Part of Ursa Minor.” She looked to the sky. “I can’t find it.”



His arm reached out behind her as he showed her. “There.”



“Where?”



“Look. Look where I’m pointin’.”



He ducked down just a bit so his eyes were at her level. He was only just a bit taller than her, she noticed. She always thought of him as taller than he was, probably because he still presented quite an imposing figure. She reached her own hand up to meet his and followed it to see the constellation. “Yes, I see it now.”



“That be yer guidin’ star.”



***





Elizabeth’s days on the Pearl were filled with activity. When she wasn’t caring for William, she was holed up with Barbossa, poring over maps, carefully measuring distances, hands guided by his. Besides navigation, Elizabeth put her years of needlework to use mending sails and clothing. She proved to be a hopeless cook, but Ragetti produced far better dishes than she, and seemed to enjoy it. Chasing after William was a full-time task in itself, one which Elizabeth struggled to do on top of her other duties. She tried to keep her son occupied with a toy or game while she worked at her charts, but he had a habit of slipping away from her.



“Get away from me, boy! Mrs. Turner!”



At the sound of Barbossa’s voice, Elizabeth’s head snapped up from the charts over which she bent.



“Get this bleedin’ kid away from me! Got work to do!”



Elizabeth dropped her tools and ran up to the quarterdeck, sweeping a crying William into her arms. “William,” she scolded. “You know better than to bother the Captain when he’s at the helm.”



William buried his face in her neck and she slid her fingers through his baby-hair.



“Keep a weather eye on the boy. Can’t have him underfoot all the time.”



“I realize that, Captain, but it’s rather difficult when I’m trying to keep the ship’s log, find our position and heading, and keep the sails mended, and –”



“Alright, alright. Me heart bleeds for ye. Just keep the kid outta me hair and do the best yeh can.”



Elizabeth sighed and started down the steps, William still in her arms. She felt something lightly brush her arm and turned to see the tall, slender pirate, the one called Ragetti, standing nervously before her.



“I could help watch ‘im, Miss, if you like.”



“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”



“It’s no trouble. I could teach ‘im to fish, an’ to make a stew.”



“I think he’s a bit young for all that.”



“Naw, I was fishin’ when I was a lad that small. Wot d’you say, Poppet? Want to go fishin’?”



William looked at the man curiously, then back to his mother. “It’s alright William, you can go with him if you want to.”



She set William on his feet and he took Ragetti’s hand, allowing the pirate to lead him to the bow, with promises of his very own fishing pole.



When Elizabeth returned to the main deck after mending yet another torn sail, she spotted William running after Jack the monkey. The monkey bounded over to Barbossa, sitting on the stairs with a banana. The creature nuzzled against Barbossa’s neck and was rewarded with a piece. Elizabeth hurried after William, but the boy reached the Captain’s side first.



Barbossa frowned at William then broke off another piece of banana and held it tentatively before the boy. William stuffed the fruit into his mouth as Elizabeth approached.



“Chew slowly, William.” She met Barbossa’s eyes, and he gave a small shrug. “I’ll take that as an apology.”



“Can’t have ‘im in the way when we’re workin’.”



Elizabeth nodded and swung William up to her hip. “Apology accepted.”



***





At night, after she sang William to sleep, Elizabeth would return to the deck of the ship where the crew unwound from the work of the day. On good days, there was rum and song, on bad days, there was quiet, but the men still stayed on deck as late as they could, just watching the stars and listening to song of the sea.



One evening when the stars were out, Elizabeth worked out an accurate positioning for them, using the star charts Barbossa had offered. Satisfied, she ducked into the Captain’s cabin to record their position in the ship’s log, and return the book of charts to the shelf.



As she slipped the book back into place, she couldn’t help noticing the other volumes beside and beneath it. She traced the titles with her fingertips. She wasn’t sure what she had expected to see on the shelf, aside from the collection of reference guides, atlases, and star charts. The Holy Bible came as a surprise, but not so much as a favorite from her youth, The Adventures of Captain Jack Sparrow. She spied another favorite, The Life of Henry Morgan, Privateer, from which she had learned the pirate code.



He had the classics, too, Shakespeare and Homer, Machiavelli and Plato. She selected an unfamiliar title, Don Quixote, but was dismayed to find the book written in Spanish. Replacing it, she tried instead a slim volume, labeled Thomas More’s Utopia. She flipped through a few pages, pleased to discover it was in English.



Elizabeth leaned against the writing desk as she read through the first few pages. She wondered if Barbossa might let her borrow the book sometime. She decided to replace the book and ask him later, but felt herself getting drawn into the tale. Just one more page, she thought to herself, but before she knew it, the world had fallen away as she lost herself in the text.



The click of the cabin door and Barbossa’s heavy footsteps drew her attention from the book. He didn’t take notice of her as he set about removing his hat, baldric, and coat. Her eyes widened as his pistol and sword were set aside. If she didn’t announce her presence soon, she would be seeing a fair bit more of the Captain than he would likely appreciate.



When he began unfastening the buttons of his waistcoat, the book slipped from her hands and thudded onto the floor. The noise caught his attention, and she bent to retrieve the book, meeting his eyes as she straightened.



“Captain Swann. What d’ye think yer doin’ in me cabin?”



Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Reading?” She held up the book. “I’m sorry, I was going to ask, but I got a bit caught up…”



He moved around the table to approach her, inspecting the volume in her hands. “Ahh, Utopia. A fine choice.” Barbossa gestured to a settee along one wall. “Care to make yerself a bit more comfortable?”



Elizabeth glanced nervously at the small sofa. “You don’t mind then?”



“I’ll make an exception this once.”



Elizabeth smiled and curled up in the corner of the settee beside which sat a table with several lit candle. Barbossa followed, grabbing a bottle of wine on the way, then looked pointedly at the space beside her. When she nodded her assent, he eased himself down, catching a footstool with his toe and pulling it before him to prop his booted feet upon. Leaning back, he slid an arm along the back of the sofa, close enough that she could feel his heat, but still not quite touching her.



She shifted in her seat, flipping through the pages she had read. “It doesn’t make sense though.”



Barbossa took a swig of wine, and offered her the bottle. She shook her head, focused on the text. “What doesn’t?”



“The story. It’s full of contradictions. Everyone is equal, yet they have slaves. They have gold, but do not spend it. They claim to be a perfect society, yet people are punished harshly for the smallest infractions.”



“Aye, but that be the point.”



“I don’t follow.”



“Utopia. It means no such place.”



“I thought it meant a perfect place.”



“Sound perfect to ye?”



Elizabeth tucked her feet under herself, trying not to lean too closely against Barbossa. “Their greatest pleasure, they say, is simply being in good health. I can’t possibly believe that of anyone, when there are far greater pleasures…”



She let her voice trail off, and her mind drift. She had waited so long for her wedding night, for Will, and in one day, she both gained and lost everything she had desired. And now she had nearly eight years to wait until she could feel again. She wished she could borrow a page from the Utopians and simply relish the fact that her health was good.



But Barbossa’s arm behind her curled around her shoulders, and she was abruptly reminded of how good it felt to be in a man’s arms, and that he was very much a man. She knew she would have to tread carefully with him, and not allow him too many liberties. But his hand on her arm was warm and comforting, and she had no real desire to ask him to remove it.



“Thinkin’ o’ yer husband?”



Elizabeth managed a weak smile. “I miss him so.”



“I’m sure yeh do. There’s no need, yeh know, to wait ten years to feel pleasure.”



She frowned as his fingers moved slowly against her arm. “Captain Barbossa, are you trying to seduce me?”



The movement on her arm ceased. “Is it workin’?”



“No.”



“Then no.” He slid his feet off the stool and rose. “I simply meant,” he started, walking towards his table, “that there be other pleasures to be found.”



She watched him as he reached across his table to the ever-present bowl of apples. He plucked two from the bowl and returned to her side. “Yeh recall what I said was to be me first action upon liftin’ the curse?”



Elizabeth remembered his words well. “A whole bushel of apples.”



He smiled, pressing an apple into her hands. “Not a night with a fine woman.” He leered into her face a bit as he sat down again. “That would come after.”



She wrinkled her nose and he laughed softly. She lifted the apple to her mouth, but his hand on her wrist arrested her movement. “Don’t just eat it. Enjoy it. Relish it.”



She watched him as he held his own apple in front of his face, head rolling back as he breathed in the scent of the ripe fruit. She sniffed at the apple she held. The smell was faint, but tart and sweet, and brought to mind a sudden image of Christmastime in England, stealing into the kitchens when the cook was baking pies.



“Skin doesn’t taste like much, but it be smooth and holds the promise of what lies beneath.” She let her tongue dart out to taste the skin. He was right: it was tasteless, but the fruit beneath was firm, and the scent filled her nostrils.



“Then the first bite…” He paused, and she watched him, saw the anticipation in his face as he prepared to taste the sweet fruit. He bit in with all the abandon with which he approached every task. A small grunt of pleasure escaped his throat as his teeth tore flesh from the core. Some of the juice dribbled down his chin, and she reached up, a mother’s instinct, to wipe it away.



He caught her wrist as her fingers brushed his face, eyes locking on hers. He swallowed, then drew her thumb to his lips, kissing it softly as he licked the juice from her flesh.



At the feel of his tongue on her skin, she withdrew her hand with a gasp, shifting away from him in her seat. She tried not to let him see how she trembled as she lifted her apple again to her mouth and attempted to take a considerably more dainty bite.



She had never thought about what she must look like when she ate an apple, but she could feel his eyes on her as she touched her mouth to the fruit. It was almost like kissing, letting her lips part as her tongue and teeth sought the tart juices beneath the skin. Her teeth sank in, and she let herself be overtaken by the release of scent, taste, and texture. She chewed slowly, absorbing the taste, memorizing the feel of the fruit in her mouth.



When she swallowed, she realized she had closed her eyes, and opened them to see Barbossa’s admiring gaze, his hand just inches from her face. His thumb rubbed a bit of juice she hadn’t realized had slid down her chin. He quirked an eyebrow at her as his thumb hovered near her mouth, but she shook her head. She would not be taking such liberties with his fingers as she had allowed with hers.



He merely shrugged and brought his thumb to his own mouth. Elizabeth’s breath caught as he sucked the juice from his finger, and she hurriedly turned back to her apple. She ate slowly; the only conversation was the crunch of crisp fruit between her own teeth and Barbossa’s.



“Are ye findin’ pleasure in yer apple, Mrs. Turner?”



She smiled. “Some. Though I suspect you’re enjoying yours more.”



“Apples be not yer pleasure? What is?”



Elizabeth frowned, trying to think up a food or drink that had ever brought her as much enjoyment as Barbossa’s apples. She thought back to her days as a governor’s daughter in Port Royal, and the sensual luxuries she had enjoyed there.



“Chocolate, for food. Besides that, a hot bath. Soft cotton sheets. Estrella brushing my hair.” A smile spread across her face at the memory.



“Go on.” The hunger in Barbossa’s eyes should have stilled her tongue, but she found herself telling him more.



“The feel of wet sand on my feet when I snuck down to the water’s edge. The ocean, curling around my ankles as I waded out to the shallows. The smell of the sea. The feel of the worn wood on the rail of a ship. The weight of a sword in my hand.”



“Yeh really do belong here, don’t ye.”



“I’m glad you think so.” Barbossa’s expression had turned to admiration. “What of you? Besides apples, what gives you pleasure? What did you most want to feel, when you were cursed?”



Barbossa leaned back. “Besides apples? Much of the same as ye. The taste of a fine wine. The wind on me face. Spray of the sea.” Barbossa’s eyes closed. She could see him imagining the sensations as he spoke. “A clean shirt. The helm of the Pearl in me hands.” Barbossa reached behind Elizabeth to place his apple core on the table beside her. He took advantage of his position to slide his arm around her body and lay his hand atop hers. “The company of a fine woman.”



Elizabeth frowned at his last statement. “I can’t be that woman, Captain Barbossa.”



“But ye are. I find meself takin’ pleasure from yer company now.”



She turned her hand beneath his, letting their fingers slide together, locking in place. She felt her stomach twist at the feel of his hand on hers, rough, calloused, and warm. A sailor’s hands were much like a blacksmith’s. “I miss Will.”



“So ye said.”



Elizabeth gave his hand a squeeze, then extracted hers. “I should go.”



Barbossa nodded. “Yeh can borrow the book if ye like.”



Elizabeth shook her head. “No, I don’t think I liked it very much. Perhaps I might come back and try another one sometime?”



“Yer welcome anytime.”



“Would you read with me? Sometime? I think I should like that.”



“T’would be my pleasure.”



Elizabeth smiled. “And mine.” She rose, handing his book back to him. “Goodnight, Captain Barbossa.”



“Goodnight, Mrs. Turner.”



The following day, Elizabeth went about her tasks, noticing for the first time that the men all worked in pairs. Pintel and Ragetti had been working together since she met them. They were nearly inseparable, whether they were swabbing the deck or lying on it, a bottle of rum between them. Murtogg and Mullroy, the former Navy men, were never one without the other. Even Marty and Cotton, Elizabeth realized, worked as though they’d known each other for many more years than they had. They could communicate without speaking, which was useful, Elizabeth reflected, considering Cotton’s inability to actually speak.



Elizabeth’s mind wandered at times as she worked. Had Will lived, truly lived, he would be here with her. He would be her partner, her other half. She wouldn’t have to be the only one on this bloody ship who was alone. Even her own son had formed a tentative inter-species friendship with Jack the monkey.



When she went to the helm later that day to confer with Barbossa, he stood aside and gestured to the wheel. She frowned, unsure of his intentions.



“Take it.”



Elizabeth wrapped her hands cautiously around the spokes, glancing back at Barbossa for approval.



“Hold ‘er tight. I’m right here, but yeh don’t want to be dependin’ on me.”



Elizabeth tightened her grip and adjusted her stance to keep her balance. “Good. Now what be our heading?”



“Two hundred degrees, Captain.”



He held a compass in front of her. “Are we on course?”



She smirked at his emphasis on the first word, but focused on the compass to find the needle’s position. They were a few degrees off, and she turned the wheel slowly.



Barbossa’s hand wrapped around hers, stilling her motion. “Other way.” He stood behind her, the heat of his body radiating against hers as he pushed her hand up to adjust the wheel.



“Jack’s compass was easier.”



Barbossa sniffed. “Well, Jack be not here. Ye’ll have to make do with my far superior compass.”



“Superior, is it?”



“Aye. Might take a bit o’ getting used to, mind, but once ye do, ye’ll find it to be much more dependable than Jack’s.”



“Jack’s compass could lead me to my deepest desires.”



“As can mine. Just takes a bit more effort on yer part. Once yeh learn it though, it’ll always guide yeh, straight and true.”



The wind blew a fresh gust of salt spray into their faces, and Barbossa raised his chin to the sensation. Elizabeth found his pleasure contagious and let a smile spring to her lips.



“Jack’s compass did have a way of getting confused.” Her admission only broadened Barbossa’s grin. “I may need a few more lessons, though, before I can use yours effectively.”



“My pleasure.”



Once the course was set, he could have stepped away, and when he didn’t, Elizabeth should certainly have asked him to. But his body was steady and firm against hers, and his presence gave her the confidence she needed to keep the ship under her command.



Besides, it was rather nice having him there. She suspected he was enjoying their positions as well, particularly given the previous night’s conversation. While it was really not something she ought to encourage, she couldn’t help but enjoy the attention. It had been a terribly long time.



When a sudden gust of wind wrenched the helm from her grip, and Barbossa’s hand shot out to steady the wheel while his other arm steadied her, Elizabeth realized he hadn’t been standing at her back with lustful purpose.



“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize...”



Barbossa removed his hand from her waist and took her hand in his, replacing it on the wheel.



“Takes time. Ye’ll get used to it.”



She felt a rush in her stomach. This wasn’t just a whim then; he truly intended to allow her to steer.



They spent a companionable hour together at the helm, Barbossa keeping his hands remarkably to himself, except when she truly needed the assistance. When the hour was up, she couldn’t help feeling a sense of loss as she went to fetch William.



Descending the steps from the helm, she saw the pairs again, and her sense of solitude tore at her again. Sorrowfully, she passed Pintel and Ragetti as they tied off one of the sails. “…Miss Elizabeth and Cap’n Barbossa be plotting a treasure hunt, you’ll see…”



She stopped suddenly, glancing between the pair and the Captain, now alone at the helm. She had never realized that he, too, lacked a partner. She watched him for a moment, posed proudly as ever at the helm, gaze fixed on the horizon. He was alone, and she was alone, and they had been spending quite a lot of time together of late.



Barbossa caught her staring then and flashed her a wink and a nod, and she quickly averted her eyes, running after William. But inside, something warm and pleasant had developed. He wasn’t the man she might have chosen for her partner, but it was good to know she wasn’t alone.