Adrift

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Thank you for your review, Faeriquene...I'm so pleased that you enjoyed the last chapter. And thanks to those who rated the story, I really appreciate the feedback (and always want more!). Here is hoping this one entertains, too! :) And kudos and bouquets to RF for another wonderful job (and a very late night) of editing and suggestions. What would I do without you???

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Elizabeth gasped and shot straight up in her bed, her heart thumping wildly in her chest and her gown damp with sweat. The visions had been vivid but confusing, a whirl of colour and pain, terror and loss. As she came to focus on her surroundings, though, she knew she’d had a nightmare and nothing more. It wasn’t exactly surprising that her soul was troubled and unsettled; she could only hope that the dark dreams that pursued her weren’t harbingers of doom...not with the fight that loomed at dawn.

Amber-hued lanterns flickered dimly around her, throwing spectral shadows across the stateroom and making it look as though the carved wooden dragons on the walls were swaying sinuously. She fell back onto the sumptuous silken bedding and squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to calm down enough to find sleep once more. Although the quarters she occupied aboard the Empress were certainly beautiful, being ensconced in the same rooms in which Sao Feng had so gruesomely met his end was hardly conducive to relaxation. She’d have requested accommodations elsewhere in Shipwreck Cove, but the crew expected... demanded...that their captain stay close to her men. As shaky as her command already was with the Singapore pirates, she really had no choice but to acquiesce to their wishes.

Thinking that she could sleep properly on the eve of a battle was almost laughably naïve in retrospect, and Elizabeth threw back the covers as she abandoned all hope of rest. She retrieved the smooth embroidered robe that had been left for her by the servants and tugged it over her nightclothes, pulling her long hair out from beneath as she wandered aimlessly across her cabin’s brightly coloured carpets. Apart from the ragged hole in the wall left behind by one of the Flying Dutchman’s twelve-pounders – a hole that members of her crew had tried to discreetly conceal behind an intricately painted Oriental screen – the suite was fit for royalty. She smiled bitterly; it was appropriate, perhaps, given the fact that she’d managed to get herself elected King of the Brethren Court through one of Jack’s more baffling schemes.

A basin with cool, clean water had been left for her evening toilette, and she cupped some in her hands, lightly splashing her face so as to clear her thoughts. As restless as her sleep had been, wakefulness brought its own flood of distressing thoughts and feelings.

There had been a time not so very long ago that her goals were clear and her passions straightforward. She had Will Turner, a man whose love she’d believed was as true and steadfast as the sunrise...she had her adoring father, her devoted friends, and someday perhaps a life back in England as a lady of the court.

Her father was dead now, murdered by Cutler Beckett and his lethal companion, Mercer. Not only had she committed the heinous crimes of freeing a pirate and associating with pirates, but she had become one herself, and there was no greater crime against the Crown than engaging in piracy without the title of ‘privateer.’ And Will...the cooling of his affections, the subsequent change in her own feelings towards him...it seemed to be the worst part of all. She could have persevered in the face of all her other losses but without Will, she felt adrift, without benefit of a heading or even bearings.

She slipped around the beautifully decorated screen and gazed through the breach in the Empress’ side at the glittering stack of ships at the centre of the secluded harbour, the hundreds of lamps glowing like blazing jewels in a crown. If she was to be honest with herself, she thought as she looked up, maybe it was just the idea of the life she was supposed to live that she missed the most. Almost four months had passed since there had been anything other than hostility and suspicion between her and Will Turner, and the love that they’d once had for one another seemed just a memory.

And so she needed to find another path...but what did that mean? What prospects remained for the dishonoured daughter of a disgraced colonial governor in the British Empire? None, at least not so long as Cutler Beckett had His Majesty’s ear. Turning pirate wouldn’t have been her first choice, but it certainly looked more and more as though it would be her only choice – providing, of course, that she survived the next day.

A decanter of dark red wine had arrived earlier, a gift from Captain Teague. It was a gesture of courtesy afforded each of the nine pirate lords, and the steward had let it slip that in deference to her newly-elected position, she had been given the very finest French vintage from Teague’s own personal cellar. Perhaps a sip or two would help settle her enough that she could still catch a few precious hours of slumber...or at the very least, put her worries to bed.

Elizabeth approached the table upon which wine had been placed and unstopped the glinting crystal carafe. She was ready to fill a goblet when she reconsidered. There was nothing sadder than drinking alone...and she could hear from the boisterous laughter and music wafting in through the hole in her ship that she was likely the only one facing so solitary an indulgence. Besides, she doubted that there was any wine potent enough to bring her real peace.

Perhaps what she needed more than drink was company, something of which there was certainly no shortage in Shipwreck Cove. What gave her pause was more the quality than the quantity of the companionship available. It wasn’t difference in class or status that concerned her – recent circumstances meant that she truly was amongst her peers now. But when one got down to it, Elizabeth Swann was essentially a woman alone amongst men of ravenous appetites and unrestrained desires. Leaving the sanctuary of the Empress to seek out conversation and friendship might place her in a compromising position...and as far as she might have fallen already, she was not anxious to have her maidenhood roughly taken from her before she could willingly give it.

The thought of her chastity dampened her spirits further and on impulse, she decided that she would, in fact, enjoy a glass of wine. Why not sample what delights she did have at hand when others were so far from her grasp? It wasn’t fair that she faced dying a virgin when by all rights, Will should have relieved her of that burden months earlier. It was yet another reason to carve Cutler Beckett into little pieces, as if she needed one. Perhaps, though, it was a backwards blessing of sorts – how would she have felt had she given that intimate part of herself to Will, only to have him turn his back on her as he had? She should be glad to not have squandered it upon one so unworthy. Damn him and Beckett both!

Elizabeth tossed back the contents of the crystal goblet, licking at the remnants on the rim and demurely dabbing her lips afterwards. The wine was exquisite, rich and full, and she felt its warmth spread all the way to her toes. Before the warning voices in her head could speak too loudly, she poured herself another glassful and lifted it in the manner of a toast.

“To the Virgin King!” she announced sullenly, swirling the garnet-coloured liquid as she held it up to the lantern light. “Married to the fate of a thousand men and bedded by none!” Her throat tightened as her emotions surged to the surface, but she forced herself to swallow another mouthful of the Saxon burgundy anyway. Angry now, she set the goblet down heavily on the table, and the contents slopped over the side and onto her fingers.

Hissing in frustration, Elizabeth was about to wipe the liquor away with a cloth when she stopped herself and instead brought her hand to her mouth, slowly licking the wine from her skin. The action seemed familiar and the taste on her tongue brought forth something that felt very much like long forgotten memory. She closed her eyes, savouring the dryness of the juice, its hints of fruit and oak teasing her palate. Teague had certainly made a wonderful choice; she had to give him that. In fact, she couldn’t remember a time when wine had tasted better...

That wasn’t entirely true, though. She did remember the last time...and she remembered in whose company she’d been when last she’d savoured a drink with such rapture. The one man she knew would appreciate the fine wine she had to share...the one man who would truly understand what it meant to be deprived of those small joys that made life worth living. Not that she would expect him to do anything about her current frustration...certainly not. But he was here at Shipwreck Cove, and perhaps he didn’t want to spend the evening alone and thinking about what the morning would bring, either. Anything was better than moping about her quarters and wallowing in self-pity until sunrise.

Elizabeth found a bright scarlet sash and tied it tightly around her waist to hold her robe modestly in place. It wasn’t exactly proper to be calling on a gentleman in one’s nightclothes, but fortunately she no longer felt fettered by the same set of rules that applied to polite society. Before her better judgement could assert itself, she wrapped her hand around the neck of the crystal decanter, grabbed a dagger for protection against any unsavoury characters she might encounter along the way, and hurried up the stairs to the deck.

+++

In hindsight, Elizabeth had to admit that her plan really hadn’t been all that well thought out. Covertly lowering and then rowing her gig over to the Black Pearl single-handedly had been the easy part; the few members of her crew that remained aboard the Empress were too occupied with drunken games of chance to notice their captain sneaking away. Climbing the Pearl’s rope ladder in a long gown while carrying a bottle of wine, however, posed quite a challenge. Twice she almost fell into the harbour, once when her dainty gold slippers couldn’t keep their grip on the slick rungs and another time when her voluminous robe became tangled in her legs. Fortunately, she’d been able to recover her footing and find her way up to the gunwale without further incident...and more importantly, without dropping the wine.

When she did finally hoist herself aboard, it struck her that she hadn’t given a thought as to who all might be in residence on the Pearl. She saw Mister Gibbs, but he was curled up on his side, asleep by the mizzen with his flask cuddled against his cheek and a smile of inebriated satisfaction on his broad face. Except for him, the deck appeared to be deserted and she assumed the rest of crew had been granted leave to pursue their vices ashore. But the real question, at least so far as Elizabeth was concerned, was who exactly might be occupying the captain’s stateroom.

Captaincy of the Black Pearl had been in constant dispute since they’d retrieved both the ship and Jack from Davy Jones’ Locker, with neither Sparrow nor Barbossa willing to budge in their claim of leadership. She carefully tiptoed closer and put her ear close to the heavy oak doors of the cabin, but heard nothing from within. At the very least, the absence of colourful profanity and hurled insults meant one or the other of the Pearl’s captains– or perhaps even both – had vacated the premises to seek their pleasures elsewhere. It was possible that Gibbs had been left behind as a lone sentry, albeit a poor one, and she’d have no choice but to return to her own ship with only herself for company after all.

Sneaking around really was beneath her, she decided, and she boldly rapped hard upon one of the doors with her knuckles. There was no immediate response to her summons, so she pulled the door slightly open and poked her head over the threshold. The room was black save for a single flickering candle at the far end, and although she couldn’t see a soul, her senses told her that someone waited within. The darkness put her on edge; even with her wits a bit dulled by the wine, the atmosphere felt ominous and threatening.

A prudent individual would likely have turned and left, but Elizabeth would have felt like a coward doing so. Besides, she thought, what if the individual wasn’t a member of the crew, but instead some unknown rogue intent on doing harm to either Jack or Barbossa? As far as Beckett’s reach seemed to extend, it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that he had agents planted within the confines of the fortress, ready to scuttle the Brethren’s plans by eliminating the pirate lords before the fight even began. Well, it most definitely wasn’t going to happen while she had anything to say – or do – about it.

She carefully placed the wine on the deck just outside the doorway, and slid her dagger from its place in her sash. Almost unconsciously, she tested the blade for sharpness with the pad of her thumb as she crept forward step by step, squinting as she scanned the inhospitable room for some movement that might indicate the presence of another person. Besides the slow and constant creak of the Pearl as it shifted in the water, there was no sound that she could discern over the rapid beat of her own heart.

The door slammed shut behind with a boom and she instinctively whirled to find the latch. As her fingers closed on the door’s brass handle, a strong hand seized her wrist and yanked hard, twisting her arm behind her and lifting until she cried out from the excruciating pain. There was a starburst behind her eyes as her head was knocked against the wall, a powerful arm pushing against the back of her neck and holding her in place while she was relieved of her dagger. She heard it sliding across the hardwood floor, coming to rest far out of her reach and essentially eliminating any chance she had to fight back.

Her assailant twisted her other arm behind her as well, gripping her wrists so tightly that her fingers quickly went numb. She was trapped between the wall and her attacker’s solid body, and he was pressing against her hard enough that the very air was being squeezed from her lungs. “Don’t recall invitin’ a woman to me quarters,” he hissed into her ear, his breath hot and smelling of faintly of apple. “Be ye assassin or whore, I haven’t the patience to deal with ye tonight.”

Elizabeth gasped, trying to draw enough breath to answer. “Well, then I would say it’s a very good thing that I’m neither,” she managed to wheeze, wriggling beneath him as she tried to break free. “If you’d be so kind, Captain Barbossa...release me at once.”

He retreated from her so suddenly that it almost seemed as though he’d been scalded by her words. As she turned, she could hear his harsh breathing as he backed away into the shadows. Tempted as she was to follow and castigate him for his brutality, she stayed where she was and rubbed gingerly at her aching wrist bones. Something felt wrong - he seemed almost frightened by her presence. That in turn alarmed Elizabeth, for never once had she known the indomitable Hector Barbossa to show fear.

“I’m sorry for startling you,” she said, speaking to the darkness into which he had disappeared. Slowly her eyes began to adjust to the lack of light, and she could pick out his silhouette against the whorled windows of the stateroom, the outline of his feathered hat and broad back unmistakable even in the gloom. A tiny, scraggly shape scampered along the window ledge before climbing onto Barbossa’s arm and finding itself a seat on its master’s shoulder. Jack the Monkey’s tiny eyes glowed red in the dark and the beast chattered at her in a menacing way as she stepped towards the pair.

“What were ye thinkin’, approachin’ unannounced?” Barbossa said incredulously. “Could have killed ye just now. Ye didn’t ever...yer not supposed to be here.”

Perhaps her scare had sobered her, for she now felt imminently foolish at having made the trek across the harbour to seek him out. “That’s true,” she admitted, glad that he couldn’t see her blush sheepishly. “I had no right to impose myself on you. Forgive me, Captain...I’ll see myself back to my ship.”

“No!” he exclaimed, and she could see from the shift in his shadow that he had turned to look at her. “No. I be the one as should be seekin’ forgiveness. Me conduct was inexcusable...have I hurt ye badly? Do ye need tendin’ to?”

His words surprised and touched her; she had never heard him express a single regret for his actions or any concern over her wellbeing. She’d likely be covered in bruises come morning, but he clearly felt badly enough about what he’d done without her sharing the results. “Just a few bumps, honestly. It’s nothing to worry about. And I understand perfectly – after all, I’d likely have fought first and asked questions later had an intruder entered my rooms unexpectedly.”

“All the same,” he muttered remorsefully, “apologies, Miss Swann. ‘Tis not me habit to attack those as can’t protect themselves.”

Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile. “It’s ‘Captain’, actually. Or ‘Your Highness,’ if you’d prefer. And who says I’m not capable of protecting myself? You caught me unawares, is all. I promise you, I won’t be so careless again.”

His deep, husky chuckle made her grin even wider. “Right ye are, Yer Highness. And I’ll endeavour to give ye fair warnin’ next time I plan to challenge ye – that way, ye’ll have every chance to demonstrate yer well-honed skills in the art of combat.”

Her answering laugh faded away and for a few minutes, the silence stretched out between them. It was a strange sensation, this awkwardness, and Elizabeth couldn’t help but wonder if the fact that she’d decried his strategy at the meeting of the Brethren hours earlier wasn’t behind his change in manner. Or perhaps it merely seemed odd because it was the first time she’d been truly alone with him since that first night aboard the Black Pearl.

“Why have ye come?” Barbossa finally asked sombrely, the light heartedness of the previous moment gone.

“I came because...” For a heartbeat, she considered another glib response to try and break the tension, but to do so would have seemed wrong. There was something terribly serious about his question and she felt compelled to be honest with him. “...because I didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

His heavy footsteps seemed very loud in the quiet room, and his hulking shadow came closer. “Were ye all by yerself on the Empress, then? Or is it a particular type of company that ye be seekin’ that brings ye to the Pearl? Perhaps ye believed ye’d find Sparrow aboard and amenable to providin’ ye with some small comfort in yer time of need...”

Elizabeth straightened and huffed indignantly. “I resent your insinuation, Captain. I did not come here looking for Jack nor was I hoping to obtain that particular kind of...comfort...to which you refer. In fact, I believed that you might be glad for some fine wine and quiet conversation on the eve of war, but if your only response is to cast aspersions on my character...”

Two quick strides brought him very close...she could feel the heat of his body and his breath blowing gently across her face. “And what would ye have me think? King or not, yer a woman...and here ye’ve boarded me vessel with an offer of wine and pleasurable...conversation, shall we say. Either ye believe me too old and enfeebled to be a threat to yer innocence, or ye knew very well what ye were after when ye set out to find me.”

Gritting her teeth in anger, Elizabeth pushed him away forcefully with the heels of her hands, causing the monkey to screech hysterically and attempt to scratch her face with its nasty little talons. Barbossa’s accusation was baseless, of course, and it was only her own unease that caused her heart to pound more quickly within her chest at the suggestion that she had sought him out for more than talk. “Or perhaps I simply thought you a gentleman, although the very idea seems ludicrous now. I don’t know what has come over you tonight, but I very much regret making such a foolish assumption about our...camaraderie. Regardless, I’ll not stand about in the dark arguing with you. I bid you a good night.” She started back towards where she was fairly sure the door lay, stumbling only slightly in the gloom when her gown caught on a chair.

“Lizabeth,” Barbossa murmured quietly, and the soft sound of her name from his lips stopped her in her tracks. He’d never called her by her given name before...but there was an intimate familiarity in the way he said it that sent a shiver through her entire body.

“Yes?” Elizabeth whispered, her nerves abuzz.

“Ye must understand,” he said, his footsteps moving away from her again, “that I’m not meself tonight. I’ll not weigh ye down with the reasons, but if ye could see yer way to lookin’ past me rude and disrespectful behaviour, happy I’d be to share yer company fer a time. What with us facin’ Beckett and his forces come sunrise, the opportunity might ne’er present itself again and I’d regret havin’ parted on such poor terms.”

There was something inherently sad in the way he spoke that kept her from retorting sharply. Perhaps the fearsome Captain Blackheart felt every bit as alone as she did, after all. What would it hurt to let his crude and loutish remarks pass if both of them could find peace and mutual contentment for a few hours?

“All right...yes,” she said tentatively. “I’d like that very much. Could I ask, though, that you bring up the lights? If we are to socialize, I think it might be best if we could actually see one another.”

He didn’t reply for a moment and she wondered briefly if maybe he hadn’t heard her. “As ye wish,” he finally said with apparent reluctance. Elizabeth stayed where she was, watching as he made his way from lamp to lamp, the scent of burning oil wafting through the air around them. Gradually the dimness receded and was replaced by a pleasant golden glow from the lanterns, their reflections gleaming softly off the dark wooden panelling.

Barbossa earned a squeaky rebuke as he gently lifted Jack from his shoulder and slipped the animal into a large brass cage hanging from the ceiling. A bit of sympathetic cooing followed by a small piece of fruit went a very long way towards placating the little beast, though, and after Barbossa tugged a heavy black hood over the cage, there wasn’t another sound from within. Elizabeth sighed silently in relief; she’d always found the creature unnerving, not least of all because it remained undead even after the curse had been lifted from the rest of the crew.

Barbossa still had his back to her when he’d finished, looking through the Pearl’s windows out over the calm waters of the pirates’ haven. “I believe ye mentioned somethin’ in passin’ about wine?” he said, glancing at her over his shoulder before returning his attention to the harbour.

He cut a very distinguished figure beside the misty panes, she thought to herself. Despite his inexplicable mood, his bearing seemed almost regal. The way he held his head, the proud curve of his back as he gazed out at the other ships...he had the demeanour of a monarch surveying his kingdom. By all rights, he should have been the one elected to lead the Brethren; the position would have suited him far better than it did her. She got so caught up in imagining Barbossa as a king that it took her a few seconds to realize that he’d spoken. “Oh! Yes, of course...I left it just outside,” she answered a bit too shrilly, her face flushing. She’d almost forgotten why she’d come...to make sure that someone who would appreciate the quality of the wine was given the opportunity to do so.

Elizabeth found the decanter where she’d placed it – fortunately, Mr. Gibbs had not awakened, for Jack’s first mate seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to finding liquor. He was where she’d left him, however, snoring as he floated happily through rum-soaked dreams. Returning to the cabin, she retrieved two golden goblets from where they sat upon the sideboard and poured a generous serving into each one. “Captain,” she said warmly, stepping behind Barbossa and holding out his share of the wine. “Shall we drink to fair winds and good fortune on the morrow?”

“Thankee, Yer Highness,” he said, turning slowly and taking the goblet from her. His long fingers lightly brushed hers as they wrapped around the stem but she hardly noticed the contact, shocked as she was when she looked up into his face.

It was as though someone had rolled the years back on Hector Barbossa’s life, so dramatic was the change in his appearance from only hours earlier. Gone were the mottled skin and yellowed eyes with which she’d grown so familiar during their voyages together. His eyes were bright and clear, and of a blue reminiscent of a storm-tossed ocean. There were still a few laugh lines around his mouth and crow’s feet around his eyes, but his face was smoother, kissed tan by hundreds of days beneath the Caribbean sun.

His lips were no longer wind burnt but instead looked full and soft, and even the scar beneath his left eye seemed less prominent. And he’d obviously taken Jack’s caustic remarks about his beard to heart, for he’d taken the time to trim and comb the coarse hair neatly so that it flattered the hard lines of his jaw. All in all, he was the very picture of vigour and health – and a rather striking picture at that.

He endured her artless scrutiny without comment, gazing unflinchingly back at her. “I say...that is...you look very different tonight,” Elizabeth finally managed to stammer, fighting the urge to touch his face and test the truth of what she was seeing.

“Different?” he said, shrugging slightly. “A trick of the light, perhaps.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. When he spoke, she could see that his teeth were no longer stained and pitted with decay, but instead as clean and white as her own. “No,” she said, shaking her head and backing away slowly. “You’ve changed. I don’t know how...”

The difference wasn’t scary but it was unnerving. Elizabeth glanced down at the contents of her glass...perhaps her crew had dissolved something into the wine before allowing the steward to bring it to her. There was no shortage of opium on board her vessel; she’d smelled the vapours wafting from the crew quarters and observed the watery stares of those who had partaken of the drug. It was possible that a combination of both opium and fatigue would account for the visions she was experiencing...and the direction her thoughts seemed to be taking when she looked at Barbossa.

“Mebbe,” he suggested hoarsely, closing the distance between them once more, “all that’s changed is that ye be seein’ me through new eyes.”

His proximity was unsettling and she turned from him, hiding her discomfort by taking another sip of the wine. Tainted or not, it gave her an excuse to focus her attentions elsewhere. “And why, pray tell, would you think that?” she muttered into her cup as she walked around to the opposite side of the immense table in the centre of the room.

“Sev’ral reasons,” he replied, pulling out a chair across from where she’d paused. Barbossa sat down, leaned back and settled his swash boots on the table top with a thump. He stared at her unabashedly and she found it difficult to meet his eyes again. There was something far too intense and knowing in his expression. The evening was definitely not proceeding as she’d envisioned it and yet she couldn’t bring herself to leave until her curiosity was satisfied.

“Such as?” Elizabeth said haughtily, busying herself by tracing the etchings on the golden goblet with her fingernail.

“Could be ye’ve figured out that this might be yer last night upon this mortal coil,” he said, his voice low and seductive. “At such times, ain’t unusual for people to seek out sensual pleasures...and more so those they’ve denied themselves fer too long already.”

“I believe I made myself quite clear on that point earlier,” she snapped petulantly, shooting him a searing look. “Besides, had that been my only priority, I’m sure I could have found any number of willing...participants...on my own ship.”

“True enough,” he agreed, his lips twitching in amusement. “Well, if ‘tis not a lover ye be wantin’, then, perhaps t’was yer thought that I’d lend you the comforts of a father, seein’ as ye’ve been robbed of yer own through Beckett’s villainy.”

Grief knifed through her and the horrible pain nearly brought her to tears. She gave him her back and surreptitiously wiped her eyes before he could see her reaction to his callous comment. “Of all the ways in which I’ve thought of you, Captain,” she sniffed, “you may rest assured that I have never considered you a paternal substitute.”

The legs of his chair squawked against the wooden floor as he abruptly pushed it back, and she listened to his heavy footfalls with something akin to panic. He stood behind her again...closer than he’d been before...and his scent surrounded her. Soap, leather, sweat and wine, entrancing smells enhanced by the warmth of his body. Elizabeth swallowed hard, waiting for him to speak...to touch her...to do something. The anticipation was unbearable.

“Then, ‘Lizabeth,” he crooned lyrically, his breath caressing her temple as he leaned against her and placed his hands on her upper arms, “I’m thinkin’ that yer here with me ‘cuz ye know there ain’t another man so closely matched to ye. No other as can see through to yer wild heart...who knows of the darkness that lurks in yer soul...or who understands yer passions and desires. Fer Jack, ye’d be naught but another prize, to be used and tossed to the side...and to young William Turner, a dutiful wife and mother. But ye know deep inside that what they offer ain’t enough...ye crave the freedom to make yer own way...to chart yer own course. And ye know with me, there’d ne’er be a need to be anythin’ but what ye are...”

She started to tremble in his grasp and her heart thudded hard against the confines of its bony prison, wanting to break free and fly. “And what is it that you believe me to be?” she asked, her voice unsteady with fear...and if she dared admit it, a glimmer of hope.

“A woman,” he growled dangerously, nuzzling against her hair, “A pirate...a goddess.”

Elizabeth gasped. She felt light-headed and it was becoming more difficult to think clearly. She wanted to blame the wine again but knew it would be a lie. “Pretty words, Captain. As tempting a picture as you paint, though, how can I trust that you wouldn’t just take me tonight and leave me in the morning, ruined and alone?”

He went completely still before his hands dropped from her arms. “If ye must ask, then I don’t suppose ye can,” he snarled.

She dared to look over her shoulder, watching apprehensively as he stalked away and snatched up his goblet from where he’d abandoned it. He threw back his head and gulped down his wine before slamming the chalice back on the table with enough force that he gouged the polished wood and made her jump. There was an inquisitive chirp from beneath the heavy cloth on Jack’s cage, but the captain was too far put out to pay his pet any mind.

“You can’t blame me for wondering about your intentions,” she said defensively, daintily setting her own cup on the table. “You are, after all...”

Barbossa rounded on her, the muscles in his neck bulging and his teeth bared. “Don’t ye go and impugn me honour, woman! Long have I watched ye wave yer virtue like a red cape before the world, temptin’ and teasin’ every man as crosses yer path. Ye flaunt yer maidenhood, then turn about and pretend offence when those ye’ve tested try to win yer affections, but I be tellin’ ye now...’tis a dangerous sort of game to be playin’. I ain’t no paper tiger, missy, and t’would be a mistake fer ye to think otherwise!”

Elizabeth shrank back, instinctively bringing her hand to her throat as she watched him advance on her. Her pulse fluttered madly beneath her fingertips and she pressed her hand to her chest, trying not to fidget nervously in the face of his fury. “How dare you speak to me that way!” she squeaked tremulously. Trapped between Barbossa and the table, she was unable to escape and strangely uncertain that she even wanted to try.

“I dare what no one else will.” He pinned her with his lascivious gaze as he slid one hand around her waist and tugged her against him, the serpent pendant on his chest shifting with his quickened breath. “I be Captain Hector Barbossa, Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea. Returned from the dead and forever the true captain of the Black Pearl, the most feared ship as has ever sailed the Seven Seas. I’ve fought a thousand battles and slain a thousand men, and I’ll no longer be denied that which I covet.”

He fell upon her, kissing her hard. Her eyes widened in shock and she whimpered, grabbing at the sleeves of his coat to try and force him away. This was no gentle, chaste kiss like those she’d once shared with Will Turner; it was rough and passionate, out of control. His beard chafed at her tender skin and his hot tongue swept in between her teeth, slick and probing as he forced her mouth to open wider. A shiver of pure, unadulterated arousal swept through her, thrilling and shaming her at the same time.

It was wrong...this shouldn’t be happening; it shouldn’t feel so very wonderful. She tried to wriggle away, tried to protest, but when he grasped her by the back of her head and bunched her hair into his fist, she had no choice to submit to his brutish assault. It was getting harder to breathe...or at least, she breathed harder and faster as he kissed her senseless, so deeply that she could taste the fine wine she’d brought on his lips and tongue. He was pressed against her, hard angles thrusting against her softer curves as he fought to divest her of her heavy silk robe.

Getting rid of the robe wasn’t such a bad idea, she thought...she was, after all, feeling rather feverish from the wine she’d consumed. Or maybe it was just having Barbossa so close and robbing her of the chance to draw a decent breath that made her so warm. Almost without knowing she was doing it, she shrugged the peignoir off her shoulders, making it easier for him to slide the cumbersome garment from her body and onto the table behind her.

The floor seemed to tilt beneath her feet and she had to clutch his arms more tightly to remain standing. Elizabeth could feel his corded muscles move even through the many layers of fabric he wore and wondered what his skin would feel like beneath...hot, naked and smooth. The thought caused something to clench hard deep inside of her and she moaned helplessly at the sensation.

Barbossa broke the kiss at the sound, staring down at her with dark, hooded eyes. She trembled at the raw hunger she saw on his face and tried to lean closer, desperate to move against him...desperate to relieve some of the lust that he’d sparked. He didn’t allow it, though, and instead yanked cruelly on her hair, forcing her to arch and expose her neck to him like prey before a predator. He bent over her, bestowing exquisitely painful bites on thin skin of her throat. As he did so, the fluffy black feathers on his hat slid forward and fell across her face.

Elizabeth sputtered as the downy tendrils brushed over her nose and got stuck between her lips. The unpleasant feeling drew her from of her passion-induced stupor, almost as though she was being pulled up through warm waters and out into a cold wind. She gagged and tried to push the feathers away with one hand even as Barbossa remained oblivious to what was happening. As he continued his ardent attentions, the feathers swept up into her nostrils and even caught in her eye lashes. “Enough of this ridiculous hat,” she groaned. “The feathers tickle...Barbossa, take it off!”

*-*-*-*-*-*

Ooo...deja vu!