Adrift

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It was the cry of the gulls that Beth heard first, their pleading song pulling her from the dark fog of her dreams. Waves lapping against the hull, voices calling back and forth, and the warm sun peering through the porthole next to her bunk signaled the start of another normal day on the Keys. Turning her face from her pillow, she inhaled the salt air deeply and stretched.

That proved to be a mistake. Pain rushed in on her, a throbbing ache in her hands and wrists accompanied with a piercing agony in her head so intense that she nearly sobbed. She tried to sit up but the room began to spin around, and she carefully lowered herself back down with a muffled whimper. Beth opened her eyes but the daylight brought on new waves of intense anguish and she let her heavy lids fall shut against the onslaught.

Pieces of the night before gradually seeped in as she took deep breaths, trying to battle the pain. There’d been a storm, sudden and terrible. A dark figure, a fall and a jarring impact. Cold water, a fight for air. And blood, a lot of it.

If her memories were just that and not part of some elaborate hallucination, how had she ended up back on board and in her own bunk? Maybe she had a concussion and the rest could be explained by delirium.

Tentatively she brought a hand up to explore the back of her head where it hurt the most, gasping as her fingers found the wound. There was a horizontal row of tight stitches that seemed to go on forever and beneath her hair, her scalp was swollen, bumpy and tender. She dared to crack one eye open and saw that there were dark purple marks around her wrists and deep abrasions on her hands.

As her level of wakefulness rose, she became aware of a pressing need to use the head. Mindful of her injuries, she slowly lowered first one and then her other leg to the cool wooden floor, kneeling beside her bed with her head on the mattress while she paused to rest. The pain throbbed in time with her heartbeat and she remained there for a few moments more, afraid of passing out. At the worst, Beth figured she’d fractured her skull; at best, she had a severe concussion. Either way, it felt as though her brain was trying to push its way out through her temples.

Rather than risk standing she crawled, naked and cold, the few yards over in order to get done what she needed. Afterwards she pulled herself slowly up using the sink for leverage, breathing deeply again as she gained a slightly uncertain balance. A glance in the mirror had her grimacing; she looked almost as awful as she felt. Her hair was a tangled, dirty rat’s nest and dark crescents had taken up tenancy beneath her eyes. Not exactly beauty contest material but she would likely survive.

She puzzled at her nudity until she saw her t-shirt and underwear in a sodden mess in the shower stall; her clothes must have been soaked in the storm. Not being able to remember removing them, though, made her uneasy.

Confused thoughts running through her mind, she moistened a cloth with some warm water and soap, cautiously wiping her face. As an afterthought, she brushed her teeth to rid herself of the foul taste in her mouth. Neither ritual relieved the pain but she felt just a little bit more human afterwards, a little bit more in control.

As she again examined her reflection, Beth heard thumps from above and realized that someone was walking across the deck towards the aft steps. Her heart pounded in her chest, making her dizzy once again. She was immediately angry with herself for her reaction. Someone had taken care of her; that much was clear. It made sense that that person – likely one of her neighbours – would be coming to check on her to see how she was feeling.

But what if it wasn’t, a wary little voice warned. Maybe the dark shape from the night before wasn’t a figment of her imagination after all. In fact, the longer she thought on it, the more Beth convinced herself that whoever was coming was not a friend. At any rate, it was not a chance she wanted to take.

She snatched a towel from the shower rod and wrapped it tightly around herself, cinching it up between her breasts. Keeping her hand against the wall for support, she crept her way back to the bunk as quickly as she was able on shaky legs. Tugging open one of the small drawers beneath the bed, Beth fished out the .38 Smith & Wesson Special that had belonged to her father and tried to load the rounds as quietly as possible. A few of the cartridges fell from her fingers onto the wooden slats and she froze, waiting for some sign that whoever was up top had heard the noise.

There was no change in the pace of the footsteps, ‘though the unknown intruder had started down the stairs already. What Beth did hear was a man singing brashly in time with his heavy stride, his voice gravelly but not disagreeable.

“Where ’tis wave o’er wave, sea o’er bow
I'm happy a man as the sea will allow
Thar's no other life fer a sailor like me
But to sail the salt sea, boys, sail the sea
Thar's no other life but to sail the salt sea…”

Beth clasped her weapon tightly and moved to the door, again crawling on her knees. She reached up to the knob and turned it as slowly as possible, cracking the door open just enough that she could see the stairwell.

The boots she saw first – heavy black leather boots, decorated with silver rings and studs. These were followed by a pair of demin-covered legs, long and clearly muscular even from beneath the fabric.

A wide chest and a flat stomach in a tight white t-shirt came into view…then powerful looking arms and broad shoulders. Whoever he was paused on the stair, the song trailing away and Beth held her breath, unconsciously backing up a few inches before it occurred to her that he already knew she was on board. His hesitation, though, told her that he sensed her scrutiny.

He descended the last few steps and stopped, his face clear at last. The guy was older than she was by quite a bit – maybe approaching 50 years compared to her 30. His features were those of a man who had spent his life outdoors, weather-worn and tanned.

His auburn hair was pulled back into a long ponytail and he sported a neatly trimmed beard of the same ginger hue. A knowing smile curved his well- proportioned lips and his pale eyes fixed themselves on the door behind which she cowered.

Overall, he cut a rather imposing figure and although not what some would call classically handsome, he had a rather appealing and decidedly masculine presence. Fortunately, her brain wasn’t so addled that she’d think an attractive man could not pose a very real danger.

There was something almost familiar in his countenance, though. Someone from her very distant memory, maybe, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She wondered if she’d ever be able to think straight again…

Beth’s cell phone trilled from somewhere close by and startled her, getting her heart racing once again. She’d left it in the galley last night after dinner, too far out of her reach now and any call for assistance she might have made. Her uninvited guest narrowed his eyes at her door before wandering off towards the incessant ringing.

Her way to the staircase was clear; if she could keep her legs moving forward, she’d at least be out of the confined space and in public. Some measure of safety in that, ‘though if this person was intent on hurting her, there’d likely be little she could do to protect herself.

She eased the door the rest of the way open and had taken only two hesitant steps when she heard him talking, presumably on the cell phone and to whomever had called her. She halted, wanting desperately to know who was on the other end and wondering if she screamed loudly enough, they’d hear.

“Nay, she canna talk. Had a bit of a spill durin’ the storm, ye see. Not really fit for conversation. Would you be wantin’ to leave a message?” He stepped out of the galley then, grinning at her in an all-too-knowing manner as he spoke, his West Country accent sharp. “Jim, ye say? I’ll be sure to let ‘er know.”

Jim Norrington! A federal investigator and a friend of her late father’s, he was probably calling to check on her after news of the storm had gotten around. He could be a bit of a watchdog when it came to her, but perhaps his over-protectiveness was warranted in this case.

He flipped the phone closed at the same time that Beth cocked the hammer and pointed the gun at his chest. “Give it to me!” she demanded, gesturing at the phone with the barrel of her piece. “Give it to me and get off my boat!”

The smug smile faded from his lips and his eyes – she could see now that they were blue – grew dark and cold. He slipped the phone into the back pocket of his jeans. “Or ye’ll what, young missy? Shoot a man in cold blood? Are ye sure ye want to be doin’ that, given as I’m the one what saved yer skinny ass last night?”

Beth opened her mouth to reply then closed it again. Was that true? She had a quick flash of memory, of being cradled in someone’s arms, of gentle words and touches. That she was naked when she awoke now angered her…no doubt he had done the honours. She didn’t think anything had happened, but the fact that she had been that vulnerable and had no memory of it shook her. Damn it! Trying to put together the events of the previous night was like spotting pearls in a bucket of milk.

“I’ve only your word that you’re my rescuer, haven’t I?” she retorted haughtily, provoking a rough laugh from her companion.

“Aye, that be true. Well, if yer planning on shootin’ me, best get on with it. I’ll not wait ‘round all day to die.”

With that he stepped forward and seized her by the shoulders, pulling her to him so hard that the breath was knocked from her lungs. He wrapped his long fingers around her gun hand and jammed it against his ribcage, twisting her bruised wrist until the barrel was again pointed at his heart. His other arm he snaked around behind her back, holding her fast.

“Wouldn’t want ye to miss,” he whispered, his breath blowing wisps of her hair against her face. “Be sure ye get it right on the first shot.”

She whimpered at the ache in her hand. He’d called her bluff and knew it. He hadn’t hurt her, hadn’t even threatened to do so. There was no way she could even attempt to take a life without some overt menace; it simply wasn’t in her.

With her free hand she pushed against the flexing muscles of his chest and feebly attempted escape, but his hold was firm. If anything, he pulled her tighter still, the length of her body pressed fully against his. Beth gasped at the sensation and his chin jutted forward, his eyes challenging her to scream, to protest, to fight – to submit. Finally he took hold of the gun, wrenching it from her hand and tossing it onto a nearby chair without breaking eye contact.

“If’n I wanted to harm ye,” he said softly, “I’d likely have done so by now. As it is, my intentions are strictly…honourable.”

He closed his eyes and leaned towards her. Gently he nuzzled her cheek with his nose, inhaling her scent and causing her to shiver as the air moved over her neck. He was warm and smelled intoxicatingly of sea, leather and soap. Held as she was, each small movement he made – from the simple act of breathing to the each minute shift of his stance and yes, to the unmistakable hardness stirring against her thigh – heightened her awareness and awoke something long dormant in her body.

With his proximity it became harder to breathe. Beth knew this was a bad situation but she felt helpless to break away. What was wrong with her? Her head swam as the hand that had lain flat on the small of her back began to move, finding her smooth bare skin and caressing in light circles. It wasn’t until he started pulling the towel from her body that she finally awoke from her haze.

“No! Please!” Beth cried softly, clutching the ends of the terry cloth that had been tugged loose. She began to tremble, but whether it was because of the pain of her injuries, from fear or from something else altogether, she was afraid to wonder.

The man pulled back sharply and looked down at her. His expression softened and his eyes showed regret. “Sorry I am, lass. I ferget me place, taking liberties when none were offered. Yer hurt and need to take to yer bed. Fret not, no one will lay a finger upon ye here.”

He stepped back, holding his hands up in capitulation as she fumbled to decently cover herself once more. She glared at him indignantly, wanting to lash out at this man…this perfect stranger who’d dared to touch her in such a way.

She likely would have made an incredibly clever and cutting remark, too, but at that moment her vision started to get a bit dark around the edges and sounds got very far away. She didn’t even realize she was falling until he caught her and swept her up into his arms.

“Ye can’t be up and about yet, Elizabeth Turner. Found ye near death last night, don’t want to be facin’ that again.”

Exhaustion had taken the fight out of her all at once and she didn’t resist as he carried her back to her stateroom. He laid her gently on her sheets and pulled the covers up over her legs.

“I’ll send Doc down to check ye up. If’n ye need me, ye need only call out. I won’t be far,” he assured, gently squeezing Beth’s hand before turning to go. She reached out and grabbed his wrist, and he looked back at her in surprise.

“Who are you?”

He gave her a crooked grin. “That’s a bit of a long explanation. Fer now ye can call me Hector.”

“Hector,” she repeated, already losing consciousness. Her hand dropped and he stepped away from the bed. “It’s ‘Swann’,” she sighed, just catching his attention before he was out of hearing.

“Come ag’in?”

“You called me ‘Turner’. It used to be, but now it’s ‘Swann’.”

He smiled at her once more. “Then rest, Elizabeth Swann. We’ll talk when yer up to the task.”

As Beth drifted off, she wondered fleetingly how he knew her name at all.