Chosen Path

When Elizabeth woke the next morning, she realized just how much the crew relied on their Captain for orders. Since he would not be in any position to give them for some time, she took over the position herself. She was, after all, First Mate on this ship, and a Captain besides.



Elizabeth ducked into the hold and retrieved the tea set from the chest Barbossa had filled. Once she had secreted it away, she called the crew to divide their take from what remained.



“We’ve got two chests of gold and silver – we divide that amongst us all.”



“What about Cap’n Barbossa’s share?”



“I’ll hold it for now, and see that he gets it.”



“If you’re Cap’n now, and Barbossa’s still Cap’n, who gets the double share? Don’t reckon it’s fair if yeh both do.” There was a chorus of agreement with Marty.



Elizabeth raised her hands. “Captain Barbossa is still the rightful Captain of this ship, and as such will receive the customary double share in the treasure, as per the code. I am acting Captain, until such time as he is fit to return to his post.” The men seemed satisfied with that, and started towards the chests. “Aren’t any of you concerned over his condition?”



The men glanced at each other and shrugged. “Reckon you’d’a told us if he was dead.”



“He’s neither dead nor dying. He’ll be just fine in a few days. Divide the gold and silver. We’ll sell the silks in port, and use the revenue for food and drink. I’ll bring Barbossa his share when I see him later.”



Elizabeth ignored the knowing glances the crew exchanged as she collected her take and left to rouse her son.



As the day wore on it became evident that they were, in fact, concerned for Barbossa, but also eager to enjoy the fruits of their labor. After Marty told her they had headed east away from Cuba, she ascertained their location as best as she could and set about charting a course.



Elizabeth slipped into the Captain’s cabin to retrieve her navigational tools. She crept softly to his bedside, and found him sleeping still, snoring slightly. She smiled nervously, resisting the temptation to brush back his hair for fear of waking him. He had pushed down the covers in the night, and his bandage was visible now in the daylight that streamed through the windows. She could see the clotted blood that had seeped through, despite the stitches, and chewed her lower lip. He had lost more blood than she was comfortable with; it would take some time to get his strength back. Hoping Murtogg knew what he was about, she left quietly, bringing her charts and tools with her onto the deck.



The men surrounded her as she bent over the charts to find a suitable port to meet their needs. There was, of course, the obvious choice, but she had long wanted to return to Singapore. Barbossa had agreed they would, when she could lead them there. She was certain she could, now, and considered the route.



It would be a long journey, though, and the men were impatient. They would need to restock before setting sail again, anyway, so she addressed the eager crew with a smile. “Tortuga?”



She was met with a cheer. “Tortuga!”



The crew responded to her commands with surprising obedience, and when she found their heading, she took the helm herself. She hadn’t steered often without Barbossa at her side, but he was in no condition to do so, and the sea was calm and the wind in their favor.



Elizabeth reveled in the power of the ship in her hands, crew responding to her command. The smooth wood of the helm against her palms, the wind and salt spray on her face, her feet anchored to the deck as the ship danced along the waves. It was glorious. Elizabeth tossed her hair back and smiled into the wind. No more a governor’s daughter, she, but a pirate, a Pirate King, Captain of her ship, going where so e’er she pleased, because she wanted to. This was the life she had always dreamed of. This was the life she was meant to lead.



She watched the crew as they worked. William worked at Pintel’s side, happily swabbing the deck with his own small mop, finding joy in the task as only a child could. She would always be grateful to the crew for the kindness they had shown her son. She had been concerned that he would grow up without a father, but he had six men to call Uncle, and Barbossa, who afforded the boy much the same affection he showed his pet, albeit awkwardly. Elizabeth had no great love for the cursed monkey, but Barbossa clearly adored the creature, and if he held William in the same esteem, or nearly, her son might have a father figure after all.



Barbossa wouldn’t be much of anything to William or anyone else if his injury didn’t improve, so Elizabeth searched the deck for the only crew member who had any hopes of helping him along. “Master Murtogg!”



The man jumped from his task. “Aye, Cap’n Swann?” He hurried up the stairs to her side.



“Have you examined Captain Barbossa yet today?”



Murtogg shook his head. “No, Miss. Cap’n wouldn’t let me near ‘im. Said you was the only one with hands he trusted, and not to come back until I brought you with me.”



Elizabeth sighed in irritation, but she couldn’t help feeling a surge of warmth that he trusted her so. “Then why have you waited until now to tell me so?”



“You were busy at the helm, Miss. Er, Captain Swann. Didn’t want to disturb you.”



Elizabeth threw her best Captainly glare at the man. “Master Murtogg, Captain Barbossa’s health is in question; it is your responsibility to see to it that whatever is necessary to improve upon his health is done, above all else. Do I make myself clear?”



“Aye, Cap’n. Shoulda come to you sooner, then?”



“Yes you should have. Cotton!” She addressed the crew, searching for the mute who materialized on deck at her command. “At the helm, please.”



She followed Murtogg into Barbossa’s cabin. “About time ye found ‘er, yeh slimy bilge rat!”



“Sorry, sir, but the Captain was busy at the helm.”



“Captain?”



Elizabeth shot a glare at Murtogg before turning to Barbossa. “Just until you’re well. And I informed him that his priorities were misaligned, and the next time his patient took to being a childish ass to come to me straight away. He’s the only one with medical training, Captain.”



“I’ll not be letting those shaking hands near me.”



Elizabeth huffed as she undid the rags holding his bandages in place. She gingerly peeled back the dressing and Murtogg leaned in to get a look. He had removed a fresh washcloth and small flask from the medical kit and moved to apply the wet cloth to the wound. When Barbossa grabbed his wrist and glowered at him, he eagerly turned over the cloth to Elizabeth.



She gently bathed the wound, taking care not to tug at the stitches. Barbossa hissed at her touch. “That ain’t water.”



“Alcohol, Captain, Sir,” Murtogg explained. “Not for drinking, but it’ll clean the wound.”



“And hurts somethin’ fierce, yeh mangy –”



“Easy, Captain,” Elizabeth interrupted. “Don’t strain, it’ll only make it worse.”



Barbossa grumbled as he leaned back against the pillows, and Elizabeth did her best to wash away the dried blood without causing him too much pain. To his credit, he stayed silent, only wincing once when she accidentally pulled at a stitch. The wound looked better now that it was clean, and seemed to have stopped bleeding. Murtogg handed her a fresh bandage and she carefully tied the dressing in place.



Elizabeth helped Barbossa slip into the clean shirt they found in his trunk. “Have you eaten anything?”



“Couldn’t exactly make it to the kitchens.”



Elizabeth sighed. “Honestly, does no one on this crew have a brain to think with?”



Barbossa raised his eyebrows and touched her cheek. “One does.”



Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Murtogg, see what you can find for the Captain in the kitchens.”



Murtogg was only too glad to be gone, and his “Aye, Captain,” came only after he was halfway out the door of the cabin.



Elizabeth turned her full attention to the man before her. “How are you feeling?”



He shifted in his bed. “Been better. Been worse. I’m not dead, not yet anyway.”



“And you won’t be. You’ll feel better when you eat.”



He nodded. “Where do we be headed?”



Elizabeth smiled. “Singapore.”



He narrowed his eyes. “Yeh think that, do ye? This still be my ship.”



“Yes, but you said when I could chart a course to Singapore, we would sail to Singapore. I can, and so we shall.”



“Aye, so I did. But we best make port first, ‘tis a long journey over naught but open waters.”



“Yes, I remember. Which is why we’ll be stopping in Tortuga, at least, in a few day’s time. The men will want to spend their take from the Castle. We really did quite well, in the end. The tea set even survived in tact, mostly. One cup broke.”



“Then where be the tea?”



“Well, we don’t have tea. Not yet. But we will. I’ll buy some in Tortuga.”



Murtogg arrived then, carrying two bowls of stew. Elizabeth had learned not to look to closely at the food they had on board. Ragetti did a fine job of masking the odors of slightly rancid meat and rotting vegetables, but actually seeing the quivering mass of brown in her bowl was more likely to turn her stomach.



They would have fresh food soon enough, though, so for now, she handed a bowl to Barbossa and settled into the chair beside his bed to eat. As Murtogg left, two small figures darted in through the open door. Barbossa’s face broke into a grin. “Jack, I missed ye.”



The monkey scampered to Barbossa’s side where he was rewarded with a bite of stew. William followed with his own small bowl, and Elizabeth pulled him up into her lap to help him eat. “Mama, know what I did today?”



“Chew properly, William. Swallow, that’s a good boy. Now tell me. What did you do?”



“Swabbed deck! Uncle Marty said I was good!”



Elizabeth hugged her son. “That’s wonderful, William. You’re a most valuable member of the crew. I’m sure you did a brilliant job.”



“Am I a pirate now, Mama?”



“Of course you are, love.”



William beamed, and finished his stew, then scrambled off Elizabeth’s lap and onto the Captain’s. “Cappinbossa, tell me story!”



“William, let him be!” She tugged William back, but after Barbossa’s initial “oof,” he patted the bed beside him.



“He’s alright. Let me finish me stew, then ye’ll have yer story.” William sat obediently beside Barbossa, who leaned towards him conspiratorially and spoke in a stage whisper. “Ask yer mother to join us for the story.”



“Mama, c’mere! Listen to story!”



Elizabeth threw a withering glare at Barbossa, but came around to the other side of the bed and settled in next to him, pulling William onto her lap.



Barbossa handed his bowl off to Jack, who happily licked the last bits his master had left for him. “Ye heard o’ the Pirate Lord Captain Morgan?”



William shook his head excitedly. “No? Yer mother’s been lax in her teachin’. Well, he was a great Pirate, Lord of the Caspian Sea, he was.”



Elizabeth’s eyes widened. So that was where Barbossa had acquired the title. He’d taken it from Morgan, or been gifted it as she had been.



“I sailed with him, for many a year. Had many a fine adventure. We sailed to the mainland one day, to Panama, in search of Spanish gold, and we found it there, great gobs of it. We took it all, coins, plates and chalices of finest gold and silver, jewels the likes o’ which I’d ne’re seen, before nor since.”



“Ohhh!” William was entranced.



“Aye, t’was the finest treasure trove I’ve e’er seen. But the Spaniards, they didn’t want us takin’ it, so they fought us.”



“Were they mean?”



“Aye, fierce and mean, wicked men, all. We burned their city, burned it to the ground, flames lickin’ the sky as we ran to the sea.”



William’s eyes were wide with excitement. “Scary!”



“It was indeed. We fought all the way to shore. And we made it, sailed off with the treasure!”



“What then?”



Barbossa chuckled. “We won the day, so we celebrated, feasted on all the food we could eat, drank the finest wine, and the women –”



“Captain,” Elizabeth warned.



Barbossa cleared his throat. “We met fine women, like yer mother here, and let them share our wine, as every good pirate should.”



“Good pirate,” William echoed, then yawned magnificently.



“I think it’s time for this little pirate to be taking his nap,” Elizabeth rose to her feet, lifting William into her arms, despite his protests that he wasn’t sleepy. “Thank the Captain for his story.”



“Thank you for story, Cappinbossa.”



He smiled. “Yer welcome lad. A nap sounds like a fine idea. Reckon I’ll take one meself. Care to join me, Captain Swann?”



The idea was far more appealing than it had any right to be, and she shook her head quickly. “I’ll come back tonight, to check on you. Since evidently I’m the only one capable of ensuring your well-being.”



“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”



Elizabeth nodded, and carried a sleepy William to his small bunk.



She returned to Barbossa only after night had fallen, and she had pried the medical kit from Murtogg’s hands, along with his instructions that the Captain’s dressing be changed twice daily. She brought him what food she could find and insisted he eat to keep up his strength.



When they finished eating, she helped him pull his shirt off, allowing her to change his bandages. She hadn’t noticed, or thought to look, before, but now that her nerves had calmed and he was clearly not dying, she couldn’t help but be keenly aware that she sat at the bedside of a decidedly half-naked man. A startlingly attractive one, she found herself thinking.



As she changed his bandages, it became a bit harder to breathe as her fingertips grazed his skin. He was not so fair of face as Will, or even Jack, but his muscles were strong beneath tattooed skin peppered with crisscrossing scars across his chest and arms, and when compared to the only other man she had ever seen thus, he did not come up wanting.



Different, of course; Will was much younger, his tanned body lean and smooth, save for the new scars over the place where his heart used to be. Barbossa was older, rougher, but she felt a frightening surge of desire as her arms wrap around him to tie the fresh bandage in place. The scars on his chest made him, if anything, more attractive. Each one had a story, each one is a badge of honor, a time when he might have died, but didn’t. She spied the bullet hole in his chest where Jack shot him, another hole a bit lower, and a long line that ran from beneath the bandage she had just applied across to the other side of his chest. Her fingers traced the line as she wondered how it came to be there.



“Takin’ some liberties there, Mrs. Turner.”



Elizabeth gasped and pulled her hand away. She hadn’t even realized what she was doing, running her fingers over his torso as she had once done to Will. It was good of him to stop her, to protest using her married name. She mentally shushed the small voice in her head that wished he hadn’t done so. “I’m sorry. You’ve a scar there.”



“I’m aware of that.” When Elizabeth said nothing, he sat up a bit, taking her hand in his. “I’d not mind yer liberties, but I wonder. What’s in yer head?”



She studied her hand in his own, unable to meet his penetrating gaze. “What do you mean?”



“Yeh know what I mean. Things between us have taken a dangerous turn, and we’re both of us guilty of takin’ em there. The game has been fun, but I have to ask: what’re your intentions?”



Elizabeth met his eyes then. “I intend to meet Will in seven years.”



“And between now an’ then?”



She shook her head, blinking back tears. “I’ve waited nearly three years already. I can wait seven more.”



Seven more years. Three had been hard enough, and the past three – no, nearly four – months spent in the constant company of sailors, in the company of their Captain in particular, had made her all too aware of just how much she missed having someone to love, talk to, flirt with, kiss and touch. The thought of spending seven more years alone tore at her, and Barbossa’s hand was warm and inviting on her own.



He seemed to see the conflict in her face. “Ten years be a long time to go wanting. But there’s a difference between yer curse and mine. Ye could have what I couldn’t. Ye could choose to feel, if yeh wanted.”



Elizabeth shook her head. His thumb on her palm was sending sparks up her arm. “I do feel, that’s the trouble. It’s not that I cannot feel, but that I mustn’t. Tell me, Captain Barbossa, which do you suppose is worse? Feeling nothing and wanting to, or feeling so much, and wishing you didn’t?”



“What is it yeh feel?”



Elizabeth glanced at his face, his look of eager anticipation sending a chill down her spine. She look back at their intertwined hands and wrapped her fingers around his. “I feel your hand in mine.”



“What be wrong with that?”



Elizabeth smiled weakly. “Nothing, I suppose. But I should go.”



“Stay a bit longer.”



“You need your rest.”



“Been restin’ all day. What I need is some wine. Good food. And a bit o’ company.”



“Well I need my rest. I’ve a crew to lead, a ship to run, the log to maintain, a course to keep, bandages to change, not to mention a two-year-old to look after. I’m quite done in.”



Barbossa chuckled. “Congratulations, Captain Swann. Now yeh know what it is to have the title.”



“You’re bloody enjoying this, aren’t you?”



Barbossa shifted on the bed. “Not especially. About that wine?”



Elizabeth sighed and made her way to his private stash, selecting a bottle at random. “I’m afraid we’ve got no better food than what I’ve already brought you, and I won’t be much company tonight, even if you didn’t intend to imply you sought the sort of company I think you did.”



Barbossa sat up a bit straighter and uncorked the wine. “Ye are exactly the sort of company I had in mind.”



Elizabeth perched on the edge of the bed. “I can barely keep my eyes open. But I’ll stay for a bit, if you’ll tell me a story.”



“A fair bargain. What would ye hear?”



Elizabeth brightened, then made her way to his bookshelf, plucking a title from the shelf. “Don Quixote. I can’t read it, but I think you can.”



Barbossa nearly choked on his wine as he took the volume from her hands. “Aye, ye can’t. ‘Quick-soat!’ Cervantes be rollin’ o’er in his grave. It’s pronounced ‘key-hoe-tay.’”



Elizabeth folded her arms in a huff. “Well how was I to know that? They should spell it as it sounds.”



“That be how it sounds, en español.”



Elizabeth turned, letting her gaze linger over Barbossa’s face, his hands flipping through the well-worn pages of the book he held. “Captain Barbossa, you are a puzzle.”



“How’s that?”



“You sailed with Morgan, an English pirate, but you speak Spanish. Your name is Spanish, but you look English, and you speak both languages without a hint of foreign accent. When I first met you, you claimed to be ‘naught but a humble pirate,’ yet you are a man of letters. You seem a gentleman, but you are ruthless at sea. You’re positively a study in contrasts. Who are you really, Captain Barbossa?”



Barbossa closed the novel and slowly met her eyes. “If that’s the story ye want, we’ll be savin’ Cervantes for another night.”



“Cervantes isn’t going anywhere. He’s likely upset with me this evening, anyway, for butchering Don Kee-hoe-tay’s name.”



Barbossa gave a low chuckle. “That’s better. But if ye want my story, ye’ll have to come a bit closer.” Elizabeth shot him a withering glare as he patted the bed beside him. “I’ll not be shoutin’ to ye all the way over there.”



Elizabeth rolled her eyes, but found herself sliding onto the bed beside him, leaning back against the pillows he had propped against the headboard, as his arm came around her and pulled her close. She drew the line at slipping beneath the covers, but he simply shrugged and gave her shoulder a squeeze.



“Who am I, ye want to know. Well, to start, my name be my own, only name I e’er had. Was born Hector Barbossa, to an Irish laundry lass who up and married a Spanish sailor. He took her to Spain, settled down, took to tendin’ horses for some fancy Spanish nobleman.”



“So you weren’t born a gentleman?”



Barbossa snorted. “Not I. We got by, but barely. I was the first child, but not the last by far. With so many mouths to feed…” Barbossa shrugged. “We got by.”



“How did you learn to read then?”



“Ahh. How did Will Turner learn to read?”



Elizabeth frowned. “He doesn’t read much. But I taught him some, when crossed the Atlantic together for the first time.”



She felt Barbossa’s smile against her cheek. “Same story. Lord’s daughter, name of Carlotta, took a liking to me, taught me her lessons after she had ‘em. When her tutor found out, he reckoned I was clever enough to join her for lessons.”



“You loved her?” Elizabeth turned to see the far-away look in his eyes.



“Aye. But she was too good for the likes o’ me. And young. She was eleven when I saw her last, and I thirteen. That’s when I first took to sea.”



“Thirteen? You were in love at thirteen years old?”



“Do ye doubt it?”



Elizabeth considered for a moment. She had, after all, met Will when she had been but twelve. She hadn’t really known what she’d felt at the time, but she knew she had always loved him. “No. I don’t doubt it at all. So you’ve been a pirate since thirteen?”



“Nay. I was an honest sailor, at first.”



“Impossible.”



“Nonsense. Ask any pirate, near all of ‘em started that way. Just didn’t stick. I sailed on a Spanish galleon for nigh on three years.”



“What made you turn pirate?”



“Gettin’ to that. In three years of sailin’ on a merchant ship, we never once fell victim to pirates. Until we did. The ship of Captain Morgan himself. Well, Morgan don’t give no quarter, so I turned on me crew and pretended to be one of ‘em.”



“Didn’t they know the difference?”



Barbossa shrugged. “One cabin boy looks the same as the next. I spoke enough English from me mum to fit in, and before I knew it, I was sailing under the colors of the great Captain Morgan.”



“So that’s it then?”



“Aye. Not so exciting, is it?”



Elizabeth smiled. “The real story usually isn’t. It’s strange to think of you as a cabin boy. You seem to be born for Captaincy.”



Barbossa slid his hand up and down her arm and she shifted against him. Her head was growing heavy, and his shoulder was there, and perhaps she could rest just a bit.



“Won’t argue that. I wasn’t meant to lead the life I was born to. Reckon ye can relate.”



Elizabeth breathed a soft sight and was suddenly overwhelmed with the smell of Barbossa. He was decidedly in need of a bath, but they all were, and there was something distinctly…not unpleasant about his smell. “I can. I was never meant to be a governor’s daughter. Nor a Commodore’s wife.”



“But yer happy here?”



“I am.”



Barbossa’s other hand came up to caress her cheek. “I’m glad yer here.”



She turned her head, slightly, to look at him. “You are?” He smiled slightly, his hand on her cheek pulling her forward, toward his face.



He intended to kiss her. Elizabeth’s head swam. His lips were so close, she could feel his breath on her mouth. Would one kiss really hurt? If she kissed him…a flame of desire burst through her like a shot. Her body begged her to let him kiss her, let him keep touching her the way he was, let him touch her any way he wanted to.



Her mind suddenly snapped to attention, and not a moment too soon. With a strangled cry, she pulled back, falling off the bed as she scrambled backwards. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Captain, I have to go.” She caught only a quick glance at Barbossa’s face, but turned and ran for the door before he could call after her. She was grateful he didn’t. If he’d asked her again to stay, she wasn’t sure she’d have the strength of will not to.