The Devil's Hand

--Chapter Five--

    

    Somehow, Jack got them invited to what he referred to as a soirée, but turned out to mostly be a gathering of islanders and the less-fortunate colonists, with drums, guitars, and a huge bonfire on the beach. The island, like many others, was under British rule, but not with quite as obvious a presence as on Jamaica. At least, not in this area, where Caribs and colonists cavorted in drunken glee around the fire.

    It took a bit of coaxing, but Jack managed to talk Nicola out of her shoes and dragged her over to the fire. Once there, he pressed a tumbler of sangria into her hand and said, "Here, try this."

    She took a sip, made a moue of surprise. "Captain Sparrow, are you attempting to get me inebriated?"

    "The thought crossed my mind," he said silkily. "But I prefer sloshed."

    Nicola laughed. "You're certainly the most . . . interesting man I've ever met."

    She took another sip, and another, and before she knew it, she was more than slightly tipsy. Nicola had never been one for imbibing of spirits, beyond social niceties, so it was an understatement to say she didn't handle it well. One cup of sangria and she was spinning around in circles by the fire, while Jack clapped his hands in time to the drums and Will, as usual, glowered.

    The young woman found herself dancing in the sand to the music, sangria in one hand, Jack's hand in the other. She didn't know where Will went, and didn't much care at the moment, because she was having fun.

    Nicola tripped over someone's discarded shoe and stumbled, giggling when Jack caught her, saving her from toppling into the bonfire. She let out a laugh when they fell to their knees. The pirate captain plucked the drink from her hand and downed the rest of its contents before tossing the wooden cup aside.

    "That was mine," she protested, frowning petulantly up at him.

    Jack flashed her a grin, then the look sobered and his gaze fell to her lips. Her breath caught in response, and all at once, he was kissing her, his fingers gripping her hair.

    She wondered for a moment if she hadn't fallen into the fire after all, the way heat suddenly consumed her. Nicola's hands curled in the front of his shirt and she forgot everything save his mouth on hers. His hands slid from her hair and down her back, pulling her closer.

    She'd been kissed before, but never had she felt anything like this. It wasn't prim and proper, it was hungry and possessive and if she'd been a bit more sober, she probably would have felt a little ashamed at her response.

    Will's voice called from somewhere nearby, and it was only that which broke them apart. Nicola looked down, hand going to her swollen lips as Jack cleared his throat. He clambered to his feet and offered her a hand up, so that they were both standing when Will found them a minute later.

    Fortunately, the night and the flickering, unsteady light from the bonfire masked her rumpled appearance, and Will barely even looked her over before he spoke.

    "There's been a sighting of the Blood Storm," he said. "Near Aruba. It attacked a beach settlement there, then headed north."

    The chill that ran through them at Will's words effectively cooled heated blood enough to douse any lingering passion Jack or Nicola might have felt at that moment. She looked to Jack as the pirate said, "Well, then. Let's gather the crew and be off."

 

-----

 

    Back on the Pearl, Nicola restlessly paced the deck as the crew prepared the ship to set sail. She was completely rattled from having kissed Jack, and bewildered by how she flushed every time she thought of him.

    At the bow of the ship, she leaned on the railing and let the light spray off the sea cool her cheeks. She tried to tell herself it was the sangria that had been responsible, but if she were honest, it had only given them a nudge.

    "Nicola?"

    Turning at the sound of her cousin's voice, she forced herself to assume a neutral expression. "Yes?"

    "Are you alright?" he asked. "You've seemed . . . unwell since we left Barbados."

    Nicola waved a hand. "Too much sangria," she said. "I'll be fine."

    His brow furrowed, dark eyes studying her. "If you're certain."

    "I am, I am. Not to worry, Will. Hasn't even affected my sea legs." She gave him a brilliant smile.

    That smile faltered a bit when Jack appeared at the top of the stairs leading down to the little area the cousins stood in. He held a lamp in one hand.

    "Best be turning in," he said. "Lights out soon as we've cleared the bay."

    "Right." Will offered Nicola his arm, which she took.

    She was aware, with every step she took away, of Jack's gaze on her back.

-----

Aruba



    Will hovered. Constantly, he hovered wherever Nicola was, as if he suspected that something had passed between his young cousin and the ship's captain. He never said anything, but he never let the two of them alone.

    She was a little grateful for it, actually, because she still hadn't sorted out her feelings for the pirate, and was a little afraid of what might happen if the two of them were left by themselves for a significant stretch of time.

    Jack seemed his usual, unflappable self, humming as he steered the ship towards the island of Aruba. The only thing that seemed off about him was that he consulted his maps more than he did usually, and his compass hung unused at his hip. He'd flipped it open earlier, frowned at it, then snapped it closed with a grunt and a dark look towards where Nicola and Will consulted sheets of parchment strewn over the deck.

    They arrived at the island and made inquiries at the dock, to learn that the Blood Storm had made another attack there the night before. The news pleased Jack, telling him that their quarry was still in the general area.

    The crew made port at Aruba that night, staying on the ship because there weren't really suitable accommodations on shore. That seemed to suit everyone fine, as one look at the dismal little Dutch colony had made crew berths seem luxurious.

    Jack was at his desk in his cabin, maps and a bottle of rum on its surface, when Will knocked and then stuck his head in.

    "A word?" the younger man asked.

    The captain wagged his fingers, not looking up from where he was taking notes in his log. Will saw that the pirate had surprisingly clean handwriting, the quill moving smoothly and evenly over the surface of the page.

    "What is it, young William?" Jack inquired finally, when Will didn't speak.

    "My cousin," he began, then paused. "Nicola is- I mean, she-"

    The other man looked up then, one dark brow arched. "She what, man?"

    Will sighed. "She seems quite taken with you," he said at last. "And I don't want her hurt, Jack."

    Jack was quiet for a long moment. He tapped the feathered end of his quill on his book, then took a swig of rum. "Aye. I'm not precisely oblivious on that account."

    "You do remember what I said, don't you?"

    "T'keep me filthy hands off 'er? I remember." Jack squinted in the lamplight. He wasn't exactly sure what to tell Will. So far, it had just been a kiss, but even that much, he wasn't going to own up to.

    "If I say something, she'll only become more stubborn," Will continued. "But if you discouraged her . . ."

    Jack was saved from having to respond by the sound of cannonfire and shouting outside. He dropped his quill and grabbed up his hat. The two men burst out of the cabin to see the start of a battle as men from another ship swung on ropes onto the Pearl's deck.

    The captain pulled out his pistol and fired at one of the boarders. The man dropped to the deck, a neat hole between his eyes.

    "Lookit what we found," Jack said, nodding his head towards the other, larger ship.

    They'd found the Blood Storm. Or, rather, it had found them.