Adrift

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Hope you are enjoying the story...thank you to all my readers. :) Thank you, too, for your review, Elena. More info on your mysterious object in this chapter. And Hector and Beth move one step closer...well, you'll see!) Who, me? A tease? Well, maybe.

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“Over here! Just bring it along…careful! Don’t drop it!” ‘Lizbeth was shrill with excitement, a fact which did little to improve Hector’s mood.

Bad enough that he’d had to tolerate and try to ignore witless remarks from Newson as they’d watched the dive in the cramped control room. Harder on him still when he’d seen the ghostly shapes marking the remnants of his beloved Pearl, decayed from the relentless effects of time and tide. And downright chilling to see the goddess’s phantom familiars crawling about the site, and him knowing that only he and Elizabeth were privy to their presence.

Paying the price, he was, for his dealings with otherworldly creatures – and not likely a thing he could do to stop the intrigues now that the goddess had seen fit to set yet another scheme in motion. There was no understanding what was happening, but it would be a fair bet to say that it didn’t bode well for any of them.

Fighting a man, that was one thing, and certain he was that he could cut down any mortal foe as threatened his lady. Fighting the supernatural, though...well, the odds weren’t exactly weighed in his favour there. The entire situation was growing ever more complex and the chances of battling successfully against such were maddeningly small.

Had it been his choice, they’d have left the mirror (and the rest of it, truth be told) to lie forever on the sea bottom; it was a portent of doom if ever one existed. Elizabeth had, of course, insisted upon recovering it immediately; given the way in which Calypso had revealed it to her, what other course would she have taken?

So the mirror had been brought aboard the Penzance, and now to the warehouse on the decommissioned naval air station on Trumbo Point where the girl’s crew worked on the odds and ends she’d pulled from the sea. Not that there was much work to be done in her lab, at least not with the mirror – looking as if though it had just been crafted, its quicksilver had sparkled in the late evening light as they had eased it from the ocean and onto the mine sweeper.

Hector grunted and strained, the muscles of his arms quivering beneath the weight of the accursed relic; there were twelve of them attempting to carry it and still he felt as though bits of his anatomy might never recover from the sheer heft of the thing.

A thing that had never been aboard the Pearl, that much was certain. Damn and double damn Calypso for it all!

“We’re almost there…lay it flat on that long table. That’s it!” No sooner had they set it down than the lights in the specialized room were dimmed against any potential damage. Elizabeth pushed Hector aside, her hands nearly aflutter with anticipation as she yanked aside the canvas covering the atrocity. “My God, it’s extraordinary. I’ve never seen a reference in any of the journals to something like this,” she exclaimed, her face shining. “Just look at the carvings!”

Barbossa winced and massaged his shoulder as he stepped in closer once more. He’d been trying too hard not to drop the mirror to pay much attention to the details, but what he was able to see now in the dim orange light only added to his dread.

The work was resplendently detailed, right from the rendering of an angel holding aloft a dove taking flight, to the group of skeletal figures cowering beneath a pitted moon. One bottom corner showed dark tentacles wrapped around the hull of a ship while at the top right hand corner, another ship of Oriental origin teetered on the edge of an endless waterfall. There was more but he didn’t need to see it. He’d lived it. Hector turned away for a moment, distressed at the display.

“Betsy, don’t drop your bundle here,” warned Tony. “I’m almost dead cert that it’s a fake. It can’t have been in the water more than a few days. There’s no cracking, no warping, and the reflective surface is completely untarnished. It’s got to be contemporary, there’s nothing else for it.”

“It was underneath the debris,” Eizabeth replied, sounding more than a little put out that he was killing her joy. “You explain to me how it would have gotten there, especially since we’ve been at the wreck site for more than two weeks now.”

“I can’t explain it, any more than I can explain you being the only one to see a sudden stampede of treasure-seeking, excavating crabs. But when you get the science back on it, you’ll see I was right. All I’m saying is that we pulled a lot of legitimate stuff that we need to get a start on.” Tony crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly, giving her a very disapproving look.

Elizabeth sighed her disappointment. “I know, I know. Okay, people. We’ll leave this as it is for now. Let’s get the cannon and some of the other stuff into the baths.” The group around her began to make their way back to the dock but she paused once more beside the table and Barbossa stopped to wait, anxious as he was to see her away from the terrible object.

As she looked down almost lovingly upon it, her dark eyes seemed to shine in the faint amber light. Her fingers caressed the reliefs, her dainty touch lingering over each groove and bump she examined. The paleness of her skin cut a stark contrast against the darkness of the frame as her hand dragged down the scenes depicted there, exploring a history that had once belonged to her as much as to him.

Her mouth parted slightly and as she continued to stroke the black border, Hector’s focus sharpened upon her so much so that he nearly forgot the sense of foreboding that had settled upon him. He watched her hands glide along the ridges and he felt himself stiffening, barely able to stifle a groan as he imagined himself being laid bare on the table before her and in receipt of such wondrous attentions.

He gave his head a shake, trying to purge such thoughts altogether. For too long had his lusts overruled his good judgement. With all that be going on around them, he could ill afford the distraction. How was he to keep her safe if he thought of naught but the sweet roundness of her ass, the hollow of her throat that cried out to be tasted, the slight swell of her breasts against her shirt that begged for his touch?

Hector turned his back on the sight, stepping over to look out the door of the warehouse. The twilight blue of the sky had begun to darken the waters near the wharf and the first starlight had begun to dance upon the waves, but the view brought no serenity to his soul. He was on edge and heartsick, waiting for Elizabeth’s enemies to make a move…waiting to see where the sea goddess was leading them…or waiting for Elizabeth to do the same. He wasn’t sure which of the three was worse.

Hard to believe that less than a week’s worth of days had passed since he’d dragged her from the water and brought her back from the brink. Their sense of history was shorter on her side, yet sometimes he could swear that he saw some shadow of recollection cross her face when she looked at him.

What would happen if she did truly regain the memories of her past self? When they’d last seen one another - so long ago on the deck of the Pearl - Elizabeth had given him an ineffable smile that had left him wondering if it was really young Mr. Turner that she’d wanted upon that honeymoon island of hers.

Perhaps she would remember that moment, too, and this time ‘round she’d think of him as a man and not a monster.

Or it might be that the abomination he’d been during those dark days under the curse would forever taint how she looked upon him.

Weary he had grown waiting for others to decide his fate; sick to death he was of drifting rudderless on a sea of uncertainty. He might not know his destiny but he knew his heart’s desire, and he’d wait no longer to discover what it meant to call Elizabeth Swann his own...even if he could only do so until she learned the truth.

Hector pushed away from the door frame and stalked back to where she was still fussing over the infernal mirror. “We must go, ‘Lizabeth,” he stated bluntly, startling her from her engrossed study.

“Go?” she said, stunned. “I can’t leave. I’ve got to help with the artifacts. I can’t just expect the others…”

He stopped any further talk with a rough kiss, taking the very breath from her as he silenced her protests with bruising lips and tongue. Oh, but it was sweet to taste her, to take what he wanted and drive her to distraction while he had his pleasure. When he drew away, she gasped for air, wide-eyed in surprise and with a mouth swollen from being used with such abandon.

“They don’t need ye, girl. Not as I do,” he pushed, impatient for her consent.

“But…”

Hector grasped her tightly by her upper arms, pulling her closer. He had to get her away from this place and these things. Being among them scattered his thoughts and grated upon his nerves. “I’ll give ye time to make yer excuses to yer crew, but I’ll not be put off in this.”

Now that she was no longer touching the mirror, its spell seemed finally broken. Her clear brown eyes sought his and whatever she read there was enough to convince her of strength of his resolve. “Okay, I’ll go talk to Tony and let him know,” she agreed quietly. Her little hands drifted up and eased over the broad expanse of his chest, and his heart tripped over itself at the caress. “Will we get back before they return to the site tonight?”

“Nay,” he retorted. “Best they go on without ye. I’ll have ye back to the wreck not long after sunrise, though. Ye have me word.”


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Wisteria was in plain sight from the dock and it would have been a quick trip by powerboat, but Hector wasn’t ready to take Elizabeth there quite yet. Tonight it wouldn’t do to rush. As they left the warehouse, he captured her hand in his, marvelling at the bolt of sensation that shot up his arm with such simple contact. He knew from her sudden intake of breath that she felt it, too, and he tightened his grasp ever so slightly to show her that she was not alone in it.

The day had been hot and the temperature hadn’t dropped much, so the night was made for a walk. They strolled away from the wharf and south along Trumbo Road, the noise from the resorts and marinas on the north beach of the city ringing like echoes of Tortuga in his ears. Wordlessly he led her not in the direction of the crowds of tourists and drunken students, but instead east towards another non-descript warehouse on Chevalier Avenue, the street lamps painting a pathway of pinkish-orange stepping stones upon the sidewalk to guide them.

“Are ye ready to see me pride and joy?” he queried. He’d stopped at a set of tall articulated steel doors and though he tried to seem nonchalant, he was keen to show her what awaited on the other side.

Elizabeth glanced down at his groin and then back up again, trying vainly to bite back a giggle. “Your pride and joy? Is that what you call it?”

Hector rolled his eyes at her before he turned his attention back to the door. “Women. ‘Tis always the same with ye,” he said, shaking his head. “First thing that comes to yer mind is a man’s wedding tackle.”

His response had her erupting in peals of laughter. Although he tried to give her a stern look, he had to struggle mightily not to smile in return. “If yer gonna mock me,” he warned with an injured tone, “Perhaps I’ll be savin’ what’s behind the door fer someone else.”

“No…no, I’m sorry,” Elizabeth choked out, trying to rein in her levity. “It’s just that I’ve never heard anyone refer to his…assets…in those terms before.”

His expression remained dour and she at last attempted to look contrite, ‘though still fighting to keep the smile at bay.

“I apologize if I hurt your feelings,” she went on, her face very nearly straight by that point. “May I please see what’s behind the door?”

Hector snorted indignantly and took the padlock into his hands. He took his time, pretending to fumble with the keys long enough that she began making sounds of impatience. Good, he thought, feeling better that she was now showing some eagerness. About time that she learned what torture it was to have to wait for something in anxious anticipation.

Deciding that he’d made her pay the price for her derision, he finally unchained the door. It slid up with a metallic rumble and he reached in to flick on the lights that would reveal his grand surprise.

“Oh. It’s your motorcycle.” Elizabeth said.

“Nay,” he answered, insulted. “She’s me bike.”

“Oh, right. Sorry. Your bike.” She looked at him, her eyes widening in the sudden understanding that he was sharing something special with her. “I didn’t mean to belittle it – the bike really is wonderful, Hector. Would it be all right if I touch it?”

“Ye may touch all ye like,” he smiled broadly, pleased at last that she was showing the old beauty some appreciation, if only for his sake, “but I was thinkin’ ye may prefer a ride instead.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said as she approached his 1969 Harley Davidson FLF pan shovel and stroked the well-worn leather seats, the cream-coloured enamel panels and the polished chrome rims. “I’ve never ridden before,” she confided, her voice betraying her growing interest. She began to caress the bike as she had the mirror, the idea the ride clearly appealing to her the more thought she gave it. “What do I need to know?”

“Well, first thing ye must know is that ye’ve not the right attire.” Adorable she might look in her blouse, shorts and deck shoes, but it would not do for the open road. “Check yonder locker; Ragetti should have extra gear that’ll suit ye. Ye’ll need boots, breeches and a warmer shirt. I’ll see to fuelling up while ye dress yerself…ye can step behind the locker if ye wish.”

She smiled and he knew she was convinced. “I believe,” she answered, her tone teasing as she swung open the locker, “that the time for modesty between us may have already passed.”

“Then do as ye wish,” he chuckled, taking a gas can in hand and opening the back door of the warehouse to where the tanks were stored, “but ye’ll not say I wasn’t a gentleman about it.”

By the time Barbossa had completed his task, Elizabeth had donned what garb she could find that would offer some protection from the wind. He tried not to smile at the ill-fitted leather pants, the oversized boots or the t-shirt that came down to mid-thigh, but he wasn’t completely successful in hiding his amusement.

“I did the best I could,” she sniffed, her hands going to her hips, hitching up the waistband that threatened to slip downwards. “Had I known of your plans, I could have brought something from my own closet.”

“Don’t be cross, now,” he chided her, the smirk he wore still not completely banished. “Me only thought be that yer ensemble’s not yet complete.”

Her moods seemed tied to a pendulum, he mused – it was easy enough for her to laugh when he was the subject of the joke, but not so when she was being sent up. He walked over, gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead to sooth her irritation, and then continued on to a large metal wardrobe beside the locker. Opening the heavy door, he pulled down a small, thin box first off and tossed it over to her.

“Ye’ll need gloves; if yer fingers get cold, holding tight will prove a challenge.” He watched as she tugged them on, bending and straightening her fingers to get the right fit. Then he pulled a much larger box down from one of the shelves and closed the door.

Hector weighed the heaviness of it in his hands, pausing long enough to invite her curiosity. “What’s that?” she asked, picking at the side of the box and trying to get a peek.

He twisted away from her, scowling in false anger as he moved the package out of her reach. “Not sure as I’m ready to be givin’ this to ye. ‘Tis a gift of great import.”

“Really?” she asked, her eyebrow quirking up, a look of mischief upon her face. “And what must I do to convince you that I’m worthy of such a gift?”

“Ye must swear loyalty to yer captain, forsaking the claims of all others who have come before or who might unwisely attempt to follow,” he advised her, trying to sound glib. It didn’t feel so much like a game anymore, not once those words had left his lips.

Elizabeth sighed at his dramatics. “Yes, okay, I swear. Now give me my present.”

Hector tilted his chin, looking down at her disdainfully. “I don’t believe ye.”

It was Elizabeth’s turn to attempt to hide a playful grin. “You’re right. I did not do my oath justice.” She sauntered up beside him, swaying her hips as she came. Draping her arm on top of his shoulder for leverage, she raised herself higher, sweeping away locks of hair from his ear with her free hand. “I hereby pledge my loyalty to you and no other, and swear that from this point forward, you are the captain of my heart.”

Her warm breath upon his neck sent a shiver through his body. Hector found the last phrase absurdly touching, even if he knew she’d only said it in jest. “Fair enough,” he conceded. “Ye’ve earned yer prize.”

Eyes sparkling, she grabbed the box from his hands and tore it open. When she saw the leather vest with the ‘Blackhearts Motorcycle Club’ patch, though, her smile was a little less certain than it had been. “Hector, it’s not that I don’t appreciate it…and I’ll definitely wear it for our ride…but I don’t know that I’m really ‘biker mama’ material.”

Barbossa shook his head. “Ye don’t understand, ‘Lizabeth. That vest don’t mark ye as property – only those who be full members can wear the colours. There’s not a woman before ye as has ever been given that honour by our crew. And aye, this Blackhearts cut will keep ye warm, but more than that it will keep ye safe. Those who are out to harm ye might reconsider if they know that there be two dozen others who call ye ‘sister’ and will fight to the death fer ye. Ain’t fer naught that we be feared throughout these parts, on land and on water.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you, then. Do you believe that in the excitement of the day, I’d almost forgotten about the attack?” Elizabeth smiled sadly, her enthusiasm for their outing faded. Slowly she slipped her arms through the newly bestowed cut, a sign of full membership in one of the most notorious outlaw motorcycle clubs known. As she pulled her hair out from underneath the collar so that it hung in a golden brown mantle down her back, she kept her eyes on the ground, suddenly reluctant to meet his gaze. “Being with you, it just didn’t feel like I was still in danger. You must think me completely oblivious.”

Hector’s spirits plummeted. He’d not meant to be so brusque with her, and now he’d gone and marred a promising night. Gathering her into his arms, he whispered against her temple. “Damnation, girl! I don’t want ye to think on it. That’s why we’re there – so’s ye can do yer work and not have to watch o’er yer shoulder. ‘Tis our job to keep ye safe; this be just one more way of makin’ sure ye stay so.”

Her arms came up around him, hugging him tightly as she buried her face against his chest. The faint flowery scent from her hair drifted around him and he rested his cheek against her silken tresses, basking in the tenderness of her embrace. Hector felt a hitch in her breathing and wondered if she wasn’t fightin’ tears, ashamed to show him that her fear had gotten the better of her. Clumsy he was in dealing with women at times, proof that too many years had passed since he’d cared enough to try.

What he needed, perhaps, was a change in tactic or she might yet end up sobbing in his arms. “Be ye ready to sport our Blackhearts patch as a full member, or do ye plan to cling to me all night like some milquetoast hangaround?”

Elizabeth huffed and pushed away from him, giving her face a quick wipe with her hand. “Excuse me! Milquetoast? Give me my orders, Captain, and I’ll be pleased to demonstrate how quick a study I can be.” She straightened her outfit and pointed her chin outwards rebelliously, her eyes rimmed in red but her expression determined.

That’s me girl, he thought. “Fine. Come closer and I’ll show ye what to do.”

Elizabeth stepped towards him once more and he turned her around so he was at her back. He’d give her a lesson she’d not soon forget, one that would have her thinking on what else he might be able to teach.

“First rule,” he said, bending at his knees so he could slowly slide his hands up her beautiful flanks, the muscles in her thighs twitching and tightening as he went. He stopped just short of her waist, running a finger around the band of the loose pants as he straightened up. “Ye must keep yer hands on me hips at all times. ‘Tis a powerful bike and t’would be easy to leave ye behind at the lights if ye let go. Understand?”

“Oh yes,” she replied, lifting her hands to cover his for a moment until he gently drew them away again.

“Second,” he murmured as he let his fingers trail leisurely up her bare arms, “Don’t be grabbing at me shoulders or arms. Ye do that and we’ll end up scraping ourselves raw on the pavement when we fall.” Goosebumps arose on her flesh and she trembled as his hands slipped beneath each sleeve, lightly kneading her shoulders. Hector smiled – he did enjoy this kind of schooling.

“Third – ye must lean into the turns with me,” he whispered as he brushed against her ear with his lips, pulling her tightly against his body and wrapping his arms around her. “Keep yer eye just o’er me shoulder and move as I move. Ye’ll be inclined to try and fight the turn, but if ye do, ye might just take the bike down and both of us along with it. Do ye have all that?”

She nodded once more, crossing her arms over top of his as her breathing went shallow. Aye, his hope for the evening had been restored. “Hold your hips, don’t grab your arms and shoulders, and lean with you going around a curve. Got it,” she answered, her voice quavering.

He led her over to the Harley, pointing to the rear chassis before he went down on one knee before her. “These here be passenger pegs,” he said as he stared up at her, watching her breasts rise and fall beneath the baggy white t-shirt. His own voice went husky with need as he lifted her leg, rubbing her calf adoringly before he placed her foot on the metal dowel. “Ye’ll use them to mount the bike, and yer to keep yer feet on them during the ride, even when we’re stopped. Don’t be resting yer legs against the exhaust – it’ll burn yer skin clean off, leather or not.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes and shuddered. “I’ll remember.”

“Last of all,” he finished, standing and drawing her in so that she was flush against him and well able to feel the ardent evidence of his desire, “Ye must stay relaxed. Difficult will it be for me to manoeuvre if ye remain…rigid against me.” He slid his hand down along her thigh, lifting it slightly so he could tuck in closer to that wonderful warmth between her legs. “Have ye any questions?”

She swallowed hard as she looked up at him, her eyelids at half mast with her own longing. “What about a helmet?” she asked softly. “Isn’t that pretty much a basic?”

He grinned sheepishly. “Truth be told, missy, we haven’t any. Has been my experience that should ye get in a mishap serious enough to need one, it’ll do naught but keep yer head in one piece when it flies from yer shoulders. Makes it easier to track down afterwards, I suppose.”

Elizabeth looked startled at the thought and he couldn’t help but laugh, breaking the tension. Enough playing for now or they’d not make it out of the warehouse at all, and he desperately wanted her legs wrapped around him as they took to the road. “Don’t ye worry. I’ve never yet lost control – at least not while I was astride me Harley. Ye’ll have to trust that I’ll give ye a smooth ride.”

“Are we still talking about the bike?” she bantered back.

“Perhaps,” he replied, arching an eyebrow at her. “Either way, the time fer talkin’ is done.” He released her and mounted his bike, carefully easing himself into a comfortable position – or as comfortable as he could get in tight jeans and in his current condition. He grabbed hold of the handlebars, flexing his fingers to find the right grip, and gave her a look he filled full of promise. “Climb aboard, ‘Lizabeth. Let’s ride.”

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