A Highwayman Came Riding

Chapter 1: The Low Road

Notes: James Norrington is reinstated as a R.N. Captain, but he regrets his failure to marry after the loss of Elizabeth. By chance, he decides to take mysterious and dangerous young woman his wife (OFC) and in the meantime, the admiralty assigns him to chase a highway man. Can Norrington win his wife's affections and catch the 'land pirate' before it's too late?

Norrington/ OFC

Post POTC

Rating: PG

Chapter 1: The Low Road

"Our Father, which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy Name..."

James Norrington's hooded eyes rested wearily upon the eight bodies-- six common sailors, one marine and his second lieutenant, sown tightly into their hammocks for all eternity. Once strong, boisterous men, silenced by the canon ball and grape shot forever.

"Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven..."

The pages of his prayer book fluttered in the wind, but he knew recitation by heart.

"Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, As we forgive them that trespass against us..."

A soft rain began to fall, he closed his eyes, and let the water baptize his face, taking comfort in the ritual of spoken prayer. Men's voices to God; a low, rhythmic drumming upon a barren sea.

"And lead us not into temptation; But deliver us from evil..."

But not from retribution... James thought. His passions flamed and stomach knotted as he silently vowed to kill the pirates that sold their location to the Spanish and had allowed his his ship to be fired upon unawares needless loss of eight crewman.

"For thine is the kingdom, The power, and the glory; For ever and ever. Amen."

His hand trembling, he snapped the prayer book closed. Quelling a fury for vengeance signaled by a deep gasp of sea air, he turned to the crew of the The Valiant. A worn, haggard congregation of lubbers and thieves, but beneath his tight control, they had become seamen and sailors to their marrow.

It was to these men who stood humble before him, pain stretching their tanned faces into deep scows, that he turned his blue eyes and steeled his heart as he spoke.

"We commit these bodies to the sea, knowing they shall be called forth during the final Resurrection... May God have mercy upon their souls."

Nodding to the Master's mate, three sailors trudged forward. Carefully lifting the corpses of their beloved ship mates and they releasing them overboard. The horizon was gray and the whipping of the sails was unusually strong. The bleak weather echoing the forlorn mood of the crew as eight splashes from the ocean gave a final goodbye. The sailors, hats still twisting in their hands, lowered their raggedy heads as each name and station was solemnly called by the ships Master.

At the reading of the name of the Lieutenant, "Donald MacCallum"; young man much beloved by both the officers and the common sailors as well as Norrington, himself-- there came a low baritone voice singing.

"Oh! Ye'll take the high road, and I'll take the low road, And I'll be in Scotland afore ye..."

An old Scottish sailor who many a boy looked upon as a father at sea had begun the song. His eyes closed, his haggard voice pushing out the words with a painful, craggy grace.

It was not unusual for the Irish and occasionally, the Scottish to keen their dead with a native song. As much as James disliked the Scottish national sentiment, Donald MacCallum had proven his loyalty to the King again and again. He was courageous, hard working and exceptionally bright. James sighed, he was a truly regrettable loss.

But me and my true love will never meet again, On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond." A few more voices joined in on the last refrain. Oh! Ye'll take the high road, and I'll take the low road, And I'll be in Scotland afore ye,"

James added, "Amen."

"Amen." Echoed the crowd.

"Gillette, see that the men have an extra ration of grog tonight." Added James, before putting on his tricorne, and turning on his heel. "I have letters to write."

James Norrington hated writing these letters. He had a fine hand and was normally at ease with paper and quill, but there were no easy words to tell a mother that a son would not come home. Yet, it was his duty as the ship's Captain to relay to parents and sweethearts that their sons and lovers had died a noble death for King and country.

Perhaps the task would be easier this night if he didn't feel such guilt at being unprepared for the Spanish attack. Not that he could have know. The Spanish obviously had their spies, but so did England. His quill tickled his chin as he wondered why he hadn't heard from England's in quite sometime. Yet, it was not the place of a mere captain to question and so with a low heart and head weary mind, he scrubbed at his face as a feeling of frustration washed over him.

Alone in his cabin, he offered a silent prayer to God. There had been a time in his life when he had lost his spiritual conscious, after the hurricane coupled with the humiliation of losing Elizabeth, he turned from God and country. But the Church of England was a powerful force, and in its familiar ritual he had found comfort and in his countrymen he had found forgiveness and thankfully, reinstatement as a Royal Naval Capitan.

Yet, even after all the loss he saw with the hurricane, losing men under his command never got any easier for James Norrington. Perhaps this was his Achilles heal, this tenderness for the lives of his shipmates was the soft-spot in his armor and in his heart. His men had attested he was made of steel and women that he was made of stone, but he had fragility-- yet, it wasn't in his character to ever show it. Even to his most trusted officer and friend, Andrew Gillette or to the woman he'd once loved, Elizabeth Swann.

He sighed, regretting the loss not so much of the woman, but of the state of marriage. If he had a woman to turn to in the darkness of the marriage bed, then perhaps the loss of young men would be easier to bare. Lighting a candle, and clearing his mind of regrets, he continued into the evening. A knock sounded at the door and a voice.

"Lt. Gillette, sir."

"Enter." He commanded; only briefly looking up as his first lieutenant entered.

"Sir, Midshipman Forbes to see you, sir. He has something regarding Lt. MacCallum he would like to relate to you." Gillette's spoke in his usual lyrical Irish tented English, but his eyes had dulled. He too must be feeling the loss of the men, James thought.

He tried to smile lightly and bade, "Bring him in, Andrew."

He knew that Harry Forbes and Donald MacCallum had been close friends and Forbes was the son of a minor knight somewhere in the lowland counties.

"Good evening, Captain sir."

The young man bade upon entering and removing his cap.

"Good evening, Forbes. Lt. Gillette says that you have some information regarding Lt. MacCallum you would like to relate."

"Yes, sir." The young man nodded, his cheeks pinking. "I don't wish to be out of line sir, but I understand you are writing letters to the MacCallum family."

"I am." Norrington confirmed. His shirtsleeves were rolled back, a stack of parchments lay beneath his dripping quill. "I know you and Donald were friends. Is there something you wish for me to add"

"Yes sir. You see, Donald... Lt. MacCallum was engaged to marry a Miss Norah Cunningham. She was a fine friend to me as well and of my family's and if it's not too much to ask sir," his pale eyes raised tentatively to meet the captain's. "I know she would greatly appreciate a letter from you sir on the event of his untimely death."

"I see," James lowered his eyes.

"He spoke very highly of you in his letters home to her." Harry interjected.

James smiled with humble bemusement. "Of course, I shall write her. I assume you have her address and name?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you sir."

The young man handed him a card upon which was written in a flourished script,

Miss Norah Cunningham

Finlaystone Castle

Ayrshire, Scotland

James brow knotted at the address. He didn't know much about Scotland, but the girl lived in the castle and Donald MacCallum was the son was a gentleman lawyer. Surely he wouldn't have been engaged to a maid.

The page grew fuzzy beneath his weary eyes. "Who is this Miss Cunningham? Is she the daughter of the Earl--" James looked up, but his cabin was again empty. He shook his head, and pushed the thought far from his mind. It would be madness to think Donald had been engaged to the daughter of the Earl of Glencairn, a rather influential man in the Admiralty.

With a heavy heart, he dipped his quill and began,

"Dear Miss Cunningham,

I regret to inform you..."

Author's Note: The Lord's Prayer and the traditional Scottish song, Loch Lomond are used in this chapter. The "low road" is a reference to the belief that if someone died away from his homeland then his spirit would via this route. This is a rework of the unfinished, My Bonnie Love.