Disclaimer: Ahoy, matey, and thank ye fer deciding to read me story! Now, there be a few things fer me to be layin' out first. One: I don't claim to be ownin' Pirates of the Caribbean. Nay, Pirates of the Caribbean be the buried treasure that ev'ry fanfic writin' pirate be strivin' fer, but nary many a man achieve. Two: don't be bashin' the fic. Ye can give pointers, but ye bash, an' ye may find yerself wit' one finger less, courtesy o' me good friend Jack Sparrow. An five: please be reviewin' after ye be through readin'. That bein' said, enjoy!

Introduction

Gray clouds blanketed the horizon of Port Royal as a light wind rustled through the trees. It was late afternoon when Jack Sparrow found himself trudging nervously down a familiar road. Visiting Will and Elizabeth was beginning to become a dangerous chore, but not one he was unwilling to perform. He simply had to avoid being seen, which for a pirate was second nature when the time called for it. With no ship to leave upon, he decided instead to wander the streets that he had not yet traveled.

Keeping his head down and his coat wrapped tightly around him, he watched as the houses on either side of him grew more elaborate and the spaces between them more and more expansive. Lifting his head slightly at the collection of voices he heard coming from the manor to his left, he found a handful of men gathered underneath a vine-covered gazebo around a young woman in a blue dress who he assumed was the lady of the manor, and single at that. She tried her best to respond to each witty remark and inquiry the foppish men gave her, but seemed to be growing tired of it fast.

Jack slowed his pace, curious as to what the noblewoman would do next.

The young lady responded to one man's question and, through a bit of subtle strategy, got the men engaged in a conversation with each other. As they chatted, she took a deep breath and, rolling her eyes, turned away as much she could without seeming rude, obviously quite tired of it all.

Fighting the urge to burst in, throw the woman over his shoulder, and carry her off to show her how to really have a good time, he continued down the road, watching her until he could no longer without turning his head.

•••

A torrent of rain poured from the heavens, drenching the port town. Most of the town had closed itself up for the night, only a few taverns still burning the midnight oil. A single lamp burned against the dark backdrop of the mountains, a square of light in the darkness. The window, on the second story of the expansive manor, was open, giving the young woman sitting on the windowsill an excellent view of the storm, yet sheltering her from its fury. It was such a relief to be alone after that hell that she had been forced to endure at the social earlier that day.

"Lady Morgan," Marianne, one of her servants, stepped inside, sheltering her candle with her hand from the breeze coming from the open window. She struggled to get her candle inside the protection of the lantern in her left hand. "Close that window! You're going to catch a deathly cold, sitting out there like that."

"I'm perfectly safe, Marianne." Morgan continued to stare out the window at the rain as it poured down into the sea. Brushing a lock of curly, light chestnut hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear, she took a deep breath of warm, salty air and watched the large turquoise waves ornamented with white foam as they crashed into the rocky shore. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"As beautiful as a snake about to strike." Marianne grumbled as she finally managed to place the candle into her lantern.

"Oh stop whining." Morgan sighed, shrugging her white shawl-like blanket further over her thin pink-white nightgown, wrapping it tightly around her shoulders. "I'm glad Father finally decided to fund my voyage. It took him quite a while."

"What with so many fake maps circulating," Marianne set her lantern down on the table beside Morgan's bed, "he had to make sure it was real. He finally got a good map inspector to look it over and deem it worthy to pursue."

"I would've eventually gone anyway," Morgan smirked, "even if it weren't real. It's not the direction, but the voyage, that I'm looking forward to. The map was just an excuse to get things moving." She inhaled again. "The clouds are thinning. The skies will be clear and the sea fresh tomorrow."

"Then there's no way to convince you to stay?" Marianne's expression changed to a concerned frown.

"Not in all the world."

There was a pause. The thunder of the rain against the roof of the house, along with the crashing of the waves against the shore, rang clear in the warm air.

Finally Marianne spoke up. "You love sailing that much?"

"More than anything else." Morgan smiled, glancing over her shoulder to her loyal servant.

Marianne sighed. "Then I won't stop you." She picked up her lantern and walked through the door. She grasped the handle and began to close it when she stopped. "Sleep well mistress. You'll need to be alert for the launch tomorrow."

Morgan looked back out the window as Marianne shut the door behind her. Reaching her hand out the window, she felt the cold downpour with a graceful, swan-like hand. The water felt soothingly cool to her warm fingers. She brought her hand back under the shelter of the windowsill and watched the drops cascade along the contours of her palm. It was then that she noticed a man standing in the streets below her, just behind where she had held her hand. She blinked and moved her hand so she could get a better look at him.

He was tall, absolutely filthy, clad in a large coat that hid most of his build and a tricorn on his head. That was all she could make out in the heavy rain. She realized he was staring straight at her. Who is that?

•••

The rain had soaked him through in barely two minutes. Jack Sparrow kept his head low, staring at the muddy, flooded dirt road through Port Royal he was traveling. He knew he had been here before—with nothing to do, he simply walked in circles about the port. As he began to recognize where he was, he noticed a glowing reflection in a rather large puddle in front of him. He blinked and looked up to his left to see the same young lady from that afternoon sitting on the windowsill on the second floor of a large, elegant manor beside him.

She had long, curly chestnut hair that glowed almost pink in the moonlight, cropped at the back of her head. She had fair, pale skin, unmarred by the harsh rays of the sun. Her facial structure was fair, graceful, almost sharp, like a well-sculpted ice statue. She was wearing an elegant pink nightgown, and a white blanket over her shoulders. He found himself staring for quite some time before the girl noticed him and returned his glance. She blinked a few times and almost blushed.

Jack brought up one dirty, drenched hand, touched two fingers to his forehead, then kissed them and sent them her way.

The girl blushed, smiled slightly, and then slipped inside, closing the window behind her.

Smirking, Jack chuckled slightly and continued down the road.