Saxony: Yes, Miranda definately had a reaction to the dear Captain...wouldn't you when he starts pouring on the charm. Fear not...you ain't seen nuthin' yet!
Taurus-Sparrow : AnaMaria's a fave of mine too...had to use her.
dshael and Captain Tish: Thank you again! Please, everybody R&R!
Jack greeted the next morning with a few choice, muttered curses. Another day lost to his fever was behind him, and another day land bound and confined within this mausoleum to look forward to.
He groaned and sat up, rubbing at his eyes, and spied the covered tray in easy reach on the low table. Next to it was a cup that was probably filled with more of the vile liquid that woman insisted upon pouring into him.
He shrugged, and downed the stuff, noting that it didn't taste as awful today. Somebody had added sugar to it. He wondered if it had been that delightful Agnes girl.
Easier to imagine that, than from the stern eyed, primly mannered 'Lady' Miranda.
Although, he mused while making his way through his breakfast, the lass was lovely when she smiled. Or when she was angry, for that matter. Jack had to admit it was far more entertaining to provoke a reaction from that icy exterior, than to charm his way into the good graces of her serving girls.
Yesterday's reaction had been...interesting. His admitted imposition upon her person had obviously had an effect on the lady, as was to be expected. What he hadn't anticipated was his own reaction.
Also interesting.
From that perspective, the day ahead suddenly looked a bit less tedious.
His tray empty and his belly now full, Jack got to his feet and padded from the room. Whatever anybody might have to say about it, he was determined to see his First Mate's current state for himself.
He didn't have to look far. There was an open door halfway down the hall, and through it, he could hear the voice of his Quartermaster.
"So the sooner you're both of you on your feet again, the sooner we'll be out of here." Gibbs was saying.
"How is he?" AnaMaria asked next, and Jack thought her voice sounded thick, as though she'd been drugged. Then he remembered she probably had been.
"Oh, well you know old Jack," Gibbs reassured, "He just mixed a couple o' live cobras into a keg of rum, drank it down, and --"
"Chased it down with a scoop of black powder," Jack interrupted with a straight face, "Just to liven the taste, you understand." He stopped at the bedside, smiling down at her. "And here I am."
AnaMaria looked him over while the men greeted him happily.
"You look funny." she decided somewhat drunkenly, and tried not to laugh.
Jack frowned down at his borrowed clothing. The shirt would have fit two of him, and the loose white cotton britches flapped around his calves when he walked. Between that and the glimpse he'd caught of himself in a mirror - no head scarf to keep his hair from hanging in his face, the large bone ornament missing as well, no black lining around his eyes -- he thought he looked odd too.
"No more so than you, luv." he smiled, "In that frowzy tent you're wearing."
She swatted at his arm.
"You're looking better, at least." he said honestly.
"Mmm..." AnaMaria shifted carefully, wincing when she couldn't find a more comfortable position, "Still hurts like hellfire. She wants to keep me off my feet, but..." She trailed off.
Jack didn't need to ask who the Ôshe' in question was. The Lady Warringford was indeed a force to be reckoned with, if she could dictate terms to somebody as strongly independant as his First Mate.
He stayed with AnaMaria for a time, trading casual insults, and generally trying to give the impression of a man who hadn't been in real fear of loosing a friend.
AnaMaria tired quickly, though, and the drugs that eased her pain also made her drowsy.
"Just one question,"Jack said before she could drift off, "How is it that a pirate lass such as yourself had connections with the aristocracy?" He grinned impishly. "Have you been holding out on us?"
AnaMaria turned her face away. "She bought me."
She wouldn't say anything more on the matter. Jack didn't press it, but motioned for his men to follow from the room. "
Where's our cooper got himself to?" he asked, noting Kursar's absence. Gibbs told him, and Jack swore.
"And you say she asked him to go along?"
"Insisted would be more the like of it." Gibbs yawned so widely, Jack thought he heard the man's jaw crack. "Sorry. Half the people here were up before the sun. Includin' us." "
Then why don't you go remedy that. My room's just down the hall, and I don't intend to be using it any time soon."
So saying, Jack walked away from them.
"Where are you off to, then?" Sam called after him
. "To get some answers from our good hostess." he replied, turning the corner.
Alone again, Jack made his way through the house, bare feet slapping on the cool marble. The place was strangely quiet. Only the other day it seemed teeming with people.
He thought about exploring the upper level, then decided against it. With the way his luck was running, that old Hannah woman would no doubt be waiting around a corner, ready to brain him with a fireplace poker.
Ahead, the corridor emptied into a sort of large sitting room. At the far end a pair of doors were opened wide to admit the air.
As he neared, Margret appeared through those doors, looking rather startled to find him standing there. She admonished him for being out of bed, but when he asked to speak with her mistress, Margret only pointed out onto the grounds and told him a vague 'out there'.
He thanked her politely and was through the doorway, moving down the wide stone steps before she could protest.
"You've none to blame but yourself if you have another spell, and you're out here all alone!" she called after him.
Jack only waved back over his shoulder. He walked for a time, taking in the surrounding area. No fine connoisseur of landscaping, he could nonetheless appreciate the beauty displayed here. There were fruit trees in abundance. Many varieties, if he could judge correctly, and several of them heavy with oranges, lemons, and other kinds he wasn't able to put name to. Roses intermingles with a myriad of flowering bushes, and the air was filled with the lazy droning of bees.
The overall picture was one of a garden that had simply sprung up naturally, lacking formal lines, or the rigid structuring of an orchard.
All in all, a pleasant place. The sun felt good on his face, and warmed the soil beneath his feet. He could almost understand how a man might be held to the land.
Almost.
"Captain Sparrow?"
He turned. Lady Warringford was approaching -- perched on the back of one of the biggest horses Jack had ever laid eyes on. It picked its way easily through the trees, black coat gleaming in the light.
He eyed the creature uneasily as it neared. He'd never been comfortable around these animals. From the way the horse was tossing its head, the feeling was mutual.
Lady Miranda reached out and patted the heavy neck soothingly with her gloved hand. "He's always like this with strangers." she explained. Then, she rose up in the stirrups, and dismounted.
"I see your Ladyship doesn't exactly follow the popular conventions." Jack remarked with a wave that the saddle. She had ridden astride as a man would.
"No," she replied, "Not when it involves 'my Ladyship' taking a tumble from this height." She patted the horses neck again, and looked Jack over.
"I'm not so sure you should be up and about, Captain Sparrow. You look tired." Jack smiled. Really, she made this far too easy for him. "No, noble mistress," he recited grandly, "Tis fresh morning with me when you are by at night."
"Stop that," she frowned. Then, her face relaxed. "Strange that you know that play so well. I was supposed to have been named after my grandmother, but when the time came, father decided on Prospero's daughter instead."
"Is that so?"
"I was born at sea, Captain Sparrow. In the middle of a tempest, no less." She tugged on the bridal, leading her horse away. "Father thought it appropriate."
Appropriate indeed. Intrigued in spite of himself, Jack kept pace with her.
"I heard there were a lot of goings on earlier, and now, one of my men seems to have gone astray."
She retreated behind that guarded facade again.
"Yes. There's a ship from Port Maria that's meeting Hui-Shang Zheng at Falmouth. He --" Her voice caught, and she cleared her throat to hide it. "He's fulfilled his promise to teach me. He's been with me for three years, and now he's going home to his family."
She wiped quickly at her eyes. "Master Zheng had to go now -- before the weather in the China Seas gets too dangerous for a safe crossing."
"I'm surprised you didn't go to see him off." Jack noted while fending off the attentions of her horse. The creature was taking an unwholesome interest in the colorful beads and coins hanging in his hair. "A little help here?" he asked plaintively.
"Reisen." she said reproachfully with a tug on the bridal, and the inquisitive animal released Jack's dreadlock from his teeth.
"I would have gone," the lady continued, responding to his earlier question, "But then Master Zheng reminded me that I had two patients I was responsible for."
He grunted in acknowledgement, and walked to her other side, placing her between himself and her horse.
"Though that still doesn't explain why you felt the need to Shang-Hai one of my men to act as your stevedore."
He caught a flash of green from under the brim of her riding hat.
"I only 'commandeered' him for a short time. It seemed the best solution, as my teacher had to meet his ship today, and Bill was to drive him. Mr. Gibbs didn't say it aloud, but it was easy to see that your men feared mine would report to the authorities that you were holding this place hostage, as it were. So since your man -- Mr. Kursar, was it? Strange name. Since he seemed the most nervous about it, I asked him to accompany. That way, your man got to keep an eye on mine, and Bill got an extra pair of hands to help him with Master Zheng's cargo."
Jack was impressed. This might have been the exact way he would have chosen, had their positions been reversed. He decided to test the boundaries of her logic.
"And if your fellow slips away from mine long enough to acquaint somebody with your plight -- as it were?"
"He won't do that."
"Why not?"
"Because, Captain Sparrow, I told him not to."
She had surprised him again. Hands clasped behind his back, he sidled closer. "And why would Milady do something like that?"
The Lady glanced uneasily at him. Casually, as though trying not to offend him, she moved to put the horse's body between them. Jack hid his amusement. She peered at him from around the horse's head.
"Your reputation preceeds you, Captain."
He raised his brows, nodding for her to continue. This time, she did smile.
"Captain Jack Sparrow," she intoned as though reciting a story, and he stood a little straighter. Unfortunately, this also served to bring his hair back into the reach of that indecently curious horse of hers. While he flapped his hands to shoo the animal away from his scalp, he tried to keep his attention on what the Lady was saying.
He found that he very much liked the way she spoke his name.
"Gentleman Jack Sparrow," she went on, "Cunning Jack Sparrow. Jack the Daring, Jack the Audacious. Lucky Jack, even Mad Jack Sparrow." She shook her head. "So many stories, many of them strain the boundaries of possibility." Lady Miranda eyed him thoughtfully. "But in all of those stories, I've never once heard your name connected with the kind of savagery and brutality that so many others are known for."
She shuddered then, "I remember that Spaniard's exploits several years ago. He was right here -- in these very waters."
Unconsciously, Jack rubbed at his chest, feeling at one of the scarred indentations beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. He remembered that Spaniard, too.
"And then there was that horrible savage Barbossa, and his monstrous crew...scuttling ships with all hands trapped aboard." she went on, unnoticing. "I understand you actually played some part in bringing about that one's downfall."
Jack smiled tightly, but said nothing. Too many memories there, and most of them highly unpleasant.
Then the Lady laughed in real amusement. "And now, idealistic young ladies from here to the Old World sigh, and dream of being aboard the vessel that the romantic Pirate Captain raises his colors on."
"Hmmm..." Jack smoothed his mustache and grinned wickedly. "And how many of these young, idealistic ladies of yours are we talking about here? Twenty? Fifty? More?" he asked hopefully.
"Captain, I refuse to pander to your already considerable ego." she retorted, but with warmth in her voice.
"Well, it would be such a shame to disappoint the poor darlings." He sighed then in a parody of regret, and puffed out his chest. "I'm not sure I could live with myself."
"You are so odd." Her voice was thoughtful, then. "You're nothing at all like what I would have expected."
Jack shrugged, and ducked under a low hanging branch.
"I'm just old Jack, Lady. What was it you might have been expecting?"
"Well, somebody much taller, actually." was the ready answer, and he visibly deflated.
"According to some, you're reputed to be about ten feet tall, able to snap a bowsprit in your bare hands, and can repel bullets with a glance."
He snorted bitterly. "Would that the last were true."
"Yes..." she said, and her features were grave. "I did notice that the other day. How did you ever manage to --" But she never finished the question, for at that moment, her horse stopped in his tracks, one hoof stamping insistently.
"I know, we're back." she told the animal. Then to Jack she said, "He likes to run me around the stables before he's put back. Just to show off. If I don't humor him, he'll sulk for days."
"Oh." He had no idea what she might have been talking about, but then she clambered up into the saddle as easily as he would scale his ships rigging. He thought he caught a glimpse of trousers beneath her long skirts as she settled in and took up the reins.
"Pardon me, Captain. This won't take long." Then she leaned over the great black neck, and softly said, "Home."
Without further urging, the horse broke into a canter, forelegs lifting high with each step. Jack followed to the edge of the clearing, watching after them, the woman looking even tinier on the back of the immense beast.
They cantered on for a distance, then the horse stretched out into a full on gallop, great clumps of earth flew from its hooves as it sped around the perimeter of the trees. He lost sight of them behind the low buildings that were the stables, then they emerged soon after on the other side, still moving at great speed.
Jack felt a sudden lurch in the general region of his stomach -- the Lady had dropped the reins!
Her arms outstretched at her sides, hat ribbons flying out behind her, she rode with her head tipped back, eyes closed, and with a smile plainly evident on her face. The pair thundered past the fenced paddock, and for just a moment, Jack forgot to breathe.
Then the horse checked its speed, and she dropped her arms, taking up the reins again, and the moment was gone.
They galloped in a wide arc, heading back toward the stables, when the horse suddenly tossed its head, and hurled itself out in another break-neck run straight for the paddock instead.
Jack's stomach lurched again, and he feared his hostess was in fact insane But her expression showed that she was as surprised as he. He saw her bury her hands in the waving mane, and lean forward in the saddle. Belatedly, Jack ran towards the paddock, having a hideous premonition of what the animal was about to do, and wondering helplessly if he was about to see the woman get her neck broken.
Her horse advanced all too rapidly on the fence, and at the last possible moment, gathered itself and launched into the air.
Jack skidded to a halt as the pair sailed easily over the gate, Miranda clinging to the saddle as if stuck there with tar. Her laughter rang like a bell as her animal pranced outrageously around the paddock, finally strutting to a stop with its head lifted proudly.
"Reckless old fool!" she cried fondly, dismounting. She rubbed her gloved hands over the black muzzle, and up into the mane. "What was that display for, hmmm?"
"Can I start my heart again, Lady?" another voice called out. A plain faced, barrel chested man unhitched the gate, and stepped into the enclosure. "The two of you have just scared ten years out of me."
"It wasn't my idea," Miranda protested, "Ask this mad show-off here." She grabbed the bridal, and planted a noisy kiss on the creature's nose. "I don't know what's come over you today." she said wonderingly to the horse.
Jack had his suspicions about that. The horse pawed at the dirt, stomped emphatically, then threw up its head with a shatteringly loud call, all the while fixing his own humble self with a dark eye.
"Goodness!" Miranda remarked demurely, hand pressed to her bossom.
"That's done it." her stable man said dryly as other equine voiced raised in response, "Old Reisen's set the lot of 'em off. Better let me take him now, Lady."
"Thank you, Shem." She handed over the reins, and preceeded them out of the enclosure, loosening the ribbons of her hat and pulling it from her head. The sunlight glowed off her auburn hair, and her face was flushed becomingly.
Jack felt his mouth grow dry. He'd always had a particular weakness for redheads. Lord knows he'd had the bruised cheeks -- and ego -- to prove it.
She stripped off her gloves as she neared him, tossing them carelessly into her hat, and brushing back errant strands of hair from her face.
Perhaps a bruised cheek might be a small price to pay...
Jack shook himself, and fixed a sardonic smile on his lips.
"Was this a look at the fabled hereditary insanity of the aristocracy?"
"It wasn't my idea," she insisted again, rather plaintively this time, "Really, he's never done anything like this before. Not even..."
She shrugged delicately, and walked away from him, heading towards the house.
Jack kept pace with her, hands once more clasped behind his back.
"May I point out that her Ladyship has a habit of not finishing her sentences?" he asked wryly.
"You may." she said softly, a dreamy look still on her face. She craned her neck to look back at the stables. Jack felt he could hardly be blamed for admiring the long lines of the throat she was so innocently displaying for him. She didn't notice this either.
"That must be what it's like to fly." Her voice was almost reverent.
"I suppose so." Jack replied slowly, but his mind was now far away from pleasant gardens and enticing feminine charms.
It rode height atop the mainmast -- the tallest point on the Pearl. He remembered the fresh smell of the salt air, and how it was to look out upon the open waters. No boundaries. No borders. Just the endless skies above, and the equally vast seas around, and the sound of the wind that rushed through his hair, tugging playfully at his clothes as his ship cut a path through the deep.
The feeling was...it was indescribable. If the Lady Miranda wanted to know what it felt like to truly soar...
He sighed, and the longing for home was an actual, physical pain.
"Captain?"
Jack blinked at the sound of her voice, and his step faltered. He stopped, wavering unsteadily on a surface that felt unnaturally still beneath him.
"Eh?" He turned, and saw her uncertain look. "Oh...Just haven't gotten me landlegs, Lady." he said in a self mocking way, deliberately adding more of the "salt" back into his speech.
"I asked if you felt alright." She stepped closer, the sun flashing off the ring on her hand as she raised it to his forehead. "It should be too early in the day for you to be showing symptoms yet."
She felt the side of his face. "No chills?"
"Not even a shivering of my timbers."
That startled her. "You said what?"
"Never mind."
"Bend down." she said, now catching him off guard. "Bend down," she said again, "You've got something in your -- there." She reached up, and Jack felt a tug at his hair. She drew back, holding a twig in her fingers complete with flower and leaves, and held it up for his inspection.
"It didn't exactly match the rest of your...look." She gestured at his hair trinkets. "Wouldn't be very piraty."
He took the twig, then leaned back, frowning comically. "Piraty?" he repeated with a curl to his lip.
"Never mind." Miranda said primly, but the corners of her mouth turned up.
She turned away again, and after a speculative look, Jack followed. He wondered then just when he'd started to think of her as anything other than a title. She gave him no time to pursue the thought, but addressed him once more.
" Now, what were we discussing before? Oh yes...your rather unique reputation."
"I thought we were still on those hoards of admiring young ladies."
She cut her eyes to him, and huffed a short sigh. "As I was saying, with only a few exceptions, you and your men have conducted yourselves in a manner that I wouldn't have expected from people of your chosen...er -- vocation."
Jack pursed his lips. "And those exceptions would be?"
Miranda looked as though she was having difficulty keeping a straight face.
"Well, besides your rather unorthodox method of gaining entry, you were a bit of a problem last evening. I had to have your men restrain you."
"I tried to kill you again?" he asked, wincing.
"Oh no, on the contrary, you seemed very happy to see me. You made all sorts of highly impropper suggestions -- among other things. Thankfully the laudanum slowed you down enough for me to get out of reach." She turned to him, eyes widened artlessly, "Dare I ask who this 'Scarlet' person is that you mistook me for?"
Jack stared hard at her, feeling his face grow very warm -- something he'd not had happen in more years than he could remember. He tried to think of a suitable comeback, but that part of his brain was apparantly just as dumbfounded as the rest of him by his unexpected blush.
He settled for clearing his throat, and picking up the pace, his borrowed clothes flapping loosely around his frame. She caught up with him after a few steps, easily matching his stride.
"Actually," she began, "I suppose it's really because of AnaMaria. That I took you for your word, I mean." Her voice was serious now. All trace of mockery gone. "I didn't think that men like...that pirates would risk themselves for their wounded."
Someday, Jack thought, he would find the man who'd revealed the so-called 'Code of the Bretheren' to the world at large, and pitch the bloody nuisance off a cliff.
"Will she be able to move soon?" he asked instead.
Miranda clasped her hands, then toyed nervously with her ring. "She's only had three days of mending, Captain. I'm afraid that's just not enough. And while there's no sign of infection set in, you just can't set and bind a broken rib like you would an arm or leg -- it moves when she does, and every time she draws breath, for that matter. She's in a great deal of pain. Even with the sedatives I'm giving her."
She looked up, almost shyly. "Can you not spare her more time?"
Jack stopped abruptly and wheeled on her. "And how much time do you recommend, Lady?" he asked sharply, his frustration boiling over. "A week? Two, maybe?" He raised his arm, pointing. "My ship is out there, and between me and it are an army of people who already have me fitted for a crow's cage."
He loomed over her now, putting his face very close to her own. She shrank back from his anger, but did not retreat.
"How long do you truly believe it will be before somebody lets it slip that the good Lady Warringford is entertaining some rather questionable individuals? We cannot stay here." He stalked away, faster this time, with Miranda rushing alongside.
"But you don't have to," she exclaimed, struggling to keep up, "I've already offered you the option of leaving her with me until she's well enough --"
"Oh, yes," he cut her off with a sneer, never slowing his stride, "A most elegant solution, wouldn't you say, Milady? You can rid yourself of your most unwelcome guests, and gain the return of your runaway slave all in one."
He heard a harsh gasp, and then she was in front of him. He jarred to a halt to avoid running into her.
"How dare you!" she snapped, voice low and throbbing with indignation, "AnaMaria was never my slave. She was a freed woman before she even set foot over my threshold."
Miranda was on her toes, pushing her flushed, outraged face into his, and her eyes were as hard as agates. "I wanted her to stay out of concern for her. Don't presume to impose your own depraved ideals on my motivations."
He rocked back on his heels, glaring down at her. "Your pardon, Milady," he began, harshly overemphasizing the honorific, "But I don't believe you fully understand --"
"Captain Sparrow, what you believe is of little or no consequence to me." Her voice was like ice, and her face once again set in a stony mask. Miranda was gone, and the remote Lady Warringford was firmly back in place.
Slowly, Jack raised his hands as though in surrender. Her eyes dropped to his hands. He saw something flare within those eyes, just for an instant, only to see them turn bleak a moment later. She spun on her heel, and was off without another word.
He reached out after her, then stared hard. In his outstretched fingers he still held the twig she'd pulled from his hair. The flower and leaves pathetically crushed in his anger. He spread his fingers, and watched the twisted remains fall to the ground, suddenly feeling like a brute.
"I misjudged you."
She stilled, but didn't look back.
"Yes, you did." she said when he drew near.
"Seems to be a lot of that going on." Jack offered weakly. She made no reply to this, and the silence stretched out uncomfortable between them.
"Well, for God's sake, woman," he rumbled finally, "Are you going to accept the apology, or does a man have to grovel in the dirt at your feet before you'll take pity on him?"
"Don't be absurd." Her voice was reserved, but perhaps not quite as frosty. She angled her head to look up at him.
"There is your own not inconsiderable illness to deal with as well, Captain." The Lady squared her shoulders, and turned her body towards him. "A flag of truce - at least until these current problems are resolved?"
Jack grinned hugely. "A truce it is, then." he said magnanimously, spreading out his arms, "And may I say that I'm touched by your concern for my well being. You know, I'm actually feeling a bit peaky right now, would you be caring to feel my forehead again?" He leaned closer, waggling his eyebrows expectantly.
There -- he had her off balance once more. She shook her head in disbelief at his sudden antics, and the corners of her eyes crinkled charmingly with her unguarded smile.
"Milady!"
Jack started at the urgent voice. So did Miranda. She snapped around to face the stone steps leading to the house.
Margret was rapidly descending, her skirts gathered up in her arms.
"What now?" Miranda asked in a pained voice, so quietly that Jack knew it was for his ears only. Reaching the bottom, Margret ran the remaining distance, plainly in great distress.
"I'm sorry, Milady, but he pushed his way in! He says he won't go until he speaks with you. Lord Dunnthorpe." she added belatedly.
Frowning, Jack looked to the Lady for explanation.
Miranda's face had drained of color. She stood very still, staring at her maid as if she hadn't understood. Her bloodless lips moved, but no sound came out.
"Here?" she managed finally in a hoarse whisper, "He's here...in my house?"
Margret nodded miserably.
Miranda closed her eyes and swayed dangerously. Without thinking, Jack caught her by the arm to steady her. She leaned hard against him, her fingers wrapping convulsively around his wrist. They felt like ice.
She regained her balance, looking up at the house.
"Where?"
"The parlor." Margret's voice was equally hushed.
The lady made as though to move, and Jack released her arm. But her hand was still locked around his wrist. She glanced at this, then up to his face. Her eyes were hollow -- the kind of look Jack had seen in men when they went into a battle they didn't expect to survive. He saw her brows knit. Slowly, her fingers released their hold, and she drew away. She had reached the bottom of the steps when Margret called after her.
"Bill's still not back yet, Lady. Do you want me to fetch Shem?"
Miranda paused, nodded once, then stiffly ascended, and was soon lost from sight.
"Mother of God..." Margret whispered.
"Who's in there?" Jack demanded, still fixed on the doorway. "Who is this 'Dunnthorpe'?"
He heard the maid's skirt rustle in the tense quiet.
"He was her husband."
Jack turned, but with another muffled oath, Margret was already running down the path to the stables.
He faced the house again, and wondered what manner of madness he and his people had walked in to.
"Whatever it is, Jack," he muttered aloud, "You've no buisness with it."
Yet he found his feet mounting the steps anyway.
