Chapter 10 – Ravished By A Pirate

*hidalgo – a Spanish nobleman

On they trekked, until reaching a rocky clearing. The sun hung low in the sky, dusk close at hand. Jack pointed up, and she could just make out the silhouette of a ship teetering precariously upon another cliff.

"More bloody climbing," she grumbled under her breath, her legs burning from the day's exertions.

"Almost there, Lizzy," Jack encouraged her, taking her hand once more. "Mayhap the ship will make a good shelter for the night."

Nodding, she followed him without further complaint up the craggy mountain.

The deck boards groaned as they stepped upon the ship, the ancient wooden monstrosity protesting their weight. It seemed to shift a little as they made their way down the companionway, and the pair of explorers proceeded with caution, eyes wide. They searched for the captain's cabin, thinking that anything of extreme value would be stashed away there.

Upon entering, they were met by quite a grisly sight. Ponce de Leon himself still occupied his cabin, his skeleton on the verge of turning to dust in the huge carved wood berth. Jack seemed unaffected by the macabre scene, smiling wide enough for gold to flash in the shadows of the room. "Oh look, Lizzy! Ever made love in an hidalgo's bed?"

Elizabeth raised one eyebrow. The prospect seemed dubious at best. "I fear not. Have you?"

He laughed, perching upon the edge of the bed. A cloud of dust erupted from the counterpane, causing Elizabeth to sneeze. The memory of this certain something seemed to bring him much delight, a twinkle in his eye as he recounted, "Once in one of the minutes in history when the English weren't at war with Spain we put in at Cadiz. I was very young, no more than fifteen, and a pretty lad I was, if I don't say so me'self. I caught the eye of a lonely doña rolling by in her carriage…a lady whose name I don't recall," he finished, noting the unamused glare being shot his way. "Oh, Lizzy. C'mere, meant nothing by it. I'm old, you know. Had a few adventures, before finding you."

"You may finish your story, so long as her name was not Anjelica," Elizabeth huffed, accepting Jack's outstretched hand.

"It most certainly was not, love. Said she was a lady. But perhaps it's a story for another night. Or never, as it were."

She allowed him to pull her into the circle of his arms, standing between his long legs. Elizabeth sighed, tracing the curve of his brow and cheek. "I want to hear about your adventures, Jack. I know you lived a long and full life before meeting me."

Jack closed his eyes, lulled by her caresses. He was exhausted, and yet having her in his arms set him on fire. "Reckon ye had a few of your own adventures in my absence," he mused, his tongue darting out as her fingers traced the fullness of his lips.

A sad smile tugged at the corner of Lizzy's lips as she thought of the adventures she'd had in those years she marked in her memory by Jack's absence. "You want to hear about my paltry escapades, Jack? Perhaps how I lost my virginity to First Lieutenant Reginald Stark, for no better reason than he was in possession of laughing dark eyes and a hint of rogue that slightly reminded me of you? Ah, then there was Lucas Pembroke, the next Viscount of Westmorland, another swarthy rascal who inexplicably proposed immediately after, even though he was already engaged. That nearly caused quite a scandal. And then—"

Jack found his insides twisting at the thought of these other men touching his Lizzy. Jack had found Elizabeth's jealousy amusing. Sweet. More than a bit gratifying…and yet now that the tables were turned—so did his stomach. He'd never been a jealous man before, and yet suddenly he could not stand to let her go on. He silenced her with gentle fingers upon her lips. "Point taken, darlin'. We'll keep those adventures to ourselves, eh?"

Elizabeth leaned into his touch, closing her eyes so that he would not see the sudden wave of pain that clenched her heart. "All I wanted was you," she admitted in a rare moment of wide-open vulnerability. The back of her throat suddenly felt unbearably tight. I will not cry she resolved, clenching her jaw. Bloody useless thing to do.

When Jack's lips touched hers the urge faded, replaced by something shining and new within her.

"I'm sorry, Lizzy," he murmured between kisses. "I promise I'll make it up to you."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," she sighed, and her statement won a bitter chuckle.

"Not even I believe that, darlin'," he assured her, resting his head upon her breast. It was Elizabeth's turn to sigh as his strong hands kneaded her sides, finding their way under her shirt once more. It was still a little damp from their dip in the river.

Elizabeth gasped as he pressed his lips to the bare skin of her chest, pulling her closer with hands splayed across her back. Her legs felt weak as he continued to blaze a path up her neck, nibbling upon her jawline. "Were you serious?" she panted. "Here, in this filthy bed?" She wanted to protest, but found with Jack's hands upon her she couldn't think of a single reason she should really say no. She wanted—needed—to be close to him. To feel his body pressed against hers. It was the best remedy she could think of against all their troubles in the world.

Jack chuckled against her skin, a low sound that tugged at something deep in her belly. "I tend to forget where I really am when I'm with you. Moldery old bed or a ship beset by Kraken…"

Elizabeth stiffened for the reminder of her betrayal, suddenly turned to stone beneath his touch. "Will you never forgive me?" she whispered.

Jack cursed himself for sticking his foot in his mouth again. He was bloody tired, and could hardly think first about the words flowing out his mouth. "I do believe I was making a joke of it, love. A compliment, even. It's done. Past. Behind us. I forgave you a long time ago. Can you forgive me?"

"It seems I always do." In the next few seconds she melted against him, forgetting herself, where they were, her fingers in Jack's hair and her mouth upon his. Clever fingers began working the buttons of her vest, and she well would have let him strip her from head to toe had not a pointed voice from the shadows interrupted them.

"Not that I'm surprised to see you two have finally taken up, and not that I wouldn't mind watching, but don't you have something a bit more pressing at hand?"

Elizabeth jerked up, a hand grasping for a sword that was not at her hip. "Hector Barbossa?"

"In the flesh, your Highness." He stepped forward from the shadows, his peg leg clunking upon the rotting planking. He offered a sweeping bow that relayed far more mockery than respect.

Elizabeth's fist clenched at her side, the urge to hit him surging in her blood as she remembered everything Jack had told her. She took a step towards him, and the ship lurched. Jack grabbed her arm, pulling her back, and the ship balanced again. "Much as we'd both like to trounce the scoundrel, love, perhaps a bit more tact while we are balanced upon this see-saw in the sky?"

Barbossa's smile only widened, displaying his yellowed teeth. His eyes strayed downward in a leer, and Elizabeth realized her shirt was open to her naval, the wrappings that bound her breasts on open display. With an indignant huff she turned to right herself once more, grumbling about lecherous pirates. Jack tactfully stepped in front of her, though he could not suppress a rather triumphant twist of lips. "So is it safe to assume you're after the Fountain as well, Hector?"

"A safe bet indeed, Jack. More specifically, those silver chalices. As you two lovebirds were banging about above deck I found this." He toed a wooden box out from under the bed, the imprints of two chalices empty within it. "I fear our friends the Spanish have beaten us to them."

Jack sighed, raising an eyebrow. "Of course they have."

"Mayhap we should work together to get them back? I know where they're camped…"

"Why cut us in on the deal?" asked Elizabeth suspiciously, winning another yellowed grin.

"Why not for old time's sake, your Majesty."

"Old time's sake my arse," she huffed, crossing her arms and winning a chuckle from the older pirate turned privateer.

"And a fine one it is, Pirate King. Very well. I am in possession of a good old fashioned English naval crew. A blunt instrument, as it were. What I need is something better suited for subtlety."

"You need Jack's smarts," she filled in.

"Lad has his faults, but his skill in an underhanded heist is rivaled by none. I don't fancy taking on the Spaniards in a fair fight. They outnumber us three to one. Best to sneak in and sneak out, with no one the wiser." He clomped his peg leg on the decking, causing the ship to teeter. "As ye can see, stealth ain't my strong suit anymore."

Elizabeth turned to regard Jack, who was uncharacteristically silent through all this. His dark eyes fixed upon Hector, and had that stare been directed her way Elizabeth would have been worried.

"I have yet to understand why we need you," she prompted, though she already had an inkling of where Hector was headed with their negotiations.

"We get the chalices," said Barbossa. "You take them to the fountain. Leave a trail for my men and I to follow. Keep Blackbeard unawares, and at the opportune moment I will strike. You two lovebirds go free, I get to kill Blackbeard, and with any luck we'll be off this rock before the Spanish are any the wiser."

"What has you so determined to cross swords with Blackbeard?" asked Jack.

"We have a score to settle. That devil turned the Pearl against me and my crew with his black magic. Ropes came alive, strangling men to death, throwing them overboard. I had to cut off my own leg to escape."

Wondering if Barbossa knew the Pearl dwelled in a bottle aboard the Revenge, he asked, "And what happened to her after that?"

"Sunk I presume, God rest her soul. I passed out in a longboat, and when I woke she and the Revenge were gone."

Noting the tension in Jack's shoulders at mention of his other great love, Elizabeth smoothed a hand over his back. He eased a little, leaning into her touch. She tactfully changed the subject, "And you will take the chalices back to King George, I presume?"

Barbossa shrugged. "I must have something to show for my troubles, your Highness. Wouldn't mind a crack at the Fountain, either. M'no spring chicken anymore, if ye haven't noticed." Slyly he looked to Jack. "Neither is he, truth be told."

Elizabeth wondered what Hector knew of the ritual, but as long as Jack kept his mouth shut she would do the same. Hector was not a man who would flinch at trading a life for life if it meant prolonging his own. However, he was an excellent sort to have around when there were throats that needed cutting. Perhaps this could work to their advantage somehow after all.

They found the Spanish encamped not far from Ponce de Leon's ship, in a clearing. There were at least a hundred men, the camp a sprawl of tents stretching as far as the eye could see. One particular structure stood out, bigger, outfitted with draperies bearing a coat of arms. Even in the heart of darkness, the Spanish nobility made sure they were paid their proper due.

"My money's on the chalices being in there," murmured Jack, watching the encampment mill about, preparing to bed down for the night. They crouched on the outskirts, watching from the shadows beneath a palmetto.

"Then this will be like taking candy from a baby. Help me, Jack." Elizabeth retreated further into the shadows, a dress they'd found in a chest in Ponce's ship rolled up under her arm.

"Are ye sure you want to do this, Lizzy?" Jack didn't sound terribly enthused for the plan he'd come up with himself. Mainly because it involved sending Elizabeth into the heart of the enemy camp.

"It will be the easiest way. We already talked about this. Come on."

Jack sighed, supposing it was true. Elizabeth still possessed the type of heart-stopping beauty that caused men to lose their wits, just by her walking into a room. He was fairly certain the Spaniards would stand little chance against her. He certainly didn't.

She began to strip out of her knickers and shirt, and when Barbossa so much as hinted at moving his head in her direction Jack snarled, "Eyes forward, less ye want t'lose them too."

Barbossa snickered, but did as he was told.

Elizabeth looked up with the skirt of the dress about her waist, frozen in place by the expression of raw hunger in Jack's eyes. A sudden flush of heat blossomed across her skin, her lips parted in a silent oh of longing. A small sound escaped her as Jack grabbed her up, slanting his mouth over hers. He tugged at the wrappings that bound her breasts, winning a small whimper that lit him on fire. Somehow he managed to unwrap her and dress her at the same time, pulling up the sleeves and unwinding the linen in a flurry of clever fingers. His hands strayed to the soft flesh of her breasts more than once, kindling an ache of longing in her belly and between her legs. He turned her in his arms to lace up the back of the gown, pulling harder on the strings than was absolutely necessary, his breathing ragged. She felt herself turn to putty in his hands, marveling at how she loved being manhandled by him.

Clearly she had lost her mind?

Perhaps long ago, when it came to Jack Sparrow.

As he tied her off he turned her once more in the circle of his arms. "Poor darling," he murmured against the skin of her throat, sucking at her flesh hard enough to leave a mark. "Ye look like you've been ravished by a pirate," he said with a smirk, his fingers tangling in her hair, giving it a good hard tousle that caused her to arch against him.

Strong hands travelled to the bodice of her dress, ripping it a little, winning another moan that caused Barbossa to hiss, "Quiet! I'm not going to die tonight because the two of you were too stupid to not have swived each other by now…"

Suddenly embarrassed, Elizabeth stilled against Jack, her breath heavy against the hollow of his throat. She felt his lips curl with amusement against her temple. " 'Spose he's right."

"Promise me we'll try this again later?" she whispered, nibbling at the lobe of his ear. Jack felt his knees go weak beneath him.

"Oh, that's a promise, love. Ready?" He pulled the shoulder of her gown down a little, scrutinizing her like arranging a work of art before him.

"Quite. Let's collect us some chalices, hmm?" She kissed him once more, and before she could lose her nerve she stumbled into the camp, crying out when she reached the ring of torchlight. "Help! Ayuadame!" She put on quite a show of womanly vapors, babbling about the evil Blackbeard and how she'd escaped the pirate's clutches. The leader of the expedition himself came to investigate the fuss, and before the soldiers could get their own ideas of what to do with a woman like Elizabeth she was bundled off to the commander's own tent, seated with a blanket about her shoulders.

By the appraising look the commander paid her, she felt certain she had the chalices in the bag already. There they sat in plain view upon his table, gleaming in the candlelight. She pointedly avoided looking at them, casting her eyes to the Spaniard before her instead. He was a handsome fellow, dark eyed and caramel skinned. Just her type she thought with amusement. He possessed proud lips, which pursed with sympathy as he looked upon her.

"You poor dear," he said in surprisingly good if not accented English. "Here. This will steady your nerves." He poured a healthy measure of brandy, placing the cut crystal glass in front of her. She did not have to feign enjoyment; the Don's liquor was top shelf.

"What is your name?"

"M—Mary," she stuttered. That was a good choice, wasn't it? These Papists had a soft spot for the Virgin if not for anything else. "Mary Witherspoon."

He gave a small bow, a hand pressed over his heart. "Senorita Witherspoon. I am Don Francisco de Gallo y Espinoza. Rest easy, my lady, you are safe now."

If she had been anyone else, by the look in his eyes, sharp like that of a hawk's, she would have pegged him a liar. But she was the Pirate King, she reminded herself. She could take him if she had to, and anyone else who dared get in her way.

"My, that's quite an impressive name you have," she simpered, looking up from under her eyelashes calculatingly. She watched as his dark pupils dilated, and Don Francisco neared closer to her like a moth drawn to a flame.

Men.

He came to sit on the table beside her, subtly looking down the front of her torn dress as he did so.

"Tell me how you came into Blackbeard's possession," he said, and she spun a tale of her ship being captured and everyone but her being cut down. He tried to see if she knew anything about the Fountain, without exactly mentioning the Fountain, and she danced around it with the expertise of a woman accustomed to subterfuge. She gleaned quite a bit from Don Francisco, without really giving anything away herself.

"And where is Blackbeard's camp now?"

"I don't know," she sighed, paying a baleful glance back to the jungle. "I had the opportunity to slip away, so I ran and ran. For hours. I saw the lights of your fires, so I came here, hoping…" Once again she pretended to be overcome with emotion, when really she was stifling a laugh, her narrow shoulders shaking.

Anytime now, Jack…

"Shhh, there there," soothed Don Francisco, taking her hand in his. He had rather nice hands, she observed objectively. Long fingers. Trimmed nails. A bit soft for her liking…

An explosion rocked the East side of the camp, and she screamed. "Blackbeard! He's found me!" she exclaimed, laying it on thick.

"Stay here!" exclaimed Don Francisco, snatching up his sword and pistol. Men shouted outside, the sound of boots tramping the ground as soldiers ran towards the commotion.

There was another explosion, and she ducked under the table, feigning a sob. "Oh God!"

Francisco dashed out of the tent, barking orders in rapid-fire Castilian. Very calmly Elizabeth stood from under the table, put the chalices in a sack, and went the opposite direction.

A/N: A sincere thank you for your comments! They brighten my day, and make writing this SO much more enjoyable!