Authoress' Note: Hello all! Thank you so much to those of you who been keeping up with this and reviewing! You have no idea how excited it makes me to see all those reviews in my inbox. Sort of makes me into a bit of an airhead, but I think that's how all authors feel at some point. Reality will set in eventually. Also, thank you to anyone who gave me some ideas for a future vignette. This one is sort of a random one that I wrote after reading your ideas, but don't worry, another one farther down the line will make its debut eventually. Just to let all of you know this may be my last update for a good 2 weeks. Things are getting really hectic around here. Keep the reviews coming!

Stumbling Steps in the Dark

I slip out of the blacksmith's shop as discreetly as I can and try to melt into the darkness descending from the heavens. The clopping of horse's hooves against the cobblestones causes me to jump and pull my shawl up and around my head so that I can't be easily identified.

"It's getting a little late, isn't it?" James' voice asks from behind me. My heart jolts in my chest at the sound, and I pull my shawl tighter underneath my chin, nodding my head slightly in agreement.

James' horse pulls up directly next to me, and I lower my head slightly so that he can't see the side of my face. He looms over me, unsuspecting.

"Would you like some company on your way home? It's dangerous for a young lady like you to be wandering around her alone in the dark."

I close my eyes, taken aback slightly by his chivalry. Slowly, I lower my shawl to my shoulders and look up at James. He is shocked momentarily before arranging his face into a more neutral stance. His horse comes up short, and he pulls her in to block my path and keep me from moving.

"I insist on walking you home, Miss Swann," he says, his tone more firm, as he slides down from the saddle and doubles the horse's reins around his hand.

I put a hand on his arm, stopping both of us in the middle of the empty road. He turns to me, his eyes confused.

"You may walk with me under two conditions," I say in a business-like voice that causes one of James' eyebrows to disappear under his wig for a moment, "First, you will not ask what I have been doing. Second, if my Father asks, you will say we met up in the market. I was running errands for Charlotte. Is that clear?"

James looks slightly disheartened at such a response despite the face he had offered himself so nicely, but he nods, pulls at his horse's reins again, and we start off again in silence. Night has fallen in that short space of time, and I admit to myself that I am grateful for having James with me for we are passing the tavern where a brothel has been known to exist under cover of darkness.

The dank stench of alcohol and smoke wafts down to us as we pass. The strumming of a guitar can be heard accompanying a young woman's voice. The men's voices are loud and boisterous. It is obvious that many are already drunk. We side step a man lying stone asleep in the filth of the street and ignore the raucous sounds being made by a man and a woman in an alley off to our left.

We hurry on, James apologizing over and over again for having to take me through such a rough part of town. I am glad for the gloom and lack of street lamps, as I would not want him to see the blush spreading across my cheeks. After he apologises for the fifth time I put a hand on his arm again to stop him. His speaking instantly ceases.

"James, how do you think I got to the blacksmith's shop? There's only one road that goes there. It was inevitable that I should have to go that way. There's no need to apologise."

"Why didn't you go earlier then, before it got dark?" he says sharply. He is angry, and I can't understand why.

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, James Norrington," I seethe, taking my hand from its place on his arm. He takes hold of my upper arm firmly with his hand then, and we march along much quicker than before. He stares straight ahead, his eyes unblinking and his mouth set in a straight line.

"And what would have happened if one of those men from the tavern had got hold of you?" he whispers icily, and his grip on my arm tightens painfully, "Would you have been capable of taking care of yourself then?"

"James, stop-" I cry, his hand becoming tighter and tighter, "James, you're hurting me!"

Instantly, he lets go as though he has been burned and stares at his hand with disgust. He looks at me then as I rub my arm unconsciously. I look away from the burning in his eyes, and when I look back at him his eyes have softened. He brings his hand up to my cheek but does not touch me. There is hardly any space between us, and I shiver involuntarily.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth," he whispers, the moon reflected in his brown eyes, "I just- I would hate to see you hurt in such a way. I can hardly imagine what they would do to you. I don't want to imagine it . . ."

He trails off and looks away, shuddering. After several minutes we continue onward, and we do not speak until we have entered onto more well lit streets. James breathes an audible sigh of relief next to me, and he pats his horse's nose with his free hand.

We stop short at the front gate, and I take James' hand in mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. It is all I can offer him. He brings my hand to his lips and kisses it gently, and though my spine tingles at the touch I cannot allow him to go much further.

"Thank you for your company, James," I say, looking down at my skirt, "I only wonder why you did it. It couldn't have been just a mere act of chivalry or else you would have gone after that young woman in the alley as well."

He looks down at our entwined hands, and then meets my eyes again.

"I lo- I deeply care for you, Miss Swann, and as I said, I wouldn't have been able to stand it if you had come to any harm," he says simply, and with another gentle squeeze of my hand, he lets it fall gently back to my side.

We walk up the drive in silence putting on a façade of relief and happiness, hoping that it will dissuade any other notion of what we could have been doing at such an hour. It seems to work. Papa and Charlotte answer the door together and are overjoyed to see me even as James Norrington is regaling the tale of how we met at the market and spent too much time talking.

Papa has a twinkle in his eye, and I believe, fully trusts the story, however Charlotte knows better. I can see the keen sharpness in her eye when James mentions I was doing errands for Charlotte. I feign fatigue, however, and after sending the Captain on his way, I am sent up to bed without a word of interrogation or recompense.

That night I dream of a man on a white horse rescuing me over and over again from a creeping darkness coming from beneath the blacksmith's shop door. It steals over the cobblestones behind me as I search vainly for my way home, until just as I am utterly trapped, the man, shrouded in white, swoops down from on high and carries me away.

Authoress' Note: ANGST, ANGST, ANGST!!!