Author's Note: Hello and welcome to chapter eleven of "Rubicon". This chapter jumps ahead a bit but things will slow down after this. I would like to thank everyone who read and reviewed so far, ElfLuver13, Tiera-Tarie, sudoku, DemonicSymphony, and Astraeas Dreams. Thank you all! I love receiving your comments. As always, I do not have a beta for this fic, so any mistakes that appear are mine and mine alone. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Pirates of the Caribbean.

May 1, 1731

Log,

The coach bounces to and fro. I am hard put to keep my writing steady and the ink bottle trembles upon my knee. Anne is sleeping and I am glad for it. She needs her rest.

The countryside passes by, filled with palm trees and strange flowers. Wild birds of different colors race across the roadway and I can smell the sweetness of the tropical fruits only found in Jamaica. England does not have such delicacies and yet England has proper fox hunting.

It is an unfair trade in many ways. One may live in paradise but must cast off any form of civility. I am not sure which I prefer yet. Much is to be found in the Caribbean and the East India Trading Company flourishes. But Anne misses England as do I. There is certainly something to be said for its moors and meadows and moody weather.

I suppose I must not complain. There is contentment to be found here and wealth. With the particular aid of my newly acquired ship, my prestige grows as do my profits. I have been able to…confiscate certain contraband and increase the affluence of the Company. Perhaps soon I will be able to ship all the comforts of England here. The foxes cost me a pretty penny as did Anne's new pearl necklace.

I am not a frugal man. I spend my money freely but not recklessly. Enhancing our reputation with luxury is not a crime and Anne does look so lovely in the silks and jewels I purchase for her. My greatest desire is to ensure her happiness, in whatever way necessary.

We travel now to a foxhunting party on Lord Nesbitt's plantation, some miles outside of Port Royal. I do not care to go, in truth, but Anne wishes it. Socialization, while pleasant, has its time and place. I should rather be back in town and at work, though Anne insists we must take time for frivolous pastimes. The town bores her and when she begged me to come along, I could not resist.

Perhaps this little outing will put some color back into her cheeks. I pray so, for she is often pale and sickly. I recall her sister Harriet's warning that I received so long ago and the chilling words of the maid, Agnes. Consumption, they said. It is a dreadful illness and causes most certain death. I have seen few of its victims in England. They waste away, so very slowly and they suffer.

I do not want Anne to suffer. And I do not want her to…to…die.

But I mustn't think of such now. Time will tell, I suppose, though I find comfort in the warm breezes. If she truly does have consumption, the humid air of the Caribbean should be of some help to her. We are in the best of places then and I should be content for her sweet company.

Anne was most cheerful when we set out for the plantation several hours ago. We spoke of many things and to my surprise, she brought up her uncle.

"Do you recall the distinct expression on his face when he first made your acquaintance?" she laughed.

I told her I did and we both smiled over it. My wife is different from most that harbor grudges. I have known men and women, for that matter, who refuse to speak the very name of their enemy. It is tiresome in way, to be bound up in so much hate. But Anne seems to have quite forgotten about. She talks of her uncle freely when he is brought up and remains calm.

I cannot tell, however, if any storm brews within.

She has changed in many ways, I think. In her youth Anne was a wild creature, so fierce and fiery that she enticed me thoroughly. Now she has gained a stoic's nature, controlled, indifferent and dignified. And I love her all the more

I fear I might bring about her temper once more though, for the subject of our son's education must be discussed. Anne does not wish him to be sent to any school when he is grown or to have strict tutors. I am afraid I disagree.

But I will let the matter rest for now and we shall enjoy our time at Lord Nesbitt's plantation. I have heard it is a fine place, with a well-appointed house and gardens. Perhaps I will build Anne a plantation someday and all of Jamaica will be her garden.

I try to settle my mind with fanciful thoughts. I am foolish, mayhap. Differing reports have reached me of late and some do worry me. It is said, or whispered, that Jack Sparrow is still alive.

I do not believe or I do not wish too. The Black Pearl sank along with her captain. And while Turner and Elizabeth Swann have not been accounted for, Sparrow is most certainly dead.

I do sincerely wish I had seen his body though.

I have kept such news from Norrington and Governor Swann. Mercer alone knows of it and he says little. I would rather not let Swann dare to hope for his daughter. The man has settled into sorrowful submission and he seems to grow older every day. His grief is expected, I suppose. If I received word that my son was dead I too would suffer greatly.

Norrington stays obedient and I meet with him frequently. He did once, however, inquire as to Anne's well being. That surprised me. She must have impressed her loveliness upon him during their crossing. Well, as long as he does not question me too thoroughly, I do not mind.

I should want no man to draw close to my wife.

Yesterday, I sent Norrington aboard my newest vessel and ordered him to tell the captain to attack a certain port. It is a small place, smaller than Tortuga or any other pirate port. But more and more, rogue ships have begun to dock there and conduct illegal trade. With any luck the matter will be settled by the time I return to Port Royal.

The afternoon is warm now and I grow weary. Perhaps I shall rest as Anne does, just for a short while. It is so dreadfully warm.

Lord Cutler Beckett

Later,

Log,

I awoke with a start and found myself still in the coach upon the road to Lord Nesbitt's. Anne dozes beside me and I cannot stop trembling. Dear God, I have been haunted by a dream. I feel ill, almost. The sky outside is dark with rain and thunder rumbles in the distance. What mischief is this?

When I first dozed, I dreamt of pleasant dreams. I lay with Anne in our garden in England. It was summer or so it seemed and the air was gentle. She spoke to me in whispers and smiled and no longer did she look ill. I pulled her closer.

But the garden faded and so did Anne. I stood upon the beach once more and night gathered about me. That wicked wench, that woman in rags, stood before me. She was smiling and her teeth were black. Stretching forth her hand, she took mine in her own and laughed.

"Aye, it will consume her. It will consume her." The woman's voice was strange and frightening. Terror filled me, deep and bewildering. I yanked my hand from her grasp and the dream ended.

What does it all mean?

In my heart, I fear the meaning is all too clear. Anne wheezes in her sleep.

Lord Cutler Beckett

Author's Note: I'd also like to say a quick thank you to everyone who read the one-shot I posted. The next one entitled "Frightful News" will be up on Sunday.