Chapter Eleven
Miranda opened her eyes and found herself in a bed. Bright light shone through the window, making her squint. She felt cold and realized she'd been stripped down to her underclothes. Her hair hung in damp, knotted tentacles.
And then she remembered.
When her body had crashed into the water, a burning pain like no other wracked her body as the salt of the ocean met her wounds. She remembered screaming, and hearing the men on the ship calling "woman overboard!"
Too overwhelmed with the pain, Miranda could not tread or even swim. She recalled feeling the cold strength of the sea wash over her head before the world went black.
On the table next to the bed were three gold coins.
Miranda swore coarsely. Everything she'd tried had failed. Thwarting the lifting of the curse had merely delayed them. She doubted they had even let fall the anchor to retrieve the medallions.
The door opened and the one man she wanted never to see again entered. Miranda was too weak to do anything, so she collapsed back against her pillow and glared at him.
"No need for that, Miss Farthin'. Ye made yer feelin's plain earlier."
"Why couldn't you just let me die?" Her voice was pathetic; softer than she'd wanted, and full of despair. She wished she could be braver, wished she could hide her feelings more thoroughly, but still the words left her mouth as weakly as snowflakes melting skin.
Barbossa dragged the chair from the corner to her bedside and sat down it. For a long moment neither spoke as they coldly beheld the other.
"Miss Farthin', I'm a cursed man," the captain began. "'Tis true I feel no pain nor discomfort when attempted, but I feel no joy either--be it tried or accidental. I always be hungry, always be thirsty, always be desi'rous of a warm touch, but do ye know what the worst part of the curse be?"
Miranda shook her head.
"Knowin'. See, Miss Farthin', I remember what this apple once tasted like. I remember how the cool sea wind felt on me face. I remember i'tall in agonizin' detail. And the same goes for emotions, but they give me little trouble. I know when I be angry even if I can' feel my own anger, and I can shape me face to appear angry.
'Now all this be terrible fer me crew; some in denial, some in despair, but all be miserable. A' first I saw 't as a blessin'. With no need to eat nor drink, nor pain to endure or emotions to cloud me judgment, I was impervious to defeat. Me crew and I could outlast any fight, fer we can' tire or die. Years of the curse wore on me crew an' I began to see it as less than a blessin'. That's when we started searchin' fer the pieces we'd gambled away.
'Thing is, I never thoroughly wished the curse from me hide till ye came kickin' an' bitin' yer way onto me ship." At this Barbossa stood and walked to the window, his back turned to Miranda. He withdrew an apple from his pocket and looked carefully at it.
"I know if I ate this apple, Miss Farthin', were I not cursed, t'would taste more wonderful than any apple I've ever eaten. I know what t'would taste like could I savor it, but when I try, all I feel is texture." He turned to look back at Miranda.
"I know that I want ye, Miss Farthin'. No mistakin' that. I want the fiery strumpet did kiss me in the brig, but even more," he stepped towards her. "I want this tearful lass that yesternight asked to help save me and me crew."
Miranda shied from his outstretched hand, her mind suddenly, horrifyingly blank. A part of her rose up, ready to greet his hand with hers, but the rest of her was the part that cringed under his gaze, knowing those hands had killed her brother.
Oh, cruel, cruel passion that defied her mourning heart! It was wicked and careless, begging her to forget the terrible past and sail with merry ease to the man before her. He killed her dearest friend and now looked to her with a lusty eye--an eye that could not be sated so long as the curse still hung over his head. Miranda worked through her tears and treacherous desires towards righteous indignation and finally sat up, looking coldly at the captain.
"You are a monster," she declared. "And I won't be some plaything to amuse you until you tire of me and cast me to the waves."
"Ye say that," Barbossa began quietly as he reached the bedside and leaned close to her, "as if I asked fer yer acquiescence in the matter."
Miranda scrambled back against the wall. "I'm not an object, captain. I may have a weak arm to fight you with but I'd rather die than find myself taken by you."
"Taken," Barbossa repeated, turning the word over in his head. "Aye, Miss Farthin', 'tis a good word. Soon I'll have every part of you."
Miranda scarcely formed the word "no" in her mouth when the man lunged at her, yanking her head towards his harshly with both hands and closing his mouth around hers. She struggled to turn her head, but his hands held tight.
As violent as his grip was on her, however, his lips were deftly gentle, his tongue maddeningly slow. To Miranda's horror, she found herself not completely averse to his actions, and what was even more, she found her own mouth greeting his more tenderly--deepening and lengthening the kiss.
She felt a cold rush of blood swoop through her chest as his hands abandoned their vice grip on her head to rove to her waist. One hand rode the curves up her side until it rested softly on her shoulder, and Miranda felt Barbossa pull back. She moved accordingly closer, challenging him to end the kiss.
In a swift movement he shoved her back against the wall, laughing all the while.
"Miss Farthin'," he managed to say, "there be not much left of ye to be takin'."
Breathless but fuming, Miranda looked sharply at him. "But do tell me, Captain," she spat, "how much of you was wishing that you could taste the softness of my mouth and feel the warmth of my curves against your palms?"
The smile flickered on Barbossa's mouth, and Miranda felt one of her own curving her lips. She'd struck a nerve. He didn't lash out, much to her surprise. Rather, his face was wiped of emotion, and his shoulders assumed a weary slump to them. His gaze met Miranda's, and she was struck with the thought that although he couldn't feel, some form of desolation could still deaden his eyes.
"Every part." His answer was simple, toneless, and Miranda winced as he slammed the door behind him. As she listened to his heavy footfalls fade into the distance, she fought the overwhelming urge to chase after him.
Monster, murderer. She tried pinning the words she'd called him earlier on his image, but found now it difficult. All she could think of was the despair in his eyes. Despite the curse, he had been human once, and part of him must still be human.
And Miranda wanted to know that part of him desperately.
/\
The next day the ship was anchored by the reef of a small island. From her room, Miranda could hear the men scurrying about the deck, and it occurred to her that perhaps she, too, could leave the ship. Heartened with this idea, she slipped from the cabin and made her way upstairs to the main deck. Through the hustle and bustle of the crew collecting trunks and crates to load onto the rowboats, she did not locate Barbossa among them. She ribboned her way to his dining quarters and softly knocked on the door.
"Enter." His voice was careless. Miranda soundlessly obeyed and saw the captain sitting with his back to her at the table.
"Captain?" she began softly. He whirled around and looked at her critically, then slowly nodded his head for her to continue. "I was wondering if I might be able to leave the ship--I dearly miss walking on solid, unmoving ground."
Barbossa crossed his arms and stared hard at her. It was a long moment before he spoke.
"First: Yer a prisoner, Miss Farthin', and therefore it be not yer place to make requests. Second: We be transportin' our treasure--'cludin' the cursed gold, an' I certainly don't trust ye after that gesture ye made yesterday. Third:" he smiled wickedly. "I don't feel like lettin' ye."
"Oh," Miranda replied, dismayed. "Yes, I see." She didn't want to fight him anymore; she had nothing more to say. Barbossa took a step toward her, and looked almost surprised.
"Is that all?"
"I believe so." She left without another word.
/\
As the small, rocky island dipped below the horizon, Miranda finally tore her gaze from the window. Not because she had nothing left to watch, but because someone knocked harshly on her door and proceeded to fling it open.
"Yes?" Miranda asked, looking at the scruffy man in the doorway as he leered at her.
"Cap'n wants yer comp'ny dis evenin'."
"Now?"
"Aye. Said 'e wants ya ta wear dis." The man tossed a bundle of black and burgundy cloth at her, and then slammed the door shut. Miranda held the dress up by the shoulders and let the fabric fall in place. It was a lovely design trimmed with black French lace and generously gathered at every seam. It must have required yards and yards of fabric to make and a fortune to buy. But then again, pirates never paid for anything.
Looking with mixed disdain and wonder at the dress, Miranda ducked under the voluminous skirts and pulled it over her head. It was a bit large for her shortness, and the sleeves reached her knuckles, but it still laced up properly.
Miranda tried vainly to smooth out wrinkles caused from neglect and storage as she made her way to the main deck. The sun was setting and shot bright slivers of gold and pink across the sky, hemming the clouds in ruby. It was lovely, but all she could think of was him. She knocked on his door for the second time in two days. This time he opened it to usher her in.
"Why all the ceremo-" Miranda stopped, gazing with delight at the table overweighed with food. She'd been living on morsels and water for weeks, but she didn't realize how hungry she'd been until this moment.
"The food'll go bad soon; might as well let someone enjoy it," Barbossa said, gesturing for her to be seated.
Miranda tucked into the food before her, relishing each flavor and letting no platter go unsampled.
"Miss Farthin', who are ye?" Barbossa asked suddenly, leaning back in his own chair and scrutinizing her across the table. Miranda swallowed her bite of salmon and looked up.
"I'm afraid I don't understand the question."
"Every time I see ye, ye act diff'rently. One moment a crazed banshee, the next a polite doll, then a furious storm, and then a passionate little tart who can't resist some extra . . . attention." Barbossa leaned forward, surveying her face as if her were trying to read a book. "Which one are ye really?"
Miranda rested her fork on the edge of her plate and looked down as she reflected on her behavior. She had no answer for the captain, for she herself didn't know.
"I'm still trying to figure that out," she confessed, surprised at her openness. Barbossa also looked taken aback at her honesty.
"These past few weeks can't have been easy on ye." His words were gently said.
"Captain Barbossa," Miranda started, locking eyes with him. "You accuse me of too many personalities when you yourself have too many to count. Who are you, the cursed captain? The heartless murderer? Or perhaps the man who gave me his bed to sleep in and opened the door for me as I entered?"
"T'would seem I'm as intrigued by ye as ye be by me."
"Aye," Miranda agreed, almost smiling. The captain said nothing more as she continued to eat. She felt his stare on her, but somehow was not uncomfortable with it. As she finally felt she could eat no more, she looked back at the man.
"Could it be, Captain, that there is every type of personality in all of us, and the ones we allow to surface make up our own identity?"
Barbossa thought this over, a smile creeping up his lips.
"Clever girl. I wager yer on to somethin' there."
The compliment shouldn't have sent a wave of pleasure through her heart, but it did nonetheless. Miranda ducked her head to hide her smile, and thought wildly how to change the subject.
"Captain?" She looked up again. "May I be so bold as to ask to where you are sailing the ship?"
"White's Reef. We have a . . . deposit to make."
"What would that be?"
"Ruby."
Miranda leaned back, confused. Barbossa cocked his head, and added, "The sailors' slut. The whore. The . . . impure woman."
"What are you going to do with her?" Miranda demanded, standing up.
Barbossa walked his fingers off the table. "Splash."
"But she did nothing--"
"She was caught stealing the gold, Miss Farthin'. And the crew needs some entertainment."
"I threw gold off the ship! Where's my punishment?" Miranda hardly comprehended the words she was allowing slip from her mouth, for all she could think of was Erin's life.
"This ship has no need for more'n one female." Barbossa answered simply and calmly.
"You can't--"
"Miss Farthin', you have no 'thority the matter," Barbossa snapped, his voice suddenly harsh from her challenge.
Miranda felt tears springing to her eyes again, but she fought them back fiercely. "What about the kind part of you? I know it's there, Captain. Please have mercy on her." Her words trembled as she slowly reached out a hand to his.
Barbossa watched her movement with interest and stepped around the table closer to her.
"Miss Farthin'." His voice was gentle but reprimanding, like a father chiding a child not his own. There was warmth in her name, and Miranda couldn't explain why, but she felt beckoned to him. In one moment she found herself in his arms as she pressed her cheek to his chest, closing her eyes as she forced back tears. The captain patted her awkwardly on the back, his own spine stiffened almost backwards in surprise to her unexpected action.
He set both hands on her shoulders and pushed her softly back to look down at her, and just when Miranda thought something truly wonderful had happened, he said, "Ye'd better get used to life with pirates sooner or later, Miss. Ye can't cry over everyone."
"But--"Miranda begged, her voice cracking.
"She walks at sundown. Ye can stay below deck if ye wish."
Miranda shook herself from his light hold on her shoulders and glanced up at his face. She felt the tears finally fall as she gave up trying to hide them. That same man who smiled kindly at her, fed her, rescued her from fire and water also condemned men and women for petty crimes, if any at all. How could she feel what she felt for such a monster?
"Why do you make this so hard?" When she realized she'd said this aloud, she instantly ducked her head and fled from the room.