Chapter Eleven

~o~

Disappointed at his apparent rejection and under the effects of the full amount of alcohol that I'd consumed, I pouted a little and whispered plaintively to him. "Don't you want me?"

"Whether I do or don't has naught to do with this, lass. Ye'd be drunk and not knowin' what yer sayin'," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Not that I've been opposed to a bit 'o rum influencin' a woman's decisions fer the evenin' at times," he said wryly, trying to light things back up, "but I'll not have ye facin' me tomorrow with regret in yer eyes."

Before I could protest that he was wrong, he drove the point home brutally. "Yer promised to yer lieutenant, are ye not?"

As inebriated as I was, I heard the pain in his voice, and the extreme giddiness of a few minutes earlier fell away into intoxicated angst as I began to cry. "I didn't know," I whispered unevenly, rapidly falling apart. "Hector, I didn't know," I sobbed miserably.

"Shhh, easy, lass," he said, running his thumb across my cheek to wipe away a tear. "What didn't ye know?"

I couldn't answer him, as distraught as I was, and I felt myself panicking for reasons I couldn't really explain when he stood up from the edge of the bed.

"Don't go!" I cried. "Don't leave me."

"I'll not leave," he replied, and I waited while he kicked off his boots and pulled off his own shirt, and climbed onto the other side of the bed. "Here," he whispered, reaching for me, and I found myself in his arms, sobbing against his chest as he held me.

When I calmed down after a minute, he spoke again where he'd been stroking my hair. "What is it ye didn't know, May?"

"That you were alive," I said, clinging to him tightly. "I wouldn't have..."

He silenced me with a finger on my lips, and shook his head with a sad smile. "What's done be done, lass," he whispered, sounding tired and defeated, but he held onto me for the rest of the night, long after I'd cried myself to sleep, and whether it was for my benefit or his, I couldn't rightly say.

~o~

For the second morning in a row, I woke up with a headache and feeling nauseated, although it was from my own stupidity rather than seasickness the second time around.

Once again, Barbossa had dressed and slipped out before I'd awoken, and I was left to lie there in bed with only vague recollections of what we'd spoken of and what might have transpired.

Although he in no way blamed me for the fact that I'd gotten engaged in the previous few months to Jonathan, once I knew him to be dead, that didn't mean he was happy about the fact. He'd been through hell and back, figuratively, and I feared, literally, and finding out that the woman he'd desired to be with was promised to another did nothing to improve his mood.

On deck his manner was cool toward me for the entire next day, and he said nothing of what had transpired in his cabin the night before, but it was his crew who truly suffered the brunt of his displaced anger and frustration, which although irrational, was probably more accurately directed at my fiancée.

Accustomed to Barbossa's moods and intolerance for incompetence, the crew scattered faster than usual when something went awry, hoping not to end up on the receiving end of his anger.

As for me, I didn't recall quite everything that was said the night before, and whether or not that was a curse or a blessing, it would be difficult to say for certain. At first I spent time wondering how, after two days, I could be falling in love with the man I hadn't seen in over a decade, but it didn't take me long to recognize the fact that I'd never really stopped being in love with him over the years.

The problem was that I loved Jonathan too, or at least I'd thought I did until Barbossa had swept back into my life like a rogue wave himself, dragging me helplessly along where he went, unable to fight the tide of emotions that were welling back up inside me.

I knew the best thing for all three of us was to do exactly as he'd said, and get word to Jonathan as soon as possible to try to resolve the problem I'd created for myself by being the instrument of Barbossa's narrow escape from Port Royal. The sooner I got off the Black Pearl, the sooner we could all get back to our lives.

I ventured out on deck that morning, after forcing myself to eat something, and seeing no sign of Barbossa, surmised that he'd gone below with Gibbs to take stock of exactly what the haul was from the Essex. Pirates on deck shot me questioning glances, and a fair number of them were less than friendly. I'd been through that type of scrutiny before, but at least the second time around I knew more of what to expect, and that I had the luxury of knowing I had nothing to fear from Barbossa.

~o~

While the original crew of the Black Pearl were quite used to the idea of having a woman around by then, having sailed with Elizabeth and seeing her prove her worth as a pirate, and accepted me for the time, at least because any of them feared to invoke the captain's displeasure, it took a bit longer for the newer recruits to warm up to the concept.

Most of them just shrugged it off or muttered about it under their breath, and if all of them had handled the situation the same way, nothing more would have come from it. Unfortunately, several of the newer pirates got the idea into their heads that having a woman on a pirate ship meant I was there for one thing only, and that morning I found myself on deck in the company of Grogan, one of the Pearl's newest recruits.

I thought nothing of it at first when the redheaded pirate spoke to me pleasantly, especially as there were a fair number of crewmembers standing around on deck, conversing with Marty about adventures he'd had with Jack Sparrow.

I was paying more attention to Marty, thinking that his idolization of Jack would not please Barbossa, when it became apparent that Grogan had definitely invaded my personal space. When I looked back at him, he stood there smiling, and I didn't think it was a pleasant smile at all.

"Mornin', luv," he said. "You busy at th' moment?"

"At the moment?" I asked. "No. Is there something you need, ?"

"Aye, there is at that," he said, stepping even closer to me, "an' since yeh be free at th'moment, perhaps…..well, you know."

"Know what, Mr. Grogan?" I asked, even though it was clear that he thought there was something I could be doing for him in my free time. "Is there some medical problem you need my assistance with?"

He nodded. "Doctorin' be what I need. I'm feelin' mighty under the weather, an' I think yeh might 'ave a way to help."

The leer that was crossing his face confirmed my suspicions that he was up to no good even as he continued. "Matter o' fact, there be two ways t' start," he said, making it a point to glance blatantly at my chest.

I know that I was apprehensive about him being that close to me, but mostly I felt sorry for him, knowing so well, what he apparently didn't. Barbossa had come back on deck by then and was standing with his arms folded across his chest, monitoring the situation.

"You'd best step away, Mr. Grogan," I said, as evenly as I could.

"Oh, come now, luv," he said with a laugh, stepping closer, placing one hand on my waist and thinking to cop a feel as he closed the distance, "don't play 'ard to get."

There was a loud CRACK and his head jerked sideways as I jumped, and he continued to leer at me blankly even as he fell away with a stream of blood pouring from the hole in his temple, and hit the deck hard with a thud.

I looked, horrified, at where Barbossa was sticking his pistol back in the sash at his waist, at the same time turning to address the group surrounding Marty that had gone silent, staring across the wary faces for a moment.

"Any questions?" he asked, and was answered with a dozen heads shaking their silent negation.

"Good. Clean that mess up," he growled, jerking his head toward Grogan's body and then walking away toward his cabin.

Needless to say, I had no issues with such harassment from any of the remaining crew, and Grogan was disposed of in very short order.

~o~

To say the least, it is a little unsettling to have a bodyguard who is a possessive, overprotective Pirate Lord, and I wasn't sure just how I felt about the fact that Grogan had been instantly sentenced to the Locker for his infraction of the rules. I realized that I probably should have felt worse than I did, but after my experience on the previous voyage with the vicious man who gave me the scars I still carried, I suppose I was mostly relieved that I wouldn't have to worry about Grogan in the future.

The rest of the day I spent rather aimlessly wandering throughout the Black Pearl, getting to know the layout of the ship, and conversing with a few of her crew. Gibbs must have felt sorry for me at one point late in the afternoon, when I'd finally wandered back on deck, bored and lonely, and he came to speak with me. Although I know he didn't particularly care to risk the bad luck of having a woman on board the ship, he was smart enough to know that it was worse luck to question Barbossa's judgment in the matter.

"She's a beaut' ain't she?" he asked me cordially, coming to stand near me where I'd been gazing up at the masts, hand shading my eyes against the late afternoon sun of the Caribbean.

"I suppose she is," I said in reply. Although I could admire the aesthetics and the power of the infamous ship, I still harbored ill feelings toward her for currently being my prison.

"Quite the lady, she is," Gibbs continued. "Fastest ship in the Caribbean, rugged, beautiful, notorious throughout the seven seas, and captained by two of the most infamous pirates t' ever walk the deck of a sailin' ship."

"And where is her second infamous captain?" I asked curiously.

"Couldn't rightly say," Gibbs replied, and whether he really didn't know, or was electing not to say, I wasn't sure.

"Last I saw 'im, it was in Tortuga," Gibbs continued. "He'd commandeered himself a boat after Barbossa took the Pearl again…"

"Barbossa stole the Pearl again?" I asked, trying hard not to let any of my amusement creep into my voice.

"Aye," Gibbs replied, "but it weren't the last word in the matter. Jack 'as somethin' he wants, and I wager it'll make fer interestin' conversation the next those two meet."

He went on to explain how Barbossa had taken the Pearl, only to find out that Jack had stolen the critical part of the map to World's End and other places. Gibbs had been in Tortuga still when the Pearl had doubled back to look for Jack, and although Jack had disappeared already, Barbossa had found Gibbs and persuaded him to return to the Pearl's crew.

"Persuaded here, havin' the meanin' of a pistol bein' pointed at my head," Gibbs finished.

"So, you're here against your will?" I asked, knowing entirely what that could be like.

"Not really. Nothin' better to do, I s'pose. Barbossa's a fair enough cap'n. Sees to it that work and reward are divided as they should be –doesn't play favorites. If'n yeh stay out o' his way, he stay's out o' yours. I wouldn't want to be the one to cross 'im, though." Gibbs glanced uneasily over the side where the unfortunate Grogan had been deposited that morning.

"But there's no finer ship'n the Pearl, lass," he said, a bit more cheerfully. "I've not known a tougher ol' seadog or finer navigator in all my life, and as yeh saw yesterday, we have more'n a fair bit 'o success with the combination of the two."

"Course I reckon you know a fair bit 'bout sailin' with Barbossa," Gibbs went on after a minute.

I gave him a questioning glance, and he smiled warmly. "No secrets on a pirate ship, Doctor, aye?" he said.

I sighed and smiled back, resigned to the fact that most likely the crew knew as much about my business as I did. "I suppose you're right, Mr. Gibbs."

"Well," Gibbs said at last, "I'd best be back to work." He headed across the deck, leaving me feeling alone once again, despite the fact that the ship was swarming with busy pirates.

By the time it began to get dark, and the crew began gathering for dinner, I still hadn't seen hide or hair of Barbossa, and I remained at a loss as to what I should do. Irritated to some degree that he'd left me to fend for myself, I determined that I would not go to seek him in his cabin, but would make due on my own.

When Gibbs brought along a second plate of food for me, I gave him a grateful smile, and sat myself down on a barrel next to him, and conversed over the meal with some of the Pearl's crew. As before, the pirates were curious about the fact that I was a woman doctor, and I found myself being interrogated as they tried to determine the extent of my medical knowledge. Finally satisfied that I was the genuine article, the conversation turned to stories of the events of the past year that I'd head about from Barbossa the evening before.

It was when Gibbs and Marty were re-telling the story of the destruction of the Endeavor and the demise of Cutler Beckett that I found myself growing upset, and I finally excused myself and went to stand near the bow, away from the group gathered on deck.

Despite the fact that I had been no fan of Cutler's, I still was unsettled at the recollection of having to identify his charred remains for his brother, and upset even more about the thought that my dear Jonathan had come so close to perishing aboard the ill-fated ship.

At that point my thoughts stayed on the subject of Jonathan, and I wondered what he was doing, and how he'd reacted to the news that Charles Beckett had likely delivered –that his very fiancée was a pirate supporter, and was the reason that one of the most notorious rogues in the Caribbean had slipped through the navy's fingers.

As well as I knew him, I was certain that he'd forgive me. Knowing me as well as he did, he probably knew that I couldn't bear the thought of anyone being killed, and had done whatever I could to preserve life, as was my wont. The hardest part for him to deal with was going to be coming to grips with just who it was that I'd gone out of my way to preserve, and that thought brought me back to a conversation he and I had had just before he'd left for his fateful voyage aboard the Endeavor.

~o~

We'd been engaged for a week, and had been congratulated by everyone we knew in town. Mrs. Healy had sent me a small bouquet of mixed flowers in way of congratulating me herself, and Mr. Cook, the wine merchant, from whom I'd successfully removed a large urinary bladder stone, sent me two bottles of fine red wine; one, he'd said, to be drunk immediately, and one to be saved for our wedding night.

I served the bottle of wine the night before Jonathan was to leave, having made an elegant dinner and dessert to celebrate our betrothal, as well as to give him a bit of an encouraging and optimistic sendoff. We'd done our best to speak of anything else but the mission he was about to embark on, as neither of us wanted to face the fact that it was going to be such a dangerous one.

Jonathan pushed back his chair from the table a bit at last, groaning and complaining pleasantly that he was too full to move and would likely miss his ship in the morning because he'd eaten too much.

I will admit that I am a rather good cook, having been required to take over that duty and provide meals for all the men in my house after my mother had died, and having learned a good deal about preparing French cuisine when I studied with Monsieur Dumond in France. I will also admit to experiencing the rather petty feelings of having to compete with the late Mrs. Groves, who was also an excellent cook, and each time I'd prepared a meal for Jonathan, I went out of my way to painstakingly create something fabulous. For this particular meal I made it a point to serve an apple pie for dessert, which I must add, was not at all burned.

After dinner we'd retired to my small but cozy living room, and sat together on the couch, bringing our glasses with the last of the fine wine that Mr. Cook had sent along with us. I'd sat down right next to Jonathan, and leaned against him, resting my head on his shoulder and, after a moment, he slipped his arm around me.

I smiled when I thought back on it. Such behavior would have been deemed inappropriate in most circumstances, but since my profession and my extended single lifestyle had previously not conformed to the norm in either England or Port Royal, and I lived alone without family or chaperone, I must say I really didn't fret much about what others might think.

Jonathan leaned over and kissed me, another thing that we couldn't have gotten away with without a measure of scandal if I didn't live alone. "Thank you for putting so much effort into that meal, Madeline. It was wonderful."

"You are quite welcome, Lieutenant," I replied playfully. " I hope it shall see you through naval rations until you return."

He groaned and let his head fall back against the couch, lamenting that fact.

"How was the pie?" I asked, snuggling closer in next to him.

"Quite unburned," he replied meaningfully. "You need to stop worrying about Amelia."

I tried to keep my tone light and innocent. "Why would I be worried about Amelia?"

"You, my dear Madeline," he said, raising his head back up and pulling me against him, "keep concerning yourself that I compare the two of you in some way, and you need to stop it." He kissed me briefly before going on. "Amelia was a very important part of my past, and you are the most important part of my future. I don't compare you to her memory at all, so stop doing it yourself."

His scolding was earnest but a bit playful in manner and I finally relented and told him I'd stop worrying so much about it.

"Good," he said, "in that case the pie was the best I've ever had."

I smiled broadly and flung my arms around his neck in an enthusiastic embrace.

"I love you, Madeline," he said as I pulled back a little.

"And I love you...what?" I'd seen the way he was suddenly looking at me, and I wondered if something was amiss.

"Nothing, it's just that I miss you already," he said, stroking my hair. "You look so beautiful in the firelight...it's not right to ask a man to leave such a vision and head out to the harsh cold sea."

"I thought you loved the sea?" I asked, letting him draw me in.

"Tomorrow I won't," he whispered, and then he kissed me very tenderly.

~o~