In a cell, a mile from where his sweetly beloved sat weeping, William Turner lay on a pile of rotten straw. Acrid smells of vomit and week old excrement filled the Fort's gaol, but he had learnt to switch off from it. One by one, his companions from his merchant vessel had disappeared to the gallows, stolen away at dawn by marines in bright cherry red, donning falsely sombre expressions. Will was grimly curious as to why he was left, staring up at the dripping grey ceiling, for hours on end. There had been no real explanation for his crew's arrest, conducted at midnight off the stormy cove of St Martin, but he could well guess why.

Commodore Norrington; he could think of a man no less deserving of the title than he. It was the Commodore, no doubt, who had ordered his capture, who left him curled in the dark as rain seeped through the gaol brickwork, chilling him to the core. And every week, Will would write to her. To the one he loved. He doubted his entreaties for rescue were received, yet there was some comfort to be gained from penning her name, smoothing the parchment intended for her. Perhaps some day she would find them, when he was dead and gone. A tear slipped down his grime-laden cheek as he pictured her, old yet impossibly lovely as ever, musing over the past. He'd be half-forgotten to her, perhaps; a distant, childish memory.

"I love-" He could not utter the words, the pain that she would never hear them being too great a force to contend with. He curled in on himself, praying for the end to come quickly.

"Letter for one Mr Turner," said a gruff voice. Will looked up through the prison of his arms, eyeing warily the heavyset man by the cell door. An envelope of creamy vellum was tossed through the cold bars, and landed amongst the dirt and sodden straw. The man heaved himself away, and Will sat staring for a few long moments. The letter was small and light, seeming to shrink away from its offending surroundings. Tentatively, Will reached for it, careful not to smudge the fresh ink that formed his name. He cradled it closely, knowing her hand as he knew his own. Warmth flooded his chest, golden, brilliant rays of sun, as he opened it.

Yes. I will come tonight. My love, there is little time, but know that I care for you more than the stars…I send a kiss; take it, for it is yours. No other has ever held my affection.

*

I sat, stony faced, by the window. I watched the messenger gallop off, and prayed with all my might that Will would soon be reading those words. Seething hatred burnt me up for the man who had now woken, and was whistling merrily in the kitchen, inevitably brewing tea and completely oblivious to my heinous discovery. I had replaced Will's letters back behind the empty whisky bottles. I knew that tonight, James must sleep as he had never slept before; like the dead, and no shouting marine must wake him as Will and I made our escape.

He came through to the living room where I sat, bearing a tray of steaming tea and stupidly ceremonious porcelain. Using every deceitful fibre I possessed, I forced my lips into a painfully joyous smile, nearly biting my lip and drawing blood at the hatred that flooded through me.

"Elizabeth," he gushed warmly, innately drawn to me and clasping my hand happily. Evidently, the events of the previous night had caused him to shrug off any cautiousness in showing affection to me. He placed a lingering kiss on my lips, and I wanted to scream, knowing that what the coming night held was far worse.

A/N: Very sexxxyyyyy scene coming up guys. You have been warned ;)