Thanks again to the wonderful Beta reader, who has made sense of senseless punctuations, and ironed out other screaming flaws. What would I do without you, Scarlett?
"This way, men! At the quick-step!"
The sound of many booted feet marching rapidly in unison drew nearer.
"Bloody hell." Miranda said in a groan, stopping in her tracks.
"You might say that, yes." Jack cast about. They were out in the open, and the soldiers could be rounding the corner at any moment.
"Over here," he ordered, pushing her into the confines of a doorway. He pressed his body close to hers, arms encircling her waist. "Play along, luv," he whispered, lowering to rest his forehead against her cheek. "Play along."
She shivered again. Then one arm moved around to his back, the other around his neck.
"Good lass," Jack murmured, pulling her closer. He risked a glance over his shoulder as the marching feet closed in on their shelter, then turned back, meeting her wide, anxious eyes.
She had been very brave through all of this, he reflected. Masking her fear, keeping her head in situations that must have been as foreign to her as her peaceful, privileged estate lift would have been to him.
But now those marvelous, dark fringed eyes were very vulnerable as she stared up at him, and her breath came in rapid, shallow bursts.
"One last touch, I think. For art's sake, of course."
At least, that's what he told her...what he told himself. But were he to be truthful, he would have to admit that it was because she was standing so very close. Held in his arms. Embracing him, while that alluring trace of orange blossoms and sandalwood filled his senses, and it seemed the most natural thing to do...
So he bent his head to hers, and kissed her.
He didn't expect it to last long. He was fully prepared for her indignant protests, and indeed, her arms -- her entire body stiffened. Then she melted against him like ice in a spring thaw, one small hand moving up into his hair, and Jack lost himself entirely when her lips parted beneath his.
Soldiers. Bounty hunters...they all fled from his mind, along with that cynical, sensible voice howling for his attention. Screaming that he was a fool...a damnable fool for doing this now, of all times.
He ignored it, as he ignored the flash of fire at the back of his head when her fingers brushed the raging spot where Vallasquar's club had struck him. All he knew was that Miranda was leaning into him, her mouth warm and soft. Welcoming him. Responding to him shyly, tentatively, as though this were something so very new to her.
But, oh yes, responding nonetheless.
Someone was calling to him, hailing him in a short, peremptory fashion. He heard as if from a great distance, and whoever it was, Jack wanted to plant his booted foot right in the interrupter's arse. He wanted to tell them to sod off. To go away, good God! -- Couldn't they see that he was busy? But to do so would mean breaking from her, abandoning that sweet mouth.
Jack growled deep in his throat, tightening his arms around her, and Miranda breathed a tiny sound against his lips. Part sigh, part song, it made his head spin in a way that had nothing to do with the blow he'd suffered there.
Another voice laughed behind him. "Don't bother, Sergeant," it commanded in a good-natured way, "These two wouldn't have heard it if you'd lit off a twelve-pounder in their ears. Check further up."
"Yes Sir!" the first answered, "You heard him, men. Move out." The many bodies marched away.
You can stop now, he informed himself dryly, long after the footsteps had faded. Get moving, man, before they come back. Before she slaps you into next week. Before you say something stupid and she laughs in your damn fool face. Let go of her, Jack. I will, I will. Just...give a body a moment...
He slid his hands up her back and into her hair, knocking her combs free. Closing his fingers in that silky, heavy mass, he deepened his kiss. Wanting to feel, to taste as much of her as he could before she would surely push him away.
She only pushed herself closer, but before his mind could go pleasantly blank again, another unwelcome thought reared up.
You'll get her killed, Jack. Right along with you. And you'll loose the Pearl for good.
The Pearl...Vallasquar's crew! If they couldn't get to him, they would certainly go for his ship next!
He broke from her, gently as he could, and touched his forehead to her own, breathing as though he'd just run the entire length of the island.
"We have to go, luv."
"I know, I know..."
She was breathing hard too. And was that a note of disappointment in her shaky little voice? Either way, she was trembling from head to foot.
"Is this..." Reluctantly, she withdrew her hand from his hair. "Is this...something we're going to talk about later?"
Well, that inner voice remarked, and rather smugly at that. Well, well.
He drew back, gazing down at her, tracing a finger down the side of her face, and over her lips. Her hair was a tumbled mess around her shoulders. There were smudges of dirt on her cheeks and forehead, and a definite bruise starting on her jaw.
He'd yet to see anyone look lovelier.
Of course, that could just be the blow to your head talking.
Jack's inner voice was getting very much on his nerves.
"To...talk about?" he repeated with a slow smile. "Oh, yes, luv. Most definitely...and I can hardly wait."
Miranda flushed, dropping her eyes demurely, catching up her lower lip between her teeth in a way he found oddly appealing.
"But the best place for that would be anywhere but here," he went on, stepping back to check the street. "So, if Milady will be so kind as to accompany me, we'll be on our --"
"Jack!" she interrupted with another tremor to her voice. She was looking fearfully at her own hand. Slowly, she turned her palm out so he could see the blood staining it.
"Your head..."
He felt at the knot at the back of his headscarf, then at the fiery, throbbing spot just above it. Both cloth and hair were wet, sticky with blood. This at least would explain the dizziness. Funny how the pain of it had all but vanished while she was in his arm. Now it was coming back in spades, along with that nauseous sensation churning his guts.
"Must remember to duck," he muttered, wiping his bloodied fingers on his clothes, then took up her hand again. "Almost home, luv. Not far now."
Home. The Pearl. And then, to the open seas where his fine ship could outpace anything under sail.
But as he hurried along the dirt paved road, his diminutive companion matching his stride, even tinier without her shoes, his vision swam anew, and the sick pain in his skull made him want to retch.
Which, of course, made it inevitable that they would be spotted once more.
"There he is!" a familiar voice shouted. The skinny one who'd surprised them before. "That's Jack Sparrow -- the pirate! He's killed Captain Vallasquar!"
"Jack Sparrow?" another exclaimed. Then, "You -- Pirate! Stop now, or we'll cut you down where you stand!"
Jack didn't have to tell her to run. Miranda sprang ahead, practically dragging him in her wake.
"On his heels, Sergeant --bring him down!"
Surely they wouldn't fire on him. Not with a woman this close. For all the soldiers knew, Miranda could be his hostage.
The musket ball that zipped past his ear cured him of that notion almost immediately. No choice. They couldn't stay out in the open.
"Turn!" he barked, pushing her around a corner, throwing himself after her.
Their mad flight ended abruptly a few steps later, leaving Jack blinking up in dismay at the sight now presented him.
He had turned them too soon. He had taken the wrong path, and now their way to the beach was cut off by the old battlements that protected the sea-ward side of the city, and by the idiot landowners that had built their properties right up against it.
"What do we do?" Miranda cried out, sounding near to tears.
Jack could only stare numbly.
Then he smiled. One of the properties must be undergoing some repairs, for there was a network of scaffolding lacing the exterior. Piles of bricks were neatly stacked all around, and several arranged on sturdy wooden pallets.
One such pallet rode high in the air, almost level with the top of the battlements, suspended by thick ropes from the crane and winch at the base of the building.
"We fly." he said, and made for the winch. Taking hold of the played out rope, he turned and extended his hand to her. "But you're going to have to hold on to me."
"What?" She looked up, following the rope in his hand to the pallet high over their heads, and paled.
"Oh, no..." she moaned, stepping back and shaking her head. "Oh, no, no, no, no..."
"Miranda!" he roared, and with a squeak she threw her arms around him, clenching her fists into his coat.
Jack kicked at the winch, knocking the retaining block from the crank as the first of the soldiers rounded the corner, raising their muskets to aim while the rope tautened, and the pallet started its downward plunge.
Her muffled scream came from somewhere in the region of his breastbone as she felt her feet leave the ground. With her face buried in his chest, her arms tightened like steel bands as they flew upward.
Jack had to bite back a few screams himself. His injured shoulder burned as though the entire arm were being pulled from its socket, which made it only slightly less agonizing than the pounding in his head.
What was it with people that they always wanted to split his crown?
The top of the battlements rushed in to view -- and then past. The brick pallet made a horrendous crash when it hit ground, spilling its load in every direction. Jack swung his body out, clinging to the rope while his toes scrambled for a purchase on the edge of the wall, swaying and bending as he fought for balance, struggling with the added weight of the body clinging to his.
Righting himself, he steadied the Lady on her feet, then pulled up the remaining length of uncoiled rope as fast as he could, ducking reflexively as shots whined overhead like angry hornets.
One soldier realized his intent and launched himself after the rope, missing the frayed end by a hair's breadth.
"On my back, luv," Jack said quickly, throwing the line over the sea side of the wall. "Hurry!"
No questions or protests this time. Perhaps she was numb, but in any case Miranda slipped behind him, somehow keeping the presence of mind to not lock her arms around his throat.
"Hang on --" he warned, and lowered himself over the side, feet braced again the sheer face, hand over hand as fast as his aching body would allow.
"Cut it!" one soldier yelled from the other side, "Cut the rope! The fall will do them some damage."
"No! Pull them back up!" said another voice of reason, and the rope jerked in his hands.
Jack looked down. He'd managed nearly half the distance, but it was a long way to the bottom. He moved faster, taking risks and praying that his luck held.
And his grip.
"When I give the word," he began, feeling the line give another lurch, "Let go."
He felt the rapid nod of her head against his back, and her hands shifted in readiness. They were still a fair way from the ground when the soldiers reached their apparent decision. Jack suddenly found himself rising back up the wall.
"Now!"
She voiced a frightened little cry and released him. Jack plummeted after her, feeling an ironic surge of satisfaction at the startled shouts from the soldier's side. His body tumbled end over end in the sand, and came to rest a few feet from where Miranda lay. He sprawled there for a moment, head spinning worse than before, and hurting from more places than he'd believed possible.
Miranda was already struggling to her feet. He made to follow suit, but froze at her ragged gasp. Turning slowly to face what had startled her, he groaned inwardly.
Of course. Why expect different?
But he put on his friendliest smile for the benefit of the disreputable looking character that had his pair of pistols leveled at him.
"Rough town," Jack said conversationally. "Never can tell when you might need to make a fast exit, right, luv?"
"Yes..." Miranda agreed weakly. "...never...can...tell..."
She was unable to tear her eyes from the barrel of the gun that swung up to cover her. She would be of no help now, and Jack feared it might be too much to ask that there be just one more loaded flintlock in that satchel of hers.
"Right. Well," He flashed another wide grin at the fellow. "So very sorry to have startled you, but if you'll excuse us..."
He tried to stand again, but both pistols moved to cover him, and he subsided, slowly raising his hands.
"I don't think so, Sparrow," he was coolly informed. "Captain Javier be a very happy man to see you. Think we'll all just wait for him here." Watery blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "Said we wasn't to kill you, but I don't think he mind if I was to shoot out your knee if you try and run."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Jack said in injured tones, doing his level best to appear harmless.
Which at this point wasn't far from true.
"And I have no doubt that your good Captain would be very happy to see me."
Come to think of it, right about now, Javier Vallasquar would probably be ecstatic to see just about anybody. For some reason, Jack didn't feel it necessary to explain this to the late bounty hunter's very well armed crewman.
A flash of movement beyond the gunman caught his eye, and set him to talking very quickly. Anything that popped into his head that would keep attention fixed firmly upon himself, so as not to notice the dark, lithe figure that crept up behind.
"We'll just wait for him here, eh? Wouldn't do to miss him. And besides -- a man would have to be a fool to try anything against so well prepared a gentleman such as yourself."
Aye. A man would have to be a fool. Thankfully, his First Mate was neither.
Jack almost had to pity the fellow. Before he had a chance to realize anything was amiss, AnaMaria had introduced the butt of her pistol to the back of his head. He scarcely had time to see his own hat fall to the ground, when he was on his way to join it.
AnaMaria checked her handiwork, nudging the man with her toe, then helping herself to his fine pair of firearms, uncocking them carefully and shoving them into her belt.
"Couldn't stay out of mischief, could you?" she scolded, glowering down at Jack.
Jack was mildly offended by this. He hadn't exactly gone looking for trouble. He never went looking for it. It had just...found him.
"Never mind that now." Miranda knelt in the sand beside him, grabbing at his arm, "Ani -- he's hurt!"
Ah-nee? he wondered briefly, but waved a hand at the girl's sudden concern.
"It'll keep. Where are the men?"
"By now, back to the ship," AnaMaria held out her hand, and Jack had to admit that without the two of them he'd have had a hard time getting to his feet.
"Knew you were coming when I heard all that gunfire," she went on, falling in beside him. "But didn't know where you'd come out until that scurvy maggot back there made his move. So I followed him."
She peered hard into his face. "You don't look so good. Sure your alright -- and who were those men? She wouldn't let me stay and fight."
This was said with some bitterness, and with a curt nod to Miranda.
The Lady said nothing, and Jack's account of his misadventure kept him talking almost all the way back to the boat. He didn't mind. It helped focus his foggy brain. Something that was becoming difficult now that he'd calmed a bit from all the excitement.
Hugging the edge of the coastline, the Black Pearl still rode at anchor, turned about by the tide. Jack squinted, but was unable to see any activity on deck, his vision having blurred on him again.
"Are they ready for us?" he asked, and the First Mate gave him another hard look.
"I can see them at the capstan," she reported. "And the rest are aloft."
Good. Ready to raise anchor and let out sail at a moment's notice. And even better, perched on the last of the Pearl's jolly boats, someone was already waiting to take word back.
"Mr. Cotton's Parrot, tell them to make ready!"
"Weigh anchor, hoist the Mainsail!" the macaw shrilled, taking to the air, and repeating the call twice more before its voice was drowned by the sound of the surf.
Jack threw his weight at the boat, pushing it back into the waves. On either side the ladies added their efforts to his, then each took up a pair of oars right along with him.
The tide was not with them. The waves frustrated their efforts at speed, and before long, the burning in Jack's shoulder was almost beyond his ability to bear.
His shoulder, his head, his jaw, stomach, ribs...in short, there wasn't much that didn't hurt, as far as he could tell.
And he was so tired now...tired, and still fighting that sickly dizziness that he didn't want to fight anymore. He wanted to rest. To lay down, and sleep, and forget about the pain for a while.
Just for a little while...
He swayed in his seat, hands faltering at the oars.
"Jack!" Miranda called behind him, voiced strained from her rowing. "Jack, you've got to stay awake!"
He turned to face her. She sounded...strange -- like she was calling from a great distance.
"Do you hear me, Jack? You can't let...self...have...stay..."
Her voice faded, drowned out by the rushing in his ears. Now, he could only see her lips working, forming words that he couldn't understand.
Then, he saw nothing at all.
.
.
A/N:Ok... so maybe that wasn't the nicest way to end a chapter either. I'm a BAAAAAAAD girl, ain't I? Send all your cards and letters to that lovely little review box at the bottom of the page, and I'll see you soon >)
Yes... I know I'm evil. Review anyway!