Author's Notes: To everyone who has been reading and waiting so patiently: My deepest apologies. I never meant for this to take so long. First, I got caught up in school, work, life, and preparing for my two month study abroad in Japan. Then I was in Japan and it became even harder to focus on Kendra. I returned and was a little burnt out and still in a funk. But with prodding, persistence, and glances at your wonderful reviews, I somehow managed to get this done. Luckily for you all, it's gotten past the (hopefully) hardest part to write and I can keep going steadily. Thanks for sticking with me. And numerous thanks to Curiosity Inc.. Couldn't have done this without you. The last scene? Mostly because of him.
Disclaimer: Still don't own PotC. Nope.
Chapter 24: Never Alone
Filib had decided to eat his lunch in the company of Kendra, bringing her the meal instead of the guards she tolerated because of what they brought. He watched her eat hastily, then began to eat himself.
"Any burnin' questions abou' yer mam?" he asked.
"Not me mother," she said between bites, giving her full attention to the food.
"She would'a been proud of yeh," Filib continued as if Kendra hadn't spoken. "I was the braither tha' 'elped 'er slip out of doors and into the more unsavory places." He smiled as Kendra's chewing slowed the slightest bit. She was listening. "Boyd an' Ian knew that we were up t'something, but ne'er could catch us a'it. An' since they dinna wan t'get caught theyselves, they stayed silent. I taught 'er everything I knew 'bout thievery and lock pickin'. Wasn't much at farst, but we got quite proficient a'it. Ne'er could call us profess'nals, nah 'til she was married and I 'ad a child. Yeh've met Seahgh already."
Kendra paused in her eating, then lowered her eyes to the floor. "I'm glad I didn't kill him. Barely managed to keep myself back from that."
"Back from wha'?"
"Bloodlust," she whispered.
He narrowed his eyes. "Is tha' wha' yeh call it when yeh's got the look of a demon t'yeh?"
"I suppose that's one way to put it," Kendra nodded. "I hadn't given into it for a while. The call to kill was so strong, but I managed to hold it back. And then they had Jim's neck at stake so I didn't dare slip up then. Poor man still spilt some blood though, however little it was."
"They spilt blood?"
"Had a knife to his throat. I tried to call their bluff and found I was wrong." She sighed. "Just got a small scratch," Kendra ran her finger along the spot where Jim had been cut. "Not enough blood to kill him or even pass out."
"An' Jim?"
"He should be fine. Won't even hold a grudge against me. Probably will blame himself, if anything." She sighed. "Poor man."
"Sairy abou' tha', Kin. We dinna mean t'urt yer friends. Just t'collect ye."
She shrugged. "I suppose overturning a table and nearly giving Conall a black eye was a bad start to things. But I do think I was justified in defending myself."
"Aye," Filib nodded and swallowed. "I dinna like the blackmail he schemed up. 'Twas effective, but nawt kind."
"Is there ever really any kind blackmail, Filib?" Kendra raised an eyebrow, looking rather amused.
He returned the expression. "Nay, I'd 'magine nawt."
"Silly ol' Scot," she shook her head and continued eating. But Filib was sure she hadn't smiled that much before. Even more progress.
The MacLeod house was bathed in peaceful sunlight as Alistair and his son Conall walked through the corridors. The paintings lining the walls spoke of a longing for their home with rolling hills and craggy cliffs. The Scottish heritage screamed from the tartans that were scattered amongst them.
"She's finally 'ere, Conall. Me own Marcail's daughta'."
"Ah, but she's nawt wha' yeh think, Faither. Lil' monster she is."
"Kin? Nay, she canna be. Any daughta' of Marcail would'a be an angel. Ye'll see 'er. 'Tween Rhona, Lachina, an' Caoimhe it'll be done. Kin'll look raigh' proper."
Conall actually scoffed and shook his head. "Think wha' yeh like, but ye'll see. Kin ain't wha' yeh's thinkin', Faither."
"I've ne'er been wrong 'fore, Conall-"
Conall had been shaking his head, but as a shrill shriek broke through the damp air both of them froze. He spared Alistair only a glance before drawing his sword and sprinting down the hall. He threw open the door – his wife and even the little monster would be inside, he knew – to find chaos.
"Forget it! Enough, ye frilly festering wenches! Take another step towards me and ye'll find this bit of copper in your skull!"
Kendra was almost hissing, standing behind an overturned table and brandishing a candlestick as a weapon. Her sleeve was torn and there was a trail of ripped dress starting where Lachina stood looking horrified, traveling a meandering path through the room, and ending where Kendra barricaded herself. Rhona seemed to be the most composed – Conall almost wondered if she was amused – and Caoimhe was standing nearest Kendra, trying to coax her to come out again.
"Now Kin dear, t'won't hart yeh ta jus' try it on," Ian's wife smiled gently and looked back at Rhona. "Ain't tha' so, Rhona dear?"
"Ah, tis true, but it'd be best nawt ta startle 'er more."
"She ruined it," Lachina picked up a bit of the pink material and sighed. "Twas a real beauty, too."
"That thing was hideous," Kendra glowered, pointing the candlestick at Caoimhe as the woman tried to get closer. "And I'll never wear one of them. So unless you want me to ruin another one, don't even think about trying it."
Rhona smiled gently and looked over to finally acknowledge Conall. "'ow's Alistair doin'? Still on 'is way?"
"Righ' behind me." He turned and watched Alistair hobble up, sheathing his sword as the old man set a hand on the doorway. "See the Kin ye've been waitin' fer?"
Alistair was still catching his breath, but his eyes widened as he surveyed the scene, stopping on Kendra. She held the candlestick even tighter and began to crouch into an offensive stance.
"Kin?" he stepped into the room and Conall stayed a step behind him. "Wha' 'appened 'ere?"
"I demand you let me go and restore me to my ship, Alistair MacLeod. This is blackmail, short and simple. Release me."
"Blackmail, Kin?" Alistair leaned on his cane a bit more than usual as he moved forward, but he held no fear of the scowling pirate. "Nay, nay, we shan't be anythin' but happy fer yer return ta us."
Rhona took a step forward after watching Alistair totter closer and Kendra scowl in response. "We should eat now, eh? It's been a long day fer all'f us, dear Kin as well."
"Ach, always tryin' t'stuff us full a'food, that Rhona," Alistair laughed and waggled a finger at her. "Nay, yeh can eat, I'm gonna talk t'Kin 'ere."
Kendra had been trying to back into a corner, but paused when she found Rhona's eyes intently on her. She narrowed her own in reply, trying to place what exactly the woman was trying to convey. If anything, Kendra was reminded of a look that Filib had given her.
"I think I'm a bit hungry," Kendra said, lifting her head a little when Rhona smiled and continued on as if nothing had happened.
Kendra let herself get shuffled off by Conall down to the dining room. Lachina tried to stay behind, but she was also kindly escorted out of the room by Rhona. She tried to watch the woman, but she was sent on ahead of the group. The dining area was eerily similar compared to that of the Morgans' and Kendra hesitated to sit. Memories were coming back to mind and she clenched the candlestick tighter.
"Give me tha'." Conall snatched the candlestick from her grip and was rewarded with a harsh glare from Kendra. He returned the glare and shoved her into a seat, not caring that her expression darkened even more.
Feeling thoroughly abused, Kendra stayed in her seat and glared at the wood as the rest of the family – even ones she hadn't been shoved upon – filed in and took their seats without much fuss. She was a little surprised to see that she had so many relatives – though all of her female cousins had children if they were over twenty. It was an observation that unnerved Kendra, even if she couldn't place why.
The meal was light and progressed easily enough. Kendra dodged most inquiries made about her and avoided eye contact with everyone at the table. Filib had taken the chair to her left and tried to engage her in conversation, but she was having nothing to do with him at the moment. Though she did notice that Rhona and Filib were quite familiar with each other – she knew she was right in assuming some sort of connection between Rhona's expression and one that Filib had given her. Like husband, like wife.
"No."
"But Kin, this cut a'dress would look lovely on yeh, come now-"
"No," Kendra narrowed her eyes even more, wishing that Conall's wife – Lachina – would just stop trying to persuade her to examine the drawing of perhaps the most frilly garment Kendra had ever seen. "I came on the grounds that I wear clothes in better order. I never agreed to wear a dress."
Lachina sighed and looked to Caoimhe for assistance. The younger woman only smiled and set a hand on Lachina's arm.
"There, there, dear. Kin made a promise, we best keep t'it."
Rhona was bickering with the tailor about fabrics and spared the other three a glance when the tailor asked the inevitable question of why the young lady was being measured for trousers and shirts, instead of a dress.
"S'a rather personal inquiry, sir. Best nawt t'question any farther. But I must insist tha' the fabric be of high quality, we can't hav'it fallin' t'pieces if she moves the slightest bit."
The man eyed Kendra and earned himself a sharp glare before returning his attention to Rhona. "Of course, of course. Shall we start measuring the…lass then?"
"O'course." Rhona shook her head for a moment. "Pu' away tha' book Lachina, Kin, c'mere t'get measured."
Caoimhe smiled gently at Kendra and patted her shoulder. "Off yeh go, Kin dear. Sooner yeh're measured, sooner we kin get t'our errands."
"Can't wait for that," Kendra sighed and slunk over to the small block of wood next to the tailor before mounting it and pointedly looking away, lifting her arms in the air. "Get it over with."
The tailor went to work without a word, giving quiet instructions as he went through the motions. Kendra mostly ignored him, leaving most of her focus on the whispered conversation between the three women.
"How d'ye handle it, Rhona? She tries t'bite me, I swear."
Caoimhe replied, tutting a bit. "Jus' give 'er time, Lachina. She's havin' a rough time o'it."
"Rough? She's gettin' 'er own room, our best food, an' all she does is growl a'me!"
"Well, she's not the most sociable, tha's just 'ow Kin is." Rhona said.
"And she was snatched out o'er home by Conall, too." Caoimhe nodded.
"Snatched?" Lachina gasped. "Blackmail?"
Kendra tried not to make the rolling of her eyes too obvious.
"Ah, seems so," Rhona continued. "Taken a'the point o'a sword, even. If I say so meself, Kin's behavin' quite kindly for her circumstances."
"The poor lass," Lachina whispered. "I ne'er knew. Is Kin a pirate?"
"Wha' else would she be?" Caoimhe laughed. "She is a cap'n, mighty fine one I hear."
"How romantic, two pirate cap'n's in a family."
For a moment, Kendra was tempted to say that she knew a family that boasted even more captains than that, pirate or naval. Kendra had been staying quiet for their conversation, though it was nearly impossible to not hear them, but her irritation got the best of her. "Ye think pirates are romantic?" Kendra glanced over her shoulder at the women, not entirely surprised that Rhona was smiling knowingly.
Lachina blinked a few times. "Well, Conall's a pirate captain and I find tha' quite charming, Kin dear."
"Kendra," she muttered to herself and held the woman's gaze, no matter to how she reminded her of another seemingly helpless maid. "A pirate's life isn't all swingin' from ropes and swashbuckling. There's a lot of filth, too. Death, blood, killin', risk of getting caught by the redcoats and hung. Ever thought of that, Lachina?"
The woman's eyes had widened, but she tittered after Kendra finished, waving a hand. "Oh, Conall goes on and on abou' 'ow it's hard an' rough, but I still like t'think of the young rogue I fell in love with. He was quite dashing, still is," she nodded and didn't seem to really notice that Caoimhe and Rhona's smiles were becoming more forced.
Kendra stared and nodded slightly. The woman was definitely a twit.
An uncomfortable silence fell over the group and the tailor seemed to work even faster, if only to escape the tension. Kendra didn't blame him. She would've left the room, but she doubted that was the wisest course of action, especially since the island inhabitants all seemed to know Alistair's family. She'd eavesdropped on enough conversations on their way here to hear that their informal title was something along the lines of 'the transplanted Scottish clan'. It was doubtful she could find easy passage off, too. The port was miserably small.
Where was the Dilettante?
"Well, all done. Should have something ready by tomorrow afternoon." He nodded and smiled at Kendra. "It was a pleasure meeting you, miss…"
Kendra would have replied, but Rhona spoke up first. "Kinborough. Our niece."
The man shook his head and looked to Rhona. "Another one? I lost count years ago."
Lachina nodded. "Aye, faither's long lost gran'daughter, home at last. Spittin' image of Marcail, too."
"Is she now?" he looked over Kendra with new found interest and she barely hid how it disturbed her.
"Are we done here?" she hopped off the wood block and idly dusted off her clothes, keeping her eyes firmly away from anyone's face.
"O'course, o'course, dear. Errands t'tend to," Caoimhe set a gentle hand on Kendra's shoulder and started for the door. "Thanks again, Mr. Simons."
"Twas a pleasure," he bowed his head a bit and watched the four women file out and start down the street again, his eyes narrowing as they disappeared from sight. He twisted the measuring rope in his hand and smiled a little. "Kendra, eh?"
After her third day of very grating hour long sessions of listening to Alistair ramble at her, Kendra had managed to slip her guardians for the moment and was wandering the halls. She had become at least partially acquainted with most of the older relatives and had all but the overtly Scottish names firmly within her memory. She wasn't fond of remembering them all, but she loathed being in a conversation with someone whose name was unknown. The folded piece of parchment was in her back pocket and Kendra still had yet to actually thank Rhona for writing down the names for her.
To be honest, she probably trusted Rhona and Filib the most, though she couldn't properly place what she thought of them as. They were quick on their feet and more often than not could perceive what she was going to say before it had left her lips. And they genuinely cared from what she could tell. It unnerved her, but she knew it would have terrified her before. The Morgans and Thompsons had softened her; she had no doubt in that. Even more disturbing to Kendra was how implicitly she found herself trusting them. She still wasn't very fond of Seaghdh, but the manor was large enough that she could avoid him without too much effort.
More than anything, they were kind. There were still moments when Kendra would go reaching for a dagger – they'd stripped her of all but a few – and just a soft smile or word from Rhona would make the tension leave her hand. And the chats with Filib soothed her mind more than she wanted to admit.
There were times she wondered if this was what having parents was like.
Ian was the brother she'd met last and she couldn't get a real grasp of how to think of him. At first glance she thought he was a younger version of Jim – she'd only known so many portly men – and then she recognized his attire as something else entirely. Ian was a blacksmith and craftsman, something that she couldn't stop her from thinking of Will. And he sounded so kind, too. She'd been foisted on him to look after for the day, even his wife Caoimhe was busy with her grandchildren. She hadn't spent much time with just Will, but the familiar sights and smells calmed her nerves just that little bit. And Ian's myriad of faces changed again – making flashes of jangling hair, a cocky smirk, and a twirl of seemingly magic fingers. She scoffed at the idea of Captain Jack Sparrow being anything like Ian, but the thought still remained. Let alone how Ian's hand on her shoulder could calm her. And made her think of a familiar laugh, gentle hands, and blond hair. She couldn't help but stare at his face sometimes, especially when he gave her that smile that seemed to be for all the world. It made her gut wrench up and her heart start to race all at the same time.
Either way she looked at it, the man made her think of three men she never could have imagined in one: Will, Jack, and Alex.
She sighed again and continued down the hall. She could hear voices in some of the rooms and already knew what lay in others. About this time, she'd either get talked into going to see Alistair again, his room was two doors back, or return to whatever activity she'd slipped out of. But she was alone this time and no one had spotted her yet.
A set of large oak doors caught her eye and Kendra glanced down the corridor before testing the handle. It creaked, but she persisted and she slipped inside, closing the door behind her. The room was dark aside from a sliver of light coming from the crack in the draperies, but her eyes adjusted quickly enough. The room appeared to have been a sitting room of some sort, with two tables surrounded by chairs. Though it was obviously no longer in common use as the furniture was covered by sheets and the air was musty. She breathed carefully and scanned the walls with curiosity. They were thick with rectangles covered in cloth, probably portraits or mirrors, but there was one in particular – the largest of them – that caught her eye. It was covered like the rest, but the cloth was only covering half of it, as if it'd been pulled back earlier to reveal the image it held. But the room looked untouched, so Kendra was left to wonder how long ago that had been. She could see part of the framing and it looked like it was ornately carved and gold leafed.
No one had discovered her yet and she might as well get a better look at the room, so Kendra made her way to the window and pushed aside the heavy draperies. Her eyes widened as the room seemed to come to life in the moonlight. The walls were a rich navy blue with silver hooks and ornaments scattered about, but her eyes focused on the now discernable painting.
It appeared to be a family portrait, with some very familiar faces. There was Alistair twenty-five years in the past, seated in the center, with a kind looking woman sitting at his left. Around them stood six figures: five men and one woman. A somber looking man with brown hair who she presumed was Aulay, then Conall in rather dressy attire from his usual garb, a nearly impish blond that was probably Boyd, a serenely smiling Ian, a cocky Filib, and then a face that was just barely visible.
The woman stood at Alistair's side and drew Kendra closer. She moved towards it without a thought, pulling the sheet the rest of the way off and freezing at the image that stood before her.
"Marcail?" she whispered, unable to move from her spot. She knew that face, knew those eyes, that nose, even those lips. Kendra could not mistake that smile. She'd seen it in the mirror time and time again.
It was her own.
But there was something eerie about the image, something intuitively wrong in Kendra's mind's eye. She could never be seen in that beautiful gold dress, it wouldn't ever sit on her like that. The rouge would look gaudy on her cheeks. But if one discounted those factors and let the intricately done hair fall to the shoulders and no further and tied it back with a simple bit of leather…
"I look at yeh and see me lit'l sister."
No, no. Filib was wrong.
This couldn't be her mother. This face in the portrait was beautiful and happy and serene...
And she looked just like Kendra.
It was wrong. It had to be.
A handful of people had said Kendra was beautiful but she'd never seen it, couldn't believe it. They were just aiming to flatter a favor or two out of her, she was sure of it. But if this woman was her mold, then how could they be wrong? No, it was a lie, no matter to how true it felt.
Kendra wanted to look away, but her feet were firmly planted there and her eyes stared on. This woman had endured the roaring of waves and the crushing cold of the sea. Clung to life and spared her child – her infant daughter – certain death at the cost of her own. Kendra's lips trembled at the image, this woman never deserved that. Should never have had to experience that.
No matter to how Kendra tried to will her body to move away and leave the painting be, she kept staring at the painting.
And Marcail stared back. Smug, almost daring Kendra to believe her.
Could this be the same woman that had snuck out of the house with Filib? Beat him at Poker and courted danger like Kendra flirted with death? Was this really the woman that Alistair spoke of with such longing and vivacity?
Before she knew it, a hand had lifted to touch it. Her fingers stretched out in the hopes of gaining even a glimpse of this woman's life. Even just to go near the image that was taking a life of its own. A face that was deeply imprinted on her mind now. It was beginning to come to life.
She knew it was going to haunt her.
Kendra let out a shuttering breath and her fingers flinched, still reaching out for the painting. "Nothing but a picture, just a painting of some woman long dead."
I will not replace a dead woman.
Sorcery or no, Kendra was sure that Marcails's eyes focused on her more intently. And it sent a shiver down her spine, made feelings surface that she had thought impossible.
"That is not my mother!" she hissed.
Instinct kicked in and Kendra was charging out of the room as fast as her legs would carry her.
The woman stared on, smiling at her wayward daughter.