Author's Note: Revised on January 9, 2011.

Chapter XXIV
Invasion

A pained and merciless cry ripped through the ship and it had not come from me.

I awoke with a jolt. For the past three days, I had been resting below deck in a hammock right next to Jared's in hope that I would make a quick recovery. I still, however, felt terrible. Though this scream – this bloodcurdling, horrific and injured scream – was enough to make anyone rise to their feet, despite their current health state.

With my head pounding in my ears, I staggered away from my uncomfortable place of rest and padded bare footed over broken bottles and dirty men's breeches. I assumed it was midday as I could already feel the warmth of the heavy Caribbean sun pounding down upon me.

"Master Welch, I can assure you, our intentions are strictly honourable," I heard Barbossa purr.

I stopped dead in my tracks. Welch? Why did such a name seem so familiar to me? Clutching onto one thickly woven rope, I hesitated on the step I stood upon, thinking it wise to discover what was going on before making any movements I would regret later.

"We have no women aboard our ship," Barbossa went on; I could see him fiddle idly with his dirty beard as he spoke, looking down upon this Welch (whose back was turned so I could not see his face) with boredom and disgust scrawled across his face.

"Don't play with me, man!" snapped his opponent. As he turned, I could distinguish that he was an old and beastly man with hair as slimy as his foul expression. But more shockingly so, what I could also tell was that he appeared to be the exact character who had aided Fitzwilliam's kidnapping scheme in my dreamed-up reminiscences.

If he was here, it could only mean Fitzwilliam was too.

I began to shake.

"I know she's 'ere," Welch continued to gargle from behind blackened teeth. "Now 'and 'er over an' the boy can live."

The boy?

This shock had evidently not been enough.

I felt a sudden pound of adrenaline rush through my weakened body. My temperamental stomach protested against this emotion and I had to muster all my inner strength to suppress and terrified cough. I was instantly reminded of my virus as I stretched my neck out into the open only to see the most horrific and violent sight I could ever remember witnessing.

Jared. My friend lay in a gory heap, stripped of his shirt and the skin from his back.

I could see his very blood drying upon what skin remained and hear the pitiless buzzing of the bugs and flies landing upon and in his wounds even from such a distance. Sweat and dirt from his dark hair began to trickle down the back of his neck, mingling with insects and oozing red liquid found upon his butchered back. The foul reek of this blended with the hot air could only be described one thing: death. And, if not for his distressed shrieks and whimpers, I would have presumed Jared as just that.

Dead.

Barbossa stared down at him, grunted twice and shrugged before saying, "kill 'im. He's of no worth to me."

A gasp arose and caught in my throat. I began to shake violently and my medical state seemed like it had dramatically decreased. Jared! He couldn't die. They couldn't kill him! I forced down a cry and held on to my arising vomit, no matter how soiled the taste.

"Then 'e wouldn't be worth killin'," snorted Welch. His metal-toed boot made a quick, sharp contact with Jared's ribs and I swear, Reader, I heard them crack.

"But perhaps, Captain Barbossa," continued our unwelcomed guest, circling the captain with a merciless sneer, "you would. Now I'll ask ya'll one last time. Where. Is. The girl?"

Barbossa's cat-like eyes fell to a squint; I could tell he was plotting something and was beginning to hope his plan went along the lines of drawing his dagger and twisting it into Welch's stomach.

"Not much of a fast thinker, are ya?" Welch snapped, a mere second after his last retort. "Nothin' like Sparrow; he woulda done something irrational by now. Somthin' crazy. He woulda got me off this ship and, well, you... you really aren't a comparison, are ya, Hector? Now listen. I want Sparrow's daughter, an' I know she's 'ere. So if I 'ave to bully and torment it outta ya, I will. And if I 'ave to kill all of ya for good measure, I definitely will."

His words swirled in tight circles behind my skull. There was really only one solution in which I saw fit. If I emerged, so would Fitzwilliam. Therefore, there was but one thing I could do.

"C-captain?" my voice stammered as I ascended into the blinding daylight. "I'm here."

There was not a mouth closed. As I stumbled forth, the crew gaped in astonishment. To them it must have seemed like I was handing myself over to Dalton. Which, in a twisted and terrifying way, I was.

"Jared?" I breathed. Ignoring the stares, I fell to my knees and took his battered hand. His clear blue eyes pleaded from beneath his colourful bruises. He wanted me to run; I was a fool not to listen.

Welch let out a blood-curling laugh. "No women aboard our ship? No women, eh? Filthy pirates." He paused to reach out and place a fingertip against my bare shoulder. I shuddered, releasing Jared's hand to clench at my churning gut.

"I'm not going with you," I said as firmly as I could manage. I rose to my feet and backed close to Barbossa, narrowing my eyes at the elderly fiend before us.

His throat grumbled. Anger danced across his face. "Oh, you are, lass! Yer coming with me now."

"Belay that," Barbossa spat, digging his yellow nails into my shoulder blades. I resisted a shrill of pain. "Show me Lord Dalton, or the lass goes nowhere."

I assumed this was all part of his ruthless plan; within moments Fitzwilliam would most likely be shot down dead and his crew would be slapped away like a swarm of annoying flies. I would then be taken back to La Fleur and finally be permitted to get on with my life, hopefully living upon a distant island with my mother and our friends if they so wished to join us.

Welch opened his decayed mouth to argue. He and Barbossa bickered for a mere few minutes whilst I attempted to both cling on to my consciousness and Jared's quivering hand.

But he came, of course. Fitzwilliam never stays silent for long.

"Now, now, gentleman," he snapped, tongue curling like a ravenous snake, "there's no need for such behaviour. We have a lady present."

He gestured to me with his long fingers and I felt my mood descend down into certain depression. If what I had felt due to my illness was bad, then this could only be explained as fifteen thousand times worse.

I hated him with every inch of my self-respect.

He had ruined everything. He had destroyed my mother's life as well as my own and manipulated all around him. He had killed, betrayed and blackmailed and worse still, arrested and put to death men who had done just that in the name of piracy.

If Barbossa would not shoot Fitzwilliam now, then I would have to pull the trigger myself.

He deserved to die.

"Dear Lord, Catalina, what is wrong with you?" he continued, cocking his head to one side. I shrunk back against Barbossa in self-consciousness, too afraid to do much else. "You look like you've died and awoken from your grave, girl. We shall have to get you cleaned up, immediately; if these dreadful men have laid a hand on you then so help me I will—"

"You'll what?" Jared spoke from my feet. He shook like a newborn lamb as he stood up straight to challenge Fitzwilliam. "What could you do to them that you haven't yet done to Cat and her mother for that matter?"

Shoot him, I silently begged. Shoot him, Barbossa. Shoot this so-proclaimed nobleman straight through his black heart.

Nothing happened.

"Do you challenge me?" Fitzwilliam cried, drawing a pistol and pressing it to Jared's neck. My friend was motionless. The Lord's sharp eyes became narrow, malicious slits as he scanned Jared and his painful injuries. I held my breath.

"All I'm saying," Jared exhaled, "is you can hardly hold it against these men for kidnapping Cat when you did the same thing to her, only fifteen years earlier!"

He cocked his pistol.

Jared, however, just laughed. And I'll admit to you now, Reader, even I felt a tingle down my spine at his new adopted tone. He wasn't afraid; he was livid. He was so fuming, his wounds were suddenly insignificant. He blatantly wasn't going to let the Lord walk all over him. I wondered whether or not he had borrowed this trait from my mother or courage was ten a penny away from England.

"You, my boy, are quite a fighter," our enemy eventually commented. "A ladies man, I can assume. You remind me far too much of someone I do not particularly like."

I was beginning to feel dizzy. Ignoring the argument bouncing back and forth behind me, I looked around to Barbossa with pleading eyes, hoping he would understand.

Thankfully, he offered one black, crooked smile. "Let us wait until the opportune moment, Miss Cat," he whispered, pulling one side of his cloak away to reveal his pistol and prove his loyalty.

I managed a little nod, about to stutter a reply.

But I could not for an unwanted hand was now coiled around my upper arm and already tugging it.

I shrieked, unsure of what else to do. Welch, the grimy henchman, just snarled, ignoring as I attempted to break his grasp against my skin. Jared protested, his fist clenched and ready to collide with the fiend's face. Welch simply ducked, pressing his own clammy hand into my honourable friend's gut sending him smashing to the deck in an instant.

I made a desperate attempt at calling to Barbossa, though I observed he and his crew were already engaged in a sword battle with Fitzwilliam.

I squirmed as Welch pulled me, catching the sight of my captain taking on Fitzwilliam and beginning to lose sourly. As talented as the pirate lord may have been with a blade, he would undoubtedly fail to Dalton, considering the nobleman's background in fencing lessons and intense practice regime.

"Come, ye stupid brat!" Welch yelped in my ear, tearing my attention from the battle. "Ye've caused us all too much trouble with yer ridiculous plotting. Yer family don't want you, stupid fool. Heck, we don't even want ye! Do ye realise what ye've cost the Navy, ye pathetic whore?"

"If you do not want me," I snapped back, "then why come after me?"

His reply came in the form of a slap to the back of the head. I whimpered, suddenly afraid for myself, though still managed to keep myself upright.

"Don't kill them!" I pleaded. "I'll come with you if you spare them."

"Ye'll come with us anyways," Welch barked. He pushed hard on the back of my neck, directing me toward the gang plank sitting carefully between the two ships. I did as I was demanded, deciding now would be a brilliant time to come up with a plan of some kind.

But unfortunately, I was not my father's daughter; I had no skills in that area.

I collapsed down to the deck of the Valiant, wracking my brains for the reason I had not resisted Welch's pull whilst I was still aboard the Pearl with a little safety. I was completely stranded now; there was no hope whatsoever.

Simply exhausted from fighting and feeling incredibly nauseous from the virus, I curled my knees up to my chest and huddled against a wooden barrel. Welch stared down at me with a sneer.

"Just let me sleep please," I whispered, turning away from his ice cold glare and burying my head against the frozen wood. And for whatever bizarre reason, he did.

Author's Note: Dun, dun, dunnnnnn :) Fitzwilliam returns. Poor Cat can't catch a break, can she? Comments are welcome, my lovelies!