SO RIGHTFULLY MINE

- Elizabeth's POV -

We are not many days from Port Royal when I wake bathed in sweat and breathing hard. I do not have the strength to push myself into a sitting position, so I turn over on my side and draw my shawl closer around me to ward off the chill that sweeps over my body. Squeezing my eyes shut, I attempt to sleep again, but no matter how fatigued I feel I cannot achieve unconsciousness. There is a dull ache in my stomach that worsens as the hours pass. I press my hand against it feeling for the baby's heartbeat underneath my skin. It is with this faint rhythm pulsing through me that I am finally able to sleep again.

The hours continue to pass in a blur of sound and shifting shades of gloom. I can feel and hear the movement of other passengers in the hold, but no one speaks to me that I am aware of, so I continue to sleep, hoping that whatever illness I have will wear off with the passage of time. At some point I find myself retching violently in my sleep, and I wake up in a pool of my own vomit. Sticky with sweat and slightly delirious from fatigue and lack of water I vomit again into the tin I have been given for my meals, of which I have eaten little.

There is a bucket of fresh water on the floor in the middle of the room, but I am unable to reach it, and instead I collapse, unconscious, back into my own filth. At some point a shaking on my shoulder awakens me, and a young woman comes into focus. She holds a candle close to my face and pulls back, startled, at the sight of me. She speaks quickly and quietly to someone else nearby, but I do not hear or understand her as everything falls into a cottony silence once again.

- James' POV -

I eye the Dart through a long-glass and note the lack of a crew aboard the ship. They must have already disbanded, and therefore the passengers will no longer be aboard. I grit my teeth, snap the long-glass closed, and hope that Elizabeth is still somewhere within the town. We made it here in record time – in fact, the Dart stayed just within sight of my long-glass until she made berth this very morning. We did not catch up, however, for a half hour afterward, and it will be another half hour in the longboats before we reach shore.

It is one of the longest longboat excursions I have ever experienced, and I leap out of the craft as soon as it bumps against the pier. Leaving Commander Davis to deal with explaining the situation to the dock master I sprint down the length of the harbour and up the hill to the fort that sits perched amongst the green glades of Florida's coastland. Directly within my sight there is a young man, a lieutenant possibly, who is startled by my haphazard and sudden appearance. I can only pray that he speaks enough English to understand me.

"Hablas inglés?" I ask him, clutching at a stitch in my side.

Looking slightly bewildered he nods hesitantly, and I continue on not wanting to waste one precious minute.

"There is a passenger ship down there, the Dart. Do you know it?"

Another hesitant affirmative nod is enough for me to plough onward.

"Where can I find the captain?" I ask, my throat hoarse.

This time the young man speaks with a thick accent, "El capitán, he is inside. There was a girl – muy sick . . ."

I am already running before he has finished his sentence, and now my heart is beating somewhere up in my throat as I turn corners and push passed confused men in uniform searching for the infirmary. Oh God, if I am too late . . .

And then I am there. Slowing to a walk at the end of the corridor I move toward a large obviously English man who is wringing his hat in his hands and speaking to another man in broken Spanish. As I pull up short in front of them the two men look at me, surprised, and I must resist the urge to simply push passed them and enter the doors in front of me that I know must lead to Elizabeth.

"Sir, are you the captain of the Dart?"

The man with the hat looks me up and down, perhaps taking in the fact that there is a commodore standing in front of him.

"Yes, sir, I am."

"Excellent," I say, rushing onward, "I am looking for a young woman. She is with child . . . she has brown hair and eyes-"

"You say she was with child?" the captain asks, dismay settling over his face, "I know her. She is very ill- she is just inside."

I make a move toward the doors, but the captain places a firm hand on my arm to stop me.

"She is very ill, sir," he says again, extremely grave, "There was much blood. I'm afraid she may have lost the baby."

My heart, which until that moment had been beating underneath my Adam's apple, plummets straight down to my stomach. A cold terror settles there and begins to spread throughout my body so that my hands are shaking as I push open the doors to the infirmary.

To my surprise there is a single doctor in the room. I was expecting the worst –blood, chaos, screaming . . . But no, it is just an older gentleman leaning over the inert form of a young woman. There is blood still on the white linen placed over her body, but just underneath that linen I can still see the steady rise and fall of her chest. I do not allow myself to hope as I approach the doctor who straightens as I near him.

"Can I help you, sir?" he says with a slight accent.

I look down at Elizabeth's pale, but peaceful face surrounded by her brown hair that flows like waves over the pillow.

"This is my wife," I say quietly, not wishing to disturb her rest, "How is she?"

The doctor's face remains unreadable as he motions for me to follow him away from Elizabeth's bed. When we are out of earshot he speaks again in a lowered voice.

"She was very ill when she arrived," he says carefully, "She was feverish and had not eaten or taken water in several days. Apparently she could not hold anything down. It sounded like an infection to me. By the time she arrived here she was unconscious . . . there was blood everywhere. I thought she had miscarried . . ."

"You thought-"

The doctor suddenly holds up a hand to silence me, and we both turn to look at Elizabeth who stirs restlessly. Her eyes flutter open, and my breath hitches in my throat, as I watch her take in her surroundings. One hand shrugs itself out from under the covers and lights first on the swell of her stomach, then on her cheek and forehead. Gingerly, she turns her head to the side, and her gaze finds mine. She does not shrink back or seem surprised to see me here, so I approach her cautiously, moving deliberately between the beds until I lower myself next to her.

Her eyes are fixed up toward the ceiling, and the trembling of her chin tells me she is fighting back tears. I lay a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she does not move. There is a beat of silence, and then suddenly she bursts into tears and is struggling to sit up. I sit down on the edge of the bed, and she collapses into my arms burying her face in her hands. I wrap my arms around her, tears forming in my own eyes out of sheer gratefulness at seeing her alive. I press my lips against her hair as she continues to cry, until her weeping subsides into silence.

"What were you thinking, Elizabeth?" I ask her quietly, stroking her hair.

She takes a shuddering breath and glances up at me.

"I don't deserve you, James," she replies, "I thought if I found Will life would be better . . . easier."

"I don't care if you think I deserve you," I say quietly but fiercely, "You are my wife. I have vowed to have and hold you all the days of my life, and I intend to do just that no matter what may come our way. Perhaps I should have let you go . . ."

Elizabeth stiffens in my arms and sits up straighter. "No, James, you did what was right. I . . . ran because I was afraid. I ran because I did not know any better. I still have quite a bit of growing up to do, James, and I am sorry you have been caught in the middle of it."

"Do not be so harsh on yourself," I say, tucking a strand of Elizabeth's hair behind her ear, "Let me help you. Let me grow with you. We are all still learning, dear one. Surely you know that?"

"I just seem to stumble more often than others," she whispers so that I can barely hear her.

I neither confirm nor deny this, but instead release her from my embrace. She remains sitting up, lost in thought, with one hand resting on the swell under her dress. This seems to surprise her, and she turns to me with wide eyes.

"I completely forgot about the baby!" she cries, and my eyes meet hers, wild with emotion.

"Is it-"

I trail off, unsure of what to ask of a child that is not mine. She takes my hand gently and rests it against her stomach. To my astonishment, there is a light fluttering there, like the wings of a butterfly, barely discernable underneath the fabric and her skin.

"It's all right," Elizabeth breathes, and I can hear the relief in her voice, "The heartbeat is still there right where I left it."

I take my hand away quickly as a shiver courses through my body. I feel elated, like there is a bubble of warm air expanding in my chest, and it is only compounded by the fact that there is a small life still fluttering between us with the power to mend the heartstrings of an otherwise ravished heart.

Authoress' Note: Again, I apologise for the very long hiatus I went on before the previous chapter. I am hoping to have this story wrapped up over the Christmas holidays, so please don't worry your pretty heads about that. Also, it's lovely to know there are people out there still enjoying this. (Also-also, I apologise for the "POV cue cards" placed in between scenes. I had a few complaints of confusion from readers…)