The heat from the fireplace warmed the soles of his boots. With a life out on the open seas, it was not often that Hector could truly enjoy the comforts of domesticity. The soft cushions of the chaise lounge eased the aches and pain that came with age, and the perfumed air was a welcome change from the stink of his crew. Barbossa was not one to turn down such luxuries. He enjoyed the finer delicacies the world offered to him.
Connie was busy fussing with herself in the looking glass. Her curled hair was festooned with silk rosettes to match her gown. She wore no powder, but she wore rouge on her lips and cheeks. Her gown was in the new style; an emerald silk confection with a deep square neckline, a whalebone corset, and flounces of lace along the skirt.
Captain Teague had fine tastes in women. Barbossa would make sure to tell him. If he ever found the Captain.
The coquette was reticent to give details about Teague. Connie preferred not to discuss her client's business; the secrets of the boudoir, and all that nonsense. He did not have time to abide by the etiquette of wooing the information from Connie.
To expedite the process, Barbossa pulled a gold coin from Margaret's silken purse and flashed it at the woman.
Connie's eyes fell to the gold coin held precariously in his fingers. Then, she met his gaze in the looking glass. Barbossa smirked.
The value of a gold coin was worth ten times (or more) the cost than a single night in the courtesan's company. No matter how becoming she may be.
"Well, Captain Barbossa, 'spose I can make an exception for you," the woman crooned as she crossed the room. She made herself comfortable on the chaise beside him and Barbossa chuckled. He handed the woman the coin and she grinned.
"Where was Captain Teague headin' when ye last saw him?"
"I 'eard from him he was headed to Havana. Had some business there on behalf of the Brethren Court."
Havana. Not a far journey. Barbossa would be able to catch up with the pirate though there was no guarantee that Teague would be in Havana.
Barbossa grimaced in disappointment. There was another line of inquiry he could pursue:
"Wouldn't happen to know where I can find Jack Sparrow?"
The wench rolled her eyes at the mention of Jack's name and shook her head in answer, "Haven't seen Jack Sparrow since he made off without payin' his tab. Not like his Pa at all, Captain Teague always makes sure to pay his debts."
Another dead end. At least he had Margaret's book. The book provided rough coordinates for the Fountain's location, but he wasn't the type to go racing towards a prize without checking to make sure there weren't any traps set along the path. He would spend the remainder of his time on Tortuga tracking down Jack and finding out more information about the Fountain. If he didn't have any leads by sundown tomorrow, he would set sail with the book as his guide. At which point, Barbossa would return the remainder of the gold coin to Margaret and leave her behind on Tortuga.
It would be déjà vu. Setting sail again on the Pearl, leaving her alone on an island, ruining her plans, and burning any last bridge of good will that remained between them. Barbossa had a good excuse the last time; the fate of his soul hung in the balance. Now, what was his excuse?
The temptation of eternal life, he reckoned. He was reminded of what Margaret said when he had told her about his quest for the Fountain of Youth:
"Eternal life isn't all it's cracked up to be."
Perhaps, the woman spoke some truth.
Lost in contemplation, Barbossa nearly forgot the presence of the wench beside him. It wasn't until he felt a warm hand against the fabric of his shirt that he remembered the wench sitting beside him. Connie came closer; laying herself nearly prostrate over his lap.
"My apologies love that I couldn't be more 'elpful. With that business taken care of, I say we now get to enjoyin' ourselves…"
At Connie's insistence, he had removed his coat and his hat. They hung neatly on a rack by the door along with his belt and scabbard. Thus, the wench's hand was free to rub soft, dangerous circles on his upper thigh. Through the fabric of his trousers, he could feel her knowing touch get closer and closer to the flesh that pulsed beneath. Barbossa couldn't keep himself from stroking the skin of the wench's cheek. It had been too long since he'd last been with a woman. Too many months spent alone in his bed.
Long skilled fingers cupped him through his trousers. Margaret's face came to the forefront of his mind as Barbossa closed his eyes from the feeling.
He pictured the young woman of his desire; her full rosebud lips, her crystal blue eyes, her tempestuous brows. He recalled in perfect memory the contours of her naked body. The way she would throw her head back in ecstasy as he made her come time and time again with his mouth.
Oh, he would pay a hundred gold coins to recreate such memories.
Barbossa craved Margaret, but knew she would not likely have him now, or ever again.
Nonetheless, there was a perfectly willing wench presently sitting in his lap.
Connie's head tilted forward as her fingers worked at untying his trouser laces. Her golden eyes flashed dangerously as she licked her lips. Barbossa couldn't help being tempted by the action. Despite himself, he dipped his head forward to taste the coquette's ruby lips.
The door to the boudoir opened.
Barbossa glanced up thinking it was the serving girl Connie had sent off arriving with the requested wine and refreshments.
To the Pirate Lord's astonishment, Margaret stood in the doorway.
The first thing he noticed was the genuine disappointment on her face as she observed the scene before her.
"[The coin] shall surely buy me the company of a dozen pretty wenches on Tortuga."
And here he was in the company of one of Tortuga's finest.
To her credit, the look on her face quickly morphed into a sardonic smirk. She raised her sword at the pair of them on the chaise.
Connie jumped to her feet, a curse on her lips, but Margaret aimed the tip of the sword at the wench's throat.
"Best not be acting rash, Connie. Now go on and get out of here. I have no troubles with you. It's the Captain I'm here to see, and we'll be needing to speak in private."
Emphasizing her point, Margaret took a menacing step forward. Connie glanced back at Barbossa before collecting her skirts and fleeing the room.
Margaret locked the door behind her. For a moment, she remained with her back facing him. He would've jumped up from the couch, but he was trying to settle the hardened erection the wench's teasing had created in his trousers.
An empty chuckle emanated from the young woman.
"What's sad is I expected better from you when you've shown me time and time again just who you are," Margaret finally said. Her voice was flat and hollow. She rummaged in his jacket pocket and retrieved her book; tucking it away in her own jacket.
"Thought you didn't want the book," Barbossa quipped. He didn't know what else to say. He felt guilty and incredulous all at the same time. He wouldn't let Margaret leave with the book. It was only clue to finding the Fountain of Youth. Still, he was figuring out a stratagem in his mind which would cause her to emotionally suffer as little as possible.
"I wasn't planning on taking it," she shrugged. "But now that I realize the value of it, to the right seller, I'll make enough coin to be set for life."
As she crossed the room to stand before him, sword now pointed at him, she grinned, "And, I'll be depriving you a visit to the Fountain of Youth which is only icing on top of the cake."
Barbossa smiled. There was the fiery, implacable spirit he remembered. Margaret was not, by nature, ruthless. She had adapted to the cruelty of the world and all its injustice. She could be merciless if the need arose and "hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."
"As for my gold, give it here. I need a little money to get off this cursed island," she gestured to the coin purse on the chaise.
Barbossa slowly reached for the bag. He held out the velvet pouch for her to take. When her fingers were firmly around the purse, Barbossa made his move. He jumped up to his feet, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her forward. The unexpected action caused her to fall off-balance and towards him. Narrowly avoiding her sword, he put a hand over her fingers gripping the sword handle. Twisting her arm uncomfortably until he was sure the bone would pop from the socket, he watched the sword drop unwillingly to the floor.
At this, Margaret let out a frustrated cry. Barbossa spun her around and pinned her arms behind her back. However, the young woman would not be so easily tamed. She kicked at him. One of her heels, now wrapped in a wood soled shoe, connected with his shin. He growled.
"Come now Margaret, ye courted fire when ye devised this little plan," he chided as he attempted to restrain her.
She responded in an infuriated yell, "Get off me, you fucking bastard!"
Another blow to the same shin resulted in him loosening his grip on her. She took advantage of the opportunity to throw her head back, so it connected with his chin. Barbossa pushed her out of his arms onto the floor as pain bloomed across his jaw. Margaret fell to the floor, attempting to grab her sword, but he stepped on the blade.
"Not getting away that easily, love," he growled. His temper was growing as their scuffle progressed. Why could she not leave well enough alone?
Scrambling to her feet, she ran to the hook by the door and took his own sword into her hand. The weight of the sword, much greater than her own thinner blade, made her stance lopsided. He picked her discarded weapon off the floor.
With hand outstretched, he pressed, "Give me the book. Ye can have your coin back. It's enough to set yerself up finely on any island in the Caribbean. Just give me the book Margaret."
The only response he received was a furious shake of her head.
Once, when they had first met, back when he was hunting down the Aztec Gold, Margaret had challenged him to a duel. She had been all of twenty years old at the time; uncouth and eager to prove herself. Her technique had been sloppy, but she proved a willing pupil under his tutelage. No doubt her years spent in the various corners of the world had honed her ability.
Barbossa would do well not underestimate her.
He made the first move testing her reflexes. She adapted well with his blade and countered his moves. He tried again. This time he aimed for her unprotected hip. She blocked his attack. She swung for his left shoulder, a weak spot of his, and he narrowly avoided being sliced by his own sword.
The metal on metal clashed reverberating through the empty room.
Despite her ability to fend off his maneuvers, he was in the process of backing her against the corner by Connie's armoire. He smiled and continued his assault. Her eyes grew wide. Margaret was beginning to panic. He could smell it on her.
Their swords met at the hilt. She was using all her strength to keep him off her. It was difficult to do so with the wall on one side and the armoire on the other.
Finally, the Pirate Lord prevailed.
Margaret dropped her weapon, so the cold metal of the sword in his hand pressed against the woman's chest. She grimaced as the sharpness of the weapon kissed her skin. Barbossa would not harm her, but he would have the book in the end.
"Hand over the book Margaret. Do not make me do anything I don't want to do," he said. There was a plea in his voice which he didn't even realize was there. It surprised him; the sentiment behind the warning.
"Fine," she surrendered. Her eyes were watering when he met her gaze.
Barbossa withdrew some of the pressure he had on her not wanting to cause her any real injury.
With a defeated sigh, Margaret reached for the book in her jacket.
He should've predicted what would happen next.
The woman grabbed an open jar of perfume sitting on the armoire. It was the scent Connie had been bathing herself in when he had first entered her bedroom. A sickly-sweet smell of gardenia and vanilla. Margaret tossed it at him.
When the perfume hit his face, the liquid burned his eyes. Barbossa was momentarily blinded. He cursed a black oath and stepped back rubbing at his eyes with his shirtsleeve.
This allowed the young woman just enough time to duck away and make it out the door.
"Margaret!" Barbossa called out into the empty room.