Author's Note: My apologies for the way long delay; I think my problem is I just have too many stories going at once. (In addition to the ones I have here, I mean.) But anyway, it looks like I have some explaining to do before I go on this time: first of all, thanks so, so much to all my devoted readers for keeping up and being so patient with me! Secondly, Ms. Critique: I understand what you're saying about Jack seeming out of character – that was part of my concern, really – but reworking the entire scene the way you suggested would undermine my goals for their relationship, I think. Also, I'm of the opinion that Jack is indeed fairly eloquent, but it's not a trait he lets come out a lot of the time. I always took his "joviality" as you put it to be part of a mask he uses to keep others from knowing what he's up to. And like you said, it is "unexplored territory," so to a certain degree I feel like I can take a few liberties with it.
D: I'm sorry you had trouble with Jack's speech, but it seems like you've gotten the main gist of it. There are two real reasons Jack sent Abby away. The first was what he told her: he wanted to test her and see if she'd come back for him. The second isn't really something I wanted to go that far into (just because it would require me to use Jack's P.O.V. which I can't do because I'm writing in First Person) is that he didn't want to fall in love. He thought it would get in the way of his own ego for one thing, and for another he was afraid he would just lose his head in a battle if he was preoccupied worrying about her.
*whew*
Okay, that said, here is another chapter! Please read and review – hope it was worth the wait!
Chapter 14: The Isle of St. Thomas
It was a night like none other, but of course I had expected nothing less. Jack pulled me into a crushing embrace and then kissed me so softly I wanted to cry. I let my arms circle his neck and kissed him back, deeper. I can't remember any exact details; just images, and scattered sensations, all of them wonderful. I remember the feel of his coarse shirt under my fingers, and the way I let my hands get tangled up in his wild black hair. I remember the warmth of his strong arms around me, his breath against my skin, and the taste of his kisses. I still marveled at how gentle he was with me, never handling me roughly, but touching my face softly and giving me slow, passionate kisses until I was reeling with a desire to give it all back to him tenfold, to make him feel as much pleasure as I was feeling. I had never let a man make love to me before, but I didn't even think twice about the matter. I was in love, and that was that. What else was there to consider? So I stayed in his arms all night, and I fell asleep to the sound of his deep, rhythmic breathing.
I was almost surprised to find him still with me when I awoke. I stirred as the first light of dawn filtered in through the porthole at the foot of my bed. I sat up and saw Jack, already awake, kneeling near the foot of the bed and gazing fixedly out the porthole. I wished he would come back to me and hold me again – I was so blissfully exhausted from our exploits the night before – but I sensed something was amiss.
"What is it?" I asked groggily, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.
He looked back at me, his eyes dark with foreboding.
"We've come upon Saint Thomas," he said simply.
So it was time. Our romance would have to be interrupted for a while. I nodded.
"What do we do now?" I asked fearfully.
"'We' will do nothing," he answered, turning away from the porthole and coming back to me, "You will join Will and Elizabeth on deck and take the ship into port. I will wait here – Covington must not be allowed to know of my presence here until the opportune moment."
He reached down to move a lock of hair away from my forehead.
"When will that be?" I asked.
"It's impossible to say yet," said Jack, "But when the time comes, I'll know."
He continued sweeping my hair back, rhythmically, almost methodically. My eyes closed.
"Will I?"
The repetitive sweeping stopped. I opened my eyes again; Jack grinned slowly.
"I daresay you might," he said cryptically, "But in the meantime, make for the deck. Ye've quite a job to do, and you'll need to be ready for it."
I crept closer to him, slung my arms lazily around his neck and pulled him down to me.
"I wish I didn't have to leave you again," I whispered.
I felt Jack's arms go around me. He held me close, and we lay still in each other's embrace. Suddenly I realized this would be our last embrace for God only knew how long; I shuddered inwardly and held him tighter.
"It's not goodbye forever, love," he whispered, pressing me to him, "You'll do all right – the rat won't know what hit him. I almost pity him, knowing ye'll be coming for him soon."
I laughed. Jack kissed me lightly on the forehead.
"There's a good girl," he said, "Now get on upstairs; you've got a long day ahead of you."
But I hesitated, reluctant to leave his arms.
"When will I see you again?" I asked.
Jack said nothing for a while, and I felt him sigh against my cheek.
"Don't think of me," he said sternly, "It will never do to distract yourself that way. Now go, or I might never let ye out of my sight again."
I was tempted to see just how far he would carry out such a threat, but I understood the gravity of our situation well enough not to do so. I disentangled myself from him, dressed, and headed upwards to the deck. The dawn was bright, flooding the air with white-yellow sunlight and stinging my eyes when I first emerged. I saw Will's silhouette at the helm, steering us towards a small port just a few boat-lengths away. I moved further out onto the deck, but just then I just then I heard Elizabeth's voice coming down to me from the crow's nest.
"Abby!" she called.
"Aye?" I answered, looking up.
"He's off to port bow," she said, "Look!"
She folded her telescope and tossed it down to me. I caught it deftly, then raised it to my eye and looked in the direction she had indicated. I saw a familiar ship docked a few knots away from us. Sure enough, there was Covington's flag, flying high in the breeze atop the mast of that very same ship that had taken me back to England against my will so many long months ago. I lowered the telescope slowly and cold rage began to simmer in my veins again. Elizabeth swung gracefully down from the crow's nest and came to my side.
"That is him, isn't it?" she asked, taking the telescope back from me.
"Yes," I said, "It's him."
I stared fixedly at the flag; it was funny, really, for it to be such a lovely morning. The day bloomed on us gently, painting the sky with warm pastel pinks and blues, and a light breeze moved the ship steadily onward. It seemed almost as if the weather was mocking us, for I had never felt so ill at ease: now that we had reached our destination, I realized once again that I had no idea what to do next.
"What are you going to do now?" asked Elizabeth, as if sensing my anxiety.
"I don't know," I said, "I suppose I ought to find him and confront him, but what then? I can't just attack him straight on, can I?"
"You could," said Elizabeth thoughtfully, "But it would undermine your purpose I think. You want him to know what it is you're trying to accomplish by coming here, so you'll want to speak to him first, if only so it's clear to him why you're attacking him once it comes to that."
"Yes, but . . ."
"What is it, Abby?"
"Well, I . . . I guess I never really thought about it before. I was so anxious to just do something that I didn't think clearly. I have no plan of action whatsoever; all I know is that I want him to leave me alone and never try to find me again."
"You could at least try to reason with him, I suppose. You may not need to fight him at all. But what if he proves himself unreasonable?"
"Then I'll fight him. But I won't strike the first blow."
Elizabeth nodded. We reached the docks then, and Will called for us to come forward and help him tie the lines down. Elizabeth knew the ropes better than I – it was her ship after all – but I did my part and before long we were secured to the dock. I then went back down the hatch to gather my things and come ashore. I hadn't brought much with me – only some clean things in my knapsack, a few shillings and my knife of course. Jack was no longer in the room at that point; I didn't take much notice of his absence just then. Why should he stay confined in one room for the duration of his hiding? But when I came back on deck I happened to glance to my left, over the starboard hull; there was a small shape adrift on the sunlit waters, moving steadily away from the ship. I straightened and went closer to the gunwale, squinting after the shape. It could very well have been a stray rowboat – such a thing would hardly be out of place in this setting – and I almost mistook it for that. But I stayed a moment longer, and just then a stiff breeze blew across the deck. The breeze rippled across the water, finally reaching the little rowboat and its master. A long red scarf fluttered into the air, whipping momentarily around the rower's shoulders. My mouth dropped open in stunned disbelief.
"Jack!" I cried, rushing to the edge of the gunwale.
I heard commotion behind me as Will and Elizabeth came running to my side. Will whipped out his telescope and peered out after the rowboat. There was no mistaking it: it was him. Elizabeth made an exasperated noise, peering coldly after the boat.
"I don't know what to tell you, Abby," she said apologetically, "Honestly though, I can't say I'm surprised."
"Neither am I," agreed Will, lowering the telescope, "There's no man alive who could tell you how that pirate's mind works."
There was nothing we could do. I had half a mind to take another boat and go after him, but what good would that do? He would only get angry with me for second-guessing whatever brilliant plan he was doubtlessly trying to set in motion. So we went ashore, and Will and Elizabeth left me for a moment to discuss something. (I didn't ask what – it seemed important, but I had no business prying.) I myself headed in the direction of the other port we had seen, where Covington's ship was tied. I had to follow a dusty dirt road along the edge of the island, shaded by thick tropical plants that bloomed with sweet, wild flowers. I was grateful for the shade, and the tangy scent of the flowers gave me an odd sense of wild freedom, but when I came to the other side and saw the ship again my courage began to falter. I stopped. Covington's crest billowed high in the air at the top of the mast, and the growing daylight held the great ship in a scorching spotlight.
I wonder if anyone's still aboard, I thought to myself.
I swallowed hard, shifted my knapsack on my shoulder, and moved forward. I walked slowly up the gangplank and onto the deck, listening to my footsteps echo beneath the hollow wood. There was the door to the cabin, where Covington's quarters were. There was the bow where I had stood, watching the horizon for any sign of the Black Pearl. And there, tied to the side of the hull, was the boat in which they had taken me away, back to this same ship, back to England and the life I had despised so much. It was so surreal being there again, this time on an empty deck, and there by my own will with the knowledge that I had sought this vessel out myself. The ship creaked and wallowed in the shallow water. But then another sound entered my consciousness: it was faint, barely perceptible, but it was still there. A footstep, deliberately soft and careful, as someone crept up behind me. In one swift motion I dropped my knapsack to the deck, unsheathed my sword, and spun around to face the intruder. Before me stood a smartly-uniformed sailor, a boy of about seventeen, with wide round eyes and a plain but honest face. At the moment his gaunt face was pale with surprised terror, and his round eyes were fixed on the tip of my sword, held precariously just inches from his straight nose.
"Beggin' your pardon, ma'am," he said shakily, "But why are you aboard this ship?"
I lowered my sword curiously; this boy was far from the fearsome attacker I had been expecting.
"I'm looking for Germaine Covington," I said evenly, "This is his ship, is it not?"
"Aye, miss," said the boy, still eyeing my sword, "But there's no one aboard, except me."
"Is that so? Then where have the crew gone – is he with them?"
"I'm sorry, miss, but I en't authorized to tell ye that."
I nodded and sheathed my sword; the boy's face relaxed considerably.
"Of course you're not," I said, "But perhaps that is someone else that is. Could you be persuaded to tell me their whereabouts?"
As I was talking I picked up my knapsack again and took out my change purse with the idea of bribing him into telling me something useful. But at that moment his round eyes seemed to clear, and he looked at me closely, scrutinizing my face.
"Miss Abigail?" he asked uncertainly.
I froze.
"Who are you?" I demanded.
"Only a sailor, ma'am," he said, "But I saw them take you aboard those months ago. You're the one they're looking for."
I looked at him hard; he was fidgety and hopelessly nervous, but his gaze on me didn't alter. He was telling the truth. Slowly I moved closer to him.
"What's your name, boy?"
"Eric," he said, "Eric Lindon, ma'am."
"Well, Eric, I need to know where Covington is. If he's looking for me, surely you can permit yourself to tell me where he is."
"I would, only. . ."
He shrugged indefinitely; something other than his duties was holding him in silence.
"Go on," I said gently, "I'm in no hurry."
Eric glanced away from me and shifted his weight back and forth; I wished I could make this forced confession easier for him.
"It's difficult, miss," he said finally, "I en't rightly sure how to tell ye."
"Don't worry about that," I told him as comfortingly as I could, "Just tell me the truth."
"You don't understand, miss – he means to take you to the gallows."
My mouth dropped open; I hadn't been expecting that. Was I to be hanged? My hand went to my throat as I tried not to imagine the sensation of a noose clasped around it.
"The gallows?" I repeated weakly.
"Aye miss," said Eric, "I can't tell the truth of the matter myself, but he's been tellin' folk that you're a witch. His intention is to have you arrested and hanged."
I felt my legs weakening; I went over to the side of ship and grabbed hold of the gunwale to steady myself. This was an even more perfect catastrophe than I had envisioned. I, a witch? What on earth could have given him that idea? I concentrated on slowing my breath as the image of the noose continued to haunt my mind. Eric's wide eyes darted rabbit-like to the left and right, and then he approached me gingerly.
"Listen, miss," he said, "I haven't a clue what's got in Covington's head to make him think you're a witch, but if I were you I'd make myself scarce, and quickly. He en't right in the head these days, if you know what I mean, and I'd not like to be the one he was comin' after."
I took a deep breath and straightened myself, nodding slowly.
"Well," I said, "I appreciate your concern, Master Lindon. I don't know how he came by that notion either, but there's no helping it now. Thank you – you have been most helpful."
I fished a shilling out of my change purse and handed it to him. He gave me a conspiratorial grin, and then turned and walked back down the gangway the way he had come. I myself found it difficult to move for a moment or two. I rubbed at my neck, noting how remarkably tender the skin was, and wondering how I could have failed to notice that before. But something had to be done; it would do me no good to stand in one spot feeling sorry for myself. So I breathed deep, took up my knapsack again, and headed back for the tavern where I'd left Will and Elizabeth.