Disclaimer: It is unnecessary to say that Pirates of the Caribbean and any characters you may recognize belong to Disney. The plot of the story is based heavily on a novel by Christine Elliott.

Historical note: I recognized the many inaccuracies, please forgive them. They were necessary for the sake of the plotline.

Geographical note: Port Royal is a part of Kingston. Just thought you should know.

Chance the Winds of Fortune

Chapter 3

Gareth leaned against the polished rail of the sloop, surveying his surroundings from the commanding elevation of the quarterdeck. For the moment he was pleasurably lost in observing the beauty of the area. Not Port Royal harbor, of course. Its water was clogged with vessels of every description. Not even the city itself, though it teemed with life and vitality. It was the region beyond that captured his eye. Verdant tropical forests, as yet untamed by man, rose gently to meet the majestic Blue Mountains. It was a sight that always left him in awe. When he had worked on and later captained vessels for his father, he had visited this port often.

Those had been years when he had followed the order of things according to George Slade. Gareth had started as a cabin boy and had worked his way up to ordinary seaman when he knew ever spar, every shriv through which the tackle wove, when he could climb the ratlines blindfolded, though he never would, then, and only then, had he earned a position of authority.

The first time he had sailed as an officer he'd feared that the intricacies of commanding the ship would be less of an adventure than working her, but that thought had lasted less time than it took the wind to catch a sail. He had become a sailing master, fixing his position by Hadley's quadrant if the days and nights were clear or by deduced reckoning if they were not. By the time he captained his first schooner, filled with flour ground at Jones Falls to be traded for sugar in Jamaica, he could make decisions with authority and lead men effectively and with compassion. He was everything his father could ask for in a son.

That short time of being his father's pride had lasted till he was twenty-seven. That was the year the last phase of George Slade's master plan for his son was to go into effect, the year Gareth was to give up life at sea and settle down so he might take his father's place at Slade & Co. It was then his father had to remember why he had sent the rebellious, independent boy to sea in the first place.

"You're lookin' better this mornin', Cap'n." Oliver's words interrupted Gareth's musings.

Gareth gave his first mate a wry look but said nothing.

Undaunted, Oliver continued, "Knew my plan would work."

Again, Gareth said nothing, choosing instead to look back over the water and to hope that, if he ignored him, Oliver would change the turn of his conversation. He should have known better.

"Can't say your little tumble did much for your disposition. It's about as sour as that lightskirt in your cabin."

"What do you mean?"

"I thought there was still a tongue in that mouth o' yours, though I wouldn't o' been surprised none if she'd bitten it off. I never saw no woman more full of vinegar."

"What's she upset about?" asked Gareth, puzzled.

"Damned if I know. You spent the night with 'er."

***

Avery had awakened stiff and uncomfortable and in a black mood, but it had improved at once. Almost immediately she'd realized she was alone in the cabin. The captain was gone! Step one had been accomplished with no difficulty. Then, when she arose, the lack of movement became obvious. Was it too much to hope that they were at anchor?

With all haste she darted for the door, opened it, peered out, then jumped back inside and leaned against the door as it slammed shut. She hadn't expected to see sailors in the companionway. They hadn't seemed to notice her, but heaven only knew what kind of ship she was on. She had even pondered whether it was some sort of pirate vessel; surely no honest captain would have treated her as that man had last night.

Her eyes frantically searched the room. A weapon was what she needed, but nothing caught her eye. Before she could move away from the door to begin looking for one, she heard a soft tapping sound, and then the door opened. Caught unawares, Avery could only back away from the grizzled sailor who entered. She recognized the man who had brought her to this cabin on the preceding night.

"What do you want?" She hurled the words at him, hoping to take the offensive.

His dark eyes popped open, but he gave no other sign that her manner of speech surprised him. "I brought ya some breakfast," he said, brushing aside some papers with his forearm and lowering the heavy pewter tray to the desk.

"I don't want it!"

Again, he ignored her outburst. "Well now, the cap'n left word ya was to be served some, so I thought I'd do it, seein' ya know me and all."

Avery bristled at the mention of the hated man. "Where is he?"

"On deck, I s'pose. We came into port this mornin', so he's been pretty busy. He hardly had time to see to his own victuals, yet he thought o' yours."

"He's a saint among men," Avery snapped scathingly. "What port did we come into this morning?"

"Port Royal, o' course."

Port Royal! She could hardly contain her joy. Port Royal! She was almost home. All she had to do now was find some sort of weapon, in case she needed it, and then get off this ship. Though Marian and John were at sea, she was sure that Will and Elizabeth Turner would find a way to get her back to Hopewell.

She glanced up to see him staring at her, a strange expression in his eyes.

"Did your noble captain leave instructions for you to stand there staring at me?"

"Nay, I was just – "

"Then don't. Go away and let me" – she hesitated till her eyes landed on the bowl of mush – "eat my breakfast."

Once he was gone, she wasted no time in searching through the sea chest at the foot of the bunk. "You'd think a pirate captain would have a pistol or cutlass or something," she muttered, then started at her own words. When had she started thinking of the captain as a pirate? Avery wasn't certain, but it probably had been during her long sleepless night. No self-respecting sea captain would have abused her as this man had. He must be a pirate.

Avery renewed her search with more vigor. Yanking the contents from his sea chest, she found only clothing and books.

The small commode by the bunk caught her attention, and in it she found his ditty bag. She opened the small canvas sack and dumped the contents on the bunk. Scissors, a wooden shaving dish and brush, and assorted sewing gear spilled out, but it was the razor that Avery noticed. Opened, it appeared to provide a satisfactory knife of sorts.

Sudden footsteps in the companionway, just moments before the door opened, allowed her no time to plan the weapon's use.

"What the hell!" The mug had crashed against the wall only inches from Gareth's head, splattering hot tea over the snowy whiteness of his shirt as he'd entered his cabin.

"Don't you touch me!"

He looked in amazement from the weeping scar on the wall where the mug had hit to the woman who had thrown it. If possible, the wench he had bedded last night looked even more disreputable in the unkind light of day. Her hair was hardly more than a tangled mass of wild frizzy curls; she blew a strand of it out of her face as she glared at him. Her clothes were more wrinkled and disheveled than ever, and the dirt – my God! Didn't the woman ever bathe! Still, something about the amber eyes intrigued Gareth. Maybe it was just because they looked even more amber due to the redness of her face. Nonetheless, they might have captivated him had she not held the razor belligerently in her right hand.

He stepped forward cautiously.

"Don't touch me, or I'll use this," Avery threatened, lifting the razor.

"Listen, lady," Gareth raised his hand in what he hoped was a placating motion, "I don't know what you think you have, but last night was hardly memorable. I would not go up against that to touch you." He pointed to the razor.

Avery had lowered it slightly, but she quickly lifted it when she realized her slip in concentration. "Let me off this ship at once!" she demanded, riled by his reference to the past night.

"Sure, lady, whatever you say. But first, do you want to tell me what the problem is?"

Avery was aghast. She choked on her rage and spluttered, "You know very well what the problem is! Now get out of my way."

Gareth walked slowly in the direction she indicated. "Does this have anything to do with last night?"

She tightened her grip on the blade and said nothing. For a second he was afraid she'd throw it.

"Did I hurt you?" Concern softened his voice and shadowed the sparkle of his eyes. He had never knowingly hurt a woman, but he realized last night could have been a first because, try as he might, he could not remember what had transpired. Somewhere in the cloudy recesses of his mind was the memory of her climbing into his bed, and he after her, but what had happened between that moment and this morning, when he'd awakened draped over her, was lost. He did recall thinking her quite strange, and her behavior today certainly seemed to bear that out. However, if he had harmed her . . . Gareth wished he could remember.

Avery was startled by his tone as well as his words. She had not expected any show of concern from him, of all people, yet there was no mistaking his solicitous manner. But she wanted no sympathy, no discussion of their dreadful liaison. She didn't even want to think about what had happened. "No, you didn't hurt me," she hissed, and suddenly realized that this was true. Stiff and uncomfortable though she was, there was no physical pain to remind her of what he had done.

Relief washed over his face, to be replaced by bewilderment.

Avery ignored his question and inched toward the door. Sweat ran in rivulets down her back, and the ivory handle she grasped was slippery. She watched his every move, knowing in her heart he was not standing there so complacently because he feared a ragtag girl who barely reached his shoulder, though she brandished a makeshift knife. She saw his eyes leave hers and survey the room, to rest briefly on his ransacked belongings before returning to meet her glare, a knowing twinkle in their black depths. 

"Ah," he said, a mocking grin playing at the corners of his mouth, "you must consider me terribly dense. I would think you'd consider saving your life payment enough but . . . don't give me that bewildered look. You didn't have to go to such extreme measures, you know." He casually glanced around the room. "All you needed to do was ask. I would have been happy to pay you for last night."

Avery was surprised that she did not spontaneously combust at his words. The tiny fissure his concern had created in her armor of hatred closed up. "Pay me! You insufferable bastard!" she shrieked as she launched herself at him.

Deftly sidestepping her violent but unpracticed slash with his razor, Gareth caught her flailing arms and twisted her wrists behind her back. Fury such as she had never known before flaring within her, Avery struggled desperately. She kicked and squirmed and writhed until, with an abrupt movement, he crushed her against him, one hand holding her wrists, the other looped around her waist. Her back to him, she elbowed him sharply.

"Filthy pig, whoreson, defiler of – " Before Avery could begin to hurl all the swear words in her extensive repertoire at him, his mouth descended on hers with brutal force, effectively silencing any further outburst.

He had had enough. This wretched hoyden had caused him more trouble than she would ever be worth. More trouble than he needed now. He wanted to punish her, and he knew she hated what he was doing to her. Gareth could feel it in the slight quiver of her lips beneath his, in the tension of her thin figure.

Guilt over what he was doing overcame him. Without realizing it his kiss altered, slightly at first, then, as he allowed himself to notice the deliciousness of her body pressed against his, more radically.

What happened, Avery did not know, but one moment his mouth had been hard and ugly and hurtful, and in the next, his lips were warm and soft. Her heartbeat raced, but her muscles relaxed and her breath caught in her throat. She pressed closer. He smelled of sea and fresh air and freedom, and she loved it. His hand left her wrists and moved up the soft curve of her arm, freeing her hands and the razor. But neither seemed to notice the clatter of ivory and steel upon the wooden planking of the deck.

Slowly, Gareth raised his head, forcing himself to stop while he could. She nestled comfortably in his arms, her eyes closed. He brushed his lips across the freckles of her nose and grinned when dark eyes slowly opened to him. "Well, aren't you full of surprises."

Surprises aren't the half of it, Avery thought, as reason started to filter through her muddled mind. Somehow, she must try to figure out what had happened, what he had done to make her react this way – to make her still reluctant to leave the shelter of his arms.

"I have to go back on deck," he told her as he gently brushed a tangled curl off her forehead, "but I'll be back." He released her, and to Avery's amazement she did not melt into a puddle at his feet.

"If you can come anywhere close to delivering what you promised in that kiss, you most certainly will not need to ask for payment."

Reality, which had receded for that brief instant, now burst forth upon her, instantly rekindling her fury.

"Get out!" she screamed at his departing figure.

Shock turned him around to her. "If you aren't the most changeable wench I've ever seen," he muttered. Then he opened the door and stalked out, as flying cutlery hit the wall.

Avery glowered blackly as he stuck his head back through the doorway. 'I'd like this room cleaned up by the time I return and" – he grinned – "it really wouldn't hurt if you took some soap and water to yourself." She heard his laughter echo as he walked down the companionway.

Despicable swine! The words were on the tip of her tongue, ready to be hurled at him, but Avery held them back. He was gone. There was nothing to be gained from letting her temper take control. On the contrary, if he were to return to answer her insults, there was no telling what he might do. And, she thought with self-loathing, what I might let him do. That forceful kiss had been enough! She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, effectively erasing for the time being the memory of his lips on hers. Spotting the razor, Avery pocketed it and left the cabin without a backward glance. She made her way forward till she reached the main hatch, bypassing the aft hatch that would have brought her onto the main deck, too close to the quarterdeck. She had no desire to encounter her tormenter again.