Title: Foggy Night Serenade 2/?
Rating: NC-17 (eventually)
Disclaimer: Don't own anybody but my people, don't sue
Author: redqueeninwonderland
Email: redqueeninwonderland@yahoo.com
Author's Notes: here's the next chapter, hope ya'll enjoy!
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Barbados, 1670- Many months before
Isabelle Lockwood sighed, reaching behind her neck to the immensely coiffured configuration of curls, sliding both hands up her neck and into the tresses for a prolonged scratch that had her guiltily thinking of the hours it had taken her maid to achieve such a standard in hair. The night had been long, the party seeming endless as usual, all of the parties on this God forsaken island seemed endless. She couldn't remember a time when she hadn't been forced to deal with the eternal litany of speeches from the men, catty gossip from the powdered women, and then round after round of stately court dances that kept the young nobles at a respectful distance and kept her as close to the ruling class as possible. England may boast of a parliament, of governors acting as regents in Her island colonies, but in reality the ruling class was the ruling class and they insisted on keeping as much of the rules of the ton together as possible.
At least her father had been in a good mood tonight. She looked behind her at the lighted windows of the elaborate mansion. Dancers still moved in their brocaded finery, the strings and harps still sounded, it was obvious the party was still in full swing. But Isabelle had begged off early, claiming softly to her father that the vague notion of "women's troubles" was sending her upstairs to bed. He'd let her go, blushing an interesting shade of red at the idea that he had any notion as to what "women's troubles" would be, then returned to the punch bowl. Actually the punch bowl seemed to be his assigned station at most parties, gulping down glass after glass with wild abandon. Or at least as wild as a gentleman of his stature was allowed to get.
She'd left the ball room, going down the long hallway toward the staircase in the back of the house, then doubling back through the empty dining room and exiting into the gardens through the French doors that led to the wide porch. After reaching the gardens she'd reached down, looking furtively to her left, then her right, and removed first one shoe, then the other. Her delicate, knee high silk stockings and the lacy garters were next, leaving her barefoot on the sand. She'd clutched the shoes and small undergarments close to her body, then padded quick as any monkey (albeit a monkey in yards of silks and satins and stiff whalebone) down to the stretch of beach.
The hill upon which the manor house sat was neither particularly large, nor particularly imposing. But running with a person's weight in stones worth of dress upon a body would leave anyone breathless. She stopped when she reached the sand, forcing her body to remain upright, more because the corset dug deep into her sides when she tried to bend than from propriety's sake, and made herself take deep, even breathes. Her sides filled the stiffly brocaded contraption, the breaths coming so deeply and quickly that it seemed her entire chest swelled with the effort, instead of just her lungs. She moaned softly, rolling her neck back to stretch muscles that had been forced to hold up the mountain of hair all night. Isabelle wondered briefly if she could remove the pins herself before dropping the shoes in the sand and plunging her hands again into the twisted confection, attacking it now with insistent fingers. She removed as many of the precious steel bars as she could, shoving them into her left shoe and tossing her hair back. It curled around her shoulders, then down her back in a dense cloud, she couldn't manage the sides or the absolute top on her own, so the hair that would normally frame her face at such an hour remained twined in a soft bun at the crown of her head.
She didn't wonder at the picture she made, a maid of obvious quality walking along a deserted beach alone at an hour in which most maidens were asleep in bed. The lack of chaperone itself would be enough to send her father into a blind rage. Couple that with the fact that she'd lied to him about where she was going, then proceeded to undress to the point of indecency by most standards where common people, she thought with a disgusted sneer at the look she could imagine on his face, was almost enough to make her go back up to the mansion.
She tossed her head back again, the full moon shining on her face enough to make her wince from the unexpected light. She looked up, it was early June, just beginning the rainy season for the islands, the night had begun with clouds, and the sight of the moon now was almost eerie. She looked around, her hands removing themselves from the row of buttons at the low dipping neck of her bodice. Isabelle hadn't realized she'd undone quite so many, but it was so very hideously uncomfortable in these damn dresses! She shook her head again, it was her imagination. There was no one around, the beach was deserted. She realized she'd walked farther than she'd realized, there was a small cove a few feet ahead, a natural cave formed in the rocks of the beach, Devil's Purse it was called. As a child she used to play there, hiding from her nanny until age twelve when the instrument of torture known as the corset had been introduced. Truthfully it was one of her more favorite spots on the beach, but for some reason tonight she felt she should turn and go back to the shadowed gardens of the heart of the estate, to the places where the lights of the ball room showed into the palm greenery and vibrantly muted colors of Caribbean flowers at night.
"Don't stop now, love, that'd be a cruel end to the show you started." Isabelle gasped, tearing her eyes away from the cove and toward a copse of trees, the shadows were thick around the bases of them but there was an orange glint and a thin trail of smoke. A cheroot. She glared into the darkness as the moon went behind a cloud.
"Show yourself, sirrah, and please be so kind as to put out that weed." she demanded, her voice carrying beyond the sound of the waves breaking against the rocks, now only a few yards ahead. The man in the shadows laughed softly, moving with a grace that seemed feline and she realized he must have been leaning negligently against one of the banana trees. He took a few steps forward, stopping at the end of the shadows, the place where he was as close to her as possible without her being able to see his face, then made a deep, sweeping bow. Swiping the hat from his head in one hand and holding the still smoking cheroot in the other he placed the hat over his heart, mimicking the bow used by the gentlemen she'd just left in the house, though she had a feeling it was more mocking than mimicry.
"As my lady wishes," his voice held the barest hint of sarcasm and she could see his eyes, shining out of the shadow with a light that could only be called mischievous. He sprang back up, took a last, long drag on the awful smelling stick and then threw it into the sand, stubbing out the embers with his boot heel. "Now," his voice was low, gruff in a way that spoke of things she had not seen, sea storms and battles fought (lost and won), the sound held danger and Isabelle fought the urge to back up a pace. "What is a lady such as yourself doin' this far from home without an old, white whiskered nanny goat to shield her virginal eyes against a man such as myself?" Isabelle's eyes narrowed.
"I haven't had need of an Abigail in years, thank you, and my need for chaperone seemed unnecessary, this being private property." A hint of understanding seemed to grace the stranger's features, for he pulled back a notch, a gloved hand immediately going to his chin to finger what she could only assume was his beard.
"Ah, so you'd be Lady Lockwood, daughter of the honorable Lord John Lockwood, one of her majesty's more powerful Barons?"
"Yes, what concern is it of yours?" The man shrugged, obviously amused at something.
"Nothing, m'lady, nothing of concern, I just find it interesting and incredibly… ironic, that his lordship chose this particular island to seek refuge after the, ah… unfortunate incident in London."
"What are you prattling about?" Under normal circumstances, Isabelle forced herself to be polite to those of lesser station than herself. She was annoyed to no end with her father's obvious snobbery, his ability to not just ignore a servant, but to not even see one when they happened to be in a room. It meant the staff of the house was considerably kinder to her than they could have been, but it also had its drawbacks too. There were things in her past, her father's past, she silently corrected herself, that he would not reveal. That the staff would not reveal. If not for her own safety, than to save her pain. But it was still galling, none the less.
"Nothing, nothing love, just a memory from a previous lifetime. Now, I find m'self asking the question again. What is a lady of your station doing alone out here," he waved his hand in the general vicinity of the island itself, "without the protection of at least a legion of her majesty's dragoons?"
"It wasn't needed." She answered stiffly, though she was finding herself asking the same question. What could she have been thinking? It was obvious from his carriage and demeanor that this man would be dangerous. Further, it was also more than apparent that he was not alone. What she had taken for the sound of waves crashing against the rocks she now realized was simply to hollow for that. It sounded like wood. It had been years since she'd come to this cove, but if she remembered correctly, if one climbed over the rocks the sea had formed a natural bay before the cave, a safe place one could dock a ship if one so desired. "Unless, that is, you wouldn't be threatening me, would you?" She asked sweetly. He made a sound in his throat that could only be described as an incredibly melodramatic 'nay', and then swept himself fully out of the murky shadows.
"I would never even think to threaten a creature such as yourself, lady." He grabbed her right hand (the left encumbered still by the slippers and pins and stockings) taking it in both of his and bringing it to his lips, stopping before he could kiss the knuckles. Those eyes she'd noticed earlier shone with amused sincerity, the moon having left its cloud now shown on the planes of his face. Isabelle clenched her jaw in effort not to take stock of him more obviously than her covert gaze was doing. "I only wished to…" he trailed off, thinking of a way to put his next phrase delicately, no doubt, "Offer m'services, so to speak." Isabelle rolled her eyes.
"Services?"
"Well, y'seemed intent on disrobin' earlier. That is to say, before I… interrupted the proceedings like any well bread bloke would do. And," he shrugged, her hand still trapped between his, the soft leather of the gloves forming an effective cage for her delicate skin. "And," he continued, dipping his head to be sure he had her undivided attention, "I'd be more than happy to help you finish the job, y'savvy? Ladies clothing being as they are, it's quit a job to remove it all yourself and being as how I'm familiar enough with it… I'm sure we could reach an agreement as to the exchange of services-"
"You…" she spluttered, wrenching her hand from his and stumbling back, "you… swine!" the stranger closed his eyes and bowed his head in resignation, waving a hand as if to say that was in fact one of his titles and he was most undeserving of it. "You bounder! …Cad!" she finished, suddenly unable to go on as a loud laugh sounded from the rocks. The stranger straightened, cursing under his breath and then calling toward the figure as it stood spread legged, arms crossed over his chest and head thrown back in a laugh.
"You find something funny, Mr. Gibbs?" The man hooted again, shaking his head and raising his hands in the air in a 'never mind' gesture.
"And here I thought tha' you'd lost your interest in the fairer sex after we left young Will with his lady love." The man snorted, the rocks weren't so very far away that Isabelle couldn't hear it, actually, she could discern the very color of the man's dirty trousers from where she stood, but she remained silent, anger a cold thing in her stomach. The man referred to as Mr. Gibbs climbed down the rocks quickly, jumping to the ground and walking the twenty or so feet to where the couple stood with an ease that surprised Isabelle, she would have put him at well past forty. "Ah, but then… now that I've had a look at her I kin why she sparked yer interest, man." He gave her an obvious once over that rather than scaring her, as he seemed to want to do, simply managed to flare the rage within her from icy to positively Nordic depths. She narrowed her eyes, glaring coolly at both men, who were now obviously amused at her expense. Gibbs nodded again, seeming to be unable to resist the jibe. "Yes sir, a fine piece, this one. What'll we do with her, then?"
Isabelle arched a perfect eyebrow, her distain causing the stranger to clench his jaw. If she didn't know any better she'd think she'd startled him. What, did he expect her to lie down and let him simply ravage her with no fight other than to feebly scream once or twice? Hardly! "You will allow me to leave, returning to my home and thankfully forgetting I ever laid eyes on either one of you." She tossed her hair over her shoulder, hair that had before this shrouded her half unbuttoned bodice, but now exposed far more creamy skin than was even remotely considered decent. Actually it was even below indecent. She supposed the corset was a good thing after all, without it they'd have had a perfect view of her breasts through the thin silk chemise. A parting glare and she tightened her fingers on her slippers, turning with a twist of her body and a swirl of skirts she made it perhaps ten paces before she heard the sound of a pistol being cocked.
"Kindly stop where you are, Mistress," she froze, lifting her head a notch and forcing herself not to turn around though the gruff voice sent icy shivers down her spine. Isabelle's breath caught somewhere in her throat and she tightened her jaw, she would not faint. She would not! The stranger made a confirming sound and she heard the sound of the hammer on the pistol being gently turned to it's normal place. "There's a good love," he murmured, coming so close behind her that she could feel his clothes brush her hair as his chest swelled with breath. "I would have hated to have shot such a fine show of feminine beauty." Isabelle rolled her eyes.
"Please refrain from flattery, sir, it doesn't impress me." She thought she heard Gibbs snort and she clamped down a sarcastic retort. The stranger circled her so that she was forced to look him in the eye, so close now that she could smell the tobacco on his breath, the salt on his skin, and below that something darker, something that called to a part of her she didn't even know existed.
"So I see, m'lady, so I see," he affirmed, "It is truly a shame that you chose tonight of all nights to come down to this particular cove, Mistress Lockwood. The fact that you now know Mr. Gibbs' name and face is regrettable but not altogether unfixable. As for myself… who am I?" She rolled her eyes.
"I can only assume you're a pirate."
"Smart wench," Gibbs muttered under his breath, coming to stand just to the left of Isabelle's field of vision. "Is this really necessary, Jack? Just give her a good bump on the head and let's be off." The stranger, now called Jack glared at the man to his right. He made a sound that voiced would have been a curse. Isabelle rolled her eyes.
"So your name is Jack. That means nothing to me, sir. Now, please, let me be on my way." She forced herself to sound annoyed, bored even. But now she realized that there was a very real danger here. The man had not denied being a pirate, in fact, he'd seemed to take it in the same stride that the epithet 'pig' or 'swine' seemed to affect him. She wondered if he really was as bloodthirsty as the stories about pirates seemed to be. Then shook herself, what was it about that word 'pirate' that seemed to make normally well bred ladies swoon into oblivion? The stranger, Jack, she corrected in her head snorted as well, shaking his head and scratching a place on the base of his skull.
"Why do I get the feelin' you're to stubborn to be lyin'? You honestly have no idea, do you?" She glared again and he laughed, grinning a smile that caused the gold in his teeth and also deemed it hard for her to breathe. She convinced herself it was the stink of the damned cheroot. "Well, tha's it then. Come my lady, I'll see you back to your house." He sprang back, offering an elbow to a very surprised Isabelle and an obviously resigned Gibbs.
"Just be careful this time, Jack. We don't need to be fixing anymore holes in the bloody ship." The pirate Jack chuckled under his breath, pushing his tri-corned hat farther up his head in a tawdry salute to the other man.
"Have everything ready, this won't take long Mr. Gibbs." He tugged gently on the hand Isabelle had placed in the crook of his arm and she realized with a start that she wasn't moving. She wanted to go back to the mansion, of course she did. She wanted to get away from this man, this… pirate. So why was she suddenly so against returning home? "Is something wrong, missy?" She shook her head, tossing her hair back in a flamboyant gesture Jack was beginning to associate as simply her nature.
"Why would anything be wrong? I'm being escorted back to my house by a thief and blackguard who makes his living robbing the citizens of his own country blind. A man who I can only assume is both bloodthirsty and full of greed. I'm half undressed, my father doesn't realize I'm gone, and there's a party going on up there, there's no way in blue blazes I'm going to be able to explain this!" Jack bit his lip, seeming to take stock of what she'd just said.
"Hmm. Both a thief and a blackguard y'say? Well, I'm frightful indeed. Though you certainly don't seem to be the least bit afraid of me, now do ye, love? As for the half undressed, there's a damn sight more clothes on you than off, the little bit of flesh that you're showing is less than I'm used ta seein' in the bald moonlight and that was no one's fault but your own. For how your fine father would react to your being out alone… how would any father react to his only child walking a deserted beach where there be pirates runnin' about?"
"You don't deny piracy?" He shrugged.
"Why should I? It doesn't suite my purposes to lie just now, besides, I'm not exactly dressed to be anything else at the moment." Isabelle realized they were nearing the gardens. She stopped, halting completely and bending as though to re-adorn herself. Jack took a step back, allowing her her space and giving himself to watch her move. Gibbs was right. She was a pretty piece. Though on her own there was nothing to convince him she was worth all the time it was taking him away from his ship. He sighed, glancing up at the mansion, it was still lit, though obviously the party was dying down considerably. There were no longer any couples dancing, the people still milled about, though rather aimlessly, talking quietly amongst themselves. Isabelle straightened after putting her slippers back on her feet. The buttons on the bodice were another matter and she struggled with them silently, valiantly refusing help that Jack had offered earlier and finishing, though she still held half a dozen steel pins in her hand. She shrugged, refusing to even bother with them in her hair.
"Thank you for seeing me back, you can go now." She turned away.
"Awe, ye're to kind, love. But you're not back yet, now are ye?" She glanced over her shoulder at him, her green eyes shining.
"What?" Jack grinned, flashing those gold teeth again and she fought the urge to smack them from his head.
"I said I'd return you to the house and your father, ye're not back to either of those just because ye're standing next to a bush, now are ye?" He waved a hand at the mansion. "Besides, it looks like I missed a helluva party." Isabelle shook her head vehemently.
"No."
"Yes. Come now, love, we'll go around back if you don't want me to be seen." She glared, her eyes shining brighter. If Jack didn't know any better he'd swear that she was finally getting scared.
"No."
"Afraid what being seen with me will do to your reputation? Well, can't be good, really, making time with a blackguard and a thief." He shook his head with mock severity, "No, no, no, wouldn't do at all." He shrugged. "But, as they say, the truth will set you free." He grabbed her wrist, his fingers circling the bones and she dug her heels into the soft earth.
"No!"
"Yes!" He jerked her arm and she smacked his shoulder, the steel hair pins falling forgotten to the ground.
"Let me go, damn you!"
"Such language from a lady, m'lady you should be ashamed!" He was fighting very hard not to laugh, though this was a damned nuisance, wasn't it? Him with a hellcat of a woman fighting tooth and nail so that she wouldn't be returned to her own home while he had a ship full of people depending on him to get them out of this bloody island without any new scars to show for it.
"Unhand her!" Jack froze, bloody hell! He did as told, drawing himself up, his hands open in the air to show them unarmed. Isabelle said something that closely resembled a curse, but it was so soft under her breath that Jack couldn't be sure.
"Father," she whispered softly, her head bowing she jerked her skirts around her so that she walked the few steps to him. The man stood about medium height, his wig firmly in place, a large sword drawn and ready, the tip dangerously close to Jack's nose.
"Isabelle, what in the world are you doing out here alone? Who is this miscreant and why was he pawing you?"
"He wasn't-"
"The hell he wasn't, girl do you think me blind as well as daft? You say you must be excused because of female problems, yet here I find you, out in the garden at such an hour as to lead to the conclusion that the only feminine problem I see is wantonness."
"Father!" Her shocked tone had the man glaring down at the girl at his side, though his sword arm never wavered. It never ceased to amaze her, the man could be blind drunk, but put a weapon in his hands and they were steady as a surgeon's.
"Don't you 'father' me, daughter. I will not stand for this under my roof! I'll turn you out, do you hear me?!"
"Well… It seems this is a rather awkward situation for all of us then, ain't it?" Jack began quietly, surprised more than anything else that a member of the ton would speak to his daughter so callously in front of a complete stranger. Though, Jack surmised, if Lord Lockwood would take the time to see through his drunken haze he would see that Jack was not in fact a stranger.
"Quiet, you." Lord John lowered his sword slowly, sheathing it with a flourished practice that would have been more flourished had he not been so inebriated, and put a hand on his daughter's forearm. Jack could tell the touch was far from gentle by the way the girl flinched and he narrowed his eyes. John Lockwood had never been held high in his estimation, but just now he was sinking low on the man's list of honorable people. "We will not have this conversation again, daughter!" he turned back to Jack, "Be on your way and I won't call for the guard."
"Now, I'm not sure if I should just… leave…" Jack began, trying to get the man to recognize him, he was here for a confrontation of sorts and that couldn't be had without at least recognition.
"You will leave my property, rogue, and pray God that I don't find out your name or I will see your entire family hanged." Lockwood turned his attention back to his daughter, hauling her back toward the mansion with so much force that she stumbled in the sand, falling in the voluminous folds of the dress. He cursed, dragging her to her feet and back handing her with a speed that left her gasping, again in the sand. "Get up, slut! You will not use my house to-" he raised his hand again to the prone figure in the sand. She lay there gasping, forcing herself not to faint. Isabelle shivered, if she fainted now…
"Now wait just a minute, my lord, we'll have none of that." Sir John froze, his hand still in the air. The moon was behind Jack, he was silhouetted in shadow, but the metallic glint on the brace of pistols was unmistakable.
"How dare you tell me how to raise my daughter!" Sir John showed the appropriate degree of scandalized while Isabelle closed her eyes against a wave of nausea. She was suddenly so light headed it was hard to see and she was forced to wonder exactly how hard her father had hit her.
"It seems to me, she's pretty well raised already, and as to how you did that… well… that isn't my concern either, yer lordship. Now, you're going to go back into that big house of yours and do some thinking this night," Jack was thinking himself, quickly, trying to figure out what the bloody hell he was doing, "and remember exactly what happened here, word for word, detail for bloomin' detail. And when you wake up tomorrow with a raging headache and a cottoned mouth, remember this my lord… I don't like you any more now than I did at Shepherd's Point, savvy?" The man paled visibly.
"It's not possible…!"
"Oh I think a good many things are possible, m'lord. The damned can come back dressed in women's frippery, lookin' for gold and with an annoying little monkey. Trust me, I've seen it. But as for this, it's no work of Satan, just a little… miscalculation on your part. Can ye get up then, love?" The last part was directed at Isabelle and she made a soft sound in the back of her throat. He glared in her father's direction, placing one of the pistols back in it's holster, but keeping the other well aimed, cocked and ready. Taking a few steps, Jack gently took her arm, guiding her to her feet. She sagged gratefully against him and he stumbled, accommodating the sudden addition of her weight to his frame.
"What do you think you're doing with my daughter?" Jack chuckled, the man was either to drunk to fully comprehend who he was, or he was just refusing to face facts.
"Think of her as a little… insurance, then, won't ye and heed what I said."
"What makes you think you'll be able to make it ten feet off this estate after I get into that house?" Lord Lockwood demanded and Jack chuckled, glancing at the man's daughter and then making a sudden, swift movement, catching the man square in the chest with his boot heel. Lockwood was thrown into the trunk of a tree, wiping all expression from his face as he slid down the wood, completely out cold.
"Because ye won't be going back to ye're house, now will ye?" He sighed, "Are you alright?" Isabelle stared up into his eyes in surprise, making a sound that could have been a yes, but something choked inside her and she shivered once, going completely limp. Jack rolled his eyes heavenward, catching her just before she fell and hefting the girl onto his shoulder. It seemed an awful lot of trouble to go to for revenge, but then, not nearly as much as he'd been through before.