Grace was fascinated by Elizabeth's tale of the Black Pearl and soon she began to spend quite a bit of time in the young woman's company. They spent an hour or more each day in the smithy with Will, who was expanding on Grace's knowledge of the sword. Both were sympathetic when she told them of her impending marriage—they were acquainted with Brody Fenton and it seemed his reputation was well deserved. He was apparently a regular visitor to the less reputable houses of Port Royale and had once made a pass at Elizabeth.

The young Allister thoroughly enjoyed her days. On top of the fencing lessons from Will and hearing the pair's favorite pirate stories, she and Elizabeth often went shopping. While it wasn't something Grace usually cared to do, the diverse shops of Port Royale were enough to turn anyone's head. The markets were loud and crowded with all sorts of people—rich, poor, kind, cruel, law-abiding, or lawless, they could be found traipsing through the streets of the city. All kinds of accents flooded her ears—some decipherable, some simply unintelligible. The smells that met her nose ranged from sweet-smelling perfumes to the rancid odor of the unwashed. The shops themselves carried all kinds of strange objects that drew Grace into a mood of exploration. The pair of young women often ate lunch in pubs, chatting and gossiping with barmaids. Grace's favorite, The Tattered Rose, seemed to be a lively place after sunset—or so said the barmaid, Lena. The girl would have loved to return after nightfall on many a night, but she knew her father would never permit it. Indeed, her father was more short-tempered lately than she'd ever seen him. He didn't like that she was spending time with Elizabeth and Will, but Elizabeth was the governor's daughter and he knew better than to slight a powerful man's family. Indeed, while Grace's days were wonderful, her evenings were things of dread.

She always dined with her father in the evenings—unless it was a rare occasion when Elizabeth could invite her to dinner. Often they were joined by Brody Fenton, who spent his meals either ignoring her completely or making polite conversation filled with small innuendos while gazing at her with a not-so-very-pure look. She did her best to finish her meals quickly and retreat to her rooms, where she dreamed of cavorting on the streets.

During a lesson in the smithy one day, Grace mentioned her desire to see the city at night. Elizabeth laughed and Will shook his head. They were quick to point out that the bars of Port Royale weren't the safest place for a young woman of money.

"Well, what if I weren't a young woman of money?" she asked, blocking a strike from Will.

"What would you be, then?" Elizabeth gave her a quizzical look from her place on the sidelines.

"I...I'd be..." she trailed off, countering Will's moves. "Ah!" she said forcefully, pushing her opponent backward. "I'd be a boy; an apprentice or a thief, I couldn't get into too much trouble that way."

"Ha," Will said, sarcasm in his voice as his disarmed his now-distracted pupil.

"Well, I don't think it's that bad an idea," Elizabeth was smiling.

Two weeks later, the two girls were walking into The Tattered Rose, disguised as boys. During their shopping trips, they'd slowly acquired the necessary effects and it was this night that they put their plan into motion. Each was dressed in a loose-fitting shirt, pants, boots, and—probably most important—a cloak. To lessen any chance of being discovered, they'd bound their chests tightly. The night was filled with lewd jokes, loud singing and plenty of grog—a mixture of rum and water. Elizabeth thought it a little entertaining, but didn't really care for drunken revelry. Grace thought it was the best time she'd ever had. After that, she often slipped out in the middle of the night—with and without Elizabeth—to have a few drinks as "Grey", a thief from London. Indeed, Grey became a regular and well-known patron of The Tattered Rose. She quickly picked up the rules of many popular card games, and began to gamble as well as drink. While she wasn't the best card player anyone had ever seen, she did win periodically and often bought a round for every patron in the bar with her winnings.

She made many friends in the pubs—well liked because of her likelihood to loose at cards and spend her money on other men's drinks. Not only was the pub frequented by local craftsmen and scoundrels, sailors often found their way to the Rose. Grey could often be found in their company, listening to any stories they were compelled to tell.

"He's goin' tae go off and turn sailor on us, boys!" was often yelled by Grey's favorite pubgoer. An older man with thinning brown hair just beginning to fade to grey and an overly-large gut, Garth Cooper could usually be found telling young Grey tales of the sea from his days as a pirate.

The laughter-filled tavern was a wonderful alternate to the dark silence that awaited her at home. It did, however, create a few problems. She always slipped out well after her father had gone to bed—or tried to. More than once she'd had a close call when sneaking past his surprisingly occupied study. Mrs. James, she was sure, was wise to her nightly adventures, but said nothing about it. This surprised Grace more than a little—she'd been expecting words of admonishment from the woman, at the very least. Perhaps she was just letting her charge live a little before her marriage—Mrs. James didn't care for Brody Fenton one bit and she also knew that there'd be no sneaking out once their vows had been exchanged. The biggest problem Grace's nightly episodes presented were her hangovers. After the first night, she nearly didn't make it to the smithy in time for her lesson. When she arrived, Will took one look at her and told her to go home and sleep it off—the same thing Elizabeth happened to be doing. Ashamed, she vowed never to miss another lesson for something so stupid as a hangover. After that, she was careful not to drink too much, but it didn't do much good until her body built up a tolerance for the slightly bitter mixture. She was forever brewing up hopeful remedies and often feigned sick for her father in the mornings. Unbeknownst to her, her father began to worry that she would die before he'd had her married off—something he did not want. He was very eager to make such a connection to the wealthy Fenton clan and a dead bride wasn't the way to do it.

Indeed, it was probably Grace's fondness of nightly revelry that was her downfall. It had been nearly a year since her arrival in the West Indies. Grace was happy with her life there—though she had a terrible feeling that joy would disappear the moment she said her vows to Brody Fenton. He'd asked her to several private dinners, all of which she had reluctantly attended. His miniscule innuendos had disappeared, only to be replaced by far more blunt statements. He'd more than once tried to entice her into a "roll in the hay" as her friends at the Rose called it, and she'd blatantly refused—telling him that she'd prefer to be pure for him on their wedding day. At their last dinner, three nights before, he'd finally threatened her. If that butler hadn't come in...A chill crept over her skin, and she shivered involuntarily, remembering Brody's iron grip on her wrist and the dangerous look in his eye. Grace was on her way to The Tattered Rose after a long, silent dinner with her father followed by a long, unpleasant wait for him to slither off to bed—damned snake that he was. Spotting the weather-beaten wilting and fading red rose on its familiar signpost above the pub's entrance, her pace quickened. She needed a drink tonight—she hadn't gotten to the bar since the night before her encounter with Brody.

She eagerly slipped through the front door, letting the hood of her cloak down only after she was in.

"Ahaha! 'Ere's the boy now!" she heard Garth call from the bar. "I was jus tellin' ole Blackie abou' the time ye lost tae that old seaman Carthy in cards! Now there was a loss, boys, there was a loss." The pot-bellied man was waving her over. He sat with a black-haired, tatter-clothed sailor who stopped by the pub every time he came to port. The loss he spoke of had been splendid—she'd lost everything she'd had in one go. She shook her head and made her way over to the empty stool beside Garth. Several of the regular patrons called their greetings across the crowded pub—it was a busy night.

"'Ow've ye been, lad? I 'aven't seen 'iden nor 'air of ye since Friday night, where've ye been off ta'?" he asked as the barmaid set a mug down in front of her. The barmaid, Lena, winked. She was one of the few people who knew Grey's "little secret".

"I've been keepin' busy. Too bad I wasn't here to keep you out of trouble, eh? You probably could have used it," she teased, her voice pitched as low as she could keep it.

"I prolly could 'ave at that, lad, I prolly could 'ave," the older man laughed his loud, rolling laugh.

"I 'ear ye've 'ad better luck at the tables than ole Garth's lettin' on, laddie. I'm glad to 'ear you're finally gettin' some luck in ye," Blackie grinned, showing several vacant spaces along with his crooked yellow teeth.

"I s'pose ye could..." she trailed off. Two men had just entered the bar, drawing the attention of most of the pub's occupants (as most newcomers did). The first man wore a dirty white shirt under a tattered black vest. Short white hair was visible beneath his ragged hat, including shaggy sideburns. She dismissed him the moment she caught sight of his companion.

He wore a tall set of boots—the type one often saw on sailors—and dark pants that had more than likely seen better days. A thick brown leather belt and a faded red sash circled his middle and she could see an old brown vest and white shirt beneath a dark knee length coat. His face was tan, his hair as long as hers but seldom brushed--or washed, she suspected. His bead was long and somewhat well kept, braided into two separate strands with beads at the end of either. He, like Will, favored a goatee, but his wasn't as cleanly trimmed as the smith's. His smile was a bit lopsided, a gold tooth showing between his lips. A red bandana was tied wide across his forehead and a strand of beads hung from the top of the material nearly into his face. Indeed, the man had beads all over in his hair, making for quite an interesting look. His eyes were dark and she could see both amusement and a shrewd intelligence in them. She found herself suddenly self-conscious before sense caught a hold of her and reminded her that she was a young male thief named Grey and not a young lady named Grace. He reminded her a bit of a gypsy, but more of a pirate—especially with the pistol tucked into his belt and the sword at his side. In his hand he held a tattered old hat. There was a swagger in his step when he walked further into the bar that suggested he'd already visited one of the other establishments on the street—or perhaps he hadn't gotten his land-legs yet.

"Jack ole boy! 'Ow long's it been?" Garth was no longer beside her; instead he was making his way toward the dark pirate, who grinned.

"Coop, still drinkin' away yer life, I see," he replied, following Garth back to the bar.

"This 'ere's Grey," Garth was gesturing to her. "An' ye know ole Blackie, I'm sure."

"I surely do," he said, clapping the sailor on the back in greeting before turning to her. His eyes narrowed and he gave her the once-over. He raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth about to speak.

"'E's a good lad, though 'e's not so spiffing at cards, eh, Grey?" Garth cut him off. Jack glanced from Garth back to her, then nodded to her.

For a while the two old friends—Jack and Garth—caught up on news and each other's lives, then Jack asked if they'd like to play cards. Time passed quickly as the four of them sat at a table dealing the night away with laughter, stories, gambling, and quite a bit of grog. Grace knew she was overdoing it and that she'd have one hell of a hangover the next morning, but she excused herself by remembering that it had been a long couple of days.

The next morning was hell. She'd left the Rose late—or early, depending on how one looked at it. The dim light of pre-dawn lit her way home and she was extra-careful as she crept through the house and into her room. Quickly, she downed some of a local remedy for drink and a glass of lukewarm water, then changed—hiding the men's clothes carefully in the bottom of the trunk at the foot of her bed. She climbed into bed, more than ready for a few hours of sleep.

Mrs. James shook her awake far too early. Head throbbing, she squinted up at the old woman. She blinked her eyes open hurriedly when she noticed the state her maid was in. Her eyes were wide and her face wrinkled in concern. The moment she saw Grace was awake, she dashed to the closet, moving as quickly as her old body could carry her. Grace was out of bed in a flash and pacing quickly toward the woman, who had already found a dress and was pulling it from the hanger.

"What's wrong?" she asked, heart pounding and the ache in her head only getting worse with each step.

"It's your father. He's downstairs with young Master Fenton. They mean ill, child, I'm sure of it. Let's hurry dear, no cause in getting them angry," she said as Grace took the dress from her. She had a very bad feeling in the pit of her stomach—though sense told her that it was just the hangover.

Minutes later she was dressed and walking gracefully down the steps to the main hall, where her father was standing with Brody Fenton.

"You called for me, Father?" she asked, bouts of nausea rolling through her like waves.

"Yes. Master Fenton and I have come to a new agreement," his voice was cold, hard. "We both believe it is in everyone's best interests if you wed early and have agreed upon a date three weeks from now."

Cold, terrible hands gripped her soul and she felt as though her stomach had dropped through the floor. The icy breath of fear was upon her, driving the hangover's effects from her mind.

"What?" her voice was quiet, hollow.

"We're to be married in three weeks, my dear Grace," Brody put in, smiling.

"No..." she could barely hear herself.

"What was that?" anger sparked in her father's eyes, his voice was low and dangerous.

"No!" she uttered again, glancing around. The door. The door wasn't far. "I'm not going to marry that swine!" She didn't know why she was suddenly so bold—the aftereffects of her heavy drinking the night before or the freedoms she'd enjoyed since she'd first began slipping out—even since she'd first met Will and Elizabeth. Brody started toward her, his eyes cold, and she ran for the door. She pulled it open and dashed out of the house—down the drive. She was running as fast as her legs could carry her. She heard her father's yells behind her and feet hitting the ground—probably Brody running after her. She couldn't go to the smithy—not only would they find her, Elizabeth wasn't there yet and Will was probably not up yet. It wasn't even mid-morning yet. She cursed aloud, using several colorful words she'd picked up in the Rose. Then it came to her—she could go to the Rose. There was always someone there! Darting though the streets, she didn't take a direct route to the tavern—in case she was being followed.

The familiar sign with its faded rose came into view and she pushed herself even harder, racing for the door. It swung open easily, unlocked. The place was nearly deserted. Lena, behind the bar, looked up in surprise. Garth sat at the same table where they'd played cards—he'd obviously been speaking, but had stopped mid-sentence at her hasty entry. With him were the man with short white hair and...Jack the pirate...

She was suddenly more than a little self-conscious. She was sweating, her dress was torn in several places near the hem, and dirty to boot. Her hair was a mess and she was breathing as if she'd just run a mile—and she had.

"Grace?" Lena had rounded the end of the bar and was hurrying to her.

"I...I..." she stammered, not sure of what to say.

"What's ailin' ye', miss?" Garth asked, his brow wrinkled in concern. It suddenly hit her—the gravity of what she'd just done.

"Oh...I'm in a hell of a lot of trouble," she walked to the table, swaying a little, thensank into the empty chair between Jack and Garth and rested her head in her hands for a moment. What the hell am I going to do?  She ran her right hand through the tangled mass of dark brown curls then looked up at Garth.

"I'm Grace, I'm a friend of Grey. I...I'm running from...from these two men...I...I really need some help..." her voice was desperation mixed with an imploring tone and a sudden, extreme weariness that melted all the way through her. "Do any of you know how I can get...I don't know...Just away from here?"

The three men stared at her for a moment, surprised. Jack was the first to speak.

"Well, I've got a ship..."

Author's Note:  I hope you enjoyed the second installment!  Now comes the actual story.^_^  Don't worry—Will and Elizabeth will have a better go of it in the next chapter.  I really think Grace might be dense, though—she's no doubt heard plenty of tales about Jack Sparrow and she just can't quite connect the dots…-_-;;

Thanks to Crimson Angel, ElfPilot, Cassi, and Silver for your kind reviews!  I'm glad all of you liked the first chapter and I hope this installment is up to snuff.^_^

I forgot to stick the disclaimer in the first chapter, I'll have to add it tomorrow…eh…today.^_^;;  Anyway, I do not own any of the characters from the Pirates of the Caribbean, including, but not necessarily limited to, Will Turner, Elizabeth Swan and (Captain!) Jack Sparrow.

Thanks for reading!