Disclaimer: Consider this work disclaimed.
I'm starting to get scared. People are complimenting me on plots and character depth...that's a lot to live up to, you know? Well, I'm doing my best, and I'm really having a lot of fun with this. And reviews make me feel all warm and fuzzy, even if they do present huge challenges in the form of compliments.
*Chapter Two*
"...Jack Sparrow. I can tell that. My mother collects your wanted posters." Lilian's eyes narrowed. "Shouldn't you be older?"
A tall man, in shirt, vest and trousers that had seen better days, leather tricorner hat, dripping with so many rings, beads and trinkets that it looked as if he had given up years ago on trying to wear them in some semblance of fashion and simply attached them wherever he could; most of them had ended up braided into his unruly dark hair. His skin was dark, though from sun or dirt or both she couldn't tell. His eyes were dark as well, lined with charcoal, and looking at her in a rather disturbing state of what was either madness or intense confusion. He was, despite all odd, rather handsome. And, if she guessed right, at least ten years younger-looking than he ought to be.
He ignored her last comment, and continued to stare at her wonderingly.
Her spine stiffened as he took her chin in his hand, tilting her head this way and that. His gaze swept, shamelessly, down the length of her body, and returned to her face. He smiled, briefly, and then his expression darkened.
"Tell me," he said plaintively. "Tell me please, for it would be greatly upsetting, my dear...and it has been a rather upsetting day, and I would love a touch of good news, savvy? Please tell me that Will Turner hasn't turned a diplomat."
Lilian felt an involuntary smile creep at the corner of her lips. He sounded like a disappointed child. "Sorry."
"Alas!" With a Shakespearian wave, he relinquished the grip he had on her wrists. "Aristocrat. Gentleman. Oh, dear. And I had such high hopes for the boy."
"Sorry," she said again. "And he's not really much of a boy. He's...well...he's older than you are."
This, too, was shoved aside in the murky recesses of Jack Sparrow's perception. "He's a pirate, you know."
"So I've heard."
"And what are you?" He wrinkled his nose at her, staring as if it was written on her face. "You don't look much like him, although I suppose that's a good thing. You look like Elizabeth."
"I've been told that."
Jack, for a moment, was silent. "Well, I suppose I'd better get on with kidnapping you."
Lilian was astonished. "But...!"
"Family friend card, yes, I know, and your old dad--not to mention your grandfather--really does hold a special place in my heart. But if word of that sort of thing gets out, you would be simply amazed by the number of second cousins a man can suddenly possess. Simply can't make such exceptions or the world gets too complicated. Savvy?" He smiled sympathetically and drew his pistol. "Consider yourself a hostage." He bowed.
Lilian's maid let out a particularly loud whimper and promptly started screaming again.
"Is she always like this?" he asked, rising and gesturing grandly at her. With the hand that was holding the pistol. The screams reached an unbelievable pitch.
"She screamed like that when she saw a mouse yesterday morning."
"If I threaten to shoot her, will she stop?"
"Tried it myself. Doesn't do anything. If you ACTUALLY shot her...maybe. I'm not sure." Lilian shot a vicious glance at the woman. "Feel free to try, though."
He shrugged. "I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you. Best move quickly then. I imagine my crew has just about finished up. Come along, luv."
With a viper-quick move, he had grabbed her wrist and nudged her through the splintered doorway and into the early afternoon sun.
It was immensely hot; so much so that Lilian almost swooned as she crossed the threshold. She took a handful of long, heavy (Damn that woman) miserable skirt in each hand and stepped delicately across the deck.
Most of the crewmen were tied to the remains of the mainsail; a few men were scattered about, unmoving. Lilian's breath caught in her throat, and she gave a silent prayer that they were merely unconscious. There wasn't much blood on the deck; perhaps the gods had been kind. The corset suddenly seemed much tighter than it had a moment before, and, once more, she cursed the nasty little bitch who had forced her into the thick mess of whalebone and cloth.
Not so thick, though, that she couldn't feel the size and shape of the object pressed softly smack between her shoulder blades.
Oh ye gods. The madman had a pistol at her back.
"You're a hostage, girl," he said wearily. "Put your hands in the air. I'm sure you know how these things are done."
"If I put my hands in the air, I'll trip over my skirts," she said.
"Put one hand up, and hold your skirt with the other."
She tried. "I look like I'm asking the teacher a question."
He poked her sharply in the back with the gun. "Why, pray tale, are your skirts so much longer than you are in the first place?"
"My skirts aren't too long. I've got no shoes on," Lilian explained patiently.
He growled. "Stay put, luv." He dashed back into her cabin.
("Shut up, you stupid little bint, or I'll shut you up!" she heard faintly, and grinned to herself. Was there ever a less frightening pirate to be kidnapped by?)
He came out holding a high-heeled, lace up boot between the thumb and forefinger of each hand and a gun shoved into his sash.
"Put your shoes on, girl, and lets hurry it up. I'm sure one of these brave seamen is just aching to wake up and play the hero and I'd rather not have to deal with them a second time."
Lilian, bemused, sat on the deck and laced her shoes. As she placed her hands in the air and felt the gun at her back, the humor of the situation suddenly seemed dry. Too many of the Lariat's crewmen, too still, and, Jack Sparrow, no matter how oddly friendly, no matter how strangely appealing, was still a pirate. And a madman.
And a madman with a pistol at her back, at that. Frightening after all, she decided, although she didn't have much comparison but her parent's stories, less frightening with each retelling.
She stopped for a moment; the two or three men closest to her seemed to be breathing. One of Jack's crew--and an oddly sober, fresh-faced man for a pirate he was; in fact, he reminded her nothing more than most of the young officers tied to the mast--jogged over.
"All done, sir. Not much to loot, and few supplies. They were nearing the end of their journey."
"Ah well. I suppose we'll simply have to stop by Tortuga." Jack gave an exaggerated, theatrical sigh. "I found us a nice hostage, by the way, while you lazy fellows were stealing water." He took her by the shoulder and shook her gently like a doll. "Aaron, hostage. Hostage, Aaron."
The young pirate bowed. Lilian nodded.
"Aaron, be a dear and clean up here. I feel, as Captain, I ought to escort this pretty little darling to The Pearl."
Aaron nodded.
"Delightful. Now, my dear, if you'll keep walking...that's my girl. Come along now...careful, there, boarding planks get a bit slippery..."
Boarding planks got more than a bit slippery. Boarding planks got a bit absolutely terrifying, Lilian realized to late.
This wasn't a boarding plank. Boarding plants were broad and dry and, in her recollection, there were always freshfaced young officers on either side of you to help you down. More importantly, they were used to board to and from land. This thing, whatever it was, was being used to go from one ship from another, whilst both seemed intent on rocking in different directions. It was slippery, and it was narrow, and it was a good twenty feet above an ocean that had never been quite this terrifying before.
No grandchild of Bootstrap Bill Turner would ever be afraid of heights. Afraid of painful death, however, was fair game. Lilian was suddenly unpleasantly dizzy.
Slippery. Slippery and narrow enough that it would be a very, very bad idea to trip right now.
Her feet, unfortunately, had only caught the tail end of that sentence. "Trip right now" they did.
Lilian, rather than falling to a cold, quick death crushed underneath either The Lariat or The Black Pearl, stumbled half a step backward only to be caught gently in the waiting arms of Captain Jack Sparrow. She bit her lip and concentrated on willing the plank to stop spinning. He held her by the shoulders--pistol back in his sash and waited patiently.
"It's alright, kitten. Just a few more steps and you'll be on the lovely Black Pearl. Come on, luv, you can do it. You can get on your knees and crawl if it'll make you feel better."
Some indignities were simply too much to bear. She managed to reach The Pearl on two very unsteady feet, with Jack behind her.
He was directly behind her as she reached the end; as soon as her feet touched the deck, she flung his arm away from her; something disgusting that should not touch her skin, and wrenched away.
"Relax, darling. You're safe."
Lilian glared at him. "SAFE? Safe? On a pirate ship with half the Caribbean law chasing it, and pirate clans feuding since they haven't for generations? Safe?"
"Of course, my dear. You forget. You're with Captain Jack Sparrow."
"I don't know which to take comfort in: the fiction or the madness."
"Suit yourself. But didn't you ever wonder the blood that called in your father?" he asked. "All the adventures you were never going to have."
"This," she snapped, "is not an adventure."
He closed the space between them, one hand delicately sliding up her neck as he purred softly in her ear. "We could make it one, now couldn't we?"
She tore away, fury staining her cheeks, and tried to slap him.
He caught her wrist--again, too fast, too strong--and held it midair.
"Bootstrap's temper," he muttered. "Not Will's, certainly, and not Lizzie's either."
He looked at her: not angry, not upset...not anything really, except slightly puzzled, and perhaps he looked like that all the time.
He shook his head. "On land, I'd let that fly, little girl, but this is MY ship, and such things will not stand. Savvy?"
His grip on her arm tightened, fingertips finding veins and nerves, and Lilian nodded. He dropped her hand, and she let it fall to her side.
"Good girl. Now, lets find you somewhere to sleep. Although..."
It had to be an impressive glare if it could stop that sentence, and it was. Lilian's dark eyes were flashing and her jaw was squared sharply.
"Look at the sunset. What a lovely time of day! Come along, m'dear!" Jack said cheerfully, taking her gently by the much-abused wrist and leading her below deck.
"Anamaria claimed this room when she first came aboard. It's supposed to be for a first mate, but I doubt he wanted to challenge her at the time and I don't know who the first mate is right now. Dunno where Anamaria got off to, come to think of it. I thought it was quieter around here. Anyway, kitten..."
"Lilian."
"Come again?"
"I have a name. Lilian."
"Ah. And a lovely name it is too, kitten. I must catch up with you later, really. But I've a ship to run, you see, and I simply must be off. Be a dear and stay put, luv."
Not much of a choice in that, Lilian thought grimly, as she heard the click of a key turning in a latch.
It wasn't a bad room, aside from the obvious being-locked-inside-it part. Her ship had been captured and disabled. She'd been kidnapped by the most notorious pirate in the Caribbean. And yet here she was, in very nearly the same hot, musty situation as she'd been in before. Adventure indeed.
She stared at her wrists, ringed with blossoming red-purple bruises and smeared a little with blood. But she wasn't bleeding. It must, she realized, be his. She'd drawn it.
The soft brown curls might be Will's. The pretty face and the pretty lips might be Elizabeth's. But if Jack had seen her at that moment, he would undoubtedly have agreed that the roguish, wicked smile playing across them belonged with utter certainty to the late, great Bootstrap Bill Turner.
Or, quite possibly, to Jack Sparrow. But that was a given, really.
I'm starting to get scared. People are complimenting me on plots and character depth...that's a lot to live up to, you know? Well, I'm doing my best, and I'm really having a lot of fun with this. And reviews make me feel all warm and fuzzy, even if they do present huge challenges in the form of compliments.
*Chapter Two*
"...Jack Sparrow. I can tell that. My mother collects your wanted posters." Lilian's eyes narrowed. "Shouldn't you be older?"
A tall man, in shirt, vest and trousers that had seen better days, leather tricorner hat, dripping with so many rings, beads and trinkets that it looked as if he had given up years ago on trying to wear them in some semblance of fashion and simply attached them wherever he could; most of them had ended up braided into his unruly dark hair. His skin was dark, though from sun or dirt or both she couldn't tell. His eyes were dark as well, lined with charcoal, and looking at her in a rather disturbing state of what was either madness or intense confusion. He was, despite all odd, rather handsome. And, if she guessed right, at least ten years younger-looking than he ought to be.
He ignored her last comment, and continued to stare at her wonderingly.
Her spine stiffened as he took her chin in his hand, tilting her head this way and that. His gaze swept, shamelessly, down the length of her body, and returned to her face. He smiled, briefly, and then his expression darkened.
"Tell me," he said plaintively. "Tell me please, for it would be greatly upsetting, my dear...and it has been a rather upsetting day, and I would love a touch of good news, savvy? Please tell me that Will Turner hasn't turned a diplomat."
Lilian felt an involuntary smile creep at the corner of her lips. He sounded like a disappointed child. "Sorry."
"Alas!" With a Shakespearian wave, he relinquished the grip he had on her wrists. "Aristocrat. Gentleman. Oh, dear. And I had such high hopes for the boy."
"Sorry," she said again. "And he's not really much of a boy. He's...well...he's older than you are."
This, too, was shoved aside in the murky recesses of Jack Sparrow's perception. "He's a pirate, you know."
"So I've heard."
"And what are you?" He wrinkled his nose at her, staring as if it was written on her face. "You don't look much like him, although I suppose that's a good thing. You look like Elizabeth."
"I've been told that."
Jack, for a moment, was silent. "Well, I suppose I'd better get on with kidnapping you."
Lilian was astonished. "But...!"
"Family friend card, yes, I know, and your old dad--not to mention your grandfather--really does hold a special place in my heart. But if word of that sort of thing gets out, you would be simply amazed by the number of second cousins a man can suddenly possess. Simply can't make such exceptions or the world gets too complicated. Savvy?" He smiled sympathetically and drew his pistol. "Consider yourself a hostage." He bowed.
Lilian's maid let out a particularly loud whimper and promptly started screaming again.
"Is she always like this?" he asked, rising and gesturing grandly at her. With the hand that was holding the pistol. The screams reached an unbelievable pitch.
"She screamed like that when she saw a mouse yesterday morning."
"If I threaten to shoot her, will she stop?"
"Tried it myself. Doesn't do anything. If you ACTUALLY shot her...maybe. I'm not sure." Lilian shot a vicious glance at the woman. "Feel free to try, though."
He shrugged. "I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you. Best move quickly then. I imagine my crew has just about finished up. Come along, luv."
With a viper-quick move, he had grabbed her wrist and nudged her through the splintered doorway and into the early afternoon sun.
It was immensely hot; so much so that Lilian almost swooned as she crossed the threshold. She took a handful of long, heavy (Damn that woman) miserable skirt in each hand and stepped delicately across the deck.
Most of the crewmen were tied to the remains of the mainsail; a few men were scattered about, unmoving. Lilian's breath caught in her throat, and she gave a silent prayer that they were merely unconscious. There wasn't much blood on the deck; perhaps the gods had been kind. The corset suddenly seemed much tighter than it had a moment before, and, once more, she cursed the nasty little bitch who had forced her into the thick mess of whalebone and cloth.
Not so thick, though, that she couldn't feel the size and shape of the object pressed softly smack between her shoulder blades.
Oh ye gods. The madman had a pistol at her back.
"You're a hostage, girl," he said wearily. "Put your hands in the air. I'm sure you know how these things are done."
"If I put my hands in the air, I'll trip over my skirts," she said.
"Put one hand up, and hold your skirt with the other."
She tried. "I look like I'm asking the teacher a question."
He poked her sharply in the back with the gun. "Why, pray tale, are your skirts so much longer than you are in the first place?"
"My skirts aren't too long. I've got no shoes on," Lilian explained patiently.
He growled. "Stay put, luv." He dashed back into her cabin.
("Shut up, you stupid little bint, or I'll shut you up!" she heard faintly, and grinned to herself. Was there ever a less frightening pirate to be kidnapped by?)
He came out holding a high-heeled, lace up boot between the thumb and forefinger of each hand and a gun shoved into his sash.
"Put your shoes on, girl, and lets hurry it up. I'm sure one of these brave seamen is just aching to wake up and play the hero and I'd rather not have to deal with them a second time."
Lilian, bemused, sat on the deck and laced her shoes. As she placed her hands in the air and felt the gun at her back, the humor of the situation suddenly seemed dry. Too many of the Lariat's crewmen, too still, and, Jack Sparrow, no matter how oddly friendly, no matter how strangely appealing, was still a pirate. And a madman.
And a madman with a pistol at her back, at that. Frightening after all, she decided, although she didn't have much comparison but her parent's stories, less frightening with each retelling.
She stopped for a moment; the two or three men closest to her seemed to be breathing. One of Jack's crew--and an oddly sober, fresh-faced man for a pirate he was; in fact, he reminded her nothing more than most of the young officers tied to the mast--jogged over.
"All done, sir. Not much to loot, and few supplies. They were nearing the end of their journey."
"Ah well. I suppose we'll simply have to stop by Tortuga." Jack gave an exaggerated, theatrical sigh. "I found us a nice hostage, by the way, while you lazy fellows were stealing water." He took her by the shoulder and shook her gently like a doll. "Aaron, hostage. Hostage, Aaron."
The young pirate bowed. Lilian nodded.
"Aaron, be a dear and clean up here. I feel, as Captain, I ought to escort this pretty little darling to The Pearl."
Aaron nodded.
"Delightful. Now, my dear, if you'll keep walking...that's my girl. Come along now...careful, there, boarding planks get a bit slippery..."
Boarding planks got more than a bit slippery. Boarding planks got a bit absolutely terrifying, Lilian realized to late.
This wasn't a boarding plank. Boarding plants were broad and dry and, in her recollection, there were always freshfaced young officers on either side of you to help you down. More importantly, they were used to board to and from land. This thing, whatever it was, was being used to go from one ship from another, whilst both seemed intent on rocking in different directions. It was slippery, and it was narrow, and it was a good twenty feet above an ocean that had never been quite this terrifying before.
No grandchild of Bootstrap Bill Turner would ever be afraid of heights. Afraid of painful death, however, was fair game. Lilian was suddenly unpleasantly dizzy.
Slippery. Slippery and narrow enough that it would be a very, very bad idea to trip right now.
Her feet, unfortunately, had only caught the tail end of that sentence. "Trip right now" they did.
Lilian, rather than falling to a cold, quick death crushed underneath either The Lariat or The Black Pearl, stumbled half a step backward only to be caught gently in the waiting arms of Captain Jack Sparrow. She bit her lip and concentrated on willing the plank to stop spinning. He held her by the shoulders--pistol back in his sash and waited patiently.
"It's alright, kitten. Just a few more steps and you'll be on the lovely Black Pearl. Come on, luv, you can do it. You can get on your knees and crawl if it'll make you feel better."
Some indignities were simply too much to bear. She managed to reach The Pearl on two very unsteady feet, with Jack behind her.
He was directly behind her as she reached the end; as soon as her feet touched the deck, she flung his arm away from her; something disgusting that should not touch her skin, and wrenched away.
"Relax, darling. You're safe."
Lilian glared at him. "SAFE? Safe? On a pirate ship with half the Caribbean law chasing it, and pirate clans feuding since they haven't for generations? Safe?"
"Of course, my dear. You forget. You're with Captain Jack Sparrow."
"I don't know which to take comfort in: the fiction or the madness."
"Suit yourself. But didn't you ever wonder the blood that called in your father?" he asked. "All the adventures you were never going to have."
"This," she snapped, "is not an adventure."
He closed the space between them, one hand delicately sliding up her neck as he purred softly in her ear. "We could make it one, now couldn't we?"
She tore away, fury staining her cheeks, and tried to slap him.
He caught her wrist--again, too fast, too strong--and held it midair.
"Bootstrap's temper," he muttered. "Not Will's, certainly, and not Lizzie's either."
He looked at her: not angry, not upset...not anything really, except slightly puzzled, and perhaps he looked like that all the time.
He shook his head. "On land, I'd let that fly, little girl, but this is MY ship, and such things will not stand. Savvy?"
His grip on her arm tightened, fingertips finding veins and nerves, and Lilian nodded. He dropped her hand, and she let it fall to her side.
"Good girl. Now, lets find you somewhere to sleep. Although..."
It had to be an impressive glare if it could stop that sentence, and it was. Lilian's dark eyes were flashing and her jaw was squared sharply.
"Look at the sunset. What a lovely time of day! Come along, m'dear!" Jack said cheerfully, taking her gently by the much-abused wrist and leading her below deck.
"Anamaria claimed this room when she first came aboard. It's supposed to be for a first mate, but I doubt he wanted to challenge her at the time and I don't know who the first mate is right now. Dunno where Anamaria got off to, come to think of it. I thought it was quieter around here. Anyway, kitten..."
"Lilian."
"Come again?"
"I have a name. Lilian."
"Ah. And a lovely name it is too, kitten. I must catch up with you later, really. But I've a ship to run, you see, and I simply must be off. Be a dear and stay put, luv."
Not much of a choice in that, Lilian thought grimly, as she heard the click of a key turning in a latch.
It wasn't a bad room, aside from the obvious being-locked-inside-it part. Her ship had been captured and disabled. She'd been kidnapped by the most notorious pirate in the Caribbean. And yet here she was, in very nearly the same hot, musty situation as she'd been in before. Adventure indeed.
She stared at her wrists, ringed with blossoming red-purple bruises and smeared a little with blood. But she wasn't bleeding. It must, she realized, be his. She'd drawn it.
The soft brown curls might be Will's. The pretty face and the pretty lips might be Elizabeth's. But if Jack had seen her at that moment, he would undoubtedly have agreed that the roguish, wicked smile playing across them belonged with utter certainty to the late, great Bootstrap Bill Turner.
Or, quite possibly, to Jack Sparrow. But that was a given, really.