Chapter 9: Caught

Those days on the Freya were some of the worst of Harry's life. The weather, dismal to begin with, turned stormy and very rough a few hours out of Port Royal, and she was, as a result, mostly confined to the tiny cabin she'd been allotted, with only her thoughts and a couple of very dull books for company. The former were not pleasant companions. Her spirits, usually almost nonsensically buoyant, were now in utter turmoil. She kept reliving, in her mind's eye, the scene in the library of her brother's house. She veered from deep, unforgiving anger at Norrington's and her brother's high-handed behavior toward her and their despicable cruelty to Jack, to an agony of despair at the way Jack had looked at her, at the few words they'd exchanged, hampered by the presence of her brother and the Commodore. And then, she had left him. The thought of further discussion along the same lines had been intolerable. It was likely he would wash his hands of her now. He would sail away on his beloved ship, with the crew she had counted her friends, perhaps to some distant part of the world, and she would never see him again. He would never see the child he had given her. She wondered if it would look like him, and prayed that it would, so that she would have that reminder of him and of their days together, to see her through the years. The happiest days she had ever known. And tears would seep from the corners of her eyes, her lips would quiver on a sob, and she would curse herself for a fool, pace about the cabin for a bit, pick up one of the dull works from her brother's library, try to read, and see instead Jack's dark eyes, the bruises and the manacles, and then it would start all over again.

Thus it went, until the third morning, when the weather finally cleared, the swells decreasing enough to make it safe to venture out on deck. She awoke with a headache, thinking she must look hideous for she'd cried herself to sleep the night before. The air was cool, but the suit of men's clothing was very much warmer than her usual dresses. She wondered, in fact, how men could stand wearing the heavy things in the more usual Caribbean heat!

She was leaning on the rail, looking back, rather wistfully, over the water toward Jamaica, when a cry was heard from the watch in the crow's nest: a ship had been sighted. Harry straightened, suddenly alert, her heart in her mouth, though she told herself it could not be…. But sailors began scurrying to and fro, in a panic, and she grabbed one by the arm.

"What's the to-do?" she demanded, "It's just another ship, is it not?"

"Just another ship!" said the sailor, pausing beside her. "It's the Black Pearl! Ye'd best hide yerself, unless you've a taste for swordplay. We're loaded down with cargo and haven't a chance in the world of running. She'll be on us within the hour."

Harry stared out at the ship, tiny at this distance, but steadily growing larger. The sails…were they black? She could not tell, in this light…but wait! A ray of sun from behind a lingering cloud suddenly delineated billowing shapes of dire portent. Her hands gripped the rail, knuckles white, as her heart leapt with joy and fear both.

Within a quarter hour the Black Pearl was an easily identifiable smudge against the blue of the sky.

The minutes passed at a dreadful pace. She wanted to see him, and yet she felt like hiding, too! Though there was no use in that: if he knew she was on this ship and had taken the trouble to come for her, he'd tear the place apart until he found her.

Oh, why had he come? To drag her back to Port Royal and join her brother and Norrington in hounding her about the choice she'd made? Bloody stupid men! She tried to feed on the anger inspired by this theory, to bolster her courage, but ultimately failed, for she knew in her heart that their arguments were valid ones, and that they were all of them motivated by concern for her welfare, and that of the child.

When the Black Pearl came close enough so that she could identify Jack, standing at the wheel, she felt panic gripping her. She could not face him here, on the open deck! She turned away, and scurried below to her tiny cabin, and shut the door.

She felt the ship sway and lurch as it slowed, then stopped in the water, and, faintly, Jack's order to "throw the grapples, ready a gangplank, and prepare to board!" She could hear yells as the pirates swarmed over to the Freya, then the scuffling of a brief confrontation, sword clashing against sword. But the noise faded, and she heard an exchange of words between the Freya's captain and…Jack!

She had been sitting on the narrow cot, but at the sound of his voice, so close by, she suddenly realized this cabin was much too small, making her feel cornered, like a rabbit waiting for a snake to invade its hole. Heart thudding, she jumped up, and went into the corridor. The sound of booted feet coming across the deck toward the companionway met her ears. Her eyes widened in alarm, but a sudden longing held her briefly motionless…and then his voice, harsh and indistinct, spurred her fears. She turned and ran to the opposite end of the passageway, opened the door to the captain's cabin and went in, shutting the door behind her. Shutting Jack out.

For a long moment she stood, listening as Jack and the others began to search the other cabins. It would not be long, and there was nowhere else to go. She looked about, trying to decide where to stand and what to say to him. This cabin was much smaller than Jack's aboard the Black Pearl, and it seemed oddly ill kept, and only dimly lit from windows that were very much in need of cleaning--negligence Jack would never have allowed! She found that her hands were shaking, and gripped them together, and tried to tell herself she was being a fool, that he wouldn't hurt her…but he would, of course: with words, and with the look in his eyes. There were steps coming close now, and she moved away from the door and turned, half in shadow, as the door was thrown open.

He saw her immediately. He turned his head and addressed the others. "She's here," he said, his voice hard, "Go up on deck and keep everyone away." Then he came in and shut the door, and came slowly toward her. "Well, my girl, you've led us another merry dance, haven't you? There was no need to go to so much trouble: no one can force you to marriage, as you're well aware, and you've nothing to fear from me: I'm hardly in a position to force you to such a mésalliance!"

Mésalliance! He thought that! Just as she had feared. Just as she had prayed he would not. She realized then that, knowing how closely aligned their thoughts usually seemed, she had clung to the hope that he would have deduced her true motives, that she wanted him to be free, not that she didn't love him enough to defy convention! Stupid man! But she found herself unable to correct his misinterpretation of her actions, for, to her consternation, her throat thickened and the tears welled up in her eyes again. She so very much despised such behavior, and had, in the past, little tolerance for it in others, much less herself! It frustrated her immensely that of late she had turned into such a…a bloody watering pot! She turned abruptly away from him, biting her lip, her hands at her cheeks.

"I would have thought," he went on, coming ever closer, "that you could have summoned enough courage to stay and at least discuss the matter. I had no idea I was dealin' with such a little coward…"

But here he broke off, finally coming close enough to really see her in the dimly lit room. He reached out and turned her and his anger quite suddenly evaporated.

Harry, who had been silently weeping, now gave an anguished cry and, to her chagrin, burst into loud, hiccupping sobs. But to her everlasting relief he pulled her against him, his arms tight around her, his face against her hair.

"Harry, sweetheart! Don't!" he said. "I didn't mean any of it. Don't do this, love!"

She wanted to explain, but try as she might, she couldn't get an intelligible word out, and his sympathy only made it worse. Though she'd shed many tears during the last three days, she'd never lost control like this, wailing in uncontrolled anguish. A vague memory of experiencing such a thing in early childhood came to her. It was devastating: she could only grasp him with frantic hands, and hang on. She became aware of him lifting her in his arms, and sitting down on the narrow berth, holding her on his lap. She continued to try to speak, but the words wouldn't form.

"No, love, we'll talk later. Don't try now," he whispered, tightening his arms around her.

He didn't say much after that, but simply leaned back against the bulkhead and held her, his hands caressing, purring endearments into her hair. She buried her face against his coat, her hands gripping the fabric, shaking with the chaos of her thoughts, but he held her fast, the one solid thing in the swirling agony that consumed her.

This could not last, and when he finally said, in a voice rough with emotion, "Harry: you'll make yourself ill! You must think of the baby!" she made a terrible effort, and pushed away, sitting up, trembling, her breath shuddering. He drew one of his large, lace-edged handkerchiefs from his pocket and handed it to her.

"I'm s-sorry," she managed to get out, "I d-don't know w-what's wrong with m-me." She blew her nose, rather fiercely.

"Could have something to do with you havin' your first child, and the father a black-hearted scallywag of a pirate," he suggested, his voice full of rueful humor. He took back the handkerchief. "Here, let me see," he said, and went to wipe her cheeks with the clean edges. But her eyes overflowed again.

"You are n-not!" she gulped, and was suddenly furious with him. "You stupid thing! How c-could you think I didn't l-love you! How could you!" She gripped the front of his coat and tried to shake him, then collapsed against him, putting her arms around him and breaking into fresh sobs.

"Harry, sweetheart, don't! You're breaking my heart!" He hugged her, and kissed the top of her head.

But at that she struggled up and kissed him hard, rubbed her wet cheek against his, and then kissed him again. Then she said, "I'll marry you this minute, if that's what you want, but only if you truly want it! Not for anything else—not the b-baby, or anyone's stupid convention, or…or anything!"

He looked at her and sighed. He had the feeling that if he told her it was that simple she would not believe him. And, indeed, it would be a lie. There were valid points on both sides of the issue, for he had certainly never planned to marry: the Black Pearl was his home, and the sea his mistress, and not even the love he felt for this sweetest of ladies, whose spirit seemed almost a reflection of his own, could change that. But facts were facts: she was with child, he was the father, and he owed them both all the protection he could give them, even including his very life.

He said, slowly, "I do want to marry you, if you'll have me. I don't think it's what either of us would've done, but for the babe. But I think maybe it was meant to be this way, somehow."

She swallowed hard, and sniffled quite unromantically. "You do?" she asked, pondering this.

He smiled a little, pleased that he seemed to have said the right thing. "Aye, I do." He dabbed at her wet cheeks with the handkerchief again, and shook his head as she wiped her runny nose with her sleeve. "Hard to believe you're a thirty year old dowager duchess: you look a right urchin."

She laughed, shakily. She took the handkerchief from him again, found a clean corner and blew her nose properly. Then she looked at him and said, "I didn't tell them about the baby, you know. I didn't know, of course, until after you'd left the island, though Rachel thinks I was likely a few weeks along by then. I was so busy, you know. But then I fainted that day…"

"Fainted!" Jack exclaimed, in sudden concern.

"Yes, but…now don't look like that! I was quite all right!" She kissed away his scowl of disbelief, and continued, "But then Rachel told me, and Miriam Lightfoot. And it should have been obvious to me, too, I suppose."

"And how was it obvious to your brother?" Jack frown in puzzlement, for there was no visible evidence that he could see.

Harry shook her head. "I told Elizabeth and Will, and their servant must have overheard. By the next day the whole house knew, although when Weatherby confronted me he did not know you were the father. But then Norrington came to see him, and I believe he guessed it and told my brother."

He laughed shortly. "He would. He's a sharp lad. Too sharp."

"Is he the one who hit you?" Harry asked, her voice hard.

"Aye," Jack said, and rubbed his jaw. "Knocked me clean out. Now don't look like that: he'd reason enough."

"I shall never forgive him. Or my brother."

"Yes, you will. You ain't a fool. You know they had every right to be concerned, not to say angry."

Harry sighed, disgusted, and her eyes dropped to the little beaded braids hanging from his chin. "I suppose so," she said grudgingly.

He sat up and tipped her chin up again, and gently kissed her. She looked up at him, still troubled, and gave another shuddering sigh. Then she hugged him, her face against his neck, and closed her eyes, fighting the tears that threatened again as he hugged her back. But he gave her a little shake. "No more o' that, now, Harry! Let's go back to the Pearl, so the captain of this vessel can have his cabin back, dirty windows and all."

She sniffed, and sat up again, and looked around. "I knew you'd be appalled at those when I came in here," she remarked. "One thinks of such odd things at moments like that."

o-o-o

Harry had washed her face, using water from a ewer and basin that lay in a corner of the Dutch captain's cabin, but the pirate crew of the Pearl, still holding the merchant crew at bay, could see that she had been crying when she and Jack came on deck. Some disapproving glances were sent Jack's way, but Harry smiled and shook her head slightly. She took a deep breath, and approached the captain of the Freya.

"Indeed, I am so very sorry to have been the cause of so much trouble, Captain, but I shall now be leaving your ship, and you can go on to Cap Fleurit without stopping at St. Claire."

"You are a woman! I cannot credit this! And you say you are going with these pirates?" said the captain, quite aghast.

"Yes. They are friends of mine, you see. So much so that I feel I can intercede on your behalf and ask them to refrain from relieving you of your cargo?" She looked a question at Jack, who nodded, but with a grimace that said, Oh, very well, if we must!, and she had to subdue a chuckle.

"We'll all take our leave, now," Jack said. "Thanks for the use of your cabin. You might set one of these lazy dogs to washing the windows, by the by." He cocked an eyebrow at the Dutch Captain as he bowed slightly.

He insisted that he must carry her across the planks that had been laid between the ships, and she objected only a very little before giving in, for the way looked most precarious to her, and her fear of heights had not eased any in the months since he'd bullied her up the Pearl's rope ladder on the night they'd met. She could not bear to look as they crossed, but he was remarkably sure-footed on the narrow way. Attaining the Pearl's deck, he told her, in a voice edged with dry humor, that she could open her eyes again, and he set her on her feet, giving her a quick kiss. He then turned to supervise the return of the rest of crew and the parting of the ships. But Harry did not stay to watch.

Suddenly overcome with the deep exhaustion she had only recently begun to feel as the babe grew within her, she made her way down to Jack's cabin and went in, closing the door behind her. All was neat and bright inside, and it was like coming home. With a sigh of content, she walked over to the bed and began to strip off her clothes, putting them in a folded pile on the chair. She left only the white linen shirt on, which would serve very well for sleeping. Then she turned down the bed and climbed in, delighting in the cool, soft sheets, the weight of the blankets as they settled over her, and the familiar feel of the embroidered pillow slips. She tried to stay awake for a short time, just to enjoy these sensations, and that of the motion of the ship, rocking gently in the waves, but it was impossible. She never even noticed when Jack joined her an hour later, sliding in beside her and gathering her into his arms.

o-o-o

They woke together, near the dinner hour. There was still light from the sunset coming through the windows, and they studied each other's faces between kisses, and were both happy with what they saw there.

"Let me see this child of mine," he said, slowly pulling the ties of her shirt, undoing them one by one, his eyes on hers all the while. She reached up to run caressing fingers over the now faint bruise on his jaw, but he turned his face and placed a kiss on her palm, and continued with single-minded concentration until the ties were all opened. "Sit up!" he demanded, helping her to do so, then moving to pull the long shirt out from under her, and over her head, tossing it aside. Bared to his gaze, she sank back against the pillows once more and lay unresisting, unmoving but for the quick pulse of blood visible beneath the pale skin of her neck. For long moments he looked, just looked, his eyes taking in every detail of the body that was so very familiar, yet changed in such subtle ways: a slight fullness in her breasts, now rose-tipped rather than the paler pink of shells; the waist still narrow, but a very slight rounding of her previously flat abdomen indicating the presence of new life.

He lay down again, close beside her, and carefully set his hand over this roundness. "Do you feel it move?" he asked, nearly whispering.

"Not yet. Rachel says it will be some few weeks. She's been midwife to the women of the island for many years, you know. She says I shall do very well, when the time comes."

He ran his hand down around her hip, a crease between his brows. His own mother had died in childbirth and, even discounting that ill chance, he grew cold thinking of what she must necessarily suffer even if all went as it should.

But she said, "Jack! Women have babies every day. I'll be fine!"

He found her body changed in other ways as well. It took more time and patience to rouse her to his touch, but then, once he had managed it, a frenzy of need took her and she seemed almost desperate for release.

"Easy, love," he murmured, trying to be careful with her, but she would have none of it, writhing beneath him, her fingers gripping, pulling.

"No! Please, Jack!" she gasped.

And so he gave it up, losing himself in the storm that swept over them, half muffling her frantic cries with kisses, but then quite unable to keep from crying out himself, at the last.

Afterward, she lay so spent and still he thought she might have fainted, but she stirred very slightly when he drew the covers back up over them, then slept in his arms until Gibbs brought dinner down to them an hour later.

She could barely stay awake to eat, and went back to bed directly after, but he dressed and went up to the deck, taking the wheel from Anamaria.

"How is she?" Ana asked, looking at him closely.

"Tired. But she's well. She's…" His voice trailed off as he looked out over the sea.

"And how are you?" Ana asked softly.

"I'm well, too." He looked at Ana, and a shadow of his usual humor lit his eyes. "I've been chasing the Pearl for so many years…and now I have her and Harry comes and…everything is changed from what I thought it would be. Ironic, ain't it?"

"Things work out as they're meant to," Ana said.

"Aye, they do. Hard to believe, though. After all these years. It's a funny old world, sure enough."

"Some things just wait for the right time," Ana said. She smiled at him, and left him to his thoughts.