Disclaimer: Nope, they still aren't mine.
A/N: I would have to fill this page with "thank you" to adequately express the way I feel. But then, where would I put the story. . . hmm. Not such a good idea after all. Well, anyway, thank you and now onto the chapter.
Anamaria sat in her dark bedroom and watched the pirate sleep. His eyes were darting around beneath his closed lids. He was dreaming. Ana shivered when she thought of the things that he was probably dreaming about. Don Cornado's recent arrival had put the same awful thoughts in her own head. She could not shake the images of Sparrow hanging from his shackled wrists in the prison yard with blood dripping from his wounds, but it would be worse for the pirate. She saw what Cornado had done to him and the recollections of that brutality had haunted her dreams for countless nights. But he had felt it. The pirate captain would have a memory of each time the Spaniard's whip fell against his back. His would bear the scars of la Cerradura forever, and Ana believed that those scars were emblazoned on his heart as well as in his skin.
Ana brushed a piece of dark hair away from Sparrow's burning forehead. She failed to understand how any man could survive a year, or more, at the hands of that monster. She let her hand trail down to the pirate's left arm. Her fingers traced the lightning bolt pattern that Cornado's men had burned into Sparrow's flesh. It was the cruelest scar she had ever seen.
Ana leaned back in her chair. The pirate had only reappeared in her life two nights ago. Since then, she had lied to soldiers, lied to the pirate, harbored a known fugitive, asked her brother to ignore his duty, and . . . killed a man. Ana swallowed. She had taken the life of a soldier. A soldier who was not unlike her brother or Norrington or her husband. A soldier's duty was to protect. The Spanish man had rushed bravely into her house to rescue a damsel in distress from an evil pirate. Instead, the damsel shot him.
Ana brought her hand to her forehead. She was getting a headache. All that she wanted to do was run to Prescott and tell him what had happened. Prescott was level headed and smart. He always knew what to do. But she had killed a soldier, and Prescott was the last person she could turn to. He may not arrest her immediately. Doubtless, he could spin a tale that she had been frightened and thought she was aiming at the pirate. No one at that fort thought a woman could handle a gun anyway. Yes, Prescott could clear her name, but what would he do to Jack? Knowing that Sparrow had stayed in his sister's house was one thing, but knowing that the pirate had endangered his sister's life was something altogether different. Prescott would not understand that Ana was doing what she knew to be right. He would only see how the pirate had caused this chain events and how much easier things would have been if he would have arrested Jack the first time he laid eyes on him.
Prescott would be right, of course. Everything would be simpler right now, if Ana did not have a pirate laying in her bed. Even now, if she turned Sparrow over to the authorities, she would be considered a local hero. She would be the woman who outsmarted the legendary Jack Sparrow. The townspeople would probably throw her a parade and declare the day National Anamaria Defeats Dreadful Pirate Day. She shook her head and tried not to think about the townspeople. Her dark skin already set her apart from those people. She was wealthy and she was Christopher Laffley's widow. For those reason's alone, the other well to do women in town tolerated her, but they did not accept her. Imagine what they would think if they knew she had a pirate in her bed.
She glanced up at Sparrow. He was still asleep, but he seemed to be caught up in his dream, a rather unpleasant dream. Ana rose to her feet. The man had been through hell the past couple of days to say nothing of the past year of his life. Should she wake him? He needed to sleep, but this did not appear to be a restful sleep.
Ana sighed and placed her hand on Sparrow's scarred forearm. "Jack," she whispered, "wake up."
Before Ana knew what was happening, the pirate sat bolt upright in the bed and roughly grabbed hold of her arm. He stared at her, but he could not see her through the fever and his dream. Ana felt a stab in her heart as she saw the pain in his deep brown eyes. For a sick man, Sparrow certainly was strong.
She frowned. "Jack, that hurts," she said, unintentionally using his Christian name.
Finally, Anamaria saw recognition in the pirate's eyes. He blinked and immediately let go of her arm. He looked down at his own hand as if it was a foreign object that disgusted him. "I'm sorry," he said so softly that she barely heard him.
"It's okay. I woke you in the middle of –"
"No excuse."
Ana sensed a pang in her chest. There was shame in the pirate's voice. She was suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to comfort Sparrow. "Really, I'm fine," she said placing her hand on his arm.
The pirate said nothing.
"What were you dreaming about?" she asked, trying a different tactic.
He turned his head and stared out the window. She could just see the moon reflected in his dark eyes.
"La Cerradura."
"I can't imagine how awful that must have been," Ana said, recalling the sight of his brutalized back.
"Wasn't all bad, luv."
"Really? Does Don Antonio have a soft side that I don't know about."
"No."
Ana shook her head, "then, I don't know a person could live through that place."
"When you're living in the dark, the smallest ray of light can get you through," Sparrow said philosophically.
Ana could not tell if the words were a product of the rum he had consumed while she was bandaging his shoulder or if he was really serious, "what do you mean?"
The pirate shrugged with his good shoulder, "a woman prayed for me."
Ana's eyes nearly leapt from her face as she realized that Sparrow was talking about her. "A prayer got you through prison?" she said, her voice cracking.
Sparrow turned his intense stare back to her face. "Aye," he said, "Can't remember what she said, something about courage."
Ana stood up. She could not breathe. She had said those words in the prison yard as much for herself as for the pirate. When she had knelt beside his battered body she believed that he was going to die at Cornado's hand. That her words had been an anchor for him to cling to was the last thing she ever expected the pirate to say.
"Anamaria?"
"I-I'll be right back," she stammered.
Once out of the room, Ana nearly ran down the hall. Sparrow's confession had affected her much more than she was willing to admit to him just yet. She took a deep breath and entered her husband's study.
Christopher stared down at her from a painting over the fireplace. When they were first married, Christopher's mother had insisted that they sit for a portrait. Ana was sitting and Chris stood behind with his hand on the back of her neck. He would always touch her neck like that and twirl loose tendrils of her hair around his fingers.
"What am I doing?" she asked her husband's painted face. Chris had reddish brown hair and gentle brown eyes. He was smiling in the portrait. He had a mesmerizing smile as if he knew something that the rest of the world did not.
Ana walked towards the fireplace and kneeled beside the maroon leather chair that her husband used to sit in. She caressed the worn leather lovingly, "I miss you, Chris," she said, "you would know what to do. If you were here."
Ana smiled. Chris would probably laugh and tell her that she had really gotten herself in deep this time. Then, he would hug her from behind, and rest his chin on her shoulder. He would kiss her on the neck and tell her to listen to her heart, because a person's heart would never lead them astray.
"Anamaria?"
Ana looked up to see Sparrow standing a few feet from her, his head cocked to one side. Confusion and concern were fighting to take control of his dark eyes.
"It's called the Captain's Prayer," she said quietly.
"What?"
"Courage, Captain, do not stumble though thy path be dark as night. There is a star to guide thee. Let the road be dark and dreary and its end far out of sight. Face it bravely, strong or weary. Trust in God, and do the right."
The pirate knitted his brow, "it was you."
That's all for now. Please, don't forget to leave me a review. I live for feedback.