Hello, I'm back! I've decided to take this three-day weekend to catch up on my writing. Before we get to the new chapter, let me do the shout-out for the reviewers and add a quick author's note. 'Pirates of the Caribbean' took place in the seventeenth century. Ergo, the characters will not be politically correct. Last year, I was on a list that involved the Old West and one of the members flamed another because a bad guy in her story used a racial epithet. Do I like the way they talked? No. Am I gonna sugarcoat it? Only enough so that it fits in a PG/PG-13 story.
Now, onto the reviews.
Beak: Hello, there! Thank you for reviewing, I'm so glad you're enjoying it. I would have updated sooner, but I'm writing in ten different fandoms, working on three novels, and working a forty-hour job. Plus, I'm looking for another job. Just please be patient, and I will try to stay more on top of things.
Kelly: Thank you! Over the next several chapters, I have several more things to work in. This chapter sees the introduction of the villain.
Kitrazzle: Well, as you find out in this chapter, Bootstrap doesn't exactly consider the 'Camille' a pirate ship. However, both you and AnaMaria are perfectly correct. Ana will continue to be a part of the major story, though not as a love interest for Jack. Hope that doesn't disappoint you, but I don't think Jack can really love anyone as much as he loves the Pearl.
Sailor Elf: But it's so much FUN to slap Jack! Especially when he's trying to figure out whether or not he deserved it. And I'll do much worse to him before it's all over. Do I hurt him as badly as I do Ardeth in my Mummy stories? Nope. . .at least not physically. Think. . .well, just think of how I torment Rick O'Connell, and you'll have the idea.
Part Two
He stood straight and tall on the deck of his ship, eyes turned eternally toward land. There were times when the woman now approaching him thought he was a statue. A living, breathing statue. For so many years, he took no food. . .though she knew he was hungry. For so many years, he would not rest, would not leave his place here on the deck. He could take no food, could take no rest, could not feel the elements.
And even now, eight months after his freedom was won with the blood of his child, he could usually be found here. She didn't know how he knew land was in that direction. Even after nearly ten years at sea, her sense of direction was off. She wasn't a daughter of the sea, not like her one of her younger counterparts. No, she spent the bulk of her life on land. In the beginning, she remained with him because he saved her life. Now, however, she remained with him because her place was at his side.
The wind ruffled his graying hair, and she saw the corners of his mouth turn up as she approached from the side. He said, "You never could sneak up on me, lass. What makes you think you can do it now?" Now that barest hint of a smile was blossoming into the real thing. He turned to face her, his dark eyes twinkling. The protective shell that guarded his heart for so long was finally cracking, and the rest of the crew could see the man she saw all along.
He was a good captain. . .a good pirate. . .a good man. Never mind that he was a little strange. He was a good captain, took good care of them. Half of them knew the truth about him, and stayed with him anyhow. Despite the curse, despite his terrifying appearance when he was visible in the moonlight. The other half. . .well, they served under mad captains before, and they figured a daft captain was better than a mad one.
They didn't know that until eight months earlier, he couldn't die. Which was why he took such foolish risks, throwing himself in front of his men. He couldn't die. . .but they could. And they loved him all the more for it, though some of them were a little spooked by his recovery from gunshots that should have been fatal. One thing she learned over the years. Sailors were among those most superstitious of men, and pirates were even more so.
She replied now, shaking her dark blonde hair out of her eyes, "I've not been a lass for more years than I can count, William Turner, and I will thank you to remember that!" He threw back his head and laughed, and she smiled. It was good to hear him laugh. He was still haunted by the possibility of his son's death. But she fought him on that, tooth and nail. His son could be dead, aye. . .but then again, maybe not.
She pointed out to him that in the eight months since the curse was lifted, they heard naught of Captain Barbossa and his mutinous band of cutthroats. On the other hand, they were hearing rumors that Jack Sparrow had the Black Pearl. If that was the case, she told him, the odds were good that Barbossa was dead, and his son was very much alive. He wasn't too sure of that. . .he was cursed for far too long to simply accept that his beloved child was alive.
And he did love his son, with an intensity that sometimes took her breath away. She was forty-five years old, and she would never have children. She would never know what it felt like, to love someone like that. There was one, whom she would have wanted as her daughter. She no longer allowed herself to think the girl's name, for she was either dead or broken. And she could not bear to think of such a fate for her surrogate daughter.
"Ahh, Narcissa. You will always be a lass to me, no matter what. In terms of years, you are but three years my junior, but I hope you never see or experience what I have," Bill finally told her. He leaned against the railing of the ship, staring out at the sea. The wind ruffled his hair once more, and Bill said softly, "You're a blessing to me, Narcissa. You always have been. From the moment we first pulled you aboard the 'Camille.' It is important that you understand that, Cissie. It is important that you. . .never lose faith in what you mean to me."
Touched, Narcissa Grayson reached out and squeezed his shoulder. His warm, solid, flesh and blood shoulder. She saw him both as man and as skeleton, and after the monsters she encountered in her lifetime, not even his skeletal appearance frightened her. Besides, he did save her life. She barely remembered being rescued from the cold sea, after the ship carrying her to England was sunk. But the crew told her the captain himself dove into the icy water and rescued her, pulling her aboard. And he never gave up, not all the time she was sick. Narcissa answered, "The way I see it, Bill, we saved each other. I know you were a pirate once. I know that some would call us pirates."
Now Bill smiled impishly and replied, "Pirates? A pirate ship named 'Camille,' I hardly think so! No, my sweet Cissie. . .I know not what we are. Only what we are not. And we are not pirates. I built the 'Camille' to atone for what I did as a pirate. Not just the towns we pillaged, but the people I hurt. My captain, my rightful captain. My son. My Rosamunde. And, God forgive me, my Camille."
Intrigued, for she never heard about the mysterious woman for whom the ship was named, Narcissa curbed her curiosity, and instead listened as Bill explained, "When I went back to England, I learned that my Rosamunde was dead. And Will. My little Will went to sea when he was just twelve years old. One of the old neighbors told me that Will went to sea. . .came to the Caribbean looking for me. This was a matter of months before I arrived after freeing myself."
Still, Narcissa kept silent. Bill rewarded her patience, explaining, "And since it was only a few months, they still remembered the name of the ship. I did some investigating, and learned that it sank shortly before reaching Port Royal, maybe a day or so. Sank by bloody Barbossa and his crew. There was only one survivor. A twelve year old boy named 'Will Turner.' My son." Now Narcissa heard the thick rage in his voice, and trembled a little for that child.
Bill rasped out, "Barbossa sensed the medallion, and they attacked that ship. I wanted to condemn them all, along with myself. We all deserved to pay. . .them for what they did to Jack Sparrow, and me for letting it happen. But I forgot one thing. My son. My son paid for my arrogance. And when I learned that. . ." He stopped, trembling. Tentatively, Narcissa put her hand on his shoulder, kneading the tight muscles.
"That's why we went to the aid of that ship yesterday, isn't it?" Narcissa asked softly. Bill nodded, staring down into the depths of the ocean. The woman released a breath, feeling the tension in her companion. She would learn no more from him today. But that was fine. She learned more in the last ten minutes than she expected to. Narcissa gave his shoulder one last pat, then said, "I should check on Alvarado. He was injured in the rescue yesterday."
Bill looked at her quickly, and Narcissa explained with a sigh, "Nothing serious, but the foolish boy decided his sword was more important than his life. He has a few broken ribs from lunging for it, and a cut along his right side. Indeed, the sword is beautiful, but it is hardly worth his life." Bill smiled, though this one didn't reach his eyes. It was a sad smile. . .a bitter smile. . .a knowing smile, and somehow, Narcissa was left out of that knowing.
"We tend to treasure that which we think we might never have again. For me, the smell of the ocean, the taste of food. . .even touching my son again. . .is easily worth my life. There's a reason that sword means something to the boy, Cissie," Bill replied. Narcissa opened her mouth to speak, then realized she had nothing to say. She nodded, instead, and quietly left the deck to check on the young man in question.
. . .
After Narcissa left him, the man once called 'Bootstrap' Bill Turner looked once more out at the ocean. 'Bootstrap' he was from the time he was twenty-three until he freed himself from that damnable cannon ball and made his way back to land. After having a pair of cannonballs tied to his bootstraps, there was no way he would ever use that nickname again. Besides, it was an unwelcome reminder of Barbossa.
He had no idea how long it took him to reach land, once he started walking. Wasn't even sure how long he was underwater before he made the choice that he would not simply wait passively for the end. The shock of still being alive. . .after a fashion. . . lasted for a time. The fury took a little longer to dissipate. . .fury with Barbossa, fury with himself. And eventually, he realized that he had another reason to be angry with himself. By sending that cursed coin to his son, he placed Will's life in terrible danger.
When he came to that conclusion, self-loathing was quickly replaced by terror and a fierce determination to save his little boy. Oh, Will wasn't a little boy any longer. He was now a grown man of. . . Bill stopped and thought. How old was Will now? Almost one and twenty, wasn't he? Just a little older than his father was when Bill fell in love with Julia Monroe, and sired their daughter.
Camille. With a groan, Bill almost buried his face in his hands. However, he settled for running his hands over his hair, instead, still staring into the ocean. Cammy. He didn't even know if his daughter was alive or not, much less his son. Julia never sent word. Bill half- suspected that his first lover caught something from one of her customers, and whatever illness killed her, also drove her insane.
There were such diseases out there. Bill heard about them. It occurred to him that he was a carrier. . .maybe that was what killed Rosamunde? No. No, something else killed his wife. The neighbors to whom he spoke mentioned that they were afraid Will would catch what made his mother sick. That left out the clap or anything of that nature. That was small comfort indeed to the man who came home to an empty house, a dead wife, and a missing son.
He wronged Rosamunde too many times. He wronged her by leaving so many times, leaving her to raise their son alone. And he wronged her by making assumptions about her willingness to raise Camille. When Will was born, the elder Turner could no longer hide the truth about his older child. He told Rosamunde everything. She was angry with him, yes. But not for siring a child out of wedlock. No, she was angry with him for thinking she was so petty, so shallow, as to think that she could ever hate a child of his. Twas not Camille's fault that she was born out of wedlock.
Rosamunde would have loved Camille. She would have loved her smile, her laughter. Her warmth, her intelligence, her curiosity. Bill asked, cuddling his son close, how Rosamunde knew all that about Camille, about his little girl. The way Rosamunde talked about Cammy, Bill would have thought she actually met her. Rosamunde smiled at him, and said, "She's your daughter, William Turner. How could she be anything else?" For the second time in five years, William Turner, now William Turner Senior, fell in love with his wife.
Aye. Rosamunde would have been a good mother to Camille. He was sorry she never got the chance. Even sorrier that he agreed to Julia's insanity. He and Rosamunde could have made it work. They would have found a way. They. . .agh, twas no use! Bill sighed. No sense in tormenting himself with what might have been. He could not change the past. That was one reason he built the 'Camille' once he reached land.
He had much to atone for. Jack. Will. Rosamunde. Camille. Even Julia, God rest her poor soul. And yet, in the end, when it came time to name his ship. . .he named it not after his lover, or his wife, or his son, or his captain. Cap'n Jack Sparrow, thank you very much. Bill smiled, thinking of that. He hoped Jack was alive. He hoped he reclaimed the Pearl. He hoped the younger man forgave him for his cowardice. . .for not trying harder to protect him.
Yet. . .it was always Cammy's name to which he returned, when trying to name his new ship. Perhaps because she was truly the first person he betrayed, with his cowardly promise to her mother. Never mind that Julia threatened to keep his daughter from him permanently, if he didn't make her that evil promise. He was a pirate, dammit. . .he could have taken his daughter from Julia and raised her on the Pearl!
That was what both Jack and Barbossa wanted. Something he learned just before Barbossa and the other mutineers threw him overboard, with those damnable balls attached to his bootstraps. Barbossa always held him and Jack in contempt for bowing to Julia's wishes. She was dying. Didn't know what was best for her or her daughter. They could have raised her to be a proper pirate lass.
And if we did that. . . Bill stopped, his blood running cold in his veins, as he considered this for the first time. If Cammy was on the Pearl at the time of the mutiny, she would have either died herself, or been stranded with Jack. After all. . .once men became used to a woman's presence on a ship, the fear of bad luck would get swallowed up by other concerns. Something Bill saw with the three women on his own ship.
If she hadn't remained with Julia, there was nothing saying that Cammy would have lived with Rosamunde. She could have remained on the Pearl until she was at least nine years old, after Will was born. Bill thought back almost eleven years. His daughter was nine-and-twenty, almost thirty. She would have been eighteen or nineteen when the mutiny occurred. A young woman herself. And a pirate lass would have a bloody hard time adjusting to life on land.
She might not have been married. So yes. . .his daughter might have died. Or been cursed herself. Or stranded on that island with Jack Sparrow. Now there was an idea to give a father nightmares. Even if Jack always regarded Cammy as a little sister. Cammy was Bill's daughter, and Jack was a charming rogue. He didn't know how his daughter's life turned out after he abandoned her, but perhaps her mother was right, and she didn't belong on the Pearl.
Still. . .he still felt as if he betrayed her. That betrayal seemed to start the first of many, and that was the driving force behind his desire to atone. Perhaps if he hadn't betrayed and abandoned his daughter, he would have been better able to help Jack at the time of the mutiny.
So, he named his ship 'Camille.' And once she was named, the figurehead was easy enough to design. A young woman with her hands cupped, as if cupping the face of her lover. Or her father, as Cammy cupped his face so many times. The face didn't matter. Just the hands. And he had no trouble in taking women on his ship. He was cursed for ten years. Sank to the bottom of Davy Jones' locker. Walked underwater for God only knew how long.
After all of that, whatever bad luck came from having women aboard was minuscule. And now he had three. Narcissa, his greatest blessing. Catalina, the former slave whom he bought in Tortuga, then freed. And Juana, the female half of a set of twins, both of whom served on his ship. Bill smiled in spite of himself. They were a matched set. You didn't have one without the other, they told him when he fished them out of trouble almost nine years earlier.
He never asked what kind of trouble. Juana, however, said that her brother killed someone who deserved to die. And there was such hate in her eyes when she said that, Bill had no desire to ask further. She was no more than one-and-twenty or two-and-twenty at the time. No young woman of that age should ever have such hatred in her eyes. Ever. He asked no questions, and they volunteered nothing.
In return, he received two of the finest sailors he ever served with. The twins felt guilty about something. . .not the killing. . .but something. And they worked just as hard as he did to make sure the 'Camille' was a success. Narcissa's revelation that the boy was injured during the rescue the previous didn't surprise him at all. He knew two things about that boy. . .he was exceedingly fond of that sword of his and he was ferociously protective of women. All Bill had to do, to get the boy involved, is mention that a woman might be harmed in some way. The former pirate wondered what happened to make Alvarado like that. He never wondered for long. There were too many other things to distract him, to worry about.
. . .
The Swann-Turner wedding and reception was finally winding down, and Alicia Webster could give her regards to the newlyweds and excuse herself. She wanted to return to her daughter. Because of her own 'mixed' blood, Alicia didn't feel comfortable with leaving Tamsyn for a long period of time with other people. She was half-afraid that someone would eventually recognize her as the daughter of Julia Monroe, Bootstrap Bill Turner's whore, and those people, in turn, shun her own daughter.
It wasn't exactly rational, of course. But her former master was almost as cruel as the man he gave her to. It would be just like him to tell people that his little maid was the daughter of a whore and a pirate. All for the fun of watching Alicia squirm or even weep.
She was not ashamed of her father. Or Jack. She just wanted to make sure he was safely away before James Norrington returned. She wasn't ashamed of her father at all. But she wanted to protect her little girl. It was bad enough that Tamsyn was far more grown up than any other eight year old Alicia ever encountered. There was no reason why she should suffer for something she didn't even do.
At the same time, Alicia couldn't help wonder if she was doing the right thing by telling Jack about her suspicions regarding her father. If she was right, if William Turner the Elder was still alive. . . should she unmask herself? Did she tell him that she was his daughter, grown up, and using another name? She thought back to Jack's question. Why did she go by 'Alicia,' instead of 'Camille.' There were actually several reasons for that.
First, she was 'Alicia' for almost sixteen years, while she was 'Camille' for fourteen. Secondly, 'Camille' was the name her mother gave her, in memory of Julia's best friend, a French whore who died of the clap. And Alicia still wasn't sure if she would ever forgive her mother for what she did, not just for selling her to that evil man, but for driving her father away. There was much that her mother didn't realize Alicia understood. Thirdly, her mistress gave her the name 'Alicia' as a way of protecting her against the master.
She called herself 'Alicia Webster' for so long, that was how she thought of herself. She no longer thought of herself as 'Camille Turner.' And that brought her back to the original question. What if she was right? What if her father was alive? Alicia didn't have the answer to that question. She didn't know what she would do. If Jack had his way, she would tell her father, and Will, the truth.
She wanted Will in her life, not just as the young blacksmith who created such fine swords, and made it possible for her to thank her step-son for everything he did for her and Tamsyn. She wanted Will in her life as her brother, the uncle to her daughter. That was actually why Alicia found her daughter's infatuation with Will worrisome. He was her uncle, after all. Yes, Tamsyn was eight years old, but. . .
That was one fly in the ointment. Another was. . .Will was still struggling to regain his balance after the last revelation that turned his life upside down. Did she dare to rock his world with yet another revelation? Alicia pulled back from that. She would have been the first to say she was a coward. And she feared that her younger brother would hate her. After all. . .wouldn't he want their father all to himself? After all the years apart, and everything Will went through as the son of Bootstrap Bill, there was so much to be said between them.
Alicia shook herself. She was getting ahead of herself, thinking about things that had not yet and may never happen. She promised Jack that she would stay out of his way, and let him do the investigating. Alicia would do just that. She had a responsibility to her daughter. She found Tamsyn happily playing in their kitchen, with old Mrs McCaffrey watching over her. The old woman was among the few neighbors with whom Alicia felt genuinely comfortable. She was a Papist, and Irish, and though nothing was said about Catholics practicing their faiths here in the colonies. . .
There was always someone who didn't like a person simply because of what they were. However, Mrs McCaffrey was always kind to the mother and daughter. The old woman looked up as Alicia entered and smiled, saying, "I was growin' a'feared for ye, lass. How was th' weddin' and did the bride look lovely?" Tamsyn made a face, and Mrs McCaffrey waved a finger, adding, "And don't ye be makin' that face, little missy, 'else it might freeze like that!"
Alicia turned away briefly, to hide her own smile. But from the corner of her eye, she saw Mrs McCaffrey wink at her. Tamsyn pouted, "But I don't like Elizabeth! Will should have waited for me! I'll be sixteen in eight years!" Alicia raised her eyebrows at that comment. Sixteen? Well, yes, girls often did wed at sixteen. Sometimes even younger. But her daughter was just a child, and there was plenty of time for that.
"Aye, but Will Turner shouldn't have t' wait eight years for th' lass of his dreams. If ye truly loved him, Thomasina, ye would be happy for him. . .because he's happy," Mrs McCaffrey answered wisely. Well, that was a better response than anything Alicia had in mind. There were times when she thought she was a terrible mother, because she didn't have the answer to one of her daughter's questions.
As if understanding what went through Alicia's mind, Mrs McCaffrey added, "And besides, lass, Will is almost one-and-twenty. Ye should look t' laddies yer own age." Tamsyn's horrified expression almost made Alicia laugh. Almost. Then her daughter screwed up her face in an obvious expression of disgust. The widow could almost hear what her daughter was thinking, because her mind worked in a similar manner when she was eight.
"Enough of that, Tamsyn. . .Mrs McCaffrey, I thank you again for watching over my daughter. If there's ever anything you need, please, let me know," Alicia interposed before the little girl could treat them all to a blistering account of just why boys her own age were utterly despicable. The old woman smiled at her kindly and gently stroked Tamsyn's dark hair, then touched Alicia's cheek.
"No need for ye to thank me, young lady. I miss me own gel, back in Ireland. She's just about yer age. . .bein' wi' ye and Thomasina takes some of the hurt away," Mrs McCaffrey answered. She smiled again, and now, Alicia saw the sadness in the old woman's green eyes. This was the first Alicia heard of Mrs McCaffrey's family in Ireland, and she wondered what else she didn't know about the old woman.
How strange to live beside a woman for eight years, and really know so little about her. Mrs McCaffrey added, almost as if she could hear Alicia's thoughts, her voice very soft, "I'm glad to see, lass, that ye are startin' t' trust other people now. Yer husband hurt ye, t' be sure. But not all men are like that. . .and not all people think a pretty young widow killed her husband. Ye have good neighbors here, lass. When yer ready t' reach out a hand."
Alicia glanced over at her daughter, who wasn't listening. A fact for which Alicia was very grateful. After a moment, the widow looked back at her neighbor, saying softly, "It isn't just that, Mrs McCaffrey. There are many things you do not know about me, about my family."
That sadness only deepened, as the older woman replied, "I tell ye, lassie. I be sixty-eight years old. I buried four of me children, an' watched me husband hang as a traitor. I seen evil when I looked at the great Lord Protector." She spat the title out as if it tasted vile, then continued, "I see no evil when I look at ye. Whatever ye done, whatever yer ma or da did. . .I know. Tweren't evil."
Again, she touched Alicia's cheek, adding, "An' maybe one day, ye kin trust me enough t' tell me why ye have such hurt in yer eyes. Until that time, lass. . .ye take care o' yerself. And that little girl o' yers." She gently patted Alicia's cheek, then hobbled out the front door. Alicia watched her go, troubled. She spent her entire life in the Caribbean, and of course, she heard of Oliver Cromwell, the Lord Protector. But this was the first time she heard him spoken of with such hatred. Deeply troubled, the widow decided to learn more about the Lord Protector. It would keep her mind occupied whilst Jack learned what he could of her father.
. . .
As Narcissa Grayson made her way below decks, she was greeted by a string of Spanish curses coming from the infirmary. She tried not to smile, reluctantly impressed by the range she was hearing. Oh, of course she heard Alvarado swear in the past. The boy had quite an impressive collection of profanities at his disposal, and could even embarrass Bill on occasion. However, his swearing wasn't usually this. . .imaginative.
A second voice broke in, also in Spanish. Narcissa smiled as Juana chastised her brother for his language. They were quite the pair, the Alvarado twins. In some ways, they were your typical brother and sister. They argued quite frequently, always in Spanish. While the majority of the crew didn't understand a word either of them said (which made Narcissa think maybe they didn't want to know), the arguments between the twins were always amusing.
By the same token, they were almost viciously protective of each other. Narcissa had no brothers or sisters growing up, so maybe that wasn't unusual for siblings. Then she remembered about whom she was speaking. There was absolutely nothing usual about the Alvarado twins. She gently rapped on the door, and this time, a female voice called in English, "Come in, Narcissa!" The older woman smiled and opened the door.
She didn't ask how Juana knew she was there. Juana and Narcissa were the only people on board who ever bothered to knock. Except for Bill, and he wouldn't have rapped on the door. . .he would have half-knocked it down. Juana said, "If you see el capitan, you may tell him that my brother is being foolish, but he will live." Alvarado responded with another round of invectives, and Juana slapped back of his head this time, adding firmly, "Bastante!"
The first time Narcissa heard that word, she was offended. . .until she learned that it didn't refer to a person's legitimacy. That explanation came from Bill, rather than the twins. While the twins were born on the wrong side of the blanket, so to speak, neither spoke of that. They didn't speak of their mother and they certainly didn't speak of their father. However, Juana did explain to Narcissa that 'bastante' meant 'enough.'
"I just left the captain, Juana, but if I see him again, I'll tell him," Narcissa replied. She looked at the twins. They really were attractive children. . .beautiful even. Juana was the younger twin, by fifteen minutes. She was tall for a woman, coming about to her brother's chin. Her dark brown hair was long, but kept back from her triangular, cat-like face with a leather band. Narcissa heard Bill say in the past that Juana was like the sea. . .she could be cold and cruel, or tender and gentle.
Narcissa realized, after hearing Bill's statement, that was why so many sailors referred to the sea as female. That description fit a number of women whom Narcissa knew, including herself. However, Juana had the additional complication of being a female pirate. Narcissa knew little about her young friend's early life, but she could make guesses. Psychology was not known in the seventeenth century.
But Narcissa needed no psychology to understand Juana. She might not understand all of her moods and her facial expressions, but she could almost always see things from Juana's point of view. Juana's first priority was, and ever would be, taking care of her brother. She told Bill that when he first brought her and her twin aboard. Bill explained that was fine. . .there was nothing more important than family.
Her brother. Narcissa turned her attention to the older Alvarado twin. No one knew his real name. Juana referred to him as 'mi hermano' (my brother) or 'Santiago.' The latter was often used sarcastically, and always when Juana was trying to make a point. While Juana was easily described as 'lovely,' her brother was the beautiful one. He was quite capable of taking a woman's breath away.
And based on the hungry glances Narcissa noticed during their last visit to Tortuga, there were men who found him quite attractive as well. He stood perhaps four or five inches taller than his twin sister, even barefoot. While Juana's hair was dark brown, Alvarado's hair was midnight black. They both had dark eyes. . .deep, warm brown. Juana's hair was worn to her waist when it was loose, while her twin's hair reached to just above his shoulders. He wore a somewhat groomed beard and mustache, but no one ever saw him shaving, so it was anyone's guess how he managed to stay well groomed. Personally, Narcissa thought he simply took a few moments and did what was necessary while looking into a gold plate. It was what she would have done.
He was made even more attractive by the fact that he bathed when he had the chance. One of the hardest things Narcissa found when she was brought aboard the 'Camille' was the smell. Sailors, or pirates, often went weeks or even months without a decent bath. Alvarado kept as clean as he could. . .while it resulted in teasing from other members of the crew, no one could argue that he received far more attention in Tortuga than his less-clean shipmates.
Nor could Narcissa argue that his latest wound would leave a scar that would make him all the more charming, even to the so-called 'civilized' ladies. Narcissa smiled, remembering the first time she and Bill made love, after the curse was broken. She remembered how much pleasure she derived out of kissing each of her new lover's scars, and how much pleasure his gasps and moans gave her.
That was why she couldn't resist teasing the young man now, "Well, look at it this way. This will give the ladies in Tortuga one more scar to kiss and make better." Unexpectedly, Alvarado flushed, the red muted a little by his lightly tanned skin. Juana, on the other hand, roared with laughter. Alvarado muttered something under his breath that Narcissa couldn't hear, and probably didn't want to hear.
Especially not when the still-laughing Juana smacked him in the back of his head. Again. Her twin growled under his breath and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her back against his chest, amid her giggling. Bad move. He groaned as the movement aggravated his broken ribs, and released his sister immediately. Juana was on her knees in front of him immediately, the laughter in her eyes giving way immediately to concern.
Narcissa joined her, putting a gentle hand on the warm flesh. A little too warm for Narcissa's liking, and she said, "Enough. . .you need to rest, lad, you're developing a fever." Juana looked at her quickly, and Narcissa added, "I doubt it's anything serious, but he should still rest. We don't want a repeat of the last time, and Juana, don't smack your brother again. You may knock the remaining sense he has out of his head."
Now she was on the receiving end of his glare, but Narcissa glared back. She did not survive an abusive and unfaithful husband, nearly dying at sea, and years of loving a walking dead man, to be cowed by a member of this crew. Alvarado, surprisingly, dropped his eyes first. Juana said something in Spanish, too low for Narcissa to understand it, and her brother answered in an equally low voice.
After a moment, Juana said, "I will stay with my stubborn brother, 'Cissa. You must rest as well." Narcissa smiled, though she was certain it would never reach her eyes. Rest. How could she rest, when there was so much to do? Juana added, "Besides, I know I cannot rest. I am afraid that some of the Naval crew saw the name of our ship during the fight yesterday. If that is the case. . ."
She let her words trail off, but then, it wasn't necessary to say anything further. Narcissa knew, just as everyone did, that part of their success hinged on anonymity. No one could know about the Camille, and no one could know that Bootstrap Bill Turner was still alive. Bill wasn't ready to trust the authorities with his return from the dead. He was a pirate, and never mind the last ten years of a man seeking atonement. . .he was a pirate. If he was caught, he would be hung. That was the way things were.
"If that is the case," Narcissa replied after a moment, "We will find a way to deal with it. Just as we always have. But you are quite correct. I should rest. Call me if you need anything."
Juana bobbed her head in acknowledgment of this request, and Narcissa slipped quietly from the room. She sighed as she closed the door behind her. Not for the first time, she wondered just how Alvarado broke his ribs while lunging for his sword. Something didn't seem quite right with the story, but Narcissa participated in few fights. More often, she was escorted below decks, where she would wait until people were brought to her after the fight for healing. Narcissa half-resented it, but she understood it.
In the first place, she had no business being above decks during a battle. She could barely defend herself. . .why put someone else's life at risk when she could be down below, taking care of the injured? Something she could do. Secondly, it was Bill's way of protecting her. She was the captain's lady. It made her feel special. How long was it since she was precious to anyone?
Too long. Entirely too long. And that made Narcissa Grayson feel even more tired. She was in her forties. . .her life was more than half- over. That was, of course, assuming that the 'Camille' wasn't caught, and she wasn't hung as a pirate. Her life was more than half over, and she was only now learning what it meant to be loved and cherished and protected. But that was a woman's lot in life. . .unless she had the courage to make her own lot in life. For that reason, and others, Narcissa envied Juana.
. . .
When she stopped and thought about it, Juana Alvarado y Ruiz felt a little dizzy. She was born and raised in the Caribbean, the daughter of a Spanish maid and an Englishman for whom Juana and her brother bore little love. They spent the first twenty years of their lives trying to make a better life for themselves and their mother. . . only to watch their mother die of consumption. It was her dying wish that they reconcile with their father.
They might have done just that, if they didn't realize very quickly that their father was as uninterested in them now as he was for their first twenty years of life. Instead, the twins ran off to sea after one confrontation too many between the father and son. And here they remained for the last ten years. Here on the ocean, here where they had true freedom. At least until her idioto of a brother tried to sacrifice himself for a stupid, bloody sword!
With an irritated huff, Juana smacked her brother in the back of his head yet again. She was rewarded with an annoyed glare. Not that it had much effect on her. Juana grew up with her brother, she knew him better than anyone else in the world did. His glares didn't frighten her. The only thing about her brother that frightened her was this selfless streak of his. At least they weren't really pirates. Her brother wasn't ruthless enough to survive as a pirate.
She corrected herself immediately. He was ruthless enough, when it came to protecting his family, the people he loved most in the world. Their mother, her. . .their father's young wife. Juana never met her step-mother. . .she knew only that her sire married a young girl her own age. It would have been the easy thing, to blame that young woman for the ugly final confrontation between her twin and their father.
But Juana knew her father almost as well as she knew her brother. She knew what kind of a man her father was, and she knew what kind of a man her brother was. More than that, she knew that her brother's hatred of their father grew exponentially over a period of several years. Whatever happened with their father's young wife, it was merely a catalyst. She was a pawn, nothing more. Not the villainess. . .just another victim, like Juana's mother.
Juana, however, was no victim. She wasn't as soft-hearted as her brother, and she could be twice as ruthless. . .especially when it came to defending her family, her shipmates, and her captain. Bill Turner could have turned the twins over to the authorities years earlier. He could have sacrificed them to save his own skin. But he didn't. In some ways, he was more of a father to the twins than their own father. . .not that this would have taken much effort.
And she never truly forgave her mother for allowing her father to use her like that. In her mind, Juana knew that her mother had few options open to her. Even if this was the enlightened seventeenth century, respectable women had very few choices. Juana wanted more for herself, and she was willing to break some rules to do it. She grew up seeing the choices her brother had to him, and that was what she wanted for herself.
It's a curious thing, to both love someone and despise them at the same time. But this was the reality of Juana's relationship with her mother. She loved her, of course. She was her mother, after all. But Juana also despised her for her weakness. . .at least, what Juana saw as her weakness. She allowed herself to be used by a man, and bore two children out of wedlock for that. If she was but a little stronger, she could have. . .done something.
It was possible that Narcissa was like her mother at one time, but Juana didn't believe that. Narcissa was too strong. She stood up to her husband, and he almost killed her for it. He would have killed her, but for Captain Bill. There were some respectable women whom Juana respected, but not many. Narcissa was one of those select few. . .she took care of the people on the ship, and didn't think the less of them.
She didn't give up, even when a rule blocked her path. Narcissa found ways around the rules. As for Catalina. . .Catalina didn't pay attention to any rules. The only rules that mattered to her were the rules set down by Captain Bill. There might have been a time when Catalina was in love with Captain Bill, but she came to realize that if the captain was in love with any woman on this ship, it was Narcissa.
She might have resented the older woman for her place in Captain Bill's heart, at least in the beginning, but Catalina came to accept the way of things. Or if she didn't, she kept it to herself, and focused her attention on her own task aboard the Camille.
Catalina was a navigator, and a bloody good one, Captain Bill was heard to say on more than one occasion. She was a true daughter of the sea, born and raised on a pirate ship. How that came to be was a story Juana never heard. Although, Catalina did tell her younger companion one reason women on a ship were viewed as bad luck. The sea is a woman, she told Juana, and she is a jealous mistress.
Juana could actually fathom that, though she thought it was somewhat peculiar. On the other hand, most of the things aboard the 'Camille' could be considered peculiar, including herself and her twin. Especially since her dear, idiotic twin tried to sacrifice his own life for that damn sword! Diego said now, "You know, hermanita, that Alicia gave me that sword." Yes, she did know that. It was a fine sword, even Juana could see that.
But it was just a sword, hardly worth losing his life for! Then again, Juana never understood the somewhat queer relationship between her twin brother and their step-mother. Diego often visited Alicia while they were in port, and her small daughter Thomasina. Tamsyn. That gave Juana pause. She had a little sister. An eight year old sister, who, like Juana was being raised by a lone woman.
Perhaps that was the reason Diego couldn't stay away from Alicia? Because she reminded him too much of their mother, raising them alone after their father's abandonment? That was entirely possible. And yet, based on what little Diego told her about their father's young wife, she was actually much stronger than their mother. He spoke often of how well she hid her sadness, and how few people realized just how depraved their father was. Alicia conducted herself with a quiet dignity and pride.
"Si, mi hermano, I know Alicia gave you that sword, but I am sure she would not wish you to throw your life away because of it! You say little about her, but from what you have said, it seems she is entirely too sensible for such a thing," Juana replied. Her brother shook his head, barely biting back a groan as he moved wrong. The sister couldn't help herself. She moved toward Diego, to make sure he was all right.
"You do not understand, hermanita. She had it made for me. . . but I am only keeping it in trust until the right time. She told me the name of the man who made it," Diego explained. Juana frowned. That was a strange thing to say. Did their father's wife give him this sword to keep in trust for someone else? Why would she do that? Diego saw her expression and explained, "No, Juanita. I made the choice to give it to someone else when Alicia told me the name of the craftsman."
Well now, this did sound mysterious! Diego continued, a small smile hovering on his lips, "A young man in Port Royal made it. . .the betrothed of the governor's daughter. A young man by the name of 'William Turner.' A blacksmith, and a pirate." However, this last was not necessary. Juana immediately recognized the name. Will Turner. How could she not recognize the name? It was one she heard often over the last several years, as part of el capitan's inner circle. She stared at her brother in shock, and Diego nodded, adding in a low voice, "Si. Our captain's son is in Port Royal."
Juana understood the significance of this observation. She overheard Narcissa and Catalina discussing their captain's fears that his son was dead at the hands of Hector Barbossa. Juana asked softly, "Then why have you not told el capitan, mi hermano? He fears that his son is dead, you should tell him the truth!" Diego glared at her, and this time, Juana did back down. He had a good reason not to tell Captain Bill. . .at least, he better have a good reason!
"I have not yet told him, hermanita, because I wish to wait until we return to Port Royal. At that time, I will give him the sword as a gift," Diego replied. He paused, then added, "That will also give me time to find Alicia. I must see about her and Tamsyn. Juana. . .come with me. I want you to meet Alicia." Juana looked away. She still didn't know why her brother had not yet told el capitan the truth. He should tell him. . .
Because you just never knew if tomorrow would come.
. . .
"You mean to tell me that the 'Camille' interfered? Again?"
He had just enough time to duck out of the way as a goblet filled to the brim with wine sailed past his head and connected with the wall. The wine splashed over the wood, and he shuddered. It rather looked like blood, rather than wine. He snuck a look back at the captain, who was staring at him with coldly furious green eyes. The man swallowed hard, saying softly, "I'm afraid so, Captain. Our men who returned report seeing the figurehead."
A second oath of fury was uttered and the man cringed, but the captain only spun away. In a way, the first mate felt sorry for Bootstrap Bill Turner. He had a habit of interfering with their plans. Something that enraged his captain to no end. On the other hand, he felt more sorry for the crew of this ship. Every time Bootstrap interfered with a raid against a ship of the Royal Navy, it was the crew who paid.
After a moment, the captain turned back, and in a quietly controlled voice, "How many men did we lose?" The man cringed all over again. This would not be pleasant. The captain was hardly protective of the crew. . .not with the daily floggings that took place for everything from unfavorable winds to an untidy deck. However, it would seem only the captain had the right to kill the crew. . .none others were allowed that privilege.
The man replied quietly, "Twelve men. The 'Camille' has three women among its crew, and they are just as dangerous as the men. The blonde woman isn't as effective as the Spanish bitch or the darky, but the blonde woman is protected by the captain, and by a young man."
"A blonde woman, is it? Well, well, Bootstrap's tastes have certainly changed over the years," came the mocking reply. The captain turned away, muttering about Bootstrap Bill. The man wondered what was between them. The captain had a fit any time the 'Camille' was mentioned. . .could not bear to hear the name. The next words were spoken so softly, the man barely heard it, "The blonde woman may be useful to us. What is the heading?"
"The 'Camille' is heading back to Port Royal. Captain. . .I been hearing rumors. Bootstrap has a son, Will. . .he sailed with Jack Sparrow last year, when Barbossa sacked Port Royal. Maybe Bootstrap has found out that his son is in Port Royal, and he's heading back there to see the boy," the man said. He half-expected the captain to throw something else at him. Maybe a knife this time.
But it didn't happen. Instead, the captain said thoughtfully, "Is that right? Bootstrap has a son, does he? And this son sailed with Jack Sparrow. Well, well, well. . . how fortuitous. If Bootstrap is heading to Port Royal, then by all means, we should follow. When we get there, I want to know everything you can about Will Turner. More to the point, I want you to find a weakness we can exploit. If we know that Will Turner is Bootstrap's son, then so does Jack Sparrow."
The man already knew where his captain was going with this, and guessed, "We can use the boy to lure Sparrow and Bootstrap into a trap." The captain smiled unexpectedly, and the man continued, "There is one other thing. The crew of the Diablo." The smile quickly gave way to a frown. The man added hastily, "I'm just concerned, Captain. The captain of the Diablo is not known for his intelligence. He was a second rate version of Barbossa."
"So he was. . .continue," the captain replied impatiently. Right. How did he explain this? One of the survivors told him they executed the captain's plan, just as they talked about. And the plan was working, right up until the 'Camille' arrived. As the man tried to find a way to explain what he was thinking, however, the captain observed, "That's what concerns you, though. You think they might realize Obregon was nothing more than a puppet."
"Aye, captain. He ain't nearly as smart as you are," the man replied, and almost choked on his words. It was bad enough that his captain was a woman. But a smart woman? A smart and utterly ruthless woman, who had no compulsion whatsoever about gutting an enemy in front of his own crew, just as she did to Obregon right before her men took over the Diablo? That just didn't seem natural to him.
"That is a possibility. However, as you said, I'm far more intelligent than he was. Before they figure out that Obregon was naught but a figurehead," and the captain laughed at her own joke, "we'll have the Turner boy. What do you think, Briggs? Should I kill the boy and send him back to his father, piece at a time. . .or should I kill the whelp in front of him?" Briggs shuddered a little.
His captain wasn't just smart and utterly ruthless. . .she was also crazy as the dickens. Briggs didn't want to ask the next question. He knew what happened to people who questioned the captain. He saw it with his own eyes. It was one way she protected herself from a mutiny.
The other way was. . .well, sailors were a superstitious lot, and she seemed capable of controlling the weather, the sea itself. Even so, he had to know. If he would die in the next few weeks, he wanted to at least know the reason why he would die. And so, Briggs asked hesitantly, "Begging your pardon, Captain, but why do you hate Turner and Sparrow so?" The captain looked at him, a haunted expression appearing in her eyes.
"They killed my sister, Briggs. The only person I ever loved in my life, and they killed her. They killed her, and they betrayed her. I swore at her graveside that they would pay for it. I've waited twenty-five years, and now I finally have the chance I've dreamed of for so long," Captain Moran answered quietly. She looked away, and when she looked back, there were tears in her green eyes. Briggs swallowed hard.
Her sister. He had a sister once, someone he loved so much it hurt. He hadn't seen her in ten years, not since he was put on a prison ship. But he had only to imagine receiving word that his sister was dead. He would kill whoever was responsible. . .by God, he would slit their very throats! And suddenly, the captain didn't seem so crazy. Briggs cleared his throat and answered softly, "You had only to say so, Captain."
Again, he knew that she could probably kill him for saying so, and the unspoken words. She didn't have to kill those sailors. The captain smiled without any real humor, replying, "I know that. But I had to make the crew fear me, Briggs. I'm a woman. . .a member of the weaker sex. I had to make them fear me, and. . .and I thought I could ease some of the pain. I was wrong. The only thing that will take away this godawful emptiness in my soul is watching Turner and Sparrow suffer as I have."
She turned away, then looked back at Briggs, adding, "I've changed my mind. Leave the woman alone. Taking the whelp will cause far more pain to Bootstrap than taking his woman. After all, a woman is easily replaceable. . .not so a son." There was a bitter laughter in her voice, and again, Briggs winced. He wasn't sure he liked seeing this vulnerable side to his captain. This frightened him more than her rages. Perhaps that was what he said next, though he had no way of knowing how she would react.
"You know, Captain. . .there is a rumor floatin' around. I've heard it several times over the last ten years, ever since Barbossa took the Black Pearl. Bootstrap has another child, a daughter. What about her? Could we use her to make him pay for whatever he did to your sister?" Briggs asked. A half-second after that, he couldn't even swallow, for the knife was at his throat, and there was a new madness in Captain Moran's green eyes. Alllll right. . .maybe her moment of weakness a moment earlier wasn't as frightening as one of her rages.
But this was different. There was a light in her eyes, something Briggs never saw before. A light he didn't recognize, and would not recognize for some time. She hissed, "Never speak so again! The daughter is not to be touched! It is bad enough that Bootstrap named his damnable ship after his daughter! That is enough of a betrayal! The daughter is not to be harmed, not even to harm Bootstrap!" Briggs hoped she could see his surrender in his eyes, and she did, taking the knife from his throat.
"He named the ship after his daughter?" he asked, needing clarification. She nodded. Briggs decided to take things one step further, adding, "And the daughter. . .she is your sister's child?" Again, his captain nodded, returning the dagger to the boot from whence it came. Well. That explained a great deal indeed. And it certainly explained why Captain Moran flew into a rage every time the 'Camille' was mentioned.
"Yes. He did. And I will see that damnable ship burned or sent to the bottom of the sea for that perfidy. The only thing left after I finish with Bootstrap Bill Turner will be my sister's child," his captain answered quietly. She looked at him, adding, "Go now. I have plans to make." Briggs nodded to her, then left the cabin. However, as he did, something new occurred to him. What if Bootstrap's daughter involved herself? If she knew that Will Turner was her brother, would she stand by and let them take him?
Or would she fight at his side? Having a female captain forced Briggs to realize that while they were considered the weaker sex, women were made of pure steel. Somehow, he had the uneasy sense that Camille Turner would not let her younger brother go without a fight. And then what would the captain do? It was hard enough for Briggs to consider harming a child of his sister's. What would the captain do?
Now, onto the reviews.
Beak: Hello, there! Thank you for reviewing, I'm so glad you're enjoying it. I would have updated sooner, but I'm writing in ten different fandoms, working on three novels, and working a forty-hour job. Plus, I'm looking for another job. Just please be patient, and I will try to stay more on top of things.
Kelly: Thank you! Over the next several chapters, I have several more things to work in. This chapter sees the introduction of the villain.
Kitrazzle: Well, as you find out in this chapter, Bootstrap doesn't exactly consider the 'Camille' a pirate ship. However, both you and AnaMaria are perfectly correct. Ana will continue to be a part of the major story, though not as a love interest for Jack. Hope that doesn't disappoint you, but I don't think Jack can really love anyone as much as he loves the Pearl.
Sailor Elf: But it's so much FUN to slap Jack! Especially when he's trying to figure out whether or not he deserved it. And I'll do much worse to him before it's all over. Do I hurt him as badly as I do Ardeth in my Mummy stories? Nope. . .at least not physically. Think. . .well, just think of how I torment Rick O'Connell, and you'll have the idea.
Part Two
He stood straight and tall on the deck of his ship, eyes turned eternally toward land. There were times when the woman now approaching him thought he was a statue. A living, breathing statue. For so many years, he took no food. . .though she knew he was hungry. For so many years, he would not rest, would not leave his place here on the deck. He could take no food, could take no rest, could not feel the elements.
And even now, eight months after his freedom was won with the blood of his child, he could usually be found here. She didn't know how he knew land was in that direction. Even after nearly ten years at sea, her sense of direction was off. She wasn't a daughter of the sea, not like her one of her younger counterparts. No, she spent the bulk of her life on land. In the beginning, she remained with him because he saved her life. Now, however, she remained with him because her place was at his side.
The wind ruffled his graying hair, and she saw the corners of his mouth turn up as she approached from the side. He said, "You never could sneak up on me, lass. What makes you think you can do it now?" Now that barest hint of a smile was blossoming into the real thing. He turned to face her, his dark eyes twinkling. The protective shell that guarded his heart for so long was finally cracking, and the rest of the crew could see the man she saw all along.
He was a good captain. . .a good pirate. . .a good man. Never mind that he was a little strange. He was a good captain, took good care of them. Half of them knew the truth about him, and stayed with him anyhow. Despite the curse, despite his terrifying appearance when he was visible in the moonlight. The other half. . .well, they served under mad captains before, and they figured a daft captain was better than a mad one.
They didn't know that until eight months earlier, he couldn't die. Which was why he took such foolish risks, throwing himself in front of his men. He couldn't die. . .but they could. And they loved him all the more for it, though some of them were a little spooked by his recovery from gunshots that should have been fatal. One thing she learned over the years. Sailors were among those most superstitious of men, and pirates were even more so.
She replied now, shaking her dark blonde hair out of her eyes, "I've not been a lass for more years than I can count, William Turner, and I will thank you to remember that!" He threw back his head and laughed, and she smiled. It was good to hear him laugh. He was still haunted by the possibility of his son's death. But she fought him on that, tooth and nail. His son could be dead, aye. . .but then again, maybe not.
She pointed out to him that in the eight months since the curse was lifted, they heard naught of Captain Barbossa and his mutinous band of cutthroats. On the other hand, they were hearing rumors that Jack Sparrow had the Black Pearl. If that was the case, she told him, the odds were good that Barbossa was dead, and his son was very much alive. He wasn't too sure of that. . .he was cursed for far too long to simply accept that his beloved child was alive.
And he did love his son, with an intensity that sometimes took her breath away. She was forty-five years old, and she would never have children. She would never know what it felt like, to love someone like that. There was one, whom she would have wanted as her daughter. She no longer allowed herself to think the girl's name, for she was either dead or broken. And she could not bear to think of such a fate for her surrogate daughter.
"Ahh, Narcissa. You will always be a lass to me, no matter what. In terms of years, you are but three years my junior, but I hope you never see or experience what I have," Bill finally told her. He leaned against the railing of the ship, staring out at the sea. The wind ruffled his hair once more, and Bill said softly, "You're a blessing to me, Narcissa. You always have been. From the moment we first pulled you aboard the 'Camille.' It is important that you understand that, Cissie. It is important that you. . .never lose faith in what you mean to me."
Touched, Narcissa Grayson reached out and squeezed his shoulder. His warm, solid, flesh and blood shoulder. She saw him both as man and as skeleton, and after the monsters she encountered in her lifetime, not even his skeletal appearance frightened her. Besides, he did save her life. She barely remembered being rescued from the cold sea, after the ship carrying her to England was sunk. But the crew told her the captain himself dove into the icy water and rescued her, pulling her aboard. And he never gave up, not all the time she was sick. Narcissa answered, "The way I see it, Bill, we saved each other. I know you were a pirate once. I know that some would call us pirates."
Now Bill smiled impishly and replied, "Pirates? A pirate ship named 'Camille,' I hardly think so! No, my sweet Cissie. . .I know not what we are. Only what we are not. And we are not pirates. I built the 'Camille' to atone for what I did as a pirate. Not just the towns we pillaged, but the people I hurt. My captain, my rightful captain. My son. My Rosamunde. And, God forgive me, my Camille."
Intrigued, for she never heard about the mysterious woman for whom the ship was named, Narcissa curbed her curiosity, and instead listened as Bill explained, "When I went back to England, I learned that my Rosamunde was dead. And Will. My little Will went to sea when he was just twelve years old. One of the old neighbors told me that Will went to sea. . .came to the Caribbean looking for me. This was a matter of months before I arrived after freeing myself."
Still, Narcissa kept silent. Bill rewarded her patience, explaining, "And since it was only a few months, they still remembered the name of the ship. I did some investigating, and learned that it sank shortly before reaching Port Royal, maybe a day or so. Sank by bloody Barbossa and his crew. There was only one survivor. A twelve year old boy named 'Will Turner.' My son." Now Narcissa heard the thick rage in his voice, and trembled a little for that child.
Bill rasped out, "Barbossa sensed the medallion, and they attacked that ship. I wanted to condemn them all, along with myself. We all deserved to pay. . .them for what they did to Jack Sparrow, and me for letting it happen. But I forgot one thing. My son. My son paid for my arrogance. And when I learned that. . ." He stopped, trembling. Tentatively, Narcissa put her hand on his shoulder, kneading the tight muscles.
"That's why we went to the aid of that ship yesterday, isn't it?" Narcissa asked softly. Bill nodded, staring down into the depths of the ocean. The woman released a breath, feeling the tension in her companion. She would learn no more from him today. But that was fine. She learned more in the last ten minutes than she expected to. Narcissa gave his shoulder one last pat, then said, "I should check on Alvarado. He was injured in the rescue yesterday."
Bill looked at her quickly, and Narcissa explained with a sigh, "Nothing serious, but the foolish boy decided his sword was more important than his life. He has a few broken ribs from lunging for it, and a cut along his right side. Indeed, the sword is beautiful, but it is hardly worth his life." Bill smiled, though this one didn't reach his eyes. It was a sad smile. . .a bitter smile. . .a knowing smile, and somehow, Narcissa was left out of that knowing.
"We tend to treasure that which we think we might never have again. For me, the smell of the ocean, the taste of food. . .even touching my son again. . .is easily worth my life. There's a reason that sword means something to the boy, Cissie," Bill replied. Narcissa opened her mouth to speak, then realized she had nothing to say. She nodded, instead, and quietly left the deck to check on the young man in question.
. . .
After Narcissa left him, the man once called 'Bootstrap' Bill Turner looked once more out at the ocean. 'Bootstrap' he was from the time he was twenty-three until he freed himself from that damnable cannon ball and made his way back to land. After having a pair of cannonballs tied to his bootstraps, there was no way he would ever use that nickname again. Besides, it was an unwelcome reminder of Barbossa.
He had no idea how long it took him to reach land, once he started walking. Wasn't even sure how long he was underwater before he made the choice that he would not simply wait passively for the end. The shock of still being alive. . .after a fashion. . . lasted for a time. The fury took a little longer to dissipate. . .fury with Barbossa, fury with himself. And eventually, he realized that he had another reason to be angry with himself. By sending that cursed coin to his son, he placed Will's life in terrible danger.
When he came to that conclusion, self-loathing was quickly replaced by terror and a fierce determination to save his little boy. Oh, Will wasn't a little boy any longer. He was now a grown man of. . . Bill stopped and thought. How old was Will now? Almost one and twenty, wasn't he? Just a little older than his father was when Bill fell in love with Julia Monroe, and sired their daughter.
Camille. With a groan, Bill almost buried his face in his hands. However, he settled for running his hands over his hair, instead, still staring into the ocean. Cammy. He didn't even know if his daughter was alive or not, much less his son. Julia never sent word. Bill half- suspected that his first lover caught something from one of her customers, and whatever illness killed her, also drove her insane.
There were such diseases out there. Bill heard about them. It occurred to him that he was a carrier. . .maybe that was what killed Rosamunde? No. No, something else killed his wife. The neighbors to whom he spoke mentioned that they were afraid Will would catch what made his mother sick. That left out the clap or anything of that nature. That was small comfort indeed to the man who came home to an empty house, a dead wife, and a missing son.
He wronged Rosamunde too many times. He wronged her by leaving so many times, leaving her to raise their son alone. And he wronged her by making assumptions about her willingness to raise Camille. When Will was born, the elder Turner could no longer hide the truth about his older child. He told Rosamunde everything. She was angry with him, yes. But not for siring a child out of wedlock. No, she was angry with him for thinking she was so petty, so shallow, as to think that she could ever hate a child of his. Twas not Camille's fault that she was born out of wedlock.
Rosamunde would have loved Camille. She would have loved her smile, her laughter. Her warmth, her intelligence, her curiosity. Bill asked, cuddling his son close, how Rosamunde knew all that about Camille, about his little girl. The way Rosamunde talked about Cammy, Bill would have thought she actually met her. Rosamunde smiled at him, and said, "She's your daughter, William Turner. How could she be anything else?" For the second time in five years, William Turner, now William Turner Senior, fell in love with his wife.
Aye. Rosamunde would have been a good mother to Camille. He was sorry she never got the chance. Even sorrier that he agreed to Julia's insanity. He and Rosamunde could have made it work. They would have found a way. They. . .agh, twas no use! Bill sighed. No sense in tormenting himself with what might have been. He could not change the past. That was one reason he built the 'Camille' once he reached land.
He had much to atone for. Jack. Will. Rosamunde. Camille. Even Julia, God rest her poor soul. And yet, in the end, when it came time to name his ship. . .he named it not after his lover, or his wife, or his son, or his captain. Cap'n Jack Sparrow, thank you very much. Bill smiled, thinking of that. He hoped Jack was alive. He hoped he reclaimed the Pearl. He hoped the younger man forgave him for his cowardice. . .for not trying harder to protect him.
Yet. . .it was always Cammy's name to which he returned, when trying to name his new ship. Perhaps because she was truly the first person he betrayed, with his cowardly promise to her mother. Never mind that Julia threatened to keep his daughter from him permanently, if he didn't make her that evil promise. He was a pirate, dammit. . .he could have taken his daughter from Julia and raised her on the Pearl!
That was what both Jack and Barbossa wanted. Something he learned just before Barbossa and the other mutineers threw him overboard, with those damnable balls attached to his bootstraps. Barbossa always held him and Jack in contempt for bowing to Julia's wishes. She was dying. Didn't know what was best for her or her daughter. They could have raised her to be a proper pirate lass.
And if we did that. . . Bill stopped, his blood running cold in his veins, as he considered this for the first time. If Cammy was on the Pearl at the time of the mutiny, she would have either died herself, or been stranded with Jack. After all. . .once men became used to a woman's presence on a ship, the fear of bad luck would get swallowed up by other concerns. Something Bill saw with the three women on his own ship.
If she hadn't remained with Julia, there was nothing saying that Cammy would have lived with Rosamunde. She could have remained on the Pearl until she was at least nine years old, after Will was born. Bill thought back almost eleven years. His daughter was nine-and-twenty, almost thirty. She would have been eighteen or nineteen when the mutiny occurred. A young woman herself. And a pirate lass would have a bloody hard time adjusting to life on land.
She might not have been married. So yes. . .his daughter might have died. Or been cursed herself. Or stranded on that island with Jack Sparrow. Now there was an idea to give a father nightmares. Even if Jack always regarded Cammy as a little sister. Cammy was Bill's daughter, and Jack was a charming rogue. He didn't know how his daughter's life turned out after he abandoned her, but perhaps her mother was right, and she didn't belong on the Pearl.
Still. . .he still felt as if he betrayed her. That betrayal seemed to start the first of many, and that was the driving force behind his desire to atone. Perhaps if he hadn't betrayed and abandoned his daughter, he would have been better able to help Jack at the time of the mutiny.
So, he named his ship 'Camille.' And once she was named, the figurehead was easy enough to design. A young woman with her hands cupped, as if cupping the face of her lover. Or her father, as Cammy cupped his face so many times. The face didn't matter. Just the hands. And he had no trouble in taking women on his ship. He was cursed for ten years. Sank to the bottom of Davy Jones' locker. Walked underwater for God only knew how long.
After all of that, whatever bad luck came from having women aboard was minuscule. And now he had three. Narcissa, his greatest blessing. Catalina, the former slave whom he bought in Tortuga, then freed. And Juana, the female half of a set of twins, both of whom served on his ship. Bill smiled in spite of himself. They were a matched set. You didn't have one without the other, they told him when he fished them out of trouble almost nine years earlier.
He never asked what kind of trouble. Juana, however, said that her brother killed someone who deserved to die. And there was such hate in her eyes when she said that, Bill had no desire to ask further. She was no more than one-and-twenty or two-and-twenty at the time. No young woman of that age should ever have such hatred in her eyes. Ever. He asked no questions, and they volunteered nothing.
In return, he received two of the finest sailors he ever served with. The twins felt guilty about something. . .not the killing. . .but something. And they worked just as hard as he did to make sure the 'Camille' was a success. Narcissa's revelation that the boy was injured during the rescue the previous didn't surprise him at all. He knew two things about that boy. . .he was exceedingly fond of that sword of his and he was ferociously protective of women. All Bill had to do, to get the boy involved, is mention that a woman might be harmed in some way. The former pirate wondered what happened to make Alvarado like that. He never wondered for long. There were too many other things to distract him, to worry about.
. . .
The Swann-Turner wedding and reception was finally winding down, and Alicia Webster could give her regards to the newlyweds and excuse herself. She wanted to return to her daughter. Because of her own 'mixed' blood, Alicia didn't feel comfortable with leaving Tamsyn for a long period of time with other people. She was half-afraid that someone would eventually recognize her as the daughter of Julia Monroe, Bootstrap Bill Turner's whore, and those people, in turn, shun her own daughter.
It wasn't exactly rational, of course. But her former master was almost as cruel as the man he gave her to. It would be just like him to tell people that his little maid was the daughter of a whore and a pirate. All for the fun of watching Alicia squirm or even weep.
She was not ashamed of her father. Or Jack. She just wanted to make sure he was safely away before James Norrington returned. She wasn't ashamed of her father at all. But she wanted to protect her little girl. It was bad enough that Tamsyn was far more grown up than any other eight year old Alicia ever encountered. There was no reason why she should suffer for something she didn't even do.
At the same time, Alicia couldn't help wonder if she was doing the right thing by telling Jack about her suspicions regarding her father. If she was right, if William Turner the Elder was still alive. . . should she unmask herself? Did she tell him that she was his daughter, grown up, and using another name? She thought back to Jack's question. Why did she go by 'Alicia,' instead of 'Camille.' There were actually several reasons for that.
First, she was 'Alicia' for almost sixteen years, while she was 'Camille' for fourteen. Secondly, 'Camille' was the name her mother gave her, in memory of Julia's best friend, a French whore who died of the clap. And Alicia still wasn't sure if she would ever forgive her mother for what she did, not just for selling her to that evil man, but for driving her father away. There was much that her mother didn't realize Alicia understood. Thirdly, her mistress gave her the name 'Alicia' as a way of protecting her against the master.
She called herself 'Alicia Webster' for so long, that was how she thought of herself. She no longer thought of herself as 'Camille Turner.' And that brought her back to the original question. What if she was right? What if her father was alive? Alicia didn't have the answer to that question. She didn't know what she would do. If Jack had his way, she would tell her father, and Will, the truth.
She wanted Will in her life, not just as the young blacksmith who created such fine swords, and made it possible for her to thank her step-son for everything he did for her and Tamsyn. She wanted Will in her life as her brother, the uncle to her daughter. That was actually why Alicia found her daughter's infatuation with Will worrisome. He was her uncle, after all. Yes, Tamsyn was eight years old, but. . .
That was one fly in the ointment. Another was. . .Will was still struggling to regain his balance after the last revelation that turned his life upside down. Did she dare to rock his world with yet another revelation? Alicia pulled back from that. She would have been the first to say she was a coward. And she feared that her younger brother would hate her. After all. . .wouldn't he want their father all to himself? After all the years apart, and everything Will went through as the son of Bootstrap Bill, there was so much to be said between them.
Alicia shook herself. She was getting ahead of herself, thinking about things that had not yet and may never happen. She promised Jack that she would stay out of his way, and let him do the investigating. Alicia would do just that. She had a responsibility to her daughter. She found Tamsyn happily playing in their kitchen, with old Mrs McCaffrey watching over her. The old woman was among the few neighbors with whom Alicia felt genuinely comfortable. She was a Papist, and Irish, and though nothing was said about Catholics practicing their faiths here in the colonies. . .
There was always someone who didn't like a person simply because of what they were. However, Mrs McCaffrey was always kind to the mother and daughter. The old woman looked up as Alicia entered and smiled, saying, "I was growin' a'feared for ye, lass. How was th' weddin' and did the bride look lovely?" Tamsyn made a face, and Mrs McCaffrey waved a finger, adding, "And don't ye be makin' that face, little missy, 'else it might freeze like that!"
Alicia turned away briefly, to hide her own smile. But from the corner of her eye, she saw Mrs McCaffrey wink at her. Tamsyn pouted, "But I don't like Elizabeth! Will should have waited for me! I'll be sixteen in eight years!" Alicia raised her eyebrows at that comment. Sixteen? Well, yes, girls often did wed at sixteen. Sometimes even younger. But her daughter was just a child, and there was plenty of time for that.
"Aye, but Will Turner shouldn't have t' wait eight years for th' lass of his dreams. If ye truly loved him, Thomasina, ye would be happy for him. . .because he's happy," Mrs McCaffrey answered wisely. Well, that was a better response than anything Alicia had in mind. There were times when she thought she was a terrible mother, because she didn't have the answer to one of her daughter's questions.
As if understanding what went through Alicia's mind, Mrs McCaffrey added, "And besides, lass, Will is almost one-and-twenty. Ye should look t' laddies yer own age." Tamsyn's horrified expression almost made Alicia laugh. Almost. Then her daughter screwed up her face in an obvious expression of disgust. The widow could almost hear what her daughter was thinking, because her mind worked in a similar manner when she was eight.
"Enough of that, Tamsyn. . .Mrs McCaffrey, I thank you again for watching over my daughter. If there's ever anything you need, please, let me know," Alicia interposed before the little girl could treat them all to a blistering account of just why boys her own age were utterly despicable. The old woman smiled at her kindly and gently stroked Tamsyn's dark hair, then touched Alicia's cheek.
"No need for ye to thank me, young lady. I miss me own gel, back in Ireland. She's just about yer age. . .bein' wi' ye and Thomasina takes some of the hurt away," Mrs McCaffrey answered. She smiled again, and now, Alicia saw the sadness in the old woman's green eyes. This was the first Alicia heard of Mrs McCaffrey's family in Ireland, and she wondered what else she didn't know about the old woman.
How strange to live beside a woman for eight years, and really know so little about her. Mrs McCaffrey added, almost as if she could hear Alicia's thoughts, her voice very soft, "I'm glad to see, lass, that ye are startin' t' trust other people now. Yer husband hurt ye, t' be sure. But not all men are like that. . .and not all people think a pretty young widow killed her husband. Ye have good neighbors here, lass. When yer ready t' reach out a hand."
Alicia glanced over at her daughter, who wasn't listening. A fact for which Alicia was very grateful. After a moment, the widow looked back at her neighbor, saying softly, "It isn't just that, Mrs McCaffrey. There are many things you do not know about me, about my family."
That sadness only deepened, as the older woman replied, "I tell ye, lassie. I be sixty-eight years old. I buried four of me children, an' watched me husband hang as a traitor. I seen evil when I looked at the great Lord Protector." She spat the title out as if it tasted vile, then continued, "I see no evil when I look at ye. Whatever ye done, whatever yer ma or da did. . .I know. Tweren't evil."
Again, she touched Alicia's cheek, adding, "An' maybe one day, ye kin trust me enough t' tell me why ye have such hurt in yer eyes. Until that time, lass. . .ye take care o' yerself. And that little girl o' yers." She gently patted Alicia's cheek, then hobbled out the front door. Alicia watched her go, troubled. She spent her entire life in the Caribbean, and of course, she heard of Oliver Cromwell, the Lord Protector. But this was the first time she heard him spoken of with such hatred. Deeply troubled, the widow decided to learn more about the Lord Protector. It would keep her mind occupied whilst Jack learned what he could of her father.
. . .
As Narcissa Grayson made her way below decks, she was greeted by a string of Spanish curses coming from the infirmary. She tried not to smile, reluctantly impressed by the range she was hearing. Oh, of course she heard Alvarado swear in the past. The boy had quite an impressive collection of profanities at his disposal, and could even embarrass Bill on occasion. However, his swearing wasn't usually this. . .imaginative.
A second voice broke in, also in Spanish. Narcissa smiled as Juana chastised her brother for his language. They were quite the pair, the Alvarado twins. In some ways, they were your typical brother and sister. They argued quite frequently, always in Spanish. While the majority of the crew didn't understand a word either of them said (which made Narcissa think maybe they didn't want to know), the arguments between the twins were always amusing.
By the same token, they were almost viciously protective of each other. Narcissa had no brothers or sisters growing up, so maybe that wasn't unusual for siblings. Then she remembered about whom she was speaking. There was absolutely nothing usual about the Alvarado twins. She gently rapped on the door, and this time, a female voice called in English, "Come in, Narcissa!" The older woman smiled and opened the door.
She didn't ask how Juana knew she was there. Juana and Narcissa were the only people on board who ever bothered to knock. Except for Bill, and he wouldn't have rapped on the door. . .he would have half-knocked it down. Juana said, "If you see el capitan, you may tell him that my brother is being foolish, but he will live." Alvarado responded with another round of invectives, and Juana slapped back of his head this time, adding firmly, "Bastante!"
The first time Narcissa heard that word, she was offended. . .until she learned that it didn't refer to a person's legitimacy. That explanation came from Bill, rather than the twins. While the twins were born on the wrong side of the blanket, so to speak, neither spoke of that. They didn't speak of their mother and they certainly didn't speak of their father. However, Juana did explain to Narcissa that 'bastante' meant 'enough.'
"I just left the captain, Juana, but if I see him again, I'll tell him," Narcissa replied. She looked at the twins. They really were attractive children. . .beautiful even. Juana was the younger twin, by fifteen minutes. She was tall for a woman, coming about to her brother's chin. Her dark brown hair was long, but kept back from her triangular, cat-like face with a leather band. Narcissa heard Bill say in the past that Juana was like the sea. . .she could be cold and cruel, or tender and gentle.
Narcissa realized, after hearing Bill's statement, that was why so many sailors referred to the sea as female. That description fit a number of women whom Narcissa knew, including herself. However, Juana had the additional complication of being a female pirate. Narcissa knew little about her young friend's early life, but she could make guesses. Psychology was not known in the seventeenth century.
But Narcissa needed no psychology to understand Juana. She might not understand all of her moods and her facial expressions, but she could almost always see things from Juana's point of view. Juana's first priority was, and ever would be, taking care of her brother. She told Bill that when he first brought her and her twin aboard. Bill explained that was fine. . .there was nothing more important than family.
Her brother. Narcissa turned her attention to the older Alvarado twin. No one knew his real name. Juana referred to him as 'mi hermano' (my brother) or 'Santiago.' The latter was often used sarcastically, and always when Juana was trying to make a point. While Juana was easily described as 'lovely,' her brother was the beautiful one. He was quite capable of taking a woman's breath away.
And based on the hungry glances Narcissa noticed during their last visit to Tortuga, there were men who found him quite attractive as well. He stood perhaps four or five inches taller than his twin sister, even barefoot. While Juana's hair was dark brown, Alvarado's hair was midnight black. They both had dark eyes. . .deep, warm brown. Juana's hair was worn to her waist when it was loose, while her twin's hair reached to just above his shoulders. He wore a somewhat groomed beard and mustache, but no one ever saw him shaving, so it was anyone's guess how he managed to stay well groomed. Personally, Narcissa thought he simply took a few moments and did what was necessary while looking into a gold plate. It was what she would have done.
He was made even more attractive by the fact that he bathed when he had the chance. One of the hardest things Narcissa found when she was brought aboard the 'Camille' was the smell. Sailors, or pirates, often went weeks or even months without a decent bath. Alvarado kept as clean as he could. . .while it resulted in teasing from other members of the crew, no one could argue that he received far more attention in Tortuga than his less-clean shipmates.
Nor could Narcissa argue that his latest wound would leave a scar that would make him all the more charming, even to the so-called 'civilized' ladies. Narcissa smiled, remembering the first time she and Bill made love, after the curse was broken. She remembered how much pleasure she derived out of kissing each of her new lover's scars, and how much pleasure his gasps and moans gave her.
That was why she couldn't resist teasing the young man now, "Well, look at it this way. This will give the ladies in Tortuga one more scar to kiss and make better." Unexpectedly, Alvarado flushed, the red muted a little by his lightly tanned skin. Juana, on the other hand, roared with laughter. Alvarado muttered something under his breath that Narcissa couldn't hear, and probably didn't want to hear.
Especially not when the still-laughing Juana smacked him in the back of his head. Again. Her twin growled under his breath and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her back against his chest, amid her giggling. Bad move. He groaned as the movement aggravated his broken ribs, and released his sister immediately. Juana was on her knees in front of him immediately, the laughter in her eyes giving way immediately to concern.
Narcissa joined her, putting a gentle hand on the warm flesh. A little too warm for Narcissa's liking, and she said, "Enough. . .you need to rest, lad, you're developing a fever." Juana looked at her quickly, and Narcissa added, "I doubt it's anything serious, but he should still rest. We don't want a repeat of the last time, and Juana, don't smack your brother again. You may knock the remaining sense he has out of his head."
Now she was on the receiving end of his glare, but Narcissa glared back. She did not survive an abusive and unfaithful husband, nearly dying at sea, and years of loving a walking dead man, to be cowed by a member of this crew. Alvarado, surprisingly, dropped his eyes first. Juana said something in Spanish, too low for Narcissa to understand it, and her brother answered in an equally low voice.
After a moment, Juana said, "I will stay with my stubborn brother, 'Cissa. You must rest as well." Narcissa smiled, though she was certain it would never reach her eyes. Rest. How could she rest, when there was so much to do? Juana added, "Besides, I know I cannot rest. I am afraid that some of the Naval crew saw the name of our ship during the fight yesterday. If that is the case. . ."
She let her words trail off, but then, it wasn't necessary to say anything further. Narcissa knew, just as everyone did, that part of their success hinged on anonymity. No one could know about the Camille, and no one could know that Bootstrap Bill Turner was still alive. Bill wasn't ready to trust the authorities with his return from the dead. He was a pirate, and never mind the last ten years of a man seeking atonement. . .he was a pirate. If he was caught, he would be hung. That was the way things were.
"If that is the case," Narcissa replied after a moment, "We will find a way to deal with it. Just as we always have. But you are quite correct. I should rest. Call me if you need anything."
Juana bobbed her head in acknowledgment of this request, and Narcissa slipped quietly from the room. She sighed as she closed the door behind her. Not for the first time, she wondered just how Alvarado broke his ribs while lunging for his sword. Something didn't seem quite right with the story, but Narcissa participated in few fights. More often, she was escorted below decks, where she would wait until people were brought to her after the fight for healing. Narcissa half-resented it, but she understood it.
In the first place, she had no business being above decks during a battle. She could barely defend herself. . .why put someone else's life at risk when she could be down below, taking care of the injured? Something she could do. Secondly, it was Bill's way of protecting her. She was the captain's lady. It made her feel special. How long was it since she was precious to anyone?
Too long. Entirely too long. And that made Narcissa Grayson feel even more tired. She was in her forties. . .her life was more than half- over. That was, of course, assuming that the 'Camille' wasn't caught, and she wasn't hung as a pirate. Her life was more than half over, and she was only now learning what it meant to be loved and cherished and protected. But that was a woman's lot in life. . .unless she had the courage to make her own lot in life. For that reason, and others, Narcissa envied Juana.
. . .
When she stopped and thought about it, Juana Alvarado y Ruiz felt a little dizzy. She was born and raised in the Caribbean, the daughter of a Spanish maid and an Englishman for whom Juana and her brother bore little love. They spent the first twenty years of their lives trying to make a better life for themselves and their mother. . . only to watch their mother die of consumption. It was her dying wish that they reconcile with their father.
They might have done just that, if they didn't realize very quickly that their father was as uninterested in them now as he was for their first twenty years of life. Instead, the twins ran off to sea after one confrontation too many between the father and son. And here they remained for the last ten years. Here on the ocean, here where they had true freedom. At least until her idioto of a brother tried to sacrifice himself for a stupid, bloody sword!
With an irritated huff, Juana smacked her brother in the back of his head yet again. She was rewarded with an annoyed glare. Not that it had much effect on her. Juana grew up with her brother, she knew him better than anyone else in the world did. His glares didn't frighten her. The only thing about her brother that frightened her was this selfless streak of his. At least they weren't really pirates. Her brother wasn't ruthless enough to survive as a pirate.
She corrected herself immediately. He was ruthless enough, when it came to protecting his family, the people he loved most in the world. Their mother, her. . .their father's young wife. Juana never met her step-mother. . .she knew only that her sire married a young girl her own age. It would have been the easy thing, to blame that young woman for the ugly final confrontation between her twin and their father.
But Juana knew her father almost as well as she knew her brother. She knew what kind of a man her father was, and she knew what kind of a man her brother was. More than that, she knew that her brother's hatred of their father grew exponentially over a period of several years. Whatever happened with their father's young wife, it was merely a catalyst. She was a pawn, nothing more. Not the villainess. . .just another victim, like Juana's mother.
Juana, however, was no victim. She wasn't as soft-hearted as her brother, and she could be twice as ruthless. . .especially when it came to defending her family, her shipmates, and her captain. Bill Turner could have turned the twins over to the authorities years earlier. He could have sacrificed them to save his own skin. But he didn't. In some ways, he was more of a father to the twins than their own father. . .not that this would have taken much effort.
And she never truly forgave her mother for allowing her father to use her like that. In her mind, Juana knew that her mother had few options open to her. Even if this was the enlightened seventeenth century, respectable women had very few choices. Juana wanted more for herself, and she was willing to break some rules to do it. She grew up seeing the choices her brother had to him, and that was what she wanted for herself.
It's a curious thing, to both love someone and despise them at the same time. But this was the reality of Juana's relationship with her mother. She loved her, of course. She was her mother, after all. But Juana also despised her for her weakness. . .at least, what Juana saw as her weakness. She allowed herself to be used by a man, and bore two children out of wedlock for that. If she was but a little stronger, she could have. . .done something.
It was possible that Narcissa was like her mother at one time, but Juana didn't believe that. Narcissa was too strong. She stood up to her husband, and he almost killed her for it. He would have killed her, but for Captain Bill. There were some respectable women whom Juana respected, but not many. Narcissa was one of those select few. . .she took care of the people on the ship, and didn't think the less of them.
She didn't give up, even when a rule blocked her path. Narcissa found ways around the rules. As for Catalina. . .Catalina didn't pay attention to any rules. The only rules that mattered to her were the rules set down by Captain Bill. There might have been a time when Catalina was in love with Captain Bill, but she came to realize that if the captain was in love with any woman on this ship, it was Narcissa.
She might have resented the older woman for her place in Captain Bill's heart, at least in the beginning, but Catalina came to accept the way of things. Or if she didn't, she kept it to herself, and focused her attention on her own task aboard the Camille.
Catalina was a navigator, and a bloody good one, Captain Bill was heard to say on more than one occasion. She was a true daughter of the sea, born and raised on a pirate ship. How that came to be was a story Juana never heard. Although, Catalina did tell her younger companion one reason women on a ship were viewed as bad luck. The sea is a woman, she told Juana, and she is a jealous mistress.
Juana could actually fathom that, though she thought it was somewhat peculiar. On the other hand, most of the things aboard the 'Camille' could be considered peculiar, including herself and her twin. Especially since her dear, idiotic twin tried to sacrifice his own life for that damn sword! Diego said now, "You know, hermanita, that Alicia gave me that sword." Yes, she did know that. It was a fine sword, even Juana could see that.
But it was just a sword, hardly worth losing his life for! Then again, Juana never understood the somewhat queer relationship between her twin brother and their step-mother. Diego often visited Alicia while they were in port, and her small daughter Thomasina. Tamsyn. That gave Juana pause. She had a little sister. An eight year old sister, who, like Juana was being raised by a lone woman.
Perhaps that was the reason Diego couldn't stay away from Alicia? Because she reminded him too much of their mother, raising them alone after their father's abandonment? That was entirely possible. And yet, based on what little Diego told her about their father's young wife, she was actually much stronger than their mother. He spoke often of how well she hid her sadness, and how few people realized just how depraved their father was. Alicia conducted herself with a quiet dignity and pride.
"Si, mi hermano, I know Alicia gave you that sword, but I am sure she would not wish you to throw your life away because of it! You say little about her, but from what you have said, it seems she is entirely too sensible for such a thing," Juana replied. Her brother shook his head, barely biting back a groan as he moved wrong. The sister couldn't help herself. She moved toward Diego, to make sure he was all right.
"You do not understand, hermanita. She had it made for me. . . but I am only keeping it in trust until the right time. She told me the name of the man who made it," Diego explained. Juana frowned. That was a strange thing to say. Did their father's wife give him this sword to keep in trust for someone else? Why would she do that? Diego saw her expression and explained, "No, Juanita. I made the choice to give it to someone else when Alicia told me the name of the craftsman."
Well now, this did sound mysterious! Diego continued, a small smile hovering on his lips, "A young man in Port Royal made it. . .the betrothed of the governor's daughter. A young man by the name of 'William Turner.' A blacksmith, and a pirate." However, this last was not necessary. Juana immediately recognized the name. Will Turner. How could she not recognize the name? It was one she heard often over the last several years, as part of el capitan's inner circle. She stared at her brother in shock, and Diego nodded, adding in a low voice, "Si. Our captain's son is in Port Royal."
Juana understood the significance of this observation. She overheard Narcissa and Catalina discussing their captain's fears that his son was dead at the hands of Hector Barbossa. Juana asked softly, "Then why have you not told el capitan, mi hermano? He fears that his son is dead, you should tell him the truth!" Diego glared at her, and this time, Juana did back down. He had a good reason not to tell Captain Bill. . .at least, he better have a good reason!
"I have not yet told him, hermanita, because I wish to wait until we return to Port Royal. At that time, I will give him the sword as a gift," Diego replied. He paused, then added, "That will also give me time to find Alicia. I must see about her and Tamsyn. Juana. . .come with me. I want you to meet Alicia." Juana looked away. She still didn't know why her brother had not yet told el capitan the truth. He should tell him. . .
Because you just never knew if tomorrow would come.
. . .
"You mean to tell me that the 'Camille' interfered? Again?"
He had just enough time to duck out of the way as a goblet filled to the brim with wine sailed past his head and connected with the wall. The wine splashed over the wood, and he shuddered. It rather looked like blood, rather than wine. He snuck a look back at the captain, who was staring at him with coldly furious green eyes. The man swallowed hard, saying softly, "I'm afraid so, Captain. Our men who returned report seeing the figurehead."
A second oath of fury was uttered and the man cringed, but the captain only spun away. In a way, the first mate felt sorry for Bootstrap Bill Turner. He had a habit of interfering with their plans. Something that enraged his captain to no end. On the other hand, he felt more sorry for the crew of this ship. Every time Bootstrap interfered with a raid against a ship of the Royal Navy, it was the crew who paid.
After a moment, the captain turned back, and in a quietly controlled voice, "How many men did we lose?" The man cringed all over again. This would not be pleasant. The captain was hardly protective of the crew. . .not with the daily floggings that took place for everything from unfavorable winds to an untidy deck. However, it would seem only the captain had the right to kill the crew. . .none others were allowed that privilege.
The man replied quietly, "Twelve men. The 'Camille' has three women among its crew, and they are just as dangerous as the men. The blonde woman isn't as effective as the Spanish bitch or the darky, but the blonde woman is protected by the captain, and by a young man."
"A blonde woman, is it? Well, well, Bootstrap's tastes have certainly changed over the years," came the mocking reply. The captain turned away, muttering about Bootstrap Bill. The man wondered what was between them. The captain had a fit any time the 'Camille' was mentioned. . .could not bear to hear the name. The next words were spoken so softly, the man barely heard it, "The blonde woman may be useful to us. What is the heading?"
"The 'Camille' is heading back to Port Royal. Captain. . .I been hearing rumors. Bootstrap has a son, Will. . .he sailed with Jack Sparrow last year, when Barbossa sacked Port Royal. Maybe Bootstrap has found out that his son is in Port Royal, and he's heading back there to see the boy," the man said. He half-expected the captain to throw something else at him. Maybe a knife this time.
But it didn't happen. Instead, the captain said thoughtfully, "Is that right? Bootstrap has a son, does he? And this son sailed with Jack Sparrow. Well, well, well. . . how fortuitous. If Bootstrap is heading to Port Royal, then by all means, we should follow. When we get there, I want to know everything you can about Will Turner. More to the point, I want you to find a weakness we can exploit. If we know that Will Turner is Bootstrap's son, then so does Jack Sparrow."
The man already knew where his captain was going with this, and guessed, "We can use the boy to lure Sparrow and Bootstrap into a trap." The captain smiled unexpectedly, and the man continued, "There is one other thing. The crew of the Diablo." The smile quickly gave way to a frown. The man added hastily, "I'm just concerned, Captain. The captain of the Diablo is not known for his intelligence. He was a second rate version of Barbossa."
"So he was. . .continue," the captain replied impatiently. Right. How did he explain this? One of the survivors told him they executed the captain's plan, just as they talked about. And the plan was working, right up until the 'Camille' arrived. As the man tried to find a way to explain what he was thinking, however, the captain observed, "That's what concerns you, though. You think they might realize Obregon was nothing more than a puppet."
"Aye, captain. He ain't nearly as smart as you are," the man replied, and almost choked on his words. It was bad enough that his captain was a woman. But a smart woman? A smart and utterly ruthless woman, who had no compulsion whatsoever about gutting an enemy in front of his own crew, just as she did to Obregon right before her men took over the Diablo? That just didn't seem natural to him.
"That is a possibility. However, as you said, I'm far more intelligent than he was. Before they figure out that Obregon was naught but a figurehead," and the captain laughed at her own joke, "we'll have the Turner boy. What do you think, Briggs? Should I kill the boy and send him back to his father, piece at a time. . .or should I kill the whelp in front of him?" Briggs shuddered a little.
His captain wasn't just smart and utterly ruthless. . .she was also crazy as the dickens. Briggs didn't want to ask the next question. He knew what happened to people who questioned the captain. He saw it with his own eyes. It was one way she protected herself from a mutiny.
The other way was. . .well, sailors were a superstitious lot, and she seemed capable of controlling the weather, the sea itself. Even so, he had to know. If he would die in the next few weeks, he wanted to at least know the reason why he would die. And so, Briggs asked hesitantly, "Begging your pardon, Captain, but why do you hate Turner and Sparrow so?" The captain looked at him, a haunted expression appearing in her eyes.
"They killed my sister, Briggs. The only person I ever loved in my life, and they killed her. They killed her, and they betrayed her. I swore at her graveside that they would pay for it. I've waited twenty-five years, and now I finally have the chance I've dreamed of for so long," Captain Moran answered quietly. She looked away, and when she looked back, there were tears in her green eyes. Briggs swallowed hard.
Her sister. He had a sister once, someone he loved so much it hurt. He hadn't seen her in ten years, not since he was put on a prison ship. But he had only to imagine receiving word that his sister was dead. He would kill whoever was responsible. . .by God, he would slit their very throats! And suddenly, the captain didn't seem so crazy. Briggs cleared his throat and answered softly, "You had only to say so, Captain."
Again, he knew that she could probably kill him for saying so, and the unspoken words. She didn't have to kill those sailors. The captain smiled without any real humor, replying, "I know that. But I had to make the crew fear me, Briggs. I'm a woman. . .a member of the weaker sex. I had to make them fear me, and. . .and I thought I could ease some of the pain. I was wrong. The only thing that will take away this godawful emptiness in my soul is watching Turner and Sparrow suffer as I have."
She turned away, then looked back at Briggs, adding, "I've changed my mind. Leave the woman alone. Taking the whelp will cause far more pain to Bootstrap than taking his woman. After all, a woman is easily replaceable. . .not so a son." There was a bitter laughter in her voice, and again, Briggs winced. He wasn't sure he liked seeing this vulnerable side to his captain. This frightened him more than her rages. Perhaps that was what he said next, though he had no way of knowing how she would react.
"You know, Captain. . .there is a rumor floatin' around. I've heard it several times over the last ten years, ever since Barbossa took the Black Pearl. Bootstrap has another child, a daughter. What about her? Could we use her to make him pay for whatever he did to your sister?" Briggs asked. A half-second after that, he couldn't even swallow, for the knife was at his throat, and there was a new madness in Captain Moran's green eyes. Alllll right. . .maybe her moment of weakness a moment earlier wasn't as frightening as one of her rages.
But this was different. There was a light in her eyes, something Briggs never saw before. A light he didn't recognize, and would not recognize for some time. She hissed, "Never speak so again! The daughter is not to be touched! It is bad enough that Bootstrap named his damnable ship after his daughter! That is enough of a betrayal! The daughter is not to be harmed, not even to harm Bootstrap!" Briggs hoped she could see his surrender in his eyes, and she did, taking the knife from his throat.
"He named the ship after his daughter?" he asked, needing clarification. She nodded. Briggs decided to take things one step further, adding, "And the daughter. . .she is your sister's child?" Again, his captain nodded, returning the dagger to the boot from whence it came. Well. That explained a great deal indeed. And it certainly explained why Captain Moran flew into a rage every time the 'Camille' was mentioned.
"Yes. He did. And I will see that damnable ship burned or sent to the bottom of the sea for that perfidy. The only thing left after I finish with Bootstrap Bill Turner will be my sister's child," his captain answered quietly. She looked at him, adding, "Go now. I have plans to make." Briggs nodded to her, then left the cabin. However, as he did, something new occurred to him. What if Bootstrap's daughter involved herself? If she knew that Will Turner was her brother, would she stand by and let them take him?
Or would she fight at his side? Having a female captain forced Briggs to realize that while they were considered the weaker sex, women were made of pure steel. Somehow, he had the uneasy sense that Camille Turner would not let her younger brother go without a fight. And then what would the captain do? It was hard enough for Briggs to consider harming a child of his sister's. What would the captain do?