A/N: Okay. I apologise for the lateness of this but uni work swamped my fragile brain for a while there. But now I am back and worse than ever....(woohoo!). This one is a bit shorter than I wanted but it was originally too long so I split it up. Hopefully the next one will be longer.

Again big big thanks to everyone who reviewed. I can't tell you how fantastic it is to know that people are actually reading (and even liking) this story. Please keep em comin. I am a greedy greedy woman.
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Rogue was led inside the huge stone fortress, her captors marching either side of her, a painful ringing in her ears and a twisted pain in her gut. The heavy metal of the manacles about her wrists dragged on her shoulders and chafed her pale skin.

The fort crouched like a huge toad on the top of the promontory, guarding the mouth of the harbour against enemy attack. The walls were sheer grey stone, stained with age and salt but still thick and bleak. Fort Charles was the name supplied by her would be molester and she felt his fear at being captive within its solid confines.

As she was forced through the gates she saw the Union Jack stretched in the strong winds that had suddenly sprung up. English but not England she thought as she stumbled along. Definitely not England judging from the heat and palm trees she had seen on her way here. Even though she had been hauled through the streets of what appeared to be a considerable sized town, she still had no clue where or when she was. Although the clothes were giving her the depressing hints that it was nowhere she could get out of in a hurry. Add to this the fact she had just been arrested for witchcraft and she was beginning to feel just a little bit apprehensive about her current location.

Port Royale the voice in her head supplied, on the island of Jamaica.

Jamaica? she thought incredulously But when? She vaguely remembered something about a colony but what dates escaped her. She prodded the personality but he didn't seem to know.
The moron probably can't even count she thought bitterly.

The red-coated guards marched her along a colonnaded walk, toward the centre of the fort. She saw more soldiers drilling in the main courtyard and others cleaning weapons, polishing boots and doing other military busy work. Not a single one so much as glanced up as she was dragged past.

They approached a man seated behind a sloping wooden table. Her two captors stamped to a halt in front of it, forcing Rogue to stop between them.
The man continued writing, his quill moving across the page with a dry scritch scratch noise. The elaborately curled grey hair perched on his head quivered gently with every stroke of his pen.
Eventually, without raising his eyes he asked in a bored voice

Yes corporal. What have got for me now? Another desperate rogue?

In spite of everything, Rogue still had to suppress a laugh at his unwitting accuracy.

Young female sir. Arrested down by Planters Square.

What is the charge?

Witchcraft sir.

The man looked up then and seeing Rogue his eyes widened, taking in her attire and her bedraggled state. Mouth twisted in a sneer his small beady eyes considered her.

Well she certainly looks unnatural, he said, focusing on her hair. He looked back at the soldier
I assume there are witnesses?

Yes sir, it was witnessed by myself and Corporal Hobbs, she put a curse on a man who tried to detain her and he dropped dead in the street

He ain't dead! Rogue interjected angrily And you weren't even there! They attacked me. I'm the victim here.

Silence girl the official snapped coldly You are to speak when spoken to.

Rogue opened her mouth to retort but one of the soldiers cuffed her sharply across the back of the head. Inwardly fuming she closed her mouth and ground her teeth. She knew arguing with this man was not the smartest thing to do but she couldn't help herself.
All of a sudden a pain exploded behind her eyes, fading quickly to a dull ache but bringing also the incomprehensible mutterings of a crowd of people. The personalities she had absorbed in the past, she realised, all talking at once. Deliberately she pushed them back, until she could no longer hear the confused chatter.

Focusing once more on the outside world she saw the man had risen from his seat in order to inspect her more closely.
He walked around her, frowning at her uniform where the position of her hands had forced her pilfered coat open.
Rogue desperately wished for about the thousandth time that day that she was wearing something other than spandex. Luckily the filth that coated her head had obscured the streak in her hair, which was one less thing to get her into trouble. But she figured she was doing just fine in the trouble stakes without it.
The official appeared to reach a decision and met the eyes of the soldier on her left.

Lock her up corporal. Her trial will be set for the day after tomorrow

Where should we put her sir? Women's cells are full up

The small man look nonplussed, but he recovered quickly and looking her over again with that same disdainful frown he said,
Well she's hardly a normal woman, she can go into the men's cells.

He turned away and sat back upon his stool, clearly seeing the matter as finished.

Which cell sir? the corporal asked .

The official didn't even bother to look up, merely waving his hand in the direction of the cells.

Put her in with that Sparrow person arrested this morning.

The soldiers saluted, turning smartly and dragging a very reluctant Rogue away with them.



TBC