Thank you Maya Sparrow, Green Bird, Demus, The Great and Powerful Oz, Icarus Malfoy, Saavik13, God, Goldensong, Dortha and meg.

Chapter Seven- The Heartbeat Of A Drum

I watch the men run about me, laying out shot and powder charges by every gun. They spread sand across the floor in anticipation of the time when it will run red with slippery blood. One hundred feet above my head, sailors swarm through the rigging as they fight to remove and restrain the billowing canvas. As the sails draw less and less, the Dauntless reluctantly slows.

The Black Pearl bears down on us and yet she looks less fearsome with every passing second. It becomes evident that the Pearl is no match for the Dauntless. Fewer guns, fewer men. What the hell is she playing at?

I'm not even remotely afraid of the oncoming encounter. Instead the adrenaline is coursing through my veins and my heart is beating in time with the fast pounding of the marine drummer. I grin wildly at Gillette as he rushes towards me.

"Ship cleared for action, sir! Eight minutes, nine seconds!" Gillette has the smug look of the proverbial cat that got the cream.

"Very fast!" I commend, loudly enough for the nearest sailors to hear. I run my gaze across the ship and all looks well. I find my hand clutching the hilt of my sword and I slowly withdraw the blade from the scabbard. The hard steel gleams red in the fading sunlight. By God, I call myself a gentleman and yet I love a fight as much as any of these men; as much as any ragamuffin or tavern drunk or common seaman or pirate.

"Sir! Sir!" Groves shouts. "Look at this!"

I borrow Groves' telescope and train it on the Black Pearl. I watch as the other ship drops a boat into the water. Then the Pearl stands off, while the small boat rows closer to us. There is a white flag of truce flapping in the bows.

"A flag of truce!" Gillette sounds incredulous. "What in the Devils' name do they plan to achieve!"

One minute later and I know.

Oh, God in heaven. Please no.

Sitting in the boat's stern, his hands tied and a pistol to his head, is Governor Swann.

"Bloody hell," I murmur.

"Fire on the boat, sir?" asks Gillette.

"And kill the Governor!" I turn on the lieutenant suddenly, irrationally and angrily. "Now that's a commendable plan, Mr Gillette," I say. My words drip with sarcasm.

"You're right, sir," says Gillette. He lowers his eyes.

I abandon Gillette for a moment, in order to better examine the boat that is heading towards us. Through my telescope, I can see the terror etched into Governor Swann's face. His eyes are big and black, wide and fearful. I pity him.

And then I understand.

I beckon over the Captain of the Marine Guards, a harsh-featured man with the unfortunate name of Arthur B. Strange. "You had best escort our prisoner on deck," I tell Captain Strange.

A moment later, Jack Sparrow swaggers on deck. He wears the ties binding his wrists as if they are prized possessions: made of gold and silver thread… ornements, trinkets, finery. The moment Sparrow spots me, he gives me a cocky wink but nothing more: nothing to show that he loves me- nothing to show that he's stolen my heart.

"Insolent pirate!" groans Gillette, who has witnessed the wink. "What are we going to do with him?"

"You, Mr Gillette are going to oversee the exchange of prisoners: Sparrow for Swann." I shake my head. "I, on the other hand, am going below. You may send Governor Swann to me when he's ready." I stalk off below, with my heart still beating from anticipation of the fight that never occurred.

As soon as I'm in my cabin, I slump down into my hammock and close my eyes. I get barely two seconds rest before the marine sentry knocks at the door and announces the arrival of Lieutenant Gillette.

Why me?

"WHAT DO YOU WANT?" I growl.

"Prisoners successfully exchanged, sir." Gillette reports. "I've come to ask permission to fire on the boat as it returns to the Pearl."

"You do not have permission."

Gillette's eyes widen. "Why ever not, sir?"

I search for a legitimate reason. "Because of the flag of truce," I lie.

"You can break the truce!" Gillette urges me. "They're pirate scum- nobody's going to blame you for firing on them!"

"NO!"

Gillette stares at me, horrified. "But sir!"

One glance is enough to quieten him. "You are dismissed," I say, in my most final tone of voice. I watch him go.

Left alone, I can think.

I know I should fire on the boat. It's my duty. I know I should and yet I can't.

Jack Sparrow is in the boat.

The man I love – God help me – is in the boat.

Reluctantly, I go back up on deck. I approach the helmsman. "Set a course for Port Royal," I instruct. "Let's go home."

The word 'home' catches in my throat.

Home to an empty bed.

Home to an empty life.

Without Jack.

Tbc…