Chapter XVIII – Safe Now

The sitting room was an intimate affair, the walls a creamy, light gold-brown. Of course that was underneath all the things that covered the walls. Tapestries, paintings, knickknacks, all sorts of items. It was so crowded and so fashionable it was almost garish.

Welcome back to high-society. At least it didn't smell like the ship. The room had a pleasant smell, natural and sweet. There were flowers in vases all around the room, still fresh. Along with the smell of cakes; they had just been brought into the room, and put on the small table before Rachelle and Norrington. Peering down at them, quite famished, she was glad to see something that was not potentially half-rotten. She moved back when her tea arrived, her dog scurrying about her legs, trying to avoid the maid.

"My dear," Norrington said softly as he lifted up his tea in the proper manner.

She glanced at him across the table curiously, then straightened up and took her own drink, surprised at how she was acting. More like a child than a lady.

"Sir?" she responded, daintily putting her saucer down and picking up a biscuit in the proper, polite way. She took a few sips of tea then put the cup onto its fine saucer. Taking a small bite of the dainty food, she smiled at the Commodore then whipped out her handkerchief to capture any crumbs.

"I feel dreadful for what happened to you." He leaned over and took her hand gently, looking very concerned. "I would do anything to protect you, to rid the seas of pirates."

"Oh, well," Rachelle tittered, taking her hand back, "that really is not –"

"I can only imagine what they did to you," he said with a shudder, grasping his own handkerchief. "Two of our finest ships, filled with our finest soldiers, and Jack Sparrow still manages to fight them both."

Rachelle cleared her throat. "I think that's Captain Jack Sparrow."

They both froze and she sank down in her seat slightly, feeling very uncomfortable.

"Well," she squeaked, "it is."

"What they must have done to you," he lamented, daubing at his eyes. "My poor dear, you must be quite worn out from your lengthy ordeal." He started to get up, looking for a servant.

"No!" Rachelle cried, putting her hand out to stop him, crumbs from her handkerchief flying all over the little table. Her eyes were wide and pleading. If they were going to stick her in one more room with a bed, she would go insane.

The Commodore sat back down very slowly.

"I, I feel we should speak about this," Rachelle said, putting her crumpet down and twisting her handkerchief in her hands.

"You would care to know what course of action I will take with those, those . . . animals?" he wondered.

She opened her mouth to argue that that had not been what she meant, but he either didn't notice, or didn't care. He just continued on his own tangent.

"The whole crew will be hanged. No mercy this time." He glanced away, balling his fist. Who was to know that in his longing to kill the two head pirates and get his bride safely ashore, that he had completely overlooked the rest of the crew? No, to the public, he would say he had been merciful.

"But they really did not –"

"They are pirates! Even if they did not commit a crime this time, they surely have before! And being a pirate is enough of a crime." He looked back at Rachelle who seemed slightly panicked. "My dear, I do apologise for my tone and anger. But this subject brings the worst out of me. I hate pirates. Loathe them even."

"I . . . I see." She gave him a weak smile and carefully reached for her tea, taking a few more sips. At that moment, Jennifer lifted her little paws up onto the low table, her nose then whole head following. She then grabbed one of the biscuits and slunk away with her prize. Rachelle noticed, but Norrington seemed to be ignorant of the dog's robbery.

"Perhaps Jack Sparrow and Cutthroat should be hanged as a warning to all? To have them hanged with their crew is just not befitting. And who better than pirates we all fear to warn the rest?"

Rachelle felt a tightening in her chest. Her tea rattled slightly in the saucer.

"Again, I forget that as a lady of class you have not been exposed to those sorts of thoughts."

Her eyes went up to his, her hand fluttering to her chest. She sat back, breathing heavily. This wasn't right.

"Rachelle? Are you alright?"

"Oh ah, yes, fine." She waved her handkerchief before her face, "Just a bit faint."

"We really should not be discussing this. We should be discussing our wedding." Here he smiled brilliantly at her. "Pirates are my business, and you'll just have to trust me to take care of them. You are far too delicate a lady to have even been near pirates – you should not dwell on them."

Too delicate a lady? What about Jennifer? She watched Norrington's mouth move and nodded her head every so often, giving the appearance of listening. But she was deep in thought. No matter what Cutthroat looked like, he – she, was still a woman. And her delicateness didn't seem to ever affect her. In fact, she was anything but delicate. How was that fair? Her best friend fought and killed and drank (and perhaps did other things, but her mind wouldn't allow her to even consider it) with pirates –

And here Rachelle was, not even allowed to talk about them, because of her "delicate constitution". Because she was a lady.

But wow. Michael was really Jennifer? She had bothered him so many times and he always denied who he really was. Who she really was. Damn this was becoming confusing. How did he – she know the story of her own supposed death? How had she been able to lie, to use that story to prove who she supposedly was, hiding the truth, even from her best friend!

One odd thing though, was that Jack did not seem shocked at all to see he was beside a woman on the gallows. She pondered that for awhile. Then again, nothing much seemed to faze that man. He was as crazy as they said, somehow both the worst and best pirate in the world, at the same time.

But Michael – Jennifer! Had lied to her. Told her best friend, point blank, that she had seen herself raped, had seen herself thrown overboard. Stolen the pearl off the girl. She had never stolen it; she just needed a cover story. But why didn't she explain the truth to Rachelle?

She just couldn't understand it!

Now her future husband was discussing how he was going to kill Cutthroat. Her best friend whom she had just got back. She was alive! She was strong and powerful. Rachelle could not just let her die.

"And would that be okay, my dear?"

Rachelle jumped slightly in her chair, life lighting her eyes as she looked to Norrington.

"Oh, um," she cleared her throat, "it will take quite a bit of planning, I am sure, so perhaps we can go over the important details again later," here she patted her forehead with her handkerchief, "when I am not so light headed."

He nodded caringly and stood up. A few steps and he was standing before her, then bent over. Her eyes met his, and soon his mouth was locked onto hers.

She drew in a sharp breath of air through her nose, staring at him in shock. He backed away from her seconds later then left the room. She furrowed her brows and touched her lips with the tips of her fingers. Speeding out from under an unoccupied chair, finished her treat, Jennifer cocked her head up at her mistress.

Rachelle had felt nothing. And it puzzled her.

S: gee, sorry the last chapter was so confusing oo; Well, if you didn't get it, to clarify, yes, Michael is Jennifer, Rachelle's old friend. Rachelle was "safe" with the English and Michael has more than one layer of clothing. Though he had some shirts off, he still had clothes on, though not as many layers as usual. Coupled with the breast binding, it made it look like he was flat.

So yeah . . . there's still more of this story to go before the sequel, if that ever gets finished . . .