a/n: hey, i updated really fast! so y'all better review. okay, i am sorry that this chapter really has no impacted on the plot and not much happens, but it gives you a glimpse of Christine's homelife, and some of erik's plans.

for will turner fans: he is finally in this chapter, but rember, his name is william brown, not turner. i personally dislike both orlando bloom and will, but i tried to be unbiased and make y'all happy! so review!

disclaimer: i own nothing, and some of the lyrics in the song in this chappie i credit to charles hart.

Chapter Six

Christine hadn't seen one glimpse of Angel in two weeks, since the night she sang for him. Occasionally, she had felt two eyes burning her with their gaze, but when she had turned they were gone. She knew it was him, but why hadn't he shown himself to her? As much as she hated to admit it, she was becoming more and more infatuated with Angel the more he was away from her.

Sitting by her window, watching the sun go down, Christine wondered where Angel was. Had he left Port Royal, or was he still at the tavern? Christine didn't think she could bear it if he had left without saying goodbye to her.

Christine sighed and pushed Angel quite forcibly from her thoughts. She had other, more important things to think about. Like how she was to turn down Raoul's impending proposal.

Tomorrow was his promotion to the position of Commodore and he had invited her quite graciously to be his guest of honor. Tomorrow, Christine knew he would propose. He had been hinting at it ever since he invited her to the ceremony, saying that her dreams would come true that day.

Christine had bit back the scathing remark she wished to throw at him.

At least Will would be with her tomorrow, as her escort. After all, he had made the sword that Raoul would receive. It was only fair he should she the honor it was being put to.

Suddenly, a thought struck her. That's it! Christine was desperate to escape thoughts of Angel and Raoul that she had resorted to her least favorite pastime, sewing. What she needed right now was a good, long swordfight with her cousin.

Throwing down her dress she was mending, Christine changed into her boys clothes, hand downs of Will's that consisted of black mid-calf breeches, a grey button down shirt and black leather belt. Underneath the shirt, she put on a beige bodice embroidered in and verdant ivy design. Strapping her sword to her waist, Christine went to the smithy to seek her duel.

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Concealed in a shadowy ally, Erik watched his maenad as she sat at her window. She looked troubled, something he noted with glee and concern.

She missed him, he could tell. It was the next phase of his seduction, leave her alone, let her grow antsy and wish to see him. If he left her alone long enough, whatever feeling she had for him would grow. Hopefully, grow enough for him to convince her to leave with him when he "commandeered" a ship and sailed for Tortuga. If that plan backfired, he could always kidnap her. If left alone with him on a ship with no means of escape, she would learn to accept him and her fate, her fate to be his.

Erik growled softly as the prospect of his soon to be victory. And what a victory it would be, taming a lion like her into submission to him. Smiling wickedly, he took on last glance at Christine.

Soon love, soon you'll get the adventure you've been longing for. Just don't complain when its not what you've expected!

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Christine found Will polishing Raoul's soon to be sword in the smithy. He heard her coming, despite her bare feet. He smiled as he took in her manner of dress, knowing what she wanted.

She returned the smile, happy he would shirk his duties for the moment to humor her. She loved that about him. He knew what she needed, when she needed to blow of steam held under her kettle. It was why he taught her swordplay in the first place, to give her a way to release. The ability to defend herself was an added bonus.

"So, what's got you wound up this time?" he inquired as he got his sword ready.

"The ceremony."

"Ah," he said, though by the look on his face, Christine knew he had already guessed that from the moment she entered the room.

She watched him as he readied himself, admiring his handsome form and face. Though he was her cousin and best friend, Christine was not blind to how perfectly formed Will was. His dark, wild hair fell both elegantly and dashingly around his angled face. And his eyes, two warm, dark orbs that would make any girl melt, except herself. He truly was dashing, and polite too. It was a shame that he worked so much and never paid much attention to the ladies. He would truly have no trouble finding a woman.

Of course, Christine would insist on approving her first, just as Will would insist on doing for her.

"Ready?" he asked when he was finished, grinning devilishly, yet playfully. This was going to be good.

Christine and Will took their stances in the smithy, swords held and eyes sharply hard, Simultaneously, The pair sprang towards each other, swords coming together with an icy clash. Again and again, they repeated, thrust, parry, block. A simple warm up routine, tame and mild. Of course, that wasn't about to last for very long.

Their mock fight became rough and quite violent. They were all over the place, jumping over tables, spinning, swords clashing like lighting. It was all so fast that any bystander would have only seen two blurs and faint sparks emitting from the blades. In the end, Christine managed to disarm Will and sent him crashing to the ground. She held her sword tip to his neck, a triumphant grin on her face.

With a raise of her brow, she asked the question.

And Will nodded his surrender.

"Will! Christine! Come and wash for supper!" Aunt Margaret called from the kitchen.

They both set their swords down, pell-mell on a workbench and proceeded to leave the smithy.

"Clean the mess you made before though," came Uncle James gruff voice.

Christine and Will turned, and surveyed the knocked over boxes of supplies and over turned furniture. Glancing at each other, they quickly set to work cleaning the smithy.

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An hour later, the family, bellies full of Margaret's delicious cooking, sat in front of the living room parlor, a fire blazing in the hearth. Aunt Margaret sat in her favorite rocking chair, mending a pair of Will's breeches. Uncle James, his scruffiness making him out of place in the spotless parlor, was reading the paper.

Seating before the fire, Christine was doing her nightly reading that Aunt Margaret made her do for she would have no "dumb children" in her household. Tonight, Christine was reading Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, with help from Will. The two of them were acting out the balcony scene together, desperately trying not to burst out laughing at the silliness of the title lovers.

"Oh Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?" Christine cried with breathy histrionics. Out of the corner of her eye, Christine saw her Uncle shaking with silent laughter. Will was clutching at his stomach and his face was beet red as he tried to stop laughing long enough to deliver his line.

"Alright, that's enough you two!" Margaret said, though she too was amused. "It's nearly ten and I think it's high time you get up to bed Christine."

She tried to protest, but Aunt Margaret would have none of it. After all, Aunt Margaret wanted her to be well rested for tomorrow.

Christine was tempted to say that she would rather be sewing that with Raoul at his promotion. She still didn't know how she was going to turn him down.

Contemplating this as she marched up to bed, Christine bid everyone good night. Upon reaching her room, she changed into her nightgown and climbed into her warm bed, first opening the window above her bed to let in the warm sea air.

Two knocks on the door signaled that Uncle James had come to wish her goodnight. She smiled. Christine loved this routine of theirs and would never grow tired of it.

He entered the room and sat by her bed, pulling her covers up to her chin. And then he would sing, so beautifully.

Little Lottie,
Go to sleep and dream,
Sweet child.

Fear not the dark
For are not alone.
When I'm not here,
The Angel of Music,
Will watch your slumber.

Angel of Music,
Guide and Guardian
Grant to my child,
Your Glory.
Angel of Music
Hide no longer,
Come Strange Angel.

Little Lottie,
Go to sleep and dream,
Sweet Child.

Christine's eyelids drooped as Uncle James finished his song, his low bass fading away with her fading conciousness. He placed a soft kiss on her forehead, bidding her goodnight. "Sweet dreams, Little Lottie."

He left the room, careful not to make any noise. In his wake, Christine fell into a deep slumber, dreaming of the Angel of Music.