I still don't have him despite a begging letter to Santa!
With thanks to those who reviewed and to Kat.
This chapter is dedicated to Hellborne - author and moderator on affnet who sadly died yesterday.
Chapter twelve
Much to her consternation, Celia found herself fretting far more over the effect Jack's kiss had had on her, than what Brother Paul might be saying to Father Michael. 'I should not be having these feelings for him,' she fretted as she stared out of the stern windows, but not seeing anything. 'You had them for Robert,' another voice argued. 'You didn't think they were wrong then.' She sighed, gettin to her feet and pacing about the cabin. 'But I was engaged to Robert…' "Oh, blast you, Jack Sparrow!" she exploded, holding her head in an attempt to quell the thoughts which were making her dizzy as she tried to work them out. "My life was much simpler before you came along," she shouted out loud, but even before she had finished the sentence, the voice in her head was arguing that her life was not simpler before she had met the doe eyed pirate – just not quite so complicated.
"Everythin' all right, Miss?" Oliver Fernan enquired through the locked cabin doors.
"Fine, thank you, Mister Fernan," Celia called, praying the crewman had not heard what she had said.
"Can I get yer anythin', like?"
"No, no – I am fine," she assured him, not trusting him enough to open the doors until Jack's arrival. "Thank you for asking."
"All right, Miss. Just call if yer need anythin'."
"I need to go home," she smiled sadly, sighing as she thought about the letter she would have to write to her parents, just in case Father Michael did the same. "What am I going to tell them?"
'Th'truth?' came Jack's voice in her head.
"How can I tell them the truth? It would break their hearts. Oh goodness me, I must be going as mad as Jack, having conversations with thin air!" she chuckled to herself before sobering once more. "I will have to tell them the truth," Celia sighed, plopping down dejectedly on the stern seats, going over in her mind what she was going to say to her mother and father.
…
"Why can't I get into my cabin?" Jack slurred, reeling backwards from the force of trying to push open the locked doors whilst more than a little inebriated.
"Miss Hammond's locked th'doors, ain't she?" Jacob Sumner sighed, rolling his eyes at his crewmates.
"Oh yes," Jack nodded vigorously as he remembered. "Celia! Let me in!" he called, banging on the door.
"All right, all right!" she replied, hurrying to unlock the cabin doors and stepping back quickly as he burst through.
"I got somethin' fer you," he grinned, his hands doing a dance in front of him. "It's here… somewhere…" Jack frowned, patting his coat in an attempt to locate his gift. "Ah! Here it is. Brought it especially fer you…"
"Thank you," Celia smiled uncertainly as she took the battered looking object from him. "I-it's most kind…"
"Well, take th'cover off then," Jack urged, shooing her with his hands whilst swaying wildly.
"Oh, this is a cover?"
"Well you don't think I'd give a gift lookin' like that, do you?"
"No," she smiled apologetically as she unwrapped the present, almost dropping it in shock as a beautiful leather bound, gilded bible appeared from the wrapping. "Oh! Oh, Jack, it's…"
"I noticed you didn't have one, an' thought you might need cheerin' up after our little encounter with Brother Whatshisface…"
"Paul," Celia smiled, running a gentle finger along the delicate gilding. "I-I don't know what to say," she murmured, looking shyly at the pirate. "Thank you."
"It's a pleasure," Jack beamed. "Now, I could with some more rum…"
Celia caught herself before she questioned whether he should have yet more to drink, reasoning that it would be churlish in face of his generosity. "May I sit and read it for a while?" she asked, hoping he did not have some chores for her.
"Aye, of course you can," Jack replied with a wave of his hand. "I was thinkin' that we could have supper in th'mess tonight…?"
"Oh. Why?" she enquired. "What is wrong with eating in here?"
"Apart from th'fact that th'men think you don't trust them, an' that their captain no longer sees their company is good enough fer him, nothin'."
"B-but I… do we have to?"
"Toby is cookin' somethin' special just fer you," Jack chided. "Besides, you can't stay holed up in th'cabin fer a year – if you polish an' scrub it any more, you'll wear th'wood away. Time ter start mixin', eh?"
"But I have been," Celia replied uncertainly, sitting sat down on the stern seats and leafing through the pages of the bible, but not taking anything in, her mind otherwise occupied with the thought of having to leave the cabin and work and socialise amongst the pirates.
"Swabbin' th'decks once a day isn't mixin'. They won't hurt you," Jack told her from his chair at the oak table which dominated the centre of the cabin. "I gave my word."
"I know you did," she nodded, blushing at the thought of him watching her as she sat there. "It's just… after… I'm, well, frightened."
"I know," Jack said gently. "Me an' Gibbs'll watch over you, not that we need to. Th'men won't hurt you – there was a lot of anger when…" Jack stopped himself from saying something, making Celia look at him curously.
"When what?" she enquired. "When they found out what happened to me? Jack! How could you have told them?" she cried, putting the book down on the seat and jumping to her feet. "How?"
"I didn't need ter tell them much," he confessed. "They've heard of Stockton and guessed a lot of it. They're all fer goin' after Stockton should our paths cross, an' makin' sure he doesn't hurt other women, like he's hurt you."
"But…?" Celia frowned, confusion crowding her mind again. "You're all pirates! Why should you care?"
Jack sighed, trying to give himself chance to think up a reply but was saved by a knock on the cabin doors. "Come," he called.
"Will yer be eatin' in here or th'mess?" Tobias Pellew, the cook, enquired as he entered the cabin, looking directly at Celia as he spoke, making her colour once more under the scrutiny of both men.
"T-the mess," she stammered, knowing she had little option but to agree.
"That's my girl," Jack beamed, winking at her.
"It'll be ready in one turn," Tobias informed them as he turned and left the way he came.
Jack grinned to himself as he sat back in his chair and tipped his hat over his eyes for a nap, leaving Celia to sit back down and pick up her bible, with the questions on her lips still unanswered.
…
"Celia, pet!" Joshamee Gibbs beamed as she and Jack walked into the mess, which fell instantly silent. "It's good to see you."
"Thank you, Joshamee," she whispered, clinging to Jack's arm for dear life.
"Come and sit yourself down here," the portly man smiled, patting a space on the bench beside him. "Cook's got a right treat for us tonight."
"So I hear," Celia replied, her voice breaking with nerves as she sat where beckoned, feeling a couple of dozen or so pairs of eyes on her.
"Fer gawd's sake!" Jack muttered, casting impatient looks at his crewmen in the mess as he squeezed in besides Celia. "It's like a bloody graveyard in here."
"I ain't ever tried venison b'fore," Elliot Deane commented, breaking the silence. "Wonder what it's like?"
"Yer'll find out, soon enough," came Tobias Pellew's voice as he entered the mess, carrying a tray filled with meat and potatoes, setting it down on the trestle table in front of Jack.
"Venison?" Celia echoed, her eyes agog. "Where on earth did you find venison here?"
"Ways an' means, Miss," the cook winked. "Ways an' means."
"But there are an awful lot of men… surely venison wouldn't feed all of you?"
"It won't," Jack informed her. "They drew lots ter see who would be th'lucky ones. An' these fine gentlemen you see here are th'said lucky ones."
"Have you ever tried venison b'fore, Miss?" Elliot asked, watching as the cook doled out equal shares of meat and potatoes onto petwer plates and handed them out.
"Yes," Celia nodded. "We used to eat it quite often at home."
"What, in th'nunnery, like?" Oliver Fernan enquired in amazement.
"No," Celia chuckled, her nervousness dissipating. "When I lived with my parents," she replied, a sad smile on her face.
"Have you decided what ter do yet?" Jack questioned. "Are you goin' ter tell them?"
"I have no choice, do I?" she sighed. "Father Michael is the sort who would write to them, telling them all about their daughter's fall from grace."
"You haven't fallen from grace," Joshamee put in, a frown turning to a glare as a couple of men snickered. "Any more of that and you'll be served slop in the brig!" he snapped, warning the whole mess as he did not know who the culprits were.
"Aye, just before you enjoy th'lash," Jack snarled angrily. "I apologise, Celia," he said. "For my uncouth crew."
"That's all right, Ja… Captain Sparrow," she replied, her head bowed in shame and her earlier unease returned. She looked up briefly as the cook put a plate before her, and nodded her thanks, before bowing her head again and murmuring grace to herself, knowing that it probably would not be worth saying it in front of the men.
"Cor! This is bloody lovely!" Elliot exclaimed as he tucked into his food. "What's venison from, anyway?"
"Deer," Jack informed him through a mouthful. "My congratulations, Toby. You've excelled yourself."
"Thankee, Cap'n," the cook grinned, showing a silver toothed smile. "It's nice ter cook with decent meat fer a change."
Celia tentatively ate a piece of the red meat, doubting it would be as nice as they had claimed, but to her amazement it was every bit as juicy and tender as any her mother's cook had prepared. "It is wonderful," she nodded at the still hovering cook and was rewarded with an even bigger smile.
"I'm glad yer like it, Miss. I take it yer'll be eatin' with th'crew from now on?"
"Y-yes," Celia nodded. "I expect I will be."
"I'll make sure there will be a senior member of the crew with you at all times," the quartermaster assured her. "You will be quite safe."
"She will be quite safe anyway, Gibbs!" Jack snapped, clattering his fork on the plate. "They're not savages you know."
"I wasn't suggesting they were," Gibbs defended. "It's just that she has been through a very trying ordeal and I was trying to reassure her."
"Do you mind not talking about me as if I were not here?" Celia enquired angrily. "And just how much of my ordeal did you tell them about, Captain?"
"I told you, Stockton is well known in these waters. Men can guess what he'd do ter women, savvy?" Jack sighed with exasperation. "An' I am quite capable of decidin' what is best fer my guest," he retorted to the older man.
"I am not your guest," came Celia's sharp response. "I am your servant, remember?"
"Oh, do forgive me," Jack replied cuttingly. "Perhaps I should start treatin' you more as a servant, eh? You'd soon have somethin' ter complain about then."
"There's no need for that tone, Captain," Gibbs reproached, flinching as Jack got to his feet and glared angrily at him.
"Don't you dare talk ter me like that!" Jack snapped, ignoring the stunned looks on the rest of the crew's faces as they watched the drama unfold.
"I'm sorry, Captain," Gibbs replied contritely. "I forgot my place."
"It'll be in th'brig, if you're not careful," his captain warned, although both men knew it to be an empty threat.
"In which case, you would have to lock me up as well," Celia declared, standing and looking Jack in the eyes. "Mister Gibbs is only trying to look after me."
"An' I'm doin' what, exactly?" Jack enquired, placing a finger against his lips as if thinking.
"Looking after yourself, as usual," she retorted, pushing past him and flouncing from the mess, peering into the dark corridor before turning left and praying it was the correct direction.
"I'll go after her…" Gibbs began, stopping when he saw Jack's raised hand.
Jack shook his head. "No you won't. Fernan, go an' show her th'direction of my cabin."
"Aye, cap'n," the Irishman agreed, pushing his empty plate away and going on his errand.
"I'm sorry, Jack," Gibbs shrugged. "It's just she's so…"
"Innocent?" Jack suggested.
"Aye, sweet and innocent. I don't want her to lose that, that is all. I know the men wouldn't dare touch her, but you know how coarse they can be."
"She'll get used ter it," Jack shrugged. "But don't you dare undermine me like that again, savvy?"
"I won't," Gibbs agreed as his captain left the mess to find the young woman.
"If venison livens things up this much, can we have it once a week, Toby?" Elliot quipped, drawing gales of laughter from his crewmates.
"You'll have a clip round the ear once a week, if you're not careful," his quartermaster warned him sternly as he too left the mess, the excited buzz of chatter following him as he walked down the corridor.
…
"It's this way, Miss," came a broad Irish brogue in the near darkness.
"Oh!" Celia yelped. "Oh, Mister Fernan, you frightened me half to death."
"Sorry, Miss. They call me Mouse, 'cos I move so quietly, like. Th'Cap'n sent me ter take yer to th'cabin."
"T-thank y-you," she stammered, grateful for the lamp which he carried. "Y-you must think I'm a silly little girl."
"Of course not, Miss," he assured her as he lead the way. "Yer've had a hard time of it, with all that's happened. Be enough ter frighten anyone, man or woman."
"You're most kind," she smiled, shrugging ruefully as she reaslied he would not be able to see the smile. "H-how long have you been over here?"
"A couple of years. I was sent as a slave but managed ter escape when we docked, an' joined th'Cap'n's ship soon after."
"What did you do in Ireland?"
"What ter get sent out here, or my livin'?"
"Both, if that's not too nosey."
"Heh! I was a fisherman by trade, but did some thievin' as a way ter make ends meet. I got caught an' shipped over here as punishment."
"That's terrible. Do you have family back home?"
"A wife an' two children, but I doubt I'll see them again."
"Oh. I'm sorry about that, Mister Fernan."
"Ah, call me Oliver, or Mouse. An' don't yer worry about it. Maeve can an' will take care of herself. Probably found herself another man by now."
Celia fell silent as she climbed the steps up to the main deck, gasping at the vivid red and orange sunset above her.
"Never had 'em like this back home, eh?" Oliver chuckled. "'Tis beautiful."
"It is," Celia agreed. "Thank you for escorting me, Mis… Oliver."
"'Tis a pleasure."
"You found your way, then?" Jack enquired dryly as he caught them up.
"Oliver showed me," Celia replied huffily. "At least he cared enough to ensure I didn't get lost."
Jack raised his hand as Oliver was about to correct her, shaking his head with a wry smile. "Aye," he agreed. "An' I'm very grateful to him."
"It's a pleasure, Cap'n," the Irishman answered with a confused smile. "I'll see yer, Miss."
"Yes, I expect I will be out on deck tomorrow, working…"
"A mind reader as well as beautiful, is there no end ter your talents?" Jack teased, pushing his cabin door open and holding it for Celia.
"You flatter me, Captain," she sniped as she breezed past him. "But it will still get you nowhere."
"We'll see, Miss Hammond," he murmured with a sly smile as he followed her into the cabin. "Would you care fer some wine?"
"Wine? First venison, now wine – I'm starting to wonder if this is a pirate ship at all."
"Just because we're pirates, doesn't mean we don't enjoy th'finer things in life. Well?"
"No, thank you," she replied, declinging the offer of wine. "You're an enigma," Celia mused, sitting in her favourite spot on the stern seat.
"So you've told me before," Jack winked, settling in his chair and propping his feet on the table, ignoring her arched eyebrow.
"How did you come to appreciate the finer things in life, Jack? By stealing them off ships?"
"If only you knew," Jack chuckled, shaking his head slowly.
"So tell me then," Celia demanded. "Tell me all about the infamous pirate, Jack Sparrow."
"An' why should I do that, missy? I don't owe you an explanation, an' my private life is just that – private!"
"So you're hiding something, then?" she smirked triumphantly.
"I'm a bloody pirate," Jack sighed exasperatedly. "Of course I'm hidin' somethin'!"
"How did you get your ship, did you steal her?" Celia enquired, changing tack with an innocent smile.
"Nice try, Celia," he grinned, seeing through her ploy.
"But you know everything, well, nearly everything about me. I know nothing about you, other than I do not understand you at all. For instance, why do you put on that act?"
"What act?" Jack frowned, cocking his head to one side. "I don't put on an act."
"Yes you do. When you're alone with me, you're sort of normal, but whenever there's someone else around, you behave strangely. You act as if you are drunk when you are not. You walk, well…" she sighed, throwing her hands up. "You walk as if you are even more drunk than you act – why?"
Jack regarded her thoughtfully, his head still to the side. "Because," he eventually replied. "It suits my purpose ter let others think I'm a little strange. Those who don't know me, or at least don't know me well, think they can pull one over a drink and sun addled fool."
"I can understand that," Celia nodded. "But why act with your crew?"
"Habit," he grinned. "An' because they know it's an act. An' because I am a little drink an' sun addled…"
"You don't say?" she replied caustically. "Can I at least ask where you are from?"
"Same place as you," he smiled enigmatically. "Good ol' Blighty."
"Oh, I give up," she sighed, turning away from him and picking up her bible which she had left on the seat earlier.
"Lymington," Jack eventually drawled. "A small seaport on th'south coast."
"I see. Why did you leave?"
"I'm a sailor, luv – I sailed away. Come ter think of it, I don't even know where you're from."
"Edinburgh," Celia smiled, thinking of her home town and her family. "It's the capital of Scotland."
"I know," Jack nodded. "I was a cartographer by trade, maps interest me – even those that aren't of th'sea."
"Really?" Celia exclaimed, putting her bible back down and looking at him with renewed interest. "So how did you end up being a pirate?"
"You not goin' ter give up, are you?"
"Well I'm going to find out sometime in the next year, it might as well be now," she reasoned with a sweet smile.
"You are, are you?" Jack mused, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table, scrutinising her closely. "An' what makes you think that?"
"Well it's going to be a very boring year if we're not going to make any sort conversation."
"It's not conversation that interests me, Celia," he smiled wolfishly.
"Well it will have to do, I'm afraid. You'll get no other form of entertainment from me."
"Is that a fact?" Jack enquired, rising from his chair and walking slowly towards her. "An' just what makes you so sure of that, Miss Hammond?" he husked, sitting beside her on the stern seat.
"Y-you know that," she stammered, trying to inch away and letting out a gasp as Jack leaned over and breathed heavily in her ear. "I-I'm n-not that sort…"
"Really?" he purred. "Well you give a damned good impression otherwise."
"H-how so?" Celia squeaked indignantly, held back from jumping to her feet by his restraining hand.
"You don't exactly fight me off when I kiss you, eh?"
"Y-you've kissed me twice," she protested. "Both time you caught me unawares and both times I broke it off as soon as I could!"
"As soon as you could, eh? I hadn't noticed," he chuckled, the sound sending a shudder through her body. "In fact, Miss Hammond, I think I'm goin' ter kiss you a lot more often. Face it, luv, you certainly enjoy it."
"I do not, Captain Sparrow! And I will not allow you to kiss me or anything else, unless you are going to revert to type and force yourself on me."
"Celia, Celia," Jack sighed, shaking his head and brushing against her hair as he did. "I have enough control over myself ter not force myself on a woman, an' I am very patient. But it doesn't mean ter say I won't be using every opportune moment ter break down th'barriers, so ter speak."
"I'd like to see you try," she snorted, realising immediately the words came out that it was the wrong thing to say to him. "D-don't you d-dare…" Celia let out a muffled shriek as Jack pushed her on the seat so she was lying on her back with him on top of her, pressing his lips hard against hers. She fought an inward battle between the conflicting feelings of wave upon wave of desire washing over her and the horror that was she was doing was wrong and sinful.
"Oh, Celia," Jack murmured in her ear as he grasped her hands in his and raised them above her head.
"Please stop," she implored, writhing beneath him and moaning as he sucked the hollow of her collarbone. "This is wrong."
"You don't want me ter stop," he rasped, moving along her neck until he reached her ear. "Do you…?"
"Y-yes," Celia panted as the tip of his tongue explored her ear once more. "Oh, Lord," she swore as a burning throb pulsated between her legs "Jack, stop," she begged.
"All right then," he agreed breezily, gettin off her and brushing down his breeches, leaving her still lying on the seat, flushed and flustered. "What? You wanted me ter stop, didn't you?" Jack enquired innocently. "Never let it be said I force myself on women…"
Celia watched as he calmly walked from the cabin, her mind in a whirl and her body in even more turmoil. 'I am never going to survive the next year,' she thought forlornly. 'Oh, Lord, what am I going to do?' She stood slowly and walked to the side cabin, panicking slightly at the moistness between her legs, and splashed some water that was still in the bowl from her morning wash, onto her face. Celia jumped as Jack's voice came from the main cabin, calling her name.
"I-I'm in here," she called, her voice breaking. "J-just gettin ready f-for bed."
"You sure you still want th'hammock?" Jack teased, knowing that she hated sleeping in it and had actually fallen out the first couple of nights.
"Quite sure," she stated firmly. "Your little tricks simply will not work."
"If you insist," he grinned, coming into the side cabin as he untied the sash around his waist, dropping in on the bunk. "Night, luv. Sweet dreams."
"They will not be about you!" she sniped, glaring at him as she flounced from the side cabin.
"Methinks you protest too much…"
"Goodnight!"
…
"Oh no," Celia groaned. "I do not need the toilet." She tossed and turned, telling herself that she could hold out until morning, but in the end she carefully rolled from the hammock, having finally learned the knack of doing so safely and padded across the cabin in the dark, holding her breath in case she woke Jack, and felt her way to the head, sighing as she relieved herself. She crept back out, glancing upwards and then stopping dead at the sight of Jack lying on his bunk, bathed in the glow of the moonlight streaming through the window. Her eyes travelled across his bare torso, taking in his wiry, muscular frame and two round scars on his chest, and found herself edging closer, unable to stop staring at him, until, with a gasp of horror, she looked at his face and his dark eyes watching her. She turned and fled as fast as she dared back in to the main cabin, her cheeks burning with mortification.
"Sweet dreams, Celia," Jack muttered to himself with a smile as he turned over, falling back asleep almost instantly.
…
Authors notes:
one turn is half an hour – one turn of the watch glass
For this story, I have completely ignored British, or rather English history, because with the dissolution of the monasteries by Henry VIII, there were precious few Catholics and even fewer convents and monasteries in the country. I did toy with making her Scottish or Irish but decided against it.
Ani
