A little fun for you all before I head out to work. I hope you are enjoying the story as much as I am enjoying writing it. To those who review… thank you for your time in boosting my morale! It's been quite some time since I have written anything. And to those that don't… it would be a wonderful gift if you begin. :o)

He caught her in her lie almost immediately. "Show me your hands," he demanded, and she knew then that she was in trouble. She reached them out to him cautiously, palms down, and he flipped them over swiftly as though to disprove her point. Her palms were pale, smooth, and callous free. He flipped them over again to study her nails and noticed that they were medium-length, clean and manicured. He scoffed.

"What a lovely servant girl you must have made," he noted sarcastically. "With the hands of a princess."

"The hands of a princess," she retorted, "but the heart of a pirate." Captain Sparrow laughed again, his heartiness reaching out into the depths of the damp sea air. "I'll be the judge of that, pet," he said with a curious smile. "I'll be the judge of that."

Capítulo Cuatro

She awoke alone the next morning, which didn't surprise her. The sun was peeking through the fabric covering the lone window in her room, and she sat up slowly and stretched. Jack was probably already on his quest for a crew, and she was still struggling with the fact that she wanted to go, even though she knew very well she shouldn't.

Dulcinea prepared herself to go out to the market, because having Jack as a guest for two more days meant living a bit more comfortably than she was used to, and she wasn't one to cater to guests with no food or drink. And this especially was no ordinary guest! She combed her hair and left it free and flowing, yet pinned it from her face with an ornate jade comb that Jack had stolen from the Orient on their last wild quest years and years ago. It was a gift close to her heart, one that she prized as much as the air that she breathed. During her years away from him, she felt close to him anytime she slipped it in her hair.

She donned a simple dress that she had fashioned out of various fabrics and patterns, and slipped on her comfortable sandals, grabbing a wicker basket before she began her journey down the stairs and to the market.

Tortuga in the morning was much milder than it was at night. Yes, the drunkards were still passed out in the dewed grass and the prostitutes were turning in from their scandalous money-making escapades from the night before, but it was much more quiet. The sun was rising steadily, yet there was still a bit of a chill in the air. Dulce almost wished she had brought along her shawl as she shivered and drew her arms close to her body.

It wasn't long before the Caribbean sun brought a thin perspiration to her brow, and she was grateful that she hadn't brought it along after all. The market was bustling, with vendors loudly advertising their merchandise, goats and chickens wandering aimlessly amongst the people bartering and children crying. The young gypsy wandered in and out, stopping to purchase much needed bread, cheese and milk, and reluctantly admiring beautiful necklaces and mysterious amulets.

Her attention turned to a musician who was late setting up his storefront. He had all kinds of musical things, from sheet music to flutes, harps to lutes, from guitar picks to…

Dulcinea took a sharp breath and touched her fingers to her lips in surprise. A vihuela! She hadn't seen one in years!

She picked it up in her fingers and stroked it with admiration. So beautiful. So lovely. She wondered how such a beautiful Spanish guitar could end up unexpectedly in the heart of the Caribbean, and in her very arms. She plucked the strings softly with her fingers, and suddenly… she was no longer in Tortuga. She was a little girl sitting under a tree in Spain, listening to her father pour out his soul in this lovely wooden instrument… listening to his strong voice carry out over rolling emerald hills…

"Missy… are ye plannin' on strokin' it or buyin' it?"

The merchant whisked her away from the beautiful hills of Spain and suddenly she was standing in Tortuga again, squinting against the harsh island sun. He glared at her with crooked brows and a cloudy left eye. Suddenly frightened, she gripped the vihuela tighter. She had made up her mind that she wasn't going to leave it behind.

"My dearest sir," she began, regaining her composure slowly, already knowing that she wouldn't have enough gold to call the precious instrument her own, "For how much are you selling it?" The man smiled widely with brown, broken teeth. "More than ye 'ave, I can assure ye," he spat, reaching out to grab the instrument with his blackened, grubby hands. Dulcinea pulled away. "Wait!" she cried… "Wait. Surely I can give you something in return." Thinking fast, her hands went for the beautifully jeweled comb in her darkened hair. "It's small, yet priceless. I got it during my travels in the Orient a few years back… an undeniably valued piece of artw-" She was cut off by a hand that thrust her backwards and almost made her lose her balance.

"How much for the bloody guitar?" A male voice inquired, throwing a bag on the table that spilled out shimmering gold coins. "Surely you wouldn't want to disappoint the dear lass, ay?" Jack studied Dulcinea so fiercely she turned away with shame, placing the comb back in the midst of her curls. Suddenly interested, the merchant said not a word, but quickly scooped up the bag and waved them away with his dirty hands. Jack grabbed her roughly and escorted her past a man herding bleating goats.

"So it wasn't enough for you, then?" he began, obviously hurt. Dulcinea pulled her arm from him and looked him in his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Jack. I don't know what more I can say." He looked at her again, and decided to leave it alone. He continued walking, leaving her trailing behind him.

"Jack! Jack!" She stumbled after him, trying to balance the weight of both the vihuela and the wicker basket full of food in her arms. He turned suddenly, anger obvious in his features. "I found a crew willing to help us get to Spain," he told her. "We leave Tortuga Wednesday." "Wednesday?" she repeated, struggling to understand, "But that's tomorr-" "Yes," he interrupted. "So have your things ready tonight." Eyes squaring with her own anger, Dulcinea frowned deeply. "Jack, I told you that I would die before I return!"

He grabbed her again, this time from the front, and pulled her so close that yet again she could smell the slight stink of rum on his breath. He scowled angrily. "You refuse to go back yet you still yearn for things that belong to Spain!" He let her go so forcefully that the basket fell in the mud, spilling its contents. "You'll go all right!" he shouted, "Dead or alive!" The angered captain turned and stormed away. He left her standing alone in the mud, with the soiled food at her feet and the ornately carved guitar sitting smoothly in her delicate hands.