I apologize for how long this chapter has been in coming. The stress of finishing up several last minute school papers, which very much zapped my creativity, house-sitting for a ten day period in which I had no computer to work on, and a rather painful injury have kept me from writing as much as I would like to. However, despite all this, I present to you the third chapter of If You'll Have Me, my continuation of Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest. I know up until now I have had a lot of heart to hearts between Will and Elizabeth, but this chapter has a dash more action thrown in, which I hope to increase in the next chapter, making this a sort of Odyssey type adventure. Anyhow, this chapter is dedicated to my friend C, with a special shout-out to LoganAlpha30! Until next time,

Loves Hope Lost

Hand in hand, Will and Elizabeth returned to the Pirate's Glory a little after sunset (for indeed, they stopped to braid Elizabeth's hair into the short, boyish plait she had worn on her first trip to Tortuga) to find the large galleon and its buccaneer crew in an uproar.

"Why should we be doin' the biddin' o' some crackpot ole fool wit no profit to ourselves, eh?" demanded the leader of what seemed to be an intended mutiny.

He was a pirate of about thirty, though, as with them all, he looked much older. A mysteriously stained and ripped bandana adorned his rather large head shaped like a lumpy rock, with two beady little eyes located a few inches below his bandana, above a sharp, jutting nose over a small pursed mouth. His oddly stout frame was covered in clothes as dirty as his bandana. Both of his large ears were pierced multiple times over with gold hoops varying in size.

Brandishing his pistol, he continued his tirade: "I don't know 'bout youse fellas, but I don't wanna risk me neck for a matter that don't concern me 'n' mine nohow."

This statement of dissent was met by a roar of approval from his grimy brethren. The bandana-clad pirate was joined where he stood above the other pirates on a cluster of large barrels grouped by the main mast by his particular friend, that is, as much of friends as pirates can be to one another, by a young pirate but distinguished among the crew as one of the fiercest fighting pirates on this side of the Atlantic.

"I say we throw the big hatted ole fool 'n' his little crew" (for Pintel, Ragetti, and Gibbs had returned to the Glory before Will and Elizabeth and now stood grouped behind Captain Barbossa, the 'big hatted ole fool') "over the side 'o' the ship an' let 'em swim to whatever certain death they're headed to and leave us'n outta it!" the young pirate shouted.

Suddenly several pistol shots rent the air, one hitting the young pirate in the hand, which he had waved around while giving his proposal. He collapsed forward off the barrels as Captain Barbossa, a smoking pistol in hand, swaggered forward and kicked the man over onto his back.

"Listen up, me hearties, for anyone who don't mark me words will pay for it with more than some lead in 'is hand," Barbossa shouted in his most commanding voice. "There ain't gonna be no bloody mutinyin'" (at which Gibbs snorted in disgust) "while I command this mission. Ye'll do whatever it is I tell youse and be happy fer it, ye got that?"

The response of the Glory's crew was to shuffle their heavily booted feet and mutter uneasily, but were apparently unwilling to share the same fate as the injured pirate. Barbossa, taking their fear of him as assent, went on thus:

"I'll be takin' that as a yes, then. Be ready to make sail by dark."

With that Barbossa began to move towards the captain's quarters, when the crew, catching sight of Will and Elizabeth where they stood in front of the gang plank where they had been watching the action, began to jeer and whistle at Elizabeth.

Will, shooting her a look that seemed to say This is exactly why I did not want you to come, moved in front of Elizabeth and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to protect his fiancée's honor if need be.

However, this was rendered unnecessary, much to the young lovers' surprise, by Captain Barbossa's whirling around and exercising his new found fear over the crew, snapped,

"Ye'll be leavin' the young lady alone or pay the price of it, do I make myself heard, ye scurvy sea dogs?"

Then he banged his way into his cabin. Gibbs, assuming his position as first mate, strode forward and yelled, "Ye heard the captain, now, get ta work!" At which everyone scattered to their various tasks above deck while two men carried the injured pirate below deck.

An hour later in the quickly fading twilight, Elizabeth, unwilling to go to below to her cabin, sat on an overturned bucket, grumpily mending a few damaged sails by lantern light, a task delegated her by Captain Barbossa in so condescending a manner that it was hard for her to sit there complacently when what she really wished to do was slap him across his disgusting face. Sighing, she looked up to where stood getting read to assist the crew of the Glory in raising some of the larger sails to catch the favorable wind Mother Nature had just graced them with.

Elizabeth, pretending to be deeply engrossed her work, stole frequent glances to where her handsome fiancée stood in his breeches and billowing white shirt.

"All right then, laddies," called the pirate at the front of the line, "On 'a' count o three, heave: one…two…three!"

Up soared the sail, like the giant wings of the great albatross. The men pulling the ropes strained their brawny muscles against the force of gravity, their shirts stretching across their broad backs.

All of the sudden, a pained cry rent the air and Elizabeth, recognizing the voice to be that of her Will's, looked up to see her fiancée, who had let go of the rope and ran a few paces away from the line, pull his shirt quickly over his head in a scrabbling motion. Elizabeth saw with a gasp very distinctly five relatively new lash marks which had just reopened as a result of Will's labors and were poring blood down his back.

She was at his side in a moment, grabbing his hand and attempting to lead him below deck, but Will extricated his hand from hers, and throwing his shirt away from as though it were a dirty rag not worthy for him to wipe his hands on, he snapped, "I am fine, Elizabeth; it is just a bit of blood. Let me get back to my work, which I might suggest you do as well."

Ignoring his waspish tone, Elizabeth picked up his discarded shirt and pressed it gently into his back. He hissed with the pain and opened his mouth to protest yet again, but was stopped by her speaking first.

"How did this happen?" she demanded quietly.

"Really, Elizabeth, this is quite unnecessary," he said exasperatedly, evading the question, and began to move away from her when Captain Barbossa, who could sense when a member of his crew was not doing his work, came above deck.

Surveying the situation, he sneeringly said, "Let yer pretty little missus attend to ye below deck, young Master Turner—I'll not have ye two distracting my crew with yer carryin' on like a pair 'o' love sick doves." He shot a glare at the crew and shouted, "Get back ter work and don' let me catch ya slackin' off agin, or ye'll answer directly to me, ya hear?"

Will, looking as though he would rather like to protest, decided better of it and stormed before Elizabeth below deck to the small cabin she slept in that had previously belonged to the first mate, who now hung up his hammock with the rest of the crew. Banging his way into the small room, he twirled a chair around so the seat faced him and sat down straddling the chair so that his back was presented to Elizabeth when she walked into the cabin behind him.

She silently placed a basin of water warmed naturally by the hot Caribbean climate and grabbed a few clean scraps of fabric from a small chest at the foot of the bed, which she then dipped in the water and applied to the wounds on her fiancée's back.

"Oh, Will," she breathed softly when she saw him flinch with pain. "Who did this to you? Tell me, please."

"Makes no matter who or why, what's done is done and gabbing over it won't change," Will said through his pain, trying to maintain a tone of careless gruffness.

Annoyed at her future husband's refusal to be forthcoming with her, Elizabeth pressed the rag soaked it water a little harder against the lash wound on his back she was cleaning.

"Damn it, Elizabeth!" he snapped angrily, attempting in his pain to stand up and get away from his irate fiancée, but Elizabeth, applying her hands to both his shoulders, kept him down.

"Do not use that language to me, William Turner, when all I am attempting to do is make sure you do not die of an infection, though God only knows why you will not tell me how you came to receive them!"

Mollified, Will rested his chin on top of the back of his chair, thinking hard. Elizabeth, unwilling to interrupt him because it might lead to a full confession, went about cleaning and dressing his wounds. She saw with relief that infection had not set in despite the wounds going unattended to for a time.

Suddenly, Will looked up at her and said quietly, "I do not want you to hate my father."

"Why would I hate your father?" Elizabeth asked, her voice showing her surprise at his odd statement.

"Because it is he that did this to me," Will replied in the same solemn, quiet voice.

Elizabeth, who sat with her bottom perched on top of the small table in the cabin, looked down at her hands which sat folded in her lap, shooting a worried glance at Will out of the corner of her eye. She said nothing though she privately wondered if she was mistaken in her diagnosis and her fiancée was suffering from delusions due to fever.

Slamming his fist down on the table and causing Elizabeth to jump, Will stood and petulantly snapped, "I am not crazy!"

"I never said you were!" Elizabeth yelped, wounded by his vehemence. "It's just that…well…your father…sweetheart, he's—dead!...How—how could he possibly have done this to you?"

"I don't expect anyone to believe me," Will said in the same quiet, thoughtful voice he had been speaking in before his little outburst. He straddled the chair again and placed his head in his hands. Then, in a muffled voice, as if almost to himself, he continued, "I would hardly believe it myself if someone told me this story."

"Will, I love you…I want to spend the rest of my life with you! You can tell me anything—never doubt that!" Elizabeth exclaimed.

Taking a deep breath, Will launched into the story of how Jack had tricked him into going aboard the ship of Davy Jones', how he had met his father, how, because of his father, he had been sentenced to five lashes, and how Davy Jones had forced his father to carry out the punishment.

Elizabeth was almost overcome with anger, not only towards Will's father, but that bloody Captain Jack Sparrow as well. She vowed that as soon as they rescued him from the end of the earth, she would make him wish he were dead all over again. Then relenting in her anger, she said, "Oh, Will," and holding his face in her hands, she leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his lips, at which point we will leave our young lovers to enjoy one another's company unwatched.