Repentance: the action of repenting; sincere regret or remorse.
Tortuga smelled of shit.
Catharina had never liked it, the stench of watered rums, dirty sweats, vomits, tobaccos, and decaying souls. And yet it had a certain appeal to it, a pool of diversity and all walks of life, from wealthy merchants to merciless pirates, effective smugglers to honest clerks, lovely ladies to diseased wenches, and the same boisterous sailors from all over the known world and the Caribbean Sea. Tortuga was a place of letting go and to some, a burial plot.
She had encountered many of them, a perfect place to drown themselves in endless bottles of rum while praying for a quick death. It was a hobby of hers. Something honed and acquired through time. Especially when left to her own devices while the Doña and her crew members enjoyed all the debaucheries Tortuga had to offer.
Broken souls and tattered bodies were her hobbies. They served as a sharp reminder that life itself was as precarious as the sea. A single mishap can often lead a good soul out of the path, and once astrayed, darkness was an unforgiving and manipulative monster, eating away the good while tending to the insecurities and doubts. And in time, gave rise to a new kind of darkness, the one that will never end.
She had almost passed by him without a second glance, but a closer inspection told her that it was truly him.
She was on her way back to the Sailor's Kiss, the only establishment with a semblance of decency on Tortuga, when she encountered a nasty brawl between two men and a wench. Choosing to stay hidden in a secluded corner, she had witnessed the entire thing. The woman was buxom and red haired, and was rather loud in her attempt to stop the enraged bald man from hitting the other man, a broken sailor with a tattered uniform. The sailor was inebriated and yet he stood taller than the bald one, who was red with anger and bloodthirst.
Within some more minutes of arguing and fighting, the bald man had somehow managed to land a good punch on the sailor's face, effectively knocking the sailor out and his body falling to the ground with a thud. Catharina watched in wry amusement as the red haired woman attempted to rouse the sailor up with her foot, but the bald man had already taken the woman's arms and dragged her away, laughing loudly as the wench complied, joining him with her own loud shriek.
She watched the sailor for a passing second, now a mere two feet away from him, and lamented that if he had not been drunk, the bald man would be sleeping in his spot right now. But such was the charm of Tortuga. With a chuckle, she began to walk away, but her feet came to a pause upon hearing his voice.
"Come back, you filthy mongrel." It was barely above a whisper, and yet his voice was as distinctive as ever. A strong timbre of baritone, lacing with natural command and authority.
Norrington? What on Earth?
Turning on her heels, Catharina gave a closer inspection to the drunk and beaten sailor. A worn out, mud ridden uniform of the British Royal Navy, the once rich blue had faded away, but it was a testament to the man's navy background. His strength and endurance remained, even if Tortuga had stripped away his honours and prestige.
Kneeling on the ground, Catharina could see how his once puffed and powdered wig had been hideously and righteously abused by the stench of Tortuga and the need of drunken oblivion. His natural brown hair was long and growing from underneath, and his once impeccably shaved jaw was now riddled with messy tresses of a dark beard. She touched his forehead tentatively, but once his eyes flew open, she had no doubt of his identity.
The good ones do die young. Or at least, their souls.
"It's not safe to sleep outside, old dog." She said, voice a strong gruff of Charles Furnivall, the missionary who was a part of the Venganza crew.
"Mind your own business, lad." He muttered, struggling to get back on his feet. He smelled of defeat and loss and rum. And yet the Commodore remains within him.
"The fat man punched you hard." She continued, grabbing his arms and holding him up. Though not hard enough. "Best get you inside an inn. Even the bravest of us are afraid of the dark." Without waiting for his response, she swung his arm over her shoulders and began to walk the broken man to the awaiting inn.
When James Norrington woke up that morning, the hammer of last night was felt.
His head buzzed with confusion and his body ached with pain. The old Norrington would never have forgiven himself for acquiring such wounds, yet the new Norrington had lost everything in the highest esteem. With no ship to sail or men to lead or a woman to marry, it was easier to abandon his strict adherence to honor, duty, and propriety. And to think I was the Scourge of Piracy once.
Struggling to recollect his memories of last night, James could only stare at the yellow ceiling, eyes squinting to make sense of his surroundings. The bed he was resting on was the most comfortable bed he had slept on in the last six months. Instead of rough spun straws and lice infested linen, he felt soft feathers underneath the clean bed sheet. Furthermore, he was all alone. A rare feat considering, in the newly acquired habit of this new James Norrington, a wench was often found in his bed.
"I must have picked temporary comfort over quick pleasure last night." He muttered, getting up from the bed and walking around the room. It was a decent room, the best some would say, considering a room like this one was a rare sight in Tortuga. A window overlooking the streets of Tortuga, a wash basin in the corner, a small desk and an old mirror.
A slight irritation arose within him as he came upon the mirror. The old Commodore Norrington would always look to his mirror each morning as he began the day, but that reflection was long gone. His once perfectly powdered white wig had become dirty and ragged with the natural brown hair growing underneath it. The former clean shaven man was no longer there, as his beard grew steadily with each passing day.
A small knock on the door pulled him back to the stinking pile of reality as James whirled around, apprehensive at the sudden invasion of another person. With tentative steps and a hidden pistol under his clothes, James approached the door and opened it with a creak.
"Your breakfast is ready, Mister." A boy of ten stood outside with a tray of food and a nervous grin.
"I did not know that breakfast is part of the service here, lad." He answered, his grip on his hidden pistol loosened.
"Because the Sailor's Kiss is the only decent inn around here, Mister." The boy answered and entered the room with a casual stride. I paid too much for a room that is beyond my means.
James had only spent the night at this establishment once, back when he was in disguise looking for Jack Sparrow. Back when he was still the Commodore with subordinates who were still alive. Back before the hurricane stripped everything away from him, taking away every shred of his being, before dumping this glutton of a beaten up dog in Tortuga for the second time. Such remembrance of the past soured his sullen mood, yet James did not desire to leave a sullied image on the impressionable boy. Thus he chose to stay quiet and observed the lad.
The boy was better dressed than most boys in Tortuga, there were no holes or a smudge of dirt on his clothings. His face was young and full of innocent joy, a rare sight in Tortuga.
"What is your name, boy?" He asked, sitting back down on the bed as the lad placed the tray of food on the small table.
"Jimmy, Sir."
"Well, Jimmy, I can't seem to recall entering this inn last night." He said, hoping that the lad would have the answer for his confusion.
"That's because you were drunk, Mister. My father wasn't too happy either." Jimmy shrugged as he poured James a cup of tea. That makes the two of us.
"Your father?" He frowned.
"My family runs this inn. We usually don't take in patrons like you." Such affiliation explained the boy's manners and James inwardly smiled at the bluntness of Jimmy's speech.
"Then why did you?" I would not have blamed you if you didn't.
"Because our loyal patron, Señor Carlos, insisted that we do, Mister. He even paid us double for this room! Ten shillings!"
"A Spaniard?" Even in my disgrace, I have stooped so low to receive such aid from a Spaniard!
"Ay! He left just this morning before you awoke."
"Why would he help me?"
"He's a missionary, Mister. I believe it's in his nature to help." Jimmy shrugged and flashed him a crooked grin. "My mother told me to tell you that you must see her before you leave."
"Why?"
"I don't know. I am only ten, Mister." With that, Jimmy closed the door and left James in serious solitude, pondering on the identity of the missionary and why anyone, anyone would stoop so low to give him aid.
Esmeralda must have sensed something was wrong when Catharina's solitude on the deck was disrupted. The Vengenza set sailed in the dark of the night to the next destination and Catharina seldom slept. Her mind was clouded by regrets and annoyance at how cruel life can be.
Dawn was on the horizon, taking away the darkness when Esmeralda placed a hand on her pensive shoulder.
"It's odd for you to frown like this." The captain spoke softly in Spanish. " You usually smile with glee whenever we leave Tortuga."
"I've lived my life never caring for the consequences of my actions. Perhaps my own selfish acts have finally come back and haunt my conscience." She responded with a melancholic shrug. "I hate Tortuga."
" Did you run into someone?" Esmeralda asked, squeezing her shoulder.
"Someone I thought I'd never see again." She nodded. "I assumed if our paths crossed again, he'd be married and worlds away from pirates and wenches."
"A former lover?"
"An acquaintance." She answered, remembering how dashing James Norrington had looked when she last saw him a year ago. He would've made a fine husband to any woman in Port Royal and she naturally assumed he would continue to move up the promotion ladder.
The sight of him in dirt and rags, smelling like rum, regrets, filth and wenches was not what she had imagined for their reunion. What happened to him after I left? Was I partly to blame for his downfall? The urge to help him was stronger than she thought, as she used all of her money on James last night. She secured him a room for the night as well as some pocket money so he'd have some food for the next week or so.
"Well, I'm sure you did the best you could, darling girl." Esmeralda smiled.
"And yet I feel guilty for the state he's currently in." Was I wrong to help Jack escape?
"That's absurd. You've been at sea for months. A grown adult is the only person responsible for their life and you should not feel guilty for something you have no control over." Esmeralda's maternal and protective side flared.
"I know, but perhaps the ripple I caused when I left with Jack has somehow turned into a hurricane." She lamented.
"If your friend is a strong and seasoned sea person, then a hurricane will only strengthen his spirit and resolve." Esmeralda knew the right words to say as it temporarily eased her guilty conscience.
"Then I hope if our paths cross again, he will be stronger as a result." She smiled at last, giving Esmeralda a reason to smile as well.
Dawn broke then and the rising sun reflected the hope she felt. She mused and let out a small chuckle at the thought of James waking up confused but also grateful for a stranger's kindness.
I pray that Norrington will use the money wisely and save himself from the darkness of Tortuga.
It was only until the battle was over, the gray sky cleared and the maelstrom disappeared that Catharina allowed herself to think and drink. Esmeralda had been kind enough to set sail for Port Royal, as per Catharina's request, and partly because of a possible rendezvous with her former lover. And soon enough, the Black Pearl also set sails in the same direction, only this time there was no urgency in it.
Because Cutler Beckett had failed to overcome the pirates and lost the war against piracy, and the pirates of the Brethren Court had won the battle and their freedom. And Will Turner had become the Captain of the Flying Dutchman and married Elizabeth Swann. The same young woman who became the Pirate King.
And Jack remained Jack, swaggering, flirtatious Jack with his dubious sense of rights and wrongs. Even Esmeralda retained her old self as well, with charming smiles and skillful swordsmanship.
It felt as if everyone was growing up and becoming the master of their own fate, so comfortably and at ease that Catharina wished she could suppress the crippling guilt in the pits of her stomach. The crippling guilt of unwillingly and categorically sending a good, honorable man to meet his fate. The same good man who died alone, utterly alone without comfort or reassurance onboard the Flying Dutchman.
Oh James. When Elizabeth had told her of his death, Catharina could only nod and kept her rising emotion at bay. Not sure if it was grief, anger, or anguish. Perhaps all three.
James Norrington was a good and honorable man, someone who was good to her, even when he did not have to. And she repaid his friendship with trickery. She had used them to the best of her advantage, as a means to her freedom. But freedom tasted bitter now that her guilt was settling in.
While Catharina understood that James made his own choice in choosing a side, she could not reconcile with the idea that he deserved the end that the gods had cruelly bestowed upon him. That the world that he ardently fought for, adhered to and fervently supported would mercilessly take his life from him, a chance for redemption, ripped from his hands just as Davy Jones thrusted a sword through him.
But if James' gods were cruel, perhaps her gods will be kinder and more relenting.
Especially those who had a debt to pay.
The white oblivion eventually disappeared like mist, clearing everything away and cleansing his mind. He felt as light as a feather, his skin was warm and his mind at ease. He was happy with the waves of the sea singing him to sleep, calling him to consciousness.
"James?" His eyes fluttered open at the faint whisper of his name. Blazing sunlight evaded his vision, a hand automatically rose up to block the assault and green orbs taking in the sudden brightness of the room.
He was on a bed, surrounded by pillows and blankets, with four sturdy pillars of wood supporting an overhead canopy. The pillars were of intricate design and the finest wood, a deep velvet color that James recognized instantly. He was lying on his bed at his home in Port Royal, a modest house that was built on top of a hill, overlooking the sea and the port.
"James?" Another whisper, more adamant and louder this time, and his eyes returned to the direction of the light. Standing close to him, but slightly out of reach. As his eyes became sharper and more aware, he came to realize that perhaps this was the afterlife and that the gods were not as cold as he thought. At least in the afterlife, they gave him a chance to glimpse at his heart's utmost desire.
"Elizabeth?" He managed to say. So this really was what his heart desired. After all the heartbreak and despair, he was still irrevocably in love with her. Unconditionally in love with her to the point that she was the center of his afterlife.
Perhaps, God wasn't cruel, but generous in different ways.
"Oh James! You finally woke up!" Elizabeth came closer to his view, beaming down at him with happiness. She looked just the same, bright eyed and bold smiles, and with beautiful brown curls framing her lovely face. His eyes scanned her face over and over, just to be sure that it was her. It was only until he looked at Elizabeth completely that James saw it.
"You are pregnant." There was a strangeness to it, seeing Elizabeth, lively and spirited Elizabeth with a round belly. It was an unsettling sight.
"I am." A proud smile graced her lips and her hands went to cradle her bump.
"And how far-" Judging by the roundness of her belly, James would expect her to deliver the child within a few months. Three at the most.
"Six months." She smiled again, coming closer and sat on the bed. Even from his spot, James could smell the light scent of water lily, her favorite flower.
"And do you have a name for the unborn baby?" He asked, not sure why such a question would escape his lips, but a smile was there nonetheless.
Something was not right here. There was a tugging, a whisper in the back of his mind. But given that this was his afterlife, it would only be natural that Elizabeth was having their child.
"I intend to name the boy after his father." She beamed, eyes becoming lost in the memories.
"And what of the father's opinion?" He mused.
"Will was named after his father too. And he did not disagree with my decision. But we shall have a nickname for him. I was thinking Henry is a good middle name." She grinned and the fragile illusion shattered.
"Will? As in Mr. Turner?" What was going on here? This was his afterlife, not Turner's. Unchecked jealousy crept up on him again, coupled with extreme annoyance. Turner, it appeared, was his rival in love in the afterlife too.
Elizabeth nodded, before a serious shadow fell over her. She reached out a tentative hand and caressed his face.
"I had been too caught up with personal excitement and was thus neglected to inform you of your condition."
"Elizabeth." He said, sacredly above a whisper.
"Yes, James?"
"Where am I?"
"Your home." She answered with a soft smile, hands reaching out to touch his resting ones. "We are in your bedroom."
"I know that." He replied, but was James where he was supposed to be? "I meant to ask if we are in the afterlife."
Elizabeth looked at him, eyes soft and bright, before a laugh escaped her lips and she smoothed out his frown with a gentle smile.
"This is what I've neglected to inform you of." She began, voice calm and patient. Inside, James was raging, demanding an answer to his situation.
He must be dead. He needed to be dead. He was dead. This cannot be-
"You were brought back to live." There it was. His damnation. His salvation. All packaged into those words.
"Is this a dream?" He asked again. "It must be. This has to be the afterlife, Elizabeth. It needs to be. I was dead. Davy Jones himself asked me if I-"
"You are back in the land of the living, James." Her answer was soft and the world stood still then.
Back to the land of the living. Back to the land of the living. He was alive, when he was supposed to be dead. How could it be?
"How?"
"Because Calypso had a debt to pay."
The drawing room of the Lady Savile's mansion was grand and majestic, with sunlight streaming through three large windows, adorned with magnificent curtains and thrown open to let the fresh air in. James stood in front of the opened window and admired the garden view it offered. Colorful, lively, and distinctively tropical. Strange for a woman that was so utterly English, even by her manner of speech and humor.
After admiring the garden and letting himself be at ease, James moved to other parts of the drawing room, observing and exploring the famed home of Port Royal. Even when the Governor was still alive, Lady Savile's mansion was still the grandest and most sought after for afternoon teas and lavish dinner parties. And even after the horror of Cutler Beckett, the mansion still commanded the same popularity.
The room was painted richly in white and yellow, three flower vases filled the air with sweetness, resting on tables made of shining marbles, completed with velvet cushioned chairs and decorated with numerous paintings. Lady Savile had an extensive collection of paintings, many of which were brought from England with her, and thus, served to make the Lady more sought after by the Port Royal elites. It was said that Lady Savile amassed paintings and sculptures from all over the known world, from the Spanish, the Dutch, and the French to the opulent Chinese, Indian, and civilized places in Africa. And standing here, in the Lady's drawing room, James could see that there was truth to her reputation.
"Admiral Norrington." James turned to find the butler, Mr. Davis, standing by the door.
"Lady Savile has requested that you meet her in her private study, sir."
"May I inquire why, Mr. Davis?" James asked from his spot.
"Lady Savile does not welcome visitors of any kind on Mondays, sir, and she insisted that her daily schedule remains the same, regardless of your visit." There was a hint of humor in Mr. Davis' voice, but James could not be sure.
"I see." He murmured with a nod of understanding. "Very well, I shall honor her request. Will you show me the way then, Mr. Davis?" He relented and followed the butler.
True to her words, Lady Savile was writing a letter when he entered the study. The room was just as grand and bedecked with paintings and flowers, with an open balcony overlooking the garden. The Lady sat behind a great wooden desk, filled with papers and letters and books. She was as imposing as ever, despite her age, and James could see the sharpness in her eyes even from his spot.
"Admiral Norrington." She greeted, not moving from her chair, a quill still in her hand.
"My Lady." He returned with a deep bow.
"This is an overdue visit." A biting remark, followed by an order. "Tea and biscuits will suffice, Mr. Davis."
With those words, the butler retreated with a bow and closed the door.
"I trust that you are well, my Lady."
"As well as an old crone can be, my dear." She replied before giving him a wrinkled smile.
"I have an urgent letter to write, so you must wait until this forgetful old lady finishes her letter." The Lady said, eyes already back to her half-written paper, quill ready in hand. Left with those words, James stood there, unsure of what to say. For her part, Lady Savile was diligently writing her letter, not once looking up at him as she scribbled away. And James was forced to comprehend the hilarity of the situation.
Since his resurrection, humor had become something he partook in more openly. So, faced with restlessness, James began to observe the room. Deep red walls, rich curtains, and fewer paintings. Actually, only two paintings were hung in the room. A grand depiction of a storm sat behind the Lady's desk, and the other, the other had James paused on his track.
This one was a portrait, hanging proudly on the wall across the balcony, and James almost did not believe what he was seeing.
It was a simple painting, possessing no pretentiousness nor hidden meaning. James stood in front of it, mesmerized by the likeness the painter had managed to capture. Catharina. There she was with her sun kissed golden curls cascading from the elegant neck adorned with a pearl necklace, a small smile gracing the full pink lips and the brilliance of her eyes captured perfectly in the painting.
It had been so long. Months and years, and yet the details were just how he remembered her. The person James longed to see most since his return, and the person who had evaded his presence since. Someone who had caused him to suffer sleepless nights and restless mornings, desiring nothing more than to see that face again, to hear the familiar laugh that was always echoing in his mind, and those haunted blue eyes. And most importantly, an explanation.
He did not know how long he stood there, enchanted by the painting. It felt like hours, and James did not care if he was being improper by inappropriately gaping at a painting of a woman. It had been too long and he needed this reminder, this agonizing reminder that she was out of his reach, unattainable as Elizabeth had been to him, but unlike Elizabeth, she was forever lost to him. She will always be out of my reach. The debt that I owe her can never be repaid.
It had been six months since his resurrection, and for some unknown reasons, not that James desired any explanation, his former ranks, including that damned promotion, had been restored to him. His death aboard the Flying Dutchman had been passed off as an unfortunate accident, in which his injured body was adrift at sea, recovered by some fishermen, and eventually returned to Port Royal.
Many of the citizens rejoiced at his return, and did not care much for the elaborate backstory. And James, bestowed with the people's love and renewed support once more, could accept the explanation that Elizabeth had given him and carried on with the perfect lie. And with his return to active duty, James had received and welcomed countless visits from influential town officials and citizens, but none from Lady Savile or her granddaughter, whose presence at Port Royal was as elusive as ever.
"If I desire it, I would gladly give you this painting, Admiral Norrington." Lady Savile's amused voice rang out, and James spun around, flushed and embarrassed to be caught staring at a portrait of her granddaughter. "But this is the only one I have, my dear. And as young as you are, I hope you understand the invaluable sacredness of such precious goods."
She sat on a cushioned chair, observing James with wry amusement, surrounded by a pot of tea, plates of biscuits, and the sweetness of flowers.
"Your kindness is unbefitting of me, my Lady." He bowed gracefully, adding a greeting. "I must apologize for this unannounced visit."
"You apologize too much, James." The fact that she called him by his Christian name in the most natural of tone reminded the Admiral of his own grandmother. A woman who had long passed from this life, and a dearly missed presence in his.
"Come and sit, I prefer that we speak without any pompous pretense. At my age, a person can only handle so much flattery and insincere sweetness, at least to the point of positively having murderous intentions." She flashed him a smile and James took his place on the cushioned chair across from her. "Not that these judgements are passed with you in mind, my dear."
"You are kind, Lady Savile."
"And yet you've been neglecting to pay a visit to this kind old lady." Her words were sharp and concise. "But being an Admiral in His Majesty's Navy comes with many time consuming tasks, I reckon."
"A cumbersome amount. Especially since Lord Beckett left many unfinished matters behind." James had been caught up with endless reports as well as cleaning up the mess left behind by the Lord.
"Even in death, that little fellow still imposes his irksome presence on this Port, her citizens and her Admiral." The Lady said, voice calm and without pretense. "Fortunately for us, our beloved Admiral has returned, fittingly restored to his deserved place."
"I would not think I am deserving of such a positive compliment." He answered, taking a sip of his tea.
"I do not give out compliments, my dear. Only assertions of the situation." James let out a small smile at that. In many ways, the old lady reminded him of Catharina. The steel, the fire, and the tempest all resting within the delicacy of her body.
"Then I am humbled by your words." He replied and she snorted, a small sound that was both biting and refreshing at once.
"Now that your confidence has been restored by me, you can tell me why you are here." The Lady picked up her tea cup, eyed him sharply before taking a sip from the fine china.
"May I inquire about the reasons behind my return to His Majesty's service?" His words were careful and full of trepidation. He was facing an opponent on an unknown battlefield, and James would not yield under the intense scrutiny of the Lady's eyes.
"You are the most well-suited to the task, especially in the cleaning up of that little fellow's burdensome matters. And as obtuse as he is sometimes, His Majesty is not wholly blind from a sound and just appointment."
"I believe there are far more deserving officers than me to handle this appointment."
"Have you grown bored of the sea, my dear?"
"No." Never. How could he ever grow bored of something so beautiful and yet equally perilous? "But in my sullen past, I acted greedily to earn redemption, something I did not earn fairly and with honor."
"One bad act does not wash out a lifetime of goodness. You are too harsh on yourself, James."
"It is time I pay for my sins." He murmured. His betrayal at Isla Cruces was the start of his spiraling to darkness on the path to find redemption. He mistook hope in the name of utter ruthlessness and in the end, regained his glorious past by losing his integrity.
"You paid for it with your life on that horrendous ship." Her words brought chills to his spine. She knew. Lady Savile-
"What? You didn't think I would be privy to such sensitive information? I do not live this long without learning a thing or two, my dear." She raised an eyebrow and took a bite from her biscuit.
"Only a few know." He muttered, slightly unhinged from the disclosure of information.
"Yes. You, me, Mrs. Turner, and my darling little dove." She answered in a tone that was too casual in the severity of the situation.
"Lady Howard?"
"Yes. The masterful architect behind your return." There was fondness in her voice at the mention of her granddaughter.
"And which return is that?" He asked, fighting an overwhelming urge to know. In which of his return was Catharina responsible? To life or to his place in the King's Navy?
"The return that matters most, wouldn't you say?" She took a sip from her tea cup again, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Although I must say, the little dove pleaded tremendously for your second return."
"My second return?" He asked, afraid of the answer. Of the ramification, the gratitude, the anger, and the curiosity it will ignite. James paused and placed his cup on the polished table, thousands of questions flooded his mind, with his emotions fighting to gain control.
"Like I said before, His Majesty is not blind to sound judgement, especially if it is a request from an old lady like me." A wicked smile was on her wrinkled face and James was at loss for words.
Why would Catharina do this? She owed him nothing, and yet it appeared that James owed her everything, especially coveted things that he did not deserve. There must be a logical explanation behind this. There must be. Was this why Catharina had been avoiding him? He had not seen her once, not even the passing of her carriage nor the mention of her name from Elizabeth.
"And why did you do such a thing for me, Lady Savile?" He asked, struggling to be in control of his raging emotions.
"You have the qualifications for it, and my granddaughter offered an indispensable payment in return. At my age, I could hardly ignore such a well struck bargain."
"What did Lady Howard offer you? I will gladly reimburse it in her place." He must not stand by and let Catharina pay his debts for him. No, James would not stand for it.
"As gallant as you are, my dear, I cannot fathom you honoring the bargain in her stead." A laugh escaped her and James sat there, adamant that he could.
"Why? If it was gold she offered, I will manage to repay it back. I do not wish to burden Catharina with my own debts." I already owe her too much.
"If it was gold, I do not think you will ever have enough to repay it back." The Lady mused, eyes observing every flicker of emotions on the boy's comely face.
"Then what did she offer you? You have my words that I will honor the bargain unconditionally. I only beg you to release Catharina from the deal. She does not know the depth of my debts to her and I do not wish to burden her anymore than I do now."
"Unconditionally? Are you prepared to honor the bargain no matter what?" She looked at him, eyes amused, and a dangerous smile on her lips. It occurred to him that the Lady did not disclose the details of the bargain struck, only a question.
"I am more than prepared to honor it. All I ask is for Catharina to be released from it." He nodded firmly, eyes determined and spirit ready to combat anything, even if it involved his resignation, but it mattered not, he did not earn it justly and will work harder to regain it again.
"Do I have your words then, James?" The Lady asked, picking up her cup and raising it to her lips, waiting for his answer.
"Yes." He said and she nodded and sipped her tea.
"Very well." She said at last, "I will see what I can do."
A month had passed since his audience with Lady Savile, James was as restless as ever. Despite being tempered with the Lady's assurance that the bargain will be transferred to his debts, there was trepidation on his mind. And while James was prepared to give up his post and other monetary payment, he was still anxious as to what the Lady would demand of him. Given his standing, James could only give her his resignation from His Majesty's Navy or all of his accumulated assets, including the house that he built years ago and his inheritance from his father. Either or, James could be a penniless man if the situation called for it. He was willing to do whatever it takes to-
"Sir, we have arrived." The coachman announced, opening the carriage door. Within seconds, he composed himself and stepped out. The air was fresh and the sunlight was on his face and they calmed his raging thoughts significantly.
Since the birth of Elizabeth's Little Will (albeit the babe was christened Henry William), James had taken his role as the godfather with extreme devotion. He would visit the Turner home as often as his duty allowed, and the little boy grew with each visit. The last time, the lad cooed and laughed at his ill-attempted effort to sing him a lullaby. Elizabeth had laughed at his effort and bemoaned his own lack of a family.
"It is half past time you find yourself a wife, James." She would always remind him of his own bachelorhood, and how ready he was to be a husband, and a father.
Elizabeth had even suggested that he did not need to marry anyone, and fatherhood can come without the vows of matrimony.
But he was not that desperate or reckless, he reminded her, given the last time. James had been too desperate and too deliriously in love to not see the full consequences of his ill-suited love. But now, the love shared between him and Elizabeth was a love of friendship and trust, a platonic innocent love between old friends, a love without passionate embraces or sleepless nights.
"I trust you did not bring any gift with you this time, James." Elizabeth opened the door with a smile on her face and a hand on her hips. Motherhood suited her, but the fiery chasm of her spirit remained just as hot and alive as before.
"You are not stripping me of my godfather duties just because I love to spoil the lad, are you?" He asked, reaching to give her a chaste kiss on her cheeks.
"It is something I have considered before." There was laughter in her brown eyes and James chuckled and entered the house. The home was modest and cozy, perfect for a mother and her child. Elizabeth had bought the house with the assets left behind by the Governor and with her control over the budget, their lives will be lived without worries.
"But I must tell you, Little Will and I have a gift as well." She took his arm and walked them to the drawing room, modestly sized with sunlight filtering through the windows.
"Lizzie, I must say, this little rascal looks more like you than Will." A voice called out.
For a second James expected it to be Jack Sparrow lurking in the corner, but it was not him. James was sure he would recognize Sparrow's voice if he were here, but those words were spoken softly with humor, and they distinctively belonged to a woman.
The nameless lady had her back on them, with Little Will on her arms as she cooed over the babe. From his spot, James could see her long hair, loose and in waves and lit by the sunlight, cascading from her bare shoulders. Upon hearing their footsteps, the woman turned around, golden hair twirling around her as she greeted them with a smile and Little Will. No, it cannot be.
"Please do not make me regret making you his godmother as well, Catharina." Next to him Elizabeth laughed, letting go of his arms and walked over to her baby boy.
Christ. James stood there, breath hitched, heart standing still, and mind racing towards oblivion. Was this a dream? It must be. He had forgotten her voice, the softness and the light humor of her tone, but within seconds of seeing her, James felt it.
Everything was rushing back to him, of that night underneath the stars, of them visiting Sparrow before the scheduled hanging, of her lips on his cheek as her payment for his small act of kindness, of her stinging betrayal and cunning manipulation of his offered friendship, of the maddening sight of her on the Pearl as he chased Sparrow across the Seven Seas, and of the bargain she had struck in exchange for his life. James Norrington stood there, flooded with these memories and whirlpool of emotions, unable to conjure up a coherent string of words, a proper sentence.
"He is hungry again." Elizabeth said, taking Little Will from Catharina with ease.
"What do you expect? They are always greedy for something." Catharina chuckled, looking down at the babe with a small smile.
"I will be back." He heard Elizabeth say.
"Try to not overindulge him, Lizzie." Catharina remarked with a grin and received a playful scoff from Elizabeth.
"I do not dare. He already has a devoted godfather and a dedicated godmother to spoil him to no ends." With those words, the mother and child left for the upstairs nursery.
The silence that fell upon them was tense and awkward, James knew not what to say or do, while Catharina stood there with an unreadable expression on her face.
"You look well, Admiral Norrington." She was the first to speak, moving closer to him but they remained apart and standing. Before, Catharina was standing next to the windows, but now she was a mere two feet away from him, tall and proud and real.
It had been almost two years since he last saw her, but she looked just the same, only slightly taller with longer hair. Her eyes were ever bright and full of joy, her smiles ever wicked and teasing, and her face still retained the same unearthly innocence that had ensnared so many unfortunate souls. But by her poise and manner of speech, James dared say that her youth and vivacity were now tempered with maturity and wisdom. While she was a wildfire before, reckless and greedy for the fulfillment of her desires, now there was a calmness to her, a serenity that was finally becoming of her womanhood.
"You know, I had hoped that you would abandon your rigid adherence to propriety after your return from the other world. But alas, I fear even Calypso can only do so much." After receiving silence in response, Catharina continued with her observation, arms clasped and eyes dancing with laughter.
"I had looked for you after my return." He managed to say. Anger, annoyance, happiness and curiosity fighting to gain control within his body.
"Did you? I am most touched by this confession." She placed a hand on her chest, and James took notice of her dress. It was hardly proper, this cerulean dress that looked more like a shift than anything. The thin material was almost translucent under the streaming sunlight. By standing a few feet away and facing her, James could make out her figure, shapely with a small waist and big hips, and her cleavage rising and falling with every breath. It was not proper for an Admiral to openly stare at a Lady, but given their association, James could ignore his own disobedience.
"Where were you?" He asked, looking up to face her.
"I was not here." She shrugged, eyes meeting him in return.
"Then where?"
"England."
"Why? Your grandmother was here." I was here. I was here needing your explanation and you saw it fit to leave me without one.
"My family needed me, so I returned."
"And now you are back." The inquisitiveness was unlike him, but at that moment, James did not care.
"And now I am back. Did you miss me?" A smile dangled on her lovely face, but her tone was of a mocked reproach.
James said nothing, only composing himself to remain calm in his dealings with the uncharted water ahead. She was the uncharted water, so ever foreign yet magnetic to the point of subtle familiarity. She spoke as if nothing important had transpired since the last time they met. To him, this alone vexed and unhinged him greatly.
"I must admit you look rather dashing in your new uniform. The old one was a tattered mess when I saw you last. Well, both the uniform and its owner." Sensing his silence, Catharina continued, moving closer to him. Now, she was standing next to the armchair, observing him with an amused expression.
"And when was that?" He asked, perplexed by her admission.
"You were inebriated then, stinking of rum and filth and Tortuga." She answered, regarding him with eyes that were searching for his very soul. "I am assuming that you do not have any recollection of that encounter."
No matter how drunk he was, James was positively convinced that if Catharina had crossed paths with him in Tortuga, he would remember the encounter. A sight as lovely as she amongst the drunkards, whores, and heathen filths of Tortuga would be hard to miss, let alone encountered. Yes, James was certain that he would remember the sight of her.
"Are you sure it was me? It could have been another drunk." He reasoned. Since the days that Beckett promoted him, James had put that period of darkness behind him. His experience in Tortuga, of wasting days away with rum and wenches, often stirred up his self-loathing, reaching the point of destructive self-doubts and invoking his insecurities countless times. Yet strangely enough, he did not feel the usual animosity as he stood there, talking about it with her. Unlike Elizabeth, who pitied him, Catharina was rather upfront about it, treating it as if they were discussing the weather.
"I would recognize you anywhere." She shrugged with a grin. "Even when you were an oblivious drunk, your manners were as polished as ever."
"Difficult lessons to unlearn."
"Hm." She nodded, sparing a glance to the window.
"You stopped and talked to me?" He frowned, hating himself for those nights, where rum filled his blood and mind. Tortuga was an endless cycle of personal hell for James, and each night and day were passed with oblivion, alcohol, and the company of a wench (if James had enough coins to spare).
"You are my friend, why wouldn't I talk to you? Besides, personal hygiene is hardly a valid reason to hinder our friendship, wouldn't you think?"
"No, but treachery is." The ever present smile on her face faltered slightly with his response, and James saw something behind those eyes.
"You should have known."
"That would have saved me a lot of trouble." He muttered and she nodded, as if she was admitting her guilt.
"And spared you from the pit of darkness and chaos." She moved again, this time barely a feet away from him. A gust of wind flew by from the opened window and carried her scent to him. She smelled of the sea, of the salt and the fresh air, of turquoise water and of roses. And the scent stirred the sleeping beast inside him and James resisted the urge to reach out and shake her, demanding answers for his revival.
"I am sorry that I was unkind in my treatment of you, James." She said, saying his name for the first time. His name on her lips sounded like a note of music with a touch of subtle familiarity.
"Isn't it a tad too late now?"
"Do you think so?" She grinned, eyes flashing with mischievousness before seriousness took over. "On my part, I think I have done enough to earn your forgiveness."
"I didn't know you wanted it." He murmured.
"Why else would Calypso return you to this world?" She asked, making light of the situation, as if his return from the dead was just another inconsequential event in her life.
"I am curious as well." He answered, taking a step towards her. Anyone else would have reacted, but not her. She was as unmovable and dauntless as the mountains. "For seven months now, the same question plagues my mind. Why did you do it? You had no reason to." The last part came out as a whisper, and Catharina looked at him, eyes closed off and unreadable.
"I was taught to repent for my sins."
"So I am a sin then? Something to be washed over and forgotten by your small act of kindne?." He scoffed, angered that she would treat this important development as if it carried no personal value to her.
"Our very own conception is a sin, James." She retorted with mockery, before answering. "I was repenting for my own past sins. My careless mistreatment of our friendship and my own selfish desires pushed me to commit certain acts that caused the downfall of certain persons in my life. I am only doing my best to fix the wrongs."
"And I suppose I owe you my sincerest form of gratitude?" He asked, knowing full well that it was not her intention. But his anger at being kept in the dark and away from her had gotten the best of him.
"You owe me nothing." She turned and moved to the windows.
Liar! You traded your freedom for my very uniform.
"You talk as if it is merely business between us." He said, eyes lingering on her back, wishing to see her face again.
"All friendships are business investments. Many of us are just more talented in concealing them." She scoffed, sparing him a quick glance.
"And you are one of them." He said and she laughed, but there was no humor in her voice.
"I am relieved to see that your honesty remains the same, James."
"And I am certainly glad to see that you are as full of deceits as ever." He retorted and she spun around, eyes narrowed as she regarded him.
"I am a woman. It is to be expected." She smirked, looking over his shoulders. "Lizzie knows the truth of my words."
Sure enough, Elizabeth stood there with a stormy expression on her face, and yet laughter was in her eyes. It was a biting remark, and James knew that it was intended to injure his pride, of an old wound, of a lost love.
"Your tongue is as sharp and full of mockery as ever, Catharina." Elizabeth said with a frown.
"You'd be surprised to know how many opponents I have defeated with this tongue of mine."
"The court of His Majesty must have been entertaining for you then."
"A pit filled with insipid little fools and overly ambitious clowns." Catharina replied with a scoff. "You can imagine how ecstatic I was when Grandmother summoned me back."
"Ecstatic? Is that an appropriate word to describe your emotional state?" Elizabeth replied, raising a brow and her eyes were full of inquisitiveness. James frowned upon seeing the looks exchanged between the two women. Clearly they were hiding something, or otherwise assuming that he too had already been privy to the secret.
"As ecstatic as one can be." Catharina sighed, sitting down on the armchair and Elizabeth joined her as well, occupying the other chair. "Lizzie, I am already dreading my future prospects."
"It cannot be that bad can it? I am sure your Grandmother will take your own personal happiness into account." Elizabeth's voice was gentle, and from his spot, James could see that her eyes reflected the same gentleness.
"There is a reason why she is an old crone." Catharina muttered, "And it is not by sparing a thought for another person's happiness."
"There is no certainty in that." Elizabeth replied.
"Of course there is. One must only look at the matches the old crone has arranged for her children."
"The situation was different then."
"And the old crone's claws remain as sharp as a lion's."
"You must not despair."
"I am not. I am merely dreading the notion of sharing a bed with a half witted oaf with too much wealth to spare." A sigh escaped Catharina and James stood there, the meaning of those words finally reaching the depth of his consciousness.
"What did you say?" No. This cannot be.
"Are you deaf, James?" Catharina asked, eyes full of ridicule at his question. It was as if she expected him to know.
"You are to be married?" He uttered, eyes ablaze with confusion and exasperation.
"Yes." Her word struck him like a sword, deep and painful and unexpected that James knew not to respond.
An indispensable form of payment. Indispensable as in Catharina's hands in marriage.
James fumed as he waited for Lady Savile in her parlour. A whirlpool of indignation, annoyance, and pure anger arose within him. The Lady had given him her words that Catharina will be released from the bargain. But upon hearing the news of her impending marriage to some faceless, nameless half-witted oaf from the lips of the said lady, James could no longer remain calm. Thus, he went to the Lady's sprawling mansion the very next day to inquire on the situation.
"You should try to smile, my dear. A hard man who doesn't smile is every woman's nightmare." The old crone entered the drawing up with that pompous statement, her butler trailing behind her.
"It appears that my humor has been sidelined due to many sudden pressing concerns." He answered, giving the Lady a deep bow.
"And you are in need of my advice?" She raised a brow and gave him a wrinkled smile, before dismissing the butler with a wave of the hand.
"An explanation if you will." He replied, sitting down on the small chair across the Lady.
"What explanation do you require of me?"
"You failed to clarify the terms of Lady Howard's payments when we last talked." James prided himself on his calm composure, no matter the situation, be it a storm or a battle with a cunning old crone.
"Did I?"
"Yes."
"The terms of my granddaughter's payment is none of your concern, my dear." The old crone's eyes were sharp as ever, despite the wrinkled skin surrounding it.
"If I were to honor the bargain in her stead, it is only appropriate that I am privy to the sensitive information."
"And what sensitive information do you think you are privy to?" The Lady replied, mockery lacing with gentleness.
"You've neglected to tell me about Lady Howard's impending marriage."
"You failed to ask."
"I did not know." He stated, eyes ablaze with fire.
"Well now you do. Satisfied, my dear?" Another maddening smile that was full of deceptions. Through his interactions with Lady Savile and Catharina, James could see the similarities shared between them. And he shuddered at the thought of Catharina turning into the older woman.
"You gave me your words that you would release the Lady from the bargain." He continued, pressing his case with determination.
"But not with absolute certainty. I only assured you that I will do my best." Lady Savile shook her head, a smile permanent on her lips.
"And forcing her to marry is the best you could do?" He was being improper and rude, but James did not care less. He would give the Lady his resignation here and then if she so desired it.
"I cannot force her, my dear. The little dove is tamed for now, but she is as immovable as mountains if she so desired it."
"And she desired this marriage?" He pressed on.
"Not necessarily."
"Then you are forcing her."
"She is doing her duty." The Lady stated, grey eyes looking into his indignant ones. "Do not make the mistake of presuming my granddaughter will be wed for the sole purpose of redeeming you and your career, Admiral Norrington." Her words were sharp and relentless in their attack.
"She is a grown woman, and in three months, will be five and twenty." The Lady reminded him gently, " Catharina has realized that it is time she fulfills her duty as a Howard."
"And to have her settle for a loveless marriage? You cannot be that cruel to her, Lady Savile." He said, voice wavering after the old crone's onslaught.
"She is my granddaughter. I intend to wed her to a fine gentleman of the best possible background."
"And may I inquire about the characters of Lady Howard's future husband?" Those words tasted like bile in his mouth.
"An honorable fool." The Lady answered. "Who is respected by all, possessing admirable traits in his personal and professional conducts."
Her eyes softened significantly and James could see it in her that there was sincerity in her words.
"Will he make her happy?" He asked, eyes searching for reassurance.
"I am not as cruel as to ignore my little dove's happiness, my dear." Lady Savile answered, a smile on her lips.
"Very well then. I hope that the man you picked will make her happy." The taste of bile was once again rising, and James felt the weight of the world on him, coupled with his inability to change the situation that he so desired to bring change to.
"I should think so, but my granddaughter is rather blind when it comes to these things."
"Then I pray that the groom will have some sense to treat Lady Howard with the love and respect she deserves.."
"We shall see to that, my dear." The old crone's eyes twinkled with amusement and mischievousness, but James was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to notice the softening of her steely eyes.
"Do not tell me you are here to fight for my honor, James." Her voice rang out just as James was about to leave. He stopped, spared a glance at the butler, and spun around. Catharina stood at the bottom of the elegant staircase, an amused smile on her lips.
"Lady Howard, I trust that you are well." He nodded and gave her a slight bow as she approached.
"As well as I could be." She answered, coming to a stop in front of him. And like that scandalous dress she had on yesterday, her outfit today was equally revealing. The white gown showed off her smooth shoulders and bared her bosom in ways that would have garnered attention. And she was made more daring by the crown braid that sat atop of her head, giving her the look of a Roman goddess. James spared a quick glance to the butler, whose eyes were leveled to the ground, and breathed a sigh of relief.
"Do you require a shawl, Lady Howard?" He asked, eyes on her.
"Hardly. The Caribbean climate agrees with me." She shrugged, "Besides, my skin has been away from the sun for far too long. I must do whatever it takes to make it glow in radiance again." A laugh escaped her lips as she grabbed his arm and walked him away from the door.
"Come and walk with me in the garden, James." Her disregard for propriety remained the same and James suppressed a smile at her carefree attitude.
"But we shall need a chaperone. It is not proper for-"
"Unless you have malicious intentions toward me, I do not think my honor will ever be compromised when I am in your company, James." She said, sparing him a glance before turning to the butler.
"And Mr. Davis here knows that I remain the most devout and chaste of all maids and you the most honorable Admiral of His Majesty's Navy." The elderly butler only nodded and gave them a curt smile.
"We shall be under the canopy, Mr. Davis. You are welcome to bring us some tea and refreshment when the time is appropriate." With those words, Catharina took his arms and headed for the garden.
"While my great grandfather and great uncle got themselves entangled in that Popish Plot, my grandmother was busy securing the family's fortune by distancing herself and arranging that damned match for my deceased uncle." Catharina recounted apathetically as they walked amongst the trees.
With her hands on his offered arm and her steps matching his very own, James briefly wondered if this could be his future. But as quickly as he had conjured it up, the rational voice inside his head demanded his return to reality. The woman on his arms was to be married off to another, some respectable gentleman with admirable qualities.
James had half a mind to order his subordinates to gather all the names of the eligible bachelors of Port Royal and see to it if the man in question was truly an honorable gent. But his own rational self had put a stop to it, ridiculing him for entertaining such dramatic action as means to assure himself of Catharina's happiness.
"You must know my great uncle, or at least, his ship. The Norfolk, the proud flagship of-" Catharina continued, oblivious to her companion's discomfort.
"Admiral Sir John Balchen." He answered with a fond smile. The great sir was one of James' heroes within the Royal Navy and the Admiral was a good friend of his own father, Admiral Lawrence Norrington. Admiral Balchen's dedication, determination, and steadfast commitment to the cause and his men were the traits James modeled his own values on. And in his days captaining Dauntless, James imparted those traits on his men and crew members.
"The Admiral was a good man."
"He was." He replied.
"Do you remember the very first time you set sail?" She asked, glancing at him with her smiling eyes.
"As if it was yesterday." He answered, remembering every detail and emotion he had felt that day. "I was a child of five when my father took me with him on a mission to capture a famous pirate. In the beginning, he managed to capture the pirate and his son, but the scoundrel's crew came to their rescue. And in the midst of the battle, my clumsy and scared five years old self was knocked overboard, and I was rescued by the very pirate that my father despised."
"Afterwards, my father, no matter how grateful he was, said that he would rather see me at the bottom of the sea than to have his son saved by a filthy pirate." James relived the event with every word. To this date, he could still hear the sound of his father's hand on his cheek. It was not a happy experience, but it had shaped him more than he realized.
"That was his pride talking." Catharina said, "But his words shaped your philosophy greatly."
"My philosophy has somewhat changed." He responded with a frown.
"Thank the gods. Else, you still would have been an insufferable little twat and I would not have been as motivated to seek out your friendship." She spared him a smile, "And your life would have been dreadfully dull."
"Little twat?" He raised a brow and she shrugged.
"Big twat doesn't have the same ring to it."
"As long as it is between us." He conceded.
"I do have a fondness for secrecy." Her eyes twinkled as she looked at him. "Did you ever find out who the pirate was?"
"No. I was too young and scared to remember and my father does not speak of that fateful trip with fondness."
"Do you wish to know who it was?" She stopped and turned to him.
"What good will it bring to talk about something that had happened decades before?" He asked.
"A lesson."
"Of what nature? If I ever have kids, I do not think I can bring them with me on my voyages, for I do not wish to impart the same traumatic experience on them."
"That the world is smaller than you think." She answered, "The pirate that you encountered is Captain Edward Teague and his son is now your dearly beloved mortal enemy. Or is it a civil acquaintance? I must admit that I do not have a clear knowledge of your relationship with the latter."
"Captain Teague?"
"The Keeper of the Code."
"And his son?"
"A troublesome little sparrow who wishes to emulate the Captain's success."
"Jack Sparrow?" Realization dawned on him. That treacherous sparrow was the same boy who had a hand in his rescue? No, it cannot be.
"The one and only." She smiled, and began to walk again.
"It appears that I have a talent for accumulating debts." He remarked, adding the damned scoundrel to his list.
"You owe Jack nothing." Catharina threw her head back and laughed, so ever carefree.
"Perhaps, but I owe you everything." He said, eyes firmly planted ahead but he felt her gaze on him and the sound of her laughter ceased upon hearing his words.
"Nonsense." She replied curtly, feet kept on moving.
"I do not wish to see you suffer at my expense."
"Do you think my grandmother is daft enough to match me with an ill-reputed man?"
"You told me how she cared little for your uncles and their marriages."
"Oh yes, but my uncles are not as cruel as I. Their wives, while not loved by them, were treated with the utmost respect and good intentions. I, on the other hand, cannot be guaranteed to bestow the same tolerance." The implication of her words were not lost on James and it struck him then that there was much he did not know about her.
Catharina continued, giving him the most innocent smile. "Say what you will about my grandmother, but she is not a cruel woman. The old crone will not send an innocent man to his death unless she knows that he will be fully equipped to challenge me."
"You cannot be serious, Catharina."
"I hope I do not have to be. Besides, a widow's garb does not look good on me." She turned and looked straight in the eyes. "Black has never been my colour."
"And what is?" He asked, eyes locked with hers.
"White." She grinned before leaving his arm and gave a quick twirl, white dress following her lithe movement. "I look so innocent in white, don't you think?"
"Virginal, unspoiled, and ready to be plucked." Her voice was sonorous and her eyes bore into him with the intensity of a thousand suns.
"And red does give off a striking contrast against a white backdrop." She added and twirled closer to him. "I have always been a painter who likes red and white, with a touch of Midas gold."
"And of just how many men have you painted red against your white dress?" He asked, a storm raged within at the thought of her and other men. The thought of her unblemished skin being ravished savagely was enough to dampen his mood.
"A few." She answered, moving closer now and James could feel her intoxicating scent again. "But always with their blood."
"And never yours? Not even once?" He asked, eyes steady and voice a semblance of control.
At his inquisition, Catharina pressed herself against him, reached up, lips moving to his ear and her whisper sent a shiver throughout his body, like a bolt of lightning. "My own blood does not shed that easy, dearest James."
She pulled away just as quickly and her lighthearted disposition returned once more, the brightness of her blue eyes also returned, accompanied with a smile on her lips. Seconds ago, she was a vixen and a seductress, but now she looked as sweet as the summer sky. James stood there, speechless as a humourless laugh escaped his mouth.
Now, he was starting to see why Sparrow had failed and remained sorely tempted to find success in his mission. Catharina Howard was just as complicated and perplexed as she was chaste and devout. And these traits enhanced her appeal and unattainability exponentially. And she is not yours! She'll never be.
"That alone does not reassure me that you will find happiness in your marriage."
"Should I be touched that you care so much for my personal happiness?" I will be thankful if your future husband makes you smile.
"It is your freedom that matters most to me and I do not wish to see it taken away."
"No one is truly free, James." She replied, voice suddenly melancholic. "We are all bound to the world and its machinations. Freedom is a tangible concept that has enraptured so many, but only a selected few can see the treacherous nature behind it."
"Just like you?"
"Just like me." She grinned, took his arm and resumed their walk. It was a beautiful day out and the sun glowed against the backdrop of the blue sky. So much like the woman in his arms.
"I could always resign and nullify the agreement you had struck, Catharina." He offered meekly and Catharina paused on their track.
"You will do no such thing."
"If it means I can release you from the-"
"I mean it, James. You will do no such thing." She stood and looked at him again, and unlike before, there was fire in her eyes, resolute and terrible to behold. " The commission is yours to do as you wish, but do not resign just because you wish to rescue me from the bargain."
"To use a woman as an excuse is pure cowardice." He said, vouching for his own reasons.
"Then accept your redemption like a man, James." She declared, her hands suddenly on his face, cradling his cheeks and leveled his body to her. At this angle, James could see her eyes, as blue as the water of the Caribbean sea and the sky, flecked with gold and framed with long eyelashes. Yet beneath the beauty, a fire was brewing and James felt his throat go dry.
"I am your friend and this is what friends do for one another. They lend a hand in a time of need. The last time, no one was there to pick you up and thus you saw it fit to waste your life away on that God forsaken island. But this time, this time, I will not let you waste your potential. I swear it, James." Her tone was sound and sure. "I traded in my precious wish for your life and I will never forgive you if you squander it all away by indulging in self-pity and doubts. I need you to be the man you are, not a shadow of that drunkard in Tortuga who is forever afraid and ashamed of his sullied past. You have paid for it with your life once, and once is enough to last a lifetime."
She paused, checking to see if he was listening. "I was going to be married off either or, but restoring you to the life you deserve, a life you have fought and bled for gave me a purpose, a reason. The world has failed you once, James, and I swear it will not fail you again."
"Catharina" He did not know what to say.
"Do you understand?" Her hold on his face tightened, but the fire in her eyes never waned. James looked at her and felt as light as a feather, as if the weight of the world had left his shoulders. Her words were sincere, wise, and true. It was half past time, James exorcised his ghost from the past and rejoiced in his second chance. But a part of James could not abandon the notion that she was to be married to someone else. Someone that wasn't-
"Good. We will not speak of this matter again, James." With those words, her palms retreated from his face and the imprint she had left behind was felt, void and in need of her warm touch again.
Catharina then marched a few steps ahead and James could only follow her with his eyes. Incoherent with his words, coupled with an internal battle of redemption, honour, and desires, he knew not what to say.
Then as if she knew that he was not moving, Catharina turned around, a radiant smile on her lips, and raised a hand to him.
"Come, you must tell me about your adventures in Tortuga. The hour is right for reminiscence and I have a few stories to match." She grinned, a smile full of sincerity, confidence, and easiness that James felt the beating of his heart increased drastically.
And against his wishes, his languished heart had begun to yearn for an endless spring under the guidance of the sun.
A/N: Thank you for reading! Feel free to drop a line and share what you think. This work is over 5 years old and it's something I occasionally go back and rewrite. The next one will conclude the trilogy.