Terribly sorry about the two-week break! If you are still with me, have a virtual cookie! Chapters should be updated weekly from now on.
Many thanks to Arquenniel, Telcontar Rulz, hurricane1714, and AKA Parfait! I really appreciate your reviews!!
Disclaimer: All lyrics in this story belong to their respective owners. Not me. :)
Chapter 8: Northwest
Emma, of course, had heard nothing of her husband's conversation with his father and was now conferring her full attention to the young woman lying on the bed cocooned in the three blankets.
The girl was obviously of a tender age, likely nineteen or twenty. Her features were pallid in the soft afternoon light but beautiful. Unlike Emma, who possessed a quiet, dainty beauty, this woman was strikingly attractive almost to the point of stunning.
Her hands were slender and calluses lined the skin on the palm but it was clear by the neatly trimmed nails that this girl was of high breeding.
It was a puzzle indeed. The girl was clothed in a fine, creamy white dress that looked oddly familiar and Emma would have presumed this woman was wealthy. But wrapped over the dress was a plain leather overcoat and on her fourth finger on the left hand lay a simple gold wedding band, nothing fancy or extravagant.
Wouldn't a woman who could afford such a dress buy herself jewels or at least a woman's coat? And if she wouldn't why not her husband, since the woman was apparently married?
Ever so gently and shoving away the inquiries pelting her, Emma pulled away the watery tendrils of blond hair away from the pale face and pulled out another blanket to try and wring out some of the icy sea water from the heavy locks.
She had just touched the sopping hair resting behind the girl when the aforementioned woman shot forward, "Will!"
Emma was so startled all normal greetings fled her mind and she stood, dumfounded.
The wide, panic filled amber eyes shot over to where Emma stood and froze. "Will, please, I need him." The slim arms clung around the young woman's womb and she began to sob helplessly. "I need him."
"I-it's alright, miss. Just relax. I'm sure…Will is perfectly fine." Her senses returned and her tongue finally started to cooperate with her mind's commands.
The young woman eyes cleared and she looked at Emma anew. "W-where am I?"
"You are aboard the Watcher. We found you moments ago in the water. I'm Emma Blanchard." To Emma this girl looked precisely like a cornered animal, helpless and frightened half to death. "Do not worry. This is my father-in-law's ship. No one will hurt you here."
The young woman stayed silent.
"Do you…have a name?"
No response.
"Would you like some broth…or tea?"
Nothing.
"Perhaps you wish to sleep…"
"Elizabeth Turner."
"I beg your pardon?"
"My name…its Elizabeth Turner."
"Ah, well, then. It's good to meet you Elizabeth." Emma bestowed her with a warm smile and then turned to leave. "I'll go fetch you something warm to eat."
Jack had a problem before him. One that even rum couldn't mend.
Elizabeth was missing and he had the unfortunate duty to find her. Huffing and puffing, he'd made his way to the captain's cabin and was now staring at the object sitting in the center of his desk.
His compass.
It would find what he wanted most in the world. The only hitch was that Elizabeth was most definitely not what he wanted most in the world. She was beautiful, to be sure, dazzling even.
But her temper topped that of Scarlet and Giselle.
And she burned rum.
Grimacing, he gingerly lifted the compass and flicked it open, flinching as if it would burn him. "Find the whelp's bonny lass, savvy?"
The compass needle spun in dizzying circles as if to mock him.
He slammed it closed and gave it a firm shake. "Work, stupid thing."
Maybe if his eyes were closed and he said her name over and over. Jack tried again and the result was the same.
Resisting the impulsive idea to throw the thing overboard, he settled instead for giving it a firm whack on his desk.
"I want to find 'Lizbeth." He told the item firmly, "since the whelp would have my guts for garters if anything happened to her. And if anything happened to me then something would happen to you."
He set it in the center of the desk and closed his eyes. "Lizbeth…I want to find Lizbeth." He let one eye slide open.
"Gibbs!" he hollered, staring at his compass as if it would hop up and attack him.
"Cap'n?"
Jack's eyes wouldn't move from that lovely, blessed red arrow pointing in-between a large 'N' and a 'W'. "Northwest, now!"
"Where is she from? Do we know anything about her?" Charles inquired as his wife bustled around the tiny galley gathering a few things.
"Her name is Elizabeth Turner. She and her husband lived in Port Royal. Her father is the Governor there, you know, Weatherby Swann? Wonderful old man." She grinned, lifted a bowl and began filling it with warm broth from a bubbling pot nearby.
"But do we know anything about her?"
"She's so scared, Charles, scared for William, her husband." Emma dropped the ladle and hugged herself tightly. "To not know where he is…or if he's even alive…" She shuddered.
"Emma," Charles folded her against him, "She is probably exaggerating. Over-tired and under stress. Have you checked for a fever?"
"She isn't making this up, Charles. She told me all about it, details and everything. He is a blacksmith and was forced into the Army." Emma fingered the smooth overcoat her husband wore. "We have to help her."
"But Emma-"
"Charles, what if that was me lying in that bed in our cabin, shivering from the cold, pregnant, alone and worrying myself into a frenzy about you?"
"It's different."
"Is it?" Emma demanded. "Is it really so hard to imagine? That could be me. You and I both know it." She extracted herself from his embrace, snatched up the food, and whirled out the door before he could utter a word.
"Em-" He ended the name, knowing she wouldn't hear him and even if she did it was highly unlikely that she would come back. If only he had remembered how volatile and touchy women's emotions became when they were pregnant. Sighing, he went to follow her. She would calm in a moment and then he would make things right.
If this woman, Elizabeth Turner, needed help he would not be the one to hold back a generous hand if only for a little dark haired woman he called his.
Rain comes over the grey hills,
And on the air, a soft goodbye.
Hear the song that I sing to you,
When the time has come to fly.
When I leave and take the wing,
And find the land that fate will bring,
The brightest star in the evening sky,
Is your love waiting far for me.
The Soft Goodbye
Celtic Woman
Will's mind was whirling with thoughts as he punctured the sun-scorched earth with an old spade just outside the outpost enclosure.
He had counted the number of soldiers that morning and as far as he could see it was fairly small. Only twenty men held the area and with the heat strokes they were often lazy.
The previous day the soldier had let down their guard, which was lax at best, slightly to eat their midday meal. Tomorrow, he had been informed, Captain Hawthorne would come to check on him. He didn't know when but he wasn't going to wait to find out.
He was going to run the moment they sat down to eat.
Keeping one eye on the cluster of soldiers, he shoved the spade into the earth again and scooped out the dry dirt.
Moments passed in agony and perspiration began to build on his forehead, sliding down into his eyes. Still, the lunch had not come.
The golden globe of light forming the sun reached its peak and passed it. No meal. Clouds unfurled across the sky. No meal. Rain began to pelt the soil, eroding away the plants and showering trees. No meal. Lighting lit up the sky. No meal and no signal to quit working, only the ever watching eyes.
One guard did speak on Will's behalf though, "Don't ya think we should call it a day? This weather isn't likely to clear up soon."
"Nah, he'll be fine. Do 'im some good, I reckon." The second guard toyed with the tip of the barrel on his musket. "I'd be more concerned about if this gets the powder wet. That'd be right nasty."
The first nodded and held his peace.
Will swiped away his sopping wet hair. He was now soaked through, and scraped out another lump of mud. Yet even as the rain fell an idea pricked at Will's mind.
The guards clearly thought that this weather would impede any escape attempt on his part. Now was the perfect time to strike. They were cold, wet, hungry, and sleepy.
Tense and uneasy, he waited, biding his time in the work.
When the moment came, Will hardly recognized it. A lanky girl in her early teens with a pale face and voluminous blue eyes approached the two guards and mutely held up a steaming iron pot.
They took it, also without a word, and didn't even wait for the willowy girl to leave before dividing the diluted soup between the two of them.
Will let the slippery handle fall from his fingers and crouched in the sheets of rain. The two guards were pouring the weak chowder into bowls.
He sprang towards the woods, wincing each time the mud squelched under his worn boots. The rain seemed almost silent and each smacking, sucking noise the mud made it made Will feel as though it was trying to pull him under.
Faster! You won't make it if you run like this! He thought.
No, quiet! Slow down!
No! Quick! They'll never look up from their dinner! Just run! Don't think! Run! Fast-
"Hey!" The two men's voices hollered from behind, muffled by the rain.
Now you've done it! Run! Will pumped his legs harder, increasing the distance between him and the encampment. The fringes of the forest whipped past in a dark green blur.
Crashing and the noises of wood splintering following him kept the adrenaline surging and he sped on. His mind became machine-like, calculating distances and foliage positions with cool acceptance. He could not afford to panic. Not now. Later that would come. But not now.
Tree. Go left. Bush. Right. Rocks. Right again.
And all the while he kept repeating, faster, faster, like some kind of mantra lending speed to his fatigued muscles.
Deep gullies of mud sucked at his ankles, struggling to hold him back. Bushes clung to his tattered coat and tore at the skin beneath the cloth.
There was a loud crack and for a moment he felt nothing at all. Then a horrible spasm of pain knifed up his side and he felt a strange warmth spreading down his side.
Gasping for air, he continued to run and slowly the crashing behind him faded and all was still.
Yet, he did not stop. His legs siphoned energy he did not know he had attained or even its source. Fields, meadows, clumps of tall shrubbery flew past faster than his eyes could register.
Lights bobbed ahead as Will began to stumble. His chest burned and everything was so blurry. Were those really lights?
If only his legs weren't so heavy…he plodded forward a few steps. Was that wood in front of him? Something rough and hard slammed into Will's hand.
The jostle sent Will forward and into something soft yet slightly prickly and smelled sweet. Dots of all colors swarmed his vision. One fresh bolt of pain from his oddly warm side sent him plummeting into agony then a heartbeat later…peaceful bliss.
TBC...