Author's Note: Welcome to chapter four of "Rubicon"! I would like to thank everyone who read and left feedback for the last chapter, NazgulQueen, Sudoku, and Astraeas Dreams. Thank you all so much! Your comments always make my day. As always, I do not have a beta for this fic, so any spelling or grammatical mistakes that occur in this story are my fault and my fault alone. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean or its characters.

Warning: Mild sexual situations appear in this chapter.

March 16, 1731

Log,

It is either very early in the morning or very late at night. I cannot tell. The curtains are drawn and only a small fire lights the room. I can barely see the parchment before me but I will ask for no more light. I should not wish to wake Anne.

She sleeps and I am glad for it, even though I miss our happy conversation. We used to talk late into the night back in England. But no longer. I have tried to assure myself that the crossing has taken its toll. She is weary, exhausted from excitement and anxiety. But I cannot lie to myself.

Even now I hear her stir upon our bed. She coughs often, too often. I am terrified for her. When I first removed her chemise this night, I saw the deadly pallor of her skin, her ribs sticking out just below her breasts. A woman should not be this thin just after bearing a child. She is wasted away and when I took her upon my lap, she seemed made of nothing. Her cheekbones press against her skin and make her eyes appear sunken. I do not trust the brightness in her eyes, that certain fervor. It is not passion, I am convinced, but fever.

And when I kissed her shoulders I felt the bones churn beneath her flesh. Her lungs contracted for air. And then she slept, deep and sound. My sweet murmurs of love could not rouse her.

Dear God, she has consumption. Oh dear God, I am ill. This cannot be, this cannot….

I have collected myself now, chased away my scattered thoughts and regained the certainty of composure. If she does not appear well in several days time I shall send for the doctor. But what doctor can be found in Caribbean? I trust not a soul here. I will not let an uneducated wretch touch my wife. But who might be sent for?

I feel trapped almost, exiled. Away from England, away from normalcy. A man cannot even help his wife here.

But perhaps the warm breezes will do her well. Surely, she should have suffered from the cold in England. A healthy diet and moderate exercise will bring the color back to her cheeks. For now I suppose I must wait and watch and listen. Her shattering coughs echo in the dark. What am I to do?

I shall speak with Agnes Dean in the morning. She seems sensible in a way and was with Anne when she first fell ill. Mr. Norrington might also have some knowledge of her condition. He is a perceptive man, perhaps too perceptive for his own good. I am sure he must have noticed Anne's illness. Perhaps he can inform me of its course.

I should not condemn myself melancholy. It is a useless pursuit. Instead I should let my happiness guide me, despite the desperation that seems to bode over my home.

Today was a most joyous day. The lost pieces of my life were once more put back into place and at once I regained my family. It is strange to think of my family for I have never particular considered myself a family man. Of course, I had my mother and father in England, cousins, aunts and uncles. But now I have a family.

I feel put upon, I suppose. It is a tremendous responsibility, a careful task that must be handled with the utmost delicacy. My son is, after all, my legacy. He looks like me in form and figure, except his eyes. No, they are Anne's eyes that stare back at me so boldly, that watch me with curiosity.

I wonder, does he love me yet? A child should love his parent and a parent should love his child.

I love him, dearly. I am undone by his innocence.

But there is much to be done. As soon as he is old enough he shall have a governess and a proper tutor. He cannot spend the entirety of his childhood meddling with the servants. No, I shan't allow that.

Anne is tender with him, motherly and so very proud. After dinner she rocked him in her arms until he slept. She smiles whenever she sees him and tells me he shall be a gallant lord. I am afraid I must agree.

The day has otherwise past by in cheerful blur. I fear I cannot distinguish one moment from the next. I remember vaguely Anne's chatter as I showed her about the manor, her delight at the gardens, the kisses she pressed against my lips.

I feel harried and cannot sleep. Contentment keeps me awake.

But sleep I must. Tomorrow will come and bring with it much important business. I must speak with Norrington and, Lord help me, Governor Swann. I hope the man keeps his whining to a minimum. I have already sent for several merchants to visit with Anne. She will purchase furnishings and fabrics for the house and herself.

I spoil her so terribly.

And then in five days time I have arranged for a party to be had. The gentry of Port Royal and most of Jamaica will attend. I expect there to be a proper welcome for my wife and our son.

But it is late now and sleep I must. Anne stirs once more and calls my name….

Lord Cutler Beckett

March 17, 1731

Later that Morning

Log,

I have a moment now, a brief moment to transcribe all that took place this morning. And I think I should. Perhaps it might help me to track my wife's illness. Yes, it is an illness. I admit it now. There is no avoiding it.

Anne is ill.

I rose early and Anne slept. She clutched the blankets about her and at once I thought she looked so delicate, so very weak. I almost wished for her to open her eyes, to smile and whisper something mischievous in my ear just to make me chuckle. But she did not. I let her rest.

My first meeting was with Mr. Mercer. He had much to discuss about my newly acquired ship but I put him off. Instead, I sent him to fetch Norrington.

Mr. Norrington currently resides at an inn as he has just returned to Port Royal and to society, as it is. If he has proved his worth on this little sojourn, I will see to it that he has proper lodgings.

As it happened, I was pressed for time and could only inquire as to Anne's health. He told me, quite frankly, that he had noticed her cough and weakness, but attributed it to the climate upon the seas.

I was comforted, if only for a short while.

Afterwards, Anne came down and we breakfasted off the garden. She loves it here, or so she says and often she closes her eyes and breaths deep. The flowers please her so.

We talked of many things and she questioned my work in the Caribbean. She asked specifically about the peril I described in my letters. I did not elaborate, spoke only of piracy. She asked of Jack Sparrow and Turner and Swann. I told her that they were still aboard, but I would have at them shortly. And then she asked about Mr. Norrington and I told her everything.

She seemed to find it most intriguing that he was a disgraced navy man (not for long) and that he had once loved Miss Swann. But I did not tell her of his wondrous gift.

"Oh," she said when I had finished and sipped her tea. "How dreadful, poor man. It was good of you to help him so, Cutler."

Anne then told me of England and all that I had missed. Fox hunts and dances and outings in the countryside. She told me of Marcus and his mare and their new foal. And at last she told me of her uncle.

It was then that I remembered Mr. Norrington's other business in England. I sent for him at once and he stood before us, his hat in his hands.

I was frank and forward. I asked him at once if he had gotten rid of the old man. He hesitated and looked away. I thought I saw a dull flush seep onto his countenance.

And then Anne, my lovely little Anne, spoke up.

"Oh Cutler, you mustn't be mad. It was my fault. All my fault." Her grey eyes were serious.

"What is that, my fairest?" I asked. Mr. Norrington looked thoroughly confused…and frightened.

"I asked Mr. Norrington to spare uncle's life, for Harriet's sake. They only fought until first blood was drawn," she said. "Please don't be mad, Cutler. I had to do it, you see. Harriet is the only family I have left and if uncle were killed, I daresay she would blame it on you and perhaps me. I could not stand it if we were parted so cruelly. Certainly, you understand."

I looked from Norrington, to her, then back to Norrington. He stood there, stoic, unflinching. Anne stared at me and placed a hand on my wrist.

"Please, Cutler."

"Of course, darling."

She smiled and Norrington seemed a bit relieved. I dismissed him and continued on with breakfast.

Anne was delighted to here of the ball I had planned. She was especially pleased to hear that it was a masquerade.

After breakfast we parted company for a short while. She went to consult with several merchants and I went to speak with the maid, Agnes.

The said maid was rather nervous in my presence. I was brief and concise, as I did not wish to tarry long on the subject. I asked her at once to tell me of Anne's illness.

She spoke with a thick Yorkshire accent and I had to listen carefully. But she too was brief and concise, terribly so.

"The doctor said it was a fever, your lordship. But it wasn't a fever, lordship. Me own young sister had a brush with consumption as a child and I can see it in her ladyship. She has consumption."

I tried to contain my emotions at once.

"Very well," I said and I sent her away. Dear God, what am I to do?

Lord Cutler Beckett.