Author's Note: Hello and welcome to chapter seventeen of "Rubicon". I would like to thank everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter, anotherblastedromantic, ElfLuver13, NazgulQueen, Astraeas Dreams, and sudoku. Thank you all! I have no beta for this fic, so any grammatical or spelling errors that appear are my fault and my fault alone. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Pirates of the Caribbean.

July 20, 1731

Log,

My mind is running and I cannot stop it. Anne, she came to me this night and oh dear God, she made me tell her the full of it. How could I refuse her? How could I spin falsehoods and deceive the one I hold most dear? She deserved the truth, the bare, unadorned truth. And I gave her the truth, the bare, unadorned truth. Oh if only she weren't so pale.

The evening began in a calmly fashion. I arrived home and took my dinner with Anne. The weight of this child troubles her, I think and she fusses over her food. Or perhaps her appetite dwindles with the touch of consumption. Already, she is wasting away.

My wife spoke most lightly this evening, however. She did not hint at any concern nor mention that her mind was troubled. I thought her cheerful, in fact. She spoke of her day and how she walked through the gardens with our son and brought him to the stables. But Anne is more of a liar than I. With her cool, sweet smile she is manipulative. With her airy gestures she weaves her own falsehoods. She said nothing of her concern until we were seated in the parlor.

The maid, Agnes, had just taken young Cutler to bed. As soon as she had sallied from the room, Anne turned to me and her face was cold.

"Darling, I must ask you something," she said.

"Oh?" I said with a smile. I thought she was jesting and I paced before the hearth. Perhaps she would ask me for a new gown or pretty jewel?

"Cutler, why do you lie to me?"

I froze and she noticed my fear. Anne raised one brow, one delicate brow and suddenly her face looked brazen, like Aphrodite come down from the heavens to play a trick on poor Achilles.

"Anne." I tried to laugh, oh I tried to laugh and cover my guilty nature. But she was stony, her hands folded upon her lap. And her eyes were both wise and keen. What did she know of my secrecy?

Still I tried to bluff. "What lie?"

"It is written in your words," she replied. "And in your stance and even in the way you look at me. I can sense your fear, your denial. Why do you think to hide something from me?"

I did not know how respond. Damn Norrington, he must have told her. Or another whoreson of Port Royal. But in my heart I knew she had gathered her own knowledge, had connected the fragments of my lies to form the picture before her. Anne was always smarter than I.

"Do not question me," I snapped. It was all I could say and I hoped my tone might silence her.

But my wily Anne possesses the mind of a swift fox. Easily, she cut past my resistance. Her stony air disappeared at once. She rose from her chair and came to stand beside me. One hand found its way around my waist and she rested her head upon my shoulder.

"Cutler, do not pain me so," she said, her voice soft enough to make my heart twist.

"I do nothing of the sort."

"Yes, yes you do." And then with her free hand, she proceeded to stroke my chest, her hand pausing by my cravat and the uppermost button on my waistcoat. "I know you, darling. I know your mind and I know your thoughts. Something dark hangs over this house."

With difficulty, I slipped from Anne's hold and faced her.

"You should never believe me," I said after a moment of silence had passed. She tossed her head, her light hair flying across her shoulders.

"Nonsense."

"You do not understand," I continued. Her face grew determined.

"Of course I do, you wretch," she said and I was relieved to find her voice playful. "Do you think me simple?"

"No," I said. I found my way over to a chair and sat. Anne followed me, sinking into a chair of her own beside me. Her hands found mine and I felt her chilled flesh, her thin finger bones. "This is no matter for an intellectual."

"Then what?"

She was persistent, dreadfully so.

I battled my reason. Should I tell her? Should I disclose the full sordidness of my work in the Caribbean and the absolute madness that followed it?

In the end, my wife wanted to know and I could deny her nothing.

With a deep sigh, I leaned forward in my chair and found her eyes in the growing darkness. "Have you ever heard the tale of Davy Jones, dearest?"

I must say she took it rather well, though Anne always possessed a fiercely calm nature. She did pale, however and asked me many questions in a breathless voice. When I had finished, she stood rather shakily and walked to the hearth.

"The heart?" she asked. "Where is it?"

"Safe," I replied, rising and walking to her side. "Do not let it occupy your mind."

"No," Anne said. She shook her head and the light from the fire caused shadows to dance across her face. "No, I should not like to think of it."

She touched her hand to her swelling stomach and I felt my own gut twist. I had been honest with her and what was honesty if I did not reveal the whole truth?

I pulled her to me. My chin rested on the top of her head. Anne would not be pleased with me, but I knew it was only for the best.

"Fairest, I have sent for doctor. From England."

She started shaking then and I held her close.

"Dear God, Cutler." I heard the tears in her voice. "Why did you do that?"

"Because you are ill," I replied. Anne began to weep openly, pushing me away and sinking into the shadows.

"I am not ill!"

She was terrified, this I knew. Anne never cared for doctors and after her last experience with Carey, I doubted she would ever let another touch her.

"Now you lie," I said. I reached my hand out, hoping she would take it. But Anne recoiled further into the darkness and all I could hear were her broken sobs.

"He will hurt me, Cutler."

It tore my heart to hear her speak so.

"Anne, Anne," I whispered. Wading through the shadows I found her and pulled her back into the light of the fire. She wept against my shoulder, her breathing so harsh.

"I will not let him see me," she protested weakly. I stroked her hair.

"But you must," I said. "If only for the child. If only for the dear child."

Then she fell silent, save for her sobs. I held her for a long while as night closed in about us and we stood in single pool of light, surrounded all around by darkness.

Lord Cutler Beckett