Disclaimer: I own nothing but the idea and Evie as well as her husband. Will Turner is of course property of Disney, and Rebecca Sparrow is property of /u/643020/Journalistintraining

Author's Note: As far as any spelling or grammatical errors go, please ignore them and just ready for the sake of reading…I only write for the sake of having fun, and I don't particularly care for the particulars of the process.

Chapter Three

The Best Kept Secret

The moon was a silver crescent, shining down its eerie silver-blue light. Every drop of the moon's light graced the dark garden outside of Governor Swann's Manor House. The grass was very long, almost a foot in length in places, and all going to seed. The clover in-between the green shoots speckled the ground with its soft amethyst blooms. All around the borders of the garden, which in and of itself was a large meadow, were oak, elm and rowan trees. A little piece of England in the Caribbean. In the grass, illuminated by the silvery light that fell over him, blessed from the moon, knelt a young man. He looked up into the eyes of the young woman who sat sorrowfully upon the stone bench.

"Are you ready to go back inside?"

Will looked into Becka's eyes cautiously, waiting to hear the slightly younger woman's views. She looked back, still a little surprised by his ease with her. No. Surprised that he was this close to her. He was still holding her hand that remained in her lap, but ever so lightly. She slowly looked down to their hands together, and slowly back up into his waiting spiced rum eyes. She shook her head gently, the ostrich feather swaying at the top of her pompadour.

"No, Mr. Turner -"

"Would you please stop calling me by that name? My name is Will, and that's how I like it, Becka."

She nodded, and noticed once more how much better her shortened and childish name sounded when he spoke it. There was something calming about his voice that made the word sound much more proper than it had when she had spoken it to herself trying to get used to it.

But she did not wish to return to the ball, knowing she would have to face all the people that had seen her run out, weeping with her pearlescent tears. But also would Will have to face the same people. She knew that he would have to face the people that he had already only received scorn from for doing something as completely innocent and inevitable as breathing, or living his life, but now he would be looked down upon for running out the door, pushing everyone aside, in order to go after her. She who was not of his class. But the fact remained that it was not so much for herself that she didn't want to once again return to the pompous wigged and corseted crowd as it was for Will's sake. Becka was already more than too aware that the whole of Port Royale's upper-class thought her to be somewhat mad. She had after all declined the advances of every eligible man in the port, and in her turn lost her favour amongst not only the men, but their mothers, fathers, grandparents, aunts, uncles, etc. It was not that she had only disgraced just one man each time she had rejected a suitor; it was that she had in fact alienated the entire upper-class. She did not want to face the crowd, knowing that each man, woman, child and elder would see her as a spot upon the very fabric of society. They already saw Mr. Turner this way. Rebecca did not care about the way the upper-class viewed her, she had already long ago had given up on finding a suitable young man that would be her husband. And who would want her now? She was passed her prime at twenty-two-two, or at least she and the others believed it to be, and it was unknown if within a year she would be able to bear children. Why would a man marry her if not to have children? No, its not that she minded the way they viewed her, or even treated her, it was that she did not want William Turner to see them treat her the way they treated him. Despite knowing that he had fought Nolan Ralph in order to help her, it had barely crossed her mind. She had no way of knowing if that regardless of his social standing, if he would treat her just the same. What difference was any man among the crowd? Why should one stand out from the rest?

William was holding her hands lightly in her lap as he remained kneeling in front of her. He waited for her to speak once again, his dark eyes trailing over her still slightly kohl stained face. He was determined to wait for her to speak for however long that it might take. He noticed Rebecca seemed to be lost in her own thoughts; he could only hazard to imagine what it was that was flowing through her mind. He waited, and waited. Finally he spoke up once more,

"Well then, if you are not wishing to return to the Ball, I'll escort you home"

Becka looked up from the bottom of her skirts, looking into his eyes quickly; her own filled with a fear that he could not put his finger on. She gripped his hands as she looked into his eyes, her fear now no longer dammed. He grasped her hands gently in response, immediately, to her gripping his fingers. She shook her head once more the ostrich feather swaying dangerously; obviously in response to the question he had asked her.

"No.."

She finally spoke as Will tilted his head to the left, listening and waiting for an explanation as to why she had said no. But she didn't speak again. Gently he pressed her on, he needed to know why she didn't want to go home, so that he might be able to figure out what to do with her.

"Why do you not want to go home?"

Rebecca sighed softly,

"Its because of Mr. Ralph. My parents arranged it with his parents, though why he still lives with them I will never know, that tonight after the ball I was to return home with him. I was not to come home under any circumstances. So I cannot go home. You struck Nolan, and for that I thank you, for defending me when I could not, but now I have to return to him."

"Than you wish me to take you once more inside, through the crowd to find him?"

She shook her head,

"No, I cannot face those people right now, more importantly I could not do that to you. I would be putting your life and health in danger if you were to bring me back to him."

Will was making an effort to read between her words to see what it was that she wanted him to do. Was it that she wanted him to leave her out here all alone in the garden all night? He didn't believe that was what she had in mind.

"Than what would you ask me to do, for surely I won't leave you out here to sleep in the grasses tonight. I will happily take you inside if that is what you wish. I am not afraid of Nolan Ralph, he does not scare me, and nor will he ever"

"Its not that I think you are afraid of him, its that I am afraid that he will hurt you for doing what you did to save me. No Will, I can't let you take me back inside to face him."

Will was starting to get restless with this circular conversation. To him it seemed that nothing was being resolved, and it occurred to him that perhaps Rebecca was trying to draw out her time with him. Here where they were safe and removed from everyone else, safe beneath the stars in Heaven. He let go of her hands, and put his upon his thighs as he stood up. He looked down upon himself, brushing the grass and seeds from the seeding weeds off of himself before turning. He took the loose material of his breeches and brought it up to his hips in the way old men do before they take a seat. He sat down beside her on the cold stone bench. The velvet tails of his coat falling over the back edge of the bench. He turned to look at her, the moon shining off of his skin, and sparkling the reflection of the stars once more back towards her.

"Than what is it, Becka, that you would ask of me? What would ask me to do? I will not leave you here."

She looked up to him, from playing with the lace hemming of her partially blackened handkerchief. She sighed and once more looked to the lace in her hands, her white fingertips trailing over the very edges of it.

"I ask nothing of you, yet you willing choose to aid me, again and again. Every time I have met you in the last month I see more and more that you are a good man and are willing to help those that need it. I feel horrible for always being the one that needs rescuing. I ask nothing of you, Will."

She looked up into his face and smiled gently; he returned the kind smile, but pressed on.

"That is not what I asked you. I will not leave you here and you know it your heart that you do not want me to. No one would. So I ask you again, if you do not want to return to the Ball, and you wish not to go home, where is it that you are to go?"

Becka sighed, her walls were crumbling around her as Will pressed on. She didn't want to put him into a state of danger, but nor did she want to refuse his help, knowing that he, for his status, was a proud man that did not like taking no for an answer. She wet her painted lips slightly before looking up into his dark eyes.

"I suppose I should arrive at the Ralph Manor before Nolan does, that way I can spend the night there as my parents had wished-"

But Will's voice cut her sentence short. It had turned stern once more, though not increased in volume. His voice had a force that made her cringe slightly, knowing he very much did not like her plan.

"If you think that I will take you to the home of a man that will surely hurt you, you are very mistaken. I will not put you in danger, even if it is what you had planned on. I do not care that your parents wanted you to spend the night there. Nolan is, beyond a doubt, planning to court you, to bed you, and take your gifts with, or without your permission. If you think I am going to willingly deliver you to a man that will rape you, you are mistaken."

Becka was still cringing slightly, knowing now that Will was indefinitely not pleased with her course of action. She sighed softly, exhaling in a way that said to him 'than where am I supposed to go?'. Will sighed, shaking his head, knowing what she was meaning behind her sigh,

"You can come with me. I don't see another choice to be had Rebecca. You can come to the Smithy and I will set up a place for you to sleep apart from me. This way you can stay away from your home, and I can promise nothing will happen to you while you are under my watchful eye. You can go home when you choose to tomorrow."

Rebecca sat staring at him in shock. She surely could not stay with a man that was not her husband, or at the very least her fiancé. Than again, that is what she had been going to do with Nolan Ralph, was it not? And surely when Will said nothing would happen to her while she was with him meant that he would not do what she had known Nolan was planning. Will was safe, he wouldn't force her into anything; he had no need to. Unlike her 'gentlemen' friend, Nolan, Will was the kind of person that when someone said he was trustworthy, you could immediately let your guard down against him. Still she was uneasy with the idea of spending the night in the Smithy, and with good reason. The shop was after all bereft of all the effects which made it a house, or even liveable.

"Will, I couldn't possibly stay with you tonight,"

Will raised his brow, watching her and waiting for an explanation as into why she figured that if she could spend the night with someone that was bound to hurt her, why she couldn't spend the night at a place that was a safe haven. Its not like she had been the first either; there had been women who when deep into a one-sided fight with their husbands (their husbands being the one fighting) would run to the first place they thought of; the Smithy. Not only was it a place their husband would not think of going, but also it was so that if indeed the men did find them, there were a myriad of objects they could use to protect themselves. Though this fact was much to Will's chagrin. Though possibly what it was that made this place safe for the women to go to without worry of being 'attacked' was the fact that unlike their husbands Will was…innocent…in a way their husbands had not been for a very long time. And if he wasn't, it would be a shock to the rest of the women; he certainly acted it.

Becka sighed softly and looked back at him, knowing she was losing the silent battle of wills that was happening between them. She nodded her head, dabbing her eyes once more with the blackened handkerchief.

"Alright Mr. Turner… if you believe that it is safer for me to stay with you."

Beside her, Will stood up once more, gently brushing the creases out of the lavish fabrics that he had been made to wear. She looked up to him, watching him; he knew how to treat the clothing he wore. The men she had seen would not have been this careful, and she had to wonder why it was that the town Blacksmith, possibly one of the poorest men in the town, was the one to do it. Perhaps though it was the fact that Evie had spent what was equal to two years of Will's salary upon this outfit, and he hoped to either keep it in good condition, for whatever cause he had, or that he hoped to possibly return it and give Evie her money back. Even if he was successful in the return, more than likely Evie wouldn't except the money, and let him have it, knowing that in fact he did need it. But even with a slight knowledge of this, Rebecca couldn't help but watch the way he carefully fixed the cuffs of his shirt; whose ruffles came out passed his coat sleeve cuffs, how he prudently tweaked the collar of his shirt, waistcoat, and velvet jacket once more so they lay against him in how they were fitted to do so. The way he brushed his hand over each of his arms, gently tricking the folds of the velvet to face towards his hand once more, protecting the velvet from becoming threadbare. He treated his princely outfit as though he had done this for years; and it surprised her.

Will obviously felt Becka's eyes upon, and he looked down to her. He cleared his throat slightly, while correcting the sit of the cravat under his chin. The tiny gold pin that held it in place sparkling in the moonlight; and then what made her recall her subconscious thoughts that maybe he did come from some form of high-society, also twinkled in the moonlight. A simple ring. A simple, common enough golden ring; but this was less common, it had been put through the fleshy part of his left ear. A sign of not only low-class, but a sign of criminal filth. Rebecca inwardly sighed to herself, perhaps Will truly did have no class, just as all the men were saying about him. But in turning towards her, he smiled softly and offered her his hand, to help her up, knowing her dress weighed equal to her own weight. Becka looked at his hand for a moment, her eyes trailing over the darker and hardened calluses. She lifted her white slender hand and laid it into his, her fingers lacing with his; her soft and milk-treated palm, against his hard-work worn palm. She gripped his hand a little tighter, as he helped her to her feet again. Rebecca tucked her kohl-stained lace handkerchief into her bodice as they started to walk out of the garden.

Will opened the heavy wooden door to the Smithy, and walked inside, holding the weighted door agape for Rebecca Sparrow. With her heavy dress, weighted by the panniers that tied to her corset, and the thick ochre brocade, she made her way into through the door, passed him, and careful, due to her pink silk, heeled, shoes down the few steps to the main floor. Will closed the door, lowering the wooden barring plank used to lock the door from external entry when he closed up the shop. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the heavy metal weights lower and rise like clockwork when he locked the door.

Though the forge had been unlit for hours, the shop was still considerably warmer than the cool night air. Walking down the steps to meet her, Will carefully directed Becka through the shop towards his small living space. She turned her face to look at him and nodded, walking through the shop passed his half-made projects. She opened the door slowly, the stepped inside, gasping in shock. The room was small, cramped with a small cot and heavy woollen blanket, a pillow resting at one end of the bed. Beside it was an unadorned nightstand, on which rested an oil lamp; the glass cover dirtied with soot and smoke. Beside the lamp lay a small leather bound journal. His book of orders from the people of Port Royale, after all he was the Blacksmith. Inside he calculated the billing for each and every piece that he had made. It was so far removed from anything that she had ever been present in. It was both appalling, and heartbreaking. Moments later Will stood In the doorway, now only in the dress shirt, and his breeches. His calves and feet were bare as he leaned against the doorframe, unbuttoning the ruffled cuffs. Seeing Will's shadow fall over the room from behind her, Becka turned to face him. The look on her face was everything she had tried to hide from him. Seeing her expression he sighed softly, looking into her hazel eyes from his place in the door way.

"I am sorry that I cannot give you better. This is all I have, you are welcome to sleep in here tonight."

He turned to walk back out into the shop, in which many lanterns were still lit, and simmering their oil happily from before he had left for the ball. A thought crossed Becka's psyche, and she looked towards him as he moved from the door.

"But where will you sleep tonight?"

Will paused and turned to look at her,

"I won't be sleeping, and if I do manage to exhaust myself, I will lay down by the forge. Make yourself at home as best you can."

She watched him, feeling badly for him, though it seemed to her that he was more than able to make that choice for himself. He had in fact been the one to tell her she was going to stay with him that evening. The light from the shop itself came in through the slatted walls, and the open doorway, falling upon her. She looked around the room once more, warming up to it eventually. It wasn't that she thought poorly of him because of his lack of personal possessions, it was more that she felt sorry for him, knowing that he should have more than this. Yet to her it surprised her, with what little he had, he was happy. Happier than she had seen anyone else in her life; and much happier than she herself was. For a moment envy washed over her, unlike she, William Turner was free to come and go as he pleased. He was free to shrug off the shackles of society, while she was forever bound by them. She regretted being born to the family that she had been, while she turned to look in the small, but surprisingly ornate, mirror. The kohl had streaked down her face, and her throat, her hair was a mess, and starting to escape the pompadour she had teased it up into. She looked like a witch in comparison to the princess she had been mere hours before. She cast her eyes down, not wanting to ask Will if there was anyway that she could bath, she could see from his room that it may be rather rude to ask. But he surprised her, knocking carefully on the frame of the door. Becka turned around once more, jumping slightly, startled as she was called forth once more out of her thoughts.

"Mr. Turner what's the matter?"

He laughed softly, shaking his head, his hair taken down from the ribbon it had been held back due to. The chocolate waves hanging down around his shoulders. In his arms he carried a metal basin, a linen cloth over his shoulder. Under his arm was tucked folded up fabric, from what she could see of it.

"Nothing is the matter, I assumed that you would wish to wash up before going to sleep. I've brought you clean warm water, a bar of soap and a cloth. I'm aware its not exactly what you are used to, but its all that I could do on short notice. I'm sorry. But its warm, heated by the glowing embers in the forge."

He walked into the room that was in truth, his, and set the metal, water-filled basin down on the small dresser that he owned, and took the linen towel from off of his shoulder, laying it beside the bowl. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the bar of soap that he had brought for her, setting it atop the towel.

"I've brought you some clean clothing of mine as well."

From under his arm he took what she had originally believe to be folded fabric, and laid it on the bed behind her. A simple off-white shirt and a pair of sepia coloured breeches. Becka, turned towards the bed and stooped as best as her corseted waist would let her, as he looked upon the clothing that he had brought for her. Her fingertips moving over the soft and worn material. Over the five brass buttons of the breeches, the three moving down the front of the waist band, to hold the breeches closed at the waist, but most likely fitted for William's slender waist. And the two buttons the flap, one at each corner to close up the pants over the wearer's private place. Will's soft voice continued on, cutting through her silence, of both voice and mind, she had been just looking at the clothes, barely registering they were fitted to Will's exact measurements, and would therefore be somewhat loose upon her.

"I am sorry I cannot produce a night shift for you to sleep in, but this is what I had at my disposal-"

Becka turned to him, and smiled softly,

"Do not worry so much. Thank you, it means more than you know for the simple fact you have done this much for me. The clothing is fine, it looks comfortable enough."

She walked the few paces towards him, the wood that created the heightened heels of her silk shoes, tapping on the floor in sharp clicks. She lifted her arms and hugged him lightly, out of appreciation and gratitude for his kindness.

"Thank you, its considerably more than Nolan would have had me wearing by now,"

She actually smirked slightly, causing Will to laugh cheerfully, his head tilting back just a little. Becka remained smiling as she watched the young man in front of her laugh in a way that she had only seen very few people do; sincerely. When the moment had passed, and although it passed quickly, it had seemed a lifetime to Becka as she watched him, Will smiled and nodded his head,

"I'll leave you to bathe and retire, while the water is still warm. Goodnight Becka, sleep well."

He closed the door behind him almost silently as he stepped out of the room, turning to work through the night, to at least start to make up for the work that he had let slide all week. Even thought tomorrow was another Sunday, and therefore his one day off that week.

Becka turned around to face the basin of water that Will had brought to her, it was still steaming away, meaning it would stay warm for quite some time yet. She waited a few minutes, to see if Will would once again knock on the door. But shortly she heard the clanging of metal, heated, and being beaten by a heavy hammer. Knowing now that it was highly unlikely he would come to see her again, she started to remove her heavy ball gown. Moving the lace on the right side of her stomacher, she discreetly unhooked the tiny metal hooks from the other side of her dress; letting it open to reveal her black corset. The ochre over-dress was two pieces; the heavy and large skirts, and the lighter, upper half. She easily removed the upper piece, and laid it onto the bed , turning once more to take off the heavy skirts. When finally they where removed, she took the second layer, the crystalline white underskirts off, laying them to the side as well. The panniers she easily unlaced from where they had been made to join with her corset. Now came the difficult part, removing her corset on her own. She reached back, find the knot, and tore away at it with nimble fingers, and after many tense moments, she felt the black corset loosen, easy her ribs back into their rightful places, as well as her organs. She had to know that the corset was no good for her body. She was left in a dark ivory coloured cotton under shift, which fell nearly the length right to the floor, and easing this off she soaked the linen towel into the warm water, and washed the grim from herself. Her necklace she had removed some time ago already.

Feeling much more relaxed, now that she had bathed, she turned to the bed and saw Will's clothing laying there for her. This was far from what she was used to, and should any one find out, such as her mother, that she had worn men's clothing she would be disowned, by family, and by society. But right now, it was clean, and it was clothing, and she didn't care. She pulled the billowing cotton shirt over herself, the collar opening up to the middle of her chest, The shirt on its own, tailored for Will's long torso, fell to her mid thighs. It was warm, and though worn out, it was cozy. She looked to the sepia breeches and unbuttoned all five of the buttons, and stepped into them, pulling them up to where they were meant to sit, in the middle of her torso. She buttoned the little brass buttons shut, sealing them around her waist, and closed the front flap. They were loose, very loose on her. Than again, they had been rather loose-fitting upon Will as well, made for comfort. Becka wrapped her arms around herself, enjoying the feel of the soft fabric against her skin, the fabric that had been wholly unrestricting, unlike that which she was used to.

Becka, looking now into the mirror, lifted her hands up, gently removing the ostrich feather, and the flower from her hair. Taking pin, after pin, after pin from her golden locks, her hair fell back down around her shoulders, flowing in a slightly matted mass down her back. She looked around, and found a silver and boar's hair, hair brush on the nightstand. She lifted it, seeing Will's own dark hair in the bristles, she put it to her golden curls and brush them out. Within moments they fell once more, soft and coiling down her back. She sat down on the cot, and gasped slightly; the mattress much harder than her own of goose down, the Blacksmith's obviously stuffed with straw. She laid back, pulling the heavy woollen blanket up over herself, and laying her head against the pillow; the whole bed smelled heavily of Will, not in a way that was disgusting, but it did hold his personal scent. Subconsciously Rebecca cuddled a little further into his bed, as she slowly fell asleep.

She sat up quickly, and for a moment she did not know where she was. All around her were objects foreign to her, and certain with the mattress this hard, it could not be her own bed. Looking around, her eyes adjusting to the semi dark, Becka realized where she was; Will Turner's bed, in his shop. For a moment she thought that he must still be working the clanging of metal though was now almost an extinct animal. Surely he must be retiring to go to sleep soon; a pang of guilt ran through her, she had taken his bed from him, and willingly. She should be the one sleeping by the forge. But then she heard a grunt from the shop, not just any grunt, it sounded like Will was fighting with someone; the fear rose up inside her. Was he going to meet his end because of her? Because she had not gone home with Nolan, nor had she returned home? She wouldn't, and couldn't let that happen.

Pushing the woollen blanket off of her she got out of the cot quickly and moved to the door, opening it and stepping out. What she saw, was not what she had been expecting. Will was not fighting another person, but rather a wood and sheepskin padded dummy. He himself was moving quickly, keeping up with a rhythm that was running through his nerves, carrying him while his mind remained blank. Will attacked once more, a fast step forward and he clashed his metal cutlass against the wooden dummy's 'arm'. With the force, the dummy turned, a metal cutlass attached to the opposite arm came flying around. Becka held her breath, terrified Will would be decapitated; but the Blacksmith ducked at the last second, and sprang back up. He made one last move, crossing his left foot over the right, and stepping so that he turned himself around quickly, slashing at the sheepskin that split open. His hair flying out around him as he moved.

She watched him, awestruck; to her the final blow had seemed to move in slow motion, watching his hair move, the way he stepped, the folds in his clothing. Out of the corner of his eye he must have spotted her, because panting, he set down his cutlass and dusted himself off, blushing slightly as he walked to her.

"I didn't wake you, did I?"

Becka looked up at him, only now realizing that he was right there with her. She shook her head,

"No. I woke up because I am not in my own home, and I heard you fighting when I woke up. I was afraid that maybe the navy had come to arrest you, or kill you for housing me tonight."

Will could not help but laugh at her statement, but seeing the hurt expression that Becka wore, his chuckling faded away softly.

"I am not laughing at you, per say, I am laughing because the navy couldn't come in here without just cause. Its not illegal to house someone that does not wish to go home, especially since you are not a criminal. On the other hand, if you had given me accommodation tonight in your home, the navy could come in and physically remove me, if they had just cause to arrest me. My crimes are old now, there's no need to worry now. Besides, I don't think most of those men can fight well enough to try and get passed me anyway."

Becka was looking him over, a question burning in her mind; well, two questions truly.

"Who taught you to wield a cutlass?"

Will looked up at her, having started to clean the fluff from the sheepskin off of the iron blade of his sword. He shook his head,

"No one, I taught myself. Why do you ask?"

"Because obviously you know how to fight! I had this silly fear that dummy was going to decapitate you. I wanted to call out to you but held my tongue."

"It's a good thing you did, if I had lost concentration it probably would have decapitated me, or at least slashed my throat open."

Becka shivered, horrified at the thought of Will's throat being opened up, spilling the life giving Venetian red blood. She shook her head, and looked up to Will, who was waiting for her to speak, yet again. She was still badly intimidated by him; his presence was stronger than his personality. What he lacked in brutality, was made up for by the murderous feeling that he gave off; or at least it was the one that he showed the world. To protect himself.

"I..I was wondering,"

"Yes Rebecca?"

She looked up to him, the apprehension easily visible in her hazel eyes,

"Would you teach me to fight, the way you do?"

It took Will by surprise, in truth he thought she had been going to ask him if he would take her home. It took him a moment to think of what to say to her. Unable to form sentences, at least those that made sense, he ran his tanned, and worn hand through his dark hair. After a moment of thought, and watching Becka chew on her lip nervously, knowing she was internally cursing herself for asking him, Will nodded.

"Alright, I'll teach you."

Becka's eyes lit up brightly, she couldn't believe her luck. She was sure that he was going to say no, and it seemed that he had been ready too mere seconds ago. Whether it was because he didn't think she could fight, or that he didn't believe that as a lady she should fight, was another question, but it didn't need answering, because he had agreed.

"Oh thank you! When do you want to start lessons? Next week or-"

"No, right now."

He put his cutlass into her hands, and Rebecca was in shock. She could barely hold the weapon, yet alone wield it yet. Not too mention it had to be two o'clock in the morning, on a Sunday. Will walked around her in a slow circle, examining her, and making slight disappointed noises. Becka's brows knit together as she watched him.

"What is it?"

"Mm… you have to learn to stand right and hold the cutlass before I can do anything else."

Becka blushed and straightened herself out, trying to help him, but Will shook his head. He walked up behind her, and put his arms around her, holding her hands that held the cutlass.

"No, your knees need to be bend slightly,"

He nudged the back of her knees carefully with his own knee, she buckled with a slight yelp under him, but he held her fast, not letting her fall. Leaning over her should he corrected her hands upon the cutlass; needing to start with two before she could work up to one-handed combat. Becka was holding her breath, the Blacksmith, turned instructor, was so close to her. She could feel his warmth radiating off of him; his jaw not far from her cheek as he leaned; she could feel his warmth on her face. His soft hair brushing against her ear as he moved. She turned her face ever so slightly, her eyes turned to look at him. Feeling her eyes upon his face, he turned his face slightly, his eyes turned to her. He smiled kindly, and looked forward once again. She could feel his chest against the back of her shoulder, his abdomen curved close to the curve of her spine. She closed her eyes, still breathing only slightly.

Everyday for three months now, Rebecca had been in the Smithy, taking Will from his work for a few hours while he taught her. She was catching on quickly to the tricks of fencing. Whether it was she wanted to show off and impress him, or it was that she was a fast learner was another question, but it didn't matter much.

Will had given her a cutlass that he had made for her, and only her. It was slightly smaller than the rest in the shop, and it was lighter; made for her delicate frame. But it was strong as any. He had given it to her on the condition that she was to practice, but not let her parents know of what she was doing, and if they found out, not to ask where she had picked up such a unique sword. Though that question would not be hard to answer, not at all. Who other than the port Blacksmith would be capable of making such an item, especially to her measurements? Though she could have ordered it from another port, and had it delivered to her by way of the market, it was unlikely. Everyone knew the finest blades came from Port Royale, and now most of the Navy, Officers and Privates alike, were carrying one of his blades. Each stamped with a tiny 'W.T.' near the tang.