Author's Note: I'm a bad person. My most sincere apologies about how long it took to post this chapter, but work and school have been taking their toll on my writing time.
Chapter Three
Six months had passed since Miranda returned to the loving arms of Colonel Farthing and his wife. In that time she returned to her normal self, but perhaps talked less than she once had. At this time England claimed to be suffering the harsh winds of a gray winter, but in the Caribbean the equatorial sky remained a warm, sunny blue.
It was in the month of January that word reached Miranda of her cousin's engagement in Georgetown. In less than a week she found herself standing on the docks, one steamer trunk, and waiting to board one the many military vessels headed for the Cayman Islands to attend the wedding.
She turned around to wave once more at her mother and father, and then walked rather reluctantly up the gangway. She hadn't been aboard a ship since she was on Commodore Dunlop's.
Her quarters were small and cramped; barely enough room for a bed and a desk, but the voyage was only to be a few days. Miranda shoved her trunk under the bolted down bed and went above deck. A very young woman stood by the rail, waving ecstatically to the small crowd on the dock.
"Will you be returning to Port Royal?" Miranda asked the girl, joining her. The girl turned, smiling, and answered, "No, I am going with my father, the captain of this ship, to the Cayman Islands and then we will return to England. He is retiring."
Miranda reflected on this girl's words, remembering a time long ago when she herself had lived in England. She had only been five when Colonel Farthing had been deployed to Port Royal.
"How wonderful," Miranda said sincerely, gave her name, and asked for the girl's.
"Emma Reginald," she answered cheerily, "You and I are going to become friends on this passing, I know it."
Miranda absently agreed, and Emma invited her to her room, which she explained was much nicer.
"Besides," Emma began brightly, glancing at a nearby crewman watching them with interest. "We don't need these sailors ogling at us." Miranda followed the girl to a good-sized room with dark polished wood and white upholstered furniture.
Emma flopped on the bed and propped her chin up with her fists, watching Miranda carefully.
"So," she started conversationally, "why are you heading to the islands?"
"My cousin is getting married soon," Miranda began, but realized that something was distracting Emma, for she fidgeted with a lock of hair and had turned her gaze out the wide window.
Not especially fond of being ignored, even by a girl she had hardly known for fifteen minutes, Miranda stopped herself, and asked, "What troubles you?"
"I've fallen in love, Miranda!" Emma squealed happily, rolling onto her back. "I'm the happiest woman in the world!"
After such a display Miranda doubted that Emma had yet reached womanhood, but smiled anyway. "Who is he?"
"A pirate!" Emma whispered, her bright eyes sparkling delightedly with the scandal.
"You must not know him very well, then," Miranda found herself saying before she could stop herself, but her words did nothing to dampen the child's spirits.
"I don't!" she exclaimed. "I saw him when my father docked in Tortuga some weeks ago."
"Tortuga?" Miranda repeated haughtily, recognizing the port as one of the most heathen, cantankerous, and squalid town infested with pirate filth. She looked at the girl, barely seventeen and dressed primly in a yellow chiffon summer dress. "What were you doing there?"
"Oh," Emma exhaled, "Father didn't want to, but a recent storm completely destroyed his mainsail and he needed the closest island at which to harbor." Her eyes sparkled as she continued, "I only ventured to the town once, and even then Father never knew about it. I stayed on the outskirts, just watching the people come and go, but once a pirate walked by and saw me." Emma closed her eyes for the next part, finishing dreamily, "He looked as if he might approach me for a moment, but then he just smiled, and it's so silly, Miranda, but when I looked into his eyes, I felt as if he owned me. There was power in those dark eyes of his, and I don't feel as if I control my actions now, because everything I do strains towards the day when we meet again."
"And how do you know that that day will come?" Miranda inquired politely, disgusted and yet thoroughly amused at the child's tale.
"Haven't you ever felt that there is something much greater than yourself just waiting for you to find it?" Emma replied breathlessly, hugging her pillow.
"Of course, but God has already found me," Miranda snapped automatically. Emma sighed, "No, beyond that; Something much more tangible and human."
"Oh. That." Miranda's voice was despondent and almost weary as she thought of Quentin's death; such a sudden loss of something so good and so wonderfully human. Emma looked up at her curiously, but restrained her tongue.
Thinking of Quentin set Miranda in a worse mood about discussing pirates. She noticed that Emma had rolled on her back and was staring dreamily at the ceiling, and Miranda's veins clenched in annoyance at this girl -so innocent and young- for being so ridiculous as to fall in a love with such a beastly creature.
"You silly girl," Miranda heard herself say in a voice so cold and hard that it shocked her. Emma looked sharply at her, her eyes widening in dual surprise.
"A pirate could never love you in return. They don't love, they don't care about anyone but themselves, and they certainly wouldn't waste their time on such a pure, foolish child like you." She stood and wrenched the door open, glancing back once to see Emma's eyes, once bright with hope and infatuation, now sparkle with tears of dejection and hurt.
Miranda stepped out of the room and slammed the door behind her. Her breath was ragged and she found her own eyes heating up with tears.
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Miranda remained in her cramped quarters for the next few days. She didn't try looking for Emma, and neither, to her relief, did Emma seek out her.
On the third morning since the departure from Port Royal, Miranda woke with a jerk. Shouts rang out from above her, followed by heavy thuds and clangs. She threw on her dressing gown and hurried above deck, but as her bare foot touched on the last step fear frosted her heart at the sight to greet her.
Pirates raced hither and thither, wielding swords and hacking them through the air at anyone who opposed them. The British soldiers fought bravely, but their honor and training would not allow them to fight as the pirates did. Miranda knew it wouldn't be long before they were overwhelmed and cheated into a corner.
No one had noticed her presence yet. She slipped back down below, raced to Emma's room and began banging on the door.
"What?" Emma demanded sourly, tying her own dressing gown neatly at her waist with one hand and fisting something in her other.
"Pirates have attacked the ship. We need to-"
"Pirates?" The girl's voice trembled with excitement. Miranda almost screamed in frustration.
"We need to escape!" she cried, seizing Emma's thin arm and dragging her down the narrow hallway.
"No!" Emma shrieked, "I have to know if he's here!" She wrenched her way out of Miranda's grasp and ran up the stairs.
Time seemed to stop, and Miranda felt as if the next decision she made would affect how the rest of her life would be lived. She closed her eyes, praying for some sort of guidance, and then opened her eyes. Sighing, she ran up the stairs after Emma.
At the top of the steps a pair of thick hands wrapped around her arms, pinioning them to her sides. Hot breath puffed in her ear as a growling voice chuckled, "'Allo, poppet."
No! Miranda's brain screamed. It was impossible, implausible that the second encounter with pirates she would have could be with the same as the ones before. She looked around, realizing she recognized several faces.
She saw Emma being restrained by a relatively young pirate. The girl's head was down, a look of abject horror carved on her face. Miranda followed her gaze and saw Captain Reginald lying supine on the deck, blood spreading from underneath him. His body was still.
Emma tore her eyes from the sight and met Miranda's. Tears streaked down the girl's cheeks and whatever she had been holding so tightly in her hand clattered to the ground. Her captor bent and snatched it up, and Emma turned to see his face.
Miranda gasped as she watched a look of betrayal and grief flash over Emma's face. Sounds of fighting rang out, but somehow she heard Emma's whisper from across the deck.
"It's you."
The pirate grinned, drawing his sword. The morning sun glinted off the metal, blinding Miranda momentarily, but she recovered in time to see Emma fall solidly to the ground in a crumpled, lifeless heap.
In one fluid movement Miranda slipped away from the man holding her. She streaked across the deck and lunged at the murderous pirate, pounding her fists upon him to try to make the most damage possible. Strong arms recaptured her, and the familiar gruff voice laughed, "This wench too much for you, Grapple?"
Emma's killer growled indignantly. " 'Course not, Pintel, but get da cap'tin- 'E'll be glad to see 'er."
"Aye," the man holding her, Pintel, agreed, and thrust her into the other pirate, Grapple's waiting grip. Miranda tripped over Emma's body as this transaction occurred, and nearly wretched in horror of the reality in progress. Something cold pressed against Miranda's arm as Grapple tightened his hold on her, and she realized that whatever he had snatched from the ground remained in his hand.
She struggled vainly for freedom, but Grapple only laughed at her feeble attempts. In a matter of minutes a familiar silhouette greeted her.
"Hello, Miss Farthin', it be a pleasure to see ye again."
"Barbossa," Miranda spat, glaring up at his malevolent face. "I demand you withdraw from this ship and leave the remaining crew in peace. You've destroyed enough as it."
The captain laughed, and exchanged glances with Grapple. "And I'm curious, Miss Farthin', just why should I be doin' that?"
Miranda had nothing to say to this response, and Barbossa chuckled heartily. "If ye don' have a bargainin' chip, my dear, there can be no . . . arrangement."
"Myself," Miranda said finally, choking on her words.
"Ye mus' think highly of yerself, if ye think that yer more valuable to my men than pillagin', lootin', and killin' is," Barbossa countered, cupping her chin in one of his calloused hands and forcing her face up to meet his.
"I won't pretend it's a fair offer," Miranda replied savagely, "but it's all I have to trade. Do we have a deal?"
"Aye, we do, Miss Farthin'," Barbossa hissed, and then looked up at Grapple. "Take her back to the Pearl and lock her in the brig. Did ye get it?" he added.
"'is da'er had it," Grapple slurred, nudging the child's body with his foot. Miranda jerked both her elbows into his stomach with rage. Both pirates laughed harshly and Grapple began dragging her to side of the deck. He gripped one of the ropes tied loosely to the rail with one hand, and wrapped his free arm around Miranda's waist. He pulled her up onto the railing and with one powerful jump, swung back aboard the pirate ship.
With a heavy thud they landed on deck of the other ship, the Pearl, as Barbossa had fondly called it. Miranda struggled with every step as Grapple yanked her down the steep, narrow stairs to a rather flooded brig. He threw her in a small iron cell and she fell to her hands and knees in cold seawater. The door slammed behind her, Grapple laughed once more, and thudded up the stairs.
Using the aid of the bars, Miranda heaved herself to her feet. She dropped her head down and noticed something on her bare arm. What had been clenched in Grapple's fist had been pressed against her skin, leaving a near-perfect indention of what had been carved on the surface of the object. A skull adorned with earrings met her eyes, and she gasped at the familiarity of the coin.
She rubbed her arm furiously, trying to rid herself of the beastly mark and collapsed to the flooded ground, softly weeping.
"Only good fer wailin' and whinin'. I knew it weren't a fair trade," a rough voice rasped through the air. Miranda scrambled into a corner and glared at her company. Barbossa snarled a twisted grin back at her, and advanced towards the bars.
"Welcome back, Miss Farthin'. I'd be lyin' to say I never hoped I'd see ye again."
"Let me guess; my sparkling personality wove magic into your heart?" Miranda spat, looking away.
"You flatter yerself too often," Barbossa laughed. "If ye promise to be good an' not run away, I might let ye out of this cell." The captain turned to walk away.
"I know what it is you want," Miranda found herself saying to his retreating back. Barbossa halted hesitantly, but didn't turn.
"Do ye, missy?" His voice was a rumbled hiss. His body had gone rigid.
"That gold; Emma had one, and The Defiant had . . . had . . ." Miranda faltered, the full realization hitting her. "You bastard!" she shrieked, leaping to her feet and throwing herself at the bars.
"You killed Quentin! You killed that sweet cabin boy, Will, and the rest of the crew. You are a monster; a vile, loathsome beast of a-" But she stopped, for upon her words Barbossa had returned to the bars, slipped one hand through and seized the back of her head, forcing her to look up at him. The abruptness of the movement and sudden pain froze her voice and she looked up, horrified at him.
"Clever girl," Barbossa growled, bringing his face so close to hers she could feel his breath on her skin. "But ye judge too quickly."
"Judge someone for taking the lives of others?" Miranda argued weakly. "On the contrary, Captain, I didn't judge you soon enough."
What happened next Miranda could not quite comprehend; she only noticed the insignificant parts. The other hand that had slipped through the bars and wrapped around her waist had no motive but power and control. His mouth was cold and dry against her lips.
When he pulled away she stumbled backward, mind reeling still with the cruelness of her discovery and confused with what had just occurred.
"Good day, Miss Farthin'," Barbossa said, as if nothing had happened. He turned and disappeared up the stairs.
Miranda fell to the wet floor with a splash and drew her knees up to her chest. This can't be real, she though miserably, leaning her head against the bars. Nothing in her life felt as if it had been lived by her, but something more than that thought terrified her.
Uncertainty is a wicked beast. It wraps one's mind in doubt and turns the most sensible of people into frenzied panic and bafflement. It induces suspicion, hate, jealousy, and fear within moments of manifestation.
Something within Miranda had stirred when Barbossa's lips met hers. Something has sent a frozen wave of emotion rolling up her spine.
You didn't enjoy it; the mere thought is revolting! She told herself. He killed your brother and countless other innocent sailors. Her hands were trembling.
But how do you know? Another voice -that sounded suspiciously like a pirate's- asked slyly. How do you know he killed your brother? He never agreed to your accusation.
"But he didn't deny it!"
Miranda was startled to hear her own voice as the words passed over her lips. And now you're going crazy.
She closed her eyes, trying to think of some way to escape. She tried resting, reasoning that when she woke she would start planning what to do. But as hard as she tried, she kept finding herself reliving a certain moment, and remembering the way his hand had roved up and down her back and how his lips had felt against her skin.