Chapter Eight

A nightmare was exactly what Barbossa was in Miranda's mind. Horrifying, confusing, but wholly mesmerizing. Miranda closed her eyes, wishing the image of the pirate away, but the memories lingered. She could still feet his breath on her cheek, still feel the roughness of his voice in her soul.

Miranda stood up from the bed, allowing the pain of her burns to wipe her mind clean. She stood very still, tears stinging hotly in her eyes as she fought back the bile rising in her throat.

The pain was incredible; it was almost as intense as when she had been first burned, but as she stood there, forcing herself to ignore the stinging agony shooting up her legs, a calm fell over her. She took a step forward. And then another. She let one hand steady herself against the wall as she took deep breaths, willing herself to endure the pain. She reached the chair in which Barbossa had sat, and collapsed finally. She looked out the smoky window to where the clear blue of the ocean met the eggshell pale of the afternoon sky, and Miranda realized it had been a long time since she had seen something lovely. She let the beauty envelop her as the pain ebbed from her mind as she was able to think clearly.

And then he returned to her subconscious. Miranda jerked and stood up suddenly, all the pain rushing back up her spine and rippling over her body. She bit back a scream as she screwed her eyes shut, letting the white agony blind her world. No Barbossa, no feelings, no self. Only blissful pain that stole reality from her mind.

The pain lessened, and Miranda realized she was now on the floor. She didn't remember falling.

His face began to creep back into her thoughts, and she scrambled to her feet. Gone again. She steadied herself on the chair, and closed her eyes, letting the pain take her.

From above deck a piercing scream met the captain's ears. Ragetti, who had been lovingly polishing his wooden eye, paused from his work and cocked his head inquisitively like a dog.

"'oo'd you let 'ave 'er?" He asked curiously, looking up at Barbossa.

"No one," he growled in reply. "Mind the wheel."

Ragetti popped the eye back into its socket and eagerly jumped to his feet. Barbossa brushed passed him thoughtlessly and thundered down to his cabin. Miranda had been his, but of course getting the crew to respect his property had always been an issue; taking her from the brig had been a bad idea. The girl was no doubt a virgin. At least, she had been when he visited her earlier that morning. Who knew what she'd be when he arrived? Barbossa snarled. The prospect of deflowering a pretty girl (his job) must have been too tempting to one of his men. Needless to say, someone would be flogged that evening. The girl's screaming continued.

Barbossa flung open the door to his cabin, ready to deliver punishment to the man who'd spoiled his fun, but a wholly different sight met his eyes.

The girl stood by the window, one hand braced against the wall while the other grasped the arm of the chair. Her head was throne back as a shriek poured from her mouth. Pain contorted her face as she stood perfectly still, and Barbossa was thoroughly perplexed.

He crossed the room in three long strides and scooped the girl into his arms, clamping her mouth shut with one hand. She froze instantly, and her eyes flew open. Her breathing was ragged, and her face was whiter than the crest of a wave, but she gasped, "What are you doing?"

"Miss Farthin', I believe I have more of a right to that question than ye do, as I'm not the one wailin' and screamin' for no 'pparent reason." Barbossa snapped, dropping her unceremoniously back onto the bed. She winced, but then furrowed her brows. "I was screaming?"

"Like a gull, missy. Mind tellin' me why?"

The girl's face reddened, and she mumbled shamefully, "I was using pain to take my mind off . . . things."

"Generally 'tis the other way 'round," Barbossa pointed out drily. The girl nodded, her face now an even deeper shade.

"I have . . . that is . . . things to deal with," she stammered, turning her face away from the captain.

"Ye'll not be screamin' again unless I allow it," Barbossa ordered. "It distracts the crew. Now shut up an' deal with yer issues like a civilized person."

"You're one to talk," the girl countered seemlessly, then bit her lip as she realized what she'd said.

Barbossa's lips twisted into a snarl again. "Miss Farthin'," he began, his words sharp and short. "Either ye act like the lady ye say ye are, or ye embrace the pirate ye've been actin' like."

Like a cat, the girl rose up and struck Barbossa on the side of his face, her nails grazing his cheek. Beads of blood sprung out of his skin, and he smiled.

"Very lady-like."

"How dare you compare me to a pirate--to someone like you," the girl spat.

"Ay, the fiery strumpet has returned," Barbossa laughed heartily, glancing at the clock on the wall. "I believe it's time for ye to kiss me."

The girl glared at him, her breast rising and falling heavily as she fought her anger.

"Go to hell." The words seemed to slide more easily off her tongue this time than they had the last. Her eyes burned fiercely, and not even Barbossa's iron stare in return could shake her. At last he smiled wickedly.

"How many times must I be tellin' ye, Miss Farthin'? I'm already there."

/\

"Man! . . . Woman! overboard!"

The excited cry roused the crew from their evening routine, and they scurried to the starboard side of the ship.

"Reckon she's dead?"

"Nah, I can see 'er breafin'!"

"'oo's gonna get 'er?"

"I want her first!"

"Shut up, da cap'tin'll decide wha' we do wif 'er."

As the crew discussed this new turn of events one pirate hauled the body up onto the deck.

"Floatin' on a piece o' shipwreck, I 'magine," he deduced, dropping the woman solidly and carelessly on the deck.

"Step aside," Barbossa commanded, joining the group to get a closer look. The woman looked to be in her mid-thirties, red matted hair, fair skin, once-expensive dress now ruined by the wear of the sea and God knows what else. Despite the claim of one pirate, she was not breathing.

Barbossa kicked her side with his hard-toed boot, and instantly the woman started choking and spluttering. The men stood still around her, waiting curiously to see if she'd recover or drown from the water still in her lungs.

"Eight shillin's she makes it!" one cried excitedly, and quickly the other men joined in on the betting. Barbossa remained silent, watching the woman writhe on the deck as she wretched up sea water and gasped for breath at the same time. She rolled onto her side and curled up in the fetal position, her sides heaving and her head ducking up and down as her instincts struggled for survival.

After minutes of this, she lay still. Cheerful demands for money rang in the air as disgruntled crewmen dug in their pockets for the agreed amount.

Suddenly the woman twitched, and the men fell silent. She twitched again, and then sat up alarmingly fast. Her eyes were wide, revealing pale gray irises and dilated pupils. She looked around wildly at the men staring at her, and rose shakily to her feet.

"Welcome aboard The Pearl, miss," Barbossa greeted her stiffly.

"You were ready to watch me die?" Her voice was low and incredulously furious. The betting and collecting of money hushed as the men looked warily at the woman.

"We be but ignorant pirates, milady," Barbossa growled. "Ye mean nothin' to us."

"Oh, I can change that," the woman countered smoothly, stepping towards him.

"I've seen ye before, haven' I?" He asked airily. The woman shrugged.

"Perhaps. Tortuga, Shipwreck Cove, No Man's Island. I've been around."

"What brings ye to this here part of the sea?"

"I was on business-" many of the crewmen tittered at this, but the woman ignored them. "-but the ship caught on an outcropping of coral. Crew scattered with the waves. Now I'm here."

"And what be yer name, milady?"

"Erin. But the men call me Ruby."

Barbossa turned and headed for his personal dining room. "Come with me, then, Ruby."

Smirking, the woman shadowed the captain into the room, but Barbossa quickly caught her off-guard with his words.

"Me an' the crew won' be needin' yer services."

"Are you sure, then?" Ruby raised an eyebrow in challenge. "I'm sure some of your men would beg to differ. And I have very accommodating group rates."

Barbossa chuckled. "We already have a girl for our pleasure. And she don' charge a thing."

"A girl?" Ruby scoffed. "What you need is a woman. First one's free, by the way."

"We'll take ye to port when we land," he said.

"And how soon will that be?" Ruby crossed her arms sullenly.

"Couldn't tell ye."

"Captain, I can't afford to have my time wasted by your aimless sailing."

Barbossa glanced out the window. The sun was setting.

"When do ye imagine ye'll die, Miss Ruby?"

"When I say I'm ready to," Ruby snapped.

"Better ready yeself or change that attitude. I won' have it on my ship." Ruby opened her mouth to argue but Barbossa waved her away. "Go down to my sleeping quarters. I imagine ye know quite well the anatomy of a ship. I'll speak more with ye later."

/\

"You are just a girl, aren't you?" Miranda looked up from the chair in which she'd been sitting, startled.

"Who are you?"

"Erin. But the men call me Ruby." The woman stepped into the room and shut the door. She looked at Miranda expectantly.

"I'm Miranda, Erin. What brings you here?"

"Shipwreck. Business. Does it matter? You're stealing my business." The woman sat down heavily on the bed and stared hard at Miranda, who was thoroughly confused.

"Your . . . business?"

"Sweetheart, I'm a whore. A damn good one, too. But as it is, the freebies you give out are losing me money. You gotta sell yourself, deary, or it's a waste of time."

"I am not a whore," Miranda snapped coldly, but Erin looked unfazed.

"Clearly. You don't sell it, do you?"

"I don't sell anything. Or give anything away."

"Still waiting for the right one? I was, too. Until I realized the right one was any one who had money." Erin's sympathy was pure, unfiltered sarcasm.

Miranda refused to reply and turned her face back to the window. Erin's voice softened as she said, "So if you haven't been giving the crew a good time, why would the captain say you were?"

"To discourage you, maybe?" Miranda shot back, still looking out the window. Erin thought this over. Finally, she asked, "What's your name?"

Miranda told her, and Erin said no more.

The two sat in silence for some time; Miranda had no desire to speak with the vile woman, and it seemed the vile woman found no need to speak. Or leave. Which was what Miranda kept mentally willing her to do.

The door burst open, and Barbossa strode in. "Ruby." He pointed at Erin. "Do what ye will. Ye'll be paid by each crewmen individually, but I'll have no part in it."

Erin smirked. "Are you sure, captain?" Her mood had instantly changed. She sashayed her way up to him, and continued, "You may be hell to look at, but money's money, and I aim to please."

Barbossa leaned closer to her, and she reflected his movement. "Go," he barked, making her jump back a pace, and she stormed out the door without another word.

Miranda looked carefully at Barbossa, and he stared expressionlessly back.

"Why is-" Miranda began, but he turned on his heel and left, slamming the door hard in his wake.