Chapter Sixteen

Since that evening on the beach Miranda began to feel much more comfortable with the idea of marrying Antony, and it wasn't until the day of the rehearsal that anything unusual happened. She had just finished afternoon tea with her mother when the doorbell rang. Being closer to the door, Miranda stood and opened it to find a tall, gangly man with a large hat covering one eye. His clothes were filthy and reeked of close and salty quarters. The scent was familiar.

"Yes?" She asked hesitantly. The man said nothing, but shoved a small wooden box at her with dirt-smeared hands, and then ran away.

"Miranda, who's at the door?" her mother called.

"No one." Miranda's mind was only on the box. She rushed upstairs to her room and closed her door firmly. Standing in the middle of the room, she pulled the bronze latch away and opened the box.

Inside was water. As Miranda stared at the contents in confusion, a breeze rustled through her open window and a briny, salty tang caught in her throat. Ocean water. She let go of the lid, and as it flipped back she saw elegant writing on the inside.

She shows you who you truly are

Weakly, Miranda set the box on her bedside table and collapsed on her bed. She'd been almost free of him. Being married to Antony would give her a new kind of protection, she just had to make it to tomorrow. Someone knocked on the door.

"Miranda, are you alright?"

"Yes, Mother," she replied, hugging her sides as she tried to banish thoughts of Barbossa. He was gone, he was gone, he was gone. He'd probably sent the box as a joke to make her uneasy. To keep her uneasy would probably amuse him; she should have seen it coming.

As she dressed for the rehearsal, she tried to keep herself distracted. But the airy, blue dress selected for her reminded her of the ocean swells, the pearls just made her think of other creatures that lived at sea, and the waves in which her hair was pressed reminded her of the tide. Just as she thought she'd drive herself mad, it was time to leave for the governor's mansion.

"Rehearsal dinner" seemed just an excuse for the wealth of Port Royal to have a social extravaganza, but Miranda didn't mind. She felt in no condition to deal with excessive attention.

Her mind was whirling as the orchestra began to play and Antony led her to the center of the ballroom. Her feet moved mechanically and her smile was forced. Every once in a while she thought she caught the scent of the ocean, but as quickly as it came, it disappeared. As Antony turned her she thought she heard a familiar, rough laugh, but shook the thought away. He would haunt her if she let him.

The dinner was marvelous. Her father made a toast to Miranda and Antony, and as the food dwindled, so did the guests. When the number depleted by half, Miranda was ready to sleep away her paranoia and stress. She excused herself from Antony's side at the table and headed for the balcony for fresh air, but as she was crossing the floor still occupied with dancers a hand gripped her arm. She turned, startled, to see an man with bright blue eyes and a neat brown and grey beard. He wore medals on his coat bearing the Portuguese crest, and a long, thin sword hung at his belt.

"Would you grant me the honor?" It was not a question.

Miranda found herself in his grasp as he began leading her in a waltz.

"And who are ye, Miss Farthin'?"

Miranda missed a step, but Barbossa held her easily over the floor before setting her back down on the next beginning count.

"Or are ye Mrs. Murrtogg yet?"

"No." Miranda's teeth were gritted so tightly she could barely breathe.

Barbossa laughed with obvious restraint. "Did ye like my present?"

"You have lovely handwriting," she replied curtly as he led her through a half turn and then spun her back to his arms. "Why are you here?"

"To claim what be rightf'ly mine," he answered easily, never taking his eyes off Miranda.

"Rightfully, Captain?"

"Aye," he agreed. "Ye yerself haggled the terms, remember? A crew harmed no further in exchange for yerself. And what's a man t'do when his pup runs away?"

"Get another one," Miranda growled. "I'm engaged to be married tomorrow."

"But until then," Barbossa whispered, pulling Miranda closer, "yer mine."

"Just wait until Antony--" Miranda started hotly, but Barbossa interrupted with amusement, raising his voice so all could hear.

"So the whelp's still around here, is he? I should think it be past his me see yer beau."

The room quieted, and Miranda felt instantly ashamed. Antony was nothing to be feared or respected by mere appearance, and she knew he must be worried. Barbossa would shame him and she didn't know how to stop him.

The captain tightened his grip on Miranda before casting her to the side and striding through the couples halted in mid-dance.

"Who be the unlucky man marrying the pirate's wench?"

"I."

Miranda shadowed Barbossa's steps until she saw the two men standing at a distance, facing each other. Antony was wary and his brow was puckered in anxiety. Barbossa stood amused.

"And ye think ye can handle this strumpet?" Barbossa laughed, seeing Miranda's approach, seizing her wrist and dragging her forward. Whispers echoed through the room as the remaining guests pushed closer to watch the spectacle.

"You'll not call her such names." Antony's voice quivered as he took a cautious step towards him.

"Ahh, but they be accurate," Barbossa rasped. Upon seeing Antony's confusion, he barked a laugh and added, "I reckon yer bride never told ye about her . . . misadventures."

"You horrid, word-twisting mon-" Miranda began, wrenching her hand in vain attempt to free herself, but Barbossa sent her to the ground with a jerk of his wrist.

"No, no, m'dear. It's not your time to talk," he growled, and glanced back at Antony. "Ye'll thank me for this later, boy. This wench be not yer type."

"That's not for you to decide," Antony retorted, some aggression showing through his fear and anxiety. As he said this he strode forward, but Barbossa anticipated his move. Without so much as a moment's hesitation, the captain withdrew his pistol and fired it easily into the advancing man's shoulder.

"Antony!" Miranda cried as she watched him crumple. She lunged toward him but Barbossa gripped her forearm in a bruisingly tight hold. Screams rang throughout the ballroom as guests panicked. In the chaos, Barbossa tightened his grip to the point Miranda felt he'd surely break her arm and started for the balcony. Tears springing to her eyes in pain and fear, she tripped after him.

"Let me-" she pleaded, but Barbossa whirled around and his expression caught her entirely off-guard. She'd seen several emotions cross over his face, but this was a new one. Pure, unfiltered fury contorted his face to make a sight more horrifying than when she'd seen his decayed, rotting skin. Her words froze in her throat and she stumbled to the ground.

"We've all missed ye back at the ship," he growled.