I know you all thought I'd forgotten about this story, but rest assured me hearties, I have not! Many of you followed Irish Eyes, so you know I wanted to finish that up before changing gears and fandoms. That's done, so now I can concentrate on this one.

Lore says that if Elizabeth was true to Will for the first ten years that he would be freed of his obligation to the Dutchman. That will not apply here, just FYI.

Thanks to Knight Mistress, rockstar1093, LilyHellsing, SnapePotionsMistress, asininityJackal, Conni HD, booda77, Fwallow, poty90, Lady Avotil and Callidora-Malfoy for leaving me lovely reviews for the first chapter. As you'll discover, I'm very appreciative of my readers. I will always reply to your reviews, and I will always give a little shout out to you here.

I don't strive for speediness in posting chapters - I strive for quality. You may have to wait longer than you'd like for an update, but when I do post, it will be the best offering that I have. I put quite a bit of time and effort into my stories to make sure that each chapter is the best it can be.

I will make every effort to keep this period piece historically accurate, but if you notice an error, feel free to let me know. Same with the pirate 'lingo'...if something seems off, send me a message. Also, I know ending words without a 'g' (like interestin') isn't grammatically correct, nor is some of the other pirate speak I've used, for that matter, but I did that because that's how they sound in the movies (and it makes sense to me that they would not speak properly).

As Elizabeth changed for bed, her mind drifted back to the Letters of Marque that Barbossa had mentioned the night before. Helping the Colonies fight the British and legally keeping the booty sounded good, but that's what bothered her – it sounded too good. She'd dealt with enough pirates to know that a situation like that begged for deceit and underhandedness. Certainly, Barbossa knew that, as well, so she was very curious as to what the real reason was that he would accept the letters.

Elizabeth crossed her arms and sat down on the bed. They'd risked their lives to stay free, and after only three years, they were employed – privateers, technically. The more she thought about it, the less she liked it – she was convinced that there was something Barbossa wasn't telling her, and while she expected that, she didn't like it. She was the king – she could demand that he tell her – but it would do nothing but anger him, and that would be pointless. She wanted him to trust her, as much as he could, anyway, being what they were, so she could make no demands of him.

Lying down on the feather mattress, Elizabeth remembered the night that he'd ransacked Port Royal – her thoughts towards him had certainly changed since then. Initially, she'd hated him. She'd been glad, relieved, even, that Jack had shot him at Isla de Muerta. Then she'd been shocked (and surprisingly thankful) when he'd walked down the stairs at Tia Dalma's to help them retrieve Jack from the Locker, especially since it had been her fault that he'd been stranded there in the first place. When they'd joined with the other pirate crews to defeat Beckett and The East India Trading Company, though, something had changed between her and Barbossa. They'd worked side by side, and they had schemed together quite successfully, getting along in an uncanny, oddly comfortable, sort of way. She looked back on those times in particular with great fondness.

Truth be known, Elizabeth respected Barbossa more than she was comfortable admitting – and not just because he'd married her and Will. The way that he'd carried himself throughout every ordeal had been admirable. She'd learned that while he was an underhanded and avaricious old pirate, he was a good man, as well. He was much like Jack in that way. Somehow amongst all the treachery, a thin thread of decency existed in them both.

That was how Elizabeth saw herself. She'd been just as deceitful as any of them, but her lies and tricks had been for the betterment of everyone involved, not because she'd truly wanted to be dishonest or swindle anyone. Even though a pirate, she thought of herself as a good, decent person, too.

A good, decent person who punished Jack for deserting by sending him to the Locker, her inner voice harshly reminded her.

Elizabeth sighed. Well, that was true, but she had saved the entire crew by doing so – the Kraken had only been after Jack.

He was also the one who saved your life when you fell into the water, and look at how you repaid him, the annoying voice in her head continued. Let's make a tally – you used Norrington's love for you to manipulate him to do what you wanted, you purposely got Jack loaded on the deserted island to manipulate him to do what you wanted, you deserted your father so you could follow your own plan, you stabbed Barbossa with a knife in a futile effort to manipulate him and you stabbed Jones' heart out of selfishness – oh yes, you're a very good and decent person indeed. And let's not forget all the lies you told Will or the times that you just didn't tell him anything about your plans.

Will left me out of some plans, too, she countered.

He was desperately trying to figure out how to rescue both you and his father. You, on the other hand, were busy kissing Sao Feng and James and Jack –

Oh stop. You've made your point.

Elizabeth had no argument for her vile thoughts – they were all true. Will was not blameless, but he was less blameless, for sure. While she tried to conceal her more selfish pursuits, Will was a gentle, honest soul, and she supposed that he always would be. For the past three years, she'd wondered – had he been given the chance on that deck, would he have chosen to stab Jones' heart to save himself or not? It plagued her thoughts in the dark of night and ate away at her sanity during the day. She'd considered asking him before he'd left her, but she'd decided that it was a question better left unasked.

With a moan, she pulled the thin sheet over her face. Why had she thought about stabbing that heart? It was a moment in time that she'd tried to forget ever since it happened. And it was just another reminder that Will was a better person than she was. Growing up, he'd followed propriety, and she'd disregarded it. Will had kept himself in check, and she – well, she'd often embarrassed her private tutor with her behavior. The past couple years, she'd told herself more than once that Will was simply too good for her and that he deserved someone else. She certainly didn't deserve him, just like he didn't deserve the life he now had. She remembered when he'd told her that he was thankful and indebted to her for saving his life before he'd headed for the sea, but she hadn't believed him – not completely, anyway. She'd known that he was being positive and trying to make the best out of their awful predicament – that's just the type of person he was. It had made her feel even worse.

Elizabeth snuggled deeper under the thin blankets as she pushed the guilt-ridden thoughts of her husband away – she couldn't allow herself to think on them any longer. As far as the letters were concerned, she'd just have to wait to learn the real reason behind Barbossa's decision to accept them, whether she wanted to or not.

Later the next afternoon, Elizabeth spotted Gibbs and, seeing that he was alone, decided to have a chat with him. She was curious what he thought about the letters, and it was the perfect time to ask.

"It's good to be back at sea, Mr. Gibbs," she commented, resting her elbows on the railing as she leaned back against it. "I have missed it."

Gibbs chuckled as he secured a couple loose rigging lines around belaying pins. "Teague not be interestin' enough for ya, huh?"

Elizabeth smiled as she thought of Jack's father. "Teague was very accommodating and sort of sweet in his own way, but I was so bored. Sailing over to Ap Lei wasn't like this."

"Aye. The sea be like a mermaid – damn near impossible to ignore her seductive call once you've heard it," Gibbs remarked with a wink.

Elizabeth had never seen a mermaid for herself – she wasn't convinced that they existed, actually – but she had heard stories from men who'd sworn they'd narrowly escaped one's clutches.

"Speaking of seductive calls, what do you think about going to the Colonies?" she asked casually. "It sounds rather exciting, helping someone else fight for freedom like we did."

"Plunderin' be plunderin'," Gibbs answered with a shrug. "I think it be a bit strange to have permission to do it, but the cap'n says the letters will protect us somehow, so off we go."

"Have you ever pirated with letters before?"

Gibbs shook his head. "Nay," he answered, giving her a toothy grin. "Concerned, are ya?" She wasn't the first to ask about the letters. Many crewmen had come to him with questions.

Elizabeth shrugged. "Just curious."

"Well, don't fret none over it," Gibbs encouraged her as he had many crewmembers. "Barbossa be one of the wiliest cap'ns I know. If he accepted the letters, I'm sure it'll be a lucrative venture for all of us."

As Elizabeth watched Gibbs finish tying the ropes around the pins, she hoped that he was right.

Barbossa stared at the knotted, wooden beams above his bed in confusion. He understood that Elizabeth had changed from a prim and proper governor's daughter to a sword wheeling, shrewd pirate – he'd observed much of the transformation with his own eyes – but what he'd seen earlier in the day had him more than perplexed.

Elizabeth had inked marks on the inside of her left wrist.

Barbossa knew that she had to have gotten them within the past three years because she hadn't had them when they'd fought Beckett. He also knew that women didn't usually get marks like that; dockwalkers, maybe, to help them stand out to the men, but that scenario certainly didn't apply to Elizabeth. Outlaws and criminals were often marked, too – albeit, unwillingly – but that didn't apply to her, either. Barbossa was quite sure that she'd chosen to get them. But why?

He pictured them again. They were Asian, but he didn't know what they meant. He just couldn't imagine what had possessed her to permanently (and painfully) mark herself like she had.

Barbossa's first thought was that maybe it had something to do with the whelp – something to do with love – but then he snorted in disbelief. Elizabeth didn't seem to type to mark herself for love. No, there was something more to it, for sure. Barbossa pictured the marks again – more than likely, it was something that she didn't want to forget – something that she must have felt extreme guilt or sadness about. It was the only explanation that made sense, and her somber personality fit either, as well.

Barbossa then tried to think of what she might feel guilty or sad about. Jack? No, Elizabeth wouldn't mark herself for the likes of Sparrow. What about her father then? She'd left him, after all, to search for Turner, and then he'd died when they were trying to get back from World's End. Maybe it was for him? It was a definite possibility. That explanation made the most sense, but Barbossa still wasn't convinced.

He rolled over in his bed, knowing sleep would not come quickly. Barbossa wouldn't admit it, but the change in Elizabeth was unnerving. She was just not the same lass that he'd sent off to honeymoon three years ago, and her inked marks only served to confirm that. She was more withdrawn – more distant somehow – and he'd seen the proof in her eyes more than once; they were void of the fire that had once burned bright in them. He couldn't put a finger on it exactly, but something was very different.

Barbossa fought the urge to growl in frustration. Why was he so blasted curious, anyway? Why should he care why she'd marked herself? She was a grown woman – she was the king, for crying out loud – she could make her own decisions and do whatever she wanted. He needed not be concerned about her choices.

You're curious because, in some odd way, you care about her and are attracted to her, you crusty, old bilge rat, Barbossa told himself unkindly. He'd tried to convince himself for months that he was not attracted to her, but he couldn't pretend any longer. He'd never admit it to anyone, but she impressed him a great deal, and not many did. She was easy on the eyes, too, but that really was just secondary to him; it was her intellect and shrewdness that had truly caught his attention. It was all pointless, though. She loved Turner fiercely; he'd seen the proof of her devotion too many times. Elizabeth would never betray her husband, regardless of their forced separation, and Barbossa had to accept that. He was too old and gruff for her, anyway.

Barbossa sighed and told himself that he should enjoy Elizabeth's company as long as he had it because their trip through the Pirate Round bound for the Colonies would more than likely be their last voyage together.

A couple nights later as Barbossa patrolled the deck, he saw Elizabeth standing at the railing near the forecastle watching the gorgeous sunset before them that had cast a warm, amber hue over everything – including them – and he decided to join her.

"Want to tell me what those inked letters on your wrist mean?" he asked boldly. He'd repeatedly tried to tell himself that it was none of his business and that he didn't care, but curiosity had taken over his mind like the frostbite had taken over his body on the way to World's End, so he'd decided to ask her about the marks outright to see what she'd say.

Elizabeth continued gazing out across the golden ocean before her as she leaned on the top of the gunwall. She wasn't surprised at his question, knowing that he would ask eventually – everyone did – but she had her own questions that she wanted answers to.

"Want to tell me the real reason why you'll accept Letters of Marque?" she retorted without turning around to look at him. She knew that he had a 'secret' reason – just like she did. If he wanted to know hers, he'd have to tell his. They had a history of bargains, after all.

Barbossa silently contemplated her inquiry for only a few moments before he walked away. Apparently, he'd need to choose a better tactic than a direct question.

The next day, Barbossa noticed Pintel and Ragetti talking to Tai Huang – the former captain of Sao Feng's guards – near the capstan. After the battle against Beckett's armada, Huang had remained with Barbossa's crew, and he'd proven himself as a worthy seaman to the captain many times over.

Barbossa smirked then. Why hadn't he thought of it before? Tai Huang was Asian. Perhaps he could enlist his crewmember's assistance in deciphering those mysterious symbols on Elizabeth's wrist. He took a step towards the men, but then he hesitated. Did he really want to know? He cleared his throat and continued over to the men. It only took a moment for him to decide – he did want to know. He needed to know.

"A word, Huang," Captain Barbossa requested, walking away from the other two.

"Yes, Cap'n?"

Looking around to make sure that no one was listening, Barbossa quietly said, "I be needin' yer oriental expertise."

"In what way?"

"The Pirate King has some marks on the inside of her left wrist, and I be needin' to know what they mean."

Tai Huang nodded. "You plannin' to pay me?" he asked with a lopsided smirk.

Barbossa chuckled. He liked how the younger man thought. "You will most certainly be compensated for yer trouble."

"Very well. I let you know when I have answer."

"Come in," Barbossa replied to the soft knock, already knowing who it was. Only she knocked like that.

Elizabeth walked in, closed the door and quietly took a seat at the table. She needed nothing; she just wanted some company. She took notice that the captain was reclined in bed, clad only in his shirt, breeches and stockings, and she realized that she hadn't seen him in such a state of undress before. It was rather intimate, but she wasn't uncomfortable. His coat and hat hung off the post of the bed nearest him, his cutlass and revolver were on the bed beside him in their holsters and his bandana was firmly in place, as it always was. The tattered book in his hands fascinated her, though.

"I didn't know you could read." She'd assumed that the majority of pirates were illiterate and unable to read much more than what was on a chart.

"For yer information, I completed my schoolin' before turnin' pirate," Barbossa replied. "Me mum made sure that I went."

"Oh, I meant no disrespect," Elizabeth told him truthfully. "I just thought most couldn't read."

"Aye, most crewmen can't, but most captains can," Barbossa explained with a wink. "It be in our best interest so no one gets the upper hand." He closed his book and placed it beside him on the bed. "What about you?" Her presence was easy and familiar, and he decided that some conversation with her would be a pleasant diversion from his book.

"I had a private tutor in Port Royal," Elizabeth answered as she reached for the rum bottle on the table and helped herself, not even bothering to fetch a nipperkin to pour it in. "But she focused on plain-work, manners, wifely duties – as she called them – and such. I was much more interested in history and philosophy." The mention of Barbossa's mother was the first that she'd heard, and she wondered if he'd talk about her or his father. "Will you tell me about your parents?"

Barbossa did not usually discuss his family, but since he was feeling rather affable at the moment, he decided to answer her question.

"Me mum was Italian," he began. "She was from a large family in Palermo. They had acres of vineyards and made their own wine. Once a month, they travelled to Catania where they sold bottles to local taverns. Me mum was seventeen when she met my father. She'd gone with her father and two of her older brothers to Catania, and while she was countin' the money, my father strode in with men from his ship. He was a merchant from Portugal on his way to Greece. Story goes that they were quite taken with each other. They met briefly that day, but then their paths crossed in Catania a few more times. Her father and brothers discouraged her from seein' him, but she ignored them. When she turned eighteen, she snuck away from her homestead, paid a passerby to take her to Catania and met up with him there." Barbossa paused to smile at the memory of the story – he'd always admired his mother's fortitude. "They married immediately, and before her family could stop her, she hopped on his ship bound for his home in Loule, Portugal. She never went back to Italy."

Elizabeth was pleasantly surprised. She'd expected to hear that his father had been a pirate and his mother a wench. "They must have had a great love," she said, a little melancholy since her husband was God knew where in the ocean, leagues away from her. "Especially for her to leave her family like that. I know just how difficult that is." She thought about her father instantly – she still blamed herself for his death, though she knew she wouldn't have been able to save him even if she'd been in Port Royal. She still had nightmares about seeing him in that small boat when they were trying to get back from World's End.

Barbossa nodded, briefly wondering if her statement was a clue as to what the marks on her wrist were for. He hoped Huang would have an answer for him soon. "They were married over forty years and had five children. They had a small vineyard of their own, and when he stopped sailin' in his late forties, they made wine and sold it to local taverns for the rest of their days."

"Did you sail with your father?"

Barbossa chuckled. "I be the only son, so I was on a ship every chance I got," he answered. "I often stowed away on his ships, in fact, until he gave up tryin' to keep me at home and let me join the crew."

Elizabeth laughed, trying to picture Barbossa as a child sneaking around on his father's ship. "I did the same thing! My father would get so angry with me, but I couldn't help it. The sea just –"

"Called out to yeh," Barbossa finished with a nod.

"Exactly. I tried to play the role of the governor's daughter – I really did. I wore the proper clothing. I behaved the proper way, or tried to, at least. I spoke in the proper manner, but –"

"Wasn't who yeh were," Barbossa finished for her again. "There was another side of yeh that wanted out of all that stuffy, high society behavior. It just never fit – like trying to wear someone else's boots."

Elizabeth smiled at him and nodded. "You understand."

Barbossa shrugged. "Who wouldn't?"

Elizabeth quickly looked away as she drank more rum. Conversation was so easy with Barbossa, especially when it came to the subject of sailing. She wished it had been that easy with her husband. Their turbulent relationship had not been without its share of heated arguments.

Elizabeth's silence spoke volumes to Barbossa, and he was somewhat surprised at what it implied. "Turner didn't, did he?"

With a roll of her eyes, Elizabeth answered, "No, not exactly." It was an understatement, really. She and Will had different opinions on many subjects.

Barbossa furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "That be a might strange considerin' that he's –"

"He didn't ask for that," Elizabeth interrupted, looking back at Barbossa, her earlier feelings of being relaxed and comfortable gone in a flash as her shoulders stiffened instantly. "Jack and I were being selfish when we stabbed the heart – well, me mostly. Will only ever wanted to be a blacksmith and have a family. He never wanted to be at sea; it didn't call to him like it did to me – to us. And because of me, now he's stuck there permanently." She looked away and bit her lip, hating the immense guilt that overwhelmed her every time she thought about the situation. She wondered if it would ever stop – it felt just as horrible then as it had three years ago.

Barbossa studied the young lady that sat at his table drinking his rum. He knew the expression on her face all too well – there was no mistaking it. "You feel quilty."

Elizabeth lifted her glistening eyes to his and nodded, the weight of her selfishness crushing her. "I cursed him," she whispered shamefully. She'd regretted her action many times over, and she would have given anything to change the past.

"Nay. Life don't always turn out the way we plan. I bet Turner would gladly ferry souls instead of bein' dead; it's no fun, I assure you. Plus, he has a beautiful wife to visit every ten years. I'm sure that he don't think himself cursed."

Elizabeth sighed and shook her head. "But he didn't get to make that choice. He – " She stopped talking and tilted her head to the side as she looked at Barbossa curiously. "Wait. Did you just call me beautiful?" She must have heard wrong; the captain would never give her such a bold and direct compliment like that.

For the first time in countless years, Barbossa felt heat rush to his cheeks, and he was thankful that his facial hair concealed most of it. Instead of looking away, though, he held her gaze steady. It was truth; he couldn't deny it, though he hadn't exactly planned to say that to her. "Aye," he replied, his voice softer than usual. "Would you prefer to be called homely?"

Elizabeth blinked twice and swallowed forcibly as her heart beat faster. "No, I…well, I'm not accustomed to hearing such talk from you." Nor was she accustomed to being flustered by him, which she was. Barbossa said she was beautiful. Why did she suddenly feel like one hundred butterflies were fluttering around in her stomach?

Knowing he'd said enough for one night, Barbossa picked up his book, but his eyes never left hers. "I'm naught but a man, Elizabeth. I have eyes that appreciate beauty when they see it, even if it not be theirs to appreciate. Now, off to bed with yeh. I'd like to read some more."

Elizabeth stood up, feeling slightly awkward from his statement as it reminded her of the bathhouse incident in Singapore, and she was afraid that her bright pink cheeks gave her thoughts away. "It is getting late, isn't it?" she said nervously, putting the rum bottle back on the table and heading for the door. "Good night, Captain."

As she drifted off to sleep twenty minutes later, Elizabeth could still hear Barbossa's compliment as it repeated in her head, and it made her smile.

Belaying pins – wooden pegs used to secure rigging lines

Ap Lei – old name for Hong Kong

Pirate Round – course from the western Atlantic, around the southern tip of Africa, stopping at Madagascar before continuing on

Nipperkin – a small cup

Plain-work – basic sewing