Their time on the island gave them the opportunity they needed—simple, relaxing, with no pressures or obligations—to get to know each other as husband and wife after just being friends for so long.
This took the form of very frequent lovemaking, but there was also swimming, fishing, eating mangoes in the surf, snuggling by firelight, and long, drowsy chats in the shade.
It was during one of these long, lazy afternoons when Jack broached a topic that he'd been putting off. "Lizzie," he said.
Elizabeth sat up and looked at him. He'd started using her nickname more often than before, but he often still meant business with it. Usually she was "'Lizabeth" or "Liz" in addition to the "love," "darling," and the increasingly popular "sweetheart," but "Lizzie" was still the one he used most often when he was serious.
"What is it, love?" she asked.
He smiled briefly at the endearment, but then sobered and went on. "Ye know I've been to bed with an awful lot of women before I married you," he began.
"...Yes?"
"Girl in every port, that was me." He noticed her expression hardening and hastened to add, "'M not telling you this to make you jealous or angry, love—it's just a fact. Can't change it."
"I am not sharing you!" Elizabeth informed him in a hard voice.
"Oh, no, no, love. Perish the thought. It's just I got to thinkin'... with all this sailing about the governor wants us doing, we'll probably cross paths with some of 'em as we travel." He turned fathomless black eyes on her. "I told ye before, I don't want anyone to ever equate you with one o' them. So however ye want to handle it, I'll be right behind you.'S long as we're not talking actual murder, here, I'm your man."
She smiled. "You're my man anyway, murder or no."
"Aye, I am. And I want 'em all to know it."
"Oh! Er, thank you, Jack." She was quiet for a moment, thinking this over.
He wasn't a patient conversationalist. "Just out o' curiosity, how do ye want to handle it?"
"Depends on them," she said thoughtfully. "Beyond my perfectly natural desire to snatch all the hair from their heads just for ever touching you, there's also the fact that a lot of them seem to like to slap you."
"They do, don't they? Can't think why."
"Point being, I would be forced to refuse them permission to lay so much as a finger on my husband, friendly or not. If they were disinclined to comply, well... I am fairly good with a sword."
"I'd like to see that," Jack said. He lay back down on the sand, with his hands folded behind his head, and closed his eyes apparently the better to imagine the sight. "Hell, I'd sell tickets so others could see that!"