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Midnight Ride	By : EvilE Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > Het - Male/Female > Jack/Elizabeth Views: 2747 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Blazing Saddles
- 2-Pursuit
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 1
- 2
A birthday gift for talented, incredible and beautiful jacksmermaid, who provided the horsie prompt. Maybe it's more like a birthday cake, which is really made for the birthday girl, but everyone gets to taste it. Started it on Friday eve and will continue. And no, “Blazing Saddles” does not refer to my friends' 10th-grade Health class project on gonorrhea. Or perhaps it does.

Title: Moonlight Ride (first two chapters: “Blazing Saddles”; “Pursuit”)

Summary: Post-AWE. Horses. Moonlit nights. Daring rescues. Think chivalry, knights of old, age of sail, and Pirates of the Caribbean meets... the Old West? Five years after their adventures, Jack and Elizabeth meet again by chance. Good fortune or misfortune?

Characters: Jack, Elizabeth, Will, and a Paso Fino

Pairing: J/E, implied W/E. And no, the horse is not included in the pairing.

Rating: PG-13-M (so far)

Chapters: 1-2/4?

Disclaimer: Sure.

Historical Note: There are things a writer can know, and things a writer can't know. Did my level best given the Internet. For everything else, ask artaxastra.

“Perhaps the only thing better than having a woman to himself tonight, Jack thought with a slow smile, would be having two women to himself.”

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Kingston, Jamaica 17XX

1. Blazing Saddles

Kingston agreed with Jack Sparrow on this particular evening. He was a bit weighed down with coin - though more so with rum - and he also supported upon and shoulder and arm a lovely lass named Laurita, who leaned upon him probably as much as he leaned upon her, and so it was no wonder that as they made their way down Harbour Street in front of the new theater, they fell, grandly, into the street.

They laughed uproariously over their fall, though Jack recovered soon enough to roll to his feet and guide Laurita out of the way of a passing coach. He guided her as far from the street as possible, which happened to be against a nearby pillar, after which he decided he ought to check her waist and torso for possible injuries from their fall.

“Let's make sure you're all right, shall we?” he said, squeezing the feminine flesh methodically with both hands in a continuous northward direction. Just then, Laurita called to someone and waved over his shoulder.

“Jack,” purred the lovely Laurita in an equally lovely Spanish lilt, “have you got a friend for my sister, Lucita? She's been so lonely and down on her luck, too...”

He looked up and was about to turn around when he noticed the bill posted just above Laurita's head, topped as it was with dark curls. The yellow parchment curled at the edges was slightly faded, but the writing was still clear.

WANTED for PIRACY, it read. JACK SPARROW.

Below there was a crude drawing. It depicted a man with menacing dark brows and also included his scarf, hair and beads, together with a reasonable approximation of his goatee, tiny braids dangling. Jack lifted a hand defensively to his chin, frowning at the likeness of himself that scowled back with a sneer that revealed many missing teeth. I've still got all my teeth, he thought, touching them with his tongue to make sure.

REWARD paid in Spanish Gold or Pounds, it read underneath.

No room for an honest pirate in this town, any more.

“Jack?” Laurita said, still waiting for an answer, as he reached over and ripped down the poster, noting briefly that there were several others, for other pirates, nearby. He decided to leave them - if they were looking for them, they wouldn't be looking for him, now would they? He dropped the poster and ground it beneath his boot.

“Here comes my sister,” Laurita said with a smile, and Jack turned to regard the approaching Lucita with an appraising eye. “Do you know anyone who can keep her company tonight?”

Perhaps the only thing better than having a woman to himself tonight, Jack thought with a slow smile, would be having two women to himself.

“I'm so sorry, darling,” he said to her, feeling at his waist for his coin purse. “My mates have all gone back to the ship. However,” and at this he slung an arm around the shoulders of the newly-arrived Lucita, “if you two are accustomed to sharing your things among you, like good little girls, I may have a few extra coins - and a few extra hours.”

He flashed a gold smile at both of them and the two women laughed, their pitch of their giggles almost in harmony. Laurita began to nibble his ear, and he was exchanging - by the way of a get-to-know-you - a long, lustful glance with Lucita - when he heard a commotion just in front of the tavern across the way.

It seemed a lad was being asked to leave. Well, that would be putting it mildly, Jack saw, as the lad was shoved by a large, meaty-handed lout out the door and then followed by several others.

The lad landed facedown on the cobblestoned street, and one of the aggressors called “That'll teach you to keep yer hands in yer own pockets!”

Jack didn't waste much time on pity. He was much better off minding his own business, as a general rule. The scene was a distraction from his greater purpose, now at hand, and so he tried to close his eyes.

“Knock 'im down good!”

A shame, truly, but no concern of his. Still, he blinked his eyes open again.

“Aye!” another called, and gave a kick to the upper back of the boy, causing his hat to fly off. A length of richly colored tawny hair spilled out, and some of the onlookers jeered.

“Right fine tresses for a pickpocket!”

“Shall we show 'im what we do with such pretty lads, eh, Dominic?”

Jack's hand, which had been working its way under the skirts of the increasingly amorous Laurita, stilled upon her thigh.

“Better search 'im and make sure we got all our coin back!” yelled the one the other man had called Dominic.

“Aye, I'll do it,” answered the largest of the bunch, with eyes that swelled nearly to bursting from his skull, and teeth and hands that seemed equally ready to detach themselves at any moment. He grabbed the boy roughly, who fought uselessly, and shoved his hands inside his jacket. The boy struggled, and soon the man ripped open the jacket with a gleeful expression. “Well, boys - I've a notion our conveyancer, here, 's no lad at all. D'ya want to feel fer yerself?”

He shoved the lad in question into the arms of the short, wiry-haired Dominic. “Oh, is it now? If ye are a lad, you're possessed of a comely apple-dumpling shop!” The three burst into raucous laughter.

Jack groaned. Not at the touch of Lucita's palm to his chest beneath his shirt, but because he had a feeling he wasn't going to get to enjoy her charms as thoroughly as he liked. If at all. But perhaps the evening could still be salvaged.

He scanned the street for options as he heard the boy - or girl, it didn't much matter to Jack - yelling in protest. It was a fairly populated public street, where the pistol would probably not be of much use - and there were several of the large men, and only one of him. He also noted a few bits of red standing off to one side, and he'd no need to call the entire British army's attention to himself. Force would not be the best strategy here.

That left negotiation, and flight. He dipped his fingers back into the coin purse. He had enough for the services of two lonely ladies of the night, but not enough to suppress the violent tendencies of three drunk Spanish horse breeders, from the looks of them. He saw their horses tethered nearby, one with a young lad stroking its nose. That one was too young to be the owner. Must be the guard. Which meant, that particular horse was worth guarding.

Or - or, he could just close his eyes and help Laurita and Lucita up to the inn, where he could forget about the foolish lad in front of him, and the price on his head, by immersing himself in the pleasures of the flesh. Several fleshes, he amended, a smile almost reaching his bearded chin. That was a better course of action, Jack thought. Wiser. Keep to the code, and all that.

At that same moment the lad - all right, more likely a lass - screamed. Jack's head fell back and he swore violently, not because Lucita had finally insinuated a hand beneath his breeches, but because the scream sounded unfortunately familiar. He ripped his coin purse from his belt and silently said a quick prayer - as rare an occurrence as it was, and even less so the particular request - that the young man guarding the horses held a decided preference for women, for he was in need of a distraction.

Elizabeth Turner had come to the end of her rope. Also the end of her patience, her coin, and it seemed - her disguise, for the lummox who'd knocked her hat off was no proceeding to grope her painfully about the midsection, and her struggles were to no avail.

Will should have been back to port three days before, on their ship, the Pegasus, with which they conducted mostly legitimate livestock and cargo trade and only the occasional bit of smuggling. Four days before, they'd separated in Spanish Town, agreeing to rendezvous in Kingston the following evening, but she surmised her husband must have run into some trouble. Not surprising, given that she seemed to have run into quite a bit of trouble herself. She was hungry and she had spent everything on lodging and food the first two nights. She thought it easy enough to pilfer a few coins from these louts, and she'd been right, the previous evening. Her mistake was attempting to rob the same men twice. She should never have done it. She should have recognized them, even in a different tavern on a different street. By the smell, she thought, wrinkling her nose as Dominic forcibly lifted her off her kicking feet and shoved her against the outside wall of the tavern, his hairy hand grabbing her crudely between the thighs.

“Let me go!” she hissed as she beat his shoulders with her fists.

“She's a feisty one!” “Show her how it's done!” the men called, and Elizabeth felt panic rising in her chest as she realized she couldn't reach the dagger in her boot with his stocky body in the way. She thrashed and scratched which only seemed to spur him on, and she found her back against the clay bricks and her boots off the ground.

When he released her neck, she breathed a sigh of relief, only to feel her lungs tighten again as she saw him withdraw a knife and begin to slit open her breeches. The other men gathered closer, jeering, and she lashed out with elbows and knees, gaining herself a hard slap across the face for her trouble.

The blow disoriented her, and everything seemed to happen slowly and far away. There was a flash of brown and black, some loud noises, animal noises? - the men yelling, but not at her, and a dull thump as though someone had been knocked to the ground - and she felt freed, and she slid down the wall, vaguely thankful he'd let her go but not sure why, and she met the ground gratefully, wanting only to let the blackness claim her. But she felt herself being pulled upward, and then she was lying on her stomach across something, and she was moving. Flying.

Maybe I'm dead, she thought. She didn't realize she'd spoken aloud until she received an answer, from a familiar voice that nonetheless evoked both interest and a bit of alarm.

“You're not dead yet, love, but I do wish you'd sit up and hang on to me, here amidships - so I can get us away from your fine friends a tad faster.”

A hand was steadying her on her back, and she opened her eyes to see the ground moving - the ground could move? - and then turned her head to see the large rump of a horse, and realized she was draped across it. Almost instantly she began to feel as though she would fall, and she clung tightly, calling, “Slow down! I can't get astride at this pace!”

“Ah, that might prove unhelpful, if you'll look behind us,” the rider said.

She did. Dominic and his two friends were pursuing them on horseback through the busy street, murderous anger contorting their already hideous features, about two or three lengths behind. She only allowed shock to give her a moment's pause before she gave a mighty shove with her arms and wrapped them around the rider's waist, swinging her other leg over.

“Well done. Better hang on,” her rescuer said.

She squeezed tightly around his middle, her chin resting on his shoulder as he dug in his heels and the horse responded with a gallop. She could hear the staccato of each hoof as it struck the stone street, but they seemed to bounce very little. She settled into her knees to lighten herself in the saddle. Well, on the back of the saddle.

It was then that she pieced together the voice, the feel, and the scent, as she turned her nose against her savior's neck as they made a sharp turn between several buildings.

“Jack!” she said against several black ropes of hair in front of his ear. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“Me? I'm riding as if fetching the midwife.” Jack pulled back and they turned again, beginning to head up East Street, the hills to their right. “Question is, what are you doing here?”

“I - “ Something whizzed past Elizabeth's ear, then, and she clung tighter to Jack. “What was that?”

“They've shot at us.”

“Shot - ! All this devil among the tailors, over a few coins they've already taken back?” she said, incredulous, clinging as Jack urged the horse on faster.

“Well - now, I believe they're more upset that we're escaping on their prize Paso Fino.”

They emerged on yet another busy street, where passers-by scurried out of the way, drunk sailors staggered in the gutter, and soldiers in red turned in surprise at the commotion. Two stared pointedly at Jack and Elizabeth as they approached.

Suddenly Jack tossed the reins in the air. “Take the reins, will you?” he said, and ducked forward, turning his face toward the horse's neck.

Panicked, Elizabeth snatched them up. “What are you doing? Jack, are you mad?”

“Shhh!” Jack hissed at her, clinging with one hand to the saddle, continuing to hide his face.

As they flew past one group of soldiers, Elizabeth watched as one pointed and called to a group further up the road. “Pirate!” it sounded like he called - and then about five of the group ahead began to run out in the street about a hundred yards in front.

“Not good,” said Jack, sitting up.

“What's going on?” Elizabeth demanded. She stared, horrified, as two of the soldiers knelt in the street, aiming their bayonets straight ahead.

“Halt!” called another off to the side. “Stop at once!”

“No no,” Jack said to Elizabeth. “No stopping.”

“Jack, they're going to shoot us!”

“Well, they'd better be quick about it,” Jack said, taking the reins back.

The horse charged ahead, and Elizabeth clung to Jack's middle as she gaped, open-mouthed, at the two soldiers in the street who drew closer and closer with every stride. “Jack! “

“Hold on.”

“You can't be serious. You can't mean to - “

She closed her eyes as she felt the horse leap, hanging on to Jack with all of her strength, and felt as though she were flying, for a moment, before they landed with a tremendous jolt that nearly unseated them both, and galloped forward.

She gained the nerve to open her eyes, and turned to see that the soldiers had dropped to the ground, and were now getting up and finding their own mounts to make pursuit, behind Dominic and his men.

“Wonderful. Now there twelve men after us instead of three!” she called to Jack, exasperated.

“Sorry, darling, it seems I've got a price on me head,” he replied. “What's your excuse?”

She thought about how to answer as they reached the outskirts of the city, and began to follow the road into the countryside. It was a still night, a clear, warm night. It might even be beautiful if she hadn't gotten herself into this situation.

A dull pop from behind them, and Elizabeth saw pieces of bark fly from a palm tree ten feet ahead in the fading twilight. The horse, startled by the noise, began an even more frantic gallop. She turned to see Dominic, closer than before, peering at them down the barrel of a pistol. In the distance she could see the group of soldiers making pursuit. “Jack!”

“Get my pistol from my belt, around my hips. And hurry.”

She reached around, feeling where she thought his pistol ought to be, encountering edges of trouser and tunic and warm flesh underneath. “Where's your hip? I can't see anything.”

“Don't have time for an anatomy lesson - although I might enjoy this, if we weren't going to die.”

“I'm trying!” she hissed into his ear, finally feeling her fingers close around a metal barrel. “Got it.”

“Good. Now hang on tight with one arm, and turn around and shoot.”

“Me? I'm already guilty of larceny, and now you'll have me add murder?”

“If you don't, you're going to die rather soon, anyway -and since I would prefer to live a bit longer, please shoot at them.”

She grasped the pistol awkwardly in one hand. “This rusty old thing? I don't know that I'll be able to hit anything at all with this!”

Jack gave an exasperated sigh as they began to climb into the hills. Palm trees lined the roadside, and as the buildings fell away, the moonlight shone down from above, bathing everything in an eerie clear light.

“Can you handle the reins?”

“Yes!”

“Good,” Jack said, and pressed them into her hands. “Hold on tight.” In the next instant he had swung a leg over the saddle and sat between her arms, his cheek against her neck. He leveled the pistol on her shoulder.

“Jack, what are you doing?” Her question was answered by a loud bang that rang painfully in her ears. The horse whinnied and Elizabeth tightened her grip on the reins. “For God's sake, Jack!”

“Not at all,” he replied as she felt him shift against her, and rest his elbow on her shoulder.

His hip - now quite locatable - was, in fact, located between her thighs, a fact of which she was reminded each time she bounced slightly in the saddle. His chest was pressed against hers, and his arm reached easily over her to hold the pistol. She could feel the brush of his beard against her shoulder, where her shirt had been peeled aside by the very reprobates at which Jack was now firing. It had been a long time - five years - since she'd been close to Jack Sparrow. She'd almost forgotten what he sounded like, looked like, felt like.

Almost. But not quite.

Another deafening shot rang out, and she heard a man's shout of pain from behind them. It sounded farther away than before. “Got him,” Jack breathed in her ear.

“There's still the other two,” she said, speaking into his ear, over the din of the hooves. “And the soldiers.”

“I think I got the only one with half a brain, however,” he replied. “But listen carefully - when we round those rocks, leave the road. Take her into the trees.”

“Off the road? But we could be heading right into a swamp! Or off a precipice!”

“We're a bit high up for swamps, but the precipice is a possibility,” Jack said, lowering his arm to wrap around her waist. “Notwithstanding - I'm out of shot, and unless you've got some gunpowder hidden in your knickers, we're going to have to outsmart the other two.”

“And the soldiers!”

“And the soldiers.”

She said nothing but followed his instructions. Once they rounded a stony outcropping in the hill, she pulled hard right on the reins and the horse neighed in protest but obeyed and they made their way into the trees. After a few seconds, once the darkness surrounded them, Jack leapt off and took the reins, saying, “Shhh.”

He pulled Elizabeth down to the ground and held the reins in his fist.

Both of them held their breath, or tried, because they were both panting from the exertion, but lay in the soft soil amidst the cries of frogs and chirping of insects. The horse stamped her foot impatiently, and Jack reached up to stroke her neck. “Easy,” he said. Then he lay down beside Elizabeth, his elbows underneath his chest to prop him up.

Elizabeth lifted her head from the ground, peering through the darkness to the road. Her breath came in gasps, and she felt Jack's hand at the back of her neck. “You, too,” he whispered, and in a second they heard the beat of the hooves of their pursuers. One group passed. The Spaniards.

Then came another, louder rhythm. The soldiers.

They lay in the near-silence, hearts pounding in their ears, listening as the second set of hoofbeats drew nearer and nearer, and then seemed to slow. Stop.

Elizabeth turned terrified eyes on Jack, who lay next to her. He was still looking at the road, but almost as though he could feel her gaze on him, his dark eyes moved to meet hers.

It had been so long since she'd last seen him. And yet, it almost seemed as if no time had passed at all. That same slow, sinful heat seemed to simmer in the depths of his irises, stirring an answering tension in her insides. As they listened for their followers to pass by, hoping, wishing, she stared back at him, wondering where the years had gone. She really looked at him for the first time, again, in the darkness, trying to discern any new lines on his face, any new beads in his hair. He was still beautiful, she acknowledged, a bit disappointed with herself for thinking it, but also curious that she should be so aware of his appeal, his dark hair and full lips and dancing eyes, when they were about to die. Or perhaps it was the impending threat that made her notice beauty in the first place.

It was quiet for a long moment, during which Elizabeth wondered if they'd be caught. Would she see her husband again? And what she would do if they weren't caught? What would she do then? Would Jack ask her to go with him, offer her his protection... and dare she accept it, if he did?

She glanced up and close to the road, and she saw a flash of dark red among the trees in the rapidly dimming twilight. Jack followed her eyes, and saw it too. When his eyes met hers again, they seemed to be uncertain. Questioning.

In the space of a second, it dawned on Elizabeth that she need not lay here, helpless, dependent on Jack to save her. She could save herself, with a single scream. The authorities would be more than happy to release a single, hapless pickpocket - a woman, no less - in exchange for a notorious pirate. The reward would buy her lodging anywhere she wished and probably a great deal more, too. Her lips parted as she stared back at Jack, raising her head from where her temple had been resting in the soft leaves. She drew in a large breath, enough air to produce a scream.

As though he could read her thoughts, his features seemed to harden into an impassive mask, and before she knew it, he had reached out and rolled her to him, covering her mouth with one hot, grimy palm. She whimpered and struggled against him, to no avail.

“Can't have you giving us away, can I?” came a soft but menacing whisper in her ear, his warm lips against her lobe. “That would be most unkind, since I rode to your rescue earlier.”

She tried to wriggle out of his grasp, deciding that he deserved to be arrested for manhandling her this way, and she would be happy to take part in it, thrilled, in fact. Or perhaps she was angry at herself for being thrilled by the feeling of him along her back and thighs, how naturally he settled between the curves of her bottom, as though they'd been meant to fit that way. His other arm came around her middle to hold her still. She was surprised at how strong he was.

She wasn't sure if she should feel safe, or in more danger than ever.

His breath was hot against her neck, and she closed her eyes, shivering despite the warmth of the Caribbean night. Revulsion, she assured herself. I am disgusted by him. Completely, utterly... He splayed his fingers lower on her midsection, drawing her tighter against him, sending quivers through her abdomen to throb between her thighs. Thoroughly disgusted.

After what seemed like an eternity had passed, she heard the sound of hoofbeats again, but this time, softer. Fading.

They were riding away. They'd been fooled. She felt Jack's thick brows rise against her cheek, and he removed his hand from her mouth, leaving only a finger across her lips, as though to say, Not yet.

She exhaled rapidly, as silently as she could, but she could hold her breath no longer. Her warm breath rushed past Jack's calloused finger as it lay on her lips. She felt him smile at this, too, against her jaw, and when the hoofbeats were so far as to be nearly inaudible, he removed it and raised his head to look down at her.

Their faces were inches apart. She suddenly found herself studying the angle of his nose, the wide set of his eyes, the lush fullness of his black brows and beard. Perhaps that was why she didn't notice that he was moving closer and closer until his lips were a hair's breadth from her own. She didn't think to protest. Her heart beat wildly. She was alive.
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Midnight Ride