Dusk

BonnyBlondeLass - Thanks!! xxx

--

"Do ye miss him?"

The sun had vanished from the skies, smothered over by a thick veil of dark grey clouds. It seemed to have been swallowed by the equally grey, swirling waters of the English Channel, which were determined to climb as high up the infamous white cliffs of Dover as possible, clawing at the chalky rock with howling roars. Curtains of fog and light drizzle hung in the cold air, sweeping across the horizon with melancholy grace. Perhaps it was the refreshing chill of the wind and rain, or the strong churning of the sea, but Elizabeth felt rather powerful amidst the chaotic atmosphere. She stood with her arms folded across her chest, facing out to sea with a somewhat determined gleam to her brown eyes. Barbossa was nearby, even closer to the cliff edge than herself. He looked entirely unfazed - at home, even.

They were small and insignificant compared to the land. Rolling green hills stretched out endlessly behind them and the cliffs stood proud beneath their feet. Such sights were often a warm welcome for a sailor coming into port. For the pirate and the lady, it was the sea that was their true home.

Elizabeth pondered Barbossa's question reluctantly. Her immediate thought was yes, of course she missed him. He was her husband. However, five years was a painfully long time, and it would take that again until he could return for a single day. She was ashamed to admit she could barely remember what it was like to be in his presence, or even maintain a perfect image of his face.

"Yes. But it's getting easier, I suppose," she replied. "William asked if he was dead, once."

"There is a truth in that. Poor blighter has no heart, after all." Barbossa looked back at her, amused. "I haven't the foggiest how he made yeh pregnant when his blood is as still as an underwater spring. Yer lad were born of impossible odds."

Elizabeth felt a blush creeping into her cheeks from his scrutinising stare.

"He is Will's. It's the only way."

"Aye, I'm sure of it, missy. Yeh look like yer made of wood nowadays."

Elizabeth sneered childishly. She didn't know what he was on about. There were no similarities between her and wood whatsoever. The pirate only shot her an aggravated look.

"I can wait another five years for him. It's not difficult. He's the one ferrying souls."

"Maybe so, but he en't havin' to deal with human requirements now, is he? He's dead. His job leaves no room for hunger or thirst, or anythin' else. Ye have another five years of keepin' yerself to yerself. Do you see what I'm sayin', Turner? Bein' so deprived for a decade leaves one ... prone to insanity, shall we say. Both ye and I know that."

"My job is to be here when he gets back, as his wife," Elizabeth said stiffly. Barbossa had no right to speak of such tender matters to her.

"Yer job is to make sure his heart en't impaled. That's all. Jus' 'cause he is void of all earthly pleasures it don't mean you have to be the same. I had no choice in the matter 'n ended up gettin' shot for me acts. A job en't worth that much if yer own heart isn't in it after all these years. Makes it seem much more tedious 'n a bit of a bore. I'm sure ye understand that. Has no one in this dismal mud-bath of a town caught yer fancy?"

Elizabeth wrapped her coat tighter around her body and glared at the captain. A part of her wished he was still laying on her bed, unconscious and silent. His morals were twisted and wrong in every way imaginable.

"I'm his wife, Barbossa. You wed us yourself in case you forgot that detail."

"Aye, one o' me finest moments," the pirate said smugly. "Though it were per'aps the direct opposite of a good ol' fashioned Christian weddin'. I don't recall ye swearin' to remain faithful to the whelp. Although, I were tryin' not to die at the time." He pretended to look thoughtful for a moment. "Ye were wed by a pirate captain on a ship. The rules o' the oceans apply, Turner, not those of yer church. Wouldn't ye agree?"

"Marriage is marriage. I'm hardly going to shack away with another man just because I can't control myself. Will doesn't deserve it, and my son would get confused," Elizabeth replied calmly. Underneath this exterior, she was raging. He had cottoned on to her deepest, darkest thoughts already. The ones which were despicable and unforgivable. Every man was out of bounds so long as Will was married to her - it was a basic rule of matrimony that Barbossa was too wicked to care about. She found it hard to believe he'd ever had a singular long-term partner, so he would never understand the immoral enormity of betraying Will in such a way.

"What he don't know won't kill 'im. He captains a ship o' the dead, missy. He's nought but a spirit himself most o' the time - no bonds of the livin' attached to his name. Yer unbound. As for yer boy ... same goes. Ignorance is bliss."

"How would you feel if you were wed and your wife bedded another man, Barbossa?" Elizabeth asked, uncomfortable now. His words made sense though they were entirely wrong. Her friend squinted at her for a moment.

"Then I'd give 'er a good hard seein' to so she remembers why she married me," he laughed. Elizabeth grimaced in disbelief. He was as impossible and insane as he had always been. "Unfortunately for you, m'lady, Will's assets are quite literally a world away. Yeh bored out yer wits and gaspin' for adventure, Elizabeth. I can feel it. Don't deny yerself what ye need or ye may well end up like this ol' soul." Barbossa placed a mockingly woeful hand to his chest. "A one-legged scoundrel with nothin' at all." He turned to inspect the sky, looking for the near invisible sun. "It's up to ye, o' course."

"I'd like you to stop thinking you know what my needs are."

"Everyone's needs be the same. You en't inhuman just 'cause your spouse has succeeded Davy Jones. Even the gods do what they can to sate their desires." Barbossa's face blanked for a moment. "'Specially Calypso. She were very much in love with that poor fool Jones. Didn't stop her havin a bit o' fun every now 'n then."

"How on earth could you know that?" Elizabeth asked, interested despite her annoyance. The answer hit her before the words even left her mouth. Barbossa's facial expression told her everything. He smirked at her devilishly.

"Me heart were full o' fire when she granted me life back. I ate 'n drank nonstop for days; I couldn't help meself when she made her own yearnin' apparent. I'm a pirate, missy, there were a thrill in havin' me way with the sea herself."

The undulation of the waves was getting increasingly violent. The wind howled lugubriously as it whistled past the two figures, threatening to make off with Barbossa's hat, which he had insisted upon wearing. It was cold and threatening to drench them in rain at any moment. Elizabeth didn't mind this so much, but she was worried Barbossa would become ill from an exposure to such foul weather, which would only make his rather tender condition much worse for she would not be able to get him professional help. His behaviour was not making her rush the point, however. Their conversation had taken an unnecessary turn and delved too deeply into her private matters. It had been strangely interesting to learn he'd had a short but lusty liaison with the goddess of the seas, but she would not be exposing any of her desires to anyone.

"I understand, but nobody holds that much attraction for me," she said unsurely. Whenever the subject arose in her mind she would always smother it with more pressing thoughts. Had anybody caught her attention in such a way? "Unlike you I haven't been resurrected by a lascivious god with a fixation on prestigious pirate captains."

"Nay, but ye would attract a lasvicious novelist with words like that spillin' from your mouth," Barbossa muttered, evidently giving up on his efforts of persuasion. "It's good to know ye think I'm prestigious anyhow." He highlighted the quoted word with a mocking rise of intonation. His temper was taking an abrupt turn for the worse.

Frustrated, Elizabeth moved away from the pirate in order for him to calm himself before heading home. She walked with vexed posture down a grassy, steep slope that took him out of her eye-line and out of the worst of the wind. Indeed, just as she stopped and folded her arms, chilly drops of rain hit her face before it could be heard pattering on the cliff-face and sea. It was nice living in England again, for she had not so since her youth, but unfortunately it meant spending the entirety of the year soaked to the skin until Summer warmed the shores.

She nervously kicked a lone pebble, making it roll steadily towards the cliff face and into oblivion. Barbossa's words had struck a nerve she had barely knew existed. It was not pleasant feeling so fickle, or knowing she had more than once questioned her odd relationship with Will that permitted no communication unless she took to the seas again, which she could not whilst William was so young. Once, he had been her handsome hero, the man who loved her unconditionally. But life was so much more than that now. Time can change anything with no mind of being fair. Her wavering love for Will was not justified at all. It was wrong. Selfish.

But sometimes, upon the frequent occasions she was alone, her darkest fantasies felt so inexplicably right.

It wasn't fair to be so alone. It wasn't fair to have her life so planned out by the results of Davy Jones' death. It wasn't fair she could only stare at the sea without once setting sail upon it.

With this thought, she turned her gaze to Barbossa.

A flicker of movement. Elizabeth looked around to a dense mound of shrubbery that was innocently flaying in the strong wind. She was sure she had seen somebody there from the corner of her eye, though the wild branches of the bushes along with the rain had no doubt played tricks on her vision. It had to be said she was also rather tired from the week's events.

"Jack," Barbossa grunted from his perch. He'd heard the monkey before Elizabeth. She'd half expected him to emerge from the shrubbery after having run from her house, though the lithe creature was galloping along the cliff-face towards Barbossa from a completely different direction. He was screeching, his small fangs bared for an unknown reason. Upon reaching his master he wrapped himself around his neck and jerked angrily.

"What's wrong?" Elizabeth called. The pirate had taken heed of his pet's behaviour and was glaring at the green landscape, his shoulders tense. At the sound of her voice, he immediately span around to stride to her location, though his bright eyes widening in horror was the last thing the woman saw before the ground met her face.

She cried out in pain as her jaw slammed into the rock-hard earth. As she attempted to roll onto her front, it became apparent that something was weighing down her legs, scrabbling at them with horribly sharp claws that shredded any skin they met. Elizabeth's first thought was a wild animal, but even in her panic she reminded herself that no beast near Dover could do this amount of damage to a human.

With an angry bellow, the woman kicked violently at whatever was ravaging her legs. There was a horrific crunch, then a feminine cry of pain that was high-pitched and strangely inhuman. The weight lifted for a split second. Elizabeth deftly rolled away from the creature and grabbed the closest rock she could find.

It was a woman. A naked woman who was forced to drag herself across the land with her arms, propelled by a slimy, worm-like fish's tail. Its hair was like lank strands of dried seaweed and its skin bore no more colour than a sheet of parchment. Perhaps the worst aspect of its savage, disgusting appearance were the black eyes embedded into its face like perfectly round coins drenched in oil.

The mermaid hissed and grabbed her flattened nose which was streaming green blood. Had this beast been following her and Barbossa the whole time? Before Elizabeth could even swing her rock, however, the mermaid threw itself forwards and grabbed her wrist. In its attempt to pull the woman to the ground once again, it twisted her arm hard enough to induce an agonising spasm of pain that shot like fire to her shoulder before settling to burn beneath her flesh. She was unfazed, however. Similar things had happened in battle - it was just a matter of ignoring the pain entirely. She had the advantage of having two legs, after all, and it was easy to kick the mermaid to the ground via the stomach and knock it unconscious with the rock.

For a moment, Elizabeth stood and stared in disbelief, breathing heavily. It was difficult to grasp the concept of a supposedly mythological creature attacking her for no reason, though she had seen enough to not let it stun her for long. Undead pirates and a humungous Kraken were a far sight more terrifying than a screaming, slimy fish-woman. It had done some damage, however. Her wrist ached and was shaking from the trauma.

Another mermaid's scream. Barbossa.

Forgetting her injury, Elizabeth picked up the bloodstained rock and ran to help her friend. Yet another creature had her tail wrapped around his legs much akin to how a serpent would crush its prey. It had caught him on the slope, causing him to fall and crumple to the ground dangerously close to the cliff edge.

"Hector!" Elizabeth shouted in shock. Immediately, she dived onto the mermaid with intent to hit it with the rock, though claws met her chest and she was forced to drop the weapon from pain.

"Get the ruddy hell off me yeh great mash o' -" Barbossa roared, only to be interrupted by a hard backhand to the face. His expression turned wild. In a barbaric fit of rage, he returned the mermaid's move with twice the strength and seized her throat. He squeezed until it was forced to release his legs in panic, roughly picked it up by the neck and stood to hold the creature over the cliff-face.

It's hair whipped wildly about its furious face as it dangled precariously in the wind.

"If yeh dare come back I will not hesitate to kill ye, wench," Barbossa growled. He released the mermaid's throat and it disappeared to fall the sickeningly long distance to the sea. The threat was idle - she would be miraculously lucky to survive such a fall. Without stopping to watch, the pirate stomped to where the second mermaid lay and dragged it over the edge of the cliffs by the tail.

Elizabeth watched him return to her. He inspected her for a moment before grabbing her wrist.

She covered her mouth to stop the pained gasp. His grip was angry and rough.

"Move yer fingers," he commanded. She did so, and his hold loosened to be somewhat gentler. "Jus' a sprain. Where else did she hurt ye?"

Elizabeth shrugged blearily, still dazed and unsure of what had just happened. Barbossa rolled his eyes. He carefully put a hand to her chin and lifted it, his thumb tracing the jawbone with surprising softness.

"Yeh fine, Elizabeth. Lucky she didn't throw ye right off there. I'd hate to be pickin' up yer parts off the beach."

His dire stab at humour didn't help. It was bad enough two women with fish tails had nearly been successful in killing them both without being reminded of the consequences. The large rips in her coat and shirt opened her to the harsh cold of the wind and rain, and didn't do much in hiding her decency. Fortunately, the cuts gained from the assault were shallow despite the pain they caused. The wet, salty air was not doing her the world of good. Barbossa's presence, however, was.

The pirate gave her arms a quick squeeze before sliding off his heavy coat. He draped it over her shoulders, beckoned to the squawking Jack to sit on his shoulder, then abruptly turned to walk in the direction of Dover.

"They must've been friends o' that witch that blew up half the Pearl," he muttered darkly. He stopped and faced Elizabeth again, watching her all but waddle up to him. "Ye weren't meant to get involved in this mess, Turner. I didn't mean for …" he gestured loosely at her bewildered state. In a strange, awkward act of tenderness probably brought on by guilt, he pulled his coat tighter around her frame and buttoned it. "Yer womanly parts are on display. Did she rip out yer tongue by any chance, missy?"

"No. I just … wasn't expecting that. Can I sit down for a moment?"

Without waiting for an answer, Elizabeth moved to a bone-white boulder and perched nervously on top of it. Her heart was still racing wildly from the violent encounter, so much so her blood was rushing to her head, making her feel giddy and sick with unease. What if they hadn't been the only mermaids here? What if there were more watching them at this very moment? The image of Barbossa falling in a heap so close to the cliff-edge was prevalent in her memory, repeating over and over again. And what about William? Was he in danger, too? What would have happened to him if she had been killed just then?

"William - I have to go -" she started, standing. She attempted to begin a swift run back to his school, though Barbossa's firm hand pushed her back to the rock and held her there.

"Yer in a state, Turner. Sit still."

"Of course I'm in a bloody state!" Elizabeth bellowed suddenly, shoving his hand away. "We were just nearly thrown to our deaths! By mermaids of all things!"

"Aye, I realise that believe it or not. We've both been through worse 'n lived to tell the tale; this just adds to the list."

"There might be more! What if they come back?"

"Then Jack will kindly warn us of 'em again," Barbossa drawled. He added, "Thank ye, Jack," before slowly sinking into a kneel in order to take his weight off his leg. He rubbed it and breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

"I'm sorry. You should sit here," Elizabeth said, standing again. The pirate's hand met her belly and she was forced back down.

"Will ye sit still for five flamin' minutes, Turner? I just landed on it is all."

The woman tried to take deep, slow breaths to steady her heart. Initially, staring at Barbossa alone instead of the sea seemed to be a good idea, but it quickly became apparent it only made her state worse. Perhaps she felt guilt at his pain? If she had seen that mermaid coming, she could have acted faster to help him. No doubt the cold, wet weather was not doing any good to his injured leg at all. After a few minutes of silence, the pirate reached for her arm and uncovered it from the too-long sleeve. For a moment, he held her hand between his much larger fingers and thumb like a gentlemen preparing to kiss a lady's knuckles.

"Still hurt?" he asked, beginning to turn her wrist over and over easily within his palms. Elizabeth winced.

"Yes."

"Mm. I got a similar twist when I were a younger man workin' the sails in a storm. Not too bad. Yeh'll be alright in a couple o' days."

He held her hand in his own so the soft underside of her arm was displayed. His other thumb pressed into her wrist gently, then moved slowly up the cold flesh until he reached her inner elbow. A look of curious concentration was upon his face until he looked up at her and gave a strangely innocent smile. The sensation had been nothing short of pleasant rather than painful, though his intelligent blue eyes told her he knew that already. Still was his thumb massaging small circles into the soft skin of her elbow. It was odd - he never seemed to be one for physical contact.

"Barbossa?"

"Turner."

"What are you doing?"

"Doin' a bloody morris dance, miss. What does it look like I'm doin'?"

He pressed into her skin harder. A sudden yet pleasant warm shiver shot down Elizabeth's back, easing the firm tenseness in her muscles by a significant amount. Her breathing returned to its normal, quiet pace. After several moments, she gave a soft sigh, feeling much better than she had only minutes ago. It became clear his strange actions had been performed to calm her down. He pulled the sleeve back over her arm once her heavy breathing had ceased and heaved himself back onto two legs.

"You think they came for revenge?" Elizabeth asked.

"I know not. They may look human but they're nothin' more than bloodthirsty savages. I can't imagine 'em gettin' riled over the death o' another. Only other thing is that Calypso may have a plan brewin', though why it would involve ye and I bein' slashed to bits is beyond me."

Calypso? The goddess was free now thanks to Barbossa's strenuous efforts to gather the pieces of eight necessary to release her. What manner of revenge was this? They had done nothing but help Tia Dalma by crossing blades with the wretched EITC and travelling the most barbaric seas on the maps. Her cruel nature had caused many deaths, including Elizabeth's father's. They had done nothing to warrant the goddess's wrath. Only her gratitude. It seemed immortal beings eventually lost the ability to feel such a thing.

"Who's to say the other Pirate Lords aren't suffering the same punishment?" Elizabeth said. "Calypso was bound because a few men had mastered the seas to such an extent they could corner her. People like you. You're the only one who knows how to reach the most secret of places. You've sailed through the worst storm she could muster. No doubt the Lords have skills she'd rather the mortals were without to avoid history repeating itself."

"Ye are keen-minded, Mrs Turner. That be all we can come to for now. She should realise I en't gonna succumb until she turns up 'n does the dirty deed herself, 'n even then she'll have a fight on her hands, goddess or not. I'm sure ye will be the same. If yer theory be correct, I en't the only one out of the two of us who she wants dead."

"I don't know. Will may serve her but only so he can see me. If I died then the Dutchman would probably lose direction. The ship is strong but its course feeble - it's determined greatly by emotion, particularly those of its captain. It could very well be she sent those two creatures to attack you alone. I was just here."

"Aye," Barbossa agreed, stroking his gingery beard thoughtfully. "A good thing ye were, too. Ye forget yer own skills 'n potential, missy. Calypso would be wrong not to feel threatened by ye. Don't dare reject me words," he added when she raised a sceptical eyebrow, "yeh've grown from the bad-tempered maid I caught meself those years ago. Yer to sail under me yet."

"You want me …?"

"I want ye aboard me vessel, Elizabeth, whenever that may be. Come with me to Tortuga. It be also what ye want. It's in yer eyes. Just below me as first mate on the lucky ship I get me hands on. Freedom don't come cheap, missy, but now I offer it to yeh on a plate."

"Surely I should be above you, as captain," the woman smirked, his suggestion not quite hitting her. "King?"

Barbossa shot her a disgruntled look. He offered Elizabeth his hand and hoisted her to her feet.

"Rights en't the same as skill. Ye may have grown but it would be heinous to say yer in the same league as me. Challenge the matter and we'll cross swords. I believe we haven't had such an engagement as of yet. Ye may bear wit 'n courage but unfortunately yer lackin' in more practical aspects o' sailin' on rougher seas. I could sort yeh out with that if me offer be agreeable."

"I'll think about it," Elizabeth said shortly. "We'd better go home. We'll catch our deaths out here."

Barbossa laughed.

--

Her exploits could not last forever.

Elizabeth had not been to work for a full seven days. She had been perfectly well during that week, as had Barbossa for a small amount of it. She hadn't gone to work simply because the very concept bored her when there was something much more thrilling at home. The pirate's conversations stimulated her mind unlike routine checks on tidy vessels did. His stories and dark sense of humour were much more entertaining than making the dockmaster a cup of tea. This man, who represented all she wanted back from her old life, did his best to keep her happy out of the gratitude he felt towards her.

On the evening after the viscous attack of the mermaids, the two were recovering in Elizabeth's sitting room by a large fire she had prodded to life. Barbossa was slumped comfortably in the largest armchair, one of three, his legs spread out in front of him. Elizabeth was sat opposite him with William on her lap. She was trying to read to him from a book, though the boy kept dozing off, clearly uninterested in tales of brave kings and damsels in distress.

William's dark brown eyes eventually welded shut and he emitted light snores. His mother tried to lift him to her shoulder, though the dull pain in her injured arm flared and she hissed a swear word between her teeth. It was a nuisance being mainly one-armed. She couldn't begin to imagine how Barbossa felt.

Said pirate glanced up from his serious train of thought.

"Allow me," he grunted, before limping towards her to seize the lad under the armpits. William, for once, didn't seem to mind being in such proximity to the captain, though if he were conscious it would likely be otherwise. He was drawn to the pirate's shoulder where he nestled into it sleepily. Man and boy made off up the stairs, leaving Elizabeth to sit quietly in front of the fire. She smiled at how Barbossa managed to make her house look even smaller than it was. It wasn't so much his height, despite it being fairly impressive, but more his impenetrable aura of dominance that was cast to those around him. For some reason, the addition of a young child in his arms made that presence more profound. At least, to her it did.

There was a tentative knock on the front door. Elizabeth groaned wearily, then moved to open it.

"Good evening, Jules," she said in surprise.

The young man stood before the door greeted her with a quick wave. He was rather short and wiry, with a full head of thick, chestnut hair, which was partially hidden by a unscathed tricorn hat.

"Bonjour, madame," the Frenchman said cheerfully. "You 'ave not appeared for many a day. Or 'ave you been sneaking about the docks, yes? Master Grey has misplaced 'is assistant! You will be appearing tomorrow?"

Elizabeth stared at his happy smile for a moment, already nervous. Before she could think of an excuse, however, Jules' smile dropped off his young face as his eyes flickered about her person.

"You are not yourself. The, ah, the flu takes most energy. Your nose drips like a tap!" he laughed nervously. "I will inform Master Grey you are infected still, then 'e will be grumpy no longer. Sorry to 'ave disturbed you, ma-" Jules paused and slowly leant his body to look over Elizabeth's shoulder. He blinked in apparent surprise. "But madame, who is that? You didn't tell of a husband!"

Bugger. The woman quickly turned to look back at Barbossa, who was clumping heavily down the wooden staircase. Gods, what if Jules recognised the pirate from the poster bearing his bounty? The picture was a crude, inaccurate sketch of an ambiguous man in a large hat, but still her nerves tingled as Barbossa drew closer to her and her colleague.

"He's a friend," Elizabeth admitted with feign cheer. "He was injured at sea and is resting up here until he's better. We've been looking after each other."

"Monsieur," Jules said, nodding politely. "Well, would it be acceptable for me to 'ave a small glass of wine, Elizabeth? I must speak of urgent matters. Unless, I would disturb the peace?"

The Frenchman was given reluctant entrance to the house. Elizabeth invited him to sit by the fire (not offering the largest chair, in which Barbossa sat instead) and poured three glasses of cheap wine from an unopened bottle on the mantlepiece. She poured one with a substantially little amount - patience was not one of her strongest traits. She wanted the man, whom she had never liked much, out again as quickly as possible.

"What are the urgent matters, Jules?"

Her fellow assistant accepted his glass and downed the liquid in a swift gulp. His small eyes darted quickly between Elizabeth and Barbossa. Already, she could sense the pirate's temper beginning to rise, though he looked perfectly calm from his comfortable slump.

"Master Grey is having a, er … rendezvous? We are all dressing nicely for drinks. Tomorrow, that is, at 'is 'ome. We would like for you to come, Elizabeth! Everybody misses you, yes? It is, er … 'ow you say … very formal. You must be a lady and wear a pretty dress," Jules said. He chuckled at his own snub. Elizabeth briefly glanced at her breeches and boots. There was nothing wrong with her clothes. Dresses restricted movement, particularly the fashionable ones.

"Are ye as blind as ye are short, boy?" Barbossa growled. "The lady be in no right condition to go out dancin' and pleasin' men with her aesthetics. "

"I can vouch for myself, Hector," Elizabeth reminded him. He shot her a sly glance before swallowing his own generous helping of wine in two gulps.

"Non, the monsieur is correct. You stay and feel better, yes? Unless … I come back tomorrow at er … six o'clock? If you feel better I shall escort you myself, and then we dance till the midnight bells! A fun night to be 'ad!"

Elizabeth's chest pinged irritably. His intentions had been made clear, though she couldn't send him away with some ill-thought excuse as to not appear rude. As his hopeful eyes shone with anticipation, the woman put her glass to her lips in a pretence gesture of thinking.

"Who's to say the lady en't busy tomorrow evenin'?" Barbossa shot in snidely as she drank.

"Oh. Doing what?"

"I dunno. We were thinkin' of repaintin' me mast, weren't we, Elizabeth?" he said, looking at her with a small smile.

She met his gaze with confusion before the not-so-innocent meaning of his words hit her. A large globule of wine suddenly clogged up her airway. She coughed loudly, hitting her chest. Had he meant what she thought he'd meant? What on earth had possessed the pirate to say something so inappropriate to a stranger? And something so false to boot! He was going to impose untrue rumours upon people if he carried on in such a way. If she was accused of adultery there was no telling what the people of Dover would do to her, even if they knew nought about her husband. However, she had to admit, the innocent confusion on Jules' face was rather amusing, despite how extremely dirty and unfunny she thought Barbossa's comment was.

"Ah, you are a sailor?" Jules said with a good-natured grin. "You have a ship?"

"Aye. A bloody big one."

"Really! How big?"

"Bigger than yers, I'd say."

"Oh, I have no ship."

"Then yer rather unfortunate."

Elizabeth tried to force back the smile threatening to stretch her lips. Barbossa was truly wicked, albeit childish at this moment. Her poor guest had no idea what was going on, and she didn't know why the pirate had taken such a dislike upon him he felt it appropriate to make such derogatory remarks. She leant over the arm of Barbossa's chair and refilled his glass.

"Don't listen to Hector, Jules. His ship sank long ago from the inevitability of ageing."

The pirate made a strange gurgling sound into his wine. It wasn't clear if her attempt to play at his game had angered or amused him.

"So you are most busy that evening?" Jules said, his smile growing more feign by the second. "A shame, indeed! A lovely sight would be you in a dress, dancing beneath the candles. I feel no mast is to be painted, but the other ladies were most delighted knowing there is to be a dance."

"There still be a mast," Barbossa grumbled to himself.

"Come back at six tomorrow like you said, then we can see how I feel. I'm not promising anything, Jules."

"Oui, oui," the man said idly, obviously pleased by the answer. "You will dress up no matter, yes? Just in case? I'm sure Master Hector agrees you would look most lovely dressed up."

This man was indeed bizarre. He had been working on the docks no more than two weeks, and had barely ever crossed Elizabeth. The poorly concealed attempts at trying to earn her favour only increased her dislike towards him. What person grew so fond of another after such a short period of time?

"She does, I assure ye," Barbossa chided. Jules' smile dropped. "Ne'r seen a lady look so fine in me life. Her mind be quicker than a fox, too. No form o' treachery gets past Elizabeth. If it does then I'll kindly show it the cold steel of me blade. D'yeh hear, lad?"

Jules shuffled uncomfortably in his chair. He gave Barbossa a strange, slightly frightened look, then hurriedly stood to put his glass back on the mantlepiece.

"Thank you, madame. Most delicious. Please forgive - I must attend other matters quickly." He gave the woman a quick bow before darting to the front door. "Six o'clock tomorrow, yes? I look forward to it." Jules' shot out the front door before Elizabeth even had time to think. Slightly surprised and confused at the pirate, she turned to him questioningly. His icy glare rested upon the oaken door.

"You en't goin' anywhere with that lad," Barbossa stated firmly, gripping his glass so tightly it threatened to crack beneath his fingers. "He's dodgier than me stomach after five tankards o' port, missy. Yeh'll pretend to be sick if ye en't already tomorrow."

"I beg your pardon?" Elizabeth retorted, quickly removing the glass. She watched him stand to leer over her. "There's nothing dodgy at all about him. If I want to go to a party then I will, no matter if you dislike my partner. You'll look after William while I'm gone?"

The large fire crackled amidst the silence. Its ferocious yet gentle glow made Barbossa's skin appear golden in the light, and reflected in his eyes to melt the previously icy, cold appearance. He looked fierce. An angry frown was pulling his shapely lips into an uncharacteristic sneer.

"I've no doubt ye'd enjoy a break, Mrs Turner, but that lad certainly en't askin' ye to go for yer conversation."

"I wasn't aware you could read minds, captain."

"Listen to me words for a moment if ye'd be so kind. I've been around scoundrels me entire life as yeh've probably worked out, 'n he en't no better than any of 'em. Do ye doubt me word? Jus' from the way he walks I can tell he's a filthy, malicious trickster wi' the morals of a hookworm."

"Sounds like somebody I know already," Elizabeth said pointedly, not meeting that fiery gaze.

"That maybe so, but ye know I hold yeh in reverence. That boy clearly hasn't been on this land for long. A man such as him will be on the lookout for some novelty English maid to make a change to his usual appreciations. Yeh don't like him a bit, Turner, I can tell. That's why ye en't goin' anywhere he's goin'."

"Oh, what does it matter?" she exclaimed haughtily, slamming the cork back into the bottle of wine. "You're the one who suggested I should take a lover of some sort to ease my imaginary cravings you seem to think are eating me from the inside out. When a suitable young man appears you frighten him out of my own house then dare tell me what I can and cannot do? I think you should appreciate my hospitality just a little bit more and leave me to my own devices."

"I did suggest that. I didn't suggest you pick a slimy toerag who only appreciates a lady if she's in a dress that compliments her figure well. He's probably ne'r felt the touch of a woman before, let alone bedded one. A lover is someone who takes ye into the extraordinary, Elizabeth. He'd have ye then discard yeh like an oyster shell. The thing about them is there's sometimes somethin' truly beautiful inside, but some don't care enough about a shell to look, do they? I'll not have ye bein' used by that whelp. I'm sure o' his disposition. If holdin' ye here is the only way to stop ye goin' to that little ball with him then I'll willingly go against yer wishes and do it."

For some reason, despite her frustration, gratitude flooded Elizabeth's chest. Never before had he taken such an interest in her wellbeing. His oyster analogy was suddenly like a poem to her ears. Did he really think that of her?

Despite his threats, all that mattered was what he thought.

"A pearl?" she said quietly, looking into the warm fire. One of Barbossa's eyelids twitched from discomfort.

"Aye. Maybe even a black pearl, which is sayin' an awful lot. I'd be in a terrible state if not for ye, Elizabeth, probably long dead. Yer hospitality is all I have. All I can give ye in return is me protection 'n per'aps a bit o' advice here 'n there. Forgive me, but I'll be doin' nothin' less until we part ways, 'n that includes makin' sure any man ye may pick as yer companion holds the utmost respect for ye."

Another warm flush of gratitude along with a mixture of other feelings.

"I appreciate it, Barbossa, but you know I won't let anybody do me harm. I'm going to the party with him. That's all."

"Nay, you en't!" the pirate all but shouted. He moved forwards and grabbed Elizabeth's arms, shaking her slightly. "He may act like a proper gentleman but the look in his eyes is all too recognisable, miss. No doubt he's been watchin' yeh walkin up 'n down those docks with nought but improper thoughts in his head. I'll bloomin' hold ye down meself, I swear on it."

At that moment, he was Captain Barbossa again. He was steering the Black Pearl through a storm as if it were nothing. He was the raw power of the mighty oceans that attacked from all angles. No mermaids, pirates or sea goddesses would be claiming his life just yet. Not Hector. He was the cruel but brilliant tyrant that had captured her fascination for years. He was freedom itself, tempting her wickedly from her own home.

His touch was hot. It radiated through her torn shirt. His dark, powerful presence filled the entire room. Focusing on it made a lovely flare of warmth bloom within Elizabeth's abdomen, as if it had been trapped deep inside her for far too long. Oh gods, no …

"Bed. Yeh'll per'aps have more sense when ye wake," Barbossa rumbled, clearly taking her sudden silence for weariness. Elizabeth obediently moved forwards towards the stairs.