Paying the Piper - third in a series

Title: Paying the Piper
Authors: Melusina (fabu) and the_stowaway
Pairing: Sparrington (Jack/Norrington), Will/Elizabeth, fruit basket turn over, huzzah!
Rating: NC-17 for sex
Archive: "Cultural Infidelities
Beta:viva_gloria
A/N: A sequel to "Be Careful What You Wish For" and "Surrender". Cross posted to the_one_brain, pirategasm, sparrington, _norrington, potc_fic, polyfic, and our LJs.
Word Count: Approximately 16,000
Summary: Jack attempts to teach Elizabeth a lesson. Things don't go according to plan.


Jack Sparrow stood in the Turners' small garden and watched Elizabeth as she sat sewing in the parlour. The long windows were open and she had pulled her chair around to take advantage of the light. Jack, half hidden by a tall hibiscus, could see that she was alone in the room. Soft voices drifted from the back of the house, where the cook and the maid were busy in the kitchen.

Avoiding the path of crushed shells, he trod on the grassy verge, moving noiselessly nearer the house. When his shadow fell across Elizabeth's lap, she started and looked up with a little cry.

"Jack! You startled me!"

"Did I?" Jack replied, unsmiling. As he gazed at her somberly, Elizabeth's own smile faltered, to be replaced by a look of uncertainty. Jack, in no very amiable temper himself, noted this with satisfaction. Let her see his displeasure and wonder at it - he'd enlighten her soon enough. He bared his teeth in a mirthless grin and stepped over the low sill into to the parlour. Elizabeth, appearing somewhat flustered, folded her mending and put it aside.

"If you've come to see Will, he's not here," she said, "he's at the smithy."

"I know," Jack replied, unhelpfully.

Elizabeth, clearly nonplused, tried another smile.

"My, what a surprise it is to see you," she said. "We thought you were going to cruise along the coast of Brazil for a few months."

Jack nodded, standing over her and looking down. "That was my intention," he replied. "But something occurred to change my plans."

Elizabeth rose and crossed the room to a table bearing a tray of crystal decanters -- far too grand for a blacksmith's home; they were no doubt a wedding gift from one of Elizabeth's wealthy relatives. She turned to look at him.

"Will you take something to drink, Jack?" she asked.

Jack, seeing through her attempt to divert him, shook his head. "Don't you wish to know what caused me to put off my journey, Elizabeth?"

"Of… of course I do, Jack," she replied. "But let me send for Will, so that you need not tell your news twice."

"I'll see him later," Jack said. "My business is with you."

"With me!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "Whatever can you mean?"

"We are going to have a little chat, Elizabeth," he said, "and Will would just be in the way."

Elizabeth looked wary. "There is nothing you could wish to say to me, Captain Sparrow, that my husband could not hear."

Jack chuckled. "Are you so sure?" he asked, and was amused to see her hesitate. He knew she had not guessed his errand and wondered what else was troubling her conscience.

"Quite sure," Elizabeth assured him. She sat on the sofa and clasped her hands lightly in her lap. "Very well then, what is it?"

Folding his arms, Jack leaned back against the window frame. "Have you seen Commodore Norrington recently?" he asked.

"No," Elizabeth replied, puzzled, "He was away from Port Royal for several weeks on some secret business and has been very busy since his return." She looked down and then up at Jack. "Why do you ask?"

Jack ignored her question, responding with one of his own. "And when did he set out on this mysterious journey?"

Elizabeth paused. "I… I'm not sure I recall," she said at last. The look Jack gave her made her clench her jaw and look away.

"Oh, I am sure you do," he told her, his voice mocking. "It was the night of your father's birthday celebration, wasn't it?"

"It may have been, yes," she spoke with her face averted. Jack watched her fingers twisting together and the corner of his mouth lifted. "Why do you ask me?" she said once more.

"Because it was your doing, my girl," Jack snapped.

She looked at him then, fear and defiance in her expression. "What in the name of Heaven are you talking of?" she exclaimed. "I had nothing to do with it!"

Jack barked a laugh. "Did you not?" he asked, with biting sarcasm. "What was in the wine you gave him, eh?"

Elizabeth's jaw dropped. "How did you know about…" she blurted, and clapped her hands to her mouth, her face flaming.

"Ah," Jack sneered. "Murder will out."

Elizabeth leapt to her feet, furious, and aimed a blow at his face. Jack caught her arm.

"You don't want to be doing that, Mrs. Turner," he said, still sneering. "It would just provoke me to retaliate. So, unless you want me to warm your bottom for you, keep your hands to yourself."

She tried without success to pry Jack's fingers open. "I don't like your manner," she muttered through clenched teeth.

"And I don't like your actions, so we're square," Jack replied, letting her go so suddenly that she staggered back a pace. Folding his arms again, he looked at her with contempt. "What did you put in the wine, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth blushed again and raised her chin. "It was a potion I got from a witch woman," she told him.

"I thought as much," Jack nodded. "The one with a shack just outside Kingston on the Port Royal road?" he asked.

"Yes."

At least she'd had the sense -- or pure, dumb luck -- to go to the best, Jack thought. He relaxed slightly. "So, what was this potion supposed to do, eh?"

"Why do you wish to know?" Elizabeth folded her arms and glared sullenly at him.

"Never mind that, child." Her chin rose even further and Jack grinned, just to see her fume. "Tell me what you asked her for."

"I can't remember my exact words!" Elizabeth cried.

Jack raised one eyebrow. "Try," he drawled.

She walked away from him, shoulders tense as she stared into the empty fireplace. After a short silence she said, "I told her I wanted him to find the woman meant for him. His heart's desire, I think I said."

Her back was to the pirate and so she did not see him smile at that.

"And what did she say to you when she gave you the potion?" Jack persisted.

"Something odd. Let me think," she replied. After another hesitation, she went on. "One thing was 'It reveals what's hidden,' if I recall. And then she said 'it will join him with his other half' and after that nothing more."

"Well now, isn't that interesting," Jack murmured, absurdly pleased. He laughed a little. "His other half, eh? Oh, that's rich."

Elizabeth turned to look at him. What she saw in his expression made her mouth fall open in astonishment. "Jack! Do you mean to tell me that you and Commodore Norrington…" she gasped, wide-eyed and startled.

"I mean to tell you nothing, young lady," Jack replied dampingly. "It's no business of yours. Be thankful I don't tan your hide for your stupid prank."

"How dare you?" Elizabeth bristled.

"I'd dare a good deal more than that, if you push me," Jack snapped. "Did you give any thought at all to the risk you took?"

"Risk?" Taken aback, she stared at him.

Jack sighed. He'd guessed as much. "A person under a spell is in danger every second," he explained. "Confused, vulnerable, unable to defend himself. He could have been killed."

Horrified comprehension widened Elizabeth's eyes for a moment but she caught herself up. "Nonsense!" she declared stoutly. "The Commodore is perfectly all right. He was with my father just the other day and I would have heard if there was aught amiss with him."

"Aye, he's well," Jack nodded. "No thanks to you and your interfering trick."

Elizabeth stamped her foot. "Jack, stop being so provoking!" she exclaimed. "Nothing bad happened. I did no wrong."

"Stubborn child." He stepped out the window into the garden. "Young William has his hands full with you, I can tell."

"Wait! Where are you going?" Elizabeth cried.

"About my business. I'll stop by the smithy on my way. Ta." He kissed his hand to her and hurried away.

As Jack slipped through the back alleys of Port Royal, on his way to see Will, he chuckled to himself. Foolish chit had taken a frightful risk, but the result very nearly put him in charity with her.

"His heart's desire, eh?" he grinned. He contemplated telling James and almost laughed out loud as he imagined the Commodore's reaction to that tidbit. Oh yes, he'd have some fun with this.

*************
Two days later, Jack settled back in the comfortable chintz-covered armchair and surveyed the private parlor with a satisfied air. All was at the ready for his guests: the fire crackling in the hearth made the room a welcome refuge from the storm outside, candles had been lit against the gloom, and the innkeeper's wife was preparing a fine dinner for four. Several good bottles of Burgundy (liberated from the captain of La Colombe the previous week) awaited his guests' arrival. In the meantime, Jack contented himself with a bottle of the innkeeper's best rum, which was very fine indeed.

His lips twitched as he imagined Elizabeth's reaction to his scheme. She'd refused to admit her wrongdoing when he'd confronted her, but perhaps she'd change her tune once she'd had a taste of her own medicine. He drew the vial from his pocket and turned it this way and that, examining the thick, silvery liquid it contained. The potion shimmered wickedly in the candlelight, and for a moment, Jack second-guessed himself -- what if he inadvertently poisoned Elizabeth? But he reassured himself that the witch had come highly recommended. Besides, this wouldn't be as potent as the potion Elizabeth had given James -- Jack hadn't had the forethought to obtain something of Elizabeth's to give the sorceress, and, at any rate, he wanted something simpler and more direct. It was enough to steal her memories for a few hours -- that would make his point nicely. After all, he had to admit that, if it weren't for Elizabeth's meddling, he and James would never have found such a pleasant arrangement, and there was something to be said for that.

At this thought Jack patted his other pocket, where he'd stashed his surprise for James. That was for later, when they were by themselves, and it was guaranteed to rouse James to new passions (and that thought was something to warm the blood, considering that the old passions had been quite satisfactory in and of themselves). A very pleasant arrangement indeed. . .

A knock upon the parlor door made him look up.

"Come," he called.

The landlady and the serving-girl came in to set the table. A fair cloth, china, silver, glasses - all were laid out briskly. As she lit the branches of candles with a spill, the landlady smiled at Jack.

"There you are, sir. All of the best, as ordered," she said, shooing the maid - who was making long eyes at Jack - out the door. "Dinner will be ready when you ring."

"Thank you, Mrs. Giddings," Jack replied. "When my guests arrive, you may send them straight up, if you please."

"Very good, Mr. Martin," she smiled again, dropping a curtsey and bustling out.

Jack grinned as the door closed behind her. The slight hesitation over his assumed name amused him, as did her smiling complaisance in giving him the best bedchamber and parlor. When he had arrived at the inn last night, he'd been met with frank suspicion. It wasn't until she'd seen the color of his money -- and the promising weight of his purse -- that her truculent manner had been transmuted into amiability, and all questions of his identity and respectability had been dropped.

He poured more rum and drank it slowly, listening to the rain on the roof and the soft hiss of a damp log on the fire. He chuckled now and then, altogether pleased with himself and his arrangements for the evening -- he was a devil of a fellow, to be sure, and they would all dance to his piping this night.

A short time later a firm tread upon the stair heralded another knock at the door.

"Come," Jack called once again and Norrington, booted and cloaked for riding, stepped into the room. He was very wet indeed.

"Commodore," Jack cried, "here you are at last." He leapt to his feet and sauntered over, scooping up a glass from the table as he passed and pouring a measure of rum into it. This he held out to James, who ignored it.

"Sparrow," James nodded. He set his saddle bags down next the door and placed his hat beside them, where they instantly created a spreading damp patch on the floorboards that reached to the edge of the carpet. Then he removed his sodden cloak and spread it over the back of a wooden chair; it hung, dripping and steaming, as the heat of the fire began to draw out the moisture. Next, he removed his coat -- also wet -- and threw it across the chair seat. This done, he accepted the glass from Jack and took a drink -- grimacing slightly as he swallowed.

"You picked a damnable night for this," he said grimly, as he moved toward the fire before turning to face the pirate. "Although I suppose I can't blame you for the weather."

Jack grinned. "No, the rain is none of my doing, James," he replied. "But feel free to lay it at my door if it makes you less cross."

James snorted and took another swallow of rum. "And you know I don't like rum," he grumbled. "Why is there no brandy?"

"Because I enjoy reminding you of your days as a pirate?" Jack suggested, and was delighted to see his victim flush.

"I don't know why I tolerate you," James growled.

Laughing softly, Jack stepped close. "Don't you?" he asked, glancing up sidelong. "Then I'll have to refresh your memory, eh?"

As Jack's mouth touched his, James tried to draw back, unwilling -- perversely so, after having ridden all that way in the rain for no other purpose -- to fall so easily under the pirate's spell, but Sparrow's fingers closed on his collar and held fast and James felt his resolve weaken as Jack's tongue insinuated itself between his lips. Not for the first time, he wondered if there was some lingering witchery left over from the broken enchantment that made Jack Sparrow impossible to resist. How else to explain the fact that he, Commodore James Norrington, was holding a pirate in his arms and kissing him back?

"You're out of uniform, Commodore," Jack murmured, nipping his way along the underside of James's jaw.

"What?" James gasped. "Oh, yes. It's in the saddle-bags. To keep it dry for the morning."

"And you're somewhat more incognito in dark green," Jack added, smirking. "Good thinking."

James scowled. "One of us must give some thought to such things," he snapped. "Heaven knows, you'd swagger through Port Royal and up to the fort in broad daylight had I not taken care to forbid precisely such an act of madness."

Jack laughed again. "Poor James, to find yourself in such a ridiculous situation; I believe your ever-vigilant sense of propriety is offended." He poured them each more rum. "Drink up, there's a good fellow. You're as sober as a parson; you even look the part, save for the lack of a wig."

James was turning, drink in hand, to take a chair beside the fire, when he noticed the table, laid for four. "What's this, Jack?" he frowned.

"What's what?" Jack asked, following his gaze. "Oh, that. I've invited the Turners to dine with us."

"You what?" James cried, appalled. "You're joking, surely!"

Jack shook his head. "No, I am not," he replied, his tone all innocence. "Why would you think it a joke?" The corners of his mouth twitched, giving him the lie.

"Are you mad? Have you gone completely out of your senses?" James strode over and glared down at Jack. "How can you imagine I would consent to this lunatic scheme?" Jack was grinning now, utterly unabashed. James turned away and ran his hand distractedly through his hair. "Good God, what will they think?"

"Nothing to your discredit, Commodore," Jack said, slipping around to press himself against James, hands resting lightly on his hips. "I doubt they'll be very surprised to see you in my company."

"Nonsense," James exclaimed. "What makes you say that?"

"Oh, a conversation I had with Elizabeth the other day," Jack grinned. "It was… informative, on both sides." He tried to kiss James, who leaned back out of reach and looked at him with some alarm.

"Explain yourself."

"Are you sure you wish to know, love?" Jack asked, solicitously. "Might be a bit of a shock for you."

James's lips thinned and one eyebrow rose. "I am willing to chance it, you scoundrel," he replied, at his driest. "You have put me in an impossible situation and I had sooner know the worst. Tell me."

"Very well, then," Jack said. "I asked Elizabeth about the potion she gave you. Where she obtained it and what she meant to accomplish."

"Did you indeed?" James tried to draw away, but Jack nodded and pulled him close. Deeming it undignified to struggle, James suffered the embrace. "And what did you find out?" he asked.

"First, that she got it from a reputable source." James snorted at the choice of words and Jack chuckled. "So we won't be worrying about nasty after-effects," he explained.

"You have no idea how that relieves my mind," James drawled. "And what else?"

"She told me what she asked the woman for; what she wanted the charm to do." Jack's grin turned impish and James's alarm grew. "That potion was specially crafted just for you, James," he said, with what James thought was entirely unseemly relish. "Its purpose - to give you your heart's desire."

James felt his face heating as he stared into the pirate's mocking eyes. His heart's desire. He opened his mouth to repudiate such an outrageous notion, but no words came. And the Turners (for what Elizabeth knew, surely Will knew as well) held his secret. Jack's smile widened as he touched his fingers to James's scarlet cheek and drew them back as if burned.

"Shocked, dear James?" he chuckled, against James's mouth. "Deny it, then," he whispered. "If you can."

"Jack, I…"

"Yes, love?"

A knock. James freed himself and turned hastily away as the door opened to admit the maidservant bringing more wood for the fire.

**************
The coach rumbled along the dark road out of Port Royal. Its occupants were jostled from side to side as the wheels bumped into and out of the many potholes, filled with rainwater, that were impossible for the coachman to see.

Will braced himself as well as he could to avoid crushing Elizabeth's dress as they were thrown about. The coach's lanterns cast a fitful light into the well-upholstered interior of the Governor's carriage, loaned to them for the night. He could see that his wife was chewing her lip and deep in thought.

"Jack Sparrow must think mighty well of himself," he grumbled, "To expect us to hie ourselves nearly to Kingston just to dine with him on such a foul night."

He did not expect a reply, having said the same thing three times at least since leaving their house, so he was mildly surprised when Elizabeth looked at him with a serious expression and said, "He undoubtedly does, but that's not the reason - not the only.reason, I should say - for this invitation."

She paused and Will, after waiting a few moments for her to continue, asked, "How so?"

"Will," Elizabeth glanced at him and then stared out the window. "I'm afraid Jack is… was angry with me."

"In that case, I don't see why…" he began and then stopped. Elizabeth was looking remarkably like a schoolgirl with a guilty conscience. Will sighed and shook his head. "You'd better tell me the whole story," he said.

Elizabeth took a deep breath and folded her hands. "Do you remember the evening musicale on Father's birthday?" Will nodded. "Well, the week before the party I had gone to an old woman who sells potions, to get one to give to Commodore Norrington."

Will listened for several minutes, in increasing astonishment, as his wife related how she'd slipped the potion into Norrington's wine and how, just the other day, Jack's visit had revealed to her the result of her action. He could hardly take it in. Jack and the Commodore?

"And so, you see," Elizabeth concluded, "I think -- I hope -- that Jack means by this invitation to cry peace."

"Peace!" Will exclaimed. "He's more likely to wish to wring your neck."

Her chin came up. "Now you sound like Jack," she replied. "I did nothing wrong in trying to help Commodore Norrington find happiness. He came to no harm."

"No harm?" Will cried. "Through your actions he finds himself - entangled - with the most notorious pirate in the Caribbean and…" He stopped abruptly, eyes narrowing. "And just how, wife, do you even know of such… such improper…" Words failed him.

Elizabeth gave him a pitying glance and a tiny smile. "Really, Will, you sound exactly like my old governess! I've lived in Port Royal just as long as you have and I am not blind."

Will gaped at her. She knew? How much did she know? He hoped that the dim light hid his face, for, all of a sudden, he felt too warm.

"It is common knowledge," Elizabeth went on, "amongst the ladies of my acquaintance that some men prefer other men to women." Will remained silent. "In truth," she smiled, "I think it very romantic, don't you? Almost like a novel; 'The Pirate and the Commodore'."

Will shook his head. Romantic? Hardly. It was ridiculous. The very idea that the Commodore - that James, so handsome and so fine -- he caught himself up before his thoughts could go too far in that direction -- would take up with an unregenerate rake like Jack (however beguiling) was almost painful to contemplate.

Just then there was a grinding crash and the carriage lurched violently. Elizabeth screamed as she was thrown across the seat against Will, who held her as they came to a bumpy halt, tilted at a crazy angle. They could hear the startled horses neighing and plunging and the coachman's efforts to quiet them.

"We've lost a wheel," Will said, reaching past Elizabeth to haul himself to the high side of the carriage and open the door. "Stay here." He climbed out onto the road.

Ned had got the horses under control and was examining the nearer one anxiously. "Strained 'is hock, I'm afraid, sir," he said, as Will joined him.

"Thank heaven it's no worse," Will replied, going back to the coach. The off front wheel lay in ruins; the coach would go no further this night. "How far are we from the inn?"

"Not much more'n a quarter mile, I reckon, sir," Ned told him. "Shall I take the sound horse and go for help?"

Will thought a moment. The rain had slackened to a drizzle and the wind had dropped. "Perhaps we should just walk there together," he began, when there was a scramble and splash, followed by the sound of tearing lace, behind him. He caught the mutter of a most unladylike oath as Elizabeth appeared at his elbow.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" she asked.

Will and the coachman exchanged a look and a shrug and Will helped him unhitch the pair. Then he took Elizabeth's arm and they set off, followed by Ned leading the horses.

Of course, as soon as they began walking, the rain started up again, harder than before. The dirt road had turned to thick, sucking mud that clung to their shoes and dragged at the hem of Elizabeth's dress. "Propriety be damned!" she muttered, as she kilted up her skirt. Ned looked scandalized, but Will merely raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

In a very few minutes, they were soaked to the skin, and Elizabeth's hair was wet and bedraggled from the wind. Water streamed off their hats into their faces, and their shoes squished ridiculously with every step.

Will grimaced. "Bloody Jack Sparrow! This is all his doing."

If Elizabeth hadn't been equally miserable (and cursing Jack just as heartily in her head), she would have laughed at Will's petulant ill-temper; she well knew there was nothing he hated worse than wet feet. "I don't believe that Jack has yet determined how to control the weather."

"Not for lack of trying. . ." Will grumbled.

"True. As angry as he was with me, I believe he'd curse me with rain and mud and all manner of plagues if he could."

As if to prove her point, no sooner had these words left her mouth than Elizabeth tripped over a hidden rock and pitched forward, spattering the front of her dress with mud. Will and Ned rushed to help her up, covering themselves in mud as well. Some practical corner of Elizabeth's mind reflected that Will's best coat (which he'd insisted on wearing) would never be the same. Luckily, although she'd cut her hand and scraped her knees miserably, there were no more serious injuries, and Elizabeth insisted they trudge on as quickly as possible, toward the faint light that surely must be the inn.

When they finally arrived, Ned went on to the stables to see the horses settled and Will and Elizabeth were greeted by the prosperous-looking, bald proprietor, whose considerable girth blocked the door entirely. However, his initial objections melted away when Will announced that they were there to meet Mr. Martin, and the innkeeper stepped aside (although it clearly cost him something not to exclaim at the water and mud they brought in with them).

"P'raps you'd best wait here. . ." he said dubiously and rushed off, leaving them dripping.

As they waited, Ned rejoined them. With an aggrieved sigh, he wrung his battered wig out on to the entry floor and set it back on his head, where it perched improbably like a drowned Persian cat. He cast a despairing look at his once spotless livery and, after a futile search for a handkerchief, began brushing at the mud with his hand, smearing great brown streaks down his crimson coat. Silently, Will offered Ned his own sodden handkerchief.

The air was rich with the homey smell of roast beef and the yeasty aroma of ale; from the nearby common room they could hear a cheerful hubbub of voices. Elizabeth shivered, wondering if they'd be left there all night. Bloody Jack Sparrow indeed! But in no time, a serving girl had brought an armful of towels for them to dry themselves with, and Elizabeth's mood brightened considerably.

Jack himself arrived shortly after the maid, and didn't bother to hide his amusement at their predicament. "Elizabeth, your maid must curse you on a daily basis -- you're always managing to ruin your clothes some way or the other." Then he smiled a secretive smile and put a finger to the corner of his mouth. "Come along, children, I've a surprise for you." Turning on his heels, he hurried up the stairs. Will obediently set off after him, and Elizabeth, mistrustful of Jack's good spirits, reluctantly followed, rubbing at her damp hair with a towel.

At the landing, Jack flung open a heavy door to reveal a cozy private parlor. In contrast to the dark stairway, the room was brightly lit with candles and a roaring fire, and it took Elizabeth's eyes a moment to adjust to the light. When they did, she gasped at the sight before her.

James Norrington stood and bowed awkwardly, shooting Jack a dark look that made it clear he had been no more privy to Jack's plans than Will and Elizabeth.

Jack pulled the door to, and leaned against it with the air of one who's pulled off a great trick. "Now then, all present and accounted for at last!"

Elizabeth took a step backward -- almost as if she would flee -- until she was pressed against Will's chest. He could feel her trembling as she groped for his hand. He knew he was gaping like a fool and Norrington looked thoroughly put out as well. Will did not blame him; what a ridiculous state of affairs! He turned his head to glare at Jack, who smirked and rocked on his heels.

There was an uncomfortable silence, and then Elizabeth squeezed Will's hand and stepped forward, drawing him along with her.

"James," she said, brightly. "What a pleasant surprise!" She turned her head and Will could see that her color was somewhat heightened, yet her voice and the hand she held out to Norrington were steady. Will admired her poise.

Norrington bowed over her hand, murmuring something polite, and then turned to Will. As he shook hands with the Commodore, Will thought he saw consternation (and guilt?), swiftly masked, in the green eyes that met his for a moment. So it was true then, and not some flight of his wife's fancy - there was something between the two men. Will's own smile felt stiff and he cursed Jack Sparrow for the mortification that all save the pirate himself seemed to feel.

"The wheel fell off our carriage," Elizabeth was explaining, "and we were forced to walk some distance in the rain." She shivered and turned toward the fire.

All solicitude, Norrington drew up a chair - hastily removing his wet coat from the seat - and obliged her to sit down. Will chafed her hands in his; they were icy-cold and she shivered again.

"Ring the bell, for pity's sake," Norrington snapped, casting another darkling look at Sparrow. Then to Elizabeth he said, "You are wet through -- and you also, Will -- we must get you some dry clothing before you catch your death of cold."

"This'll help." Jack held out a glass of rum to Will, who took it with a nod.

"Elizabeth," Will said, "Drink a little of this. It will warm you."

She made a face. "You know I don't like rum, Will," she replied through chattering teeth.

"Drink it, child," Jack said. "Don't be missish." Elizabeth scowled at him, but she drank several sips of the rum nonetheless.

The landlady entered and exclaimed over Elizabeth's drenched and muddy gown. "Oh, the poor lady!" she cried. "What was Giddings thinking of, not telling me how it was with you? Just you come with me, madam. We'll get you something dry to wear. Oh dear, dear. I fear your fine dress will never be the same again, but we will do what we can." With this and much more in the same vein she escorted Elizabeth from the room.

Will meanwhile removed his wet coat and stood as close to the fire as he could, drinking the rest of Elizabeth's rum and wondering if he could importune the landlord for a change of clothes for himself when James addressed him.

"I am afraid all I have with me is my uniform," he said, his tone almost diffident. "But it should fit you fairly well, I think. You are welcome to it while your own clothes are dried and cleaned."

"You are very kind," Will nodded with a smile that still felt somewhat forced. He cursed his awkwardness, more embarrassed than ever in the face of James's kindness.

James brought the saddle bags from their place beside the door and unpacked them as Will removed his neckcloth and shirt.

"From the sound of things," Jack said, "You will be staying the night here."

"I fear so," Will replied, accepting a shirt from James and pulling it over his head. "Not only is the coach wheel quite shattered, but one of the horses strained a hock. We will have to take a room."

Jack chuckled. "Not a room to be had," he said. "The inn is full up." Will looked at him in dismay. "I've this room and a bedchamber through there." Jack pointed to a door on the other side of the fireplace. "You're welcome to share. There's plenty of room for all of us."

Before he could stop himself, Will glanced at James and wished he had not. James's face was turned half away, but Will could see a flush rising in his cheek and blushed himself.

Jack grinned and Will almost wanted to hit him for his gleeful enjoyment of the others' discomfort.

"Come James," Jack said. "Let's leave young William to get changed in peace. We will go find mine host and see about getting a truckle bed made up."

When they had gone, Will finished changing quickly. It was very strange, donning another man's clothes - and stranger still that it should be the Commodore's uniform. James had been right; the shirt and breeches fit tolerably well.

The coat, when he picked it up, gave him a little thrill of some unnamable emotion. He raised it to his nose and inhaled. It smelled of James, and Will shivered. Then he flushed and muttered, "Don't be such an ass," and thrust his arms into the sleeves. It was a little tight across the shoulders, but would do.

Will put on his sword and tugged his cuffs down and pulled the facings straight. He was filled with the oddest mixture of embarrassment and pleasure. Looking down at the braid on his chest and his sleeves, he could not help grinning. He swaggered across the room and back, hand on the pommel of his sword, and struck what he thought was a martial pose before the looking glass and grinned even harder at his reflection. He made a fine figure of a Naval officer, he thought. He didn't hear the door open and did not realize he was no longer alone until Elizabeth began to laugh.

************
The innkeeper's wife was a match for her husband in size and any of her dresses would have held three of Elizabeth. The only other woman in the establishment was the serving girl, who was three inches shorter than Elizabeth and shaped like a rail, but she cheerfully offered up her second best dress. The bodice was too tight and the hemline shockingly high, but at least it was dry, and when Elizabeth took down her wet hair, it provided her some measure of modesty.

When she reentered the parlor, Will was too taken with his own appearance to notice how ridiculous she looked. He'd put on his sword and puffed out his chest, and was admiring his reflection in the looking glass.

Elizabeth snickered. "You've missed your calling, Will! I'd no idea you'd look so good in a uniform."

He laughed at himself ruefully, acknowledging that he'd been caught out. He reached for her hand, but the jest on his lips died when he saw the ragged cut that ran down her ring finger and onto her palm. "You've hurt yourself!"

"I scratched it when I fell on the road. It's already stopped bleeding."

"Here, let me see." He guided her to the armchair and sat her down. There was a red-shaded lamp on the low table beside the chair, and he held her hand up to the light. "Your finger looks swollen. We'd best take your ring off before it gets stuck." He carefully slid the ring off her finger and set it on the table, then pressed a kiss into her palm. "All better."

She shot him a coy look. "Thank you kindly, Captain Turner!"

He stood and made a mocking bow. "Anything for you, my dear. . ."

"Don't try your sweet-talk on me! I wager you have a girl in every port, pining away for you."

Will pulled her to her feet. "That's as may be, but you're the only one here--" he hooked an arm around her waist "--and now," and kissed her soundly.

"Such liberties, sir!" she whispered against his mouth. She wound her hands in the damp silk of his hair and pulled him down for another kiss. "Really, I must protest. . ."

They kissed a long while, hands roaming and exploring. Will's shape was transformed -- he was bulkier and stood up straighter, and the braid on the borrowed coat was scratchy against Elizabeth's chest. For a moment, she imagined that she was kissing a stranger, which was an odd enough idea, and then, inhaling the scent that rose up from the coat, she had a disconcerting memory of James' arms around her. She tried to suppress the improper thought, but once it had occurred to her, she couldn't stop imagining what it would be like to kiss James like this. Guiltily, she wondered what sorts of things he and Jack did together; the images that flashed into her mind caused her to flush all over. In an attempt to focus on the matter at hand, she pressed herself against Will, eliciting a guttural, longing sound.

Without breaking their kiss, he picked her up, and spinning them around, toppled back into the armchair. It didn't work quite as planned, and they wound up tangled together, giggling helplessly.

When they'd recovered their breath and disentangled Elizabeth's skirt, Will settled her on his knee. With excruciatingly languor, he closed the distance between their lips, murmuring, "Now then, where were we?"

When the kiss came, it was meltingly slow and sweet. Will's hand pressed warm and insistent upon her back, drawing her closer to him, and then his fingers slipped lower, and she couldn't help moaning.

Distantly, she became aware of someone coughing, but she was too distracted to pay it much mind. It was only when Will suddenly jerked away that she realized that Jack and James had rejoined them. James was pointedly looking out the window at the rain, while Jack was unabashedly staring at Will and Elizabeth. She felt herself growing red-faced under his scrutiny, and tugged futilely at her bodice.

He smirked. "Don't stop on our accounts. Young love! Ain't it grand, James?"

When James didn't dignify this with a reply, Jack picked up Elizabeth's ring and held it to the light. "That's a pretty little thing, darlin'. You wouldn't want it to go missing."

She reached for it, and with a flick of his fingers it was gone. "Which hand?"

"Jack. . ." she said warningly, but to no avail.

There was a knock on the door. Elizabeth jumped from Will's lap just as the maid bustled in, with a tray. She made a dutiful curtsy in Elizabeth's direction and beamed warmly at Jack. "Beggin' your pardons, but Mrs. Giddings sent this up for the lady. It's her special recipe, and she says it'll take the chill off your bones." She set the tray on the sideboard.

"Just the thing!" Jack made an extravagant shooing gesture. "Now then, what about our dinner?"

With a loud sniff, the maid flounced out the door. There was an awkward silence, broken by the clatter of Jack ostentatiously stirring the wine. "Just making sure all the spices are mixed in," he said brightly. Finally done, he brought Elizabeth a glass. When she took it, she spied her ring on his pinkie, but she chose not to mention it, confident that he didn't truly mean to make off with ring. He was only keeping it to get a rise out of her. There was time enough to ask for it after dinner, when he might be in better spirits.

After a few minutes, the maid and the potboy brought in the first course, consisting of a brace of roast ducks, a raised pie and various side-dishes. They set the food upon the sideboard as Jack inspected it approvingly.

"My compliments to the cook," he told the maid. "Now, if you'd be a good girl and bring the second course right up, I'd be most obliged. We'll serve ourselves, so there's no need to trouble you further this evening, eh?" He made as if to pat her bottom but she whisked herself out of his reach with withering glance and dragged the potboy from the room.

Elizabeth brought her mulled wine to the table but left the flagon on the sideboard. The wine was delicious - far better than the nasty rum -- and every bit as fortifying. She allowed James to seat her between himself and Jack, across from Will, who was removing his sword and leaning it against the wall before sitting down. Poor James, she thought -- not fooled by his quiet good manners -- wished to be anywhere but in that room with the three of them. She smiled warmly at him, receiving only the most perfunctory of smiles in response.


James took his place opposite Jack with a distinct feeling of ill-usage. Look at him, he thought, watching Jack chaffing Will about his 'fine new uniform'; the fool's drunk. Jack certainly was well to live, as the saying went; he'd had most of a bottle of rum that evening already and showed no signs of stinting himself on the wine, either. God (or the Devil) knew what manner of outrageous thing he might say next, full of himself as he was over staging this unbearable dinner.

Elizabeth, James could tell, was spinning one of her romantic phantasies around Jack and himself. He wasn't surprised that she showed no shock at the thought of an… unnatural connection between two men - he had known her far too long for that. She was such an unconventional girl - woman - that he'd long since given up being startled by the breadth of her unfeminine knowledge, or by her nonsensical fascination with all things piratical.

"And - be honest - don't you share that fascination, Commodore?" said a little voice in his head that sounded remarkably like Jack's. James nearly choked on a sip of wine and glared across the table. Jack, almost as if he could read minds, winked and blew a kiss. James flushed and turned his attention to his plate. Damn the man. Had he no shred of decency?

There was a slight pause in the conversation as the second course arrived. James watched as the maid set out the dishes with rather more emphasis than strictly necessary and pointedly ignored Jack's wink.

After the interruption, his agitation subsided and he was able to pay attention to the conversation again. Jack and Elizabeth were laughing and bantering over the differing accounts of Jack's sacking of Nassau Port. Jack's, needless to say, did not match the tale that had been published as a broadsheet. Elizabeth was questioning him closely on the details, trying to trip him up in what she plainly thought was his invention, but he eluded every snare. Will was eating his dinner and watching them in silence.

Only Will, James realized, seemed to feel any discomfort over this whole mess. He wondered what Will had had to say to his wife regarding her drugging James in the first place. Did he even know about it? James could not imagine that Will - who, for all his pirate heritage, was a most proper, right-thinking young man at heart - would condone such a piece of interference. Perhaps he could instill in Elizabeth a sense of the wrong she had done. James knew that Elizabeth would never admit it on her own, indeed, he was quite sure that Jack's 'conversation' with her the other day would have simply made her more stubbornly sure she had been in the right.

Elizabeth laughed again and drained her glass. Jack took it from her and went to the sideboard to refill it from the flagon supplied by the landlady - staggering a little as he did so.

Jack poured the potion into the wine and, shielding his action with his body, threw the vial into the fire. A luscious scent rose up from the flagon, rich and tempting. Nearly forgetting himself, he stuck his finger in the wine and made to taste it, but remembered the potion just in time. Hastily he wiped his finger on his coat. At least he needn't worry that Elizabeth would notice something amiss about the drink. He filled her glass, and brought it back to the table with a sardonic bow.

She drank deeply, then exclaimed, "Why this is even better than the first glass! I feel quite selfish drinking it all myself. Surely there's enough for everyone to have a taste."

Jack's thoughts were moving slowly, and it took him a moment to realize what she'd said. "No, no, she made it special with you in mind. . .We wouldn't want to be taking any of your treat, right gentlemen?"

Will started to agree, but Elizabeth stood peremptorily. "Nonsense! It's hardly fair for me to hog it all." She brought the flagon over and doled it out in equal measures into all their glasses. "See? Plenty to go around."

At Elizabeth's encouraging gesture, both Will and James took a hearty draught of the wine, and praised it enthusiastically.

"What did I tell you? Jack, you should try it too."

Jack had a vivid recollection of the witch insisting that just a few drops of the potion would be sufficient. He shook his head emphatically. "No! I, uh, don't much care for sweet stuff in wine."

James took another sip and furrowed his brow thoughtfully. "It's not excessively sweet, Jack; it truly is delicious. Reminds me of something, but I can't quite place it."

A bright spot of panic flared in Jack's chest, and he shook his head, trying to think clearly. If he was the only one who didn't suffer from amnesia, they'd know that he'd been the one to doctor the wine. But if they all suffered equally, there'd be nothing to prove that he'd done it. Perhaps the blame would even fall on Elizabeth, since she'd pulled this sort of trickery before. They were all safe at the inn, Jack reasoned, and the worst that would happen is that they'd stumble around all night, not knowing who they were. Perhaps the others would awaken believing they'd simply had too much wine, but if not, there'd be no reason to suspect him. Throwing caution to the winds, he downed the contents of his glass. "Bottoms up, eh?"

It was, as they'd all said, delicious. Jack wondered idly if the other potion -- the one for James -- would taste even better. At least I've still got that one, Jack thought to himself smugly, patting his pocket. Feeling no reassuring lump, he reached into his pocket, and found it empty. Trying to be discreet, Jack felt his other pocket, which was similarly bereft. His earlier panic returned, much magnified, and with sickening clarity, he suddenly recalled stirring the potion into the wine earlier in the evening, when the maid had first brought it. But that meant. . .

Struck with an inchoate urge to flee, Jack half stood. His head was swimming, and dark spots clouded his vision. "Not good. . ." he choked out, as the others slumped back into their chairs, and then the world went black.

The second half of the story