Sparrington Arc, Chapter 7

Challenge

by

The Stowaway

Captain Jack Sparrow was holding another of what he persisted in calling the 'officers' mess', but which bore a greater resemblance to a decidedly eccentric dinner party. The company consisted, as usual, of Gibbs, Duncan and Anamaria. Conversation, at least, was a good deal easier than on previous occasions.

Duncan, it turned out, had crossed the Atlantic more than any of them—although Jack, James noticed, managed to avoid giving a specific answer—and they discussed what they could expect in the way of winds and weather. They argued whether to resupply in the Azores or the Canaries. Jack was, not surprisingly, all for sailing, as bold as brass, straight to London or Bristol, but—for once—saner counsel prevailed.

They settled on where to go for cargo after leaving Pig Island, and decided against augmenting the crew with new recruits—deeming it better to be slightly short-handed than risk signing troublemakers when they would so soon be embarking on an extended voyage with no way (save the most draconian) to rid themselves of bad crewmen.

Jack was affable, soliciting their advice and showing himself willing to be guided, to some extent, by it. He lounged in his chair at the head of the table, eyes and grin glinting in the candlelight, as he kept the wine circulating and the conversation lively.

Anamaria, who sat next to James—across from Gibbs and Duncan—was closer to good humour than James had ever seen her. She leant forward, elbows on table, and participated in their conversation with animation and ease, even going so far as to laugh at one of Gibbs's jests. Once, as James refilled her glass, she smiled at him, although, when he smiled back, she scowled and turned her shoulder.

Later still, Jack could not forbear to tease him as they lay together, just drifting into sleep. "Your conquest of my crew proceeds apace, James," he chuckled.

James snorted. "Calf love. Jenkins is just a boy—he will grow out of it soon enough."

"Aye, that he will," Jack replied. "But Jenkins wasn't who I meant." James arched a brow and waited. Jack grinned. "I saw you courting Anamaria tonight."

"I was doing no such thing! Merely, I was being polite."

"You were flirting," Jack laughed, "Shamelessly."

James sighed. "I have no idea what you are talking about," he said.

Jack ignored this. "Now, I am not saying it ain't wise to get on her good side. She can be damned uncomfortable company when she's angry." He scowled. "And the Pearl's as likely as not to take her part," he muttered.

"So, what are you saying?" James asked.

"Oh, just that I think it's well done of you to try to win her over. And you're halfway there, love. She approves of your seamanship and your way with the men."

James hid his surprise at Jack's admission, knowing it must have cost the pirate something to mention—even obliquely—the occasion when she had expressed those sentiments. "That may be," he said, "But I doubt I will get further. She seems determined to hold me at arm's length."

"You'll bring her around."

"How?"

"What about the famous Norrington charm, which you used to such good effect in getting me into your bed?"

"I beg your pardon," James's brows rose again. "To what are you referring?"

Grinning slyly, Jack winked. "Why, to your seduction of my—admittedly willing—person aboard the Dauntless one memorable night."

"Jack, you are mad," James exclaimed. "The seduction, if you must use such a ridiculous term, was all on your part!"

"Was it?" Jack asked. "Who had chased whom all over the Caribbean for months?"

"That was to hang you!"

"Was it?" Jack asked again, smirking. "And yet, once you had me under your hand..."

"I was corrupted and led astray by your blandishments," James replied with dignity. "My tutor warned me of the dangers of bad company."

"As did mine, although, for all the good it did, he might have saved his breath."

"You had a t..." Jack shook his head and James paused. "Who are you, Jack? Won't you tell me?"

"Someday, love. You have my word."

There was silence for some time. Then Jack spoke sleepily. "Remember what I said about Anamaria, James. Win her over."

"By charming her into my bed, I suppose?"

A chuckle. "You could do worse."

"Go to sleep, you madman."

Queen Mab, the ship's cat, went in the first boat. She leapt out and scampered up the beach, vanishing into the trees on some errand of her own.

Pig Island was named for the inhabitants, having been seeded in the past with two pair of swine, which were then left to run wild. They had thriven and multiplied over the years and would indeed have overrun the island were it not for the hunts carried out by ships such as the Pearl, seeking to replenish their stores.

Jack's intention was to spend several weeks there, and preparations were made accordingly. A rough camp was established on the beach, with several sailcloth lean-tos erected and a number of fire pits dug. A small stream ran down from the modest hills of the interior of the tiny island, emptying into the bay opposite the Pearl's anchorage, making it convenient to replenish the water casks as well.

By evening, the work was done. Some chose to sleep ashore; others returned to the Pearl. Jack and James were among the latter, as Jack refused to sleep on dry land if he could help it.

Next morning early, two hunting parties—armed with muskets and under the command of Gibbs and Anamaria—set off in opposite directions. Jack stayed in camp to oversee the arrangements for butchering and preserving the kill, while James elected to go with the hunters, joining Anamaria's group. She scowled at him suspiciously, but did not object. James saw Jack smirk and ignored him.

As they climbed into the hills, James saw evidence of their quarry all about. Anamaria ignored it and led them instead to the top of a rocky slope with a beaten path at its base.

As the hunters settled themselves to wait, she split them into two groups of four each, giving the one of which James was a part the task of firing first, while her own would act as the reserve. James thought she was being perhaps a bit over-cautious.

The wait stretched from one hour to two; James watched her covertly. She divided her attention between the ambush, the forest around them, and the men. She tolerated no noise that might alert the swine and cuffed one man when he began to whisper to his neighbor. Seen in profile, she reminded James of a hawk; she had the single-minded fierceness of a predator, yet with some of the wild beauty he associated with those graceful fliers.

It was no wonder, James thought, that the men respected her and followed her willingly. Hers was no sinecure, she had earned her place. She was a remarkable woman. He remembered the spark, tiny but unmistakable, that he'd felt when their hands touched the other day and there was a stirring in his loins. He recalled Jack's words of the other night. Well, why not? he thought, feeling reckless. Just at that moment she glanced his way and her eyes narrowed dangerously, as if she could read his mind. He held her gaze and allowed himself a tiny smile. Her brows snapped down and she placed one hand meaningfully on her dagger before looking back to the trail. Jack was right insofar as the need to win her over, if life on the Pearl was ever to be really comfortable. This might be a dangerous way to do it, but now his blood was up and it was not in him to refuse a challenge. He smiled to himself.

Finally, a huge boar ambled into sight. Anamaria looked at James and nodded. He and his men raised their muskets and sighted. It was an easy distance, even for the notoriously inaccurate muskets, and James gave the signal to fire confidently. Two balls struck the quarry behind the forequarters; a third, too high, grazed the spine, the fourth shot went wide. To James's astonishment, the boar, instead of dropping or at least fleeing, turned and charged up the hill directly at their position, squealing in fury, slowed but not stopped by the rocks in his path. It appeared that the pigs of the island, living free of man for decades, had reverted to the feral state of their ancestors. Anamaria's men raised their muskets and waited for her order to fire. Coolly, she let the raging creature get within point-blank range before she gave it. All three shots took the beast in the chest and it went down within five yards of where they crouched, struggling still to reach them. James drew his sword and dispatched it.

The men leapt up and gathered around the fallen monster, admiring their kill and congratulating themselves until Anamaria sent them scrambling to cut a sapling to serve as a carrying-pole. The men bound its feet together and, hoisting it with some effort, hauled it back to camp. They felt themselves fortunate that the route was mostly downhill.

Their arrival at the beach was greeted with acclaim. They were relieved of their burden and work began to prepare a feast. The boar was drawn and divided up quickly. The haunches and the chine were rubbed with spices and covered in a sauce—the secret of which was known only to the cook—and placed on a bed of seaweed in a pit lined with rocks laid upon a layer of hot coals. More seaweed was heaped on top and they were left to steam for hours. The rest was chopped and put to boil in a cauldron for the making of headcheese and other sausages. A kettle of the cook's sauce, redolent of onions and garlic, simmered on yet another fire.

They had barely finished this work when Gibbs's party appeared with two smaller boars, which were treated in the same fashion.

There being little more to be done in the way of preparation for the evening meal, and several hours yet to wait, the pirates spent the rest of the afternoon dicing and drinking and lounging on the beach. Some few swam, others dozed. Tomorrow they would hunt again and begin the time-consuming labor of preserving their catch—by smoking, salting, and pickling—but today was a holiday.

As the sun sank, succulent odors wafted from the cooking pits. Queen Mab appeared from the trees to supervise the cooks with a knowing eye.

Jack and James were a short way down the beach, above the tide line; James leaning against a palm tree and Jack leaning against James. They were reading. Or, rather, James was trying to read and Jack—who had lost interest in his own book—was being an amiable nuisance.

"If you do that again, I shall be forced to take drastic measures."

"Do what, James?" Jack grinned.

"Jog my elbow," James replied. "I am, as you may have noticed, reading."

"Aye," Jack confided, "But I want you to stop reading, you see."

"And if I do, what then?" James sighed.

Jack's hand crept along his thigh. "Well, we might..."

"No."

"Ah, well then. How about a swim?" Jack leered. "It'd get you out of your breeches, at any rate."

They were interrupted by a hail from the direction of the camp. Gibbs was waving and pointing to the fire pits.

"No time," James replied, getting to his feet so abruptly that Jack, deprived of his prop, fell over. "Dinner awaits."

Grumbling, Jack picked himself up. "Spoil sport."

James laughed at him, and they strolled up the sand to join the crowd assembled at the fires.

As the pit was opened a cloud of fragrant steam arose and with it a collective sigh of pleasure. Everyone served themselves with meat, tubers that had been roasted in the hot ash at the edges of the fire, and sauce from the kettle. They sat to eat in groups around the fires; Gibbs, Jenkins and a number of others gathered around the same fire as Jack and James. Dark fell as they ate. James thought he had never tasted anything so good. Queen Mab came to sit between them and placed an insistent paw on his arm. He offered her a sliver of meat and she took it with delicate avidity.

"She's taken a liking to you," Jack said, between bites, adding impishly, "You've quite a way with the ladies, mate."

James looked up and happened to catch Anamaria's eye, where she sat at the back of the group. His eyes danced but his mouth was solemn as he replied, "So it would seem." Her brows rose and he thought he saw her lips twitch. Oh yes, she was amused. She mocked him silently; her expression was acknowledgment and counter-challenge in one and he accepted it as such with the tiniest of nods.

The cat, impatient at the interruption, thwacked his hand and he resumed feeding her tidbits. For a time she kept him busy until, belly full, she retired to the edge of the firelight to wash and James returned to the unencumbered enjoyment of his meal.

The rum was circulating freely and everyone drank deep and ate to repletion, going back—some of them twice—for more food. Fresh meat was a rare thing in a pirate's life and they made the most of it. Afterward, quiet fell over the camp. Most were too full to wish for music or tales, and so they settled down where they were to sleep off the effect of their enormous meal.

James, who had eaten more lightly than many, was standing with Jack at the water's edge, watching the moon rise, when they heard the faint splash of oars. A boat crossed the path of light on the bay; they could see Anamaria rowing herself back to the Pearl, alone.

Beside him, Jack chuckled. "View halloo," he murmured. James looked at him in surprise. Jack shook his head. "I'm not blind, love. Nor drunk." He grinned and nudged James toward the other boats. "Go on," he said, "'Tain't wise to keep a lady waiting... especially that one."

He had barely taken a step when she spoke. "What are you doing here?" Her voice came from near the mainmast, but he could not see her.

"The same as you, I imagine," he replied.

There was a hiss of indrawn breath and her dagger thunked into the deck between his feet. He bent and pulled it free. Leaning against the rail, he used it to clean his nails, watching all the while for a movement that would betray her position. He smiled, knowing she could see it, standing as he was full in the silvery light. His ear caught a muttered curse in French and his eyebrows rose. "Oh, surely not," he drawled, "my parents were not so—shall we say—limber."

There was a fuming pause. He resisted the urge to goad her further by chuckling. At last, she stepped into view, her back to the moonlight, face unreadable. James approached her and bowed. "Ma'am," he said, formally, presenting her dagger, hilt foremost. She took it with a curt nod and tucked it in her sash. James went on, "Will you join me for some wine?" Another pause and she nodded again. He gestured for her to precede him into the great cabin.

Once through the door, she stopped and he slipped past her. Locating the tinderbox on the desk, he struck a spark and lit a candle, using it to light the lamps. He went to the table and poured the wine as she came to stand at his elbow. As he handed her the glass he saw that the amusement was back in her eye and he smiled in response. He raised his glass in silent toast and drank.

Anamaria sipped her wine, watching him thoughtfully. Then she drained her glass in one long swallow (the line of her throat in the golden light made his mouth go dry) and set it aside. "Enough," she said, and drew his head down. Her mouth was wine-cool but her tongue, as it teased its way past his lips, was a thing of fire. His came to meet it, slipping and curling, battling for control. He slid his tongue between her lip and teeth, sucking gently. She gasped and bit his lower lip.

His hands, which had been resting on her hips, were splayed now across her back, drawing her close. She arched into the touch, rubbing herself against him and it was his turn to gasp. He nuzzled her jaw, tipping her head back and nibbling at her throat, running the tip of his tongue along the shell of her ear.

She backed into the table and twined one leg around his thighs to hold his hips against hers as she untucked his shirt and ran her hands over his back, scratching lightly; chuckling as he shivered. Half-sitting on the table, she brought both legs up around his hips and locked her ankles together. She turned her head to capture his mouth again and leaned back. One hand reached for his buttons as the other urged him down on top of her.

James broke the kiss and caught her wrist. "Not like this," he whispered, as she glared at him, astonished. He raised her hand and kissed the palm, tongue flickering. "Wait." He smiled at her and she scowled.

"What do you..." she began, stopping as he pressed two fingers against her lips.

"Tais toi," he said, kissing her quickly. "Trust me." He folded his arms across her back and stood up, lifting her with ease. He carried her to the bed and sat down with her on his lap, her legs still locked about his hips. "Now then," he murmured, "Let's do this properly."

Anamaria watched with wary curiosity as James plucked the daggers from her sash and set them on the deck. He kissed her again, slowly, fingers cupping her skull, slipping her headscarf free. He massaged her scalp and she found herself pushing into the caress. There was something disarming about this man, a sweetness tempering the steel, that fascinated her. As James began to untie her sash, she bit softly at his collarbone, sucking hard enough to leave a dark bruise on the so-pale skin.

James pulled her shirt free of her breeches and began to lift it up. She tensed, clamping her elbows to her sides. "No," she said, voice flat.

"Yes," James replied, kissing her throat. He ran his hands soothingly down her arms and kissed her hands, backs and then palms, smiling into her eyes. "Please."

She hesitated for a long moment and then shrugged, allowing James to lift her arms and slip the shirt over her head. His sigh was almost reverent, she thought, as he cupped her breasts and bent her backward to bring his mouth to them. She rested her hands on his knees, spine arched, and allowed her head to fall back as his lips closed over her nipple.

She tasted of salt and smoke and sky. James took his time, exploring first one breast and then the other with lips and tongue, trailing kisses between them. Then, while he rolled her nipples between his fingers, he started at her shoulders—one of which carried a wicked scar from a cutlass—and licked and kissed and nibbled his way over her skin. She shivered and sighed as he paused again at her breasts before continuing downward.

He was almost as good as a woman at this, she thought. It was rare for a man to have such patience. Although no woman had hands like that—broad, sword-callused palms and long fingers, blunt, strong and capable. She shivered again as they stroked across her ribs and the battle scars there. But then he wrapped his arms around her and his fingers found those scars, crisscrossing her back. She saw his eyes widen; she stiffened, and tried to pull away. "No questions," she hissed.

Appalled, James cursed himself for the slip. He gathered her close, ignoring her struggles. "Shhhh," he murmured, kissing her hair. "Hush now." She went still and stiff in his arms and he held her gently.

Flogged. Someone had flogged her; savagely, by the feel of it. The scars were old; he wondered what age she had been and who had done this to her. No Hell was deep enough for the man who would use a woman—pirate or no—in such a fashion. He kissed her hair again, her neck. Then he leaned back until he could see her face. She glared at him, chin high.

"It ain't your place to question me," she snapped, her tone suddenly harsh—an officer issuing orders. "Save your chivalrous bullshit. I need no man; remember that."

"Aye, ma'am." He brushed her hair back and cupped her jaw with one hand. "No questions," he promised softly, and laid his lips once more against hers. Slowly—so slowly—he felt her relax. When her mouth opened to him and her tongue touched his, he breathed a silent prayer of thanks.

Once again, she was disarmed. Such a man was dangerous; good for her that he was on their side, now. She allowed him to embrace her again, allowed him to stroke her back. The linen of his shirt was rough against her nipples. His kisses grew harder, more insistent and her excitement rose again to meet his. She ran her fingers through his hair and tilted her head, sucking his tongue deep into her mouth. When his hand, feather-light, began to stroke the worn cotton between her legs, she gasped, and her hips followed the motion of his fingers like a wave.

Turning, he laid her down and bent over her—kissing her throat, her breasts, her mouth—while one hand busied itself with the buttons of her breeches. She lifted her hips to let him pull them off, even as she tugged at his shirt.

James yanked his shirt over his head and stood to remove his breeches. He lay down beside her and she pulled him into another kiss. His questing fingers, meanwhile, traveled over her breast, her waist, and across the smooth skin of her belly, to tangle in the soft curls below. She sighed and threw her leg across his hip, urging him closer. His hand slid lower, pressing gently with the heel as his fingers parted the soft folds and entered her, stroking and teasing. She rocked into his touch, biting his mouth.

James groaned as she took hold of his erection, hand gripped tight; sliding and tugging, just short of discomfort. He surged forward but she shoved at his shoulder, catching him by surprise and rolling him onto his back. Twice more she stroked his cock, and then climbed atop him, knees clasping his waist. "This way," she said. She rose up and, with one hand, guided him into her, sinking down again until they were pressed together. She leaned forward to kiss him and raised her hips a fraction, rocking them gently from side to side. James groaned again.

"Anamaria, you devil," he gasped.

Grinning, she nipped his chin. "Go on," she whispered, "Move."

He drove upward. Holding her hips, he slammed into her. Head down, she rode him, leaning forward with her hands on his chest. The rocking and tilting of her hips provided a dizzying counterpoint to his thrusts. She was panting now, as was he. James brought one hand around and slipped it between their bodies.

"Yes," she gasped, as his fingers found what he sought. "Oh yes." Her nails clawed stinging welts across his shoulders and she convulsed, tightening around him and whimpering. Suddenly she threw her head back and went rigid; a high, wild cry burst from her. James thrust again and came hard, groaning.

After a short pause, she slid forward and off to lie on her back beside him. Once James caught his breath he rolled onto his side and, propped on an elbow, looked down at her, smiling. "Beautiful," he whispered.

"Cocky bastard," she snapped. She tried to rise but he held her fast.

"Softly, softly," he soothed. "Stay awhile, we have all night." She allowed herself to settle again at his side with his arms around her.

"You have this night," she corrected him. "Don't push your luck."

"Aye, ma'am," James murmured, grinning.

"Well now, isn't this a pretty sight?" he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He swigged, and grinned at their outraged expressions. "But why are you sleeping, children? Surely you've not worn yourselves out already?" He winked and took another swallow of rum. "Didn't save any for ol' Jack?"

"Get undressed," Anamaria said, "you drunken fool."

James looked at her in surprise. Her eyes, shielded from Jack's view by her hair, were full of wicked glee and he barely kept his face straight. He allowed one eyelid to droop in the merest suggestion of a wink. This was going to prove amusing.

"'M not drunk," Jack protested, removing his boots. "Merely well to live, you might say."

Anamaria snorted and James raised his brows but they said nothing as Jack hastily shed the rest of his clothes and scrambled into the bed. He climbed over James and laid himself down between them, wriggling until he was comfortable. He leered from one to the other.

"Now then, who wants to be first?"

James and Anamaria sat up and leaned over Jack, kissing slow and deep. When Jack tried to join them, they held him down without breaking the kiss.

"Oi," Jack said indignantly, "That's not part of the plan."

James licked Anamaria's lips one last time. "Change of plans, Jack," he chuckled and bent to seize Jack's mouth with his own. Jack hummed with pleasure, sucking enthusiastically on James's tongue. The hum turned to a yelp of surprise as Anamaria's mouth closed over the head of his cock.

James watched her out of the corner of his eye as she alternated hand and mouth, making Jack twitch and groan, working him with considerable skill. He meanwhile continued plundering Jack's mouth, swallowing the now ragged moans and biting at his lips.

Ana caught his eye and whispered, "Oil." James found the flask under the pillow and tossed it to her, curious. She slicked her hand and, taking Jack in her mouth again, probed between his legs with two fingers. He cried out and his hips arched off the bed as she entered him abruptly.

"You're trying to kill me," he gasped.

James laughed. "Not quite," he replied, pressing him down and holding him still. Anamaria hummed her amusement around his cock, which made Jack cry out again.

"Ana, please," Jack panted. "James, let me..."

Anamaria let Jack's cock slip from her mouth and she stretched out next to him. "Let you what, Jack?" she asked, nodding at James to let him go.

Once freed, Jack rolled over on top of her. "Fuck you to a fare thee well, you wicked teasing wench," he growled. Behind his back James reached for the oil flask.

She laughed at him. "If you think you can," she said, wrapping her legs around him.

"If I think I can?" he cried, as he entered her first with his fingers and then his cock. "I like that." He hooked his elbows behind her knees and ground their bodies together. She bared her teeth.

"Just watch your back," she said. Jack's answering laugh became a strangled howl as James drove into him with no warning.

"You were saying, Jack?" James whispered in his ear.

Jack wriggled back but James pressed him harder against Anamaria. "I can't..." he gasped.

"Yes, you can," James replied and Anamaria nodded. James withdrew slightly. "Move for us, Jack."

Slowly, Jack forced himself back on James's cock and then forward; back and forth, moving gingerly while they held themselves still, letting him do the work.

"Faster," Anamaria whispered, "and harder." James snapped his hips forward, driving Jack into her. Jack moaned.

From there on, James set the pace, fucking Jack hard and fast until they were all three sweating and breathless. At last Anamaria cried out, her release triggering Jack's. He fell forward onto her with a groan as James spent himself in turn.

James was the first to move. He rolled over, pulling Jack with him. Anamaria drew a deep breath. For time there was silence and then Jack stretched contentedly and chuckled.

"That went rather well, if I do say so," he murmured.

Anamaria barked a short laugh and James muttered, "Shut up, Jack."

They dozed for a while and then Anamaria stirred and climbed out of the bed. She found her shirt in the welter of garments that littered the cabin and pulled it over her head. James reached over Jack to take her hand, drawing her close to the bunk. He smiled into her eyes as he kissed it, "A pleasure, ma'am," he said.

Her brows drew together and she snatched her hand away. "Smug bastard," she snarled. Jack chuckled sleepily.

"He don't lack for effrontery, darlin'," he said, without opening his eyes.

She searched further and found her breeches. She pulled them on and picked up her knives, sash and headscarf. Raking her fingers through her hair she went to the door and turned to look back at the bed.

James was resting his chin on Jack's shoulder and grinning at her. Her eyes softened. "You'll do," she said, and slipped out the door.

Jack rolled over and wrapped his arm around James's chest. "Your methods are unusual, love, but I can't deny that you get results," he murmured.

James laughed softly. "There were some doubtful moments," he admitted.

"Aye, but you brought her round, didn't you?"

"I did."

"Of course," Jack grumbled, "now I've got to worry about what you two might be hatching up behind my back... er... so to speak," he added hastily as James laughed again.

There was a comfortable silence and then James sighed. "What a day," he said. "I could sleep the clock around."

"What's to stop you?" Jack asked. "Tous les matins du monde, remember?"

James closed his eyes." I remember," he replied, "but there's a deal of work to be done tomorrow."

"Gibbs and Anamaria will see to it," Jack said. "They don't need us."

"Us?" James opened one eye to see Jack grinning. "What do you mean, Jack?"

"Only that you and I haven't had a whole day entirely to ourselves since..."

"Nassau. Two years ago."

"Too long," Jack stated firmly. He threw his leg over James's hip and nipped his ear. "I declare tomorrow a private holiday. Get some rest, love—you're going to need your strength."

"Jack..."

"That is an order, Mister Norrington."

James laughed. "Aye, aye, Captain Sparrow."

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