The Map

Conversations

Chapter 2 - Conversations

Jack sat with his booted feet resting on the desk, his ankles crossed. He was lazily lining up the rim of the bottle of rum in his hand with the toe of his boot. The movement of the ship as she rolled through the waves made it no easy feat either. One eye squinted shut as he moved his head steadily from side to side, looking for all the world as if he were bored rigid. But he was far from bored and only a certain amount of his attention was actually on the bottle. He was more taken with thinking about the newest editions to his ship.

Lady Clarence Davenport reminded him strongly of the wealthy 'to-do's' that seemed to gravitate 'round Port Royal, the set that he was sure Elizabeth Turner nee Swann came from; except Elizabeth was nothing like the spoilt, highly pitched 'squealing like a stuck pig' woman who was currently cooking his food for him. Elizabeth was more softly spoken, although he knew from experience it could reach heights that had him diving for cover. She was also slightly spoilt but nothing that he couldn't ignore, and nothing Will couldn't deal with. No, Elizabeth had shown courage, determination and bravery. And she'd been crafty; oh, yes; she was crafty, he thought, as he remembered the stash of rum that had been burned much to his horror. It had taken him weeks to get over that; even now he still dreamed about it sometimes, waking in a cold sweat. But Lady Clarence, on the other hand, didn't look as if she were half the woman Elizabeth was. Although he was fairly certain there was some equally stuck up gentleman willing to pay handsomely to receive his little dove back again. And that was all that really mattered to him. He knew that it was going to be a long seven days if she continued to whine and stick her nose in the air. He might even curtail his plans and get them back to Port quicker than he originally intended. She was confident in her husband paying for her return and it gave her a sense of security. He wouldn't harm her or allow anyone else to. It would lower their chances of her being ransomed, as well as the fact he just wasn't that type of pirate, but it didn't mean he'd put up with her constant whine indefinitely. He failed to see the point in willfully harming innocents but he wouldn't stop her from being put to work, and he had to admit to developing a morbid desire to watch her swab some decks. And, after all, they could always gag her.

His thoughts turned to his other 'guest,' Nell Montilice. No, Sister Nell Montilice, he corrected himself with a grin and a quick swig of rum before going back to idly lining it up with his boot.

He found Nell insipid, too subservient, and too quiet. He knew that she was terrified of them and well she had a right to be; after all, they were pirates and she wasn't to know that their code of conduct was different from some of the other pirates that roamed these waters. He also guessed that nine years of a convent would make a person unable to defend themselves... it reminded him of the time he'd impersonated a cleric of the Church in an attempt to help himself to some valuables. He smiled fondly as he reminisced; now that had been fun! Not only had he made away with the gold from the church, he'd managed to swindle his way into three damsels' bedrooms before being almost caught. His thoughts meandered in a circle as he remembered each lady and his experiences with her. 

The last lady he had bedded had been a nun. It had surprised him at first that she had succumbed to him so easily but then he had figured at the time that years of celibacy would make any woman take up an offer, let alone one so hard to resist: himself. But it had been more of a surprise to discover that he hadn't been the first to charter unknown areas of the lady. In fact, he grinned as he remembered; it had surprised him enough to stop in the act and stare down at her. She'd laughed and told him that the some of the monks were, to coin a phrase, "no monks."

 That thought brought him full circle to Nell. He briefly wondered if she'd been intimate with a monk but then dismissed the thought from his mind. He highly doubted it. She fairly screamed uptight; so he doubted greatly whether anyone had even kissed her. He briefly played with the idea of being the one to introduce her to said pleasures before dropping her off at Port Royal. But he dismissed that notion as well; they were still seven days from Port Royal and he had a feeling she was so far repressed that it would take him seven days to get her to let him kiss her, let alone try anything else. And if he was anything, he wasn't a rapist. It may even be his only redeeming feature! He grinned wolfishly and took another longer gulp of rum.