Fic: "Contradictions 5: Admit" (Part 3)
Jun. 1st, 2011 08:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
veronica_richThis is a continuation of a POTC fic. See Part 1 for disclaimers, etc.
Quiet rustling of linen. The soft sigh of exhalation, and a low rumbling purr as Will found another, more comfortable position in his sleep.
Jack rolled his head to the side and watched the blacksmith readjust his long limbs, his head coming to rest so his countenance faced the pirate. Unfettered and relaxed, Will’s features were easily studied, and Jack shifted quietly on his side to do just that. He’d removed everything but his breeches and shirt, which gaped at the neck, exposing his left shoulder and clavicle, smooth, taut skin almost pearlescent in the bathing moonlight.
Will’s lids fluttered, the eyeballs shifting beneath them as he presumably dreamed. Plump lips were slightly parted, twitching with his breathing and soft, barely audible mumbling. Tight curls graced the ends of his chestnut hair, brushing the stark white pillow. A knee fell to one side as he shifted on his back, getting ever more comfortable, and one elbow was crooked inward, the long, graceful fingers curled in toward the palm as his loosened shirtcuff slid up his slender arm. His covers were relegated to the foot of the bed, covering nothing above the knees, and his chest rose and fell shallowly with regular, soft breath.
Sleeping only a few feet away, Jack felt something sure as magnetic pull trying to drag him across the distance, to slide off his bed and crawl in with the man so near to him. He extended one hand outward, his long fingers curling, reaching, knowing he couldn’t possibly touch Will from this distance, but feeling the ghost of that fabric anyway. Sensing the heat of the skin trapped within.
Moments like this gave Jack opportunities to consider his affection for his young crewman, to try to reason out what he could possibly see in Will. He’d never been particularly partial to men, but neither had he discounted their companionship in his bed entirely – he theorized the person who caught his attention and stirred his blood could come in any packaging, including a deck and a keel and a hull and sails. In that sense, Will had just as much a chance as any buxom beauty of catching his eye.
Was it his father? Jack knew there’d been those who’d served with them who’d wondered at the two men’s relationship, but the truth was that William really had been partial to women, and spoke of his small family constantly. Oddly, the senior Turner hadn’t been his type, anyway, since he’d still held to liking exclusively women at that time. Will himself resembled his father enough to attract Jack’s attention upon their first meeting, but in a curiously familiar way, only.
No, what puzzled Jack was the quality of his attraction to Will Turner. He didn’t want a fast fuck in a grungy inn room, nor one forgettable night of slaking his lust – either of which could easily fit his modus operandi on the odd occasion he desired a warm body against his own. He wanted clean, soft sheets, a comfortable feather bed, and the luxury of exploring that body at his leisure. He wanted Will not merely to call his name in a moment of climax on his knees, gripping the headboard; he wanted Will’s body flush against his own, the two moving as one, the younger man gasping his pleasure and rendering the pirate too dazed to speak.
Yawning, Jack shook his head slightly and let his eyes slide shut. He hovered somewhere between awake and dreaming when he heard her. You told him nearly everything.
He asked.
So you just drop your life story to anyone who’s curious, now, my love? Such trust from one so cynical.
Deserves to know about his own father.
So do you.
What does that mean?
Because he was not the one I chose.
I know-
Quiet, Jack. A soft, sexy chuckle in that seawater-roughened voice. I am probably the only one who can say that to you with impunity. Jack furrowed his brows. He was not the one I chose; not like I chose you. A pause. Not like I choose him.
Jack was confused until he understood she was referring to the younger Turner. Then, a hesitant fear gripped him as he recalled being forced off the side into that chilly, clammy ocean so many years ago. You .... you’re turning me over for him?
You surprise me by thinking so narrowly, my love. I would never abandon you.
Then why’re you installing him at the helm?
Were you not listening? I did not choose his father, because he was not right. Not at all; his heart was elsewhere. But this one ... I believe he would be correct for you.
So you’re not replacing me?
That soothing laugh again, a variation on the groans and rocking that had put him to sleep many a night. My captain – I am helping you. Supplementing you, if you choose to look at it that way. Recommending a mate.
Ana’s going to be rather put out at-
Not a first mate, Jack. A mate.
That stunned Jack into opening his eyes and jerking his head off the pillow, looking around. The curtains at the partly-opened window fluttered, lapping at the bedroom’s still, moonlit air; it was the only noise aside from the even, deep breathing coming from the room’s other occupant.
Jack blinked, looking around carefully. There was no mistake it’d been Pearl doing the speaking, nor was it the first time she’d graced his head with a “voice,” but rarely had she been so enigmatic. A practical lass, the great ship expressed herself with great clarity and precision, because to pretend otherwise at sea could be fatal. She wasn’t into games, and yet ... well, she’d eventually revealed her point, though she’d taken her sweet time getting around to it.
Settling back into the pillow, Jack flicked his gaze to Will. The younger man was still curved into the position he’d settled into before Jack fell asleep, his lips slightly parted, exhaling softly on the back side of each breath. As the pirate visually drank, Will’s hips shifted a bit, his shoulders rolled, and the whisper of expensive linen scraped freshly-pressed sheets as he murmured quiet nonsense and settled back into the breathing.
Jack closed his eyes and sighed, the forced air ruffling his bangs as he tried to recapture the dropped mental conversation. But it was no good; Pearl spoke her piece as much as she apparently wanted – for now – and the pirate had learned early that force of information didn’t work with his lady. She’d tell him more when she damn well wanted to, and probably more that he didn’t particularly want to hear along with what he wanted terribly much to believe.
*****
“You like picnics, right, Mr. Turner?”
Will’s mouth crinkled into his eyes as he offered his most charming smile to the girl. “Yes, I believe I do ... though it’s been a long time since I attended one.”
“Mum’s cucumber salad’s the best,” Ivy bobbed her head. “You’ll be wanting the recipe for your ship’s cook after just a bite.”
Jack paused in his step momentarily, glancing at Will, who appeared equally confused as to how Ivy would know about their life aboard ship. “Who told you about a ship?” Jack wondered aloud.
“David said you were to sail on a ship bound for the New World and the West Indies,” she answered with no trace of apology. “After you leave here?” She seemed unsure of her information, off Jack’s inquiring expression, and stopped to turn to David. “That’s what you told me, isn’t it?”
“Um ... yes.” The boy nodded, clearly caught between trying to outdo a peer with his stories and facing down his captain, who’d sworn him to secrecy. “I was saying how their business” – he gestured at his two older escorts – “is to take them there after we leave.”
“Yes,” Jack murmured mildly, never taking dark, somewhat admonishing eyes from David. “For business.”
“What kind of proposal?” This from Ivy, curious as ever. If she caught the tension between man and boy, she was hiding it well. Jack never put anything past his daughter; in the few years he’d known her, she’d proven herself more than capable of figuring out what went on around her – which is why he worried about giving her too much to ponder and think upon when it came to his life.
Jack cocked his head at her, then flicked his eyes to David. “Go on and tell her about it,” he encouraged, wanting to see how the boy performed on demand. He’d dug them this near-hole; he could bloody well savvy their way out of it under his captain’s tutorial eye.
“Ah ... well..” David cleared his throat and twitched his lips as Ivy strolled alongside, holding her skirts up a bit so as not to trip. “See, Mr. MacLeary and Mr. Turner are” – off the girl’s odd expression, the boy amended, “Will, that is – they’re going to the Caribbean to see ... about buying a .... a plantation!” David grinned, apparently quite proud of himself, and Jack refrained from interrupting. “They’re going to see about a plantation.”
Ivy didn’t look any too certain that was the best idea she’d heard. “You mean with slaves?”
“Aye,” David replied automatically, bobbing his head a few times before faltering. “I mean – I think so?” He shrugged and looked to his superiors for help; Jack almost had a mind to help, since he knew how easy it was to let a woman verbally paint one into a corner.
“I don’t believe the property’s all that large,” Will finally chimed in authoritatively. “And we wouldn’t deny a man a fair day’s wages, would we, Jack?”
“Oh, no.” Jack swung his head quite gravely, crooking his arm against his body to get a better hold on the horse blanket he’d been co-opted into carrying. “Always give anyone who works for me an equal share,” he observed dryly. “Except David, of course – he’s not yet old enough to receive wages. I believe it’s well enough that we feed him and make certain his lashes are kept to a maximum of four a day – sometimes less.”
“He doesn’t really lash me,” David explained as they approached the park’s waterside picnic area, already populating for the afternoon.
“We don’t really own that plantation yet, either,” Jack pointed out. “Both shall come in good time.”
Ivy was quiet for a moment as David blinked over and up at his captain, mild alarm plain on his face until she tugged at his sleeve. “We have ships of our own,” she bragged. “Fine ones, right here in this park.”
“Really?” The boy’s head swung from father to daughter at such a rate Jack swore he actually heard the crack of vertebrae. “Ships?”
“Well ... a bit shrunk down,” she admitted with a lift of her shoulder. “Toy racing ships. But lovely! I’ll show you them.” She took for the water’s edge, then, hiking her skirts and running through the grass and zigzagging among the picnickers already setting out their victuals for the noon meal. David started, then hesitated to glance back at both men in entreaty. Jack sighed and pointed after his daughter, sending the boy pell-mell on his way scrabbling through the sea of eaters to water’s edge.
“She’s not stupid,” Jack finally said once the children were out of earshot; Esther had suggested the four of them limit their party size for this afternoon, while she and Joe took in some shopping and the club, respectively. He unfolded the blanket and shook it out.
“Figured not,” Will bandied. “Takes after her mother, I’ll wager.”
“She’s goin’ to figure out what we do eventually, rat.” Will’s grin signaled he understood the demotion to the Pearl’s bilges, but didn’t accept it. “That boy needs t’ learn to keep his mouth shut.”
“Give him some room,” the blacksmith countered. “He’s just trying to impress a girl by showing off what he knows.”
“Speakin’ o’ which,” Jack turned on his younger crew member and took a few stalking steps toward him, crossing his arms belligerently, “what’re your intentions with me daughter?”
A brief expression of confusion, then consternation and amusement graced Will’s features. “My intentions? Jack, she’s a natural flirt, just like you; weave and manipulate, and tug at those marionette strings a bit harder, the both of you.”
“And you seem quite willin’ to dance.” The captain kept on just this side of not smiling outright.
“I refuse to admonish an eleven-year-old girl for believing I’m the greatest thing since the printing press was invented.”
Nonsense; since Creation was touched by God’s finger, more like it. Jack frowned at his flight of fancy; whimsy didn’t suit him, and were Bill still among the living and this were a lass, he’d be laughing his arse off. As it is, you’ll just beat the shit out of me when you see me next, if you don’t start haunting me, first. “You’d better not dis’point her,” Jack warned menacingly, arching an eyebrow. “And you’d better be prepared t’ support her in th’ manner to which she’s become accustomed.”
“That shouldn’t be difficult. You can easily burn through more coin in Tortuga in one evening than that little girl could spend in a month,” Will parried, hands firmly on his hips. “If the crew and I can keep you that well supplied, I think I could handle her pecuniary needs by myself.”
Jack grinned, both at the banter and Will’s expanding vocabulary, which was coming along nicely in his captain’s tutelage. “Aye, but she’ll grow up someday, and then where will ye be?”
“Believe me, Jack – when that day comes, your prospective son-in-law’ll have his work cut out for him.” Will lowered himself to one knee, then both, opening the lid of the food basket to check out its contents. “I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of some supposed affront to her.” He withdrew a paper-wrapped baguette and held it up, tilting his head back to look up at Jack as he rocked back on his heels. “Did someone pack a knife for this, I hope?”
Tilting his head, Jack regarded the smith on his knees, large eyes turned up toward his captain, lips slightly parted on the question. His pulse kicked up, and Jack experienced a slight chill just before the warmth of an instant sweat broke out on his forehead, clamming his cheeks as well. “Well, mate, be hard t’ say, seein’ as I’m not th’ one who packed said basket,” he replied, waving his hands airily to distract from his slightly-glazed lustful expression. “Look an’ see.”
“You’re just a whole shipful of help,” Will dryly noted, lowering his head to go back to work. Jack followed the slight shake of shallow brown curls as the man reached for and placed food, keeping his eyes affixed on the crown of Will’s head as he sank to his knees, one at a time, on his side of the small horse blanket. What if he were to reach out and cup that chin, force it up so Will had to look at him and couldn’t look away – was made to face what his prolonged presence in Jack’s life had wrought upon him?
“Will?” He spoke the word softly, a slightly rough edge to his voice that eroded its usual confidence.
He’d cocked his head, and drew it back a bit as the other man looked up, blinking, deep-set eyes wide and inquisitive. “Hmm?” Jack said nothing as he studied the deep brow, those heavily-curved eyes, the broad flare to a long nose. “What, Jack?” His voice was a bit annoyed, now, but indulgent.
I wouldn’t mind to kiss you and find out how it feels, instead of simply wondering it all the time flitted across his mind. Jack parted his lips to say it. “I ... just wondered if you’d found tha’ knife yet, is all.” Same ginger tone, approaching without blindly trampling.
“No, not yet.” The corner of Will’s lips quirked up, and he glanced down to remove a couple more items from the basket, but then returned his eyes to Jack’s. “Hungry already? It’s just now twelve.”
“Bit starved.” Tis true, though not in the way you might understand from me.
“You’re in luck; looks like Melody packed a lot.” Will dug a bit more, then paused. “Hey!” Dropping the cheese, he put his hand to his vest, felt around a bit, and withdrew a dagger from an inside pocket. “Almost forgot; keep these on me at all times.”
“For baked-goods emergencies?” Jack felt his lips quirk.
“Don’t criticize; you’ll be eating, too.” Will waved the blade at him before rubbing it with the corner of a linen napkin to clean it. “Brain’s dulled from not being at sea for awhile,” he explained, shaking his head. “Don’t have to react quite as fast on land, I don’t think.”
“I said, we need our daily practice back.” With that, Jack pulled both lapels of his coat wide open, displaying a short sword hooked into either of the breast panels. “Care t’ pass th’ time while the wee ones are chasin’ boats?”
Will’s eyes widened and his jaw hung open a bit in surprise. “You brought cutlasses to a picnic?”
Jack closed his coat. “You sound like I brought fire on a stick to a christenin’.”
“It is strange, even knowing how you are.”
Jack let that pass, deciding that ignorance was the better part of friendship in this case. “There’s nothing untoward ‘bout two gentlemen fencing socially,” he pointed out, getting to his feet again. “Perfectly valid way to spend a Sunday afternoon, ye ask me.”
Will leaned back on his heels again and Jack was certain he was about to be damned for all the dirty thoughts the pose aroused. “’Socially acceptable’ is using epées,” he pointed out. “Not curved blades you hack off limbs with.”
“I’ve never done that,” Jack rebutted. “A couple of fingers here and there, but no heads or limbs. I prefer a simple run-through ... then again, I don’t even like th’ cutlass.”
“Well, it begs the question why you brought them, then.”
“Protection, actually.” Will lifted an eyebrow. “Come on, then – you didn’t really think I was proposin’ we duel with these stunted little pieces o’ cutlery, did ye?”
“With you, I expect anything’s likely.”
The pirate shook his head and leaned over to peer into the basket for something to drink. He didn’t hope for rum, but anything alcoholic wouldn’t go amiss this fine afternoon. Taking in a deep breath, he inhaled the soap Will used for shaving that morning, as well as the indefinable warmth that comprised the blacksmith’s usual personal scent. Despite being away from his customized, cramped forge in the Pearl’s hold for nigh on two months, a metallic tang and woodsmoke still clung to his skin and hair; Jack imagined the taste would overlay the hint of nutmeg he’d lapped off the man’s wrist while stranded in the rowboat at sea. “What’re you on about, anyway?” Will suddenly spoke. “There’s no rum in there.”
“Wine, then.”
“Sure there’s plenty of that.” He gestured at the blanket. “And would you mind sitting and not hovering? You’re blocking my light, and I’ve no desire to soak the bread with blood in a misplaced prick.”
Indeed, thought Jack. Bill’d probably think I’m already about as big a prick as you need. Finding the small jug, Jack backed off and crossed his ankles before lowering himself fluidly to the blanket in a cross-legged position. “I’ll jus’ sit over here an’ stay out of your way then, eh? Hate to get between a man an’ his bread.”
“Hmm, I wouldn’t have thought as much,” Will mused, slicing through hard crust, head down to concentrate. “You’ve no problem coming between plenty of men and their dough. One might even say you’ve gotten us into many a jam.”
Jack cocked an eyebrow. “William ye might be, but no Shakespeare, lad.” He took a pull of the warm wine, swished it about a bit, and swallowed. A sigh, then; surely, it wasn’t the Caribbean’s finest sugar. “You’d better save your literary skills for better pursuits, mate; understand Esther’s got her eye on a bit o’ skirt for ye.”
“What?” That got the fellow’s attention, and he jerked his head up, eyes narrowed in a southerly change of mood.
“One of her lady friend’s daughters. ‘Bout ‘Lizabeth’s age, I believe; maybe younger. Wanted to try to make a match, as I understand.” Jack tossed this off almost believably, he surmised – ever since the morning, when Esther had bespoke her intentions to him in a private aside, he’d mused and fumed about it. He had no right to Will all for himself, given the lad’s parentage and natural inclinations, but still ...
“I wish she wouldn’t do that.” Jack was surprised at Will’s frown as he put the knife aside and simply twisted the sundered loaf apart. Usually, the blacksmith was more gracious than this. “I’m not going to be here any length of time to be courting.”
“It’s meant well.”
“Esther’s hospitality is not at issue-“
“An’ I understand she’s an attractive lass.”
“As I was saying, that’s not really the-“
“You really ought to give her a chance-“
“Good Christ!” His raised voice and sharp tone cut Jack off more than the words themselves, shocking as they were from Will. “Can I talk?” The pirate nodded once, slowly, uncertain. “Listen to me, Jack: I’m not interested. I don’t want to meet her, whoever she is. I don’t care if it’s a princess.”
“Why?”
“I just don’t.”
Jack emitted a sharp guffaw. “Come on, now. That’s not nearly a good reason.”
Will stared at him hard, jaw set. “Since when did you appoint yourself in my father’s stead? What is she to you, anyway? Why would it matter?” Jack’s mouth worked, but he couldn’t very well answer, so no sound escaped. “Do you want me off the Pearl?”
This last was asked in a less belligerent tone; quieter, but steadily. “I’m not trying to get you off anywhere.” As soon as the words were out, the part of Jack’s brain that kept track of the few gaffes with which it concerned itself leapt up. You’d get him off at the first bat of an eyelid, if he’d just give you the right encouragement. Keeping a perfectly straight face, he added, “Pearl likes you; so do the crew and I. But you’re a young man, Will, an’ decently skilled; looks like you’d be wantin’ to meet a wench, settle down pretty soon into a respectable business.”
The smith’s jaw shifted beneath his skin as he pursed his lips, clearly trying to decide how to respond. “I ... did meet one. It didn’t work out.” He turned his attention back to the abused loaf of bread, which still bore the brunt of his earlier vehemence, as though apportioning pieces of it was the most necessary job of the moment.
Chastened, Jack sighed. It had been too many months – he shouldn’t still be longing for Elizabeth this way. “I didn’t realize you were still carryin’ that partic’lar torch.”
“Well, Jack – I mean, it wasn’t my decision to leave for Europe and put as much distance between me and her as I could, now was it?” He stopped, shook his head. “It’s not your-“
“Why didn’t you say anything to her last week? You had more chance to speak up an’ change your course than most blokes get; you had a second chance.”
“It’s not the right time, all right?” Will tore the last bit in half and dropped them into the basket. “It’d not work out now, any more than it would’ve a year ago. Besides, I have a vocation at sea. I’m-“
Jack cut him off with a loud, sudden laugh that, by Will’s expression, was none too appreciated. “Mate, if you think piracy’s a profession, then you must think whorin’s some kind o’ higher education.”
Will set icy eyes on Jack. “As I was about to say,” he continued tightly, “I’m a blacksmith and swordsmith, and an apprentice carpenter, refitting a warship. That is my valid ‘profession.’”
Jack chose to ignore his tone. Without batting an eye, he breezily informed the smith, “She wants you too, mate. Practically said so herself.”
“I know.” Then, his expression softened into the barest hint of a smile. “Least I know what you two had your heads together about on the dock, now.”
Close enough, Jack contemplated. “An’ there’s still a problem?”
“We talked it over. It’s not the right time ... if ever.” Will shifted to his backside, sitting cross-legged in imitation of Jack, elbows propped on his knees. “I don’t want to be rude to Esther, Jack. I just ...” He gestured briefly, then gave up, gazing off to the side, presumably toward the pond as his hands absently kneaded one another. “It’s not right, now. My heart’s just not in it, to consider someone new.”
“Buoyant” was how Jack figured he would’ve felt about Will remaining unattached to any other human being. He hadn’t figured on the wistful look in his dark eyes, though, nor on the trace of vulnerable need in his voice. Will was not a man who should be alone – he had too much of a soul, uneroded by years of cynicism and hard living despite his rough start in life, and needed to share that with someone. Jack knew Will had been absolutely earnest in his dogged pursuit to save Elizabeth from the undead pirates, to even “die for her” by his own admission. Hell of a thing to have a conscience, isn’t it, Jack Sparrow?
Kiss my arse, he thought. “I’ll have a bit of a chat with Esther, tell her t’ lay off.”
Will glanced back quickly. “Look, I can handle it – I really don’t want her looking at me like-“
Jack held up his hands to ward off further explanation. “She’ll never know th’ real reason. I’ll say there’s another woman commandeering your attentions.” Off Will’s puzzled expression, he grinned. “Much as I love her, Pearl can be a demanding girl.”
Regarding him closely, Will finally nodded, visibly relaxing his posture. “Thanks.” It was sincere, spoken uncertainly, and it made Jack want to go drop down over beside him and offer an arm around his shoulders, a comforting touch that, in time, this too would pass.
Instead, he gestured toward the basket with a significant look to his bushy eyebrows, lifted into his hairline. “Now – were you gon’ share that bread, or just mutilate it beyond all recognition so you could hog all th’ peach preserves for yourself?”
Will rolled his eyes. “I’d say your fingers aren’t broken, except I’m not sure how clean your nails are, and if I really want them anywhere near my food,” he retorted, reaching in for the jar of fruit spread.
“Look, I’ve brought you something t’ nibble on more than once when we’re on the deck an-“ Jack flicked his eyes up at the familiar noise, and noticed David and Ivy running up behind Will, both carrying their shoes and stockings, grass sticking to their wet ankles. “Urchins at th’ starboard,” he interjected.
The children were a mess of tumbling voices and verbs as they hastened to beat each other into telling about the small boats and the various characters who stood in the shallow pond, pants and skirts hiked to their knees, to race them. David plopped cross-legged on the blanket near Will, and Ivy paused to glare briefly at him before settling herself next to Jack. He watched in some amusement as the miniature woman tucked her skinny legs to the side and patted her voluminous light skirt over them, marveling as always that she’d somehow come about as a result of his own existence; certainly her hair and eyes hearkened to the MacLeary look. “Were you deep-sea diving?” he finally asked, reverting to proper English.
“Nay.” She shook her head, and Jack was a bit surprised to hear the particular variation on “no” from her. Certainly he’d taken care not to say it in her presence; or had he? “Was helping an old man who wanted to sail a ship, but couldn’t get in the water.”
“You mean you were sailing it out from under him,” David interrupted before flicking his attention to Jack. “He was sitting on a bench to the side, and she talked him into letting her sail it around the pond.”
“You make it sound like I stole it!” she protested.
“Not stole,” David shook his head. “Commandeered.”
Ivy frowned. “What’s the difference?”
“Ah,” Jack put in, raising a forefinger. “Makes all the difference, love. The latter’s a nautical term.” He set down the wine jug and shrugged off his coat in the rising warmth of the day. It wasn’t until he noticed Ivy furrowing her brow down at his side that he realized she’d noticed one of the blades hooked inside the garment. “Collector’s piece,” he explained smoothly.
“You collect cutlasses?” She continued to eye the small sword. “Have you ever used one?”
Jack glanced sideways over at Will, who was working on spreading a piece of bread. He looked up from beneath lowered eyelids, flicking his glance meaningfully to Ivy, then back to Jack, the raise to his brows indicating he’d caught her tone that belied more than casual interest. “No,” he lied to his daughter, feeling like a heel as he usually did on such occasions. She was one of the few he wished he didn’t have to deceive with this guise of respectability. “I don’t like the handling of them very much.” That, at least, was true, and eased his conscience a bit. “Would you like to see it?”
“Can I?”
“Jack.” Will’s tone was quiet warning. It spoke of uncertainty about what her mother might think when hearing the tale later on.
“She’s responsible. She’ll not hurt herself.” To Ivy, he winked as he unhooked the blade from his coat. “Will’s a bit overcautious with his own swords.”
“Does he-“ She turned her attention on the blacksmith. “Do you collect them, too?”
“Actually, I make most of the ones I, ah, collect,” Will answered, prompting Jack to think Bloody coward – sure, he doesn’t have to lie all that much about what he does.
“You make swords?” The adoration was back in her voice, her eyes, as she all but forgot about her father right then. Again, Jack found himself in the curious position of admiring the girl’s taste even as he pondered if it were too early for her to be flirting with men many years her senior. At least she’s not wanting to bed one too many years younger than herself.
“It’s what I grew up doing, apprenticing a blacksmith.” Jack watched her eyes widen with appreciation as Will spun a verbal tapestry of fact and fiction, and inwardly sighed. He really wondered if he envied Joe the task of raising a girl, after all, and nearly chuckled as he noticed David looking a bit put out at the attention Will was giving her. Then again, mate, he told himself, you have your own challenges with the coarser sex.
On to Part 4 ...
Quiet rustling of linen. The soft sigh of exhalation, and a low rumbling purr as Will found another, more comfortable position in his sleep.
Jack rolled his head to the side and watched the blacksmith readjust his long limbs, his head coming to rest so his countenance faced the pirate. Unfettered and relaxed, Will’s features were easily studied, and Jack shifted quietly on his side to do just that. He’d removed everything but his breeches and shirt, which gaped at the neck, exposing his left shoulder and clavicle, smooth, taut skin almost pearlescent in the bathing moonlight.
Will’s lids fluttered, the eyeballs shifting beneath them as he presumably dreamed. Plump lips were slightly parted, twitching with his breathing and soft, barely audible mumbling. Tight curls graced the ends of his chestnut hair, brushing the stark white pillow. A knee fell to one side as he shifted on his back, getting ever more comfortable, and one elbow was crooked inward, the long, graceful fingers curled in toward the palm as his loosened shirtcuff slid up his slender arm. His covers were relegated to the foot of the bed, covering nothing above the knees, and his chest rose and fell shallowly with regular, soft breath.
Sleeping only a few feet away, Jack felt something sure as magnetic pull trying to drag him across the distance, to slide off his bed and crawl in with the man so near to him. He extended one hand outward, his long fingers curling, reaching, knowing he couldn’t possibly touch Will from this distance, but feeling the ghost of that fabric anyway. Sensing the heat of the skin trapped within.
Moments like this gave Jack opportunities to consider his affection for his young crewman, to try to reason out what he could possibly see in Will. He’d never been particularly partial to men, but neither had he discounted their companionship in his bed entirely – he theorized the person who caught his attention and stirred his blood could come in any packaging, including a deck and a keel and a hull and sails. In that sense, Will had just as much a chance as any buxom beauty of catching his eye.
Was it his father? Jack knew there’d been those who’d served with them who’d wondered at the two men’s relationship, but the truth was that William really had been partial to women, and spoke of his small family constantly. Oddly, the senior Turner hadn’t been his type, anyway, since he’d still held to liking exclusively women at that time. Will himself resembled his father enough to attract Jack’s attention upon their first meeting, but in a curiously familiar way, only.
No, what puzzled Jack was the quality of his attraction to Will Turner. He didn’t want a fast fuck in a grungy inn room, nor one forgettable night of slaking his lust – either of which could easily fit his modus operandi on the odd occasion he desired a warm body against his own. He wanted clean, soft sheets, a comfortable feather bed, and the luxury of exploring that body at his leisure. He wanted Will not merely to call his name in a moment of climax on his knees, gripping the headboard; he wanted Will’s body flush against his own, the two moving as one, the younger man gasping his pleasure and rendering the pirate too dazed to speak.
Yawning, Jack shook his head slightly and let his eyes slide shut. He hovered somewhere between awake and dreaming when he heard her. You told him nearly everything.
He asked.
So you just drop your life story to anyone who’s curious, now, my love? Such trust from one so cynical.
Deserves to know about his own father.
So do you.
What does that mean?
Because he was not the one I chose.
I know-
Quiet, Jack. A soft, sexy chuckle in that seawater-roughened voice. I am probably the only one who can say that to you with impunity. Jack furrowed his brows. He was not the one I chose; not like I chose you. A pause. Not like I choose him.
Jack was confused until he understood she was referring to the younger Turner. Then, a hesitant fear gripped him as he recalled being forced off the side into that chilly, clammy ocean so many years ago. You .... you’re turning me over for him?
You surprise me by thinking so narrowly, my love. I would never abandon you.
Then why’re you installing him at the helm?
Were you not listening? I did not choose his father, because he was not right. Not at all; his heart was elsewhere. But this one ... I believe he would be correct for you.
So you’re not replacing me?
That soothing laugh again, a variation on the groans and rocking that had put him to sleep many a night. My captain – I am helping you. Supplementing you, if you choose to look at it that way. Recommending a mate.
Ana’s going to be rather put out at-
Not a first mate, Jack. A mate.
That stunned Jack into opening his eyes and jerking his head off the pillow, looking around. The curtains at the partly-opened window fluttered, lapping at the bedroom’s still, moonlit air; it was the only noise aside from the even, deep breathing coming from the room’s other occupant.
Jack blinked, looking around carefully. There was no mistake it’d been Pearl doing the speaking, nor was it the first time she’d graced his head with a “voice,” but rarely had she been so enigmatic. A practical lass, the great ship expressed herself with great clarity and precision, because to pretend otherwise at sea could be fatal. She wasn’t into games, and yet ... well, she’d eventually revealed her point, though she’d taken her sweet time getting around to it.
Settling back into the pillow, Jack flicked his gaze to Will. The younger man was still curved into the position he’d settled into before Jack fell asleep, his lips slightly parted, exhaling softly on the back side of each breath. As the pirate visually drank, Will’s hips shifted a bit, his shoulders rolled, and the whisper of expensive linen scraped freshly-pressed sheets as he murmured quiet nonsense and settled back into the breathing.
Jack closed his eyes and sighed, the forced air ruffling his bangs as he tried to recapture the dropped mental conversation. But it was no good; Pearl spoke her piece as much as she apparently wanted – for now – and the pirate had learned early that force of information didn’t work with his lady. She’d tell him more when she damn well wanted to, and probably more that he didn’t particularly want to hear along with what he wanted terribly much to believe.
*****
“You like picnics, right, Mr. Turner?”
Will’s mouth crinkled into his eyes as he offered his most charming smile to the girl. “Yes, I believe I do ... though it’s been a long time since I attended one.”
“Mum’s cucumber salad’s the best,” Ivy bobbed her head. “You’ll be wanting the recipe for your ship’s cook after just a bite.”
Jack paused in his step momentarily, glancing at Will, who appeared equally confused as to how Ivy would know about their life aboard ship. “Who told you about a ship?” Jack wondered aloud.
“David said you were to sail on a ship bound for the New World and the West Indies,” she answered with no trace of apology. “After you leave here?” She seemed unsure of her information, off Jack’s inquiring expression, and stopped to turn to David. “That’s what you told me, isn’t it?”
“Um ... yes.” The boy nodded, clearly caught between trying to outdo a peer with his stories and facing down his captain, who’d sworn him to secrecy. “I was saying how their business” – he gestured at his two older escorts – “is to take them there after we leave.”
“Yes,” Jack murmured mildly, never taking dark, somewhat admonishing eyes from David. “For business.”
“What kind of proposal?” This from Ivy, curious as ever. If she caught the tension between man and boy, she was hiding it well. Jack never put anything past his daughter; in the few years he’d known her, she’d proven herself more than capable of figuring out what went on around her – which is why he worried about giving her too much to ponder and think upon when it came to his life.
Jack cocked his head at her, then flicked his eyes to David. “Go on and tell her about it,” he encouraged, wanting to see how the boy performed on demand. He’d dug them this near-hole; he could bloody well savvy their way out of it under his captain’s tutorial eye.
“Ah ... well..” David cleared his throat and twitched his lips as Ivy strolled alongside, holding her skirts up a bit so as not to trip. “See, Mr. MacLeary and Mr. Turner are” – off the girl’s odd expression, the boy amended, “Will, that is – they’re going to the Caribbean to see ... about buying a .... a plantation!” David grinned, apparently quite proud of himself, and Jack refrained from interrupting. “They’re going to see about a plantation.”
Ivy didn’t look any too certain that was the best idea she’d heard. “You mean with slaves?”
“Aye,” David replied automatically, bobbing his head a few times before faltering. “I mean – I think so?” He shrugged and looked to his superiors for help; Jack almost had a mind to help, since he knew how easy it was to let a woman verbally paint one into a corner.
“I don’t believe the property’s all that large,” Will finally chimed in authoritatively. “And we wouldn’t deny a man a fair day’s wages, would we, Jack?”
“Oh, no.” Jack swung his head quite gravely, crooking his arm against his body to get a better hold on the horse blanket he’d been co-opted into carrying. “Always give anyone who works for me an equal share,” he observed dryly. “Except David, of course – he’s not yet old enough to receive wages. I believe it’s well enough that we feed him and make certain his lashes are kept to a maximum of four a day – sometimes less.”
“He doesn’t really lash me,” David explained as they approached the park’s waterside picnic area, already populating for the afternoon.
“We don’t really own that plantation yet, either,” Jack pointed out. “Both shall come in good time.”
Ivy was quiet for a moment as David blinked over and up at his captain, mild alarm plain on his face until she tugged at his sleeve. “We have ships of our own,” she bragged. “Fine ones, right here in this park.”
“Really?” The boy’s head swung from father to daughter at such a rate Jack swore he actually heard the crack of vertebrae. “Ships?”
“Well ... a bit shrunk down,” she admitted with a lift of her shoulder. “Toy racing ships. But lovely! I’ll show you them.” She took for the water’s edge, then, hiking her skirts and running through the grass and zigzagging among the picnickers already setting out their victuals for the noon meal. David started, then hesitated to glance back at both men in entreaty. Jack sighed and pointed after his daughter, sending the boy pell-mell on his way scrabbling through the sea of eaters to water’s edge.
“She’s not stupid,” Jack finally said once the children were out of earshot; Esther had suggested the four of them limit their party size for this afternoon, while she and Joe took in some shopping and the club, respectively. He unfolded the blanket and shook it out.
“Figured not,” Will bandied. “Takes after her mother, I’ll wager.”
“She’s goin’ to figure out what we do eventually, rat.” Will’s grin signaled he understood the demotion to the Pearl’s bilges, but didn’t accept it. “That boy needs t’ learn to keep his mouth shut.”
“Give him some room,” the blacksmith countered. “He’s just trying to impress a girl by showing off what he knows.”
“Speakin’ o’ which,” Jack turned on his younger crew member and took a few stalking steps toward him, crossing his arms belligerently, “what’re your intentions with me daughter?”
A brief expression of confusion, then consternation and amusement graced Will’s features. “My intentions? Jack, she’s a natural flirt, just like you; weave and manipulate, and tug at those marionette strings a bit harder, the both of you.”
“And you seem quite willin’ to dance.” The captain kept on just this side of not smiling outright.
“I refuse to admonish an eleven-year-old girl for believing I’m the greatest thing since the printing press was invented.”
Nonsense; since Creation was touched by God’s finger, more like it. Jack frowned at his flight of fancy; whimsy didn’t suit him, and were Bill still among the living and this were a lass, he’d be laughing his arse off. As it is, you’ll just beat the shit out of me when you see me next, if you don’t start haunting me, first. “You’d better not dis’point her,” Jack warned menacingly, arching an eyebrow. “And you’d better be prepared t’ support her in th’ manner to which she’s become accustomed.”
“That shouldn’t be difficult. You can easily burn through more coin in Tortuga in one evening than that little girl could spend in a month,” Will parried, hands firmly on his hips. “If the crew and I can keep you that well supplied, I think I could handle her pecuniary needs by myself.”
Jack grinned, both at the banter and Will’s expanding vocabulary, which was coming along nicely in his captain’s tutelage. “Aye, but she’ll grow up someday, and then where will ye be?”
“Believe me, Jack – when that day comes, your prospective son-in-law’ll have his work cut out for him.” Will lowered himself to one knee, then both, opening the lid of the food basket to check out its contents. “I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of some supposed affront to her.” He withdrew a paper-wrapped baguette and held it up, tilting his head back to look up at Jack as he rocked back on his heels. “Did someone pack a knife for this, I hope?”
Tilting his head, Jack regarded the smith on his knees, large eyes turned up toward his captain, lips slightly parted on the question. His pulse kicked up, and Jack experienced a slight chill just before the warmth of an instant sweat broke out on his forehead, clamming his cheeks as well. “Well, mate, be hard t’ say, seein’ as I’m not th’ one who packed said basket,” he replied, waving his hands airily to distract from his slightly-glazed lustful expression. “Look an’ see.”
“You’re just a whole shipful of help,” Will dryly noted, lowering his head to go back to work. Jack followed the slight shake of shallow brown curls as the man reached for and placed food, keeping his eyes affixed on the crown of Will’s head as he sank to his knees, one at a time, on his side of the small horse blanket. What if he were to reach out and cup that chin, force it up so Will had to look at him and couldn’t look away – was made to face what his prolonged presence in Jack’s life had wrought upon him?
“Will?” He spoke the word softly, a slightly rough edge to his voice that eroded its usual confidence.
He’d cocked his head, and drew it back a bit as the other man looked up, blinking, deep-set eyes wide and inquisitive. “Hmm?” Jack said nothing as he studied the deep brow, those heavily-curved eyes, the broad flare to a long nose. “What, Jack?” His voice was a bit annoyed, now, but indulgent.
I wouldn’t mind to kiss you and find out how it feels, instead of simply wondering it all the time flitted across his mind. Jack parted his lips to say it. “I ... just wondered if you’d found tha’ knife yet, is all.” Same ginger tone, approaching without blindly trampling.
“No, not yet.” The corner of Will’s lips quirked up, and he glanced down to remove a couple more items from the basket, but then returned his eyes to Jack’s. “Hungry already? It’s just now twelve.”
“Bit starved.” Tis true, though not in the way you might understand from me.
“You’re in luck; looks like Melody packed a lot.” Will dug a bit more, then paused. “Hey!” Dropping the cheese, he put his hand to his vest, felt around a bit, and withdrew a dagger from an inside pocket. “Almost forgot; keep these on me at all times.”
“For baked-goods emergencies?” Jack felt his lips quirk.
“Don’t criticize; you’ll be eating, too.” Will waved the blade at him before rubbing it with the corner of a linen napkin to clean it. “Brain’s dulled from not being at sea for awhile,” he explained, shaking his head. “Don’t have to react quite as fast on land, I don’t think.”
“I said, we need our daily practice back.” With that, Jack pulled both lapels of his coat wide open, displaying a short sword hooked into either of the breast panels. “Care t’ pass th’ time while the wee ones are chasin’ boats?”
Will’s eyes widened and his jaw hung open a bit in surprise. “You brought cutlasses to a picnic?”
Jack closed his coat. “You sound like I brought fire on a stick to a christenin’.”
“It is strange, even knowing how you are.”
Jack let that pass, deciding that ignorance was the better part of friendship in this case. “There’s nothing untoward ‘bout two gentlemen fencing socially,” he pointed out, getting to his feet again. “Perfectly valid way to spend a Sunday afternoon, ye ask me.”
Will leaned back on his heels again and Jack was certain he was about to be damned for all the dirty thoughts the pose aroused. “’Socially acceptable’ is using epées,” he pointed out. “Not curved blades you hack off limbs with.”
“I’ve never done that,” Jack rebutted. “A couple of fingers here and there, but no heads or limbs. I prefer a simple run-through ... then again, I don’t even like th’ cutlass.”
“Well, it begs the question why you brought them, then.”
“Protection, actually.” Will lifted an eyebrow. “Come on, then – you didn’t really think I was proposin’ we duel with these stunted little pieces o’ cutlery, did ye?”
“With you, I expect anything’s likely.”
The pirate shook his head and leaned over to peer into the basket for something to drink. He didn’t hope for rum, but anything alcoholic wouldn’t go amiss this fine afternoon. Taking in a deep breath, he inhaled the soap Will used for shaving that morning, as well as the indefinable warmth that comprised the blacksmith’s usual personal scent. Despite being away from his customized, cramped forge in the Pearl’s hold for nigh on two months, a metallic tang and woodsmoke still clung to his skin and hair; Jack imagined the taste would overlay the hint of nutmeg he’d lapped off the man’s wrist while stranded in the rowboat at sea. “What’re you on about, anyway?” Will suddenly spoke. “There’s no rum in there.”
“Wine, then.”
“Sure there’s plenty of that.” He gestured at the blanket. “And would you mind sitting and not hovering? You’re blocking my light, and I’ve no desire to soak the bread with blood in a misplaced prick.”
Indeed, thought Jack. Bill’d probably think I’m already about as big a prick as you need. Finding the small jug, Jack backed off and crossed his ankles before lowering himself fluidly to the blanket in a cross-legged position. “I’ll jus’ sit over here an’ stay out of your way then, eh? Hate to get between a man an’ his bread.”
“Hmm, I wouldn’t have thought as much,” Will mused, slicing through hard crust, head down to concentrate. “You’ve no problem coming between plenty of men and their dough. One might even say you’ve gotten us into many a jam.”
Jack cocked an eyebrow. “William ye might be, but no Shakespeare, lad.” He took a pull of the warm wine, swished it about a bit, and swallowed. A sigh, then; surely, it wasn’t the Caribbean’s finest sugar. “You’d better save your literary skills for better pursuits, mate; understand Esther’s got her eye on a bit o’ skirt for ye.”
“What?” That got the fellow’s attention, and he jerked his head up, eyes narrowed in a southerly change of mood.
“One of her lady friend’s daughters. ‘Bout ‘Lizabeth’s age, I believe; maybe younger. Wanted to try to make a match, as I understand.” Jack tossed this off almost believably, he surmised – ever since the morning, when Esther had bespoke her intentions to him in a private aside, he’d mused and fumed about it. He had no right to Will all for himself, given the lad’s parentage and natural inclinations, but still ...
“I wish she wouldn’t do that.” Jack was surprised at Will’s frown as he put the knife aside and simply twisted the sundered loaf apart. Usually, the blacksmith was more gracious than this. “I’m not going to be here any length of time to be courting.”
“It’s meant well.”
“Esther’s hospitality is not at issue-“
“An’ I understand she’s an attractive lass.”
“As I was saying, that’s not really the-“
“You really ought to give her a chance-“
“Good Christ!” His raised voice and sharp tone cut Jack off more than the words themselves, shocking as they were from Will. “Can I talk?” The pirate nodded once, slowly, uncertain. “Listen to me, Jack: I’m not interested. I don’t want to meet her, whoever she is. I don’t care if it’s a princess.”
“Why?”
“I just don’t.”
Jack emitted a sharp guffaw. “Come on, now. That’s not nearly a good reason.”
Will stared at him hard, jaw set. “Since when did you appoint yourself in my father’s stead? What is she to you, anyway? Why would it matter?” Jack’s mouth worked, but he couldn’t very well answer, so no sound escaped. “Do you want me off the Pearl?”
This last was asked in a less belligerent tone; quieter, but steadily. “I’m not trying to get you off anywhere.” As soon as the words were out, the part of Jack’s brain that kept track of the few gaffes with which it concerned itself leapt up. You’d get him off at the first bat of an eyelid, if he’d just give you the right encouragement. Keeping a perfectly straight face, he added, “Pearl likes you; so do the crew and I. But you’re a young man, Will, an’ decently skilled; looks like you’d be wantin’ to meet a wench, settle down pretty soon into a respectable business.”
The smith’s jaw shifted beneath his skin as he pursed his lips, clearly trying to decide how to respond. “I ... did meet one. It didn’t work out.” He turned his attention back to the abused loaf of bread, which still bore the brunt of his earlier vehemence, as though apportioning pieces of it was the most necessary job of the moment.
Chastened, Jack sighed. It had been too many months – he shouldn’t still be longing for Elizabeth this way. “I didn’t realize you were still carryin’ that partic’lar torch.”
“Well, Jack – I mean, it wasn’t my decision to leave for Europe and put as much distance between me and her as I could, now was it?” He stopped, shook his head. “It’s not your-“
“Why didn’t you say anything to her last week? You had more chance to speak up an’ change your course than most blokes get; you had a second chance.”
“It’s not the right time, all right?” Will tore the last bit in half and dropped them into the basket. “It’d not work out now, any more than it would’ve a year ago. Besides, I have a vocation at sea. I’m-“
Jack cut him off with a loud, sudden laugh that, by Will’s expression, was none too appreciated. “Mate, if you think piracy’s a profession, then you must think whorin’s some kind o’ higher education.”
Will set icy eyes on Jack. “As I was about to say,” he continued tightly, “I’m a blacksmith and swordsmith, and an apprentice carpenter, refitting a warship. That is my valid ‘profession.’”
Jack chose to ignore his tone. Without batting an eye, he breezily informed the smith, “She wants you too, mate. Practically said so herself.”
“I know.” Then, his expression softened into the barest hint of a smile. “Least I know what you two had your heads together about on the dock, now.”
Close enough, Jack contemplated. “An’ there’s still a problem?”
“We talked it over. It’s not the right time ... if ever.” Will shifted to his backside, sitting cross-legged in imitation of Jack, elbows propped on his knees. “I don’t want to be rude to Esther, Jack. I just ...” He gestured briefly, then gave up, gazing off to the side, presumably toward the pond as his hands absently kneaded one another. “It’s not right, now. My heart’s just not in it, to consider someone new.”
“Buoyant” was how Jack figured he would’ve felt about Will remaining unattached to any other human being. He hadn’t figured on the wistful look in his dark eyes, though, nor on the trace of vulnerable need in his voice. Will was not a man who should be alone – he had too much of a soul, uneroded by years of cynicism and hard living despite his rough start in life, and needed to share that with someone. Jack knew Will had been absolutely earnest in his dogged pursuit to save Elizabeth from the undead pirates, to even “die for her” by his own admission. Hell of a thing to have a conscience, isn’t it, Jack Sparrow?
Kiss my arse, he thought. “I’ll have a bit of a chat with Esther, tell her t’ lay off.”
Will glanced back quickly. “Look, I can handle it – I really don’t want her looking at me like-“
Jack held up his hands to ward off further explanation. “She’ll never know th’ real reason. I’ll say there’s another woman commandeering your attentions.” Off Will’s puzzled expression, he grinned. “Much as I love her, Pearl can be a demanding girl.”
Regarding him closely, Will finally nodded, visibly relaxing his posture. “Thanks.” It was sincere, spoken uncertainly, and it made Jack want to go drop down over beside him and offer an arm around his shoulders, a comforting touch that, in time, this too would pass.
Instead, he gestured toward the basket with a significant look to his bushy eyebrows, lifted into his hairline. “Now – were you gon’ share that bread, or just mutilate it beyond all recognition so you could hog all th’ peach preserves for yourself?”
Will rolled his eyes. “I’d say your fingers aren’t broken, except I’m not sure how clean your nails are, and if I really want them anywhere near my food,” he retorted, reaching in for the jar of fruit spread.
“Look, I’ve brought you something t’ nibble on more than once when we’re on the deck an-“ Jack flicked his eyes up at the familiar noise, and noticed David and Ivy running up behind Will, both carrying their shoes and stockings, grass sticking to their wet ankles. “Urchins at th’ starboard,” he interjected.
The children were a mess of tumbling voices and verbs as they hastened to beat each other into telling about the small boats and the various characters who stood in the shallow pond, pants and skirts hiked to their knees, to race them. David plopped cross-legged on the blanket near Will, and Ivy paused to glare briefly at him before settling herself next to Jack. He watched in some amusement as the miniature woman tucked her skinny legs to the side and patted her voluminous light skirt over them, marveling as always that she’d somehow come about as a result of his own existence; certainly her hair and eyes hearkened to the MacLeary look. “Were you deep-sea diving?” he finally asked, reverting to proper English.
“Nay.” She shook her head, and Jack was a bit surprised to hear the particular variation on “no” from her. Certainly he’d taken care not to say it in her presence; or had he? “Was helping an old man who wanted to sail a ship, but couldn’t get in the water.”
“You mean you were sailing it out from under him,” David interrupted before flicking his attention to Jack. “He was sitting on a bench to the side, and she talked him into letting her sail it around the pond.”
“You make it sound like I stole it!” she protested.
“Not stole,” David shook his head. “Commandeered.”
Ivy frowned. “What’s the difference?”
“Ah,” Jack put in, raising a forefinger. “Makes all the difference, love. The latter’s a nautical term.” He set down the wine jug and shrugged off his coat in the rising warmth of the day. It wasn’t until he noticed Ivy furrowing her brow down at his side that he realized she’d noticed one of the blades hooked inside the garment. “Collector’s piece,” he explained smoothly.
“You collect cutlasses?” She continued to eye the small sword. “Have you ever used one?”
Jack glanced sideways over at Will, who was working on spreading a piece of bread. He looked up from beneath lowered eyelids, flicking his glance meaningfully to Ivy, then back to Jack, the raise to his brows indicating he’d caught her tone that belied more than casual interest. “No,” he lied to his daughter, feeling like a heel as he usually did on such occasions. She was one of the few he wished he didn’t have to deceive with this guise of respectability. “I don’t like the handling of them very much.” That, at least, was true, and eased his conscience a bit. “Would you like to see it?”
“Can I?”
“Jack.” Will’s tone was quiet warning. It spoke of uncertainty about what her mother might think when hearing the tale later on.
“She’s responsible. She’ll not hurt herself.” To Ivy, he winked as he unhooked the blade from his coat. “Will’s a bit overcautious with his own swords.”
“Does he-“ She turned her attention on the blacksmith. “Do you collect them, too?”
“Actually, I make most of the ones I, ah, collect,” Will answered, prompting Jack to think Bloody coward – sure, he doesn’t have to lie all that much about what he does.
“You make swords?” The adoration was back in her voice, her eyes, as she all but forgot about her father right then. Again, Jack found himself in the curious position of admiring the girl’s taste even as he pondered if it were too early for her to be flirting with men many years her senior. At least she’s not wanting to bed one too many years younger than herself.
“It’s what I grew up doing, apprenticing a blacksmith.” Jack watched her eyes widen with appreciation as Will spun a verbal tapestry of fact and fiction, and inwardly sighed. He really wondered if he envied Joe the task of raising a girl, after all, and nearly chuckled as he noticed David looking a bit put out at the attention Will was giving her. Then again, mate, he told himself, you have your own challenges with the coarser sex.
On to Part 4 ...
