Fanfic--Wildest of Waves (8/??)
Title: Wildest of Waves (8/??)
Rating: R
Word Count: About 2,000
Characters: Beckett/OC, Mercer, Groves, other familiar faces...
Summary: Lord and Lady Beckett set sail for Jamaica...
Warnings: language, sex
Disclaimer: PoTC belongs to the Mouse! OCs are mine.
Comments: This is, as ever, is a work in progress.
Part One can be found here.
Part Two can be found here.
Part Three can be found here.
Part Four can be found here.
Part Five can be found here.
Part Six can be found here.
Part Seven can be found here.
As Samantha stepped daintily out of the carriage, she grimaced and pulled her cloak tighter around her small shoulders. The wind off the harbor seemed to slice through her and she could smell the putrid scent of the city carried on the breeze. She stifled a disgusted cough behind one gloved hand.
Beckett’s eyes narrowed briefly before he took her arm, escorting her forward. “It’s not as noticeable on the ship,” he said, acknowledging her discomfort. Samantha gave him a small nod, inadvertently pulling herself closer to him as they approached the docks.
The docks were filled with people, laborers, sailors and travelers alike, cargo and animals, everyone pushing and pulling in a different direction. Samantha was afraid that she would be swept away in the chaos, but the bustling activity seemed to give way to a wide berth for the Chairman and his bride. Samantha caught some of the ill-concealed stares and could make out some of the venomous whispers, all impugning the imperious man that was leading her firmly through the morass.
“There she is…”
At Beckett’s softly spoken direction, Samantha looked up and her breath caught her throat as her eyes swept over the large ship-the HMS Endeavour. It was the largest ship she had ever seen. It rose effortlessly forty feet above the ocean with three great gun decks. Beckett had said something about it being a first-rate Ship of the Line and the East India Trading Company’s flagship, but that had not really meant anything to Samantha-she could only remember that it apparently had over 100 cannon.
But seeing the ship span out in front of her, with her great hull and towering masts, Samantha could appreciate that it was a fine ship. She was well over 200 feet long from her elaborately carved figurehead to stern, and as Samantha squinted her eyes and looked to the very top of the mainmast, she thought it rose at least that high into the air.
Beckett allowed himself an indulgent smile at her wonderment over the great ship. “Only four other ships this size sail under the British flag-and no other is quite as fine.”
Samantha turned her wide eyes to him. “It’s incredible.”
He took her arm and led her up the gangplank. They were apparently the last on board-the decks were filled with sailors and soldiers rushing about, taking their positions. She watched as the men climbed up into the rigging, clinging to the ropes like little burrs. She realized that there were already sailors up in the crow’s nest, so high above her, so high above the water. She felt a slight wave of dizziness at the thought, so she quickly looked away. The men were arranging themselves in organized lines before Beckett, obeying the barking commands of the officers.
“How many people are on this ship?” she whispered to him.
“314 souls on board, including ourselves.” Samantha was surprised. “Most are crew-they’ll be below decks and in the rigging. Don’t concern yourself with them. There are 43 officers and midshipmen-always seek one of them out if you are in need of anything and I am not available.” Samantha could easily distinguish the officers and midshipmen by their pristine uniforms.
The men stood ready, waiting their commands. Beckett turned to the officer standing nearest.
“Lieutenant Groves,” Beckett said in acknowledgment. The officer saluted. “Lady Beckett, this is Lieutenant Groves-he is second in command on this ship. Lieutenant, I expect you to treat my wife with the same deference you would afford me.”
Groves took Samantha’s proffered hand and pressed it gently to his lips. “It will be my pleasure, Lady Beckett.” Samantha smiled warmly at him.
“Well, Lieutenant, let us weigh anchor and make sail. I intend to take advantage of our favorable wind.”
“Aye, Lord Beckett.”
Groves turned from Beckett and began shouting out commands to the assembled crew-most of it sounded like a foreign language to Samantha.
“Cast off those lines! Weigh anchor! Full canvas!”
Immediately the deck exploded into a fury of activity. She found that she was glad that her arm was secured within Beckett’s-she felt as if otherwise she would have been swept away.
“Would you like to see where you will be lodging for the voyage, Lady Beckett?” Beckett asked her formally. Samantha nodded and allowed herself to be led by Beckett, pausing only as the sails were unfurled. She looked up in awe as the miles of white canvas fell and filled with the wind. It sounded like thunder as the great sheets were dropped.
She understood that she and Beckett would be residing in the grand cabin in the stern of the ship. Unsure of what to expect, she found herself speechless as two marines swung open the double doors to the cabin and Beckett escorted her inside. Other ships she had been aboard were built for function-this was clearly built for excess. Elaborate, spacious, and well-appointed, it seemed more like a floating estate than a warship.
“Well?” Beckett whispered in her ear as he slowly slid her hood down and tangled his fingers in the ties of her cloak. Samantha met his gaze for a moment before he drew his hands away and folded them neatly behind his back. She saw that same boyish glint in his eyes in that moment-as if he were a child seeking her approval.
“It’s not what I was expecting,” she conceded. “It’s much grander than anything I could have imagined. It’s a beautiful ship.”
“So not quite the prison you had envisioned?” he asked, his voice dry. Samantha averted her gaze and did not answer.
“Lord Beckett?” A tentative voice called from the open doorway. A young midshipman stood there, his back stiff, his hands trembling. Samantha gave the boy a small smile. “We’re in open waters, sir. Lieutenant Groves wanted to let you know.”
With a curt nod from Beckett, the boy dashed away.
“Come,” he said to her suddenly. “Say good-bye. It’ll be the last land you’ll see for some time.”
■ ■ ■ ■ ■
She stood quietly at the stern and watched through blurry eyes as the only home she’d ever known slowly faded into a grey murky haze on the horizon. The sharp winds cut through her, whipping her long silk skirt around her legs, unfastening her hair from its pins, and burning her cheeks, but she did not move until she was sure she could no longer see the tiny strip of land. Only then did she turn, surprised to find Beckett standing silently behind her. Wordlessly, he took her cold hand in his own and led her away.
■ ■ ■ ■ ■
Samantha sat up with a loud gasp at the sound of the ringing bell. Beckett darted up as well, her own agitation disturbing him.
“What is that? What is happening?” she whispered, clutching at his shoulder. She could feel the tenseness of his muscles as he listened. She could not see his face, but felt the sudden slump in his body as he relaxed.
“That’s just the bells of the watch-it’s midnight and the watch is changing.” His voice had a touch of exasperation in it. She then saw that he was clutching a small pistol.
“The bells ring all night?”
“Every four hours, every time the watch changes.”
“Oh.”
She heard him make a little noise of contempt at her fright and ignorance. However, as she sank back down onto her pillow, to try to fall back asleep amidst the noises of the ship, she thought that he had been awfully quick to grab his pistol.
■ ■ ■ ■ ■
It only took her a few days to fall into the structured, monotonous routine of the ship. She woke early each morning as the orange glow of the sun spilled in through the large windows, almost seeming to cue the ringing of the watch bells, ate a small breakfast alone in her room, dressed, and then, weather permitting, took a short promenade around the uppermost decks. Depending on who was manning the helm, she would stand there and stare out at the ocean, the sky, the rigging, until the midday heat became too strong, and she would retreat back into the cabin. Beckett would usually join her for the midday meal, scowling at the fare and dictating orders to Mercer, who stood behind him, jotting notes, while she would half-heartedly push the food about on her plate, taking a few dainty bites of the less-objectionable parts.
Afterwards, Beckett would sometimes spend an almost-silent hour with her-reading while she listened attentively, studying the way his fingers curled as he turned each gilded page, the way his eyebrow would twitch when he read something he found interesting or disturbing, or playing chess or cards. If he had business to attend to, she was ushered off to her bedroom to while away the hours until afternoon tea, which coincided with the ringing of the watch. She set much store by the bells-waking, eating, resting-all seemed dictated by the bells.
Beckett was usually more cordial with tea. Mercer was not invited in when they sat opposite each other, sipping their tea and sampling a few biscuits and sweet jam. He would talk of where they were on the ocean, and how much longer it would be or of the latest prices of spices in India-mundane, trivial things. But, Samantha enjoyed listening to him talk about such trivial things. She would occasionally interject or offer her own opinion on the matter, and he would smirk at her, but the customary cutting remark seemed a bit softer than usual.
After tea, weather permitting, she would be out on the decks again, strolling along the railing, watching the sun sink slowly into the horizon. The sunsets were spectacular at sea, and she watched a fair number.
Dinner was sometimes a private affair between her and Beckett, and other times the officers would dine with them. On those nights, Samantha would retire early, so that the men could talk and drink without offending her sensitive ears and delicate constitution. She could still hear their laughter through the doors, and usually their bawdy humor if she cared to listen hard enough. She had peeped out once, wondering how Beckett fit into all of it, and had seen him sitting apart from the others, allowing them their frivolity, but watching them with a haughty stare.
He would come to bed late, smelling of cognac and tobacco, and he would draw the sheets back and fuck her, each thrust more punishing than the next; pumping and grunting until he found his quick release, turning away from her as settled his head on the pillow and slept.
On the nights they dined privately, he would usually pour her a glass of wine, and they would sit quietly together until he formally rose and took her arm and escorted her to bed. He would stare at her as Jane unlaced her stays and helped her out of her dress, and had on more than one occasion unlaced her himself, his fingers trailing over her as he slowly pushed the brocade and silk away. It was on these nights that he would consume her with the kisses, touches and caresses until they both lay panting and sated. She would not realize that she’d drifted off into blissful sleep until she found herself awakening to the sound of the watch bells.
Rating: R
Word Count: About 2,000
Characters: Beckett/OC, Mercer, Groves, other familiar faces...
Summary: Lord and Lady Beckett set sail for Jamaica...
Warnings: language, sex
Disclaimer: PoTC belongs to the Mouse! OCs are mine.
Comments: This is, as ever, is a work in progress.
Part One can be found here.
Part Two can be found here.
Part Three can be found here.
Part Four can be found here.
Part Five can be found here.
Part Six can be found here.
Part Seven can be found here.
As Samantha stepped daintily out of the carriage, she grimaced and pulled her cloak tighter around her small shoulders. The wind off the harbor seemed to slice through her and she could smell the putrid scent of the city carried on the breeze. She stifled a disgusted cough behind one gloved hand.
Beckett’s eyes narrowed briefly before he took her arm, escorting her forward. “It’s not as noticeable on the ship,” he said, acknowledging her discomfort. Samantha gave him a small nod, inadvertently pulling herself closer to him as they approached the docks.
The docks were filled with people, laborers, sailors and travelers alike, cargo and animals, everyone pushing and pulling in a different direction. Samantha was afraid that she would be swept away in the chaos, but the bustling activity seemed to give way to a wide berth for the Chairman and his bride. Samantha caught some of the ill-concealed stares and could make out some of the venomous whispers, all impugning the imperious man that was leading her firmly through the morass.
“There she is…”
At Beckett’s softly spoken direction, Samantha looked up and her breath caught her throat as her eyes swept over the large ship-the HMS Endeavour. It was the largest ship she had ever seen. It rose effortlessly forty feet above the ocean with three great gun decks. Beckett had said something about it being a first-rate Ship of the Line and the East India Trading Company’s flagship, but that had not really meant anything to Samantha-she could only remember that it apparently had over 100 cannon.
But seeing the ship span out in front of her, with her great hull and towering masts, Samantha could appreciate that it was a fine ship. She was well over 200 feet long from her elaborately carved figurehead to stern, and as Samantha squinted her eyes and looked to the very top of the mainmast, she thought it rose at least that high into the air.
Beckett allowed himself an indulgent smile at her wonderment over the great ship. “Only four other ships this size sail under the British flag-and no other is quite as fine.”
Samantha turned her wide eyes to him. “It’s incredible.”
He took her arm and led her up the gangplank. They were apparently the last on board-the decks were filled with sailors and soldiers rushing about, taking their positions. She watched as the men climbed up into the rigging, clinging to the ropes like little burrs. She realized that there were already sailors up in the crow’s nest, so high above her, so high above the water. She felt a slight wave of dizziness at the thought, so she quickly looked away. The men were arranging themselves in organized lines before Beckett, obeying the barking commands of the officers.
“How many people are on this ship?” she whispered to him.
“314 souls on board, including ourselves.” Samantha was surprised. “Most are crew-they’ll be below decks and in the rigging. Don’t concern yourself with them. There are 43 officers and midshipmen-always seek one of them out if you are in need of anything and I am not available.” Samantha could easily distinguish the officers and midshipmen by their pristine uniforms.
The men stood ready, waiting their commands. Beckett turned to the officer standing nearest.
“Lieutenant Groves,” Beckett said in acknowledgment. The officer saluted. “Lady Beckett, this is Lieutenant Groves-he is second in command on this ship. Lieutenant, I expect you to treat my wife with the same deference you would afford me.”
Groves took Samantha’s proffered hand and pressed it gently to his lips. “It will be my pleasure, Lady Beckett.” Samantha smiled warmly at him.
“Well, Lieutenant, let us weigh anchor and make sail. I intend to take advantage of our favorable wind.”
“Aye, Lord Beckett.”
Groves turned from Beckett and began shouting out commands to the assembled crew-most of it sounded like a foreign language to Samantha.
“Cast off those lines! Weigh anchor! Full canvas!”
Immediately the deck exploded into a fury of activity. She found that she was glad that her arm was secured within Beckett’s-she felt as if otherwise she would have been swept away.
“Would you like to see where you will be lodging for the voyage, Lady Beckett?” Beckett asked her formally. Samantha nodded and allowed herself to be led by Beckett, pausing only as the sails were unfurled. She looked up in awe as the miles of white canvas fell and filled with the wind. It sounded like thunder as the great sheets were dropped.
She understood that she and Beckett would be residing in the grand cabin in the stern of the ship. Unsure of what to expect, she found herself speechless as two marines swung open the double doors to the cabin and Beckett escorted her inside. Other ships she had been aboard were built for function-this was clearly built for excess. Elaborate, spacious, and well-appointed, it seemed more like a floating estate than a warship.
“Well?” Beckett whispered in her ear as he slowly slid her hood down and tangled his fingers in the ties of her cloak. Samantha met his gaze for a moment before he drew his hands away and folded them neatly behind his back. She saw that same boyish glint in his eyes in that moment-as if he were a child seeking her approval.
“It’s not what I was expecting,” she conceded. “It’s much grander than anything I could have imagined. It’s a beautiful ship.”
“So not quite the prison you had envisioned?” he asked, his voice dry. Samantha averted her gaze and did not answer.
“Lord Beckett?” A tentative voice called from the open doorway. A young midshipman stood there, his back stiff, his hands trembling. Samantha gave the boy a small smile. “We’re in open waters, sir. Lieutenant Groves wanted to let you know.”
With a curt nod from Beckett, the boy dashed away.
“Come,” he said to her suddenly. “Say good-bye. It’ll be the last land you’ll see for some time.”
■ ■ ■ ■ ■
She stood quietly at the stern and watched through blurry eyes as the only home she’d ever known slowly faded into a grey murky haze on the horizon. The sharp winds cut through her, whipping her long silk skirt around her legs, unfastening her hair from its pins, and burning her cheeks, but she did not move until she was sure she could no longer see the tiny strip of land. Only then did she turn, surprised to find Beckett standing silently behind her. Wordlessly, he took her cold hand in his own and led her away.
■ ■ ■ ■ ■
Samantha sat up with a loud gasp at the sound of the ringing bell. Beckett darted up as well, her own agitation disturbing him.
“What is that? What is happening?” she whispered, clutching at his shoulder. She could feel the tenseness of his muscles as he listened. She could not see his face, but felt the sudden slump in his body as he relaxed.
“That’s just the bells of the watch-it’s midnight and the watch is changing.” His voice had a touch of exasperation in it. She then saw that he was clutching a small pistol.
“The bells ring all night?”
“Every four hours, every time the watch changes.”
“Oh.”
She heard him make a little noise of contempt at her fright and ignorance. However, as she sank back down onto her pillow, to try to fall back asleep amidst the noises of the ship, she thought that he had been awfully quick to grab his pistol.
■ ■ ■ ■ ■
It only took her a few days to fall into the structured, monotonous routine of the ship. She woke early each morning as the orange glow of the sun spilled in through the large windows, almost seeming to cue the ringing of the watch bells, ate a small breakfast alone in her room, dressed, and then, weather permitting, took a short promenade around the uppermost decks. Depending on who was manning the helm, she would stand there and stare out at the ocean, the sky, the rigging, until the midday heat became too strong, and she would retreat back into the cabin. Beckett would usually join her for the midday meal, scowling at the fare and dictating orders to Mercer, who stood behind him, jotting notes, while she would half-heartedly push the food about on her plate, taking a few dainty bites of the less-objectionable parts.
Afterwards, Beckett would sometimes spend an almost-silent hour with her-reading while she listened attentively, studying the way his fingers curled as he turned each gilded page, the way his eyebrow would twitch when he read something he found interesting or disturbing, or playing chess or cards. If he had business to attend to, she was ushered off to her bedroom to while away the hours until afternoon tea, which coincided with the ringing of the watch. She set much store by the bells-waking, eating, resting-all seemed dictated by the bells.
Beckett was usually more cordial with tea. Mercer was not invited in when they sat opposite each other, sipping their tea and sampling a few biscuits and sweet jam. He would talk of where they were on the ocean, and how much longer it would be or of the latest prices of spices in India-mundane, trivial things. But, Samantha enjoyed listening to him talk about such trivial things. She would occasionally interject or offer her own opinion on the matter, and he would smirk at her, but the customary cutting remark seemed a bit softer than usual.
After tea, weather permitting, she would be out on the decks again, strolling along the railing, watching the sun sink slowly into the horizon. The sunsets were spectacular at sea, and she watched a fair number.
Dinner was sometimes a private affair between her and Beckett, and other times the officers would dine with them. On those nights, Samantha would retire early, so that the men could talk and drink without offending her sensitive ears and delicate constitution. She could still hear their laughter through the doors, and usually their bawdy humor if she cared to listen hard enough. She had peeped out once, wondering how Beckett fit into all of it, and had seen him sitting apart from the others, allowing them their frivolity, but watching them with a haughty stare.
He would come to bed late, smelling of cognac and tobacco, and he would draw the sheets back and fuck her, each thrust more punishing than the next; pumping and grunting until he found his quick release, turning away from her as settled his head on the pillow and slept.
On the nights they dined privately, he would usually pour her a glass of wine, and they would sit quietly together until he formally rose and took her arm and escorted her to bed. He would stare at her as Jane unlaced her stays and helped her out of her dress, and had on more than one occasion unlaced her himself, his fingers trailing over her as he slowly pushed the brocade and silk away. It was on these nights that he would consume her with the kisses, touches and caresses until they both lay panting and sated. She would not realize that she’d drifted off into blissful sleep until she found herself awakening to the sound of the watch bells.