Shipwrecked: Part One.
So, in December, after some inspiration and chatting with Rae, I started a little something called "Shipwrecked" and posted up the start of it. Then it got put on hold because of Ballroom. Then I had burnout. Then I started it again, intending it to be Rae's Birthday Fic, but then ficathon happened and more burnout. Now it is finally finished -- all 21,600 words of it.
SO HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY TO RAE (who can't read this until she gets internet back or is at work).
Title: Shipwrecked.
Pairing: R/J
Rated: R
Warnings: Gratuitous oogling, implied sexytimes, and a dislocated shoulder.
A/N: Part Two, Part Three.
Port of London, 1730
Miss Rochelle Calliope Hawthorne wandered down the bustling thoroughfare, heading toward the docks. Her parasol held by one slim, lace covered hand while the other lifted the hem of her billowing green skirts to keep mud from soiling them completely. Footmen trailed behind her, carrying bags and a large trunk piled high with hat boxes.
Seeing - and hearing - so many uncouth people had her wrinkling her nose in distaste as she skirted by, trying to keep her focus on the large naval ship waiting for her. It was a newly constructed, First Rate ship making its return voyage to the West Indies. Word had come just a few weeks before from her father. Since she had turned eighteen and no longer in need of a Governess, he wished for her to finally join him in Charlestown, on the Leeward Islands.
Rochelle had been surprised at her father’s request, but in a strange way, very happy. She had not seen him for several years, and the idea of such a grand adventure was quite thrilling.
The Captain of the ship, Mr. Smithson, was waiting for her on the docks. His blue frock coat was perfectly pressed, the large gold buttons polished to a high sheen. He doffed his hat, offering her a formal bow.
“Miss Hawthorne, might I say it is a pleasure to be escorting on your trip. I ensure you will we do our best to make it a swift and comfortable voyage.”
“Thank you, captain.” She dipped into a low curtsey.
“If you will follow me? I’ll be happy to show you to your quarters.” She inclined her head, closing her parasol as she started after him up the gangway, her footmen in tow.
Leveling out on the deck of the ship, Rochelle saw men rushing back and forth; some were carrying supplies, others hauling lines and prepping sails. It seemed like utter chaos to a casual observer, but she knew enough about ships and their crews to realize how truly organized and thorough the men were.
As she walked toward the door leading below deck, she saw a few men who were not dressed in uniform. She frowned at this, confused. Rochelle laid a hand on the Captain’s arm, nodding toward the men with an arched brow.
“Oh, they’re not part of the Royal Navy, marm.” Smithson looked very stern as he glanced at one of the men; younger with sun bronzed skin, and pale blond hair. The young man wore a cheeky grin while one of the Officers yelled out an order to him. He gave a mocking salute when the Office turned his back, and Rochelle was able to make out a brand on his muscular forearm.
“A pirate,” she gasped.
“I’m afraid so.” Smithson sighed. “Former men of the Black Flag. Someone, somewhere, thought it a good way to rehabilitate the younger ones, the men whom had little choice in the matter. We have a few on board, but I guarantee there is nothing to worry about.”
Rochelle had kept her eyes on the former pirate, watching as he fell in line with several others to trim the sails. He bent and fastened the rope, using neat, quick movements. When he straightened it was as though he knew someone was watching. He glanced around slowly before his gaze finally landed on her.
As his ocean blue eyes met hers, and he lifted one fair brow. He gave her a long, appreciative look; clear eyes slithering over her from heel to head and back again. Rochelle felt herself fighting an angry flush, glaring at the man for his unseemly behavior.
The Captain was well aware of his lurid glance, his face turning a mottled red in anger. “JACK!” he barked, calling the man over.
With a slow saunter he walked toward the Captain and Rochelle, stopping before them and gave the captain a sloppy salute. As he relaxed again his gaze darted toward Rochelle before focusing fully on Smithson.
“Jack, this is the Commodore’s daughter. She will be joining us for the return voyage. I will have you pay Miss Hawthorn the proper respect or you will be seeing the inside of the brig, is that clear?” Smithson hissed.
“Aye Cap’n!” He grinned serenely, offering another lazy salute.
“Yes, Captain,” the other man stressed.
“Yes, Captain. So sorry.” He offered up a pitying frown, then turned to Rochelle and gave her a surprisingly formal bow. “Miss Hawthorne, I apologize for my abominable behavior.“ He straightened again and met her eyes, Rochelle wrinkled her nose at him and turned on her heel, moving below decks.
***
A week into the voyage found Rochelle on the quarterdeck. It was a quiet night; the sea calm, and most of the sailors asleep below deck. Rochelle had packed several books for the trip, along with needlework and other various things to keep her occupied, but she found herself tiring of them quickly. She longed for a stroll in the gardens with the scent of blooming flowers and clean grass, not the tang of salt air mingled with the musk of so many men in close quarters.
She was studying the stars above her, glittering like gems spilling across the velvety night sky, when a board creaked and she was aware of someone beside her. Rochelle turned with a start, frowning when she found it to be Jack. It seemed she was always running into him, no matter the time of day. He smiled gently, one hand behind his back, the other pointed toward the heaven’s above.
“Ursa Major,” he said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Ursa Major, that’s what you were looking at.” He nodded and stepped a bit closer, his hand still raised to the sky, “You can see the line, there.” His finger traced a pattern. “Next to it is Ursa Minor. Do you see?” He turned his face toward her, smile still in place.
“Yes, I do. Do you know a lot about constellations?”
“I do; had to.” He removed his hand from behind his back, holding two small oranges.
She quirked a brow. “Aren’t those rationed?”
“They are.”
“I will not accept anything pilfered from the stores, thank you.”
“Not pilfered. I was given two for good behavior - shocking, I know.” He shook his head. “I was sharing.”
“Oh.”
Jack tossed one of the oranges into the air, eyes locked with hers, then caught it with his other hand. He held it out to her, balanced on the tips of fingers.
“Thank you.” She eyed him warily as she took the fruit, hand moving slowly. He merely grinned, watching her, then started peeling his own once she had taken hers. She dug her fingernails into the flesh of the orange, the sweet citrus smell tingling her nostrils, and she looked at him from the corner of her eye.
He leaned casually over the side of the ship, arms resting on the rail, dropping bits of the peel into the bubbling water below. One leg was crossed over the other, his short blond curls rustling in the breeze, and his face a mask of indifference. He appeared the perfect picture of a man without a care in the world.
Rochelle watched the way the muscles in his forearm bunched and moved, his long fingers deftly tearing the peel. Finally the last piece of orange peel was dropped into the churning ocean, and he held out the fruit to her. “Trade?” he nodded toward the still unpeeled one in her hands.
“I am perfectly capable of doing it myself.”
“Of course you are, never said you weren’t.” Without another word he plucked the orange from her fingers and replaced it with the peeled one. She frowned slightly, brows knitting together, but broke open the fruit nonetheless and bit into a section. It was sweet and juicy.
“You’re very courteous for a pirate.”
“Ex-pirate,” he corrected with a smirk.
“Amazing you weren’t hanged, I thought that was the practice?”
“Ar, but ‘twas a close thing!” He spoke in a lowered voice, gruff. He shook his head and laughed. “Actually, it was hardly anything of the sort. I was on a pirate ship, yes, had been since I was a child; the captain took me in, I had no family, and paid me as a cabin boy. I worked my way up to navigator - always had a mind for maps and charts. When we were finally taken in, the captain said I wasn’t recruited, but forced into it. One of the officers took pity on my ‘forced slavery’, so I ended up here.” He shrugged, taking a bite his orange.
“That was kind of him, your former captain I mean.”
“He was a kind man, for a ruthless pirate. He taught me how to read and write, a bit of the courtly ways, too.”
“Who was he?”
“Don’t rightfully know. Some said he was a nobleman once, but lost his wife and baby to illness; in his anger he turned to pirating.”
Rochelle frowned. “That’s awful.”
“It is. He was always kind to me, though. I owe him much.”
“Was he… did they?”
Jack looked up at the sky, eyes squinting and mouth a thin line. “I suspect so. I never heard what happened; I was immediately put on a ship to England.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything.”
“No, but I’m sure my father did.” Rochelle looked down, picking at the white pith of her orange. “I should go to bed. Thank you again.” She nodded once, barely meeting his eyes, and turned to leave.
“You’re welcome. Sleep well, Miss Hawthorne.”
“You too, Mister… uh, Jack,” she said and scurried below decks.
***
It seemed to become a bit of a habit; once a week Rochelle found herself on quarterdeck at night, watching the stars and chatting with Jack. They fell into an easy friendship, sometimes he taught her constellations, or she taught him poems. She came to look forward to their meetings, but still the voyage was tedious. It seemed to be taking longer than she could imagine.
They were still a week out from Charlestown when dark clouds appeared on the horizon. There were whispers over what to do, but in the end there was no way to skirt the oncoming storm. It was mid-afternoon when the sky darkened as if it were night, rain pelting the men on deck, the seas rolling and tossing the ship. Panic was not a mark of a Royal Naval man, but panic they did as the waters rose, waves crashing over the decks, all helpless to do anything to stop it.
The masts snapped, cleaving holes in the hull and decks, the ocean rising up to tear the boards away, finishing the job. As the ship took on water, all was chaos as men abandoned posts, searching only for their own survival.
Rochelle had made it to the main deck, confused, frightened, and hoping to find a way out - like all the others. Men jostled her as they rushed past, heading for the longboats. She slipped and skidded along the wet boards to the rail, gripping it tightly to steady herself.
With a lurching roll as a wave hit the side of the ship, Rochelle’s world turned to water. Everything seemed calm, the roaring rush of the wind and waves, the shouts of the men were all gone. Just a quietness that left her more shaken than the raging storm.
She thrashed about, arms and legs flailing as she tried to break the surface, but she didn’t know which direction it was - everything around her was dark, endless blue. She realized she was moving though, her sodden skirts dragging her into the depths.
Then there was a firm hand on her elbow, the flash of a knife that ripped through her skirts, freeing her. She was pulled roughly in another direction, and she kicked with her all her might. Finally she broke the surface of the water, the howl of the storm and the rush of the ocean nearly deafening as she took in sputtering gulps. Salty mists nearly choked her, but she managed to fill her lungs with precious air before a wave crashed over head. She plunged under again, but this time she knew which direction was up and was able to break through the waves again. The rescuing hand was back, gripping her arm and pulling her through the water. She reached out to the person, but met wood instead. A hand closed over hers, willing her to grip the piece of broken mast.
“HOLD ON TIGHT!” Jack yelled close to her ear, but even then his voice was barely a whisper above the roar of the storm.
She nodded and wrapped her arms around the smooth wood, bending her head close to it, eyes shut tight. Jack wound an arm around her, keeping her pressed close while his other went around the mast.
***
Rochelle woke to blinding sunlight, and the echoing sound of birds in the distance. Slowly she became aware of waves, but it was a gentle lapping rather than a rushing crash, and the feel of the sweltering sun burning her fair skin.
Struggling to sit up, she shielded her eyes and looked around. She was on a stretch of beach, the water was clear blue as it kissed the golden shoreline. Behind her were palm trees and other flora she wasn’t sure of.
Bits of debris and driftwood littered the beach, as did a body. Scrambling to her feet, Rochelle rushed to Jack’s side and leaned down, pressing her ear against his chest. There was a strong, steady heartbeat, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Just as she pulled back he started to come to, blinking his eyes against the harsh sunlight as he sat up.
“Oh thank God, you’re alive!” Without thinking, far too joyous to give one whit for propriety, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.
“Doesn’t feel like it.” He coughed and patted her back. “Are you alright?”
Rochelle pulled back, suddenly aware of how forward she had been. She rocked back on her heels and nodded, overly aware that she was only in her chemise. “I am, thanks to you.”
Jack shrugged, shaking his head. “I saw you spill over the edge, I just dived in after you without thinking.” He glanced around the beach. “And don’t thank me just yet, we don’t know where we are.”
“I think ‘thank you’ is very much in order, I would be dead if not for you.”
“Not so bad for a pirate then?”
“Ex-pirate,” she corrected gently.
“Right, ex-pirate.” His lips twitched with amusement then he looked away, as if remembering where they were.
“Could we be near the Leeward Islands?”
“No, we were still too far out.” Jack looked around, found a small stick and started drawing in the sand. “I hadn’t seen our charted course, but I know basically where we were.” He focused on the work at hand, making a rough map in the sand. His brows were furrowed as he concentrated, pausing every so often with eyes closed, trying to remember star positions.
When he was finished he sat looking at his work, left arm resting on his bent knee while he twirled the stick in his right hand.
“Well,” he said slowly, throwing the stick aside and standing. “There’s good news and bad news.”
“Oh dear.” Rochelle took his offered hand and stood as well.
“Mmhm.” He nodded. “Good news is we survived. Bad news is I have no idea where we are. By my guess there’s no way we managed to wash up on a charted island, there weren’t any close enough to where we were. Which makes this one uncharted… and Lord knows it is exactly.”
“So we’re going to die here?” Rochelle’s voice hitched slightly, bordering on hysterical.
“No.” He shook his head and placed his hands on her shoulders, leaning down until he was eye level. “I’m not going to let that happen. We can search for other people from the wreck, maybe there are lifeboats? And I’ll have a better idea of where we are once the stars come out. Besides,” he shrugged, grinning. “Just because it’s uncharted by the Navy doesn’t mean it’s unknown.”
“Pirates?”
“Pirates. They use all sorts of islands in and around here. Someone must know it’s here.”
“Are you sure that’s entirely… safe?”
He looked her up and down, eyes intent like when he’d first surveyed her on the ship. In that moment she became aware of not only the fact she was hardly dressed, but that her chemise was still damp from the sea, clinging to her body like a second skin; only her hair, fallen from its bun like a long, dark sheath, saved what was left of her shredded modesty.
At first Rochelle was incredibly embarrassed, then she noted the way his eyes seemed to darken slightly and a wave of annoyance washed over her. Without thinking she lifted her hand, slapping him hard across the face.
Jack’s head whipped to one side with the force of it; he kept his face turned a moment, eyes focused on the trees, before a small smile started pulling at the corner of his mouth. He looked back to Rochelle, eyes light and grin in place.
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” He brushed past her, heading down the beach.
“Where on Earth are you going!?”
“To scout the island,” he called over his shoulder.
“You’re leaving me alone!?” Suddenly fear gripped her, panic rising. It never occurred to her to think she hadn’t once been afraid of Jack.
“I’ll be back, don’t fret.” He continued walking, hardly sparing her a glance.
Rochelle stood there, feet sinking into the dry sand, arms crossed obstinately. He was toying with her, of that she was sure. She would hardly give him the satisfaction of giving into her fears like some wilting little miss.
There was something rustling in the bushes, it sounded large, and most likely something she didn’t want to deal with. Taking a deep breath Rochelle raced forward. She caught Jack up quickly and fell in step next to him. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye.
“You might need help,” she said, nose in the air. Jack raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
***
Not terribly far from their stretch of beach was a rock formation that jutted out, looking over land and sea. It took a fair bit of time to climb the rocky slope, and the sun was riding high in the sky when they finally emerged at the peak. The island didn’t seem to be overly large, it was ringed with a beach, the only break was the rocky hill, and the center was heavily wooded.
Climbing up onto the small ledge at the top, Jack squinted against the sun as he looked at the area surrounding the island. Something caught his attention and he lifted one hand to shield his eyes, leaning as far as he could without tumbling into the waters below.
“I think there’s another island over there. Actually I think there might be a couple… what I wouldn’t give for a spyglass.”
“Be careful, Jack.” Rochelle had one hand out, ready to grab his shirt should he fall over the edge.
“I’m fine,” he said absently, trying to focus on the island in the distance. “I’ll know better once I can see the stars, those never change. But I might have an idea where we are, now. I think the best bet will be to build us a raft and get over there.” He pointed.
“Are you mad?”
“Not at all.” He turned around and jumped down, grinning at Rochelle. “Building a raft will be easy.”
“We haven’t any supplies! We need timber and rope and.. and other things!” She waved her hands, annoyed.
“Of course we do. It’s all down there.” He jerked his head toward the center of the island.
“You’re mad!”
“Perhaps, but only a wee bit.” He winked and started back down the slope. “Come along, let’s find something to eat and hopefully some fresh water.” Rochelle glared at his back but followed nonetheless, water sounded lovely as did something to eat.
***
“What in heaven’s name is it?” Rochelle wrinkled her nose as Jack held out the thing to her. He had been quite happy when he found a fruit that looked a bit like plums; the flesh a dark, bruised purple. But once he cracked one open, she’d found the inside to be a gelatinous yellow-green like what one might find in their hanky.
“I will not eat that.” She informed curly, backing away slightly. Her stomach growled and Jack grinned.
He held it out again, nodding encouragingly. “Just try it, princess.”
“I think not! It looks like… like maggots!” She shook her head, dark hair swaying.
His blue eyes turned a shade darker, and his grin turned just a bit dangerous. “Go on, I dare you.”
Rochelle pulled herself up to her full height, back ramrod straight. Her nostrils flared, and she glared up at Jack’s smiling face. She would not let him get the upper hand! Lips pursed and eyes cool, she reached out and snatched the fruit from his palm.
“Just the inside,” he told her, amused.
Continuing to glare at him, she took a small nibble of the fleshy inside. The berry or seed, she wasn’t sure what to call it, burst in her mouth in a flavorful explosion. The juice and flesh were sweet, with a slightly sour bite that was entirely pleasant, and the smell was intoxicating.
Simply put: it was delicious.
However, she was not about to tell him that. She shrugged delicately and took another nibble. “It’s fine, it will do.”
“Fine, whatever you say.” Jack handed her the other half of the fruit, already looking for more. Rochelle realized the fruit grew on a vine, however it was climbing the trunk of a tree like lattice, and the majority of the delicious little orbs were high up.
Jack heaved a defeated sigh and scurried up the tree, but Rochelle ignored him as she ate the fruit. She didn’t think they could subsist wholly on them, but they would do well enough to take away the rumbling in her stomach. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Jack thumped down next to her from a branch above, his arms laden with the fruit and cocky grin in place.
He looked at her with fringed innocence, “Didn’t scare you, did I?”
“Not at all,” she huffed.
“Good.” He couched down, dropping the fruits into a small pile and picked one up, halving it with deft hands. “It’s lucky to find these, they’re good for quenching your thirst, but we still need to find some water.”
“What are they called?”
Jack looked up and held out two fresh halves for her, “Passion fruit.”
Rochelle frowned thoughtfully, but still took the fruit. “Why is that?” Her only response was a waggle of an eyebrow. She rolled her eyes, “Please, like you expect me to believe this will magically make me find you roguishly handsome and completely irresistible?”
“No, it’s named after Passion Flowers.” Jack glanced around, looking for something. He let out a soft, ‘ah ha’, when he found it and got up. He returned a moment later, a flower cupped in his hand.
He held it out for Rochelle to inspect. The bloom was strange; from the stem, sprouted ten open petals a rich, midnight purple, the center was a halo of stamen that started as a pale lavender and turned darker at the tips. It was so different from anything she’d ever seen in the gardens at home. But whether because of its strangeness or in spite of it, she found the bloom quite beautiful.
She looked up at Jack from under a fan of lashes. “It’s lovely.”
“Aye, ‘tis that.” He reached up, tucking the flower behind her ear. “And no, the passion fruit won’t make you think I’m ‘roguishly handsome’.” He leaned in close enough for Rochelle to feel his breath tickling her chin. “You already do,” he winked and straightened up.
She frowned at him, nose wrinkling. “Infuriating man. You think so highly of yourself, don’t you?”
“Not as highly as you do!” He sing-songed, disappearing into the jungle. “Stay there, I’m going to look for some water.” Rochelle growled at him under her breath, and flounced down on a fallen log.
She sat, stewing over the arrogant man, and finished the second piece of fruit; only when she had tossed aside the husks did she realize she was absently playing with the flower in her hair. She dropped her hand with a scowl. Jack was irritating but he had saved her life, and since the very beginning had showed her kindness.
Perhaps it would be good if she did the same. Lost in thought, she was barely aware of his return, not until he sank down beside her with a grunt. He offered her a large, pale green leaf he’d folded several times.
“Found a bit of water, luckily enough.” Rochelle took the leaf, tilting it until the water trickled out.
“Thank you,” she said, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. “For everything.”
“Just doing what I can.” Jack shrugged, and leaned forward to grab one of the passion fruit he’d gathered. He stopped short, fingers inches from one of the purple orbs, trying to suppress a pained grunt. He took a deep breath, snatched the fruit from the pile and sat up.
Rochelle turned on him quickly, “You’re hurt.”
“No, it’s nothing. Just a twinge.” He shook his head, pulling out his knife and halving the fruit.
She sighed and glared at his profile. “You’re hurt. Let me see.”
“No.”
“Jack,” she warned.
“I promise I’m fi - STOP!” He yelled as Rochelle darted forward, fingers gripping the hem of his shirt and lifting it up.
His stomach was just as tanned and leanly muscular as the rest of him, and his side was covered in a mottled red bruise that was slowly darkening to a deep purple. It was roughly the size of Rochelle’s hands put together, and looked extremely painful.
“You are hurt, you liar.” She continued to inspect the contusion, also noting a few jagged white lines marring the skin of his back. She suspected there were more.
“It’s just a bruise. It’s fine.” He tried to yank down his shirt, but Rochelle wouldn’t let go.
“What if it’s more serious?”
“Don’t worry girly, I’ve had a bruised rib or two in my day, this is nothing.” He caught her eye, nodded encouragingly, and gently removed her hand from the hem of his shirt. “Takes more than that to get the better of me.”
“And the scars?”
Jack had finished cutting the passion fruit, but stopped with it halfway to his mouth. He lowered it to his lap and sighed.
“Even if they take pity on you for pirating, decide to ‘rehabilitate’; the fact still remains you were a pirate and need to be punished.”
“They whipped you?” She swallowed thickly, uneasy with the realization. “I’m so sorry, Jack.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “It’s alright, you didn’t do it.”
“My father is the Commodore, he likely ordered it.” Rochelle kept her eyes focused on Jack, expecting him to be repulsed by that fact; she thought she would be, in his shoes, though the knowledge wasn’t knew to him. As it was he only shrugged, looking at her from the corner of his eye.
“Still isn't your fault.” Jack finally ate the passion fruit, relishing it for a moment, and rose slowly when he was finished. “If you’d be so kind as to carry those?” he nodded toward the smile pile of fruit in front of them. “We’ll eat and salvage what we can on the beach. Should be able to make some cover for the night, and in the morning we’ll work on a raft.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It is.“ He grinned. “We have something to eat, something to drink, and a knife. What more do we need?”
“A rescue boat would be nice.”
“Come now, where’s the adventure in that?” He winked at her, and started leading the way back to the beach.
***
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No, I forbid it!” Rochelle stamped her foot to emphasize her order, but any authority was belied as it sank into the sand.
Jack sighed wearily, hand shielding his eyes. “Look, princess-“
She glared up at him, hands on her hips. “I am not a princess.”
He sighed again. “I appreciate your concern, but fighting with me over this doesn’t do either of us any good. Besides, do you really want to try dragging everything up the beach on your own?”
“But you’re injured, what if you do more damage. What if-“
“There’s no damage to be done, I’m just sore. The fact remains that even if I were seriously injured I would still need to pull my weight. At the end of the day we are still stuck on a small island that has limited resources for two people. We need to do what we can to get off of it, to get to the larger ones.”
“Islands that you think are there.”
“I saw them, I know they’re there.”
Rochelle frowned, looking out at the seemingly endless ocean. “What if there’s nothing there? No water, no fruit? What then?” She turned back to Jack.
“There will be, bigger island, better chances for water and food.” He looked at her seriously, eyes hard. “I know this is a lot to ask, but I need you to trust me. This is all I know, sailing and surviving. Do you trust me?”
“Yes.” It surprised her how quickly, and how easily, the word slipped from her mouth. She realized, with a bit of a shock, that she truly did. Little wonder when he had saved her life, she told herself. “I do trust you.”
“Good, now come on, let’s see if we can salvage anything off the broken mast.”
They worked all through the afternoon and into the evening; first hauling the planks and what ever else had washed ashore from the wreckage, along with the top of the mast that had gotten them to land. Then it was time to set up a small shelter for the night, using palm leaves and reeds and some of the planks of wood, she helped Jack construct a lean-to.
As Rochelle gathered up dry sticks and bark for a fire, Jack disappeared into the jungle. He was gone longer than Rochelle would’ve thought, and when he finally returned it was with another large leaf folded to carry water and a few tubular things that looked like roots. Rochelle drank the water gratefully while he set about starting a fire.
It took a few tries before the dried husks of the trees caught, but eventually he had a roaring bonfire set in the ring of rocks they’d gathered earlier. Jack sat back, shoulders slumping in exhaustion.
“Wish I would’ve tried to catch a fish. Oh well, in the morning.” He looked at her and nodded.
Silence settled over them as the sun disappeared, darkness creeping in around them. The sky shifted from blue to orange and pink to navy, stars blinking into existence and winking down at them.
“I climbed the ridge again, got a better look at the islands without the noonday sun in my eyes. They’re not that far, should be half a day on a raft if the tide is with us.”
“If it isn’t?”
“Then we’ll have to paddle.”
They ate the rest of the passion fruit, and the things Jack had returned with; he explained they were called “yuca”, and he cooked them in the fire before peeling back the rough skins. The inside was white and dense like a potato.
When the stars were out completely, Jack laid back to gaze up at them, one hand tracing them as he muttered under his breath. Rochelle watched him, his profile illuminated by the fire. After sometime Jack sat up again, and drew a map in the sand by the fire while everything was fresh in his mind. Eventually he looked up at her.
“The good news is that I don’t think we were blown terribly off course from where the ship went down.”
“And the bad news?”
“I don’t think these islands are documented anywhere. At least not by the Navy, and not by my old cap’n.”
Rochelle pressed her knuckles to her lips, nose wrinkling. “So we’re lost?”
“Not exactly. As I said there’s a good chance the islands are known by someone.”
“Pirates,” she said.
Jack nodded slowly. “Though we don’t know about the captain and the longboats, and we were just a week from Charlestown. Your father will likely know about the storm and send out search parties when we don’t make the deadline.”
“That could take weeks and weeks though.” Rochelle deflated, slowly letting out a breath.
“We can’t be defeated until we move onto the bigger island, alright? We don’t know exactly what’s over there, it could be a veritable paradise.” He grinned. “With an abundance of fruits and wild game and inlets full of fish, and perhaps even a servant or two to bring everything to us.” Jack waved a hand airily, grinning a bit wider, his eyes glinting in the firelight.
“I should never have come…”
“Because you caused the storm? You know it’s only a superstition about women on ships, right?” She glared. He laughed.
“I only meant we wouldn’t be stuck here. If I’d not come then you wouldn’t have saved me, and you wouldn’t be stuck.”
“Might still have ended up here, but with decidedly less pleasant company.” He shielded his mouth with one hand. “Could be stuck here with Captain Smithson,” he whispered dramatically.
Rochelle snorted a laugh, still feeling rather sorry for herself… and for Jack. “I don’t see how you can joke about it? This is serious.”
“Aye, that it is. But joking is how I’ve survived this long; helps me get by.” She looked at Jack then, really looked; she only realized then that he could hardly be much older than she was, twenty or twenty-two at the most.
“Where are you from Jack?” She paused. “Do you even have a surname?”
“Well, near as I can tell, I was born in Antigua. It’s where the Cap’n found me, and what I knew for as long as I can remember.” He leaned back, hands splayed behind him, feet stretched toward the fire. “Don’t know about my father or my surname; never was sure if he was a naval man, an endeared criminal, or a pirate. Likely the latter though. My mother was a whore, she never really cared for me, grew up the streets mainly. I tried to pickpocket the Cap’n when I was eight; instead of cutting off my hand, he decided I’d do well put to work.”
“Was with him twelve years before the Navy took us in, he was like a father to me,“ he said quietly, eyes on the stars. “He taught me so much, and I wouldn't have lived past my tenth year if not for him. I miss him.”
“I lost my mother when I was a child. My father was always gone, and he journeyed out here when I was four. He wanted my mother and I to come along, but mother was too sick, and she died when I was seven. I was raised by governesses after.”
“Your father never returned?”
“No.” She shook her head, brushed back her hair from her face. “Some people thought it was cold, that he should have come for me. But I think it was too painful for him, too much guilt because he didn’t see her in the end. At least I hope that’s why. Everyone who knew my mother tells me that I look exactly like her.”
Her voice had grown quiet as she tried to remember her mother, the only thing that clearly came to mind was a hummed song while she had done needlework. She shivered, not sure if it was from the memory or the breeze blowing in from the ocean.
“Let’s get some sleep, hm?“ Jack stood, heading to the shelter of the lean-to, and offered her a hand up. She took it, standing slowly as her feet sank into the dry sand. His hand was strong and warm and she found herself reluctant to let go. Thinking over his earlier words, she realized of all the people she could’ve ended up stranded with, she was thankful it was Jack.
They settled down on the reeds and leaves she’d scattered as a mat to protect against sand. She was startled when Jack threw an arm around her waist and pulled her firmly against him.
“What do you think-“
“Relax, shared body heat. I saw you shiver. I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself.” She huffed, but was grateful for his warmth, and soon fell into a deep sleep.
***
Rochelle’s dreams were full of unpleasant things.
First she was a child, hovering near her mother’s bed, begging for her to come back… to not leave her alone. Then she was older, in the foyer, reading her father’s joyless notes; wishing he would - or could - offer comfort.
The house melted away to a beach, the blazing sun overhead, her eyes stinging with tears as she tried to wake Jack, but no matter how much she begged and prodded and screamed and cried, he wouldn’t come to. She gasped for breath, her tears choking, her world quiet save a hollow whirring in her ears, her lungs aching in desperate need of air. She sat up with a start, taking in gulps of air. It took a moment to realize where she was, and then another for the knowledge that she was alone to sink in.
“Jack?” she whispered, looking around their small encampment. The fire was spent, only the ashes remaining. Frantically her eyes darted down to the beach, he wasn’t there. Scrambling to her feet she raced from the lean-to, hoping to get a clearer view of things. “Jack!” she called again, more panicked.
“Rochelle?” his voice sounded behind her. She turned quickly, found him blinking at her in confusion, wholly alive. She rushed up to him and hugged him hard.
“I dreamt… and I thought you were dead… on the beach, and I was alone. I don’t want to be alone.”
Jack slowly stroked her hair, patient until she calmed a bit. “It was just a dream, it’s alright.” He pulled back, hands on her shoulders, and looked her in the eye. “I promise I’m not going anywhere.”
Rochelle stared at him, well aware of the warmth of his hands through her chemise, and how clear his eyes were as they locked with hers. After several moments she became all too aware how close they were, how inappropriate she had been, and how undressed they both were. Her eyes darted down to his bare chest, and she stepped back.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It was just a bad dream, I’m sorry.” She leaned around, trying to see what he had been doing.
“I’m piecing together a raft, I figured I would work in the shade as long as I could.” He nodded toward the pile of planks.
“Is there anything I can do?” She met his gaze, slowly feeling less silly.
“Do you remember how to get to the tree with the fruit?”
“Yes.”
“Once you’re there, you’ll see my path from yesterday. If you go just a little ways you’ll see the small pool of fresh water.” He handed her two folded leaves. “Take these and get that, I’ll go see if I can catch us a fish for breakfast.”
“Alright,” she nodded, clutching the leaves to her chest. She started heading into the jungle when Jack called her name.
“You’re sure you’re alright?”
“Yes, thank you.” She smiled and ducked into the brush.
It was cooler in the shade of the trees, and quiet. She took the time to collect herself, walking slowly along the path they had tread the day before, reminding herself she had been a silly child.
Eventually she came upon the small clearly with the tree, the passion fruit vine growing up the side. Rochelle eyed it for a while. Deciding she wanted to prove something to herself, and oddly enough, to Jack, she sat down the leaves and tucked the ends of her chemise in on themselves.
Bare legged and determined, she moved toward the tree and set about climbing it. As a child she had gotten into trouble a handful of times for climbing trees - her mother getting angry for ruining her dress - and found it came back quickly. In little time she was leveling out on a high branch, right in front of a crop of ripe fruit.
Rochelle quickly picked the fruit, dropping them below, and scurried back down, extremely pleased. She unfolded her skirts, carefully making a basket to carrying her boon. Then she found Jack’s path and moved onto the pool. Carefully she filled one of the leaves, lifting it to her lips and slowly drinking her fill.
Her walk back was a juggling act between her harvest of passion fruit and the two containers of water, and slow going. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been gone when she finally stumbled back onto the beach, but she found Jack had already started a fire and was roasting fish on a makeshift spit.
“You picked fruit?”
“I did!” She stood up a bit straighter, rather proud of herself. “Are you shocked?”
“No, always knew you weren’t just another delicate little miss.” He grinned as she sat down.
Rochelle offered up a weak glare; annoyed and confused at the flutter in her stomach when his hand brushed hers as she handed over a water pouch. They ate in silence, both happy to have fresh fish. After they’d picked the bones clean and washed their hands in the ocean. It was time to get down to work.
Jack hauled planks and pieces of wood, laying them out. He set Rochelle to work braiding reeds in place of rope - for once her years spent embroidering and making doilies were put to good use.
As her fingers traced through the patterns, she let her mind wander. She imagined sitting on a veranda, watching the sapphire blue ocean lapping at the golden shore, sipping tea. She’d had the daydream before, thinking what it would be like in the West Indies, spending time with her father. This time though she surprised herself, instead of her father sitting at her side, chatting with her, it was Jack.
Rochelle shook herself a little and focused on him, watching as he thatched together two planks. He’d moved down the beach a bit, closer to the water. The sun made his hair glow like a yellow halo, and glinted off the sheen of sweat covering his bare back.
Against her better judgment, her gaze drifted across the expanse of his back; watching sinewy muscles move as he lifted a board. She tried not to stare too much, afraid he might catch her staring, but it was oddly difficult to look away. It was only as these concerns crossed her mind that she realized he was calling her name. She fought a fierce blush as she lifted her gaze to his laughing face.
“Are those ready?” he nodded toward the reeds in her hand.
“I, uh, yes. They are.” Jack sauntered over to her, quirking a brow as he took the braided rope from her. “Any reason you were staring?”
“I was only trying to check on your bruise.”
He grinned, “That’s here.” He lifted his arm, turning slightly to make it more visible. It looked a bit better than it had the previous day, but not much and she winced.
“It’s fine, you can stare.”
She scrunched her face in annoyance. “Ass!”
“Mmm,” he gave a low whistle. “Now that’s not very ladylike.”
She sat up straight, trying to look as prim as humanly possible. “Well if I see any gentleman around here, I will be sure to act accordingly.”
Jack tilted back his head and laughed. Shaking his head, he turned toward to the raft, still chuckling. Rochelle tried not to feel too pleased with herself.
SO HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY TO RAE (who can't read this until she gets internet back or is at work).
Title: Shipwrecked.
Pairing: R/J
Rated: R
Warnings: Gratuitous oogling, implied sexytimes, and a dislocated shoulder.
A/N: Part Two, Part Three.
Port of London, 1730
Miss Rochelle Calliope Hawthorne wandered down the bustling thoroughfare, heading toward the docks. Her parasol held by one slim, lace covered hand while the other lifted the hem of her billowing green skirts to keep mud from soiling them completely. Footmen trailed behind her, carrying bags and a large trunk piled high with hat boxes.
Seeing - and hearing - so many uncouth people had her wrinkling her nose in distaste as she skirted by, trying to keep her focus on the large naval ship waiting for her. It was a newly constructed, First Rate ship making its return voyage to the West Indies. Word had come just a few weeks before from her father. Since she had turned eighteen and no longer in need of a Governess, he wished for her to finally join him in Charlestown, on the Leeward Islands.
Rochelle had been surprised at her father’s request, but in a strange way, very happy. She had not seen him for several years, and the idea of such a grand adventure was quite thrilling.
The Captain of the ship, Mr. Smithson, was waiting for her on the docks. His blue frock coat was perfectly pressed, the large gold buttons polished to a high sheen. He doffed his hat, offering her a formal bow.
“Miss Hawthorne, might I say it is a pleasure to be escorting on your trip. I ensure you will we do our best to make it a swift and comfortable voyage.”
“Thank you, captain.” She dipped into a low curtsey.
“If you will follow me? I’ll be happy to show you to your quarters.” She inclined her head, closing her parasol as she started after him up the gangway, her footmen in tow.
Leveling out on the deck of the ship, Rochelle saw men rushing back and forth; some were carrying supplies, others hauling lines and prepping sails. It seemed like utter chaos to a casual observer, but she knew enough about ships and their crews to realize how truly organized and thorough the men were.
As she walked toward the door leading below deck, she saw a few men who were not dressed in uniform. She frowned at this, confused. Rochelle laid a hand on the Captain’s arm, nodding toward the men with an arched brow.
“Oh, they’re not part of the Royal Navy, marm.” Smithson looked very stern as he glanced at one of the men; younger with sun bronzed skin, and pale blond hair. The young man wore a cheeky grin while one of the Officers yelled out an order to him. He gave a mocking salute when the Office turned his back, and Rochelle was able to make out a brand on his muscular forearm.
“A pirate,” she gasped.
“I’m afraid so.” Smithson sighed. “Former men of the Black Flag. Someone, somewhere, thought it a good way to rehabilitate the younger ones, the men whom had little choice in the matter. We have a few on board, but I guarantee there is nothing to worry about.”
Rochelle had kept her eyes on the former pirate, watching as he fell in line with several others to trim the sails. He bent and fastened the rope, using neat, quick movements. When he straightened it was as though he knew someone was watching. He glanced around slowly before his gaze finally landed on her.
As his ocean blue eyes met hers, and he lifted one fair brow. He gave her a long, appreciative look; clear eyes slithering over her from heel to head and back again. Rochelle felt herself fighting an angry flush, glaring at the man for his unseemly behavior.
The Captain was well aware of his lurid glance, his face turning a mottled red in anger. “JACK!” he barked, calling the man over.
With a slow saunter he walked toward the Captain and Rochelle, stopping before them and gave the captain a sloppy salute. As he relaxed again his gaze darted toward Rochelle before focusing fully on Smithson.
“Jack, this is the Commodore’s daughter. She will be joining us for the return voyage. I will have you pay Miss Hawthorn the proper respect or you will be seeing the inside of the brig, is that clear?” Smithson hissed.
“Aye Cap’n!” He grinned serenely, offering another lazy salute.
“Yes, Captain,” the other man stressed.
“Yes, Captain. So sorry.” He offered up a pitying frown, then turned to Rochelle and gave her a surprisingly formal bow. “Miss Hawthorne, I apologize for my abominable behavior.“ He straightened again and met her eyes, Rochelle wrinkled her nose at him and turned on her heel, moving below decks.
***
A week into the voyage found Rochelle on the quarterdeck. It was a quiet night; the sea calm, and most of the sailors asleep below deck. Rochelle had packed several books for the trip, along with needlework and other various things to keep her occupied, but she found herself tiring of them quickly. She longed for a stroll in the gardens with the scent of blooming flowers and clean grass, not the tang of salt air mingled with the musk of so many men in close quarters.
She was studying the stars above her, glittering like gems spilling across the velvety night sky, when a board creaked and she was aware of someone beside her. Rochelle turned with a start, frowning when she found it to be Jack. It seemed she was always running into him, no matter the time of day. He smiled gently, one hand behind his back, the other pointed toward the heaven’s above.
“Ursa Major,” he said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Ursa Major, that’s what you were looking at.” He nodded and stepped a bit closer, his hand still raised to the sky, “You can see the line, there.” His finger traced a pattern. “Next to it is Ursa Minor. Do you see?” He turned his face toward her, smile still in place.
“Yes, I do. Do you know a lot about constellations?”
“I do; had to.” He removed his hand from behind his back, holding two small oranges.
She quirked a brow. “Aren’t those rationed?”
“They are.”
“I will not accept anything pilfered from the stores, thank you.”
“Not pilfered. I was given two for good behavior - shocking, I know.” He shook his head. “I was sharing.”
“Oh.”
Jack tossed one of the oranges into the air, eyes locked with hers, then caught it with his other hand. He held it out to her, balanced on the tips of fingers.
“Thank you.” She eyed him warily as she took the fruit, hand moving slowly. He merely grinned, watching her, then started peeling his own once she had taken hers. She dug her fingernails into the flesh of the orange, the sweet citrus smell tingling her nostrils, and she looked at him from the corner of her eye.
He leaned casually over the side of the ship, arms resting on the rail, dropping bits of the peel into the bubbling water below. One leg was crossed over the other, his short blond curls rustling in the breeze, and his face a mask of indifference. He appeared the perfect picture of a man without a care in the world.
Rochelle watched the way the muscles in his forearm bunched and moved, his long fingers deftly tearing the peel. Finally the last piece of orange peel was dropped into the churning ocean, and he held out the fruit to her. “Trade?” he nodded toward the still unpeeled one in her hands.
“I am perfectly capable of doing it myself.”
“Of course you are, never said you weren’t.” Without another word he plucked the orange from her fingers and replaced it with the peeled one. She frowned slightly, brows knitting together, but broke open the fruit nonetheless and bit into a section. It was sweet and juicy.
“You’re very courteous for a pirate.”
“Ex-pirate,” he corrected with a smirk.
“Amazing you weren’t hanged, I thought that was the practice?”
“Ar, but ‘twas a close thing!” He spoke in a lowered voice, gruff. He shook his head and laughed. “Actually, it was hardly anything of the sort. I was on a pirate ship, yes, had been since I was a child; the captain took me in, I had no family, and paid me as a cabin boy. I worked my way up to navigator - always had a mind for maps and charts. When we were finally taken in, the captain said I wasn’t recruited, but forced into it. One of the officers took pity on my ‘forced slavery’, so I ended up here.” He shrugged, taking a bite his orange.
“That was kind of him, your former captain I mean.”
“He was a kind man, for a ruthless pirate. He taught me how to read and write, a bit of the courtly ways, too.”
“Who was he?”
“Don’t rightfully know. Some said he was a nobleman once, but lost his wife and baby to illness; in his anger he turned to pirating.”
Rochelle frowned. “That’s awful.”
“It is. He was always kind to me, though. I owe him much.”
“Was he… did they?”
Jack looked up at the sky, eyes squinting and mouth a thin line. “I suspect so. I never heard what happened; I was immediately put on a ship to England.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything.”
“No, but I’m sure my father did.” Rochelle looked down, picking at the white pith of her orange. “I should go to bed. Thank you again.” She nodded once, barely meeting his eyes, and turned to leave.
“You’re welcome. Sleep well, Miss Hawthorne.”
“You too, Mister… uh, Jack,” she said and scurried below decks.
***
It seemed to become a bit of a habit; once a week Rochelle found herself on quarterdeck at night, watching the stars and chatting with Jack. They fell into an easy friendship, sometimes he taught her constellations, or she taught him poems. She came to look forward to their meetings, but still the voyage was tedious. It seemed to be taking longer than she could imagine.
They were still a week out from Charlestown when dark clouds appeared on the horizon. There were whispers over what to do, but in the end there was no way to skirt the oncoming storm. It was mid-afternoon when the sky darkened as if it were night, rain pelting the men on deck, the seas rolling and tossing the ship. Panic was not a mark of a Royal Naval man, but panic they did as the waters rose, waves crashing over the decks, all helpless to do anything to stop it.
The masts snapped, cleaving holes in the hull and decks, the ocean rising up to tear the boards away, finishing the job. As the ship took on water, all was chaos as men abandoned posts, searching only for their own survival.
Rochelle had made it to the main deck, confused, frightened, and hoping to find a way out - like all the others. Men jostled her as they rushed past, heading for the longboats. She slipped and skidded along the wet boards to the rail, gripping it tightly to steady herself.
With a lurching roll as a wave hit the side of the ship, Rochelle’s world turned to water. Everything seemed calm, the roaring rush of the wind and waves, the shouts of the men were all gone. Just a quietness that left her more shaken than the raging storm.
She thrashed about, arms and legs flailing as she tried to break the surface, but she didn’t know which direction it was - everything around her was dark, endless blue. She realized she was moving though, her sodden skirts dragging her into the depths.
Then there was a firm hand on her elbow, the flash of a knife that ripped through her skirts, freeing her. She was pulled roughly in another direction, and she kicked with her all her might. Finally she broke the surface of the water, the howl of the storm and the rush of the ocean nearly deafening as she took in sputtering gulps. Salty mists nearly choked her, but she managed to fill her lungs with precious air before a wave crashed over head. She plunged under again, but this time she knew which direction was up and was able to break through the waves again. The rescuing hand was back, gripping her arm and pulling her through the water. She reached out to the person, but met wood instead. A hand closed over hers, willing her to grip the piece of broken mast.
“HOLD ON TIGHT!” Jack yelled close to her ear, but even then his voice was barely a whisper above the roar of the storm.
She nodded and wrapped her arms around the smooth wood, bending her head close to it, eyes shut tight. Jack wound an arm around her, keeping her pressed close while his other went around the mast.
***
Rochelle woke to blinding sunlight, and the echoing sound of birds in the distance. Slowly she became aware of waves, but it was a gentle lapping rather than a rushing crash, and the feel of the sweltering sun burning her fair skin.
Struggling to sit up, she shielded her eyes and looked around. She was on a stretch of beach, the water was clear blue as it kissed the golden shoreline. Behind her were palm trees and other flora she wasn’t sure of.
Bits of debris and driftwood littered the beach, as did a body. Scrambling to her feet, Rochelle rushed to Jack’s side and leaned down, pressing her ear against his chest. There was a strong, steady heartbeat, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Just as she pulled back he started to come to, blinking his eyes against the harsh sunlight as he sat up.
“Oh thank God, you’re alive!” Without thinking, far too joyous to give one whit for propriety, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.
“Doesn’t feel like it.” He coughed and patted her back. “Are you alright?”
Rochelle pulled back, suddenly aware of how forward she had been. She rocked back on her heels and nodded, overly aware that she was only in her chemise. “I am, thanks to you.”
Jack shrugged, shaking his head. “I saw you spill over the edge, I just dived in after you without thinking.” He glanced around the beach. “And don’t thank me just yet, we don’t know where we are.”
“I think ‘thank you’ is very much in order, I would be dead if not for you.”
“Not so bad for a pirate then?”
“Ex-pirate,” she corrected gently.
“Right, ex-pirate.” His lips twitched with amusement then he looked away, as if remembering where they were.
“Could we be near the Leeward Islands?”
“No, we were still too far out.” Jack looked around, found a small stick and started drawing in the sand. “I hadn’t seen our charted course, but I know basically where we were.” He focused on the work at hand, making a rough map in the sand. His brows were furrowed as he concentrated, pausing every so often with eyes closed, trying to remember star positions.
When he was finished he sat looking at his work, left arm resting on his bent knee while he twirled the stick in his right hand.
“Well,” he said slowly, throwing the stick aside and standing. “There’s good news and bad news.”
“Oh dear.” Rochelle took his offered hand and stood as well.
“Mmhm.” He nodded. “Good news is we survived. Bad news is I have no idea where we are. By my guess there’s no way we managed to wash up on a charted island, there weren’t any close enough to where we were. Which makes this one uncharted… and Lord knows it is exactly.”
“So we’re going to die here?” Rochelle’s voice hitched slightly, bordering on hysterical.
“No.” He shook his head and placed his hands on her shoulders, leaning down until he was eye level. “I’m not going to let that happen. We can search for other people from the wreck, maybe there are lifeboats? And I’ll have a better idea of where we are once the stars come out. Besides,” he shrugged, grinning. “Just because it’s uncharted by the Navy doesn’t mean it’s unknown.”
“Pirates?”
“Pirates. They use all sorts of islands in and around here. Someone must know it’s here.”
“Are you sure that’s entirely… safe?”
He looked her up and down, eyes intent like when he’d first surveyed her on the ship. In that moment she became aware of not only the fact she was hardly dressed, but that her chemise was still damp from the sea, clinging to her body like a second skin; only her hair, fallen from its bun like a long, dark sheath, saved what was left of her shredded modesty.
At first Rochelle was incredibly embarrassed, then she noted the way his eyes seemed to darken slightly and a wave of annoyance washed over her. Without thinking she lifted her hand, slapping him hard across the face.
Jack’s head whipped to one side with the force of it; he kept his face turned a moment, eyes focused on the trees, before a small smile started pulling at the corner of his mouth. He looked back to Rochelle, eyes light and grin in place.
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” He brushed past her, heading down the beach.
“Where on Earth are you going!?”
“To scout the island,” he called over his shoulder.
“You’re leaving me alone!?” Suddenly fear gripped her, panic rising. It never occurred to her to think she hadn’t once been afraid of Jack.
“I’ll be back, don’t fret.” He continued walking, hardly sparing her a glance.
Rochelle stood there, feet sinking into the dry sand, arms crossed obstinately. He was toying with her, of that she was sure. She would hardly give him the satisfaction of giving into her fears like some wilting little miss.
There was something rustling in the bushes, it sounded large, and most likely something she didn’t want to deal with. Taking a deep breath Rochelle raced forward. She caught Jack up quickly and fell in step next to him. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye.
“You might need help,” she said, nose in the air. Jack raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
***
Not terribly far from their stretch of beach was a rock formation that jutted out, looking over land and sea. It took a fair bit of time to climb the rocky slope, and the sun was riding high in the sky when they finally emerged at the peak. The island didn’t seem to be overly large, it was ringed with a beach, the only break was the rocky hill, and the center was heavily wooded.
Climbing up onto the small ledge at the top, Jack squinted against the sun as he looked at the area surrounding the island. Something caught his attention and he lifted one hand to shield his eyes, leaning as far as he could without tumbling into the waters below.
“I think there’s another island over there. Actually I think there might be a couple… what I wouldn’t give for a spyglass.”
“Be careful, Jack.” Rochelle had one hand out, ready to grab his shirt should he fall over the edge.
“I’m fine,” he said absently, trying to focus on the island in the distance. “I’ll know better once I can see the stars, those never change. But I might have an idea where we are, now. I think the best bet will be to build us a raft and get over there.” He pointed.
“Are you mad?”
“Not at all.” He turned around and jumped down, grinning at Rochelle. “Building a raft will be easy.”
“We haven’t any supplies! We need timber and rope and.. and other things!” She waved her hands, annoyed.
“Of course we do. It’s all down there.” He jerked his head toward the center of the island.
“You’re mad!”
“Perhaps, but only a wee bit.” He winked and started back down the slope. “Come along, let’s find something to eat and hopefully some fresh water.” Rochelle glared at his back but followed nonetheless, water sounded lovely as did something to eat.
***
“What in heaven’s name is it?” Rochelle wrinkled her nose as Jack held out the thing to her. He had been quite happy when he found a fruit that looked a bit like plums; the flesh a dark, bruised purple. But once he cracked one open, she’d found the inside to be a gelatinous yellow-green like what one might find in their hanky.
“I will not eat that.” She informed curly, backing away slightly. Her stomach growled and Jack grinned.
He held it out again, nodding encouragingly. “Just try it, princess.”
“I think not! It looks like… like maggots!” She shook her head, dark hair swaying.
His blue eyes turned a shade darker, and his grin turned just a bit dangerous. “Go on, I dare you.”
Rochelle pulled herself up to her full height, back ramrod straight. Her nostrils flared, and she glared up at Jack’s smiling face. She would not let him get the upper hand! Lips pursed and eyes cool, she reached out and snatched the fruit from his palm.
“Just the inside,” he told her, amused.
Continuing to glare at him, she took a small nibble of the fleshy inside. The berry or seed, she wasn’t sure what to call it, burst in her mouth in a flavorful explosion. The juice and flesh were sweet, with a slightly sour bite that was entirely pleasant, and the smell was intoxicating.
Simply put: it was delicious.
However, she was not about to tell him that. She shrugged delicately and took another nibble. “It’s fine, it will do.”
“Fine, whatever you say.” Jack handed her the other half of the fruit, already looking for more. Rochelle realized the fruit grew on a vine, however it was climbing the trunk of a tree like lattice, and the majority of the delicious little orbs were high up.
Jack heaved a defeated sigh and scurried up the tree, but Rochelle ignored him as she ate the fruit. She didn’t think they could subsist wholly on them, but they would do well enough to take away the rumbling in her stomach. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Jack thumped down next to her from a branch above, his arms laden with the fruit and cocky grin in place.
He looked at her with fringed innocence, “Didn’t scare you, did I?”
“Not at all,” she huffed.
“Good.” He couched down, dropping the fruits into a small pile and picked one up, halving it with deft hands. “It’s lucky to find these, they’re good for quenching your thirst, but we still need to find some water.”
“What are they called?”
Jack looked up and held out two fresh halves for her, “Passion fruit.”
Rochelle frowned thoughtfully, but still took the fruit. “Why is that?” Her only response was a waggle of an eyebrow. She rolled her eyes, “Please, like you expect me to believe this will magically make me find you roguishly handsome and completely irresistible?”
“No, it’s named after Passion Flowers.” Jack glanced around, looking for something. He let out a soft, ‘ah ha’, when he found it and got up. He returned a moment later, a flower cupped in his hand.
He held it out for Rochelle to inspect. The bloom was strange; from the stem, sprouted ten open petals a rich, midnight purple, the center was a halo of stamen that started as a pale lavender and turned darker at the tips. It was so different from anything she’d ever seen in the gardens at home. But whether because of its strangeness or in spite of it, she found the bloom quite beautiful.
She looked up at Jack from under a fan of lashes. “It’s lovely.”
“Aye, ‘tis that.” He reached up, tucking the flower behind her ear. “And no, the passion fruit won’t make you think I’m ‘roguishly handsome’.” He leaned in close enough for Rochelle to feel his breath tickling her chin. “You already do,” he winked and straightened up.
She frowned at him, nose wrinkling. “Infuriating man. You think so highly of yourself, don’t you?”
“Not as highly as you do!” He sing-songed, disappearing into the jungle. “Stay there, I’m going to look for some water.” Rochelle growled at him under her breath, and flounced down on a fallen log.
She sat, stewing over the arrogant man, and finished the second piece of fruit; only when she had tossed aside the husks did she realize she was absently playing with the flower in her hair. She dropped her hand with a scowl. Jack was irritating but he had saved her life, and since the very beginning had showed her kindness.
Perhaps it would be good if she did the same. Lost in thought, she was barely aware of his return, not until he sank down beside her with a grunt. He offered her a large, pale green leaf he’d folded several times.
“Found a bit of water, luckily enough.” Rochelle took the leaf, tilting it until the water trickled out.
“Thank you,” she said, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. “For everything.”
“Just doing what I can.” Jack shrugged, and leaned forward to grab one of the passion fruit he’d gathered. He stopped short, fingers inches from one of the purple orbs, trying to suppress a pained grunt. He took a deep breath, snatched the fruit from the pile and sat up.
Rochelle turned on him quickly, “You’re hurt.”
“No, it’s nothing. Just a twinge.” He shook his head, pulling out his knife and halving the fruit.
She sighed and glared at his profile. “You’re hurt. Let me see.”
“No.”
“Jack,” she warned.
“I promise I’m fi - STOP!” He yelled as Rochelle darted forward, fingers gripping the hem of his shirt and lifting it up.
His stomach was just as tanned and leanly muscular as the rest of him, and his side was covered in a mottled red bruise that was slowly darkening to a deep purple. It was roughly the size of Rochelle’s hands put together, and looked extremely painful.
“You are hurt, you liar.” She continued to inspect the contusion, also noting a few jagged white lines marring the skin of his back. She suspected there were more.
“It’s just a bruise. It’s fine.” He tried to yank down his shirt, but Rochelle wouldn’t let go.
“What if it’s more serious?”
“Don’t worry girly, I’ve had a bruised rib or two in my day, this is nothing.” He caught her eye, nodded encouragingly, and gently removed her hand from the hem of his shirt. “Takes more than that to get the better of me.”
“And the scars?”
Jack had finished cutting the passion fruit, but stopped with it halfway to his mouth. He lowered it to his lap and sighed.
“Even if they take pity on you for pirating, decide to ‘rehabilitate’; the fact still remains you were a pirate and need to be punished.”
“They whipped you?” She swallowed thickly, uneasy with the realization. “I’m so sorry, Jack.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “It’s alright, you didn’t do it.”
“My father is the Commodore, he likely ordered it.” Rochelle kept her eyes focused on Jack, expecting him to be repulsed by that fact; she thought she would be, in his shoes, though the knowledge wasn’t knew to him. As it was he only shrugged, looking at her from the corner of his eye.
“Still isn't your fault.” Jack finally ate the passion fruit, relishing it for a moment, and rose slowly when he was finished. “If you’d be so kind as to carry those?” he nodded toward the smile pile of fruit in front of them. “We’ll eat and salvage what we can on the beach. Should be able to make some cover for the night, and in the morning we’ll work on a raft.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It is.“ He grinned. “We have something to eat, something to drink, and a knife. What more do we need?”
“A rescue boat would be nice.”
“Come now, where’s the adventure in that?” He winked at her, and started leading the way back to the beach.
***
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No, I forbid it!” Rochelle stamped her foot to emphasize her order, but any authority was belied as it sank into the sand.
Jack sighed wearily, hand shielding his eyes. “Look, princess-“
She glared up at him, hands on her hips. “I am not a princess.”
He sighed again. “I appreciate your concern, but fighting with me over this doesn’t do either of us any good. Besides, do you really want to try dragging everything up the beach on your own?”
“But you’re injured, what if you do more damage. What if-“
“There’s no damage to be done, I’m just sore. The fact remains that even if I were seriously injured I would still need to pull my weight. At the end of the day we are still stuck on a small island that has limited resources for two people. We need to do what we can to get off of it, to get to the larger ones.”
“Islands that you think are there.”
“I saw them, I know they’re there.”
Rochelle frowned, looking out at the seemingly endless ocean. “What if there’s nothing there? No water, no fruit? What then?” She turned back to Jack.
“There will be, bigger island, better chances for water and food.” He looked at her seriously, eyes hard. “I know this is a lot to ask, but I need you to trust me. This is all I know, sailing and surviving. Do you trust me?”
“Yes.” It surprised her how quickly, and how easily, the word slipped from her mouth. She realized, with a bit of a shock, that she truly did. Little wonder when he had saved her life, she told herself. “I do trust you.”
“Good, now come on, let’s see if we can salvage anything off the broken mast.”
They worked all through the afternoon and into the evening; first hauling the planks and what ever else had washed ashore from the wreckage, along with the top of the mast that had gotten them to land. Then it was time to set up a small shelter for the night, using palm leaves and reeds and some of the planks of wood, she helped Jack construct a lean-to.
As Rochelle gathered up dry sticks and bark for a fire, Jack disappeared into the jungle. He was gone longer than Rochelle would’ve thought, and when he finally returned it was with another large leaf folded to carry water and a few tubular things that looked like roots. Rochelle drank the water gratefully while he set about starting a fire.
It took a few tries before the dried husks of the trees caught, but eventually he had a roaring bonfire set in the ring of rocks they’d gathered earlier. Jack sat back, shoulders slumping in exhaustion.
“Wish I would’ve tried to catch a fish. Oh well, in the morning.” He looked at her and nodded.
Silence settled over them as the sun disappeared, darkness creeping in around them. The sky shifted from blue to orange and pink to navy, stars blinking into existence and winking down at them.
“I climbed the ridge again, got a better look at the islands without the noonday sun in my eyes. They’re not that far, should be half a day on a raft if the tide is with us.”
“If it isn’t?”
“Then we’ll have to paddle.”
They ate the rest of the passion fruit, and the things Jack had returned with; he explained they were called “yuca”, and he cooked them in the fire before peeling back the rough skins. The inside was white and dense like a potato.
When the stars were out completely, Jack laid back to gaze up at them, one hand tracing them as he muttered under his breath. Rochelle watched him, his profile illuminated by the fire. After sometime Jack sat up again, and drew a map in the sand by the fire while everything was fresh in his mind. Eventually he looked up at her.
“The good news is that I don’t think we were blown terribly off course from where the ship went down.”
“And the bad news?”
“I don’t think these islands are documented anywhere. At least not by the Navy, and not by my old cap’n.”
Rochelle pressed her knuckles to her lips, nose wrinkling. “So we’re lost?”
“Not exactly. As I said there’s a good chance the islands are known by someone.”
“Pirates,” she said.
Jack nodded slowly. “Though we don’t know about the captain and the longboats, and we were just a week from Charlestown. Your father will likely know about the storm and send out search parties when we don’t make the deadline.”
“That could take weeks and weeks though.” Rochelle deflated, slowly letting out a breath.
“We can’t be defeated until we move onto the bigger island, alright? We don’t know exactly what’s over there, it could be a veritable paradise.” He grinned. “With an abundance of fruits and wild game and inlets full of fish, and perhaps even a servant or two to bring everything to us.” Jack waved a hand airily, grinning a bit wider, his eyes glinting in the firelight.
“I should never have come…”
“Because you caused the storm? You know it’s only a superstition about women on ships, right?” She glared. He laughed.
“I only meant we wouldn’t be stuck here. If I’d not come then you wouldn’t have saved me, and you wouldn’t be stuck.”
“Might still have ended up here, but with decidedly less pleasant company.” He shielded his mouth with one hand. “Could be stuck here with Captain Smithson,” he whispered dramatically.
Rochelle snorted a laugh, still feeling rather sorry for herself… and for Jack. “I don’t see how you can joke about it? This is serious.”
“Aye, that it is. But joking is how I’ve survived this long; helps me get by.” She looked at Jack then, really looked; she only realized then that he could hardly be much older than she was, twenty or twenty-two at the most.
“Where are you from Jack?” She paused. “Do you even have a surname?”
“Well, near as I can tell, I was born in Antigua. It’s where the Cap’n found me, and what I knew for as long as I can remember.” He leaned back, hands splayed behind him, feet stretched toward the fire. “Don’t know about my father or my surname; never was sure if he was a naval man, an endeared criminal, or a pirate. Likely the latter though. My mother was a whore, she never really cared for me, grew up the streets mainly. I tried to pickpocket the Cap’n when I was eight; instead of cutting off my hand, he decided I’d do well put to work.”
“Was with him twelve years before the Navy took us in, he was like a father to me,“ he said quietly, eyes on the stars. “He taught me so much, and I wouldn't have lived past my tenth year if not for him. I miss him.”
“I lost my mother when I was a child. My father was always gone, and he journeyed out here when I was four. He wanted my mother and I to come along, but mother was too sick, and she died when I was seven. I was raised by governesses after.”
“Your father never returned?”
“No.” She shook her head, brushed back her hair from her face. “Some people thought it was cold, that he should have come for me. But I think it was too painful for him, too much guilt because he didn’t see her in the end. At least I hope that’s why. Everyone who knew my mother tells me that I look exactly like her.”
Her voice had grown quiet as she tried to remember her mother, the only thing that clearly came to mind was a hummed song while she had done needlework. She shivered, not sure if it was from the memory or the breeze blowing in from the ocean.
“Let’s get some sleep, hm?“ Jack stood, heading to the shelter of the lean-to, and offered her a hand up. She took it, standing slowly as her feet sank into the dry sand. His hand was strong and warm and she found herself reluctant to let go. Thinking over his earlier words, she realized of all the people she could’ve ended up stranded with, she was thankful it was Jack.
They settled down on the reeds and leaves she’d scattered as a mat to protect against sand. She was startled when Jack threw an arm around her waist and pulled her firmly against him.
“What do you think-“
“Relax, shared body heat. I saw you shiver. I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself.” She huffed, but was grateful for his warmth, and soon fell into a deep sleep.
***
Rochelle’s dreams were full of unpleasant things.
First she was a child, hovering near her mother’s bed, begging for her to come back… to not leave her alone. Then she was older, in the foyer, reading her father’s joyless notes; wishing he would - or could - offer comfort.
The house melted away to a beach, the blazing sun overhead, her eyes stinging with tears as she tried to wake Jack, but no matter how much she begged and prodded and screamed and cried, he wouldn’t come to. She gasped for breath, her tears choking, her world quiet save a hollow whirring in her ears, her lungs aching in desperate need of air. She sat up with a start, taking in gulps of air. It took a moment to realize where she was, and then another for the knowledge that she was alone to sink in.
“Jack?” she whispered, looking around their small encampment. The fire was spent, only the ashes remaining. Frantically her eyes darted down to the beach, he wasn’t there. Scrambling to her feet she raced from the lean-to, hoping to get a clearer view of things. “Jack!” she called again, more panicked.
“Rochelle?” his voice sounded behind her. She turned quickly, found him blinking at her in confusion, wholly alive. She rushed up to him and hugged him hard.
“I dreamt… and I thought you were dead… on the beach, and I was alone. I don’t want to be alone.”
Jack slowly stroked her hair, patient until she calmed a bit. “It was just a dream, it’s alright.” He pulled back, hands on her shoulders, and looked her in the eye. “I promise I’m not going anywhere.”
Rochelle stared at him, well aware of the warmth of his hands through her chemise, and how clear his eyes were as they locked with hers. After several moments she became all too aware how close they were, how inappropriate she had been, and how undressed they both were. Her eyes darted down to his bare chest, and she stepped back.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It was just a bad dream, I’m sorry.” She leaned around, trying to see what he had been doing.
“I’m piecing together a raft, I figured I would work in the shade as long as I could.” He nodded toward the pile of planks.
“Is there anything I can do?” She met his gaze, slowly feeling less silly.
“Do you remember how to get to the tree with the fruit?”
“Yes.”
“Once you’re there, you’ll see my path from yesterday. If you go just a little ways you’ll see the small pool of fresh water.” He handed her two folded leaves. “Take these and get that, I’ll go see if I can catch us a fish for breakfast.”
“Alright,” she nodded, clutching the leaves to her chest. She started heading into the jungle when Jack called her name.
“You’re sure you’re alright?”
“Yes, thank you.” She smiled and ducked into the brush.
It was cooler in the shade of the trees, and quiet. She took the time to collect herself, walking slowly along the path they had tread the day before, reminding herself she had been a silly child.
Eventually she came upon the small clearly with the tree, the passion fruit vine growing up the side. Rochelle eyed it for a while. Deciding she wanted to prove something to herself, and oddly enough, to Jack, she sat down the leaves and tucked the ends of her chemise in on themselves.
Bare legged and determined, she moved toward the tree and set about climbing it. As a child she had gotten into trouble a handful of times for climbing trees - her mother getting angry for ruining her dress - and found it came back quickly. In little time she was leveling out on a high branch, right in front of a crop of ripe fruit.
Rochelle quickly picked the fruit, dropping them below, and scurried back down, extremely pleased. She unfolded her skirts, carefully making a basket to carrying her boon. Then she found Jack’s path and moved onto the pool. Carefully she filled one of the leaves, lifting it to her lips and slowly drinking her fill.
Her walk back was a juggling act between her harvest of passion fruit and the two containers of water, and slow going. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been gone when she finally stumbled back onto the beach, but she found Jack had already started a fire and was roasting fish on a makeshift spit.
“You picked fruit?”
“I did!” She stood up a bit straighter, rather proud of herself. “Are you shocked?”
“No, always knew you weren’t just another delicate little miss.” He grinned as she sat down.
Rochelle offered up a weak glare; annoyed and confused at the flutter in her stomach when his hand brushed hers as she handed over a water pouch. They ate in silence, both happy to have fresh fish. After they’d picked the bones clean and washed their hands in the ocean. It was time to get down to work.
Jack hauled planks and pieces of wood, laying them out. He set Rochelle to work braiding reeds in place of rope - for once her years spent embroidering and making doilies were put to good use.
As her fingers traced through the patterns, she let her mind wander. She imagined sitting on a veranda, watching the sapphire blue ocean lapping at the golden shore, sipping tea. She’d had the daydream before, thinking what it would be like in the West Indies, spending time with her father. This time though she surprised herself, instead of her father sitting at her side, chatting with her, it was Jack.
Rochelle shook herself a little and focused on him, watching as he thatched together two planks. He’d moved down the beach a bit, closer to the water. The sun made his hair glow like a yellow halo, and glinted off the sheen of sweat covering his bare back.
Against her better judgment, her gaze drifted across the expanse of his back; watching sinewy muscles move as he lifted a board. She tried not to stare too much, afraid he might catch her staring, but it was oddly difficult to look away. It was only as these concerns crossed her mind that she realized he was calling her name. She fought a fierce blush as she lifted her gaze to his laughing face.
“Are those ready?” he nodded toward the reeds in her hand.
“I, uh, yes. They are.” Jack sauntered over to her, quirking a brow as he took the braided rope from her. “Any reason you were staring?”
“I was only trying to check on your bruise.”
He grinned, “That’s here.” He lifted his arm, turning slightly to make it more visible. It looked a bit better than it had the previous day, but not much and she winced.
“It’s fine, you can stare.”
She scrunched her face in annoyance. “Ass!”
“Mmm,” he gave a low whistle. “Now that’s not very ladylike.”
She sat up straight, trying to look as prim as humanly possible. “Well if I see any gentleman around here, I will be sure to act accordingly.”
Jack tilted back his head and laughed. Shaking his head, he turned toward to the raft, still chuckling. Rochelle tried not to feel too pleased with herself.