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The decks of the Dauntless are uncharacteristically still, with the bulk of its crew retired below decks, thoroughly exhausted from the events of the last several days. Though far below the scope of his command, James had assumed the graveyard shift of patrolling duties for the remainder of their journey back to Port Royal. The ghastly revelations of the previous evening had made his mariners understandably wary of the moonlight hours, and James finds he quite enjoys the solitude.
His recent undertaking had also provided him a compelling justification to encourage Elizabeth—who could undoubtedly benefit from some proper rest and recovery—to take his quarters as her own. She had initially refused, which he’d expected; then accepted with the condition that he share them with her, which he had not. She’d insisted that there was nothing improper about a man sharing a cabin with his future wife, but the impish grin and straying hands that had accompanied her attempts at reassurance did little to dispel his reservations.
He turns to face the inky curtain of stars laid before him, lulled to contentment by the gentle creaking of the vessel. He closes his eyes for a moment to relish the cool evening breeze caressing his face, resolving to himself for what must be the hundredth time in his young life that no other force on Earth can match the restorative qualities of the sea.
As he nears the helm, he spots a familiar and petite figure perched on one of the steps, her gaze distant and dreamlike. He'd suspected she had not yet retired for the evening, but had not checked his quarters to confirm.
He approaches tentatively, loathe to disturb her apparent reverie but unable to restrain his yearning for her company after being deprived of it for what felt like eons. Elizabeth feels his presence immediately and peers up at him with a soft smile, which he returns in kind.
“May I join you?” he asks, gesturing to the step below hers.
She pats the space next to her instead—eyes glinting with mischief—and James’ heart flutters in his chest. He is hesitant, but after a cursory glance around the surrounding area that confirms there is no one present to witness such an intimate arrangement, he settles next to her. They sit in a comfortable silence for several minutes before Elizabeth turns to him, eyes inquisitive and searching.
“Do you ever get used to it?”
James blinks at her, momentarily taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”
“All the violence and death,” she replies, mindlessly thumbing the gilded buttons on her carmine mariner’s coat. “I’ve seen what must amount to a lifetime’s worth of blood solely in these last few days, and I can’t seem to scrub my mind of the images.” She pauses to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and James could swear she almost seems nervous. “Is it something you ever grow accustomed to?”
He sighs, contemplating his responding course of action. His years of etiquette training remind him of the impropriety of discussing such matters with a lady—particularly one to whom he is soon to be wed—but he cannot bring himself to care much in this moment.
“Regrettably so, although it is a callus that has taken years of... experience to develop.” He offers a tight, conciliatory smile. “Experiences, I should hope, that never befall you.”
Elizabeth purses her lips at this, a pensive expression etched across her face. James has never been so forthcoming with her about such things, despite her persistent proclamations of interest in them. A rare, fleeting opportunity has presented itself to her, and she plans to seize it.
“You were quite young when you were first taken to sea, correct?”
He hesitates, then nods solemnly. “Indeed. At the age of six, if memory serves.”
Elizabeth responds with a snort, thoroughly bemused by this new information. “I understand you’ve always been exceedingly ambitious for your age, James,” she teases, “but I can’t imagine anyone would’ve faulted you for waiting to enlist until you could properly fill out a uniform.”
The corners of James’ mouth twitch upward, and he raises his eyebrows in playful dissent. “My father certainly would have.”
He doesn’t intend to elaborate; in fact, he desperately hopes to steer the conversation to a more appropriate topic, but the concerned curiosity written across Elizabeth’s delicate features encourages him otherwise.
“It was a different time, to be sure,” he begins, offering an explanation to an unspoken question. “The Navy was in no position to turn away potential midshipmen, age notwithstanding. On the rare occasions my presence onboard was a point of contention, my father ensured I was neither seen nor heard.”
“Was he strict with you?” Elizabeth inquires tentatively. James rarely speaks of his father, and though she is eager to know more, she treads carefully.
He lets out a laugh that is equal parts bitterness and sardonic amusement. “Decidedly so,” he responds, his gaze drifting somewhere Elizabeth cannot follow. The words are flowing rapidly now, and he is powerless to stop them. “You learn quickly not to misbehave when the consequence is an evening spent in the brig.”
When he turns to meet Elizabeth’s eyes, her face is contorted in horror, and James immediately wishes he’d never indulged her questioning. “Oh, I’ve said too much. I’m terribly sorry, darling. I did not mean to upset you.”
She holds his gaze for a long moment, wide eyes darting across his own. “Upset me?” she scoffs, though there is no malice in it. “You’ve just disclosed to me that your father used to imprison you as punishment!”
She cannot shake the image of a young James sequestered behind iron bars, his diminutive figure nearly lost in the expanse of the dank room. She has only ever known him as courageous and steadfast, methodical and patient, fair and dutiful. The notion that even at such a young age, this man—Royal Navy to his core—could commit an act offensive enough to warrant temporary incarceration—at the hands of his father, no less—is unfathomable.
James shakes his head vigorously. “I assure you, it sounds far worse than it was.” He reaches out to caress the curve of her cheek, offering a wry smile. “Besides, the experience proved useful in circumventing those dastardly pirates’ escape attempts on my own vessel.”
Because I tried to escape, too hangs in the air, the unspoken confession thick between them.
They are silent for a moment, and Elizabeth pauses to study James’ face. His eyes are cast downward, his hands clasped in his lap like a child awaiting permission to speak.
My father ensured I was neither seen nor heard.
The unexpected disclosure invites a reassessment of the man she loves so ardently, as well as his myriad qualities that Elizabeth realizes she has taken for granted over the near decade she’s known him. She thinks of his firm stature—which she has always considered to be a bit too rigid, even for a military man—and his ever-cautious choice of words, as if constantly anticipating a harsh rebuke for speaking out of turn. A habit adopted at a young age, she surmises.
Most of all, she thinks of how kind he is, particularly to his officers. It had been one of the first things that’d stricken her upon meeting him aboard this very ship all those years ago. James was stern, no doubt, and had little tolerance for foolishness or impropriety, but he was never cruel. Even at such a young age, Elizabeth had observed that the men in his charge seemed to respect him in a manner that exceeded what was required of them.
She recalls how she had terrorized the fresh-faced lieutenant for the duration of the crossing from England, pestering him with prodding nautical questions and forcing him to engage in far too many games of cat-and-mouse. A small smile tugs at her lips, and she places a staying hand over his folded own.
“I can imagine there were a few occasions on which you might’ve entertained such a disciplinary pursuit for a certain governor’s daughter, were there not?”
James’ brows furrow for a moment, unsure of her meaning. Realization then dawns on his face, though it appears to Elizabeth as more akin to horror.
“Never.” His voice is soft and cautious, as though afraid to even engage with the idea.
She smiles wider, mischief flashing through her warm eyes. “Not once?” she goads, reaching up to smooth the crease in the middle of his forehead. “Believe it or not, I am aware of the lengths to which I tested your patience.”
James gathers her hand in his own, pressing a soft kiss to the pulse point of her wrist. “Irrelevant. I would venture that any officer who must resort to such barbaric solutions in order to tame a wayward child is clearly not suited to be in command of a ship at all.”
“Oh, my,” Elizabeth muses, her tone light and teasing. “Do my ears deceive me? Or is Commodore James Norrington displaying open insubordination toward a commanding officer—and his father, no less? The King shall have your head!”
He releases a deep, joyful sputter of laughter, and Elizabeth’s heart swells at the sound. “I am certain the King would agree that there are many men who boast a superior rank yet a decidedly inferior moral character.” He glances at her, an eyebrow arched in playful provocation. “Besides, I have on good authority that His Majesty is not particularly fond of the Admiral, anyway.”
Elizabeth slides down to nestle her head in the crook of James’ neck, sighing with an air of contented vindication. “I’ve always suspected that George was a remarkably intelligent man.”
James chuckles, the baritone melody reverberating throughout her delicate frame. “Indeed he is.”