A Pirate's Love

Inevitable Shadows

Elenor's POV:

The sights and sensations of him flashed through my mind and body as soon as the coach began moving. I held onto the memories as his words rang through my ears. 'Keep strength,' he had told me, almost imploringly. His eyes were tired and dark in the sun. They were deepened with an emotion that could not be read. I reminisced on the way he slowly smiled as he pulled me close. Only the corners turned up, and his eyes finally became soft. Up close his injuries looked worse. The abrasions of his skin were present, the blood pooling to the surface of the skin in blotchy red and purple hues. I deeply regretted not letting out the many words I wanted to say. He waited for me patiently, but the letters choked in my throat as my mind screamed for them to go out. 'I cannot sleep without you,' I wanted to say. 'I cannot dream without you,' I wanted to say. 'I cannot be without you,' I wanted to say, yet nothing escaped from my throat. I hoped he had known, somehow, how I was feeling. His exhaustion was evident, his movements slow and a step behind mine. I could not expect too much from him physically, his body was worn. In the same way, his mind was also tired. I could not expect him to catch my feelings if they were never spoken.

The look in his eyes after he had held me gave a chill down my spine. It was dark and looming, grave in a way that felt forthright. I couldn't deny his expression, full of inevitable death, but also couldn't accept it. I was so ready to leave with him, to make our escape and become fugitives. Yet, he was already firmly planted in the ground. He had already accepted that he would die. How could I keep strength with the grave on his mind? How could I be strong if he was saying goodbye? The single tear that escaped from his eye was small and wet against my fingertips. Had he even noticed it? What did it mean? Was it an apology or a grievance? What had turned his heart so quickly to make him give up? I had so many unanswered questions, and each one cut into my heart deeper than I wanted. His desperation after I had let him go made my heart ache more. With each touch it was as if he were begging me not to forget him, begging me to hold him and to keep him tangible. But his hands were cold as if I were already touching a ghost, and he was already standing, ready to take flight. How much more could my heart break? How much more could my body handle? Why tell me not to fear before the trial if he was ready to die?

I felt my eyes sting as the coach came to a gradual halt, snapping me back to the present moment. I sniffled back the tears that were trying to escape, and soon the door was opened for me. In the walk up to the manor, my mind swirled with thoughts of death and grief. I had grieved for him once, I did not want to grieve him again. I found myself wanting desperately to forget all that had occurred. Could I pretend none of this ever happened? Could I pretend I never left the Isles? Going back further, could I pretend I never left England? My life became a blur, like a dream, and I suddenly became bitter. None of this ever should have happened. I suddenly craved a taste that I had not indulged in since at sea. The sweet drink would bite back, stinging the nostrils and warming the throat as it was swallowed. I needed a good rum to ease the torture, to escape the shadows that floated through my mind.

One of the ladies came up to me as I walked through the grand entrance. Though older, she seemed a great deal smaller than me, as I had to look down to address her.

"Shall I prepare you for afternoon tea, miss?" She asked kindly, her plump cheeks a rosy blush. Afternoon tea was the last thing I was interested in at the moment.

"No, thank you," I said, and her cheerfulness dissipated. "Has Sam arrived home?" I asked politely.

"Yes, miss," she replied, "would you like me to fetch him for you?"

"Yes, thank you. Tell him I will be in my room," I instructed, to which she curtsied and departed. I climbed the large staircase, my mind unwittingly switching back to my thoughts from before. How could I pretend none of it happened? My feelings ran deep within my soul, and my body bore the marks from along the way. I had experienced open waters, both treacherous and beautiful. I had experienced both sides of men, evil and comforting. I could not deny the things that had changed me. I would never be the same as I once was. I approached my room at the end of the hall and wearily went inside. I glanced at my bed, it neatly made with pillows fluffed and canopy tied up. How I wanted to drape myself over the linens and lay there for hours. I walked to the edge of the mattress to lie down, yet something caught the corner of my eye. Turning my head in its direction, I caught my reflection in the vanity mirror, my hair tumbling down my shoulders in messy ringlets. I walked closer for a better look, my expression seeming dark and exhausted. I could hardly recognize myself. My brows seemed thicker and angrier, and my face looked thin. I pushed my hair over my shoulders, then examined what remained of the bruises I had acquired. The thin line across my throat was now a faint green-yellow, hardly noticeable. The small blotches on the side were now a faded light brown. They were almost gone as if reflecting the time left by those who had put them there. I touched them delicately with my fingertips, remembering each feeling as they were created, both horrifying and enchanting. I wondered if I would ever feel such horror again, or such love. It was both confusing and terrifying.

"You called for me?" A deep voice suddenly said, making me jump in fright. I turned to look and saw Sam standing in the doorway, caution in his expression.

"Oh, Sam," I said in relief, settling the adrenaline that had spiked through my veins.

"I did knock," he explained, not understanding my sudden fright.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear," I said, honestly. I brushed my fingers through my hair nervously, trying to shake away the stress.

"Are you okay, El?" he asked, stepping towards me. "You look pale." At his words, I suddenly felt sick. My stomach churned and my head became dizzy. I rocked in my place, unable to answer, and braced myself against the vanity. I felt Sam grasp my arm as my knees buckled from under me. He quickly pulled out the chair from the vanity and lowered me to it, catching me as my body weakened. I put my head in my hand as I rested my elbow on the vanity, trying to keep myself from leaning over.

"I'm sorry," I breathed out in a shaky whisper, "I don't know what's come over me." My vision spun, making me more woozy. Sam knelt at my side, still steadying me by the arm. I grasped his hand with my free one, thankful for his presence. His fingers were warm and gentle, yet firm, keeping me stable. I tried to look at him, but only saw a concerned expression multiplied by three dancing in front of me. I closed my eyes, trying to regain my strength.

"Let me get you something to hydrate yourself," he said softly, his voice buttery smooth with care. The sound of his feet shuffled on the rug as he rose, and then he slowly let go of my arm.

"I need something strong too, Sam," I called out, then opened my eyes to see him standing at the doorway again, his eyes full of heartache. "Something to ease the pain," I pleaded, to which he nodded and left my presence. The reality that I had tried to swallow down hit me like a forceful wave, trying to drown me. My emotions got the better of me, spilling over in an erratic hyperventilation. My eyes drenched themselves in a rush of salty tears, making my throat choke and nose run. My heart beat against my chest rapidly, my head spun for what felt like an eternity. I closed my eyes and pressed my head into my hands, letting my emotions take over. Flashbacks of the cruelty I had seen and felt at the hands of Dan Deranged flooded my consciousness, sending my body into a tremor. I shook uncontrollably, remembering the blood, the faces, and the feeling of being held down. I hated him with the deepest anger and terror I had ever felt. He would die tomorrow and I had to watch. Would it be quick? Would it be painless? Would it be drawn out and unbearable to witness? Would he even die because of it? What would Jake's trial be like? Would he be sentenced to death? Would he be pardoned? Tortured? I pressed my eyes tightly shut, trying not to imagine the possibilities. I heard a light knock on the doorframe and slowly rubbed my sore eyes to look up. Sam set a Porcelain pitcher and a bottle of amber liquid on the vanity, then poured the pitcher into a glass. Clear water splashed out in a swirl, which filled the glass full. Sam knelt beside me as he placed the glass in front of me, gazing at me with concern. His eyes pleaded with me to drink, his mouth plastered in a slight frown. He seemed out of breath, evidence that he had raced to find something for me to drink. My hands shook as I grasped the glass, and shook even more as I raised it to drink, spilling the water over my dress. "Damn it," I cursed angrily, placing the glass down and rubbing my hand over my spinning forehead.

"Here," Sam said calmly as he stood. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and folded it neatly, then picked up the glass. He brought the kerchief to my chin, then brought the glass to my lips, allowing me to drink. I didn't realize how thirsty I was until I felt the cool liquid saturate the dryness of my mouth. I guzzled it down quickly until there were only a few drops left. Sam removed the glass from my lips, and then delicately wiped them dry with the soft cloth. My head stopped spinning, and all I could do was stare at him. He leaned against the vanity as he set the handkerchief on it, then picked up the pitcher in silence and filled the glass again. He was so focused, so steady, so willing to help. It was not just his duty, he was caring for me because he wanted to. He handed me the glass carefully and watched as I drank more, regaining my balance. When I finished he looked down at his feet and gripped the edge of the vanity with his fingers, his palms supporting his weight.

"Thank you," I said with a sniffle as I placed the glass down less shakily, then wiped my nose with a knuckle. He fixed his eyes on me strangely. Something was different about his expression. It was calm, yet a little tired and uncertain. His hair was let down and covering his shoulders. His facial hair had grown in. Everything seemed different about him, so how had I not noticed before?