It's true, I don't own Jack, Norrington, Will, or Elizabeth. They're just little pawns in my story. I do own Isabelle though. No takies.
She held her side and stayed strong as she received another blow from the man she once called father. The man who brought such joy into her life once. Isabelle squeezed her eyes shut, trying desperately to hold back her tears and stay unnerved in front of her father. But each time she didn't cry out in pain, her father would kick her harder. And each time he kicked, hit, pushed or slapped her, another little piece of her heart cracked off and shattered into a million little pieces. Although her father would harm her, he would never touch her face. No, he wanted to prance her around like she was the queen herself. He needed to prove to everyone that they were a rich and powerful family. He did it just to prove that he was simply better than the rest. Isabelle knew better, but didn't say it. She dared not to for fear of her life.
"You're worthless, Isabelle!" her father shouted at her in disgust. "Nothing but a useless waste of space," he said and finally tired of kicking and hitting her. He walked out of the room quickly, as though nothing had happened. As soon as he was clear out of sight, Isabelle's favorite maid came rushing in with a warm towel and bandages. She quickly turned on her heel and locked the door, closing them both in, away from her father.
"Oh, Ella! I'm so sorry! Where are you hurt?" Catherine asked, kneeling down next to her. Isabelle was still doubled over with pain, both physical and emotional. Isabelle shook her head and lay back against Catherine's chest while she tended to her little cuts and numerous new bruises.
"I don't know what to do, Kitty," Isabelle whispered in a raspy voice, still obviously hurting. Catherine looked at her with sorrow and pain behind her soft hazel eyes. She knew there was nothing she could do. She watched as Isabelle started to close her deep brown eyes, her black eyelashes fluttering down over them slowly.
"Not just yet, Miss," Catherine said softly and pulled her gently to her feet to stand. "You must go to your room to sleep properly. Your father would be angry if he knew you were asleep on the parlor floor," Catherine cooed and put her arm around Isabelle's waist for support. Isabelle's corset was cutting into her sides and making breathing rather difficult for her. She was never one to faint, but she feared she would if she didn't get to bed soon.
"Where do you think you're going, daughter?" She heard her father's hatred filled voice cut through the silence. She didn't waver or draw back from him when he stepped toward her.
"I am going to my room," she said calmly. All she wanted to do was soak her weak, battered body in a bath of hot water with candles filling the room. She wished the night was over. She wished it was that easy.
"The commodore is coming over to pay us a visit," her father, Richard Thatcher said coldly. "Go clean yourself up and be so kind as to grace us with your presence," he snarled before walking away. Isabelle cocked on a sob, thinking that is never, ever ended. She, Isabelle Thatcher, was a prisoner in her own home.
"Catherine half carried her up the stairs to her room where she quickly changed Isabelle's ripped dress to a new one. She was now presentable. She was wearing a jade colored dress with cream embroidery up the arms, neck, and hem of the skirt. She was absolutely beautiful. Her high cheekbones were well shaped and her lips were a natural shade of pink. Her dark, mysterious Spanish eyes were deep chocolate brown, but they were missing something so important in them. They never seemed to glow anymore with the joy of pure happiness. They were missing the love she deserved as she grew up and now, as a young woman of twenty eight, she was alone. Her dark black hair was piled delicately on top of her head in little curls and twists. When down, it fell to her lower back and curled slightly in loose ringlets. Her skin was tanned with the Caribbean sun as was the rest of her body. She walked with the elegance of a woman in a high place in society, as she was. She talked with the utmost class and politeness. Her movements were delicate and soft, almost as though she was afraid of breaking herself on something she touched.
Catherine looked her over seeing who she really was. A broken, sad young woman. One who could fight with the best of them and be a hellcat in her own right. She had spirit, she had her own wishes and desires, but they were all lost under her father's command. She knew how to use a sword, a pistol, and anything else that would help save her life. She chose not to use those things on her father, fearing the worst. Catherine would often times wake up when she came knocking before the sun breached its borders and the stars were still lingering. She would walk Isabelle to the stables where she would take out her favorite horse, Juniper. Isabelle and Juniper would run, jump, and race nothing in particular. It was Isabelle's method of freedom which she barely ever got to experience. To see her riding her black stallion and dare to take her hands off the reigns and spread her arms wide was a wonderful thing. To see her toss her head back and close her eyes was peaceful, to know she was happy. Even for the shortest amount of time. She would be happy.
Isabelle walked straight past the mirror, not bothering to look at herself and not wanting to see what a person her father had turned her into. Catherine walked her to the door of her room and stopped there. "Thank you again, Katie," Isabelle said sadly and hugged her tightly.
"Always, Miss Elle," Catherine said and opened the door for her. Isabelle tossed her head back and set her shoulders, she had taken a new form. A stronger, more confident form. The maids and butlers watched quietly as Isabelle descended the stairs and walked slowly into the parlor.
"Brave, sweet girl," Tillie said sadly as she folded some linen. The butler next to her nodded and they all turned away, trying to forget and pretend like nothing would happen.
"Ah, daughter. It's nice of you to join us," her father said with feigned happiness. The commodore rose from his seat in one of the chairs as watched her enter the large room. He didn't miss how she favored her right side while she moved. She was cold toward her father and he was far too sweet to her, almost tauntingly sweet. James Norrington took this all under consideration as he sat and listened to Richard talk about things he had no interest in what so ever. Isabelle didn't touch the tea or the food that was set out before her, she kept to herself, and didn't look at either of the men as they talked. She was afraid one wrong move would sot her dearly after the commodore left.
Thoughts of a new and happier life sprang to Isabelle's head as she sat and tuned out her father's voice. She thought how this life might be gained and thought it impossible unless an angel finally took pity on her and let her die in peace. Something she also knew would never happen. She shifted her position and instantly regretted moving at all. A sharp pain shot through her side and she clenched her fingers in a tight fist to keep from screaming out in misery.
Once Richard was done talking, James rose from his seat to go, and offered is arm to Isabelle. She accepted it gratefully, but got up from her seat slowly, minding the terrible pain wracking her body. Once at the door, James didn't release her arm. "I wished to take your daughter for a quick walk. We will be back shortly, I do enjoy her company," James said convincingly.
"Why of course, Commodore!" Richard bellowed and laughed. Isabelle smiled sadly, remembering how he used to laugh and play with her when she was a little girl. James bowed his head to Richard and the two walked down the path, turning sharply when they were out of sight.
"Are you alright, Isabelle? He didn't hurt you again did he?" Isabelle, finally being free from her home, leaned on James and pulled him down to the ground with her, moaning in pain. Her side not only hurt, her head, her legs, her arms, her whole body was taking the toll.
"Oh, James!" she cried. James picked her up and carried her to a house he knew he and she were always welcome.
Elizabeth Turner ran down the hallway and to the front door. Who could it be at this hour? She opened the door and gasped in shock, yelling for Will. Will appeared from one of the back rooms and his eyes grew wide at the sight. He took Isabelle from James and laid her down on the couch. Elizabeth rushed over to her side and brushed away the seat forming on her forehead. "James? What happened to her?" Elizabeth asked, stroking her forehead.
"I went over to the house to discuss things with her father and she acted so strangely, favoring her right side. She seemed to be in such a great deal of pain that I asked her father to take her out for a little while. I had no idea she was this bad." James said concerned, looking down at a now unconscious Isabelle. "I don't know what else to do," James said sadly, looking to Will for an answer he could not provide. It was true, the blacksmith had grown on him during the last year and he liked Will. He fact, Will was his most trusted friend, setting aside one other man.
Elizabeth ran and got a cold cloth. She draped it over Isabelle's head and loosened her corset to help her breath, a little something she had learned from Jack. Slowly, Isabelle came to, looking around frantically and automatically shielding her face from expected blows that didn't come. She lowered her arms and saw Elizabeth's concerned face looking down at her. Isabelle didn't say anything, she reached up and she wrapped her arms around Elizabeth's neck and pulled her into a much needed hug. She needed someone to be her shoulder to cry on. She already had no one. Only these three people and Catherine in the whole, wide world. At that moment, she felt so very alone as she wept into Elizabeth's hair and shoulder. So horribly, inevitably alone.
Alright so that's my first chapter! I hope you guys like it and it wouldn't hurt to comment back.. I'd really like to know what you think, mates. Don't worry, Jack's coming soon, he just had some errands to run before he could join me.