Rosalind|| A Pirates of the Caribbean fanfic

Chapter 54: Us Against the World

"Come with us, Miss Ricci." Came the voice of Murtogg from her side. Rosalind's tears had since slowed alongside the roaring flames encasing her ship and crew. Since the departure of Beckett and the introduction of Murtogg and Mullroy, Paul had awoken from his unconsciousness. The first thing he did as his eyes fluttered open, was find Rosalind's hand amidst the ropes and squeeze it. Tears pooled in his eyes as he realised what had happened, and he shared quiet words of comfort with his Captain as they wept softly together. They were a bittersweet few moments; as the pair clenched each other's fingers as if they were the last people to roam the earth, and the only things left for each other. Rosalind was sure Garrick would be a whole lot more reactive whenever he awoke, in fact, Rosalind could definitely foresee her quartermaster getting himself knocked out a couple more times; but he would be supportive nevertheless, and stand by the last remaining crew of the Rose.

By this point, Rosalind felt safe from any potential harm coming to her, Paul and Garrick. Why, after all, would Beckett be ordering a tub to be ran with warm water, and why would he be having his crew lobby a wardrobe of luxurious dresses to the Captain's quarters? She felt stupid for believing his words of supposed assurance, but for now, that string of hope helplessly offered to her was the only thing she had to hold onto.

Now, Murtogg and Mullroy were standing not far from her, helping her in the untying of the ropes. Their hands were not forceful, nor were they violent, nor venomous. In fact, they barely touched the Captain. Instead, they merely guided her in silence to a small, yet brilliantly and expectedly lavish wash room, where a metal tub had been filled with water. Rosalind gazed upon it nervously. She could not deny herself in the moment, to be craving the warmth and comfort of water washing over her; cleaning her of the events of that night.

Her eyes were swollen and sore by this point, and her nose was persistently dripping as she sniffled an occasional tear back.

"Will you men be standing in here? Whilst I bathe?" She questioned weakly, to which Murtogg and Mullroy looked at her with sympathy, before nodding.
"Will you be watching me?"
"N-no, ma'am, we'll have our backs turned."
"Don't you worry, Miss Ricci. 'Tis only Lord Beckett's orders to make sure you don't escape."
"L-look, he's prepared you a night dress and a towel to dry yourself, and we'll be taking the clothes you have on now." Spoke Murtogg, in a futile attempt to cheer the Captain.
"Uh-huh, and what will you be doing with my clothes?"
"Uh...Lord Beckett's requested we dispose of 'em."
"Okay...okay...expected."

And so, Rosalind undressed herself, whilst Murtogg and Mullroy stood facing a wall. Nothing more was said as Rosalind plunged herself to the waters, which were surprisingly hot against her skin. She tucked her knees underneath her chin, holding her shins close to her, keeping her baby safe. It pained her awfully to think, that only a few hours ago, she was mumbling loving words to her stomach, in the comfort and timber of her own ship. And now, she hardly considered it wise to let even Murtogg and Mullroy know she was pregnant, and so the boy became a secret she would swear to the grave, if she had to.

For the first few minutes, Rosalind could not find the energy to clean herself. Indeed, Beckett had provided a bar of Castile soap, a sponge, and a lemon wedge for her nails, but either object seemed like a challenge she could not commit to. The Captain flinched, as Murtogg suddenly shifted to begin sorting through her clothes, and that is when the realisation hit her: her very last hint of piracy was being torn away right before her eyes. All of her clothes were about to be burned, just like the ship and her crew. Her sword was about to be cast to the ocean, alongside the Indian butterfly dagger...her wedding present from Hector, how could she have managed to lose it so soon?

"Say, um, Miss Ricci...this is a fine dagger you've got here...a katar, I think it's called."
Spoke Mullroy. Rosalind's attention was pulled to the men, refusing to look in her direction due to respect, and yet enthralled by her possessions.
"No, it's a katara. I heard about these, in China." Returned Murtogg.
"But it's Indian. And it's a katar."
"No, I'm sure a sweet little lady told me it was-"
"It's a Katar." Interjected Rosalind, perhaps a little bravely, but her addition was taken with ease by the men nonetheless. "It's a...it's an, um, Katar. A-and they originate from India...and, Uh, that one is from India...it was a- um, it was a wedding present."
"A wedding present?" Mumbled Mullroy, hanging his head with heed of her word.
"You're married?"
"Aye...aye, I'm married."
"And...is the fella still around?"
"Yes. Yes, he is." A sigh of relief sounded from either one of their mouths, and yet, Rosalind could not shake the feeling of numbness from her bones. She kept her gaze trained on the men, keen to know what their plans for the dagger was. To her great surprise, Mullroy tucked it in one of his many pockets. For an Indian Katar, it was small for its original size, and so it was easily concealable under his plentiful coats.