93William Turner straightened his black tricorne hat, glancing to his buckle shoes and white tights. Well, once they were married he would wear boots. How Elizabeth had teased him and told him how she loved the boots that he wore on rare occasions. That was all she needed, she had once said, but he had insisted that the black shoes did not appear appropriately with the ensemble that she had helped him choose for their vows.
"That is all I want to see you in during our wedding night." Elizabeth had whispered keenly in his ear during one of their fencing sessions.
He had chuckled in response, looping his arm around her waist and pulling her lips to his own.
"I am absolutely serious."
Once again, Will had laughed at her provocative comments, contemplating the scandalous nature of the conversation. He resisted the temptation to answer saucily, realizing it would only induce more passionate fire between them.
He paced the blacksmith shop a few times and then strode over to his small bedchamber, yanking a dark blue-black jacket out of his closet and fingering the gold trim before slipping it over his arms. Checking the looking glass once more as the clock tolled resonantly, Will abruptly heard the crashing sound of his door and the rattle of irons. The man spun around, his hand in the process of grasping a recently constructed saber when he recognized the soldier's blood-red colors. Replacing the sword, Will stalked toward them in a nervous manner.
"Has something happened to Elizabeth?"
The soldiers delivered no answer and their countenances remained solemn and utterly blank as the manacles clanged together. He considered reaching for a sword once more, but realized it would be futile.
With the shackles clinking at his waist, the lieutenant announced in a clipped accent, "Mister William Turner, you are under arrest."
"What am I charged with?" Two soldiers who were previously positioned on each side of the high ranking officer gripped his arms and the lieutenant yanked his hands forward. Not opposing the arrest, Will glanced to each of their faces as the shackles were locked securely. What had he done? The man knew that if he even attempted to escape their grip, he could immediately face further charges. Will repeated the question, but it was to no avail. "No!" he shouted as he was lugged out of the shop and into the pouring streets of Port Royal. He was shoved into a carriage with a soldier seated on either side, and he gazed past the men and out the window, his eyebrows furrowing as citizens scurried into their homes. Who did this? And what for? Although he asked himself these questions, he could not help but return to thoughts of the impending ceremony. He squinted and leaned toward the window, expecting the prison to soon come into view, but they were headed in the opposite direction; they were traveling toward the wind swept church.
Will was thrust from the carriage, but he held his head high, clenching his fists in frustration as he followed multiple soldiers and the lieutenant through the dank corridors. His eyes widened as his lovely fiancé galloped toward him, her eyes absorbed in distress. Her hair had lost its volume entirely, and her cheeks were streaked with stains caused by his disappearance, but she still looked gorgeous. Will then stared at the background which was gloriously decorated in sweet, but now sulking, flowers, and the chairs creaked in the breeze. Her hands crawled up his jacket and gripped his lapels, sending his mind in a flurry of remorse for missing their day.
"Will!" she had called distraughtly. "Why is this happening?"
"I don't know." he answered placidly, gazing up and down at her dress while his eyes divulged every aching emotion. "You look beautiful." Elizabeth's lips did not part as she smiled and responded, and he felt her hands slide down his arms, the pair almost in an embrace. Will glanced to the revolting man who turned away from the wedding's extravagancy with a cloak draped about his shoulders. Will squeezed Elizabeth's hands twice and their eyes met in a knowing glance. It is not over.