Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom

higher and leaned over to peer at it. His movement woke her, and she
murmured his name softly, then added, “What is it?”
Jack couldn’t honestly say he was sorry she’d awakened. “I saw
this,” he said, brushing a finger across the circular mark, “and thought
at first it was a bruise. But it’s not.”
“No,” she agreed. “It’s a tattoo.”
“What is it?” he asked, looking more closely. It was the size of a
doubloon, and it seemed to be outlined in black, and filled in with red
ink. Jack narrowed his eyes. It was some kind of grinning, stylized
skull, surrounded by geometric lines. “I never saw anything like that
before. Did you have it when we…the first time?”
She smiled, teasing him. “What, you didn’t notice?”
“It was dark, love. Remember?”
“I do,” she said. “It was good, that time. But I liked tonight better.”
Jack laughed softly. “Danger did add a bit of a thrill on that notable
occasion. But I agree. Tonight was—is—the best.” He leaned over and
kissed her shoulder, then lifted her hair and kissed her neck, just below
her ear. She shivered with pleasure, and he was tempted to just keep
kissing her, and forget about the tattoo, but his curiosity was piqued.
He pulled back and said, “So…the tattoo?”
She took a deep breath, and rolled over onto her right side, facing
him. “I’ve never told anyone about it. The only people who knew I had it
done are dead. My nurse and my grandfather.”
Jack realized this was something very private, and wondered
whether she would continue. He didn’t speak, only waited. Finally, she
said, “I had it done when I was fourteen. My nurse told me the story,
and she had a drawing of this symbol on a scrap of ancient parchment.
She was almost full-blooded Aztec. Her name was Azcalxochitzin.”
Jack stared at her in surprise. “You speak the Aztec language?”
One shoulder moved slightly, in a shrug. “Yes, she taught me. I
wrote down the words, so I could remember them, because I don’t
have anyone to practice speaking with.”
Jack studied her features in the lamplight. The dark eyes,
swooping brows, high cheekbones—she seemed to have features that
reflected her Castillian heritage. But her nose—it was high-bridged,
and there was something exotic in the flare of the nostrils. “You have