Abigail was just getting the color back to her cheeks and the wit to her head when this strange, roguish savior of a woman asked about her medallion. She didn't have time to answer before there was a sword to the woman's throat. "On your feet." Commodore Norrington ordered the woman, his face looking as if it had been carved from granite. The men behind him had swords drawn and muskets at the ready. A dashing young blonde woman with someone who must have been the Governor were behind them, looking on with curiosity and wariness at what was transpiring.