The Pirate Captain

CHAPTER 15: Falls of Our Existence

This is wonderful, Nathan.” Her head pillowed on the folded quilt, Cate stretched out on the luxurious carpet of moss.

Nathan plopped down next to her, grinning. The sunlight filtered through the dense greenery in broad bands of yellow. The fine mist from the nearby waterfall glistened like fairy dust on his braids and lashes. “I give you joy of your pleasure.”

They had come ashore earlier that afternoon. Unshipping Prudence, however, had been quite the ordeal.

“This isna going to be easy,” said Mr. Cameron, standing next to Cate at the rail. Realizing he’d been overheard, he explained in his Scots brogue. “’Twas a fair wrestle t’ bring her aboard.” He sighed, woefully shaking his head. “’Twill be no better achievin’ the reverse.”

Cate leaned closer to Cameron to ask from the corner of her mouth, “How did you get her aboard in the first place?”

He mouthed the words “Admiral’s chair,” with reserved contempt.

It was a contraption beneath the dignity of every able-bodied seaman, reserved for the incapable and the inept. No more than a wooden slat looped in a rope dangling from a yardarm, it resembled a swing rigged in a play yard. At the whim of ship, wave, and wind, it could be a precarious ride.

“I’m impressed anyone was able to get her in one of those,” Cate said, more to herself.

“Alone, nay…exactly.” He smiled slyly as, in typical Highlander style, he allowed the suspense to build. “In the Captain’s lap.”

Sputtering a laugh, Cate tried to visualize that, but found it unnecessary, since it was being played out before her.

Situated deep in a seat, Nathan hooked an arm around Prudence’s middle tightly enough to elicit a squeak of protest. With the grunt and sweat of those manning the halyard, the sling rose. Eyes round as shillings, Prudence squealed and kicked. It was difficult to be sure if it was an inopportune pitch of the ship, or a bit of tomfoolery on the part of those controlling the line, but the chair took a wild arch out over Cate’s head as she clambered down the accommodation ladder. She looked up to a grim-faced Nathan, half-submerged in a billowing cloud of yellow skirts. With a grunt of satisfaction, he released his burden into the awaiting launch several inches premature. Prudence landed in an inelegant heap in the bilge water.

Nathan gave every hand in the longboat the benefit of a glare that forestalled further comments. As they pushed away from the Morganse’s side, Cate retreated to the furthest point of the bow, where she could hide the smile that couldn’t be suppressed. The palpable tension transformed the short journey ashore into something akin to Purgatory, everyone present obliged to listen to Prudence, striving futilely to keep her skirts clear of the water, and bemoaning the destruction of her shoes and lack of a hat.

“A true lady simply never goes out in the sun without one,” the child sniffed.

Prudence’s third, or perhaps it was the fourth, repetition of said guideline was cut short by Nathan’s arm snaking out to snatch a hat—a thoroughly disreputable, sweat-stained affair—from an oarsmen and plunking it on her head. Its floppy brim sagged nearly to her nose, but delivered silence.

Once ashore, Nathan made a final, valiant attempt to leave Prudence behind, citing her dress and patent-leather slippers as unfit for traversing rough terrain. He was no match for the either woman’s stubbornness. Shaking his head as he muttered darkly, he struck off with his female entourage in tow, with a rucksack under his arm and the blue and yellow quilt from the bunk over his shoulder.

Nathan led them down the sugar-white shore to where a stream met the bay. There he turned inland, his battered leather tricorn a compass needle pointing the way. Once again, Cate plunged from a world of saturated blues into a verdant tapestry of color. The shrill cries of gulls gave way to the chattering of brightly plumed flocks of small, parrot-like birds. Her venture inland a few days before had been through a claustrophobic press of green. Here they walked under a park-like canopy of palms, her neck aching with trying to see their crowns.

Nathan regaled them with one story after another. Cate only half-listened, smiling to herself at the not-so-subtle variations from versions she had heard many times over. She wondered how historians centuries later would reconcile the inconsistencies: was it a monster or a monstrous wave which had sank the ship; a plague or marauding natives that wiped out the marooned crew; a ghost or a precocious sea goddess that had stalked the decks; had the heroic captain been shot five times or stabbed four?

It was an unspeakable joy to have Nathan alone—well, almost. It was easy enough to pretend the child wasn’t there. She closed her eyes and listened to the timbre of his voice, ragged, yet mellow, like well-worn flannel. She oft wondered what his voice might have been before it had been so shattered. That there had been violence was evident in the scar at his throat, as to what it had been she dared not venture to inquire.

Prudence was torn between her fear of Nathan and her horror of the unknown. Every flutter, buzz of wing, or snap of twig presented eminent peril. Her base instincts of a man—especially one bearing a pistol, knife, and cutlass—as protection ultimately prevailed, and she hung at his elbow. The proximity had caused her fear to give way to something between fascination and morbid curiosity.

At length, Prudence whined of being hot and tired, and they stopped for a rest. Cate sat on the ground with Nathan spread-eagle on his back beside her. Representing that a lady never sat on the ground, Prudence perched atop a rock, near enough for safety’s sake, but far enough to be out of hearing.

“It would seem she has overcome her fear of you,” Cate observed.

Nathan raised his head to peer down the length of his body to where Prudence sat.

“Can’t understand what she’s afraid of.” He dropped his head back down and said to the trees, “Never hurt a woman in me life.”

“You’ll have to admit, for someone from Boston, you are a bit of a sight.”

He lifted his head to glare down his nose. “What do you mean by that?”

Cate twisted around in order to see him better. “You have no idea, do you? To the unsuspecting, you are positively…Let’s see, what word I am looking for?”

“Fearsome? Villainous? Rapacious? Scalawag?” His eyebrows waggled in hopeful anticipation.

“No…eccentric.”

“Eccentric?” His mustache drooped as he dropped his head back down. “Eccentric.” He mouthed the word with visible distaste. “Doesn’t sound very impressive.”

“Very well, exotic. How’s that?”

“Barely better,” Nathan grumbled, his dignity ruffled. “Might as well be a bloody schoolmaster.”

His indignation struck a chord. Laughter exploded from Cate. She put a hand over her mouth, her eyes bulging as it fizzed out between her fingers. Nathan rose up on one elbow and glowered.

“I’m sorry,” she said, eyes streaming. Only the barest hint of remorse could be managed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt—”

Another peal erupted. She clamped her hand over her mouth once more, only to have it explode out her nose.

“Think you’re funny, don’t you?” Nathan huffed over her giggling, which was now beyond all control. He was obliged to raise his voice in order to be heard. “So pleased you’re able to find such humor at my expense. Always glad to be of service.”

He flopped back down and glared at the trees. “Bloody woman!”

They soon pressed on, Nathan being quite anxious. The trail became steeper, but he assured them their destination was but a short distance more. The increasing sound of rushing water gave credence of something being ahead. The sound had grown to a roar, by the time they rounded an outcropping of rocks. The foliage fell away to reveal a waterfall curving along one side of a sun-drenched clearing. Nearly as wide as the Morganse was long, the falls were an accumulation of a number of smaller ones, anchored periodically by pillars of rock. The water sheeted down in streaks of emerald green and lime, disappearing into a roiling froth of white at the base.

The roar of the cascades made speech impossible, and so Nathan mutely waved them on. He helped them scramble up an incline, and then duck through a stand of flowering bushes, the cerise-colored petals showering their heads and shoulders. They broke out into what struck Cate as almost a room: the walls a tapestry of greens, the carpet made of moss, and a vaulted ceiling of branches. The centerpiece was a large pool, formed by a series of stair-step falls, from knee-high to the height of a man. It was considerably quieter there, the water sheeting over the tiers in a rustling gurgle. The glen’s air was thick with moisture, but pleasantly cool.

Nathan spread the quilt for Cate, while Prudence perched on a nearby log. From his sack he produced a half-round of bread, cheese, and a stone bottle of cider. While they ate their luncheon, Nathan launched into another tale of island natives and Spanish conquistadors, one out-manipulating the other in some kind of coup de grace.

When finished, Prudence’s youthful exuberance wouldn’t allow her to sit, so fascinated she was with every detail. The flora, that was; anything alive still sent her squealing. After saving Prudence from eminent peril—an inquisitive beetle on her shoe—Nathan drew up before Cate. Rocking on his heels, he looked far too much like a boy anxiously waiting to show his mother the frog in his pocket.

“I was thinking…I mean, if you like…Since it’s been a bit…What with everything and all…”

Cate squinted with one eye up at him. “Nathan, are you trying to say something?”

He sucked in a deep breath. “I just thought you might fancy a swim,” came out in an explosion. He waved toward the pool. “It’s fair deep enough, around the other side, at any rate. I just thought…Well, that you’d like—”

“Nathan, will you just come out with it.”

“I meant for you to enjoy today, without all the disruptions and distractions of yon witchy-girl,” he finished, with a loathing glare over his shoulder.

Looking back at Cate, he sobered. “You look like you’ve fouled your hawse. What’s amiss, luv?”

“Nothing. I’m fine,” she said, busily brushing breadcrumbs from her skirt.

“As you always insist,” Nathan said tolerantly. He crouched down to reach and stop Cate's hand. His coffee-colored eyes held hers. “Credit Ol’ Nathan a bit, eh? From the first, you stood with your shoulders square and your head up, ready to tell anyone, including me, to go to hell. Now today, you slump along with your head down…”

His words faded as he followed her gaze to Prudence.

“Ah, so I see,” he said quietly and sat back on his heels. “In all the flurry and hubbub, I’d forgotten one very salient point: you’re a woman.”

“You make it sound like a sentence.”

He snorted. “Hardly, darling. Without, the world would be a considerably less appealing: nothing but hairy chests and aching balls. It never occurred you would be one to be longing for that.”

His head inclined in the general direction of Prudence, and more importantly, what she symbolized.

“Not long for,” Cate qualified moodily, toying with the fabric of her skirt.

A finger to her chin brought her head up. “Then what?”

Nathan's intuition was alarming. While she had been piecing together the puzzle of Nathan Blackthorne, he had been doing the same with her. It was an uncomfortable to have him poking about in her thoughts. She had struggled with the sensation since she had seen Prudence cowering in the floor. She had preferred to think she was above it, but there it was: jealousy. It was an unbecoming color on anyone, and was even less flattering on her.

“It’s just,” Cate began. “Well, it’s just…I mean, look at her. Everyone can see it, sense it. Everyone is different: the men talk different, Mr. Kirkland brings out the best dishes, chairs are pulled out, doors are opened, the men bow…Hell, you even bowed.”

“Because I thought you desired it. I could have just as easily spit on her. I’ll go do it now, if you like.”

“It wouldn’t matter,” she sighed. He gave the impression of being more than willing to do so, if she was but to nod. “She’d still be the lady and I’d still be the—”

“That’s what’s bothering you? A bloody title?”

Nathan regarded her through a narrowed eye. His realization grew and he slumped. “I’ve only seen you in near rags. It didn’t answer you’d be one to fancy dresses and fine things.”

Cate hunched her shoulders defensively and looked away. “I don’t.”

“Ah, but you do, luv.” He scrubbed a frustrated hand at the back of his neck. “For the love of…You’ve trunk-loads in the hold and more in the cabin, yours for the taking. There’s not a tar aboard what would begrudge you a stitch of it.”

“It’s not that. Besides, it’s a ship. I couldn’t wear any of it anyway.”

Dark with concern, the coffee-and-cinnamon eyes searched hers. “This is what I’ve done to you, isn’t it? Living at sea like a Portuguese fishwife, when you could have been living in finery.”

Cate snorted and rolled her eyes. “Living where? I have no place.”

His steady gaze prodded her to continue. The memories were all so much more manageable when she kept them stashed away. Once freed, it was like Pandora’s box, the pain and regrets devouring her. Each time they were released, they were doubly difficult to pack away.

“I’m not some poor wastrel who doesn’t know what she’s missing. I had all that. Maybe not as fine as Lady Bart’s, but I know what I lost. My family owned thousands of acres; my mother’s mother was third cousin to the Spanish Royal House, a Hapsburg. Brian’s uncle was The Mackenzie, the head of the biggest clan in Scotland. We lived on an estate, with dozens of tenants; Brian was laird of it all. I know what I’ve lost. I just don’t appreciate having my nose rubbed in it.”

There it was: the stab high up under her ribs that always came with remembering. She rubbed her forehead, cheeks heating in frustration at how horribly desperate she sounded.

“Perhaps I should have ransomed you after all.”

She heard the tease in Nathan’s voice and looked up, the sight of his gold and ivory grin eliciting a reluctant one from her.

“Save your energy; it’s all so very, very gone,” Cate said tartly.

Nathan's smile faded and he sobered. “And I’ll wager you mourned when it was gone.”

“I mourned for who I lost, not what.” She would have traded it all to have Brian back, but Fate had chosen not to leave her even that bargaining chip. In a single day—in a matter of a few hours—she had gone from a lady of substance to a nameless fugitive, with nothing more to her name than what could be stuffed in a saddlebag.

“It’s just around her, I feel—I feel the same as when I was at Lady Bart’s, with Harte and all those others looking at me…like I didn’t fit in. Which, yes, I know I don’t,” she said peevishly. “Never have—not fully—but it’s just that—”

He batted his lids in disbelief. “Yet again with the ‘don’t fit in?’ I saw you wade into the midst of strange men—pirates, I might add—half-naked, and proceed to sew a man’s flesh. You’ve lived on a ship among a hundred-odd and have earned the respect of every one of them, a feat not to be dismissed,” he added, wagging his finger at her. “You lived alone in London for years, survived a war and shed enough blood to gain the attention of the Crown.”

“And yet put me in a room with silk and lace, and all I can think of is to crawl into the corner. No one will ever mistake me for a lady.”

Her throat tightened at the echo of her mother’s words. Time and again, she had endured her mother’s bemoaning of her lack of grace and modesty, all as impossible to attain as more sloping shoulders and a jaw less bold.

“You’re far too much woman to be wasted on fop and frippery,” Nathan said coldly.

Cheeks burning with embarrassment, Cate tried to look away, but Nathan took her by the chin and firmly pulled her back. A tremor ran through his fingertips as he locked her eyes with his.

“And any bastard—man or woman—what fails see that, doesn’t warrant being in your presence. The corner is never where you belong. You should be front and center.”

Nathan rose and began pacing, his hands carving the air. “Tell me—hell, tell the entire crew what you desire, luv. If it’s a fine house, jewels, servants, then so it shall be. If you want, I’ll get you an entire goddamned island, and you can have your personal empire. You can hold court over them all, and they’ll be obliged to kiss your skirts and beg your leave.”

Checking himself, he drew up before Cate and smiled. “Just tell me what you want and Ol’ Nathan will get it for you.”

“None of that.” Touched by his resolve, Cate's throat tightened. “I’m not ashamed, nor have I minded—”

“But now she has you looking around, seeing what you don’t have,” he put in knowingly.

“I know what I do have.” She looked up and said earnestly, “Thank you, Nathan. Have I ever said that?”

“For what?”

“Everything: my life, a place to belong, food, shelter, purpose…a friend.”

Nathan smiled, both recalling his adamant objections when she first bestowed the title. Modesty flowed abundant, the heavy lashes lowering. “No worries, luv. A decent man would do no else.”

“And you are decent, aren’t you?”

He grimaced and leaned down to say, “I’d prefer it if you didn’t broadcast that last bit about,” in low-voiced confidence.

Cate smiled. “Consider it done; my lips are sealed.”

Tease lurked once more in the cinnamon highlights of his eyes. “I knew you were quality, the moment I laid eyes on you.”

“Quality doesn’t pay the butcher, nor feed the dormouse,” Cate said tartly.

“Aye, but ’tis an admirable trait what doesn’t necessarily come with title or position.”

Nathan slid his eyes sideways toward the pool. “Then how’s about a nice bath? The Queen of Persia never had one as grand. Better than any lady could ever dream of.”

He gave her one of those smiles that was meant to charm, and it did. The hot bath a few days before had been wonderful, but there had been no opportunity to wash since. The hike had left Cate hot and sticky, her shift stuck to her ribs under her stays. Filled with regret and embarrassment and touched by his concern, she hoped he didn’t notice her eyes were beginning to brim as she nodded. But, of course, he did. He missed blessed little.

With his usual elegant grace and a gesture reminiscent of Mr. Al-Nejem, touching his fingertips to his lips and heart, Nathan bent and swept a hand toward the pool. “M’ lady.”

Nathan moved to a discreet distance. Cate went behind a fern, its massive fiddle-heads nearly head-high. She struggled out of her laces and peeled away the sweat-dampened layers of clothing. Wary of the slippery rocks, she probed the water’s shallows with a cautious foot until the drop-off was found, and slipped in.

The hot spring had been glorious, alive with fine bubbles. The water here was coolly refreshing, the swirl like caressing arms, massaging her body and limbs. With glee bordering on childishness, she rolled again and again. She dove to lie at the bottom like a trout on a summer’s day, and then broke the surface in a sputtering explosion of air. Floating on her back, she allowed the eddies to take her under the falls and back around. On one pass, she caught a glimpse of Nathan through the greenery. She heard the scratch of his voice, but the water’s rush drowned the words, and so she floated.



###



Nathan took up a post at the pool’s edge, near enough to bear an eye, and yet far enough to allow Cate privacy. Well, aye, it meant close enough to catch an occasional glimpse through the ferns. Blessed eternity it was between the sightings of the ivory blur of her body.

He had lost track of Princess Pain-in-the-Ass. Could fall off a bloody cliff, for all he cared.

Might could just prop up the body and collect the ransom. ’Twould be that much more delightful for Lord-on-Highness Creswicke to pay for what was already dead.

By a certain way of thinking, he could be doing the wretched wench a favor: putting her out of her misery, before the suffering began. And suffering she most certainly would, wed to His Haughtiness. Plaques might be issued in his honor for the magnanimity of his humanity for saving the soul from such tortures.

On the other hand, no one deserved misery more than the one who inflicted it. Suffering came in many forms, and she had managed to exploit a heretofore untold number. As the sages are known to say, turnabout is fair play, or misery enjoys company, or some such rot.

His hand brushed his cheek.

The Devil burn me! I forgot to shave.

Cate preferred when he did so, the green eyes going to blue, a sure sign of pleasure. Those eyes were a port to what went on inside that maddening tangle of mahogany. Cross her and risk waking the jaguar. Hard and green they would go, fit to separate a man’s gullet from his craw. Please her, and they would go the color of the reefs. Bloody rare sight it was, hence a judgment based on brief observation.

Nathan moved to the pool’s edge, near enough to Cate to be the alert, and yet far enough not to be seen. There he knelt over his reflection, drew his knife, and to set to scraping the growth from his jaw.

A flash of yellow caught Nathan's eye. He looked up in time to see Princess Pain-in-the-Ass skulking about the bank. Swearing under his breath, he allowed a brief fancy of the blade he held in his fist pressing at her throat.

Belay that! Cate would never abide it. I’d never hear the end of it.

It was no great deed to catch up said wench, clap a hand over her mouth, and drag her away from the water and, more importantly, Cate’s hearing.

“Where the bloody hell do you think you’re going?” he demanded in a hoarse whisper after depositing the noisome wench neatly on a rock.

She gave a prominent display of lip. “I was just going to—”

“I don’t care if your skirts are on fire, you’ll not disturb her.”

Prudence sprang back up. “I just need her to—”

“Nothing! You have had her at the beckoning crook of your finger, since night last.”

She primly batted her lashes, as if he hadn’t seen that one before! “I can’t imagine what you’re talking about.”

“No imagination necessary, darling. Do not try me on. Bother her, and I’ll turn up those skirts and give you the spanking you so justly deserve. Now sit!”

A rigid arm pointed, and Prudence did so, stiff as the rock ledge beneath her. Nathan considered returning to the poolside to shave, but on second thought, sat squarely next to her. To his pleasure, she shifted sideways, tucking her skirts away lest they touch the dirty pirate. Crossing his arms, he settled for the duration.

Between the noise of the falls and a flock of parrots overhead in full voice, it was a bit of a strain, but he could still hear Cate splashing about, cavorting like a mermaid. The mind could be as barren as a desert, but at the moment, his was as fertile as Eden with imaginings of what awaited just the other side of those bushes.

“Can’t we—?” Prudence began.

“Shh!”

“Then, couldn’t—?”

“Shh! Shh!”

Huffing in protest, she bent her head under the broad hat brim. Her feet soon picked up her restlessness and began rapping rhythmically against the rock.

“Didn’t your mother teach you not to fidget?” he asked over the tempo.

“She tried,” came from under the hat. Pushing back the brim, she peered up from under it like a hermit crab. “You make me nervous. I can’t control myself when I’m nervous.” The brim flopped back down.

“Me? What did I do?” he asked, inching away.

“Nothing…exactly.” Her voice suddenly went to a pitch that would warrant a mouse. The tempo of her feet increased, her head now bobbing in unison. “You’re so…strange.”

“Strange?” He frowned. “That’s a rather uninstructive observation.”

Hunching her shoulders, Prudence withdrew under the brim like said crab. He eyed her and considered the merits of pulling the thing clean to her chin, if he thought it would serve. Instead, he re-crossed his arms and settled back to his vigil. He discovered, if he leaned ever so slightly to port, it brought him to an advantageous hole in the greenery, through which he could see where the sun illuminated the pool and Cate when she passed. It was pleasing to do at least this much for her. The woman was blessedly difficult to please; like pulling shipworms from a hull to learn what she desired. Concern for her drug at him. It was wholly disquieting to see her—

“Have you been a pirate long?”

Nathan's head snapped around. “What?”

“Have you been a pirate long?” she repeated more forcefully.

“Long enough,” he said with some hesitation as to where this line of questioning might lead.

Prudence nodded distractedly and looked off. There was a brief—and altogether uncomfortable, by his measure—silence. A viper can be ever so quiet before it strikes.

“Have you ever killed anyone? Pirates are always killing. Have ever you killed anyone?”

“Eh?”

“Do you really drink the blood of your victims? Why is your hair so strange? Did you know Blackbeard? Don’t the cannons scare…?”

Fired them off like a battery, she did. Like crossing the doldrums, she finally ran out of wind.

“She’s afraid of you, you know.”

His head jerked up. “What?”

“She’s afraid of you.” Prudence enunciated, as if he were simple.

Slack-jawed as said simpleton, Nathan stared. “She’s never—”

“I’m sure she’s never said,” Prudence put in, primly. “But how can you expect someone who’s afraid of you to tell you so?”

His head was beginning to buzz; he shook it to clear it.

I need rum…bad!

“Why did you made her cry today?” she asked, with far more scold than he cared for.

“I never—”

“She was perfectly fine when we were talking.” The wench took on an entirely unpleasant imperiousness. “And then, she went out and you said horrible things. When she came back in, she’d been crying. Anyone could see it.”

“Well, aye, she had, but—”

“She was telling me all about him.”

“Him?”

“Yes, him!” Her eyes rounded with significance. “You know, the Captain of the other ship. She fancies him,” she said, importantly.

Like the dry gripes, a pain clutched his gut. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly gone dry.

Suffering Jesus on the cross!

“You could see it in her eyes and in her voice when she spoke of him,” Prudence sighed dreamily. Her head bobbed faster, the rhythm of her feet quickening. “Isn’t it romantic? It’s like a storybook: on the high seas, a woman captive, the handsome pirate rescues her, and they fall in love to sail away.”

“Sounds like a goddamned nightmare,” he groaned, rubbing his face in his hands.

She reddened and said in high-toned virtuousness, “Blasphemers go to hell.”

“Been there, darling, and the goddamnedest place it ’tis,” he said evenly.

Her face deepened color, but then she pressed on. “Cate is lovely already, but if she had something more suitable, she could allure him so much more readily.”

“Not necessarily me first and foremost desire,” he said through his fingers.

A rational voice was able to finally break through the fog of irrationality. “Clap a stopper on it!”

Seized by the icy fear that Cate might have heard, he lowered his voice to a level known to make able-bodied forecastlemen quake. “I don’t know your game, Your Meddlesomeness, but I’ll offer you fair warning just the same.”

Prudence sat back, lids fluttering in disbelief. “Whatever do you mean, Captain?” Her face started to crumple, chin quivering. “My only intention was to help. Cate’s been so kind and…”

Panic overcame frustration at seeing her prime up for another deluge. Panic gave way to horror at the thought of Cate finding the snot crying again.

“Hist, now. Belay,” he said in his most soothing manner, as soothing as possible when every fiber of his being wanted to wring the life from the malignant pestilence.

Desperation led him to the cider bottle and he offered it eagerly. Observing carefully while she sipped, he saw her eyes were brimming, but thankfully her cheeks were dry. He glanced toward the pool and closed his eyes in relief.

Sweet merciful heaven! The gods are on me side! She still swims.



###



Cate had knelt in the shallows of the pool. Scooping up handfuls of sand, she had scoured away months of grime and emerged from the water like a nymph, new of body and life. Now, glowing and pink, she had thanked Nathan effusively. For all his denials, he beamed with pleasure.

Prudence cavorted about the glen, marveling at butterflies and picking wildflowers. Tossing the latter on the water, she watched in fascination as they swirled on the pool’s eddies and eventually swept out of sight downstream. Mirthlessly pointing out that his daisy-picking days were long over, Nathan had shed his hat and weapons—still at arm’s reach—and flopped down on the quilt spread on a luxuriant patch of moss then patted the space next to him for Cate to join him.

Nathan reclined, his hands laced behind his head and ankles crossed. Sitting companionably together as they did, so near and yet never touching, they were almost as brother and sister. Brother and sister, that is, who had been separated at birth and just recently rejoined, for siblings raised together possessed an intimate knowledge of each other. She knew relatively little of him, and he of her.

Eyes closed, Nathan dozed, his chest slowly rising and falling. It must have been a man’s trait, Cate thought as he ruffled her fingers through her hair to dry it. Brian had possessed the same talent: dirt, rock, or deck, he could make himself comfortable. With his shirt pulled taut, the filtered sun spangled in the mist which collected on his hair and lashes, and curved lacy patterns over his body. Now minus his belts and weapons, his hips were considerably slimmer, his shoulders seeming so much wider.

Away from his ship, Nathan was a different man. When with his crew, he was one of a greater whole, the leader, but still reliant on their acquiescence. Command never seemed a burden, but he was always preoccupied, as if half-expecting to be called away for some minutia regarding his ship. He was connected to the Morganse, the heart to his body, his ear always cocked to every creak and groan of canvas, plank or rigging. He would never be whole without his ship, but for this small bit, Cate could pretend and was content to have him for her own.

To see Nathan thus provided a glimpse of what he might have been before…everything: genial, without the edge; humorous, without the bite; more like Thomas, in many ways. Cate closed one eye and tried to imagine him as what could have been: close-shaven, his hair sleeked back and bound with a bow—blue, to show off the silken black and color of his eyes—an elegant waistcoat, silk shirt with a laced neckcloth, hosed and slippered, just like those in Lady Bart’s salon.

The image refused to form, for it was never meant to be. Regardless of whatever Fate delivered him, Nathan would always be a man of the sea, “free,” just as it was written on his chest.

“Do you remember that age?” Cate asked idly sometime later.

Nathan stirred and opened his eyes. He raised up to crane his head around her in order to see Prudence. He snorted as he lay back and closed his eyes.

“Aye, well enough. Thomas and I were able seamen, by then. Couldn’t keep our minds on our duties for the aching balls and stiff cocks.”

Cate lifted a brow, considering. “A fair description; my brothers weren’t much different.”

Nathan lifted his head again to peer down the long line of his nose at her. “And you?”

“Umm…” She closed one eye as she recalled. “I was serving the second year of my sentence at Mrs. Peachwood’s Academy for Young Ladies of Virginia.”

“Oh, dear. I never saw you for that sort,” he said, regarding her anew.

“The operative word was ‘sentence,’ with two more years to serve, or so I thought at the time.”

“Reprieve?”

“Of a sorts.”

Sensing a story, Nathan rose to his elbows. “What was your crime?”

“Being a product of the world in which I was raised.”

Nathan snorted again. “So shall we all be punished. And pray tell, how did the young ladies at Mrs. Peachwood’s occupy their young active minds?” By the licentious lilt in his voice, the minds were the last thing he was thinking.

“Young men, to be sure. Much more romanticized versions than you’re thinking, however.”

“Always the way of it,” he grumbled good-naturedly. He resettled with his hands behind his head and re-crossed his ankles. “’Tis Providence you women have us men about to show you the way of things, or mankind would have died out ages ago.”

Cate ducked a mocking bow from her seat. “Allow me on behalf of all women of the ages to offer our eternal gratitude.”

“No thanks to my brothers, I’m afraid I wasn’t near so uninformed,” she went on. “I was called before the headmistress, more times than I care to think, for dispelling a number of misconceptions, when it came to all that.”

Nathan sat up to consider her through a slitted eye. Only one side of his face had been shaven and only a small patch, at that. It gave him an odd, half-cocked appearance.

“I can see where you might have been quite the adventuress. The lads must have been pounding at your door,” he said.

“They tried,” Cate laughed mirthlessly. “Thanks to my brothers, I also knew how to defend myself.”

He clapped a dramatic hand on his chest. “A heartbreak for all!”

He sobered to ask, “And how does the granddaughter of the third cousin to the Spanish Crown come to be in Virginia?”

He was of course referring to her outburst earlier, and a regrettable one it was.

“A circuitous route, to be sure,” Cate finally said.

“Pray tell,” he said, his interest growing. “You say you lived in the Highlands, yet you sound like no Scot I’ve ever heard. You say you grew up in the Colonies, and yet you speak Spanish like a native. I’ve heard you with Ferrero and Novello,” he added as an aside.

It was a bit startling to learn that he had been observing her so closely. She was unaccustomed to anyone taking such notice.

“I was born in Nueva España. Tejas, the far northern region.” she said finally. “What with prejudices and suspicions as they are, I learned it was easier to just say I was from the Colonies.”

“I knew I’d never heard that accent before. So, from Tejas to Virginia.” It came more as a conclusion than question.

“Not quite. My mother passed when I was fourteen.”

A shadow crossed Nathan's face, revealing that he too had known the hollow feeling of a world suddenly gone empty. As a child, he too had stood at the edge of a grave, straining to understand the words spoken about a benevolent and forgiving god, who would answer prayers, and yet not possessing the strength to pray hard enough, or apparently so, for they were never answered. It was a dark path of recollection that she thought neither of them desired to follow.

“It was but a few weeks after Father announced he had no means to raise a daughter. So I was sent to Charles Town to live with an aunt and uncle,” Cate said grimly.

His continued silence pressed her to go on. “They sent me to be schooled in Virginia.”

“And the lads of Virginia were forever grateful.”

Cate's cheeks heated at the hidden compliment. It was a small one, but rarely had he alluded to her looks or appeal.

“Have you ever been to either, Virginia or Charles Town?” she asked, hopeful for a capricious bit of irony, the small thrill of having almost crossed paths years ago.

Nathan pressed his lips, one foot waggling in thought. “Virginia? Nay. The Chesapeake ’tis waters reserved for those who know her. Charles Town, aye, regular-like for a bit, until everything…”

He faded off, realizing that his point was taking him where he didn’t wish to go.

He waved away the thought and cleared his throat. “Prime pirating waters thereabouts.”

Uncomfortable with talking about herself, Cate turned her attention to Prudence once more. At no portion in her life could she recall having been so pampered or indulged.

Nathan sat up and peered intently at her. “Married at eighteen for several years…” he began tentatively.

“Four.”

“Very well, so it shall be. Alone for five…” he mused, tapping his finger on his chin.

“Why don’t you just come out and ask how old I am?”

Nathan smiled, abashed but unapologetic. “Me mum taught me ’tis a wise man what never asks.”

“And an even wiser man never risks guessing.”

His smile widened. “Wise words.”

Cate allowed him to wait a bit longer. It was disconcerting, for it was the most personal inquiry he had ever made. “Last year was the twenty-seventh time I celebrated a birthday.”

A brow lifted ever so slightly and his mouth twitched. “I had thought you to be a bit younger,” he said carefully.

“Is that wishful thinking or a heavy-handed attempt at politeness?” she asked lightly.

“Which answer will gain me the most dispensation for having dared such hazardous waters?”

Cate waited, and finally threw into the silence, “Turnabout is fair play.”

His arms resting on bent-up knees, Nathan rolled his eyes skyward in calculation. The answer surprised him. “There was a time I never thought to live to see it. ’Twas thirty-two years ago Mum laid in childbed with me,” he said, looking down between his legs.

She was careful to keep her features immobile. All things considered, with everything that had happened to him, she would have thought him to be bit older.

Nathan fell quiet again at the mention of his mother, the dark brows drawing together. She looked away, to allow him his solitude.

“We have to do something for her, Nathan.”

He looked up, following Cate's gaze toward Prudence. A dubious curl lifted his lip. “Why?”

“She’s but a child. We can’t send her off to be married to some—”

“Bastard,” he put in bluntly. “Why not? Arranged marriages happen all the time.”

Cate watched Prudence, hat brim flopping as she flitted from flower to flower like a yellow-flounced butterfly. “I can’t imagine being in a loveless marriage.”

She turned toward Nathan, one eye closed against the sun. “Can you?”

He shook his head resolutely, the clatter of his bells muted by the moist heavy air. “Me? Not in life.”

“Not even for money and position?”

He straightened. “Are you suggesting something?”

“No, no, just inquiring: if there was money or position, or whatever it was you had always sought, would you marry just for that, no love, not even attraction?”

Nathan barely took time to consider. “Nay. ’Twouldn’t be worth it.”

It was a great relief to hear. Nathan was a pirate, living in a world in which treasure and prize were everything. She didn’t think him capable of him being so cold or calculating. Thomas had said riches held no interest for Nathan, and she had witnessed nothing to the contrary. But still, she harbored a niggling seed of doubt.

Chin resting on his arms, he fell quiet for some time. Thoughtfully touching his tongue to his lip, he peered cautiously at her from the corner of his eye. “Was your marriage arranged?”

Cate hesitated. Aside from her earliest hours aboard, it was the first time Nathan had ever inquired or even eluded to either her marriage or her earlier life. Whether it was because he was uncomfortable with her having had one, preferring not to hear about Brian, if he thought it too distressing for her to discuss it, or if it was just general lack of interest on his part she couldn’t tell. It occurred to her then, that perhaps he thought her objections to Prudence’s arranged marriage reflected on her own. In any case, the question was posed so shyly, she couldn’t in good conscience refuse him.

She shifted. “In a way. We were already in love. Neither one of us could have been forced into it else. We didn’t dare hope to be allowed to marry. Brian had been promised, some twenty years before he was born, to a girl in another clan. It was part of a peace treaty that his uncle, the head of the clan, decided he wanted out of. If it was broken outright, there would have been war. So he broke it indirectly, by having Brian marry someone else.”

“You?”

“If I had been a member of any other clan, our marriage would have started another war. Since I wasn’t even Scots…” Cate lifted her shoulders, allowing him to complete the thought.

“Violent politics.”

“You have no idea,” she said with an emphatic roll of the eyes. “More violent and treacherous than any pirate ship.”

Pyramiding his fingertips, Nathan examined them thoughtfully. “I would think marriage is not an easy thing: always waking to the same person, week after week…?” He lifted one brow in subtle inquiry.

“But, that’s the point. Marriage is the desire to wake to no one else.”

“And when the wanting wears off?” He posed the question with air of one who already knew the answer.

“Never does.”

He scoffed, but Cate pressed on. “You may be angry all day, with all of life’s little irritations, but at night…” She sighed dreamily. “At night, you can’t think of anyone else.”

Nathan stared with an odd mix of caution, skepticism, and curiosity. “Don’t you tire of…?” His fingers swirled the air in suggestion.

“The same person doing the same things?” she asked.

Nathan's implications were clear enough, the concept not lost on her: a man and a woman married but no longer husband and wife, existing in concentric circles of coexistence, never physically touching. For her, such marital malaise was unimaginable. Her first night with Brian had been as passion-laden as the last. But their union had existed only a little over four years. What if Providence had allowed them 10 or 15? What then? Would she have grown weary of bands of moonlight floating across muted shapes under a quilt? Would the fire’s glow on bared arms or the candlelight on a chest become wearisome? Would the absence of sighs and muffled moans into pillows be a welcomed relief?

The ragged sound of Nathan clearing his throat snapped her back.

“Sometimes you might…maybe…” Cate stammered, cheeks flaming. “But mostly, you look forward to it. Anticipation has its place; ’tis sweet nectar. A lot of times, it’s not necessarily what they can do for you; it’s what you can do for them.”

He smiled, the high cheekbones rounding. “Laying on of the hands, eh?”

“Exactly. And when you need said laying-on, they will know exactly what to do.”

“And if they don’t?”

Typical Nathan, he had found the hole in her argument with the same precision as a musket shot.

“Well,” she began slowly. “Either you haven’t been married long enough, or you’re married to the wrong person.”

“Exactly my point,” he exclaimed, stabbing an emphatic finger skyward. “How do you know who’s right or who’s wrong?”

Cate shifted irritably. “There’s no checklist. I don’t know, you just know. There’s a little voice—at least for me—that said ‘this one.’ Of course, there always the Demon of Self-doubt.”

Nathan leaned back on his elbows and rocked. “I don’t have demons,” he said glibly.

“I think you have more demons than you care to admit,” she said, and then added in the face of his dubiousness, “You have to be honest with yourself: is it love, or is it lust?”

The walnut eyes narrowed. “Is there a difference?”

“I think so, yes, a vast difference. Don’t you?”

He squirmed, looking in every direction but hers.

“C’mon, Nathan. Surely you’ve thought about it.” Cate nudged him encouragingly on the shoulder. “Come on.”

“Oh, very well. Bloody parlor games.” He blew the long breath of a one about to exert a great effort. “Lust is…”

His voice lowered as he sank deeper in thought. “Hungers of the flesh: looking forward to the next whore, before you’ve finished with the first. It’s the having, nothing more, which is not to be dismissed,” he added, wagging a finger. “It’s served me well for many a year.”

“As I can well imagine.” Cate looked away, fearing Nathan might feel compelled to elaborate. Knowing of Nathan’s escapades was one thing; having them described would be quite another.

His mouth compressed into a grim line. “There are other manifestations.” He glanced at her, and then away. The hand on his leg curled into a fist until the tendons stood out. “Lust can be wanting, wanting so badly you shake with it, knowing it’s within your grasp, but you can’t have it. You can’t touch it, and yet you know if you don’t have it soon, you’ll likely perish.”

Unprepared for his ferocity, she was stricken momentarily speechless. “And love?” she asked in a hoarse rasp.

Nathan sat unnaturally quiet. The leafy shadows laced over the line of his nose and high cheekbones. A lifetime flickered across his features, the corners of his mouth sagging with disappointment, disillusion and doubt.

“I think I’ve only known lust.” He sounded moderately surprised by the revelation, and then looked embarrassed. “Infatuation, a few times…maybe. Probably more than a few, truth be told.”

She ducked her head into the line of his sight. “Never been really, truly in love?”

Nathan lifted one shoulder and dropped it. “Thought I was; certainly felt like it, at the time, at any rate. If anyone had asked, I probably would have said ‘aye.’”

“What happened?”

“It ended,” he said without remorse. “Sometimes, it was them; most of the time, it was me.”

Stretching his legs, he crossed his ankles and waggled one foot. “It didn’t last; few weeks, few months, maybe a year, and then it was over.”

“Leaves a vast hole, doesn’t it?”

The dark crest of his lashes lowered, veiling his thoughts as she had seen him do so many times. He went inward, where she, nor anyone else, would ever be allowed to go. The answer was so long in coming she thought perhaps there wouldn’t be one.

Finally, it came, his graveled voice a rough whisper. “Aye.”

They fell quiet, each immersed in settling the dust of disturbed ashes. Combing her fingers through her hair—now dry enough to begin to bloom about her head—Cate tried to imagine what it would be to bear such losses, supposed loves that either faded or soured. Comparatively speaking, her life had been simple: one love, one loss.

Nathan reached to seize the cheese and bottle. Experimentally sloshing the latter, he uncorked it and offered it to her. She took a drink; the cider was sweet while at the same time carried the tang of having begun to ferment. It made her slightly lightheaded and a lot lazy. He cut a piece of cheese, but she declined, not wanting to spoil the cider’s pleasantness.

Taking a bite, he slowly chewed while examining the remaining bit in his fingers. “Never found anyone what made me want to take that final oath.”

“Final oath? You make it sound like a death sentence.”

“Well, you have to admit, ’tis the end of a lot of things,” he said judiciously.

“And the beginning of so much more.”

Cate bit her lip as she measured her next words. “All those times, before,” she began delicately, “maybe those were just flings, infatuations. You haven’t found the right person, yet, that’s all.”

Mouth working pensively under his mustache, Nathan leaned back on his elbows once more. “What if you find them, but you can’t have them?”

The lilt in his voice brought a stab of sympathy. Rejection: it was a torture no less than flogging, a daily ripping of the flesh. Cate had been learning to live with the agony, dealing with it on a day-to-day basis. There was an instant surge of contempt for the thoughtless monster that had inflicted such agonies on him.

“You mean, if they don’t want you?” she asked, tactfully.

Nathan looked away. “Or, they’re already taken.”

Cate winced. “That could be a problem. I didn’t say it was all roses.”

Shifting restlessly, he muttered something cross under his breath. “Seems to be more thorns than roses.”

“You have to be willing to risk the thorns.”

Nathan sat up abruptly, his bells jangling. “I’ve had enough blood drawn.” Startled by his own outburst, he forced a smile. “Perhaps I’ll fancy the daisies; easier to pick and there’s a lot more of them.”

His metaphors made her smile.

“Daisies can fade quickly,” Cate chuckled, with less humor than intended. “Keep looking, Nathan. Perhaps, one day, you’ll find your rose.”

“Thorns be damned?”

It was his turn to smile, one of those gold and white marvels crafted to charm. It worked. She felt it tug in several places.

“Thorns be damned.”

Nathan gave Cate a piece of cheese. She chewed without tasting as she regarded him anew. His forearm was covered by his sleeve, but the image tattooed there was clear in her mind: a swallow carrying a heart, pierced and bleeding. She wondered what heartbreak had been so devastating as to drive him to mark it into his body, to be worn for an eternity. Had it been self-flagellation, for having been so foolish, or a reminder, never to open himself to such anguish again?

“You have a lot of fine qualities, Nathan,” she heard herself say. “You have a lot to offer a woman.”

A series of expressions crossed Nathan's face: accusation, suspicion, and finally, grudging acceptance. He bent up his knees and hung his head between his arms, the sable braids curtaining his face. The sun crowned his head in a raven-like sheen, catching on the random hairs of copper, sienna, and brunette. His rings glinted in the sun as his fingers worked, setting the swallows on his knuckles to fluttering. Milestones of his life, thousands of miles of seas and hardship, reduced to a few dashes of ink.

“Whores aside, too many been times I have been brought to a woman’s bed but for one purpose. Once served, they had little need of me.” He straightened, raising a warning finger. “Mind you, not that it was all bad.”

“Oh, no, never!” To not smile was painful.

“They wanted Captain Nathanael Blackthorne, the pirate, the scalawag, not me.”

Toying with his rings, he looked up with a wide-eyed sincerity, which bordered on wonderment. “You’re not like that.”

“Perhaps I had the benefit of knowing you, before I met Captain Blackthorne,” Cate stammered. Was it her imagination, or had the afternoon suddenly become warm? “Captain Blackthorne is a nice sort, don’t get me wrong.”

“Scary and eccentric.” Nathan grinned, the devilment returning. “That’s what I’ve been told, at any rate.”

He drew his knife from his boot and cut another chunk of cheese, lifting an eyebrow as an offering. Distracted, she declined, and he settled back with his own morsel.

Prudence skipped about the pool’s banks, squeaking at a toad hopping under a mossy rock. The saffron-colored frock was a travelling dress—reduced skirts and sturdy cloth, its color selected to compliment the dark hair and blooming complexion—but was still not up to the rigors of a pirate ship, nor island exploration. But then, what difference would it make? It was very probable her appearance held very little relevance.

Prudence’s captivity was a sharp reminder of her own uncertain status. At one time, she had thought herself to be a hostage, and yet Nathan had assured her to the contrary. That he ducked the issued anytime she pressed regarding his intentions was puzzling. He desired her aboard; that much was clear. The “why” of it remained the question:

Friendship? A long reach there, the proof being his acrimony when she had called him that.

Protectorate? Hardly. She reminded him of someone else, someone for whom he harbored a morbid dislike.

Investment? One niggling point screamed louder than all else: he was a pirate. Deception would be his bread and butter. She strove to prepare herself for when the time came that he would either ransom or sell her.

“Prudence is about to marry a complete stranger, who has no reason, nor motivation to love her,” Cate said without realizing it.

“How do you know? Maybe he’s dying to have that special woman in his life.”

Cate twisted around to Nathan. “Do I look that silly?”

“No.” His grin took on an impish nature, the bells in his mustache taking a rakish angle. “But ’tis worth the try. I sense a purpose in this line of dialogue. Pray enlighten me as to what you desire us to do?”

“I don’t know. There has to be something.”

Chewing on the inside of her mouth, she watched Prudence pluck petals from a flower.

“You need to tell her she’s pretty.”

“What!” Nathan's gravel voice pitched to a girlish shrill. His mouth hanging open sufficiently to show the bite of cheese in one corner, she was witnessing Nathanael Blackthorne stricken speechless. “I have to what?”

“You have to tell her she’s pretty. She needs to hear it; every woman does. No one has ever told her that.” It didn’t seem that tall of an order. Once past the petulance, Prudence was a very lovely girl. Surely Nathan’s standards weren’t that high.

“You tell her.”

“It won’t serve coming from me. She needs to hear it from a man.”

“Well, then…let Creswicke tell her.”

Cate slapped her palm against her forehead and groaned. “Did you actually hear what you just said?”

Nathan's shoulders jerked as he drummed his fingers on his legs. “Why do I have to do it? There’s nigh on to three hundred-odd men on that shore. Why can’t one of them do it? Get Thomas to do it.”

“Believe me, I plan to. Oh, come on Nathan.” She nudged him lightly on the shoulder again. “How many women have you told were beautiful, and didn’t really mean it?”

Cate ignored the fact that he had never made comment regarding her appearance, one way or the other.

Nathan ducked his head. Under his deep tan, his neck reddened. “Aye, well, quite a few, but I was—”

“Yes, I know the ‘but,’” she interjected tartly. “This time, it’s to be nice simply for the sake of being nice.”

Cate watched Nathan stare at the ground, his mouth working. Dipping her head lower, she caught his eyes. “Please? For me?”

It was a card never before played. It was distasteful to use their friendship against him, but there seemed little other choice.

“Oh, very well, since you put it that way,” he grumbled. “I’ll do it, sometime or another, but I shan’t like it.”

“Bear up, Nathan,” she laughed. “I know it’s a trial being a gift to the ladies, but bear up.”

The sound of the waterfalls filled the silence between them. A shriek drew their attention toward Prudence, relaxing when they saw it was only in because of a small bird flitting too closely.

“By the by,” Nathan began pensively. “What’s this I hear about you wanting a dress?”

“What are you about?”

“Princess Pain-in-the-Ass told me you were desiring dresses. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Now Cate was the one to fluster. “Because I didn’t, or don’t.”

“That’s not what she said,” Nathan countered with a vague wave. “She said you wished something newer.”

“Did she say I said that, or did she say that’s what she thinks I should have said?”

Nathan made to respond then paused, closing one eye with the effort of recalling. “Might have been the latter,” he muttered. “Don’t exactly recall, now. Bloody little wench never stops talking; chatters worse than Beatrice.”

Sensitive to his ruffled feelings, Cate turned her head until her urge to laugh was contained. She came back to a narrow look, drumming his fingers on his leg, formulating his next ploy.

“I hear—through sources that I shall not name—that you are in need of thread.”

Nathan was plump with smugness. It had been a game of wills between them, he in search of what she was in need and she reluctant to say. Needs and desires: she had long ago surrendered, nay, abandoned those. Besides, frugal practicality had always been her nature.

There was only one way he could have known: he overheard.

“No secrets on a ship, hm?” she said, narrowly.

Nathan had the good grace to be at least a bit abashed at being discovered.

“Well, yes, I could use some,” Cate finally admitted.

God, she despised this! A lifetime of attempting to assert her independence wiped away with a simple admission. She felt as if she had just been catapulted 25 years back, and now stood at her father’s knee.

“Goddamn it to buggering hell, woman,” he extorted to the sky. He yanked at a piece of fern at his foot and angrily pitched it. “Hell and death, why didn’t you say something?”

“It’s so frivolous. You have other matters far more important than thread.”

Dropping his head to his chest, he let out an exasperated growl that sounded like ripping canvas.

“I’ve sought to get you anything, everything you could want.” His hand on his knee flexed in cadence. “You insist on representing there was nothing you required. What the goddamned blooming hell good is it to be a pirate, if there’s nothing I can get you?” His eyes were bulging by the time he finished.

Cate shied like a scolded child. “I don’t know. It felt odd to ask. I already feel like an imposition. You’ve given me so much, it didn’t seem right to ask for anything more.”

In one fluid move, Nathan was on his knees before her. He took her by the chin and lifted her face. Eyes gone dark as his ship intently searched hers.

“You are not an imposition.” Each word was uttered with singular emphasis. “You have as much right to be on that ship as anyone, and I’ll shoot the bastard what says different, sabe?”

Nathan sat back, more composed. “Now, if there is anything you ever, ever desire, you just say, agreed?” He punctuated it with a final, intimidating glare.

Chastened, her voice caught. “Agreed.”

“And the next port, by the horns o’ Satan, you’ll have enough thread to founder the flaming ship!” His shoulders shifted irritably under his shirt. “Be damned if it’ll be said I can’t provide a woman some bloody thread!”