"Probably because you thought it would do me good to see how the rest of the world lives. You're always telling me life's no fairy tale."

Nathan chuckled. "Yeah, maybe this is a good idea at that. But I still don't-"

"Well, well, well. Lookee what we 'ave 'ere." The cockney accent was unmistakable as a short, pigeonshouldered man sauntered around the comer of the tavern.

Glory took a step backward, drawing deeper into the folds of her cloak. She took two more steps and bumped into the thick chest of a second, bigger man who had moved behind her. With a meaty hand, he pulled the hood from her head, exposing a mass of shiny blond hair.

"Whooee!" his skinny companion sputtered in surprise.

"You're right there, Smitty," the bigger man said with a low-country drawl. "Looks like that trip to the necessary's gonna pay off."

"I'll say, mate," the Englishman agreed. "Ain't she just about the pertiest piece o' baggage ye've ever seen?"

Nathan tugged at her arm. "We best be goin', Miz Glory," he said in his thick accent, and Glory couldn't have agreed more. She took a step toward Nathan, but the beefy sailor grabbed her arm.

"She ain't goin' anywhere, boy," the big sailor warned. "She's gonna conduct a little business. Me and Smitty got three months' wages in our pockets, and we mean to buy us the best piece of fluff in Bull's Head Bay. Near's I kin tell, she's it."

Nathan straightened, all pretense of the illiterate slave gone. "Back away and leave us alone." Again he pulled Glory toward him, and again the beefy sailor held her arm, tugging her in two directions at the same time.

"Well, now, ain't that somethin'? A nigger who kin talk like a white man."

Nathan swung a solid punch that thudded against the big sailor's jaw, and Glory stifled a scream. Jerking free of the sailor's grip, she turned to run, but the second sailor caught her around the waist and pulled her into his bony arms. Brandishing pistols, two more men stepped from behind. They moved behind Nathan, and before Glory could utter the words that would warn him, one brought the barrel of his weapon down on Nathan's skull with a loud, resounding crack.

Nathan slumped into the dirt.

Glory screamed in earnest and tore free of the little man who held her.

The big sailor caught her up and swung her clear off the ground. "Don't you fret, none, darlin'. Yer nigger boy'll be jus' fine. He'll be comin' 'round 'bout the time we're done with you." He chuckled heartily, and Glory felt suddenly sick. She tried to scream again, but he clamped his large hand over her mouth. "You keep that up and I'm gonna git mad."

Glory forced herself to be calm.

The big sailor untied her cloak and tossed it away, then marveled at the tempting sight she made. "Would ya look at that, Smitty." Beads of perspiration formed on his brow. "She's got legs all the way to hell and gone."

The Englishman lifted her skirt and appraised the turn of her calves outlined by Rosabelle's black fishnet stockings. "Guess we could take turns with her right 'ere, but I got me a feather mattress in m' room upstairs."

"I ain't taken a woman betwixt the sheets in a coon's age," one of the other sailors, apparently a fellow crewman, put in. "I say we have at her upstairs!"

A chorus of agreement followed, and Glory found herself tossed over the man's wide shoulder. He slapped her bottom soundly to the accompaniment of raucous laughter, and then she was jounced all the way up the street.

Kicking and pounding the man's broad back did not an ounce of good. Her only chance was to wait until they entered the tavern, then scream for help and pray one of the men from the Black Spider would recognize her and come to her assistance. Maybe Mac would be there. Or even-God forbid-Nicholas. She felt sure she would prefer to defend her virtue on her own rather than face Nicholas Blackwell under such humiliating circumstances.

After another bawdy slap and more laughter, she decided it didn't matter who her rescuer was.

As they moved down the dirt lane toward the tavern, Glory made a try at persuasion. "Please, gentlemen," she pleaded, "I know you think I'm a lady of the evening, but I assure you I am not. This is all a mistake. If you'll put me down, I'll see there are no repercussions."

"Reper . . . reper . . . what'd she say?"

"I don't know," the big sailor said, "but she'll be too busy to be talkin' once she's on her back!"

They all laughed uproariously, and Glory fumed. Riding upside down, she felt all the blood rush to her head, and she was beginning to feel dizzy. Maybe she should try screaming again. She decided against it. Her best chance lay inside the tavern. Rosabelle and Madame LaFarge were supposed to be there. She prayed to God they were.

"Put her down, bucko," a soft voice warned. Glory raised her head to see Jago Dodd standing just outside the tavern door.

"Thank, God," Glory whispered. "Gentlemen, please, Mr. Dodd will explain everything."

"Can't you keep that chit quiet?" one of the sailors demanded.

"Stay outta this, mate," the Englishman warned Jago. "Ye kin have her when we git through."

"I said put the lady down."

"Lady? Now, there's a laugh." As the big sailor strode toward the tavern, Glory spotted the gleam of metal in the Englishman's hand.

"Jago, watch out!" she warned, kicking her long legs in another attempt to free herself. "He's got a knife!"

"Shut up!" the man warned with a harder whack, and Glory braced herself against his shoulders to see. The three other men circled Jago, each brandishing a knife. Jago held a long gleaming blade of his own. Oh, God, she thought, this is all my fault. If something happens to Jago, I'll never forgive myself.

Nicholas slipped an arm around Nina's slender waist. "Let's go. I've waited long enough."

She smiled seductively up at him, green eyes bright with anticipation. "Ginger's told me all about you. I can't say I'm sorry she's busy tonight."

Nicholas smiled coldly. "You just make sure I'm not sorry." Guiding her along, he headed toward the staircase leading to her room at the top of the landing, but before he got halfway there, a commotion behind him drew his attention. Several men rushed past them toward the door.

Nicholas grabbed the arm of a one-eyed sailor who was hurrying behind the others. "What's going on out there?"

"Jago Dodd's takin' on four men from the Fleet Lady in a knife fight over some new whore."

Nicholas stiffened. He had hired the barrel-chested sailor in Barbados. Dodd had a terrible reputation for fighting, but a shortage of crewmen made hiring the man a necessity. So far he'd caused little trouble, but Nicholas didn't know him well enough to trust him. He didn't want to see one of his men killed in an unfair fight, either.

"Wait here," he told Nina. "I'll be right back." Nicholas strode to the door, uncertain of what to expect. Outside, Jago Dodd stood surrounded by cheering men while he held three other knife-wielding sailors at bay. He was slashed in several places; red streaks stained his clothing, but he seemed to be holding his own.

Nicholas didn't like the odds. He took two long strides forward before the sight of a ruffled fanny and a pair of long, shapely black-stockinged legs stopped him cold. When the beefy sailor who held the girl turned sideways, Nicholas caught his breath. Silvery tendrils of pale blond hair hung almost to the ground. Her milk-white bosom bulged from the top of her skimpy orange satin gown.

"Nicholas!" she cried, propping herself up to see. "Thank God you're here! You've got to help Mr. Dodd!" If Nicholas hadn't been so stunned-and so furious-he might have laughed. A crowd of drunken sailors were fighting to see which would bed her first, while spoiled and pampered Gloria Summerfield, dressed like a whore, worried about the safety of the toughest man of the lot.

"I'll see what I can do." Nicholas raised a booted foot and slammed it against the wrist of the first sailor he could reach, sending the man's knife flying. He punched a second and noticed Jago had sheathed his knife and kicked a third, joining him in the donnybrook.

With the odds more evenly matched against his friends, the beefy sailor set Glory on her feet and joined in, landing a smashing blow to Nicholas's stomach that doubled him over. Then a blow to his jaw sent him sprawling. Jago Dodd punched the sailor so hard he buckled to his knees. Nicholas grinned at Jago and regained his feet, beginning to enjoy the fray.

After landing a solid left-right combination that sent a short, skinny sailor careening against a tree, Nicholas turned and punched another in the nose. The man's blood sprayed the front of Nicholas's white linen shirt. Glory wrung her hands, her blue eyes bright with uncertainty, and Nicholas vowed she should damned well be afraid- of him, instead of the men who were brawling over her!

A few more blows and the battle was over. All four crewmen from the Fleet Lady lay prostrate in the dirt. Nicholas and Jago Dodd stood above them, feet apart, fists clenched against any newcomers. None came.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Nicholas turned to Jago and extended a hand. "I'm pleased to have you on board, Jago. You can sail with me anytime."

Jago grinned, creasing his beetle-browed, knife-scarred face. "Aye, Cap'n." He took Nicholas's hand in a bone-crushing grip.

Only then did Nicholas go to Glory. She seemed unable to speak. "Are you all right?" he asked, giving in to worry for the first time.

"Ye-yes," she stuttered, beginning to shake. Her full breasts threatened to spill out over the top of the gown. Her shiny hair tumbled in silken strands to frame her face.

Nicholas had seen her in mourning clothes, seen her in stylish day dresses, even seen her in elegant, daringly low-cut gowns, but he'd never in his wildest dreams imagined the pagan beauty that lay beneath her expensive fashions. His heart hammered and his blood boiled. It was all he could do not to carry her off, just as the sailors had intended to do.

"How did you get here?" he demanded, his tone harsher than he intended. The girl had the most infuriating effect on him. One he didn't like in the least. It made him all the angrier. He grabbed her by the arms and shook her- hard. "I said how did you get here!"

"Oh, my God," she whispered. "Nathan!" She tore free and began running madly down the dirt lane, her pale hair flying out behind her. She rounded the comer of the tavern to see Nathan sitting up, swaying, holding his head.

"Nathan!" she cried, rushing to kneel beside him. "Are you all right?"

He groaned. "My head hurts something awful, and there are two of you, but I guess I'll live . . . Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." She poked him gently in the ribs-a reminder to change his manner of speech-as Captain Blackwell knelt beside her.

He examined Nathan's head. "He's got a nasty lump and probably a slight concussion, but I think he'll be all right."

"Thank God."

Nicholas stood up, then jerked her none to gently to her feet. "I want to know just exactly how you got here. And I want the truth."

Glory swallowed hard. "I-I . . ." Noticing that the scowl on Nicholas's face was growing blacker by the moment, she licked her suddenly dry lips. "I told the night watch I had to see Rosabelle. I persuaded him to let us come ashore."

"Do you have any idea what you've done?"

She straightened her spine and lifted her chin defiantly. "Nothing so terrible. I came ashore, that's all. Just the same as you."

"Not quite the same," he said softly. "You caused one of my crewmen to disobey a direct order. Because of you, he'll be punished. As will your servant."

"What!" Glory shrieked. "But they've done nothing. It was my idea to come ashore, not theirs. Surely you can't blame them?"

Nicholas didn't answer. Just tugged her along to the shore boat, roughly handed her in to Jago, and climbed aboard himself. No one said a word as Jago and Nathan manned the oars. Glory's hands trembled so badly she had to clutch the folds of her skirt to still them. Surely Nicholas was only trying to scare her. He'd see reason once they reached the ship. She would persuade him to forgive the three of them somehow.

"Nicholas, please," she begged, the moment they set foot on the deck.

"Jago, escort the lady to her cabin. Lock the door. When Rosabelle returns, tell her she's to bunk with Madame LaFarge."

Jago nodded.

"When you've finished, escort her servant to the brig. "He'll make the balance of the voyage below decks."

"Nooo!" Glory screamed. "You can't do that! It was my idea. I made him do it!"

"Mr. Dodd."

"Aye, Captain." Jago wrapped a huge arm around her waist and effortlessly hauled her down the stairs to her cabin. He opened the door and gently but firmly deposited her inside.

"Sorry, Miss Glory. Try to understand. Captain Blackwell's got no choice. The whole crew knows he told you to stay behind. He told the night watch and your man directly. His word is law. He has to stand by it or the men won't work for him. You've left him no choice."

"Oh, God," Glory said. Tears coursed down her cheeks. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone."

"Captain knows that. He hates this as much as you." Jago closed the door, and Glory heard the key turn in the lock.

Still dressed in her orange satin garb, she sank onto the lower bunk and gave herself up to deep racking sobs. She'd never felt more miserable in her life. The last thing she'd wanted was to hurt someone else. Now Nathan would spend the rest of the voyage in the brig, and she still didn't know what would happen to the young sailor. And all because she'd wanted to have her way. She was spoiled and willful, just as Nicholas said. A fresh wave of tears spilled down her cheeks. The lump in her throat threatened to choke her.

After tossing and turning for what seemed like hours, she finally fell asleep. She awoke sometime later, feeling leaden and achy all over. Rising from the berth, she forced herself to wash her face and brush her hair, then pulled on a white cotton nightdress.

There was always tomorrow, she told herself. She'd try again tomorrow. Then she remembered the hard cold look on the tall sea captain's face. And felt like crying all over again.

Chapter Nine.

Exhausted and worried, Glory awoke later than usual. The day was already hot and humid, leaving her nightgown clinging to her skin. The ship creaked and swayed beneath her so she knew they'd made way, and she longed for the cooler air up on deck. After performing her morning ablutions, she dressed in one of her black day dresses, leaving off all but her thinnest petticoat, her one concession to the heat. She was brushing her hair when a knock at the door interrupted her.

The ship's cook requested permission to enter. The wizened little man came shuffling in, carrying a tray laden with biscuits and coffee, his eyes downcast. "Momin', Miss Glory," Cookie mumbled so low she could barely make out the words."

"Good morning, Cookie," she answered, just as halfheartedly. As he set the tray down and turned to leave the room, Glory caught his weathered hand. "Cookie, I have to speak with Captain Blackwell. Do you think you could-"

A loud crack stopped her in midsentence. Her eyes flew wide at the second crack, and her heart knocked against her ribs. She'd know that sound anywhere. "Cookie, tell me what's happening."

"Nothin' fer you to worry about. Had to be done." The lash sounded again.

"Tell me!"

"Man disobeyed the captain's direct order. He's-"

Glory didn't wait to hear the rest. Brushing past the grizzled old man, she raced out the door and up the ladder. The whole crew stood in silence, assembled in front of the mainmast. Mac MacDougal wielded the braided leather whip that sliced across the young sailor's bare back.

"Oh, God." Glory raced across the deck toward Nicholas, who stood arrow-straight, facing his men. Tears blurred her vision; she stumbled once, but kept on going. Nicholas's already dark expression darkened even more.

"Go back to your cabin," he commanded, his tone harsh.

"Please Captain," Glory pleaded. "Please don't do this. This was my fault, not his."

"Mr. Pintassle!" he called out. "Escort Miss Summerfield to my cabin. Make certain she doesn't leave. I'll see to her when I'm through here."

"Nicholas, please," Glory shrieked. "You can't do this!"

Joshua's arm slid beneath her elbow. "Please, Miss Summerfield," he said softly. "You'll only make things worse."

She just stared at him. The lash echoed. She thought of running to Mac, pleading with him to see reason, but, as if reading her thoughts, Jago Dodd stepped in front of her, forming a wall against the grisly sight and her intervention.

"Go with him, miss," he warned, and she knew he meant to take her below himself if she refused.

Nodding dumbly, she started back toward the ladder, Joshua Pintassle trailing along behind. He opened the captain's cabin door for her, but didn't follow her inside. She knew he kept watch in the corridor.