There was a ship right next to them, sporting a skull and crossbones as its flag. Sailors were jumping between the two vessels as if it was a game, and Harcourt's crew was being overwhelmed. Many were dead, others bleeding, their limbs hacked off. Those who were still alive were being huddled into groups, with pirates holding them at gunpoint.

Frantically, she peered about, searching for Harcourt, and finally, she saw him toward the stern, engaged in a sword fight. He was surrounded by six of the bandits, with none of his own crew nearby to a.s.sist. Like a madman, he twirled and parried, his sword slashing viciously, providing stark evidence that he hadn't been bragging about his skill, but there were too many opponents. Harriet gaped at the mlee, heartsick as the hopeless spectacle played out.

One pirate in particular seemed to be leading the a.s.sault. There was a commanding confidence about him that set him apart, and Harriet decided he must be the captain of the other vessel.

As the skirmish progressed, the others shifted away until Harcourt and the other captain were the only two still fighting. They were the same height, close in age, weight, and size, so it should have been a fair contest, but Harcourt had been bloodied, his fatigue showing, while the pirate appeared fresh and eager to continue.

Harcourt met a strong parry, and as he spun away, a bystander tripped him. The evil crowd laughed as the other combatant's blade caught Harcourt in the back, thrusting so deep that she could see the tip exit out the front of his chest.

His limbs went slack, his sword clattering away as he collapsed.

Harriet gasped, and without meaning to, she cried, "Tristan, no! Oh, no!"

Her voice-overly loud and definitely female-wafted out, and the pirate who'd stabbed Tristan turned to her and grinned.

"Mon Dieu, what have we here?"

All motion ceased as everyone gawked at her. Though she had nowhere to go, she tried to run, but two blackguards seized her. Quickly, they stripped her of her paltry weapons, then they dragged her over to where Tristan lay on his side, not moving.

She kicked and wrestled, but they simply tied her wrists and ankles so she was trussed and unable to do anything but glare with hatred.

"You killed him, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d," she seethed at the pirate captain. "You killed him."

"I can't abide insolent women," he retorted, "so be silent, or I'll gag you, too."

"You only bested him by cheating. You had to have someone trip him before you could-"

He lunged forward and clamped a palm over her mouth and nose, cutting off her air.

"Didn't you hear me, cherie? Be silent!"

He a.s.sessed her, permitting her to get a good look at him, and to her surprise, his eyes were emerald green, his hair blond, like her own. In different, more normal circ.u.mstances, people might have mistaken them for brother and sister.

"Now then," he cautioned, "I'm going to take my hand away. If you so much as peep, I will give you to my men and let them do whatever they like to you-which I doubt you'd appreciate. Nod if you understand me."

There was a subtle tensing in those sailors nearest her, as if they were anxious for her ravishment to commence, and she nodded. The pirate backed away.

"I have a few questions for you," he said. "I expect your answers to be brief. Nod again if you think you can comply without annoying me."

Harriet nodded.

"I am Jean Pierre, Le Terreur Franais."

The French Terror! The dastardly swashbuckler was notorious, and on learning his ident.i.ty, Harriet blanched.

At being recognized, he beamed with pride. "I see my reputation precedes me. What is your name?"

"Harriet."

"Are you the captain's wife?"

"No."

"His wh.o.r.e?"

She bristled. "Absolutely not."

"His pa.s.senger? A relative? What?"

"I was a stowaway."

"Really?"

"Yes."

Jean Pierre considered her reply. "I suppose it's possible. After all, I've proven this vessel is quite easy to board without invitation."

His crew whooped with merriment.

Harriet scrutinized him, committing his features to memory so she would never forget his face, and while his hair and eyes matched hers, he also bore an uncanny resemblance to Tristan.

Who was he beyond the facade of Jean Pierre? He talked with an accent that was part-French and part-English, as if he'd been raised in both countries, and though he was obviously a criminal, his speech and manners branded him a man of education and breeding.

"You claim to be a stowaway, cherie," he said, "yet you call your captain by his Christian name. This indicates that you have a connection that's more involved than you have admitted to me."

"I hardly know him."

"Such a pretty, pretty liar."

"It's true! I swear. He was-"

He held up a hand in warning. "Don't make me be cruel to you, cherie. Don't speak unless spoken to." He turned to the sailor who had a sword pressed to Tristan's throat. "Is he still breathing?"

"Oui."

Harriet's knees almost gave out. "Thank G.o.d."

"Don't thank your precious G.o.d," Jean Pierre said. "Thank me for not murdering him when I had the chance." Without pulling his gaze from hers, he ordered, "Lower the longboat."

Several men jumped to do his bidding. The small boat was maneuvered down to the water while Tristan's crew watched and waited to learn what would happen next.

Jean Pierre sliced through Harriet's bindings, and he led her to the ship's rail so she could see the longboat bobbing far below. Then he motioned to the brutes guarding Tristan, and they drew him to his feet and lugged him over.

He was covered with deep cuts, with what appeared to be a gunshot wound to his arm. The stabbing injury, where he'd been pierced from back to front, oozed blood. He was unconscious, his body limp, his chin on his chest.

Jean Pierre had a pouch on his belt, and he retrieved a bottle from it, lifted the cork, and waved it under Tristan's nose. Tristan jerked awake, his eyes flying open.

Jean Pierre stepped to him so they were toe to toe, and Harriet was amazed again by how similar they were.

"Do you know who I am?" Jean Pierre asked.

Tristan shook his head. "No."

"Are you sure? Look carefully, then tell me you don't know."

"Leave him be!" Harriet snapped. "Can't you see how pale he is? You've nearly killed him. Don't pester him to death with questions."

"Ah..." Jean Pierre mused, "such a loyal wench. I envy you, brother."

Tristan's crew muttered and grumbled. Harriet, herself, couldn't stifle a gasp.

"What are you saying?" she demanded. "You wicked brigand, are you claiming to be his kin?"

"Not claiming, Mademoiselle Harriet. Merely speaking the truth."

Tristan studied him, then mumbled, "b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

Jean Pierre struck Tristan across the face, hitting him as hard as he could, and Tristan grunted and fell to his knees. Though he tried to rise and return the blow, he was too battered to fight back. Blood began pouring from his wounds, alarming her with the rate of the flow.

"That was for my mother," Jean Pierre insisted, and he raised a fist as if he'd strike Tristan again.

"Stop it!" Harriet grabbed Jean Pierre's arm. "He's barely alive. There's no need to hasten his demise."

"No, there's not," Jean Pierre amiably agreed, shucking Harriet off as if she was a bothersome gnat. "I don't want you to die, Harcourt. I want you to survive-at least for a little while."

Tristan was lifted to his feet again, and Harriet was terrified he'd say something stupid that would get him instantly killed. But he seemed to recognize that he was too weakened to withstand more punishment. Wisely, he kept his mouth shut.

"What do you want of him?" Harriet queried, hoping to deflect Jean Pierre's temper toward herself.

"I want you to die, cherie."

"Me? Why? What did I ever do to you?"

"Nothing, but it's obvious you are Harcourt's mistress-perhaps even his wife-and if he would let you sail with him, his love is potent indeed."

"I am a stowaway!"

"I'm sorry, but I don't believe you."

"He won't care if you murder me."

"Yes, he will, so your death will be slow and miserable, as my mother's was slow and miserable. Tristan Harcourt will helplessly observe as you perish. He will weep and wail and pray to his deaf G.o.d, but you will die anyway."

"You've been following us," Tristan managed to spit out.

"Yes, biding my time until the moon was gone and it would be safe to attack."

"Because of our mother? You brought us this mayhem because of a deceitful and disloyal-"

Jean Pierre hit him again, and Tristan crumpled to the deck. Jean Pierre knelt, hovering over him.

"She was my mother, mon frere, and I loved her. When she was alone in France, when she was poor and hungry and ill, I wrote to your father, begging him to a.s.sist her. He had never divorced her, so she was still his wife, still a British countess. I was just a boy, and I was frantic with worry. He answered my letter, and would you like to know what he told me?"

Tristan grimaced, and Jean Pierre smirked.

"Suffice it to say that I will spend the rest of my life ruining you and James. If it takes until my last breath, my mother will be avenged."

He stood and nodded to his men. "Put them in the longboat."

They picked up Tristan as if he was a sack of flour. None too gently, they worked him down the rope ladder, dropping him at the end, so he landed with a painful thud.

Jean Pierre moved to Harriet, and though she fought him, he was too strong. He hoisted her over his shoulder and carried her down himself, as she clasped at his clothes, afraid he would pitch her into the roiling sea, but he didn't.

He set her in the boat, then he seized the blankets, provisions, and oars, handing them up to his crew members. He climbed out, and she was alone, with no supplies and a gravely injured Tristan Harcourt.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked.

"Because I can."

"But you're his brother!"

"A minor technicality, I a.s.sure you."

He retrieved a knife from the sheath at his waist and started slicing through the rope that tethered the small boat to the ship.

"What will become of us?" she anxiously inquired.

"You will succ.u.mb to thirst and starvation."

"That's so cruel."

"Isn't it, though?"

"He doesn't care about me!" she insisted again. "This is silly. My death won't hurt him in the least."

"Won't it?" He laughed and laughed. "Trust me, cherie. He loves you, and he will pa.s.s away knowing you are doomed. It is enough. For now."

He made a final slash with the knife, and in a thrice, the longboat was adrift.

"Au revoir, Mademoiselle. When my brother regains consciousness, give him my regards."

"He was right: You are a b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"Yes, I am. Good luck and G.o.dspeed!"

Harriet watched him, tracking the white of his shirt as he scrambled up to the deck. She continued to watch, seeing the faint outline of the ship, the dim glow of a lamp, until soon, she could see nothing at all.

She was surrounded by black night and black water and absolute, total silence.