"Isn't there some way to circumvent that?"

"Not really," he teased.

She didn't know him fully, but Nathan didn't strike her as a man who would refuse a maid if handed one. The fact of the matter was she considered it safe to say he was a man who had welcomed the company of many women. With his charm and dash, few could resist when targeted by that.

"Brilliant," Pryce murmured in wonderment over his shoulder, once his Captain had strolled away. "Treasure given over volunteer-like 'tis just as shiny as that what come with spilt blood. The men appreciate that."

"All of them?" She looked warily across the myriad of faces, Scarface and her earliest moments aboard still fresh in her mind.

He shot a loathing over his shoulder. "No, but those be the ones what tend to seek a cap'n what thirsts for blood 'n' mayhem. Now mind, the Cap'n can be treacherous when he's of a mind. I've seen 'im slit a man's gullet and leave the poor bastard with his guts draped over his arm. The Cap'n keeps the rum plentiful, their bellies full, 'n' the swag piles high, a-knowin' a man's dedication takes but two paths: his pocket and his stomach."

"The men seem to love him."

"Or respect," Pryce was quick to qualify. "Don't be a-confusin' the two; there be a fair difference a'tween 'em. Them what don't is long gone, either by choice, or otherwise.

The First Mate was gone before Cate could ask for clarification on the "otherwise." On second thought, perhaps she was better off not knowing.

The thought of being a part of pillaging and destruction, maybe even killing, was wholly distasteful and disturbing. Death wasn't new to Cate; she had witnessed a war first hand, but that had been in the spirit of King and country, not a quest for plunder and riches. But realistically, what else was she to do? These men were pirates before she had been brought aboard-no one could accuse her of being there by choice-and they would be pirates long after she was gone. But be damned if she would idly stand by and watch them bleed. If that was aiding and abetting, complicit by virtue of association, then piracy would be added to her charge sheet, and there was blessed little to be done about it.

When the ship opened the bay, a great gun firing-a quarter charge and without the benefit of a ball-announced them, just in case the townspeople hadn't noticed that a 36-gunned black ship with blood dripping from its sails and decks and flying a prodigious skull-emblazoned banner, was in their harbor. There was a good deal of shouting, the rattle of chain, a splash, and the Ciara Morganse was at anchor. The decks, which had been so alive under Cate's feet, went motionless for the first time in months. It was a novelty and a quite disquieting sensation.

She strained to see the little town nestled between the island's mountainous backbone and the sea. It was the closest land since leaving England. Not having pondered it earlier, she now longed for the solidness of land under her feet, to walk on a surface that didn't pitch and roll at every step.

"When are we going ashore?" she asked Nathan, close on his heels.

"As soon as the boats are away, but you're not going," he said, wheeling around on her.

Cate rocked back on her bare feet as if she had been struck. She gaped at him, wondering how she could have been so radically mistaken. Her anxiousness had allowed her to forget her tenuous status. She bristled. Worthless as a hostage, now she was simply his possession to do with as he chose, kept in reserve for the best opportunity to turn a coin.

"Why not?" she asked. Even if she was to be shackled, to touch land again would have been worth it.

His hesitancy gave brief hope of second thoughts. "It's not safe." And then he spun away.

"So I am a hostage then?"

"No," Nathan said with maddening evenness over his shoulder. "A hostage implies there would be someone to pay for you. And, since by your own admission there is no one, then you're not said hostage."

"Then I'm a prisoner."

"No, prisoner implies punishment. You've committed no crime, so there would be no punishment."

"Then I'm being held against my will."

"No, protective custody."

Skidding to a halt, she balled her fists. "Protected from what?"

He stopped. His back still to her, he looked to the sky, and then the deck. Heaving a patience-seeking sigh, he said, "As I said, it's not safe," and set off once again.

"Safe! What's safe have to do with it?"

Nathan drew up, again without turning. A number of responses being disposed of, he ultimately opted for "Everything."

And then, he was gone.

Cate stood at the rail while the longboats were roused over the side, still prickling at Nathan's denial. She wasn't bound or confined, but she was imprisoned, just the same. The ship was a floating gaol, with over a hundred keepers. She looked longingly across the water to the little town. The yearning became a driving need now that she could smell greenery and dirt. With eyes accustomed to the deep hues of the ocean, the vivid mosaic of aquamarine, azure, lapis, and cobalt of the island's waters had made her squint, the sight of green, absent for so long, almost painful. It struck her with an impact that rendered her near breathless: she was in the West Indies, the tropics, with palm trees, warm water, sun-dazzled skies, with new wonders at every turn.

So near, and yet so far sat the fairyland, within her reach, but unattainable, all because of one capricious pirate.

Cate's senses had been sharpened by weeks at sea. Along with earth and greenery came other smells of civilization, ones conveniently forgotten: animal dung, cooking smoke, privies, tobacco, and the sharper fugue of squalor. Wrinkling her nose, she considered the possibility that she had developed a new appreciation for the sea.

Whether in the Highlands or elsewhere, isolated towns possessed the same sleepy air, resting with the placidity of a cow chewing its cud. This one was bracketed by two lone, brick buildings, representing the opposing powers that controlled its life: the spiritual marked by a cathedral's bell tower, and the secular, with the flag of Spain. The skeletal remains of a garrison peeked through the trees, along with the rudimentary beginnings of a defensive wall around the town, both long since abandoned. A not-much-better-tended wharf lined the water's edge, bearing out Nathan's conjectures regarding the infrequency of visitors.

Before the anchor was set, Nathan stood surveying the town. Now squatted over a piece of canvas, a chunk of charcoal in hand, he drew it out for the men circled around.

"We'll assume the flag marks where we'll find whoever the power-on-high might be. Bear off for there first, and then fan out. With any luck, whomever is in charge will..."

"Hoy! Cap'n! Lookit!" came a cry from the rail.

Nathan rose, following the look-out's point. "What the bloody hell...?"

A small flotilla of barges, catamarans, and boats had embarked from the ramshackle wharf and bore toward the ship. Flags of truce, mostly in the way of tattered handkerchiefs and meal sacks, were in vigorous display at the bow of each craft.

The pirates stood in speechless awe. Nathan was the first to regain himself, and sent marksmen aloft with a sharp gesture. More were posted on the ratlines and rails. Seeing the swivel guns fore and aft brought to bear, the white flags were waved with increased vigor, amid friendly, although tentative hails in Spanish.

The largest barge hooked on, its occupants beckoned aboard. As the first visitor clambered over the gunwale, Nathan seized Cate by the arm.

"No sense in advertising you're here, eh?" Nathan said as he propelled her toward the cabin.

"But I-"

"Shh!" He pressed her inside and away from the door gently, but firmly enough to indicate he would brook no argument. "Discretion is a virtue often overlooked and highly underrated."

Once aboard, the townspeople quailed at being encircled by near two hundred-odd armed pirates, now presenting their most heathenish faces. They clung to the rail, making it increasingly difficult for later arrivals to find room. It was difficult to separate one aghast face from another. Mostly men, a few skirts were visible through the press of bodies. Most predominant was a priest, his black cassock stark against the drab of his flock. The sun glinted on the cross at his neck like an overseeing eye, his presence clearly meant to give the pirates pause.

A spokesman stepped forward. Wringing a handkerchief without mercy, he cleared his throat loudly several times.

"Me llamo Don Rafael Fredrico Suarez de la Corretja." The declaration came with the air of one expecting all present to be impressed. He ducked a formal bow, embellished with the sweep of a plumed hat. "Yo soy el alcalde de este pueblo humilde."

"El Alcalde" was built like a hogshead atop a cask. His radically askew wig revealed a thin straggle of salt-and-pepper hair.

The exchange in Spanish between El Alcalde Corretja and Nathan came to Cate in bits and pieces, their voices broken by the breeze, or lost amid the shrieks of sea gulls or random cough. Still, the gist of the conversation was easy enough to follow, Corretja's fawning impossible to misinterpret.

"I come on behalf of the citizens of this insignificant, humble village to welcome such a magnificent ship such as this and its beneficent captain..."

The obsequience drug on. Nathan endured as patiently as his general nature would allow, finally cutting it to an end with an abrupt wave.

"Si, si. I'm sure," he said in fluid Spanish. "And a grand 'good afternoon' to one and all."

Nervousness prompted Corretja into a frantic tumble of words. "As a token of our appreciation, and as your humble hosts..."

That was the fourth time the word "humble" was heard in as many minutes, many more possibly adrift somewhere on the wind.

From the moment El Alcalde and his party had stepped aboard, wealth was gathered at the pirates' feet: cages of chickens and ducks, baskets of fresh fish, oysters and clams atop dripping beds of seaweed, pots of honey, bundles of tobacco, baskets of vegetables and fruit, and two shoats: a treasure trove for such a small place. As the offerings piled up, Corretja's oiliness wasn't lost on Nathan, as indicated by a periodic snirl. It was an expression, however, a stranger might have taken as a sneer.

At length, a small chest-very small-came forth and with great drama was opened to display its contents of coins and jewelry. Atop it all sat a religious icon and cross, none so subtle reminders of the town's moral fiber, and an even less subtle appeal to the pirates'. Nathan disinterestedly observed the contents. Having failed to impress with that, Senor Corretja grabbed a woman-more like a young girl-and shoved her forward, a shriek of dismay erupting from the surrounding women. The girl shrank before the strange men.

There was a heated exchange between Corretja and Nathan. Abruptly breaking off, Nathan spun around and stormed into the cabin. There in the protective shadows, he snatched up the rum bottle and took a badly needed drink. He swore in fluent and foul Spanish-nodding a vague deferential apology to where she stood in her protective cove-and then swore again, more colorfully than the first.

"May I introduce Isabella Corretja. The lousy bastard is offering his daughter!" He took another drink. He whirled around to her, the blackened eyes going blacker still. "What kind of man hides behind a girl's skirts? I'd wager she's barely fifteen, if she's a day."

He started to pace, but his fermentation was too great for even that.

"Look at him," he snarled. "A fop in beggar's clothing. He thinks were so daft we can't see through that pitiful charade."

Cate looked out through the door's sidelight once more. Upon closer scrutiny, she saw his point. With the exception of an older woman, who might have been the girl's duena, those around Corretja were campesinos, commoners and working folk. Corretja's thread-bare, ill-fitting coat was a poor camouflage over the gold embroidered waistcoat, a ruffled jabot and shirt of quality beneath. The natty wig and humble shoes were incongruous with the silk hose and silver-buttoned calf breeches. More to the point was the general suspicious nature of the man: the inability to look anyone in the eye. Such reticence could have stemmed from fear, but deception was more fertile ground.

Eloquent in virginal mortification, the head-hanging Isabella had suffered no such diminutions. If anything, she had been enhanced: cheeks pinked, lips rouged and a row of lace hastily tucked, to make her breasts appear fuller. Round-faced with the soft plumpness of youth, where nature had been generous to her at the waist and hips, she had not yet been blessed elsewhere.

Nathan threw a combustive glare at the alcalde. "I should take her right there in front of the sodding worm, just to teach him a lesson."

"But you won't, right?"

"No, I won't," he agreed grudgingly. Gaze still fixed on the girl, he snorted in disgust. "Never taken a woman unwilling in me life. Besides," he said, as an afterthought, making a poor attempt at levity, "the young ones are always so much work. He's gambling we'd think her too young or too plain. Ignorant lobcock!"

In Nathan's absence, Corretja directed his minions to spread the ever-increasing offerings in a more advantageous display. By no means a king's ransom, from all appearances it was, however, the settlement's every possession.

Nathan snorted, shaking his head in wonderment. "If they're willing to present all that, imagine what they wish not to be seen."

"You think there's more?"

"Indisputably! The best proof being His Pompousness' anxiousness to give up his daughter, a grand gesture to keep something much more valuable-to his estimation at any rate-very safe."

"But you came only for wood and water."

"And would have been very content to leave with that, and a crew ecstatic at it being achieved through someone else's sweat. Now..." He blew a tired sigh. A tic in one eye betrayed his pounding head. "Now, I've nay choice: every jack on that deck knows 'tis more to be had. If we leave without, or at least give it a jolly good try, there will be hell to pay."

"You mean...?" She couldn't bring herself to utter the word.

Mutiny.

Nathan made a caustic noise at her innocence. "In a heartbeat. If one of those bilge rats were to take over, there will be no saving anyone from anything."

His eyes drifted Cate's direction, and then he shook his head. "If I'm still in charge, I can strive to keep the damage to a minimum."

He stared without seeing at the kegs of rum, now being lifted onboard by way of a derrick yard.

"Still, a prize is a prize." Nathan gave a low, guttural growl and took an angry swipe at the air. "The cold-gutted old skipjack is about to get his just deserves."

He flashed a rakish smile and took another drink. Blackened eyes, blood-stiffened hair and scruff of a sprouting beard, he looked a right Tartar, the pirate she had expected to meet. He strode back out with renewed determination.

To stunned Spanish gasps and lecherous pirate rumblings, Nathan hooked an arm around Isabella's waist and drew her against him. She shrieked in maidenly shrillness. Struggling against him, she pummeled his chest, landing the occasional blow to his face and-alas!-head. In the process of resisting, her arm was wrenched and she yelped, more in protest than pain. The priest and several others lunged to her rescue, but fell back at the sight of pirate pistols and cutlasses that were brandished.

"Release that innocent child, you scurrilous beast!" The priest's protests only served to spur Nathan, now nuzzling the girl's neck.

Nathan bared his teeth in a smile, the flash of gold adding to his menace. From Cate's perspective, he seemed inclined toward handing the girl off to his men, just to be rid of her. It was difficult to be dignified with a squirming, screeching girl in one's arms. Instead, he held her, a sharp jerk and a firm shake bidding her quiet.

"Young, and so very sweet. A fresh rose what begs for plucking." He inhaled in heady appreciation, and then swiveled his attention to her father. "We require more!"

Corretja's up-until-then red face blanched. He wiped it with a handkerchief-and such delicate, soft hands they were-which sported a monogram large enough to be seen at Cate's distance. Nathan continued to smile admiringly, fondling the girl's hair, her ribbon having come loose in her struggles. The drama continued to unfold. The pirates demanded. The mayor pleaded. Nathan's irritation grew with each round.

Finally, Nathan gave Isabella a sharp squeeze, eliciting a yelp of protest.

"What are ye thinkin', mates?" Nathan called to his rogues. "Hang our fair mayor by his thumbs or his balls? Shall it be sweating, carbonado, fuses 'twixt the fingers, or the rosary?"

The pirate captain canted his head, harkening to the raucous cheering, a myriad of grisly suggestions shouted, a cackling, half-maniacal laugh like the squawk of a chicken rising above the crowd.

"Very well. By the balls it 'tis," he declared grandly.

Corretja was seized, flushing to the point of near apoplexy. A sword pressed to his throat elicited a startled "Eep!" giving the impression the man had just soiled himself. Sweat poured off him in a profusion that led one to wonder how his captors maintained their grip. Blood trickled from under the blade at his throat. Cate felt sympathy, reminded of her own pirate introduction. She hadn't realized it then, but now, with the luxury of calm and distance, she saw the theater unfold and seamlessly executed it was: the leering looks, the brandished weapons, the knife at a throat. A well-practiced performance. It was riling to think she had been so easily duped.

"Silver," Corretja shrieked, his voice cracking.

"Papa, no!" cried Isabella, in eye-stretching horror.

Corretja recoiled at his inadvertent disclosure. Nathan's brows arched interestedly. Eyes rounded and fixed on the gleaming blade, Corretja's mouth moved like a fish. Once finding his tongue, he babbled in a nonsensical tirade, until Nathan lost all patience and bellowed, "Your silver, if you please, sir."

"But there is-"

"Silver!" Nathan's guttural voice ripped the air, startling all to silence. "And unless your lovely wife and daughter, or any other sacrificial lambs you have at your disposal are encased in it, there shall be no further discussion, sabe?"

A cowering, mute nod was his response. Nathan jerked a satisfied nod. "Mr. Smalley, the glass, if you please."

The directive was aimed toward the quarterdeck, where the ship's hourglasses were kept. The ship's timekeepers, there were four such glasses aboard, each measuring anywhere from a half-minute to four hours.

"One hour," Nathan announced. "And don't bother coming to us. We'll come to you, torching what comes before us, so I shan't advise secrecy. Mind, this bit o' sweet loveliness will be staying here." Nathan gave Isabella an emphatic squeeze, eliciting another squeak. "Whilst you...you...and you..." he said, pointing to the duena and two others, "will remain as well."

"You, Friar." Nathan beckoned the priest with an irreverent hook of the finger. He waved them off toward the forecastle, pushing Isabella among them. "Stow yourself, the maid and your little flock over there. Mr. Pryce," he called, shifting to English. "Guards, if you please. No one is to go near and no one is to step away."

He shot a glare at his crew in final warning.

There was a tearful departing on the part of Isabella and the other hostages as they were torn from the departing townspeople. Her father offered nothing more than a perfunctory pat on the arm before taking his leave, moving with the wooden stiffness of the doomed to the entry port.

Nathan came into the cabin with Pryce on his heels. He curtly waved Cate back from the door, while instructing the First Mate in short bursts.

"We may be required to weigh fast. Set the kedges, t'gallants, and jibs, and lay 'er in irons. Prepare a landing party to depart within the hour. I'll be leading this one."

"It turns out that our fair mayor is also a distant relative to the Royal Family," Nathan explained after Pryce's departure. "Some cousin on his wife's side, six or seven times removed, or some such nonsense. He holds enough esteem to have been entrusted with a sizeable sum of silver for safekeeping. An admirable decision, given he was willing to forfeit a wife and two daughters in its defense."