As the purple hill shadows replaced the sun's brilliant yellows, pot lids were clanged to beckon one and all. Cate sat against stacks of bagged coconuts, with Nathan barefoot at her knee, wielding a small mallet. Several lobsters had been thrown on the coals, and now he sat with a board across his lap, cracking shells. Swearing each time a finger was hit, he doggedly refused suggestions that his rum intake might have influenced his accuracy. Amid the merriment, interjecting his own embellishments to any story being told, he dredged fingerfuls of meat through melted butter and fed them to Cate. Chin dripping, eyes rolled in delight, she insisted several times she couldn't take another bite, but couldn't resist the elegant, slippery fingers stuffing the morsels between her lips.

Hunger sated, the sea rovers fragmented into smaller, more intimate gatherings, their fires dotting the shore like amber jewels. The Griselle's crew brought an exotic texture to the gathering, most of her people hailing from African or Asian ports. As their music drifted on the evening breeze, the different strains melded into a multi-cultural, somewhat off-key refrain. Pirates they might have been, but first and foremost they were men, and engaged in what men did best: drink, smoke, tell insufferably unlikely stories of outlandish bygone deeds, recount legends, myths, and folk tales, sing raucous songs, and tell ribald jokes, salting it all with a heavy dose of laughter.

Glowing with spiced rum-another of Youssef's specialties-Cate reclined against the bags in pleasant agony. His culinary task complete, Nathan joined Thomas in entertaining everyone around the fire with the chronicles of their adventures. Launching to their feet, they performed recreations, cavorting and pirouetting to the delight of everyone. Nathan was mesmerizing. With an audience at his feet, he was in his glory. Animated hands and exuberant expressions, flashing teeth and devilish eyes, he shamelessly told story after story. The two personalities created a whole, one beginning a sentence, the other finishing. Imitating each other to perfection, they jeered and jested at the other's expense. It was friendship at its purest, and a grand sight it was.

Men filtered from their fire, until only Nathan and Thomas remained. Nathan's guard slowly lowered, and became someone Cate thought might be the closest to the real Nathan, the one kept so meticulously enshrouded. He glanced at her frequently, his self-consciousness outweighing his curiosity. It was another aspect rarely revealed: vulnerability, uncertain if she would accept him for what he was rather than what he appeared to be, asking with a faint smile or a twitch of the eye, "Is it too distasteful? Too disappointing? Too ordinary?"

After the initial shock, Cate grew accustomed to Thomas, and was able to focus on the innumerable differences, while striving to convince herself he was nothing like Brian. Thomas's eyebrows were a little heavier, his nose a bit longer, his fingers a little thicker. The bones that stuck out at the sides of his wrists weren't as pronounced, and his two front teeth were squarer. Brian's voice had been softer; Thomas' possessed the deep resonance that came with such a large chest. Still, it was a constant battle not to let down her guard. Cate was subject to minor shocks: a lurch of the heart triggered by a sound, a glimpse, or a word, and the flush of need would surge through her once again. She focused on the ways Thomas was different, but her heart clung to all the similarities.

At one point, they were distracted by a commotion a short distance away, a fight erupting.

"Aren't you going to do something?" Cate asked. She watched over her shoulder with growing concern as the confrontation between the two exploded into a brawl of over a dozen.

Thomas only lifted his head from his reclined position to observe. "Yours, I think."

"Aye, so it would seem," Nathan said disinterestedly. "Hold off. Those two what just jumped in are yours. No," he said, directed to her inquiry. "Pirates."

The single word was offered as an all-encompassing explanation. Still, as uninterested both men posed to be, they suffered that male characteristic of being unable to tear their eyes from a fight.

"If we were aboard, I'd be obliged to put them ashore and settle it there. Saves time all around, I'd say," Nathan explained.

He glanced toward Thomas for affirmation, who readily concurred.

"Only a fool would wade into that," Thomas added with conviction and took a drink.

As one would imagine, a pirate fistfight was a nasty, brutal affair and not limited to fists. In point of fact, anything that came within reach was employed, the combatants bludgeoning each other with everything from buckets to sticks of blazing firewood. Distance spared Cate the full visual effect of the damage inflicted, but she could still hear the meaty smacks, the crunch of bone, and pain-laden grunts.

"Maybe I should go see if anyone needs help," she said.

"Not bloody likely!" Nathan and Thomas said in near unison, with a glare that pinned her in her place.

As predicted, such combat could be sustained for a brief period of time. The fighting stopped with the same suddenness as it had begun. It ended with handshakes, brotherly pats on the back, and toasting each other through broken teeth and spitting blood.

"So, tell me, Nathan," Thomas said from across the fire during a lull. "Just what exactly are you doing here? How did you just happen to be anchored at the Straits?"

"We needed water and firewood and-"

"No, no, no!" Thomas waggled a finger. "Let's cut the bull. This is no water and wood stop. You're up to something. What is it?"

Nathan glanced to Cate, and then leaned back on his elbows. Crossing his ankles, the tips of his braids sketched random patterns in the sand behind him.

"Always the nosy one, weren't you?" Nathan said with grudging good humor. "We are awaiting the arrival of a most important newcomer to the Caribbean. But, before arriving, said newcomer shall be visiting her aunt's home in Hopetown."

Thomas sat up with interest and loosely draped his arms on bent knees. "Really?"

"Said newcomer," Nathan went on, situating himself more comfortably, "arriving from Boston, is betrothed to one of the finest and most upstanding members of these waters."

"And since she's coming from Boston, she would just happen to pass through the Straits. And, by some miracle of happenstance, the Ciara Morganse will just happen to be there exactly at the same time."

"Exactly!" Nathan declared, jabbing a victorious finger skyward.

The firelight sparked on the amusement in Thomas' eyes. "And to whom, pray tell, is this lovely creature betrothed?"

"Lord Breaston Creswicke."

Thomas' smile fell, the blue eyes sharpening. "Nathan, are you sure you want to do this?"

"Absolutely." Nathan returned a level gaze across the flames.

"Well," Thomas conceded, chuckling softly. "You never were afraid to ram the stick in the hornet's nest."

Thomas's amiability faded as he studied Nathan over the flames. The shadows on his features sharpened, making him more like a marauding Viking. The backdrop of music had diminished by that hour. The low whine of a distant fiddle and the chortle of a hornpipe filled the long silence.

"He destroyed you once. Are you willing to risk that again?" Thomas asked gravely.

"I've been waiting for this opportunity for a very long time; a very long time," was Nathan's even response. "Would you care to join us?"

"As what?" Thomas shot back, intrigued.

Nathan tipped his head considering, his bells glinting in the firelight. "We could use a bit o' help. A consort could assure they shan't break to open sea when the Morganse makes her move."

"You'll have the entire Royal Navy and every privateer in these waters after you."

"More is the reason two ships be the better." Nathan watched as Thomas considered. "I'll give you twenty-five per cent of me plunder."

A wry lift of a sandy brow came with, "Used to be fifty."

"I've more important needs to consider these days," Nathan said, cryptically.

Thomas laughed loudly to the night sky. "For that small cause, I'll consider it a donation. You'll allow me to consult with my men, but so long as there is a profit at the end, they are babes. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

Nathan rose and faded into the nearby shadows to relieve himself. Weary of sitting, Cate stood, groaning with stiffness. As she shook the sand from her skirts, Thomas appeared at her side with surprising gracefulness for someone of his size and swept an even more graceful bow.

"Pray, would you care to walk?" He displayed a charming smile.

It had been a very long time since she had taken a stroll with a man. Its appeal outweighed the caution of going into the night with a relative stranger. She needed to get a hold of the emotions that had been set churning. She considered it might provide an interim in which she could face down her shock at Thomas without Nathan's hawkish eye on her.

They headed down the beach, side by side, but a careful distance between.

She kicked off her shoes at the water's edge and waded in the surf. The water lapping her ankles was as warm as the night air. The sand squished between her toes in little jets. Thomas waded beside her, unmindful of the waves washing over his boots. She was growing familiar with the Caribbean's brilliant stellar displays. The moon not yet risen, allowing the night's display to be particularly dazzling. Whoever the ruling goddess of the stars might be was at her finest.

At first, they engaged in the idle chat of strangers, probing to find common grounds. The most obvious was Nathan and it didn't take long for conversation to work around to him.

"You've known each other a long time?" Cate asked. She remembered Nathan had mentioned an age, but had been too distracted to attend.

"Aye." Thomas nodded amiably, hands folded behind his back. "I've known Ol' Scupperbait for a long time. The hair was barely sproutin' on our chins."

"Scupperbait?"

He laughed with the malicious pleasure that came with revealing an embarrassment from someone's past. "Aye, that's what we called him. The name followed from his first voyage. He was so small and scrawny, he'd get washed across the decks and caught in the scuppers. We were fifteen or sixteen," he said, getting back to her original query. "I saw Nathan make third mate at eighteen."

"At eighteen?" From what she knew of life at sea, it was an impressive accomplishment.

"Nathan always had a way; the men naturally follow him...women, too."

She caught the meaningful lilt and saw the speculative smile that lurked.

"Still do, the men, I mean," she said looking away.

"I'd say the women, too," he mused. "Anyway, we crewed together for years. I was his First Mate on his first command."

"You were pirates, then?"

He laughed at her innocence. "No, merchantmen. Nathan didn't tell you of his first command, the Beneficent?

Silence was her answer.

"You've seen his brand?" he asked, wary.

"Blessedly difficult not to," she said tartly. "He told me about when it happened and-"

"He told you that, eh?" Thomas nodded approvingly. They were still near enough for the light of the scattered campfires to gild his profile. "He must set a great store in you. He doesn't speak of it to anybody, not even me, and I was with him when Creswicke did it."

"Creswicke!" Cate stopped, gaping. "Lord Breaston Creswicke?"

"Aye, didn't he tell you?" His caution returned, alert to having overestimated the extent of Nathan's confidence.

Cate stared into the night, straining to recall what Nathan had told her one stormy night, of manipulation, deception, and discovery. "He told me about the brand, but he never said who did it. He said he had riled his employer."

"Aye, well, there's a bit of truth there."

"He was accused of smuggling." The statement was more a seeking of assurance that she wasn't confused.

"Smuggling?" He chuckled humorlessly. "If only it had been that damned simple."

"You mean he lied?" It came as no great shock. She had suspected from the first that Nathan hadn't told her everything.

Thomas looked to his feet. "He wasn't like that at first. Oh, aye, he was always a smooth talker and could charm the yellow off the sun. To his way of thinking, it's not lying, it's just telling the truth he needs at the time."

Biting his lower lip, he narrowed his eyes, measuring both her and how much more to reveal. Lifting a shoulder and dropping it, his decision was made.

"Nathan had won the Beneficent gambling-and they were the other man's dice. He always was the lucky one," he added in wonderment. "Anyway, she was a fair ship. Nathan was a customer's dream: fast delivery, rarely a loss, a master at evading pirates, and all the while undercutting his competitors."

"Creswicke?"

Thomas nodded, pleased by her acuity. "Creswicke had been granted the charter for the Royal West Indies Mercantile Company. It was a favor from the Crown." The edge in his voice suggested further intrigue was involved, but was disinclined to elaborate. "Nathan had Creswicke's eye from the very first."

"Because of his success?"

He glanced sideways at her, and then away. The wide shoulders squirmed under the linen of his shirt. "Ehh, let's just say Creswicke has unique appetites and Nathan made him particularly hungry."

Cate tasted the bile of disgust. Having lived in London for several years, she was familiar with such "tastes:" sodomy, bestiality, fetishes, depravities, and other deviations yet to be named. She was yet to meet the man, but already possessed a deep hatred.

She ground her feet deeper into the surf's sand, as if it might abrade away the sickening sensation. "And?"

"And, eventually Creswicke made Nathan an offer he couldn't refuse: sail for him or never sail again. It was a credible threat. He'd seen Creswicke destroy others who had dared defy him. Being the pragmatic sort, Nathan agreed. He figured sooner or later he'd find a way out of it. It wasn't an all-bad arrangement: he was the youngest captain in the Company and still sailing his own ship.

"It wasn't long after," Thomas went on, "before Creswicke made Nathan another offer, aiming to make Nathan a part of his scheme. Indentured servants come cheap and die by the hundreds in transit. Creswicke was manipulating the books, listing people as dead, and then selling them for the profits. If anyone in London was to question, he'd claim the losses were due to pirates."

Indentured servants.

It was nothing more than a polite term in delicate circles for slavery. Some were prisoners, banished into it. A good many more sold themselves to a benefactor as a means of gaining passage to the Colonies or elsewhere, where they would work off the debt in a given period of years. The reality-often discovered too late-was years could be added at the benefactor's whim for anything from food and shelter, to labor lost due to illness or pregnancy. Many owners preferred indentured servants to Guinea slaves. They were considerably cheaper, came with none of the language barriers, and fewer rules governing them.

Brian had been transported as an indentured. Slavery was what it was, which was how she knew he was dead: he would never live that way. She closed her eyes, sickened further to think Brian might have been a victim in Creswicke's insidious scheme.

Suddenly too restless to remain still, Cate started down the beach once more. Thomas easily fell in step beside her. The rhythm of his long strides next to her was disquieting, like a ghost walking at her elbow. They were away from the light of the campfires by then, the brim of his hat casting a shadow by starlight.

"Nathan told him to go to hell, at least that's the version that can be repeated to a lady. The sniveling worm drug Nathan into it anyway, and gave him a shipload of them," Thomas said grimly.

Her hatred of Creswicke rose exponentially. Even if Brian hadn't been a victim, the possibility was enough to ignite a deep loathing.

"Nathan tried to refuse, but Creswicke was his boss, his word final. Every man has his limits and Creswicke found Nathan's that day. It's a rare thing to see, but Nathan has a black temper: he came near to killing the man. We wondered why Creswicke didn't have him arrested on the spot. We didn't know that would have disrupted his grander scheme: he didn't want Nathan miserable, he wanted him destroyed."

"Why didn't Nathan just go captain somewhere else?"

There was a flash of white in the darkness as he gave a tolerant smile. "Creswicke's charter gave him the same control of the West Indies as the Company has in the East. To refuse him would mean to never sail as a merchant again. Besides, the Beneficent was Nathan's first command; 'tis a special place in a man's heart."

She flinched at seeing Thomas rub the back of his neck under the heavy tail of hair, just as Brian would have done.

"None of us liked it. We sailed for Nathan; we didn't give a goddamn about Creswicke or his company. The manifest looked well enough. We thought it odd when there were Company guards at the gangways, but they represented it was an uncommon bad lot, and we believed them," he said, sounding even more miserable. "We'd barely set the courses, when we began to hear such caterwauling from the hold, 'twas like the Sirens themselves. And the smell..."

Thomas coughed and cleared his throat of a sudden unpleasantness.

"With a bit of strong-arming, we overcame the guards and went below. They were children, over two hundred, packed like sheep in a pen. A better price in Charles Town was just Creswicke's excuse to manipulate Nathan. Those poor wretches were nothing more than a blot on a ledger to him."

He clamped his lower lip between his teeth and fell quiet. He took several strides before he spoke again, his voice tightened.

"Some had been sold by their parents, so the rest of the family might eat. Others were from the poor houses and orphanages. The rest: abducted, kidnapped; use whatever word you wish."

The marketing of children wasn't new. After the Rising, the streets of Edinburgh had been rife with rumors of raiding parties, sometimes uniformed, spreading through the night's streets like a plague, sweeping through poor houses or tearing a child from a mother's arms, if old enough to be weaned. The plague hadn't been confined to Scotland. In many seaport towns and even London, gangs roamed stealing children.

He fell quiet so long that she thought perhaps he wouldn't-or couldn't-go on. The mournful cry of a killdeer came from the darkness, scurrying in circuitous patterns ahead of them.

"They were dying before the braces were sheeted home. We couldn't bear it, especially Nathan," Thomas said. "We tried to care for the poor things, but there were so many, sick and starved. Most were walking skeletons and some couldn't even walk. They were dying a dozen a day. The screaming and the crying..." His words choked off, his hands spreading as he relived the helplessness. "The canvas we buried them in weighed more than the poor waif inside."

The lobster and butter, swimming in chowder, took a turn for the worse in Cate's stomach.