The tone of voice struck several chords, none of which were kindly. The urge to once more remind Prudence that it was a pirate ship bubbled to Cate's lips.

"Very well," Cate said through clenched teeth and snatched up the pitcher. "I'll return directly."

Cate returned to find Prudence standing exactly as she had been left.

"I was waiting for help," was the girl's excuse.

Cate propped her hands on her hips. "It's undressing. How difficult can it be?"

"Nanna always helped," Prudence moaned, flapping her arms.

"Nanna?" Cate echoed dully. "Dare I inquire?"

"She's my nanny. The pirates left her behind. We cried and begged, but they refused to bring her. So, I'm all alone." Eyes brimming, Prudence gave a great display of a lower lip.

"Well, not quite," Cate murmured under her breath, and then said louder, "Turn 'round."

Hooks, buttons, ties and laces, shifts, petticoats, stays, stockings, bodices, and kertches: as Cate excavated through the layers, she had forgotten how much work "properly dressed" was, Prudence, being of no more help than a common dressmaker's manikin.

"You'll have to make do with the ewer and basin," Cate said, once Prudence was down to her shift. "You'll find a towel next to it."

"What about soap?" Prudence asked eyeing the stand.

Inwardly groaning, Cate pulled out her little bar of French-milled soap Nathan had brought her. Besides her sewing kit and hairbrush, it was her most precious possession. She set it lovingly next to the basin, her nails digging into her palms as she stalked to the curtain.

"There now, satisfied? Wash. I'll return straight away," Cate said.

Squeaking with alarm, Prudence clutched her arm. "You said you wouldn't leave me alone."

"I said, I wouldn't leave you alone with Na...the Captain," Cate countered testily. She pulled free and steered Prudence to the washstand. "I'm only going to pass the word for breakfast. I'll return directly."

Cate barged out to the salon, gasping with relief to see that Mr. Kirkland had not failed her: coffee awaited. She grasped the cup with tremulous hands; closing her eyes in blessed relief with the first drink.

Nathan came in. He drew to a halt at the sight of her, his customary morning high-spirits fading. "You look bloody awful."

"Always pleased to meet an admirer," she said edgily, hovering over the cup.

Maintaining a careful margin, he reached behind her chair for his own cup, eyeing her critically over the rim as he drank. "Not the best of mornings, eh?"

"It started well enough," she sighed, then lowered her voice. "A fall from the tops'l yard would have been shorter."

"Not good?" he whispered.

"Not remotely."

A blood-curdling shriek came from behind the curtain. Cate sprung up, but was urged back down by Nathan.

"Sounds like our guest has just met His Lordship." A muscle ticked at the corner of his mouth, a smile denied.

"I should go-" she began.

"Best not. I'm thinking these are introductions best made on their own."

There was a spark of mischievous glee in his eye. His pleasure at Prudence's distress wasn't flattering, but if Cate was completely honest, she found pleasure, too.

Nathan regarded her further and retreated a step. "Perhaps I should take my leave."

"Perhaps you should, but don't be surprised if you return to find a body," she said moodily.

Executing a bow, he circled around her chair, and then tiptoed out of the room. His exaggerated steps and arcing arms caused him to resemble a sword-bearing stork. Closing her eyes, she shook away the vision. She drained her cup, took a deep breath and returned to the battle at hand.

Sometime later, the women emerged, Cate somewhat worn, but victorious. Gently, but not nearly as might have been an hour earlier, Cate prodded Prudence around the curtain and into the salon. Once again, she gave thanks for Mr. Kirkland and his intuitions, the smell of hot chocolate drawing Prudence to the table far more readily than threats could have achieved.

Prudence sat with the grace of a lady, but frowned unbecomingly at the cup before her. "I take mine with whipped cream."

"The galley is fresh out just now," Cate said, and dove with desperation into her second cup of coffee.

Following a brief display of lower lip, Prudence sipped primly.

A plate of still-steaming scones sat on the table. Honey, butter, and wedges of mango completed the presentation. The less-chipped, more presentable china was in service, the silverware given an extra buff. It would seem the presence of a lady, even one so young, had an effect on everyone.

No one would ever mistake you for a lady, Cate thought ruefully.

Prudence sniffed delicately at a scone, split it open, and then, with the glee of youth, spread honey until it drooled. Nibbling an edge, she poked at the mango with her fork, making a poor task of concealing her disappointment.

Cate heard familiar steps; Nathan's arrival was eminent. She eyed Prudence, judging whether to give warning or just throw caution to the wind. In spite of Cate's annoyance, the child stirred her maternal instincts: the driving desire to protect and aid.

"Prudence," she began lightly. "Would you desire to meet Captain Blackthorne? After all, he is your host and does deserve a show of gratitude." The last was uttered with the weighted tone a mother-or nanny-might employ.

Prudence jerked, her knife clattering to her plate. Puffing in panic, she looked wildly around, as if expecting Nathan to materialize from the bulkheads.

"You'll be fine," Cate said, soothing. "You're safe-"

"Safe from what?"

Prudence lurched back in her chair at the sound of Nathan's voice, Cate's hand on her shoulder the only thing preventing her from taking flight.

"Safe from what?" Nathan said from the doorway, frowning.

"Umm, you," Cate said.

"Me? What did I do?"

"Nothing...yet" Cate added under her breath.

Nathan stopped several paces from the table and stiffened with wariness. "What?"

Clearing her throat, Cate rose. "Captain Blackthorne, allow me to name Miss Prudence Collingwood, of Boston, I believe."

Nathan gave Cate a severe look, his brows high in question. She inclined her head toward the cringing girl, and gave her brows a prompting jerk. With the trepidation of one approaching a coiled snake, Nathan inched closer.

"Your servant, Miss." Striking a gracious pose, he swept off his battered leather tricorn and bowed with amazing graciousness. "It is both a pleasure and an honor to have someone so refined and lovely grace this humble ship."

Straightening, Nathan gave Cate an 'Are you satisfied?' look as he strolled the long way around to his chair. He poured a coffee and sat alert over it.

A strained silence befell the tableau. Nathan sat twitching at Prudence's every intake of breath, fearing an outbreak of tears. Prudence was rigid, scared to the point of speechlessness-not necessarily an objectionable condition. Cate quaffed her second cup and watched Nathan, wondering what he would do next.

"Soo..." Cate burst out just as Nathan prepared to speak. "How long do you plan for us to linger?" She finished with a significant look for Nathan's benefit.

"The terms were two days," he said slowly, staring back in confusion. "But we'll linger here, until 'tis time for their arrival."

"Arrival of whom?"

Their heads turned together, surprised by the sound of Prudence's voice.

"Arrival of the people who are going to pay good money for your return, darling," he said in a measured tempo.

Prudence brightened and openly smiled. "Then, I'm not a prisoner?"

"You're not a prisoner, technically," said Nathan. "Perhaps we shall go ashore today," he declared, looking to Cate for approval.

"Perhaps not," Cate countered with a significant lilt.

Straining to decipher the silent message, Nathan scowled and said slowly, "I thought it would be nice to-"

"No, I think not," Cate said even slower.

"Pray, might you excuse us?" Launching to his feet, Nathan bobbed Prudence a bow, seized Cate's arm and propelled her outside.

"What the bloody hell was all that about?" he cried whirling around on her.

"I don't think taking her ashore is wise."

He cocked one hip, crossed his arms, and patted one foot expectantly. Cate echoed the pose.

"Do you really think we should take a sixteen-year-old girl ashore with over three hundred men?" she asked at last.

"Three hundred?"

"The Griselle has gone ashore, too, have they not?"

His mouth rounded in a comprehending but silent "O" as Cate went on. "She's barely gotten used to you-"

"Me! What's wrong with me?"

"For a sixteen-year-old girl, away from home for the first time, everything. Now, imagine her ashore with three hundred more."

Cate pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. It was a strain to recall ever being as indulged at Prudence's age, or any age, for that matter; stunningly helpless, at even the most basic levels.

"I can't believe anyone would expect a girl like her to marry-" she found herself saying.

"A bastard," Nathan finished. "'Tis what he is."

"Yes, I get that impression," she said, resigned.

"What's on your mind to pass the day? This island has glorious falls; I had it planned," he said.

Cate heaved a long sigh. It was difficult to ignore the hopeful lilt in Nathan's voice. The allure of cool breezes and shadowed pools made it that much more difficult to decline.

"I'm thinking she and I will do what young ladies do. Oh, don't look so blank," she said testily. "You brush each other's hair and talk about young men."

At least, that was what she recalled. It had been a very, very long time for such things on her part. On a more recent level, it was how Brian's nieces preferred to idle away the time.

He made a face. "Sounds wholly unappealing. Surely, you aren't expecting me to...?"

"Not in life! Perhaps later we might go," she added, in hopes of allaying his disappointment. "But in the meantime, could you please remember, she's only sixteen."

He hunched his shoulders and grumbled, "Aye, I'm not decrepit."

"Well, then could you please just be...more...careful," Cate said in a strained whisper.

"What the bloody hell does that mean?" he cried. "You think I'm some bloody, cock-headed dolt what doesn't know his ass from-"

"Shh!"

"Shh, yourself! I don't give a tinker's damn-" Nathan sputtered to an end, made several false starts, and then started anew. "At that age, I already made able-bodied seaman, crossed four seas, the equator double that, and rounded both horns."

"And I was living halfway across a continent and hadn't seen my family in years. She, however, has seen the inside of her parents' home and a few blocks of Boston."

Nathan drew a surrendering hand down his face. "Very well. Pray, I beg you enlighten me with your wishes."

"Be nice."

"Goddammit, I've been nice. See!" He bared his teeth in something that started out a smile, but quickly grew more befitting of a rabid dog. "I'm a pirate!"

"A little louder and she'll be crying again, and it will be your fault."

"And also, it would seem, an embarrassment," he said, crestfallen.

"That's not what I meant either," Cate said, painfully aware of how hollow that sounded. "It's just-"

"Aye, fair enough." Nathan waved a hand, cutting her off. "Pious and prim as the damnable Mother Superior I'll be. But she can bet her laces I'll have her thrown in irons if she..." he shouted toward the door.

"Shh! She doesn't know you're jesting."

"Much more better, because I'm not!" Stiffening, Nathan smartly clicked his heels together and struck a sharp but mocking salute. "Permission to breathe, sir?"