Cate heard the bark, but saw the mirth and bit back a smile. "Only once per glass and with prior approval."

With grave misgivings, Cate watched Nathan go astern. He had agreed and done it with a smile, more or less. But there had been an unfamiliar edge in his voice, and something even more worrisome in his eyes: she had hurt his feelings. She thought to go after him, but Prudence was waiting. She paused to watch the cargo nets being lowered into the hatches, envying the men sweating it out in the hold. As she stepped over the coaming into the cabin, she considered the possibility Nathan was having his revenge after all.

She stopped dead next to the mizzenmast at seeing Prudence at the gallery sill. Cate's sewing box opened before her, she held a piece of embroidery, the piece Cate had been working on, the one to which increments of precious time were allotted each day. Resentment surged. Never, either on the Constancy or the Morganse, had she felt so invaded. Biting back several unkind remarks, her first urge was to snatch it away.

"This is beautiful!" breathed Prudence. "Is this yours?"

"Why, yes, it is." On a wry note, on a ship full of men, who else's it could have been? "I only work in little bits."

"It's...it's...I've never seen anything like it." Prudence's finger traced the entwined lines of stitching. "These roses are exquisite! You should have these on your bodice and around the neck of your shift and..."

She surveyed Cate with a sidelong, askance look. "Your clothes are so plain. And your skin is so..." She bit back further comment, good breeding prevailing.

"I well might have done all that, except the thread can't be spared," Cate said, busy with arranging the box's ivory bobbins.

Prudence's smooth brow furrowed. "Why don't you have any thread?"

"I need to make it last. Most of it-the greens and browns, at least-I put in my physick box, for the men."

"Why would men need thread?"

The girl's complete lack of comprehension of the world she presently stood in left Cate momentarily speechless.

"Because when they are injured, they often need to be sewn," Cate said levelly. There was no sorrow in seeing the girl go ill-looking. She assumed Prudence's disinclination to suffer descriptions of saber slashes, splinters, or damages wrought by a gaffing hook. Taking advantage of the suddenly still hand, she plucked the stitching away and reverently put it back, a satisfactory click of the latch marking it safe away.

"Shall we finish breakfast?" Cate said lightly.

Prudence was visibly more relaxed in Nathan's absence: she finished one scone, and then a second, along with two more hot chocolates.

"I suppose I should mind about my figure," Prudence said as she drained the porcelain cup. Blushing came readily for her china-doll complexion, and she did so then.

"I shouldn't be too worried," Cate said.

Cate smiled at the vagaries of youth while buttering a scone. She had been spared such concerns. Brian had admired her curves of bust, and most particularly, hips. After years of near starvation, she weighed nearly a stone less than when in her prime, but was gaining weight at last. She touched her waist and wondered on Nathan's opinion. She preferred not to be thought of as "a fat widow," to which many a man aspired to in their old age. On the other hand, her first day aboard Nathan had called her "scrawny." She had never heard him express any preferences one way or the other, until his wistful reference to Creswicke's sister as "a plump little thing."

"There are plenty of young lads who will be looking at far more than your figure," Cate said, regarding the scone she held with a new eye.

"Do you think so?" The girl's large cornflower-blue eyes-so blue they tended to look artificial-gave her a perpetually surprised or startled expression, as they did then.

"Of course. You are aware that you're a very lovely girl," Cate said in all earnestness.

Prudence possessed all the aspects of "perfection"-oval face, rounded nose, sloping shoulders, the plumpness of privilege, and modest demeanor-all the things Cate never possessed, as her mother had bemoaned with painful regularity.

Prudence cast her eyes downward. "Not really. Nanna always said as much, but she's paid for such things. Mama said so, but she's...well, she's Mama. And Papa never said anything, except worry on what he was to do with me."

Cate was struck with a wave of sympathy as the words of another disapproving father echoed in her mind: incapable of being pleased or satisfied, inflicting a constant pain of rejection and criticism. It was one more connection she felt with the girl.

"You've never had any beaus?" asked Cate. It boggled the mind to think there hadn't been dozens of young men calling.

Prudence smiled dreamily, the blue eyes softening. "There was one. We meet in secret in the neighbor's garden. Papa said I had to be pure, in order to gain a proper marriage."

Mouthing a silent oath regarding ignorant, selfish men-most particularly Father Collingwood-Cate slid her chair closer and took Prudence's hand.

"You're a very pretty young lady," Cate said in all sincerity. "A young man's attentiveness is no crime. Any man concerned on account of another suitor isn't worth having."

Prudence beamed under the praise, but soon wilted. "You speak as if I have a choice. I've been betrothed to Lord Creswicke. What if he refuses me?"

He won't; there's too much money at stake, Cate thought bitterly. Creswicke's rebuff could be the hand of Providence. Patting the soft hand, she instead said diplomatically, "If I was you, I shan't be concerned on that point."

Prudence accepted the opinion without comment. Appetite suddenly gone-no thanks to Creswicke-Cate broke bits from her scone and nibbled.

"Why didn't your mother or father accompany you?" asked Cate. It was curious why such shielding parents weren't more invested in personally seeing their daughter off to her new future.

Cate suffered greatly from the worry that, as Nathan had implied, Harte had intentionally misinformed her. To do so would have required an intricate conspiracy involving not only the Commodore, but Lady Bart and all her guests. Outlandish and improbable, the suggestion still found fertile ground. Parents showing up unexpectedly could complicate Nathan's plans "No, Papa said I needed to learn to be independent. It's my first time away from Boston...ever. Do you think you might show me those roses of yours?" Prudence asked.

"By all means." Cate inwardly groaned at the prospect of using up more precious thread. But, there seemed little choice.

"Be patient," Cate instructed Prudence sometime later. "It's all in the tension. Let go, and you'll be required to start anew."

They sat heads bent close together as Prudence practiced the new stitch on the hem of her shift. It was a joy to have someone with whom to share, the chance to discuss color and line of design, different applications of stitches, the advantages of wool to silk, or goldwork as opposed to tambour. They swapped pointers and showed off what they knew. Cate was struck by the delight of having a woman-albeit young-with whom to chat and even giggle. It put her in mind of her school days, so very long ago.

During a lull while Prudence worked, Cate fetched her brush. Seated on the gallery sill, she pulled the combs free and shook out her hair. Prudence put down her work to pick up one.

"These are lovely." Prudence turned it in her hands, running her fingers over the intricate carving. "Wherever did you come by them?"

"They were a gift from the Captain on the other ship. He's a particular friend to Captain Blackthorne," Cate said, working the brush through her hair. She smiled, recalling Thomas' boyish enthusiasm. "Thomas is very dear."

Prudence looked up with a conspiratorial smile. "Do you fancy him?"

Annoyance spurred Cate to brush harder. "Why would you say that?"

Prudence sighed with exaggerated innocence. "Oh, just something in your voice, I suppose. Captain Blackthorne is so...scary! Those eyes, and that hair! He's-" She shuddered dramatically.

Shoving the last comb in place, Cate rose abruptly. "Let's have a hand at those roses."

The stitch in question was one Cate had initially learned in France, she and Brian being there on business, on behalf of his uncles. She had since adapted the stitch by adding several flourishes, the result being both unique and impressive.

At one point, Cate reached to correct a mistake Prudence had made. Prudence seized it and gasped, her eyes rounded in shock. "You're married!"

"I was." Cate tried unsuccessfully to retrieve her hand.

Prudence bounced with the excitement. "Does he know where you are? Is he coming to find you? Is he going to rescue you? Is he going to fight the pirates for you? Is he going to kill Captain Blackthorne?"

Caught up in a romantic furor, Prudence fired questions so quickly, Cate couldn't have answered them even if she was inclined, which she was not. The girl had been reading far too many novellas.

"No," was Cate's all-encompassing answer, when Prudence paused to draw a breath. Freeing her hand at last, Cate protectively covered it with the other. "He's gone."

"Gone? You mean he deserted you?"

"No, gone, as in he's dead," Cate replied flatly. A sudden tightness seized her chest.

The plump mouth rounded in a sympathetic "O." "I'm sorry. My intention wasn't to pry..."

"No, it's quite well." The forced smile Cate had worn all morning returned. "He's been gone for...for some time now."

They bent their heads once more, the conversation limited to only an occasional word regarding the embroidery. Prudence, however, became increasingly distracted and clumsy. Cate waited in wary caution. Something was on the child's mind and there was every reason to believe whatever it was would come soon enough.

"If you've been married..." Prudence began in measured deliberation. The fair complexion flashed brilliant. "You would know what...what it is...to be with...with a man?" Her wide-eyed, china-doll gaze added to her innocence.

Cate stiffened, but kept her expression carefully arranged. The bedding was the first thing that came to mind, especially for the young and lustful, but there was ever so much more to marriage. And yes, at Prudence's age, if anyone had tried to tell her the same, she would have laughed. Admittedly, a few pointers on she and Brian's wedding night might have been advantageous, but then, the exploration and discovery had been so very rewarding. They had been virgins, but by no means virginal.

"A bit, yes," Cate said guardedly.

Prudence's smooth brow furrowed. "Mama wouldn't tell me anything except you must lay back, close your eyes, and it would be over soon enough."

Cate smiled ducked her head. To smile in the face of that stilted analysis could be quite hurtful.

Prudence pressed on. "Molly, the chambermaid, was the only other one who would tell me anything. I don't believe she's actually been with a man, but she posed as if she knew everything. She said me you must..." She squeezed her eyes shut, her hands working in the fabric she held. "She said you must spread your legs and let the man put his...thing in, until he...I don't know, does something!"

"It hurts, that's what Molly said," Prudence was quick to add, her hands clenched in her lap. She looked up, beseeching. "Must it be just...that...quick and...scary?"

Cate suddenly felt old, like some ancient soothsayer giving wizened advice to the lovelorn. It couldn't be said that Mother Collingwood's succinct summation was erroneous, but there was so very much more to it.

"For some, perhaps...maybe. After all, how should I know?" Cate said, growing a bit testy.

Being married did not make her an expert. Other than witnessing first hand, no one knew exactly what went on in a marriage bed. She was reasonably sure hers had been the exception and not the rule, that conclusion being based on other wives' conversation. Their suffering air, rolled eyes, bemoaning "one's wifely duty," and relief when the husband found another "outlet" were all indicators that they did not meet nights with the same relish as she.

"No, not always, if the man is gentle and attentive," Cate said carefully.

Prudence's lower lip protruded, as if she meant to argue. Regrettably, if pressed, Cate would be obliged to admit that no matter how well-meaning the man might be, the first time was always-had been-painful.

What was it like to be in bed with a man?

Running a hand along her arm, Cate recalled in vivid detail what couldn't be shared with a young girl who, in all probability, had never been kissed: snowy, Highland winter nights under quilts, with a man who wanted nothing more than to bed his wife. How could she describe the long arms and warm hands which held and caressed, the murmurings and exploring, lying languid and flushed, pleasures and pleasing- "You loved him, didn't you?"

Cate jerked at the sound of Prudence's voice.

"My husband? Of course," Cate said unsteadily. She dashed the wetness from her cheek with a trembling hand. "When you're with the man you love, you'll look forward to doing those things."

Cate couldn't help but smile at that. Ah, yes! All of them, again...and again...and...

Prudence's expression hardened into that of one accustomed to being told anything but the truth. "And if you don't-love him, that is?"

Given what Cate knew of Creswicke, she felt as if she was tossing a lamb to the lion. Rubbing at a sudden pang in her temple, she tried desperately to think of a way to not dash the girl's hopes, while not building unrealistic expectations.

Damn you, Father Collingwood, wherever you are!

"Well, sometimes love takes its time," said Cate, lamely.

God, as if the child had any.

Whether satisfied, disappointed, confused, or embarrassed, Prudence allowed the subject to perish. She bent over her stitching with renewed purpose. Cate sat on the sill, ostensibly supervising. She stared at her hand clenched in her lap, her ring gleaming dully, and battled the memories now unleashed. She had learned long ago that once the floodgates were opened, blessed little would stop them. Thomas' resemblance had brought Brian so very near.

Brian's face rose up, his lake-blue eyes glowing with need. She looked up to see him leaned against the firemantel, the flames gilding hip and thigh, shining like a copper helmet on his hair. She blinked and he was in bed, head pillowed on his arm watching her undress. He lifted the blanket, inviting her in. She closed her eyes and they were under the stars, making love their last night together, his mouth and hands memorizing her every surface and curve.

Cate's breath caught in a half-choked sob. Tears welling, she lurched to her feet, stammered a vague excuse and ran from the cabin. Solitude was what she sought, but it was a ship; there was no privacy. She ran to the forecastle and pressed her forehead hard against the rail, in hopes the pain might erase the anguish. The swirling visions only came faster, crushing and devastating, threatening to drive her to knees.

"Are you well, luv?"

Cate whirled around at being touched. Too shaken to speak, she stared at Nathan through a shimmering blur of tears.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," he said, softly. The vertical lines of his face deepened with concern.

Nathan shook her gently by the shoulders and called her. She dimly thought how rarely he used her formal name. The fact he did so now showed the level of his alarm.

Her mouth moved, but no words came. She began to quake. Emanating from deep within, the tremors jolted through her, until her bones seemed to rattle against each other. She swayed then crumpled against Nathan and sobbed. She clung to him, fearful of the great pit that yawed at her feet, where demons named Isolation, Heartbreak, Loss, and Hopelessness waited. She cried for things she hadn't cried for in years, things thought forgotten, and then from the pain of having done so. There were the things she had, and those that she never would. She pounded at his chest at the unfairness of it all.

Time was lost; Cate had no idea of how long Nathan held her. Slowly she quieted, the floodgates closed, and the ghosts retreated. Still, she clung to him. His shoulder under her cheek, so solid and warm, he promised the safety and protection she hadn't known for so very long. Defender? Provider? Confident? He was so many things, and yet no knight in shining armor.

"I'm sorry," she sniffed. "It's not..."

"Hist, now" he murmured against her cheek. "'Tis all well. Ol' Nathan is here. You're safe."

Cate sank against him, molding her to his body as he swayed with her. Gradually the tension drained, her muscles twitching and jerking as they released. Her face hot and swollen, eyes throbbing knots, she sniffed again. He offered his sleeve, encouraging her to blow. Embarrassed, and with little choice, she did. Murmuring nothings, he dried her face with his other sleeve, then brushed away the strands of her hair stuck in the tear tracks.

"God! I'm a mess!" she choked, dashing at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to make such a fool out of myself. I just...all of a sudden...I..."

"No worries, darling. You were crying for him." Nathan thumbed away a few straggling tears. The corner of his mustache lifted in a smile that failed.

"How did you know?"

Nathan gave a tight-lipped smile, the corners of his eyes pinched with resignation. "The only time you cry thus is for him. You love him; 'tis no crime that you grieve for him."

"But you shouldn't have to put up with a sniveling woman," Cate said, toying with a braid at his shoulder. "It's not fair."

He flipped a hand, making a poor attempt at levity. "Ah, trifles, mere trifles. If I minded, I wouldn't be here, eh?"

Putting a finger under her chin, Nathan brought her face up to meet his. "I promise, I'll find him. If he is anywhere on this earth, I will find him."

"He's dead, Nathan." Cate's voice quavered, threatening to break again.

"So you keep saying," he said tolerantly, and drew her close once more.

It felt so good to be held; it had been years. Until then, she hadn't realized how desperate in need she was for the touch of another human. Other than being snatched, grabbed, or accosted, in had been years since she had been held by a man for the mere sake of it. His shoulder solid beneath her head, she could smell the tear-dampened linen of his shirt.