Still thoroughly winded, Cate lifted the hair from her neck to cool it. "A little. How could you tell?"

Thomas pursed his lips as he regarded Nathan, now exchanging jibes with the spectators. "I recognized a few moves. He never had much formal training. It's always been a matter of survival than style."

He chuckled quietly at a memory. "There was a time-a short one, mind-when we had an opportunity to study with a master. He was on a ship we raided off Tenerife. We convinced him to trade instructions for his life."

Thomas assured himself of Nathan's location, and then leaned very near her ear. "I said it before, and I'll say it again: if that damned fool ever hurts you, I will not abide it."

Cate stared up at Thomas, puzzled by his low-voiced vehemence.

"If he is that blind or damned stupid then there's no help for him," Thomas went on. "But I can save you, and by the gods, I will not watch him destroy you the way-"

He was cut off the rise of voices chanting his and Nathan's names. The latter now stood in the circle, with his arms spread in invitation.

"Seems they shan't settle for less." Nathan called over the voices. Grinning, he gave a dramatic shrug. "It would appear I'm obliged to best you again."

Thomas straightened to sketch a formal but mocking bow. "A votre plaisir, Monsieur," he said, in impeccable French.

"Le plaisir est a moi," came Nathan's equally fluent reply.

As Nathan approached, Thomas turned back to her. "By the gods, I mean it."

The two men threw off everything, until they wore only shirts, breeks, and boots. The rest was piled it into Cate's arms, Nathan's hat poised haphazardly on her head. The two captains were virtually carried to the circle on a wave of enthusiasm. There, under a barrage of outcries and adulations, they drew their swords and squared off.

"Morganse! Morganse! Morganse!"

"Griselle! Griselle! Griselle!"

Neither man was above a little showmanship. Slowly circling each other, they allowed the suspense to build. These were pirates, who lived and died by the sword, in the most literal sense of the phrase. There were no formal stances here, no address or salute. They stood loose armed, eyeing and waiting. Cate had never given Thomas' sword much notice, before. Standing side by side, as he and Nathan often did, she had seen the hilt was heavier and more ornate than Nathan's, but little else. Now, she could see the weapon in its full glory-and a glorious weapon it was, with a basket-style grip of carved silver and intricately detailed guards. It was larger in not only breadth but length by a good third. Nathan's sword was stoic in comparison, a layman's weapon, made to impress with its lethality, not looks.

Nathan's eye imperceptibly twitched; a corner of Thomas' mouth quirked. A plan offered and accepted.

It began with such startling swiftness Cate didn't see who moved first. As they lunged and parried back and forth, the contrast between the two was striking. Thomas was big and powerful, but amazingly graceful for his size. Nearly a head shorter, Nathan was lithe and athletic, virtually gliding over the sand. The two's advantages were counter-balanced, the larger man's reach neutralized by the smaller's agility, strength countered by guile. Like their chess matches, they knew each other's game, countering effortlessly, sometimes laughingly, sometimes with a grunt of surprise and a flood of cursing.

The sun flaring on the blade edges, their steel voices rang clear, with an underlying hiss of threat. Calm and intent, each bore a faint smile. Both captains knew what the audience desired and gave it with a flair. It might have been all in fun, but neither held back. Cate was afraid to look, but unable to look away, gasping at moves which would have been fatal had it been anyone else. If there had been the slightest error in judgment, the force of their swings could easily have sliced the other from gullet to craw. She had seen such exhibitions before, but in this setting, surrounded by sea rogues cheering for blood, it took on a new lethality.

Breathing heavier, shirts darkening with sweat, they fought. Their expressions sobered as they grew more absorbed and focused. Caught up in the fervor of the battle, the pirates brandished their own weapons as they clamored for victory, in a myriad of languages. Bets were made, the odds fluxing with the fight's ever-changing momentum.

With a loud grunt, Thomas riposted with a vicious slash, forcing Nathan to scramble backwards. A flick, and the back of Nathan's right hand bloomed red. Thomas lunged with a curling downward swipe, knocking Nathan's weapon away. An upper cut with his fist sent Nathan onto his rump. A victorious uproar erupted from the Griselle's crew and bets were settled.

Thomas pulled Nathan to his feet, and they heartily clapped each other on the back, accepting adulations as they departed. In the shade, where Cate waited, they hung onto each other, bent and gasping for air. Faces streaming with sweat, mutual compliments collided in mid-air. Cate tried to inspect Nathan's bleeding hand, but was genially waved away.

"'Tis nothing. No more than a scratch," Nathan said. He mopped his face on his sleeve and licked away the blood. "I thought it was my turn. Remember Cartagena?" he directed to Thomas.

His head hanging between his arms, Thomas' broad back heaved as he gasped for air. "Eh? Oh, forgot, I suppose."

The false tone in that caused Cate to turn just as Thomas straightened. With a steady blue look, he stabbed a finger at her. "By the gods and make no mistake."

And then Thomas stalked off.

"Wonder what put the twist in his jib?" Nathan said, more to himself. Then he said louder, "Pay him no mind, luv. The ol' grandmother, he always thought he knew more than he ought."

After several minutes of persistence, Nathan at last relented to allow Cate to tend his hand, and perched on a puncheon. The cut ran nearly the width of its back, its edges as cleanly sliced as if with a razor. The blood welled in a steady flow, but slowed with pressure. A bit of salve and a hastily tied bandage were all that was possible before Nathan's patience was exhausted.

After, they sat in the shade and watched the ensuing matches.

Several bouts later, the swordplay gave way to knife fights. The circle was erased with a kick of boots and replaced with a smaller one, opponents paired up and the competition began. A goodly amount of bumboo had been consumed by then and skill gave way to brute force. Split lips, gushing noses, gashed brows, torn knuckles, and swollen eyes becoming badges of honor, Cate's blood box coming in fast demand.

She had just finished bandaging an arm when she heard her name being called. The Morgansers had put her up as a contender. In soaring spirits, they wheedled and catcalled to encourage her, while at the same time placing their bets. By the Grisellers' measure, a woman might bear a sword, but could never handle a knife, and they relished the easy wager. The implication that she was incapable stirred her blood. It was an affront that couldn't go unanswered. Nathan intercepted her at the circle's edge. Seizing her by the arm, he steered her through the crowd and away, in spite of her attempts to pull away and go back to the ring.

"I could take that little one," Cate said, bouncing at the end of Nathan's grasp.

"Did you see the looks on their faces?" he asked, steering her away by both shoulders. "All they desire is to grope and maul you. Absolutely not. Bye the bye, have you seen Princess-Pain-in-the-Ass of late?" He craned his head with exaggerated interest.

Nathan's intent to distract was poorly executed but effective, for drew Cate from the ring. Prudence was spotted straight away, her bright yellow dress a beacon against the lush tropical growth. She sat with a newfound suitor, notably not the noble Biggins. Cate couldn't help but wonder if this one had also been paid for by Nathan, or if this was nature taking its course.

Nathan steered Cate to the water's edge. They strolled. The pirate revelry faded behind them, until there was nothing but the lap of the waves at their feet and the cries of shorebirds. It was late afternoon. The bay had gone to glass, reflecting sunset and ships in perfection. The sun's final flare gilded Nathan in a molten glow. At first, Cate reveled in having him alone. That faded, however, as he grew more preoccupied. Nathan had guided her down the shore like a man with a purpose; why or what was the question?

As they walked, Nathan drew a breath as if to say something, and then thought better. There were several such false starts. Cate glanced at him, waiting, growing more restive herself. She could think of but one reason that could have caused him to bring her there, one thing that would cause him such perturbation: he meant to tell her that he had taken Thomas up on his offer. She now belonged to Thomas. Given Thomas' sudden concern about her welfare-or whatever that outburst had been about-seemed contradictory, but what else could it be?

While she and Nathan had watched the competitions, Thomas had stood across the circle. She had felt his gaze fixed on her, grave and intent, far from his customary geniality. It was more than a little unsettling to think that Thomas had been observing her with the same keenness as she had of him. She had often caught herself gaping at him like a love-struck schoolgirl. She ruffled at the thought of the two men bartering over her like she was a prized pistol. There was little flattery to be found in knowing one was considered worthy of a "king's ransom," as Nathan had put it, although he was known to exaggerate.

What are slightly out-of-their-prime widows going for these days?

With a pang of remorse, Cate wondered what she might have done to keep Nathan from selling her, knowing all the while the answer was, "Nothing."

You remind him of her.

Nothing to be done about that,she thought moodily.

All that only added to her irritability, which had been building since she saw Prudence cowering on the floor: there had to be a way to help the child. Granted, the child was meddlesome and had caused an inordinate amount of disruption, but that didn't mean she deserved to be banished to a hellish marriage. Seeing Prudence with her young man had set Cate to thinking anew.

There was the argument that Prudence was about to live a dream: marrying a rich and influential man. A louder voice dwelt on the hell into which the girl was about to be flung: a cold, loveless marriage to a man who, by all accounts, possessed few admirable qualities. Granted, many marriages had started with less. On the whole, to marry for love was a romantic notion. It was a luxury few enjoyed and it was considered folly by many. After all, love faded and died; only money and position endured. At least, that was the argument Cate had been given at Prudence's age.

The exchange was the day after tomorrow; Prudence was running out of time.

"Nathan, we have to help her," Cate said into the silence.

"Help who?"

"Prudence. We have to help her."

He flicked a sidelong glance. "Help her how? She's not starving. She's not drowning-although I've been fair tempted-nor she's fallen off a cliff-another temptation resisted. What help could she possibly need?"

"Get her away from Creswicke."

"Hold off!" Nathan halted to squint at her in confusion. "We took her so Creswicke would pay to get her back."

"I know that, but I was thinking-"

"Do I want to hear this?" he asked, warily leaning away.

"I was thinking after he paid, perhaps we could take her back."

Nathan's face screwed. "Ransom her again? Isn't that a bit redundant?"

"No, we could take her...I don't know, somewhere." Cate was painfully conscious of her lack of thorough thought, which only weakened her proposition.

Shaking his head, Nathan resumed walking. "Creswicke would be burning these waters apart searching for her."

"But you said he doesn't really want her," Cate said, striding to catch up.

"Possession, darling," he said tolerantly. "'Tis all a matter of the having."

"Would he look for her, or for you?"

Nathan looked off, smiling whimsically. "'Twould be a quandary, to be sure. There's no way she could be on the Morganse. One couldn't spell 'assume,' before he was upon us."

"Then, we could find somewhere else, the Griselle, perhaps," she said. That Nathan was discussing it she took as a good sign: he hadn't dismissed her out of hand.

"That would be a matter to take up with Thomas."

So lost in thought, Cate looked up to find Nathan well down the beach. Running to catch up, she fell in step next to him.

"Do you realize that her first...? That Prudence is going to have to-" she said.

"Give up her maidenhead to Breaston Creswicke?"

"That's not quite how I would have put it, but, yes. It's not right; it's not fair."

"And pray who do you fancy would be better?" Nathan asked conversationally.

So deep in thought, Cate slowed and eventually stalled. Noticing she wasn't at his side until several steps away, Nathan came back into her considering look and a growing smile. He scowled then his eyes rounded in horror.

"Me? Oh, no!" he cried, scrambling backward. "Not in life!" He pivoted on his heel and sped away.

"Why not?" she pleaded, running to catch up.

"I haven't...done...that, with a sixteen-year-old-that I knew of-since I was sixteen meself," he sputtered as he churned down the beach. "My luck, I'd get her with child, and then there would be hell to pay."

"She'll be married in less than a month; no one would know the difference."

Nathan skidded to a halt and swiveled back. He planted his fists on his hips, and glared. "Lord Creswicke is blond-haired and blue-eyed. Need I say more?"

An outright laugh seemed unwise, and so she choked it down. "You think every child of yours is going to come out with black hair and a tattoo?"

Nathan built up to say something, then thought better. "There is no talking to you." And he spun away.

With an exasperated gasp, Cate hitched her skirts and raced after him. She pivoted in front of him and skipped in reverse before his hasty pace. "Do you know what that poor girl is expecting? Her mother told her to close her eyes, and it would soon be over."

Nathan made a face. "That's what she thinks? 'Course with Creswicke, it probably will," he added under his breath.

"I wouldn't know." Breathless, she stopped, hoping he would, as well.

"Well, I do," he said, brushing past. "And no woman should have to go to bed with the likes of that princock just because her father desires connections. Bloody bastard!"

"Who, Creswicke or her father?"

Nathan whirled in a clatter of bells, his hair fanning wide behind him. "Both!" He pirouetted and marched on.

"So you'll do it?" Cate called.

"No!"

"Nathan!"

Cate waited, but when he didn't, she swore under her breath and jogged to catch up.

"This is madness!" Nathan's voice cracked with acrimony. He spun around with a suddenness that caused her to skid to a halt. "Have you completely left your senses? You're more daft than I. Why are you so anxious for me to do...this?"

"Because I suspect you would be good at it."

"At what?"

Winded from running, she braced her hands on her knees. "Being a girl's first."

"Gentle and attentive" had been the kind of man toward which she had advised Prudence. She had every reason to believe Nathan could be all that and more, if he was of a mind. In his less guarded moments-few and fleeting as they were-she had seen flashes of gentleness. She had seen him lovingly caress the wheel, run his hands along the rail as if it had been a woman's calf. She had felt the benefit of his charms and had seen eyes that could go to liquid, turning her every thought to mush and tighten her belly. Any man capable of such devotion to a ship had to be able to give the same to a person.

His jaw dropped. "You've been thinking on how I bed a woman?"

"Well, yes." Thankfully she was bent over, effectively hiding her flaming cheeks.

Vividly and extensively, nearly every night.

He grappled with several responses. Ultimately, he slumped and said dully, "You know nothing about me."

Nathan made to turn away, but was halted by her hand on his arm. "A girl's first time should be special," Cate said. "She should be with someone who knows how to make it wonderful-give her something to remember all those nights later, laying next to a snoring husband."

"It could be said this is a time where ignorance might be bliss," he said wryly.

Cate eyed Nathan dubiously. "And to which side of that equation would you rather find yourself?"

She ventured closer to toy with a braid at his shoulder. "I suspect under all those trappings, there is a very tender and adept lover."

"Adept?"

She winced. "It was meant as a compliment."

"Oh, certainly didn't sound like one."