"Leave it!" he growled, with a tone that suggested he had been waiting for her to do exactly that.

"I just thought we might-"

"It's the same damned air what comes through the door. Leave it!"

Cate flinched at the cut in his voice. She began to pace, charity and the driving need to do something to churning her gut.

"You need to eat," she said, at last drawing up to the table.

"No. Thank. You," he said without looking up.

"Allow me to pass the word for Kirkland?"

Nathan gave a thunderous glare from under his brow. "I had one mum; I shan't be in need of another."

"But you haven't-"

Nathan slammed down the dividers with a force that sent his pencil skittering off the table. "Clap a stopper on it!"

Cate considered turning and leaving, just as she had seen him do over the last two days, but hesitated. She was driven by what some would call determination. Other less charitable souls might have flung words like "stubborn," or even "bullish," in her less-stellar moments. Whatever it was, she was resolved to seeing this to a head.

In that spirit, she went to the galley for some hot broth.

"Here, I thought..." she said, and slid the mug before Nathan. She had bid Kirkland put it in a mug, so Nathan mightn't be obliged to sit, which he seemed so disinclined to do when she was about.

His eyes fixed on the chart, it was shoved aside. "Away, you meddlesome pestilence."

Her cheeks flamed. Nathan could be edgy, even brusque, at any given point in the day, but never so vicious.

"What in the hell is eating you, Nathan?" It came out more confrontational than intended, but what was done was done. "You've been prickly as an old bear. You snap-"

"Bugger off, strumpet!"

For a moment, she wasn't sure she had heard him correctly. "You meant that!"

"At last, the dull-witted dolt comprehends!" he extolled to the ceiling.

Her fist curled, but then she thought better.

"No," she said, recomposing herself. "I'm not going to-"

In a sharp jangle of bells, he lurched to his feet with a suddenness that caused her to stumble back. He stormed to the windows and stood for some moments, staring out at the evening just settled.

Nathan whirled back around, his braids arcing with the momentum. "I want to know whose it is?"

"Whose what is?" she stammered.

He crashed his fist on the table, the broth spurting up out of the mug. "Goddamn it to fucking hell, woman, do not vex me!"

"You're raving." She eyed him from a distance, thinking perhaps the fever had returned. He was not hale, by any means, but neither there were any signs of fever. If anything, his hand seemed to have gone forgotten, perhaps the result of a great quantity of rum. The air was thick with its sweet smell.

Nathan stalked toward her, his voice falling to a threatening rumble. "I have been more than a gentleman. I've given you everything what could possibly be provided on this ship. I've never made so much as a gesture towards you. God knows I could have, but I never laid a finger on you."

"I'm to be grateful you didn't throw me down and take me the first night?" she asked, backing away.

"But I didn't! And this is me thanks! Tell me whose it is! If he took you unwilling, by God, I'll see his balls swinging from me bowspr't. Hell, I'll hold him down so you can cut them off yourself, but you have to tell me who!"

First time since her first day aboard, Cate was afraid of him. His beard had grown to a deep ebony bush, and obscured his face, so similar to that day. The dark smudges under his eyes rendered him even more sinister. His sword and pistol were across the room. She eyed the weapons at the mizzen and in the urn at the door as she continued to back away. She didn't think he would use them against her, but he also looked the right Tartar, and capable of anything.

"Nathan," she began levelly. "I don't understand-"

He went dead white and charged. Stumbling back, she came up against a trunk. He grabbed her by the throat and bent her back over it, slamming her head against the wall. She tore at his hand; the very one she had fought to save now squeezing the life from her. His eyes, now inches from hers, had gone as black and sightless as a shark's. His thumb gouged her windpipe, and her limbs grew heavy, too heavy to move. A roar filled her ears, and pinpricks of light began to flash at the edges of her vision. A remote voice warned she was about to be killed, and would never know why.

As suddenly as Nathan had attacked, he broke away. Cate slumped atop the chest, wincing in pain as she clutched her throat. Raggedly panting, Nathan closed his eyes in an effort to regain a level of self-control.

"You've been on this ship for nigh on to two months," he began, his voice breaking with emotion. "I've offered you safe haven. I've not asked a thing of you, not a goddamned thing."

He pivoted and kicked a chair, sending it tumbling. He took an angry swipe at another, and prowled the room like a caged cat. Grunting in effort, he threw open a gallery window. He braced his arms on the frame, his back heaving with each breath.

"I just want to know whose it is," he said. Grinding his head into his forearm in anguish, his fist pounded the wood in rhythm with each word. "I just need to know who you've been with."

It took Cate a moment to get his meaning and her mouth sagged. "You think I've been bedding someone?" she wheezed, her throat not yet fully recovered. She stood on shaky legs. "You think I've been cavorting with one of your crew?"

"I dare say 'tis fairly obvious," he said, coldly over his shoulder. "Was it someone on this ship, or was it someone on the Constancy? Don't tell me it was Harte or Thomas!"

Days of tension had taken its toll, and now she was the one to snap. "What do you care? You have no claim on me. It is none of your bloody damned concern!"

Whirling, he kicked over a stand, sending the candlesticks atop it clattering to the floor. Her sewing box was sent flying next.

"It is my concern!" he bellowed.

"Who made you my master?" Seething, she stalked toward him. "Pray enlighten me as to which angers you the most: that I bedded someone, or that it was someone other than you? Let me tell you, Captain Blackthorne, just because you're the captain does not allow you the right to expect anything!"

By now they were nose to nose. Nathan was rigid with fury, the tails of his scarf curling around his shoulders like serpents.

"Pray allow me to tell you a thing or two, madam. As captain, I have the right to do or expect anything I damn well please. And if I had wanted to have you, I'd have goddamned had you! What with your whoring around, being a gentleman was lost on you."

"I'm obliged to defer to your expertise on whores. Unlike you, I don't swive everyone or everything that passes."

"You think if you can seduce me-"

"Seduce!?"

"Seduce me into stuffing your quim," Nathan continued over her sputtering objections. "And you made double-damned sure o' that."

"What are you raving about?"

"Once again I tried to be the gentleman, but oh now, you'd have none o' that. All to assure that bastard you're carrying could be passed off on me."

In an enraged blur, Cate seized the first thing within reach-an unsuspecting lantern-and hurled it. Nathan dodged and took it on the shoulder, metal and glass crashing to the floor. A candlestick was next. She pitched it, catching him in the arm. While in search of her next weapon, Nathan grabbed her by the arm and jerked her around. She brought her knee up, aiming for his crotch. Easily deflecting the attempt, he gave her arm a vicious wrench, his fingers like spikes in her skin.

"Don't you ever do that again." He gave her arm sharp twist in emphasis.

"Or what?" Cate balled her fist and swung. Nathan ducked to take the blow in the ear. Swearing, he wrenched her arm harder, eliciting a pained cry.

"Take your hands off me, you sodding bastard!"

To her surprise, he did. He stood back, chest heaving. She backed away, rubbing her arm. Hot tears welled behind her eyes, but be damned if she would let him see her cry!

"You arrogant son of a bitch. That limp codpiece couldn't sire anything. Even if there was a child, don't flatter yourself: you'd be a sorry candidate. Getting too old to take your pleasures? Have to fancy me with someone to get them? I certainly found none."

Nathan pointed a rigid arm at the door, eyes glittering with hatred. "Then away, with you. Take your bastard and be off, and be damned to you both."

"Fine! I shan't desire for you to ask twice."

As Cate whirled around, she felt the weight of the knife Nathan had given her swinging against her leg. She drew it from her pocket and hurled it. Nathan dodged, allowing it to fall harmlessly to the floor. He then glared, uncertain if she had meant to draw blood.

"There! I shouldn't desire to take anything which might lead you to think I meant to at your expense." She spread her arms in exhibition. "Take a good look. Not one copper. I know these aren't mine," she said, plucking at her skirt. "But you'll forgive me if I decline to go naked. Rest assured, they shall be returned. Good-bye!"

The crew, gathered at the door listening, scattered like flushed quail as she burst out.

"You have a share of Creswicke's money coming," Nathan called after her.

"Stuff it up your ass alongside your head!"

She met Pryce, who stood frozen in mid-step at the bottom of the quarterdeck steps.

"Get me as far away from this stinking hulk as possible," she said loudly enough to be heard in the cabin.

Uncertain, the First Mate looked to his Captain, who now stood in the doorway, a dark, faceless blot against the cabin's lights.

"Away with her and the Devil take her!" Nathan gave a dismissive bat of the hand and disappeared inside.

Towers and Smalley were beckoned by a jerk of Pryce's head. "Take 'er as she desires."

Pryce fixed his attention on the two scampering down the side and the boat being made ready. Cate stood quivering. As rage dissolved into shock, more rational thoughts pushed their way in. She could think of nothing more than to be as far from that bastard as possible, but to where? The island was directly before her. Now dotted with campfires, the beach was a silvery gleam between the dark of water and trees. Looking across the bay, the glow of the Griselle's stern windows was ever so much more appealing.

The call of "Ready away," from the water drew her back. When she moved toward the gate, her eyes finally caught Pryce's.

"What did I do?" Cate asked, tears welling anew.

Pryce glanced cautiously over his shoulder to the empty cabin door. "By the devil's tail, 'n damn my eyes if I know, sir."

She nodded. His reluctance toward the suggestion of betrayal of his Captain's confidence was understandable. As she turned to step over the gunwale, Pryce stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"I honestly don't know, Cate," he said in uncommon sincerity. "Ain't never see'd 'im like this afore. More 'n likely, 'tis nothin' of yer doin.'"

She put a hand over his and squeezed gently. "Thank you."

And then, she left.

Sitting very still, Thomas slid a look toward the hourglass.

He hadn't seen his sisters in years, but their crying bouts were indelibly etched in his mind. There had been four siblings and each had taken generous amounts of time for such sessions.

Hunched on the hassock watching Cate pace the cabin, Thomas heaved a silent sigh. This one bore the makings of dwarfing any of his sisters' tantrums. She had already scored higher marks in volume and vehemence, and was on the verge of surpassing all competition in violence. He wasn't sure if his cabin was going to survive.

She and Nathan's caterwauling had been readily heard. It came as no surprise when the watch hailed a Morganse boat shortly after. One look at Cate's face and any doubts were erased as he had handed her up the side. He held her while she cried-sweet merciful heaven, she felt good in his arms, snot-faced, blubbering and all-and now gave her a wide berth as she rampaged, alert to any harm she might do herself, or that she might need him once more.

Mired as she was in her own crisis, she had given him no notice, leaving him at his leisure. He could watch her all day. Mesmerizing she was, a sorceress who had cast a spell. A beauty she was...Well, aye, not exactly at that very moment. Face contorted like a Balinese devil mask, puffy-eyed and red-nosed, her mouth curled around oaths that probably caused the hands to blush.

Propping his chin in his hand, he tracked her path with his eyes. Only time would salve this.

Thomas wondered what in all that's holy had possessed Nathan. He grumbled silent curses at someone who could be so consistently blind to everything and everyone around him. Granted, Nathan had survived all these years by raw will, guile his steadfast partner, but it would appear those had failed him, again! This wasn't new; he had lived this scenario before, and could probably quote Nathan's latest bungling tirade chapter and verse. Expecting the man to change, however, was to expect the tides to do the same.

But then again, maybe not; Cate was different. Thomas had known it the moment he'd laid eyes on her. Nathan knew it, too. Poor dumb bastard just didn't know what to do. And now, Nathan might have just pissed away the best thing-the best hope-ever to have crossed his hawse.

Bruises bloomed on Cate's neck; that was damned disquieting. He'd never known Nathan to do a woman violence before...well, other than the occasional cod-fisted street whore who sought to lift his purse. His first urge was to go slap some sense into him, but Nathan's cup looked to runneth over with troubles already.

Thomas leaned aside as a book sailed past, ducked as another spun harmlessly to the other side, and then reached to snag a pillow from mid-air. Deep blue satin, with hummingbirds embroidered; no sense in letting that one go to ruin. As he observed Cate, seething before the stern windows, he made a mental note never to provoke her-or at the least be prepared if he did. After all, forewarned was forearmed. Knowing the kind of fury she was capable of warranted special caution. He weighed the possibility that might have been Nathan's downfall: no warning. How could the cuckle-headed dolt have foreseen something like this?

Resettling his chin in his palm, Thomas glanced around. So far, Cate was too gone to notice all the changes made since her last visit. Most evidence of a man living alone had been secured, stashed, or stowed. There were more pillows about, particularly in the chair he had pulled closer to the windows. A stand and a hanging lamp sat next to it-she had said something about liking to sew. The sheets on the berth had been washed, and there was a new coverlet. The ewer and basin were new-well, newer than before.

When Cate's back was turned, he closed one eye and measured. Definitely going to have to get her out of those rags. She deserved better-much better, something to show off that small waist and sumptuous curve of hip. Body of a woman-all woman-buried in there. Leave it to Nathan to desire to hide it; obscuring temptation, in all likelihood.

He cringed when a bottle hit the bulkhead. Oh well, water over the decks. They drank it dry directly after she boarded. Better than the crystal one, which contained the port she favored. A lamentable loss that would be.

Aye, duration was the only remaining question to this rampage and she gave all signs of crushing that record, too.

Thomas reached to turn the glass. Aye, this was going to be a long one.

Cate wept as she hadn't in years. She sobbed now as she had the first night Brian was gone-and the next-and the next. It was much the same: the same pain, the same sense of every organ being ripped out and trampled, this time by a pair of worn brown suede boots. It wasn't just the anguish wrought by coarse words and hurt feelings, but loss, a deep, gut-tearing loss.

She swung on an emotional pendulum from anger to desolation and back again, making brief visits to every increment in between. She cursed herself for having trusted, for being too damnedably eager to clutch onto something, someone. Self-loathing and furious, she chewed at herself like a trapped fox, and at Nathan, for being...for being himself!

That thought-that small fact-pitched her back into the pits of despair. Nathan was what he was: a pirate, pillager of the seas and women's hearts. What moment of innate stupidity made her think he would ever be anything different?

Rage would then revisit, furious at having allowed him to play her, furious with herself for falling victim to his cavalier games. She shot a tear-burred glare out the stern windows at the Morganse across the bay. It was easy to envision him that very moment, lounging in his chair, feet crossed on the table, laughing in smug satisfaction.

Her heart had cracked at being called Hattie. Now she gasped at the ripping sound of it being torn from her chest. If she wasn't his precious Hattie, then too damned bad! All that foolishness about a child had been just one of his harebrained schemes to be rid of her.

"Well, it worked!" she shrieked at a chair.

Her mother only raised a partial fool. Be damned if she would ever step foot on that stinking hulk. She was done with him. She didn't want to see his face or hear his voice ever again...ever!