"I didn't mean to say that."

"Clearly. Perhaps you are being sought after."

She promptly met his stare. "No."

"A woman sneaking on a ship, no escort, no luggage. Hmm. I'd wager you are indeed running from something. Or someone."

She crossed her arms over her chest, doing her best to keep her balance with the pitch and sway of the ship. "My business is that of my own."

"Now that you are on my ship, your business is my business."

"Only if I lack in my will to keep what is mine. And that, sir, is not likely." Adding emphasis, she wagged her finger at him. "Even with your boastful cowing."

Oh, she was a brave one to challenge him. But behind that confident jut of her chin, she surely quaked from fear. She was a lone la.s.s stranded among dozens of men starved for the touch of soft, feminine flesh. Men like mangy, famished dogs fighting over a meatless bone. A piece of meatless bone she was, too. When was the last time she had a decent meal?

It mattered not. His men would not harm her, or any girl. Not unless they wished to die a torturous death by his hand. Never again would a woman suffer at the whim of a lecherous man. Not if he could help it. He could not say that about Mott's crew, though he wouldn't mind an excuse to kill someone. Nonetheless, he should remove her from topside.

He inclined his head to her. "Very well. We can continue this interrogation later."

"You may try, but you will fail."

"Then a sport I shall make of it." What a night. Easy fortune and a turn at rollicking with the la.s.s. All that he needed to complete the evening was his rum. But then rum completed his every evening.

"Henri!" He called for the manikin before he realized Henri had been standing next to him. d.a.m.n, he hated when Henri snuck up on him like that. "Get the la.s.s out of the storm and take her to the guest quarter."

The gruff little man huffed and rolled his beady eyes. "Here we go again," he said. "Follow me, girlie."

She bowed her head to Drake in grat.i.tude, picked up her sopping skirts and trailed after Henri. Every man on board craned their necks and peered around one another to watch the la.s.s. Couldn't say he blamed them. Mouse or not, she moved with the grace of a woman. Well-greased and smooth, like a swivel gun on its fork.

He rubbed his still smarting cheek, unashamed that she caught him staring before she disappeared behind the hatch door. Aye. He should look forward to sporting with the chit.

A fire bolt split the night. Ah, yes. There were more important things at hand than the sway in those hips. Mott carried something more valuable than spice. Drake saw it in the water when he saved the chit. Bits of light reflected from the lightning tumbled from a floating chest, shimmering down to the sea bottom. Crystals. He'd wager on it.

Drake looked to the weeping sky. Driving raindrops spattered on his face. The gale had begun to relent and the winds had shifted, an indication that the tempest may ease her fury by marching north.

Storm or no storm, at the break of day, he'd begin with the salvage. And the sooner the better, before the currents carried the cargo on the sea's bottom away.

He turned to Mott, speaking now with his voice little more than raised. "We'll begin to unload your cargo come morning," Drake said. "I expect your men will put their backs into it at your command."

Mott wore a sort of silent acceptance in his frown, acceptance and disappointment in his unlucky rescue by Drake and the Rissa scoundrels. He had little choice but to help Drake in the salvage, and he well knew it. It was either that or suffer Drake as a less than hospitable host. In Drake's opinion, Rowena's captain gave up on her all too soon when the Rissa made her timely arrival. That type of skipper made Drake a happy man.

"You'll have no trouble from me," Mott said.

"Splendid."

Drake aimed his attention to Mott's men. The grog and the spot of entertainment the la.s.s brought swapped their ragged appearances to that of wary mirth. It hadn't escaped his notice that Abel had been inching his way back into the cl.u.s.ter.

Disappearing in the crowd. Not b.l.o.o.d.y likely.

"Most captains have better control over their crew." Drake stepped forward and grabbed Abel by his shirt collar, pulling him out of the troupe. "I trust you have a rotten egg."

Mott trained his disapproval on Abel. "No man is without a blemish, I suppose."

Drake had to agree. There was always some fool who would test or defy authority. Especially among seafaring souls. h.e.l.l, he was one of them.

He shoved Abel forward.

"Capt'n," Abel sputtered. "I swear-"

Mott raised a stern hand. "A liar. Even when caught with your hand in the kettle."

"On my ship, that's grounds for a flogging with the cat."

Abel's eyes darted to Drake. The k.n.o.b of his throat bobbled with a hard swallow of fear. The la.s.s was right. Abel was a coward. One that would run you through with your back turned and then flee with his tail tucked between his legs. A sound flogging might do the chap some good.

"Got a cat-o'-nine-tails needing breaking in, if you are of the mind." Drake gestured for Jack to fetch the punishing whip.

'Twas not often anyone on the Rissa had the b.a.l.l.s to cross Drake. The nine knotted leather cords hardly ever had been used. The Rissa's crewmen were a loyal sort. Hard-working and honor-bound, they were. But to Drake, many of them were flawed. Too much compa.s.sion. As they haunted the Florida Keys for ships caught on the reefs and shoals, saving lives canceled out any sliver of guilt his men might harbor in claiming cargo for their own profit. He'd respect that. Respect for his men and solid leadership and profit, a great deal of profit, kept the Rissa healthy and strong.

"Perhaps." Mott grunted disapproval, clearly agitated to be placed in such circ.u.mstance. His crew stirred, huddling a mite closer together and casting nervous glances at the Rissa's men.

Abel gawked from Drake to Mott to Drake and back again to Mott, decidedly unhappy with their discussion over his fate.

"Breaking the ship articles," Mott continued, "and disrespecting your captain carries a heavy penalty. But I think it best I carry out his punishment without the benefit of entertaining your crew."

Abel exhaled his visible relief.

"Too bad," Valeryn said, taking the cat from Jack. He slapped the tails across his wet palm repeatedly. "'Tis been a long while since I've seen a man weep."

"W-w-weep?"

Drake couldn't hear Abel choke on the word over the gale, but he found the vermin's panic enjoyable all the same.

"Come now, V." Drake placed a hand on Valeryn's arm. His gaze shifted from Valeryn to Abel as he circled around the cowering fool. "I'm sure Captain Mott has something far worse in mind for the lad." If only to preserve his honor as the master after having let the rat undermine his command and bring a woman on his ship.

"Of course." Mott straightened, tugging at his jacket's hem. "As I do for the fugitive."

Ah, the joys of plundering. Nothing sweeter. Well, almost. "You can discipline your lackey as you see fit," Drake said. "But as all you carry in your ship belongs to me now, indeed, this la.s.s shall also be mine."

Chapter Four.

Gilly followed the toddling lump of a man along the dark companionway. Down into the narrow hall with the walls closing in, even as they rocked, the gale outside didn't seem so fierce. But the stench, well, that was another matter. It took only a moment before she realized the odor clogging her nose, oil and salt.w.a.ter, emanated from her. The drier she became, the more she spoiled. What she wouldn't do for a good scrubbing.

"Keep up, la.s.sie."

Henri favored one leg and how he managed to stay upright in the swaying ship with such a prominent limp was beyond her. She had to rely on her hands bracing the wall on either side to keep from falling. It must be Henri's stubby equilibrium closer to the ground that kept him from toppling over. Bless him, but the crown of Henri's spa.r.s.e head came to just under her chin.

Staying erect and smelling like a greased clam were the least of her problems.

"Are you pirates?"

Her question tumbled out before her good sense stopped her. Hyde had warned Gilly of the lawless villains who roamed the coasts. They pillaged and plundered all that they could, leaving bodies and destruction in their wake. She had always thought Hyde exaggerated the pirate tales a bit, just as he did with stories of highwaymen and Indians. Maybe to scare her enough so she would depend on him to keep her safe when they traveled. He needn't have gone to the trouble. She would have followed him to the far reaches of the world.

She never imagined she should have feared him instead.

Henri spun around to face her. His lantern cast shadowy hollows under his eyes and along his b.u.mpy, wide nose. The phantom dancing along the walls in the lamplight behind him appeared to come from a giant, not the elfin before her.

Gooseflesh p.r.i.c.kled her skin with her growing unease. "Please take no offense to my asking. 'Tis just that the other seamen, they seemed, well, frightened."

"Some might be sayin' the Rissa crew be scavengers o' the sea." He raised the lantern to reveal his jagged grin.

A nervous laugh rattled from Gilly and she took a quick step back. Not because of his toothless smile. Nor for his vague answer. No, she shrunk from the lantern. Too close and she might just light up like a human flambeau.

"What's it to ya, la.s.sie?"

"I've not heard of pirates saving people. And, honestly, you don't look so fierce with those red little girl ribbons in your beard."

"They're not little girl ribbons." His mouth twisted into a snarl and he unconsciously petted his beard. "As for savin' ye, la.s.s, don't take too lightly the fondness we tars be havin' for a dainty bit such as the likes of ye."

A woman among pirates, she should be terrified. She didn't feel it. Most certainly worry nibbled upon her mind. But terrified? Not yet. 'Twas better than her fate back in Florida. Wasn't it?

"I'm not sure, Henri. Was that a warning?"

"Wha-?"

She raised her eyebrows and pointed to his bows.

Henri shook his head. "Aw. Never ya mind." He turned to the door beside him, unlocking it. "No light until the storm pa.s.ses."

Gilly followed him inside. His lantern chased away the darkness to the recesses of the tiny room. Smooth textures gleamed in the flickering glow. Pillows and silks in layering shades of blue blanketed the bed. Delicate bluebirds and flowering vines painted by gifted hands adorned the exotic black wood of the small dresser and writing table secured to the floor. Bounties from other worlds fit for a pirate princess.

Gilly closed her gaping mouth. This room outshined her quaint bedchamber at Miss Brooks' and was considerably nicer than the room, strewn with costumes, Hyde had set her up in at the tavern. An exotic fragrance, rich and woody, wafted by and disappeared like a memory, crowded out by her own stink.

Gentle tinkling caught her attention and she searched for its source. On a peg near the door hung several thick gla.s.s b.a.l.l.s rolling into each other with the toss of the ship. Strange foreign black symbols decorated the blue-colored globes.

Henri set the lantern on a hook above the desk, picked up the overturned chair and crossed the room to the bed. "j.a.p'nese wind bells." He spoke without looking at her. "Capt'n has a fancy for 'em."

Their chime dulled with her touch and she marveled at the blue hues trembling on the smooth gla.s.s in the dim light. "They're beautiful."

Henri grunted.

Pillows rasped softly. Gilly turned to Henri digging into their layers. She peeked over, curious to what he searched for. With cushions up to his chin, he pulled out a badly tarnished flask deep from within. Lifting it to his ear, he gave it a jiggle. A smile spread across his whiskered face as he worked to untwist the cap. One quick gulp later, he closed it back up and stuffed it into his jacket.

He muttered to himself. Something about finding a new hiding place. And never in all his ben and bold life believing Drake would have a need for the room.

Drake? Was he the captain?

Henri shuffled to the writing table and reached for the underside, removing yet another flask. He then turned to the dresser. Folded clothing was pushed aside as he rummaged through the drawer for a third flask. His knees crunched when he kneeled to the floor before the bed. And with his b.u.m poking upward, he nearly disappeared beneath it. This time he retrieved a small keg.

He scrambled to his feet and Gilly suppressed the urge to giggle as he hugged the keg under his arm. Henri glared at her, his message clear. Gilly had no intention of standing in the way of the little man.

"What's in there?" Gilly pointed to a door behind the dresser.

"That be the capt'n's quarters. Ain't no worry. It be sealed shut. He can't get to ya. Not that way."

Was she supposed to be relieved? She didn't know.

"How long will I have to stay here? When will he send for me?"

Henri picked up the lantern without responding. The light angled out of the room with the shutting of the door. Complete darkness engulfed her. Anxiety tightened in her chest with the turn of the lock.

Sealed away in the belly of a ship. Please don't let this one sink.

Would Drake save her again?

Captain Drake. He'd insulted her, suggesting she was no better than a strumpet. That she would allow Abel to touch her, to allow him to...

Gilly shuddered. She had wanted to slap the captain, too, for making the crude comment. His complete control of the chaos surrounding them subdued her from making an obvious mistake. Those eyes, the way he looked at her, they held so much power. Challenging him would be foolish indeed.

Foolhardiness had been her constant companion as of late. She should have never trusted Abel. But what choice had she? None. Not while she had to escape St. Augustine so quickly. Having purchased no ticket, nor having her name appear on a muster, would make it impossible for anyone to follow her. And Abel had been easy to bribe.

Exhaustion won out, but she feared sullying the fine bedding. Gilly sank to the floor and curled up. Sleep tugged upon her lids the moment her cheek touched the cool wood.

She really must stop putting her trust in strangers.

Blast, she nearly lost her life not once, but twice. Retrieving her bag-what had she been thinking? If not for Captain Drake, she would be tossing around in the sea with the shards of the Rowena.

If not for Captain Drake, with his rough handling and his hard body keeping her afloat, she'd be long dead.

If not for Captain Drake, with his audacity and his dominance...

If not for Captain Drake...

Drake led Captain Mott, followed by Valeryn, to his quarters. The storm as he predicted had pa.s.sed quickly. Though the sea had lessened her fits, she remained agitated, tossing her waves with the remnants of a tantrum.

The heavy door creaked opened and Drake stepped inside the darkness. More times than not, he wouldn't bother with bringing his cabin to life with light. He'd prefer to brood in the dark and stare out the bank of windows next to his bed, getting lost in the swirling wake left by his ship in the black water below him.

But sulking was for when he was alone.