Pirates of the Mist

Pirates of the Mist By

Tracy L. Ranson

Triskelion Publishing www.triskelionpublishing.net

Triskelion Publishing 15327 W. Becker Lane Surprise, AZ 85379 Copyright © 2005 Tracy L. Ranson

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the publisher except, where permitted by law. ISBN 1-933874-60-0 Cover model Evan Scott Photograph by Tamara McHatton Artwork Triskelion Publishing

Publisher’s Note. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to a person or persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.

Dedication

To Brady, my favorite stewardess. Have a safe trip and watch out for the furries!

Tracy L. Ranson

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Chapter One

“I think you should forget those snooty bitches and quit trying to be like them,” Brady Sheppard, her best friend, answered as he sipped on his Cosmopolitan. “You’re fine just the way you are.” Michaela Martin, leaned back in her chair, tossing her wild mane of chestnut colored curls over her shoulder. “I just want to belong somewhere, Brady. I’ve isolated myself too long.” It was true. She’d never fit in anywhere. Being an only child had partially to do with that. “You haven’t been isolating yourself,” he commented slowly as a handsome waiter cruised by with a tray full of drinks, his gaze trailing the server’s ass, making him forget what he was saying. After a second or two, he lurched out of his lust, blinking hard. “I’m sorry, where did I leave off?” Michaela couldn’t help but laugh. Being friends with Brady was like being with another girl except that sometimes his tongue was a tad sharper and he could be a bit bitchier if the mood struck. “You were talking about the sorority that I was thinking of pledging,” she answered, sipping a bit of her sloe gin fizz. “So don’t pledge, sister,” he told her, his deep charismatic brown eyes sparkling, his hands waving dramatically in the air. “Just hang around with me because everyone needs a gay best friend!” They joined in laughter together, his boisterous guffaw drawing smiles from the other patrons at the sidewalk cafe. “You’re right there, Brady but I don’t know,” she confessed, looking down at her damp napkin, her fingers toying with the edges. “I guess I just need to feel like I belong somewhere.” He leaned forward, his sky blue eyes conveying a serious tone. “Don’t do it, Michaela. Something’s not right with the whole thing.” “I have to,” she turned her gaze toward him. “It’s something I have to do.” “Why?” “I guess I want to prove to myself that I fit in.” “It’s a waste of your time, Michaela,” he snipped in a feminine tone. “They’re not going to let you in.” Her anger rose, heating the skin of her face. “How do you know?” “I know most of them since they’re doing theater because they think it’s easy,” he confessed as he took another sip of his drink. “They are total bitches.” Michaela regarded him coolly. It didn’t matter what Brady thought about her intentions. She was going to go through with her pledge no matter what. “If that’s what you want to think, that’s fine,” she snapped and rose from the table, grabbing her purse. “I’m heading home to study for the test on Monday.” A very concerned Brady rose, grabbing her wrist and preventing her flight. “I’m sorry, Michaela. It’s just that I care about you and don’t want to see you hurt.” “I can take care of myself,” she said and freed herself from his grip.

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“But these girls are vicious…” “Good night, Brady,” she snapped and stormed away, walking through the bustling night toward her car. She listened to the steady rhythm her sandals banged against the boardwalk, her mind reeling on Brady’s words. What made him such an expert on the sorority? Her car sat on a lonely stretch of the boardwalk, the metal bathed in a ghostly light from the full moon overhead. She reached it quickly and was about to put the key in the lock when something told her to turn around. From her position, she got a good glimpse of the sea. Arms of stone struck out into the ink stained waters dappled with reams of moonlight. Sprays rose up to the left where giant boulders stood, ready to break up any hapless ship to wander into the bay. Michaela leaned against her car, staring at the distant lighthouse. The once magnificent light had been dimmed almost a century ago, its use long since diminished. Mystic Harbor had once been a thriving port for merchants and seamen alike, most of which were pirates and privateers. She smiled at the thought of pirates. One pirate in particular, had liked to hide here and unload his ship into a secret port. His name was Captain Tristan ‘Black Hand’ Hamilton. In her loneliness before she had met Brady, she’d immersed herself in the legend of the town. According to the records, the town had been in trouble. The mayor had run off with most of the town treasury, leaving it completely penniless. That was until a few fishermen had happened upon the pirate ship rounding the cove. In their excitement, they’d run back to town, telling everyone about the ship. “I thought you were going home.” Brady’s voice snapped her back into reality, making her drop her keys. “I am,” she sighed as she bent over to pick them up, “I was just thinking about the debonair Black Hand.” “Oh, him again,” Brady commiserated as he leaned against the car next to her, his arms folded neatly over his chest. “I’ll confess I’ve harbored fantasies about that man, myself. I would have loved to show him that rope wasn’t just for rigging anymore.” She cracked a smile. “Oh, Brady,” she giggled. “You never change.” “I know. That’s why all the cute guys love me!” he squealed with delight. Michaela patted her friend on the shoulder as she pushed away from the car. “You’re simply too much, Brady,” she said and slipped her key into the lock. “I’m going home for real this time.” “Why so soon?” “Not to mention studying for the test, I’ve also got to get up early and head over to the sorority house.” Brady’s face screwed up into a scowl. “I don’t like you trying to pledge that sorority. What about—” “No, Brady, that’s the one I want to pledge and nothing is going to stop me,” she opened the door and slid behind the wheel. “If you love me like you say you do, you’ll understand.” He closed the door and leaned against the jamb of her open window, his longish hair blowing against the collar of his shirt. “You know I do, baby-cakes but something isn’t right about this. I don’t know why.”

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She started the engine. “You’re just the same old worry wart, Brady. Everything will be fine, I promise.” Brady leaned in and gave her a quick kiss. “Only if you say so, doll. If this is really what you want, then I’ll stand behind you completely.” Michaela took his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “It means a lot to me that you’re behind me.” He smiled, patting her hand affectionately. “That’s what I’m here for.” ***** Michaela sat there in stunned silence as her sentence passed down to her, courtesy of Amy Wells, the head sorority sister. “Since you are our newest pledge,” Amy announced as she paced in front of Michaela, her long blond hair flowing down her shoulders and spilling out over her designer clothes, “you have been selected to complete the pledge challenge.” Her heart pounded in her chest, her breathing heavy underneath her cotton print shirt. “What challenge?” Amy’s full surgically enhanced lips spread into a smile. “I’m getting to that, my dear sister pledge. You see, only one pledge a year is selected for it. If you can complete the task given to you then you will be initiated as well as the rest of the pledges. If you fail, then no one will pledge this semester.” Michaela intertwined her fingers to keep them from shaking. “What do I have to do?” Amy sat down in front of her, the delicately manicured fingernails shining in the morning sun. “Do you remember the legend of the Black Hand?” What kind of question was that? Of course she did! “Yes,” she said numbly. “What does that have to do with anything?” Amy sat back, tugging on the hem of her short tank shirt as if to cover up the imaginary roll of fat around her waist. “A lot of things.” Anxiety stormed through her as the possible reason came to light. “Why are you asking me this?” “Because, my dear, you are the one who is going to sit on the beach on the anniversary of the shipwreck and see if Black Hand’s curse is true.” She slumped in her chair as the fear raged through her, her blood pooling in her legs. “You’re kidding, right?” Amy shook her head. “No, I’m not. If you make it out there for the night, you’ll become a full fledged sister of Gamma Delta Theta.” Michaela stared at the floor, thinking about what Amy said. Could she survive out there one night? Sure, there had been stories of the descendants of the original Mystic Harbor inhabitants going out there on the anniversary and never returning but were they true? One in particular she’d heard about was a girl about ten years ago, going out there to see if she could survive the night. After the girl’s disappearance, stories circulated about how the fog rolled in and killed her. Other stories said she was pregnant and had ran away to hide the fact from her parents. Which one was true, she didn’t know. “Isn’t there something else I could do?” “You do want to become a sister, don’t you?” Amy sing-songed as she studied her nails, looking for imaginary imperfections. “Yes, I do.”

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“Then that’s the task laid out before you. If you want to back out…” Michaela shook her head defiantly. “No, no, I’m not backing out,” she said. “Is someone going to go with me?” Amy nodded her blond head, the china blue eyes full of seriousness. “Of course. Ceremoniously, we’ll take you there and get you in the morning.” Michaela still felt the fear stirring within her soul. “Okay, I’ll do it,” she said, her heart still pounding. “It’s going to take me a day or two to get myself ready since the anniversary is two days away.” She looked at the nude male calendar taped to the wall beyond Amy’s shoulder. Nervously, she scanned the days. Michaela paled, gulping down the lump in her throat. It wasn’t a few days away, it was tomorrow night, June twelfth! “Take whatever time you need,” Amy remarked casually as she looked up. “As you can see, you don’t have two days. You only have twenty four hours.” Michaela steeled herself against the terror trying to grip her bones. “When are you going to come for me?” “Be ready by eight o’clock tomorrow night.” “I will,” she answered as she turned to leave Amy’s designer decorated room at the sorority house. “Oh, one more thing,” Amy called out as Michaela was about to open the door. She turned, her heart pounding in her chest. “What?” “Don’t tell anyone what’s going on or we’ll have to kick you out.” She didn’t have a reply for that at all. Hot tears of shame and fear coursed down her cheeks as she left the Gamma Delta Theta sorority house. Why did she subject herself to this type of cruelty? All her life, she’d been a loner. An only child, adopted by Attorney Michael and Melissa Martin, she’d only had herself for company. Mom was involved with charity and the country club while Dad worried about his next big ‘case’. Their lack of attention fostered her love for books, especially one about pirates, also inspiring her to learn fencing and karate, her true passions besides books. She’d been a local fencing champion, earning her scholarship to college with it. So why was she so hell bent and determined to walk the path of others? You want to belong somewhere, she told herself. Michaela made it to her car and slid behind the wheel, laying her head against the cool plastic. How was she going to get herself out of this one? ***** She sat nervously on the edge of her bed, her finger gripping the flower print coverlet hard. If only she could have Brady here with her, she might be able to go through with it! Spending the evening out at Coral Cove beach waiting for the pirate’s curse was not something... Hollow knocks brought her back from the plethora of thoughts plaguing her mind. Her spine stiffened. “Just a minute,” she called out and stood up, going to the mirror. She adjusted her hair a little, admiring her makeup, the terror riding along her veins. Might as well get this over with. Michaela opened the door to see Amy standing there, her body covered in a medieval looking robe, the cowl covering her pale face. “Say nothing for the ritual has begun,” Amy

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instructed as she took Michaela’s wrist. “Come with me.” She allowed herself to be guided by Amy, her level of anxiety rising. What sort of diabolical game were they playing? The beach was quiet except for the pounding of the surf against the shore. On her left, she could hear the crash of water against the rocks, making her more nervous than ever. Amy, accompanied by the other girls similarly dressed, led her to a remote spot on the beach where a little fire burned. Crackles and pops rose in the air, mingling with the sound of the sea. “Sit down,” Amy instructed, her holding her black cotton clad sleeve in the direction of the fire. She did as Amy bade, her better senses telling her not to go through with this. This is not worth it, her mind cried despite the fact she knew that the curse was just a story. The girls formed a tight circle around her and held hands, making a circular ebony wall from which she could not escape. “You must remain here all night,” Amy announced in an ominous voice. “We’ll be back to collect you in the morning,” she snickered, “if there’s anything left.” Her terror rose out of control, forcing her to her feet. “I want out of this!” Amy pushed her back down. “Too late, pledge. You’re in this and you’re stuck. Now, if you chicken out, then you can’t be part of the Gamma Delta Theta sorority. Is exclusion from the most popular sorority on campus really what you want?” Michaela hung her head in defeat, those words appealing to her hunger to be accepted. “No, I don’t,” she answered in a solemn voice. “Good,” Amy answered in an uptight tone, her face shadowed by the cowl of her robe. “Now sit here until we come for you.” With a flick of her wrist, Amy departed the gathered crowd and moved back up the beach, her army of black figures in tow. Michaela wanted to scream and run, her imagination running riot. What if creatures emerged from the sea, half decayed and gross? She rocked back and forth, hugging her knees to her chest, the chilly beach wind whipping up under her thin shirt. What was she to do? Should she stay or leave and return the next morning as if she’d been here all night? That was a good plan, she told herself. Just go home and come back in the morning before anyone was to get her. She frowned. What time were they coming for her? If she only knew, then she could plan a little better... Suddenly, a wild gust of wind blew in from the sea, making the flames of the fire wave erratically. Where in the hell did that come from? She looked around quickly and saw nothing. Michaela shook her head. It was just her imagination running away with her again. She stood to her feet. There was no way she was going to spend the night out here. Screw this. Before she could turn away, Michaela saw something that chilled her down to her very bones. A dense fog bank, as thick as quilting batting, started rolling in from the sea, fast and furiously. She stayed rooted in her spot as terror held her in its firm grip, her hand going to her mouth. Was it just the normal fog rolling in or was it the deadly pirate mist? There was no sense in hanging around to wait and see which it was! Michaela turned and started running up the beach, her sandals sliding in dunes. Furiously, she ripped them off

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and threw them away, knowing that her bare feet would give her more traction. Just as she mounted the first dune, she saw the reams of mist riding past her, enveloping her into its thick arms. No! She cried into the night, the fullness of the bright moon overhead disappearing with the hazy mist. Before she could move anymore, Michaela felt herself pulled into the haze but not by physical hands. Forces of some kind dragged her into it, almost like a light in a black hole in space. It would not allow her to escape its grip. She screamed even louder, her cries seemingly going nowhere. Frantically, she tried to hook her fingers into reams of sand but those too, quickly disappeared. What in the world was happening? Before she could make any more noise, Michaela felt herself sink into unconsciousness her entire world before her turning black.

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Chapter Two “Now, what do we ‘ave ‘ere?” The thick, British tinged voice pierced her dreams, bringing her back to reality. Michaela opened her eyes, blinking hard. The first thing she saw was a ream of scarred, weather beaten wood underneath her cheek. Where in the world was she? Turning, she saw the sun shone brightly overhead. Distantly, she heard the sound of water splashing against wood, the slight rocking of the planking beneath her. What sort of dream was this? Looking to her left, she saw with horror that she was on some sort of ship–outfitted with sails and rigging. On the lower deck were the hands, all staring at her with lecherous eyes. Quickly she drew back, scrambling to a far corner of the quarterdeck, trying to get away from them. “‘Ere, now love, there’s a no bein’ shy,” said an older man, his frizzy gray hair flying out all around his head. “We ain’ gonna hurt ye.” “This is all a dream,” she whispered quietly to herself, willing the dream to go away. “I’ve got to wake up.” “Ye are awake, my lady,” the man said as he entered the quarterdeck, his wicked looking cuirass drawn and pointed at her chest. “Now, tell us how you got on our ship.” “This is a dream,” she said in a quiet voice, the splinters of the wooden side digging into her back. “I’m going to wake up any time now.” “The only thing you gonna do is see the captain, missy,” the old man snapped. “If’n he’s in a good mood, he may not make ye walk the plank.” “Who is your captain?” she asked, trying to go along with the dream. Maybe, just maybe, it might help her to wake up. “That would be me,” issued a male voice from behind the old man. She heard his boot heels hit the quarterdeck, walking slowly around her captor, the fear nipping at her very bones. A throng of bodies parted, allowing him to come into full view. She held her breath as her heart thumped uneasily in her chest. “You’re Captain Tristan Hamilton,” she murmured and looked away. “Now I know this is a dream.” “Who are you and how did you get on my ship?” his voice boomed, cutting through the hostile air, his hands going to his linen breech clad hips. For a minute, she couldn’t think about anything but him. He was too damned handsome for his own good. Auburn hair, streaked golden by the sun, was long and held back by a black queue. Loose fitting linen wrapped around his muscular upper torso, vaguely reminding her of the pirates on some of the romance novels she’d read. Her gaze dropped lower. His breeches, snug enough to outline his powerful thighs, tapered down into his black books rising over his knees. “You still haven’t answered my question, woman,” he demanded as his stare swept over her. “What are you doing on my ship dressed so strangely?” “This is just a dream,” she answered. “You were born out of my fantasy.” Captain Hamilton continued to stare at her, his dark eyes conveying his rage. “This is

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no dream. You are aboard my ship--uninvited.” He stormed toward her and grabbed her wrist, dragging her to her feet. “Who brought you here?” “I don’t know what you’re taking about,” she snapped, wrenching her wrist free of his grip. “You’re in my dream so back off, buster.” A look of stunned surprise crossed his face. “How dare you speak to me in such a manner!” He towered over her, his handsome face twisted into a menacing scowl. “I should throw you overboard.” She crossed her arms in front of her. No dream figment was going to intimidate her. “Go ahead, you weasel. I’m not frightened of you.” Hushed gasps echoed through the crowd as his face turned to thunderous mask. “So you are not afraid,” he said in a low, sharp tone, taking her upper arm in a tight grip. “Let me see if I can make you afraid.” He jerked her toward the banister, holding her against it as if he was going to throw her overboard, pushing her head toward the water. “Afraid now?” He frightened her no end but she wasn’t about to show it to him or anyone else. “Have to do better than that,” she growled, growing tired of his overbearing attitude. Silently, she willed that he become a little nicer to her but he didn’t. What in the hell good was a dream if it didn’t do what you wanted? “I’m not afraid.” Captain Hamilton jerked her backwards and spun her around so that she faced him, his hand gripping her chin hard. “I have other methods to make you afraid.” His tone was low, almost sensual despite the evil overtones. Her knees weakened a little bit but she held her head high. “I’m sure you do but I don’t have time for this,” she snapped, trying to get away from him. “I need to wake up.” Captain Hamilton stepped back, staring at her with dangerous dark eyes. “You are awake, my dear and angering me no end. Tell me your name and how you came to be on my ship so that I can punish that individual who brought you aboard.” She threw her hands up. “You’re not getting this! I don’t know how I got there! I woke up and here I was. No one brought me here!” He still didn’t believe her, his expression turning more venomous by the minute. “I suppose I must pick a man out of the crew and make an example of him since you will not give me his name that brought you here. Now, what is your name?” “Michaela,” she said, gulping hard. “What sort of punishment?” Captain Hamilton leaned forward, lowering his towering figure to her height. “Death. Now tell me his name so that an innocent man does not die for his crime.” She was horrified. No way did she want someone to die because of nothing. “Please don’t do that, Captain Hamilton. I am telling you the truth that I came here by accident, nothing more. No one brought me here except the fog.” His expression softened a bit. “Your compassion touches me,” he said slowly as he circled her predatorily. “Perhaps I will not have to toss you overboard after all.” “I thought a man such as yourself would not hurt a woman,” she stated in a solemn tone. “After all you are a gentleman.” From what she could remember of his history, this was entirely true. Maybe, if she appealed to his compassionate side... “And a pirate,” he added, halting in mid step and turning to one of his crew members. “Take her down to my cabin.” “I’m not going anywhere…”

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He stepped forward, towering over her, his eye containing a dangerous flame. “You will go where I say you will go,” he snapped, turning to one of his men. “Take her to my cabin below. I will get my answers there.” The crewman tipped his fingers. “Aye, Captain.” The man’s grubby hand slipped around her upper arm and guided her down the quarter deck stairs. Part of her wanted to fight but she went along with it, knowing it was nothing more than a fevered dream. Still, she felt Captain Hamilton’s stare burn through her back, hot enough to burn coal. Michaela shivered. It had to be a dream, didn’t it? “Nice piece o’ gingerbread, would ye say, Cap’n?” old Richard McGill observed at his elbow. “That she is,” he answered slowly, his mind still pondering on her sudden appearance. Where had she come from? They had not been in port for the last three weeks since their last stop in Port Royal, Jamaica. Perhaps one of his men smuggled her aboard dressed as a sailor but it was highly unlikely. Her presence would have been discovered long before this morning. His mind wandered to the moment he first beheld her. She was quite breathtaking as she lay there on the deck dressed in her strange attire. Coltish slim legs, tanned a golden hue by the sun, had greeted him as they peeped out from beneath the edge of her strange attire. Long chestnut colored hair haloed her head, making her seem utterly ethereal. Slender arms caught his attention. As his gaze had traveled down them, he noticed she had firm full breasts, signaling she was a young woman. Naturally, he had to put on the persona of the evil pirate but secretly, she aroused him. From the way she stood up to him to her compassion about saving the sailor’s life, she utterly intrigued him. “Tell the crew they are not to touch the girl. She will reside in my cabin until we reach the next port and I will decide what to with her then.” Richard tipped his fingers. “Aye, Captain.” He watched Richard amble off toward the direction of the main deck, presumably to check on the swing guns and make sure all was in readiness should they stumble upon some booty. With the mystery woman hanging on his mind, Tristan turned toward the sea, his hands on the railing. A woman on this ship would disrupt the men’s moral and make them harder to control. As it was, they had not had their fill of women in Jamaica, some of them grumbling they wanted another few days before leaving. He had quelled that little bit of rioting with a good natured lashing for those who didn’t want to comply with his wishes. Still, a woman aboard might be good for his bed, not to mention his morale. After all, he was a man, was he not? “‘Ere’s the Cap’ns cabin,” the man uttered as he pushed her through the door. “Ye are suppose to stay here and wait for the Cap’n.” She turned to say something but stopped. The crewman was grubby, wearing a striped shirt having seen better days. Black holes resided where teeth once had, the odor issuing from his mouth hard to take. “Wait for what?” “For him,” came the stern reply.

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With those words still hanging in the air, she was alone in the cabin, the only sound was the echo of the door banging shut and locked. Michaela slumped onto the rumpled bed, folding her hands on her lap. What in the hell happened here? This was supposed to be a dream yet she couldn’t wake up from it! Wake up, she ordered herself again and shook her head. Nothing. She was still here. Rising from the bed, she walked around the sparse cabin. At the far end was a small shelf with a meager collection of books, the authors of which she’d never heard of. On the other side was an identical shelf with nothing on it. In between was a large window that gazed out at the wide expanse of blue mingled with the spray of white as the ship cut through the water. She glanced down at the sill. On it was a large golden oval, about the size of an old fashioned pocket watch. Curious, she picked it up and turned the object over in her hands. Etched on the surface of the front was a delicate rose, carved by hand. It reminded her of the lockets of old, the ones containing pictures of loved ones. Taking her thumb, she put it against the top and pressed. Click. The front opened to reveal a tiny portrait of a young woman with blonde hair and beautiful smile. Who was she? “What are you doing?” Tristan thundered from the doorway. She dropped it unceremoniously back on the sill with a dull thunk. “Nothing,” Michaela confessed as she backed away from it, the feeling she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t, washed over her. Tristan stormed into the room and snatched it up in one big fist, shaking it at her. “Ye are not to touch anything in this cabin! All of it belongs to me.” “Don’t get so touchy pal,” she replied in a calm tone as she strode away from him and moved behind the table. “I didn’t hurt it.” His dark red brows knitted in confusion. “You speak so strangely, wench. How is it that you come by such language?” “You don’t seem to understand, buddy that this is all a dream. You’re not even real, just a figment of my imagination.” Her heart leaped in fear as he stepped forward, the fire in his eye flashing like summer lightning. “Who are you to decide that I am not real?” he laughed as he poked her shoulder. “I am as real as you are.” Tristan’s sexual aura penetrated her senses, even though he was a good distance away from her, making her knees weaker. Wearily, she went to the bed and sat down, rocking back and forth. “Wake up, Michaela. This is all a dream.” She was well aware that Tristan watched from the corner of the room, the amusement dancing in his eyes. She didn’t care. All that mattered now was getting out of this dream and back to reality. Closing her eyes tightly, she imagined being back on the beach in Coral Cove, waiting for the sorority sisters to come get her. When I open my eyes, she told herself, I’ll be back on the beach. Michaela snapped her eyes open, her heart filling with dread. The same clapboard

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cabin greeted her as well as an amused Tristan. “You’re still here,” she whispered, her hands gripping of the sides of the bed hard. He leaned casually against the doorframe, crossing his thick arms. “Where else would I be except with my crew?” he informed her. “Now tell me how you came to be here.” Exasperation filled her, mingling with the dread she’d already felt. “Look, I’ve already told you. A fog rolled in from the sea and overtook me. When I woke up, I was on your ship…” “If you expect me to believe that, you are far more daft than I suspected,” he grumbled as he stood up and made his way to a closet near the end of the bed. Opening the door, he rummaged through the clothing until he happened on what he wanted. “Here,” he thrust a dress to her. “Put this on.” “What I have on is perfectly fine…” she objected. His fiery brow rose. “If I allow you to dress like that for the rest of the crew, I would have a riot on my hands I could not quell. Rather than risk mutiny, I want you to dress like this until we reach next port.” Gingerly, she picked up the thin gown from his hands. “What happens in the next port?” “That’s where I’ll decide what to do with you.” Tristan left the cabin so that she could have some privacy while dressing, her thoughts still remaining on the mysterious woman in the locket while her heart pounded out of control. Who was the woman in the portrait? Was it his wife or some long lost love? From what she had gleaned from all the history books, there was never a mention of a wife or even mistress for Tristan Hamilton. Was he that solitary of a man, just as she was that solitary of a woman? Michaela looked at the gown, recognizing all the features she’d only read about. A brown under bodice decorated the top, the only bit of color against the start white of the top. The lower part was dark brown and completely colorless. She’d only read about these things in books. How in the world was she going to wear them? Use your intelligence, Martin, she told herself. It wasn’t that hard putting on period clothing, was it? Drawing a deep breath, Michaela picked up the strange dress. Oh well, she was a smart girl. She’d figure it out. ***** “We be roundin’ the tip of Hispaniola soon and be ready to head to the Colonies if that be strikin’ ya fancy,” McGill said, the hat on his head askew. “Perhaps,” he said slowly, his gaze trained on the sea while his mind remained on the mysterious wench ensconced in his cabin. There was something about her slightly familiar but he could not place it. Had he met her before he had taken the helm of a pirate? At one of the society balls perhaps? “I have not given thought to where we will go after we left Jamaica…” “Do I look all right?” Her words cut off the trail of his words, forcing him to turn. The girl with the strange name stood on the deck, holding out the edges of the gown. Unfortunately, it did nothing for shape like her other clothing did but at least this way, his sanity was safe for a while. “You look as you should,” he snapped, trying to keep his emotion out of his voice.

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“Excuse me? Are you actually insinuating that I’m beneath you?” He heard the anger in her voice but he ignored it. At first, her temperament was endearing but now it did nothing but annoy him. Why did she not know her place? “I do not insinuate, my dear. I am merely speaking the truth. You are a woman and as such, you should know your place.” Fury flashed behind those amber eyes, striking at the very heart of his desire. “I’m sorry you’re so behind the times but women have come a long way since your time, buddy boy. I’m subservient to no man.” Now her attitude was really grating on him. “You will be subservient to me, whether you like it or not,” he snapped, gesturing to the prow of the ship. “If you wish to walk the plank, then keep speaking to me in an ill manner otherwise, I suggest that you keep your sharp tongue on your head.” ***** Michaela stood there for a moment, the wood under her feet feeling very real. What if it was real? What if she had been swept back in time to the time of ‘Black Hand’ and this wasn’t a dream? She’d read all the horror stories about him and about his cruelty toward other pirates. Perhaps it was best not to push him, at least until they were on dry land. “You’ll have to excuse my mouth. Sometimes it gets the best of me.” “Do not let it get out of hand,” he warned as he held his hand out. “Come up here.” Filled with trepidation, she walked gingerly up the stairs to the quarterdeck, holding her gown out so that she didn’t trip and look like an idiot. “Wha–what do you want?” Her tone was nervous but she couldn’t help it. He might do something to her in front of everyone else. There was no one who would save her from him. “Let me show you something,” he said, his voice smooth. She took his hand, allowing him to guide her to the railing. Gingerly, she placed her hands on the weather beaten railing. “What is it?” “Look out there,” he told her, gesturing to a thick bank of clouds that seemed to disappear beyond the horizon. Lightning flash in the haze, the thunder distant. “Will that get to us?” “No,” he replied softly, his arm going around her waist gently, as if he were trying to support her. Michaela was well aware of his arm as well as the sensations that went along with it. Her body shivered with it. “Are we sailing from it?” “Yes, we are,” he murmured, his breath warm and inviting, was close to her ear, forcing her to close her eyes in order to revel in the feeling. “Look to your right.” Michaela opened her eyes to see the most beautiful rainbow she’d ever seen. Bright colors of red, blue, yellow and green glared at her, mingled with the ultraviolet and orange. It streamed from the sapphire colored waters, dotted with whitecaps to the sky, disappearing beneath a blanket of clouds. “My God, that’s beautiful,” she whispered, her body thrumming with sensation. “Not as beautiful as you,” he murmured into her ear, low and filled with invitation. His thumbs caressed her ribcage before moving into the delicate curve of her breasts. He made it obvious what he wanted. Michaela stiffened her spine. She knew what he was doing and it wasn’t going to work

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with her. “I know what you’re trying to do.” A look of stunned surprise crossed his handsome features. “What do you mean?” “I believe you’re trying to seduce me, Captain Hamilton,” she announced as she moved away from him. “Is that such a terrible thing?” “Many man have tried what you have,” she lied as she paced the quarter deck, her feet brushing against the piles of rope. “What makes you different from all of them?” Tristan stood there, his auburn hair blowing behind him, the edges of his shirt billowing out with the wind. From the looks of things, he didn’t have an answer. “Just as I thought,” she said as she descended the steps. “Tell me when you have your answer.” Quietly, she moved through the bustle of men working on the rigging, her hands behind her back. Despite the fact she was drawn to him sexually, her body was not something to be given lightly and just because she felt an overwhelming need. No, it would happen when she wanted it to happen, not before. ***** Tristan watched the young woman move past the rush of men tying up the sails, her hands behind her back and her movements calculated. Damn! How in the hell did she ever catch him off his guard? Most of the time, women fell into his arms quickly and without a fight, a fact he was proud of. Ravishing a woman against her will was not among the highlights of his pirate career. “She’ll fall fer ye charms soon enough, Cap’n,” McGill, his master of the boat, announced. “I am not so sure,” he confessed, the feeling of her soft body against his not too far from his memory. “Enough talk,” he bellowed, dismissing McGill with a wave of his hand. “Set the new course. West by Northwest.” McGill saluted. “Aye, sir. West by Northwest.” McGill left the quarter deck, leaving him alone with only his errant thoughts for company. This woman was a detriment to all he knew, the stability of the ship not to mention his command. If all the men knew that a woman could weaken his heart as well as resolve, he would have nothing but mutiny on his hands. No, it was perhaps best that when they reached the West Indies, that he put her off the ship no matter what his body desired. He looked to the direction of his cabin, his mind whirling. It was going to be a long few weeks until they reached the West Indies so why not have a little bed sport? The last time he had bedded a woman was in London, courtesy of Madame Lurie’s brothel. Even then, it wasn’t anything more than just a sexual act. It did not thrill him the least. Yet this woman was different somehow. From what he could read of her body language, more than likely, she was a virgin with an unbroken body and spirit. A woman unlike any he had ever known. Tristan pushed away from the railing. He had no more time to think about it. There was much to do and too many ships to catch with not enough time to do it all. Night fell around the ship, turning the world to a ghostly gray. Round and bright, the moon lifted into the sky and rained pale light down on the water, dappling the sea.

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Michaela lay in the bed, looking out the window. Her nausea had calmed down slightly, coming to life again when she stood up. Fear had gripped her most of the day, turning her body to stone. Why couldn’t she wake up from this dream? As much as she tried, she couldn’t. It was all too real. Bunching the pillows behind her, she struggled to sit up. Unfortunately, the sway of the ship was against her, forcing her to lay back down again. She shivered. Here she was, trapped on a ship with a man she’d only read about and fallen in love with through the pages of the history book. And there was nothing she could do about it. If he decided to rape her, it was well within his rights as a pirate. Should she ask for parley? She threw up a hand in disgust. That was old movie magic, not relevant to the reality of history. How dumb could she be to think of something like that? No, she needed to plant her feet into now. Michaela looked up to the ceiling, listening to the grating of metal against metal as the lantern bobbed in time with the ship’s movements. How was she going to get out of this one? With any amount of luck, Captain Hamilton would not violate her in any way and perhaps help her get back… Get back to where when she didn’t know how she got here in the first place? Frustration welled inside of her. If this wasn’t a dream, somehow she’d crossed the time/space continuum and went back into the past. So how was she going to get back to the future? Silent tears welled at the corner of her eyes. What was she going to do…? Before she could ponder on it any further, she heard the distant sounds of footsteps coming down the stairs, heavy and hard. Her heart stopped in her chest, her blood turning to ice. Captain Hamilton was coming. She sat up quickly, forcing her feet to the floor despite her spinning head. What if he was coming to force himself on her? What was she going to do? Frantically, she moved around the cabin, looking for something lethal in case she needed it. Unfortunately, there was nothing. Click. The knob turned. Michaela halted in her spot, her body freezing with fear. What did this pirate have in mind for her?

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Chapter Three

Michaela trembled as the door opened, revealing Tristan. He strode through with an air of arrogance, confident that he’d lure her into his bed for an all night sex marathon. If that’s what he thought, he was sadly mistaken. “You are all ready for me, I see,” he announced as he closed the door, locking it securely behind him. She stiffened her spine. “I’m not ready for anything. The only thing I want is to be back where I belong.” “Since you claim that you know not where that is, it will prove difficult to take you back,” he stated in a flat tone as he sat down in a chair and started removing his boots. “Wha–what…are you doing?” She bit her bottom lip in order to conceal her anxiety. Was he going to rape her now? “I am overly tired and wish to go to sleep,” he snapped as he slammed one boot on the floor, giving her a glare that melted her insides. “Unless you object.” His arrogant manner was almost more than she could take. “I don’t care what you do,” she replied flippantly, trying to keep her distance from him though it was proving harder and harder. Every time she was around him, her heart leapt a little, reminding her of her sexuality as a woman. Tristan looked up, the corner of his lips curling up into a sensual smile. “I am glad that you approve of that,” he put his boots side by side next to the chair and stood up, stretching. “Now which side of the bed would you like?” “You’re crazy if you think I’m getting into that bed with you,” she said, her voice rising an octave from the fear invading her body. Slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt and casually tossed it to the empty leather chair. She gasped as the chiseled chest, bathed in pale moonlight, glared at her, daring her to touch his flesh. “What ‘tis wrong with you? Have you never seen a man without a shirt before?” Michaela turned, the pounding of her heart almost loud enough for him to hear. Oh, sure, she’d seen men without their shirts before but they were never like Tristan. “Ye–yes…” she choked out. Warm fingers descended on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Then why does it bother you?” Her knees went weak. “I–I…don’t know,” she confessed. “I guess I’ve never been as close as this to a man before.” “You mean a man like me,” he whispered as his hands cupped her jaw gently, his lips inches from hers, almost in kissing range. Michaela closed her eyes in anticipation. “Yes,” she murmured, his lips brushing against hers, the softest of kisses. Tristan’s hand touched the underside of her chin gently, caressing the skin with a soft motion. “Come, my dear, tell me you do not wish to know the magic of my arms…” Before he could finish his words, a distant call interrupted them followed by the

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clanging of a bell. Tristan pulled away quickly, the anger flashing in his eyes. “‘Tis seems that a ship has been spotted,” he stated in a low tone, his hand brushing her cheek. “We will finish what we have started later.” “What is going on?” She rocked a little on her heels, the emotions still thrumming through her body. “‘Tis a ship to plunder, so I want you to stay down here until I come for you,” he ordered. “Can't I see what's going on? I promise not to get in the way,” she begged. Seeing a pirate in action, especially Tristan, was something she’d give her right arm for. “No!” he snapped as he tore a wicked looking sword from the wall and sheathed in a matching scabbard, attaching it to his hips with a flourish. “You are to stay here until I deem it necessary to move you to a safer part of the ship.” “But I can help...” she protested. He leaned down to her, his eye flashing with a deep fire. “I have never needed a woman’s help before nor will I ever. Now, you are to remain here as quiet as possible. Am I understood?” His magnetism was overpowering her. “Ye–yes,” she choked out, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I will.” “Good. The last thing I need right now is a non-compliant woman.” Before she could mouth her dissent, Tristan was gone from her sight, exiting through the door and slamming it shut. Mingled with the pounding of feet overhead, she heard his distinct footfalls as they hurried up the stairs. Michaela sank to the bed, her hands going to the folds of material in her lap. Who was coming to attack them? Her heart pounded in rhythm with the sounds of the guns moved in position of war, the lump in her throat growing. Somehow, she needed to get up to the deck and see what was going on. If it was a battle that she was familiar with, perhaps... She leapt to her feet, pacing the cabin wildly. With her knowledge of Tristan’s history, she could in fact alter the manner of his death. Why, he could die in his bed an old man instead of at the bottom of the sea in the port of Mystic Harbor! Chills ran up her spine. If she altered history, she could cause a grave paradox and change the course of time and space. Was that something she was ready to do? ***** Tristan stared at the ship in the distance through the lead in his hand, the anger within rising. What sort of man would dare pursue him across the open sea like this? He looked hard, calculating the strength of his opponent. Small sails greeted him as well as a small hull. It was a little hard to tell at this point but he could see some of the gun ports, counting the holes he could see. He could see ten gun ports. All in all, counting the swing guns that were probably on the upper deck of the ship, he was looking at a fifth or six rate frigate, smaller than his own vessel. Good. When it came to might, he had the advantage. “So what sort of maneuvers are you going to use this time, Tristan?” He whirled about to see his first mate, Edwin Jameson, staring at him, the wild grin

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firmly in place. “You have never questioned my authority before, Edwin. Why are you choosing now to start?” he growled as he turned and stared through the lens of the lead. “I am not, my friend,” Edwin responded as he strode over to the weather battered rail and leaned against it. “‘Tis always intrigues me with what you choose to do.” Tristan looked to the mast, searching for the flag. Bits of red caught his eye, firing his fury even higher. No quarter. He stood up, the lead rolling in his hand. So the opposing ship was giving no quarter. He smiled. After he was through with them, they would regret ever flying that flag. ***** Silence abounded her, making her far more uneasy that before. It wasn’t easy waiting for the attack to come, the pounding of her heart beating in her temples. Part of her wished the rogues following the ship would attack but the sane part of her wanted them to just go away. Unfortunately, pirates rarely let the prey get away that easily. Suddenly, hard booms resounded above her, making her go the floor. She’d heard of hitting the deck but never dreamed of doing it literally. Screams and shouts, mingled with gun and cannon fire, soared through the air above her, increasing the level of fear in her. What was she to do? Nervously, she looked around the sparse cabin for something to hide in but there was nothing. Crashes split the air, the ship shaking down to its very timbers. Please, let me wake up if this is a dream! She begged silently as she lay against the floor, tiny shards of wood digging into her cheek. Unfortunately, as time went on, she knew it wasn’t a dream. It was all far too real. Then, without warning, the door to the cabin banged open. The man, who had originally escorted her to Captain Hamilton’s quarters, stood there blood soaked with a sword in his hand. “Come with me, missus! There be a bloody band of brigands aboard and me captain wants to keep ye safe!” Jumping to her feet, she grabbed a hold of his hand. “Take me to him!” “No, missus! I’ll be a takin’ ye to a safe place on the ship!” he shouted over the melee. Michaela allowed him to take her out of the cabin through the smelly crew’s quarters toward a small staircase when a man jumped down the stairs and engaged her escort into battle. She flattened herself against the wall, hoping the new pirate wouldn’t see her. You have to do something, she told herself. Use your skills. That inner voice was right. She had a lot of skill and knew how to use it. Steeling herself, she grabbed a sword out of dead man’s gullet, her belly recoiling as the sickening sucking sound filling the already tense air. You can do this, her mind told her. Taking a deep breath, she sliced the arm of the man who engaged her escort in battle. Whipping his sword around, he stared at her, his eyes widening. “Now what ‘ave we, ‘ere? It be a woman!” his lips curled over his rotten teeth, the breath emitting from his mouth utterly foul. “Ye have not had a woman since ye left Singapore,” he announced as he advanced toward her. “You are a mighty pretty woman.” “I’m no ordinary woman,” she warned, holding the bloody sword in front of her. Her enemy laughed aloud. “Ye are going to battle me?”

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“Certainly,” she said, firming her resolve as to what had to happen next. “Just like this.” With those words, she sank the sword deep into his belly, the surprise crawling across his features. “How dare ye…” Those words died on his lips as his lifeless body sank to the floor, falling from her blade and landing on the wood with a dull thunk. Her breathing labored as the thoughts flooded her mind. She’d just killed a man. How could she commit such a crime? Echoes of Tristan’s voice sounded above her, his words issuing orders. Her heart pounded hard in her chest, the air hitching in and out of her chest. He needed her now more than ever, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Taking matters into her own hands, Michaela gathered her skirts in her hand and hurried up the stairs, exiting out onto the bloody deck. Pale reams of moonlight rained down, giving the cannon fire smoke a ghostly gray appearance. Flashes to the right and to the left as the cannons and muskets fired, their booms rising through the night. She was tempted for a minute to sink to the deck with her hands over her ears as the fright grabbed a hold of her. No, she couldn’t be this way. Not only was she fighting to help Tristan, she was fighting to save her own life. Holding the sword the way she had been taught, Michaela started to fight her way through the throng of smelly bodies, all of them falling at her feet with the swift strokes of her sword. From the quarterdeck to mid-ship, she battled all the opponents that came to her, most of them disbelieving a woman could fell them. She proved them utterly wrong. Suddenly, the invasion took a swift turn. Tristan’s men started to overpower their would be captors, taking some of them hostage while killing the others. Frantically, she searched through the thick smoke and fallen bodies for Tristan, the sound of his voice completely gone. Had they killed him? The hardness of a hand descended on her shoulder, forcing her to turn around, her sword in front of her. “What are you doing out of the cabin?” Tristan thundered, his shirt and sword coated in blood. “I ordered you to remain there!” “The man you sent down to take me to a safe place ended up fighting one of the bastards who came aboard,” she announced, throwing her blood coated sword to the side where it landed with a clatter. “I had no other choice.” “You had a choice,” he snapped. “You could have hidden—” “No, I couldn’t have,” she retorted sharply, “because there was no place to hide since you have nothing. By the way, you’re welcome.” She tried to charge past him but his hand caught her upper arm. “I need no woman to fight my battles for me.” “It’s obvious that you need something,” she sneered as she jerked her arm out of his grip. “Now if you will excuse me, I need a few minutes to myself.” With that, she stormed away from him, carefully picking her way through the lifeless bodies littering the deck. Well, if he couldn’t at least thank her for what she’d done for him, then screw him. ***** “I see your little lass has quite a temper,” Edwin observed from his left, “not to mention a way with the sword.”

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He watched the way her backside swayed beneath the shapeless fabric, his mind running riot with fantasy. How did she come by such knowledge? Most women he had ever known were interested in nothing more than landing a proper husband and keeping an expensive wardrobe. “I noticed,” he said slowly, watching her disappear down the stairs toward his cabin. “As a matter of fact I was thinking the same thing.” “If I were you, I would enjoy her for the trip. You need at least some compensation for her presence.” He nodded. “I intend to,” he countered. “That is one woman I will relish taming.” “What do ye want us to do with the brigands?” McGill questioned from his right elbow. He looked to all the prisoners kneeling mid-ship, their hands on top of their hands in an ancient gesture of submission. “Where are they from?” Not only did his anger fire his blood but his desire did as well. He had never hungered like this for a woman before in his life. “Spain, cap’n. Ye ship is loaded with doubloons and pieces o’ eight.” He turned to McGill, the energy of his triumph filling his body. “Empty the ship and scuttle it. Before you do that, bring that bloody flag aboard and burn it.” “What about the crew?” He cast a glance to the prisoners, their faces set in stone. “No quarter.” ***** Michaela felt the stickiness of the blood coating her arms as well as her dress, the hot coppery odor filling the air. Why did she do that? Sure, it was the heat of battle but that didn’t change the fact that she’d killed another human being. She paced around the cabin a little, trying to ease the nerves of her erratic heart. Why was she so drawn to Tristan? Aside from the fact that he was devastatingly handsome, he could be suffocatingly overbearing. What would draw her to a man like that? Before she could think anymore, the door creaked open to reveal Tristan. He stood there for a moment, a small basin in one hand with a piece of cloth in the other. “I though you might want to cleanse yourself a little,” he said tersely as he strode in and set it on the small table attached to the wall near the window. “Thanks,” she said stiffly. Tristan gazed at her with a hardened expression. “Where did you learn the way of the sword?” “At school. I got a scholarship for fencing so I decided I’d sail through college on it.” His face took on a confused expression. “What is college?” “You know, school,” she said gently, the nearness of him turning her knees to jelly again. “They pretty much paid for me to go because of my skill.” “That is absurd. Women do not go to school. They stay home and learn the arts of being a wife...” “You mean a slave more than anything else,” she said, her anger slightly rising. His fingers touched the side of her face, sending shivers down her spine. “You are a very strange woman,” he murmured. “Most women that I know do not speak to me the way you have.” “Then I suggest you get out more, buddy,” she said, stepping away from him toward the bowl of water. “Not all women cower before a man and are utterly subservient to them.” “Why are you not afraid of me?”

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If he knew the truth, she was. “Because you don’t frighten me in the least,” she confessed, her tone a touch nervous. “I’ve come up against bigger and better than you.” His confusion seemed to disappear. “Clean yourself if you desire. I will be on the upper deck with my men, tending to the dead. If you have need of me, call my name.” There was only thing she wanted to know. “What about the sleeping arrangements?” His brow lifted. “Sleeping arrangements?” “Well, where are you going to sleep?” His laughter rang out among the rafters. “In my own bed, of course.” “Then where am I sleep?” “Beside me.” ***** It seemed like forever before she could force herself to wash herself with the water. His words reverberated around her head, taunting her. She couldn’t sleep next to him! That was like leaving the fox to guard the hen house! Michaela paced for a few minutes, stopping when she couldn’t stand the feel of the crusty blood on her skin. Stripping off the dress, she washed it all away, the shame and the pain of having to kill another human being. The cool water didn’t erase what happened but it helped to calm her mind a little. She rinsed the cloth out again, the water turning a deep rust color. Michaela grimaced. She hated that smell of blood and thankfully it was off her skin now. Balefully, she glanced at the rumpled heap on the floor. It was no good now that it was full of gore. Maybe he would have something else in that small closet she could wear. Since the room was utterly dark, she felt her way over to the closet. She opened it, the clicks filling the air. Deftly, Michaela rummaged through it, finding only his clothes. Well, there had to be something she could wear. Pulling out one of his shirts, she held it against herself. The hem of it fell to her knees. Perfect. It would at least cover her up enough until the morning when she could find something more properly fitting. She slipped it over head. The masculine feel of it intrigued her, his scent making her pussy swell with sexual desire. What would it be like for his knowledgeable hands running over her body, awakening those secret places within her? Michaela shivered at the thought, her knees knocking together. No, she couldn’t fall for a man like ‘Black Hand’. He was ruthless and cruel at times as well as having a reputation for being a rogue with the women. A man like him couldn’t be kept happy by just one woman. Besides, all this was a dream, wasn’t it? She smoothed out her hair, wishing for a brush. It must be full of knots by now. Michaela sighed. If only he had… Several clicks split the air. She turned to see Tristan enter the cabin, a candle in hand. The moment he saw her, he stopped, his jaw dropping. “What are you wearing?” “I’m sorry but I needed something other than that dress. It’s utterly gross and I couldn’t stand it any longer…” “I am not angry, my dear. What I am is astonished at how good it looks on you,” he confessed as he set the candle down on the table, the flame flickering in time with the bob of the ship. “I will confess you look very tempting.”

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“That wasn’t the look I was going for,” she said smartly as she stepped out of his reach and went to the other side of the bed. “Um, are you serious about us sharing the same bed thing?” His russet brow rose. “Do you have a problem with that?” “Yes, I do,” she said, her hand gripping the foot-board of the bed. “I don’t really know you and since I really don’t belong here…” “Perhaps you do,” he murmured as he sank back down into the chair, crossing his legs casually, the golden glow of the candle highlighting the bronze of his skin. “I saw the way you handled the sword tonight and I was duly impressed, especially since you are a woman.” “I know a lot of things,” she offered. “You would be amazed by my knowledge.” “The only critical knowledge that I am interested in, you do not have.” “What is that?” Instead of answering, he rose from his chair and closed the distance between them, his soft footfalls rising in the air. Her heart banged a hard rhythm, threatening to burst out of her chest as he came closer. “The knowledge of how to please a man,” he murmured as he moved in closer, forcing her back on the bed. “Please, don’t do this,” she begged despite the fact her body craved his touch. “You want me to touch you,” he whispered as he moved closer, his lips just inches from hers. “I can see the fire in your eyes.” Sexual heat and desire rolled from him in reams, enveloping her in its sweet embrace. “I…don’t…know,” she confessed, her gaze sweeping over his handsome face. “You do,” he insisted as he maneuvered his body over hers, almost poising to pounce. Unable to stop herself, she ran her hands down his hard chest, feeling the rock hard muscle. She shivered as the juices between her legs flowed like a river, the hunger to have him inside of her almost more than she could stand. “Perhaps,” she replied in a soft voice, slipping her fingers beneath the parted fabric of his shirt. He gasped lightly at her touch. “You do not know what you do to me, woman,” he lowered his head and brushed her lips with the softest of kisses, her hips moving. “You do not know how much I want to taste your fruit at this moment…” Before he could fully envelope her into a hard, passionate kiss, a knock resounded through the room. “I must speak to you, Tristan,” a man with an aristocratic sounding voice called. Tristan’s fist pounded the bed next to her. “Saint’s be damned!” He leapt up from the bed and stormed to the door, flinging it open. “This had better be warranted, Edwin,” he warned. “I am engaged within.” “This will only take a moment,” the voice offered. Hollow slams ricocheted through the room as the wood slammed shut. Gasping, she tiptoed to the door and listened. “This had better be important,” he snapped as he slammed Edwin against the wall of the hallway. “You have interrupted me.” “Oh, I see. You are trying to seduce the woman,” Edwin remarked savagely. “Is she putting up a fight?” His anger mounted. “‘Tis none of your business, Edwin. What do you want of me?”

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Edwin brushed long locks of ashen blond hair out of his face, his expression turning dark. “The ship is in desperate need of repairs and we cannot refit at sea. We need a port in which to do all of our repairs.” “So why are you disturbing me about it? You are the first mate.” “I wanted your opinion on where we should put in,” Edwin snarled. “Should we go to the New World or put in Saint Domingue?” The contempt in Edwin’s tone did not go unnoticed. “Saint Domingue. Will there be anything else?” Edwin straightened up, his broad arms crossing over his wide chest defiantly. “What is your interest in the girl?” Now he was furious. “What is it to you? The girl is aboard my ship and belongs to me, as well as anything else aboard.” “I want her.” “She is not yours, Edwin,” he growled savagely, his fists curling. Edwin’s face became a mask of rage. “We have been friends far longer than I can remember, closer than brothers perhaps. Never before have we ever let a woman come between us.” He leaned against the wall, thinking about Edwin’s words. His friend was right. If they had ever found a woman they both fancied, one would have a go at her. If the first one failed, the other could take over. By doing this, it preserved their friendship all these years. “Correct you are my friend but I cannot let you have her.” “How about a wager then?” “What do you propose?” “If you cannot seduce her say, within a month, then you will give her over to me as well as enough money to buy my own ship. If you do, then I will leave your company and seek a berth elsewhere,” Edwin concluded as the fury in his voice died down. “Are you casting doubts about my ability with women?” “No, Tristan, I am not. ‘Tis just the woman seems so delicate…” Deep laughter escaped him. “I guess you did not observe her actions on deck then,” he said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “She is anything but delicate.” “You care nothing for her, Tristan. I will take care of her…” His anger took over again. “Just like you took care of Maggie? Left her and the child you fathered back in Antilles? I think not.” “Then what of our wager?” Tristan leaned his head back, staring at Edwin through half lidded eyes. “A month you say? I dare say it will not take me that long.” “Then we have a wager?” Edwin stuck his hand out. He took it. “Aye. A month it is.” He saw delight dance across his friend’s face, further firming his resolve about the girl. “I dare say this is something I will enjoy winning from you.” “Think again, my friend. You will find your bed just as cold and empty in a month as it is now.” Edwin puffed with confidence. “We will see in a month who is the victor.” His laughter erupted, echoing through the empty hallway. “You have a wager,

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Edwin,” he looked toward the door and back to his friend. “Now, if you will pardon me, I have some business to attend to in my cabin.” Edwin executed a mock bow. “As you wish, captain.” ***** Michaela hurried away from the door and sat on the bed with her back to the door, the hot silent tears streaking down her face. So that’s what she’d been reduced to? A bet? No! She wasn’t any man’s to toy to be played with casually and tossed aside when the interest wasn’t there anymore. Loud clicks of the lock split the air, signaling Tristan’s arrival back in the cabin. “Now, where were we?” She sensed the sexual overtones dripping from his voice but she wasn’t about to give in. “Nowhere, Captain Hamilton,” she snapped. “I would like to rest now.” His slight laughter filled the hostile air building around her. “So would I,” he sat, the creaking of the chair signaling his descent. “I mean alone.” She heard one booted foot slam the floor angrily. “What do you mean?” “I mean I am going to sleep in this bed alone tonight. I have no idea where you’ll be sleeping.” “I will be sleeping next to you, my lady and there is nothing you can do about it.” She stiffened, wiping the last of her tears away. “Then I’ll sleep on the floor.” “That will only force me to pick you up and put you back into the bed,” he retorted, his voice conveying a subtle warning. As much as she wanted to fight him, it was almost like poking a caged tiger. You didn’t know when it was going to spring. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?” “Is that what you want, my dear Michaela? If I left you alone, my crew would do only God knows what to you,” she heard his furious footsteps storm around the bed. He stopped in front of her, his face a thunderous mask. “Then so be it. You will sleep next to me but I will restrain myself from touching you though it will be an amazing feat if I can.” He stalked away and returned to the chair, removing his boots in an orderly fashion. Michaela listened to the sounds, the tears returning. Why was she caught up with this man? Why couldn’t he understand she wanted nothing to do with him, especially since she’d heard him make the bet with the other sailor? What was she going to do now? In an effort to get her mind off the coming sleeping arrangements, she struck up a conversation. “How badly was the ship damaged?” “Badly. We will have to put into Saint Domingue to refit,” he announced. “Don’t go there,” she warned. History said that he fought a terrible battle against the infamous pirate ‘Fat Jack’ McCann, losing a quarter of his crew. He’d been wounded terribly and nearly died from the musket ball lodged in his shoulder. “Why not?” “Please trust me, Captain Hamilton. You cannot go there.” Suddenly, the light dimmed as he blew out the candle. She felt the weight of the bed sink down as he slid in. “Nonsense. Now come to bed.” “Please listen to me,” she repeated. “Terrible things will happen if you go there.” “Not until you call me by my given name.” he mocked.

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“I have.” “No, you have only called me captain. I do possess a Christian name.” She hadn’t wanted to use it because it acknowledged the power he had over her but she had no choice now. “Listen to me, Tristan. You will get into a fight with Captain Harold Hatherton and nearly lose. A musket ball will lodge in your shoulder and nearly kill you.” Laughter erupted. “Do not tell you that you can divine the future as well?” “No, I’ve studied your history…” “Nonsense, woman for there is no history to study,” he yawned. “Come to bed.” Nervously trembling, Michaela slid beneath the covers, trying to stay as far as she could to her side of the bed, trying to avoid touching him completely. Almost instantly she felt his hand on her rump, not moving but merely sitting there as if he was stating she was his property. True to his word, he did nothing else to entice her emotions and senses. Unfortunately, this little bit of touch was something that inflamed her far more than he knew. Michaela laid there for a few minutes, waiting for the indicative snore to erupt. It didn’t take long. Tristan fell into a deep slumber, snoring softly. Good, she thought to herself, maybe I can just slip out from under his hand and sleep on the floor. Gently lifting his hand, she slid out from under it and moved to hard wood, taking her pillow with her. It was hard and unforgiving but it was a far better alternative than to share his bed. He’d promised to keep his hands to himself and so far, he had. The bigger question loomed. Could she do the same?

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Chapter Four Gentle warmth cascaded over her cheek, wrapping her in its soft heat. Finally, it was morning and she could wake from this horrific nightmare. This one would definitely have to go into her journal. Her lips curled into a slight smile. After this, she wasn’t going to read anymore about the exploits of the debonair Tristan Hamilton. Michaela opened her eyes, blinking hard in order to get them to focus. Whew what a dream… To her horror, she saw the wooden planking above her, the squeal of the wrought iron light fixture bobbing in time with the ship. This was no dream. She jerked up, the wispy feel of the fabric against her waist. Horrified, she looked down to discover that she was in his bed. Naked. Her heart pounded out of control as the terrifying thoughts scrambled around her brain. Did he take advantage of her while she slept? Quickly, she jerked the sheet up, holding it tightly to her chest as her heart pounded out of control. How should she approach him about this? If she did it in front of his men that would demean him and more than likely anger, him to the point, he would throw her overboard in order to keep sanity on his ship. No, she had to confront him privately despite the fact she burned to get dressed and tear him a new ass. Scanning the room, she spied the shirt she’d been wearing the night before slung neatly over a chair, topped by her panties. Shameful heat crept into her cheeks. Why didn’t she wake up long enough to stop him? Had she been that tired? Nervously, she cast a glance at the window looking out onto the sapphire tinted waters, dotted with white caps. Fluffy clouds drifted lazily by, the sky a much lighter blue than the sea. She let out a sigh of relief at the absence of faces there. None of the crew had lowered themselves down the side to leer at her. She could get dressed in peace. With the speed of summer lightning, Michaela leapt from the bed and hurried to the chair, dressing as quickly as possible. That’s all she’d need was for him to come in and see her half naked. Running her hands through her hair, she felt the overabundance of knots. Damn! Silently, she wished for a hairbrush or comb but she guessed that pirates didn’t carry those sorts of things…Loud groans of metal against metal signaled Tristan’s entrance. “Did you sleep well, my dear?” he questioned, his tone deep and serious. “I–I…guess I did, especially after you took my clothes off and took advantage of me,” she said viciously. “Why didn’t you leave me on the floor?” His expression darkened. “You are a most ungrateful wench. First, when I awoke this morning, I found you on the floor. Thinking that you might be uncomfortable, I put you in the bed,” he leaned close to her, his amber eyes full of fire. “You were perspiring so, I though you would be more comfortable without your clothing.” He stood up, his glare murderous. “If I had wanted to take advantage of you, my dear, I would have already.” She backed away from him. “You really are a scoundrel,” she snapped. “No man

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would have done…” His laughter irritated her nerves no end. “Aye, any man worth his salt would have and more. As you can see, I can be a caring man,” he held a tray full of meat and cheese out to her. “I thought perhaps you might be hungry.” “How thoughtful of you,” she mocked savagely. “Soothe my anger after you took advantage of me.” Tristan slammed the tray down on the table, his auburn brows knitting in fury. “You are most exasperating! First, you come aboard my ship a way that only the good Lord knows how then you proceed to mock me! You do not understand woman, had I wanted to ravish you, I would have done so and not thought twice about it!” “Oh, the big bad pirate has spoken,” she replied sarcastically. “What do you want, a medal?” ***** Just as much as she infuriated him, the woman lit a fire in him that burned much hotter than it ever had, even with Priscilla, his first love. Oh, how he had remembered those halcyon days with Priscilla, those treasured memories burned into his mind. The only difference now was that this woman stood up to him, every step of the way. Priscilla was a meek woman, always subservient to his desires and wishes. This woman not only matched him in will but in intelligence as well, a quality he deeply admired. Unable to control the fire burning within, Tristan crushed her to him, tasting her lips again. He was soft and gentle at first, her lack of experience showing through completely. Burying his tongue between her lips, he explored the cavernous region of her mouth, enticing her to play as well. Timidly she did, slow at first until it built up into a crescendo of play and passion. Placing both hands on her buttocks, he lifted her easily from the floor and planted her on the table, her long, coltish legs dangling down. “Please stop,” she begged. “I don’t want to do this.” “I am not forcing you to do anything you do not wish to do,” he murmured against her lips, his fingers diving between her legs only to find cumbersome material in his way. Pushing it aside, he felt the bareness of flesh. Astonished, he pulled away. “Has all of your private hair fallen out?” Michaela looked at him wide eyed, gasping for breath. “I–I…where I come from, it’s all shaved off.” “Why?” “It’s the ‘in’ thing.” Now he was utterly confused. “What do you mean, the ‘in’ thing?” “You know, fashionable,” she muttered as she turned away from him and slid from the table, her breathing slowly returning to normal. “Look, Captain Hamilton, you’ve been at sea for quite a while and you’re looking to get laid. I’m sorry I can’t be that woman for you.” He was intrigued with her speech, far stranger than anything he had ever heard before. “You speak so strangely and possess a strange name. Where is it that you hail from?” Her small, throaty laughter was like music to his ears. “Well, I’m from a small town in South Carolina called Mystic Harbor.” He slid into the chair, utterly taken with her story. It seemed strange because there was

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no where in the world he had ever heard of such a place. The closest name he could think of was Carolina in the New World, the colony firmly established at Albermarle Point and under the command of William Sayle. “Where is this place?” “You know, the United States,” she said. He could do nothing but look up and down her body. Encased in linen, she still possessed all the vigors of youth, beauty and sensuality though she did not even realize she did so. “Where is this United States?” Michaela smacked her forehead hard for some reason. “Oh, geez, I keep forgetting who I’m dealing with here,” she said, resting her backside against the table, the blush of sexual desire still riding high in her cheeks, making his ardor rise. “You see, somehow, I’ve gotten aboard your ship from a distant time in the future.” “That is not possible,” he conjectured, not liking the way this conversation was going. “You were brought aboard by one of my men somehow.” Her anxiety filled her form, replacing the desire. “No, I wasn’t!” she grasped in his hands in hers, holding his attention. “Would you please listen to me? I somehow was swept back in time by the fog that rolled in on Coral Cave Beach the night of June twelfth.” “You are mad, woman,” he said suspiciously. Even though she seemed normal on the outside, something plagued her head. “Everything you say is mad. Tell me, how does a woman such as yourself go by the odd name of Michaela?” “I was named after my father,” she answered, the exasperation in her voice growing. “How can I prove to you that I am not insane?” “Michaela,” he repeated, the sound of it very intriguing. He looked at her. “If you are from the future as you claim to be, can you tell me something about myself?” Her back stiffened as a sweet smile graced her lips. “Your full name is Tristan Francis Martin Hamilton, son of Richard Hamilton, Earl of Hampton,” she moved away from the table and started pacing, his gaze on her spectacular, smooth legs. “You were born on a cold wet night in February, the unusual snow piled high.” He laughed. “‘Tis common knowledge. Tell me something else.” Her smile brightened. “Okay, how about this? Your love, Priscilla, killed herself because she didn’t want to marry you and that she secretly hungered for another’s love,” she swallowed hard. “Another woman’s love.” Tristan’s jaw dropped. No one ever knew that but him. Leaping to his feet, he grabbed her hard by the upper arms and shook her slightly, his anger getting the best of him. “How did acquire that information?” “Your love left letters addressed to a woman named Gertrude, a woman whom she confessed her undying love for,” Michaela looked at him hard. “Those letters are now in the British Museum for all to see.” “There is no such thing.” “In my time, there is. Would you like me to quote a few lines of the letters?” “No,” he replied, letting her go and slumping back into his chair, the fury stoking to a new height. He had known about Priscilla’s love for Gertrude for some time before her death, having found those letters mixed in with letters he had written her. When he had read them, he was furious and had confronted Priscilla about it. Priscilla had broken down and promised never write or speak of Gertrude again.

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Unfortunately, the love for Gertrude was stronger. Priscilla had hung herself in her bedroom on their wedding day, having used a bed-sheet as a makeshift noose. He had never forgiven himself for that. “What else can you tell me?” “Sailing to Saint Domingue is not a good idea,” she continued. “Captain Harold Hatherton will be waiting to plunder your ship as it comes through. Why don’t you go to Jamaica instead?” “We left Jamaica three weeks ago and Saint Domingue is closer to get the necessary supplies and refit,” he said, the conversation taking an unhealthy turn. “I wish to hear no more.” She grabbed his arm, shaking it lightly. Her touch was magical, full of softness and gentleness, something he had yearned for in the past few years. “But you’ve got to listen to me! Disguise your ship so that when you pull in, Captain Hatherton will pass you by.” “If I do not?” Michaela took a deep breath, her breasts straining against the material cover them, the hard nipples calling to him like beacons. “You will be shot in the shoulder and be deathly ill for several weeks,” her expression turned grim. “You will nearly die.” This woman was mad! He stormed to his feet. “Speak no more of this,” he ordered sternly. “You will say nothing to no one of this.” “But I was just—” Angrily, he gripped her jaw, a mixture of fear as well as fury ripping through him. “I said speak of this naught again. I have heard enough.” “I want to save you,” she confessed. “There’s a great many things I can save you from.” “I need no saving, especially by a woman,” he let her go and gripped the door knob, “If you wish to go on deck, I suggest you find something more suitable than what you have on.” “What else is there?” “Look through that closet you have so richly helped yourself to and find something,” With that, he slammed the door on the glorious vision and leaned against the cool wood. How had she known that? Priscilla’s letters were locked safely away in his manor home deep within his trunk. No one had the key but him. More questions about Michaela circled his mind, like so many eels searching for food. If she were right, then how did she come to be on his ship of all places? As far as he knew, people did not go back and forth in time. Tristan stood up and started up the stairs, his mind still pondering on one question. How in all that’s holy did she come by all of this knowledge? ***** Michaela managed to forge some sort of outfit together, comprised of his shirts and trousers that were too big. Thankfully, the shirts had laces up the front, enabling her to keep her cleavage from showing. Despite the several days of Tristan’s refusals to answer her or to speak to her on some sort of level, she remained optimistic. Maybe she could help him avoid Hatherton and get what was needed on Saint Domingue. Part of her looked forward to going to the island to see its regal natural beauty but the rest of her was reserved for the battle ahead. Could she use all the knowledge from her pre-med studies to save his life? Unable to stand the sparse cabin any longer, she exited quickly, treading up the stairs in

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her bare feet. How strange it was to be barefoot on a real ship in the sixteen hundreds, the sounds and smells unique. Salty sea air tinted the air around her, exciting her no end. She heard the sounds of the men readying the ship for the next destination, the flaps of the sails harnessing the wind. She leaned against the rail of the quarterdeck, inhaling the sweet sea wind. Perhaps, if she had been born to this, she would have been able to accept…”I see you have finally decided to come above deck,” echoed a deep male voice. She turned to see a young man standing behind her, his youngish face haloed by sun lightened curls. “Thank you…Mister…Um…” “Edwin Jameson,” the man answered as he brushed the errant locks away from his face. “First mate.” He stuck his hand out and she took it, noticing the callused palm. “Mic–Michaela Martin,” she said, the realization sinking in. This was the man who was outside the door several days ago when she heard them make the wager about her, the voice too familiar. Suddenly, her anger burned. “As if you didn’t know.” He laughed heartily. “Oh, I knew, my dear lady.” He gestured with a sweep of his arm around the deck. “And so did the others especially since you are the only woman among us.” She looked at him quizzically, his speech pattern too weird for a pirate. “Where are you from?” His dark brown brow rose. “Why do you ask?” “Because you don’t talk like a normal pirate,” she commented, returning her gaze to the sea. “I thought you’d be a little less,” she paused as she groped for the word, “refined.” He executed a mock bow. “Noble aristocrat at your service.” His full lips spread into a warm and inviting smile. “Son of the Duke of Argyle.” “Where’s your Scottish brogue?” “Left happily on the shores of home,” Edwin said as he leaned against the railing next to her, the sun dancing on his lightened curls. “I was schooled in England,” he looked at her hard. “Since you speak of strange accents, yours is quite different from ours.” “Where I come from,” she said, pronouncing her words as southern as possible, “this is what is known as a Southern Drawl.” “And where do you hail from?” “My cabin,” came a thunderous voice next to him. With sickening horror, she realized that Tristan stood next to her, the heat of his anger rolling from him in reams. “What are you doing here, Edwin? I told you to go and inspect the hull and make sure the chief carpenter’s mate is doing his job.” Edwin tipped his fingers. “I have already completed that task, Captain. Shall I perform another one?” She didn’t miss the subtle meaning between these two, the fierceness growing. For a minute, she wasn’t sure if she should just get out of dodge or stay there and keep them from killing each other. “Find something else to do besides talking to my ward,” Tristan snapped as he grabbed her upper arm, pulling her toward him. “As you wish, Captain,” Edwin said maliciously, saluting Tristan at the same time. Furious, she wrenched herself free from his grip. “Who are you to tell me who I can and can’t talk to? Who made you my keeper?”

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His expression darkened as he leaned over her, making sure she understood every word he said. “Until we reach Saint Domingue, you are not to leave my cabin. Anything you need, I will bring you. Am I understood?” For a moment, she was tempted to throw the bet in his face but it wasn’t the right time, especially since he was infuriated with her. “I’ll walk on the deck as I so choose,” she snapped, turning away from him. “You can’t stop me.” Before she could say anything else, she felt herself lifted up and hoisted over his shoulder, her hands pounding on his back. “Put me down!” He said nothing as yards of wood passed under her line of vision, among the piles of rigging and sails. Whistles and catcalls echoed from the mouths of the men as Tristan carried her by them, the hurt and shame surging through her. Why did she feel the need to provoke him all the time? Dammit, this wasn’t her fault! He treated her like a possession and she wasn’t one! Heavy thumps echoed through the wood hallway, his stride more angry than anything else. Angrily, he opened the door to his cabin and stormed through, closing and locking the door securely behind him. With a mighty swing, he threw her on the bed. “You need to be taught a lesson.” “By who?” she countered, her anger rising as well as his. “By you? I don’t think so, pal.” “Oh, I can make you frightened of me,” he sneered. “Do you wish to find out?” She stood up and walked away from him, showing him only her back. “There is nothing you can do to me more hurtful than what you’ve already done.” Michaela heard him start after her but he stopped the moment he heard her words. “Of what injustice do you speak, woman?” Tears flooded her eyes. “I know I shouldn’t have done it but I did.” His hands descended on her shoulders and spun her around, the confusion circling around him. “What did you do?” “Do you remember the day you had me pinned on the bed and were about to kiss me when we were interrupted?” He nodded. “I tiptoed to the door and heard what you said about me.” ***** Tristan was stunned. “Why did you do that?” His heart thumped uneasily. He should not have made that deal with Edwin and he had known the moment he committed to it that it was a mistake. “Because I wanted to know what was going on,” she sniffed back her tears. “I’m sorry that I’m nothing more than a plaything to you.” For all his hardened years, he had never met vulnerability like hers before. Most of the women he had known intimately were meek and mild, not hardened on the outside like this one. Strangely, he felt his protective guard go up, forcing him to do something he had not done to a woman in a while. “It was not meant for your ears, my dear,” he murmured as he enveloped her into his arms, holding her sobbing form hard against him, the youthful flesh exciting him no end. “You must forget it.” “How can I forget it? All my life, men have used and abused me only to throw me away,” she cried as she left the safety of his arms. “What makes you any different?” Unable to be apart from her, he drew her back, holding her tightly. “Shed not your

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tears, little one for I promise that what transpired between Edwin and I will not come to pass.” She looked up, her innocent eyes full of fear. “How do I know that? I’ll never trust my heart to anyone.” Tristan looked at her hard, his heart thumping erratically. Her heart was something he had never thought of until now, only the conquering of her body. “How if I made a wager with you?” She wiped away the errant tears with the back of her hand, her lids still moist, the pale green orbs still containing confusion and fear. “What sort of wager?” “You control yourself in front of my men and do not undermine my authority, then I will help you get back to your home.” “And if I don’t?” “You will have to submit to my every desire.” ***** Michaela looked away, her heart thumping hard in her chest. She already wanted to submit to his every need and desire but she couldn’t. “That should be easy enough,” she said, holding her head up high as the tears receded. “Consider it a bet.” She pulled away and stuck her hand out waiting for him to shake it. Tristan grabbed her hand and yanked her against him, enveloping her in his thick arms. Urgently, he pressed his lips against hers, crushing them beneath. Filled with passion, he begged for entry, his tongue caressing the outer edges until she was so completely turned on, she opened up. With each kiss, she grew more experienced, her tongue dancing in time with his, her breath steadily becoming labored. She was dimly aware that he bent her backwards on the table, the hardness of it digging into her back. His hands, large and experienced, traveled up and down her body before settling on her breasts. Reluctantly, Tristan pulled away and tasted the flesh of her neck, a most edible delicacy, far richer than any woman he had ever known. Her skin smelled of the morning dew on rose petals and was as soft as silk. He simply could not get enough of her. With quick fingers, he unlaced the shirt she wore, exposing her golden mounds to his touch. Gasps of ecstasy escaped her throat, his body hungering for her to be swimming under him in those deep tides of emotion. Tristan took one bud into his mouth, his tongue dancing around the rim, turning it to marble hardness. His free hand kneaded the other, bringing it to ripened fruition. Michaela arched under his ministrations, holding his head as if to beg him to take more of her inside of his mouth… He felt the wetness inside of his breeches and knew immediately that this could not continue without intercourse. The need to have her soon was rising far faster than he wanted it to. Michaela felt him withdraw, his body shaking hard. “Wh–what’s…wrong?” she gasped her chest heaving from the emotion he brought forth in her. He sat down in the chair, his own breathing labored. “Nothing, my dear. ‘Tis just that things like this cannot go on,” he confessed as he looked at her. “I burn to have you in my bed.” She straightened up, feeling the heat of shame creep her chest and color her cheeks.

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Quickly, she laced the shirt back up. “I’m sorry about that,” she said, the air still hitching in and out of her lungs, the tears reforming. “I didn’t mean for it…” He stood up and came over to her, laying his hands on her shoulders, warm and tender. “There is nothing to be forgiven for, my little lost one. You must remember that I am a man and seeing a woman such as yourself,” his scorching gaze swept over her, “does nothing but fire my imagination.” She pushed herself off the table and stepped beyond his reach to the window, her stare going out to the blue-green of the sea. “You don’t want me.” “Why not?” “Because I’m different,” she said, her hands sitting on the warm wooden sill as she watched a bird swoop down and go back up, as if it had gotten the prey it had been looking for. Almost like Tristan going after her. “I’ve always been different, even from the moment I was born.” She turned to find him staring at her with genuine interest and concern. “You see, my parents aren’t my real parents. They adopted me before I was born.” “What is adopted?” “That’s when people can’t have children,” she explained, “find someone who does not want their baby and gives it to them.” Sparks of recognition flickered in his eyes. “Ah, sort of like wards.” “Precisely,” she continued. “I’ve always loved stories about pirates and the sea so that’s why I learned fencing and pirate lore.” His eyes widened in surprise. “So that is how you know your way with the sword.” “Yes, Tristan. I’ve always been different and always will be. You want a woman that is subservient…” “How do you know what it is that I desire?” His expression darkened. “Oh, sure, you want to get your kicks for a while but when the party’s over, it’s kicked to the curb time.” She shook her head. “When I go to bed with someone, it’ll be for keeps.” Storms of anger flashed behind his eyes as he rose. “You know nothing of the world, Michaela. You presume to know what men wish but you in essence, you are nothing but naive.” He stormed to the door and opened it. “I will bring your food this evening. If you need anything else, open the window and call for me.” With that, he spun on his heel and left, slamming the door behind him, locking it again. Michaela wandered over to the bed and sank down, her hands in her lap. What was he trying to say? That she meant more to him just beyond a quick lay? ***** Tristan stormed to the upper deck, his bootheels clanging in rhythm against the wood. The woman was under his skin and he hated that feeling. This had never happened to him before, not even with Priscilla. He had kept a certain distance as decorum dictated, ruling the house as he should. Priscilla had been meek and mild, easy to keep away from. He had loved Priscilla to a certain extent but it as more of a filial love than it had been anything else. That fact that she had chosen to kill herself instead marrying him had driven him to the sea and privateering, his pride damaged tremendously. He had trusted no woman since then, protecting his pride as well as his heart. Now all of that was in dire jeopardy. “I see the little vixen has gotten to you,” Edwin commented from the side as he leaned

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against the railing of the prow. “Nay, she has not and I do not want to hear what you have to say to that fact,” he warned, his hands tightening on the banister. The loss of his control was not something he wanted anyone else to know. “Perhaps you should let me take her from you,” Edwin suggested snidely. “She is provoking you too much.” His anger got the best of him. He turned and picked Edwin by the lapels of his shirt and lifted him high in the air, almost over the railing. “If you so much as touch a hair on her head, I will drop you into the sea and not think twice about it, friend or no friend. Am I understood?” Edwin’s eyes took on a frightened glare as he clawed at Tristan’s hands. “Aye, I will do what you ask but I beg of you, put me down!” Tristan brought him back over the side and set his frightened friend on his feet. “Do you promise to leave the girl alone?” Edwin nodded, pulling his hands behind his back in a stance of power. “Aye, I will.” “Good,” he announced. “I have no desire to search for a new first mate.”

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Chapter Five Dark clouds, ominous and thick, loomed partially above threatening to bring down harsh weather. Thankfully, she’d opened the window the night before, allowing the tang of the salty sea air to drift in. She propped her chin on her folded hands resting on the sill. She’d had enough of hiding out in his cabin. For the past several, days, she’d remained here trying to keep her end of the bargain. Tristan had kept his distance during the day but at night, it was an entirely different story. Instead of sleeping next to her, he had a hammock set up on the side and slept there. All night long she’d listened to the creaks and groan of the iron rings as he swung back and forth in time with the ship, tapping out of a sound sleep. She had been tempted to ask him to take it down but he’d only look at it as an invitation. There was only one way she’d ever submit to his desires and that was when she wanted to. “How about a bit of fresh air?” She turned to see Edwin Jameson standing behind her, the last person she wanted to see. “Thanks but no thanks,” she replied bitterly. “If I want to go above, I will.” “My mistake,” Edwin said in a low tone, executing a mock bow. “How long do you intend to be Tristan’s puppet?” His words infuriated her to no end. “I’m not any man’s puppet, Edwin, no matter what you think and I never will be.” “By accommodating his demands, you are,” he said slowly as he kicked the door shut behind him, locking it securely with a quick flick of his wrist. “I can assure you that I would never treat you in such manner my dear.” Michaela watched as Edwin moved slowly toward her, his greedy hands outstretched before him. Her fury, fueled by her fear, brought up all those karate survival instincts. She braced herself for the first move. “You don’t want to do this, Edwin,” she warned him as he moved around in a predatory circle around her. “You have no idea what you’re getting into.” “Oh, but I know who I would like to get into,” he claimed lecherously. Finally, he lunged for her but she was far faster than he was. Edwin reeled in the direction of the cabinet, crashing into it head first and knocking all the objects off it. “Come here, you little minx!” he snapped as he leapt to his feet. “Consider yourself warned,” she retorted and let a spinning heel kick fly. Her heel connected to his chin and she felt the smash of bone as he went down, deep growls of pain emitting from his lips. “You little bitch! See what you have done to me!” “It’s nothing compared to what I’m going to do to you if you don’t leave me alone.” “I see the little minx is full of tricks and fire. I can see why Tristan wants to tame you so badly.” She ignored his comment and braced herself again. Edwin lunged for her except this time, she was able to catch his belly with her knee and spun so that her leg knocked him flat on his back. “Keep coming back for more, Edwin. You’ll be black and blue before it’s over.” “Michaela? Are you all right?” Tristan’s shout echoed over the Edwin’s grunts of pain. The knob turned frantically but wouldn’t budge. “I’m okay,” she replied as she backed away from Edwin’s grunting body on the floor.

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“I’ll open—” Before she could finish what she was say, the door crashed against the jamb, assisted by Tristan’s booted foot. His fury filled form encompassed the doorframe, his anger radiating from him in reams. “What are you doing, Edwin?” “Something you should have done a long time ago,” he growled through bloody lips. His gaze whipped to her. “Are you all right?” “I’m fine,” she snapped, practically picking Edwin up from the floor. “Just keep him away from me, would you?” Tristan stepped aside and allowed two of his burlier crewmen in. “Clap him in irons and take him down to the brig. I will decide what is to be done with him later.” The men both tipped their dirty fingers to him. “Aye, Captain.” “She is a hellcat,” Edwin hissed as they dragged him from the room toward the brig. “I will have a taste of her before this is over.” “The only taste will be my sword through your gullet before this over, my friend,” Tristan warned, the expression on his face darkening. Edwin spit bloody goo on Tristan’s face as he was whisked away. Michaela cringed as she tore a bit of her shirt off and closed the distance between them. “Let me get that crap off your face,” she said softly as she wiped it away. “There, as good as new.” “Did he hurt you?” She laughed as she tossed the blood filled material to the side. “No, he didn’t. I think it’s more that I hurt him,” she confessed as she sat down on the bed. “How much longer until Saint Domingue?” “How did you fight him as you did?” His confusion touched her deeply. “I will tell you but the important thing is that he didn’t hurt me. Now, will you answer my question?” “We are already here,” he growled deeply. “I came to fetch you and take you ashore.” Fear climbed inside of her. According to history, a battle would take place tonight, a bloody one indeed. Captain Harold Hatherton would hide in a small cove on the other side of the island, just waiting for Tristan to depart. “Can we approach the island from another side? If we go the way you did, Hatherton will find you.” Hearty laughter escaped his throat. “Hatherton? That old fool could not pour piss out of a boot even if the instructions were written on the heel let alone catch me! You must be daft woman!” She stood up and grabbed him by the folds of his shirt in order to make him understand. “You’re not getting this, Tristan. Hatherton is smarter than you think. He nearly kills you. You lose a third of your men plus munitions. You also nearly lose your left arm. What more do you need to know?” His eyes were quizzical. “How do you know all of this?” She sat down again on the bed. “Because, Tristan, I am from the future. With my help, you can avoid all the pitfalls that nearly kill you.” Tristan was incredulous. “You are nothing but a fanciful woman! You are not from the future. Albeit your strange language, you are not from England.” “Do you want me to prove it to you?” His auburn brow rose. “Tell me something that no one else would know.”

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Michaela let him go and wandered around the room for a minute, digging into the deep memory banks of her minds. Through all the texts she’d read about him, there was one thing that Priscilla had written that no one had ever known about. “On your left leg, there is a scar there near your,” she gulped, “privates. It looks like an askew ladder sewn together by a drunk doctor one evening after a prostitute bit you because you’d refuse to pay her because she was a lousy lay.” His eyes widened in disbelief. “How did you come by this information?” “It was in Priscilla’s letters. She said that you had told her that one night when you tried to bed her.” Michaela stopped the story, searching for any kernel of belief. “Shall I continue?” He looked away for a minute as if to compose himself and turned back. “That means nothing, Michaela. As for Hatherton,” he pounded one fist against his open palm, “I have ways of dealing with him.” She flew into a rage gripping the edges of his shirt and jerking him toward her in an effort to make him understand. “Why can’t I make you understand you can totally avoid all of this! You have to believe me!” Tristan’s face darkened under his sun bronzed skin. “I have to do nothing but I will make another wager with you.” “Oh, great, another bet. What it is this time?” She could only imagined what she’d have to do if she lost. “If you are right and Hatherton fights the way you say he will, I will give you a gift like you have never had.” “What sort of gift?” His sensual smile brightened the entire room and turned her knees to jelly. “You will see.” ***** The green grass felt like a lush carpet under her naked toes. For a minute, she felt like falling to the ground and kissing the dirt because she was so happy to see land again. Tristan led the party to the trading town. Small shops dotted what would have been a main street, the tiny clapboard buildings standing out against the lush verdant greenness of the valley. The makeshift wharf jutted out into the water, bustling with people coming and going. Sloops and small schooners tied up on the docks, their goods off loaded into the town. The smells were remarkable, not at all like the history books had suggested. Roasted meat filled the air, mingled with the salty tang of the sea. Distantly, she could hear waves pounding against the rocks, the sting of salty seawater in the air. “Wow,” she said breathlessly as they wandered among the main people of the town. “I never imagined it to be like this.” “Pirates are not all bloodthirsty and evil,” Tristan commented at her side as he headed toward a small shanty toward the end of town. “I want you to go into that shop there,” he pointed to one of the clapboard buildings, looking freshly whitewashed in the dim gray light of the morning. “Stay there until I come for you.” “Where are you going?” she asked as she looked toward the shack. A man, dressed in nothing but animal skins, stood there, smoking a pipe as if he was waiting for Tristan. “To conduct business,” he said, his tone becoming a touch irritated. “I’ll come with you,” she said and started heading toward the waiting man.

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His strong hand descended on her shoulder and pulled her back, spinning her around so that she had to face him. “I said stay here.” “And I said....” Tristan’s gaze flicked to his men who stood behind him. “Remember our wager?” Damn! She was hoping he’d have forgotten about that by now. “Yes, I have,” she countered saucily and turned toward the shop. “I’ll be waiting so don’t make it long.” She stomped off, her anger boiling to a near explosion. Why did he always have to be in control? Dammit! No matter what happened in her life, she was always in control and now she wasn’t. ***** Tristan watched her walk away, his breeches tightening. The fire beneath her toughened exterior was going to be more than enough to consume him and he cared not. She was one woman he was going to enjoy to the fullest. He waited until she entered the shop before he started back toward Old Frenchman’s shack. Old Frenchman had once been a nobleman who had been exiled to Saint Domingue by the French government for his proclivities with young men of the court as well as young girls. Since his exile, Old Frenchman, as he became known, was a source of knowledge of sorts. He knew when and where ships were going and what they were carrying, as far as booty. Tristan had learned a long time before to rely on Old Frenchman’s knowledge and to pay for it handsomely. “How are we today?” he asked Old Frenchman in his native tongue as he stepped up to the lopsided shack sitting at the end of the thoroughfare. Old Frenchman sat in his chair, leaning back and smoking a pipe. “I see you have a woman with you,” he commented as he took a deep draw from his pipe. “Where did she come from?” He leaned against a not so sturdy post and studied the old man carefully. “She appeared on my ship one morning and I am at a loss at what to do with her,” he answered lightly, not really wanting to talk about Michaela. “Marry her,” Old Frenchman said in a solemn tone. “She will save you.” His brows knitted in anger. “As you well know, Frenchman, I trust no woman though I will say she fires my loins,” he confessed. “Marriage is however out of the question.” “You heed Old Frenchman’s words, now,” Old Frenchman ordered. “Marry the girl and you will live. Marry her not and you will die.” The old man was mad! “What ships are coming in and going out of Saint Domingue?” he demanded, his ire rising. Old Frenchman slammed the heel of his boot down onto the floor of the makeshift floor. “Do you have my coin?” Tristan dropped it onto the floor where it landed with a dull thunk, the coins rattling inside of the burlap bag. “Of course.” “Then sit down because there is something you must know.” “What is that?” “Hatherton is here.” Tristan felt the cold blood run to his feet as the quick realization sunk in. Michaela was right! Swallowing the lump in his throat, he continued on. “Where is he?”

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“A secret cove on the other side of the island. I have heard from people that he has specifically come to the island looking for you.” Fury fueled his fire. “How did he know I was coming here?” “Someone with you told him.” ***** Michaela wandered around the shop, looking at this and that. Island jewelry decorated the shelves, mostly comprised comprise of different types stones. Nothing really caught her eye. “Can I help ye, miss?” cackled an elderly woman behind the counter. Actually, it was more of a board slung across two barrels. The woman behind it was very exotic looking. Skin the color of milk chocolate comprised her face, the dark orbs staring out at her from a fan of dark lashes, the black curls haloing her head. “I…was…just looking at what you have,” she stammered and looked away. Even if she did want something, Tristan didn’t leave her with a plug nickel. “I think I know what ye would like,” the woman said gently as she skimmed out from behind the counter and drifted over to the box of jewelry. “Dis be what you be wantin’.” The woman handed her a small ring with a brown stone to the center. “I don’t have any money to pay you,” she said, handing it back. “No, dearie, ‘tis a gift,” the woman insisted. “The man you love has eyes da color of the stone.” “I’m not in love with anyone,” she insisted, knowing the woman was speaking of Tristan. She was definitely attracted to him but she couldn’t really call it love. “Dona worry, dearie, it happen in time,” the woman said and took her arm, pulling her over to an entirely different section. This part was devoted to gowns. Some of them were plain, made of coarse wool and rough to the touch. Although they were nice, she’d had no desire to wear them. The woman searched through the gowns, pushing them aside until she found was she was looking for. “Ah, here be da one,” she announced as she pulled the gown up from the pile. “This be for you.” Delicious red tones greeted her. Comprised of silk, it had a cinched waist, low cut neckline, filled with lots of lace at the edges of the neck and bell shaped sleeves. “It’s gorgeous,” she murmured, her fingers trailing over the yards of rich material. “I can’t pay for that,” she insisted despite the fact she really wanted it. “But I can,” Tristan said, his voice low behind her, sending shivers down her spine. He looked to the shopkeeper. “Wrap it up.” She watched as Tristan fished a large gold coin out of his pocket and handed it to the woman who promptly bit down on it. “Thankee,” she said with a sly smile. “Hope da lady enjoy it.” “She will,” he said slowly and turned her around to face him. “Hatherton is here on the island, like you had told me previously. How did you know this?” Michaela broke away from him and strode out of the store, throwing her hands up. “I already told you, Tristan! This has already happened and I know the outcome of what you’ll be facing shortly. Why can’t you believe me for once?” “I believe you,” he answered in a low tone as he strode to her, the box with the new

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dress in his hand. “Hatherton never strays this far south this time of year.” “Well, he did,” she reiterated. “Someone on your ship alerted him to the fact that you’d be here.” “So I have been forewarned,” he commented as they walked over the sandy shore, the distant horizon dotted with passing ships. “Who is the traitor on my ship?” Michaela felt her heart sink into her feet, the cold blood pumping all around her body. How was she going to tell him that his best friend was the one who betrayed them? “You’ll have to figure that one out for yourself, Tristan. I’m not going to tell you.” His hands flew to her shoulders, halting her stride and spinning her around, the dress box flying. “You must tell me, my dear or else it will get us all killed.” She felt the hot tears of betrayal spring to her eyes. She’d never had a best friend except for Brady and if he’d done what Edwin had, all would be lost. “Don’t ask me, Tristan. I don’t want to tell you.” “You must or else you will die too.” Michaela looked down, her toes digging into the hot sand of the beach. Part of her wanted to keep that bit of history to herself but Tristan was right. There was evil among them and it must be rooted out much like a sickness in a person. If it isn’t gotten rid of, the sickness leads to death. “Will you promise me something?” “What is it?” Her heart banged in her throat. “That you won’t hurt the man whose name I’m about to give you.” Tristan looked up at the sky for a minute as if he were growing exasperated with her demands, his hands gripping her arms hard. “I promise, my dear but you must give me that name!” She cleared her throat. “It’s Edwin Jameson.” ***** His hands fell to his sides for a moment as the stunned shock soared through him. Edwin? How could Edwin do such a thing? “Do you know his reason for it?” “In the history books, it claimed that he was going to rouse the crew to mutiny and take your ship.” “What is the rest of the tale?” He searched her face for any answer and any emotion. What he saw there was compassion for Edwin despite the fact that he had tried to ravish Michaela. Mingled in with her fear and compassion was something more tender, more loving than he had ever seen in another woman’s eyes. “Why are you telling me all of this?” Innocence glared at him from the orbs of her blue eyes, radiating like a beacon. “Because I want to save your life,” she murmured, her lips just open a fraction of an inch, almost quivering in anticipation. He leaned in a bit lower, the blood rushing to his loins as he did so. “Why would you choose to save the life of a blood thirsty pirate,” he whispered close to her as his arms wrapped around her youthfully slender form. “I–I...” she stammered. What she wanted to say, there were no words for. “Kiss me,” he commanded and she obeyed. Tenderly he traced her lips, the line soft and dewy. Practiced strokes opened them quickly. His tongue probed her mouth, exploring the cavernous regions. Suddenly, she

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started exploring his, surprising him pleasantly. For a minute, he allowed her to practice her movements, guiding her as easily as possible. Tristan felt the tightness in his breeches, a sign that he needed to halt what was happening. All in due time. Reluctantly, he broke the kiss. “You are learning well, my dear,” he commented as he held her close to him. Michaela wasn’t sure whether to take that as a comment or insult. “Thank you,” she said, her body still trembling as she pulled away from him and picked up the box with her dress in it. “I think we need to get back to the ship.” “Aye, we should,” he strode ahead of her, taking her hand. “The sooner we are away from this area, the better.” He looked to one of his men hovering close to them. “Gather the others,” he ordered as he propelled her toward the ship. “Tell them to be on board in one hour.” The men tipped their fingers. “Aye, Cap’n!” they shouted as they scattered in all directions, their bare feet leaving deep impressions in the sand. ***** Night fell all around them, folding in like a thick blanket. A crescent moon hung high overhead in the cloudless sky, the endless ream of light dappling the dark blue water. Distantly, she saw whitecaps rise from the rocks, the sound of the crash nothing more than a soft swish because of their location. “Where will he appear?” Tristan questioned her from the right. They stood at the helm, leaning against the railing, waiting for the appearance of Captain Hatherton. “Around that cape, approximately at midnight. He did that in hopes of catching you off guard.” She watched his hands out of the corner of her eye, tighten on the railing hard, his knuckles turning white. “I assume you are correct.” “I am,” she said assuredly as she leaned forward, brushing stray chestnut colored locks out of her face. “With my knowledge of the battle, you’ll have the advantage.” “Was there any concern I would not have?” The smugness of his tone irked her but since he was the most feared pirate of the seven seas, she guessed he could afford to be. “Without me, you wouldn’t have,” she countered, pushing away from the railing and heading toward the quarter deck. Jumping up to a pile of rigging, she climbed a little bit up the main mast and stared at the jutting rock. “Come down from there!” Tristan ordered angrily from underneath her. “‘Tis no place for a woman!” She was about to rip off a sarcastic comment when she glimpse the prow of a ship rounding the corner. It was Hatherton! His sails, gleaming a ghostly gray, flapped in the slight breeze. No bigger than a sixth class frigate, the vessel bobbed up and down in the calm waters, its mission quite clear. From her position, she could see the swing guns being moved into position as well as the gun ports open, indicating trouble. Michaela raised her gaze up to the pennant flying high above the main mast. It was blood red. No quarter given.

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“Help me down!” she shouted to Tristan. Without a word, he helped her from the mast. Once she was on deck, he flew into a rage. “Do you know that I have just won our wager?” She was incredulous. Didn’t he realize what was out there? “What do you mean?” “You made me look foolish in front of my men, my dear,” he whispered into her ear. Michaela was furious. “Don’t you realize what is going on? Hatherton is out there…” “Ship ahoy, Cap’n!” came the shout of the man at the crow’s nest. “No quarter!” His gaze flicked back to her. “That’s what I was trying to tell you,” she snapped. “Since you’re so busy trying to play the big bad pirate, another one is out there ready to rip you a new ass because you’re too busy being a jerk.” The sting of his slap sent her reeling to the deck. “That should teach you to speak to me in such a manner in front of my men,” his murderous stare flicked to two of his men. “Take her below and keep her safe.” “You really are a bastard,” she hissed through bloody lips. “Don’t ever come near me again.” ***** Despite his hard exterior, Tristan was crushed inside. He had never struck a woman in his life, not even Priscilla when he had found out about her other desires. No, women were to be protected and cherished, not beaten like an animal. “That’ll keep ya from her bed, Cap’n,” McGill guffawed next to him, the smell of ripe body odor assailing his nostrils. “I would advise you not to speak to me in matters that are no concern of yours,” he warned in a low tone. “Make sure that all is prepared for battle.” “Aye, Cap’n!” Sounds of the men readying the ship for battle filled the air, threatening to penetrate his thoughts. Fortunately, it could not. Michaela was too far on his mind and the fact that he had struck her, stabbed his soul. How was he going to prove to her that he was no overbearing brute and that he would never strike a woman?

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Chapter Six Hot tears of shame poured down her cheeks, landing on the shirt she wore. Michaela rocked slightly as she sat on the bed, the anger rising. Why did he have to hit her, especially in front of everyone else? All she did was stand up for herself, nothing more. Oh, sure, she sort of provoked him but not enough to justify his brutality. Thank God, he wasn’t here otherwise, she’d have to kick his ass. You have lost our wager. His words reverberated around her head, sending a shiver down her spine. What did he mean that she lost? She had done nothing to encourage discord among his men. The only thing she had done.... Michaela looked up, her heart thumping. She’d called him a jerk in front of his men. In his mind, he’d had no choice but to strike her. She blinked hard. It was unforgivable what he had done but she understood why he did it. “What must I do to gain your trust again?” His words hit her as she heard the door creak open, the sound of his bootheels as he entered the room. She felt the familiar leap in her chest when she knew he was near but she wasn’t about to allow him to know that she desired him. “There’s nothing you can do, Tristan. You struck me,” she sniffed, wiping the tears away with the edges of her sleeve,” in front of everyone else as if I meant nothing more to you than a dog you beat.” Hollow thuds ricocheted through the air as he closed the door. “You mean much more to me, Michaela,” he said softly, the rhythmic falling of his footsteps as he walked around the bed. “Forgive me for striking you but I cannot lose control of my men. If that happens, I would not be able to protect you from them should something go awry. That is why I cannot allow you to speak to me in such a manner in front of them.” She looked up, staring into his eyes. Caring and compassion were in them, mingled in with some other emotion she couldn’t identify. Lust perhaps? “So you thought slapping me would do the trick?” She stood up and back away from him. “I thought you were above that sort of thing.” “I am,” he said softly as he sat on the bed and patted the empty bit of rumpled sheets next to him. “Come and let me see the damage I have inflicted.” “How do I know you won’t hit me again?” “Trust me,” he pleaded. Warily, she walked over and sat next to him. Sensuously, his fingers graced the under shelf of her jaw and turned her face this way and that in the gray moonlight, examining her mouth thoroughly. “Forgive me,” he muttered softly, his thumb running over the corner of her lips where the skin was split. “I never meant to harm you in this manner.” “After this, you’ll never harm me again,” she warned, the storm of desire running through her body, making her hotter and hotter. “I won’t let you.” His eyes widened in surprise. “So, the little vixen has claws,” he murmured as he leaned in closer, as if to kiss her. Her fist connected with his jaw, reeling him backwards off the bed. Tristan landed on

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the floor with a dull thud. “That’s payback for what you did to me,” she said. “Now we’re even.” She saw the storm of anger in his eyes, shimmering for a moment until he let out a wild peal of laughter. “There is never an end to surprises with you, is there?” Tristan got up from the floor and brushed himself clean, all the while his lips spread into a generous smile. “I never know what to expect.” “This isn’t funny!” she declared. “Oh, my dear, there is a slight amusement to it,” Tristan closed the gap between them and towered over her. “Even though I laugh at this, I am still very angry at you for it.” “I’m still mad at you so we’re still even,” she retorted, her own lips spreading into a smile. Before she could say anymore, a bit of whitish gray out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. Hatherton! Without thinking anymore about their situation, Michaela grabbed Tristan’s hand. “We’ve got to go up on deck and take care of Hatherton.” ***** “How am I to defeat him?” She listened to Tristan’s question and thought back to all of her studies of his exploits. If she remembered correctly, Hatherton sailed past them for a short distance before turning around and attacking. From the way Tristan’s ship was situated, there was no escaping. “Turn the ship around and get away from the port. Move more out into the open sea and put on the guise of a whaling ship in trouble. If he thinks there is nothing aboard, he’ll leave you alone.” Tristan laughed, his hand covering hers as they stood at the railing. “No, my dear. If he thinks we are whalers, then he will not pass us by, not with a possible king’s ransom of ambergris.” She smiled. “Then you’ll have the element of surprise. If he thinks you to be whalers with a ship in trouble, the last thing you will do is be loaded with weapons to fight.” Tristan’s face curled into an expression of agreement. “Now I see what you are saying,” he turned to another man. “McGill!” The older man hopped on deck and tipped his fingers in salute. “Aye, Cap’n!” “Tell them men to take the unnecessary rigging and soak it water then in oil. Burn them in the middle of the ship to create smoke while the helm is moving the ship into more open waters. After that, run up the whaler’s flag and have the men dress in the guise of such.” McGill nodded his head. “Aye, Cap’n!” She was puzzled. “Why didn’t he ask you about your orders?” His hand slipped to the small of her back and slipped around her waist, pulling her close. “Because I have never given a wrong order and they have been conditioned to never question a command.” “Well, I would have—” Tristan turned her face toward hers. “That is why you are not part of my crew.” ***** Thick black smoke filled the air, moving in direction of the wind. Overhead, the sky filled with dark clouds, the horizon flashing with distant lightning. A storm was coming, a

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bad one from the looks of things. “I want you to get below. This is going to be a bloody battle.” She stood silent for a moment, watching Hatherton’s ship closing in. Sails flapped in the breeze, heightening her excitement. Steady throbs beat at her temples as the vessel came closer. “I can help you here, Tristan. I’ve studied his moves and I can tell you what he will do before he does them.” “No,” he ordered and turned to McGill. “Take her below and lock the cabin. Post two men outside of the door with orders to kill any enemy that comes near.” McGill put a hand on her wrist. “Come now, miss. Ye Cap’n wants ye safe and blimey, that is what we gonna do.” “Please, Tristan,” she pleaded, holding onto his arm. “I want to stay above.” “Take her below.” He watched with a heavy heart her exit but he did not want her anywhere near the fighting at all. If something should happen…he did not want to think about. Michaela was growing too necessary and too special for him to lose. Tristan stood at the prow, the wild wind whipping up around him. Black clouds, not just from the fake smoke they were creating in the center of the ship, were coming from the horizon. A dangerous storm approached from the west and could topple the ship. Michaela should not even be here, not just below. He signaled for one of his crew. Richard Talaborogh stepped up to the deck, his blond curls filled with grime, his body encased in whaling garb. “Ye wanted me, Cap’n?’ “Get one of the boats ready.” “What fer, Cap’n?” “Go down to my cabin,” he ordered as he put on his own disguise, the smelly coat making his belly want to retch,” and get the girl. I want several of you to take her ashore and hide her in the cave until this battle is over. Take plenty of provisions with you for her as well as yourselves.” “Aye, Cap’n” Richard saluted as he descended the deck. “One more thing,” he shouted over the sounds of the crew. “What is that?” He narrowed his eyes, glaring at the young man. “Anyone who touches or hurts the girl will answer to me. Is that understood?” Richard bowed. “Aye, Cap’n.” Michaela paced the room nervously, her hands wringing together. What was going on above? So far, she’d heard nothing, not even so much as a shout. She had thought perhaps there would be some disorganized chatter or confusion but there was nothing. How close was Hatherton? Michaela couldn’t see his ship from her window but more than likely, he approached from another direction. Suddenly, her door flew open, revealing a young man with grimy blond curls on the other side. “Ye must come with me, miss,” he said, extending his grubby hand. “Me Cap’n is taking ye off da ship.”

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Her eyes widened as her mouth opened in surprise. “What do you mean?” “We are ta take ye off da ship to a safe place.” “I’m not leaving here…” Before she could finish, Tristan stormed in, taking up the entire room with his presence. Whaling garb, consisting of an old woolen coat as well as cut breeches and shirt, decorated him. His hair was tied back sloppily in a queue with loose auburn locks around his face. “You must leave,” he ordered as he advanced on her. “I will take no refusal.” Just as she opened her mouth to protest, she felt herself slung over his thick shoulder. Burlap covered her body, blacking out any sight. “Put me down!” she shouted. Tristan slapped her hard on the ass. “Be quiet!” he hissed as they went up the stairs, the hollow sounds of their footsteps on the boards filling the air. For what seemed like an eternity, she was carried across the ship, the murmurs of the men as they went about their duties and the smell of the burning rope penetrated through the burlap. She half expected cat-calls but the men said nothing about her or to her. Suddenly, it hit her. They weren’t saying anything because they didn’t want to draw attention to her! For all Hatherton knew, she might just be another dead body that was going to be buried on the island. Thump! Hard bits of wood dug into her sides as the treads poked up from the bottom of the boat. “Be still,” Tristan told her as the boat rocked a little from the other men got in. “Move not until you are safely away from here.” “Okay,” she whispered back, not moving a muscle. “Take it down!” Tristan’s voice shouted. Jerkily, she felt the boat lowered to the ocean. Splash! They hit the sea hard, the vessel much more unsteady in the water than the larger ship had been. Slaps of water around her indicated that the oars were out and the small craft was moving away from Tristan and his men, her heart sinking. Underneath the burlap, the tears flowed again. What if Tristan was hurt or worse…gulp…killed. Would she be able to live without his sexual magnetism or charm? He was very handsome to look at, appearing as though he was a model off the cover of one of her romance novels. Actually, he was better. But underneath all that, he was a man filled with pain and bitter towards women, especially since his betrayal by Priscilla. She smiled. How could any woman resist Tristan? ***** Michaela watched the battle from the mouth of the cave, barely able to see what was happening because of the trees in the way. Distantly, she heard the booms of the cannons and the explosions, her heart in her throat with each one. Was Tristan okay or was he already dead? She trembled, watching everything going on. Please, God, let him live, she prayed silently. Despite his faults, Tristan was a good man and she knew that he had made a difference in her life as she had his. She couldn’t say she was absolutely head over heels in love with him but given time, she would be. “Would ye like some bread and meat?” one of the crew questioned, jerking her out of her thoughts and bring her attention to them.

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“No,” she said quickly, the thought of smoked meat and hard tack bread completely unappealing. Besides, she didn’t have the heart to eat until she knew Tristan’s fate. “You must eat, missus,” the blond boy insisted as he held out the bread. “Just a little. Dona want ye Cap’n thinkin’ we be starvin ye.” “No, thank you,” she said. “I will wait for Captain Hamilton.” They began to murmur among themselves and she ignored it, choosing instead to watch the battle rage on. Bright orange flashes erupted through the night as the cannons fired, first one then the other, the booms radiating out through night to her. Secretly, she was terrified. What if the information she had given to Tristan was wrong? In history, he had faced Hatherton head on and narrowly escaped with his life. In her suggestion, she had changed history and how Hatherton had attacked Tristan’s ship. Could she live with herself if she caused Tristan’s death? For what seemed like an eternity, the battle raged on, her body growing tired. When would it end? Then, without warning, a ship drifted into her full sight. Her jaw dropped as her heart fell to her feet. The ship was fully engulfed in flames and sinking fast. Michaela’s fingers dug into the rock of the opening, her knees growing weaker every second. “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” she screamed sinking to her knees, her body shaking uncontrollably. One of the men rushed to her side and helped her to stand. “What be wrong, missus?” “Tristan’s dead!” she screamed, pointing to the sea. “Look, his ship’s burning!” “Cor blimey, miss,” he said, his astonished voice piercing her veil of anguish. “It mighta not be his ship.” “It is,” she cried, burying her face in her hands, the tears flowing like a river. “He’s dead. I know it.” “If’n ye beg yer pardon, miss but ye Cap’n be in worse scrapes before and come out alive.” “No, he’s dead,” she sobbed, rocking back and forth as her heart shattered into irreparable fragments. “I know he is.” ***** Loud crashes of thunder dragged her from the sleep she’d found herself in. What time is it? She blinked hard, looking at the driving rain at the mouth of the cave, its misty edges hitting her. There was no telling because the sky was still as black as night. She blinked hard. Had she dreamed Tristan’s death? “‘Tis good to see you awake, my dear,” his voice echoed from her right. She whirled around to see him standing by the blaze, his skin glowing gold from the flames. “Tristan? Is that you?” He tilted his head in a nod, his auburn hair turning to fire. “Aye, my dear. I am alive.” Without thinking, she leapt from her spot and ran to him, launching herself into his arms. “It’s really you,” she murmured, holding him tightly. “I thought you were dead.” Tristan pulled away slightly, his deep amber eyes glowing with excitement as he stared at her. “What caused you to think so?” “I saw the ship burning…” “That was Hatherton’s ship,” he interrupted. “After I defeated his crew, I scuttled his

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ship into the sea.” Tristan smirked. “I did not know you cared so much for me.” Michaela felt the heat of her blush creep up her neck and spread to her face. “I– I...feared for your safety,” she murmured, her nervous gaze darting about, searching for something to settle on in order to calm her erratic nerves. “Where…are the rest of the men?” “Gone,” he said as he moved toward the fire, pulling her gently by the wrist with him. “I sent them back to my ship to make the necessary repairs.” “Oh,” she said, her body trembling at the thought of being alone with him. What if he wanted to make love to her? How was she going to tell him exactly she was a virgin? “You want me here, alone with you, don’t you?” “Aye, my dear, I do,” he whispered, taking her hand as they sank down on a bedroll neatly laid out on the rocks. “I want you all to myself tonight.” Picking up her wrist, he kissed it with the softest of touches. “Do you not wish to be alone here with me?” Michaela closed her eyes, reveling in the feelings he evoked. “Yes,” she answered, her body tingling from head to toe. “I’ve wanted to be alone with you for a very long time.” Suddenly, the wildness of the storm didn’t seem to matter any more, the mist filling the air only enhancing their feelings for each other. “I have known this for a while,” his lips burned a molten trail up her arm, sensuously all the while moving closer to her. “Before you go any further, I want you to know something.” He stopped, looking up at her. “What is that, my dear Michaela?” “I’m not some little floozie that you can toss aside once you’re done. If I sleep with you, then it’s going to be for keeps. Nothing short of forever will do.” His brows knitted in confusion. “What ‘tis a floozie?” “You know,” her laughter rose in her throat at his innocent question but she quelled it. “A whore?” “Ah,” he said with some recognition, “a lady of the evening.” “Yes,” she swallowed the hard lump forming in her neck. “I want you to know that I’ve never done this before.” “I have suspected as much,” he answered as his lips resumed their former position, tantalizing the skin of her neck. “Do not worry, I will take you the heights of heaven you have never experienced before.” Before she could say more, Tristan slid his lips over hers, dancing in that familiar motion. Michaela, unable to resist him anymore, drowned in the sea of desire as his hands unlaced her shirt, exposing her breasts to his tender touch. Urging her down on the woolen bedroll, Tristan spread the edges of the her shirt apart. “Beautiful,” he whispered as he bent his head and cupped her breasts together, teasing the nipples to marble hardness equally all the while exerting gentle pressure. Michaela’s gasps escaped her throat, filling the cave with a dim echo. Was that her own voice reverberating around her? It sounded strange and foreign, nothing like her at all. Tristan reveled in the marvels of her flesh, unmarked by time or experience. The more he touched her, the more she came alive under his hands, unlike the animated courtesans he had been used to. He knew that with Michaela, once she had reached the heights of ecstasy under his hands, it would be the real thing.

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Spreading the shirt wider, Tristan moved down lower, his tongue tasting the sweetness of her, stopping to toy with her navel. Her belly, perfectly flat, was indented like an hourglass, unlike most of the women he had ever taken to bed. They had mostly been older and used up with the rigors of being a courtesan and childbearing. Michaela was neither. He could not help but wonder about her completely. Taken with her moans of ecstasy, he loosened the tie on her breeches and pulled them down, exposing her privates to him. He had already known that there was no hair there so it was no surprise when saw the shiny smoothness. Gingerly, he parted her lips, reveling in the scent climbing up from between the delicate folds. Unable to resist the sweet perfume, he removed her breeches with quick strokes and returned, parting the slivers of delight. With practiced movements, he ran his finger along the moist slit and dipped inside slightly, noticing the tightness. She was definitely a virgin. Bending his head, he pushed back the delicate hood and licked at the tiny bud between those lips, feeling it blossom as she cried out. Hungrily, he took it between in his lips, his tongue dancing over it. Michaela buried her hand in his hair, pulling him closer as her hips rose, meeting his every stroke. “Pl–please…Tristan,” she begged in ragged breaths, “don’t tease me anymore. Make love to me.” Tristan needed no further invitation. He ripped the clothes from his body as well as his weapons, tossing them aside. Passionately, he licked up the slim legs, devoid of hair as well, feeling as soft as the dew on rose petals. “Wait, Tristan,” she said breathlessly, sitting up slightly. “You’ve seen me so now I want to see you.” He complied with her wishes, her body crying out for him. In the golden glow of the fire, Michaela’s breath caught in her chest. She didn’t expect him to be so exquisite. Hard pectorals glared at her, appearing as though a sculptor carved him out of granite. Thick arms and shoulders comprised his upper body, tapering down to a narrow waist. Dark hair covered the apex where his hips met his thighs, his hard penis standing out from the veritable nest. She touched him on the already moist tip, his breath drawing in hard. “You do not know what you do to me, Michaela,” he murmured as her hand covered him, holding him gently. She said nothing as she held him, her thumb caressing the tip. Though this was going to be her first time having sex, she wasn’t afraid at all, almost if Tristan was the one she had been waiting for all her life. Lowering her head, she took him into her mouth for a moment, tasting the saltiness of the tip, reveling in the emotions she gave him in return, his hands buried in her hair for a change. Just as she started to lick the shaft, Tristan withdrew from her. Michaela was puzzled. “What’s wrong?” Tristan eased her down onto the blanket. “Nothing, my dear but I will go mad if I do not make love to you this moment,” he warned as he eased himself between her legs. She welcomed him into her arms, the musky scent of their juices filling the air. “I’ve wanted to have sex with you as well, Tristan,” she confessed. “I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow or what will become of us, but I want this night to be magical. Something I can keep with me always and a memory I can visit when the nights are cold and lonely.” “As do I,” he murmured as he captured her lips with his, tantalizing her no end.

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His hands traveled up and down her body before settling between her legs. Tristan teased her with his finger, diving in and out of her, making her completely wet. Michaela couldn’t take it anymore. She had to have him inside of her, more than just his fingers. She had to have all of him. His hard prick nudged at the swollen folds of her pussy, exciting her to no end. Opening her legs more, she felt him push at the tender barrier than separated her from the full blossom of womanhood. “I want you so much, Tristan,” she gasped as she wound her legs around his taut waist, her hips rising to take him in deeply. “I am your completely yours tonight.” “As I am yours,” he murmured into her hear, his hands exploring her body. “I want you so much, my love.” “Then take what belongs to you, Tristan,” she whispered as he tenderly plunged into her, trying to avoid any discomfort. There was some pain, but she ignored it. This was certainly worth waiting for. “Are you all right?” he questioned, his breathing labored. “I’ll be all right,” she said breathlessly, arching up to meet him. “Please, don’t stop.” Tristan’s strokes picked up slightly but the pain still remained a dull throb. She ignored it, choosing instead to revel in the silky feel of him inside of her. He moved with the practiced strokes of a dancer, each one designed to bring her to orgasm and make her forget about the pain. It worked. Tristan could not help but speed up the strokes as her tight sheath closed in around him, holding him nearly hostage. She felt so good and so right that he wanted her for all eternity, not just for tonight. Perhaps God, in His Infinite Wisdom, had planted her on his ship to save him. No, she was there to save his soul from eternal damnation, God’s Gift. Michaela arched under him, begging for more of him. She cried out, long and loud as the orgasm washed over her, making her shudder. Tristan followed suit and withdrew from her, laying next to her, sweaty but satisfied. “Are…you…all…right? I did not hurt…you…did…I?” “A…little…” she gasped as she rolled on her side, the burning between her legs reaching new heights. “I’ll be all right in a while.” “I will remember myself next time,” he confessed as he kissed her shoulder, his fingers dancing around her waist. “‘Tis I could not help myself with you.” She laid there for a minute, reveling in her after glow. So this is what the girls at the dorm always talked about when they had sex? She’d never really kissed any guys, even in high school. She barely went out on dates. Mostly it was because of her karate and fencing because all the men she had ever known were intimidated by a strong, capable woman. Michaela turned and lay on her back, staring into his fathomless eyes. “Nor I with you, Tristan.” His fingers traced lazy patterns on her chest around her breasts and toying with her nipples. “You know I can be consumed with this,” he confessed. “I may have to give up pirating and privateering all together.” “Perhaps,” she murmured, her gaze trailing over his body. She looked to his midsection, the blood freezing in her veins. He came inside of her.

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Michaela sat up quickly, her heart pounding hard in her chest. What if he got her pregnant? Condoms weren’t exactly available in the sixteen hundreds, except to King Charles II of England. He had a penchant for women and had many illegitimate children, so many in fact that he was running out of titles to give them. Dr. Condome came to the rescue and was given a knighthood for it. Unfortunately, rubbers weren’t available to the common man, especially to a pirate. “What ‘tis the matter, my dear? Are you in pain?” Michaela drew a deep breath, trying to control her out of control heart. There was no need to panic. It was only once and chances were that she didn’t get pregnant this time. Her mind whirled. She might be safe this time but what about next time? “Nothing,” she said quickly, brushing the wild chestnut curls out of her face. His warm hand descended onto her shoulder, pulling her back down onto the blanket. “Let us sleep for we have had a most trying night and have an even longer tomorrow ahead of us.” Michaela said nothing as she sank down next to him, snuggling into the warm circle of his arms. She lay there, the silent tears dripping from the corner of her eyes. Would there be a tomorrow since she had changed the course of today?

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Chapter Seven Morning winds chased the blackened storm clouds away, leaving a beautiful day. The sea was calm as the tiny boat rowed toward Tristan’s ship, the Black Shadow. Tristan stood at the prow, watching their advance. Michaela couldn’t help but hold her breath. The edges of his shirt blew with the breeze, his sun streaked auburn hair flying free from its queue. He’d been so tender with her last night, so loving and caring. She wanted to cry for a minute at the injustice of falling in love with a pirate. From what she had ever read about pirates, they were filled with lust that could only be slaked by a bevy of women, not just one. Her spine stiffened. Did she just admit she was in love with him? Shamefully, she was in love with him. Her fist slammed onto the wooden plank of the seat. Why couldn’t she have fallen for a man who could be devoted to one woman? Tristan’s head jerked around, his mouth curling into a half, knowing smile. “Something amiss, my dear?” “No,” she answered quickly, crossing her woolen clad legs. “Good,” he said, moving from the front to where she sat lowering himself next to her. “I would not like to think I have done something to harm you.” His hand slid over hers, the tips of his fingers pressing into her palm. “I want you to know that you are a most sensual woman,” he whispered into her ear, his breath sending shivers of delight up and down her spine. “Seasoned courtesans pale next to you.” Michaela didn’t quite know what to say except a strained ‘Thank you’. She didn’t trust the genuineness of his words. Was he saying those just to get back into her pants? Of course he was! The goal of every guy she’d ever known was to see how many ‘babes’ they could score with in a year’s time. Even at school, there was an unofficial club where the male members would get awarded for how many girls they’d scored with over the semester. The winner would always be crowned as ‘Fucker of the Month’. Thankfully, none of the members every strayed in her direction. “I would like you to wear the gown I bought you in Saint Domingue tonight.” “Why?” “Just do as I ask.” She listened to the slap of the water against the hull of the tiny boat as they moved forward, the shadow of Tristan’s ship blocking out the morning sun. Yes, he was trying to get her into bed but she wasn’t taking the bait. If she decided to get into bed with him again, she’d have to be more careful. After all, there was nothing stopping her from getting pregnant or worse, getting some disease. ***** The ship looked totally different than when she had left it. A new mast stood tall in the middle, holding up all the sails. Ruptured wood had been replaced by brand new oak, shining brightly in the sun. Piles of fresh rope lay scattered around. “How did this all get refitted so fast?” she asked as she marveled at the transformation. “My men are adept at refitting so they have been working ceaselessly to see that it gets done,” he announced as he set foot on deck behind her. “As you can see, my orders are

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followed implicitly.” She spun on her heel. “I guess that’s a dig at me, isn’t it?” “I am unsure of what you mean,” he glared at her, the height of fire in his eyes burning hotly. “Never mind,” she threw her hands up. “Do you mind if I go to your cabin and lay down for a while?” “You read my mind,” he stated in a sensual tone, gesturing toward the stairs. “After you, my lady.” She laid a hand on his hard chest, stopping his motion. “I meant alone, Tristan.” His hand manacled her wrist hard, pulling her toward him, the wild pounding of her heart thrumming in her ears. “I will be coming with you, my dear, no objections.” With that, Tristan pulled her down the quarterdeck to mid-ship. She tried unsuccessfully to pull away from him but his grip was too strong. “Let me go, Tristan!” she demanded. He said nothing as he dragged her down the stairs, the splinters digging into the naked soles of her feet. “Ouch!” she started hopping around, her feet feeling as though a thousand needles dug into them. Tristan stopped, swinging around and picking her up, hefting her over his shoulder. Several strides later, they were in his cabin. He laid her on the bed gently and closed the door. “You are a most exasperating woman!” he growled as he grabbed a basin and filled it with water. “Why can you not listen to me?” “I’m listening to you but you’ve got to understand, Tristan, that I will not be ruled by any man.” Part of that was true. She’d always dreamed of a man far stronger than her, in strength and in will that could protect and cherish her was well as dominate her now and then. His brow cocked upwards as he bent down at her feet, examining them carefully. “I see,” he said slowly as he picked the splinters out of her feet amid her yelps of pain. “Perhaps I can change your mind about that.” “What do you mean?” Tristan’s slight laughter filled the room. “You will find out tonight, my dear,” he countered as he wound some semi-clean cloth around her feet. His desire baited her as well. “So I will have to wait that long?” Tristan hardened at the deep purr of her voice, the desire nipping at his loins. “Yes, you will,” he murmured as he moved next to her on the bed, his fingers dancing along the edges of her shirt. He could see the outline of her perfect breasts through the thing material, the aching deepening. He reached for her nipples, feeling them ripen under the material. Michaela arched into his ministrations, the whispers of ecstasy flowing from her lips. “Oh, Tristan,” she moaned. “Please, you must stop,” she begged despite the yearning of her body. He lifted his head, the fire in his eyes deepening. “Why are you denying me when you want it so much?” Reluctantly, she pushed him away, sitting up and pulling the edges of her shirt

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together. “Because, Tristan, there are certain things that can’t happen.” His hand gently touched her shoulder. “As in?” “A baby,” she confessed. “I don’t want to get pregnant.” Her heart banged inside of her chest as her words died on her lips. She wanted children eventually but not now and not with Tristan, at least not yet. Tristan’s light laughter filled the room, forcing her to turn and face him. “What is so funny?” “I can think of a hundred worse things than a child,” he softly mocked as he tried to urge her back into the bed. “Would that be such a terrible thing?” “With you, yes,” she answered, not liking his light behavior regarding the matter. Tristan’s expression darkened. “Are you saying that you would not want to carry my children?” Michaela got up and paced around the room despite the pain in her feet. “That’s not what I’m saying, Tristan. You are your own man, bound by nothing. Who is to say that if I did have a child by you, that you would drop us off on some deserted island when you got tired of us?” Tristan stood up to his full height, glowering down at her. “You know nothing of the world and of men, Michaela,“ he boomed angrily. “If you think me that cold hearted then perhaps it is best that we do not couple anymore.” With that, he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him so hard that the timber shook. She jerked at the sound, the tears of shame pricking at her eyelids. The stamp of hurt was deep in his eyes, almost as if she had taken a knife and stabbed him deep in the heart. A lonely tear fell. In a way, she had. ***** Sharp clangs brought her from the depths of her sleep, rousing her from a most beautiful dream. In it, she was home with Tristan. He wasn’t from his time but from hers, just as tender and commanding as he was now… Michaela opened her eyes to see the last vestiges of daylight sinking below the horizon. Midnight blue rained down from the sky, the moon dappling the waters. What time was it? “I see the sleeping beauty has awakened from her slumber,” Tristan commented in a sensuously low voice, the soft rustle of leather coming from the corner of the room. Michaela jerked around in the bed to the sound of his voice. Her breath hitched in her chest. Tristan’s hair, glowing a faint red in the dim light of the lamp, was tied back in a tight queue. Dark linen covered his upper body as well as his legs, extending down into his knee boots. Those damned sexually charged lips curved into a sensual smile, making her totally wet with anticipation. “What…what are you doing here?” “Where else would I be? This cabin belongs to me,” he murmured as he rose from the chair, closing the gap between the chair and the bed. “As well as you do.” “I don’t belong to anyone,” she retorted weakly, the deeply masculine smell of him surrounding her like a cloud. “Except myself.” “When I am through with you, you will want nothing else but me.” His fingers brushed against the skin of her jaw, sweeping over to her ear before traveling down her neck. She shivered. “You may be the one wanting me,” she announced boldly, her body turning to molten fire. “Who will be the one doing the taming then?”

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Tristan drew away, his beautiful eyes filled with amusement. “I see what a wanton wench you have become,” he whispered as he slipped the shirt from her shoulders. “Come and put on the dress that I purchased for you.” Michaela was a little thrown off. When he had left the cabin, he was outraged. She was sure he’d never return or if he did, he’d be nothing but terse with her. Instead, he was a sexually magnetized as he was before. What was Tristan up to? He stood up and retrieved the rectangular box, opening the lid. “Because I am asking you to. Is that not enough?” At first, it sounded like a command, incensing her but she quickly pushed it aside. His tone was soft, igniting all the senses in her body. “Yes,” she answered as she got up on weak knees and strode toward him. “You will have to help me a bit because I don’t really know how to put these gowns on, that is—unless you don’t know how to.” Tristan’s gentle rift of laughter echoed through the room. “I have taken off my share of women’s gowns, my dear so I am well acquainted with their inner workings.” She slipped the undergarments on first with Tristan tying the back laces. Next came the hated bodice outfitted with whalebone, extending down to a vee in the front. Tristan tied the laces only minimally. “Thank you,” she offered as she settled herself into the odd period piece. “Mmmm, mayhap I should just let you remain in this way,” he murmured, his hands coming around the front of her, the soft rustle of flesh against the stiff white material rising through the air. “Perhaps I will,” she murmured as she felt herself pulled against him, the evidence of his desire pressing against into the small of her back. His sexual magnetism lulled her into his aura, making her forget her pledge not to have sex with him again. Like a delicate feather, his fingers brushed against her molded breasts, making her thoroughly wet with his touch. Tenderly, his mouth slide over hers, tender at first before becoming hard and passionate, urging her resistant lips apart. She delved into the passion from his hands, her body turning to molten fire. “You don’t know what you do to me,” she murmured against his lips, his fingers gently kneading her nipples through the taut fabric. Her fears of pregnancy slipped a little bit from her mind, clinging on with weak fingers. How was she going to stand his barrage of erotic seduction? “I know what I do to you,” he whispered as his hold against him tightened. Before they could move any further, there was an urgent knocking at the door, splitting the sexual air surrounding them. “If you do not have a good reason for disturbing, you will find your neck in a noose!” he shouted as he pulled away from her reluctantly. “Sorry, Cap’n but Cap’n Morgan is hailing us,” called the unfamiliar voice through the thick dark oak. She couldn’t help but laugh. “Interrupted again,” she sighed, laying her head against his massive shoulder. “I guess we’ll have to save this for later.” Michaela was thankful because she wasn’t sure how long she could last against him. “Let him know that I will be on deck in a few moments,” he snapped and looked to her, his eyes full of blazing fire. “There is something I must attend to in my cabin.”

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***** Tristan set foot on the busy deck, the men scrambling around rigging the sails to capture the latent wind. He saw Morgan’s ship in the distance, a small but familiar sloop set against the deep blue of the water. He felt satisfied, every ache in his body satiated by Michaela. Never before has he been this gratified, even by courtesan standards. Why his mind kept coming back to the fact, he was not sure. Was it because that Michaela filled out some part of him that he did not know was empty? He slipped his hat on and strode to mid ship, looking out onto the water. Morgan and his men rowed to his ship with practiced strokes, the bob of the vessel slight as the waters today were somewhat calm. “What does Morgan want this time?” he said to McGill. “Don’t rightly know, Cap’n,” McGill answered. “Me thinks he has something that might be of value to you.” His russet brows knitted. The last time he had seen Morgan, it had been in a small pub in Jamaica several years back, the meeting not ending on a happy note. What could Morgan possibly want with him? As his mind wandered, Morgan made his way to the ship and ambled over the side, throwing one meaty leg over. Tristan was taken aback. Once a svelte man, Morgan had put on quite a bit of weight since he had settled in Jamaica with his wife Mary and their entire family. “Ahoy!” Morgan called to him as he pulled his bulk up and stood straight, the feather of the hat dancing in the breeze. He stepped forward, clasping Morgan on the arm. “I see the ticker is still pounding,” he commented. “I had though perhaps you had succumbed to the errors of the drink.” Morgan swiped the hat from his head, the dark curls flying on the wild breeze. “Nay, I have not, my friend.” Morgan let out a wild guffaw of laughter, raising his level of anxiety. What was this man up to? “Ah, the same old Tristan Hamilton! Still thinking of me as the evil pirate I once was,” he answer, his bearded lips spreading into a smile as he took as step closer. “I am here not on a social visit as you might have suspected.” His level of anger rose another notch as well. “Then why are you here, Morgan?” “I have an opportunity for you, my friend that you could simply not pass up.” Tristan’s anger slipped into a much more familiar emotion: curiosity. “I am intrigued,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, staring at his former friend, his emotions carefully guarded. “Pray continue.” Morgan stood back, assuming the same stance. “Are you headed to Jamaica?” He nodded. “Good,” Morgan remarked, his deep-set eyes sparkling with mirth. “Our opportunity awaits us there.” “It may be a few days before we will arrive because I am marooning one of my men on the outlying islands.” Now it was Morgan’s turn to be curious. “Who might the unlucky lad be?” “Edwin Jameson,” he snapped, the anger returning. The less that Morgan knew about Michaela, the better, at least until he was ready for Morgan to know. Although, the old lech

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was married, that still did not stop him from persuading other women into his bed. Henry let out another slice of laughter. “Old Edwin never changes. Shall I guess as to what his crime is?” Tristan looked about the ship and gestured Morgan to the prow where they could speak privately, away from the bustling noise and busy ears of the crew. “Come with me, and I will tell you everything. ***** Michaela stretched languorously on the bed, every nerve and cell in her body satisfied to the core. Is that how it always was when a woman was in bed with a man? She giggled. Having been a virgin, she wouldn’t know good from bad. She let out a sigh. She should have been able to restrain herself from him, and she couldn’t. Did that make her a whore? Michaela shook her head. It made her a woman who yearned to be with a man who turned her body to fire. Still, that didn’t ease her mind about the baby bit. What was she going to do? She stared at the ceiling for a minute, watching the lantern swing back and forth her mind churning…she bolted straight up in bed. Wait a minute! There were things she could do! If memory served her right from biology class, she could hollow out a lime or lemon and use it as a cervical cap. The juice from the citrus would act like a natural spermicide. There! Problem solved! Now, if she also remembered correctly, most English sailors carried limes aboard ships to ward off scurvy. Surely, there must be some on board! Rolling over, she laid her head on Tristan’s pillow, inhaling his lingering scent. Masculinity prevailed here, musky yet soft, better than any cologne she’d ever smelled. She snuggled deeper. Even his scent turned her inner core to molten metal… She looked out the window to the abundant sun dappled blue water. There was not a cloud in the sky today, making the day seem more perfect. Michaela rolled onto her back and pulled the covers up to her neck, her mind relishing every fiery touch he’d put on her body… A distant speck of black caught her eyes, making her heart stop in her throat. Who was that? She jerked up in bed, holding the rumpled sheet against her. Cold sweat formed on her brow, making her shake uncontrollably. Were they being taken over? On numb legs, she rose from the bed and dressed silently but quickly. Instead of the cumbersome beautiful gown she had yet to wear, Michaela opted for her pirate’s garb. If there should be a fight break out, she’d have the freedom to move about. Taking her long locks of chestnut hair, she bound it with a piece of string and covered it with a silken scarf, tying it behind her skull like a real pirate. She wanted to laugh out loud. All she needed was an eye patch and parrot, she’d be all set! Reaching for the sheathed sword secured above the bed, she brought it down and gathered it around her own waist, checking the tautness. There was nothing like being ready for anything. ***** Michaela stepped out onto the deck warily, waiting for any sign of struggle going on. Her gaze scanned the deck, her hand on the hilt of the sword, ready for use. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Men worked around the decks, swabbing and piling rigging. Others cleaned the swing

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guns on the upper deck while the remainder worked on the sails. If there was nothing wrong, then who did the ship belong to? Making her way to the prow, she saw Tristan standing against the railing with another man, both of their gazes trained out to the sea. The stranger was much shorter and stockier than Tristan, definitely an older man by the looks of the extra flesh around his waist. Dark brown curls descended over his tanned leather clad shoulders, his limbs short as well. Who was this man? Suddenly Tristan turned, as if he felt her gaze boring through his back. “Michaela,” he called to her, gesturing her toward the prow. “Come here. I wish you to meet someone.” With careful steps, she crossed the deck and made her way up the short set of steps to the prow, her bare feet slipping along the semi-smooth planking. When she reached Tristan’s side, the stranger’s eyes widened, signaling his confusion. “A woman?” His dark brows rose. “Do you not remember how unlucky it is to have a woman at sea?” “I would risk the wrath of the sea to keep my bed warm at night,” Tristan confessed, his chest expanding proudly. Secretly, she seethed with anger. How dare he treat her as an object? Well two could play that game. “Actually, he’s the one keeping the bed warm, not me,” she said, her hand gripping the hilt of gilded sword tightly. “He’ll do for my pleasure until we reach the next port.” Tristan’s handsome face twisted in an angry scowl as he gripped her upper arm painfully. “Perhaps you need to rest in the cabin a bit more, my dear,” he hissed. “You seem exhausted.” She broke away from him. “Not really,” she snapped back. “There’s nothing there that is even remotely interesting.” Michaela smiled as she watched the quick flash of humiliation crawl across his face. Take that, she told him through the heat of the glare, for treating me as if I meant nothing to you but a possession. Tristan glared at her hard, his fingers intertwining as he leaned against the deck casually. “We will be in Port Royal in a few hours, Michaela. Captain Morgan has so thoughtfully invited me and my men ashore for an evening of revelry.” Her body trembled at the name he gave her. Captain Henry Morgan. The most feared man of the sea. Supposedly captured and taken to the West Indies, he had risen to become the most notorious pirate/privateer ever known to man as well as the founding father of the prominent Jamaica in modern times. “Captain Morgan?” He bowed low, his dark curls bobbing in time as he grasped her hand and kissed it. “‘Tis I, my dear.” His brown eyes wrinkled slightly as his smiled, his mouth hidden by the grace of a mustache. “Michaela? How unusual of a name.” “I was named after my father,” she offered, her body feeling as though it was a trembling heap. Here she was in the presence of these great men, historical figures she’d admired all her life. She’d even been to bed with one of them! “My parents adopted me two days after I was born. Since they assumed they’d never have a son, they named me after him.” Morgan’s brow rose. “Adopted?” “A ward-ship if you will,” she corrected, trying desperately to keep in mind that

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modern terms were unheard of in the sixteen hundreds. “I was given to them and they raised me.” “Oh,” Morgan said, turning Tristan. “Good job, my boy,” he said with a smirk, clapping Tristan on the shoulder. “I assume you will be bringing her ashore when you reach Port Royal.” Tristan gave her a look of a thousand daggers. “No, she is staying on the ship under guard.” He watched the reaction in her face, hating every minute of it. He loved the rebellion in her but he could not show that in front of Morgan or anyone else because it would show him as weak and unable to control his woman. He smirked. His woman. It had seemed like forever and a day since he had ever admitted something of that nature to himself. “I will go where I please,” Michaela answered, the edges of her blouse flapping softly in the breeze, giving him glimpse of the creamy flesh. He hardened almost instantly, the melodic sound of her voice rising through the air. Oh, what this woman did to him! “No man will ever stop me.” “Except me,” he said, advancing on her slightly, towering over her shorter frame, his shadow darkening her body. “If you can get past me, you are free to go where you like.” Indecision wavered on her face, almost as if she were deciding if she would challenge him or not. “I’ll get past you, buddy boy, don’t you worry. “ “How will you do that?” He could feel Morgan’s stare in him, as if waiting to see if he would let his slight creature run amok over him. Her fingers danced along his shirt, rising up to chin where she touched him gingerly, his manhood becoming increasingly painful. “I have my ways,” she cooed, her voice soft and breathy. “When I’m done, you won’t even know your own name.” His muscles tensed at her touch, the urge to pick her up and whisk her back to his cabin and have his way with her rising like a thief in the night. Keep calm, he told himself, must hold the stern pirate persona pose. Angrily, he gripped her wrist, feeling the delicate mash of bones under his hand. “I would take great care of how you use those wiles, woman for you could find yourself in a situation you do not care to be in.” Her amber eyes flashed with a flurry of emotion, a heady combination of anger and desire. “And what situation would that be? As I’ve warned you before, my dear pirate, I can handle a sword as well as any man.” “As I have testament to,” he snapped as his irritation grew. Why could she just not back down for now and let him explain things in his cabin later? “Excuse yourself from the deck so that I might have a quiet moment alone with Captain Morgan.” She stood silent for a moment, the rage burning out of control behind those amber eyes! “As you wish,” she murmured and turned away, the iciness of her tone cutting through him like a knife. He would have rather cut out his own heart than to have spoken to her in such a manner! Despite her hard exterior, he had learned during her stay that she was like a scared

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little girl, looking for someone to love and take care of her. From the way she walked away, there would be no warmth in his bed tonight. “I agree, Tristan.” He turned. “Agree with what?” “Her presence on your ship. She could fetch a high price in Port Royal from the best houses...” Morgan’s words were cut off by the presence of his hands at the older man’s throat. “The girl belongs to me, Morgan and anyone who touches her, dies. Am I understood?” “Let me go!” Morgan demanded, his stubby fingers clawing frantically at Tristan’s hands. Reluctantly, Tristan let him go. “I have no intention of selling your woman! I only merely suggested…” “What you suggested will never happen, Morgan,” he snapped, his gaze trailing over the deck to make sure no one was watching. “The girl will never leave my side.”

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Chapter Eight “Ahoy! We be near’in port!” came the call from the crow’s nest, cutting through her errant thoughts. Michaela looked up from the book she was reading at the bow of the ship and was utterly entranced with what she saw, a glorious sight after the endless stream of ocean passing beneath the ship. Rocky cliffs, dotted with bits of white, stood proudly out into the ocean. Fields of green lay behind the stony edge with tall verdant grasses waving in the wind. Sprays of water flew up where it crashed against the rocks, filling the air with a salty tang. She held her breath. It was utter magnificent and unspoiled, a beautiful place that would be turned into a tourist attraction in the next several hundred years. Michaela’s gaze switched from the shoreline to Tristan, her heart leaping a little. His auburn streaked hair flew free in the wind, dancing around his head like a fiery halo. He conversed with one of his crew, his motions animated as they studied a map. She was lost in him for a minute, her mind recalling all the fantasies he’d helped fulfill over the last few weeks. He’d been tender and loving all the while being possessive and jealous. Why did he always have to order her around like some servant? She was a woman who was more than willing to be with him no matter what. As if he sensed her stare, Tristan looked at her and smiled crookedly, lighting every fire within her. She trembled. After his treatment in front of Captain Morgan, she’d avoided him at all costs, going as far as refusing him anything in bed until he treated her like a human being. Angrily, he had stormed off at first but he acquiesced to her resolve and left her alone most of the time, only grunting a few inane responses at her. Part of her was thankful for it but the other part wanted to be touched and caressed by him. No, she couldn’t be until he treated her like a human being. Instead, she turned her gaze out to the sea. Suddenly, a small craft bobbed in the distance, moving slowly. What could it be? Quickly, she slammed the book shut and hurried down to Tristan, desperately yanking his arm to get his attention. “There’s someone following us, Tristan and it doesn’t look good.” He let out a good natured laugh. “I see you have finally decided to speak to me.” She disregarded his sarcastic remark. “I’m trying to tell you that we’re being followed and it might be another pirate ship following us.” “Which way are they coming from?” “The stern.” He laughed again. “‘Tis some of my men returning from one of the outlying islands, my dear. Nothing to worry your pretty little head about.” Shock froze her system. “Why are they on one of the outlying islands when we’re so close to mainland Jamaica?” His arm went around her shoulder soothingly. “I know how compassionate you are, Michaela so I wished to spare you with the details of what they were doing there.” Her mind raced frantically, thinking of what the possibility could be. Suddenly, it occurred to her. “You took Edwin there, didn’t you? You’ve marooned him with nothing but a bit of food, ale and a pistol.” Her rage built. “How could you do such a thing?”

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“This is the pirate life, my dear,” Tristan growled uneasily as he dismissed the crew member at his side. Bending down, he was almost nose to nose with her. “Edwin knew that before he signed onto my crew and understood what the consequences were for treason.” She turned away, the misty haze filling her eyes. “He didn’t do anything treasonous, Tristan and you know it…” Before she could finish, the most important reason of all hit her like a brick wall. Spinning on her heel, she faced Tristan, her spine stiff. “You have to get him back.” His thick arms crossed over his chest defiantly. “Why would I do such a thing?” “Because he’s going to save your life.” Tristan’s maniacal laughter filled the quiet air of the ship. “How will he do that? Come, Michaela, you must realize that he will stop at nothing to have you, including killing me. Nay, I will not bring him back.” “But you’ve got to!” she cried insistently. “If you don’t, then you’ll be fatally hurt at the next battle.” Tristan’s russet colored brows knitted in confusion. “How do you know this?” “Because the history tells me so, Tristan,” she continued, trying desperately to get him to believe her. “At the next battle with Captain Ferdinand Alhambre, Edwin saves your life by taking the bullet for you. If he’s not there, you would be seriously hurt or worse, be killed.” Tristan’s face twisted into a mask of disbelief, his hands riding his hips. “You dream too much woman!” She glared at him with her brows knitted in seriousness, cutting through his thick persona like a knife. “I guess you’ve forgotten your last lesson.” He studied the seriousness stamped on her face, regarding it nothing more than pure fancy. So be it that she had predicted Hatherton’s every move. Anyone with any knowledge of the sea could have done correctly so. “I have not forgotten,” he narrowed his eyes at her as the anticipation of her submission pounding his veins. “Have you forgotten yours?” Michaela swallowed hard. “No,” she gulped. “Because there’s nothing you could teach me that I don’t already know.” Her iciness got the best of him. Reaching out, he grabbed her upper arm and pulled her close, her soft, yielding body against him. “I have taught you how to be a woman, Michaela. You knew nothing before you were in my arms.” Her tremble resonated through her. “I–I…” she stammered, the words escaping her mind. “That is what I thought,” he smirked, pulling her close, the coolness of her skin calling to him like a beacon to set it on fire. “Shall we retire to my cabin for a little sport?” Michaela’s warm amber eyes turned to ice. “If you think I’m climbing into that bed with you just because you want to, you’ve got another thing coming, buster.” His anger flared. “I could take you now if I wanted to,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “But you won’t,” she conjectured, completely unafraid of him. “What makes you say that?” “Because you are too much of a gentleman despite this,” she gestured with her free hand at him,” pirate persona.”

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She had called his bluff. “Do what you will,” he snapped as he released her. “Bother me no more for today.” Michaela’s sensual smile crossed her full lips, deepening the ache he was already feeling in his loins. “As you wish.” She spun on her heel and walked away, her backside swaying beneath those breeches that she preferred to wear instead of the gown he had purchased for her in Saint Domingue. Tristan turned away quickly as his manhood turned into a rod, his fist pounding the railing hard. Why did she have to be so damn exasperating and so sexual at the same time? ***** Michaela sat on the wooden planking at the prow of the ship, watching the last vestiges of the sun slip below the horizon. Threads of light blue stretched into the canvas of navy, taking with it the last bit of light. Bright white spilled out onto the water, dappling it a ghostly gray, the partially full moon hanging in a cloudless sky. All her life, she’d dreamed of a chance like this, to know what it was like to be on a real pirate ship... She stiffened. What she really wanted was Tristan to love and respect her, not treat her like some possession. From his actions over the past few days, that’s all he regarded her as. Thankfully, Tristan had gone ashore with most of the crew, just keeping a skeleton one behind in order to protect the ship since there weren’t any real threats in the area tonight. “There ya be, lassie,” growled a voice behind her in a thick Scottish brogue. She spun around to see a grizzled man behind her, his beard hanging to his waist. Tattered bits of linen clung to him, their use as clothing long past. His bare feet were dirty, full of scratches and tears. Her eyes narrowed. She didn’t recall seeing him over the past few days yet somehow he seemed vaguely familiar. “Who are you?” “Me name’s McGregor,” he announced proudly as he huffed out his chest. “Brady McGregor.” Michaela sat in stunned silence as she stared at him, her jaw dropping open. Why it had to be Brady’s ancestor! When they had first met, Brady regaled her with stories of his ancestors, most of them centering around his namesake, Brady McGregor. She had wanted to do the same but when you’re adopted, there isn’t much to tell. “Nice to meet you,” she stuck out her hand and he stared at it. “Ye Cap’n say no one ta touch the wee lass,” he stammered and stepped back. “I came hera to askin’ if ye would like a wee dram of ale.” “No,” she sighed, moving over on the small plank to allow room for Brady. She patted it. “Please do sit down.” McGregor looked a little uneasy about it. “I donna think…” “The Captain is ashore at the request of Captain Morgan and won’t know anything that’s happened here. Please, sit down next to me because I’ve something to tell you.” Curiosity danced behind those old orbs. “Whatcha have ta tell me, lass?” “Sit down and I’ll tell you.” “Ye have a jesting nature, lass,” McGregor commented as he finished off his fifth dram of ale in the last hour.

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“I’m merely telling you about your descendant,” she mused with him, trying to win his confidence for what she needed to do. “He’s very much like you.” Instinctively, she patted her pockets. “Damn, I wish I had a picture to show you!” His grizzled brows knitted in question. “What ‘tis a picture?” Michaela leaned back for a moment, searching for the best answer to his question. “Do you know what a portrait is?” He nodded. “It’s like that only a little different.” “Oh, I see,” he guffawed and slapped his knee. “‘Tis a tiny portrait that ye carry in ye pocket.” She gave up on the explanation. “Something like that. Now, if I tell you something, can I trust you to keep a secret?” She could see that she was slowly gaining his trust. Whether or not he or any of the other crewmen would follow her remained a different story. “Oh, yes, miss, ye can count on me,” he replied, nodding his head. “What sorta a secret?” The ale drifted from him in fumes, making her belly sick. Pushing it from her mind, she took a deep breath. “I’ve got to bring Edwin back or the Captain will die.” Surprise crossed the deeply lined face, the rough silhouette of a mouth forming an ‘o’. “How do ye know that?” “I just know,” she explained. If she told him that she came from the future, he’d either laugh in her face or think she was nuts. “You have to trust me on that.” “Is that ye big secret?” She shook her head slowly, keeping her voice down so no one else could here. “No.” “Then what is it?” “I have to bring Edwin Jameson back before it’s too late.” ***** Morgan’s home was palatial to say the least. Filled with servants, it took several years to build with Morgan being away most of the time. The dining room was far larger than anything he had ever been in. Very long, it contained vaulted ceilings painted in the latest style frescos. A fireplace, large enough to roast an entire side of beef stood at one end blazing hard. Long oak stood in the middle, forming a sturdy table with matching chairs. Servants of all hues clucked all around them, serving and removing with all the deftness borne out of years of practice. “So I told them to take the blaggards and hang them from the highest tree!” Morgan called, regaling his guests with old tales of piracy. The crowd joined in his mirth, the room echoing with their soft laughter Tristan said nothing as he leaned back in his chair, his napkin lying beside his empty plate. He really did not have the heart to be here with Michaela tucked safely away. The only thing he wanted right now was to be aboard the ship, making love to her, the smell of her sweet flesh… “'Tis a shame that Michaela has not joined us,” Morgan said, breaking through his thoughts. "I think she would have enjoyed being here with us." He turned to Morgan and noticed all eyes were on him. “She is aboard my ship and will stay there under guard,” he said slowly, winking at one woman just to let everyone think that he was the same old Tristan among them, not a man possessed by woman. “Please, regale

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me with more of your tales.” “More wine!” Morgan shouted to a dusky skinned maid dressed in dark wool topped with a crisp white apron. She brought the pitcher and poured around the table quickly. Morgan leaned forward, his aged eyes full of merriment. “Nay, tell us some of your tales, Hamilton,” he mused “Because I know you have many.” “None so interesting as yours,” he quipped. “Bollocks! I personally witnessed one in particular,” he laughed, his stare going around the table. “Old Tristan here was ‘entertaining’ a young lady in her home in Martinique. Well, as fate would have it, the lady’s husband came home early,” he chuckled. “Because he did not have the capacity to go through the house, Tristan was forced to go out the window sans clothes.” “I would not have had to do that if you had kept watch and alerted me to the husband’s presence,” he said darkly, the memory not one he cared to think of. “Oh, bosh! I was occupied with a maiden in the stable,” Morgan continued. “So I heard a lot of shouting and when I looked out the window of the stable, I saw Tristan mounting his horse utterly naked. He made a run for the town with the master’s hounds on his heels.” The revelers laughed at the scene while he only raised a corner of his mouth to it. If memory served, the lady’s husband also went after Morgan, managing to give a few lashes across the buttocks before Morgan could completely flee himself. “Am I to guess you do not remember the lashes your received for that indiscretion?” Morgan laughed harder. “Still remember? Ha! I have the scars to prove it!” This completely inundated the circle with laughter. It was so contagious, he joined in. Why was he so stiff? Was it because the thought of Michaela’s coldness frightened him? Morgan’s servant was at his side. “Would you like some more wine?” He lifted his glass. Why not? Inebriation was probably the thing he needed most now. “Of course,” he remarked, his gaze sweeping over her form. Before Michaela, this one would have definitely been sharing his bed tonight but not now. Somehow, his heart became the possession of Michaela and did not belong to him anymore. ***** Time passed slowly as she waited on the deck for Tristan, hardly a fact she wanted to acknowledge. Her gaze swept the azure sea, watching the whitecaps roll by. During her little time alone, she’d managed to procure a few limes and readied them in case she needed them though if Tristan didn’t start behaving correctly, she’d never need them. Distantly, she saw dark clouds building on the horizon, threatening to block out the bright moonlight. Dim flashes and faint thunder told her that it was storming somewhere. Before she could focus on it a little more, Michaela heard a sound. At first, it sounded utterly awful, almost like a screeching sound. Then, slowly, it built up into a voice, one that was completely tone deaf. Swinging her head around, she looked toward the shore and noticed a small boat bobbing in the water heading toward the ship. It was Tristan! The closer it came, the more she recognized his slurred speech. What the hell? Suddenly, she realized what was wrong. He was completely bombed out of his skull. Taking this initiative, Michaela scrambled down below and into his cabin. If he was as drunk as she thought he was, he would more than likely pass out and she could get someone

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to take her to the island to get Edwin. Finding the dress he’d bought her in Saint Domingue, she put it on, forgetting the undergarments. At this point, he probably wouldn’t be interested in the esthetic value of the dress. His singing got louder. From the way it sounded, he was next to the ship. Michaela sat on the bed, smoothing down the folds of this gorgeous dress, waiting for him. Her heart beat. What if he raped her? No, he wouldn’t do that no matter how drunk he was. She looked up to the ceiling, taking a deep breath. If she had to make love to him to get him to pass out, then that’s what she’d have to do in order to get Edwin back. She was doing this for Tristan. Dull, unsteady clops sounded on the stairs to the cabin indicated he was coming. She braced herself. No matter what happened, she’d be in control. The door flung open to reveal a disheveled Tristan behind it, his body swaying. Strands of auburn streaked hair hung in his eyes, forcing him to blink hard. “I see that you have finally decided to wear the dress I bought you,” he slurred as he entered the room and kicked the door closed behind him. He slumped into a nearby chair. “Take off my boots.” She wanted to rebel against him but now was not the time. He was utterly drunk and dangerous. “Of course,” she said quietly as she rose from the bed and went to his side, kneeling at his feet. Michaela could feel his stare burn right through her. “Do you realize how beautiful you are?” he murmured. “Let me get your boots off,” she said in a shaky voice, her fingers gripping his feet hard. “You’re going to want to sleep…” Before she could finish her sentence, Tristan’s finger swept under her chin and prompted her to look into his eyes. “You are so beautiful, Michaela,” he offered, the lust rising in his eyes. “I love you.” She was utterly stunned. “You’re drunk, Tristan,” she retorted quickly, not wanting to believe his words. “Come on and let’s get you into bed.” His eyes blazed. “I was thinking the same thing, my dear,” his fingers trailed down to the tops of her exposed breasts. “I want you to be my wife.” By that statement, she knew it was the booze talking. “No, Tristan because you say that now because you’re drunk. You won’t even remember this conversation tomorrow.” Fire flashed in the depths of his eyes. “Who are you to tell me what I say is the truth or not? Inebriated or not, I have grown to love you over these past weeks, Michaela. What I offer you is the protection of my name,” he said softly as he leaned forward, cupping her face in his hands. “As well as any children of mine that you would have.” Her face burned from his touch. She wanted so desperately to believe it but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. “Please, don’t do this, Tristan.” Tristan slid from the chair to the floor next to her, his hands running all over her body. “Say yes, my love, that you want it as well.” Michaela closed her eyes, reveling in his touch. “No, Tristan because I’ll be a distant memory soon. You’ll tire of me and drop me on some deserted island with a bit of food and ale along with a pistol containing one shot.” “No, my love, that will never be your fate,” he insisted, his lips dancing over hers in

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feathery strokes. “Why on earth would you think that?” His lips were concentrating on the hollow of her neck. “I don’t know, Tristan!” The emotions were coming much too fast for her. “Part of me wants to marry you more than anything but my sensible side tells me that it won’t work.” Tristan looked up, his fingers dancing against her cheek. “Why not try it? If, in six months, you are still unhappy, I will take you wherever you want to go with enough provisions for a life without me.” Michaela looked away, the tears forming. That wasn’t any good either. She didn’t belong in this life yet she had no way to get back to her own time. “No, Tristan,” she continued and rose to her feet. “Let’s get you into bed so you can sleep off your drinks.” With calculated lithe movements, he rose to his feet and grabbed her hand. “Tell me, does this lie to you?” Tristan guided her hand to his rock hard prick, throbbing with life. Instantly, she became wet, her wet pussy aching to have him inside of her. “No, it doesn’t lie,” she purred, the sexual emotion coming over her as she undid his breeches, slipping her hand between him and the material. The head of his dick was already wet and ready for her. “Please, take off that dress, Michaela,” he groaned. “Not yet,” she said, sinking to her knees. Now it was time to play a game with him. “It’s my turn to play.” Unloosening the front of his breeches, she slipped him out easily. In the dim light, she could see his shaft, thick and long, pulsing with life. She’d never given a blow job before but in this day and time, she didn’t think too many women did and he would scarcely know the difference if she performed badly. Gently, she caressed him, the taut skin feeling like pure silk. Tristan groaned with each stroke, his hands running through her hair. “Oh, Michaela, you work magic with your hands,” he moaned. “As do you,” she replied, stroking him a little harder. She leaned forward and licked him a little, the taut skin on her tongue feeling like magic. Unable to stop herself, she took him into her mouth. At first, she was unsure of what to do but nature took over. Slowly and sensually, she sucked him, his gasps and moans rising high in the cabin. His salty essence teased her tongue as she flicked at the head, her fingers massaging his balls slowly. Just as she was about to take him in all the way, Tristan pushed her away. “Not like this,” he ordered. “I do not want to waste my seed this way. Turn around.” At first, she was appalled but her senses quickly got the best of her. “Not yet,” she said, quickly grabbing one of the half cut limes, its inside hollow. In her boredom she’d bored it out. “Turn around and close your eyes.” His brows rose. “Why?” “It’s a surprise,” she offered. Shrugging his massively thick shoulders, Tristan did as she bade. With unsure hands, she inserted the half lime, making sure it was in place. It was an uncomfortable as hell but it beat getting pregnant. “Are ye done yet?” he slurred.

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“Yes,” she said and knelt down on the floor. “Do you still want me?” She knew that she shouldn’t be having sex with him in this condition but she had to save Edwin any way she could. “More than ever,” he mumbled as he fell to his knees, pushing her gown aside. Tristan entered her gently, his strokes slow and deliberate, apparently not noticing the barrier inside of her. Michaela moaned as he caressed her clit with his fingers, making her body even more molten than it had been. She’d never dreamed it could be this wonderful. His strokes became more urgent and hard, the sticky wetness starting to course down her thighs, the grip on her hips digging deep. She cried out as she came but Tristan kept going, his orgasm having yet to be achieved. Suddenly, she felt him touch something deep inside. Her body turned to flame as she had another orgasm, almost on top of the other one. How could that be? She’d heard of multiple orgasms but this one was the king of them all! Suddenly, Tristan shuddered and thrust one last time as he came, the hold on her hips loosening as he fell away, sweaty but well satisfied. “I do not feel well,” he replied as his face took on a greenish tint in the moonlight. “You’re probably going to puke,” she said, recovering from her multiple quickly. “Where’s a bucket?” “Over in the corner,” he pointed weakly as he burped in a quick succession. “Please hurry!” She dove for it and snatched it up, getting it under Tristan just in time as he threw up. Holding his hair back, she rubbed his back as he threw up, the room smelling of partially digested food and sour wine. She wanted to vomit herself but she managed to keep from doing it for Tristan’s sake. After he was done, he leaned against the chair, looking very pale. “I am sorry, my dear, for this,” he apologized, reminding her of a little boy who’d gotten sick in bed. “Don’t be silly,” she told him as rose and wet a cloth in the nearby basin. “It’s okay. I’ve gotten drunk a few times myself.” She sponged off his head. “Let’s get you into bed. I’ll give you a bath and you can go to sleep.” Weakly, he nodded and rose on wobbly legs. She undressed him as he stood, taking off as much as she could before she had to have him sit down. She removed his shirt and breeches, slinging them over the chair. They'd have to be washed the next morning because the sour odor of alcohol clung to them. Urging him back onto the bed, she sponged him off with soap and water, cleaning him from head to toe. Tristan didn’t argue because a few minutes after she started, he promptly passed out. She wasn’t sure how much he had to drink but she hoped it was enough that he’d stay asleep long enough while she went to retrieve Edwin. She covered him with a sheet and kissed him on the temple. Strangely, the corner of his lip curled up in a half smile, almost as if the kiss comforted him in some way. Soft knocks at the door drew her attention away. It must be McGregor. Picking up the vomit filled bucket, she stepped out. McGregor stood there with a questioning expression, staring at her. “Oh, sorry!” she said, adjusting the dress. She must look a sight. “Is everything ready?”

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“Aye, lass, ‘tis,” he answered in a soft tone. “Is ye Cap’n asleep?” “Yes,” she told him in a gentle tone as she handed him the bucket. “Empty this and I’ll meet you up on deck in fifteen minutes.” McGregor looked in the bucket, his nose wrinkling. “Seems ye Cap’n been drinking too much.” “Let’s just say I hope he’s drank enough to stay asleep until I get back.” He nodded and ambled off down the dark, narrow passageway amid the snores of drunken crewmen who had returned just after Tristan. Michaela leaned against the hard wood, staring into the darkness. Please, God, let me be able to accomplish this without a whole lot of trouble. She simply had to make this work. Tristan’s life was not something she was going to trade for anything else in the world.

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Chapter Nine Hollow slaps of water against the bottom of the tiny ship cut through the dark of the night, the chilly air seeping into her bones. They’d been out on the water now for at least an hour, her mind still consumed with thoughts of Tristan. Was he still passed out or had he awakened and was coherent enough to know she was gone? Punishment for herself she could stand but not that of an innocent. “We be gettin’ close, lass,” McGregor said from the prow of the boat, his gray locks waving in the breeze. “Not much longer now.” “Good,” she said, her teeth chattering together so hard that she was afraid they’d shatter. “I want to get Edwin back into this boat and safely on Tristan’s ship before he wakes up.” Her throat tightened for a moment then released as fear gripped it. What if Edwin had done the unthinkable already and killed himself? She shook the thought off. No, he couldn’t have. He’d only been put there a few hours ago. More than likely, he’d drunk himself into a stupor with the ale left to him. Finally, it was time to set foot on dry land. With the help of the men, she lifted her skirts and made her way out of the boat, the sand feeling alien under her naked feet. There really was no light except for the now and again light of the moon, threatened by dark clouds passing over it. “Edwin!” she called out, crossing the gritty beach. Silence abounded her save the call of the night birds swooping over head, mingled with the sound of the surf washing up on shore. Where in the hell was he? “Edwin!” she screamed. “Stop fucking around and let us know where you are!” She looked to her left. “Any sign of him?” “No!” shouted McGregor, searching the sandy area in front of him. The others poked around the tiny island as well, coming up with nothing. Her heart raced, mingling with the anxiety pounding her body. Where in the hell could he be? Suddenly, her foot landed in something wet. Michaela looked down and noticed she had stepped in a circular patch of almost black liquid. What was it? Bending down, she dipped her fingers into it and brought it to her nose. She gagged at the dim coppery smell. It was blood. Looking ahead a little further, she saw another one, then another, leaving a trail for her to follow. She paled, feeling her heart sink to her feet. Edwin was at the end of this trail of gore, more than likely dead. Michaela drew a deep breath, steeling herself for what must be ahead. With mincing steps, she followed it. The puddles became larger and larger, one just as irregular as the last. Finally, one naked foot came into view, rounded out by the other. She’d found him at last. Edwin sat against an old rock, nearly covered over by ferns and fronds, the ends scraping his unfeeling face. His hair hung in his half open eyes that looked skyward, his jaw slack. In his right hand was the bottle of ale, the pistol in his left. Tears flooded her eyes as she knelt next to him, her fingers against the vein in his neck.

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His skin was cold to the touch, the vein utterly quiet. She dipped her head and let the tears flow. Despite what he’d done to her, she had wanted to save him from the fate of so many sailors of the pirate world. His shirt was open slightly, the edges splattered with blood. There was but a small wound to his chest where the musket ball entered, leaving a small trail of blood through the nest of hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it, Edwin,” she prayed through trembling lips. “Please forgive me.” She touched his face again, placing a gentle kiss against his cold, furry cheek. “I wanted so much to save you.” “Edwin, matey, where are ye?” McGregor shouted over the dense copse of stones surrounding her. “He’s over here,” she called, the sobbing in her voice unmistakable. The others rushed to her side, the expressions on their faces telling her more than words ever could. “Cor, blimey! He gone and offa himself, dida he?” commented one of the sailors, his voice containing a sorry speck of remorse. She wanted to jump up and demand that they show a bit more respect to Edwin than they were but her better senses prevailed. These men were used to the hardships of the sea and the dangers that go with it. Life was no longer precarious to them. “We’ve got to bury him,” she said softly, her voice cutting through the sharp murmurs rumbling through the crowd. “Leave ‘em,” McGregor barked as he turned away, the ghostly light of the night giving him a haggish appearance. “Nature’ll take care of its own.” “No!” she snapped, her fingers touching Edwin’s cold skin one last time. “We’re not going to leave him out here to rot. He deserves a decent burial.” She waited for an answer as the men started to walk away but no one responded. How could they be so cruel? Taking matters into her own hands, Michaela started ripping at the grassy area, throwing clumps of dirt over her shoulder. Fine. If they didn’t want to help, they didn’t have to. She’d show them she could get the job done. Furiously, she tore at the hard earth, trying to dig a hole for him. Why couldn’t they help her with this? Her sobs came faster as the dirt clung to her gown grimy puddles, the sudden wetness of the mud sinking deep within the fabric. She felt their eyes on her but she didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was getting Edwin buried and get back to the ship before sunrise. “There be, missus,” McGregor said softly, the sound of his footsteps crunching the sand behind her breaking the tone of her sobs. “If ye feel that strongly, we bin a buryin’ him for ye.” “I don’t want your pity, McGregor,” she snapped, pausing in her effort to wipe away the tears flooding her eyes with a grimy hand. “I’ll do it myself because none of you want to do it.” McGregor’s hands landed on hers, stopping her work. “Sit back, my lady and let us finish what ye have started,” he said in a quiet voice, gesturing for the others to come over. “Come lads, we got werk ta do.” A little over an hour later, she stood next to the mound of dirt with stones placed over it

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as a small memorial, her head bowed. Tears the size of pearls fell from her eyes. With Edwin gone, there would be no one to protect Tristan. Except herself. Michaela lifted her head. She was the only one left to save Tristan, the only one who knew what the future held for him. She only half listened to the inane, nonsensical prayers that McGregor mumbled over the makeshift grave, her mind still reeling on Tristan. How was he going to treat her once she got back to the ship? He warned her not to leave but she did anyway. So what. She was her own woman and he’d have the sense enough not to be beat her because no matter what, she could still kick his ass with all of her martial arts knowledge. He wouldn’t stand a chance. “Amen,” she murmured along with the rest, crossing herself thought she wasn’t Catholic. She’d seen them do that on TV as well as having been to a few Catholic weddings. It seemed appropriate, especially under the circumstances. She turned away from the grave and walked to the small boat. Carefully, she lifted her skirts, holding the edges away from the sea as she boarded, moving toward a bench in the middle. Now it was all up to her to make sure that the next fight would be one Tristan would survive. She entered the cabin, closing the door quietly behind her. Dawn was approaching, the newborn morning light not yet in the sky. The moon was gone, leaving behind the inky black sky in its wake. Silently, she slipped the dress from her shoulders and washed herself with some fresh water from the basin, all the while her heart beating out of control. What was Tristan going to say when she told him what she did? With a quick hand, she slid under the covers and nestled next to him, listening to the sound of the sea echoing through the open windows. She was exhausted… “Where have you been?” That question hit her far earlier than she was ready for it. “I thought you were asleep,” she murmured. “I am not longer asleep. I did however ask you a question and I expect you to answer it,” Tristan snapped, the underlying hint of danger in his voice dangerous. “I know that you’re not feeling well right now so I’ll ignore the inquisition,” she retorted bitterly and rolled over to her side. “Good night.” “Why can you not do as you are bid, Michaela?” Tristan growled. “All that I ask is that you obey me…” She whipped around in bed and stared at him, the heat of her anger coloring her cheeks. “Just who in the fucking hell do you think you are, Tristan? My keeper?” His fury deepened as well. “You are my woman and sharing my bed so that relegates me to the role of your keeper, does it not?” “I don’t believe you sometimes,” she said, trying to keep her tears from coloring her vision. “You say you love me yet you want to cage me. How can you treat me like this?” Tristan’s heart ached, along with his head. She was right. Why did he treat her so unjustly? She had only been doing what she believed in, nothing more. “Why were you out?”

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The sounds of her sobs cut him like a knife. He drew her resisting form into his arms, smoothing down the wild tangles of her sun-streaked hair. “I went to get Edwin,” she sobbed into his shoulder, his skin damp with her tears. “Before you say anything, I have a reason why I went.” “Go on.” “You’re going to be embroiled in a battle in the next few days and Edwin is the one who will save your life.” He was intrigued with her story. So far, she had not been wrong with any of her predictions. “How so?” She sniffed hard. “He is the one who will take the bullet that is meant for you. Without it, you’re going to die.” “I have been in many battles my dear so there is no worry for I am a seasoned sailor,” he tried to reassure her. Michaela looked up, her eyes red-rimmed. “No, Tristan, you won’t. Without Edwin, you’re going to die.” He pulled her close, holding her lithe body against him, letting her cry out her fears. His words did no good for her at all. Tristan said nothing, thinking of what she had said. What if she were right and that he would die over the next few days? No, he told himself. He was not going to die. Before Michaela had entered his life, he had not given a care to which way a battle went but now, she had given him something to live and possibly die for. Smoothing down her hair, Tristan kept her in his embrace until her body slowly relaxed, telling him that she was falling into a deep sleep, something she needed desperately. Not wanting to think about it anymore, Tristan tucked the cover under her chin and joined her in the depths of slumber. ***** Thunder and the churning of the ship on the rough waters brought her back from the edge of sleep, making her heart pound. Lightning flashed, bathing the room in electric light. She sat up, clutching the covers to her chin, the fear soaring through her. What was going on? Suddenly, the ship lurched forward over a large wave, throwing her out of bed. She landed on the floor and rolled to the right, underneath the bolted down table. Her hips and arms hurt from the fall, while her head smashed into the leg of a chair. Thankfully, they were bolted down along with the table and bed otherwise she’d be tossed like a salad. Michaela remained there for a couple of minutes, long enough for the ship to slow down its pitching motion so that she could get up. Desperate to know what was happening, she crawled around the floor, gathering the breeches and shirt in a death grip. Awkwardly, she tried to put them on to no avail. Every move she made was countered by the violent waves, pitching her back and forth. Without warning, the door to the cabin pitched open, revealing Tristan standing there, his hair hanging down in wet tendrils, the concern stamped on his face. “Are you all right, Michaela?” he questioned as he crossed the room and picked her up, laying her down on the bed. The storm seemed to have calmed down a little, the smashing of the waves against the hull lessening in intensity. “I–I–think so,” she said, looking around. “Is the storm over?”

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“No, we have gone through it and out the other side,” he answered, the cold water from his hair landing on her skin . “It should bother us no more.” “That’s good,” she said, the nausea suddenly rising up her throat. Leaping out of bed, she made it to the bucket in the corner just in time. Tristan held her tightly around her waist, his long cool fingers against her forehead. “I know what this means,” he offered, the glee in his voice. “What…do you think it means?” she asked, wiping her chin with a towel. Geez, she’d give anything for her toothbrush and paste right now. “You are with child,” he announced, pulling her back, his hand resting on her flat belly. “‘Tis the reason for your sickness.” She contemplated letting him think that. Actually, her period was going to show up in the next day or two because she’d had signs of it. “I’m not pregnant, Tristan,” she said, leaning back against him. “My period will be here in a day or two.” His brows knitted together in confusion. “What is this ‘period’ Is it an illness?” She let out an exasperated sigh. It was better to put it in terms that he could understand. “My monthly course, Tristan.” He spun her around, staring deeply into her eyes, the stamp of hurt on his face. “You are not with child?” “No,” she said, completely perplexed. “Why are you so bummed out? I didn’t think pirates were the fatherly type.” His demeanor changed quickly, his hands releasing their hold on her. “Of course, my dear, you are right. I am a pirate and always will be. Children were never part of the life I have chosen.” He paused. “I believe it was the tossing of the ship that made you ill.” “Probably,” she offered, wishing that she could take away his evident pain despite the brave front. “Where are we heading to now?” “Back to Sainte Domingue to do some more trading before I head to my private cove in the New World.” Those words sent a shudder through her. The time was coming for him to go to Mystic Harbor and die on Coral Cave Beach. No, she couldn’t let that happen despite what sort of paradox it could cause! “Please, Tristan, trust me. Don’t go to either of these places ever again. They’ll mean your death.” She watched the indecision cross on his face. “You have been right in what you have said, my dear but I must at least go to Sainte Domingue to sell what we took aboard in Jamaica. After that, I will possibly re-think the trip to the New World.” “Why can’t you just listen to me for once?” She broke away from him. “Why don’t you want to stay alive?” “I do my dear but there are certain things I must do regardless of the consequences it may or may not bring.” His voice had ridden to the deep octave range, indicating a hidden danger. “Why can you not understand that?” She collapsed against his wet chest, her tears mingling with the sea water. “I just want to keep you alive, that’s all,” she looked up to him, her heart finally opening up. “I love you, Tristan Hamilton, with all that’s in me. I don't want to live without you. If you can’t understand that, then I’ll just pitch myself over the side right now.” “As well as I love you, Michaela Martin, strange name and all. As for pitching yourself

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over the side, that will never happen…” Before he could finish his words, the shouts of ‘Ship Ahoy!” resounded from the crow’s nest. He looked up. “Damn! I thought I would have lost Alhambre in the storm but he was too quick for me,” he snapped. “Stay below deck until I come for you, Michaela. I don’t want you hurt in this melee.” “I can handle myself, Tristan. You’ve seen me do it.” He stood there for a moment, his towering form over hers. “Aye, that you can but I will not tolerate you being hurt.” “I won’t get hurt, I promise,” she crossed her fingers over her heart. “See?” “No. If I get into a scuffle, I will be unable to protect you,” he ordered as he turned away. “Meanwhile, who’s going to protect you?” His mind wavered from the look in his face. “Get dressed.” He snapped. Tristan waited for her to dress, regretting his decision to allow her up on deck instead of safe down below where she belonged. Never in his life had he met a more headstrong woman, determined to do what she damned well wanted. Yet, he couldn’t have asked for a better woman. Simpering and cowering women had never been to his liking, thus enhancing his choice of the sea for a mistress. As he watched her dress her tempting body, his thoughts rolled into their conversation of before. He couldn’t let on that he was disappointed that she had not conceived his child. That would have proved him weak and weakness was something he would not tolerate in himself. He would have enjoyed to know that he had a son or a daughter coming. It would have prompted him to give up his pirate ways and find a home where he and Michaela could raise their children together. Through all of his efforts, he was a wealthy man and had been long before she ever came into his life. The trouble up until now was that he could not find a woman strong enough for his tastes. With Michaela, he had all that he wanted in a woman instead of that one thing. He smiled widely. There was plenty of time to change that. ***** Water littered the deck, making it treacherous to walk on. Thankfully, her feet were bare otherwise she wouldn’t have been able to walk around. Hands scuttled all around her, grabbing weapons, loading the cannons on the lower decks as well as the swing guns. She wove her way through the dense mass of wet bodies to the back of the ship and stood by Tristan’s side. “He is a lot farther than I had first anticipated,” Tristan announced as he looked through the lead. “With night fallen, it is hard to see him but I can tell by the way the waves are moving, I can see where he is.” “Do you think he could catch us?” “Not by half,” he turned around, facing the lower decks. “But I am taking no chances. McGregor!” McGregor stepped up, tipping his fingers. “Aye, Cap’n?” “Full sail! I want to be well out of his range by morning.” “Aye, sir!” Sharp rustles of unfolding canvas filled the air as more sails unfurled to catch the high

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rise of wind blowing from the storm. Lightning and thunder crashed behind them, the rain remaining with the storm. She could see with each lightning strike, the distant ship determined to catch up with him. Fear and anxiety beat at her veins, threatening to burst out of her chest. Alhambre is the one who wanted kill Tristan given half a chance. Her hands gripped the sea battered railing hard, the wood digging into her palms. This isn’t over you bastard, she silently warned Alhambre. Not by a long shot. ***** Morning peeked over the horizon, the round globe rising high in the sky. Fingers of dusky pink threaded through the pale blue of the sky, highlighted by bright yellows and oranges. Michaela had been awake all night, watching for signs of Alhambre. Several hours after he was first spotted, the bastard seemed to disappear. Try as she might, she was could never find him on the horizon. Several times during the night, Tristan tried to get her to go down to his cabin and try to get some sleep but she refused. She wanted to be here at the first sign of trouble. The storm that had ravaged the deck had long since disappeared, leaving in its wake a calm sea, dotted with mild whitecaps. She leaned against the railing, staring out into the endless sapphire water, feeling the ship rock under her. Tiredness wanted to creep in and claim her but she refused let it. She had to be alert. Her eyelids fluttered for a moment, the movement of the ship feeling like a rocking cradle almost... “Ship ahoy!” came from the crow’s nest. Michaela jerked out of her position and stood on the deck, a hand protectively on the hilt of her sword. Tristan had wanted her to carry a pistol but she refused. Her hands and sword were deadly enough. Men scrambled around deck, making sure all was in readiness as the dark ship emerged from the light bank of fog in front of them. “Holy shit!” she exclaimed loudly, forcing the men to look at her with slack jaws. “What? You’ve never heard anyone curse before?” she shouted as she leapt from the deck and headed toward the prow where Tristan was. “Get down!” he shouted as he pushed her to the deck, covering her body with his own. Cannon and pistol fire split the air around them, ripping through the canvas and wood as though they were made of butter. “I want you back in my cabin,” he growled in her ear. “No dice,” she said as the sound died down and pushed out from under him. “I’m here to save your life and here is where I’ll stay.” With those words, she made her way down the quarterdeck and checked on the wounded. Even with her limited medical knowledge, she was still able to tend to the wounded and help the ship’s surgeon ease his burden. “Cut me some bandages,” she ordered one man as the sound of pistols rang through the air. The hand didn’t question her as he ripped bandages out of some cloth that had seen better days. Spying a jug of ale, she grabbed it and poured it over the material. “This should help keep out the infection,” she said softly to one wounded man as he lay on deck. He winced but she knew that the alcohol burned away any nasty germs. She worked among the wounded for a few minutes until the firing became too close. “Take the wounded down below to the surgeon,” she ordered the young man who had been

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following her from man to man. “I will come down and help the physician in a bit.” She looked up to see ropes coming swinging across from Alhambre’s ship to Tristan’s, full of alien deck hands. “Aye, missus,” the man replied as he picked up the wounded man’s limp arm, dragging him toward the stairs. She stood up, her heart slamming against her chest. Now it was time for the true test. Would she be able to stop Tristan’s death? Taking a deep breath, she knew what she needed to do. Drawing her sword, she willed herself into action. If these men thought that Tristan was easy prey, they had another thing coming.

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Chapter Ten Cannon fire continued to pound the air around her, the snapping of rigging mingling with the sound of the guns. Michaela’s sword swept to the right and to the left, the thick sprays of blood landing on her shirt and bathing her to the skin. Her face was splattered with it, the hot coppery smell rising to meet her nostrils. The smell made her belly recoil hard but she ignored it. The only thing that mattered was getting to Tristan and saving him from that bullet by any means necessary. Just as she put a foot on the stairs leading toward the upper deck, a dark figure stood in her path. He was tall with ragged looking hair streaming out from beneath a woolen cap, his mouth spread into a leering grin. Where teeth should have been were black stumps, made presumably so from him biting down on the bullets for his pistols. Tattered clothing clung to his dirty body, the tattoos on his forearms a testimony to his time at sea. She winced at the sight. “Where ye be going, boy?” he questioned in a deeply Spanish accented voice. For a minute, she was surprised that he thought her to be a boy but she quickly remembered putting her hair up under a cap before leaving the cabin. Reaching up, she snatched it off her head, allowing her golden streaked hair to fly free. “I’m no boy,” she snapped, thrusting her sword point in his direction. His eyes widened in surprise, his blade pointing directly at her chest. “Ah, I see. Ye the captain’s whore,” he sneered as he advanced her on her. “Well, ye be my whore when we take over the ship.” This deepened her anger. “I’m no man’s whore,” she warned as she backed up toward the main mast, her sword still out protectively in front of her. “And if I was, you’d be the last man I’d take into my bed.” “Why you insolent wench,” he growled as he moved up in her direction. “Ye will pay for that remark once we get aboard my captain’s ship.” She cast a quick look down at his leg. The man’s leg was bent at an awkward angle, letting her know that with one swift kick, his knee would be shattered. “No way,” she snapped and kicked out, sweeping her leg under his. He went down in a howl of pain, grabbing his knee. Without a second thought, she stepped forward and thrust her blade through his heart. Surprise crossed his dirty features, his hands gripping blindly at the blade. “Ye are a nasty wench,” he gurgled, the blood spilling between his lips. “Very nasty,” she agreed as she placed her naked foot on his shoulder and withdrew her sword, the sick sucking sound rising through the air. Life hovered in his eyes for a few more minutes before finally leaving, the orbs completely glazing over. Over the cries of the dying and wounded, she heard Tristan’s voice on the quarterdeck rise again, almost as if he was in anguish. Rushing through the crowd, she bounded up the stairs and saw with a fear laden heart Tristan fighting several men at one time, his back against the railing. Swallowing her own fear, she charged forward, slashing at the invaders, their bodies falling to the side. More blood splashed on her, the fabric becoming stiff with it. Finally, Tristan was clear of his attackers. “Michaela,” he choked as he leaned against the railing, his chest heaving. “Are you all right?” The point of her sword relaxed as she rushed to him. “I’m all right, Tristan. Are you

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hurt?” She started searching him for any obvious signs of injury. Other than a few scratches, there weren’t any. He shook his head, his eyes shifting nervously. “Nay, I am not, my dear,” his hand descended on her shoulder as his gaze turned to her. “I want you to go below until tis’ safe to come out.” “But…” she protested. “No buts, Michaela. You have done what you set out to do and helped me. For that, I am eternally grateful but now I must concentrate on the task at hand and I cannot do that unless I know you are safe.” She sighed. “If that’s what you want Tristan…” “Michaela look out!” Tristan shouted and attempted to push her aside just as she heard the crack of a pistol behind her. Pain, hot and searing, ripped through her shoulder. She fell against him, her hands gripping his arms. “What happened, Tristan?” she questioned weakly. “You are all right, Michaela,“ he whispered as he held her in his arms, her shoulder feeling wet and slippery. “Am–am–I shot?” His eyes took on a grave tone. “Aye, you are but ‘tis only a flesh wound, nothing more,” he reassured her, his massive palm against the wound in order to staunch the flow of blood. “Good,” she said, the lightheadedness suddenly taking over. It felt as though she couldn’t keep her eyes open. The feeling washed over her like the waves at Coral Cave Beach, trying to take her into its murky depths. Try as she might, she couldn’t help but give into the nothingness. Tristan burst through his cabin door with the ship’s doctor in tow. “How bad is she hurt?” Charles Whitfield asked, wiping his bloody hands on a towel. “A musket ball ripped through her shoulder,” Tristan snapped as he laid her down on the bed. The melee was over with and Alhambre’s crew subdued quite well and the ship scuttled into the sea. Charles put on his glasses. Tearing the material apart on the shoulder, he exposed the wound. On the front side of her shoulder, there was nothing but on the back side, the edges were as black as soot. “I will need to probe this wound and find the musket ball before it causes grave infection.” “Do whatever you must,” he growled as he hovered protectively near her head, his heart thumping hard. She simply had to be well after this ordeal. “Michaela must live.” Charles cast him a dark look. “Why do you worry about her so? After all she is only warming your bed…” Before the wretched man could finish his words, Tristan had already ripped him from his chair and held him against the wall, his fury unleashed. “Never, in my presence, refer to the girl as a whore. She is no whore and when we reach the next port, I intend on making her my wife. Am I understood?” “I meant nothing by it, Captain Hamilton…” “Good. See that it stays that way,” Tristan released the man, allowing him to fall to the

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floor. “Now get busy taking care of my future wife.” Charles tipped his fingers as he rose from the floor. “Aye, Captain. Let me get my instruments.” Quick feet took Charles from the room. Tristan closed the door and sank down next to Michaela on the bed, his hand taking hers in a firm grip. “You will not leave me, would you, Michaela?” he murmured, hold her petal soft hand to his lips, dismissing the bloody smell clinging to it. “I love you too much to ever let you leave.” Tears wanted to mist his eyes but he refused to let them. One way to lose control of the crew was to show that he was weak in some way, allowing them to explore that chink in his armor. No, he ruled this ship with an iron hand and that was the only way to do it. The door opened again, revealing Charles’ thin wiry frame. In his hands he bore a tray of instruments partly clean, some cloth and a small dish of brandy. Behind him trailed his assistant, Jonathan Harte. “Put the bucket over there, Jonathan,” Charles ordered the younger man. He turned his attention to Michaela. “If you would leave, Captain, I will tend to her from here on in.” “No,” he snapped, rising from the bed. “I will stay here to make sure she is properly cared for.” “But I will…” “With me here, you will,” he stated in a tone brooking no argument. Charles nodded nervously, his spectacles nearly falling off his face. “Aye, that I will,” he said quickly as he moved to the bed and started unfastening her shirt. “What are you doing?” “Taking off her shirt. I cannot work on the wound properly with it on.” “Turn around and I will take it off for you. Even though she is unconscious, she will want her dignity preserved.” Both men nodded and turned their backs. Tristan removed the bloody shirt and flung it to the side. He took a breath, staring at her perfect breasts all the while his mind ran riot with fantasies. He well remembered the taste of the buds between his lips... Shaking himself back into the present, Tristan swathed her upper body in the sheet, exposing her shoulder for Charles. He rolled her to her left side. “You can work on her now.” Charles turned around, his eyes narrowing as he sat down on the bed next to her. Tristan took the other side, in case the doctor needed his assistance in holding her still. “Hand me my probe,” he ordered Jonathan. Tristan eyed the doctor suspiciously as the man used the silver cylindrical object, watching his every move. Not that the doctor had any evil intentions. He wanted to make sure he knew every nuance of Michaela’s condition. Charles pushed this way and that, eliciting moans from Michaela. “You are hurting her,” he snapped, his anxiety level rising far higher than it had on the deck. He was almost ready to throttle the man if he inflicted any more pain on Michaela. “Natural reaction of course,” Charles commented as he continued to probe. “I believe the musket ball is deep inside but I cannot get to it unless I make a larger incision.” “You will do whatever it takes to save her life but you will not injure her further,” he snapped, his heart pounding hard inside of her chest. “Have you nothing to dull it?” “No,“ Charles answered quickly, as he probed a bit further, her moans growing louder.

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“‘Tis too deep. There is nothing I can do without a larger incision.” “Do what you must,” he growled, holding Michaela so that Charles could get to the wound better. “If she does not live through this, I am holding you responsible,” his eyes narrowing, making sure that his words were not misinterpreted. “Am I understood?” Charles’ probe shook as the tip neared the injury. “Aye, Captain.” He dug deep into Michaela’s shoulder, urging more cries out of her. Tristan held her close to his body in an effort to take the pain away. “Shh, my dear, ‘twill be over soon,” he murmured against her head, feeling her body tense under his arms as the pain shot through her limbs. “Please, make it stop,” she cried limply, the fog of unconsciousness lifting from her head. “I can’t take anymore of the pain.” He saw the glittering knife in Charles’ hand, his heart sinking as the realization of what was about to happen hitting him like a stone. “It will be all over soon, my dear. I swear.” “Here is the culprit,” Charles announced as he held up a tiny black ball of metal between his bloody fingers. “With that out, she should not have any trouble from the wound.” Tristan cast a glance to the bed where Michaela lay under the sheets, pale and drawn. A thin sheen of sweat covered her forehead, a possible sign that fever had set in. “You have retrieved everything?” Charles nodded his dark head. “Including the piece of shirt that went in. That could have caused a nasty infection.” “You have done well,” Tristan remarked as he walked over to the bed and sat down, taking her hand in his. It was cold to the touch, the flesh damp and clammy. “Her life is spared.” “Perhaps,” Charles interjected as he stepped forward, “she would recover better if we stopped at one of the outlying islands. I would have access to plants…” Before Charles could finish, he stood up and grabbed the man’s arm, dragging him to a set of maps lying on the desk. “Tell me where to go.” She felt alternating hot and cold, her skin clammy. Where was she? Opening her eyes, she was back on Coral Cave Beach, the morning sun rising high over the dunes. Her heart leapt inside of her chest. She’d survived the night! Wow, what a dream! She’d dreamt she was aboard Tristan Hamilton’s ship, fighting pirates by his side. What a thrilling experience even if it was only a dream! Michaela leaned back on her hands, feeling the rough sand bubbling up between her fingers. She watched the golden orb slowly rise, feeling the warmth on her face. If she survived the night, why did she feel so terrible? Her head pounded and she felt weak, almost as if she were coming down with the flu or something. “Michaela.” Brady’s voice drifted over the wide expanse of sand, urging her to turn toward the sound. He stood there smiling to her right, his brown hair carefully sculpted in place, his cocoa colored eyes shining with a light of their own. “Brady? Why…how…” “I got it out of one of the sorority witches where you were,” he announced as he walked toward her, his arms out to receive her embrace. “I’m glad to see you’re alive.” “Me too,” she quickly got up from the sand and brushed the bits of remaining grit from her

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clothes. “Let’s go home,” she announced. “You’re right. I don’t have to prove anything to anyone.” “Except me.” She whirled around at the sound of Tristan’s voice, her jaw dropping. “Wh–what are you doing here?” “‘Tis no dream, Michaela. I am here, waiting and wanting you,” his arms stretched out toward her. “Come with me to be my loving wife.” Her heart skipped a beat as she stared at his tall form, her stare sweeping up and down him. He was dressed like the first moment they had met, the ivory shirt clinging across his wide, well muscled chest while the sleeves billowed out with the wind. Locks of auburn streaked hair whipped around his face, giving his skin a gentle caress with each passing wind. Dark breeches wound around those thighs she knew so well, ending in black knee boots. Nestled deep within his eyes was the fire of sexual wanting, penetrating her very pore, making her shiver. He was just too damned sexy and alluring for his own good. Michaela reluctantly ripped her gaze from Tristan, giving it to Brady. “Do you see him? Is he real?” Brady, in his typical fashion, sauntered over toward Tristan. “My, my, my, I dare say that he is real,” her best friend in the entire world answered, his fingers lightly touching Tristan’s loose fitting sleeve. “And very handsome.” Tristan’s face darkened, his hand going toward the hilt of his sword as Brady’s touch angered him. “Who is this man and what does he mean to you?” She rushed over to Tristan, laying a hand on his arm. “He is just a friend, I swear,” she urged, uncurling his digits from around the hilt. “There is nothing between us except friendship.” “I saw the way he looked at you,” Tristan insisted. “There was a look of pure love in those eyes...” “Brotherly love,” she said with a titter of a laugh, hoping to ease the situation. “That’s all.” He looked to Brady who had thankfully backed away to a safe distance. “Is this true?” “Certainly,” Brady answered in a serious tone, his voice still highly feminine. “I’ve never loved her any other way.” Tristan looked down to her, his fingers tilting her chin up to meet his scorching gaze. “Come back to me, Michaela.” “I want to…” “Michaela,” he murmured softly. Suddenly, everything began to blur, the morning colors becoming muddy…“Michaela,” she heard Tristan murmur again. Her eyelids were heavy and rimmed with gunk but she forced them open anyway. White fluttered over head, reminding her of the cotton sheets Mom used to hang outside in the summer time to dry on the line. Except this time, it wasn’t cotton. It was canvas, the type used for sailing ships of old. “Wh–where am I?” A face, reddened with anxiety, stared over hers. He had a bulbous nose and heavy jowls covered by thick sideburns. “Aye, you are away, milady,” the man murmured. “I worked for several hours on you to get the bullet out.” “Who are you?” she questioned through stiff lips. Despite the pain in her body, the worst was the dry thirst in her throat. “I am the ship’s doctor,” he answered quickly as he poured a small cup of water from a nearby pitcher, holding it gently to her lips to drink. “Ye gave us all a scare, especially the

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cap’n.” He looked up to a red-headed youth hovering nearby. “Tell ye cap’n that she’s awake.” “Aye, sir,” the man answered and promptly left. “Where are we?” She lifted her head slightly to survey her surroundings. There was a small dresser on the one side of the tent, apparently lugged from the ship. On the other side was a makeshift dressing table, complete with a mirror and a brush. Near her bed was a chest, the same one she had seen in Tristan’s quarters aboard the ship. No doubt it contained some things of hers. Before she could ask for him, Tristan entered the tent, standing at the opening. “Leave us,” he ordered, jerking his head to the side in gesture. “Aye, Cap’n,” the doctor said, tipping his fingers. He rose quickly and scurried from the tent. “How are you feeling my dear?” There was a gentle softness in his voice accompanying the stamp of concern on his face. “Better,” she croaked out, holding her hand out to him. He closed the distance quickly, sinking down onto the makeshift bed next to her. “Was I really shot?” He brought her knuckles to his lips, brushing a light kiss across them. “Aye, you were,” he murmured softly, his hand skimming the flesh of her face gently. “I thought I had nearly lost you.” Michaela tried to push up from the bed, succeeding in pulling the edges of her wound apart. “Ouch!” she cried, holding her hand over her shoulder. “Must be pretty damned bad,” she croaked. “I guess it didn’t hit anything vital.” “From what Charles told me, it was serious,” he answered, brushing the damp hair from her forehead. “You had a fever with that wound but it has since disappeared.” She stretched with her healthy arm. “I’m glad it’s gone because I’m starving.” Tristan snapped his fingers. One of the crew poked through the opening of the tent with a bowl full of something steamy. He took it from the proffered grubby hand. “Here is something to nourish your body.” Picking up a white block of what looked like fish, he held to her lips. “Eat.” “Ewww!” she cried as the salty, fishy smell hit her nose. “What in the flaming hell is this?” His concern turned to slight anger. “Fish,” Tristan answered angrily, dropping the piece of food back into the delicately carved wooden bowl. “It seems you are not hungry enough to eat.” She sat there for a minute in stunned silence. Here Tristan was trying to make sure that she had proper nourishment, tending to her every need and she was acting like a tantrum prone five-year-old. “I’m sorry, Tristan,” her normal hand stroked his arm. “I didn’t mean to act like a baby.” “But...” “No, Tristan, I was acting stupidly and I’m sorry. Here you are trying to make sure I’ve eaten and I’m acting like an idiot,” she answered, picking up a piece of warm fish and popping it into her mouth. His expression turned to one of surprise. “You never cease to amaze me, Michaela.” Her brows lifted. “How so?”

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“Well, most women that I know of do act childish but refuse to ask forgiveness for it.” Tristan paused as the devilish glow in his eyes deepened. “Also, none of them would ever think of taking a musket ball in the shoulder to keep me alive.” “There’s only one reason I did it, Tristan.” “What reason is that?” “I love you.” For the first time since she’d known she was in love with him, she felt solid in her convictions. Before, she vacillated back and forth between her emotions but now she knew exactly how she felt. Tristan’s hands gripped hers hard, the fish falling the floor with a soft splatter. “As I have fallen in love with you, Michaela Martin. Just as much as you would have willingly died for me, I would gladly die a thousand deaths for you.” With her uninjured arm, she drew him closer and plowed his lips with hers, urgent and hungry. She sensed his surprise as she plunged into his mouth, exploring the cavernous region, just as he had explored hers so often. For a moment, Tristan was content to let her play the aggressor, following time with each flicker of her tongue, dancing in time to a tune only they could hear. Just as she delved into the expansive pool of passion, Tristan broke away from her, keeping his lips just inches from her. “If I keep this up,” he whispered against her lips, his breath warm and inviting, “I will be having you right now when you should be resting and healing from your injury.” “What’s wrong with that?” she answered back, her hand winding around the back of his neck in order to pull him closer. Tristan put his hand over hers, stopping her ministrations. “No, my dear. I will not endanger your health with lovemaking no matter how dangerous it is to mine by not having you.” “Okay, Tristan, you win,” she said, letting him go reluctantly, the low throb in her shoulder growing with each minute. “But once I’m healed, you’re all mine.” “What a wanton wench I have created,” he laughed softly. “As you have said, I have won, so when you regain your strength, I am all yours to command.” She returned his mirth. “Mr. Hamilton, you have no idea what you are in for.”

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Chapter Eleven Days rolled by, each more beautiful than the last. Michaela slept for most of those days, regaining her strength and feeling guilty about doing so. Even when she had been sick at home, she still managed to get up and go despite the raging fever. Now she was acting like a regular lazy butt and barely bothered to do anything. She snickered. Of course, at home, she’d only had flu and had not been shot in the shoulder by an old fashioned pistol. Morning dawned, the first bits of sunshine streaming through the open flaps of the tent. She could only hear the murmurs of the men outside of the tent as they moved about, doing their morning routines Michaela rubbed her eyes, trying to recollect how long they had been on the island. Two, maybe three days perhaps? No, it had to be longer than that. Looking to her right, she saw Tristan sitting there asleep in the chair, his handsome face cradled by his folded knuckles, the soft snores emitting from his mouth. She smiled. It was such an endearing scene to see him that way, the ‘Black Hand’ of the seven seas, sitting next to her, playing nursemaid. Never in her wildest dreams had she ever imagined when she had started reading his legend that she would ever end up in his arms and in his bed. This was only the thing of fairy tales... He awoke with a jerk. “Michaela?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes quickly. “Are you all right?” “Never better, my love,” she answered, stretching and realizing that for the first time in days that, her shoulder didn’t hurt as much. “Can we walk about the island today?” The love blazing in his eye was evident as he stared at her, a hard unquenchable fire, the electricity between them burning. “Not today, my love. Perhaps in a few days when your strength has completely returned…” “It has, Tristan,” she reached out and touched his arm, “I’m very ready to spend a little time with you away from all of them.” She watched in indecision cross his face in waves. “As much as that is tempting me and no matter how mad I am to taste your body again, I would rather not risk your health at this moment,” he stated in a hard but not angry tone. Michaela relaxed a little. “Maybe you’re right,” she said, the low throbbing in her shoulder picking up in intensity. “I’m going to hold you to that promise in a day or two.” Tristan rose from his seat and sat next to her, picking up her hand and bringing it to his lips. “That will be one promise,” he said, nipping lightly at her knuckles, “I will be glad to fulfill.” ***** Night fell all around the camp, the waves lapping at the edge of the rocky beach. He watched the glowing torches with narrowed eyes, his thin lip curled into a sneer over his rotten teeth. What luck they had happened upon the Black Hand in this remote location. He leaned deeper in the shadows, propping himself against the rocks, taking the weight off his wooden stump of a leg. “What ye see cap’n?” “Bit o’ pretty fluff that’n fetch a great price in Jamaica,” Captain Jack McTeague, better known as ‘McTeague the Torturer,” whispered hoarsely. Several days before one of his men

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“accidentally” wandered into the camp seeking food and shelter before moving onto the mainland. He had seen the sleeping young woman, reporting her presence to McTeague the moment he had left. “The best house will pay dearly to git her.” “Aye,” Ernest agreed, hovering near his elbow. “She is might pretty indeed, Cap’n.” He paused. “When shall we take her?” “Not until the time is right,” he mumbled, not removing his eyes from the serene scene. Fires blazed near the tiny tent, the low murmurs of Hamilton’s men rumbling throughout the air. Light sprays rose up to the left, peppering the air with a light crash and salty tang. He stared hard at the canvas shelter set up to the right. Dim shadow figures cavorted lightly, kissing and embracing, almost enough to make his blood boil. The wench certainly had Hamilton in her clutches, proving her prowess to be very valuable, especially when he sold her to the best house in Jamaica. But, before then, he might have to taste of her fruit a bit… “We be awaitin’ till morning ta strike?” He growled low, his lips curling over the black stumps that had once been usable teeth. “We’lla strike went ta moment’s right,” he growled low, the broken bits of teeth scraping the inner skin of his lips. “Nota moment bafore.” With that, he pushed up from the low dense scrub of green shrubs, making sure that he wasn’t seen at all. Aye, the right moment will be coming soon… ***** Waves pounded against the rocks, lulling her from the depths of sleep, the sound menacing and angry. Was a storm brewing up? Opening her eyes, she could see a dense gray light filling the tent, indicating that morning may be up. Putting one hand on her shoulder, she rose gingerly, holding the edges of the shirt with the other. Swinging her legs over the makeshift bed, she looked up to see Tristan’s chair empty. Where had he gone? Her feet felt like lead, the throb in her shoulder steady and strong. Part of her wished she’d had some sort of painkiller but the sensible part told her that she’d need all her faculties to be in place and not dulled by narcotics. Slowly, she pushed forward and slipped out the edges of the tent. Ashen skies loomed over head as the dark clouds lined up at the edge of the horizon, the harsh streaks of lightning zooming down and electrifying the water. Tristan stood at the edge of the sea, staring at the coming storm, hands on his hips. Dark tendrils of auburn hair, flying free from the ragged strip of leather serving as a queue, danced around his head. From the way he shifted from foot to foot, this storm certainly made him nervous. Carefully, she stepped through the soft sand and reached his side quickly. “What’s wrong, Tristan?” He kept his handsome face pointed forward, the strong jaw line tense. “This is a large storm that may be heading our way,” he said gruffly, as if he didn’t want her to see his fear. “We will need to find a cave or other strong shelter for us before it starts bearing down.” She touched his arm and felt the fear radiating from him like a bright beacon. “It’s only a storm, Tristan and more than likely will blow over...” “It will not,” he growled low, continuing to stare at the looming clouds, his tenseness growing by the minute. “Storms such as these are deadly,” he turned away, lifting her chin with a soft hand. “I will not endanger your life for anything my dear.” His eyes brightened.

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“What are you doing out of your bed?” “I might ask you the same thing,” she purred sensuously, cupping her hand in hers. “You promised me a walk about the island.” “Aye, that I did,” he nodded, “but under the circumstances, we need to find our shelter first before we do any exploration of this island.” His suddenly gentle nature made her smile. “You’d better believe I’m going to collect on that rain check, Tristan.” Confusion slipped over his features, his arched brow lifting in question. “Rain check?” Michaela burst into a fit of laughter. “I’m sorry, Tristan. I keep forgetting where I am. A rain check,” she announced,” is sort of an I.O.U.” “What does this mean?” She slipped her arm around his waist and drew him close, snuggling into his warm chest. “It means you owe me a trip around this island and to spend a little time with you.” Tristan lifted her chin again so she could look deep into the fathomless depths of his eyes, the corner of his mouth turning up devilishly. “That is one rain check I will be glad to honor.” ***** The cave chosen as their shelter was huge. Strong stone loomed above them, the sharpened points of the stalactites hanging dangerously down. Stalagmites jutted up from the floor, looking just as lethal. Michaela took a deep breath as they ventured in, sighing with relief when she saw a small stone clearing with a roaring fire in the middle of it. “Watch your step, my dear,” Tristan warned as he clasped her hand tightly into his own, leading the way, followed by his men. “The rocks can look strong but can be loose when stepped on.” “I’ll be careful, “ she murmured as she treaded his path exactly as he blazed it, hearing the sound of water distantly dripping. Where did that come from? Once they reached the clearing, the men began to unfold blankets as well as cooking supplies. Outside, the storm raged intensely, the wind wild while the lightning rained destruction down on anything in its path. She shivered against the cold of the air, her body not only trembling because of it but also because of the storm. “What about your men on the ship? Will they be okay?” That question burned on her mind ever since their arrival here. Every day Tristan would send a detachment to watch the ship and all it carried, relieving the ones that were on the previous watch. “They have weathered much worse storms than this one,” he answered quietly as he watched his crew set about making the small clearing livable, at least until the storm was over. “My men are trained to know what to do.” “That’s good,” she murmured, her shivering intensifying. Something was wrong about being in this cave and she couldn’t quite understand why. “Wow, it’s cold in here.” Tristan quickly shrugged out of his vest, slipped it over her shoulders, and shouted for his coat. One of his men tossed him the dirty linen with a flourish. “Here you are, Michaela,” he said quietly as he wrapped it around her shoulders. “That should keep you warm,” he whispered as he wrapped his thick arms around her, “as well as this.” “I can think of a better way,” she said in hushed tones in his ear.

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“My, what a wanton wench I have created,” he smiled, “come with me.” “Where?” “Do you trust me?” She nodded. “Then follow me.” Tristan took her hand beneath the folds of material and led her away from the men toward a small opening to the left. “Aren’t you going to tell them where we’re going?” He stopped in his tracks, turning to her. Shards of lightning came through the cracks at the cave, raining down on him and making him appear ethereal. “They already know, my dear,“ his sensual smile deepened as he pulled her close, taking her into his arms. “No need to make a formal announcement.” “I...didn’t mean anything by it,” she stammered, the strong feel of his arms around her almost more than she could take. “I so much want to be alone with you.” His lips hovered mere fractions of an inch above hers, sending spirals of wild desire storming through her veins. “Your wish is my command,” he brushed her lips delicately with his own. “Tonight, every desire you have will be fulfilled.” He looked over to his men. “Bring me a torch.” Wordlessly, one of the crew carried over a torch and handed it to Tristan with a knowing wink. “Here ye are, Cap’n.” “Join the others. We will return when we are ready.” The crewman nodded. “Aye, Cap’n.” Taking her hand, Tristan headed down the narrow passage, holding the torch out in front of him. Dark stone greeted them, damp and clammy covered with moss in some spots. With her free hand, she held the edges of Tristan’s coat together, trying to avoid the nasty bits of scum. It wasn’t long before Tristan emerged into another cave, much smaller than the first, with less of the offensive rock formations of the first. Suddenly, her eyes widened. In the middle of the small stone clearing was a small fire with a bed roll next to it and a bottle of what was probably ale or wine. Her mouth spread into a smile as the slow burning embers of passion ignited into a full roaring flame, soaring up her limbs and consuming her completely. “You had this planned from the moment we had to seek shelter, didn’t you?” “‘Tis possible,” he answered as he bent down and picked her up into his arms and strode across the flat rock, laying her down on the soft blanket. “There is nothing I would not do for you,” he kissed her cheek softly and moved toward her lips, “including giving my own life.” “Oh, Tristan,” she whispered softly, her hands threading through the silky strands of his hair. “I don’t ever want to go back,” she confessed innocently, “because there’s nothing there for me.” “I want you with me forever, Michaela,” he asked gently as his hands untied the laces of her shirt and swept them aside. “I want you to be my wife.” This had been the moment she’d always dreamed about. Now it was finally here. “Oh, Tristan, I...” Suddenly, he let out a grunt and his body collapsed on top of hers. “Tristan? Tristan?” She tried rousing him to no avail. “Tristan!” she screamed into his ear but he didn’t move. “The blaggard canna not hear ye, wench,” echoed a menacing voice from the other side of the stone clearing.

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She looked over his shoulder to see Dangerous Jack McTeague standing there. Long black ragged hair and matching beard decorated his scarred face. An ebony patch covered one eye, giving him an even more ominous appearance. “What do you want?” she demanded, trying not to let onto the fear that they had killed Tristan storming through her system. McTeague shifted his weight from his good leg to his wooden one, his crutch scraping against the stone floor. “Why, we be a wantin’ ye, gel,” he sneered as two of his men lifted Tristan off her and threw his limp body aside. Quickly, she rushed to Tristan’s side and felt his neck. She let out a sigh of relief. His pulse was still there, not as strong as usual but still present. Fighting back the terror and tears, she searched frantically through his hair, looking for the wound they’d inflicted. It didn’t take her long. It was near his left temple and not very big but the blood kept oozing from it. “Why did you do this, you bastard?” She ripped the bottom hem of her shirt off and held it against the wound to keep the blood loss to a minimum. “Because ye will fetch a good price at one of the best houses in Jamaica,” he offered as his offensive lips curled into a sneer, his dirty fingers rubbing his chin. “Besides we need a little sport on ye ship before we get to the mainland.” “Stay away from me,” she warned, her fingers clutching into Tristan. Even though he had been knocked out cold, his very presence gave her the strength to try and fight these assholes. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.” “Oh, I know who I’ma dealin’ wid,” McTeague cackled, gesturing to the few men he’d brought with him. “Get her, men.” Several of his crew men rushed forward to grab her. She was too fast. Michaela dodged them but miscalculated her step. Slippery rocks brought her down, tearing a gash in her knees. Unfortunately, it gave them the opportunity to take a hold of her but she had something else in mind for them. Taking her elbow, she jabbed one man in the belly while she performed a spinning heel kick on another, sending him to the floor amid howls of pain. “You fools! You are being bested by a woman! Get her!” McTeague shouted, his voice echoing through the cavern. Another grabbed her by the waist but Michaela managed to get enough lift from the floor so she could kick another in the jaw. Elbowing the one that held her, she managed to break free when all of a sudden she had a severe pain rumble through her head, making her vision fuzzy. The last thing she could remember was the effect of falling and her only thought was: What happened? ***** Tristan awoke, feeling the stickiness of blood in his hair. Raising a hand, he felt the warm stickiness, only to find a pieces of linen against the wound. Rising from the stone floor, he sat up, waiting for the room to stop spinning. What happened? The last thing he could remember was laying Michaela down on the blanket and asked her to be his wife....wait a moment! At that point, a sharp pain rumbled through his head… “Cap’n!” he heard McGill shout, the sound pounding against his throbbing head. “Where are ye?” “I’m here!” he shouted, his eyes trying to adjust to the darkness. The fire had gone out, leaving nothing but dying embers that glowed in the dankness. “Michaela!” he shouted, his hands falling from his head and searching the ground. “Where are ye?” Struggling to his feet,

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he looked around him, unable to see through the darkness. “Tell me where you went so that I might come to you!” he shouted. Nothing came back to him except a dull echo of his own voice, a reverberation he did not want to hear. “We be almost thera, Cap’n!” McGill shouted. He turned toward the sound of the man’s voice and watched as the slow progression of the golden glow emerged through the passage. “Hurry, man! Michaela’s gone!” Anger and pain rumbled through him, making a dangerous combination. Finally the torch came through, revealing a little bit of the empty cavern. The fire had indeed died but what he saw around him made his blood boil with fury. Blankets had been kicked around, most of them gore filled as well as there being one peculiar bundle in the corner. He stalked over to it and kicked it viciously with a booted foot. It stirred with coughing and sputtering. “Who are you?” he shouted at the man, gripping him by the bloody edges of his shirt, yanking him upwards. “What have you done with my woman?” His fury thrummed through his limbs so hard that the man shook as well. The man’s lips spread into a vicious grin. “Ye Cap’n is gonna take her to Jamaica and sell her to ye brothel,” he coughed, the blood foaming through dirty lips. “She gonna fetch a high price.” Fury took hold of him. Taking the dagger out of his belt, he slit the man’s throat and dropped the body on the cold stone, hearing the last gasps of the man’s life slip away with the river of blood flowing from his neck. Tristan rose to his feet and stormed back to the passage opening. “I want all of you to fan out and look for any clues as to which way they may have gone.” “What if’n we donna find them, Cap’n?” McGill questioned as he trailed behind. “McTeague is behind this and rest assured, when I find him, I will not hesitate to kill him with my bare hands,” he snarled, snatching a torch from one of the men and heading down the passageway. “What’n we should do about the blaggard?” “Let him rot where he lays.” ***** A filmy haze covered her eyes as she struggled to open them. Where in the friggin’ hell was she? Her head pounded uncontrollably and her tongue felt as thick as it sometimes did when she and Brady tied one on. “There, there, miss,” cooed a soft female voice. Suddenly, she felt the coolness of water touch her face, forcing her eyes to finally focus. Moonlight streamed through the window, the storm clouds completely gone. The woman’s whose face hovered above her own had a dusky complexion. Warm brown eyes greeted hers, the edges crinkling with her smile. “Good. I thought ye Cap’n had killed you.” “Wh…where…am I?” She stared hard, narrowing her eyes, trying to place this woman. Multicolored fabric covered her head, twisted into some type of turban. “Aboard me husband’s ship,” she answered, bringing the cloth to Michaela’s head. “Wh...who is your husband?” she stuttered, the answer laying at the pit of her belly like a giant ball of lead. “Cap’n McTeague,” she answered quickly. “Me name is Cinnamon, if’n ye must

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know.” Michaela struggled to sit up from the bed but was stopped by the ropes tied to her wrists and ankles. “Why am I tied like this?” “The Cap’n thought it best,” Cinnamon answered as she rose from the bed and emptied more water into the basin. “You nearly kilt several of his’a men.” She turned. “Where did you learn to do that?” “In school,” she answered, slumping back onto the bed, silently praying for Tristan to come and find her. There was no telling what McTeague had in store for her. Cinnamon’s soft cocoa colored eyes widened. “School? What is that?” “A place to learn things.” “What kinda things?” “Reading, writing, math, science…” “Me husband say a woman should knaw how ta do one thing and one thing only." She swallowed the lump of fear forming in her throat. “What is that?” “How to make food and babies, thatsa it,” Cinnamon commented forlornly. “I know howta make food but da babies, me husband wants no part of.” Despite her fear, she was truly intrigued with this woman. “Why on earth are you married to him for? If he doesn’t want children with you, they why are you with him?” Cinnamon’s eyes grew glassy with tears. “Me father was a white plantation owner and me mother was a slave,” she confessed, setting the basin down on the table. “No one wanted me so when grew ta be a woman, dey sold me to da brothel. One day, me husband came to da brothel and saw me. Before I could ply me trade, he bought me from da brothel owner. Since then, I be his wife so ta speak.” The knot in her belly tightened. “I’m so sorry, Cinnamon,” she said, commiserating with the poor having to belong to that monster. “If you truly want children, there are ways…” “No,” she said, cutting off Michaela’s words. “Whenever I have a baby growing in me belly, me husband finds a way to make sure dat it is not born.” Tears the size of pearls fell from her eyes, staining her dark dress. “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you, Cinnamon,” she offered, straining against her bonds, rapidly trying to think of a ploy to get the woman to untie her. “Why don’t you release me and we can talk together–you know–woman to woman?” Cinnamon brushed away the tears. “No, me husband said…” “He’s not here and why should you listen to anything he says? He’s never married you in the typical sense and besides that, he bought you as he would an ox or a dog. You’re a human being with thoughts and feelings,” she conjectured, watching the indecision cross Cinnamon’s face in waves. “You shouldn’t be treated like this.” “But if’n I disobey him…” “Let me worry about that,” she answered tartly, feeling her empowerment return. “If we girls stick together, I’ll make sure that when Tristan comes for me, we’ll take you with us and help you find a new life somewhere.” She stared hard, curling her mouth into a smile. “Would you like that?” “Very much,” Cinnamon answered, stepping forward toward the ropes holding Michaela down. Before her captor could release her, the door to the tiny cabin flew open, making both of

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them jump. McTeague stood on the other side, his evil lips curling into a lecherous sneer. “Gonna free da little bird, were ye not?” “No, my lord, I was not—” Just as those words escaped Cinnamon’s mouth, McTeague’s hand across her cheek sent the slight girl spinning across the room. “Leave her alone you lousy fuck!” Michaela screamed. “Is that they only way you can feel good about your little prick? By beating up women?” She looked at Cinnamon who whimpered in the corner, drawing her legs up into a fetal position. McTeague turned on her. “So ye like it a little rough, do ye? I thought a little time with Hamilton would have burned it out of ye blood but I still see ye blood is still fiery,” he rubbed his chin. “I like that in me women.” “I’m not your woman nor am I Tristan’s woman,” she snapped back. “I’m my own woman.” “Not after I am through with ye,” he stumbled toward her, his grubby fingers trailing up her splayed leg. “Ye have soft skin,” he murmured, his lips becoming wet with spittle. “I like that in me women.” Her fury replaced her terror. How dare this man touch her? “Leave me alone, McTeague or else you’ll have a repeat performance of the cave.” His fingers dug under the hem of her breeches and ripped upwards, tearing the seam inch by inch, as if he was going to frighten her by taking off her pants. “Are ye scared now?” “It’s going to take a lot more than that to scare me, McTeague,” she snapped. Riiiiip! The material parted a little further. “Are ye scared now?” “There’s nothing you can do to frighten me.” His sneer deepened. “Would ye be willing to gamble that I can frighten ye?” ***** “Are ye sure, Cap’n that this is the best way to do this?” Tristan nodded, his heart thudding against the interior of his chest. If so much as one hair was harmed on Michaela, he was not going to stop at killing McTeague. What he had in mind was much worse. “The madam is an old acquaintance of mine and she will make sure that Michaela is unharmed.” “How will ye be sure, Cap’n?” McGill questioned for what seemed to be the hundredth time. “She will,” he answered quietly. What he failed to mention is that the madam at this particular house was his own sister. Since their fall in the noble circles, Ophelia Hamilton had fled to Jamaica and started her own house, making money on her own and refusing his help no matter how often he had tried. Since her arrival, her house had risen through the ranks and had become the best, visited by dignitaries and kings alike. If McTeague had planned on selling Michaela, there was no other house to go than Ophelia’s. McTeague knew Ophelia would pay top coin to get a woman as beautiful as Michaela. Fingers of pink filtered through the newly clear sky, stretching out far. His fury pounded at his temples as the boat rowed him ashore. If that bastard had harmed her in any way, he was going to dearly. The sea was a little on the choppy side and they rowed as fast as humanly possible so

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he could ask no more of them. His stare trained on the shore, watching it come a little more into reach. Once he had Michaela back in his arms, he was never letting her go.

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Chapter Twelve Michaela sat ramrod straight in the boat taking her to shore, her hands tied securely behind her back. Her hair, washed by Cinnamon, was neatly piled on her head with soft tendrils trailing down. The dress adorning her was made of gorgeous silk, a deep crimson. Ordinarily, she would have felt beautiful in it but not today. McTeague was taking her ashore to Port Royal in order to sell her to a brothel. She refused to look at him as he sat across from her in the boat, his lecherous eyes leering at her. Michaela shivered at the hated memories of his touch rose in her mind, making her want to puke. He was rough and uncouth as the hardness of his coarse fingers drove into her pussy. She had yelped in pain and he had taken that as moans of pleasure, thus only spurring him on further. Tears tried to work their ways into her eyes but she refused to let them. She’d been violated to hell and back but she wasn’t going to let that get to her. Her only objective now was to get back to Tristan. “Are ye thinking of last night?” McTeague cackled, leaning against his crutch, his crooked smile showing the stumps of black teeth in his mouth. She shivered again. The memory of his hot, nasty breath against her cheek as he murmured obscene phrases into her ear was almost more than she could bear. “The only thing I think about where you’re concerned is throwing up.” “Ye still have fight in ye,” he cackled, his thick belly shaking in time. “I like that. Perhaps I may not sell ye after all.” “I’d prefer to have sex with a stranger than you,” she retorted, glaring at her. “You make me sick.” Despite the movement of the boat, McTeague was able to lunge forward and strike her hard, his bulk rocking. Michaela recoiled with the blow, feeling her lip split and her teeth rattle. Pain soared up both sides of her face, making her head throb hard. “Gotta make yourself feel like a big man, huh?” she spat, the blood dripping down her chin. “I guess that’s what you have to do when you have a small prick.” “Shut your mouth, wench or you will have more of the same!” he shouted, slumping back into his seat, his thick chest heaving. “Did I touch a nerve?” she jabbed, deliberately baiting him even more. “Ohh, I’m scared now.” “Oh, you’lla be scared once I sell ye sweet arse to the brothel,” he sneered, his fat fingers tapping together lightly, his eyes half lidded. “I will make a handsome profit from your sale.” “At least it’ll keep me from your smelly ass,” she snapped, refusing to look at him anymore. She chose instead the beautiful Jamaican shoreline. Sprays of water rose up around the rocks, the birds flying in and out of the falling water droplets. Movement abounded on the wharf to the left of the serene scene, the men busying themselves emptying the small ships in the port. She held her head high as she stared at the serene scene, the fright nipping at her soul. What would she do if Tristan never found her? *****

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Michaela’s hands shook hard, despite the fact they were still tied together, while McTeague discussed the terms of the arrangement. “I’ll be taken’ fifty guineas for her,” he announced, his hand tapping his bulbous belly. “Well, that is a large price for such a girl,” the woman dressed in the deep crimson dress said, her elegant hand waving a rich fan at her face. “I do not think I have ever paid that much.” Michaela blocked out the rest of their bargaining, the throbbing in her head growing in intensity. How in the hell was she going to get out of this velvet prison? She looked around at the opulence before her. Gold velvet portieres decorated the windows while delicate gold and crimson wallpaper decorated the walls. Plush carpeting lay in the floor, a compliment to the blood red velvet furniture. It was a beautiful place and would have enjoyed it under better circumstances but not now. The only thing concerning her was how to get out of here. “Are ye gonna pay me price nor not?” The well dressed woman rose, her tanned skin flushed slightly. Her jet black hair was pulled into a tight chinon, decorated with precious gem encrusted pins. “Before I pay your price, I must examine the girl to make sure that she is worth the price.” McTeague’s brows knitted in confusion. “What sort of ye examination?” “Come, come, my good man,” the woman said sweetly, her fan picking up in pace. “Surely you know what I am talking about?” He continued to stare. The woman’s face contorted into a mask of disgust. “I will not pay for something that I am not sure is perfect. Now if you will step out into the foyer, I will take a look under the girl’s skirt to make sure that she is worth it.” Michaela felt the fear tear along her spine at the thought of this strange woman looking under her dress. How was she going to stop this? Just as that thought entered her head, she took a look at McTeague, whose eyes glistened lecherously. “Nay, I will stay while you do it.” “You will not!” the woman screamed adamantly. “Though this woman is about to become part of my house, I will have her dignity preserved.” “Nay.” The woman waved her hand. “Fine! Take her from her and leave me in peace! I have no desire to argue with you. I have plenty of other...” she trailed off, the sudden clink of coins filling the air. McTeague’s glare focused on the black velvet bag in her hand. “Just think, McTeague, this could be yours if you just leave me alone with her for a few moments.” “Give me the bag now and I will step out,” he compromised as he leaned on his crutch. “Otherwise, I stay.“ As if to accentuate his words, he let out a long blast of smelly gas. Michaela nearly puked when the smell hit her. Standing as stiff as a statue, the woman opened the bag and handed him a few coins. “Half now and half after I see her.” “Ye will be pleased with her,” McTeague sneered as he hobbled to the open door. “She bin a broke in properly.” “That’s good to know,” the woman said, trailing after him. “Do not come back in here until I call for you,” she said, slightly pushing him out the door. “It will only be a few moments.” With that, she slammed the gilt door in his face and locked it, the only entrance into the room. Her skin was flushed, her breathing labored.

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“Please don’t do this,” Michaela said in a low tone, trying to keep the fear from creeping into her voice. The woman said nothing as she glided over her. Sinking to her knees, the woman looked up at her. Strangely, those eyes were familiar, almost as if she’d known them before. “Say nothing and listen to me. Do not fight me and do everything I ask.” Suddenly, she felt an overwhelming placidness wash over her, those eyes calming the storm of fear inside of her. “Who are you?” The woman smiled. “You already know me, at least part of me.” “What do you mean?” “I do believe you have known the pleasure of my brother’s company, have you not?” Her eyes widened at the notion. “You’re Tristan’s sister?” She nodded. “Aye, that I am. My name is Ophelia Hamilton but that’s not important now,” Ophelia cast a nervous look to the door. “Lay back and pretend that I am examining you while we talk for I fear that that blaggard is now looking through the keyhole or under the door. “ Michaela lay back, pulling the gown only as far up as necessary to keep the ruse going. “Where’s Tristan?” she whispered low. “Very close,” Ophelia answered as she maneuvered her body in such a way that if anyone were looking through the keyhole, they would see nothing but Ophelia’s back. “He is waiting in the cove on the other side of the island.” Relief swept over her as well as the excitement of seeing him again. “Is he all right? I know that when McTeague took me, they hit him in the head.” Ophelia moved toward her head, as if she were probing Michaela’s body. “He is all right with the exception of missing you,” she answered in low tones. “I am to take you to him tonight, under the cover of darkness.” “Why not now?” she questioned, her heart aching to hold him again, confirming that he was indeed alive and had come for her. “He has plans for McTeague and does not wish for you to be around in harm’s way,” Ophelia said softly and stood up, holding her hand out. Michaela took it and stood herself. “There, you are finished,” she said smilingly, a small glint in her eyes .”Let me finish my business with McTeague then I will ready you to meet my brother again.” Ophelia touched a finger to her lips and walked over to the door, unlocking it with a flourish. Just as she had suspected, McTeague was bent down, his good eye against the key hole. “My, my, do you not trust me?” “I never trust women,” he grunted as he straightened up, his lips curling evilly. “Is she all I promised ye?” Ophelia nodded. “Aye, that she is,” she announced and flopped the bag of remaining coins into his outstretched hand. “I have taken the liberty of adding a few extra coins because of her perfection.” “Much thanks,” McTeague said, leering in at Michaela, his eyes darkening. “Would ye like to get some of this money back?” Michaela shuddered at his implication. “Nay, McTeague, this woman will not be ready for purchase for a few days and even then it might be longer,” Ophelia said, waving him away. “Perhaps on your next visit to Port Royal, she will be ready for you.”

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“Argh, she better be,” McTeague sneered, looking to her. For a minute, she thought he was going to start salivating like a dog. “I’ll be back soon, gel.” With that, he disappeared from the doorway, the tapping of his crutch against the floor becoming more and more distant with each moment. Once it was gone, Michaela slumped on the velvet couch, her body limp. “I thought for a minute...” “Think nothing of it, my dear, I would never let that offensive creature touch you, even if you did not belong to my brother,” Ophelia said as she sank onto the sofa across from her. Normally, that comment would have enraged her but considering the circumstances, she was glad she was considered belonging to another man. “Thank you so much for what you’ve done, Ophelia,” she sighed, her hands slowing their trembling considerably. “I’ll get to see Tristan again,” she sighed deeply, leaning against the rich velvet sofa. Ophelia urged her to her feet gently. “Not in this condition you will not,” she mused quietly. “You will meet him like a queen.” ***** Michaela stared out of the window of the carriage watching the beauty of the night unfold. Thin wispy clouds trailed across the sky like gray bits of material, leaving only minute tails. The moon peeped out a bit, bathing the world in a ghostly pale light. Twigs snapped under the carriage wheels as it hurried along the beaten path, the horses hurrying along as fast as possible. “We will be there in a moment, my dear,” Ophelia said, patting her hand. Her heart slammed against the inner wall of her chest as the excitement grew. “I can’t wait to see him,” she whispered, her hands clenching tightly within the folds of her elegant gown. After Ophelia whisked her away from the salon, she was taken and given a hot bath. When that was finished, several of the girls had done her hair and added a slight bit of makeup to her face. She smirked. The makeup they had used was nothing more than a bit of kohl and rouge but it worked. As they had finished dressing her in the elegant silken red gown she was wearing, some of them huddled in the corner, whispering about Tristan. She had pretended not to hear but she couldn’t help it. They had said she was a very lucky woman because of Tristan’s skill in bed. Apparently, he had availed himself of his sister’s brothel on more than one occasion. She stiffened, sitting up straight, her mind curling around those comments. It doesn’t matter, she told herself, that was before he met you. Still, that left several unanswered questions. Would Tristan seek out other women when he was away from her? Was she going to be the only woman ever sharing his bed? “Is something the matter, my dear?” Ophelia questioned, full of concern with her sudden movements. “No...nothing...is the matter,” she said stiffly, not really wanted to delve into intimate conversation with this woman. Even though Ophelia was Tristan’s sister, she still didn’t know her. Ophelia let out a small titter of laughter. “I think I know what worries you.” “I swear nothing is bothering me...” “Don’t lie to me, Michaela,” Ophelia instructed. “One of the girls told me about the conversation they had about Tristan and knew that you had heard what was said.”

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“I’m okay with that, Ophelia,” she insisted. “That was before he met...before I stumbled onto his ship.” She quickly corrected herself because there was no way Ophelia would buy the story of the fog sweeping her back in time. “No, you are not. I can feel the confusion within you. You think because my brother has used my house before that he will do so again once you become his wife.” Her eyes widened. “How did you know that he had asked me to marry him?” “My brother and I are very close and share many things,” Ophelia confessed, her eyes misting over. “He saved me from some of the savage beatings my father would rain down upon me.” “Why did your father beat you?” Though she had known Ophelia only a short time, she seemed like a very gentle woman. “Because he accused me always of being a harlot, simply because I had many suitors,” Ophelia said. “For a while, I would fight him on the subject but in the end, it was easier to become what he thought me to be.” She sat back, digesting the bits of Ophelia’s sad life. “What sort of man would do that to his own daughter?” “A drunkard,” Ophelia commented. “My father was once the glorious Earl of Hampton, a very powerful man. So powerful in fact, he delighted in crushing the lives of others that crossed him.” Michaela listened intently, her heart breaking for this woman. According to history, the Earl of Hampton had killed his wife and had driven Tristan away, forcing him into another life. She had read little about Ophelia since there was a bare mention of her. Perhaps the Earl had planned that as well. “What happened to bring you to Port Royal?” “I simply left the old man in England and sailed here. Since he had not given me any money nor did I want any of his, I saved what I could from my ‘suitors’. Once I was here, I became determined to make my own way so I opened my own house.” “Wow! That takes come courage…” “Courage nothing,” she stated in a slightly firmer tone. “It was out of necessity. Tristan has tried to help me with money throughout the years but I refused it all. I wanted something that was mine that I have built from the ground up.” The corner of her lips curled a little bit, showing a bit of the pride Ophelia felt. “Kings and Princes have come to my house and some have even shared my bed.” She dabbed at her eyes a bit. “Now, let us get back to your worries.” Michaela looked straight ahead. “I have no worries.” “You worry that Tristan will continue to seek other women’s beds when he is not at your side, do you not?” “I—” she shut her mouth for a minute, waiting for the right words to come out. “No need to say, Michaela for I can read it on your face, even in this dim light.” She leaned close to Michaela. “I know Tristan even better that he knows himself at times and I can truly tell you that he desires no other woman but you.” Michaela stared her hands as they fidgeted uneasily in her lap. “A man like Tristan is used to not answering to anybody for what he does and I can hardly expect him to change…” Ophelia lifted her chin. “I can assure you that you have already changed him.” “What do you mean?”

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“Tristan is not himself but that is in a good way. He knows now that it is possible to love one woman…” “But what about the woman whose portrait I saw in the locket?” She always had questions about that woman and perhaps now, she was finally going to get the answers. “Who is she to Tristan?” Ophelia let out a long, resigned sigh. “That was Tristan’s first love. They were supposed to have wed but just before he was forced to go to sea, he discovered her disdain for men. After that, he vowed never to let anyone touch his heart again.” “Then why did this woman ever agree to marry him?” “My brother had paid her father handsomely for her,” Ophelia informed her. “Priscilla had no choice in the matter. She was the daughter of a lowly nobleman and the prospect of marrying a future Earl was the ambition of her father. “ “She could have said no.” “You must understand our society, my dear. One does not say no to a father’s desires for a good marriage.” She sighed. “In the end, Priscilla hung herself the day of her wedding because she could not be with her ‘love’.” Michaela fiddled with the lace at the end of her sleeve, her mind turning on what Ophelia told her. Now she finally understood. Tristan had been spurned by his first love, only to discover she was into girls and wanted nothing to do with him. From what she gleaned from the conversation, Tristan had tried to bury Priscilla’s memory and never trusted another woman. “So you are saying that Tristan would be true to me no matter what?” “Aye that is what I am saying, Michaela. You have repaired his broken heart. Once you have it, you have it forever.” The carriage lurched forward as the horses picked up their pace through the dank night, the slight fog dancing on the wind. They rode on in silence for the rest of the journey, her mind wrapped around Ophelia’s words. Was everything she said true? Black trees lined a curve in the yawning road before them. Dust rose from the quick feet of the horses, making a small clouds as they moved. It seemed only moments that the wonderful salty tang of the sea assailed the air around them, making her heart pound excitedly. Tristan was close! They moved around another corner, the ocean smell becoming stronger. Minute by minute, they rode hard around the point of the cove, the air split by the crack of the whip. Come on, she urged the horses silently, I need to see Tristan. Suddenly, the carriage ground to a halt, nearly throwing both women the floor. “My Lord,” Ophelia exclaimed, “I will simply have to dock that driver for nearly killing us.” Before Michaela could say anything, the door was nearly ripped off its hinges courtesy of Tristan. “Michaela!” he exclaimed, tearing her from the carriage, smothering her with his hot scorching kiss. “Finally, I am holding you in my arms again.” She was breathless with the same sentiment. “I’m so glad you’re all right,” she confessed, her arms traveling all over his body, reassuring herself that he was truly here. “I can’t tell you how much you’ve occupied my mind while I’ve been away from you.” “That bastard is going to pay for what he has done,” Tristan breathed against her, his arms wrapped around her tightly. “Once I catch him…” She looked up. “I thought you had,” she said, confused by his words. “I thought that

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was the reason that you wanted Ophelia to wait until now to bring me to you.” He pulled away, gazing deep into her eyes. “McTeague slipped through my fingers but I did manage to capture one of his men so that will give me the direction he went to.” His hands cupped her face tighter. “I swear by all that’s holy, I will burn him and his wretched ship into the water.” She embraced him hard. “It doesn’t matter whether you catch him or not, Tristan,” Michaela said, gripping him tighter. “All that matters is that you’re here now…” she trailed off. Her unshed tears suddenly streamed down her face, the wall of strength beginning to crumble. Strangely, with Tristan, she felt safe and sheltered, as though nothing could ever touch her again. “Shh, my love, nothing will ever hurt you while you are at my side,” he held her tightly, stroking her hair. “I know that he was brutal to you and he will pay for his crime. Before I am through with him, he will know what real pain is.” He looked up to the carriage. “Ophelia, how can I ever repay you for your help?” She heard a small titter of gentle laughter from Ophelia’s lips. “Make her your wife and provide me with some nieces and nephews that I can spoil rotten.” His embrace on her tightened. “That, my dear sister, is one promise I intend to keep.” ***** Michaela trembled in Tristan’s arms as he carried her down the stairs to his cabin, his strong reassuring arms around her. “There, there, my dear I am here and I am never leaving your side again.” She snuggled deeper into his neck, his deep masculine smell affecting her senses, making her feel safe. “I’m never leaving yours either, Tristan. Nothing will ever take me away from you.” Tristan strode through the cabin with a flourish and kicked the door closed behind him. He laid her down on the bed gently and knelt next to it, taking her hand in his. “I want you to know that I have come to a decision.” “What decision is that?” “I have decided that I need to retire from the life of piracy. I have more than enough money to start a life somewhere and I want you there by my side as my wife.” Her brows knitted in confusion. “Why the sudden change? I thought you loved the sea?” A sensual smile curved his lips. “The sea was a comfortable mistress for a while but after a while, she became too greedy. There is only room for one woman in my life,” his finger graced the side of her cheek, sending wild spirals of desire racing through her. “And that woman is you.” She was utterly stunned. “But are you sure this is what you want?” “Aye.” Michaela looked away for a minute, still trying to digest the information. Could he give up the sea that easily? “Tristan, as much as I love you, I don’t want you to marry me then in a few years disappear because you yearn for your first mistress.” Tristan turned her head to face him, his eyes shining deeply. “That would never happen, Michaela because she pales in comparison to you. Nay, I am done with the sea, or will be once I hunt down McTeague and hang his sorry carcass from the yardarm of his ship.”

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“Just let him go, Tristan—” “Nay, I will not let him go!” his eyes turned dark. “After what he has done to you, why are you so willing to keep him from tasting my wrath?” She laid a hand on his arm. “Because it doesn’t matter. All that matters to me is that I’m with you now. You’re here and I’m here. Let’s start a life over somewhere.” Suddenly, she realized the yearning she’d been feeling here and there to return to her own time was no longer there. It was almost if she belonged here and not the twenty first century. She blinked hard. Was it possible that she finally belonged somewhere? He kissed her forehead hard. “We will my love,” he said lovingly, touching her belly lightly. “Where I will be able to hold you at night, feeling our children grown inside of you then lie beside you in a graveyard for all eternity when our days are over. That much I promise you. But I must do this one thing before I can commit to that life.” She knew that he was not going to back down from this challenge. “Do what you must but keep your promise to me, “ she begged in the dim shadows of the night. His smile returned. “I would not have it any other way.”

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Chapter Thirteen Shouting resounded through the air around her, jerking her from the sound sleep she’d found next to Tristan. Opening her eyes, she saw he wasn’t next to her. Where would he have gone? Leaping from the bed and wrapping the sheet around her, she crept to the window, listening to the words floating through. “Tell me where your captain is going?” Tristan demanded, his voice loud and angry. She winced. She could only imagine what Tristan was doing to get his information out of the man. “I will never tell ye,” the captured man spat. Cracks of a whip surrounded her, making her jump. Was Tristan going to whip this man to death in order to get his information. “Tell me or I will whip it out of you.” “Nay, I will not.” She heard it again, the fright building up in her. Tristan could be brutal when necessary but she’d never heard the venomous hatred in his voice like this before. No, she had to go on deck and keep him from killing the man. With the speed of summer lightning, she tore off the sheet and dressed furiously as the beat of her heart sped up. This man’s life was in her hands now and she was the only one who had the power to save it. “Tristan!” He whipped around when he heard Michaela’s voice. She stood at the stairs of his cabin, the golden tipped tendrils flying out around her face. Her skin had the blossom of rosy color, still flush from the long night of lovemaking. “Go back to my cabin and wait for me there,” he ordered. The last thing he wanted her to see was his ruthless side coming out. She stormed over to him, the swath of material flapping around her well formed legs, reminding him of when they were wrapped around his neck as he tasted a little of her succulent fruit. “This has to stop,” she demanded. “This isn’t anyway to get what you want.” Normally, he was amused with her little show of power but now it only provoked him more. “What would you know of my methods? They have worked long before you arrived and will continue to do so long afterwards.” He nodded to his second mate. “Continue with the whipping until he chooses to talk.” Turning, he gripped Michaela by the arm and dragged her away from the chilling scene. “Why do you deliberately provoke me, my love?” he whispered close to her ear, hoping to make her understand the gravity of the situation. She tore her slender limb from his hand. “Why are you pursuing McTeague, Tristan? So what, he molested me a little bit but that’s nothing somebody needs to die over!” His hands gripped her arms, hold her in a vise. “He has besmirched your honor and I am seeking retribution for this travesty,” he gazed deep into her eyes. “Would you not do the same for me if the tables were turned?” She turned away, unable to look him straight in the eyes. Yes, she would go to the ends

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of the earth to make sure justice would have been met, no matter what form it took. “That’s not the point, Tristan! You could take him back to Port Royal for trial...” His laughter rang out on the ship making her angrier. “Are you that naive, Michaela, to think I, scourge of the seven seas, to seek a trial in Port Royal for one of my own kind? I would be the one clapped in irons, not McTeague’s man!” Tristan’s condescending tone irritated her more than a touch. “In my day, that’s how we’d do things so that’s what I’m going by,” she answered tersely. “What do you intend to do with him once you have your information?” His thick brows knitted together tersely, the crevice between them becoming deeper. “‘Tis my concern, Michaela, not yours.” He spun on his heel. “Go below deck.” Oh, he did not just dismiss her! Taking a furious hand, she spun him around to face her. “Contrary to what you think, Tristan, I’m not going to be treated like some little whore off the streets you can order around! Now, you will tell me what you’re going to do to him or I swear, I’ll make you so miserable that you’ll wish I’d never set foot on this ship.” One brow lifted. “Is that a threat?” “Take it as you wish,” she spun around, dismissing him. “Think about what I’ve said.” She felt his hot stare burn through her back as the men stood around her, their jaws slack. Let them look. She didn’t give a damn what they thought. Tristan was not going to treat her like this… Before she could finish her train of thought, Michaela felt herself swept off her feet, narrowly close to the edge of the ship. “Put me down, Tristan!” she demanded, her fist beating against Tristan’s back as he carried her toward the stairs leading to his cabin. He said nothing as he covered the distance with several long strides. Storming down the stairs, the hard sounds of his heels striking the thick treads resounded through the bowels of the ship, the men there staring in shock. At this door, he viciously kicked it open, the jamb splintering slightly. “Put me down!” she cried, her fury at an all time high. “As you wish,” he spat out, dumping her on the floor. “You know what strikes me so damned funny,” she sneered, staring at his splayed form, his arms crossed over each other. “What is that?” “You claim to love me,” she rose from the floor and backed away from him toward the window,” yet you treat me like shit.” Tears formed. “I thought when you said you loved me, you meant it.” His expression softened. Without a word, he turned and closed the door, locking it as best he could with the broken door frame. “I do love you, Michaela.” “Then why don’t you treat me like a woman instead of a possession?” “I do—” She cut him off, the tears flowing like a river down her face. “No, Tristan, you treat me like something you won in a poker game or that I’m some sort of payoff or a debt.” Michaela took his hand and stared deep into the amber depths of his eyes. “I want to be with you of my own free will. There is nothing chaining me to you except love.” Tristan’s finger lifted her chin up. “I did not mean to treat you that way, my love but you must remember that I have to keep order in front of my men. When you act this way, it

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forces me to become a tyrant because if I do not, then I will lose all respect on this ship and there will be mutiny. Do you not understand that what would happen if a riot breaks out?” She shook her head. “‘Tis best that I do not describe it for you but I will say that several of my men would love to get their hands on your beautiful body.” “I’m sorry, Tristan but please don’t do that again,” she whispered, his head bent toward her lips, just inches from kissing. “I won’t be treated that way.” “What if we strike a bargain?” his lips graced her cheeks with feathery kiss. “Do what I tell you in front of my men and in private, I will be all yours to command.” “That does have tempting invitation,” she murmured, his hands settling on her waist where they proceeded to unlace her gown. “Anything I want?” “Anything your heart desires,” he whispered against the nape of her neck, the hair cool on her exposed skin. “Good,” her arms wound around his neck. “I have just the thing in mind.” Sharp clangs of the bell drew her from the light sleep she’d entered after an extensive few hours of sex with Tristan. What time was it? Michaela blinked hard, noticing that night was beginning to fall around the ship, the sky turning from a bright blue to a deep navy, the stars twinkling in a completely clear sky. The sea had taken on a deep gray, highlighted with shards of the new moon. She yawned and stretched, her body pleasantly sore. How in the world was Tristan able to have sex that many times? Rising, she dressed in the gorgeous gown and left the cabin, walking slowly because her thighs were still weak. She heard the chatter on the upper deck as the hands kept the ship sailing. Ruffles of canvas filled the air as the sails captured the wind, the ship keeping its course. When she set a foot on deck, there was no sign of Tristan. Where was he? “If ye is look for the Cap’n, miss, he be on the aft quarterdeck,” said a grubby looking man before her, his face tattooed with some sort of strange symbols, his dark skin belying his heritage. He looked as though he hailed from Jamaica or Virgin Islands. “Than...thank you,” she muttered, turning toward Tristan’s direction. What she saw made her hold her breath. Tristan sat on the railing, his left leg up on it, crooked up toward his chest. The edges of his shirt rippled in the breeze, revealing his chiseled chest. His stare concentrated out to the sea, the look of pure contentment on his golden light bathed face. She stopped, her heart pounding while her mind whirled. Was his life something she was prepared to ask him to give up? Almost as if he sensed her presence, Tristan turned and stared at her. A sensual smile spread on his lips as he opened his arms to her. Excitedly, she ran to them, burying herself in their warmth. “I love you, Tristan but I don’t want you to give up something you love.” He tilted her face up. “What do you mean?” “I know how much you love the sea and well...” she trailed off. “I don’t want you to hate me later for asking you to give it up.” Tristan chuckled slightly, holding her tightly. “If you would know the truth, I was going to settle somewhere and give up the sea even if you had not happened along.” “What made you decide that?” “At a certain point in a man’s life, he yearns for something more,” he confessed, “a

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home and children.” She laughed slightly at his ideas. Imagine, a pirate becoming a family man! “I think you’ll need some help with that,” she commented, trying to ignore the one nagging thought in her mind. “Where would you like to settle?” “Anywhere with you.” Her heart thumped uneasily in her chest despite the excitement she felt. The question was too much to ignore. “If I ask you something, Tristan, would you tell me the truth?” “Aye, I would,” he shifted, possibly sensing what she was about to ask. “What information did you get out of McTeague’s man?” “Where McTeague was going,” he answered plainly, taking a deep breath. “I intend to follow him and burn his ship into the sea.” She started shaking. “Where is McTeague going?” “To the New World.” “And what of his man?” “Please do not ask me that,” Tristan whispered against her hair, his hold tightening. She shivered against him, already knowing the answer. Piracy was not the life for delicacy. More than likely, Tristan killed him and threw his body overboard somewhere along the way. “Where to the New World is he going?” “Carolina,” he answered strongly. “I will follow him there and destroy him for what he has done to you.” “Please don’t go, Tristan,” she begged, her tears beginning to flow again. “Leave him alone.” Her heart pounded out of control. This was her one chance to save him and she wasn’t going to blow it for anything. “No, I cannot, Michaela.” “Why?” “McTeague has crossed my path one too many times and I have let him go in that regard.” She turned her face up to meet his and became frightened of what she saw. It as almost as if Tristan was possessed, bent on this weird trip for revenge. “Why not let him go now? It’s in the past...” His hands cupped her face tenderly. “No, Michaela, it is not in the past for me. That filthy maggot has dared to touch you and now he must pay the price.” Terror gripped her, forcing her to move away from him so that he would understand her words. “You can’t go, Tristan.” His brow lifted. “Why not?” Perhaps now was time to tell him the truth. “You are going to die there, Tristan.” He shifted from the railing and strode toward her, his hands gripping her arms tightly. “What do you mean?” She pulled away and turned to the railing, gazing out into the black sea. “On June twelfth of this year, your ship will be scuttled on rocks and plundered for its valuables. When you go to Mystic Harbor, the lighthouse keeper will dim the light and the townspeople will erect another false light in the distance, beckoning you to the rocks...” she trailed off, the tears falling in a torrent. “Your ship will come into the harbor and smash against the rocks at high tide. Your… your…last words were a curse on the town,” she choked out, lowering her head

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to avoid his stare. “Anyone caught on Coral Cave Beach the night of the anniversary would die.” His hands, warm and experienced, slipped over her shoulders. “How do you know all of this?” “Remember that I am from the future, Tristan, as much as you don’t want to believe it,” tears slipped from her face and disappeared into the black water below, becoming one with the sea. “I was out on the beach that night and the fog brought me to you.” Tristan let her words sink in, his heart knowing it to be true. How else would it explain the ways she had kept him from getting killed and allowing him to live? At first, he had thought her to be mad but know he knew that she was not. “Do you have any desire to return to your own time, my love?” She whirled around, the loose tendrils of her hair flying around her angelic face. “What do you mean?” He allowed a smile to slid over his lips. “For as much as you worry about tearing me from the sea, I concern myself with you. Would you be as happy with me instead of returning to the time in which you were born?” Instant answers masked her face. “There is no where I want to be except with you, Tristan so that’s why I’m begging you to let McTeague go. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, no matter time period it is.” Her hand descended on his arm, making his groin harden. “My life is with you.” He was torn in half. Though he was touched by her words, he knew that revenge was his to be had, no matter what the consequences. Still, Michaela had given him all the information that he needed to know in order to keep from falling into the town’s trap. “As I would you, my love but that does not free my from my vow of revenge.” “What good is revenge when you’re frigging dead and I’m all alone, Tristan?” she retorted angrily, the rosy color of fury rising to her cheeks. “My love has to mean more to you than vengeance.” “Your loves does, my dear but this is something I must do,” he answered. The truth was that McTeague would eventually come looking for them to finish what he had started and do God only knows what to Michaela once he was dead. Nay, that was something he would not stand for a second time. “For both of us.” She became rigid in his arms, the tears ceasing to fall. “No matter what you tell me, Tristan, I won’t ever understand this stupid chivalry thing with you. Just let him alone…” “No,” he answered tersely, wishing there was some way to make her understand the gravity of the situation without frightening her. “I am going to chase that bastard to the ends of the earth if I must until I kill him.” Michaela jerked away from him, the hurt expression on her face almost more than he could bear. “Then you’re going to have to do it without me, Tristan,” her stared remained trained out into the inky waters of the sea. “I’m not going to sit idly by and watch you die a second time.” He was confused. “Of what do you speak, my love? What is this second time?” Her spine stiffened as she turned her back on him. “I’ve ready your legend so many times that I could almost see how the end played out in my mind, almost as it was a movie.”

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She spun around, her eyes glaring and watery with emotion. “If you want to know the truth, I fell in love with you before I even knew you, Tristan and your real death haunted me. It put me through a lot of emotional pain and now that I have the chance to save you, I’m going to.” That confession left her lips before she was entirely ready for it to. Ever since she’d been a young girl, Tristan’s exploits always kept her going, bringing her ever closer to him. At the passage concerning his death, she’d always cried, her heart breaking for a historical figure she’d never met nor was likely to. Yet, somehow, she felt close to him. It wasn’t until college, that she’d stopped brooding on the anniversary of his death, accepting it as a part of life. Now, with him in front of her, this was her chance to change their future together. “Do you understand what I mean now?” Tristan nodded. “Aye, I do understand but this is something I must do, Michaela. Do not ask me to be less than I am.” With those words hanging in the air, she walked away from him and headed back toward his cabin, the snores of sleeping men accompanying her. Tears threatened her eyes but she held them back. If Tristan wanted to die, he was going to have to do it by himself. She wanted no part of it. ***** Tristan’s snores broke the mild creaking of wood as the ship continued to sail on, the slight rocking motion more comfortable to her now than it had ever been. She definitely was going to miss this. Picking up Tristan’s arm, she slid out from under his touch and from the bed silently. The last thing she wanted was for him to wake up and stop her from fleeing the ship. She dressed quickly, trying to avoid answering the myriad of questions whirling through her mind. How was she going to get back to Jamaica? By the small rowboat, it would take days and she really had no knowledge of the sea. She could try to con one of the men into taking her but most of them were fiercely loyal to Tristan so that was definitely out. Then came the question of food and water. She could take plenty with her but what would happen if she ran out? Starving to death in the middle of the ocean was not what she had in mind. Slipping Tristan’s old shirt and breeches on, she belted it with a small leather strip and attached a short dagger to it. Taking her hair, she wound it up, tying it with another leather strip. There, she felt a little better, less hampered by the long dress that Ophelia had given her. Michaela turned to leave, casting one last look at Tristan. Moonlight bathed his back in a silvery light, highlighting the planes of muscles in his shoulder. Oh, how she could remember her hands running down that magnificent bit of flesh as he plunged deep inside of her... She bit her lip, forcing herself to forget those memories. Her pussy throbbed hard every time she thought about the time they did have sex, each encounter just as passionate as the last. Michaela shook her head. If she didn’t leave now, she was never going to leave. Putting her hand on the cold knob, she turned it quietly, the breath catching in her chest as she silently prayed the door wouldn’t emit even the smallest squeak. It opened quietly and she exited, continuing to hold it. Gingerly, she closed it, letting out her breath once it was done.

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Her heart rattled her ribcage as the fear stormed through her. Was she going to be able to go through this? Yes, she had to for her sanity. “You’ve got to help me, McGill,” she pleaded as the faint specks of the arriving dawn started to peek over the horizon. “I have to get out of here.” His grizzled brow rose. “Why?” “It’s long and complicated,” she said exasperated by the situation. “I don’t have time to explain it. All I can tell you is that I need to get out of here.” McGill leaned on the railing, chewing on the end of a pipe, regarding her suspiciously. “The Cap’n has been good to ye and now ye want to leave him?” “I’ve told you, it’s complicated, McGill,” she repeated. “Tristan is sailing to his death and I’m not going to stand around and watch him die.” “Are you in love with Cap’n Hamilton?” “What does this have to do with anything?” “Everything,” he surmised, shifting his weight from foot to foot, “Ye be the Cap’n woman and ye need to stay by his side,” McGill answered pathetically. “I cannot help ye.” “Would everyone stop saying that!” she cried, her hands flying up. “I don’t belong to anyone except myself.” “That is where you are wrong, Michaela.” Tristan’s voice sailed over her shoulder, making her tremble hard. She turned and saw him leaning against the mast, his arms folded, the edges of his shirt blowing in the breeze. “I’m not a possession, Tristan.” “That you are not,” he said, waving a hand to McGill who tactfully moved away. “What you are is the woman I love and our souls are bound together,” he murmured as he walked toward her, ignoring the men bustling around the deck, oblivious to their presence. “You belong to me just as much as I belong to you.” His hands gripped her upper arms and pulled her toward him, the heat from his body seeping through her shirt. “Please, Tristan, just leave McTeague alone. He’s not worth it.” He tilted her head up. “Aye, but you are. McTeague will pay for what he has done to you.” She tried to push away from him but he was too strong. “Let me go, Tristan. I’ll just take a small boat and leave...” “No, Michaela. You know as well as I that you are too far from any known land and really have no skill to sail at sea. You would die out there,” his embrace tightened, the sound of his steady heartbeat filling her head. “I will not have that.” Michaela could say nothing because Tristan’s tide of reasoning was too strong. She would most certainly die out there, alone more than likely and she wasn’t ready for that at all. The only place she ever wanted to die was in Tristan’s arms and perhaps this was the way it was meant to be after all. “Come, my dear, let us return to my cabin,” he whispered against the top of her head, his hands stroking her hair. “We can talk more privately there.” “I suppose so,” she sighed, as a feeling of strange relief washed over her. “There’s really nothing to talk about anymore, Tristan.” He slipped his arms under her and lifted her body as if it weighed nothing. “I was not

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Chapter Fourteen Days sped by, the date of the twelfth approaching and making her heart sink. There was nothing Michaela could to do dissuade Tristan from his set path. They’d fought endlessly about it, the entire situation pushing her farther and farther away from him. Idly, she sat by the window, staring out into the gray morning. The water was almost calm and barely any breeze, the gentle slap of it against the hull beating a staccato rhythm. Why couldn’t she pull him away from this weird vendetta? If he follows McTeague to the Carolinas... Michaela stopped, her breath catching in her chest, the sudden realization of her knowledge of his history hitting her like a brick. Mingled in Tristan’s myth and legend, McTeague was never mentioned in accordance with Tristan’s death. Jumping up, she paced the room quickly, her thumb against her lip. If McTeague gets there before Tristan, then he would be the one to drown that night instead of Tristan! She slapped her forehead. Why in the frigging hell didn’t she think of that before? It would have saved a lot of time and arguing if she’d only remembered! Tristan stood at the prow, a rope securely in his hand. His sun streaked hair danced along the wind, free from the obligatory queue. She stood for a moment behind him, admiring his quiet beauty. God, their children would be beautiful… He turned, almost as if sensing her behind him. “What is wrong my dear? Have you come to admonish me again for doing what I must?” Those words stung her but she knew that she deserved them completely. “No, Tristan,” she said softly, ignoring the hands around the ship. “I’ve come to tell you that I’m sorry and that I’ve been wrong about this all along.” His eyes widened. “Well, that is a change,” he stepped down and strode toward her, his arms open. She ran to them. “I cannot tell you how pleased I am to hear that.” “I’ve been so stupid, Tristan,” she murmured against his chest, the fabric of his shirt soft against her cheek. “I should have thought about this sooner. You’re not going to die this time.” She looked up. “McTeague is.” “Aye, that he is my love, when I catch him...” “No, Tristan, he’s going to die in your place.” His face took on an expression of confusion. Michaela touched him lightly on the cheek. “Don’t you see? In history, McTeague was never mentioned in connection with your death. Now he is. It’s going to change everything.” Tristan’s gaze traveled over her face, almost as if he was searching for something. “Some times I feel I know you so well and others you seem as though I know nothing of you.” “Don’t worry, Tristan,” she smiled, “we’re going to have a long time to get to know each other a little deeper and make our own history.” ***** Night fell on the dreaded day, making her heart hammer against her chest. What was this going to do the town of Mystic Harbor? Was this going to cause a great paradox because

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she changed something in history? She sat at Tristan’s desk, writing furiously, trying to remember the bits of his history that were slowly beginning to fade from her memory as well as those of home and the time she’d come from. Perhaps if history was close enough, maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t do anything. Everyone and everything would be the same, including Brady. Michaela laid the quill down and sat back in the chair, thinking about her beloved Brady. He had been her rock, the only person in the world that ever truly loved her besides Tristan. He understood her better than anyone. A lonely tear tracked out of her eye and slid down her cheek, falling to the paper with a soft plop. Ink spread in spiky fingers where it fell, soaking through. Brady was the one constant from her life that she would truly miss. More threatened but she pushed them back, bending her head to the task at hand. Hmm, now Tristan was fooled from the light on the left instead of from the right. His ship would have been scuttled on the rocks because of the massive storm that had blown up almost immediately as they entered… “Ahoy! McTeague is twelve knots ahead!” came the cry from the crow’s nest. She could faintly hear Tristan’s command to unfurl more sails and get their speed up quite a bit, forcing her to stop. With the storm brewing, Tristan would have to stay a good distance behind McTeague in order to keep from getting caught in the trap. Rushing up from the chair and sticking the parchment in her shirt, she headed up on deck. Tristan stood at the prow, his eyes trained forward. Heavy winds prevailed, making it hard to keep her balance on the deck. Black clouds rolled across the sky, the lightning reaching from one dark cloud another. Thunder rumbled above them, warning of the impending danger. “Tristan!” she called, working her way up to the ship. Her belly rolled with the violent pitch of the vessel, threatening to spew any contents immediately. “I must talk to you!” He turned around and held a hand out to her. “Come with me!” he shouted over the acrid wind surrounding them. She could feel the air alive with electricity. “You should not be up here, Michaela,” he announced, “you should be below deck.” “No way!” she answered, her voice rising to be heard. “I’ve got the plan to keep you alive and destroy McTeague.” His brows lifted. “What plan is that?” “Take this,” she said, extracting the paper from her shirt,” and read it. Follow it to the letter.” She tore away from his grip. “I’m going back to the cabin for a few minutes.” Tristan clutched onto the roll. “Stay there for your safety, my love!” “I will for a while but I will be back up in a few minutes. There’s something I have to take care of.” With that, she spun on her heel and headed back toward the cabin as best she could, clutching the railings along the way. Her belly still continued to roll and as soon as she reached the room, she would be throwing up. On unsteady feet, she descended below and escaped to Tristan’s room, clutching her mouth. It was going to be one hell of a long night. Tristan moved to the quarterdeck where the wind didn’t seem as harsh as it had been at

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the prow so that he could read Michaela’s instructions. Pressing his back against the wall of the quarterdeck, Tristan unfurled her message. Tristan, Don’t follow McTeague too closely because this is what’s going to happen. The town will dim the real lighthouse light on the right and project a false to the left. The coming storm will confuse him greatly and force him to go for the one on the left. There is nothing but rocks there and his ship will splinter into pieces. He and his crew will die this time instead of you. This is my one gift to you before this all fades from my memory. I love you, Tristan and there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, including causing a paradox in my own time. My life is with you now. For the first time in my life, I finally feel where I truly belong. Michaela. Tristan rolled the paper back up and tucked into the waistband of his breeches. His heart swelling with the love he had always thought would be denied him. For so long after Priscilla, he never trusted any woman with his heart. Most of them were completely selfish, only wanting him to provide pleasure and refusing to give anything back. Michaela had given everything of herself. Her innocence, her love and her life. He could ask no more than that. “How fer are ye going to get ta McTeague?” McGill asked at his elbow. “Tell the men to start furling the sails, making the mast sail the last one to be pinned,” he stated in a low tone, his gaze staying trained on the slight bob on the horizon highlighted with every flash of lightning. “I will follow him but I will keep my distance.” “Whyn’ we ain’ta gonna get him?” His lips spread into a smile. “McTeague is heading for a trap though he does not know it,” he laughed hard. “Someone else is going to take care of him for me.” McGill’s grizzled brow lifted. “How do ye know this?” “I have it on the best of information,” he said, his mind centered on Michaela completely. “Tell the men to start furling the sails.” Michaela felt ship beginning to slow down, the knowledge that Tristan had taken her advice. She let out a breath of relief. For a few minutes after she’d come back into the cabin, she wasn’t sure if he was going to or not. Part of him was still skeptical of her knowledge even though he’d seen it demonstrated several times. Her belly still rolled despite the several rounds of vomiting she’d endured over the last few minutes. She had seasickness before and normally it passed after a bit but this was hanging around way too long. Taking a deep breath in order to push the nausea down, Michaela rose on shaky legs and went back to the deck. The storm continued to rage overhead, the rain finally falling. It came down hard, ripping her skin to shreds but she didn’t care, she wanted only to be with Tristan. He was at the wheel, helping his helmsman trying to hold it in order to keep them on the right course. She lurched drunkenly back and forth, trying to get her bearings as the rain pelted her, slowly closing the distance between then. “Hold ‘er steady!” Tristan shouted over the storm, his strong hands wrapped around

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the spindles of the out of control wheel. “Tristan!” she screamed over the storm. “Where’s McTeague?” “Ahead of us!” he answered, struggling hard to hang onto the wheel. She moved toward the prow, the wet tendrils of her hair slapping in her face. Out in the distance, she could see the dim light to the left, the false light. To the right was McTeague’s ship, bobbing in time with the waves, the small lanterns swinging hard. Follow the light, she urged it silently as her fingers dug into the wet wood, it’s going to be your downfall. Her heart pounded inside her chest as she watched McTeague’s vessel move toward the light. Frequent lightning helped her to see what was happening. It wasn’t long before her captor went to his death. The vessel continued on its journey toward the coast of Carolina, the area that in time would become Coral Cave Beach. Her fingers held onto the railing hard, the excitement growing inside of her, the nagging nausea suddenly forgotten. “‘Ere, missus, let me tie this around ye waist,” McGill shouted through the storm as he tied a rope around her waist. “Donna want Cap’n to lose ye.” “Thank you,” she screamed. He tipped his fingers to her and went to leave when she put her hand on his arm. “Yes, missus?” “Will you get something from the captain’s cabin for me?” “What is that?” “There’s a bottle down there with a message in it. Bring it to me.” “Aye,” he nodded and waddled away on thick legs, heading toward Tristan’s cabin. She turned back to the scene before her, watching the events unfold. McTeague’s ship was breaking up over the rocks, the screams and shouts of the men as they landed in the water. She could vaguely make out small boats going to the injured vessel and could hear pistols being fired into the sea. She jumped every time she heard it, knowing that each one ended the life of McTeague’s men, possibly even McTeague himself. “Here’s ye bottle, missus,” McGill said, nudging her arm with the bottle. She took it from his hand. In it was a note to Brady. She’d written it before she wrote the instructions for Tristan, hoping that maybe at this point in time, the veil between the time periods would be thinnest and this bottle would be able to tell Brady what happened to her. I hope this makes it to you, she thought. Respectfully, she kissed the bottle and threw it into the raging black water. She watched the bottle bob for a few minutes before it disappeared over a gigantic wave rolling to the beach. “Who was the note to, missus?” McGill questioned as he witnessed the disappearance of the message. “To a friend back home,” she sighed softly to herself. “I hope he gets it.” ***** Brady watched the police as they milled around the beach, their instruments out combing the beach as well as metal detectors and corpse sniffing dogs. He was filled with rage, so much in fact, it made him shake. How in the fucking hell can those bitches live with themselves after doing this to Michaela? Brady cast a look to the group of sniveling sorority bitches with several detectives, giving their statements as to why

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Michaela was out on the beach last night. It was only a sorority prank, they sobbed, they didn’t mean for something like this to happen. Bullshit, he had wanted to say but the proper queen in him wouldn’t dare say that out loud. “Hey, I’m sorry about your friend, Brady,” Steven, a guy he’d met at the cafeteria the day before, whispered into his ear. “I’m sure they’ll find something soon.” “No, they’re not going to find anything,” he answered, his heart sinking. “She’s not here anymore.” “How do you know?” “I can just feel it,” he offered, wishing he could break through that tacky yellow tape that said DO NOT CROSS-CRIME SCENE. Some of the whispers going around the cops milling on the beach was that she committed suicide, simply walked into the sea. Her body had probably been eaten by sharks by now… He couldn’t stand it anymore. Breaking through the tape, he stormed over to the group discussing Michaela as if she was just another statistic. “Shut the fuck up! I don’t want you to talk about her like that!” His tears rolled steadily down his face. “I’ll kill you for talking that way about her!” “Oh, what’s the little fairy queen gonna do? Rearrange my closet? Or maybe redecorate my living room!” guffawed one cop. Steven started pulling him back despite his struggles. “Come on, these assholes aren’t worth it.” “Yeah, that’s right, take your little fairy boyfriend back and let us do our job,” ordered another tough looking cop, “or else I’ll run you both in for compromising a crime scene.” Reluctantly, he allowed himself to be led away, his heart utterly breaking. Where in the hell could Michaela have gone to? “It’s okay,” Steven said in his soft voice, those experienced hands rubbing his shoulder. “They’ll find out what happened to your friend.” “No, they won’t,” he sobbed. “To them, she’s just another suicidal statistic.” “They will, I promise,” Steven reassured him. “Just...just...go back to the car,” he told Steve, “I’ll be there in a few minutes.” “Are you sure?” “Yes,” he snapped. “I just need time to get myself together.” “Okay but if you’re not there in ten minutes, I’ll come back and get you.” “Fine, whatever,” he waved at Steven. “Now go.” With that, Steven disappeared up the large sand dune toward the road, completely out of sight within seconds. Brady turned his gaze back out toward the sea, the tears coursing down his cheeks. Why did you do it, Michaela? If it was love that you wanted, I could have given that to you, he thought silently. He turned and walked away from the scene, his heart still cracking in half. Why would she suddenly decide… Clink! His foot connected with something hard half buried in the sand. Reaching down, he discovered that it was a bottle buried in the sand. Where did that come from? It was a deep

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emerald green color, topped with a cork. Brushing the sand away, he plucked it out of the soft warm sand and held it up. Why, there was a note inside! With quick fingers, he tore the cork out of it and slipped the aged note out from inside. The edges were a little tattered, almost as if it had been there for centuries underneath the hot sun. Quickly, he looked over his shoulder and was relieved to discover that he was completely out of site of the investigation, his heart pounding hard. Who was the note from? Unrolling it, he saw the familiar script he had come to know and love over the years. Brady, I hope this note reaches you. My point in writing it was let you know that I’m not dead but I’m living the life I should have had from the beginning. Do you remember how I struggled so long and so hard to fit in somewhere? Well, I’m exactly right where I belong, in Tristan Hamilton’s arms. I know you’re asking yourself how in the hell did I end up back in the sixteen hundreds? Simple. The fog swept in and took me back to his time. I’ve fought battles and have changed the course of history. Instead of Tristan dying, it was the evil McTeague that died that night at sea. Tristan is safe with me now. In time, you will forget me and that I ever existed. Before that happens, if you wish to know what happened to me after this note, look for me only in the history books. My only regret in staying here is that I’ll never see you again. If it is ever possible to cross the boundaries of time for even the briefest moment, I will do it. Until then, you will always be in my thoughts. All my love, Michaela. He paled, the throbbing in his head rising. Michaela was alive and had gotten swept back in the time where she truly belonged! Brady crumpled into the sand, the letter still tightly clutched in his fingers. Praise God, she was alive! Jumping to his feet, he knew there was only one place left to go now. ***** Brady poured over volumes of text in the public library, not finding any information about Tristan Hamilton. He was a pirate and should be listed with the likes of Morgan and Blackbeard but he wasn’t. “Here’s a book that I’ve found,” Steven whispered as he took a seat across from Brady. “It’s all about reformed pirates who gave up the life and went on to become model citizens.” “This might be it,” he mumbled excitedly, tearing the book from Steven’s hand. “I still don’t know why you’re all hopped up about this,” Steven murmured, unimpressed. “It’s just a prank.” He looked up, frowning. He’d made a mistake by telling Steven about the letter. “No, it’s not. Now, just shut and leave me alone.” Steven got up without a word and stalked out of the library, his hands shoved into his denim pockets. Finally, some peace. Brady quickly flipped open the book and started going through it, searching for any type of answer. Suddenly, it found him. In the middle of the book, there was an entire chapter devoted to Tristan Hamilton. At

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first, it talked about his exploits as a pirate and quickly moved onto the fact that he had married one Michaela Martin and settled in the island of Jamaica, creating the richest coffee plantation there. His gaze flicked to the portrait on the next page. It was Michaela. She sat there with an infant in her arms and a radiant smile. A little further down, there was another portrait of her with three small children and another infant. He flipped another page. There were two more portraits. One had Michaela and Tristan surrounded by seven children, all of varying ages. The last one showed them as a much older couple, more than likely in their sixties. His eyes misted over again, the tears forming as he moved through the texts. Michaela and Tristan had seven children who all grew into adulthood but none of them ever became pirates. When they had grown older, they had returned to the Carolinas and both died there in the early 1700’s. Brady looked further down. According to the text, they were both buried in the St. George Cemetery. Tristan first then Michaela. He slammed the book shut, his hands trembling. So, this was the final chapter in Michaela’s life. Leaping to his feet, he left the library in a flurry. There was one last thing he had to do. ***** “It’s around here somewhere,” he growled as he and Steven prowled the overgrown graveyard, mostly looking at the old graves hidden among the weeds. “I’m sure it is,” Steven sighed, not really wanting to be tromping around a cemetery all day. “We’ll just have to keep our eyes peeled.” “Look for some elaborate tombstones or something,” he offered as he pushed through the overgrowth in this part of the cemetery. “I’m sure that he’d have something like that marking his grave.” Steven stopped a short distance away from him. “Don’t be too sure,” he said, pointing to a pair of stones sitting side by side, their dates slightly visible. “What about these stones?” Brady came slowly around to the stones and brushed the overgrowth away. The one on the left bore an inscription that had been nearly erased by time and elements. Taking a piece of paper from his pocket and a pencil, he knelt down and ran the pencil over it. Michaela Hamilton Beloved Wife and Mother Those appeared quickly, followed by the date of her death. She was almost eighty years old. He placed another piece over the stone next to it and did the same. Captain Tristan Hamilton Beloved Husband and Father ‘Scourge of the Seven Seas’ It listed the date of his death as well. He had been close to eighty-two at the time. Wow! Both of them lived far beyond what people did back then! The tears reappeared again, sliding down his cheeks. “I see everything’s come full circle, Michaela,” he murmured. “You finally found where you truly belonged.”

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Suddenly, he felt a nudge at his elbow. He turned to see Steven standing there holding two small bouquets of flowers. “Where did you get these?” “I got them across the street at the flower shop while you were standing here at the graves.” He was stunned. He hadn’t noticed Steven leaving nor realized how long he had been there. “Thank you,” he brushed a kiss across Steven’s cheek. “You really are something special.” “Thanks,” Steve muttered as he handed Brady the bouquets in exchange for the papers. “What are these?” “Rubbings from the stones,” he murmured as he laid the bouquets down. “Wow, these are my ancestors!.” He jerked back. “What?” “My last name is Hamilton too,” Steven confessed. “When you first told me that you were researching pirates who made a life outside of piracy, I never dreamed that you’d be looking up my ancestors.” His blood pooled to his feet. “Are you saying that you’re a direct descendant of Tristan and Michaela?” He nodded. “Yes, I am.” Brady laid the flowers on the graves and stood up, placing an arm around Steven’s shoulders. “Let me tell you a little story about Michaela, my friend and quickly because very soon, she will be nothing more than a distant memory.”

The End

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