Heath watched the two lovebirds dance around while the men set to work with shovels. Araya, apparently, had been after the same treasure and his ship had been pointed straight at it. About fifty feet to the right of where they'd hopped out of the boats was the telltale X in the sand.

She felt deflated now, though. Did have the same buzz of excitement in her chest that the prospect of treasure usually brought. The pain in her shoulder throbbed, pulsing along to the beat of her heart.

Geez, they'd known each other for what, ten days? Yeah, let's get married. She scowled. James wouldn't marry her when she was pregnant with his child, yet he was going to marry this seventeen year old blonde chick who just waltzed into his life a week ago? Excellent logic.

Rolling her eyes to herself, Heath picked up and nearby stick and began to draw in the sand. What else was she supposed to do? Morphie had offered her some kind of drug for the pain, but she knew better than to take it. Now, she almost wished she had . . .

Olivia shrieked, prompting Heath to look over. There they were again, happy-coupling for the time being. James tossed her into the water and dove in after her. He'd stirpped down to his undershirt and jeans. Heath grimaced, looking away. What was she so angry about, anyway? It was his life. If he wanted to ruin it, that was his problem.

She found herself thinking about Jesse again. And about how much she wanted to be the one to bring down the sword on Araya's neck. Glancing back at the Captain and his fiance, she decided she'd talk to him about it later. Right now, she'd let him have his moment. It was only a matter of time . . .

Panama treasure. What was supposed to be here again? Gold chalices, jewelry, coins. Heath growled audibly, remembering that the chest buried here had been meant as a wedding gift to a South American pirate Captain's wife, before he was brutally murdered ten years ago in front of her, allegedly by pirates from Brazil. Heath snapped the stick in half, lobbing one end at the ocean. She didn't realize she'd aimed it at Olivia until it sank an inch away from her thigh. Whatever. The girl was too busy making cow eyes at James to notice, anyway.

She heard some of the men grumbling at Fergie, who had adopted a role as leader since James' tongue was stuck down Olivia's throat, saying that there was no treasure here. Usually, they didn't give up so easily, but Heath understood. They were all tired, some wounded and bloody, and all distracted by leftover bloodlust. She itched with desire to kill the remaining Cubans.

James, she knew, was too peaceful for his own good. He would most likely give the men a chance to change their ways, learn English, and join his crew. Heath snorted, just loud enough that Fergie raised his head from the bottom of the shallow hole they had dug. Yeah, if she found one of those shitheads swabbing her deck, she'd cut his head off and wipe up the blood with his hair.

She looked back to her left and regretted it immediately. There she was, sucking his face off again. Get a room, she felt like saying. I don't care if the disease back on the ship is contagious. Go back there. If you want to end up pregnant, that's your problem, but I don't want to see it. She looked away again, back toward the Encantador.

Heath felt like a ship in a bottle, trapped in her own miniature world while everyone else sailed the open seas. Opportunities bounced off her glass walls, leaving scratches and kinks in her armor, but never breaking through her cage. Her sails saw the wind and itched for it, but it blew right by. She was a ship in a bottle, and she would never set sail.