Encountering a pirate was easy. But laying a trap for a one—while trying not to be blown to bits—was no simple business.

Lucien paced the deck of the Falcon anxiously awaiting his prey. He didn't want the confrontation to be bloody and had planned carefully to avoid that. So far everything had gone perfectly. The old captain stayed in Port Royal to waylay an oncoming bought of scurvy, Johnstone dutifully remaining with the captain while Lucien sailed off to finish the trade route. Christmas had come and gone while he was at sea. They celebrated by making a meal only slightly more palatable than usual, and Lucien had read the Christmas story to an inattentive crew. There really was not too much one could do to observe it properly while at sea.

He was on his return trip and came across a ship who'd marked a curious vessel with indigo sails, bearing the name in question. Now he lay in wait.

All he had to do now was get his ship back with as little bloodshed as possible. His plan would accomplish those ends. Victory was almost certain. But something, anything, could go wrong and cause the deaths of countless people. It wasn't too late to change his plan. But even as he thought it he knew getting his ship wasn't his only design that day. He wouldn't be satisfied with that. He couldn't get the pirate lady out of his mind, and he intended to figure out why. The truth was, once he captured her, he wasn't sure he could let her go.

At last, his man aloft gave the long awaited cry, "Blue sails ahead!"

For better or worse, he couldn't back out now.

***

Clear skies the color of a robin's egg surrounded the indigo vessel. The sun bounced off the aquamarine waves making a dazzling display as the sun neared its zenith. A fresh breeze cooled the surfaces the sun beat down on and brought smells of the salt sea. A perfect day. On such a day one could easily believe nothing dark or evil dwelled in all the world.

But for some unknown reason, Bronte felt a tension, deep in the pit of her stomach. Something that made her sure that evil did exist and even now crept, steadily closing on her.

The Huntress bounced through the waves as it steered toward a ship bobbing complacently in the distance. Captain Bronte Farrow stood on the foredeck with her hands on her hips. Her new blackened leather knee-boots squeaked as she shifted, staring out at the drifting sloop. The sails weren't drawn and there appeared to be no crew aboard. She held up her telescope for a closer look. It revealed the bodies of a few sailors lying prone on the main deck. It appeared to be English, but had no flag flying for confirmation. It could be a chance for some easy pickings.

"Bring us close aboard!" she ordered.

She looked again, but couldn't see the faces of the men lying on the deck, nor could she determine the cause of their apparent deaths. The only sound coming from the ship was the groaning and creaking of the hull as it drifted listlessly in the waves. Something about it made her feel uneasy.

"Bring to! Drop anchor!" she ordered.

The crew was unusually quiet as they arranged the sails to make the Huntress stationary. No one seemed to wish to break the eerie silence cast in the shadow of this floating tomb.

Sam stood silently beside her, a stark contrast with light breeches, tan leather boots, a navy sash around his waist, and a white blouse open to his naval. Chestnut curls danced in the wind as he held his arms crossed over his chest, a contemplative expression on his face. "Bronte, does that ship not look familiar to you?"

"Should it? I don't recall a ship by that name."

"Not the name, but blast my eyes, look at the lines and the cut of his jib!"

"Blazes!" she exclaimed after studying it for a moment. "If she's not the spittin' image of our Huntress!"

"What do you make of it?" Sam asked.

Bronte scanned the deck one last time to look for any living soul aboard. Seeing none, she selected a large boarding crew including Carter and his medical kit.

As they rowed closer, Bronte watched the deck carefully. Nothing on the Falcon moved, but her uneasiness grew. "I don't like it, Sam." She was glad she'd half the crew go below and man the guns. They'd be ready to fire if needed.

Carefully she climbed the side of the ship and vaulted over the rail, landing with both feet on the foreign deck. Sam was a few paces behind, along with the boarding crew, all with weapons drawn. Her boots echoed loudly against the boards in counterpoint to the soft muffled steps of her barefoot crew. They cautiously made their way toward the prone sailors, ever alert for treachery and danger.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood and a chill ran down her spine as she reached the side of a dark haired man lying face down. She cocked her pistol, the sharp sound overloud in the relative silence, and slowly began to turn him with her boot.

A deep clear voice sounded from behind, and she froze. "Hold, Captain." Several pistols cocked in unison.

"Drop that pistol and the other in your brace," the voice said with deadly calm.

She chanced a sideways glance at Sam and was alarmed to find him with a pistol pushed into his temple. She dropped both her pistols and turned slowly to face her enemy.

With a sharp intake of breath she recognized her captor. He wore fine mahogany leather boots, knee high over tan trousers and an ecru doublet over an ivory blouse; his features unmistakable—tall, muscular, a thick head of wavy blond hair, endless deep blue eyes, and an irritably-flashing grin. She quickly took in the situation and was dismayed, finding their plight hopeless. Her crew was completely surrounded by a much larger group of sailors, apparently waiting behind sails, barrels and anything else that could conceal them. The 'dead' man got to his feet behind her, snickering as he retrieved her pistols. She inwardly cursed herself for her folly.

An empty sack was tossed at her but she made no move to catch it, letting it slide to the deck. "Take it and disarm your mate," Captain Bellemare ordered her, nodding toward Sam.

She complied, holding Sam's eyes a moment, trying to convey her plan silently. He remained unmoving as she removed his pistols and placed them in the sack, but is jaw was set in a way she'd not often seen before. She thought he may have a plan of his own and she'd have to act quickly to avert certain disaster.

As she started to back away Capt. Bellemare halted her again. "Remove all his weapons, if you would."

She paused, and then knelt to remove the knives from the inside of his boots. As she stood again and made to turn away the other captain said, "I will not ask again, Captain Farrow. All of them!" She caught the flash in Sam's eyes but he kept his gaze fixed at something in the distance as she pulled knives of varying sizes from his person and placed them in the increasingly burdened sack. They came from his waistband, his sleeves, and after a moment's hesitation, she pulled the last from a special holster he'd made that concealed them under the back of his shirt. The sack bulged and as far as she knew that was all of them. Someone moved to retrieve it from her and Sam marked the sailor's face. Another frisked Sam quickly and confirmed he was weaponless.

Turning, she kept her back as close to Sam as she could and said with an edge, "Satisfied?" Lucien nodded and the sailor next to Sam and took a step back, though he didn't lower the pistol. There was a small tug near her waist and she knew Sam succeeded in pulling one of the knives she herself wore.

Ignoring the muzzles pointed at her, Bronte closed the distance between her and her antagonist with slow, deliberate steps, making sure she stayed between him and Sam for the moment. She wanted to find out what Bellemare's intentions were before Sam stuck a knife through his heart. "I'd introduce myself but it seems you know me. Is there something I can do for you, Captain? Your ship appeared in need of assistance. We came to help."

"As a matter of fact, there is something I want." He cocked his head to one side and gave her an impish grin. "I believe that," he nodded his head toward the Huntress, "belongs to me."

Bronte let her eyes wander lazily over the ship as if she couldn't guess what he was talking about. "What? My ship?" she asked innocently. "I believe you're mistaken, Sir."

Lucien met her eyes. "I'm not mistaken. I designed that ship and I well remember the night she left my sight."

Bronte moved slowly toward him. "The Huntress has never sailed without my hand and I don't intend she ever will. She is my ship," her voice hardened as she finished and stopped directly in front of Bellemare, rankled she needed to look up to meet his gaze.

"I thought you'd say as much. Let us settle the matter with a duel." He moved his hand slowly to the hilt of his rapier, his jaw working hard to suppress ... a smirk? His blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight and the breeze teased his golden locks.

"Why a duel? Clearly you have us at your mercy; why not board her and have done with it?" Unconsciously she moved her own hand to her hilt.

"Do you think me a fool? I know the rest of your crew wait aboard, ready to blow us to pieces at your command."

***

As Lucien looked into the pirate's dark eyes they flashed in anger. The way her chin jutted out and the rigid way she held herself confirmed her anger at being tricked. She was dressed head to toe in black, with a blood-red scarf at her throat, and no doubt thought she was well disguised. He suppressed the smirk that wanted to spread over his face, not wishing to cause her anger to boil over, but still enjoying himself immensely. Now that he'd captured the elusive tigress he must keep her from devouring him.

So far his plan was working perfectly. He was certain if she consented to a duel he could best her, and retrieve his ship without fatality. "I'm willing to make it a gentleman's duel."

"Gentleman's duel?"

"Yes, not to the death, but first blood only."

"I'm familiar with the term, but why? Why not just kill me?" Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I've no taste for death; I see enough in my profession. But fear not, I will kill, if I must."

"Then you might as well do it," she said icily, "because the other half my crew, as you pointed out, is looking down the cannon barrels awaiting my command to blast you to perdition."

He let his gaze take her in from head to foot as if he were assessing the threat. "Fear not, for it won't be to hell I'll go, but, as it were, I certainly don't wish to engage in a sea battle with your lot. I've heard tales of your prowess." He coaxed her ego. Could she see right through his phony apprehension with her dark, intelligent eyes? "Stay your crew and consent to a duel. I swear to abide the outcome and lay aside my claim to the Huntress if you win. You and your crew will be free to go."

"What makes you think I'll let you live, regardless of the outcome?"

"Kill me and this ship will fire on the Huntress. And these captive men will be put to the sword. I'll gamble you value the life of your crew," he gestured toward the captives, "more than your ship."

"A foolish wager to make against a pirate."

"Many would say so," Lucien acknowledged simply. He prayed fervently this wager was not a losing one.

"If you win? What do you want, and what will you do with us?" the pirate lady demanded.

"If I win, you return to me my ship. And I may be persuaded to deliver you unharmed to the nearest port." He drew his rapier from its scabbard, anxious to begin. "Shall we?"

***

Instinct brought her own sword from its scabbard. Bronte was taken aback by this handsome, bold man. But she wasn't yet ready to engage. She lowered the blade to a non-threatening position. He appeared so sure of himself, she was certain he wasn't revealing his true intentions. What his game was she didn't know. But this was a game. One she must win.

"What, here? Now?" She held her hands out and turned in a circle. "Shan't we find some shore and do it properly?"

Although pirates were accustomed to settling quarrels with duels, even they waited until landfall to fight them, it being difficult and dangerous onboard a ship with the lines, rigging, and multiple decks to contend with.

He lowered his sword. "Land? I see no land handily located, and I for one cannot walk on water like the Almighty, so I see no alternative than to settle this here and now."

She stared at him curiously at his mention of the Almighty. She'd reread the story of Jesus walking on water that morning. It seemed he knew the tale. Perhaps his Bible was more than a talisman after all. She was intrigued.

"I find it difficult to duel while me and mine are at gun point." She stalled, wanting to see if she could get him to give up his motive. "And, on my honor, if your men so much as cock their pieces, gentlemen's duel or not, I'll fill you so full of holes your hide won't be fit to net a codfish!" She smiled as a flicker of apprehension crossed Bellemare's face. "And I think it proper for my quartermaster to act as my second, to observe and vouch for the outcome."

***

She studied him intently and Lucien wondered if she was on to him. He hoped his face was as unreadable as hers. He gestured for the men holding pistols at her to lower them, but didn't give that liberty to the crew holding the others.

She shifted her weight to one foot. He couldn't tell what was going on behind those stormy eyes but, suspected she was stalling. "Very well. Let him come forward, and my first mate as well. Then we can be certain of a fair verdict."

She nodded and Lucien signaled his men to allow Sam forward, along with his officer.

Finally she faced off with him and the quartermaster and first mate signaled for the bout to begin.

Lucien wasted not a moment, lunging at his opponent.

Pivoting to the side while raising her sword she avoided his lunge at the last possible second. He gave her no time to recover, delivering another strong blow, which she pushed aside with her blade. Sailors parted behind her as she retreated, fending off his aggressive attack. His blows were fast and strong, but she was quick and soon turned the tables, forcing him on the defensive.

His blood warmed, pulsing insistently as Lucien caught blow after blow, diverting one and then another in rapid succession. He was surprised at her skill. She moved like lightning and with sureness he'd seen in no other. God help him, he was enjoying the fight and didn't wish it to end. Nonetheless, he stepped up his game to put her back on the defensive. As she retreated, he maneuvered so she'd have her back to the mast, with nowhere to go. He worked her into a pattern that'd leave him with a clear shot at its end.

***

The series of thrusts and parries seemed familiar to Bronte and she searched her memory. She grinned as the pattern revealed itself. He was bringing the fight to a point where she'd be open to his sword. There was only one defense to such a strategy—a quick glance up revealed her escape and she leapt, grabbing the ratlines and swinging one armed out of his reach as he delivered the final thrust—don't be there. Surprise lit Bellemare's face as his blade struck thin air. Before he collected himself, she swung back and struck him in his chest with the soles of her boots, shoving hard and sending him sprawling. Men chuckled but she ignored them as she untangled herself from the lines and sprinted toward his prone form, drawing her arm back for a quick downward plunge.

***

As Lucien realized what had happened he tried to scramble to his feet but, too late, he found her standing over him, rapier held high. As she began the downward stroke that presumably would hit him high in the shoulder he rolled out of the way. There was a tug at his scalp as the blade thunked into the wood. He gained his feet as she sprinted toward the quarterdeck. He let her go while he collected himself.

***

Bronte sprinted toward the quarterdeck and briskly climbed the stair giving her the advantage of higher ground. Her chest was heaving, so she forced her breaths to slow and deepen as she waited for him to join her. She looked down at the faces of her sailors.

Cuthbert looked like he was about to keel over; white faced and eyes glazed. Kinney's eyes darted about, perhaps searching for escape. Dr. Carter's droopy features were unchanged, even though his body appeared tense. Sam stood forward of the rest. Looking at his face, she'd no doubt he'd use the blade he'd lifted to save her if need be, even at cost of his own life. They were literally a captive audience as she fought to decide their fate. She did not intend to let them down.

***

Lucien put his hand to his head and came away with a chunk of hair. Touching his scalp to confirm that was the extent of the damage, he forced his face to remain impassive. He was impressed and didn't want her to know it. Taking his time regrouping, he watched her. A few strands of dark hair clung to her damp face, the wind tousling the rest. She stood with her feet wide and her shoulders squared the sea at her back. She was magnificent, and she was waiting—for him.

He pushed the sweaty mop from his face and slowly moved toward the stair, desperately trying to think of some way to win back the advantage. Without warning, he took a leap and skipped multiple steps, quickly gaining the top in an effort to catch her off-guard. When he reached the deck, he dove at her feet, quickly unbalancing her. She fell on top of him and he rolled over, pinning her to the deck. Their eyes locked. Too long he stared into them, lost in the moment. How could he have not noticed how attractive she was? He considered kissing her, until her eyes widened in horrified surprise at his passionate look.

Oops!

She shoved him back and jumped to her feet. He followed instantly but had to immediately twist to the side as she lunged. The tip of her sword caught the button on his doublet and it clattered to the deck. Too close!

***

They circled each other, Bronte bringing up her guard as he did the same. She was confused by the way he'd looked at her and found it difficult to concentrate. He feinted toward her right shoulder and, turning his wrist at the last moment, brought the point to the left instead. She parried him easily with a flick of the wrist, sweeping his blade off-line.

She recovered to her guard position and then offered a direct attack to his middle, which he evaded, stepping to one side.

Again, they circled with eyes locked. She thrust and he parried. She redoubled, thrusting again, and again he beat her blade away. They took turns fending off and making attempts at touches, neither coming within victorious range. Sweat poured down both faces. This would be a battle of endurance. She couldn't help but admire his skill with the blade. The bright clang of steel on steel rang through the stillness and the rest of the world fell away. She couldn't have said how long they dueled before a cry from below broke through the intensity.

"Sail ho!"

Each watched to see if the other was distracted. Lucien's blade penetrated her guard and caught her in the upper arm. It cut through the fabric of her shirt, revealing the well-defined muscle below, but was denied flesh by the loose material of her sleeve.

No blood.

"Where away?" Lucien questioned the foretopman without slowing the duel.

"Three points off the port bow!"

"Who is she?" Lucien asked as he stared at Bronte, unblinking.

Bronte made an attempt at his sword arm but he deflected it easily. The tired muscles in her forearm screamed with every blow.

"The Blood Rose, and she's making to intercept."

She hadn't heard of the Blood Rose and its presence mattered little to her. Nothing to worry about, we'll have this settled shortly. Bronte attacked with renewed aggression. Their blades locked and Captain Bellemare stepped in close.

Too close.

***

A moment before, Lucien caught himself sighing abruptly. Just what he needed, Captain Bartholomew and his band of pirate hunters. It became clear to him this duel wouldn't end anytime soon as he fought off a particularly vigorous attack from Captain Farrow. He must end this confrontation another way or she'd soon be walking her way into a noose.

He did the only thing he could think of. He trapped her blade in his and brought his lips to her ear. "I know who you are, or rather, who you're not, miss," he whispered. Farrow took in a sharp breath and Lucien leaned away so he could see her face. Her expression was tight; her eyes flickered with doubt. Her sword seemed forgotten. At least he had her attention now. "That ship is a pirate hunter, you need to leave, and quickly!" he said as he stepped a few paces back. Her expression change from surprise to confusion. Lucien was a little confused himself. Had he really offered her an escape?

"You're letting us go? Why?" she asked. "And how do you know...." she let the sentence fall off.

"Captain Bartholomew is a cruel man and would spare you no mercy. He's been scouring these waters for any without Letters of Marquee to bring himself fame and riches. I'd not see you hanged; we can settle this another time. And as for your ... secret ... I pay attention to detail." He smiled smugly.

***

Bronte faced him, her blade angling toward the deck. For some reason, she believed he didn't wish her harm.

"Can I trust you'll not share this secret?"

"I so swear, and know I'm a man of my word."

"Good." As she spoke, she brought her blade up with lightning speed, grazing his shoulder.

"I trust you're a man of your word in this matter also and will release any claim on my ship."

Blood seeped through his shirt and he pressed his hand to the wound, a look of shock on his face. The cut wasn't deep, but it could've been. She could've killed him. His face showed he knew it.

He nodded at her and offered a brief bow, extending one arm toward the stair to let her pass. "Well done."

She acknowledged his gesture and hurried down.

"Release the crew!" Bellemare's deep voice boomed.

Sam hurried to Bronte's side and gave her a curious glance, to which she shrugged. Explanation would be given later, after she thought of one.

"To the ship!" she shouted as she and the formerly captive crew clambered to the boats and rowed for the Huntress. Sam was the last over the rail, clutching the sack containing his steel.

Quickly they returned and boarded the Huntress. "ALL HANDS ON DECK!" Bronte ordered. The hatch opened and the remainder of the sailors poured out. "Cut and run, boys! Flank speed!"

The pirates took off in every direction at once and soon all were cutting at lashings and cables, shortening the time to make ready. The sails snapped as they filled with wind. The rigging would need repair later but their escape would be quick. Bronte confirmed someone was taking a boarding ax to the anchor. They had a spare and not time enough to weigh it as the Blood Rose drew near.

Bronte glanced at the Falcon as the water pushed them farther apart and exchanged a grin with Captain Bellemare. She held up a hand to him. "Perhaps we can do this again sometime!"

He stood with a cloth pressed to his shoulder. "Maybe next time we can just talk!"

"Done." She turned to ensure the crew was about their duties, thinking to herself how much she did want to talk again with this man. He was a mystery she wished to solve.

After observing the oncoming ship through her spyglass, she knew they'd be away in time. The Blood Rose was bulky and not moving near the speed, she could. As the Huntress turned she ordered a shot fired over the bow of the Falcon as a salute. Then they sailed into the wind, the direction of their greatest advantage. The route would take them dangerously close to the approaching frigate, but that style ship sailed poorly close to the wind and wouldn't be able to follow. Bronte breathed in the smell of freedom.

Freedom didn't feel quite the same, however. An image of a certain blue-eyed captain floated through her mind, his blond hair waving in the wind. It was quickly replaced by the shadow of a dark hunter bearing the name Blood Rose.