The sound of seabirds squabbling woke Bronte. The room was already getting stuffy. She stood and stretched her stiff, aching muscles. Her chest was tight, and she muffled a cough; probably from all the seawater she'd dined on. She grabbed her only remaining pair of boots, the too tight ones from the Frenchman, and shoved her feet into them.

Dr. Carter was absent, and only Lucien occupied the bed now, breathing shallowly, his face just as gray as last night. At least he's being still, she thought wryly as she searched her desk for the Bible she'd been studying.

It was missing from her desktop. Perhaps the doctor was looking at it. She left to look for him. She exited her cabin and after pausing a moment for her eyes to adjust to the bright sunshine, she scanned the ship. Seeing no one, she climbed to the foredeck for a better view. When she reached the top, she paused as a fit of coughing wracked her lungs.

When it subsided, she drew in a breath. A playful breeze teased her hair, and the air smelled fresh and clean. You'd never guess there was a storm last night. Bronte looked up, surprised to find Sam, lounging on the deck in one of his strange reclining chairs, the Bible open before him. He was busily working on a crutch as he read, looking fairly healthy and whole, a pile of wood ribbons lying in curls around him.

Bronte ambled up behind him and peered over his head to see where he was reading. Sam cocked his head back and looked up at her.

"How'd you get up here?" she asked.

"'Bout time you woke. Wasn't easy, but you sure weren't budging from that chair to help me. You'd think you were the one who nearly drowned," Sam said teasingly.

"I did nearly drown. As I said last night; you've been eating too many ship's biscuits," she answered, muffling another cough as she moved around to sit beside him.

Sam rubbed his belly. "Speaking of food, Cook have breakfast done yet?"

Bronte rolled her eyes and shook her head. Though she teased Sam about his weight, in truth, he was fitter than most men. Where did he put all that food?

"I was looking for that Bible. I didn't expect to find you knockin' the dust from its spine," Bronte observed.

Sam looked sheepish and shrugged his shoulders.

"Something about dying makes a man think. If you hadn't saved me last night I ... well, I don't like to think where I might have ended up."

"You saying this Bible nonsense might not be nonsense after all?" she smiled.

"I'm not saying anything; just that, maybe, it's worth looking into, is all."

"That's what I thought too," she answered. "What're you reading?"

The Bible was open to the book of Romans. He read a passage aloud. "...Shall the thing formed say to him that formed it, Why hast thou made me thus? Hath not the potter power over the clay, ...?"

He read on but her mind stuck on that phrase. She stared out at the endless sea pondering its meaning. A bird swooped from the sky and snatched an unsuspecting fish in its beak. She watched it struggle with its too big prize toward shore. Bronte wished she could ask Lucien about the verse. Her heart constricted as she considered that she might never be able to. What if he didn't make it? Could his God help him? Would He?

Sam's urgent cry snapped her back to attention.

He pointed seaward.

"Sail ho!" a seaman cried from aloft.

Bronte scrambled to her feet, pausing a moment as dizziness took her: She was having trouble drawing a full breath. Bronte retrieved the spyglass, leveling it at a sail visible through cliffs. It was too far off to make any distinction of it. Hopefully it would sail by. The Huntress couldn't be seen tucked away in the cove.

Bronte looked about the sloop. Where is the rest of the crew? As if he'd read her mind, Sam informed her that most of the crew, along with those from the Falcon, went ashore earlier that morning for water and game. Bronte watched the strange ship carefully, trying to determine if it was a danger to them. Was it that traitorous Blake Adams? She turned toward Sam in time to see the end of a comical struggle to stand on one foot. He awkwardly leaned on the finished crutch.

"Sorry, Sam, need a hand?"

"Little late," he said smugly as he positioned his new crutch. "We in danger?"

"Hard to tell. If we are, I see little opportunity for avoiding it."

"What? No brilliant ideas, Captain?"

Her mouth quirked. "Pray?"

"Hmmm...."Sam scratched at the whiskers covering his face, making them bristle.

"Pipe that raucous crew to their posts," Bronte ordered.

Sam put two fingers in his mouth and let out a deafening whistle as Bronte covered her ears.

Bronte ordered the seaman aloft to inform her the moment he read the name of the ship and determined its course. Sam followed her to the great cabin, hopping down the stair on his good leg.

As Bronte entered, her eyes immediately went to the bed, where Lucien struggled to sit.

She glanced at the side table as she hurried across the cabin. The laudanum was gone. She turned and shouted for Sam to get the doctor as she reached the bedside and tried to calm Lucien.

Lucien's face contorted in pain as his arms circled his ribs. Bronte eased him back onto the pillow. He unsuccessfully tried to hold back a fit of coughing. When it finally subsided, Lucien opened his eyes, looking straight into hers. Bronte winced at the pain reflected in them.

"Lie still, now," she crooned.

"Dizzy....," he breathed as he pushed against the hand she restrained him with.

"You've a mess of broken ribs. You must lie still," she stressed again.

"Can't ... breathe...."he answered weakly.

Sam reappeared with the doctor who immediately measured out the components for laudanum.

"He may be able to breathe easier if he sits up a bit. Put a few more pillows under him," Dr. Carter ordered.

"I haven't got more blasted pillows," Bronte replied helplessly.

Carter paid no attention to her. Casting about the room for a solution, Bronte seized a pile of blankets Sam thrust at her. With the doctor's help, she eased them under Lucien's shoulders so he was no longer flat on his back.

Lucien closed his eyes and clenched his jaw against the pain moving must've caused, but sighed with relief when they settled him against the blankets.

"Better?" Bronte asked him.

"Mmm," was the extent of his answer, but Bronte thought he was breathing easier.

The doctor offered the drink, telling Lucien it'd help him sleep but he turned his head away. "Not yet—my ship?"

"Lost," Bronte answered.

"Crew?"

"Safe, aboard the Huntress."

"The Huntress?" he repeated and squinted at Bronte as if he were trying to see her more clearly. He must be dazed to not have recognized her.

"Bronte," he finally said, taking a minute to breath in between words, "I owe you my life."

"Me?" she questioned with a smile. "Don't you believe your God saved you?"

Lucien's lips turned up. "He sent you."

Bronte looked at Sam, who sat at the foot of the bed with arms crossed, grinning. She was saved from further response by a call from on deck.

"Drink up, Bellemare—sleep is the best we can offer," she told him as she turned to leave the cabin.

"Wait, I came ... to warn you ... Bart ... he knows where to find you," Lucien coughed out.

Bronte looked to Sam as another call came. She flew out the door, dreading what she'd find.

Kinney approached and she crossed the deck to meet him.

"Have you made out the ship?" she asked, already fearing his answer.

"Aye," he gulped. "The Blood Rose. Heading straight for us."

Sure enough, the Rose was making its way expertly throughout the reefs and shoals, blocking their escape.

"Men, to your stations! Make ready for battle!" she ordered.

"Aye, Cap'n, ready for battle!" the few onboard repeated before hurrying away.

She turned to the shoreline. It was empty, save for scuttling crabs and the seabirds trying to eat them. If the rest of the crew didn't make it back to the ship in short order all would be lost. The Blood Rose was fast approaching.

Figures emerged from the tree line. They spotted the approaching frigate and broke into a run crossing the hot sandy beach to reach the longboats. They just might make it. Bronte felt her heart pumping furiously as she turned to mark the progress of the Blood Rose.

It was too late.

Cannon burst from the Rose's larboard side as they turned toward the boats. Bronte darted to the forecastle to wave the men back to shore as the blast sounded. Three iron balls spread in the air and splashed feet from the boat, sending sand and sea spray into the pirates faces. The men quickly reversed their stroke and clambered back onto shore.

With Bronte's crew divided, they didn't have a chance at taking the more heavily armored frigate in battle. Since they weren't at sea, she couldn't outmaneuver him. She'd have to surrender. The word tasted like bilge water. Bronte would not ask her men to risk their lives fighting a battle they couldn't win. The pirate hunter aimed her cannons at Huntress.

"Strike the colors!" Bronte ordered reluctantly.

Longboats were launched from the Blood Rose.

"Prepare to be boarded!" she shouted bitterly as she turned to the quarterdeck.

Her jaw began to ache, her teeth were clenched so hard, and she knew her eyes were smoldering as she reentered the cabin. Slamming the door, she scanned the room and, seeing the doctor gone, settled on Lucien, now asleep, and grunted in anger. Sam looked up from the edge of the bed where he'd remained. After a quick study, no doubt noticing her enraged stance, Sam surreptitiously reached over and pulled the footstool further from the reach of her boot.

Bronte impatiently explained their situation, never taking her eyes off Lucien.

When she finished Sam followed her gaze.

"They'll claim we sunk the Falcon and are holding Bellemare for ransom," he said resignedly.

"Aye," Bronte answered simply.

Sam said hopefully, "Capt. Bellemare will explain."

"Aye, he would, except he's not talkin' now, and I bet Doc put him out for a good while. When he comes to again—who knows where we'll be. He may not even remember being here."

"What of his crew?" Sam said, not willing to give up.

The door banged open, and a large man stepped through, dark eyes gleaming with vehemence. He wore a russet waistcoat, its silver buttons straining against his belly; a long sword encased in an elaborately decorated hilt hung at his side. A long black wig was tied back and he wore a clipped beard. He looked so much like a Spaniard that Bronte was surprised to hear an English accent. "Bellemare's crew would never admit to consorting with such scum of the earth as you and risk being hanged as pirates. All due reward for their rescue will go to me, Captain Bartholomew," he bowed.

Sam sneered at the loathsome captain. "We rescued Bellemare and his crew. You cannot prove otherwise!"

Bart smiled as he turned his gaze toward Sam. "On the contrary, pirate scum, you'd be surprised what men will say in order to stay free. And alive. But, no matter of them. It so happens I have proof. It is noted in my ships log that you fired upon the Falcon, just weeks ago! And now, you've obviously finished what you began."

"We weren't firing on him we were just—" Sam began, but Bronte raised her hand to silence him. She would not have Lucien dragged into this further.

Bart looked all the more smug. "I've also sworn statements that you captured and tortured sailors aboard the Matilda," he snickered, "in 'retribution' for the legal harvesting of simple beasts!"

"There was no torture. And they were the beasts!" Bronte growled.

"Perhaps the court would be sympathetic to your plight—were you not all bastards, thieves, and miscreants!" Bart chuckled at his own joke.

"Why you bilge-lickin' sack of—" again Bronte held a hand up to silence Sam. There was nothing to be gained by irking this pirate hunter further (though she thought Sam had the right of it).

Doing her best to ignoring Bart foul comments, Bronte said boldly, "We've willfully surrendered without fire. There is no need to harm my crew. Take us somewhere we'll receive fair trial. As for Captain Bellemare," she continued, "he's a severe head wound and broken ribs. He should not be moved. Leave part of your crew onboard and we'll sail with you to port."

"An interesting style of negotiation," Bartholomew mocked. "You've nothing to offer, are completely powerless, and yet, you make demands." He smiled cynically.

"Demands made with the honor and respect afforded one captain to another."

"If you were a captain, I might agree. However," he paused, grinning wickedly, "I doubt anyone would believe a woman captained this vessel." Capt. Bartholomew looked smug, seeming quite satisfied with himself.

Bronte stared, mouth hanging half-open, dumbfounded. How could he know? Bronte suddenly remembered Sam, and her heart plummeted when he snorted incredulously.

"What kind of nonsense are you spouting?" Sam stammered. "A woman? Bronte Farrow is no woman. I've known him for years! I think I know a woman when I see one."

Captain Bartholomew cocked his head to one side and sneered at Bronte. "He doesn't believe me. You want to tell him? Or, maybe it would be better if we showed him," he said as he stepped closer to her.

Bronte's breath froze in her chest. For the first time, she truly feared the outcome of this encounter. She eased a step back from Bart.

Bronte turned to Sam and admitted softly, "It's true, Sam."

Sam's jaw dropped as he stared at her, eyes flashing a thousand emotions, but he said nothing.

"I can see the two of you need time to talk this over," Bart said, almost sounding gleeful. "Take them to the Blood Rose and lock them in the hold," he ordered the man who entered the cabin behind him.

"What of my crew?" Bronte grumbled.

"Don't worry. I'll take care of them. You and your mate relax and enjoy some nice 'alone' time," he mocked.

The man stepped behind Sam, roughly tied his hands behind his back, then did the same to Bronte. She opened her mouth to protest but before the words could pass from her lips, Bronte felt a hard crack on the back of her head and everything went black.