Chapter 12

Isalba led the four women along a path through the trees, which ended at a secluded inlet, a small tributary away from any prying eyes along the main stretch of beach, which was hidden from them by a thick grove of tall palm and other trees surrounding the pool.  The men were under strict orders to stay away from them, and to spend the afternoon preparing for the evening's celebration and more importantly, to prepare the ship for sailing the following day.  It was a peaceful place, or it would have been if not for the incessant female chatter following along behind her.

From the canopy overhead, dozens of varieties of birds hopped and flew from tree to tree, their calls to one another a natural symphony filling the air.  From time to time creatures unseen scurried away from them, rustling the undergrowth or rasping across tree bark on tiny claws.  Occasionally one would not move quickly enough, and a high-pitched scream resulted, though Isalba was pleased none of the screams came from Megan. While drawn to Megan's feminine charms, she was glad the younger woman showed the same no-nonsense bravery when encountering lizards that she seemed to exhibit in other facets of life.  Isalba had never been able to understand women who could wring a chicken's neck with no qualms, yet cowered at the sight of a tiny spider.

They reached the water and Isalba knelt down, studying it, searching for signs of cotton-mouths, alligators, or any other aquatic danger.  The water was clear, a combination of the fresh water trickling in from a narrow stream, mingled with the salt water from the sea.  It was mostly still, only a slight stirring across the surface from the stream's flow, and the concentric circles that spread out from a thin-legged Herron fishing for its lunch in tall reeds near the far bank.  Satisfied it was safe, she stood.

"Alright, ladies, I believe this is as good a spot as any for your swimming lesson."  As she spoke, she began peeling off her clothing and tossing it in a pile on a raised, flat rock.  "It will be nothing fancy, only some basic survival skills you might need in the event you were to fall overboard or tumble into the water while fishing somewhere.  I will not get into – what?"  As she pulled her undershirt over her head and past her eyes, three nuns, their faces covered with their hands, appeared in her line of sight.

"You are nearly naked," Maria answered, her fingers firmly splayed across her closed eyes.

"Yes, and in another moment, I will be fully naked.  That is how I swim most of the time." She shrugged but none of the women moved to look at her.  "I supposed this precludes the three of you removing your clothing?"

Briefly, three pairs of very wide eyes appeared, followed by three simultaneous gasps, before the nuns quickly clapped their hands back over their faces. Isalba's pantaloons had just dropped to her ankles, and she stepped out of them, placing her hands on her hips.  "Oh, come now.  Surely in the convent you saw other women's nude bodies."  She looked over to Megan, who was blushing to the roots of her hair, though a tiny smirk played at her lips and her eyes dared to dart over Isalba's form, flitting upward to meet her eyes for a moment.

"No."  Helena uncovered her eyes, but looked steadily down at her feet.

"Not even when bathing?"  Isalba held her arms out at her sides, then let them drop. 

"No, we had a bathing chamber but we used it only one at a time.  It is forbidden to look upon the naked body.  It is a sin," Maria informed her. 

"Is there anything that is not a sin?" Isalba quipped.

"Not much, no."  Francesca peered timidly up at Isalba, only to have Helena reach over and smack her on the back of the head.  "Ouch!"  Francesca frowned and looked down, rubbing her head. "She does not look so evil."

"You will go to Hell, or at the very least, Purgatory," Helena scolded.

"If God had been against nakedness, we would not be born that way, no?"  Isalba argued.

"Babies are covered immediately at birth," Maria protested.

"Madre!"  Isalba cursed, watching Helena reach across and cover Francesca's ears.  "Gaia, help me.  Alright.  I will put on my pantaloons and undershirt, but nothing more. And the three of you will strip down to your undergarments."

"But –" Maria looked up, opened her mouth to argue, and met Isalba's frustrated glare. Her jaw clicked closed and she looked back down.

"You cannot swim in a full nun's habit.  The weight of the wet material will bog you down.  It is alright." Isalba attempted to project a calm, reassuring tone.  "I promise not to touch you, other than to assist with swimming form.  I am many things, but a molester of women of the cloth is not one of them."

None of the women moved to disrobe and Isalba groaned in frustration, turning her back to the group and crossing her arms. "Very well.  I will not look at you until you are down to your skivvies and standing in water up to your necks.  Megan will also turn around."  She glanced over to see Megan quickly comply.  "Is that fair enough?"

"Th – that is fair enough for me," Francesca bravely piped up, stepping out of Helena's reach and unbuttoning her long dress, dropping it to the ground along with her head covering.  Slowly, the other two nuns followed suit, removing habits, shoes, and stockings. Once they were mostly undressed they held hands and carefully waded into the pool.

"Let me know when you are ready," Isalba called out.  She pulled her under clothing back on and waited, hearing Megan snickering from a resting spot she had chosen under a tree.  "I will get you, later," Isalba threatened.  Looking over at Megan's twinkling eyes, she lost her stern composure and they both laughed silently, their ribs shaking in an effort to control themselves.

"We are ready," Helena's commanding voice called out.

Isalba turned and rolled her eyes, seeing only three dark heads bobbing above the water's surface.  With a wicked grin, she took a few steps back and then ran, slicing across the top of the water in long, low dive, cutting the surface and sending a large wall of water washing over the three women.  As she stood up and shook the water out of her face, all three nuns stumbled to shallower water, coughing and glaring at her.

"That was not nice," Maria scolded her.

"People who cannot swim should not stand in water almost over their head. You never know when something – or someone – might suddenly cause it to be displaced."  Isalba rubbed her hands together, then ran them down her face and back up, pushing her hair out of her eyes.  "Now that we have lost some of our modesty –" she studied the soaked women, all of them now standing in waist-deep water. "Here are a few basic things you should learn."

Holding her arms out at her sides, she swept them back and forth in a broad figure-eight motion.  "This stroke, combined with kicking your legs, will help you to keep your head above water."  Everyone take a few steps back into deeper water, and try it."

"Please?"  Helena turned a pert nose up at her.

" 'Please' what?" Isalba took a step closer.

"You did not say it." Helena placed her hands on her hips.

"Please, try it," Isalba intoned through gritted teeth, hearing another round of snickering coming from Megan.  Scowling, she looked over her shoulder to see Megan cover her mouth and adopt an innocent expression.  Unable to help herself, Isalba smiled.  'Later,' she mouthed, reminding Megan of what they both new was mostly an empty threat.

From her spot under the tree, Megan was more entertained than she could ever have imagined. She had seen Isalba with the men, and in Coweta's village, and alone, and in each case she was at the core the same person, slightly altered to adapt to changing circumstances.  Here in the privacy of the little pond, with the nuns and away from the men, she was proving to be quite charming and even humorous beneath her gruff exterior.  And far more patient than Megan had deemed her capable of being.  Had one of the men argued with her as the nuns had, Isalba would likely have taken him, bodily removed his clothing, and tossed him headfirst into the water, she had no doubt.

With the younger women, some of whom had suffered fairly-recent horrific violation and trauma, she was infinitely gentle.  True, she had washed them all in a wall of water right off, but Megan had also seen Isalba watching them, poised to grab any of them out of harm if they had been unable to get to the shallows on their own.  As she watched, she had to smile.  Isalba now had the very fragile Francesca belly down across her outstretched arms, holding her safely up and helping her perfect her swimming strokes, her planed face a study in concentration, her posture as non-threatening as possible for a half-naked six-foot tall woman to be, while towering over a mere slip of a girl.

Megan had observed Francesca's eyes following Isalba, on the rare occasions when the youngest of the nuns ventured from their cabin below decks.  She exhibited a similar fascination that Megan herself had felt and still felt at times, when watching the pirate go about her business.  Perhaps in her own childish way, Francesca was a bit smitten with the nuns' erstwhile savior, an emotion that touched all too close for comfort, for Megan.

Even now, watching Isalba move, her wet clothing clinging to her body and water sheeting across smooth, brown, skin, it evoked that longing sensation again and Megan sighed, her body quivering inside for a moment, a mournful kind of happiness she could make no sense of.  It was as if she could sit there forever as long as Isalba was there with her, but only if she were closer.  Megan's fingers itched to reach out and touch all that muscle and she was ashamed of her thoughts.  People didn't do such things, at least not that she had ever seen, and she couldn't understand why she had such desires.

Pondering that, she sighed unhappily, resting her chin on her upraised knees, her arms wrapped around her legs. She wished for the first time in a while that Beibhinn were there to talk to.  Their mother had been closed-mouthed about such things but Megan knew her sister would have entertained her questions.  Now she berated herself for asking so few of them when they discussed Beibhinn 's wedding night.  What she had learned had been a little bit shocking, though not completely, given her childhood observation of sheep and cattle in the spring fields.

Still, Beibhinn had alluded to enjoying her trysts with Liam.  Megan had been so enthralled with the mystery of the taboo subject, that all she had been able to do was sit and listen, eyes wide and mouth round with shock.  She knew Isalba had shared such things with other women, and yet Megan could not fathom how, given that she had on more than one occasion been afforded the opportunity to visually inspect Isalba's assets.  She was a breathtakingly beautiful woman, her body perfection as far as Megan was concerned, but she was most assuredly female.  She was not in any way equipped to perform as Beibhinn had described.

Megan blushed furiously, wondering if she would ever gather the courage to ask Isalba about it.  "Yah!"  A touch to her cheek made her nearly jump out of her skin and she flung herself backward along the sand before realizing it was Isalba kneeling next to her, studying her with concerned eyes.

"I am sorry.  I did not mean to frighten you.  I thought you saw me walking up here."  Isalba stroked her cheek again.  "You are quite pink.  Sometimes herbs react badly with sunlight.  Perhaps you should find a shadier place and take that nap you promised?"

"I –" Megan knew the source of what Isalba mistook for sunburn, and it only made her cheeks flush warmer. "I was th – thinking," she stammered.

"Apparently so."  Isalba tilted he head, her eyes still worried.  "Do you feel alright?"

"Oh, yes.  Fine.  Fine. Never better."  Megan knew she was babbling, and took a breath, trying to calm herself.

"Do I need to take you back to the ship?"  Isalba glanced over at the pond, where the nuns were splashing about in awkward practice at treading water.  "It is going to be a while here."

"No, I am fine.  I shall rest as you suggested."  Megan smiled.  She looked around and back up at yet another touch to her face.

"Here. Use my clothing for a pillow."  Isalba had folded her trousers and shirt into a neat stack and laid them down in a spot shaded by a heavy covering of leaves overhead.  "I shall not need them until we are ready to go back to the ship."

"Oh.  Thank you."  Megan eased herself down and curled up on her side, as Isalba offered over a flask.  Megan sniffed at it and wrinkled her nose. "More herbs?"

"A small dose." Isalba shook the canister.  "Please, Meg.  So you will heal more quickly.  You want to be mended in time to enjoy Port Royal, do you not?"

"Yes."  Megan sat up enough to drink the horrid concoction. "That should terrify my bones into knitting back together."  She made a face and wiped her hand across her mouth.

Isalba chuckled and after a few strokes to Megan's head, stood, almost as if she were forcing herself to return to her task.  "Another hour or so, and I will wake you, I promise."

"Thank you." Megan smiled sleepily up at her.  "You take good care of me."

"I cannot have my crew in a bad way." Isalba brushed off the compliment.  "Sleep now."

"Alright."  Megan closed her eyes halfway, watching Isalba walk away, back to the water, her stride sure and strong, the muscles of her legs and backside visibly working beneath her half-dried undergarments. Megan's insides danced in time to the sway of Isalba's hips.

Maybe the herbs were affecting her thoughts.  Resolutely closing her eyes to the vision before her, Megan's head sank down into her pillow and she sighed, inhaling deeply.  Her eyes popped open as a pleasantly-clean, slightly-sweaty scent reached her, a mix of the soap she knew Isalba bathed with each day, and a sweeter, tangy, musky scent that was not helping things in the least.  The scent was inescapably mingled with the imprint of Isalba herself in Megan's mind, and she groaned in frustration, then gave into it, greedily inhaling and absorbing something she had come to associate with warmth and comfort, and those damned butterflies in her stomach.  Though she kept her eyes closed, half-dozing, it was almost time to leave the secluded glade before she fell fully asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The celebration bonfire was in full swing, and Megan looked around at the throng of revelers, all of them toasting their captain and her generosity.  Isalba had given every member of the crew, and even their guest nuns, a token of their new-found wealth, with promises of more to come once they reached Port Royal.  Some of the men wore fancy new gold chains around their necks, while others had chosen to receive a few less-flashy gold doubloons, now tucked away in their pockets to be whipped out and discussed over tankards of ale and rum. 

A few of the men who had assisted in retrieving Ivan's treasure chest had already gone through the process of having an ear, or in one case, a nose, pierced with the gold hoops Isalba had passed around.  Cooks had done the honors for all of them, and had pledged to remain sober until Isalba herself was ready to have her ear pierced.

Megan had watched the piercing process over Cooks' shoulder with some fascination and a minor amount of trepidation.  None of the men had cried out and only a few had even flinched.  It had to be at least a little painful, though all of the men who had sat for Cooks' handiwork were fairly liquored up before submitting to the procedure.  There was a camaraderie among those men and although Megan had her reservations about having a needle stuck through her earlobe, she desperately wanted to be a part of that crew bonding, to be one of the men as it were, and to be seen as someone who had made a contribution.

Not that she wasn't receiving her own share of toasting.  Isalba had proudly told the story several times over, of how Megan had spotted the wooden chest, and with each telling Megan blushed a little, though inside she soaked up the attention.  It meant a lot, to be seen as something more than a privileged village girl who had talked her way onto the ship.  Isalba had left out the detail that they had fallen asleep in the hammock, but Megan spied more than one knowing glance from eyes quickly averted when they met hers.  It was no secret that both she and Isalba had been gone all night and had returned to the main encampment together at first light.

Whispered conversation followed those glances and although it made her blush even harder than Isalba's tales of treasure-finding, it also made Megan feel proud.  Snippets of talk referring to her as belonging to Isalba drifted past her hearing, and a part of her liked that – liked the idea of being a part of the captain in some special way.  She only hoped Isalba didn't hear and take offense and lop a few heads off. 

She also wished she knew what it all meant.  It was all she could do not to follow the captain around like an eager puppy.  However, she forced herself to give Isalba some space and so she retreated across the fire to sit with Maria, Helena, and Francesca, and to share some wine and girl talk with them, and to tell Francesca some funny stories that had the young girl truly laughing for the first time since Isalba had rescued them from Ivan.

From time to time, Megan snuck looks in Isalba's direction, and was rewarded with a brilliant smile anytime Isalba caught her eye.  However, Megan resolved to be generous in stepping aside and holding her own while the men, one by one, or in groups, flocked to their captain to speak with her, congratulate, her, or simply slap her on the back; for as much as it was partly Megan's night to be celebrated, it was also a moment of glory for Isalba, a turning point in some ways.

Isalba no longer commanded a poorly-equipped, stolen fishing boat with an inherited crew and passed-down treasure.  No, on this night her smile was broad, her shoulders square, and her walk a swagger.  She was Captain of a fully-outfitted ship she had fought for and captured in her own right, with a treasure chest that was all hers, to do with as she saw fit, and she had chosen to be generous.  Generosity that got her all the more into the good graces of her crew, half of whom had chosen to follow her after she defeated Ivan, and half of whom had remained loyal to her upon Covington's death.  Her ship.  Her crew.  Her treasure.

Now, as she beckoned Megan over with the crook of a finger, Megan saw eyes that lay claim to her, all but proclaiming a word that Isalba had not used in reference to Megan since they sat together in Coweta's camp: Mine.  So what was she to Isalba?  A friend, no doubt.  That much had been openly expressed.  And she was certain Isalba found her amusing.  But as Megan stood and crossed the sand from where she had been sitting with the nuns, those blue eyes watched her coming and drew her forward like a magnet, Isalba's lips parted in a frankly-appreciative grin, her expression one of pure affection.

Megan could no more have resisted it than she could have quit her need for air and water.  Friends? Megan had friends back home on Chincoteague, some almost as close as sisters, yet none of them had made her feel the things she felt when she was around Isalba.  On legs that practically shook, she took her final few steps and found herself snagged and dragged down by the pirate's side, sitting in the sand near the fire, a pair of fingertips lightly grazing back and forth against the bare skin of Megan's partly-exposed side, while Isalba offered over a flask of strong, almost tasteless liquor. 

"Drink," the low, rich voice commanded and Megan realized if Isalba had told her to dance the Virginia Reel around the fire, she would gladly have done so.  As Megan guzzled the clear firewater, heat burned from her lips to her stomach, and warm breath brushed across her ear as Isalba spoke to her, sending a mixture of hot prickles and  cool chills across her skin.  "You are certain you still want to do this?"

"Yes," Megan gasped, swallowing and taking a breath.  She looked around at the men, most of whom were doing their best to maintain their own, separate conversations.  "I want to be a part of this," she whispered, gesturing at the gathered crew and watching Isalba's smile broaden, a low, sensual chuckle bubbling up from her throat.  Megan got lost in that, the alcohol already hitting her system hard, causing her head to spin and making her feel slightly disconnected from her own body.

"You are already a part of this," Isalba assured her, patting her cheek and tilting her face up in the firelight.  "Your eyes are beginning to glaze over.  Good."

"Good?" Megan fuzzily responded.  Indeed, she was feeling no pain, and focusing on Isalba's face and words was taking more effort by the minute.  Her body, however, was having no such trouble, as she felt a firm pressure, a warm hand pushing her down to the ground until she was reclining with her head lying against Isalba's muscular thigh.  She was vaguely aware of movement around her, Isalba's body shifting slightly as she prepared the needle, the cork, and the earring.  The air was still pleasant on Megan's bare feet and her arms, but the sand was already chilled with nightfall, the rough grains cool against what skin was exposed to it.

With the washing waves of the ocean and the crackle of the fire lulling her into another place, Megan drifted in and out, the liquor now flooding her bloodstream.  Her eyes fluttered closed as she took a deep breath, drawing in something much stronger than what she had experienced earlier during the swimming lesson: that scent, living and moving, surrounding her and filling her up, making her guts beg her for something she could not satisfy. 

She felt that pressure again, this time at the back of her head, as Isalba turned Megan's face to one side, and Megan opened her eyes to see the tan material of the trousers Isalba wore, and her crisp white shirt, mere inches from her eyes.  Isalba was saying something but Megan couldn't comprehend the words. The tone was commanding and full of comfort at the same time, and Megan grunted a little in acknowledgement, burrowing closer to Isalba's body as she felt something hard pushed beneath her earlobe.

What was it again?  Oh yes, cork.  Isalba had mentioned that earlier.  For some reason cork was involved, though Megan couldn't remember why.  More words and Isalba's warm breath in Megan's ear again, whispering something unintelligible to her as Megan felt her earlobe grasped and stretched out, Isalba's fingers pinching her tender skin hard against the cork until the lobe began to feel slightly numb.  At the same time, she felt a gentle continual stroking at her cheek and Isalba never ceased talking to her. Megan closed her eyes, surrendering to it.  The hand at her cheek drifted downward, brushing along Megan's arm, caressing it a few times and grazing the side of her breast through her shirt, then trailing upward until it rested against her cheek once more.

In her inebriated state, Megan became aware that Isalba's other arm, the one that was braced so she could hold Megan's earlobe taut, was pressed firmly beneath the breast she had caressed, moving against Megan slightly as Isalba moved subtly about in her preparations.  Megan's body liked that and she absorbed the sensation, wanting more.  Suddenly a stabbing pain shot through her ear and she whimpered, just once. Just as quickly, a second prick indicated Isalba was putting the earring in place.  Something cold and stinging pressed against her ear briefly, and then was removed.

"It is done," Isalba's voice drifted past Megan's consciousness and she opened her eyes, floating a little, her senses still inundated with Isalba's presence.

"Already? I hardly felt a thing."  Megan forced the words out and felt the vibration as Isalba laughed lightly in response.

"Ah, such luck I have," Isalba joked, her words so low that only Megan could hear them.  "My one chance to deflower you and you barely felt it.  I must be losing my touch."  She stroked Megan's head several times, and Megan made no move to pull away from her comfortable resting place.

"Oh, no.  I do.  I – feel – you," Megan mumbled, idly reaching down and patting Isalba's arm where it was still planted firmly against her curves.  As Megan looked up at her, Isalba uncharacteristically blushed.

"My apologies." Isalba slid her arm down to a more neutral position across Megan's stomach.  "Cooks is preparing to pierce my ear twice and once he is done we shall get up."

" 'S'okay," Megan responded dreamily. "Nice here."  She patted Isalba's arm again and curled her hand around a corded wrist.  "Do you need me to move so you can lay down?"

"No, I am going to take it like a big girl, sober and sitting up while Cooks makes a woman out of me."  She winked at Megan, and Megan heard Cooks chuckle nervously. Nearby she heard guffaws of laughter and a few colorful comments hurled in Cooks' direction.

Megan laughed lightly and squeezed Isalba's wrist for a moment.  "Good. I do not wish to move. I could lie in your lap forever."  Just as she closed her eyes again, Megan felt Isalba go very still for a moment.

"Thank you," Isalba mumbled.

"Ferwhat?" Megan slurred.

"You distracted me from Cooks' first needle." Isalba released a short, shaky laugh.

"Glad to return the favor, as you distracted me from yours." Megan briefly touched her own breast, then re-clasped Isalba's wrist.  She felt Isalba go still again and heard her gulp audibly.  Megan forced her eyes open, looking up and trying to focus.  "Is everything alright?"

"Yes.  I must thank you again. I felt not the second piercing, either."  Isalba sat still while Cooks placed the stud that matched Megan's into her earlobe, then she gave Megan's shoulder a little shake.  "Let us go for a walk.  Would you like that?"

"If I am able to walk, I would like that very much." With some assistance, Megan sat up and accepted a mug of cold, clear water. 

"You need to drink all of the water and then move around and walk some of the liquor off," Isalba advised her.  "If you go to sleep now, you will surely regret it in the morning."

"You be the expert," Megan teased, and allowed herself to be hauled to her feet.  Her body protested at the loss of contact, and she frowned as a cool breezed blew off the waves and over her, pushing aside warm lassitude.  She was a unsteady on her feet, but not nearly as dizzy standing as she had been lying down.

Hooking her arm through Isalba's, they left the fireside and began walking, or rather, weaving down the beach to the quieter shoreline.  Once she was walking, Megan realized in a disconnected way that she was, indeed, more drunk than she had thought.  Her legs wobbled and the sand felt much more uneven than it should have.  She giggled and held more tightly to Isalba, who had one arm draped about Megan's waist and the other grasping Megan's arm, steadying her.

"The moon is as beautiful tonight as it was last night," Isalba commented, guiding Megan around a pile of seaweed that had washed up onto the beach.

"Moon?"  Megan answered with a sigh, and peered out at the water.  "Oh, yes.  There it is.  It still follows us. I wonder how it does that?" Megan veered toward the water and Isalba hooked a finger over the waistband of Megan's trousers, hauling her back close.

"Walking is not working so well. Perhaps we should find a nice tree to sit under."  Isalba looked farther down the beach, spying a palm tree, taller than the rest  and far enough up on the beach to keep them dry from the incoming waves.  "There." She pointed at the tree.

"So far away," Megan moaned.  "I shall never make it.  "Carry me."

"C - Carry you?" Isalba stopped and placed both hands on her hips. Left to her own devices, Megan teetered and almost fell, until Isalba reached out and grabbed her just in time.  "Alright."  Isalba leaned over, her hands on her knees. "Climb up on my back and put your arms around my neck."

Megan complied, her legs wrapping snugly around Isalba's waist from behind.  "And ride you like a horse?" 

"Give me strength," Isalba muttered, grabbing hold of Megan's thighs, just above her knees. "Hold on.  Do not let go."

"Weeeee!" Megan exclaimed, as Isalba took off at a trot, quickly reaching the tree and depositing Megan down onto the soft, thick sand beneath it.  "Hurry and sit down!" Megan demanded.

"Alright, already."  Isalba shook her head and laughed nonetheless, plunking down into the sugary soft spot.  "Why the hurry - oh." 

Megan immediately snuggled up against her, wriggling beneath one of Isalba's arms and wrapping her own two around the pirate.  "I was getting dizzy. I need something to hold onto.  Besides, I am getting cold."

"I wish I could say the same."  Isalba realized she was rigidly tense and forced herself to relax.  She had held Megan in her arms dozens of times, but this was different.  In her intoxicated state, Megan's usual innocent affection was multiplied.  Isalba wasn't sure if it was an indication of deeper desires the younger woman would not normally express, or just Megan being her usual curious self, but with fewer inhibitions.

"You are not getting chilled in this night air?"  Megan hugged Isalba tightly and looked up at her, moonlight painting silver streaks in her blonde hair.

"No, I am anything but chilled at the moment."  Isalba gave in and ducked her head, brushing her lips against Megan's a few times.  With a sigh and a smile she sat back against the tree trunk, her arms wrapped loosely around Megan's body.  She closed her eyes and savored it, knowing it was a golden moment in time.  A pat to her belly brought her out of her musings and she opened her eyes.

Megan had hitched herself up a little and was now at eye level with Isalba.  "You said you would explain 'deflowering' to me when we were alone.  Well, here we are." Megan studied Isalba expectantly, and all Isalba could do was laugh.

"Yes, here we are, and yes, I did promise that, didn't I?"  Isalba drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, biting her lower lip as she thought.  She reached over and tweaked Megan's nose, watching the green eyes cross as her fingers drew near to Megan's face.  "Not that you are going to remember anything I say in the morning, given your current condition, but here I go."

"Good."  Megan sat back just a little, her expression eager.

"You remember the conversation you had with your sister about her wedding night?"  Megan nodded and Isalba continued, "I assume your sister was a virgin? She had lain with no man?"

"Of course she was a virgin!" Megan replied in an indignant tone.  "Women do not do such things until they are married."

"Speak for yourself," Isalba quietly intoned, Megan's thought processes regarding sexual experimentation, even drunk, not lost on her.  "If she was a virgin — well, hold on first.  Did she tell you about losing her maidenhood?"

"She lay with Ian that night, yes," Megan answered. "And he put his — you know — inside her."  She looked down and Isalba touched her cheek, feeling the heat of Megan's blush.

"If you are going to ask such things, you should not be ashamed, Meg. Especially with me."  She tilted Megan's face back up. "There, better.  Since your sister was a virgin — with virgins, there is a barrier inside. A thin membrane of skin.  It is intact until the first man they lay with breaks it when he goes inside her. For some women it hurts that first time, and for others it is not so bad." 

Isalba felt her throat going dry and realized that while she was not blushing, she was having her own involuntary reaction to the conversation. "Damn," she muttered, and lifted a flask of water she had grabbed for Megan to drink, taking a swig of it herself.  "Alright," she cleared her throat.  "The breaking of that barrier is what 'deflowering' refers to. It is said that if you are the first to lay with a maiden, you have deflowered her. Or sometimes it is said you have picked her cherry."

Megan wrinkled her nose, making a face. "Flowers and cherries? Such strange ways to refer to a woman's privates."

"Ah, but such fruit can be very sweet," Isalba corrected her with a grin.

"You sound as if a woman is something to be eaten." Megan giggled.

"That is another conversation for another day." Isalba lifted a handful of sand, letting it sift slowly through her fingers.

"What?"

"Nothing."  The pirate looked up.  "Anyway, that is what it means to deflower a virgin. Does that answer your question?"

"No." Megan pursed her lips, her brows furrowed.  "I mean, yes, as far as a man is concerned, but you made jokes about you deflowering virgins, which would be impossible."

"I assure you it is quite possible. I can and I have." Isalba regretted her answer as soon as she said it, almost hearing the next question before it was asked.

"But — how?"  Megan's eyes briefly drifted down to Isalba's crotch.  "I have seen you naked.  You have not a man's bits."

"Oh, Meg, please do not make me have this conversation," Isalba almost wailed.  "Will it satisfy you to tell you there are ways one woman can touch another? I know we have discussed this before, though not in as much depth.  Think hard, Meg.  If I can touch a woman with my hands, what is the most logical way I could pick her cherry?"

In her fogged state, Megan's brows scrunched together even more. She even went so far as to lift her own hand, idly stroking her own forearm in thought. Suddenly she sat up on her knees and got nose to nose with Isalba.  "You — your finger — you put it — like a man — there —?" Megan's expression could not have been more shocked if Isalba had announced she made love to women while riding a cow backward across the moon.

"We are such worlds apart.  Sometimes, yes."  Isalba attempted to gently push Megan back down to a seated position, just as Megan shifted, and the younger woman lost her balance, ending up on her knees, straddled across Isalba's lap.  She sat back, making herself comfortable. "Gaia," Isalba muttered, covering her face with one hand.

"Sometimes?" Megan tilted her head, holding onto her train of thought like a dog to a bone, working hard to overcome the liquor that still had a firm grasp on her thought processes. "And other times?"

"Ah, Meg, you are killing me."  Isalba had to smile, though, so earnest was Megan's face.  "Other times, I touch a woman in other ways.  There are many ways to give pleasure to a woman, Megan.  Most men would do well to learn them."

"You touched me, earlier." Megan looked down, suddenly shy.

"I — I did no — such — thing!" Isalba sputtered.

"Yes, you did. You stroked my arm when you were getting ready to pierce my ear, and while you were doing that, you grazed my bosom." Megan looked down.

"Oh. Then I apologize. It was not intentional."

"I liked it when you did that," Megan replied quietly.

"You did, huh?"  Isalba touched Megan's face until she looked back up. "Like this?" Her hand trailed down, along Megan's jaw and across her collarbone. Swallowing, she crossed a line, trailing her fingertips in a lazy arc along the side of Megan's breast.

"Y — yes." Megan's face was a study in consternation.

"Are you sure you liked it?"  Isalba's hand stilled and Megan nodded.  "How about this?"   Venturing lower, she hefted Megan's breast, enjoying its weight in her hand.  Megan swallowed and nodded again. "And this?"  Isalba brushed her thumb over Megan's nipple, feeling it harden beneath the twill shirt that covered it.

"Yes." Megan whimpered, her entire body trembling.  Isalba reached up with both hands, taking her face gently between them and drawing Megan closer until their lips met.  Isalba's body reacted more quickly than she expected and she heard a moan, then realized it was coming from her own throat. She sampled Megan's lips, slowly at first, then with increasing need, her hunger creeping up and threatening to take control.  It was sweet and hot, and with one hand she cradled the back of Megan's head, while the other wandered down and beneath Megan's shirt.

"Ah," Megan cried softly, but made no move to pull away, her own arms now wrapped around Isalba's neck.

"Open your mouth," Isalba breathed against Megan's lips, then dove back in, exploring Megan's mouth more deeply as their tongues danced together.  Now unhindered, Isalba stroked upward, feeling the contrast of soft, warm skin against her palm and the slightly rough material of Megan's shirt against the back of her hand.  Reaching her goal, she hefted Megan's other breast, teasing her as she continued to kiss her senseless.

Whimpering, Megan shifted closer and Isalba groaned and lifted her up, then took Megan down to the sand, stretching out next to her, her hand now wandering freely over Megan's body.  She found the ties of the offending shirt and pulled them free of their eyelets, then pushed the collar aside, exposing a creamy shoulder, which she sampled with her lips and tongue.

"Are you still cold?" Isalba smiled, her voice full of mischief.

"No."  Megan's hand clutched at the small of Isalba's back.  "Very warm."

Isalba's low laughter bubbled up and holding Megan with one arm, her other hand drifted downward, over a hip and along Megan's leg.  She pulled the leg up and over, until Megan's inner calf was pressed against Isalba's hip.  Slowly, she slid her hand along and up Megan's inner thigh, stroking and teasing, closer and closer until she cupped Megan. It was very warm where her hand was, the material of Megan's trousers slightly damp and Isalba drew in a breath, holding it as she lingered there.  "Thank the goddess you are not wearing a dress," she whispered, "or I would not be able to help myself."

Megan's eyes were closed, her facial features intense with pleasure.  Isalba smiled and stroked Megan once, then again, receiving a whimper for her efforts. It was too much and she nudged Megan's shirt farther down with her nose, nipping at the baby soft skin of her upper breast, then began to kiss her way lower. "Wh — what are you doing?"  Megan's eyes were open now and she looked down at Isalba, her expression one of drunken confusion.

Isalba paused and looked up, and then went still, closing her own eyes slowly in horrified shame.  "Dammit!"  She sat back, carefully letting go of Megan.  Isalba pushed herself away and sat up, raising her knees and placing her elbows against her thighs, her face in her hands.  "This is why I chose to remain sober while you were drunk.  So this would not happen!"

"Isa."  A soft touch to her back made Isalba look up.  "It is alright.  I liked it."

"Yes, I could tell, as did I."  Isalba  scrubbed her face with her hands and turned, casting an affectionate smile in Megan's direction. Reaching over, she gently touched Megan's face. "And now we are going to stop.  This must not go further."

"Why?" Megan leaned into her touch.

"Because you are full of liquor and I will not take advantage of that.  Even if you like it now, you would hate me tomorrow, and that is something I could not live with," Isalba answered quietly. "Because you are innocent and it would not be right for me to take that from you," she added, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"You do not want to take my cherry?"  Megan frowned and then smiled, seeing Isalba's indulgently smiling face so close.

"Oh, Meg, I am not going to answer that question.  You are young and at this moment you are silly with Coweta's firewater.  You must decide what you want from this life, be it on my ship or settled down elsewhere."  Isalba looked down. "Even if I wanted to, I will not take something from you that you might someday wish to give to another."

Megan moved to Isalba's side once more, and they leaned back against the tree.  "Hold me?"

"Of course." Isalba drew Megan into her arms and looked up at the palm fronds overhead, dark in silhouette against the navy blue night sky.  "How is your ear?  And your finger?"

"Ear?  Oh."  Megan laughed lightly. "If I think about it, it stings.  My finger is much less swollen."  Megan held it up for inspection, wiggling the splint slightly.

"Good. I almost forgot about it, while we were —" Isalba trailed off and leaned over enough to see Megan's ear, the gold setting catching the moonlight and twinkling at her. "Your earring is very pretty and you —" She rubbed her hand back and forth against Megan's lower back. "You are beautiful," she finally completed her sentence.

"Mmmmm." Megan nuzzled her neck a little, her voice dreamy. "My Isa is beautiful, too," murmured.

" 'Your' Isa?"  Isalba laughed lightly. Looking down again, she realized Megan was drifting off to sleep.  "True," she whispered when she was certain Megan was out. "I believe you have had me since the day we met."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The door to the cabin creaked open and a dark head peered inside.  Megan lay on the bottom bunk next to Francesca, both of them burrowed beneath a quilt.  Stirring at the noise, she opened one eye for only a moment, spying Isalba's form in the doorway.  With a slight grunt, the captain disappeared once more, closing the door behind her.  Megan was behind Francesca, both of them lying on their side, and she was fairly certain Isalba thought she was asleep.

It was very early morning, she could tell by the grayish light just barely illuminating the wall across from her, its source a tiny porthole that was above the upper bunk.  Her head hurt, though it wasn't pounding, and she was so thirsty she would have guzzled sea water if it were convenient.  Closing her eyes, she tried to remember how she'd gotten to the bunk.

Oh, yes.  Isalba had half-carried her back to the ship and put her there.  Looking beneath the covers, she realized she was dressed in her long nightgown and turning her head, saw her trousers and shirt from the day before folded neatly on a low bench that was nailed to the wall.  She could not remember getting dressed for bed and wondered if she had accomplished the task herself, or if Isalba or one of the nuns had done it for her. As she rolled to her back, her earlobe, which had been pressed against a feather pillow, stung, and she remembered it was pierced with the pretty earring Isalba had given her.

Nature called and she eased her way over Francesca with only a minimal amount of disturbance.  Quickly and quietly, she shrugged into her clothes and slipped out of the tiny cabin into the narrow hallway outside.  The privy room was at the far end, and she tiptoed her way there, avoiding squeaking boards in the floor, and hearing the often-loud snores of the men coming from behind closed doors along the way.  The evening party had gone on most of the night and she had heard revelers still stumbling in only a few hours earlier.  Many others were likely still passed out on the beach across from the moored ship, having never made it away from the bonfire.

She made quick work of her business and re-entered the hallway, intent on going up top for some much-needed fresh air.  The privy room made her gag, and stank of vomit and much worse.  She was glad it wasn't her day to empty and clean its buckets.  Wrinkling her nose in disgust, she went back to her cabin long enough to grab a light cloak, then climbed the ladder up to the deck.

It was nearly sunrise, and she looked up at a few pink-edged, fluffy clouds floating slowly across the pale sky.  Way up above, the morning star twinkled at her and the moon hung low, ready to bid the world farewell until nightfall.  To her pleasure, she found herself completely alone in the faintly-warm early morning air, something she relished.  She had discovered privacy was a rare thing on a ship, especially one full of noisy, burly men lacking in social skills.  Rare moments by herself were times to be treasured and she closed her eyes long enough to drink in the peace.  Waves lapped lightly at the sides of the ship, and across the way a pair of seagulls called out as they flew low over the water in search of breakfast.

Megan herself had no desire for food, but her thirst beckoned and she drank down a healthy dipper full of cool, clear water from a covered barrel lashed against the side of the cabin housing.  It wasn't enough and she drank another full helping, then carefully replaced the barrel's lid to keep out bugs and other creatures.  It was never a happy occasion to be halfway through a drink of water only to find yourself nose-to-nose with a dead mosquito.

Way up at the front of the ship was a small space at the tip of the bow, just the right size for Megan to sit and look out over the sea.  She was drawn to it and settled down there, pulling her cloak around her shoulders and resting her forearms on the railing where it came to a V in front of her.  A chittering noise caught her ear and she looked down for its source, a pair of playful porpoises smiling up at her and singing a morning greeting. She smiled back.  "Good morning."

One of the beautiful creatures shook his head at her and chittered some more, then dove down, slapping his tail against the water.  A few drops splashed up, wetting Megan's bare feet.  "Hey!" she playfully scolded, but the porpoise only came up, blowing air and water from his spout and grinning at his own mischief.  She watched as the two animals put on a brief acrobatic performance for her benefit, then lazily swam away, likely also in search of morning sustenance.

Her headache was easing and with it came gradual clarity.  Sketchy details ran through her head from the night before.  Coweta's firewater burning a path down her throat and numbing her senses.  Lying in Isalba's lap, surrounded by her scent as the stinging bite of the needle punctured her earlobe.  Soft kisses that quickly became something more, igniting a hunger that she could still taste on her lips and feel deeply inside, a yearning that was increasingly making her feel crazed.  Isalba's hands and lips, trailing and tingling across her skin and touching her in ways she had never imagined.

She still didn't understand it all, but many gaps in her knowledge had certainly been closed.  Vaguely, she remembered working out just how, exactly, Isalba could 'deflower' a virgin, as she called it.  Even now Megan felt embarrassed, thinking about it and wondering what might have happened if Isalba had not put a stop to their activities.  A part of her was afraid.  Beibhinn had said it was painful and yet she said she liked it when lying with Ian.

Well, Megan at least now understood why her sister enjoyed Ian's attentions.  If he touched her the way Isalba had touched Megan —.  She sighed.  Isalba had indicated there were many ways to go about it and now she found herself wondering even more what it all meant.  The part of her that was afraid was fast becoming overruled by the part that had never wanted it to end.  She knew she should be shocked by what had happened between them, but it had felt wonderful and beyond anything she could possibly have dreamed of.  If there was even more to it than what she had experienced, and Isalba had indicated there was, she could not begin to imagine what she was missing, but realized she was keen to find out.

Isalba had called it 'making love' when she spoke of other women.  Was that what Megan was feeling?  Love?  And what of Isalba?  Maybe it didn't mean the same thing to her, especially if she had done those things with many women.  She remembered Isalba speaking of the men taking pleasure with women in Port Royal.  Maybe that was what it meant to Isalba as well.  Maybe love had nothing to do with it.  And yet there was that warmth, that longing she felt when Isalba was nearby, something nameless that made her feel like one giant smile inside, a smile so big it felt like she would burst.  Was that what love felt like?  Although Megan had found answers to some of her questions, a dozen new questions had taken their place.

And then there were those cursed visions on All Hallows Eve.  How long had she wondered what those meant?  And how long had she looked for Isalba, wondering if she would ever find her and knowing that somehow, their fates were linked.  Legend said she was to marry the person in those visions.  Legend said nothing about what to do if the vision involved another woman.  She couldn't very well marry Isalba, no matter how she felt, now could she?

Suddenly and sickeningly, Megan realized that it might not matter what she was feeling.  She might be clearer now on what could happen between two women, but something else had also become painfully clear.  Despite her actions, Isalba had stated in no uncertain terms that she did not want those things to happen between her and Megan.  What had she said?  That what had happened should not have happened. And what's more, that she had no intention of allowing it to. 

Then why, oh, why, had Isalba done what she did?  "Arrrgggghhhh." Megan groused, careful to keep her voice low, so as not to draw attention.  She wanted to remain alone a while longer.  She rubbed her face with her hands and shook her head slowly back and forth.  No matter. Isalba had made her intentions firm with word, if not with deed.  Megan rolled it all around in her head, trying to understand it.  She wanted so much more and she wanted more of what she had felt lying in Isalba's arms.  What was she to do?

"Good morning," a hesitant voice sounded at her back, and Megan stiffened momentarily, then forced a smile and glanced over her shoulder.

Isalba stood there, wrapped in an almost identical cloak, her long hair unkempt and blowing up around her shoulders in the light breeze.  "Good morning," Megan returned the greeting in as cheerful a voice as she could muster.

Isalba appeared relieved and eased her way forward, standing to one side of Megan and leaning on the railing. "A pretty sunrise this morning."

Megan looked eastward over the water.  "Yes, very pretty."

They watched in silence as the sliver of sunlight grew until the great, pulsing sun glided over the horizon and filled the eastern sky with pale, peach-tinged light.  Megan could feel it now on her face and she eased her cloak back, baring her arms and shoulders, which were warm enough in her shirt with no additional cover. 

"How are you feeling?"  Isalba asked, her voice much more concerned than warranted.

Closing her eyes, Megan swallowed, feeling that longing inside, stronger than ever.  Resolutely, she forced it down and opened her eyes.  "I had a wee bit of headache when I woke up, but I drank from the water barrel and it is almost gone now."

"Good, good."  Isalba nodded vigorously, not quite looking at Megan.  "I was afraid you might be feeling badly."  She looked over at Megan quickly, her expression earnest, and then just as quickly found the water below to be intensely interesting.

"No, not nearly as badly as I should, considering the amount of liquor in my belly last night."  Megan forced a light laugh.  "I fear it has rendered my memory fuzzy, though.  I remember drinking and you piercing my ear, and walking on the beach –"

"And?"  Isalba did not look at her, the question soft and almost frightened.

"I fear not much else."  Megan glanced over, noting the deep blush to Isalba's cheek.  The pirate finally turned to look at her, her eyes expressing obvious relief, and Megan realized she had just told what her mother would call a lie of kindness.

"Not much else to it," Isalba lied in return, her lips curling up briefly into a half-smile.

"Your earrings are quite fetching."  Megan ventured to reach across and touch Isalba's neck, just below her ear. She lingered only a moment, feeling the taller woman stiffen at her touch.  Saddened, Megan looked down and plucked at the laces of her own shirt.

"Thank you," Isalba slowly replied. "Yours is very pretty as well."

"When do we set sail?"  Megan was suddenly eager to be underway and despite the vast emptiness of the top deck, it was beginning to feel crowded.

"I am going to let the men sleep a while longer."  Isalba laughed lightly, either missing or ignoring Megan's melancholy.  "It was a very long night for some of them."

"I know.  I heard some of them singing as they came in, not so long ago."  Megan also laughed.  "They should not attempt Irish ballads while drunk. That is the best I can say for that."

"Irish ballads, my dear, were meant to be sung while drunk," Isalba informed her, with a cheeky, much more genuine smile.

"Perhaps." Megan drew her cloak back up, more out of nervous energy than a need for warmth.  "There were a few Irish on Chincoteague, mostly my family. As for Ireland herself, I remember less and less, the more time passes."

"Ah, I forget you were born there."  Isalba turned toward Megan and leaned casually against the railing, her comfort level with the younger woman slipping back into a more familiar place.

"Yes.  We lived on a farm and raised sheep and grew potatoes.  Pappa also fished.  It was not an easy life.  Our village was small, even smaller than Chincoteague, and so many died of illness the year before we left."  Megan studied Isalba's face, getting lost in her eyes as she spoke.  "Pappa was close to despair right before we left.  When I was very little he used to play the fiddle and we would sing beside the fireplace in the evenings.  But as times got harder he set it aside.  It was good for us, coming to Virginia Colony.  The land there was alive and good for growing the garden, and the fish abundant.  Pappa found his smile and his music again there."

"I am glad for him."  Blue eyes shone warmly on Megan's face.  "And for you.  I am glad your family landed at Chincoteague. Otherwise, we might not have me—" Isalba trailed off, her eyes suddenly sad.

Megan easily knew what Isalba was going to say and her own spirits fell even further.  Was Isalba now sorry they had ever met?  "Isa."  Megan vowed to put on a brave front. "I am glad we landed on Chincoteague, too.  I do not know what I am meant for in this life, but it is not for Virginia Colony or the life of a farmer's wife.  I am grateful to you for allowing me this time on your ship.  Perhaps it will help me learn what I am meant for."

"I hope it does."  Isalba reached across and briefly touched Megan's arm.  "I truly do."  Withdrawing her hand, Isalba rubbed her own belly and then patted it. "Would you like to go over to the beach with me and help me start the breakfast fire?  I could use some help gathering wood."

"Oh." Megan was surprised and relieved at the request, afraid that Isalba no longer wanted to spend any kind of time with her.  "Of course.  Perhaps I could start up a stew as well and the men could have that this morning. That and some bread might ease their troubled stomachs."

"Cooks can perform the breakfast preparations." Isalba frowned. "It is his one duty. I do not ask of him much of anything else."

"That is true, but I believe Cooks was one of the men serenading me as they stumbled down the hallway past my bunk this morning."  Megan grinned.  "He did not drink until after he pierced your ear, but if my ears heard correctly, he wasted no time in catching up with the others. We should all give thanks to God that he cooks much better than he sings."

Isalba laughed, long and hard, and Megan joined in, relieved the tension between them was easing. She was glad she had not revealed all her memories, certain she would have driven Isalba away.  As they turned to go below and prepare for the trip to shore, Isalba casually slung her arm around Megan's shoulders, a habit she had fallen into in weeks past.  It felt so good that Megan's eyes stung.  If she couldn't have what she wanted, she vowed to take whatever Isalba was willing to offer, and make herself content with it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When it was finally served, breakfast became brunch.  The sun was well on its way to mid-sky and off in the distance rain clouds threatened to catch up with them, as sheets of rain created a blurry haze on the far horizon, where the sea met the heavens.  They could smell it on the breeze, which had picked up considerably since early morning, and the sky was now blanketed with tall, billowing clouds.  White clouds, rather than the gray of stormy ones, but they covered the sky nonetheless. Still, the rain was many miles away and it would take a while to reach them.

Megan sat on a log near Isalba, but not directly next to her.  For some reason Maria was following Megan around like a lost child. She was often quiet, her mood swings almost predictable on any given day.  Megan knew Maria harbored conflict in her heart toward Isalba, and she couldn't blame her, really.  They had both watched Isalba execute the priests, and for Maria it was her first impression of the tall, often intimidating and complex pirate.

And yet Isalba had shown nothing but kindness toward Maria herself as well as the other nuns.  Isalba was impatient at turns, and while she might sometimes raise her voice at them, she had never raised a hand against any of them.  When it came to the young and fragile Francesca, Isalba was infinitely gentle.  She had even gone so far as to allow them to travel farther with her than she had intended.  Frederick had confided that Isalba had spoken with him about the possibility of becoming an apprentice to a map maker in Port Royal, and now it seemed that he and Maria might actually get to stay together after a fashion. Thus, Maria was grateful and confused in her thought toward the captain.

"Are you feeling alright?" Megan studied her slightly younger friend. 

"Yes, fine, why?" Maria barely glanced up from her bowl of stew, which she was playing with rather than eating.

"Because you have not taken a bite of your food and you have been ignoring Francesca and Helena completely."  Megan looked over where the other two nuns were seated some distance away, tucked under a tree and casting occasional frowns in their direction.

"It is complicated," Maria answered.

"That does not help me understand you," Megan pointed out.  "Did you fight with the others?"

"No. I – yes. No, not exactly." Maria sighed.  "Last night –" she looked surreptitiously over at Isalba, as if she did not want to be overheard.  The pirate was deep in conversation with Harry regarding logistics for the next leg of the voyage, and satisfied she wasn't paying attention, Maria hesitantly continued.  "Last night I went for a walk on the beach with Frederick."

"It was a very nice night," Megan replied, remembering her own 'walk' on the beach.

"He –" Maria's face flushed bright pink.  "He has kissed me a few times before."

"Oh."  Megan smiled.  "Brash young man."

"Yes," Maria replied in a mournful tone.  "Perhaps too brash."

"What do you mean?"  Now Megan glanced at Isalba, who appeared to be oblivious to them.

"He took me to a hammock on the beach last night."  Maria looked down, stirring her stew with a long stick of bread.

"I believe I saw that hammock a few nights ago," Megan replied innocently.  She had fond memories of that hammock.

"Yes, well, he convinced me we should lie in it and watch the stars, and I thought that it was such a lovely night and we were alone.  He was being so sweet."  Maria shook her head.  "He kissed me and we forgot all about stars."

"Oh." Megan smiled knowingly.  "Do you like kissing Frederick?"

"I – I know I should not allow it," Maria answered slowly. "But I do. I know, it is wrong."

"It is not so wrong," Megan tried to assure her.  "It is only kissing. It is not like –" she trailed off as Maria looked up at her, her eyes full of guilt.

"It was more than that," Maria whispered, glancing furtively around as she talked. "After a while, he began to touch me and before I knew it, he had his hand beneath my skirts.  I know what men do.  I am not completely ignorant.  But we are not married."

"Oh."  Megan frowned.  "What was in the air last night, I wonder. Was the moon making us all half-crazed?  Even Isalba, she –" Megan stopped herself, realizing what she was about to say.  "That is, Isalba has said the moon can make people do strange thing at certain times."

"Perhaps it was the moon, but Megan, I did not want to stop him and yet I know I should have," Maria all but wailed, her voice pitched low.  "He started to get on top of me but just at that moment, Helena and Francesca came walking along the beach and they saw us.  Now they will not speak to me.  They think – and after what they went through with Ivan, they cannot understand how I could —"  Maria looked up, blinking away a few tears.  "I know I sinned, but I did not commit the sin they think I did.  I do not know what to do now.  Frederick has not so much as looked at me this morning.  I feel completely alone."

"Oh, Maria."  Megan set aside her cup of stew and scooted closer, draping an arm across Maria's shoulders.  "You are not alone. I am your friend."

"You are my only friend."  Maria began to cry quietly and Megan decided she needed some privacy.

"Come with me. Let us go take a walk while we can, before the rain comes and we are trapped in the hold of that ship in the storm."  She urged Maria to her feet and together they made their way in the opposite direction of the hammock, northward to a place where Megan had seen some pretty shells while she was gathering fire wood.

Isalba watched them leave and held a hand up to Harry.  "Hold on, I need to speak with someone."

"Captain?" Harry stopped in mid-speech.  "You do not want to discuss our last stop before the Port?"

"I do, but it can wait another hour or so.  We are not going to make it far today anyway.  Even if we set sail in the next few hours, that storm will be upon us by nightfall.  I prefer not to sail in it in the dark, since we do not have to."  She stood up.  "We are in no hurry.  We have plenty of provisions and the men are well-satisfied with our treasure haul.  Most of them are nursing their aching heads and would likely be grateful if we were to even go so far as to postpone our departure another day."

"As you wish, Captain." Harry looked around the camp of unusually quiet men and laughed lightly.  "And spot on in your assessment."  He frowned.  " 'Salba?"

"Yes?"  She was donning her boots, which she had removed while seated.

"Did you and our Miss Megan have an argument?"  He looked past her where Megan and Maria were now far down the beach. "She is rather subdued."

Isalba stiffened and then stood up straight.  "She consumed a great deal of Coweta's poison last night, remember?"

"Ah, yes." Harry grinned in memory.  "That explains it."

"Yes."  Isalba brushed past him in a huff, striding quickly toward a group of the younger crew members, who were seated in a circle laughing raucously.  Reaching Frederick, she slapped his mug of stew from his hand, sending it splattering onto the sand, and grabbed him up by a fistful of shirt collar.  "We need to talk."

"Y –yes, Captain."  Frederick's eyes were wide with fear and he was forced to run along beside her to keep up, as she continued to drag him into the trees and away from curious ears.

They reached a clearing and she let go with a rough shove.  Before he could regain his wits or his balance, she cocked her fist back and hauled off, slugging him solidly in the jaw with a wicked left hook. "What were you thinking!?" she roared. He staggered backward and fell to the ground on his backside, rubbing his jaw in shock. "You do not fuck around with fourteen-year-old virgins! Not on my ship!  Not ever! And for the love of God, she is a nun to boot!"

"What have you told your little buddies about your tryst with Maria?" Isalba moved rapidly toward him, hauling back for another round. Instead of slugging him, at the last minute she lunged, lifting him up and tossing him a few body-lengths back, slamming him into a tree trunk where he hit the ground with a thud and a loud moan.  "Answer me!" she yelled, inches from his face.

"My – I  — nothing, I swear to you!"  He scrambled backward in a crab walk as she came at him again.  There was disbelieving murder in her eyes.

"I can ask them, you do realize that, do you not?"  She knelt down next to him and drew her dagger from her boot, flipping it over and over in her hand as he watched in terror.  With an icy glare she shoved it back into her boot.  "Truth.  Now!"

"Alright, I might have mentioned a few things to them."  He hung his head in obvious shame.  "I did not mean to.  After we returned from our walk, she went to the ship with a group, in the dinghy.  I was —  I was wide awake.  Not ready to sleep."

"I'll bet."  Isalba was still kneeling, crouched down on her feet, studying him with a slightly more sympathetic expression.

"Some of the lads were passing around a jug of rum and called me over." He watched her warily.  "They were all bragging, you see, talking about Port Royal and their past visits there.  I had no stories to tell." His face colored and he looked down.  "They saw me and Maria leave and come back together, so I – look."  He held up a hand as Isalba's features darkened and one hand balled into a fist.  "Maria and I, we did not do what you think.  And I did not exactly tell them we had. I only –"

"Said enough to lead them to believe you had, right?"  Isalba shook her head and Frederick nodded uncertainly.  "I should beat the living tar out of you. Not only for Maria's sake, but for the disruption you cause on my ship with your behavior.  Brag all you want of any women you bed on shore, but with a woman under my protection, you will be fortunate if I do not have you keel-hauled.  I have overlooked the fact that you are breaking my laws by becoming involved with Maria, only because she has appeared to be willingly receptive to you."

"Please," Frederick begged, practically in tears.  "It will not happen again.  I swear it.  I got carried away and I wanted to be one of the men.  It was wrong, I know. I am sorry."

"You have not been with a woman?"  Isalba's features softened.  "How old are you?"

"No.  Sixteen."  Frederick's facial hue had gone from bright pink to slightly green-tinged.  "Please. You are not going to tell the men, are you?"

"No."  Isalba sighed heavily, assessing the situation for what it was.  "Sixteen. Fire in the blood, eh?"

"You have no idea," Frederick replied mournfully.

"Oh, I do," Isalba assured him.  "I had my first taste at the age of fourteen and my appetite for it is quite insatiable."  Frederick blushed and Isalba laughed. "There is no need for modesty with me, Frederick.  You have not been on my ship long, but I know these men well enough to know that when I am out of hearing, my reputation has been subject of those liquored-up sessions around the campfire, no?"

Frederick nodded uncertainly, watching her fists and shying away a few inches.  She laughed again.  "You have nothing to fear.  I do not try to hide who I am.  I more than understand your feelings.  But there are unwritten rules and you have broken two of them; three, really, considering she is currently pledged to a life of celibacy under God."

"I do not understand."  Frederick studied her earnestly, his shame rapidly falling away in place of curiosity.  "What unwritten rules?"

"There was a time when I did not understand, either, and it almost got me into dire trouble.  And I hurt some women before I learned my lessons."  Isalba relaxed her posture and sat back, crossing her legs and draping her forearms loosely against her thighs.  "There are two kinds of women, Frederick, those who are willing and available for such things, and those who are off limits. You have crossed a line with one who is off limits."

"But I feel things for her," Frederick protested.  "Perhaps I shall even marry her."

"All well and good."  Isalba smiled.  "But you do not do such things with women like Maria until after you are married.  She may not have a father to hunt you down and shoot your foolish hide, but she is a virgin and she has a precious reputation.  Do not sully that, in deed or in word. If you care for her as you say you do, it is your duty as a man to protect her honor, even more so in the absence of her father.  Do you understand me?"

"I think I do."  Frederick also let his guard down a little, sitting up and mimicking Isalba's posture, though carefully at arms-length.  "But I feel sometimes as if I shall go insane," he replied piteously.  "If I do not – you know – soon, I think I shall explode.  I want to be around her, but when I am around her, it only makes it worse."

Isalba took a deep breath, sympathizing with him more than he could ever know.  In for a pence, in for a pound, she reasoned. "You do know how to wank yourself, do you not?"

His blush of response was so swift Isalba wondered for a moment if he was going to bleed out the ears. "Yes." He looked down. "Sometimes it is not enough anymore," he whispered shamefully.

Isalba silently thanked the gods there were some things she was not going to have to explain.  "Find some patience.  When we get to Port Royal, I will make sure your problem is taken care of."

"I – oh."  He smiled timidly, still furiously flushed.  "Thank you."

"As for Maria, you have hurt her.  Going forward, you must treat her like the lady she is and take extra care as to how you are seen together, until you are able to make her your bride."  Isalba's tone was no-nonsense.  "The damage is done with the other men, but we will all be leaving Port Royal after a fortnight or so, while you and Maria will be staying on.  The gossip among the men will be temporary. It will not follow her for long, and you are very fortunate that the men do not discuss such things with women.  She will likely never know you have spoken so callously of her."

"You are a woman," he pointed out.

"I am the Captain," she corrected him with a broad grin.  "I talk to anyone on my ship, about anything I please.  And they know they are to answer me."

"I understand."  Frederick followed her lead as she stood.  "Captain, thank you.  I hope I am able to do a good job for that map maker friend of yours.  I wish to put away enough coin to build a little house and then I will ask Maria to marry me."

"It will be a big step for her, to cast off the role of a nun," Isalba commented thoughtfully.  "But I have eyes and ears.  She does care for you.  Much more than she cares for the church.  Once we get to Port Royal, we shall talk further on all of this."

"Y – yes, Captain." They reached the edge of the trees and he looked over at the group of expectantly waiting young bucks, then back at Isalba.

"They know about your pending apprenticeship?" she questioned him and he nodded.  "Then tell them we were discussing the importance of behaving responsibly when it comes to such job duties.  Tell them I was angry when I first approached you because you failed to do your share of the sailing preparation this morning, and I was questioning your ability to handle an assignment as a map maker."  He turned white as a sheet and she laughed. "Do not worry, that is not true, I am merely providing you with a plausible explanation so that Maria's reputation is not further damaged.  As for that bruise on your jaw, you ran into a tree, understood? Now, go'wan." She gestured toward the other young men.

"Understood.  Thank you, Captain!"  Frederick scurried away from her and she laughed helplessly.  "I did not sign on to educate male pups in the ways of the world."

She watched him for a moment, realizing how different things were for the young men coming of age than they had been for her on board ship.  In most ways she had always been one of the men, pulling her weight and taking on any task she was given, almost always going beyond the call of duty.  In that way she had earned their respect, their admiration, and even their friendship.  She was a natural leader, something Covington had recognized early on, and capitalized upon, grooming her for the position she now held.

But when those first inner stirrings had hit her – she sighed, remembering how incredibly lonely she had been.  There had been no on to talk to.  She had been going to the taverns and brothels with the men since she fist came aboard Covington's ship.  Drinking her share and joining in the revelry, she had learned a lot simply by observation.  She'd heard all the ribald jokes and the bawdy songs, and she'd seen the way the men interacted with the whores that paraded around, advertising the merchandise they had to offer.

As she grew older, from time to time strange men would approach her when they were ashore, testing the waters as to her reciprocity.  Most left her with bloodied noses.  After a while word was out – only fools dared harass the beautiful young Spanish woman with the gorgeous blue eyes.  She had no interest.

And yet she did.  She saw the women and they moved her in ways the men never had.  Part of the reason she had never been a problem for Covington on board ship, when it came to the men, was that she realized early on that she did not lean in that direction.  Not only was she one of the men, with shocking clarity she understood that she wanted the same things they wanted, when it came to the pleasures of the flesh.

When the crew took to the brothels, she always knew that by the evening's end she would be sitting at the table alone.  They all sought and found companionship, but there was none for her. Many nights she spared herself the grief and left early, going back to the ship, or for all-night walks on the beach.  Some nights she found other young men and women wandering the streets of the port towns they visited, and found other ways to occupy her time – honing her thieving skills, drinking herself silly, or gambling for her own small store of treasure. 

Treasure that had grown over time and was now buried away on a small island.  Only she knew about it.  Someday she would go dig it up, if she had need of it.  In that way, those long unsupervised evenings had been lucrative, rather than lonely. 

But when the men came back after their nights out, there was talk around the campfires on the beach, or top deck of the ship after dark.  A camaraderie she believed she could never be a part of.  The men bragged and gloated – swapping stories of their adventures between the sheets.  They shared secrets and learned which women in town would perform special favors or do things for them in certain ways.  She sometimes hid nearby and listened, and learned, and made herself all the more miserable.

One night she found herself alone again and rather than leaving the brothel, she went and sat at the bar, ordering a pint of some foul liquor, draining her mug rapidly and ordering another.  Halfway through her drink a pair of hazel eyes caught hers, a long, painted fingernail crooked and beckoning her up and away from the bar, and a toss of thick chestnut-red hair over a shoulder.  She'd looked around, certain there was some hairy man behind her that the beautiful woman was signaling to, but there was none.

"You," the woman had cooed. "Come with me." 

And so she had.  Up the stairs and into a room that as far as Isalba was concerned, was heaven.  Her eyes and her world had opened up that night.  The woman, Arianna, had revealed the great mystery of life to her and before evenings' end, the pupil was rapidly becoming the instructor, returning favors until it was Arianna's voice, not Isalba's, crying out into the warm night air. 

She'd walked a little prouder after that, a swagger and a confidence that only grew over the four weeks they spent in the Port on that layover.  By the time they set sail, half the whores in Port Royal had sampled her charms and the other half were lined up in anticipation of her next visit.  Once the men on the ship got past the fact of her gender, she was finally welcomed into that circle, sharing her own stories, and giving and receiving slaps on the back as they told of their conquests.

Their next stop had been the Island of Chincoteague.  What a haughty young thing she'd been. She remembered seeing Megan approaching her and how disdainfully she'd spoken to her when they first met.  She'd been shocked when the girl not only took care of her wounds, but brought her ale and finally took a great risk in setting Isalba free. 

She'd kissed Megan, there on the beach, before making a run for the departing ship. After a month of bed sports with more women than she could count, a simple kiss should not have so much as registered on her radar.  It had been overwhelming in its intensity, making her knees weak and imprinting itself indelibly in her memory, to be played over and over again at odd moments.  She had been with many women since then but Megan was the only one who had consistently haunted her over all that time. 

Just a simple kiss. With complex ramifications she could never have foreseen.

Shaking her head and smiling in memory of her younger self, she returned to her seat beside the fire.  Had it really only been four years since that night?  Drawing her pipe from her pocket, she lit it.  "Harry, there are days I feel twice my eighteen years."

Harry looked at her in surprise and then laughed heartily, taking out his own pipe to join her in the smoke break.  "That is because you have packed in twice the living in those eighteen years."

"I suppose."  She looked over toward Frederick and his young, rambunctious friends, wondering if Frederick realized at least half of them were as full of hot air as he had been in his boastings of imaginary activities with Maria.

"Trouble?"  Harry followed her gaze.

"Not now, no."  She rolled her eyes.  "Virgins."

"Eh?" Harry's brows rose into his hairline.

"Was I ever like them?  Be honest, please."  She gestured toward the boys with her pipe.  "So eager you would think they would self-combust."

"Honestly?"  Harry tugged at his beard and then drew at his pipe, waiting for her reply.  She nodded and he blew out a series of smoke rings before answering. "Then, no.  Now, yes."

She wanted to hit him and looked him in the eyes, glaring fiercely.

"You asked for honesty and I gave it to you," he responded reasonably, unmoved by her anger.

"Fair enough." Isalba clenched her free hand in a fist and studied it, then pounded it against the sand.  "Arrgghhh!"

Harry chuckled lightly, quickly putting a damper on it at the misery in her eyes.  " 'Salba, may I ask a very delicate question?"

"You may always ask."  She tilted her head in his direction, taking in the fragrant smoke and holding it for as long as she could.  With a dizzy breath, she finally released it.  "Well?"

"You sleep alone now.  Have you taken advantage of the situation?"  He worked his jaw for a moment, as if he needed to chew his words before spitting them out.  "You know, to find some relief?"

"Does it matter if I have?  It is obvious from your observations it has done no lasting good."  Her eyes narrowed and she savagely crushed a sand spider with the heel of her boot.

"What are you going to do?  You know you cannot go on like this."  Harry gentled his voice, briefly touching her on the shoulder.

"What can I do?  I am what I am.  The sea is my mistress."  She waved her arms in a wide arc at the men scattered about their cove.  "All of us.  We go to the taverns and drink and gamble, and if we are lucky, we find beautiful women to keep us company for a few hours.  But when it is all over, we go running back to Mother Ocean's tit. It is her pussy we bury ourselves in."

" 'Salba!"  Harry laughed loudly.  Even from Isalba, it was a colorful analogy. Nonetheless, he had to admit it was true.

"Do I speak a lie?"  She rolled her head and her eyes expectantly in Harry's direction, waiting for a response. 

He shook his head, still laughing.  "No. Sadly, you could not be more correct."

"I do not wish to marry a man, and I cannot marry a woman.  Even if I could, what kind of life would that be for her?  Always taking second place to the sea.  Look around. Are any of these men bound permanently to a woman?  No.  We have made our choice, myself included."  Suddenly she could take it no more.  "God damn the pirate to a life of whoa, who is foolish enough to cast his heart anywhere other than upon the waves.  You tell me, Harry.  What am I supposed to do?  Do you have any clever suggestions?"

Throwing her pipe to the ground, she stomped away and broke into a run, taking in deep breaths of the salt air, hoping if maybe she ran hard enough and far enough, she could outrun emotions that threatened to crush her.  Harry watched her, shaking his head.  "Suggestions?  Take the girl to bed and be done with it already," he whispered after her.

"What is up with the Captain?"  Angus joined him, lighting a cigar off Harry's pipe.

"Between you and me?"  Harry leaned close.  "Nothing that is going to be better anytime soon, if I were to wager on it.  On the other hand, I believe we will not be setting sail until tomorrow.  For now, best not to cross her, lest you lose your head."

"Good advice," Angus agreed with him.  "Shall we warn the others?"

They looked at each other for a long moment and then spoke in unison: "Nah." 

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Chapter 13

Isalba opened her cabin door and started down the passageway to the deck stairs.  It was early morning and she had slept only a few hours, pulling nearly an all-nighter at the helm.  As she made her way forward, she could hear busy noise behind closed doors, a quiet mumble of excited talk.  A few doors were open, the men within ready to face the day, every last one of them bathed and dressed in clean clothing, their hair and beards neatly-trimmed.  At long last, the ship was approaching the warm, tropical shores of Port Royal, with its promise of lazy sun-filled days and hot, passionate nights.

"Good morning, Captain," a chorus of young male voices greeted her as she passed one double-room, occupied by eight men, all of them younger than her.  She smiled in return, her stride purposeful.

As she reached the deck stairs, Megan emerged from the privy room, tucking a freshly-washed blouse into her trousers.  "Should I wear this or a dress to go into town?" Megan fretted with her suspenders, buttoning them in place.

"Mmmm." Isalba stood back, taking her in.  It was the first time she had allowed herself obvious, open scrutiny of the younger woman, since the evening they had pierced their ears.  Megan's face was scrubbed nearly pink and her hair was pulled back into a long, thick braid that came to her waist.  The light trousers showed off her slim figure nicely, the laces of her shirt open just enough to show a patch of pale, creamy skin.  Privately, there was no denying how beautiful Isalba thought her to be, or how much she desired Megan.  "I suppose it depends on what you wish to happen once you are there."

"I do not understand."  Megan tilted her head in question.  "I wish to go shopping, eat fresh food, walk on the beach, and join the crew in the tavern this evening. Does it matter if I am in trousers or would a dress be more appropriate?"

"Trousers might be safer," Isalba commented.

"Safer?"  Megan's confusion only grew.

Isalba sighed. "Never mind. You look nice, but you are also very fetching in a dress. Wear whatever you wish."

Megan smiled at the compliment.  "Do you ever wear dresses when you go ashore?"

"I have not worn a dress since I was a girl back in Spain." Isalba snorted in laughter.  "The last thing I need is for some drunken sailor to confuse me with the local goods.  Despite rumors to the contrary, I do not enjoy fighting for no good reason at all, and wearing a dress, I would be inviting such fights."

"I still do not understand."  Megan shrugged. "But since I am already wearing this, trousers it is."

"You will understand soon enough, after your first visit to the tavern.  Come up top deck with me."  Isalba motioned to her, and Megan's charming smile nearly disarmed her.  "Have you ever been to a tavern, Meg?"

"No."  Megan shook her head, following after Isalba toward the wheel.  "The men in our village used to sometimes drink ale at harvest festival."

"Port Royal is no harvest festival." Isalba rolled her eyes.  "The taverns there, especially the ones we will be going to, can be rather shocking. One does not often see refined ladies there."

"I thought you went there to find ladies."  Megan caught up to her and grabbed hold of Isalba's elbow, hanging on to keep up.  "Besides, I am not so refined anymore, now am I?"

Isalba stopped and turned, studying her for a moment. With soulful eyes, she searched Megan's face.  "It is not so simple."  Isalba touched Megan's arm as she spoke, something else she had refrained from doing since their night together on the beach, after the piercing ceremony.  "True, you have used a gun and are continuing to improve in your skill with it.  And you have killed a man." Megan looked down and Isalba tilted her chin back up, smiling sadly, her lips trembling slightly.  "I would not have wished that on you, and I do not wish upon you any further innocence lost.  I fear, in Port Royal —" she trailed off.  "You will see things, Meg.  And you will see the men behaving in ways you have not before.  You could stay on the ship.  Or go stay at the convent with the nuns for the evening. It is where I plan to drop them off, first thing."

"Even Maria?" Megan pursed her lips thoughtfully.

"Especially Maria," Isalba stated emphatically.  "But yes, the others as well. It is a safe haven for them on the island.  I want you to be safe as well."

"I am going with the crew. And if they go to the tavern, then I am going there as well."  Megan crossed her arms.  "I am one of them now, am I not?"

"Yes — but —"  Isalba drew in a deep breath and released it slowly.  "I am not going to convince you to stay away from the tavern, am I?"

"No."  Megan grinned.  "The men have talked of little else for days. Wild horses could not keep me away. I am prepared to down my own tankard of ale and perhaps I shall even learn to play at the gaming. You have seen to it that all of us have coin to spread around, once we arrive."

"Gaming is a dangerous affair," Isalba warned her.  "Good morning, Harry." They reached the helm.

"Good morning, ladies."  Harry stepped aside, deferring command of the ship to Isalba's capable hands.  "We are nearly there."

"Aye."  Isalba grinned.  "Crow's nest should be calling out, right about —"

"Land, ho!"  Frederick called out from his perch high above, his stance wide to maintain his balance, as he held onto the rounded railing of the crow's nest.

" — now," Isalba finished her sentence.

"Good call, 'Salba."  Harry clapped her on the shoulder.  "Cigar?"  He lit one for himself and drew another from his pocket.

"Yes, thank you.  I believe a celebration is in order." Isalba leaned over, taking the cigar neatly between her lips and sucking in as Harry lit it for her off of his own.  She released a few puffs of smoke, then shifted the cigar to the corner of her mouth, holding it loosely there so she could use both hands on the wheel.

As Frederick rang a bell, the loud clanging brought joyous men pouring up from the hold, some of them taking up places to work the sails, while others lined the railing on both sides of the ship, eagerly passing a few spy glasses back and forth in an effort to see Port Royal for themselves.  Even the three nuns made there way up, cautiously falling in after most of the men had taken up their places.  Maria  stopped near the wheel and took a seat on a large barrel lashed to one of the masts. Francesca and Helena walked right past her, noses in the air.

"They still do not speak to her?"  Isalba leaned over, speaking low, so that only Megan could hear her.

"No."  Megan shook her head sadly.  "They refuse to believe she and Frederick have not committed fornication."

"Gaia," Isalba muttered.  "And to think my mother was grooming me for the convent."

"Seriously?" Megan's brows shot into her hairline. "I cannot imagine."

Isalba laughed heartily.  "I cannot, either, but at the time, it was a way for a woman to get an education.  It would not have been permanent. My family would have sent me there long enough for me to be schooled in reading and writing, and would have brought me back home once a suitable marriage could be arranged.  We were actually rather well off."

"Oh." Megan thought on that.  "Did you have suitors?"

"A few men had expressed interest in a promise to betroth me to their sons, yes," Isalba answered nonchalantly.  "I had not even bled yet."  She shook her head.  "As my father so delicately put it, he did not see the need to promise me to the first suitable family that came along.  He thought I should at least have a woman's curves first.  There was no need to rush to engagement.  There was no question I would have eventually made a good match."

"Because you had money?" It was the first time Megan had thought much about Isalba's life prior to her becoming a pirate.

"Aye." Isalba confirmed.  "Though I pity the man I would have been promised to.  I do not do 'obedient' very well."

Megan laughed.  "No, I do not suppose you would."

"Says the pot to the kettle," Isalba teased her.  "And while we are on this subject, I need to ask something of you."

"What is it?"  Megan sensed the change in Isalba's mood, her expression suddenly somber.

"I know better than to order you this, but I beg of you, Meg, do not play at the gaming unless I am at your side."  Isalba's voice took on a pleading tone.  "The men at those tables are typically drunk and desperate for winnings. Men die at those tables, and they die for the slightest perceived wrong. One minute a man is sitting at the table with a pile of coins in front of him, the next he is on the floor with a piece of lead in his skull, and the others at the table play on as if nothing has happened."

Megan felt a chill run down her spine.  "I did not realize it would be such a rough place."

"Well, now you do." Isalba peered out over the horizon, the land still not visible from deck level.  "Frederick!" She called up to the crow's nest.  "Which way is the Port?  Off the starboard bow?"

"Yes!" Frederick beamed.  "How did you know?"

"I have many skills," Isalba purred, feeling the wind in her face. "Sails to the lee!" she cried out, and men scrambled about the deck, pulling in rope and working winches, trimming the sails until the billowed with the full power of the wind, driving the ship on toward a much-needed fortnight ashore.

" 'Salba." Harry tapped her on the arm. "I did not intend to eavesdrop, but I would be happy to take Miss Megan with me for an afternoon of gaming, for observational purposes. Just so she could see and learn."

"Today?" Isalba frowned.

"Well, yes.  I thought, if we are going to the tavern tonight, perhaps a few lessons beforehand would be in order." Harry shrugged.

"I had thought to take her on a walking tour of the port —" Isalba trailed off.  "But I do have much business to attend to.  There are the nuns, and Frederick's apprenticeship I must see to.  And securing a permanent berth for the ship for the fortnight." Isalba raked her fingers back through her hair. "All the functions Covington would have attended to in the past when we go ashore, it of course falls to me now."

"But in the past you went with him, did you not?" Harry puffed at his cigar, careful to release the smoke downwind.  "It should be old hat to you."

"True," Isalba agreed with him.  "But this will be my first time to oversee our affairs while we are in the Port.  I have set the ship's security rotation.  The men are aware of that already. And of course they know they are on their own should they wish to sleep ashore.  The ship is always here for any man who does not find other arrangements." She and Harry exchanged a knowing gaze. "Even so, nailing out initial details usually takes up most of the afternoon."  She turned to Megan. "Would you mind, terribly much, if I leave you under Harry's protection until this evening?"

"No, no." Megan quickly shook her head. "Of course not.  It should be great fun to observe you at the games." Megan smiled warmly at Harry. "The men say you are formidable."

"Oh, pshaw."  Harry actually blushed, waving her off with a gesture of his hand.  "Lady Luck is with me, that is all.  I should think with such a beautiful lady as yourself at my side, I will be all the more lucky."

"Oh, dear." Megan looked down at herself.  "I feel I should change after all.  If I am to be on your arm as a good luck charm, then I must dress the part.  Excuse me."  Megan smiled and took off toward the ship's hold, leaving Harry and Isalba looking at each other for a very long moment.

" 'Salba, you know I have no interest —" Harry hastily started to explain, his face red, his tone flustered.

"I know." Isalba held up a hand.  "Nor does she, no offense.  I believe she has been searching for an excuse to don one of her fancy frocks.  You have given it to her.  No worries. I am grateful she will be looked after until I join you all at the tavern this evening."

" 'Salba.  About the tavern —"

Isalba shifted, finessing the wheel with one hand.  "Do not go there, Harry.  I have no plans beyond a drink with the boys. That is all that need be said about that."

"And when the women begin throwing themselves at your feet?" Harry chewed at the end of his cigar, turning to spit over the rail. "They always do."

"If you have something to say, speak plainly. Otherwise, be about your own business, and I shall be about mine," Isalba answered curtly.

"I only — Miss Megan —" Harry floundered, grasping for words.

"Is  a woman with a mind of her own," Isalba informed him bitterly.  "I have tried, unsuccessfully, to talk her out of an evening on the town.  For as long as she is with us, as a part of this ship's crew, she has a right to the same pastimes as everyone else.  I cannot help it if she sees things that upset whatever delicate sensibilities she has.  She has made it clear she will not be left behind tonight.  If I am to treat her as I treat the others, then I must stand by and allow her to make her own choice in this."

"She will go wherever you go," Harry stated, both of them knowing it for truth.

"What are you saying?"  Isalba's ire rose.  "After losing Covington, the closest person to a father I had.  After swimming to shore and pulling this crew together. After fighting for and nearly losing my life to obtain this ship.  After sharing treasure I could easily have kept to myself.  After weeks at sea.  What? You want me to refrain from an evening out with my crew, so I can play nursemaid to a grown woman? Is that what you are saying?"  Isalba's words flowed like venom.

"I apologize."  Harry ducked his head. "When you put it that way — I only fear for Megan."

"As do I," Isalba agreed with him.  "But short of tying her up in her cabin and posting a guard, I am fairly certain there will be no keeping her away.  Perhaps she will get a belly-full after one night, and be done with it. And you listen to me.  These men — they deserve this time. They have worked very hard. I do not want any man on this ship to feel he must refrain from the pleasures of Port Royal. If Megan gets an eyeful, perhaps it is for the best.  She has chosen this life.  Now she will get to see how the men reap their reward."

"It will not matter what the men do."  Harry stepped closer, keeping his voice low. "She only has eyes for you. Surely you see that. You know how the women are with you."

"Harry." Isalba laughed helplessly.  "Not to boost my own ego, but what, exactly, do you want me to do about that?  Shave my head and wear rags tonight?  My very first order of business tonight will be to see to it that our young Frederick gets laid.  Maria be damned, it is time that boy becomes a man.  If Megan and her sense of fidelity can survive observing me handle that transaction, surely she can survive watching a handful of whores attempt to work their charms on me. She will be fine."

"If you say so," Harry muttered.  "Say," he brightened, determined to be done with the conversation.  "If you will be fending the ladies off, would you be so kind as to point at least one of them in my direction?"

"As my loyal first mate, I believe I can do that."  Isalba grinned and looked up, just as the first sliver of land came into view.  A cheer rose up, a few of the men chanting her name.  She smiled broadly, soaking it in.  It was good to be master of her own ship.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As they approached the harbor, another ship sailed into view from the south, its sails trimmed neatly and a bright red flag embossed with a white rose flying in the breeze from its main mast. "Captain!" Harry pointed excitedly.  "It is Jacquotte Delahaye!"

"I see."  Isalba steered the wheel, setting the ship on a course that would eventually bring them alongside the other female pirate's ship.  "Trim those sails! They're luffing!" she shouted, and men scrambled to do her bidding.

"The first space at the dock is open," Harry pointed out.

"I see that."  Isalba grinned.  "It will be ours."

The first slip at the dock of Port Royal was coveted by the pirate ships that visited there, and it had become a contest of sorts for approaching ships to race for it, any time it was unoccupied. The unwritten rule was that ships already anchored or docked could not move, once they had secured a berth, unless they were moving to the far dock which was reserved as a temporary loading point for ships replenishing supplies. But the first slip was reserved for incoming ships, and there were bragging rights to be had by the captain and crew who could out sail other incoming ships to reach it, not to mention easy access to and from town and no need to move their ship again to load or unload cargo.

"Jacquotte has set her sights on it, to be certain."  Harry held up a spyglass.  "Aye, there she is, at the wheel.  She sees us."

"Give me that!"  Isalba reached for the glass and took it from him, peering through it. "The entire port will think we are a ship of priests coming to town. My first order of business after I take the nuns to the convent is to order a flag to be made with my signal on it. And hire one of the dock artists to stencil the ship's name on the back, and paint over that cross back there, once we decide what to call her."

"Oh!" Harry slapped his forehead.  "I had all but forgotten.  I shall return."  He took off at a trot for the hold and disappeared down the hatch and out of sight.

"Goro!" Isalba called out.  The sword-fighter from Japan turned and then began walking toward her from far down the deck. He was the man who had fought her so well on Ivan's ship, and had proven to be invaluable in sword-drills, almost her equal in skill.

"Captain?" He reached her and stopped short, clicking his heels together a little as he stood ramrod straight in her presence.

"I would like for you to join me today in the Port, while I take care of ship's business."  She strong-armed the wheel, adjusting their direction to keep her course for their eventual  meeting with Jacquotte.

"Captain?" Goro's voice rose in surprise.  "Harry is your first mate."

"And he has no desire to be anything more than first mate," Isalba informed him. "We have talked. He knows this ship's business and he is loyal to the bone. But should something ever happen to me, I need to know there is someone prepared to lead these men. So I am asking you, do you want to come with me today as I take care of ship's business?"

"Captain, I am fifth-born," Goro started to protest.

Isalba swept her arm across the deck, stopping him. "Do I see your siblings on my ship?" He shook his head.  "Alright. I do not care if you are first born or twenty-first born. I have seen your skills with the sword and the wheel. You know the stars and the winds. I ask you one last time, do you care to join me today?"

"I would be honored, Captain." Goro bowed his head.

"You may call me 'Isalba' or 'Salba," she advised him. "I believe you have earned that right. Just do not call me 'Isa'. Only Megan —" she trailed off as the subject of her speech appeared from below decks. "Dear Goddess." Isalba shook her head to clear it.

"She is very lovely." Goro followed her gaze. "Do you wish for me to continue with the sails until we reach the port?"

"Yes." Isalba waved him off absently. "That would be fine. Yes. As you were."  She barely noticed him leave her, her eyes all over the vision approaching her. 

Megan wore an emerald-hued dress, its sleeves short and puffy, exposing most of her arms, which were slender and muscular from all the hard work she had put in on the ship.  The neckline was cut low and fit tightly across her bosom and down to her waist, then flared out, supported by at least three petticoats.  A darker green sash cinched the dress at the waist, and a row of tiny sand-washed bone buttons ran up the front. Fastened around her neck was the string of pearls Isalba had purchased for her in San Agustín, and she wore a pretty straw bonnet decorated with the same ribbon that adorned her waistline. A pair of short kid gloves graced her hands and her hair was now curled into ringlets and pinned back away from her face, cascading loosely down her back.

"How do I look?" Megan held carefully onto the railing and other ship parts, as she made her way to Isalba's side. Holding onto the wheel's post, she turned once around in a circle, revealing a nice expanse of bare back above the top of the dress.

"You look as if I need to make certain Harry carries extra weapons with him. Or perhaps I should send an extra man with him. You look beautiful," Isalba complimented her. "I will be surprised if we see a prettier dress in the Port."

"Thank you." Megan smiled. "It is my best dress. I wondered if I would ever have need of it. I wanted to make certain that anyone who sees me with Harry understands that I am not a whore for hire."

"You could pass for royalty," Isalba assured her.  "Harry is a lucky man, to have you on his arm today."

"I hope I learn enough to not lose all my money." Megan laughed.

"I hope you learn enough to not lose your head," Isalba murmured.

" 'Salba!" Harry returned from below with a folded up piece of cloth cradled in one arm. "Cooks and I worked on this at night for some time. I hope you do not mind.  If you do not like it, we will certainly not be offended if you feel the need to replace it with something better-made."

"What is it?"  Isalba assessed the distance to the harbor, ascertaining they had a few minutes before she needed to concentrate fully on the race to the docks.

"Here, see for yourself."  Harry handed it over.  "Cooks!" He motioned to the cook, who was busy at the back of the ship, dumping out a pan of water from the breakfast cooking. He stood and wiped his hands on his apron, then ambled forward.  "The Captain is to see our surprise now."

"Oh!" Cooks mouth flew open. "I had forgotten. Forgive us, Captain. We should have given it to you before now."

"Alright.  Harry, can you take the wheel while I take a look at it?" Isalba stepped aside and carefully unfolded the piece, which was tucked into a neat square.  It was a rich, dark purple canvas material and as she unfurled it, she gasped.  It was a flag, her signal appliquéd in bright white material in the center on both sides, the inverted triangle with the dagger bracketed by a heart and a skull below it.

"Oh, Harry, Cooks, thank you from the bottom of my heart," she finally spoke in quiet awe.  "It is beautiful. I could not wish for a better flag to fly over my ship.  Hoist it up for me, would you?"

"I shall." Harry grinned broadly and Megan stopped him as he carefully took the flag from her.

"This symbol. I have seen it carved into a tree trunk back home, on the other island — Assateague." Megan touched the flag, lightly running her fingertips across its surface.

"I know. I carved it there."  Isalba resumed her place at the wheel. It is my signal, given to me by Captain Covington when I turned twelve. He said at twelve I was a woman.

"I had no idea it was yours. I used to stand there, studying it, wondering who put it there. I assumed a pirate, but I never realized." Megan smiled and shaded her eyes as Harry began running the flag up the mast.  "What does it mean?"

"The triangle is because I am a woman.  The dagger because I am a  warrior.  And the skull and heart because Covington said I fight and would someday run my ship with a balance between my heart and my head."  She glanced over the water and then across her own deck, as a cheer rose up from her men at the sight of her flag flying high over them.  Picking up the spyglass, she looked over at the other ship once more, and laughed.  "Jacquotte has just been clued in that we are not from the Catholic Church."

At that moment, a loud boom sounded and Megan grabbed Isalba's arm. "They are shooting at us?"  A cannon ball landed with a splash in the water, well ahead of them.

"No. She has issued a challenge.  The race for the first slip is on, boys!"  Isalba pumped one fist in the air as another round of cheers sounded. She whooped loudly and widened her stance, her posture determined.  "Meg. It is going to get rough.  Tie yourself down somewhere out of the way, or go below. I do not want you going overboard in that dress and petticoats. You would drown from the weight."

"May I sit back here behind you?" Megan took a seat on a bench lashed to the side of a raised portion of the deck.

"That will be fine," Isalba waved her off, concentrating on the other ship, which was now coming up fast alongside them, as both ships made a turn for a run toward the docks.

"Isalba Cortez!" Jacquotte called out, her flaming red hair flying out behind her. She was beautiful, with olive skin and a fancy frilled blouse tucked into billowing, feminine black trousers.  "Who did you steal that ship from?!"

"Evil Ivan!" Isalba shouted back. "She is mine!"

"Nice!" Jacquotte finessed her own wheel, pulling ever closer until there was only one ship's width between them. "Very nice little boat," she tossed the back-handed compliment across, waiting for Isalba's volley.

"You can only dream of having such a nice 'boat'!" Isalba countered.  "Mine is bigger than yours!"

"I have seen yours," Jacquotte took the entendre and ran with it.  "It is of average size."

"It is not the size that matters!" Isalba laughed wickedly. "It is how you drive it that counts!  Harry, take the wheel!"

"Yes, Captain!"  Harry eased behind the helm as Isalba ran across the deck and began climbing up the mast. " 'Salba!  Aye, she is going to kill me someday." He scrubbed his face with one hand.

"What is she doing?"  Megan secured the knot on the rope she had tied around her waist.

"Watch." He glanced over his shoulder at Megan, and then back up, just as Isalba reached mid-mast and took  hold of a long rope, which she wound around one leg and an arm. "On second thought, perhaps it is best not to watch."

"What on earth —" Megan looked up, as Isalba pushed off the mast and swung way out over the water.  "Oh, dear Lord —"

Harry turned the wheel, just enough to tilt the ship toward Jacquotte's vessel.  Isalba flew out and over the other ship's deck, leaning backward from the rope and holding fast to her drawn sword in an outstretched hand. As she swooped over Jacquotte, she reached out with the sword's tip and snagged the large, felt hat from the other lady pirate's head.  With a wild yell, Isalba swung back to her own ship and did a flip in midair, landing on the deck on her feet and clapping the hat on her head.  It had a long, red plume sticking out from one side, tucked into a braided gold hat band.  "Nice!  Thank you!" She yelled out.

"You will give it back or pay for it!" Jacquotte cried out. "One way or another!"

Isalba reached up and plucked a single red rose from the hat's brim, and slid it into the front of her trousers. "Come and get it!"

"I will make you beg for mercy!" Jacquotte threatened.

"And I will make you scream! Just like the last time!" Isalba adjusted her trousers and walked back to the wheel with a swagger in her step.

"What just happened?"  Megan tugged at Harry's sleeve as he handed the wheel back over to Megan.  "Why did she do that?"

"Welcome to Port Royal, Miss Megan."  He patted her on the shoulder. " 'Salba, you have not missed a step."

"No?"  She grinned at him and worked the helm, as their ship gradually pulled ahead of Jacquotte's.

"Isalba!" Jacquotte's ship pulled dangerously close alongside, though still halfway behind.  "Now I will show you a true race!"

"Pah!" Isalba made a rude gesture and yelled out a few commands, as the men jumped to trim sails closer and the wind picked up in their favor, pushing them several lengths in front of the other ship.  They were nearing the harbor and Isalba turned briefly to look over her shoulder. "She will need to tack soon or ram the docks. They will hang her if she does."

"There she goes!"  Harry cried out.

The rest of the men cheered, as Jacquotte's ship tacked at the last minute, just missing the end of the long dock.  They eased back on the sails and slowed, gliding into the coveted first slip.  Then their cheers became a roar.  As several men jumped to the dock to ease bumpers into place and tie off the ship, others rushed the wheel and lifted Isalba onto their shoulders, chanting her name as the plank was lowered and they poured off the ship and onto the docks below.

"Hold up!"  Isalba yelled, and they stopped, still holding her up above their heads.  "Put me down!"  Her request was hastily met and she landed on the dock with a loud thump of her heavy boots.  "You all know the duty roster.  I expect you to take your turns at security detail, and at unloading our cargo for sale, and re-loading supplies once they are secured.  Other than that, welcome to Port Royal, boys!"

More cheers rang out, and Megan hastily untied herself and cautiously descended the plank, looking around for Harry.  "Harry!"  She spied him and waved.  "Are we going to the gaming right away?"

"Oh, no."  Harry smiled and held out his arm.  "I have never taken such a beautiful woman out on the town. I believe we should first find a fine place to dine, and stroll among the shops before we join the games."

"That would be wonderful."  Megan tucked her hand around his arm.  "You look very nice yourself."

"Thank you."  Harry smoothed his hair back and tugged at his neatly-trimmed beard. "I do try to clean up for the Port. It does please the ladies.  Let us go speak to Isalba before we head out. 'Salba!"  He called out.

Isalba turned and waved, holding her new hat down with one hand as she walked quickly toward them. "We have the first slip!" Her face was beaming.

"I knew you could do it," Megan informed her.

"Oh you did, did you?"  Isalba touched Megan's shoulder.

"Yes, I had every confidence in you." Megan smiled and looked down, fluffing her skirts and taking a better grip on a small coin pouch she had looped around her wrist.  "Harry is taking me out to see the town before we play the games.  You will be at the tavern tonight, will you not?"

"I will be there to buy the first round for the men," Isalba declared.

"Then we will see you tonight," Harry replied. "Good luck taking care of business, 'Salba. I trust you spoke with Goro?"

"Yes, he was shocked and pleased." Isalba looked around and spotted Goro standing at the end of the dock, talking with some of the other men.

"He is a good choice."  Harry turned as a small skiff came rowing up behind the ship, and Jacquotte hopped out. Striding with single-minded purpose toward Isalba, Jacquotte's boots clapped loudly against the wooden dock.  "Here comes trouble."

"I can handle her.  Go on.  Have fun." She shooed Megan and Harry away and spun around, as Jacquotte arrived and reached out toward her.

"Isalba Cortez!  Ever the thief!" The red-head snatched the hat from Isalba's head and then grabbed her, hauling Isalba close and planting a lengthy kiss on her lips.  As Isalba started to push her away, Jacquotte shoved her hand into Isalba's trousers to retrieve the now-smashed rose.

"Do not start something you do not intend to finish."  Isalba grabbed hold of Jacquotte's wrist, forcing her to stay where she was for a moment, before she released her with a hearty laugh.

"Do not invite me to a party you do not intend to host," Jacquotte retorted, pulling her hand free.

Isalba wiped  a hand across her own mouth and flashed a sexy grin.  "I do not often return to the same table to dine."

"And I do not eat the scraps from the plates of others."  Jacquotte finally laughed and clapped Isalba on the shoulder.  "But I will allow you to buy me a drink, if you can put off your business for a half hour."

"I believe that can be arranged." Arm in arm, laughing at the top of their lungs, the two pirate ladies passed by Megan and Harry.

"Do not worry, Megan.  They are old friends. Rivals, but friends nonetheless."  Harry led her toward the main street of Port Royal.

"Worry?" Megan questioned him. "I do not understand why you think I should be worried."

"Good." Harry dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief.  "Shall we?" He gestured toward a row of shops and they followed their noses down the street, taking in the sights, sounds, and scents of Port Royal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Megan sat at a round table in a smoke-filled tavern.  The room was half full but the crowd had been slowly growing since mid-morning when they first arrived.  Her chair was behind and to the side of Harry's, so that she could observe while he played a game of cards with three other men.  She had been strictly instructed to not make comments about his hand, and so far he had only glared at her once when she accidentally remarked on the pretty pictures of the three queens he held.  It cost him and she felt badly and resolved to remain quiet and reserve her questions for after each hand was played.

The men at the table were extremely polite toward her as sailors and pirates went, and had eagerly agreed to suffer a stop between hands so Harry could instruct Megan on what had taken place.  More than a few drinks had been passed her way and Harry warned her to pace herself.  The day was young and it would likely be early morning before anyone on Isalba's ship made their way anywhere to actually sleep.

At present it was early afternoon and her stomach had begun to rumble.  Cards were fun, she supposed, but not nearly as interesting as she had hoped they would be, and she found herself growing bored with the constant shuffling and dealing.  Harry seemed to be doing well enough, winning his fair share of hands despite her earlier faux pas.  She waited until he finished another round of play and watched as he grudgingly shoved a few lost coins across the table toward a man known to her only as "Dagger."

"Harry."  She leaned over as she spoke.  "I believe I shall step out to get something to eat.  There is a little shop across the street, see?"  She pointed toward a clearly visible open doorway only a short distance away.  "Would you like for me to bring you anything?  Any of you?"  Looking around the table, she smiled and received three smiles in return, Dagger's a rather unpleasant row of crooked and missing teeth.

"I should go with you," Harry replied reluctantly, not making a move to put his cards down or gather his winnings.

"Oh, no. It is only a few steps away.  Surely it will be safe for only a short time?" Megan touched his arm and Harry received a few glances of envy from his playing companions.

"Well..." He studied the busy street outside and the mercantile Megan planned to visit.  He could even see the merchant's counter, where a portly man was busy wrapping packages and exchanging coin.  "You are certain there is food to be had there and you will not need to wander further?"

"I saw a man and woman come out of there a while ago eating bread and cheese," Megan responded.  "Or at least I believe that is what they were eating.  I shall stay only long enough to look around the shop and purchase food." She tilted her head fetchingly, flashing a coy smile.

"Ah, very well, lass." He waved at the door.  "But please, Miss Megan, be careful and do not make me come looking for you.  I prefer my head attached to my shoulders."

Megan winced, realizing who would take it off if anything happened to her.  "I promise."  She crossed her heart and stood, fluffing her skirts out and looking up as the others at the table stood with her.  "Such gentlemen," she remarked casually.  The beaming expressions she received almost made her laugh.  "Anyone else need anything?"

"Ahem."  Stefano, a tall dark skinned man cleared his throat.  "Nothing for me, Miss.  Please to enjoy your outing." He bowed low and the others quickly followed suit.

"Do not spare your coin for me," Aimes, a fair-haired pirate chimed in.

"What I need, you will likely not provide," Dagger gave her the once-over and Megan felt vaguely unclean, though she wasn't sure why.

"You watch your mouth." Harry balled up a fist. "And your roving eyes, Dagger." He shot the unkempt man a warning glare.

"My apologies to the lovely lady."  Dagger ducked his head.  "I meant no disrespect."

"No offense taken," Megan quickly replied.  "I shall return soon, Harry."  She scurried away from the table and out into the sunny street, glad to be free of the eye-stinging smoke and the dark, gloomy room for a while.  Stepping across the street, she paused upon seeing Jacquotte exit a bar a short way down the street.  For no reason she could put her finger on, she was both intrigued by the red-haired pirate, and disliked her at the same time.  Just as Megan started to turn to her business, Jacquotte caught her eye and grinned, quickly shoving her way past several people and toward Megan.

"Uh-oh," Megan breathed softly.

"Hello.  Megan, is it?" Jacquotte reached her and tipped her hat briefly.  "I left your lover a little while ago. She is attending to the business of her nameless ship."

"My – what?"  Megan's brows hiked into her hairline.  "She is not – we are not – what do you imply?"  Megan finally asked curtly.

"Aha, what is this?"  Jacquotte reached out and touched a pink cheek, and Megan shied away.  "You are not her body slave?"

"I do not know what you are asking, but I assure you, I am no slave. I travel with Isalba of my own free will.  And we are not lovers.  She is the captain and I am part of her crew."  Megan sniffed, turning up a miffed nose.

"Oh, do tell?"  Jacquotte seemed more than curious.  "To hear her speak of you, I thought surely – " she trailed off and laughed.  "Crew? Really?"  The pirate brazenly tugged at Megan's sleeve and trailed a finger along the lace-trimmed neckline of her dress.  "If only I were so fortunate, to have such a lovely 'crew' member." Her tone grew lewd, as her eyes wandered over Megan's slim form. She fingered the string of pearls, studying them before she released them.  "Nice."  Knowing eyes taunted Megan.  "Very well, then.  Would you care to accompany me on a walk?  I would be most pleased to show you the town of Port Royal."  Jacquotte offered over a crooked arm.

"Thank you, but Harry was kind enough to take me touring earlier this morning."  Megan took a short step back, but not far enough to avoid Jacquotte's hand as it wrapped gently around Megan's wrist.

"You are certain?"  Jacquotte's voice was thick and smooth, like honey.  "I believe I can show you things to which Harry is not privy."  She also stepped back a safe distance and extended her hand.  "Come on, just down the street and back. We will be back before you are missed."

"Well –" Megan glanced back toward the tavern where Harry was already engrossed in his card game, his back turned to the doorway.  "Alright. But only to the end of this street and back.  No farther."

"Wonderful."  Jacquotte offered her arm out again, her eyes warm and inviting.

"Be warned."  Megan rested her hand lightly on the proffered arm.  "If you treat me any less than a lady, I am capable of screaming quite loudly."

Jacquotte coughed, taking a deep breath before she released a hearty laugh.  "Isalba does not know what she is missing."

"What?"  Megan eyed her suspiciously.

"Nothing."  Jacquotte's eyes glinted with mischief.  "Lady Megan, I promise you that on our walk, I will do nothing to make you scream."

"Just so we understand one another."  Megan, who was a head shorter than Jacquotte, assumed a slightly-superior stance, much to the rogue pirate's amusement.

"I understand completely," Jacquotte assured her.  "I thought perhaps to take you to one of the shops exclusively for the ladies. I assume Harry took you no such place?"

"No, he did not," Megan confirmed, her curiosity piqued in spite of herself.  "Is it a dress shop?"

"No, no. Not exactly." Jacquotte steered Megan past a hat shop and a candy store, and into a shop that had a few frilly petticoats displayed in the window.

"I am shocked they would display underthings in such a bold fashion," Megan commented.  "But then I suppose I am no longer in Virginia Colony, am I?"

Jacquotte merely chuckled and held the door open.  "Virginia? I have been to Boston Colony and New York.  I must make a point of stopping by Virginia on my next voyage north, if there are others as beautiful as yourself living there."

Megan frowned, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.  "You are very kind," she answered uncertainly. Looking up, her mouth fell open in surprise. "Nothing but underthings?"

"There may be a few items that are not underclothing here," Jacquotte responded, "but yes, mostly underthings.  Please, look around."

"I supposed I could use a few new pairs of pantaloons."  Megan began lifting garments up from the nearby counters.  "This pair is no good," she held it up.  "There is a hole in them."

Jacquotte laughed and examined the pair of crotchless underwear.  "Ah, my dear Megan. There are times when such garments might be useful."

"I cannot imagine why."  Megan colored slightly, remembering a few snowy trips to the outhouse back home.  "Well, perhaps, I suppose in winter."

"You are priceless."  Jacquotte folded the garment back up and placed it on the shelf.

"Oh, my."  Megan lifted up a foundation garment with two strategically-placed openings for a woman's breasts. Her mind wandered back to her evening on the beach with Isalba, the night they had gotten their ears pierced, and the new and wonderful ways Isalba had touched her.  This time she felt the heat on her cheeks and dropped the garment as if it were on fire.  Backing away, she held up a hand and gestured around. "I am not so certain I should be in here."

"Relax,"  Jacquotte soothed.  "There are more – traditional items – over here on the other side of the shop.  See?"

"You are certain?" Megan questioned skeptically, moving toward the indicated shelves, where she was relieved to indeed find items more to her liking.  She rifled through a few stacks, finally selecting a couple of pairs of pantaloons trimmed with lace at the legs and decorated with tiny bows at the waistband.  "These are lovely."

"As are these."  Jacquotte casually handed over a garment that appeared to be a one-piece covering for the entire body.  It was stitched entirely of fine, ivory lace and had delicate satin ribbons that tied at the shoulders and legs.  "Isalba would appreciate this."

"She does not wear such things." Megan ran her fingertips over the lacy handiwork.

"I am sure she does not."  Jacquotte smiled indulgently.  "I meant, Lady Megan, that she would appreciate you wearing it."

"I am sure Isalba has no cares as to my under garments."  Megan frowned.

"And I am sure you are wrong," the red-head contradicted her.  "Go on. Have them wrap it up. I shall buy it for you."

"You are very generous, but there is no need." Megan lifted her coin pouch.  "I have the means."

"One way or the other, you should have it," Jacquotte encouraged her.  "It will be cooler under your clothing in the summer."

"True –" Megan slowly agreed. "Alright.  This and the other garments. But I am ready to purchase my things and leave this place."

"That is too bad."  Jacquotte led her past a counter in the back, in a round-about way toward the clerk's counter.  The back-most shelves were low and contained odd items that were obviously not meant to be worn.

Megan lifted a long, ivory cylindrical object.  "Whatever is this for?"

Jacquotte did not bother to stifle her laughter, it bubbled up so fast.  "Buy it," she challenged Megan.  "I believe Isalba would be more than glad to show you what it is for."

"You are not going to tell me yourself?"  Megan's tone was hopeful.

"Perhaps," Jacquotte answered mysteriously.  "I will make a deal with you, Lady Megan.  Buy it.  If Isalba is unwilling to explain its use to you, come back to me and I will be more than happy to demonstrate for you."

"Hmmm –" Megan was loathe to back down, sensing she was being mocked in some way, and that leaving the item behind would result in some sort of ridicule.  "Alright.  I accept your deal."

This time Jacquotte's brows shot into her hairline and she pursed her lips inward, her eyes round in obvious surprise.  "You will shake hands with me on this?"  She held out a hand.

"My word is good enough a bond," Megan replied, but shook hands nonetheless.

"Deal." Jacquotte picked up another contraption, a series of soft kid-leather straps and shiny silver buckles.  "You will need this for Isalba to properly demonstrate the cylinder."

"Whatever you say."  Megan took all her purchases to the counter and placed them in front of the clerk.

The clerk looked from Megan to Jacquotte and back again.  "Are you with this woman against your will, Miss?"  He leaned over, whispering so that only Megan could hear him.  "If so, I will have someone take care of her for you."

"Oh."  Megan bit one lip.  "No.  She is a strange one, is she not?  But she is showing me the sights for only a short while.  After that we shall part ways.  I am to meet up later this evening with Isalba Cortez.  I am part of her crew."

"Isalba Cortez?" The clerk answered in surprise.  "I would not have guessed that.  You are not what you appear to be."

"What do you mean?"  Megan tilted her head in question.

"Ah."  The clerk waved a hand at her. "Pay me no mind.  I shall wrap your – purchases –" he discreetly wrapped all the items Megan had selected, and tucked them inside a larger folded piece of parcel paper.

"Add this to it."  Jacquotte hastily handed him a rolled up article of clothing.

"What is that?" Megan indicated the item, which was black and lacy.

"If you come back to me for that demonstration, I wish you to wear this under your clothing."  Jacquotte ran her fingertips over the garment.

"Alright."  Megan shook her head.  "I am not certain what my clothing has to do with anything, but I suppose it cannot hurt."

"It will be amusing, for both of us," Jacquotte answered, tossing a few coins on the counter in payment.

Megan accepted her well-wrapped bundle and they exited the shop.  "I should be getting back.  I only stepped out to get something to eat.  Harry will be missing me.  I should not have gone with you at all."

"In that case, let me buy you some bread and cheese, and I insist on some candy as well."  Jacquotte guided Megan into the candy store.  "Please, allow me to do this as an expression of my gratitude for being such an entertaining companion."

A bag of candy, and a hearty lunch later, Megan and Jacquotte finally arrived back at the shop Megan originally intended to visit.  Guiltily, Megan realized the sun was not as high in the sky as it had been when she left the card game.  With some relief, she looked over and saw Harry, no longer playing cards, but clearly visible, sitting at the bar.

Harry saw her and slammed a mug down on the counter, before storming out of the bar toward her and Jacquotte.  "I have been worried out of my mind!  Isalba will have your head for kidnapping her, and mine as well!" he roared, placing a hand on his sword hilt.  "Megan, are you alright? Has she harmed you?"  He started to draw his sword and Megan placed a hand on his arm, stopping him.

"Harry, I am fine.  It is my fault."  She glanced over at Jacquotte, who also had a hand on her sword.  "I went with her willingly.  I did not mean to be away so long."

"You – willingly?" Harry sputtered. "You are certain?" He glared at Jacquotte.  "She did not threaten you if you do not say this?"

"No!"  Megan began to grow angry. "I am not a child.  Though both of you treat me like one." She looked from Harry to Jacquotte, crossing her arms and tapping one agitated toe. 

"Lady Megan."  Jacquotte bowed slightly.  "If I have treated you as such, I did not mean to.  I apologize.  You are most definitely a very lovely and grown-up woman.  It was a pleasure to spend an afternoon with you.  I hope we may do so again before you leave Port Royal. Do not forget our deal, no?"

"I will not forget."  Megan took a firmer hold on her package of dry goods.

"Then I bid you a fair evening."  Jacquotte lifted Megan's hand and kissed it lightly, sneering over her head at Harry as she did so.  "M'lady."  Bowing again, she stepped away and turned, disappearing into the growing crowd.

"What sort of deal did you make with that she-demon?"  Harry frowned.

"That is between us," Megan replied.  "Besides, it is a deal I will not have to make good on. Isalba will see to that."

"Megan," Harry replied in frustration. "I am sorry if you feel like you are being watched like a child.  It is only because Port Royal can be a dangerous place.  It was careless to go off with the likes of Jacquotte.  She is not to be trusted."

"She treated me well enough," Megan responded coolly.  "I do apologize for causing you worry, but honestly, Harry.  How much time passed before you actually missed me?"

"Well," Harry answered sheepishly.  "I did get a wee bit wrapped up in the game." He kicked idly at a clod of dirt in the lane they stood in.  "It had not been long before you returned that I realized you were not across the street.  Mostly, I was angry at myself for not protecting you as I should have. I inquired in this shop and they had not seen you. I was of two minds – one to go looking for you and the other to stay put so I would be here when you returned.  I was just about to go looking when I saw you. Please do not do this to me again. I fear my beard will be turning gray, and the ladies will not like it so much."

"You will look distinguished, gray," Megan assured him, taking his arm with her free hand.  "The ladies will find you quite handsome."

"You are a flatterer, Miss Megan." Harry smiled.

"Are you complaining?"  She gave him a little nudge.

"By all means, no!" He laughed heartily and she joined in, as they made their way back toward the ship.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Chapter 14

Night was falling before Isalba and Goro finalized their initial business in Port Royal.  As they emerged from a dark, stale-smelling barn into the fresh, dusky air, Isalba drew in a deep breath and clapped Goro on the shoulder.  "It has been a good day."

"It has, Captain," he agreed. "I must compliment you on your negotiations for sale of our cargo of goats. A fine price."

"Thank you," Isalba ducked her head graciously.  "I began learning bartering skills at my former Captain's knee.  I was ten," she mused fondly.  "You never met him, but Captain Covington had the ability to convince tradesmen that they should have pride in their purchases enough to pay a higher price for quality goods.  Playing to their egos in order to pry coin from their tightly-closed fists was a skill of his that I can only hope to aspire to."

"You did a commendable job of it today," Goro praised her.  "You haggle as well as you wield a sword."

"Goro."  Isalba frowned, but softened her voice to take the edge off her words.  "Do not become a 'yes' man with me.  Do you understand?"

"Do not tell you only what you wish to hear?"  Goro hazarded a guess.

"Exactly."  Her good humor returned.  "Harry is my first mate not only because he is a trusted friend.  He is also a trusted critic.  A captain is only as good as the crew he or she leads."

"My grandfather would say a family is as a chain of forged metal.  All the links must be strong for the entire chain to hold up when tested." Goro adjusted his hat, tilting it back to allow more light across his vision.

"I like that.  I shall remember it."  Isalba pulled two cigars from her pocket and offered one to Goro, who took it with a smile.  She lit her cigar and leaned over, lighting Goro's with the red-hot tip of her own.

They both smoked in companionable silence, walking along the dirt lane in the warm tropical air.  The section of road they traveled was relatively void of buildings, putting much-appreciated distance between the center of the bustling port town and the stench of the livestock holding area.  Not that the central city smelled like roses, but at least it did not reek of animal manure.  Isalba thought of the herd of Spanish ponies that had saved their lives when the Langley sank, and was glad they were running free on Assateague Island.  They would have fetched a fine pence but some things were priceless and she felt the sturdy beasts deserved their liberty in exchange for swimming the men to shore.

"I do believe it is time to join the crew at Wicked Jack's."  Isalba gestured in the general direction of the town.

"I look forward to it," Goro responded.  "Ivan favored The Green Dragon. It is just down the way at Smith's Alley and Queen Street."

"I have sampled them all," Isalba boasted.  "The fair ladies of The Green Dragon are a sight to behold. We must visit there another night.  And as many others as we are able."  She laughed and Goro joined her, as they reached the first in a long line of shops, inns, taverns, and brothels that made up the pirate's haven so many thought fondly of as home.

They arrived at Wicked Jack's and as Isalba crossed the threshold, a cheer rose up from a prominent table, her crew greeting her with their mugs raised in toast.  She worked her way through the crowd, stopping along the way to clasp hands with a few old friends and trade insults with foes.  When she reached the table, her men parted and made way for her to sit in a chair which had its back to the corner, something Isalba prized in a room filled with potentially-dangerous drunks. There was just enough room for a server to walk behind the chair, but otherwise, she need not worry so much about watching her back.

To the left of the chair was Harry and to the right sat Megan, beaming up at her, her green dress every bit as flattering as Isalba remembered from the morning. Megan's cheeks were flushed pale pink, and standing over her, Isalba had a clear view of the curves and cleavage revealed by Megan's low neckline.  She smiled charmingly at Megan, flashing a ghost of a wink, and took a seat, grinning as more than one full mug of ale was thrust in her direction.

"To the Captain!"  Harry stood and the men followed suit, all of them downing their drinks with much laughter and pride.

Isalba waited a moment and stood, bidding them all to take a seat.  "I am honored to captain the finest crew on the seven seas." Another round of cheers greeted this statement, and she paused.  "It has been a long, had journey from Chincoteague to here.  We have lost some friends, defeated some enemies, and made new friends along the way.  We fought for and won our fine ship."

"Hear, hear!" several men agreed with her.

"And we are a family," Isalba continued.  "A family that has bonded together and survived, often on the strength of our ability to endure hardship.  I have decided to Christian our new ship the 'Patientia', for we will always defeat our enemies and always endure!"

As the men roared and clapped their approval, Isalba took a seat, just as a server brought around a tray, depositing a loaf of bread and a slab of cheese on the table.  The appetizer was sliced and passed around, and Isalba took a long draught from her mug of ale, wiping a satisfied hand across her lips.  "How was the gaming?"  She leaned over, smiling at Megan affectionately.

"Interesting," Megan replied. "Though not as captivating as I had hoped," she admitted.  "Harry is a very good instructor.  I feel I understand the game, though I am not so certain I am ready to compete with seasoned players."

"Good."  Isalba accepted a slice of bread and cheese and took a bite, then offered it over to Megan, holding it up while the younger woman sampled it.

"Mmmm. Delicious."  Megan smiled somewhat shyly and sat back, lifting her own tankard and taking a dainty sip.

"You have a little bit of ale —"  Isalba reached over, trailing a fingertip across Megan's upper lip. "There." Isalba playfully licked her finger and grinned, taking another drink, pleased at Megan's blush in reaction.

"Ah, there is the lovely Lady Megan," a commanding voice reached their hearing and both Megan and Isalba looked up. Jacquotte and her entourage were entering the tavern, and the red-headed pirate broke away from her group, sauntering across the floor, decked out in buttery-soft brown leather pants and a shimmery green silk shirt.  She made a beeline for Isalba's table and dropped to one knee before Megan, reaching out and taking her hand to kiss it.  Glancing past Megan toward Isalba, Jacquotte drew back and smiled broadly, holding out a long-stemmed red rose to Megan.  "I want to properly thank you, Lady Megan, for a most enchanting afternoon."

Isalba looked at Megan, who held the rose in limp fingers and had grown white as a sheet. Megan was staring, petrified, at Harry.  With a suspicious glare, Isalba turned to Harry, whose expression rapidly morphed from flabbergasted to stupefied. He shrugged innocently at Isalba.  "Enchanting afternoon?" Isalba enunciated the words carefully, and Harry smiled nervously.

"I can explain," he began.

"Oh, no, let me. It is very simple," Jacquotte broke in.  "The lady grew bored with the gambling, and I was fortunate enough to take her on a most interesting tour of some of Port Royal's finer shops.  Has she shown you her purchases, Isalba? And the things I bought for her?"

"No, she has not."  Isalba's expression grew cold and she looked at Megan, waiting expectantly.

"I — Isalba and I have just seen each other since last I saw you, Jacquotte," Megan finally found her voice. "There has not been time to —"

"I see."  Jacquotte stood, still holding Megan's hand.  "I would be most honored if you would join me at my table, Megan."

"I —" Megan looked to Isalba, who had nothing to say, her expression blank.  "That is a very kind offer, but I —"

"Do not let me stop you," Isalba cut her off, her words clipped. 

" 'Salba, do not do this —" Harry bravely spoke up.

"Is anyone here talking to you?" Isalba's voice was dangerously low as she briefly turned to him in question.

" 'Salba —"  Harry took a deep breath and then jumped back in alarm, as Isalba swiftly drew her dagger and slammed it into the wooden table top. "Forgive me."  He peered helplessly at Megan, who was still floundering for an answer, her frightened eyes impossibly large.

"Please, Lady Megan." Jacquotte bowed slightly. "It is close by, see?" She gestured at the next table over, where her men were settling themselves and there were exactly two empty chairs remaining, side by side.  "We will not be out of sight of this table."

"Isa?"  Megan's voice quivered, her eyes begging for a way out.

"Go on." Isalba waved her off.  "It sounds as if you had a very nice afternoon, why stop now? Besides, I have business to conduct.  I promised Frederick an evening with one of the ladies here, and I have yet to make proper arrangements."

"But Maria!"  Megan replied disapprovingly, effecting a wail as best she could without drawing Fredrick's attention at the adjoining table, where more of Isalba's men were seated.

"Maria is a child," Isalba answered, her voice bordering on cruel.  "Frederick needs a woman."

"But he loves Maria," Megan argued.

"Love?"  Isalba snorted in laughter.  "It has nothing to do with love."

"If that is how you feel —" Megan slowly stood. "If this is what you want —"

"It is what Jacquotte wants, is it not?" Isalba's eyes narrowed, her fingertips twitching in restrained anger.

"It is most definitely what I want," Jacquotte answered.  "Come, Megan." She held out her hand and beckoned with her fingers.

With one look back at Isalba, Megan slowly reached out and took it, then, head down, followed after Jacquotte and sat numbly down in the chair held out for her.  Her guts twisted in misery and her eyes stung with tears she desperately hoped she could contain until the evening was over.  She dared look up and across at Isalba, who held her gaze for an instant, then swiftly turned not just her head, but her body, as she lit into Harry, speaking low so that Megan could not hear what they were saying.  After a few moments of wild gestures, with both Harry and Isalba growing redder in the face by the moment, Harry stood and slammed his chair under the table, then stormed across the room, disappearing from sight into the crowded area near the bar. 

As he left, Isalba's men moved in, filling the empty chairs and just like that, it was as if Harry and Megan had never been at her table.  Megan's chest felt constricted and she was finding it difficult to breathe. She dug into a small bag she had looped around her wrist, searching for a handkerchief.  A drink was pushed under her nose and she looked up to find Jacquotte's sympathetic face nearby.

"Drink this.  It is much smoother than the ale."  She pushed the mug closer and a strong, slightly-sweet fragrance reached Megan's nose, burning her nostrils.

"What is it?"  She sat back, twisting the handkerchief into a knot.

"The finest rum of Port Royal.  Aged to sweet, dark perfection."  Jacquotte sipped from a tall pewter tankard and smacked her lips.  "It will make you forget all your troubles."

"Will it, now?" Megan cautiously lifted the mug and took too big a swallow, her eyes growing large and watering even more, as the burn seared from her nostrils all the way to her stomach.  Ruefully, she realized she at least had an excuse for the tears which finally trickled down her cheeks.  Coughing, she set the mug down and dabbed at her face.

"Here, let me do that." Jacquotte took the soft brushed piece of material and wiped the moisture from Megan's face.  "Your eyes are such a beautiful green," she commented as she finished.  "Try the drink again. It goes down easier the second time."

"I am not so sure of that."  With a shaking hand, Megan complied and was pleased to find Jacquotte was right.  This time she felt numb, more than anything, the gentle buzz taking the edge off her injured emotions enough for her to shove them away to be pondered later.

"Good girl," Jacquotte praised her.

Across the way, Isalba watched from her peripheral vision, pretending not to notice or care, her own heart sinking.  Anger, jealousy, and something more she could not name warred within, as she waged her own internal battle with the weapons of strong ale and smooth, spicy cigar smoke.  A pipe was passed her way and she knew before it reached her what it was, gladly taking hold of it and inhaling deeply of the smoke from dried poppy and cannabis.

The drug hit her bloodstream and her brain, and she passably convinced herself she didn't care what happened at the next table.  Didn't care that she'd told her best friend and first mate to pack his things and be off her ship by morning, or that a night that had started out so wonderfully well had so quickly turned from heaven to hell.  The anger was still there, reduced from a boil to a simmer, and it tickled at her guts, rearing its head and looking about for an outlet.

"Frederick," she stood and motioned to Ivan's cabin boy. "Come with me."

Eyes as large as saucers, Frederick blushed crimson and did as he was told, standing and mumbling excuses to his mates before he dodged around the crowded table and joined Isalba in the aisle.  She threw an arm across his shoulder and guided him toward the back of the room.  From her chair, Megan watched and saw a group of women wandering about the other side of the room. She realized they were working the tables, slowly making their way around the tavern. 

Isalba stopped and spoke to one of the women, who smiled and held up a hand.  Isalba and Frederick talked while she was gone, and Megan saw Isalba make a few gestures with her hands, as if she were demonstrating something.  She thought of what Isalba had told her on the beach, and just as Megan blushed, Frederick blushed even darker red, his white-blonde hair standing out vividly, his eyes so wide, Megan could see the blue irises from where she sat. The woman returned with another woman, who took Frederick by the hand and spoke quietly and earnestly to him, then led him away past a staircase and into a darkened hallway.

Jacquotte watched Megan carefully, following her gaze.  "That boy will soon be a man," she commented.

"I suppose," Megan replied miserably.  "It is not how it should be."

"What do you mean?" Jacquotte took Megan's hand, brushing her fingers across Megan's knuckles, then turning it over and stroking her palm.

"Please do not do that."  Megan pulled her hand away.

"I apologize. I did not mean to take liberties." Jacquotte appeared contrite enough.  "You appeared to need comforting. I mis-read —"

"No, you did not." Megan took another sip from her mug. "This night.  It is all wrong.  Frederick and Maria.  Isa.  Nothing is what I had hoped it would be."

"Life is not fair," Jacquotte commiserated.  "Lady Megan, if I may make an observation."  Megan grudgingly met her gaze and Jacquotte continued.  "This is your first night in Port Royal?" Megan nodded.  "Your first time in a tavern?"  She nodded again.  "And you are wearing your best dress, no?" 

Megan looked down at herself and back at Jacquotte.  "It is my very best one," she answered softly, her voice full of disappointment.  "I wanted to look beautiful for —"

"You are very beautiful," Jacquotte touched her hand again and this time Megan did not pull away.  "You are young.  This night is young.  Do not be miserable, Lady Megan.  Laugh and drink and enjoy yourself.  Isalba will be on your ship in the morning."

"That is true," Megan slowly answered.  Realizing the night was not to go as she had hoped, she sat back, draining the cup of rum.  She was still miserable inside, her heart hurting so badly she feared it would break in two.  But she also realized there was no point in allowing what she felt inside to spill over to the outside.  "Very well.  I should like another drink, please."

"That is the spirit!"  Jacquotte waved at a server, who quickly brought over two more cups of the amber-colored rum.

Megan accepted her cup and remembering mistakes past made, set it down, reaching first for a large slice of bread and a thick piece of cheese, which she ate bite by small bite, still watching the table across from them.  Isalba had returned and was once again the center of attention, her men leaning in and hanging on her words.  They laughed raucously, trading jokes and stories, as the ale flowed freely.  Harry had not returned, nor had Frederick.  Goro caught her eye once and smiled encouragingly, and Megan realized there was more to him than she had realized.

"She made a good choice," Megan mumbled.

"What was that?" Jacquotte leaned closer.

"Oh, nothing."  It occurred to Megan that maybe Isalba did not want it known yet that she was grooming Goro to one day take her place.  Perhaps it would be dangerous to share such information.  While Jacquotte and Isalba were allegedly old friends, Megan was not at all certain how friendly either woman actually felt toward the other.

"You have not touched the drink I ordered for you." Jacquotte pushed the cup toward Megan.

"I needed some food in my stomach."  Megan patted her midsection.  "I have not eaten since you bought lunch for me this afternoon.  If I did not thank you —"

"You expressed your gratitude," Jacquotte replied.  "But you are an intelligent woman. It is no good to pour the liquor into an empty belly.  Once, when I was much younger —"

Megan lifted her cup and sipped from it, half-listening as Jacquotte babbled on.  As the evening wore on, she heard Jacquotte's stories but her eyes were glued to Isalba's table, watching every move the pirate made.  One by one, the men in Isalba's crew were leaving, most of them led upstairs or down the first floor hallway by one of the admittedly beautiful women working the room.  The same dance took place over and over again at Jacquotte's table as well.  The women came to the tables, they flirted and showed some skin, and eventually they left with a promise of a coin tucked into their cleavage and a glassy-eyed man following along behind.

Servers also worked the room, clearing away empty mugs and bringing freshly-filled ones, collecting doubloons and bringing out the freshly-baked, fragrant bread.  Cloying smoke filled the room, a mixture of tobacco and something sweeter.  A pipe made its way around Jacquotte's table and just as it reached Megan, she saw Isalba inhaling from a pipe almost identical to it.  Their eyes met again and Megan tilted her chin in a stubborn gesture, taking the pipe between her lips and sucking at it.  Holding the smoke as she had watched the others do, she absently passed the pipe to Jacquotte and then blinked as she nearly fell off her chair from the rush of the smoke to her head.

Isalba's eyes narrowed and she slowly released the smoke in her own lungs, still watching Megan.  She blinked lazily, her gaze mostly on Megan, but occasionally drifting toward the end of her own table.  A woman was working her way around Isalba's crew, tossing long, thick chestnut-red hair over her shoulder as she edged past the men, snaking her way toward Isalba.  He olive skin glowed in the torchlight that illuminated the room, her burgundy red dress a bold choice even for a place such as Port Royal.

"Isalba Cortez." The woman eased in behind the pirate, dragging long, painted fingernails along Isalba's shoulders.  "The pup I made a woman of."

Jacquotte snickered and Isalba's expression went cold.  "Arianna." Isalba's voice vibrated deep in her chest, the woman's name rolling strangely off her tongue to Megan's ears.

"You were so wet behind the ears. Among other places. Where is your Captain?" The woman continued to tease Isalba's neck and hair with her fingers. "I never did thank him for sending me your way, nor for the coin that passed between us. I should have paid him instead. It was quite enjoyable, the things I taught you."

"Oh, this is good," Jacquotte whispered. "Look at your captain's face."

Isalba's anger was clearly visible, rolling off her in agitated waves, but there was something more there to Megan's eye. Humiliation, perhaps? Isalba's crew had all gone silent as had the other tables nearby, many men with mugs half-raised, as they watched the growing exchange taking place before them.

"I am the Captain," Isalba answered, so low it was barely audible.

"What was that?" Arianna leaned over Isalba's shoulder and daringly flicked a tongue at her earlobe.  "I did not hear you."  She placed a sloppy, wet kiss on Isalba's cheek.

"Covington is dead," Isalba replied curtly.  "I said, 'I am the Captain'!"  With a yell and one swift move, she grasped Arianna and hauled her over her shoulder and into her lap.  "Perhaps I will teach you a few things."  Wrapping one hand in Arianna's hair, Isalba jerked her head back, exposing her throat.  Isalba leaned closer, poking just the tip of her tongue out to sample Arianna's pulse, pounding wildly at the base of her neck, then savagely attacked her lips, deepening the kiss until Arianna's whimpers of protest slowly became moans of pleasure.

Megan watched in horrified fascination, her gut doing flips that made her feel sick to her stomach, and at the same time, tore at her heart with an extreme sense of longing, even more powerful than what she usually felt when she was close to Isalba. As they continued to kiss, Isalba's free hand slid up Arianna's side and roughly fondled her breast through her dress.  The men around them were now whistling and cat-calling, egging Isalba on.  In the background, Megan could see a few bets being made and across the room, some of the servers had stopped to stare at the spectacle.

Still controlling Arianna, holding her in place by her hair, Isalba's hand dropped down from her breast and stroked up Arianna's leg, pushing her skirt up to her thighs.  With a nudge of one knee, she eased Arianna's legs apart and Isalba's hand disappeared beneath the skirt. Pulling back from the kiss with a smack of her lips, she peered closely into Arianna's eyes. "Who is the pup now?" she taunted.

"Whoop!" Jacquotte clapped loudly and Megan's heart sank, understanding completely what was happening.

Arianna moaned and her eyes fluttered halfway closed.  "No pantaloons."  Isalba laughed wickedly.  "You are a very naughty girl.  Listen to me, Arianna.  We can finish this here, with everyone watching, and I can throw you off my lap when we are done, or we can take it upstairs and perhaps make it a bit more interesting.  Your choice."

"Up — stairs."  Arianna gasped.

"Good choice."  Isalba withdrew her hand and roughly pressed a finger against Arianna's lips, forcing it between them and into the surprised woman's mouth.  She tugged the whore's skirt back into place, dragging Arianna to her feet with her, her hand still wrapped in Arianna's hair. Isalba pulled Arianna back against her, yanking her hair and wrapping one arm around her, cupping her breast.  "I am going to make you scream until you are hoarse," Isalba purred.

"And she will. I know from personal experience." Jacquotte leaned close, taunting Megan.  "You said you are capable of screaming.  Are you certain she did not teach you that?"

Slowly, Megan tore her eyes away from Isalba and Arianna, and as they made their way toward the stairs, Megan stood, turning her back to them and looking down at the still-seated Jacquotte.  "What did you say?"  She asked, low and even.

"Isalba likes to make the ladies scream. You said you are an accomplished screamer.  I am merely drawing conclusions."  Jacquotte raised her mug in a mocking toast.

"Draw this."  With a backward sweep of her hand she knocked the mug from Jacquotte's grasp, sending it and the rum in it splattering against the wall.  On the return stroke her palm connected solidly with  the pirate's face, slamming her head backward. 

"You little —" Jacquotte got halfway to her feet when Megan pulled a dagger from one of her high-topped shoes and brandished it.

"I have shot and killed a man, you know."  She waved the knife in the shocked woman's face.  "Do not speak to me, ever again.  I do not carry this knife for decoration."  Her skirts swirling, Megan turned resolutely away from both crews and squaring her shoulders, strode purposefully toward the bar, never looking back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Same room?" Isalba asked, and Arianna nodded as best she could.  Isalba half-led, half-dragged her down the narrow, darkened hallway.  It stank of stale liquor, days-old sweat, and worse.  Cries and groans erupted from behind closed doors and as they passed one room, a drunken, unkempt pirate emerged, fastening his trousers closed.  Pausing in the doorway, he retrieved several coins from a pocket and tossed them carelessly onto the floor of the room, then turned and stumbled away, leaving the door open.  A woman with her clothing half-torn from her body sat on the rug, lying back against the side of the bed, her eyes closed, her chest heaving as if she were in pain.

"Are you alright?"  Isalba stopped, her hand still wrapped in Arianna's hair.

"Bastard good as raped me," the woman replied, opening her eyes.  She reached up and dabbed at a trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth.  "Beat me good, 'e did."

"Look after her."  Isalba gave Arianna a little push inside the room, then took off until she was several paces behind the pirate.  "You!  We need to talk." He saw her and muttered a few obscenities, then dismissed her with a wave of his hand and began his descent down the stairs.

"You!  Stop!"  Isalba stood on the top landing and he turned and looked up at her, making a rude gesture before he continued his way downward. "Very well." She reached into her boot and drew out a dagger, flipping it over in her hand.  With a flick of her wrist she sent it flying, sinking it directly between his shoulder blades.  He gasped and fell face forward, sprawled across the stairs near the bottom as blood began to drip down the remaining steps.  She trotted down to him and retrieved the weapon, wiping it on his shirt before she slid it back into her boot.  As an afterthought, she knelt down and relieved him of a money pouch looped to his belt, then stood back up.

One of the working girls walked by and saw him, stepping around a puddle of blood and rolling her eyes. " 'E deserve that?"

"Yes."  Isalba gave the dead man a kick. "Tell Margot she has some rapist refuse to remove from her stairs."

"Will do, Captain."  The woman ducked behind a curtained doorway that led to the chambers of Margot, the madam in charge of the women who provided their services at Wicked Jack's.

Her blood now boiling, Isalba took the stairs back up two at a time, and trotted back down the hallway. She found Arianna where she had left her, applying a cold, wet rag to the other woman's bruises.  The other woman had crawled into bed and her torn clothing now lay in a pile on the floor, replaced by a simple, long nightgown.  "Should I find you a doctor?"  Isalba took a seat on the edge of the bed.

"No.  Nothing broken." The woman smoothed the blankets that now covered most of her body.  "Just knocked me around some, then took some liberties I didna agree too."

"He won't be hurting you again." Isalba tossed the bag of doubloons at the foot of the bed.  "Here is a bit more coin for your pain, courtesy of the bastard that caused it."

"Thank you."  The woman reached for the bag and Isalba pushed it within her reach.  "I  know you are Isalba Cortez.  Your reputation is legendary." The woman grinned.  "My name's Olivia.  Next time you are about these parts, come see me.  I'll be making it up to  yer."

"You owe me nothing, but I shall keep that in mind simply for the sake of the pleasure it would be." Isalba returned the grin.  "You are certain you need no further attending?"  The woman nodded and Isalba squared her shoulders and stood. "Well, then."

Arianna smoothed back Olivia's hair and kissed her lightly on the forehead.  "Come get me if you need me."

"I will." Olivia lay back against her pillow and sighed, shifting until she was more comfortable.  "Thank you, both of you, for everything."

"It is nothing.  You would do the same for me.  We are still going to my room?"  Arianna  smiled coyly at Isalba.

"That is a given."  Isalba beckoned with one crooked finger and they left Olivia to rest, closing the door behind them.  No longer in physical contact, Arianna followed Isalba two more doors down.  The pirate kicked the door open with a shove of her boot, grabbed Arianna and pulled her inside the room, then slammed the door, leaning against it.  "You crossed a line, Arianna."

"I know." Arianna sat casually on the raised railing at the foot of the bed frame, her chest thrust slightly forward, displaying ample cleavage for Isalba's enjoyment.

"You provoked me on purpose?" One dark eyebrow eased up, and a lascivious grin tugged at Isalba's lips.  "You know I am going to punish you."

"Yes. I remember your past punishments."  Arianna stood and approached, reaching out toward her, only to have her hand slapped away.

"Do not touch me." Isalba commanded.  "You know what I want."

"Oooo, you are raging with the battle lust.  How long has it been, 'Salba?"  Expecting no answer and getting none, Arianna moved to a wardrobe and opened a drawer, rummaging around in it for a few items before she returned, her hands behind her back, hiding her offerings.

Isalba's eyes narrowed, her nostrils flaring in anticipation.  "Go on."  She relaxed her posture slightly, placing her palms flat against the door she still leaned against, closing her eyes while Arianna unfastened her trousers and began to tug them down.  "Only as far as you need to fasten everything in place, then you pull them back up."

"Yes, Captain."  Arianna quickly wrapped a leather harness around Isalba's hips and with practiced hands, secured a phallus in place, then pulled Isalba's suede-leather trousers back up and buttoned all but the top two buttons, leaving the toy ready for use.

"Service me," Isalba commanded, opening her eyes and watching as Arianna dropped to her knees before her.  "Ah-ah-ah."  She slapped reaching hands away again.  "I told you not to touch me. Hands behind your back."

Arianna looked up at her and slowly complied, clasping her hands behind her, causing her chest to thrust out even further.  Meeting Isalba's gaze, she leaned forward and lowered her eyes, taking the phallus into her mouth and closing her lips around it, as she simulated giving head to the pirate.

"You want this?"  Isalba thrust her hips forward and back, watching as Arianna nodded her compliance.  "You know how to stop me at any time?"

"Safety word," Arianna mumbled around the toy.  "I remember it."

"Good."  Isalba let her go on for another moment, then stilled her hips. "Bend over the end of the bed."

Arianna released her with a popping of her lips, and eased up and toward the bed, placing both hands on the footboard railing, her back to the pirate.  Isalba moved forward and stopped a few steps behind her. "Further over, and spread your legs for me."

With a soft moan, Arianna did as she was told, the small muscles of her partially-exposed upper back twitching, waiting.  Isalba closed the distance and with one hand, eased the long skirt up until it was draped around Arianna's waist, exposing her bare buttocks and legs.  "I am going to fuck you, quickly and forcefully."  Isalba bent over, speaking low into Arianna's ear.  She deliberately kept their bodies from touching, and Arianna shivered as warm breath brushed across the skin of her neck.  "When you scream, I will stop."

Backing away a step, Isalba reached between Arianna's legs, examining her with a few efficient touches.  "Ohhhh, I see you more than want this."  She removed her hand and placed it flat against the material at the small of Arianna's back for balance, then swiftly entered her, eliciting a pleasure-filled moan from the whore. Isalba closed her eyes and went to work, feeling next to nothing, hearing only the slight noise of her movements and Arianna, who panted between whimpers and groans.  Isalba mumbled incoherently a few times, guttural obscenities, her mind hundreds of miles from the place where she stood.  In a short time, Arianna's cries of climax reverberated off the walls and Isalba ceased her movement, stepping back and quickly removing harness and phallus, tossing them in the corner.

Arianna turned to face her, her cheeks flushed, her eyes soft and shining.  "Your turn."  She dropped down to the wooden floor and crawled forward on her hands and knees, grasping Isalba's thighs and backing her up until her calves brushed against a chair.  Isalba eased town into it and spread her legs.  Reaching up, Arianna unbuttoned the leather trousers and tugged them down to just past the pirate's knees, which she pushed apart, then buried her head between Isalba's legs.

Isalba groaned and closed her eyes, immediately seeing Megan's face in her mind's eye.  All her anger came bubbling to the surface.  Jacquotte, taunting her, kissing Megan's hand, taking who knew what liberties?  Megan, allowing herself to be seen wandering Port Royal in the company of one of Isalba's greatest rivals.  What gifts had Jacquotte been speaking of, and what, exactly was she trying to buy from Megan with such attentions?  Where had she taken Megan and what had they done?  Why had Harry so carelessly disregarded her simple request that he watch out for Megan in her absence? 

And then there was Megan herself. Megan, who was beautiful and innocent, yet maddening in her ability to tease Isalba mercilessly, even if she didn't intend to.  Megan, who made her feel things she had never felt before.  Even now, she raged with anger and jealousy, every fiber of her being wanting something she was convinced she couldn't have.  And yet, it seemed that perhaps Jacquotte was very close to getting what Isalba would not allow herself to have.  Did Megan want such things, from Isalba or Jacquotte, or anyone else for that matter?

She groaned in frustration and opened her eyes in an attempt to banish her thoughts, but seeing Arianna's bobbing head had the effect of pouring ice water over Isalba's loins. "Stop!"  Arianna kept going and Isalba yanked her head up by her hair.  "I said, 'Stop'!"

"I am sorry."  Arianna licked her lips and inched back, still on her knees.  " 'Stop' is not the safety word.  I thought —"

"Aggghhhh." Isalba leaned forward and placed her face in her hands, bracing her elbows on her bare thighs.  "Agggghhhhhhh!!!!" She cried out in frustration.  "I am sorry.  I cannot do this."  She looked up for a moment, then covered her face again, scrubbing it with her hands.

"Did I do something amiss?"  Arianna sat back on her heels.

"No, no."  Isalba lifted her hips and pulled her trousers back up, fastening them and releasing a long, agitated breath.  "You are beautiful.  I should be burning for you.  It is only —"

"You wish I were Megan?"  Arianna finished her thoughts.

"How did you know?" Isalba sat forward, cocking her head in question.

"You spoke her name while you were fucking me."  Arianna smiled in sympathy. "More than once.  It was like a caress rolling off your tongue."

"I should shoot myself and put myself out of my misery." Isalba moaned bitterly.  "She is all I want. All I can think about some days. And yet I cannot have her."

"What is keeping you from her?"  Arianna stood and made her way to a table, pouring up two mugs of sweet, dark red wine.  She returned and sat down at Isalba's feet, offering her the rich drink.

"She is a virgin," Isalba replied helplessly.  "She was betrothed to a man before joining my crew."

"And yet she left him to join you?"  Arianna rested her chin on Isalba's thigh, stroking her calf in a comforting gesture.

Isalba allowed the touch, reaching down and rifling her fingers through Arianna's hair.  "Yes.  But she was running away from something she did not want.  I am not so certain she is yet where she wants to be."

"Have you asked her?" Arianna lifted her head enough to take a sip from her mug.

"Not in so many words.  She speaks of adventures and someday settling down.  I do not know what she wants."  Isalba drained half her mug.

"Where is she now?"  Arianna asked softly, placing a kiss on Isalba's leg.

"She is with Jacquotte," Isalba answered bitterly.  "Perhaps she has found what she was looking for when she left her home and her fiancé."

"The blonde who was sitting next to Jacquotte?"  Arianna asked incredulously, and Isalba nodded.  "She had eyes only for you, 'Salba.  I saw her before I approached your table.  Her eyes —  You know —" Arianna  circled Isalba's kneecap with her fingertip.  "She will not be a virgin forever.  Someone, somewhere, is going to make a woman of her, just as I did of you." She smiled.

Isalba laughed lightly.  "Yes, you did, and had I known Covington brought us together, I would have thanked him, before he —" she trailed off.  "Our ship sank.  He went down with it and I pulled the surviving crew together."

"And now you are their Captain," Arianna responded, her voice expressing pride as a mother for a child.  "I always knew you would do great things, Isalba Cortez.  I am sorry about Covington. I know he cared for you as if you were his daughter.  Or perhaps his son.  But he did well by you.  You are fashioned after him and more.  The Isalba Cortez I know always pursues what she wants until she gets it. "

"True."  Isalba agreed, still stroking Arianna's hair.

"I may have introduced you to the ways of physical pleasure, but if I recall, by the time our first night was over, you had me begging for mercy."  She circled the other kneecap.  "And each time together since then you have become more and more commanding, more sure of what you want and what you are willing to give."

"About tonight —"  Isalba touched Arianna's cheek.

"You had to put me in my place.  I understand that." Arianna smiled.  "I wanted to see that side of you, and you did not disappoint.  You do not know your own power, amico caro.  You are a force of nature, as they say.  She is already yours, unless my eyes were telling me lies."

"I am not so certain."  Isalba sighed heavily.  "How does a virgin know what she wants?"

"You knew well enough."  Arianna smirked.  "And I know you would be a gentle teacher for her.  What is keeping you from her?"

"I do not want to be her teacher. I want —"  Isalba buried her face in her hands yet again, feeling Arianna's comforting hand rubbing her back.  "Goddess help me, what I want."

"You have fallen in love with her," Arianna replied quietly.  "And that frightens you."

"I do not know what it means." Isalba lifted her head, her eyes full of despair.  "I do not know what to do with this.  With her."  Arianna's brows rose and Isalba found a responding smile.  "Oh, you know I know what to do.  It is the rest.  Love.  What is that? And what does it mean for the life I live, always on the seas, always on the hunt?"

"You think too hard, 'Salba." Arianna tisked.  "You want her. She wants you."

"I —"

Arianna covered Isalba's mouth, silencing her.  "She wants you.  Trust me.  She has the hunger.  If you do not satisfy it, someone else will, mark my words."

"Jacquotte," Isalba tasted the name as if it were rotten fruit.  Suddenly, she remembered where Megan was, and she stood abruptly, almost knocking Arianna on her back.  "I am sorry." She bent over, pulling her friend to her feet. "Even if I never get what I want, I have left her down there too long.  I let my anger get the best of me.  I —"

"Go."  Arianna gave her a shove toward the door.

"Here."  Isalba drew several doubloons from her pouch and pressed them into Arianna's hand.  "And this —" She retrieved a cameo broach on a gold chain from her pocket and dropped it on top of the coins.  "It will be lovely hanging around your neck." Leaning in, she brushed her lips across Arianna's cheek.  "I am sorry —"

"Go!"  Arianna gave her another push, opening the door and nudging her through it. "You have worn me out anyway.  I must sleep now.  Goodnight, 'Salba.  Go find your happiness."

With a sad smile and a nod, Isalba turned and headed for the stairs at a run.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

continued...

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