The waves tossed the two skiffs about as if they were toy boats in a tub.  Isalba held fast to one side of the boat, peering into the rain-drenched darkness.  They carried no lantern, relying on the lightning flashes that illuminated the shoreline at frequent intervals, guiding them northward toward the unsuspecting galleon.  Her skiff was out front, leading the second one, both small boats loaded full of heavily-armed men. Only Jonathon had been left behind to keep an eye on the fishing boat, the nuns, and of course, Megan. 

As they neared the galleon, a lone man keeping watch at the back of the tall vessel spotted them and swung a lantern out over the water, twice, then cried out a warning.  "Blast," Isalba cursed.  "Alright.  You know what to do.  Cover me."  They reached the back of the rocking ship and she grabbed hold of the anchor line, wrapping herself around it.

Shimmying up the thick rope, riding it like a bucking horse as the ship rose and fell, she heard chaos break out on the deck above her, then shots rang out from the skiffs below, the bullets whizzing by over her head.  A man yelled, then a body fell past her, splashing into the churning water beneath her.  More shots rang out and then fire was returned, a bullet grazing her sleeve as she reached the ship's aft railing and hauled herself over, landing on braced legs with her sword drawn. 

Another one of her men was already climbing up behind her, as she fought off two men, her sword flashing and reflecting more lightning as it streaked across the sky from angry, dark clouds.  Her braid was plastered against the back of her neck, her hat long since fallen off as an offering to the sea.  With a wicked laugh she plunged her sword deep into an adversary's side, smelling the coppery blood that spilled out over the rain-washed deck. 

"Drake!"  She yelled as he tumbled onto the deck nearby, his climb up the anchor line a success.  "Get a line down to the other men!"

"Aye!" He drew a pistol from his belt and shot a man as he came running toward him.  "I can do you one better, Captain."  He unfurled a wide, heavy rope net that would serve as a ladder for several men to climb aboard at once.  Quickly, as Isalba held off two more men, Drake worked behind her, tying off the net and draping it down the back of the ship.  The resulting cheers of her men rising up from below were music to her ears.

"The goddess is smiling on us!" Isalba's laughter filled the night air, and she drove forward, slicing and dicing her way through a group of pirates that threatened to close her in completely.  Soon, however, she was not fighting alone, as the rest of the men in the skiffs piled onto the rear deck and the battle began in earnest.

It was tough going, the deck slick as glass with rain and the ship mostly dark, save a few dim lanterns that had not been blown out by wind or doused by rain.  Heavy drops fell thickly, creating a steady curtain of water that at times was blinding, stinging their eyes as the wind whipped the salt-tinged storm into a fine mist that felt like needles.  Isalba swiped the back of her hand across her face, her other arm still furiously wielding her sword.

There was no sign of Evil Ivan and she drove forward toward the hatch door to the hold, almost losing her footing as she slid a few yards across smooth, worn decking, her boots hydroplaning on a thin layer of water. "Ivan!" she roared, taking yet another man out, cleanly chopping his head off with a wide sweep of her sword.  "Show yourself!"

All around her she could hear metal striking metal, interspersed with gunshot and the cries of injured men.  Next to her Harry simply lifted one man bodily, drawing him up and over his head before tossing him over the railing to the waves below.  "Nice," she complimented her first mate, who merely grunted in response, moving on to his next victim.

Two men ran past her but she was unable to go after them, occupied as she was with a man and his wicked whip that tore open her jacket sleeve.  He cracked it again, lashing her around one ankle and pulling hard in an attempt to take her down.  "You will die, bitch!" He pulled a dagger from his belt.

Isalba tilted her head for a split second, widening her stance so as not to fall, and merely sliced downward with a quick flick of her wrist, cutting the whip and freeing her leg.  Before he could draw his arm back again she was on him, pushing him to the deck and yanking the whip from his hand, knocking the dagger from the other.  In one swift motion she had the whip wrapped around his neck, twisting until he was gagging for breath, his eyes popping in surprise.  "No, you will."  With a swift jerk and another twist, she snapped his neck and he went limp beneath her.

Leaping to her feet, she flew toward the back of the ship and the two men who had run past her, but it was too late.  Out in the darkness on the pitching waves she could see them, rowing away in one of their skiffs along with a handful of other men that had apparently abandoned ship and joined them.  "Damnation!"  She spared one last glance but could risk no more.  The battle was still in full swing and she dared not turn her back on it for long.

Turning, she just had presence of mind to jump up and over a long, thin sword aimed at her lower body.  She arched her body and twisted into a flip, landing and spinning toward her assailant, engaging him in a series of swift, accurate blows, allowing her to flex skills she rarely used.  The man's dark, narrow eyes rang a bell, as did the ornate, curved sword he used, and she recognized him as one from the Far East, disciplined in martial arts beyond those of the average, roughshod pirate.

Their swords crossed swiftly, their movements like a well-choreographed dance.  She matched him blow for blow, flip for flip, and kick for kick.  One wicked twist of his leg got inside her defenses, and she felt a rib crack. Wincing, she drew in deep breaths and pressed on, ignoring the pain that shot through her body with each twist of her torso.  "Join with me."  She grinned confidently at the man.  "I will have this ship."

The man faltered for only a second, then an equally haughty grin graced his lips and he drove her even harder.  "We shall see."  He added some fancy footwork to his repertoire, jumping and spinning, using the deck, barrels, and any other props he could find to propel himself at her, forcing her to exercise well-honed reflexes.

One particularly wild round-house kick sent her ducking into a low crouch, her ribs screaming for mercy, but in that moment she found her opening at last.  Before he landed properly she swung out with the hilt of her sword, slamming it into his braced knee. Despite the roar of wind and rain, she heard it pop out of its socket and he cried out, falling to the deck and writhing in agony. 

Isalba stood over him, sword drawn and pointed at his throat.  Defiantly, his chin jutted out and he pressed his lips together against the pain he surely felt. "Do it," he dared her through clenched teeth.

"No."  Isalba grabbed him and dragged him to the railing, using a bit of rope to lash him to it.  "My offer still stands.  Think about it."

With that she took off to her next victim, a man she barely saw before she gutted him, as the hatch door flew open and Ivan emerged, tugging his trousers up and cinching his belt.  "What is this!" he roared. "I am occupied!"

Immediately Isalba remembered the other nuns Maria had mentioned, and blood boiling, she flew into a rage.  "Bastard!"  She launched herself across the deck, just as Ivan swung the sword he had dragged up top with him, meeting her blows with bone-rattling strength.  He was easily a foot taller than her and she adjusted her stance from the lighter one she had taken with her previous, shorter opponent, forcing muscle and sheer grit into action.

Muscles straining, she set herself against him, wrapping both hands around her sword hilt and going after him, using her faster speed to her advantage.  Rhythmically, methodically, she danced around him with solid, careful steps, twisting and spinning away from his closer blows and rising up, striking his sword on his upswing and throwing him off balance, forcing him to take an awkward step with each blow. 

She felt her ribs straining and pulling, and desperately hoped she didn't hear the cracked one snap.  All around them the other men continued to fight, and she became dimly aware of the blood pooling and mixing with the water on the ship's deck, the dark red stains eerie with each lightning flash.  Despite the wind and the rain, she was warm, feeling her skin flushed with heat and what she was certain was sweat, running down her back between her shoulder blades.

"You are no match for me!" Ivan taunted her, towering over her as he swung down hard with his blade, catching the material of her shirt and slashing a shallow cut across her left arm before she dodged him, ducking under his arm and turning, catching his downward stroke with her own upward one and managing to twist his arm in the process.  He grimaced and stepped back.  "Give up now and perhaps I will spare your life, 'Salba."

"Give up now —"  Isalba panted and spun on him, getting a solid kick in that sent him off balance and onto his back.  "— and perhaps I will spare yours."  She pounced, throwing her full weight on top of him and pressing the tip of her sword into his throat, but he got his knee behind hers, pushing her off balance and causing her to teeter backwards, just enough for him to wriggle away from her and then kick her against the railing.  At that moment the ship pitched violently and she used the momentum to keep moving, bouncing back toward him and engaging him all over again, the fight far from over, their swords crossing and sending a few sparks scattering into the rain-soaked darkness.

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

Back on the fishing boat, Megan peered out through the porthole at a curtain of rain that was driven almost sideways by the wind.  Jonathon stood watch up on the top deck and the boat tossed and tipped from side to side, fighting against the anchor that kept it from floating out to sea on a wave of treacherous water.  As she watched, from out of the darkness she spied one of the skiffs rowing toward them.  It drew closer and she realized its occupants were at least a half dozen strangers.

"Jonathon!"  She ran tearing from the cabin and up the steps to the deck. "Pirates!  They do not be our people!"

"Get below, Miss!"  Jonathon hurriedly shoved her head down and out of sight, closing the hatch over her.

"Jonathon!"  She banged against the wood and pulled it open.  "You canna face them alone.  I must help you."

"No offense, Miss, but what are you to do, kill them with comeliness?  No." He gently pushed her back below  "Stay there.  Do not make me lock it."

"I am first mate, damn you!"  Megan watched his face, her unusual use of the curse word having its intended effect.  "You shall not lock me in here.  What if I need to escape?"

"Very well."  Taken aback, Jonathon lowered his head deferentially.  "But please to stay below so I will not need to worry about you and attempt to fight them at the same time."

"As you wish,"  she grudgingly conceded. "For now."  Backing away, she shook her now-drenched bangs out of her eyes, as the hatch closed once again.

Two thoughts crossed her mind and she cursed again.  The nuns, and Isalba's treasure chest.  "What would she do?"  Megan fretted.  "Obviously, she would fight them," she answered her own question.  "I canna do the same, now can I?"  She looked around and realized the set-up was all wrong for any kind of defense. "Alright, first things first."

She ran to the back berth and banged on the door until Maria opened it wide enough for her to see the other two nuns huddled together on one bunk, both of them appearing to be rather seasick. "Up and out of here, the lot of you," Megan urged with a wave of her hand.  "You are not safe in here."

"Why should we trust you?"  Maria spat at her.  "You belong to her.  She is a murderer."

"I belong to no one," Megan insisted.  "We are soon to be boarded by enemies.  If you wish to have a chance of escape, you must follow me."

Maria considered her for only a moment, then spoke to the other nuns in a whisper.  One of the older women, Sister Magdalena, turned to Megan.  "We will trust you.  Come Maria, Aquinata.  Do not be afraid.  The Holy Father will protect us."

Megan led them to the steps that went up to the deck. "You must hide yourselves here, behind the ladder in that little space back there where it is dark. You shall be able to see if those men come below.  If they do, then you must immediately get up the steps as quickly and quietly as you are able."

"And then what are we to do?"  Maria studied the cramped space.

"I am working on that part."  Megan gave her a little push.  "Go on.  At least you will not be trapped in the back with no means of escape at all."

"True enough," Sister Aquinata spoke up.  "I will hide furthest back and be last out if we must run.  I am slowest.  Perhaps if worse comes to worst, they will catch me while you two get away."

"Aquinata —"  Magdalena began to protest.

"No time to argue."  Megan gave each of them a push in turn.  "Move!"  With one final push the three women wedged themselves into the small space.

Megan stood back.  "Very good. It is so dark I wouldna know you to be there if I did not know.  Stay here.  I must attend to a few things."

Before they could speak, she was off and down the short corridor that led to the front V-berth.  On the way, she snatched up a length of thin rope, a plan forming in her mind as she went along.  When she reached the treasure chest she attempted to pick it up, but it didn't budge.  "I should have known I couldna lift it."  She looked around, then grabbed one of Isalba's daggers from the desk and knelt down, jimmying it open as she had seen her do a few times.  Flinging open the lid, she then lifted the entire mattress from the bunk and began spreading gold coins and jewels out over the entire surface of the bare platform, doing her best to make the thin pile flat and even.  When the chest was empty, she pushed the mattress back over it and quickly tucked a blanket in place and observed her handiwork.

Overhead she heard the thump of boots and realized Jonathon was no longer alone up top.  A pistol sounded and she cringed.  "No time now." She heaved and tugged the now-empty chest up onto the bed and lashed the rope around it and through its two handles, then tied off the other end of the rope to the cleat below the porthole.  Scrunching her face up, she heaved the porthole open and braced herself as rain came pouring in.  As quickly as she could, she shoved the chest through the hole and watched the rope running out behind it until she heard a splash, and suddenly the rope jerked taut, signaling that the chest had hit the water and run out of line.

"Alright."  She managed to get the porthole closed over the rope, then grabbed all the pillows, piling them up until both cleat and rope were hidden.  " 'Tis the best I can do on such short notice.  Now —"

Up in a recessed shelf, hidden back against the ship's ribs, sat the wooden box that contained the pistol Isalba had purchased for her in Coweta's camp.  Megan climbed up onto the desk chair and retrieved the box, along with a pouch of lead pellets and another of gun powder.  Opening the box, she lifted the pistol and carefully loaded its two barrels.  She had never held a gun before, much less fired one, but she had watched Isalba both load and shoot one on more than one occasion. 

Nibbling her lower lip, she fastened the belt and holster around her waist and eased the pistol into it, then shoved the two pouches into her pockets.  "I am the first mate," she reasoned with herself.  "I am permitted to carry a weapon."  Looking around, she grabbed up two daggers and slid them into her boots for good measure.  "Dear God, do not let me cut myself."

Re-joining the nuns, she crouched down next to them.  Maria began to speak and Megan held up her hand.  "Shhhhhh." She shook her head and the women behind her grew silent.  There was nothing to do now but wait and watch.  Overhead she heard another shot and then someone was pulling the hatch door open, its thick sides scraping along the grooves that held it.  Behind her, Maria gasped and Megan simply reached back, clamping a hand over the girl's mouth.  She could feel Mara's rapid breathing and sympathized, her own heart thumping forcefully within in chest.  Megan was sweating, her shirt plastered to her back, and she suddenly understood what it meant to smell fear.

"Come on, mates, let us see what we find below!"  A rough voice called out and several pairs of feet trampled down the steps.  Luck was on their side and the men headed for the back of the boat, not turning around, the scent of body odor and stale liquor wafting behind them in the small, dank space. 

As the men began to ransack the back berths, Megan crawled out from their hidey-hole and motioned the women up the steps.  Two of them had made it up and Aquinata was almost free, when Megan heard Magdalena scream from somewhere topside.  "Blast," she whispered, as the noise in the back berths ceased.  Then the thump of running boots was coming up behind her. 

Turning halfway, she squeezed her eyes closed and lifted her pistol, firing off one round into the darkness.  To her surprise, she heard a yelp of pain and then a body fell heavily to the floor.  Momentarily, the running feet stopped as the men scrambled around, barking at each other in confusion, trying to decide if they should keep going or take cover.  It was the window of opportunity the women needed.

"Run!"  Megan grabbed Aquinata's backside and shoved her through the hatch, clamoring up behind her.  As fast as she could, she heaved the door closed and slammed the bolt in place.  Almost immediately, the men below began pounding on it with something that sounded bigger than fists, and she could see the wood around the bolt already beginning to crack.

"He is dead!"  Magdalena pointed at Jonathon's prone body, laid out across the deck halfway to the back of the boat.  Blood poured from a gunshot wound to his chest, washing away in rivulets of rainwater on the worn deck.  His eyes were open and rolled back into his head, his lips parted almost as if in surprise.

"Yes." Megan gave her a push.  "And so shall we be if we do not get off this boat.  Go!  To the back.  Hurry!"

She pushed past them, grabbing Maria's hand and pulling her along.  "Come on!"

They reached the back and Megan looked over the rail to the only skiff, the one the men had come rowing up in.  "I guess this makes me captain of this boat now," she murmured.  "Get into the skiff."  She barked an order, then grabbed up an axe from the utility box at the back of the boat.

"What are you doing?"  Maria stared fearfully at her, then began to maneuver down the ladder to the skiff, followed by Aquinata and Magdalena.

"Making certain we get away."  Megan climbed down after the nuns, pausing halfway.  She hacked at the boat's rudder, which was sticking partway up from the water.  It cracked and she watched a large portion of it split and float away on the waves.  "Liam, please forgive me," she begged her absent brother-in-law.  Tossing the axe into the skiff, she climbed in and began to untie it, just as the escaped men came running toward the back railing.

"Duck!'  Megan wrestled with the tightly-knotted rope that secured the skiff, then in frustration drew out a dagger and cut it free. She shoved off and took up oars, as the men began shooting at them.  Hunkered down in the bottom of the boat, Magdalena and Aquinata had their eyes closed, reciting the rosary.  "Help me!  Row!"  Megan yelled at Maria, who gaped at her for only a moment before a bullet flew past her.  Grabbing up the extra set of oars, she dug in awkwardly and they both muscled the skiff away from the boat, floating away swiftly on waves so large that they threatened to wash over them.

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

Chapter 9

"Where are we to go?"  Maria yelled over the rain and wind, almost losing one of her oars to the tug of a large wave.

"Follow the coastline until we see a place to land," Megan advised.  Isalba had said if the coast was to the boat's port side they were going north. She had also said they were going to drop anchor south of the galleon she wanted to capture.  Instinct told Megan to go toward Isalba, rather than away from her.  If they found a place on shore to hold up, it would be easier for Isalba to see them and rescue them.

"We must keep the coast to my right," Megan projected her voice as best she could.  She was sitting backwards in the skiff, rowing toward where Isalba must surely have gone.

"Why?"  Magdalena finished her prayers and appeared to be recovering from a near-state of shock.  Aquinata peered over Magdalena's shoulders, clinging to her, her eyes wide with fear.

"So that we are going north."  Megan dug in harder, feeling the strain in her back and shoulders as the angry water battled with her.  "It is the direction Isalba went."

"I will not put myself back in her hands." Magdalena frowned.  "Maria, stop rowing."

Maria looked from Magdalena to Megan and back, and dutifully pulled up her oars, her fear of the older nun obviously greater than her fear of Megan, who was not too much older than her.

"You listen to me."  Megan scooted closer to the women.  Magdalena and Aquinata were between her and Maria.  "Isalba is our only hope.  If you do not wish to die, you will keep rowing.  We cannot go it alone in this storm, much less on the sea or on land in this wilderness.  I do not have the skills to protect or provide for us, and I seriously doubt any of you do, do you?"

Slowly, all three women shook their heads.  "Very well then, row!"  Megan yelled at Maria.

"She killed our priests.  Why should I believe she will not kill us?"  Aquinata crossed her arms and jutted her chin out.

"Because she does not kill women and children," Megan retorted, her chest heaving with her efforts.  "I do not have time to argue with you.  If you wish to go ashore, feel free to jump out and swim to it.  Or perhaps you would like to be taken back to the fishing boat?"

Slowly, Aquinata appeared to absorb her options, and mutely sat back, still frowning deeply.  "As soon as I return to Spain, I will report her to the proper authorities."

"You do what you think you must," Megan replied evenly.  "But until we find Isalba, I am in charge, and I say we row until we are able to take shelter or until we reach her, whichever comes first."

"And what will you do if we do not obey you?" Aquinata smirked.

Something inside snapped, and with no further thought, Megan had one oar out of the water and pressed against the nun's chest.  "You listen to me.  In the past twenty-four hours I have fallen overboard, had a row with my best friend, been put out in the skiff, am fairly certain I have shot and killed a man for the first time in my life, and rescued the lot of you from a vile group of pirates.  Now I am in this boat doing most of the work of rowing you to safety.  If you cause me trouble, I will be glad to push you overboard.  I mean it.  Please to hush your burdensome mouth and stay out of my way if you are not able to actually assist me in saving your life."

Sitting back, she wiped the rain from her face with her forearm, and dropped the oar back into the water, pulling hard with renewed, adrenalin-fueled energy.  All three nuns were staring at her in slightly-terrified silence.  With an indignant huff, Aquinata moved as far from Megan as possible, shoving past Maria and almost pushing her into the waves.

"Please to be careful," Maria fretted, as the miffed nun brushed past her.

"You are consorting with the devil, Maria.  You had best to pray for your mortal soul," Aquinata scolded, before she settled herself, back turned to the rest of the group

Megan studied the sullen form and sighed.  Well, at least the older woman had done what she was told to do.  Megan wanted nothing more than to be dry and warm.  Examining her current situation, however, she realized with surprise that she still did not regret leaving home.  Back home she would likely be both warm and dry, and sleeping next to Patrick in the farmhouse on the mainland.  Possibly even carrying her first child.  She shuddered.  No, despite her dire circumstances, she would not trade the past several weeks for the confinement she would have felt had she remained in Virginia. 

There was too much coincidence in it all.  Seeing the smoke from what she now knew to be Isalba's crew's cook fires at the exact moment Patrick was pressing her to move up the wedding.  Their first encounter after four years, with Isalba coming out of the house and rescuing her just as all the men had closed around her.  Isalba needing care for her fever and Megan having access to just the herbs required.  Her sister coming out onto the porch and the confrontation with Isalba that had followed.

For something had surely changed then.  Isalba had treated her with a slightly greater measure of kindness after that, perhaps with an understanding that despite all their differences, they shared one great commonality: the belief that there was more to life than what traditional ways and means dictated, that they could defy fate and create their own destiny if they so chose.  Or could they?  Maybe all those coincidences added up to a destiny that had been chasing both of them for four years.

A slight smile tugged at Megan's lips, there, in the wind and the rain, and the waves that were making her stomach dance a jig.  She had come too far, endured too much, risked way too much, to allow a few incompetent nuns or a pesky storm to defeat her.  There was too much to live for, to see – too much she had yet to experience.  And it was all tied up in the maddening bond she shared with a crazy pirate lady.  She had chosen the life she was now living, and rowing a small boat at the height of a raging storm was just part of the bargain, she reasoned.

And so they kept rowing, Megan with solid determination and Maria with waning strength.  Aquinata continued to pout, while Magdalena had lapsed back into prayer, eyes closed and lips moving silently as she clutched at the rosary strung around her neck.  A gust of wind swept over the boat, ripping Maria's mantilla from her head and away into the darkness.  A pile of long, black hair came tumbling down and was almost immediately soaked by the pounding rain.  The lack of severe head covering emphasized her young, roundish face.  Studying her, Megan thought her to appear more a child than a woman, and regretted her harsh treatment and words.

"Ship!"  Maria cried out, pointing past Megan.

Megan turned and peered over her shoulder.  "Is that the ship you were on before you were put ashore?"  She turned again and Magdalena nodded, her eyes now open.  Gun shot rang out and they all cringed, even as they continued to push their way toward the looming vessel.  "Very well."

"It is not safe!"  Aquinata had also turned and was looking up at the ship's railing, just as a man came tumbling over the side, presumably plunging to his death in the churning water below.

"Neither is this sea," Megan pointed out.  "We must board the ship or go ashore."  All four women glanced at the shoreline, which had become a rock-strewn cliff, the waves crashing high up against it, sounding loud even over the roiling sea.  "I will take my chances dodging bullets," Megan informed them.  "Are the lot of you to do the same?"

Grudgingly, all three nuns nodded, the dread in their expressions increasing as they drew closer to the ship.  With luck on their side, they reached the galleon undetected, all pretense of watch abandoned in defense of the raid taking place on deck.  The net ladder Drake had unfurled still hung down the back of the ship and after a few tries, Megan was able to grab hold of it.  The waves tossed them fiercely and she dared not tie off directly to the ship itself, for fear it would come crashing down on top of them.  Fighting to maintain her hold and maintain her seat, she got a good length of rope looped through the netting and tied it off, securing the skiff.

"I am going to climb up."  She took a deep breath and stood, holding onto the netting with both hands as she attempted to swing one leg from the skiff.  The bottom of the boat, however, was slick and she lost her footing, half falling, half jumping overboard and landing for the third time in the cold water.  This time, however, she kept her grip and fighting for her life, pulled herself slowly up the netting until she was free of the water. 

She blinked hard to clear her eyes of salt water, not daring to let go of the makeshift ladder.  The water was so cold it had at first rendered her nearly numb, and now she began to shiver, her calves threatening to cramp up.  Carefully she flexed them and hung in place for a moment, simply breathing, in an attempt to remain calm.  "Are you all to follow behind?"  She looked down at the skiff and all three nuns shook their heads adamantly.  "As you please.  I will send someone to rescue you as I am able."

Then she began to climb, hand over hand, one step at a time, never having more than one hand or one foot out of contact with the thick, sodden rope at any one time.  It was slow going, the climb made perilous by the rocking ship.  Halfway up the boat took an unexpected twist and roll, slamming her against its rear and splitting her lower lip open on a porthole.  "Ouch!"  She saw stars and tasted the salty blood as she licked it away.  Determined to make it the rest of the way in one piece, she forged upward until at long last she saw the railing just a few feet above her.

"Blast!" she yelled in exhaustion.  A head appeared over the railing and at first she thought she had been heard.  Then a sword swung out and the man ducked, just missing a decapitation.  He lifted his own weapon, a curved saber, and slashed toward his unseen victim.  Megan heard a screech of pain and a splatter of blood hit her in the chest.  She looked down in sick fascination as it stained her white blouse.  "Ugh," she made a face and reluctantly climbed higher, peering beneath the rail.  Chaos reigned across the ship, but a sweep of the immediate area revealed that for the moment it might be safe to board the vessel without drawing too much attention to herself.

With a tug and a heave, she hauled herself ungracefully over the rail and onto the ship's slippery deck and immediately, propelled by a wave, slid across it and into a corner, knocking her head back against the hard wood.  Her teeth clicked together with brain-rattling force and she bit her tongue, seeing stars and tasting blood for a second time.  A brief wave of nausea rose up and she swallowed several times, fighting it down.

Five different pairings of men were engaged in combat on the aft deck, and up on a raised deck near the mast, she spotted Isalba, her sword a blur as she fought a huge man with a thick, red beard.  "Evil Ivan," Megan murmured.  "Why canna you let one of the others take him on?" She shook her head.  "As if you would."

Despite the battle for control, no one seemed to notice one smallish woman hovering for cover and she was free for a few minutes to observe.  Harry was across the way from her, sword brandished as he quickly disarmed a much shorter man and gave him a kick in the back side for good measure, sending him sprawling face down.  With a smack of his sword hilt against the man's skull, he slumped completely flat, out cold. 

As Harry spun around looking for his next victim, he spied her and his mouth fell open.  Looking around, he stormed across the deck and knelt down, half-watching for attackers as he spoke as loudly as he dared, "what in the name of God are you thinking?  She will have you whipped."

"I had no choice," Megan began to explain, just as an angry-looking man came at Harry from behind.  "Harry, watch out!"  Harry leaped to his feet and turned in one motion, Megan temporarily forgotten as he fended off yet another of Ivan's men. 

Megan took advantage of the situation, slinking away from the safety of the corner, creeping along in a crouched position, staying well away from anyone carrying anything sharp.  Easing nearer the raised deck, she hid just at its edge beside the steps and looked up just in time to see Isalba raise her sword high, then swing it down with a cry of rage, connecting with Ivan's sword on his downward swing.  With a mighty sweep of both arms, she pushed him back, wedging one foot against one of his and forcing him off balance.  Using Ivan's own body for leverage, she pressed against him and maneuvered his arm into an unnatural twist.  He yelped and dropped his sword, and she grabbed hold of his arm with one hand, bending over and hauling him over her own back and then her head, slamming him to the deck on his stomach.

"Roll over!" She roared, so loudly that Megan's eardrums vibrated.  "I will not stab you in the back.  Roll, damn you!"  She kicked him in the ribs and shoved him first to his side and then onto his back.  He grabbed at her foot and she ripped into his arm with her sword, blood spurting out and across the deck, spraying Isalba liberally across her lower body.

Ivan groaned and grabbed at the wound.  "It was a good fight, 'Salba.  You win."  He peered up at her hopefully and their eyes met.  Even from where she crouched, Megan could see the war in Isalba's blue eyes, and she crept closer, up a few steps, and scrambled to another corner closer to the dark-haired pirate, but out of Isalba's field of vision. 

"There is not room for the both of us on this ship, Ivan."  She pressed the tip of her sword to his chest.  "Godspeed."  Rotating both hands, she plunged it into his chest. He jerked once, then went still, more blood spilling out and over the deck.  At that moment, another man rushed up from behind Isalba. He leaped into the air and went flying toward her, sword raised.

" 'Salba!"  On pure reflex, Megan drew her pistol and fired the one remaining round, the blast making her ears ring. From three feet in the air, he dropped like a lead weight, his body thumping loudly against the wooden deck.  Arms shaking, Megan lowered her weapon and looked up, as Isalba spun around, her eyes almost popping out of her face in surprise as they landed on Megan.  "He was going to kill you," Megan spoke, her voice trembling.

"I can see that."  Isalba approached her, then stopped halfway and turned, cupping both hands around her mouth and yelling across the chaos, "Ivan is dead!"  Several men paused and turned to look at her.  "I need more crew!  All who wish to join with me, lay down your weapons and we shall talk!"  Immediately Megan watched every strange man in sight drop their swords and guns and raise their hands into the air.  "Harry!  Round them up and put them in chains until I can speak with them!"

"Aye, Captain!"  Harry started with the man he had been fighting, drawing him to the railing and seating him next to the man Isalba had lashed there earlier in the fight.

Satisfied her orders were being carried out, she turned back to Megan and crooked one finger at her.  "Come here."

"I –"  Megan felt her stomach leap into her throat, her guts turning to water.  "Please do not hurt me.  I can explain."

"Come here," Isalba repeated, gentling her tone.  She closed the distance and held out her hand.

Hesitating for only  a second, Megan reached up and took it, and found herself hauled to her feet and into a fierce hug, her body burrowed against Isalba's.  It felt so good she wanted to cry, and her eyes stung in relief.  Despite the stench of blood and the rain pouring over them, she inhaled deeply, taking in Isalba's scent and absorbing the warmth, feeling the pirate's chest rising and falling as she caught her breath.  Slowly, Megan looked up, blinking a few tears from her eyes.  "I do not like being first mate," she gasped.

Isalba frowned, one eyebrow rising in question as she briefly touched Megan's split lip, then stroked her cheek.  "You are relieved from duty," she spoke low into Megan's ear, then brushed her lips across the younger woman's forehead.  "Is any of this blood yours?"  She plucked at the ties on Megan's ruined shirt.

"No," Megan closed her eyes, burrowing deeper.

"Good."  Isalba closed both arms tightly around her, oblivious to the stares of her crew.

"I had to abandon the other boat," Megan stammered.  "They came after us."

"Shhhhh."  Isalba rubbed her back.  "Do not fret.  I believe you.  All is forgiven.  Time enough for your tale on the morrow."

A shiver worked its way through Megan's body and she sighed deeply, followed by a quiet grunt of relief.  "Will you teach me how to shoot, now?" she murmured, her eyes still closed.

Isalba snorted with a surprised laugh.  "Yes, I think I should."

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

By the time the deck was cleared and the wounded attended to, pale rays of sunshine could be seen breaking through the clouds on the eastern horizon.  The storm had passed on, leaving behind a soggy crew and a film of debris floating near the rocky shore.  Isalba strode from forward to aft, reaching Harry near the wheel, which was unmanned since they had not yet pulled up anchor.

"Has everyone been assigned bunks?"  She pushed a strand of hair from her face, wishing for her spare hat which was back on the fishing boat.

"Aye, Captain.  And most of them sacked in for a few winks."  Harry rolled up a map he had been studying, sliding it into a long tube.  "This ship is well-stocked."

"Courtesy of the church of Spain."  Isalba's lip curled in disdain, then just as quickly curved into a gleeful smile.  "I will be happy to feast upon their bounty.  And speaking of the church, where are the nuns?"

"The cabin nearest yours."  He pulled two cigars from his breast pocket and handed one over.  "I found a box of these among the supplies."

"Ah, it has been a long time since I have smoked a good cigar."  Isalba pocketed the offering.  "Later, when we are settled, we shall have a long smoke together.  At present a more unpleasant task awaits me.  I must speak with the two nuns Ivan captured."

"They are in a bad way, Captain." Harry's eyes were sorrowful.

"I know, but it cannot be helped.  I need information I only trust coming from them.  Form a group to take a skiff to the fishing boat and begin transferring our belongings here.  Be sure to have Cooks feed them first, and tell them to arm themselves.  We may have dangerous captives aboard there, unless they have tried to swim ashore." A hint of mischief danced in Isalba's eyes.

"Captives?"  Harry tilted his head in question.

"It seems our Megan destroyed the boat's rudder as she and the nuns were escaping them.  She did not want them to be able to follow her."  She laughed lightly, shaking her head.

"The little bird sprouts wings," Harry commented affectionately.  "She sleeps now, I take it?"

"As a babe."  Isalba wrinkled her nose in disgust.  "Once I scoured that cabin to rid it of Ivan's filth.  He was a dog.  May he rot in Hell."

"He is taking a dozen of his own with him," Harry informed her, "and two of ours."

"Yes, Francis and Phillip.  Good men, they were," Isalba spoke softly.

"What of the dead, Captain?"  Harry gestured toward a canvas covered pile of bodies in an aft corner of the ship. " 'Twill be ripe here once the sun is full up."

"We will go a ways out to sea and toss them overboard.  I do not want to risk burning them here.  I do not know this area or its natives well, whether they are hostile or friendly."  She glanced at the group of Ivan's men, now chained together and huddled more or less in a circle near the middle railing, some sleeping, some hovering near a fire barrel drying clothing, all of them awaiting an audience with her.  There were twenty of them.  "And some of them will be joining them," she continued, her voice low.

"Captain?"  Harry's eyebrows rose.

"Yes, after I speak with the nuns.  Which I shall do now."  She turned on her heels and made her way to the hatch, and down to the lantern-lit hold below.  It was much more spacious than the fishing boat, and she no longer had to duck to avoid hitting her head on the ceiling.  The front V-berth that Ivan had once occupied and which she had now claimed as her own was a turn from  the left of the ladder, rather than the right, as it had been on the fishing boat, and instead of only a few berths, there were many located along a long, narrow corridor that spanned nearly the entire length of the ship.

Below the deck she traversed were yet two more levels, the next one down a large open area used to store supplies, and bearing rows of hammocks for bedding extra crew.  It also had a round fire pit near the middle and plenty of room for Cooks to prepare meals.  The very lowest level bore long benches and hatches for oars, should they ever need to row the large vessel rather than move under power of sail alone.  It was larger even than the Langley, and it was just now starting to register with Isalba that she was its captain.  It was one of the largest missing puzzle pieces of her dreams.

There was little time at present to savor her conquest, however; she had eighteen of her own crew remaining, plus herself and Megan.  It remained to be seen how many of the twenty members of Ivan's crew would be joining her, and part of that determination rested with the gentle souls with whom she was about to speak.  Pausing at the nun's cabin door, she hesitated, her heart thumping noticeably in her chest.  She did not want to ask what she had to ask, and yet there was no other way around it.  "Screw your courage to the sticking place," she muttered, then lifted her hand and lightly rapped her knuckles against the worn, polished wood.

After a moment, the door opened a hand's-width and Maria's pinched face appeared.  It was apparent she had been crying, her face streaked with dried tears and her nose rather red.  She blinked a few times and drew in a heavy breath.  "We have been through a terrible ordeal.  We have.  They have."  She glanced over her shoulder.  "Can we not have our privacy?"

"I am sorry."  Isalba placed her hand flat against the door and lowered her eyes a moment in contrition, then looked back up.  "I must speak with them.  I will try to be brief."  Maria hesitated, apparently sizing her up, then slowly she opened the door enough for Isalba to slip inside, before she closed it again. 

Two young women, unfamiliar to her, were huddled together on one of the bunks, their frightened eyes flickering over her before they dropped their heads, their veils hiding their faces from her.  In the brief moment their eyes met, Isalba could see the shame there in their depths, and she silently cursed inside, wishing she had made Ivan suffer a little more before doing him in.  She approached them slowly, her posture humble, and dropped to one knee before the bunk, resting her hands at its edges so they could see them.

"I know you have been hurt badly."  She cleared her throat, surprised to hear the slight quiver in her own voice, then continued, "I wish I could remove that pain from you, but I cannot.  But I promise you this, I am the captain of this ship now, and no harm will come to you on my watch.  My men will not hurt you.  I will not hurt you. Ask them, if you do not believe me."  She jerked her head in the direction of the other three nuns, who were watching her in unguarded fascination, their eyes reflecting some new emotion that she could not place.

"It is true," Magdalena offered up.  "She has not hurt us.  Our priest and our monks, however –"  A hand clamped over her mouth, stopping her.

"Enough!"  Maria admonished the older woman. "You have seen what we escaped here.  Isalba has not so much as laid a hand on any of us, and neither have her men.  I do not understand you, or your ways, Captain.  You are Godless —."

"I am not," Isalba interrupted to correct her.  "But please, go on."

"But you have not hurt us, and for that, I am grateful." Maria lowered her hand and  glared at Magdalena, daring her to say anything. 

The older woman frowned and rubbed her mouth, the shock at Maria's defiance clear in her dark brown eyes. "I will not let that go, you know.  When we return to Spain, there will be penance."

"Yes, I am sure there will be."  Maria hesitated.  "But not on my part."

"What do you mean?"  Aquinata joined in, leaning toward Maria with menacing posture, her voice rising.

"Stop it!"  Maria cried out.  "Our sisters are in great pain.  Now is not the time."

"All of you stop it," Isalba jumped back in, re-taking her control.  Lowering her voice, she turned back to the two broken women before her.  "What are your names?"  Two pairs of wide, mistrusting eyes rose to appraise her, but the women remained silent.

"The older one is Helena," Maria informed her.  "The younger one is Francesca."

Now, Isalba studied them more closely and realized that while both were young, Helena was indeed visibly older than Francesca, her face that of a grown woman, while Helena was a mere girl.  "How old is Francesca?" Isalba almost growled.

"She just had her twelfth birthday," Maria answered quietly.

Isalba's guts churned and she forced down anger she had no place to vent, at least not at the moment.  "I see," she managed to answer over the rising lump in her throat.  "Helena." She waited until the woman met and held her gaze.  "Your age?"

"Twenty-one years," Helena whispered.

"I am so, so sorry for the pain they caused you," Isalba spoke soothingly.  "I want to make certain they never hurt you again.  Do you think you can help me with something?"

"Wh – what do you want?" Helena's voice shook as she spoke.

"If you were to see them, would you be able to tell me which of the men hurt you?"  Isalba watched her, as Helena visibly shivered, then slowly nodded in silence.  "And her?"  Isalba gestured toward Francesca.  "Did they ever take you to separate places, or were you always in the same cabin together?"

"We – they kept us tied up in the cargo hold," Helena mumbled, her face coloring in shame.  "We were together."

"So you could tell me who harmed Francesca, as well?"  Isalba gentled her tone as she spoke, well-aware of the three stunned pairs of eyes at her back.

"I –" Helena hesitated, then lowered her eyes. "Yes.  I think I could."

"You are very brave," Isalba praised her. "I will come back in a little while to get you."  Helena's head popped up in alarm.  "They will not see you, but you will be able to see them.  I will keep you safe, I promise you that."  Helena curled up even more tightly into the corner of the bunk, her knees drawn up and her arms wrapped around her habit-covered legs.  It was then that Isalba saw the habit had been ripped open, up to the woman's hip, the side of her bare leg exposed to the elements.

Closing her eyes, she stood, her hands clenched in fists at her sides for a very long moment.  She could feel the rage rising and longed for the chance to satisfy it.  "Thank you."  Slowly her fingers uncurled and she opened her eyes and forced a smile she felt not at all.  "Rest now.  I will have someone bring you all something to eat, and some clean clothing to change into."

Taking her leave, she felt a hand at her arm, just as she stepped through the door and back into the passage. "Yes?"  She turned to see Maria's thoughtful face.

"Captain, I know you are very busy."  Maria swallowed, her features earnest.  "Is there time, later, when I might speak with you privately?"

"I –" Isalba's head spun.  There was no longer any hatred in the young woman's eyes, but rather a measure of something she finally identified as respect.  "Yes.  Please to remind me later, should I forget."

"I – will."  Maria appeared relieved, and she closed the door.

In the hallway, Isalba slumped against the wall, her knees feeling suddenly weak. "I did not sign on to run a convent," she mumbled to herself.  Pushing away from the wall, she turned to the front berth and opened the door, stepping over the raised threshold and moving to the edge of the plump, feather mattress that graced the v-shaped bed platform. Sitting down, she reached over and touched a sleeping head.

Two green eyes fluttered open and Megan took a moment to focus.  "Hello," she greeted Isalba quietly.

"I am sorry to wake you," Isalba apologized. "I –" she stopped, having no real idea why she had woken the sleeping woman.  "I am sorry, I will let you go back to sleep."

"Did you need something?"  Megan searched her face.  "Are you angry with me for destroying that rudder?"

"No."  The faces of the two nuns flashed before Isalba's eyes, visions of terror and of innocence stolen.  "No," she repeated softly.  "I am only glad you had the good sense to escape those men."  She twisted to better-face Megan, and winced, grabbing at her side and gasping as pain shot across her torso.

"You are hurt." Megan sat up, her tone accusatory.

"It is nothing." Isalba tried to wave her away, but the younger woman drew closer, touching her arm and feeling the tension there.  "You lie."

"I took a kick to the ribs.  I heard one crack," Isalba admitted.  "Nothing I have not survived before."

"Did you wrap it?"  Megan frowned and Isalba shook her head.  "Off with your shirt, then," Megan insisted, reaching for the rawhide laces that tied Isalba's neckline closed.

"You will not let me rest until I am wrapped, will you?" Isalba attempted to sound stern, but it wasn't in her.  The knowledge that Megan was safe, and warm, and unharmed by the men who had escaped the galleon had placed her in a somber mood.  It had been careless of her to leave only one man behind to protect the women.  It had never occurred to her that anyone from the galleon would attempt to board the fishing boat.

"I will not let you go until you have been taken care of," Megan gently corrected her.  "Now, remove your shirt or I will do it for you."

Several thoughts occurred to Isalba, some of them sending mixed messages to various body parts in the process.  She groaned a little, a part of her wanting to lie back and allow Megan to make good on her threat.  Another part of her felt protective of Megan, of her innocence, and of that part of her friend that had been so nearly taken away from her, even if Megan herself did not realize it.

"Very well," Isalba finally responded and shifted, turning her back to Megan as she untied the shirt and managed to shimmy out of it, despite the pain tugging at her ribs.  Behind her, she heard the sound of cloth ripping and crossed her arms over her chest, turning back to find Megan tearing strips of material from a sheet that had been folded up and lying on top of a tall chest next to the bunk.

"You are going to have to raise your arms if I am to wrap you properly." Megan nudged her a little and eased in behind her, reaching around Isalba as she complied.

It was torture, really, feeling Megan practically pressed against her back, the younger woman's breath occasionally warming her bare skin and her fingertips brushing against her sides as Megan worked to wrap the long strips around Isalba, binding her ribs to support them against further damage.  "You are bruised all over," Megan accused her.

"I fought a worthy opponent," Isalba countered.  "I hope he is a man of honor.  I would like to make him a part of our crew."

"Man of honor?" Megan questioned, tying off the bandage and handing Isalba her shirt.

Isalba tugged it back over her head, feeling Megan helping her, and a little pat to her uninjured side as the soft woven material draped her body once more.  "Megan, very shortly from now, I am going to be executing some of Ivan's crew."

"But they surrendered!" Megan protested.  "Isa, it is not right!"

'Isa' was a new nickname and Isalba decided she liked it.  Turning, she took both of Megan's waving hands and held them still, brushing her thumbs across them.  "There are rules of the sea that are understood, Meg.  Those men had two choices, surrender and hope they are not killed later, or be killed on the spot.  I do not put enemies ashore."

"Why not?"  Megan frowned deeply, trying to understand.

"Because living enemies will find you, eventually.  They always do, and I prefer to not spend my life always looking over my shoulder."  Isalba smiled sadly.  "Some of those men have done despicable things.  They harm women, Megan.  Do you understand what I am saying?"

"I — no."  Megan faltered. "But I would like to."

"May you never understand on a personal level."  Isalba reached over, stroking Megan's cheek.  "Remember when we spoke about you not being entertainment for my men? And what your sister told you about her wedding night?"

"Oh." Megan's face grew red.  "Yes.  But what does —"

"Those men," Isalba cut her off.  "They have forced that upon two of the nuns. One of them is only twelve years old."

"Oh.  Dear God."  Megan covered her mouth in shock.  "I had no idea — that is horrid!  So," she continued slowly. "These executions — they are a means of justice?"

"Yes." Isalba lowered her hand.  "I will not put them ashore to hunt me down later, and I will not allow them to remain on this ship and endanger you and the other women. That leaves me only one other option."

Megan reached across, touching Isalba's thigh.  "I have no argument with justice.  I could never be angry at you for taking care of me or your crew."

"Thank you. I am glad you feel that way." Isalba stood.  "I must catch Harry before he sends a party to the other boat, and remind him to bring back Covington's treasure chest, along with Jonathon's body."

"Um, Isa?"

"Yessss?"  Isalba's voice lifted, drawing out the word.

"About your treasure chest —"  Megan trailed off, nibbling at a fingernail.  "It is empty at present, and hanging out the porthole on the other boat.  Your gold and jewels are beneath the mattress we slept on."

"What?!"

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

Isalba sheathed her sword and kicked the last dead body over.  "Unbelievable!"  Put him with the others.  She frowned deeply, as two of her men scurried to drag her victim to the now-doubled pile of dead.  "Twelve of twenty-four men!  Half of them rapists." 

Helena had been near tears by the time the parade of men was concluded.  From a peephole behind the raised main deck, she had timidly identified the men who had abused both her and Francesca, including all four of the captives who had been brought back from the fishing boat. 

Surveying the rows of boots poking out from beneath their shroud of a tarp, Isalba spit on the deck nearby and turned to face the twelve men who would be joining her crew.  "So."  She paced back and forth in front of them, all of them wide-eyed and seated, having just witnessed the execution of their comrades.  "I am given to understand the lot of you have the decency to keep your manhood in your trousers when offered the pleasure of an unwilling female.  If my understanding is proven wrong, I will make certain you have no manhood left to conceal.  Am I clear?" 

All of the men silently nodded.  "Good," she continued.  "You will be assigned bunks, though at present some of you may need to sleep in hammocks.  That is temporary until we reach San Agustín and our female guests –" she emphasized the word 'guests' " – deboard.  There is one other woman besides myself who is a permanent resident on board ship.  Her name is Megan.  If anyone so much as lifts a finger to harm her or wags a tongue in ill will at her, he will lose both fingers and tongue, one by one, before I haul him up the mast to face the elements or blood loss, whichever kills him first."

"What is she to you, your personal wench?" One man guffawed.

Maintaining her impassive expression, Isalba approached the laughing man, pinned him down with a swift kick of her boot to the side of his face, yanked his tongue out, and sliced it off with her dagger, then proceeded to make good on her promise, leaving him lying on the deck howling in pain as blood poured from his wounds.  "Haul him up the mast and have someone swab the deck." She peered at Andrew, who moved to do her bidding, then wiped her dagger clean on the soon-to-be-dead man's pants leg and slid it back in her boot.  "One less hammock needed." 

Facing the men, she placed her hands on her hips.  "Is there anyone else who did not believe me the first time?"  She looked around and crossed her arms as there was no answer.  "No?  Good.  Welcome to my crew.  It has been a long night and morning.  We shall set sail shortly and find a place to drop anchor tonight.  When we gather for the evening meal, I will have more to say to you, but for now, let us be about making this ship ready for our journey. Harry."  She waved her first mate over and looked back at the new men.  "As you have probably gathered, this is my first mate, Harry.  In my absence, his word is law on my ship.  Harry, please see that these men get settled and make sure the fishing boat is stripped of all gear and supplies we need. We shall then head a short way out to sea to bury the dead and then turn south.  Meanwhile, I will try to determine where Ivan's ship sunk."

"Aye, Captain." Harry paused before turning to his task, a twinkle in his eyes.  He moved closer into her space and leaned in, his voice low.  "And what became of his booty?"

"Aye." Isalba's eyes also sparkled. "With any luck, 'twill be a fine celebration when we reach Port Royal!"

Isalba turned, to spy Megan standing quietly near the hatch.  Approaching the younger woman, she paused an arm's length away and released a weary breath.  "I thought you were below.  You witnessed that?" Megan nodded.  "All of it?" Megan nodded again and held up a hand, gesturing to her.  Isalba looked around, as if she might be communicating with someone else.

"You." Megan drew her closer on voice alone.  Isalba closed the distance and felt a warm hand at her face and a pair of soft lips brushing against her cheek.  Her arms closed around Megan, who was standing on her toes, her voice low in Isalba's ear. "Thank you for protecting us," she whispered.  "I — I spoke with those women.  It is more horrible than I can imagine.  I —"

Isalba felt Megan shaking and held on more tightly.  She knew they were making a spectacle of themselves in front of her new crew, as some of them filed past, following Harry down below for bunk assignments.  Closing her eyes, she deliberately shut them out, focusing on where she was most needed.  "Shhhh," she rubbed Megan's back.  "I am sorry you had to see all that."

"No."  Megan shook her head and pulled back enough to look up.  "Well, yes.  It was difficult to watch, all that carnage.  But I understand now, at least part of it — of you — oh."  She frowned in frustration.  "What I mean is, I understand what you just did.  You had to make them understand your limits, correct?"  Megan searched Isalba's face, her eyes seeking confirmation.

"Yes.  I do not make idle threats." Isalba smiled sadly.  "And I do not take chances with things I care about."  She looked down at herself, there on the deck in the wind, her clothing torn, dirty, and liberally-splattered with blood.  Her hair had long since come loose from its braid and her skin felt grimy and moist with sweat and the rising humidity of the day.  "I am filthy.  I will be glad when we drop anchor.  I am in need of a bath."

Megan took a turn at studying her own dirty clothing.  She wrinkled her nose.  "We are all in need of a bath," she whole-heartedly agreed, then grew still as she looked up, her eyes unfocused for a long moment.

"Is there something wrong?"  Isalba questioned, her voice concerned.

"I killed a man today.  I thought I had killed that other man back on the fishing boat as well."  Megan looked up.  "I did shoot him, though, didn't I?"

"Yes." Isalba drew her over to a bench and sat down, patting the space next to her.  "You wounded him while defending the nuns. But I killed him.  He was a stinking pig, Meg. I would have killed him, regardless."

"I know," Megan answered, her voice very soft.  "And the one I killed.  He was going to kill you."

"I do believe he would have," Isalba agreed with her.  "Thank you.  I owe you for that."

"I do not know what to say to that," Megan replied slowly.  "I have never killed anyone before, and yet I cannot say I regret it. Not if he was going to harm you."  She looked up, her expression resigned.  "It makes me understand you — who you are — all the more.  Sometimes in this life we have to make difficult choices."  Megan closed her eyes and rested her head on Isalba's shoulder.

"Yes," Isalba answered sadly, her cheek pressed against the top of Megan's head as she stroked her hair.  "Though I would like to spare you those moments, if at all possible."

"I do not think you can."  Megan looked up, her eyes reflecting what they both knew to be true.  "Not if I am to survive in your world.  It is my world too, now, is it not?"

A hundred logical retorts died on Isalba's tongue.  She could threaten to send Megan home — should send her home, if she had half a brain.  Megan, however, had seen more of the world in several weeks than she probably had in the first sixteen years of her young life.  Were she to send the younger woman home, there was no guarantee she would stay there.  Odds were she would take off again, on another boat, with another crew. 

If Megan was bound and determined to re-shape her own destiny, Isalba was equally-determined to protect her during that quest, to the best of her ability. No other captain on any other boat would look after her as well, Isalba convinced herself.  Were Megan to take her chances on another boat, there was every chance she would be used as those nuns had been used, sold into slavery, or killed.  That alone was reason enough to allow Megan to stay, wasn't it?  "Yes," Isalba finally answered. "You have proven your courage to me over and over again.  I am proud to have you aboard my ship."

"Truly?" Megan's eyes shone in wonder.  "You are truly proud of me?"

"You saved my life."  Isalba shrugged.  "And the lives of those nuns.  You put yourself in harm's way, with no thought to your own safety.  It is more than some of the men I know would have done.  So yes, I am proud of you, Megan O'Brien. I would be glad to have you at my back, any day."

"Do — do you count me as a friend?" Megan timidly asked.

Friend? Isalba sat back, the question coming around a blind corner.  Did she have friends?  She had Harry and Cooks.  They were friends, she supposed.  But backed into a corner, what was Megan to her?  There was no place for expressing emotions she had no intention of acting on.  Between the heat of battle still lingering in her veins and Megan's close presence, and the warm affection she felt upon observing Megan's courage, she wanted nothing more than to take her to their cabin and prove that Megan was much, much more than a friend to her.  She thought of Harry's advice regarding the lust of battle and shook her head a little.  He was right.  They could not get to Port Royal soon enough.

Focusing back on Megan's question, she drew in a deep breath.  "Of course I count you as a friend."  She smiled, seeing a hopeful smile reflected back at her.  "Perhaps the best friend I have ever had," she added quietly.  "It puts me in a difficult place.  You know that, though, I suspect."  Glancing over, she noted Megan's confirming nod. "I do not like giving you orders.  Were it you and I alone, most of the time I would give you your leave to do whatever you wish. You seem to do what you wish most of the time anyway," she added with a wry chuckle.

"Oh —" Megan started to speak and Isalba held up a hand, touching her arm.

"But on this ship, with the men, I sow seeds of discord if I show too much favoritism."  Isalba swallowed, stepping out on a limb. "I would like it very much, if going forward, we have an understanding.  I will limit orders to you as much as I am able, if you will know that often my orders to you in front of the men are more to prove a point to them, than to prove one to you.  If they see someone close to me willing to follow my orders, perhaps they will follow by example.  Or sometimes I give them solely for your own protection, even if I am not able at that moment to explain myself to you.  In private, I would like for you to feel free to speak your mind.  Question me if you wish.  I trust your judgment, Megan, especially after the actions you took today."

Megan studied her for a long moment of stunned silence.  "I would like all of that as well, very much," she finally found her voice.  

"Deal, then." Isalba held out her arm and Megan paused, then grasped it in the forearm lock she had seen Isalba share with others with whom she made contract.  "Friend," Isalba added.

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

 

Chapter 10

As days and then a few weeks went by, the ship finally approached San Agustín.  Isalba was anxious to send the nuns on their way, anxious to rid her ship of all but crew.  The crew was coming together nicely and Harry reported to her each morning and evening that the new men on board were eagerly performing their assigned duties.  Whether because they truly felt loyalty to her or because they feared her, she did not yet know.  She was slowly getting to know the new men, taking it upon herself to spend casual time with them one on one, or in small groups, sharing a mug of ale and a smoke in the evenings, either on board the ship or around the campfires they built whenever they went ashore.

At last they drew near a break between two barrier islands and Isalba herself took the wheel, guiding the ship through a narrow passage, avoiding rocks and shallow reefs, until they emerged into a larger bay, the shores of San Agustín a welcome sight.  It was a sad fortress on some levels, constantly in flux as to who ruled it.  At times Spain and the church had a firm hold and at others, pirates took over, driving the Spaniards into the swamps and mosquito-infested trees.  At present a truce of sorts was allegedly in place, the church ruling, but allowing the pirates freedom to move about so long as they remained civilized.

Isalba had no desire to put that to the test; no desire to stay in San Agustín any longer than necessary, really.  The warm beaches and inviting nightlife of Port Royal beckoned, as did the revelry that would characterize the approaching holidays.  Megan chattered on about Father Christmas and Isalba found herself thinking on buying gifts for Megan.  She was always generous with the crew, as she was able, but she had never had anyone truly special, at least not special enough that she found herself wanting to lavish them with gifts.

Her treasure was safely on board, back in its trunk, which they had salvaged from the sea and dried out.  There had been no opportunity to spend any of it.  She knew they needed to re-stock the ship with some basic supplies, and San Agustín had shops and docks to that end.  More importantly, farther south in the turquoise blue waters of southern Florida, Ivan's ship had sunk and according to his men, an ample treasure chest had sunk with it.

Now all she had to do was deliver the nuns to the monastery, send some men to purchase supplies, and if she was lucky, spend some time beach-combing with Megan.  Glancing across the deck, she spied the object of her thoughts, deep in conversation with Maria.  The other four nuns kept almost exclusively to their cabin but Maria increasingly appeared on deck in fair weather, pelting Megan with dozens of curious questions.  Megan in turn came to Isalba for many of the answers. Isalba was amused by all of it, more than anything.

As she watched, Megan tossed a sun-bleached braid over her shoulder and down her back, and held up what appeared to be a pair of her own trousers.  Maria was vehemently shaking her head and Megan just as insistently shook the trousers in Maria's face, their conversation animated, though just out of Isalba's hearing.  Maria crossed her arms and Megan looked dramatically skyward, then tossed up one hand and stalked back across the deck toward Isalba.

"You are wasting your time," Isalba solemnly advised her, trying to conceal a smirk at Megan's exasperated expression.

"But she keeps tripping on that long habit.  She would be much more comfortable in these." Megan draped the trousers over one shoulder and placed her hands on her hips.

"What is comfortable to one person may not be comfortable to another.  Maria has spent much of her life in a convent, where she was taught that showing more than her face and hands is sinful. You ask much of her, to don men's clothing."  Isalba gave a hard tug to the wheel, guiding the ship well-around a partially-submerged shipwreck. "She has learned extremely conventional ways."

"I come from a conservative family and I overcame my aversion to wearing trousers," Megan argued.

"Yes, but you have been rebellious since the day we first met."  Isalba reached across, tweaking Megan's nose.  "Maria lacks your fire."

"I have fire?"  Megan tilted her head in surprise.

"Oh, yes. Assuredly so," Isalba replied. 

"I think I like that."  Megan grinned, then turned and made her way back to Maria.

"So do I," Isalba answered, knowing Megan did not hear her.

Almost as soon as she had left, Megan returned with Maria in tow. "Go on, ask her." She gave Maria a little shove and the nun stumbled over her own feet for a moment before regaining her balance.  She turned and glared at Megan.  "This is much too big for me to ask on your behalf."  Megan frowned back, then looked at Isalba.  "She has wanted to ask you something for days now."

"Ah, yes. We never did have that discussion you mentioned on the day we took possession of this ship. Go on then. What do you wish to ask?" Isalba smiled in encouragement.

Maria sighed, looking up until she met Isalba's gaze.  "I do not wish to return to Spain."

"Oh?"  Isalba finessed the helm with her forearm, draping it across the polished wood.  With the other hand she pushed her hat up and back, wiping away sweat collecting beneath its brim.  "Then where, pray tell, do you wish to go instead, because you are not joining my crew. One woman on board is enough trouble."  She winked at Megan, just in time to catch her before she protested.  Megan grinned and took a step back, clasping her hands behind her back, listening.

"I do not know."  Maria looked sadly up at her.

"Do you wish to remain a nun?" Isalba gestured at Maria's harsh black and white clothing.

"I believe so, yes."  Maria nibbled her lower lip. "Unless." Her eyes strayed.  "Oh, never mind."

Isalba followed her gaze, landing on the young man who had been Ivan's cabin boy. He was no longer a boy but a young man, a few years older than Maria.  Isalba had seen them talking quietly at sunset on several occasions and she smiled.  "Frederick is an attractive young man, no?"  she gently teased.

"I would not know of such things." Maria blushed and looked down.

"I did not realize when they issued you the habit, they issued you blinders as well." Isalba laughed lightly.  "Is it a sin to appreciate the appearance of another human being?"

"Such things are vanity," Maria answered, her voice holding little conviction.  "We are to concentrate on serving our Heavenly Father, the blessed Virgin Mother, and the Lord Jesus Christ."

"Perhaps it would interest you to know there is a convent on the same island as Port Royal?"  Isalba waited and Maria peered hopefully up at her.  "I suspect it is small compared to what you were accustomed to in Spain, and the sisters there live in a much more casual manner, but I believe they would welcome you if you are inclined to join them."

"Oh, yes!  I would like that very much!"  Maria beamed with enthusiasm.  "After everything that has happened, I do not know that I can go back to what I knew before.  All I have seen, it has forever changed me."

"I can understand that," Isalba advised her.  "In the meantime, however, I promise not to tell anyone if you wish to continue your evening discourse with Frederick."

"Aquinata tells me I shall burn in Hell or at the very least go to Purgatory, if I entertain impure thoughts."  Maria glanced nervously around, as if the older nun might be listening.  "She would never understand such things, I fear."

"All the more reason she does not need to know." Isalba took a moment to peer ahead and satisfied the water was free of obstacles for a bit, continued, "Since when does conversation constitute impure thoughts?"

"Anything that does not honor God is impure.  Frederick and I do not discuss the Church or other religious matters," Maria replied unhappily.

"Tell me, what do you discuss?" Isalba raised one eyebrow and smiled fetchingly.

"Oh, so many things."  Maria's face lit up.  "He grew up in a fishing village in France and he is ever so interesting to talk to.  He knows how to build a ship inside a bottle, and he can play the harmonica, and he recites such lovely poetry. He learned literature from his grandmother.  Someday he said he would like to live in a little cottage on the shore and fish each day to feed his family."  Maria blushed.  "He knows the names of all the stars, and he can tell me where we are, simply by studying them.  I believe he aims too low in his ambitions.  He should become a fine map-maker if he wished."

"Really?" Isalba answered thoughtfully.  "I know a map-maker in Port Royal. Perhaps —" she trailed off and re-focused on Maria.  "Very well, you may travel with us as far as Port Royal. I will have someone speak with the nuns there on your behalf.  Do not worry, Maria."  Isalba gentled her tone.  "It shall all work out for the best."

"Aquinata and Magdalena will be furious when they find out."  Maria frowned.

"Leave them to me," Isalba answered.  "I will tell them of our plans when I take them ashore here in San Agustín.  You are your own person.  Do not let them deter you from your own path.  Your God, he wishes for you to be happy.  I hope you are able to believe that."

"I wish to believe, with all my heart."  Maria smiled.  "Thank you, Captain.  I fear I owe you an apology. I greatly mis-judged you when first we met."

"Apology accepted," Isalba replied.  "Though it is likely you did not stray so far from the truth in your judgment.  I do not pretend to be a good person.  I am what I am and part of who I am is an enemy of Spain.  I have no love for the country or its king.  Even less for its church."

"So you are Godless, just as Aquinata and Magdalena have said you are?"  Maria commented in surprise.

"No.  But I have seen too much of the world to hold myself to one, narrow view." Isalba paused for a moment. "There is more that you do not need to know. Let it suffice to say I do not begrudge you your own beliefs."

"That is fair enough," Maria relented.  "If you will excuse me, I shall retire out of the sun for a while.  Good day, Captain, and thank you."

Isalba ducked her head slightly in answer and watched Maria disappear below decks. She turned to Megan, who had stood silently by, taking it all in.  "When we reach San Agustín, would you care to go walking on the beach with me?"

"I would like that, very much." Megan smiled back at her. "You lie to yourself, Isa."

"How so?" Isalba stifled the urge to argue, at least until she heard what Megan had to say. It was difficult, but something she was making an effort at in their new agreement to speak freely with each other whenever possible.

"You are a good person.  What you are doing for Maria, you open up a new world to her, just as you did to me."  She moved closer and reached across, squeezing Isalba's arm briefly. "Because of you, she now has choices."

"I beg to differ," Isalba replied quietly.  "You took a chance and opened up your own world.  It was a very brave thing to do."

"Oh, but I took a chance on you, that you would allow me to do what I wanted to do, and you did,"  Megan insisted.  "As for Maria, she is falling in love with Frederick, and he with her.  I see it in their eyes.  You are also giving them a chance that those older women would just as soon take away from her.  That map-maker in Port Royal, you plan to speak to him about Frederick, do you not?"

"Perhaps.  I am not so sure of an afterlife, Megan.  What I am certain of is that life here and now is uncertain at best.  I have done some terrible things. If I can do this one thing for Maria and Frederick, maybe someday, if there is a Heaven —"  She smiled wistfully then shook her head to clear it.  "My thoughts are too morose for such a sunny day.  Soon we shall be in San Agustín.  Why don't you go below and see if Cooks will pack us a picnic basket to take with us on our walk?"

"That would be lovely."  Megan patted her arm and turned, leaving Isalba to watch her as she walked away.

"As are you," Isalba whispered after her.

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

"You will not be traveling any farther with that heathen!" Aquinata crossed her arms and stamped one foot.

"You will no longer be the boss of me!" Maria imitated her stance, raising a defiant chin in the older nun's direction.

"Excuse me."  Helena tugged at Maria's sleeve.

"Yes?" Maria turned to face her, glad of the diversion.

"I have spoken with Francesca.  If you are going on to the convent in the islands, we both desire to join you."  Helena glanced timidly at Aquinata.

"No!"  Aquinata approached her, one hand raised.  Just as she swung it back, a tight fist closed around her wrist.

"You will not be striking anyone who is a passenger on my ship," Isalba growled in her ear.

"They go against God!" Aquinata protested.

"You would hit one who has been through what she has?"  Isalba allowed her disgust to show.  "I did not realize Port Royal convents were inferior to those of Spain in the eyes of your God."

"These young women are in my charge," Aquinata answered feebly.

"No. They are in mine.  You will pack your things and prepare to deboard this vessel.  As luck would have it, a merchant ship is in port here in San Agustín and prepared to give you and Magdalena safe passage to Barcelona."  Isalba gestured toward the plank that led from the dock they stood on to the as yet un-named ship.  "Go!" She roared, sending Aquinata scrambling back on board.

"As for you three —"  Isalba turned to face her younger charges, all of whom apparently had signed on for the extended tour.

Helena bent in a curtsey, her head bowed.  "Please.  I know I should have asked before now, but Francesca decided just a little while ago that she did not want to go back to Spain.  I think she fears boarding another ship among more strange men."

"I do not blame her."  Isalba sighed, closing her eyes briefly.  The youngest of the nuns had yet to come out from the berth the nuns had called home since coming aboard.  "You may both travel with us as far as Port Royal."

"Oh, thank you!"  Helena rose and impulsively threw her arms around Isalba's neck in a heart-felt hug.

"Isa."  Megan called from the end of the plank.  "Oh.  I see you have already granted permission.  I was just speaking with Francesca."  She made her way to the dock.  "Whoa!"  Swaying back and forth, she grabbed Isalba's arm to steady herself.  "Why is the dock rocking?"

"It is not.  The rocking is in your head."  Isalba smiled at her affectionately.  "You have become accustomed to the constant roll of the ship's deck."

"Oh."  Cautiously, Megan released her arm.  "Anyway, I was speaking with Francesca and mentioned you were going to teach me to swim when we reach Florida.  Isa, she smiled for the first time since we met her.  She said she had been swimming once a long time ago, before her parents were forced to leave her with the sisters.  I do not suppose San Agustín is a good place for swimming?"

"This time of year, the water will be cold," Isalba replied.  "In a few days though, we shall be in much warmer waters."

"And we could take the girls swimming with us?"  Megan smiled charmingly.

"Ahh — I — that is —" Isalba's shoulders slumped, as visions of her and Megan in a private cove evaporated.  "Of course, if that is what you want."  She managed a smile.

"I think it would cheer Francesca ever so much."  Megan reached out, taking Isalba's hand and squeezing it, holding on and not letting go.  "And I know you will be a good teacher."

On the other hand, Isalba mused, if her grudging good will earned her such gestures of affection, perhaps she would practice selflessness more often.  Provided she didn't have to share their walk on the beach with anyone else, she privately amended.  She pulled Megan to the side, so as not to be overheard.  She had no desire to have the young nuns invite themselves along on this particular venture.  She had a surprise in store and wanted to share it with Megan in private over a flask of sweet rum.  "Are you ready for our picnic?" Isalba bent over and whispered in Megan's ear.

"Yes."  Megan smiled at her, giving her hand another squeeze.  "Cooks has prepared a lunch hamper for us."

"Perfect!" Isalba continued to whisper, her exclamation punctuated with something nearing a squeak.

"Why are we whispering?" Megan frowned.

"Oh."  Isalba straightened up and pushed her hair out of her eyes.  "Because I have a secret I wish to share with you during our walk," she answered mysteriously, her eyes twinkling at Megan. "And I wish to take you shopping first."

"Really?"  Megan's eyes lit up, and Isalba nodded at her.  "You are such a dear sometimes."   She stood on tip-toes and pecked Isalba on the cheek.  "If you are ready to go, I will run and change into something more appropriate, and retrieve the hamper."

"I am ready."  Isalba grinned.  She patted the flask, which was already hanging by its leather strap, tossed over one shoulder.  "But you need not change.  Your trousers are fine."

"For shopping?"  Megan shook her head.  I think not.  "Besides, you have cleaned up rather nicely."

"Who, me?"  Isalba glanced down at herself, her weapons secured and her trousers tucked neatly into freshly-polished boots.  Her hair, freshly-braided, hung down her back and her felt hat had been carefully-brushed free of lint.  The mid-morning sun shone brightly, causing her clean, white shirt to practically glow. 

"Yes, you."  Megan gave her a poke in the chest.  "More so than for a morning on board ship."

Isalba merely grinned.  "Hurry. The morning is getting away from us."

"I shall return in a few minutes."  Megan took off back toward the ship and just as she promised, appeared again shortly at the end of the plank.  Isalba made her way back across from the dock and reached out and took the picnic basket from her, holding up her other arm invitingly.

Megan wrapped her hand around a strong cotton-covered forearm and stepped carefully from the ship onto the plank.  Her own hair was braided and pinned up off her neck, a light flaxen-colored dress draping her body, its hem falling just shy of her shoe-tops, the pale color accentuating her now well-tanned skin.  "I know I already said so, but you really do look nice," Megan complimented Isalba, looking up in admiration at her handsomely-beautiful companion.

"As do you."  Isalba smiled.  "A church dress?"

"I heard the men talking earlier, saying this place is a wee bit – conservative."  Megan tasted the word, a little bit, something she had not had cause to consider very often prior to joining the pirate crew.  "Besides, I did not want to offend anyone we might encounter while in town."

"Well."  Isalba placed a hand at the small of Megan's back, as they reached the end of the dock, guiding her down the steps as she held up her skirts and re-acquainted herself with the process of walking in the cumbersome petticoats that hid her feet from her own view.  "It is true that the port is run mostly by the church of Spain –" Isalba paused to wrinkle her nose in disgust.  "But I am wearing slacks," her voice held a teasing note and Megan looked up at her as her feet hit the cobbled path that led toward a row of low buildings.

"Yes, but you are you and I – I am –"  Megan struggled to express herself.  "Oh!"  She stamped one foot in frustration before she continued walking.  She noted Isalba's normally wide-gait had slowed some, in deference to Megan's shorter legs.

"You are not used to making a spectacle of yourself?"  Isalba helpfully supplied.

"Yes, something like that," Megan agreed.

"I might point out that you are walking into town on the arm of a known female pirate."  Isalba led her around a corner and suddenly they were in the throng of a busy market, both sides of the path lined with merchant shops and open carts, the sellers hawking everything from fresh food and bottles of drink, to clothing, house wares, and even goats and chickens.

Megan looked up, noting the various levels of gaze that met her eyes. Some were afraid.  Some disapproving.  Some nonchalant, as if it were an everyday occurrence for a female pirate to traverse their streets with a young woman in tow.  She also noted that despite the business of the place, it was well-ordered, lacking in trash on the ground or any appearance of misconduct on the part of the people perusing the various vendor-stalls.  Among the common towns-people, she spied nuns in fierce habits, their bodies completely covered from head-to-foot, save the round opening for their faces.  As she and Isalba joined the fray, a natural path seemed to part before them, most of the common folk giving wide berth to the two women.

"See their eyes," Isalba commented, bending over closer so that Megan could hear her as they walked along.  "Most of them fear me."

"And loathe me," Megan added.  "They believe me to be your harlot, do they not?"

Isalba's sun-kissed cheeks visibly reddened and she coughed before answering.  "Yes, or my slave, perhaps.  Maybe I can change their view of the situation."

"You are embarrassed by this?"  Megan answered, surprised at Isalba's discomfort.

"You are not?"  Isalba replied, her voice equally-surprised.

"Am I dressed like a harlot or a slave?"  Megan gestured down at her own attire. The bodice of the dress was beaded with small seed pearls and smocked, its neckline curving delicately just below the hollow of her throat, covering any hint of cleavage. Her skirt bore a double row of lace at the hem, and a large bow graced her waist in back, its long ties modestly-covering her backside.  Even her bonnet was dainty, a pale straw affair adorned with satin ribbons and more lace, tied to one side beneath her chin with another bow.

"No.  You appear to be a fine society lady, actually."  Isalba led her toward one of the stalls.

"Then let them think what they wish.  I know who I am.  That is all that matters," Megan answered sensibly.

"A fine society lady whose neck is decidedly void of adornment."  Isalba gestured toward a string of pearls, which was locked inside a barred-cabinet near the back of the open stall, well out of reach of passers-by.  "I would like to see those."

"You have good coin?"  The merchant eyed her speculatively.

"Yes."  Isalba leaned forward, jingling the heavy pouch looped around her belt, and wrapping one hand around the hilt of a dagger at her hip, lightly brandishing it before she re-sheathed it.  "Do not insult me or my lady friend again."

The man's eyes grew wide, a hint of fear flashing in their depths, and he hastily produced a large key ring, unlocking the case and withdrawing the string of tiny, perfectly-round pearls.  "A beautiful selection," he commented hastily.  Isalba's eyebrows rose and she nodded her head once at Megan.  "For a beautiful lady," he added, his voice rising and cracking.  He passed the pearls across the stall's counter, his hands shaking.

"Yes." Isalba stepped behind Megan, lifting a few errant tendrils of hair, and dangling the necklace in front of her, before securing it around her neck with its solid-gold clasp.  "Nice."  Her voice purred directly into Megan's ear.  With a brief glance directly into the merchant's eyes, she brushed her lips against Megan's cheek, then stood up.  "Do you like it?"

"I – cannot see it."  Megan ran her fingertips across the smooth, cool gems at her throat, her cheek still tingling.

"Get the lady a mirror," Isalba demanded, and the merchant bent down, quickly retrieving one from a shelf out of sight.  Isalba took it and held it up for Megan to see.

"Yes.  They're lovely.  I like them very much.  Although."  She glanced up at Isalba.  "They are not very practical for my usual attire, are they? I would hate for you to spend your coin on such –"

Two fingers pressed against her lips, silencing her.  "I have coin to spare.  We will take them," she addressed the merchant, then bent over again.  "For special occasions, alright?

"Yes," Megan nodded.  "Thank you.  I shall wear them when we dress up for our first evening out on the town in Port Royal."

Isalba frowned, the thought of the debauchery of Port Royal spinning around in her head.  "Very well," she commented, deciding nothing else should be said for the time being.  "Meanwhile, perhaps we should shop some more before we take our walk on the beach."

"Oh , yes, we were going to go to the beach, were we not?"  Megan smiled up at Isalba.  "Unless you would rather shop."

"No, no."  Isalba shook her head and opened her coin pouch, withdrawing a few heavy, gold doubloons, which she plunked down on the counter.  Megan observed the merchant, smiling a little at the obvious greed in his once-fearful eyes.  "I only thought perhaps you might enjoy an outing on the town first, since we do not often have the luxury of such an opportunity."

"I could, perhaps do with a few more pairs of trousers."  Megan tugged at the constricting waistband of her dress.  "I had quite forgotten how warm women's clothing can be."  She looked up at Isalba and touched her pearls again.  "Thank you.  They are lovely."

"As is the lady wearing them."  Isalba lifted Megan's hand and kissed it once, before tucking it back against her forearm.  "Look at their eyes."  Isalba studied the crowd, watching as dozens of people suddenly found something else to look at as her gaze fell on their individual faces.  "No one will attempt to harm you as long as they know you are with me."

"Oh."  Megan had assumed Isalba's gestures to be genuine affection, and her sprits fell, as she understood them to be merely a show for the people around them.  "Is this part of the plan to change their view?"

"Yes.  I would rather them not think you to be my wench or my slave, but in some ways you would be safer were you one of the two," Isalba mused, missing Megan's suddenly less-than-sunny expression.

"Why?" Megan continued to look down, her free hand toying with her pearls, her eyes carefully watching the path before them so as not to step in any water puddles or manure.

"Because if they believe I have bought you in one way or another, then they will believe me to own you.  As a refined lady, which by appearance alone you are, I must claim you publicly with more subtle forms of affection, if I am to mark you as mine."  Isalba drew in a deep breath.  "I apologize for speaking of you as if you are trade merchandise.  It is certainly not my intention. "

"Oh, no, that is alright.  I do not mind."  And suddenly she didn't.  Protection, in its own way, was akin to affection, and Isalba was nothing, if not fiercely protective of Megan if she believed her to be in the least little bit threatened.  And surely Isalba did not need to go to the expense of the pearls if she wanted a show of public affection.  A few flowers or sweets would have done just as well.

"I am glad you understand."  Isalba steered Megan toward a nice-smelling cart, laden with fresh fruit, sweet cakes, and bags of assorted nuts.   "It is simply that I do not want anyone here to assume they can take you against your will, to believe you to be alone."

Megan put down the piece of bright orange fruit she had been examining, and looked up, touching Isalba's arm.  "I am certainly not alone."  She smiled, giving Isalba's braid a solid tug. Isalba's hand, which had been resting at the small of her back, dropped down for an instant, giving Megan a quick smack on the backside, before it landed innocently back at the curve of her hip.  "Ow!"  Megan jumped.  "I do not believe you did that."

"You started it."  Isalba winked at her, then changed the subject.  "Do you wish to try that orange?"

"Is that what it is called?"  Megan picked it up again. "Most unoriginal name, but at least I shall not forget it."

Isalba laughed and retrieved a few more pieces of the round fruit, handing them over to the merchant.  "We will take these, and a half dozen of the small coconut cakes."

"Fine choices," the merchant, a short, plump woman, complimented her.  The woman's face was deeply lined with age, her skin tanned like leather, and her demeanor was quite different from the man who had sold them the pearls, her disposition light and unafraid, her eyes full of wisdom.  Megan noticed a charm hanging from a piece of rawhide twine around her neck, the silver metal catching a glint of sunlight as the woman moved about.  Leaning closer, Megan realized it was a round disk with outer curves of two sickle moons presses against it on either side.

"That is very pretty."  Megan pointed briefly at the pendant. 

"Ah." The woman appraised first Isalba and then Megan.  " 'Tis the symbol of the Goddess.  If your tall friend here has traveled the seas at all, she will be well-familiar with it."

"I am," Isalba responded.  "I have studied her healing ways in the islands south of here."

"If your lady friend would care for a charm of her own, I might have a few for sale here, below my counter."  The woman placed the fruit and wrapped cakes in a burlap bag and handed them over to Megan.

"I do not think –"

"Show them to us," Isalba cut Megan off.

"But you already bought the pearls for me,"  Megan protested, as the woman drew out a long, flat wooden box and removed the lid.  "Isa, it is too much."

"It is my coin, is it not?" Isalba lifted the box and pulled it closer.  "I believe I can decide when I have reached my limits.  Go on." She shook the box a little.  "Choose one."

"Oh."  Megan studied the trinkets and finally touched one, tracing its simple design with her fingertip.  Unlike the others, which were all flat and silver, it was a rounded twist, a figure eight carved from a piece of deep green stone, a small hole piercing it at the top, through which a sturdy piece of finely-braided leather was looped.  "This one is beautiful."

"Ah, the lady has a keen eye.  The stone is jade."  The woman lifted it and passed it over for Isalba to inspect. "This one comes from a land far, far away, to the south of the Orient, almost at the bottom of the world.  It represents the path of life.  Some say to wear it means you are bound eternally to another, that even if you were to ever be parted from that person, your paths will cross again and again, forever."

A chill raced up and down Megan's spine.  "I would like this one, very much," she whispered.

"Have you another one like it?"  Isalba reached for her coin pouch.  "I would like one for myself as well."

The woman's eyes met Isalba's for a very long moment, so long that the pirate had to look away.  She knew the woman had seen too much there, much more than Megan seemed to see.  Slowly the woman bent down, out of sight, rummaging around beneath the cart.  After a moment she stood, a small velvet bag resting on her palm.  "I believe this one is of the same design.  I keep it hidden.  Its price is almost double that of the first one, as is its size."  Carefully, she dumped the bag over into Isalba's outstretched hand.

"Price is of no consequence," Isalba answered.  The piece felt solid, its leather neck strap a darker, thicker braid than the finer one Megan was holding.  "I shall take them both."

"Very well."  The woman reached out.  "Shall I wrap them up?"

"No."  Isalba lifted her hat, long enough to drop the pendant around her neck, where it settled, winking out at Megan from behind the ties to Isalba's shirt.  "We will be wearing them.  That is, if you do not think it clashes too much with your pearls?"

"Oh, no."  Megan removed her own bonnet.  "I believe I can wear both at the same time."  Looking up, she watched as Isalba placed the charm around her neck.  It fell below the pearls, resting lightly against the material at the neckline of her dress.  "I believe it will look fine with my usual trousers."

"It will look fine no matter what you are wearing."  Isalba smiled at her, then turned and counted out several gold coins.

"May they bring you both good luck."  The woman looked up from her gold-induced haze.

"I believe they already have."  Isalba tucked the bag of fruit and cakes into their picnic basket, then held out her arm to Megan.  "Shall we search for some trousers and then find that beach?"

"Yes."  Megan took her arm, as they meandered onward among the shops, stopping here and there, collecting trousers and other odd items, needed or not. At one point they stepped inside a cutlery shop, where Isalba spent some time scanning the whetstones, vials of oils, and polishing rags stacked on a shelf next to an entire row of daggers and leather sheaths.

Megan leaned against the wall, just inside the doorway, watching as people passed back and forth along the narrow lane.  A nun approached her and beckoned with one finger, looking furtively around, her expression serious.  Megan glanced over at Isalba, who was haggling with a man over the cost of a stack of supplies she had gathered on the counter.  The man finally tossed up his hands and reached across, while Isalba took out her pouch.  "Pssst. Hurry, before she has completed her transaction," the nun urged Megan outside.

"What is wrong?" Megan stepped out into the bright sunlight, glad for her bonnet.

"I have been watching you.  If you wish to escape her, now is your chance.  I can offer you shelter among my sisters."  The woman reached over as if to take Megan's hand.

Megan took a step back, snatching her hand away. "I do not wish to escape."

"She has brainwashed you, then?"  The nun shook her head sadly.

Megan's ire rose, as did her voice.  "She has done no such thing!  I am with her because I want to be with her.   She has harmed not so much as a hair of my head, nor laid a finger on me."

"I saw her kiss you twice, once on the cheek and once on the hand, and her indecent touching of your posterior."  The woman reached out again, falling just short of touching Megan's arm.  "You do not have to let her take liberties with you any longer.  Your body belongs to you, not to her.  Do not be afraid, child.  You are not at fault.  God will forgive you."

"I – what?!"  Megan felt the heat in her cheeks and an uncomfortable prickle at her scalp.  "I – she does not – I am not even certain what you imply, but whatever it is, she has never, ever –"

"What is going on here?"  Isalba appeared from the shop, stepping between Megan and the nun.

"She thinks that you – she said –"  Megan trailed off, taking Isalba's hand and clinging to it tightly.

"She believes of you what we discussed earlier, no?"  Isalba asked quietly, looking down at Megan's bowed head.  Megan nodded, not looking up, and Isalba reached down, gently removing Megan's hand from her own and taking a step away, making space between them.  She dropped to one knee and tossed her weapons, one by one, to the ground, then gestured toward the nun with an outstretched hand.  "Do you wish to leave, Meg?  If you do, you are free to go."

Megan looked up as a shockwave washed over her.  The moment her eyes met Isalba's, she realized what Isalba was doing.  Act or not, it was an extreme show of chivalry and a guarding of Megan's reputation.  Closing the distance once more, Megan stopped in front of her and placed her hands on Isalba's shoulders.  "The only place I want to go is walking on the beach with you."  She leaned down and kissed Isalba's forehead, closing her eyes and hearing the nun release a small unintelligible snort of outrage.

"You heard the lady."  Isalba stood and gathered her weapons, placing them back in various holders on her person.  Several gawkers scurried on by, pretending not to notice the scene they were witnessing.  "I am not holding her captive, nor do I take women against their will, in any way, shape, or fashion."

"May God have mercy on your soul," the nun spoke directly to Megan, then turned to Isalba.  "Yours is already lost."  She spat at Isalba's feet and turned her back, striding purposefully away.  Isalba stood silently for a long moment, watching until the nun disappeared, blending into the crowd. 

Was her soul lost?  In all likelihood it was, at least as far as the Christian God was concerned.  Isalba was not, as Maria and the other nuns had accused her of, godless; however, she had been exposed to too many belief systems to fall into the trap of thinking any one of them had a monopoly on the truth.  Her own beliefs were a hodge-podge of the various teachings she had learned over time.  She was who she was, and there was not much else she could do, short of following conventions for which she had no stomach.

"Isa?"  Megan tugged at her sleeve, bringing her out of her musings.  "What she said.  Does it bother you?"

Slowly, Isalba focused on the present and turned to face her companion. "No.  Does it bother you?"

"I do not know," Megan answered honestly, more concerned for Isalba's soul than for her own.  "Sometimes I no longer know what to believe."

"And I believe –" Isalba draped an arm across Megan's shoulders and they began to walk.  "The first step to wisdom is admitting you do not have all the answers.  When first I went to sea, I made a deal with God — the Goddess — the Devil — whatever creative force you believe to be at work, that if I take care of the here and now, perhaps He or She will take care of me when death comes knocking.  Beyond that, I do not spend much time pondering things we cannot know."

"You do not worry what will happen to you when you die?" Megan fretted.

"No, my dear.  I have too much to worry about while I am alive."  Isalba smiled broadly.  "And it is much too sunny a day to think on such somber things.  I believe –" She scooped Megan up, basket, bundles and all, and tossed her over one shoulder.  "We were going to go for a walk on the beach."  With wild laughter, she took off at a run, ducking between two sheds and ridding both of them of the crowded shopping lane.

"Isa!"  Megan yelled, her laughter mixing with Isalba's.  "This is not going for a walk!  Put me down!"

"You do not sound as if you wish for me to put you down."  Isalba held on tightly and kept running, past the dock and their anchored ship, around a short stone wall, and through some green sea-grass, at last reaching soft, pinkish-white sand.  Slowing down, she lowered Megan to her feet.  "Here is the beach.  You may walk now."  With a grin, she straightened her clothing and shifted the basket and packages to her outside arm, wrapping one arm around Megan's waist.

"You are impossible."  Megan nudged her, and Isalba nudged her back.

They continued to walk in silent companionship, the waves playing a special tune for them as they rushed upon shore, foaming and hissing before just as quickly rolling back out to sea.  "Each wave, it will travel all the way across the ocean and touch the far shore, then make the journey back, over and over again,"  Isalba pointed out.

"I have learned so much from you." Megan led Isalba up onto drier sand and reached into the hamper, withdrawing a blanket and spreading it in the shade of a small grove of trees.  "There is something new everyday with you."

"This is nice."  Isalba plopped down and plucked an orange from the basket, peeling it and breaking it into sections.  "Try it."  She bit into a piece, the sweet juice bursting out in a fine spray.

Megan imitated her and laughed lightly, covering her mouth as she chewed and swallowed.  "It is sweet!  And  a little bit tart."

"Yes." Isalba stretched out, lying back on the blanket.  "And good for the men to eat as often as they can, to prevent the scurvy.  You should eat a whole one yourself, every day, now that we will have a supply on ship."  She popped another orange slice into her mouth, watching as white, puffy clouds chased each other across the sky, casting shadows across the beach and the water.

"Would you like some cake?" Megan fished in the basket. "Oh, and some of those little meat rolls that Cooks makes — the ones with the chicken rolled up in the flat bread and that sauce."

"Give me —"  Isalba sat up, leaning back on one arm and reaching out with the other.

"Greedy," Megan teased her.  "How do you ever expect to get anywhere in life with such atrocious manners?"

"I do not think so much about where I will get,"  Isalba answered, taking a roll and biting into it, chewing and swallowing.

"I was only teasing you."  Megan appeared contrite.  "You have the decorum of one who has been before royalty, when you need to."

"I have been before royalty," Isalba commented quietly.  "I have spent the night in palaces and prisons, in the finest feather beds and on the rockiest of ground.  I blow where the sails carry me, Meg, and I adapt as I am required.  I do not think too much beyond the coming sunrise."

"Such an unencumbered manner of existence." Megan sighed with envy.  "I cannot help but dream of being so carefree."

"What do you dream of?"  Isalba lifted the flask at her hip and uncapped it, tilting it up and taking a long swig, then passed it over to her companion.

"So many things.  Of far away places and tall mountains.  Of those islands you talk about and what I might see there.  Of all the things I have only imagined, and wondering what things I will see that I cannot possibly imagine."  Megan sipped at the sweet rum and handed it back to Isalba.

"When you dream of your future, what do you see?"  Isalba drank deeply from the flask. "Ten years from now, where do you imagine yourself?"

"I —" Megan trailed off, staring out at the blue waters.  "I once thought I would be married with children by then."

"And now?"  Isalba finished her meat roll and delved into the hamper for another one, purposefully avoiding Megan's eyes.

"Now, I do not know.  Where will you be ten years from now?"  Megan turned the question back upon her.

"Dead, most likely," Isalba commented matter-of-factly.

"No."  Megan reached across, touching her arm.  "Do not say such things."

"Why not?"  Isalba found her prize and took a healthy bite, chewing and swallowing it before continuing.  "Most of the men I have known on ship did not live to see their thirtieth birthday.  They fall victim to the sea, or our enemies, or disease.  Such is the life I live, and I have more enemies than many.  One day, one of them will catch up with me, sneak up from behind, and that will be the end of it.  You saw it yourself, back when I fought Ivan. If not for you, I would be dead already."

"Please," Megan pled quietly.  "It is such a beautiful day.  Why must you think of such things?"

"I only think —"  Isalba sighed.  "If you have visions of traveling the globe on board ship until you are old and gray, I do not wish for you to be deluded.  Save a few, most of the men on my ship have full heads of hair and very few wrinkles, other than those carved by the harshness of the sun.  What will you do, once this lark of yours is over?"

"This is no lark," Megan replied firmly.  "You saved me from what was surely to be a miserable existence, and for that I am forever in your debt.  If you wish for me to make plans for the future, I will.  Maybe I will eventually find someone more suitable for me, someone who doesn't want to be a farmer.  Maybe I will settle down.  Maybe one day you will leave me ashore and I will go trekking over the mountains.  But not today, please. Today, I would merely like to live as you do, enjoying this afternoon and store up my memories of the surprise shopping trip and our time here on this beautiful beach."

"Oh.  Isalba sat bolt upright.  Your surprise. I forgot!"  Isalba fished into one of her pockets and pulled out a letter.  "Here, please read this, before I have it sent to Spain for posting."

"Spain?"  Megan began to unfold the piece of crisp parchment. "Why not from here?"

"I do not wish it to be traced to here," Isalba replied.  "Unless you wish for it to, in which case I shall post it here myself.  Go on.  Read it."

Megan began to read and looked up, her eyes round.  "This is to my brother-in-law."

"Yes," Isalba waved at her.  "Keep going."

"Oh, yes."  Megan scanned the bold, scripted hand-writing.  The letter was short and to the point, informing Megan's family that she was well and happy.  In the last paragraph, Isalba had described the location of the fishing boat, complete with an apology for the destroyed rudder.  They had towed the ship into a sheltered cove, where it would not be easily spotted from the open sea.  In the last sentence, Isalba told him where to find some gold coins she had hidden on board, between the boat's inner and outer walls. Megan looked up and crawled across the blanket, throwing her arms around Isalba's neck.  "Thank you," she whispered.  "I shall rest a little easier, now."

"I know." Isalba hugged her back, enjoying Megan's living, breathing warmth filling her arms.   "I did it for you, you know.  Pirates do not give back the things they take."

"What I think —" Megan sat back, still sprawled across Isalba's lap.  "Is that you are all pirate on the exterior, with a heart of gold beneath."

"Do not think too highly of me," Isalba warned her.  "You know who I am and you have seen what I am capable of.  I take care of my own. That is all."

"Well," Megan answered quietly, folding the letter carefully and handing it back.  "Whatever your motivation, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.  Shopping today, you made me feel like a princess.  And when you defended me in front of that nun, you made me feel like a lady.  This — what you do for  Liam — makes me feel treasured.  That is all."  She stood and removed her shoes, then walked down to the beach until the waves washed over her feet.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she felt a tightness there, unshed tears for the family she had left behind.  It was the first time she had missed them.  Them, she emphasized.  The house she had lived in and the village of Chincoteague, not so much.  The relief welled up, as she realized that once they received that letter, perhaps they would worry for her a little less.  At least they would know she was alive and she prayed they believed she was happy.  Because she was. Incredibly happy and like Isalba, grateful most days to simply greet the dawn, feeling fully alive and ready to face what the day might bring.

As she stood there, she felt a presence at her back and turned, just as Isalba engulfed her in another hug.  "I am sorry to be so harsh," Isalba whispered.  "What you said.  I do treasure you.  I have cared for you like no other," she confessed.  "I do not wish to see you hurt because of me."

"I would risk that, every single day," Megan spoke into the ear bent near her lips. "Rather than go back to a life where I might as well be dead already.  Let me make this choice, Isa, let me take this risk, one day at a time.  I cannot know the future, but what I do know is that for now, I want to be with you, on your ship, sharing your adventures.  Do not worry for me.  I do not believe you can hurt me."

Isalba nodded, closing her eyes and holding on tightly, wishing that by saying it, Megan might make it so.

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

"Captain, come quick!"  Manuel, one of Ivan's former men approached her on the beach.  Isalba blinked and drew herself out of pleasant rum- and sun-induced haze.  She was leaning against a tree, sitting on the blanket, the empty picnic basket tossed to one side in the sand, next to the half-empty flask she and Megan had shared after their encounter near the waves.

It was too warm and bright a day to dwell on negatives, and after a few short exchanges, they had settled back to idle talk of the ship, the men, the beach, and what might be in Ivan's treasure chest.  Megan had grown drowsy from the drink and the heat, and after some convincing on Isalba's part, had shed her heavy dress and one of her petticoats.

She now lay clad in a petticoat and her underthings, curled up on the blanket asleep, with her head in Isalba's lap.  As Manuel approached, Isalba realized how their circumstances appeared and also that there was no time to remedy them without making things even worse.  Megan would be embarrassed to be caught in her skivvies, but perhaps even more embarrassed, were Isalba to snatch her up and throw her dress over her head while Manuel looked on.

Casually, Isalba reached across and grasped the edge of the blanket, drawing it over Megan to cover her.  As for their intimate position, there was no quick fix for it.  She knew, and Megan knew, that nothing had happened between them, though not for lack of desire on Isalba's part.  Manuel knew the rules.  No matter what he saw, were he to go back to the ship and gossip about them, Isalba herself would cut his tongue out.

Looking up, she brushed a bit of sand from her shirt and managed a passive expression.  "Yes?"

Megan stirred and yawned.  "Oh," she gasped softly in alarm, spotting Manuel as he closed the distance.

"Shhhh."  Isalba laid one hand against Megan's head, stroking her hair, which had come unbraided as they played on the beach.  "Be still and let him say what he must, the sooner he will be gone."  Megan sighed and glanced up at her with a shy smile, then closed her eyes, feigning sleep.

"Some of the men stumbled upon one of the monastery storehouses on the outskirts of the village." Manuel placed his hands on his knees, bending over and panting, out of breath.  "I ran all the way here to find you.  It has a trap door in back.  We have broken the lock and they are taking the stores out and hauling them into the dense woods nearby.  Cheeses, Captain, and wine, rum, smoked meats, bags of oranges and flour, sugarcane, butter, and nuts.  Almost everything we had planned to buy in the market is there, free for the taking."

"And no one has become aware of our presence there?"  Isalba peered up at the sun, judging the time to be late afternoon.

"No.  There were two guards out front, but the building is not in sight of any others.  No one has come to relieve the guards, at least not before I left there."  Manuel's string of words slowed as he regained his breath and his heart stopped racing.

" 'Were' two guards?" Isalba asked, feeling Megan stir again as the younger woman sat up, modestly holding the blanket in front of herself.  "We must prepare to leave here."  Megan nodded and her cheeks colored as she started to lower the blanket and reach for her clothing.  Isalba closed a hand over her wrist and drew the blanket back up.  "Do not sacrifice your comfort for the sake of a few minutes.  You need not dress until Manuel is gone."  Isalba glanced over and to Manuel's credit, he did not so much as flinch, blush, or allow his gaze to fall on Megan.  Smart man, Isalba mused.

"Thank you," Megan answered quietly, here eyes round as she listened to the exchange.

"We have tied the guards up and gagged them, but left them out front so that from a distance they appear to be in conversation, sitting on the stoop of the storehouse.  One of the men is keeping watch in the trees, in the event anyone gets close enough to see they are bound." Manuel lifted a hand, shading his eyes from the intense sunlight.

"Good."  Isalba stood, walking around the blanket and gathering her weapons, boots, and coat.  Not so modest as Megan, she simply looked down as she spoke, re-tying her shirt, which she had opened up as much as she could, almost to her navel, in deference to the heat.  "There is a secluded cove just on the other side of that barrier island."  She pointed to a narrow sliver of land due south of where they stood. "We need to find a way to transport the goods there."

"Captain?"  Manuel frowned in confusion.  "But the ship is in the main harbor."

"Not for long.  How many men will it take to move all the supplies to the cove within the next two hours?"  She leaned against the tree, tugging on her boots, then tucking in her trousers and stamping her feet in the sand to settle them.

"More than we have there now, unless –" Manuel smiled.  "There is a coral of mules near the storehouse.  Perhaps we could borrow them and –"

"Take them," Isalba corrected him with a smile.  "Even better.  We should not risk returning the beasts, and we will be able to sell them to the sugarcane plantations near Port Royal.  There is room enough for them on the ship.  Use the mules and as few men as possible to move the stores to that cove.  Send the rest back to the ship and have someone gather any men milling about in the market area or the taverns – send them back to the ship.  We are going to make the town of San Agustín believe we have pulled up anchor and set sail.  I or Harry will bring the ship around to the cove and we shall load the goods and the mules on board from there."

"A grand plan, Captain!"  Manuel's eyes lit up.  "But what of the two guards?  They know who we are."

"Leave them to me."  Isalba's eyes gleamed with glee.  "As soon as I have taken care of things in the harbor, I shall join you at the storehouse.  Go on, now, and get the other half of our plans in motion."

"Yes, Captain!"  Manuel smiled broadly and took off at a trot.

Slowly, Megan stood and pulled her petticoat and dress over her head.  "What are you going to do with the guards?"  Her tone was casually forced, but her eyes were anxious.

"Do not start," Isalba warned, meeting her gaze and holding it sternly.

"But –"

"Meg, don't." Isalba continued their visual standoff, determined to win.

"You said in private I should speak my mind," Megan boldly continued. "Well, we are alone, are we not?"

"I can think of better things to do while alone," Isalba muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing."  Isalba sheathed her weapons and shrugged into her coat.  "We cannot afford to leave witnesses.  Do not question me on this."

"But I –"

"No!"  Isalba roared.  "There is nothing more to say.  You will not change my mind on this!  Hurry up so we can go back to the ship."

"I do not need help getting back to the ship.  I know where it is."  Megan flung Isalba's hat at her, hitting her in the gut. "Go on without me. You are in such a hurry."

"Fine!"  Isalba mashed her hat onto her head.  "When you get back there, go to our quarters and stay there.  I do not need you underfoot."

"Perhaps I should just stay here!" Megan yelled at her.

"Do whatever you wish."  Isalba shoved down roiling emotions, erecting the mental barriers needed to do what she needed to do.  "In three hours time the sun will be setting and we will be pulling out from that cove, with or without you."  She turned and stormed away, forcing herself not to look back.

"Fine!"  Megan reached up and unclasped the pearls at her neck, and threw them after her, hitting her in the back.  "Take these. They have lost their luster!"

Isalba paused and turned halfway, looking down where the necklace lay, half-buried in the sand.  "You might wish to re-think throwing away the only thing of value you have on your person.  Without the proper funds, you will likely pay for passage back to Virginia with your virtue."  Isalba turned her back once more and marched on.

"Auuugggghhh!"  Megan released a furious yell and clenched her fists for a moment, giving a kick to the sand.  With a huff, she grabbed up the blanket, the basket, and the pearls, and made her way behind Isalba, keeping her distance.  Whether she would turn for the harbor or the market when she reached her crossroads, she wasn't sure.

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

 

Chapter 11

Isalba stood on shore, watching the assembly line of men as the last of the barrels were loaded onto the ship and carted down to mid-decks for storage.  The unamused mules were tethered in hastily-constructed stalls on the lower level, munching grumpily on hay and defecating upon their straw beds in protest.  The sun was sinking low behind the trees on shore and their plans, so far, had been carried off without a hitch.  All save one. 

Megan was nowhere to be found.  Isalba had quietly searched the ship high and low.  What's more, Isalba had told no one of their quarrel, not even Harry.  In the flurry of activity, no one had thought to ask after Megan, and most, Isalba assumed, believed her to be in their cabin.  Rage and a world of hurt rose up, and she pulled a dagger from her boot, stomping over to the nearest tree and driving the blade into its thick trunk.  Slowly, she worked it back out of the damaged wood and wiped it clean on her now-filthy white shirt, then placed it back in her boot.

"Harry!"  She called after her first mate, who was closer to the water, supervising the loading efforts.  "I am going back to the storehouse to tie up our loose ends and send our remaining watch back here!"

"Aye," Harry waved at her, ignoring her foul mood as he had done all afternoon.  "We are almost finished here, Captain."

Isalba nodded in acknowledgement and tramped away through the woods, pushing savagely at branches obstructing her path, hacking mercilessly at the thicker ones with her sword.  At last she reached the storehouse, where two of her men were hidden in the trees, still keeping an eye on the captive guards. "Quiet outpost, eh?"  Isalba put her temper aside long enough to be cordial to her patient crew members.

"Aye, Captain. No one has yet come to relieve them.  It appears they do not change guard during the day."  Angus and Jorge stepped out from their post, into the open.  "What are we to do with them?"

"Drag them inside the storehouse."  She drew a small flask of strong liquor from her belt and followed after the men, as they did her bidding.  The plain, square building was now empty, divested of all its contents, even the few benches that had lined one wall.  "Go on back to the ship," Isalba commanded her crew.  "I will not be far behind."

"Captain?"  Angus studied her, noting murder in her eyes and thought better of his question.  "Never mind. Shall I tell Harry to prepare to set sail?"

"Yes."  Isalba closed her eyes, swallowing the anguish rising in her throat, threatening to constrict her breathing.  "Go on."  She watched them leave, then circled the frightened captives now watching her, their eyes full of terror.  "I hate this place."  She spat in one man's face.  "I hate Spain, I hate your priests, and I hate your church."

One of the men began to tremble and she knelt down, tilting her head and studying him, then drew out a dagger and dragged it along his throat, not cutting the skin.  "You took my family from me.  Now you have taken her." She nicked him slightly, watching in fascination as a droplet of blood appeared and slowly began to trickle down, staining his white collar bright red.  "Why must the church of Spain take everything away? No!"  She stood and uncapped the flask, taking a long swig. It burned as it slid down her throat, a mostly tasteless, powerful liquor she had found in one of the pilfered barrels.  "You cannot leave people to their happiness.  Well, now you shall pay."

With a wild, wicked laugh she spun toward the men, swinging the flask around in a wide arc, dousing them and the floor surrounding them with the remaining liquor.  She slammed the empty, hard-sided flask into the face of one man, breaking his nose with a loud crunch of bone and cartilage, and sending a spray of blood across his shirt and hers.  Though gagged, he made a choked, shrieking noise, his terror and decibels rising as she lit a match, dropped it between his legs, and took a step back.

The alcohol burst into flames and both men began to mutely scream, writhing in agony as they were quickly engulfed and the fire spread to the primed, wooden floor.  Isalba saw the smoke rising, tainted with the scent of burning flesh, and backed out of the building, slamming the door and locking it with a padlock, tossing the key into the nearby undergrowth.  As fire licked at the windows and began eating through the wooden shutters, she took off at a jog back down the path to the cove, running the two miles back to the ship easily, as if they were a quick stroll across the street.

Reaching the cove, she plunged into the water and hauled herself up the back of the ship, climbing up the rope ladder hand over hand, racing the anchor, which the men were pulling up beside her.  Landing on the deck, she shook the water out of her eyes and turned around to see flames shooting up above the tops of the trees.  "Shove off!"  She moved to the helm and gave it a sharp turn, as the ship began to glide southward, away from San Agustín. 

Far away, they could hear unintelligible shouts, as the village became aware of the fire and moved to action.  Looking over her shoulder, Isalba realized the trees must have caught fire, an orange glow quickly growing and spreading across the dusky sky.  She could smell it now, the acrid smoke billowing out from the land and over the water, coloring the rising moon brownish-yellow.  Screams came from the village and her heart leaped into her throat.  "Harry!"

"Yes, Captain." Harry strode toward her, his pipe in hand.  "Fine touch, 'Salba.  It has been a long while since San Agustín burned."

"We have to go back!"  She started to turn the ship and Harry reached over stopping her.

"They will execute us all, you know that."  He frowned.  "What is wrong?"

"Megan!" Isalba gasped, almost unable to breathe.  "I have to save her.  The fire –"

"What are you talking about?"  Harry gestured toward the front of the ship.  "She sits up at the bow.  She boarded while you were gone.  Came running along the beach only a few moments before you returned, and said she had gotten lost in the market and was afraid she might miss the ship.  I was surprised she was not already on board, but I assure you, Captain –"  He stopped, his tone suddenly perplexed.  "Why would you have left her in the first place?"

"None of your business.  Take the helm."  Isalba shouldered past him, practically running the length of her new vessel, for once cursing its size.  As she neared the front of the ship she spotted Megan, alone, leaning over the railing and looking out to sea.  She slowed, unsure of her welcome.  Megan had come back; perhaps that was the best she could hope for at the moment.

Finally she stopped several lengths away from Megan and leaned over the railing herself.  Reaching for her pipe, she withdrew it from her pocket, her hands shaking so badly that she couldn't light it once she managed to shove it between her lips.  "Blast," she softly cursed around the stem loosely gripped in her mouth.

Suddenly two hands grasped it, taking her match away from her.  "If you block it from the wind, I will –"

"Thank you."  Isalba cupped her hands around Megan's and watched as the tobacco began to glow.  Drawing deeply of the strong smoke, she closed her eyes, her entire body still trembling inside.  "I thought you were –"  She gulped and opened her eyes.  "I feared –"

"That you had killed me like you did those men?"  Megan finished for her, taking a step back and leaning against the railing.  "Yes, well.  You did not, so you can quit shaking now."  Slowly, she turned her back on Isalba, once again looking out over the darkened waters.

"So much for me not hurting you."  Isalba moved in next to her, keeping touching distance away, sucking on the calming tobacco.

"You do not hurt me," Megan answered quietly.  "You hurt yourself.  I know you were hurt by the church and by Spain, a long time ago.  I understand that.  But those two men, they did nothing to you.  They did nothing but stand guard at someone else's direction.  Just like any of your crew would if you asked them to."

"It is not that simple," Isalba countered, willing away a new spark of anger.  "It has been so for generations, going back before my parents. The followers of Allah in battle with the followers of Christianity.  Spain, Europe – man against man and brother against brother, for as long as we can remember."

"And you are no longer in Spain," Megan admonished her.  "And you follow neither religion."

"They killed my parents," Isalba's replied bitterly.  "I can never forgive them for that."

"Oh, Isa."  Megan edged closer until she could reach out, taking the pirate's free hand.  "Your anger and hatred, they consume you.  I am sorry. I know I cannot begin to understand what it was like for you to go through what you did, so young, and to witness the things you saw.  To lose the people you cared for.  Perhaps if I were in your shoes –" she trailed off, shaking her head sadly.  "But do you not see? They have already won."

"They have not."  Isalba wanted to jerk her hand away and yet she wanted desperately to hold on, Megan's warm grasp a lifeline extended, if only she would take it.

"They have," Megan sadly insisted.  "They control you with the seed of hatred they planted inside you. It grows and festers.  You had other choices.  You could have taken those men prisoner and set them on land in a few days.  Or left them tied up inside the storehouse. We would have been well-away before they were discovered.  Instead –"  She turned, gesturing back toward the rapidly-disappearing town, the reddish-orange fire now glowing across half the semi-clouded sky.

"I had no choice.  No witnesses allowed.   It is the difference between having my face on a wanted poster and not." Isalba vehemently shook her head.

"Your face is already on wanted posters," Megan reminded her.  "It was one thing to steal from them." Megan covered the back of Isalba's hand with her other one, holding on tightly to the one with both of her own.  "You burned down an entire town, Isa!  That kind woman who sold us these necklaces."  She grasped at the pendant around her neck.  "The man who sold you the pearls and the one who sold you the sharpening stone and oil.  The children we saw running through the streets.  Perhaps you have killed them all.  Perhaps you have taken from them what Spain took from you so long ago."

"Stop it," Isalba warned her.  "You knew who I was when –"  Megan's slap across her face was shocking, and Isalba reached up in utter surprise, rubbing her warm, stinging cheek.

"Yes, I know who you are.  You never cease to remind me.  A murderer and a thief, and – and – what does that make me!?"  Megan backed away.  "Because God damn my soul to Hell, I cannot walk away from you.  I tried.  I went to the tavern and drank two pints.  Came close to selling those pearls and hopping that freighter to Spain with the nuns.  And you – damn you!"  Megan crossed her arms over her chest, rocking back on her heels.  "You have haunted my dreams since I was a girl of twelve.  I – I cannot – Dammit!"  Megan turned and leaned against the railing, shaking harder than Isalba had been moments before.

"Meg?"  Isalba cautiously approached her and touched her on the shoulder, only to have her hand shrugged off.

"Please. Leave me be," Megan whispered.  "Just.  Go. Run the ship or drink with the men, or whatever it is you want to do."

"What I want –" Isalba stopped short when Megan held up a hand.  "As you wish."  Isalba's shoulders slumped and she turned, making her way back to the helm.  "Move!" She shoved Harry out of the way.  "Leave me alone." She glared at him until he turned silently and left her.

"What I want, I cannot have," she released a long, shaking breath.  "Much less do I deserve to have it."

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

The warm waters of south Florida washed over Isalba as she dove down deep, kicking with powerful strokes of her arms and legs.  For a week now, they had been stopping at brief intervals, searching for any sign of the wreckage of Ivan's ship, particularly his treasure chest. On the surface the sea was a bright turquoise blue, but beneath the waves the visibility was good, clear all the way to the ocean floor in many places.  They had found the marker on land near where the ship was believed to have gone down, a large boulder painted with Ivan's skull and crossbones signal.

Unfortunately the beach there sloped into the water and fell sharply down, ending at a shallow reef and a pile of rocks strung out across its depths.  There was evidence something had sank there, most likely the ship they sought, but all that remained were boards which were broken into jagged pieces, having been dashed against the unforgiving rocks and the sharp protrusions of the reef. 

Further evidence on land indicated a strong storm had blown through the area, the palm trees stripped of their leaves, and the entire area battered and beaten down.  It was late in the season for such disturbances, though not completely unheard of.  Chances were good the ship and its contents were long gone, washed out to sea or pushed far north or south from where it had originally sank, driven on by the abnormal winds and tides that accompanied the typhoons which plagued the area from time to time.

Still they searched carefully, hoping to add to the more-than-sufficient stores they had already gathered along the way.  They had barely made a dent in the supplies taken from the monastery in San Agustín, and Isalba steadfastly refused to feel guilty for what had taken place there, or to have regrets, save one: the vast gulf that now existed between her and Megan.  While never wavering in civility, they spoke to each other only when necessary, and Megan had moved into the cabin with the younger nuns, leaving Isalba to stew alone at night.

The formal civility was bad enough.  The silence was maddening.  Pausing halfway down to the ocean floor, Isalba floated there, her dark hair fanning out around her head in the water.  Under the water she could, for a brief time, almost block it all out – the heaviness in her heart, the void between them, and the knowledge that ultimately, it was all her own fault, though she would never admit that to Megan, as she had no intention of changing her ways.

If she could breathe underwater, she would have been tempted to just keep swimming, away from the ship, the men, and someone who had, inexplicably, gotten close enough to her to hurt her in a way she had not felt so deeply since her family had been murdered.  Try as she might, telling herself that all that talk of fate and dreams was Megan's problem, not hers, did not erase the fact that Megan's obvious disdain for her cut to the quick.  What a scrap of a pioneer girl thought of her should not matter to her, dammit, but it did. 

Briefly scanning the shifting sands and currents below for any sign of treasure, she then looked longingly into blue depths she was unable to explore.  Since she did not have the gills of a fish, with a sigh of bubbles, she began her ascent toward the waning light overhead, her lungs almost to the point of screaming for air. Breaking the surface and kicking hard in a scissor-like pattern to keep her head above water, she sucked in a healthy gulp of air and reached up, sweeping her hair out of her eyes. 

On shore, Cooks and some of the men were arranging for an evening feast, a large bonfire shooting flames into the dusky air.  Over the pit a wild boar roasted on a spit, the scent of simmering pork reaching all the way to where Isalba treaded water, causing her stomach to growl.  It was coming on toward dusk and soon there would not be enough sunlight left to search by.

"Enough!" she shouted, and began her swim toward the beach and dinner.  Almost as soon as she shouted, one of the men waded out into the shallows and dipped a cowbell into the water, banging it with a rock and sending a loud clanging out that could be heard by any men still swimming underwater.  Like corks, several heads popped to the surface, and the rest of the searchers began their own journeys toward shore.

Isalba reached the shallow water and stood, walking carefully and shuffling her feet to avoid stepping on any burrowed stingrays.  She was clad in only her undergarments, and made her way nonchalantly to a makeshift clothesline where she grabbed a piece of cloth and began drying herself off.  By habit she casually looked around, spying Megan at the other end of the cove where they had anchored.  She and the nuns were dashing coconuts against the rocks, splitting them open and collecting their milk before scooping out the sweet insides, which Cooks would roast and the men would eat with their supper.  After one particularly loud bash, Isalba heard Megan curse, and looked up to see the younger woman shaking her arm, before she apparently sucked a smashed finger into her mouth.  Isalba resisted the urge to go check out the injury or offer aid and comfort.  If Megan wanted her, she knew where to find her.

Shoulders slumped, Isalba grabbed up a set of dry clothing that she had left folded up on a crate, and headed for the woods to change out of her wet under things, which were cold and clammy, clinging to her skin and causing goose bumps to rise up across her arms and legs.  It felt good to be away from the group on the beach, to have the brief solitude of the trees and to be out of Megan's line of sight.  She dressed slowly, realizing it was going to be a long evening and her only true escape would be on the ship in her cabin, or a long trek down the beach after supper.

Back near the cook fire, Megan brought a bowl full of coconut to Cooks and sat down, nursing her purple, swollen finger.  "Let me have a look at that, lass." Cooks took the coconut and mixed it with some sugar, rum, and a little bit of butter, then wrapped it up in some large leaves and tucked them into the hot ash at the edge of the fire pit.

Megan dutifully held up her finger and Cooks tisked loudly, shaking his head. "If I was to bet, I would wager you have gone and broken that one."

"You think so?"  Megan studied her throbbing hand, the pointer finger in question in particular.  It hurt but she was determined not to complain.  So far, despite their impasse, Isalba had made no mention of leaving her anywhere or sending her home, and she was determined to stay out of the Captain's way as much as possible. It hurt, the silence between them.  Megan missed their lively, saucy banter, Isalba's constant teasing, and the times they snuggled up together at night, ostensibly for warmth, or safety, or any number of perfectly legitimate reasons.  She wanted their closeness back and yet she was still struggling with herself, to reconcile herself with who Isalba was and who she herself was by extension.

"It is swollen to twice its normal size, so yes, I do think so."  Cooks glanced down the beach where Isalba had emerged from the woods and was hanging up her wet clothing.  "You know, the Captain learned some of the healing arts down in Port Royal.  Studied under one of the voodoo queens there."

"I know," Megan answered quietly.  "She told me of that the first time we met."

"Perhaps she knows some magic that will help you with that finger," Cooks suggested.

"Perhaps," Megan commented noncommittally, not making a move to take him up on it.  Standing, she stretched a little and bent over, awkwardly rolling up her trousers legs with her good hand.  "I think I shall go wet a rag in the ocean water and wrap it up.  The coolness should help with the swelling."  Trodding away, she missed the pair of blue eyes that could not help but follow her.

Supper was a lively affair on the part of the men.  Even Isalba half-heartedly joined in their merriment, laughing appropriately at a few ribald jokes and sharing a flask of sweet spiced wine as it was passed around.  Off to one side, Megan and the nuns sat, quietly consuming their meal.  The roasted pork was tender and juicy, and Megan forced herself to choke it down, though she had no appetite.  The coconut went down more easily, and she chased it all with some strong liquor Harry had pilfered from a barrel to share with her.  He sat nearby observing the latest chapter of the ongoing standoff between the two women.  With a sigh he leaned over and whispered in Megan's ear:  "You know you are going to have to be the one to call the truce."

"You assume I wish to," Megan answered curtly.

"I do not assume."  Harry nudged her slightly. "I know. I can see it in your eyes."

"Then I suggest you look elsewhere."  Megan scooted a little farther away from him, in an effort to soothe her injured dignity.

"Everything alright?"  Isalba questioned both of them, one eyebrow raised. 

It was the most she'd deigned to say all day, and Megan looked up, slightly shocked. "Yes, fine," she answered.  She didn't mean to sound short, but judging from Isalba's briefly-injured expression, she apparently did. 

Isalba quickly hid her reaction and stood, pushing her plate away from her and taking up a fresh, uncapped flask of the wine.  "Thank you, Cooks.  That was delicious.  Now I must stretch my legs before I turn in, so I bid you all good night."

"Good night, Captain," a chorus of responses called out from around the fire.  No one offered to keep her company, her demeanor strongly suggesting it would be unwelcome. 

As she moved farther and farther away from them, the musicians among the crew retrieved instruments and the dinner became a party, as a lively jig rang out across the waters and some of the men got up to dance and clap their hands.  Others opened more flasks of liquor and the nuns excused themselves, heading toward one of the skiffs, Maria leading the way. They had been through this particular routine enough to know that the merry-making would go on half the night and the jokes would only grow cruder.  Pausing at the skiff, Maria turned around and called out, "Megan, are you coming back to the ship with us?"

Megan considered it for a moment.  The moon was rising, bright and cheerful, a blanket of stars dotting the sky all the way to the clear horizon.  None of the men would harm her or the nuns.  They all knew better.  In the past she had found such celebrations to be fun, but that was before her estrangement from Isalba.  Isalba had made them fun, dancing with her and keeping her close by, making her feel safe and a part of the crew.  Now.  She looked around unhappily, feeling completely alone in the crowd. "No, go on," she called out in answer.  "I am going to stay up a while longer."

"Suit yourself."  Maria shrugged and assisted the other girls into the boat.  At the last moment, Frederick came bounding after them and took the oars from Maria, offering his services as taxi driver.  Maria beamed at him and shyly took his hand as he helped her and the other girls into the boat.

Megan had to smile at that.  She was certain Maria would not remain a nun for much longer, once they reached Port Royal.  Especially if Frederick became apprenticed to the island's map-maker, something she assumed Isalba still had in the works.  Of course, since they no longer talked unless they had to, she could not know for sure.

Suddenly it was all too much and her vision blurred, her eyes filling with tears.  Angrily she swiped a hand across them, hoping none of the men were paying attention to her.  Too late, she caught Harry watching her and it only fueled her fury.  With a huff she stood and marched off down the beach, away from the overwhelming air of happiness.  It was amazing how often the men concocted a reason to throw a party.  They had found no treasure and yet there they were, dancing their fool heads off and passing the wine around as if they had met King Midas himself.

Once the noise behind her began to fade, Megan slowed down and felt the tension rolling off her shoulders.  It was a beautiful night and she had no need of even a torch, the bright moonlight painting a path over the water's surface, following her as she walked.  Curiously, she slowed even more, backing up and then running forward, but no matter how quickly or slowly she moved, she could not escape the moonlight.  Stopping, she placed her hands on her hips and tilted her head to the side, then jumped quickly to the side, but even still, the moonlight followed, jumping with her.

A light chuckle drifted over the sand from behind her and she spun around. From somewhere in the dark shadows of the trees, Isalba spoke:  "You might as well give up.  You cannot get away from it, no matter how hard you try.  Just as you and I cannot seem to ever get away from each other."

It stung and Megan swallowed, the tears welling up again.  She knew Isalba could not see them, and she would not give herself away by wiping them away.  "I did not know you were here, or else –  Oh, never mind."  Megan started on down the sand even farther away from the party, glad her voice had not quivered as she spoke.  And yet the tears still came, nearly blinding her and abruptly, she stumbled over a large piece of driftwood, falling forward onto her outstretched hands.  Her broken finger jammed hard against the packed sand and this time she heard it crack, feeling bone grating against bone.  She cried out before she could stop herself, then sat resolutely down and drew up into herself as much as she could, rocking back and forth and cradling her injured hand in the other one.

Soft footsteps approached her and she frowned, ignoring them, trying to pull herself together and quit crying.  Drawing in a long, shaking breath, she then gritted her teeth against the sharp pain shooting through her hand, determined to show no weakness.  A shadow fell across the sand before her and then Isalba was kneeling in front of her, one warm hand on Megan's shoulder.  "Let me see."   Isalba reached out.  It wasn't a request, but a command, and with an extremely-gentle grasp, she took Megan's hand into her own, shifting so she could see it in the moonlight.

"You've broken this, pretty badly," Isalba advised.  "Brace yourself."  She grasped Megan's finger with both hands, one at its tip and one taking firm hold at the knuckle next to her palm.

"Why? – Auugghhhhh!!"  With a swift jerk, Megan felt bone slide against bone again, and then with one more pull, the knuckle cracked loudly.  "Ouch!"  She glared at Isalba, then frowned.  Her finger still hurt, no doubt, but not nearly as much as it had before, the pain now a dull throbbing, the agonizing shooting sensations dissipated. "What did you do to it?"  She looked up in question.

"Set the broken bones and popped your dislocated knuckle back into place.  "Do not move it.  I must make a splint."  Isalba tore a length of cloth from her own shirt tail, then reached over and grasped a sturdy, straight piece of stick protruding from the driftwood Megan had tripped over.  Working her dagger, she trimmed the stick down and held it next to Megan's finger.  She cut another piece of stick off and carved on it as well, making it slightly longer than the first one.

"Brace your forearm across your knees," Isalba instructed, and Megan complied, watching as Isalba bound the two sticks against her finger with the strip of cloth, adjusting it until her finger was immobilized. Try as she might, she could not move it.

"We will need to change that out each day for a few weeks, until it mends."  She lifted Megan's hand and kissed the tip of the injured finger.  Their eyes met and she blinked, obviously surprised at herself, then carefully lowered Megan's hand back down and let go. "I am sorry.  I was not thinking."

All anger gone, Megan swallowed her pride as well.  "Do not be sorry."  She looked up.  "I have missed – it is alright," she hastily finished.

With a slight tilt of her head in mutual truce, Isalba's eyes twinkled in the moonlight and she held out her hand in silent invitation.  Megan grasped it with her uninjured one, and Isalba hauled her to her feet, not letting go as she led Megan across the sand and over the loose dunes to the spot where she had been hidden before. 

"Oh, a hammock!" Megan exclaimed in delight. 

"Yes," Isalba smiled. "Left behind by someone and survived the storm. I was looking at the stars before you came along."

"Is it ever so nice?"  Megan looked up at the suddenly-friendly sky. 

"Would you like to see for yourself?"  Isalba hopped into the hammock and patted the space next to her. "It is sturdy enough for two. Come on." She grinned.  "I promise it will hold us."

"Well —"  Megan eyed the contraption skeptically.  "I suppose for a little while it couldn't hurt anything.  Just — my finger." 

"Here." Isalba sat up.  "I shall help you and we will arrange ourselves so your finger is on the outside and will not get mashed between us."

"Oh, alright."  Megan carefully sat down, her back to Isalba, and felt a strong arm guide her backward until she was lying next to the taller woman.  "Oh!"  A slight roll and she tumbled against Isalba, her face mashed into her stomach.  "This is not working out so well."  Her voice was muffled by the cotton of Isalba's shirt.

"Hold on."  Isalba shifted and lifted Megan, settling her so that she was on her back, her head resting on Isalba's shoulder, their feet pointing out to each side at a slight angle.  One of Isalba's arms fell naturally around Megan, curled snuggly about her middle. "How is that?" Isalba's throaty voice burred, just above Megan's head.

"Much better." Megan swallowed, feeling the quiet of the night settle around them, this time in a comfortable silence as opposed to the strained one they had been existing in.  Isalba lifted Megan's injured hand and kissed it once more, before carefully tucking it against Megan's stomach, out of harm's way.

"I am sorry you hurt yourself," Isalba commented softly.

"The first time was just silly."  Megan laughed lightly. "I was talking with Maria and not paying attention, and smashed it between the rock and the coconut.  But the second time, I was —" she trailed off, not wanting to admit she had been crying.

Isalba, however, reached up, brushing the backs of her knuckles against Megan's cheek.  "I heard you sniffling, right before you fell.  This is my fault," she chastised herself.

"No." Megan patted Isalba's belly.  "I am the one who was too proud to wipe the tears from my own eyes.  Too proud of who I was —"  She turned carefully to her side, rising up and resting her weight against Isalba so she could see her eyes, silvery in the moonlight.  "Too proud of who I was to admit who I am now."

"What do you mean?"  Isalba reached up, playing with a strand of Megan's hair, twirling it in her fingers.

"I am sorry I judged you so harshly.  I cannot promise it will not happen again, but still, I know that judging is God's job, not mine." Megan slowly lowered herself down until she was on her side, her head still resting on Isalba's shoulder.  "The Bible says all sin is equal in the eyes of God. Well, look at me.  I ran away from home, hurting my parents terribly.  I went along with the thievery of my own brother-in-law's boat.  I have no qualms over eating stolen food.  I have taken up cursing, strong drink, and smoking. I —" her voice grew very soft.  "I killed a man."  Softness became grief.  "I am no different from you, and yet I judged you."  She sniffled a little.

"No," Isalba's voice was firm, almost shattering the peace of their little shelter.  "You are nothing like me.  Did you enjoy killing that man?  You speak of the one who was going to kill me when I was fighting Ivan, yes?"

"Yes.  I mean, no. Oh.  I mean yes, that is the man, and no, I did not enjoy it, I had to kill him."  She placed a chaste kiss to Isalba's exposed skin.  "He was going to kill you.  I could not let that happen."

"Then you are not like me. I enjoy the kill, Meg.  The days I eliminate even one more of my enemies, those are good days for me.  It is who I am. It is what the world has made of me.  Spain is my enemy.  Its church is my enemy.  It does not matter to me that those two monks at that storehouse are not the men who killed my family.  They are part of the church that killed my family.  They are part of what is, to me, evil."  Isalba idly stroked Megan's hair, wondering if it was the last time she ever would.

"I know that," Megan answered. "I just do not understand it.  Perhaps I never will.  If you can so easily kill those monks, why are you so kind to the nuns you have taken in?  I am not saying any of this to try to make you feel badly, Isa.  I truly want to understand."

"I do not harm women, unless they are pirates like me," Isalba answered.  "And for women like Maria, sometimes they have nowhere else to turn. I cannot fault them for choosing a convent over starvation."

"So you admit the church can do some good?"  Megan risked the question, softening her voice as much as she could while she asked it.

"I — it is complicated." Isalba sighed.  "Entire villages are poor because the church has raped them of their gold.  The church can do good, yes, but I am not certain it outweighs the evil."

"But Isa, you burned a village."  Megan stroked Isalba's arm as she spoke.  "How is that different?"

"I —" Isalba started to answer, then trailed off.  She knew why she burned that village.  Her rage.  Her fury that she believed, at the time, that Megan was going to leave her because of her hatred of the church.  She had no right to lay that guilt on Megan.  "I have no answer to that," she finally replied. "Perhaps, after a time, we become what we loathe most, if we are not careful."

Megan pondered that for a while, gazing up at the twinkling stars.  "Isa?" she finally questioned quietly.

"Yes?" Isalba was still stroking Megan's hair, her actions having an almost hypnotic effect on both of them.

"You say the world made you who you are?" Megan felt Isalba nod in agreement, and continued.  "Do you think, if you are with me long enough, that perhaps —" She almost dared not finish her question.

"I did not go to Chincoteague four years ago, looking for a savior," Isalba picked up on her train of thought. "And yet I found myself in desperate need of one.  Then you came along.  I know you looked for me, Meg. What I never told you is that I thought of you often after that night.  I told some of the men an angel had saved my life.  That was you."

"Really?"  Megan pressed up again, her hand resting on Isalba's chest.  She searched those silvery-blue eyes once more, feeling their warmth gazing back at her.  "All those years, I thought maybe I was just crazy.  I know my sister thought I was."

"Not crazy."  Isalba touched Megan's face.  "The first time we met, you saved my life. The second time we met, you nursed me out of a fever. And you saved my life again not so long ago, when I was fighting Ivan.  Please do not give up on me, Meg.  I do not believe God will send me more than one angel in this lifetime."

"And here I was afraid you had given up on me."  Megan leaned over, brushing her lips against Isalba's cheek.

"Never."  Isalba pulled her closer, giving in to the longing, seeking out those lips with her own.  It felt so good, and she wanted it to go on all night.  Only the precarious hammock, and Megan's injured hand, and the tugging knowledge on the edge of her senses telling her it was somehow wrong, kept her from taking things further.  Slowly, she pulled back, pecking Megan's nose and then her forehead.  She heard Megan sigh dreamily, felt her body relax fully against Isalba's, as they lay curled up together, breathing the salty air and counting the stars overhead.  What was Megan thinking? Did she understand what was happening between them? Isalba had her doubts and at that moment, her fears.  She was loathe, for the time being, to risk destroying the peace and closeness rekindled between them.  Megan was back by her side and in her arms.  It was enough.

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

Isalba awoke, blinking into the darkness.  For a moment she couldn't remember where she was, then felt Megan's weight pressed pleasantly against her side, the younger woman's head still on her shoulder.  Looking over the water toward the east, she could just make out the first pale rays of dawn on the far horizon.  They had apparently dozed off and slept in the hammock all night.  "Meg."  She gave the body in her arms a gentle squeeze.

"Mmmm."  Meg mumbled and rolled from her side to her back.  "Ouch!  My finger."  Megan's injured hand had been resting lightly against Isalba's stomach and with her movement, she'd inadvertently flung it against the thicker, sturdy canvas outer seams of the hammock.

"Careful."  Isalba carefully felt her way down Megan's arm, locating the hand in question.  She lifted it and tried to look at it, but it was still a little too dark for proper inspection.  "We should go back to the ship.  I have herbs there that will help with pain and swelling.  I had thought to administer them to you last night, but –"

"We fell asleep," Megan finished for her.  "Unaccounted for all night long."

"Does that bother you?"  Isalba was glad for the semi-darkness impairing eye contact.  She feared hers would say far too much at that moment.

"No."  Megan patted Isalba's belly with her good hand.  "Why should it?  I was with you and the men will know that when we return to the ship together.  Besides, we have shared a cabin for two months now, have we not?"

"True," Isalba responded, relieved.  "At least we have until the past week." 

She felt Megan go still, and heard her slight, sharp intake of breath, followed by a much longer sigh.  "Yes," Megan answered. "And I am sorry for that.  I was angry.  With you at first, then with myself.  I couldna stand knowing if I stayed in your cabin, we wouldna be talking to one another.  It would have – I think it would have hurt too much."

"It did hurt," Isalba commented quietly.  "You are free to sleep wherever you wish.  I have only kept you with me for your own protection.  The men know you are off limits and you were with the nuns, so I felt you were safe enough." Safe enough, Isalba pondered to herself, as long as she was up every hour checking the nuns' cabin to make sure nothing was amiss.  She had the dark circles under her eyes to attest to it.  It was no wonder she'd fallen asleep in the hammock.  Megan had finally been close enough that she need not worry about her, and it was the first good night's sleep she'd gotten in a week.

"Do you wish me to stay with the nuns all the time?"  Megan asked, her voice very soft.

"No," Isalba answered, her voice much too sharp to her own ears.  "No," she repeated, forcing a more unconcerned tone.  "That is, you are free to stay there if you wish, but they will not be with us for much longer.  It is easier for me with you in my cabin.  I do not like the idea of you staying alone in there once they vacate my ship.  I am not certain where we will go after Port Royal, but there is always the possibility we will be attacked by another ship.  I can move to defend more quickly if I do not have to locate you first.  And I may need to move some of the men to that cabin.  They are crowded below decks."

"Oh, of course."  Megan sounded contrite.  "I should have remembered that.  I think I shall stay with the nuns until we reach Port Royal.  Francesca has been having nightmares.  Sometimes she looks to me for comfort, and it gives Maria and Helena a rest from taking care of her. Actually, I have been sharing her bunk, while Helena and Maria share the other one."

"I –" Isalba stopped herself, almost revealing that she had opened the cabin door often enough while Megan was sleeping to be familiar with the arrangements therein.  "I did not know of the nightmares," she answered honestly, quickly turning her response in a different direction.  "But it would make sense, if she has become accustomed to sleeping with you and it brings her comfort, that we should not disrupt that for the short time we have left before we reach Port Royal."   Isalba stifled a sigh.  She was disappointed.  Not only had she missed Megan's warm presence at night, but now she could look forward to another week of her nightly vigil.  She was tired already, just thinking about it.

"I will move back into your cabin once we reach Port Royal," Megan assured her. "The men should have more room."

"Good."  Isalba studied the horizon, which was now rose-red with pending sunrise, longer streaks of light extending out across the sky over the water and toward their little nest.  Low, sparse clouds hung above them, small enough that she thought they would burn off into a clear day by noon.  It was time they were on their way back to the ship to move to the next section of land, and resume their search.

"I am going down to the water to wash my face."  Megan sat up and Isalba kept both hands at her sides, steadying her as she slid out of the hammock onto the sand.  Megan stretched and yawned, then stepped carefully through the loose dunes until she reached packed sand.  Her trousers were still rolled up from the afternoon before, and she waded right out into the surf, bending over and scooping up water with her uninjured hand, blotting at her face a little bit.

She was beautiful, the early morning light shining off her golden hair and casting much of her body in silhouette.  Isalba had come to appreciate the form-fitting trousers and blouses untied or unbuttoned partway, which Megan now wore nearly all the time.  "I must curb my thoughts," she chastised herself.  It was torture.  She should talk to Megan. Megan knew she had been with women and had not seemed shocked by that. How hard could it be to simply sit down and determine Megan's own thoughts on what Isalba felt growing between them? More difficult than climbing to the top of the crow's nest in an ice storm, Isalba acknowledged.

And what was growing between them, exactly?  She had many dalliances under her belt.  A few that she would likely have forfeited her life over, had the father of a certain couple of Turkish princesses caught her.  But even if she did take things further with Megan, satisfying her own desires, what would come of it?  What would it mean? Megan had mentioned the possibility of finding a man and settling down sometime in the future.  Could she in good conscience use Megan in such a way, even if Megan were willing, and then simply toss her aside later on?  

And then it hit her.  She had no intention of tossing Megan aside, ever, whether her own desires were to be fulfilled or not.  Holding Megan in her arms the night before had been one of the sweetest moments of her life, knowing that they were no longer angry with each other, and simply basking in Megan's warm, welcome presence next to her.  Megan had touched her in ways no one else before her, and Isalba realized that having Megan in her life meant more than just about anything.  She was the Captain.  No one was supposed to have power over her and yet she knew that Megan did.

Swinging her legs over the side of the hammock, Isalba leaned over, placing her face in her hands, blotting out sun and sight.  She could not be certain, since she had never experienced it before, but perhaps, just maybe, she had gone and fallen in love with her younger companion. "Ugh," she groaned.  "I am my own worst enemy."  Scrubbing her eyes, she looked up.  There was no chance of Megan feeling the same way.  She was almost certain of it.  Very well. She would just have to buck up and live by whatever terms Megan was willing to offer, no matter how much torture it put her through.

"Isa!"  Megan turned and began running back toward her.  "There is something in the water out there.  It shines brightly when the sun hits it."

Grateful for the distraction, Isalba stood up. "Hold up.  I will come down and look at it."  She trotted down toward the shoreline and tilted her head.  Something silvery was glinting in the shallows, several yards out.  She bent over and rolled up her trousers and walked out further, squinting.  "Ah, rubbish. I cannot see it well enough from here."  With no further thought, she ran back to shore and stripped out of not only trousers and shirt, but undergarments as well, having no desire to eat breakfast in chilled, wet pantaloons.

Buck naked, she darted back to the water and plunged in, running until she reached water deep enough to swim.  Treading water over the object, she peered downward, her face submerged in the water.  The sun was up and she could see to the bottom of the relatively shallow cove.  There, half-buried in sand, was a curved piece of wood with what appeared to be some sort of shiny metal fixtures attached.  No. She could not be this lucky. Taking a deep breath, she dove down, swimming only about three body-lengths before she reached the object, a rough chest wedged into the ocean floor.  She gave it a push but it did not budge.  It was tilted at an angle and on one exposed side she could just make out what appeared to be a fading skull and crossbones.

"Yow!"  She broke the surface with a triumphant yell, swimming and plowing her way toward Megan, who still stood, stunned, in the shallow water.  With no further thought, Isalba lifted her and carefully spun her around, mindful of Megan's injured hand.  "You have found it, Meg!  Ivan's chest!  I am almost certain of it."

"I – really?!"  Megan's eyes lit up, then slid down, fixed on features well below Isalba's face. "I – um – oh, my goodness!"  She blushed and then forced her gaze back to Isalba's eyes.  "I found the treasure?  Me?"

"Yes, you!"  Isalba put her down and began sprinting for shore, leaping waves as they rolled in beneath her feet.  Then she turned, ran back, and cradled Megan's face in both hands, planting a lengthy kiss on her lips before turning once more and heading toward the ship at a dead run.  "I must go for help!  We need a shovel and a couple of men to help carry it once we free it!"

Megan pressed her fingers against her tingling lips, her body and senses overloaded with shock on several levels.  It took a moment to collect herself and then she bellowed, "Isa!  Come back!"  Cupping one hand to her lips, she yelled again: "Isa!"

"What!?"  The taller woman stopped and turned, trotting in place in impatience.

"You are naked!"  Megan yelled back. Making her way to shore, she picked up Isalba's shed clothing and held them up for her to see.

Isalba looked down at herself and burst out laughing.  "So I am!" Running back, she took her clothing from Megan and began dressing, pausing when she felt Megan's gaze on her. "What?"  She looked down at herself again.

"Oh."  Megan blushed furiously.  Her mind had skittered off track, back to the sensation of Isalba lifting her and spinning her around.  She had seen the pirate naked for brief periods of time when they were changing clothing, and a few times when bathing, but Isalba holding her close while unclothed was something completely different, not to mention that kiss.  Using her good hand for balance, Megan had grasped a firm, muscular shoulder covered by smooth, soft skin, and although Isalba had been wet, Megan had felt her warmth pressed against her, that same hand trailing lightly down Isalba's chest and stomach when she released Megan to stand again.  In that one moment her system was flooded with all kinds of new sensations, and her mind and body had not yet figured out what to do with them.  "I was just thinking it is good you did not get away without your clothing and shock the men first thing in the morning."

"Most of them have seen me naked a time or two," Isalba advised her, then paused, looking down at herself yet again.  "Am I too terrifying a sight before breakfast?"  Isalba looked back up at Megan, a devilish grin tugging at her lips.

Megan swallowed hard, as a powerful sensory jolt shot through her and hit her belly, making it twist inside and turning her knees to water.  "Terrifying?"  She choked, her mouth as dry as wool.  "No.  I only meant that you were naked.  No," she stumbled over her words.  "You – you are beautiful," she finally whispered.  "Certainly not unpleasant to look at."

"Beautiful?"  Isalba snorted.  "I think not, but it is good to know I am not an eye sore."  Isalba tilted her head, trying to read Megan's expression.  She was blushing from her hairline to her upper chest, her eyes not quite meeting Isalba's.  "Careful."  Isalba reached out, trailing one fingertip along a pink cheek.  "You appear to be getting too much sun."  With a wink, she took a step back and finished lacing up her shirt, then held out her hand.  "Come with me. I will get you a dose of the herbs for your finger and then gather a few men to help with the treasure chest."

"Will the herbs make me drowsy?"  Megan appeared to recover and took Isalba's hand, lacing their fingers together.

"It is likely, yes."  Isalba guided them around the piece of driftwood Megan had tripped over the day before.

"I would like to watch the men dig up the treasure chest."  Megan looked up at her.  "And see what is in it.  Can we wait for herbs until afterward?"

"Whatever you wish."  Isalba peered at her with some concern.  "It is you that is in pain, not I."

"Pain?" Megan felt nothing but Isalba's hand in her own, their arms lightly swinging together as they walked. 

Isalba frowned at her. "Your broken finger does not hurt?"

Megan looked down at the splint, still firmly in place.  It was throbbing a little but compared to everything else she was feeling, it had been pushed into the recesses of her consciousness.  "Oh, yes.  It does.  But not nearly like it did before you set it and put the splint on.  I believe not moving it all night has helped."

"Good, but you still need to take herbs to relieve the swelling," Isalba advised her.

"I suppose this means no swimming lessons?" Megan mused.  "You said after you found the treasure chest you would teach us."

"None for you at present," Isalba answered.  "I should teach the nuns while they are still with me." Observing Megan's very obvious pout of displeasure at her answer, she laughed lightly and released Megan's hand, ruffling her head.  "I promise I will teach you as soon as your finger has mended.  You will get a private lesson.  Meanwhile, you can watch me teach the others.  It should be quite entertaining for an afternoon, I suspect, even if you do not get to participate."  She draped her arm casually across Megan's shoulders.

Megan wrapped her arm around Isalba's waist.  "Are you going to torture those poor women?"  She gave Isalba a little squeeze.

"No, teaching three women to swim who have likely never been in water deeper than their shins will be torturing me, I believe.  I am not the most patient person in the world."  She chuckled and Megan joined in, as they made their way back to the rest of the crew.

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

Megan sat on the beach, watching a handful of divers bob to the surface, take a breath, and disappear, over and over again.  The sun was now full up, halfway on to noon, and it felt good on her skin, warding off the chill that had built up in her bones during the early morning hours.  Once her initial almost uncontainable excitement had worn off, Isalba reasoned the chest was not going anywhere, wedged as it was, and that they might as well eat breakfast before going back to the cove to retrieve it.

In addition to eggs and a hearty roll with butter, Megan had given in and consumed a small dose of both painkilling and swelling-relief herbs, which Isalba had mixed into a cup of hot tea.  The tea had hit the spot, warming her as it hit her belly, and the herbs were starting to do their trick.  She was slightly drowsy, though not outright sleepy as she would have been with a full treatment; yet her finger had ceased its constant throbbing.  Now as she examined it, she only felt intermittent twinges of brief, sharp pain, mostly if she inadvertently hit it on something or accidentally twisted it a little bit while moving about.

Among the divers, she could easily spy Isalba each time she came up for air, her dark hair, now in a single, thick braid, thrashing into the air with each shake of her head.  Each time she came up, she looked to the beach and briefly waved at Megan before going back to her work.  At last, all of the divers came up for air, gathered in a tight circle around the liberated treasure.  With painfully slow movement, they made their way to shore and reached the shallows where they began to walk, and the two largest men, Angus and Harry took over the carrying of the chest, each of them grasping handles on its ends.

When they reached the sand, they lowered it, water seeping from small cracks and draining onto the beach.  With Angus' assistance, Harry took to the lock with a crowbar and mallet, Angus throwing his full weight down against the bar and Harry pounding at the end of the bar wedged into the lock itself with the mallet.  Megan got up and made her way down to the group, just as the snap of breaking metal reached her ears.  As if on cue, all the men stood back and allowed Isalba the honor of opening the high, curved wooden lid.  With a wet, angry creak, she hefted back its considerable weight and the group gasped in unison, Megan included.

It was treasure in its purest form: a heap of gold doubloons filling the chest, most of it Spanish coin.  "Wait."  Isalba knelt down, examining the chest's lid.  There is another compartment here in the top, see?"  She picked at a small latch that was not locked, but rather nailed in place. "Harry, hand me that mallet?" She absently held out a hand without looking up, withdrawing her dagger from her boot with the other.

"Aye, Cap'ain."  Harry placed the hammer in her hand and she pressed the tip of the dagger against the edge of the square clasp, tapping the hilt and gradually moving it around the entire piece until she had loosened it.  Pressing the dagger beneath the latch, she tapped it again, this time more firmly, jiggling the knife until the latch gave way and she was able to flip the inner cover up.

"Gaia," Isalba muttered.  A wealth of jewels glinted up at them – rubies, diamonds, pearls, and some beautiful green and blue stones Megan had no name for.  Some were lose and some had been cut and set in gold rings, bracelets, earrings, and necklaces.  Scattered among the jewels were several plain gold hoop earrings, and Isalba immediately picked out enough of them to give one to each man.  "What say you, boys?  Is it time for a piercing party around the fire this night?"

A chorus of cheers rose up and Angus clapped her on the back.  "There will be much merry-making this evening, Captain, that is certain!"

Megan looked around at the men, some of whom already sported single golden hoops or diamond studs in their earlobes.  Isalba had no such adornments and Megan made mental note to ask her why not, later, when they were alone.  As she was studying the crowd, Isalba dug back into the chest and stood, walking toward her with something in her closed fist.

"Meg."  She reached out, touching Megan's cheek.  "For the one who found this treasure, a reward is in order."  Opening her fist, she took Megan's good hand and pressed something cold and metallic into it.

Megan looked down and gasped again, as two beautiful earrings winked at her, each a small gold stud set with one of each of the green and blue stones.  "Oh." She looked up at Isalba.  "They are so perfect.  What sort of stones are they?"

"The blue are sapphires and the green are emeralds.  The emeralds match your eyes." She tilted Megan's face up to the sun.  "Yes, perfectly."  Tweaking one of Megan's earlobes, she took a step back.  "Virgin ears," she teased. "As are mine.  How about it, Meg?  Do you want to get drunk with me tonight and have one of the men pierce our ears?"

"No. I want to get drunk and you pierce my ears before you get drunk and one of the men pierces yours."  Megan blushed.

"Ah. So you will be deflowered before me?"  Isalba laughed lightly and a few of the men joined in uncertainly, not wanting to anger Isalba if it embarrassed Megan too much.  "And at my hand no less. I am honored." 

Megan's cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of scarlet, and Isalba knelt down in front of Megan, pitching her voice very low, so that none of the men could hear. "My apologies.  Do I tease you too much? It is the treasure. I have let my giddiness overtake my good manners. I am sorry. I did not mean to make fun of you."

"It is alright."  Megan felt some of the heat leave her face.  "Are they laughing at me?"

"No, they are laughing at my tasteless play on words," Isalba assured her, taking her hand and kissing the knuckles.

"Oh." Megan rolled that thought around, then leaned in close, whispering a question into Isalba's ear.  "What does 'deflowered' mean?"

Isalba's brows shot up and she sat back on her heels, realizing Megan had missed the joke completely. "Ah. I see.  Truly virgin ears.  I shall explain it to you when we have more privacy.  And then I will let you thrash me for my bawdiness, if you wish.  Suffice it to say for now that it is much too late for my own deflowering."

Megan smiled, the mystery growing rather than becoming clearer.  "Very well, but now you will need to explain 'bawdiness' as well."

"Ay, caramba!" Isalba stood, her eyes full of affection.  "Perhaps I should get drunk now and again later."  Turning to the men, she stood up tall.  "Harry, Angus, let us get this chest back to the ship and safely into my berth.  After that, I believe I promised some nuns a swimming lesson."

Megan tugged at her sleeve and she watched the men head for the ship, then turned back around.  "Yes?"

"You said I would enjoy watching the swimming lessons, but this morning you said you wanted me to rest this afternoon."  She peered unhappily at Isalba.

"Hmmmm, well, yes I did." Isalba tossed her arm across Megan's shoulders and steered her on a path down the sand, following the men. Harry looked back and grinned broadly at Isalba, his eyes twinkling knowingly. She scowled at him in return and he laughed before facing forward once more.  "Cheeky bastard."

"What?" Megan looked from Isalba to Harry and back.

"Nothing." Isalba gave Megan's shoulder a squeeze.  "Oh." She knelt down and picked up a large conch shell, offering it to Megan. "If you hold this to your ear, you can hear the sea even if you are not near the beach."

"I know that," Megan smiled and took the shell anyway, hearing the strange roar coming from within the shell.  "I lived in a fishing village, you know.  I have spent many hours beach-combing."

"Oh, yes.  I forget.  And here I thought I was introducing you to one of life's mysteries.  I supposed I will have to find some other way to impress you."  Isalba held her hand out.  "Do you want me to carry it for you?"

"Um.  Alright."  Megan handed it over, taking care not to drop her new earrings.  She looked down at them, pursing her lips inward.  "Will it hurt?"

"Will what hurt?  The ear piercing?"

Megan nodded, her thoughts sent skittering off-track as Isalba ran a fingertip up the side of her neck and a light touch along the rim of her ear.  It made her stomach dance with those strange butterflies again, a longing sensation she could not place, but that she was coming to associate with Isalba's nearness.

"It may, a little.  You do not have to do it if you do not want to."  She continued with the idle touch and Megan leaned into it slightly.

"Oh, no.  I do. I just do not know what to expect."  Megan felt pleasant chills dance across her skin.

"Well, first I do intend to ply you with some rum.  Then you will lie down with your head in my lap, and I'll place a piece of cork behind your earlobe.  We'll heat a needle tip until it is red hot, then dunk it in water to cool it, then I'll stretch the lobe out and run it through with the needle all the way through to the cork.  Then I'll slip the earring in and pour a little bit of whiskey over the ear to clean it.  It will sting some, or so the men tell me, but it is quick."  Isalba lifted her hand higher, cupping the back of Megan's head as they continued to walk.

"If it is quick, I believe I am brave enough to do it.  Why have you not pierced yours before?"  Megan stepped carefully over a dead jellyfish, not wishing to have her bare feet stung.

"For a long time, the only reason the men would wear the gold in their ear was if they had rounded the Horn. It is a piece of land a very long way from here, a treacherous journey by ship I have never made.  The sea has claimed many a man and ship in that place.  They wore it as a badge of honor for surviving such an ordeal."

"Will we ever go there?" Megan asked, her voice slightly fearful.

"Not if I have any say in the matter," Isalba answered.  "There is plenty of a living to be made without traveling so far south."

"Oh, good."  Megan breathed a sigh of relief.  "But why do you want an earring now?"

"I want to celebrate," Isalba answered.  "Most of the men who now wear earrings wear them for victory in battle or some grand discovery or attainment of wealth.  Very few men on this ship, other than the older ones, have made the voyage around the Horn.  This is our first large discovery since I became captain.  The first of many, I hope. I would like to sport a piece of that treasure so I may remember this day."

"That seems reason enough to me," Megan agreed with her.  "And you gave these to me for helping to find it?"

"Yes, and because they will look beautiful when you wear them."  Isalba smiled at her.  "And to remind the men that you have made a great contribution to the well-being of us all."

"But you are only going to wear one?"

"Yes, it is what the men do. They wear one or more in one ear only, or they always make sure to have an uneven number from one ear to the other, if they wear them in both ears."

Megan pondered that and looked up again.  "But you took only a plain gold hoop for yourself. The ones you gave me are finer than that.  It seems you should not have a crew member with nicer earrings than you.  Why don't you wear one of these, along with the hoop, in the same ear? And I will wear the other matching single earring in one of my ears."

Isalba stopped for a moment, considering that, and then kept walking.  "So we would each have a matching earring?"

"Yes, unless you do not like that idea," Megan's voice faltered.

"No, I do like it," Isalba hastily replied. "If you do not mind me having one of them."

"I do not mind at all.  Besides, it would save me the pain of two piercings."  Megan grinned up at her.

"Ah, ulterior motives,"  Isalba teased, and gave Megan a light swat on her backside, then placed her hand at the small of Megan's back.  "I see how it is.  Very well.  I shall suffer two piercings tonight, rather than you.  As for swimming lessons, I think you should rest on the ship and take more herbs.  It is going to be a long night.  Once the men hear of the treasure, they will be celebrating until sunrise."

"No. Please?"  Megan held out her injured hand. "My finger is already feeling better.  Suppose I watch the lessons for a while and then I promise to find a shady spot and take a nap until you are finished?  And I will go to sleep earlier than the men tonight.  I will only celebrate for a little while."

"Alright. If you promise all those things, then you may watch the swimming lessons."  Isalba's voice was stern, then lightened.  "One more promise, though."

"Anything," Megan answered eagerly.

"Anything?"  Isalba's eyes swam with mischief. "I could get much mileage from such a promise." Megan frowned and Isalba laughed.  "Do not worry.  All I ask is that no matter how foolish I may look while trying to teach three women of God to swim, that you do not repeat the stories of it to the men later."

"Oh, I promise!  I am going to go tell the girls we are going on an outing!"

Megan took off, half-skipping and half-running toward the nuns, who were gathered under a palm tree in the distance.  Isalba looked on, shaking her head. "I do believe I am in more trouble than I will ultimately be able to contain."

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

continued...

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