spokes. They were the hands of a man holding his beloved, pausing to caress a soft curve, seeking her needs, guiding her at his pleasure.
“Most pirates came by way of the Royal Navy, press-ganged during the war,” he was saying. “The war ended and His Majesty was no longer in need of ’em. Having been gone for years, many had no family to which to return, so they went back to what they knew: the sea, excepting pirating was the only ready employment.”
She closed one eye to regard him. “I can’t imagine you in the Navy.”
Blackthorne made a derogatory noise. “And justifiably so, since I wasn’t. I always loved the sea; got it from me sire, I suppose.”
“And always desired to become a pirate?” she declared, heartened by her ability to announce it before him.
His countenance darkened. “No!” He checked himself, quickly assuming a more benign attitude. “I came by that by an entirely different course.”
Another sensitive territory blundered into—and so many there seemed to be—she sought another subject.
“So, what are you doing out here? I mean, have you a destination?” The question was rooted in more than idle curiosity. It was safe to say the ship’s destination would have a direct impact on her future.
Devilment lit his eyes. “Prowling, luv; cat after the mouse. A bit o’ pirating, looking for anyone unsuspecting what may cross our hawse.”
That statement was borne out by a lookout posted on every masthead.
“And then what?”
Blackthorne peered at her as if she was a bit dim. “Cut ’em out.”
“That’s stealing.”
He chuckled dryly. “That, my dear, you’ll find ’tis a matter of perspective. Enemies are contrived any number of ways: wrong race, wrong religion, wrong king, or just wrong words. A privateer steals in the name of the one what finances him, often finding himself on the wrong side of the very law he thought to honor. Just ask ol’ William Kidd. He had the blessings of the Crown itself. He took ship upon ship, all for the glory of King and Country. Only by the time he returned home to deliver said prize, he had been declared a pirate and was hung for his efforts.
“First Holland was our friend and Spain our enemy. A flick of the pen and Spain was our ally, France and Holland our enemies. Then France was our friend, and Holland and Spain…” He gave a shrug. “’Tis easier to assume them all as foes. Piracy is honest: we take it because we want it.”
“But, if you take it—?”
“Ah, but what if it had been stolen it the first place? Thievery comes in many forms.”
“So, you see yourself as some kind of a Robin Hood?”
A laugh erupted from him loud enough to cause men at the ship’s waist to look up from their work.
“Hardly. Nothing so grand. ’Tis every man for himself.” He cut a sharp gesture toward those same ones looking up. “Every one of those blighters would take it all and be damned the rest, would that he could.”
“On deck there. Sail ho!” came a cry came from high above. “Four points to larboard. Rounding the point, sir. A sloop: twenty-two…make that a twenty-four. Flying the Company flag.”
Wheeling around, Cate saw the oncoming ship’s flag. The Cross of St. George showed prominently in the canton, but the field was blue and white-striped, not the infamous red and white of the East India Tea Company.
“The Royal West Indies Mercantile Company,” Nathan said with thinly veiled contempt. “Rarely are colors flown to be believed, but ’tis every reason to believe this one. The treacherous blighter wants us to know who he is.”
“Orders?” Pryce bound up the steps and pulled up short at the sight of his freshly-shaven captain. His grey eyes cut accusingly at her.
“How do you make her?” Nathan demanded.
“She’s the Nightingale, or the Faithful, for anyone what cares to see the difference, painted up like a tart on the Sabbath. Privateer. More like a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”
Cate recalled hearing on the Constancy of sleights of hand: ships being taken, and then disguised for the purpose of evil-doing.
Pryce spit contemptuously over the rail, and then fixed a reproachful eye on his skipper. “It were a risk to come here. They been a-layin’ fer us.”
“A risk known and well worth,” Nathan said with a significant look. “Damn. I fancied she’d had enough of our fire and thunder off Barra Terre. Very well, let’s give the sod what he seeks.”
“She runs better and she has the wind. We’ve land in our