Dona Dominica covered her ears as fresh thunder spawned the shriek and splintering crash of round shot.  Her lovely face was frightened, her brown eyes huge, and her bosom heaved.  The San Josef lurched, and she crouched on her cabin deck with her duenna, trying to shut out the terrible crunch as the falling mainmast dragged the foremast down, shattering the stout bulwarks.  The galleon heaved like a maddened horse, then wallowed more heavily then ever, and Dona Dominica knew, somehow, that the San Josef's bellowing guns had not repaid her tormentor with equal damage.

Fresh gunfire deafened her, filling her cabin with choking smoke, and the answering broadsides were closer, punctuated by the vicious crack of swivels.  The enemy was closing for the kill, and the young noblewoman's blood was icy.

Again the guns roared, and now she heard voices shouting in English!  The cries were faint but all too clear, and triumphant.

And then the San Josef staggered as if upon a reef as the English ship drove alongside.  Confused screams and shouts were joined by the clash of steel, and stampeding feet surged across the planking overhead.  She closed her eyes, whispering prayers, and her mind whirled back to the morning.

Dona Dominica stood on the San Josef's high poop deck ignoring her duenna's baleful mutters about sunlight and a lady's complexion, Maria was a crackling old hen, Dona Dominica thought, always alert for any threat to her charge's virtue or appearance.  She supposed that was inevitable when one's girlhood nurse became ones chaperone, but it made the old woman wearisome.

She knew the thought was unworthy, but she was quite capable of looking out for herself, after all!  No shrinking hidalga she, but a sturdy daughter of ancient Castile raised in half-tamed New Spain by her widowed father.  Old Maria had done her best to turn her into a proper hothouse flower, but even she was forced to admit failure, generally with up-thrown hands and a plea to all the saints to recognize her efforts.

Yet it might have been better if Maria had succeeded, Dona Dominica brooded, for then she might not dread returning to Spain after her father's death.  Spain was a homeland she could not remember, where she would be pent and guarded like some precious heirloom until her uncle in his wisdom, and without consulting her, chose some hidalgo upon whom to bestow her sword-slim beauty and sizable inheritance.  The prospect was... distasteful.

Worse, Spain was home to the Inquisition, and Dona Dominica was more rebellious than even Maria guessed.  Her duenna would be horrified to learn that she suspected that Man, not God, concerned himself so over Church and doctrine and doubted god wanted His word spread by the sword and the stake.

And those, she knew, were thoughts she must never voice, and even in New Spain, far less in Castile.

She shook herself, drawing back her mantilla and ignoring Maria's scold as she bared her face to the sun.  The San Josef was a small world, she thought wistfully, yet she would be sad to exchange its confines for the stricter constraints of the larger one awaiting her.

A lookout's hail caught her ear, and she glanced upward.  There was much shouting and gesticulation, and the lookout seemed to be pointing up to windward, and Dona Dominica stared searchingly in the indicated direction.

There!  That fleck of white was no wave, but a sail!  And not a friendly one, she thought, as Don Rodrigo de Seville, the San Josef's commander, clumped up the poop ladder.  His face was so anxious that sympathy almost overcome her aversion for his pompous, overbearing nature.

"Dona," he said, his bow curt compared to his usual floral greeting.

"Don Rodrigo," she acknowledged with a curtsy.

"I must send you and duenna below, Dona.  That is an English ship yonder."

"El Drake?!" Maria cried in sudden horror, and even Dona Dominica felt a thrill of terror at that, though her free-thinking father had always laughed at tales of Drake's witchcraft.  He was only a seaman, Don Sebastian had maintained, though a far finer and more audacious one than any Spaniard!

"No," Don Rodrigo said shortly.  "No El Drake, but perhaps as bad." He looked a Dona Dominica.  "Go below, Dona," he repeated more urgently.

"I shall, Don Rodrigo," Dona Dominica said coolly.  "In good time."

Don Rodrigo glared, for he was unused to defiance from a mere girl, even one so beautiful as this, but he had learned not to cross swords with Dona Dominica.  Hoyden though she was, she was also niece to the Duc de Santiago, which made her a force to be reckoned with.  And, he thought resentfully, she knew it, which explained her unbecoming boldness.  But he had greater worries than a battle of wills he knew already he would lose.

"As you will, Dona," he muttered, and began barking orders at his crew, but his eyes clung to the oncoming white oblongs of the Englishman's sails.

Dona Dominica watched them, too, and her lips tightened at how quickly they overhauled the San Josef.  The English ship was lower to the water, sleeker than the towering galleon, and even Dona Dominica could see that her captain's skill mocked Don Rodrigo's.  Spain produced peerless soldiers, Don Sebastian had often said, but not seamen, and here was proof of it.

She watched the lovely, deadly ship sweep closer, watched until that sleek side was suddenly barbed with run-out guns, until she knew beyond doubt that the San Josef must turn and fight.  Only then she went below, and if her heart raced, her stride was measured, as befitted her lineage, and her pride.

But that had been then, and this was now.  She cowered down as the fighting on deck reached a crescendo, and then she heard the most chilling sound of all.  The thud of dropped weapons and cries for quarter, in Spanish.

The San Josef, in inner voice whispered, would never reach Spain.

"Oh, what shall we do, Dona?" Maria quavered, clutching at her arm, and her duenna's panic gave Dona Dominica something to consider besides her own fear.  She pried the old woman's fingers open, smoothed the wrinkles from her sleeve, and stood, glad her skirts hid her knees' shakiness.

"We shall remember who we are," she said firmly, and her tone lent Maria strength.  Her eyes were still frightened, but she rose beside her mistress with a valiant pretense of courage as feet clattered down the ladders.

The loud voices beyond the bulkhead were not Spanish, and dona Dominica's hands clenched in her flowing sleeves as someone tried the door.  The latch rattled, but the bar held.

"Ho!" someone cried.  "Locked!  Now why d'ye think that be, hey?"

"Why, because there be summat be'ind it," a cheerful voice answered.

"Aye, ye've the right of't," the first replied, "so let's 'ave it down!"

"Aye!" a chorus agreed, and Maria moaned as a shoulder thudded against the door.  Once.  Twice.  Three times, and the bar's brackets tore from the bulkhead.  The door crashed open, and a roughly-dressed sailor staggered in.

He kept his balance somehow, but his expression would have been ludicrous if Dona Dominica had been even a little less frightened.  He gawked at her unexpected loveliness, then scuttled backwards in shock.

"Ladies," he cried.  "There be ladies 'ere, Cap'n!"

"What?" a new voice thundered.  "Avaunt, tosspots!  Make way, I say!"

The first intruder's hasty retreat had infused Maria with a fresh sense of duty, and she thrust Dona Dominica behind her as a new figure appeared.

Dona Dominica stared over her duenna's shoulder, her eyes wide.  Surely she had never seen a taller man!  He loomed against the low beams in the breastplate and silver-chased morion of an officer, an arrogant golden beard thrusting from the shadows of his helmet, and his rapier was bloody.

"Odds bodkin!" he muttered, then switched to flawless Castellon.  "And what have we here?"

"Heretic!" Maria cried.  "Stand back!  Harm my lady, and Don Rodrigo will have your head!"

"Aye?" He laughed.  "I fear Don Rodrigo will have no one's head, Madam, until his ransom's paid, at the least!"

Maria quivered with terror's fury, hurling shrill-voiced abuse at the giant.  It seemed to amuse him, and he listened appreciatively for several moments, then gestured to two of his men.

"Have her out, lads," he said in his own language, unaware, no doubt, that Dona Dominica understood English.  "Have er out, but carefully, now!"

"Aye, sir," his henchmen replied.

Maria screeched as they caught her arms and hauled her, surprisingly gently, from the cabin, and Dona Dominica found it hard to hide her own fear.  Old Maria might be an infernal nuisance, but the girl felt suddenly bereft as she faced the enemy alone.

The golden-haired man turned to her, and paused.  It was, she realized, the first time he had ever seen her without Maria interposing herself, and his blue eyes narrowed suddenly.  He reached out a gauntlet covered hand to put back the folds of her mantilla, but she retreated hastily, and he grinned.  His expression touched her with fury, and her right hand flashed to her girdle.  The bright blade of a small dagger glittered.

Oh-ho!" the giant laughed.  "'Tis a kitty with claws!"

"Touch me and feel them!" Dona Dominica spat, and his eyebrows rose at her English.

"Shall I leave you to swim?" he asked.  Her eyes widened as she realized the galleon's motion was far heavier, and his smile broadened.  "Come, girl!  Put aside your toy, 'tis neither time nor place for it!"

"Better drowned than ravished!" she said, wishing desperately that she were half so brave as she tried to sound.

"Ravished?" He shook his head.  "Not by me, girl, nor any of my men, on the word of an Englishman."

"Pah!" she hissed disbelievingly, gripping her dagger.

"Tis unkind in one so fair to doubt my word," he said mildly, and then his hand struck like a serpent and seized her delicate wrist.  She gasped and tried to wrench free, but iron fingers squeezed remorselessly.  "Drop your pretty toy, child," he advised calmly and she kicked him.

Her slippered toe did little damage, but she saw him wince.  A sort of exaltation filled her, and she kicked at him again, but now he was warned and evaded her easily.  He snatched her suddenly close, and she clawed at him with her free hand, but he dropped his rapier and caught that wrist, as well.  He turned her, and his left hand squeezed harder.  Harder, until her fingers opened helplessly, dropping the dagger with a hiss of anguish.

"Better," he said behind her, and she stamped upon his booted toe.  "Now, now!" he chided.  "'twill pain your foot more than mine," and she wailed in wordless fury, for it was true.  "Howbeit you'll have it so, then will we do it the harder way, Dona."

Dona Dominica wondered what he meant - then cried out in outrage as tight cord bound her slender wrists.  She wiggled for all she was worth, then gasped as he snatched her up, her. Dona Dominica Consuela Francesca Tomasina de Santiago y Media!, and tossed her over one broad shoulder!

She fought furiously, spitting words Maria would have paled to hear, but her giant captor only rumbled with laughter.

"Here's a heat!" he teased.  "But 'twill never do, girl!" and she coughed in shock as he tucked one of her own silken mantillas into her mouth!

She snuffled through wadded cloth, weeping in sheer rage and drumming dainty feet on his armored chest, but he merely planted one huge hand on her squirming bottom for balance.  She writhed in humiliation as he bore her up into the smoky sunlight, and though she fought with all her might, laughter hindered him far more than her struggles as he swung lightly down the San Jose's shot-splintered side with his prize.

Dona Dominica kicked wrathfully as she was deposited on a cot suspended from the deckhead to move with the ship's motion.  It bobbed as her feet flailed, but her grinning captor eluded her, and her face flamed as her gown rose to show her delicate ankles.  She spat a gagged curse and kicked again, only to have him catch her ankle with another snake-like dart of his hand.

"Here's a shrew!' he chuckled as she gasped in fury and struck at him with her other foot.  "I've now mind to offer insult, girl, but you've the devil's own temper, have you not?" he caught her other ankle as he spoke, and Dona Dominica twisted in sudden panic as her petticoats rose, baring her trim calves.  She was in his power, alone with him in this cabin-prison, and her position on the cot was suddenly frightening.  She swallowed hard, and her struggles became desperate.

"Now, girl," he soothed, shifting his grip until one sinewy hand held both ankles (with no particular difficulty), "you've an Englishman's word for your safety, yet 'tis plain you're too much the virago to bide quiet.  God knows what you'll be at if I but let you!  And so ..."

She gave a squeak of furious panic, twisting as his free hand looped rope about her ankles.  Her face glowed crimson as her billowing skirts flew higher than her knees, but he only chuckled and lashed her ankles quickly to the cot.  Her eyes widened as he smoothed her hem decently lower once more, but then he gave another infuriating grin, white teeth flashing in a tanned, insolent face, and closed the door upon her without a word.

Dona Dominica twisted, jerking at her ankles, but whatever else her arrogant captor was, he was a seaman.  His knots held, and she slumped back, bound upon his cot, heart racing with terror and odd excitement… and (she blushed) frustration.  After all, was she not lovely and young, and helpless?  What business had her abductor abandoning her this way?!

She closed her eyes at the insanity of her thoughts.  He was her enemy, and a man! He had already laid hands upon her, what else might he do?!

She shook her head, chewing the wadded mantilla, and told herself, very firmly, steadfastly ignoring the tingle in her blood, that there was nothing exciting about her plight.  After a bit, she almost believed it.

It was lonely in the cabin, but Dona Dominica heard thumps and bangs from above and sniffed contemptuously.  The pirates were transferring the San Josef's cargo of bullion.  Pirates.  Thieves!  That was all they were, a pack of murderous bandits!  Yet even as she told herself that, she remembered how cruelly that same wealth had been squeezed from the Indians Spain had conquered and wondered if there was really any difference.

A last bang echoed down to her, and then she heard the rasp of orders and creak of halyards.  The ship's motion changed as they made sail, and she closed her eyes, certain that her captor would return to steal her treasure now, but nothing happened.  After a bit, she opened her eyes indignantly, glaring at the door.  How dare he?  How dare he ignore her!

Had she been unbound, she would have flounced about angrily, but she was bound, able only to lie fuming in gagged impotence and study her elegant cage of a cabin.  Thief her captor might be, but, she was forced to admit, a thief with taste.  The well-carved chairs were covered in rich brocades, and the deckhead lamps were beaten silver.  The decanters rattling gently on the sideboard were of finest crystal, and so, too, were the goblets racked beside them.  She sniffed.  No doubt loot from other Spanish victims, she thought, and felt obscurely better.

She wiggled in her bonds some more, baffled by the way her fear kept fading if she forgot to maintain it.  After the noise and terror of the battle, there was something almost reassuring about being corded hand and foot in this quiet little cabin.  Which was quite mad, no doubt, but true.  She squirmed onto her side and burrowed down in the cot, eyes fixed warily on the door.  Sooner or later, he would return, and she must be ready.

"Here's a pretty picture," a deep voice murmured, and Dona Dominica's eyes opened.  She blinked twice, drowsily, and then sat up with a jerk.  She had fallen asleep, asleep!, in her bonds!  She shook free of the fog of slumber and glared at her captor.

"Ho!" he laughed softly.  "Of the same mind yet?  Shall I fetch your dagger back to you?"

She gave him another glare, then turned away with a disdainful sniff.  He chuckled, but she forgot the fresh provocation and whipped back around to stare at him wide-eyed as she realized it was night.  He shrugged.

"Twas plain your... efforts had wearied you, dona," he said calmly, "and so I let you bide.  You feel refreshed, I trust?"  Her eyes glittered angrily, and he smiled.  She mumbled wrathfully through her gag, then shrank back as he stepped closer.

"Girl," he said with a touch of exasperation, "you've my oath for our safety.  Now sit you still."

She flushed at his assumption that she feared him and held proudly still as he plucked the sodden mantilla from her mouth, but she could not quite stifle a sound of relief as the vast wad of silk was removed, and he frowned.

"Your pardon, dona," he said a bit wryly.  "I'd not meant to leave you so for quite so long."

"Indeed?" She glared at him icily, speaking cold, disdainful Castellon.

"No," he said in the same language, sinking into a chair.  "But you must own, Dona..." the maddening twinkle was back in his eyes " ...your language was fit to try the patience of a saint."

"I see no saint," she said scornfully.  "Only a pirate!"

"Ah, now," he said comfortably, "that was this morning.  Now you see your host."  He smiled ironically, and she noted for the first time that he had shed armor and helmet for doublet and hose as elegant as any to be found in Cartagena or Havana, or Spain itself, for that matter.  He looked very different, but, she admitted, no less imposing.  It was his size, of course, though there was something about his lean face and jutting beard.

Her thoughts appalled her, and she gave herself a mental shake.

"I still see only a pirate," she told him coldly.  "In finery looted from his betters, no doubt!"

"Faith, you've a viper's tongue!" he said in English, his tone amused, and she sniffed coldly and wiggled her shoulders.

"Do the cords irk you, dona?" he asked urbanely, and she instantly stopped squirming.

"Not at all," she returned coolly.

"No?  Then let us turn to other matters."  His eyes glinted, and she bridled at this lack of gallantry but refused to please him by complaining.  "Sir Edward Travers, at your service.  And you are?"

"Dona Dominica Consuela Francesca Tomasina de Santiago y Medina," she said proudly.  "My uncle is the Duc de Santiago," she went on disdainfully.  "Doubtless he will ransom me, before he hunts you down like the dog you are!"

"Aye," he chuckled, "you're ready enough to show your steel, are you not?  But best be careful, lest someone take it from you."  Her face burned at the reminder of how easily he had disarmed her, and he grinned.  "But not even a dog would starve you, dona." He opened the cabin door, shouting to someone beyond it, then returned to his chair.

She glared at him, sorry she had been so quick to deny that her bonds galled her but ready to die before she admitted it.  "And what of Don Rodrigo and the others?" she demanded, seeking a fresh topic to divert herself from her plight.

"Don Rodrigo," Sir Edward said calmly, "is bound for Cuba." Her eyes widened, and he laughed again.  He seemed to do that with great ease, she thought.  And it was a deep, resonant laugh, full of vitality and confidence.  "How now, Dona?  Did you think them tumbled all to the sharks?" He shook his head.  "Fie!  Who would ransom a corpse?  No, no, 'twould never do!  Yet 'tis but a hundred miles or so to Cuba, and his pinnace is stout enough.  Not the equal to his last ship, mind, but stout enough, even with a lubber like Don Rodrigo in command.

"And Maria, my duenna?"

"Safe aboard the Sea Mew," he replied, "but not so calm as you." He shook his head wryly.  "Faith, what with her prayers and her curses 'pon my head, 'twas but self-preservation to close her in the mate's cabin!"

Dona Dominica felt a surge of relief.  Tiresome as Maria was, she was genuinely fond of her old nurse.  But then another thought struck her, and she eyed her captor more warily.

"And why is she not with me?" she demanded, and he chuckled.

"When last I saw her, she was nigh rigid with the vapors," he said.  "Tis little help she'd be to you, Dona Dominica."

She swallowed at that, for there were several possible meaning to his words, but before she found a rejoinder the cabin door opened and a dapper little man entered with a tray.  He bore the clear stamp of a valet, and he set down the tray without glancing at her, then bowed himself out wordlessly as Sir Edward drew his chair closer to the cot.

"If you prefer your cords," he said mockingly, "then must my hands serve." He cut a tidbit of meat and offered it to her with a grin.

Pride urged her to reject his insolent offer, yet she had not eaten all day, and her mouth watered.  She eyed the inviting morsel longingly, bound wrists twisting, and considered demanding release to feed herself, but that would admit weakness.  Instead, she opened her lips and took the food delicately from his fork.

"You see?" he teased more gently, "tis not so bad as all that."

She sniffed again, refusing to answer, and he cut another bit of meat.  She took it with less hesitation, chewing daintily, and when he offered a sip of wine, she accepted that, as well.

It was the strangest meal Dona Dominica had ever eaten, or imagined.  She was used to deference and courtesy, not to being bound and eating from her captor's hand!  Yet he showed a sort of courtesy, she thought - a laughing, teasing courtesy, but courtesy still.  He proffered each morsel with a devilish glint in his eye, but offered no other insult, and she slowly realized that he was playing a mocking, gently malicious game with her.  She did not know its rules, though he, she thought resentfully, obviously did, yet there was a peculiar attraction to it.  Or perhaps the attraction lay in his wicked, roguish jesting and deep, ready laugh.  Indeed, it was difficult at times to recall her dignity and meet his sallies with a cool, contemptuous eye, and she had an uncomfortable feeling that he knew it.

Yet under his teasing was the anxious truth of her helplessness, the fact that he could treat her precisely as he chose, and the fact that she could not even feed herself proved it.  But if he meant to ravish her, then why had he not done so?  If he meant to be cruel, why this wicked teasing, instead?  He puzzled her, and Dona Dominica had a lively, questioning mind.

The meal ended at last, and he fell silent, playing with the damp mantilla which had gagged her.  A little shiver ran through her.  Did he mean to ravish her after all?  There was naught she could do if he did!  But she squared her shoulders and returned his regard as levelly as she could.

"Now, Dona Dominica," he said finally, "tis time for other things." She shivered again, and he shook his head.  "No fear, Dona!  I gave my word, and pirate though I am, I'll bide by it.  But we've brought your trunks aboard, and mindful of that blade you showed me, I bad my man Joseph search them for other little toys.

Dona Dominica swelled with outrage, then blushed at the thought of a man pawing through her delicate, feminine garments.  But Sir Edward's eyes were unwontedly serious, ignoring her color.

"He found none, but he did spy this." He withdrew a slim booklet from his doublet, and Dona Dominica blanched.  He glanced down at it, then looked back up.  "Tis none too wise to bear such back to the Inquisition, Dona."

"G-give it back," Dona Dominica said, her face white.  "Please!"

"Right, gladly," he said laying it on the cot beside her, and she blinked at how readily he surrendered it.  "But how came a daughter of Mother Church by a heathen Protestant tract?"

"It..." Dona Dominica broke off, flushing as dark as she had been white.  "My father gave it to me," she said finally.  "He said, he said words could harm no one, and that it was wise to know the foe.  And... that even a foe might be partly right."

"Did he, now?  A rare man, that, and a dangerous gift.  Best leave such behind you, dona." His voice was gentle, far different from the bantering mockery he had shown her so far, and she peeped up at him through her lashes, struck by a sudden, impossible thought.

"Don Eduardo," she said softly, using his name for the first time, "why did you not send Maria to me?  Truly, I mean?"

His eyes widened, then narrowed quickly.  "What, endure that archwife while I fed you?  Oh, no!  Pirates are far too wise for such as that!"  He chuckled, but his eyes confirmed her preposterous suspicion.  He knew how Maria would react to the waters her charge had strayed into.  Oh, he had enjoyed his game, but he was less lightsome than he would have her think.  She looked down at her slippers, unexpectedly touched that he would shield her from discovery.

"I see," was all she said, but a small, wise smile dimpled her cheeks, and he regarded her thoughtfully.

"Well-a-day!" he said suddenly, stretching and flashing that laughingly malicious smile once more.  "Tis time and past to be abed, Dona!  And as you have my cabin, I shall have Master Haithcock's, he shall have Master Darber's, and Master Darber shall have a foc'sil berth.  But ere I go, I'll free you of those cords and fetch your duenna to you."

"Oh?" She cocked her head, and he looked a question at her.  She laughed softly, the first laugh he had heard form her, and shook her head.  "I expected otherwise," she murmured.

"Did you?" his eyes narrowed again.  "And what might that have been?"

"Oh, chains, I suppose." She shrugged her shoulders, deliberately emphasizing her bound wrists.  Her own daring shocked her, but there was a gleam in her eyes.  "You seem so found of binding your prisoners, Don Eduardo.  Or..." she peeped at him through her lashes once more, " ...is that only for the maidens among them?

Oh-ho!" he laughed softly.  "Tis plain you've forgot how first we met, Dona!  But you've no dagger now, methinks tis safe enough to free you."

"Unless I find another," she murmured, and he paused, an arrested light in his eye.  She blushed furiously, unable to believe what she had just said.  What was the matter with her?!  Why, she was daring him!

He regarded her in silence for a long moment, then shook his head.

"Mind yourself, dona," he said softly, and her blush darkened.  "You've my word, yet the flesh is weak when all's said."

She trembled, unable to mistake his warning, but a strange madness gripped her.  She felt her pinioned beauty as she sat upon his cot, and her emotions were a welter of confusion.  He was her enemy, and part of her ached to confront him.  He was her captor, proving his strength when he captured her so easily, and his gentleness when he took no advantage of her captivity.  He was the man who had discovered the damning pamphlet in her trunk, yet kept her secret.  And always and above all, he was a man.  A dynamic, vital man, so different from the cold, properly decorous men awaiting her in Spain, and he was... exciting.

Her face burned hotter than ever as she admitted that, for it was a thing no properly-reared girl should feel and she knew him not at all.  Yet he was exciting.  More exciting than any other man she had ever met.

The word of a thief who takes whatever he wishes!" she snorted softly, her eyes suddenly bold.  "What is a pirate"s oath?"

"And what,"' he asked quietly, "should a pirate do?"

"What I said," she said, wide eyes innocent.  "Cast me into chains." She sighed dramatically and let her shoulders shrug.

"Methinks," he said in that same soft voice, "twere better to let your duenna rest from her duties."  He stood, looming against the light, and Dona Dominica felt a thrill of fear at what she had set in motion.  He drew her disordered mantilla from her midnight hair, her ivory combs falling to the deck, and his fiery gaze was exhilarating terror.  His eyes devoured her oval face and beautiful features, and she held her breath, trembling, uncertain what she would do when he reached for her.

But he paused and shook his head, then smiled once more.  A different smile, wry and a bit regretful.

"Yet, I did give my word." A flood of relief washed through her, and with it an ache of regret.  But he was not finished, and her tension flared anew as he chuckled softly.  "Tis a thought to sleep on, Dona.  One to ponder well.  But since you call me a pirate, why..."

His hands darted out again, before she could flinch, and she gasped as he thrust her original gag back into her mouth.  She gurgled in surprise, and he looped the mantilla from her hair into a strap and tied it tight.

"There," he said, and pushed her gently down onto the cot.  She panted through her nose, her eyes wide and anxious but curiously unafraid, and he lashed her wrists to the bed as well.  "If 'tis chains you expect, mayhap this will do," he murmured.  "But for other matters...  We shall see, Dona.  We shall see."

She stared up at him, trembling, and he laughed, his old, deep laugh, and gave her a gently mocking bow.

"And so good night, Dona Dominica Consuela Francesca Tomasina de Santiago y Medina," he said lightly, and vanished.

Dona Dominica's first night of captivity was spent in anguished shame for her forwardness, fear that he would act upon the shameless message she had sent him, and regret that he had not already done so!  That she had run mad seemed beyond dispute, yet there was a splendor to her madness.  Sir Edward was a pirate, yet he had not ravished her as he might so easily have, especially when she had all but asked him to!  She was not a vain girl, well, not very vain, but she knew her own beauty.  Coupled with her... availability, it should have been irresistible.  But he had resisted, and that pleased and frustrated her in equal measure.

Yet neither had he freed her, and she wondered if that was a hopeful sign.  And hopeful of what, she asked herself?  Maria was allowed to visit her next morning, to reassure her or her duenna?, but they were to be confined separately.  For 'security' Sir Edward assured her, though just how two women might threaten a ship full of cutthroats he did not reveal!

Dona Dominica readily believed Maria had spent the night in hysterics, for she remained much inclined in that direction, and her frantic concern for her mistress' virtue quickly drove dona Dominica to the brink of madness.  Maria was outraged to find her young charge still bound hand and foot, as well, though Sir Edward had discreetly removed the gag before he allowed the duenna to see her, and even more scandalized to learn that Sir Edward's valet Joseph would wait upon dona Dominica instead of herself!

Dona Dominica was not precisely scandalized, but she was confused.  Sir Edward's game puzzled her as the slow days passed.  Joseph could not have been more respectful, freeing her each day to tend to her own toilette in privacy while he puttered about the cabin bulkhead.  But once she finished her ablutions, that same, deferential valet rebound her, most politely!, exactly as his master had left her.

Nor was she suffered to feed herself.  She was a bit outraged that Sir Edward had abrogated that task permanently to himself, but her dudgeon seemed somewhat forced even to herself, and he only smiled his infuriating, smug, fascinating smile and offered her another sip of wine.  And never, not once - did he take advantage of her situation!

It was enough to drive a girl demented, Dona Dominica often thought, sighing into her inevitable silken gag.  She supposed every maiden dreamed of a ruthless black knight who would seize her, and, of course, of a white knight to rescue her barely in time.  But she had reached the astounding suspicion that the white knight and the black knight be one and the same man, and somehow that seemed like cheating.

She did not share that disturbing idea with Sir Edward.  He already seemed far too sure of himself, she thought, dark eyes twinkling, and perhaps with reason.  There was a simmering fire in her these days, a slow, pleasant smolder pulsing deep within her, and she was certain he knew it.

Yet, he refused to break the oath he had given her, for he was a man of honor.  Strange that she, his captive, should think so, yet was she not still a maid?  He was tempted, she knew, but he would not take her, and her pride smarted a bit at his restraint, for how much more blatant could she have been that first night?  And with the blow to her pride came an odd temptation to overcome his scruples, to make him want to badly enough to forget his oath.

At times she wondered what maggot had invaded her brain, but those times grew less frequent with each day.  His restraint was a challenge, just as her perpetual bondage made her feel perversely free from the constraints of her rearing, for was she not a captive, with no control over her fate?  She was amazed at how wickedly pleasant that felt, and she filed the discovery away to study it with care.

After two weeks, she finally admitted the truth.  She had no wish to go to Spain.  Her uncle's family was welcome to her estates, for she had found a richer, far more fascinating treasure, if only she could win it.  And, she thought tolerantly, she had reached her decision long before Sir Edward.  She knew she wanted him, he knew he wanted her, and they both knew he could take her any time he wished, and still he delayed!  It was most honorable of him, she supposed, and amazingly stupid.

Her eyes glowed with wry amusement.  Here she was, a prisoner, plotting to conquer her captor!  Yet there was a strange, wicked happiness to her decision, and, all doubt resolved, she went to work with a will.

Maria had been scandalized when Dona Dominica shed her farthingale aboard the San Josef.  Its enormous hoops had made shipboard ladders impossible, but her duenna had been aghast at the way her young mistress' gowns and petticoats molded to her trim figure without them.  Yet Sir Edward seemed made of sterner stuff.  Nothing daunted, Dona Dominica proceeded to the next stage, abandoning her corset, as well.  It was not as if her tiny waist and flaring hips needed it, after all!  It felt odd not to be squeezed and constricted, but rather pleasant once she became accustomed to it, and she noted her unfettered young bosom's impact upon Sir Edward with satisfaction.  Yet even that, daring as it was, did no more than bring a light to his eyes and perhaps, just perhaps, a slight hoarseness to his voice.

Very well, she decided, she would resort to truly drastic measures!  He was but human, after all, and she intended to make him aware of it.  Let him play the role of captor.  She would teach him the true meaning of conquest!

Dona Dominica came demurely back into the cabin after dressing and sat upon the swinging cot in a rustle of skirts.  Joseph bowed most profoundly, and she wondered what he made of his master's madness.  He would never protest, for he was utterly devoted to his employer, clearly he imagined God as a slightly imperfect Sir Edward, but what did he think? And did it matter?  No, for he held the cords she had come to know so well, and she bestowed a wistful smile upon him and reached behind her, crossing her wrists like a very picture of patience.

Joseph's hands were politely impersonal, yet they tingled.  Like an extension of Sir Edward's touch, she thought, as if he were binding her himself.  And so he was, for had he not decreed that she should be bound?

She raised her feet at Joseph's murmured request, and the valet turned up her flounced hem to bind her ankles.  She watched with grave interest, and when he had finished she thanked him for his gentleness.  His ears colored slightly, as usual, and he gagged her and effaced himself with another bow.

As soon as the door closed, she began to struggle.  Though as excellent valet, Joseph was no seaman, and his natural deference to noble blood left his cords far less tight than Sir Edward's it took time, but that she had in plenty, and by dint of much effort she worked her wrists free.

She unbound her ankles and drew a deep breath, a bit awed by her own wickedness, as she unlaced her bodice and stripped her off her gown.  She tugged down her petticoats, then her drawers, and paused, oddly dizzy, as if she had drunk too much wine, when she saw herself in the bulkhead mirror.

Her chemise was gossamer thin, tinted ivory and rose by her satin body.  Her rosy nipples swelled, puckering the silk as she watched, and the feathery wedge of her loins was a bold shadow, made only more wanton by the shift's pretense of concealment.

She smiled as she considered the impact upon Sir Edward, and the thought recalled her to business.  She closed the stern windows and opened a locker for the additional rope she needed, then scampered back to the cot.

It was easy enough to bind her ankles to the cot's lower corners, and she blushed happily as the cords spread her legs wide.  Nor was it hard to adjust her pillows to arch her spine and lift her body alluringly.  But how did a prisoner tie her own hands?

Fortunately, Sir Edward had amused himself by showing his captive sailor's knots, and she had watched more closely than he knew.  Now she bound separate ropes to each wrist, threaded their ends through the ring bolts supporting the head of the cot, looped them together in what Sir Edward called a 'sheet bend' and tucked them back through the corner ring bolts.  When she had finished, each hand held the end of the rope bound to its wrist, and she lay back and tugged carefully.

It was hard to work out the slack without jamming the knot, but she persevered until her wrists pressed the ring bolts, then gave a final jerk.  Perfect!  The bend snapped suddenly tight, anchoring her wrists, and she could not even reach it, much less hope to work it loose.  She felt a glow of pride as she relaxed with a happy sigh.  And now, Don Eduardo, she thought, see how you like this temptation!

Dona Dominica had miscalculated.  Sir Edward normally visited her in mid-morning, but on this day, of all days, other business occupied him til past noon, and it grew hot with the stern windows closed.  She had planned on that, but not so many hours of waiting in such an oven.

Sweat beaded her.  Only a little, at first, but her thinly covered bosom heaved as she panted in the airless heat, and her shift was soon soaked, more clinging than ever - and more transparent.  She had hoped for that effect, but now she blushed as her trembling breasts gleamed wetly through the silk.  Sweat greased her belly and deep navel, streaked her ribs, and coated her satin thighs.  And, she thought, blushing darker than ever, the wetness slicking her thighs was not entirely sweat, for just as she had not reckoned on this long delay, neither had she reckoned on the full effect of the bonds.

It was odd, she thought dizzily.  Very odd.  She had come to know the warm, trembling heat within her when Sir Edward bound her or had Joseph bind her.  Captivity was an integral part of their strange, teasing relationship, and she had learned to enjoy it, but this was different.  She had bound herself, determined to be taken, and her fire no longer trembled.  It boiled.  It fumed and smoked, singing along her nerves like caged lightning, and her velvet skin felt the very air, felt it as she had never felt it, like a silken hand, and the motion of the ship rocked her, humming in her blood.

Sounds oozed through her gag, hanging in the air, what began as a sigh becoming a moan to shame any proper maiden.  Yet it did not end there, and her nerves crawled with her own hot, molten whimpers as she crooned to the bulkheads, plucking at her cords and writhing, arched over the sweat-sodden pillows she had wedged beneath herself.

It was forbidden, unthinkable that a proud hidalga should not only desire a heretic but offer herself so shamelessly, make herself his eager prey.  And because it was forbidden, her passion became an unendurable furnace.  Yet she had to endure it.  Her own knots saw to that.  Even when her need became too terrible to stand, when her fire was torment, a heated iron searing her virgin loins, she could only whimper and writhe in her cords.  And she discovered a horrible, wonderful truth.  Passion which could not be released could only grow.  It glowed in her bones and blood, twisting her until she wept, as captive to it as to her ropes.

Only Sir Edward could free her from either, for so she had arranged it, and her moans grew steadily more desperate as she awaited him.

The cabin door opened, but the captive did not hear it.  She was lost, wandering in an alien landscape of smoky flame and panting heat.  She twisted in her cords with a slow, wanton urgency terrible to behold, and her eyes were closed as her sweat-slick struggles rocked the hanging cot.

Her bound contortions had disordered her flimsy shift.  One proud, firm breast was bared, and its nipple quivered like a dew-kissed ruby, arrogant and swollen with desire.  The hem had climbed her slim thighs, and the swell of her virginal mound peeped from beneath it, crowned in feathery ebon silk.  Her soft petals gleamed, wet and urgent, delicately unfurled to beg caresses.

Sir Edward froze in the doorway.  A moment he stood, then glanced quickly behind him, assuring himself no one else could have seen into that wanton oven of a cabin, and closed the door behind him.  He barred it silently, his ears filled with her frantic whimpers, and his nostrils flared to the rich perfume of her need.  He crossed on silent feet to kneel beside the cot, and his burning eyes devoured his sweet captive.

He made no sound, yet she sensed him.  Her cloudy eyes opened, cored with a molten fire, and his breathing seemed to stop.  Dona Dominica stared up and felt her siren flesh snare him.  She was his, the captive of his sword, yet only now did he realize that as fully as she, and she crooned wantonly as his face lit.  She offered herself, arched to proffer her loins to his touch, and watched the oath which had bound him succumb at last to the stronger, deeper hunger which had kept her bound.

He smiled, his teasing mockery replaced by bright hunger, and reached to un-gag her.  But she turned her head, hiding the knot against the sweat-soaked mattress.  No.  It must be perfect.  She was his captive, she must be his captive in all ways when he took her.

She watched him anxiously, but his eyes understood, and he stroked her gagged lips gently.  Then he leaned closer, capturing her small head in tyrannical hands to lick sweat from her eyelids, and the soft, deep rumble of his laugh was music in her ears.

His mouth burned her throat, and she trembled in eager anxiety as hot lips stalked her naked breast.  His beard tickled her fine-grained, sensitive firmness, grown infinitely more sensitive with her passion, and she groaned.  And then his lips captured the blazing knot of her nipple and she cried out.  Lightning rippled in her belly as the furnace within her flashed over, and she whined, thrusting her breast against his mouth while her eyes flared with disbelief.

It felt so good!  So wonderful! This silken, devouring fire, pierced and illuminated by hotter, brighter lightning, was too splendid to be real.  It was impossible!

Yet even this was but a foretaste, a sweet promise of what was to come, and she groaned as the peaking star bursts faded back into the boiling background of her passion.  He stood slowly, removing his own clothing, and her eyes blazed hotter and more anxious than ever.

He was furred in gold, seamed with the scars of his violent trade, tall as a Titan in the tiny cabin, and she felt unutterably small and fragile.  And then he was naked, and her maiden eyes were round as she beheld the shaft of his desire.  Even as she swallowed fearfully, she was eager for him and boiling anticipation merged with her anxiety in glorious madness.  But she was his captive, and he understood how important it was to prove it.  His eyes were tender, but his hands roamed her flesh through her sweat-soaked shift with the rough, demanding assurance of a despot.  Yet restraint was implicit in his touch.  She felt his strength in every sinew of her tender, feminine flesh and knew how carefully he restrained it, and that he might have chosen not to.

She moaned under his caresses, sobbing as he ripped her shift to bare her utterly, looting her last covering like a vandal, and she was eager to be pillaged.  The cot swayed under his weight, and she shuddered as his skin, sweating like her own, touched hers.  His heat seared her satin flesh, and her head lashed as his hands invaded the hollow of her thighs like fiendishly tender devils.  His shadow covered her, and his lips recaptured her nipples for the demanding tyranny of teeth and tongue.

She wept in gagged, wanton welcome as the heat of his body burned her inner thighs.  His hardness touched her wet softness, and she cried out in virgin fearfulness even as brighter fire bloomed in her belly.  Her hips jerked, but huge hands pinned them, conquering her involuntary reaction, and she closed her eyes.  Her hands fisted, and every muscle quivered in suspense and tension as he adjusted himself carefully.

He thrust, and a high, burning whine burst from her as he claimed her maidenhead.  It hurt, but it was bright and brief, lost in a vaster, stranger sensation.  She felt herself swell about him, felt him, hot and vast beyond belief, cleaving her upon his endless length.  And when he drove fully home, she felt him at her core, filling her with his strength, making her his at last, and she moaned as her gagged mouth nuzzled his chest.

He laughed once more, a deep, happy sound, and then the took her slowly, at first gently, and she whimpered at the unfamiliar friction.  But whimpers became sighs, then moans.  Happy, burning moans as their flesh joined.  He moved faster, and she answered, hips lifting to meet him, and the lightning gathered within her once more.  Faster, and she screamed as orgasm struck.  The first orgasm of her life, bright and terrible beyond belief.

And it struck again!  She wailed and twisted like the slippery, sweat-silky wanton she had become.  And when he stiffened, twitching and shuddering indescribably within her, there was a sudden flowering - a fiery jet of liquid flame, and it was too much.

Too much!  A monstrous lightning flash seared her, dwarfing all that had gone before, and her womb was a silken vise.  A deep, hoarse bellow answered, and her eyes were blind as sensation overloaded her senses and hurled her down, down, down into the sweet, soft darkness.

But even as she fell, she knew.  Knew she had lost, and won.  Lost herself and her freedom, surrendered all she was to him.  Yet her loss was as nothing beside her victory, for if he had conquered her, she had conquered him.  If she was his, he was hers, and she let the darkness come, welcoming it, knowing that she was her pirate's most glorious treasure.  Forever.

THE END