"Last time?" Jocelyn's head began to spin. Tears filled her eyes. "Why are you doing this?" She gripped the edge of the desk. "He'll kill you," she whispered.

Ric never broke her gaze. He placed his fist over his chest and made a small circle. One of Bump's signs. I'm sorry.

Her father opened the side drawer of his desk and pulled out a long barreled pistol, which he raised and pointed at Ric's chest. "Where is the Scarlet Night?"

"She is safely away."

Jocelyn raced around the end of the desk and tried to grab for the gun. "Father, what are you doing? Have you lost your mind? Haven't you been listening? You owe Ric a huge debt. You can't do this."

He never lowered the pistol as he pushed past Jocelyn. "That was before I learned you'd been duped into believing this man was anything more than a thieving, murdering pirate."

"You're wrong. You don't know what you're talking about. He--"

Ric stood fast and held his hands away from his body. "Your father is right, Jocelyn."

Her father pushed her behind him. "I'm sure you didn't return my daughter out of the goodness of your cold, dark heart. What do you want? Money? Mercy perhaps?"

"Neither."

"And neither is what you're going to get." Jocelyn's father never took his single gaze off Ric as he strode to the door. He opened it and ordered for his guards, "Take this man away."

"No. Stop." Jocelyn watched helplessly as the men took Ric away. She clutched at her father's arm. "Father, please, I'm begging you. Don't do this."

"Jocelyn," Her father snapped as he returned the pistol to his desk and poured himself another glass of brandy. "You're young, inexperienced in the ways of the world. You've been sheltered your entire life. You can't begin to understand. Do you know how lucky you are to have escaped that man unscathed?" He stopped and narrowed his eyes at her. "You are unscathed, no?"

Jocelyn started to tremble. If her father ever discovered that Ric was her lover, he'd shoot him himself. "That man...has done nothing but care for me since the moment we first met."

Seemingly satisfied with her answer, he dropped into his chair and ran a finger around the rim of his glass. "I wonder what he's after?" he mused. "Perhaps a few days of our hospitalite will loosen his tongue."

She slammed a fist onto his desk. "Are you deaf? I insist you release him. Now."

He rose to his feet. "Jocelyn, I am your father, and I am also the reigning commander in this territory. Ric Robbins is a confessed criminal. He's committed countless acts against the crown. I must uphold the law or be tried for treason myself."

When she started to object, he held up his hand to silence her. She remembered that silencing hand. It chafed her now as it had always done. A rush of fury struck her dumb.

"There now," He'd mistaken her silence for obedience. "We'll talk no more about him. You're in need of a bath and proper clothing. I cringe when I look at you in those breeches. Perhaps you can do something more appealing with your hair. I can't imagine what you've been forced to eat at the hands of those barbarians. I'll have my chef prepare you a feast." He sat at his desk again and pulled a sheet of parchment in front of him before he dipped his quill. "But first, I must send word to Vice Admiral Lesauvage."

Jocelyn's head was swimming. "Lesauvage?"

"Oui, Andre Lesauvage. Your fiance."

Chapter 28.

Her slippered feet fell silent on the thick carpeting in her father's library. Night had fallen, and each time she passed in front of the large spread of windows overlooking the inky harbor she'd catch her reflection in the glass. Corseted and powdered she barely recognized herself.

After her father had dismissed her, he'd had her escorted to what was called the Dovecote. The huge, formidable building perched high above the center of the fort. Her father's fort within a fort.

A set of stone steps carved into the rock cradling the building led to a flat area facing the sheer face of the cliff. A large iron bell signaled the lowering of a ladder to welcome her to her father's abode.

With every step, the slamming of yet another cage door echoed in Jocelyn's head. How would she ever get out of here and find Ric? She needed to get him away from here and back to the Scarlet Night before they sailed off, and she was running out of time.

Her father's men handed her off to a bevy of servants who stripped, bathed, perfumed, powdered, dressed, and left her to wait in the library for her father's return.

The only sounds were the methodic tick from the clock set high on the mantle and the rustle of her skirts as she measured the width of the room again and again and again.

Somewhere a door slammed. Moments later, her father swept into the room. At seeing her, he stopped and smiled. "Magnifique. Now you look like the daughter I remember. It's as if I'm looking at your mother. That deep shade of green was her favorite as well. Said it complimented her eyes." His hand cupped her cheek. "You have her eyes. She was the loveliest woman I'd ever seen until this moment. Wait until Lesauvage sees you. I told him you were a beauty, but I'm not sure he quite trusts the impartial words of a father. He's a good man though. Will make you a fine match. He is a bit older, but you'll never want for a thing. Wealthy, if not handsome. He's known a life of service to the crown."

Another cage door slammed in her mind. "Father, we need to talk."

"Can it wait, darling? Lesauvage will be here for dinner in less than an hour and I need to dress."

"No, it can't wait."

"May I, at least, pour myself a brandy?" He removed his stiff, tricorn hat with its smart cockade of blue, white, and red.

"I'll pour it for you." Jocelyn's hands shook with impatience as she poured her father's drink. Visions of showing him just how lovely she was, raced through her mind. Perhaps she should show him her new-found knowledge of knots and lash him to a chair before empting this entire bottle of brandy down his throat and demanding he tell her--She slammed the bottle down and pulled herself together.

She handed him his glass. "What happened to Ric Robbins? Where have you taken him?"

He took a long swallow before answering. "Captain Robbins is no longer your concern."

"You must tell me," she pushed.

"He's being held in a private cell where he'll not escape this time. After a few days, when he has told me where my men can find the Scarlet Night, he will hang for his crimes. I thought you understood that."

"You can't hang him," she cried, "What has he done, but return your daughter to you?"

"Jocelyn," he barked, "the man is a pirate. His list of crimes is longer than my leg. Members of the Scarlet Night's crew are the worst of the worst. " He rose, setting his empty glass aside, and gathered his hat. "By claiming to be their Captain, I have no choice but to take his life."

Jocelyn caught his sleeve. "You're wrong. The man is a hero. He saved my life. Does that mean nothing to you?"

Her father turned and gave her a sad look as if she were too dim to comprehend. "Of course, but there is more to this than gratitude."

"Indeed there is." She held her father's gaze. "I love him."

He laughed before patting her cheek. "Jocelyn...you can't know anything of love. You're a child. An innocent. You're grateful, nothing more." He had the gall to walk away from her.

"You're wrong," she addressed his back. "I'm no child, nor am I innocent." That had him turning about. "I stole the Devil's Pearl out from under the men who stole your precious wine," she confessed. "I fought a skirmish and helped sink a Dutch frigate. For the first time in my life, I felt as if I had a choice. I chose to learn and fight and become a crewmember of the Scarlet Night. If you hang Ric Robbins, you'll have to hang me as well."

"Did you sign your name--my name--to that blasted ship's Articles?"

"No, but--"

Relief washed over his face. "Then you were not a member of her crew." He waved her away as if he were swatting a fly. "I'm not listening to this rubbish. I need to dress for dinner."

She waited until he was halfway through the doorway. "Fine. I can't wait to meet Vice Admiral Lesauvage. I'm sure he'll be interested in hearing what I've done. Certainly he won't wish to marry me when he knows the truth."

Her father spun on her. "You'll do no such thing."

She notched her chin. "Then release Ric Robbins."

"Impossible," his shout echoed into the hallway.

Jocelyn crossed her arms over her chest. "Then once again, you leave me no choice."

Her father pushed back into the room. "You're still the stubborn girl I remember. I'd hoped the good sisters would have cured you of such pigheadedness." He jabbed a finger at her face. "You will do as you are told. I forbid you to ruin your future for the sake of that criminal." His face was florid.

Jocelyn cocked her head and stood her ground. "Is it my future your concerned with our your own? What deal have you arranged with Lesauvage?" Beyond the open door, a handful of servants had gathered.

"You'll lower your voice," he hissed.

"I will not," she only got louder.

He slammed the door. "I am still your father, and it is my job to make the decisions for your happiness."

"When has my happiness ever been considered? When have you ever acted like a true father? Shown me any hint of caring or love? I am nothing to you. An inconvenience. How many times have you come to see me? Sent me a note? A gift? You left me there and sailed off to live your life. What kind of a parent abandons their daughter?"

"I provided a safe place for you to grow up," he countered.

Jocelyn drew a shaky breath. "Safe, cold, colorless." She'd waited years to say these words, and now that she had, now that the anger had fallen away, they sounded like the sad whining of the child her father accused her of being.

"I did what I thought was the best for you."

"Again, best for me? Or for you?"

He closed the space between them and cupped her shoulders. "You were still a babe when your mother died. I was an ensign at sea. Sending you to the sisters at Sainte-Genevieve was the best option. What was I supposed to do with a child?"

She held his gaze. "Love her."

"I did," he insisted, holding her cheek, swiping at the tears on her cheeks she hadn't realized she'd shed. "I do."

"Then show me," she whispered. "Release Ric Robbins."

At the mention of Ric's name he released her as if he'd been scalded. "You ask too much." He crossed to pour himself more brandy.

Jocelyn followed. "I've never asked you for anything."

He turned to glare. "And yet when I ask for your loyalty to me, you choose that cutthroat murderer. Do you have any idea what I have suffered at the hands of the crew of the Scarlet Night?" His fingers curled into the strap holding the eye patch to his skull. "Would you like to see their handiwork?"

She flinched and pointed a finger toward the sea. "I know everything. The gibbets at the mouth of the harbor? Your handiwork? I know about the six men from their crew you tortured."

"They were barbarians. I treated them as such and left them to rot as a warning."

"And yet those barbarians rescued me--more than once. Fed me, clothed me, treated me with great kindness even after they knew my name was Beauchamp."

He shook his head at her. "You're a fool. You're a pawn in whatever plan they've hatched to get back at me. Don't you see?"

Jocelyn notched her chin again. "I'm asking you one last time. Where is Ric Robbins?"

"He's in hell."

Chapter 29.

Three days. Ric's brain struggled to stay alert. Or had it been two? No, counting that first day on the sloop, it had been three days since he had water. Food he could survive without for weeks. Torturous weeks, but he'd known that kind of hunger before. However, water was another matter. Living on the sea, it was a lesson learned early. Without fresh water, ale, or mead to drink, you'd be dead in days.

He imagined a shallow pond filled with water...deep in a cave. The cool fresh rain running from the ceiling into the turquoise pool. Jocelyn in his arms. Her tender body pressed against his. Scooping her into his arms to lay her before the fire. Sipping the water off her skin. His body shook with the strength of his memory. Ric howled her name into the night like the caged beast he was.

The sun had set on yet another day. It brought with it both a blessing and a curse. In the cell known as "Petit Enfer" or "Little Hell," the heat of the day turned the box into an oven. Too short to stand, to narrow to lie down, through the daylight hours it felt as if he were being roasted alive.

But after the sun went down, it was a different kind of hell. The cold of the stone on which he sat leached that iciness into his bones. With his clothing soaked through with sweat from the day, the night's chill made his teeth chatter so hard, he was sure they'd crumble in his mouth.

The real hell beyond the heat and the cold, however, was the hours upon sleepless hours thinking of her. Jocelyn. Remembering each moment with her. Every word they'd spoken in love and frustration. Reliving the anguished look on her beautiful face when she realized her pleas to her father were useless. She couldn't save him. It tore at his heart. Not for him, but for her. She'd learned a hard lesson about what kind of man her father truly was. He only hoped the bastard wouldn't make her watch the hanging.

Ric scrubbed a hand over his neck and imagined the rope. The short fall, the quick stop. He supposed there were worst ways to die. At least Tupper and the Scarlet Night would get away. He owed them that. He may have only been a captain for a few weeks, but he would defend them with his dying breath if need be. There was some honor in that.

And there was a measure of relief in the thought of swinging at the end of a rope. Now he'd not have to lie in his cot at night and ache with missing Jocelyn. He wouldn't have to wonder where she was or if she were happy. Wouldn't have to know the pain of longing for her for years without ever having her. Shivering as the first chill of the evening settled upon him, he could only hope the man her father chose for her would treat her well. Maybe he would take her back to France and make sure she lived her life away from harm. In time she might even come to love him. Lie with him in his soft bed. Open her pale thighs to him. Take his seed. Give him the gift of children. Her belly growing round with each child.

The pain of imagining her with another man sliced clear through him. He curled into himself and moaned.

Ric said a quick prayer for no more water. Another day without and he'd be dead, and Beauchamp would be denied the pleasure of watching him sway in the wind.

Hours later, Ric strained to hear past the chatter of his teeth. Someone was outside. "Thank God, you've come to hang me." His body shuddered. "I won't wait for the trap door to fall. Leave it open, I'll jump willingly."

The key scraped in the lock. When the door released, Ric's body tumbled out onto the hard ground. "Give me a minute, I'll help you tie the rope."

"Ric. Oh, thank God, I found you." Jocelyn dropped to her knees then gathered him to her and cried.

"Jocelyn? What are you doing here?" He had to be hallucinating. "You're supposed to be with him now...in France..." He tugged at the low neckline of her dress. "Where is the babe suckling at your breast?"

"Ric, help me. You're talking like a mad man. Please, we haven't much time. She pulled a wineskin from a bundle she carried. "Here, drink, Ric, please." She poured the wine over his lips until he grasped the skin and drank.