"--am carrying my child."

"It isn't the plague." Jo Beau Robbins smoothed a hand over the slight swell of her belly. "Thousands of women have had babies before."

Ric positioned the square mainsail to catch the best wind. "Not my babies, and not aboard a pirate ship."

"How would you know? You were a rogue when I met you. You could have children scattered all over the Caribbean." Jo moved to stand in the bow.

"I'd like to think I was more careful than that, but I'm only concerned with one baby right now." Ric set the rudder before joining his wife. Standing behind her, he slipped his arms around her and pushed his hand beneath her waistband to span his fingers across the roundness he found there. "This babe, here."

Jo sighed into his embrace and tipped her head back to lean against his shoulder giving him full access to her lovely neck. "What if we don't like Charlestown?"

He kissed the tender skin behind her ear before he teased the lobe with his tongue. Moving her soft curls aside with the tip of his nose, he nipped his way down to her favorite spot where her neck curved into her shoulder. "Then we'll pack up Henry, Jr. and find somewhere we do like."

She arched, writhing against him as his hand moved lower. "Are you certain it will be a boy?" Her backside played havoc with his growing arousal.

"No..." he growled against her throat. "It doesn't matter as long as the child isn't born in the middle of an ocean."

His fingers parted the heated flesh between her thighs. She whimpered. "Oh, Ric..." Jocelyn guided his other hand upward to cup the heavy fullness of her breast. Her body was changing with her pregnancy. So beautifully rounded and full. More sensitive to his touch. The slightest sweep of a fingertip could produce the most heated response from her now. It was like learning her body all over again.

She trembled beneath his hands as he pinned her tight to his erection. "God, I want you."

"You have me." Jocelyn turned in his arms and kissed him deeply. "You've had me from the beginning. Don't you remember," she gave him a sassy smile. "You bought me at the auction?"

"Aye," he bit at her lip. "But I never did pay for you." He reminded her. "I stole you."

She wound her arms around his neck and pressed her body boldly to his. "Only my heart, ye bloody pirate. The rest, I gave you for free."

Be sure not to miss Lisa A. Olech's sequel to Within A Captain's Hold, Within A Captain's Treasure, and Within A Captain's Fate:

Within A Captain's Power

Read on for a special sneak peek of the next book in the Captains of the Scarlet Night series!

Learn more about Lisa A. Olech http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/author.aspx/31711

Chapter 1.

Arlington, Virginia--1715 Samantha Christian pulled the hood of her black wool cloak low to conceal her face. Ahead of her through the gloom of a murky night, her rescuer tugged at her arm and urged her to hurry. She stumbled upon an upturned root and her guide cursed.

"Damn it, hurry. The tide will be high soon. If we are not away, we won't be able to leave 'till dawn."

"I'm moving as fast as I can. These shoes are too big. They keep slipping from my feet."

Less than an hour had passed since Tupper Quinn alerted Samantha by tossing small pebbles at her window. Now was the time. It was tonight or the opportunity--and her savior might be lost.

She raised the window then caught the knotted rope she was tossed before securing it to the heavy post of her bed. Moments later, Tupper swung over the sill to drop into the room.

The wild-haired woman in the breeches and boots wasted no time with pleasantries. "Put these on and be quick about it. If he catches us, we'll never be away."

In the pack she tossed at her, Samantha found a pair of mud-brown breeches and a shirt of coarse linen together with a long wide strip of muslin. Stockings and buckled shoes finished the outfit along with a wide, thick leather belt.

Stripping off her dressing gown, Samantha heard the sharp intake of breath behind her. She turned to find Tupper's narrowed eyes upon her.

"He put those marks on you?" she hissed.

Samantha nodded clutching her gown to her chest. Tupper reached out and brushed the hair away from her face, before tipping it to the light. Samantha couldn't hide the dark ugly bruise that marred her cheek.

"Lowlife son of a whore, bastard," she grumbled releasing her chin. "Best be quick before I change my mind and choose to end his miserable life."

"I'm tempted to let you."

Tupper nodded to the muslin. "To bind yourself. Make it good and tight."

Samantha began to wrap the fabric about her chest, flattening her breasts fullness as best she could. She donned the strange feeling pants and finally slid her feet into shoes that were two sizes too large.

"Now your hair." Tupper instructed.

Samantha smoothed a hand down its long length. "What about my hair?"

"You're passing as a lad, it will have to go." Tupper pulled a short dagger from her boot.

"All of it?" Clasping a handful, she held it to her heart. She always kept her hair long, but knew the cost of this night. She didn't need to hear Tupper's answer. Samantha closed her eyes, and nodded.

The sharp blade made short work of the task. Tupper began cutting through the thick shanks of hair. The soft brown locks fell in curled fistfuls at her feet. Samantha felt tears prick the backs of her eyes, but as the first bit of hair fell, she knew there would be no turning back for her. She would soon be free from her hellish existence and by the grace of God she would be saved.

Later as she struggled to keep pace with Tupper, the cold dampness of the night's air upon her neck felt strange and only added to the surreal scene in which she found herself. How they found their way through the moonless night, she could not say, but soon her feet hit the sandy soil that harkened their arrival upon the shore.

A small skiff with four large men stood waiting. Tupper helped her into the boat, retrieved the shoe that dropped into the water, and scrambled in with the rest.

"Make haste gentlemen, the tide will not be waiting."

The skiff jerked as each man tugged sharply on the oars. It took only a moment for them to find their synchronized rhythm.

The black outline of the land against the ebony sky was Samantha's last sight of Virginia and hopefully the last she would ever see of Damian Wessler and his evil children.

Samantha held her sodden shoe in her hands. The four men made short work of bringing the skiff out to the tall, three-masted sloop that sat anchored off shore. There had been no conversation. Tupper sat facing her but paid her little attention, concentrating instead on the men behind her. One of them hummed to himself, pulling at his appointed oar in time to the song he sang only in his head.

When they reached the ship, a rope ladder was lowered and soon the small party was climbing swiftly up the side of the dark ship. Samantha struggled to keep her footing on the shifting rope. Her shoes were making it nearly impossible. Once she decided to shove them into her belt and make her way without them, it was much easier going.

Tupper pulled her over the gunwale and called out an order. "All set, Gents, let's weigh anchor and be off."

Shouts and a flurry of activity erupted around them. The ship was dimly lit with only a handful of lanterns, but the crew worked as if by feel alone. Three men circled a pegged wheel of sorts. Its brass cap catching the light as they turned it round and round. As it began to move, the ship creaked and popped. The deck beneath her stocking covered feet began to rock.

The snap of the sails catching the night's breeze sounded over head. Samantha stumbled and grabbed hold of the thick, tarred rigging when the ship seemed to leap across the water.

"You, lad," Tupper called out. Samantha looked behind her, until Tupper jostled her shoulder. "You, lad, follow me."

Samantha followed Tupper Quinn across the deck, moving between men of every size and description. Some pulled at ropes, other climbed up wide rigging into the dark of the sky.

She slowed her stride to watch, but a bark from Tupper had her rushing to catch up.

"I'm not a patient soul, boy, move yer arse." Laughter arose around her and someone close to her gave her a mighty shove in Tupper's direction. She didn't dare turn to see who had pushed her. Their laughter followed in her wake.

Tupper disappeared down a stairwell and she hurried to follow. The passage way was dark as a tomb with no light to guide her. She groped her way along the rough wood walls of the corridor. Ahead of her a door opened and a blade of blessed light lit her way to the rear of the ship. She stopped in the doorway of a large windowed cabin.

"If you're waiting for a personal invitation, you'll be standing there quite some time. Get in here and shut the damn door." Behind Tupper a fierce looking black bird squawked from an iron perch.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Samantha scrambled into the room and shut the door.

Tupper removed her hat and tossed it into a chair. A fine-tooled leather baldric soon joined it. Turning to look at her, Tupper ran a hand over her head, smoothing the stray hair from her face. The light from the lanterns caught at the wide, silvered streak that ran through her long dark hair. Piercing eyes of green appraised her as she moved to stand behind a large oak desk.

Tupper opened a drawer and pulled a crystal decanter and two glasses from what looked to be a special carved drawer designed to hold the delicate items. She poured a healthy draught of the liquor into each glass and handed one to her.

Samantha eyed her over her glass as Tupper simply tossed the entire contents of hers back in one swallow. She repeated the action and paused to refill Samantha's glass only to find it still full.

"Drink up."

Samantha mimicked what Tupper had done, and soon realized what a mistake she'd made. The rum burned her throat, and stole her breath. Tears filled her eyes as she coughed and sputtered and tried in vain to breathe. Tupper simply filled her own glass again, smiled, and sat down.

"Have a seat." Samantha did as she was told, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Are you all right?" She couldn't answer, but nodded her head. "Another?" Tupper held up the decanter.

"No," rasped Samantha, "No, thank you."

Tupper tossed back another and poured herself a fourth. She must have a stomach like an iron pot. Pulling a small pipe from another cubby hole, she packed the bowl and lit it before leaning back in her chair. Drink in one hand, pipe in the other, she rested her booted heels on the corner of her desk and locked gazes with Samantha.

"Now, would you explain to me why I've been dragged into the middle of your particular mess in the middle of the night? I get a frantic message from Isabelle Whitmore and fortunately for you, I'm close enough to port to be of some assistance. All I know is I have to get you out of some house and away from a man named Wessler and Virginia as soon as possible."

"I...I will be forever grateful, to you and the Whitmores."

"Isabelle is an old, trusted friend. If she went to all this trouble, the situation must have been dire. Your bruises have already told me as much." Tupper blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. "So can I assume Mr. Wessler is at this moment sailing out with the authorities to meet us?"

"You don't need to worry. I still have two days." Samantha ran her thumb over the intricate carvings on her glass.

"I don't understand, two days?"

"When I got the news you were coming, I picked a fight with him. Openly flirted with an English Naval officer at a party we attended night before last." She shrugged a shoulder. "It cost me another few bruises, but I was guaranteed four days of being locked away as a punishment. Wessler won't even open the door unless his cock decides to work, but I wouldn't count on it."

Tupper gave a snort of laughter. "What about when they bring you your meals?"

"No meals."

Tupper's eyes narrowed. "He doesn't feed you?"

Samantha notched her chin and held Tupper's gaze. The last thing she wanted was her pity. "He believes it will break me, but he's wrong."

"Well, at least I know Isabelle didn't exaggerate the situation."

"I know I put her in a precarious position, but I had little choice and an even smaller chance."

Tupper set her pipe aside. "You're tough, I like tough. A good thing too, because I'm not about to nursemaid you. But you've put me in a rather precarious position myself. With my crew. I've never lied to them before and don't particularly like doing so now, but the situation is quite simple. I'm the only woman currently allowed upon this ship. The fact I've been Captain now for more years than I can count makes it an indisputable fact. Hell, I doubt if many of the crew even notices I am not a man anymore and frankly, that's the way I like it."

She pulled her boots off the desk and sat forward. "You, however, are a different story. From the moment you climbed down the rope at Wessler's estate, until the time we deposit you wherever it is we are to deposit you, you are my new cabin boy. Samantha is now Sam and you will do nothing to raise questions to that fact. Clear?"

She nodded. "Yes, of course."

"You will put your mark to the ship's Articles and follow all the rules. You will be given duties and responsibilities to pay for our hospitality and you shall do nothing to disrupt the running of my ship. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Tupper."

"Nay, you say, 'Aye, Captain.'"

"Aye, Captain."

Tupper gave a smart nod and sat back. "Now, about your final destination...."

"Take me anywhere."

"Back to your family in England, I assume?"

"No..." She turned the glass in her hand. "I don't want them to know about what happened at Wessler's. I'll send word when I'm able telling them I am safe and well. Their lives do not need the shame this would bring them."

"The only shame is Wessler's."

Samantha gave a short bitter laugh. "He doesn't know the meaning of the word." She pushed her glass back across the desk. "Could I get a bit more of whatever this was?"

Tupper grinned as she lifted the bottle out and filled both their glasses again. Her sharp green eyes sparkled adding softness to her weathered face. "I'm beginning to think having you aboard may be all right after all." She pushed Samantha's drink across the desk. "How are you at shooting a pistol?"

Sam tossed back her drink and coughed. "If I were any good at it, would I be here?"

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