She shifted back and sat up while battling out from under her riotous hair.

"What? Where?" She peered at him from beneath a fall of tangled curls. "Oh..." Jocelyn pushed away while tugging her skirt into place, then leapt to her feet. Immediately regretting the sudden movement, she staggered and held the sides of her head. "Oh...Sacre Bleu, I'm dying..." She grabbed for the rail to steady herself.

MacTavish chuckled. "What ye be needin' is a hair of te dog. Bit o' te drink wit yer breakfast will fix what ails ya. Hornbach's got another feast laid out. Fried us up some fresh squid."

Jocelyn clamped a hand over her mouth and turned away.

Ric made a slow rise to his feet. If he held tight to his forehead, perhaps his brains wouldn't fall out onto the toes of his boots. He tried to recall what happened last night.

They'd been in the galley. Somebody's mother was a rat? No. That's wrong.

He closed his eyes and pulled in great gulps of fresh sea air hoping to clear his head.

"Ye got any orders fer te men there, Capt'n?"

Ric scrubbed at his eyebrows. "Orders?"

"Don't ya remember? Ye be Capt'n now."

Ric did remember. There wasn't enough rum in all of Jamaica to let him forget. "Aye." He gave a sloppy salute and glanced back at Jocelyn. Rum or no, she'd spent the night in his arms. Had they done anything else? Somewhere in his liquor-soaked mind, he recalled telling her how beautiful she was. He'd wanted to kiss her. Had he been foolish enough to act on his desire? No, he'd not have forgotten the feel of her lips, or the taste of her mouth. He doubted he'd forget that.

His first order of business had to be getting her off this ship and headed back to her bastard father before he did something truly stupid.

"Let's head for the north side of the island," Ric ordered. "We're goin' te need every set of hands to raise the main sail." He rubbed at his aching head again. "Anyone seen Bump?"

"No." MacTavish shook his head. "Tupper, neither."

"I'll see if she won't let me in." Ric frowned.

"I could try again," offered Jocelyn, looking back over one shoulder.

"Are you feeling up to it?"

Her face tinted a pale green in the morning light. "Better that than fried squid for breakfast."

"Good point. We'll go together."

Jocelyn followed Ric below deck as the men disbursed to follow his orders. "May I ask a question?"

The dim light below deck was a relief to his swollen head. "Sure."

"My English may be confusing me, but I've heard it spoken a few times now, and I cannot figure it out. What is bump? You keep asking for it as if it is missing."

"Bump isn't a what. Bump is the boy."

"The one with the odd hair? His name is Bump?"

"Aye. It's a nickname."

"What is his given name?"

"Don't rightly know for sure. William, I think. Came aboard when he was no more than a babe. Was always getting knocked about. We called him Bump."

"He's very quiet, I've noticed."

"His whole world be quiet. The boy's deaf." Ric explained. "Doesn't speak. Least not with his mouth. Uses his hands to make the words he needs. Capt'n Quinn found a book to teach him how to spell words with his fingers."

"That explains it. Poor thing."

"He does fine and wouldn't want your pity. Works hard. Fights harder. Smarter than all of us. Knows every inch of this here ship. Sometimes it's like he knows things sooner than most." As soon as the words were out of Ric's mouth, he flashed back to yesterday. At the auction. Bump had been tugging on him to leave. His persistence had nothing to do with the auction. And again, when they were on the Night he'd been insisting they wait for Quinn before they pulled away from the docks. Had he somehow known--felt--the quake coming? He couldn't have understood what was coming, but maybe he could sense it before the rest of them.

He'd tried to warn them, and they hadn't listened.

Ric's gut twisted. He had to find him. The lad was no doubt carrying a burden that could crush him. It wasn't his fault they were all thick as tar. It wasn't his fault he couldn't get them to understand him. Still, he knew Bump well, the lad would take on the guilt of this, but Ric wouldn't let him. He'd find him today if he had to tear the ship apart.

Standing before Tupper's door, Jocelyn raked her fingers through her hair and smoothed her skirts. "I must look a fright."

Ric shook his head. He'd never figured out some women, and he certainly wasn't going to start with this one. "Ye look fine. You're not going to meet the queen. You're on a bloody pirate ship."

She shot him an irritated glare. "I know perfectly well where I am. You needn't curse at me."

"Aye, I do...I'm a pirate."

"And that means you have no manners?"

"Aye," Ric puffed out his chest. "Tis exactly what that means."

Jocelyn shook her head. "Odd thing to be proud of."

"Ye'd be amazed at what I be proud of." Ric reached past her and knocked on Tupper's door.

"The trencher I left here last night is gone."

"Tupper?" He tried the latch. It was unlocked. "I'm coming in."

Ric was taken aback by the sight before him. The cabin looked as if cannons had blasted through the wall.

The remaining crew hadn't been the only ones mourning the dead and drinking themselves into oblivion last night. Tupper was curled into a tight knot on the floor. Her face concealed by a battered leather hat of Quinn's. From what he could see, she wore nothing save one of Quinn's shirts. Her arms hugged her knees. Clothing, bottles, papers, and what looked like old letters littered the floor around her.

"Tup?" Ric whispered. Tupper Quinn was the toughest, bad-assed woman he'd ever known. Fact is, he barely thought of her as a woman at all. She was one of the men. Yes, she and Quinn did marry, years ago, but he'd never witnessed them behave as anything other than Captain and crew. Hell they fought on a regular basis. Side by side and with each other. Somehow he'd missed seeing the love they obviously had for one another. Kept it to themselves. A bit of treasure they didn't share. The evidence of the depth of what they had lay in tatters at his feet.

Bloody hell, the woman was wrecked.

Jocelyn turned and blocked the sight from Ric, preventing him from moving farther into the room. "She's lost in her grief. I'll stay with her. You go and find the boy, Bump."

"I-I need a few things from Quinn's desk first. The ship's log, charts. Then...I'm not sure what to do here." Ric hated feeling helpless.

"I am. Get what you need and leave us. Maybe send some water?" She lifted the trencher. The food sat cold and congealed. "She hasn't eaten more than a few bites. Perhaps some bread." She reached a hand out and squeezed his arm. "No matter what MacTavish says, do not let him bring her the bloody squid."

Bloody squid? His gaze shot back to her face. She gave him a small smile. She'd cursed. Beautifully. Only Jocelyn could cuss and have it sound cultured and refined with her sweeping, flowery French accent.

Was she trying to shock him? Make him laugh? Ease his distress? It surprised him she had the power to calm him. She'd done it last night, listening to the ramblings of a miserable drunk. Giving him comfort by allowing him to wrap her in his arms. Lying with him. Calling him a hero.

As much as he'd like to bury his face into the soft halo of dark curls and find that solace again, he couldn't. He had no right. She wasn't his, and never would be.

By the time the sun set on this day, she would be gone as well. On a ship back to her father. Who, if he found out how Ric had found comfort last night, would hang him in a gibbet and let the gulls peck out his eyes.

He couldn't help himself. He traced the line of her jaw with the edge of his finger. A dirty smudge marred the pink of her cheek. He brushed at it with his thumb. As long as he was in command of this ship--and himself--that would be the only dirt he'd allow to touch her. She needed to be off this ship.

Ric lost himself for a moment in her eyes, before nodding. "Take care of her. I'll send one of the men to bring fresh water and light fare. No squid."

His gaze followed the curve of her mouth into another gentle smile. The desire to kiss that mouth made him dizzy.

Ric dropped his hand and stepped back. He had no time to dream about kissing those tempting lips. He had a crew to put back together. A ship to sail with six men. A shore to navigate that no longer resembled the shore he'd known his whole life, while keeping the fact the Scarlet Night couldn't defend herself from a school of minnows if any of their enemies chose to attack.

And perhaps more important than fighting the growing need to kiss lips that had never been kissed, Ric had a broken boy to find.

Chapter 8.

Jocelyn closed the door behind Ric and turned to survey the chaos of Tupper's quarters. She moved to get her off the floor and into the bed.

"Come now. Let's get you somewhere more comfortable." Jocelyn lifted the hat from Tupper's face, and with a gentle hand, smoothed back the woman's hair.

"Leave me." Tupper flung an arm over her eyes.

"I will. Just as soon as I get you into your bed." Jocelyn scooped a hand under Tupper's shoulders. "It's warm and snug."

Tupper resisted rising. "It smells of him."

"Then I shall change the bedding."

"No." Tupper was quick to object. "We...made love in those blankets... yesterday. Before he left. I wouldn't go with him. I'm so damned stubborn. He asked... and I wouldn't go. I argued him straight back to bed. Silenced by his kisses, I cradled him between my thighs." She ran a hand down her throat to rest over her heart. "I can still feel him inside me. Still hear him. He called out my name in his passion."

Jocelyn got her seated and sat next to her. Her cheeks heated at the image she tried to conjure of the lovers resolving their quarrel with kisses and... "If he asked you to join him, why did you stay behind?"

"I hate that blasted island. Haven't set foot on it since it stole my soul."

"I don't understand." Jocelyn turned to look at her.

Tupper's head dropped back. "My life forever changed on Port Royal." She closed her eyes. "I killed my first man there."

Jocelyn's breath caught. She'd been so busy romanticizing this exotic lawless life she found herself visiting, she'd forgotten pirates were thieves and murderers first and foremost. "I-I'm sure if you're repentant--"

Tupper shot her an angry stare. "I repent nothing. The man was pure, dark evil. I had to kill him."

"But it's a sin to--"

"Look here." Tupper pointed to a silvered scar that ran along the inside of her thigh. "Do you know what that is?" She didn't allow Jocelyn to guess. "The start of a 'B.' He wanted to monogram me before he raped me and slit my throat."

Jocelyn gasped and placed a hand against her neck.

"Still a sin to kill him, do you think?" Tupper scoffed.

"I-I..."

Tupper lifted a hand. "Save your holiness. You can't judge what you'll never understand." Her head dropped back again.

"You're correct. I know nothing of what brought you to this place and this life, but I do know you suffered a great loss yesterday, and I only want to help if I can."

"What can you do? You can't bring Gavin back to me."

"No, but I can keep you warm. Feed you. Bathe your face. Listen, if you want to talk. Hold you if you want to cry."

There was a long heavy pause before Tupper spoke again. Her voice was small and belied her words. "I don't need your help."

"I know. And yet, I will give it to you for the short time I am here." Jocelyn stood and offered Tupper her hands. "Come, rest."

Tupper gazed up at her with eyes rimmed in deep sorrow. Her face drawn and pale. She got up without aid, crossed the room on silent feet, and collapsed into her bed with her back toward Jocelyn. "I don't need you."

Jocelyn pulled the bedcovers up over Tupper's shoulders and smoothed her hair away from her cheek. "I know. Sleep now."

While Tupper fell into a soundless sleep, Jocelyn began to tidy the mess about the cabin. The ship creaked and popped around her as it picked up speed. Building clouds had brought rain that turned the sea the color of aged pewter. She stood in the gentle curve of windows at the back of the cabin and got lost in thought watching the ever-widening wake spread across the darkened sea.

Once again, she was on her way. To her father. Toward whatever life he'd planned for her. Would the man he'd betrothed her to still want her after all she'd been through? Father hadn't said in his letter, but she imagined the man to be a good match for her politically. Strategically. A man of great standing. He'd been promised a chaste woman. She'd been spared many times, but would he believe she was arriving as pure as when she left France? More important, did she care?

Tupper was right. There was much she would never understand. Never know. But the last few weeks had only stoked the fire within her to learn. Life was meant to be lived before you died. Yesterday's horrific quake taught her death could arrive at any time. Suddenly. Without warning.

It was always her objection to the teachings of the good Sisters. Their message had been for one to lead a pure holy life in order to reap bountiful rewards in heaven. To Jocelyn, it always seemed odd, backward, to wait until you were dead to start living.

She wanted to experience great adventures. Great passion. Now.

Jocelyn glanced over her shoulder at Tupper's sleeping form. "He called out my name." What did that mean? Frustration welled at her ignorance. Did he cry out in ecstasy? Did he shout his love for her? Would anyone ever call out her name in such a way? What if she never reveled in such fervor?

A short time later, Dowd brought water and a simple plate of bread, cheese and fruit. Jocelyn moved the stack of yellowed pages she'd retrieved from the floor to make room on the desk for the food.

"Don't touch those." Tupper scolded, rising suddenly.

"I'm sorry. I was neatening them. They were scattered--"

"He'll kill me if he finds them out of order." Tupper gathered them to her chest and returned to sit on the side of the bed.