"Much better, thank you. Where is Jek, the woman who was with me? Is Brashen aboard? Did the serpents damage Paragon much? How did you run them off? My nephew Wintrow, is he alive and well?" With each question she asked, another formed behind it, until Kennit leaned forward to set two fingers to her lips. She bridled at the touch, then endured it, forcing herself to realize he probably meant nothing by it.

"Hush," he said gently. "Hush. One at a time, though you should not be fussing yourself with such things. You have been through quite enough for one day. Jek is sleeping very soundly. A serpent must have brushed her; one leg and her ribs were scalded, but I am confident she will heal well. I gave her some poppy syrup for the pain. For now, I suggest we do not disturb her."

A sudden disturbing question rose in her. "Then who took care of me? Put me to bed here?" Her hand reached reflexively to the buttoned collar of the nightshirt.

"I did." He spoke quietly without looking at her. A smile teased at the corner of his mouth, but he kept it at bay. "It was scarcely a duty I would entrust to my deckhands, and there are no women on board."

Althea's face burned.

"I brought you something." He rose as he spoke, and tucked his crutch back under his arm. He crossed the room to the table, took up the tray he had brought, and carried it back to her bedside. Despite his missing leg, he moved with the rolling grace of a true seaman. She moved her legs to make a place for the tray. He set it down and then took a place next to it. "This is wine and brandy, mulled with spices. It's an old Divvytown recipe, very warming, very restoring, and excellent for pain. Do try some, while I talk. It is best when it is warmest."

She lifted the bowl in both hands. The rising fumes were themselves a comfort. Dark spices swirled in the bottom of the amber liquid. She lifted it to her mouth and sipped. Warmth spread through her, unknotting tension, and a sudden shiver raced up her, bringing gooseflesh to her arms. It was as if her body had trapped the cold of the sea inside it and was only now letting it go.

"That's better," Kennit said encouragingly. "Let me see. Wintrow is not on board the ship at the moment. He is serving on the Marietta under Sorcor, my second-in-command. I have discovered that moving a promising man from ship to ship and giving him shifting responsibilities encourages him to develop his seamanship and his ability to think for himself. You have realized, no doubt, that you occupy his room and his bed just now. Don't trouble yourself about that. He is perfectly comfortable where he is, and I know he would begrudge you nothing."

"Thank you," she said carefully. She tried to compose her thoughts. Kennit obviously thought of Wintrow as his, someone to train up for heavier responsibility, like a son in a family business. She had never envisioned this situation, and she could not decide how to react to it. "It is kind of you to afford him such opportunities," she heard herself say. A part of her was shocked at the words. Kind of him to afford Wintrow the opportunity to become a better pirate? She tried to force order on her thoughts. "I must ask this. How does Vivacia react to Wintrow being gone? It is not good for a liveship to be left long without a family member aboard her."

"Please. Drink that while it is warm," he encouraged her. As she obeyed, he glanced down at the bed between them, as if he feared his next words would displease her. "Vivacia has been fine. The ship does not miss Wintrow that much. You see, she has me." He reached up again to caress the silver-gray beams. "What I have discovered is that 'family' is not so important to a ship as a kindred spirit. Vivacia and I share many of the same qualities: a love for adventure, a hatred for the slave trade, a desire to-"

"I think I know my own ship," Althea broke in but Kennit's mild blue glance gently reproved her. She lifted the bowl and drank from it to cover her discomfiture. The warmth of the liquor was spreading through her now, relaxing her. A wave of vertigo swept her. She felt Kennit's hands steady the bowl she held.

"You are more weary than you know," he said sympathetically. "You were quite a long time in very cold water. And now my careless words have distressed you as well. I am sure this is difficult for you to face. Perhaps you thought you were coming to rescue the ship and your nephew. Instead you have discovered you would be tearing them away from a world they love. Please. Rest for a time before we talk more. Your exhaustion is making you see the worst side of everything. Wintrow is strong and happy and convinced that he has discovered Sa's will for him. The ship is avid in her pursuit of slavers, and enjoys the adventure of the life we lead. You should rejoice for them. And you are safely aboard your family ship. From this moment, things can only get better for you."

She drank until the spices at the bottom bumped against her lips. He took the bowl from her hands and caught her as she swayed. He smelled nice. Sandalwood. Cloves. She leaned her head against the shoulder of the fine blue jacket. The lace at his neck tickled against her face. Lace would do well on Brashen. And a jacket such as this. "I like lace on a man," she observed. Kennit cleared his throat. She felt her face flush. "I'm dizzy," she apologized, trying to straighten herself. "I should not have drunk that so fast. It's gone right to my head."

"No, no, that's all right. You're expecting too much of yourself. Here. Lie back." A gentleman to the bone, he evaded her embarrassment.

He hopped from the bunk to stand on his leg while he straightened her pillow for her. Obediently she lay back. The cabin rocked around her. "Is the storm building?" she asked anxiously.

"Here in the Pirate Isles, we consider this only a squall. We'll be out of it soon. We'll anchor in a sheltered cove and let this pass. Don't be concerned. Vivacia can handle a much harder blow than this."

"I know. I remember." She expected him to leave. Instead, he came back to her bedside. Memories swirled through her mind, of another tall dark-haired man standing by her bunk. Her father had taken Vivacia through many a storm with Althea on board. When she was small, this ship had been the safest place in the world. The Vivacia had been her father's world, where he controlled everything and never let her come to harm. All would be safe, all would be well. There was a strong man in command of the ship, and a steady hand on the wheel. She closed her heavy eyes. It had been a long time since she had felt so safe.

KENNIT LOOKED DOWN ON HER. HER HAIR, CURLING WITH DAMP, TANGLED ON the pillow. The eyelashes on her cheeks were not so long as Wintrow's, but even up close, the resemblance was uncanny. He pulled the blankets up and tucked them securely around her. She did not stir. He wasn't surprised. He'd already tested the mixture of poppy and mandrake in brandy on Jek. She would sleep deeply, and he would have time to ponder his role and how to deal with her questions.

Paragon had perished with all hands. So sad. The serpents had attacked in response to Brashen's arrows. That might work, as long as she never spoke to any of the crew. Could he keep her that isolated without rousing her suspicions? It was going to be difficult to concoct the right lies, but something would come to him.

He stood a time longer looking down on her. She was Wintrow, in female form. With his forefinger, he traced the curve of her cheek, the arch of her brow, the flare of her nostrils. Bingtown Trader stock, well-born and raised well. There was no mistaking one's own kind. When he bent over and kissed her, her lax lips were warm. Her unresponsive mouth teased his with the taste of the spices and brandy. He could take her right now if he wanted to. No one else would know; she herself might not even realize he had done it. Such an amusing idea curved his lips in a true smile. His fingers started on the top button of the nightshirt. His own nightshirt, he thought, and it was as if he undressed himself. She breathed deeply and steadily.