Now to reach Nathaniel. But she couldn't roll on her back without injuring herself with the glass. Drawing her knees up again, she levered herself across the cabin until she was lying beside Nathaniel. Now she would have to roll so that her back was against his.

Closing her eyes tightly, she inched over onto her back, raising her hips as far from the ground as she could, arching the small of her back away from her hands. One jerking heave, and she was over, lying back-to-back with Nathaniel.

Now. She ran a finger over the edge of the glass, finding the sharpest, most jagged point. Then she felt for the rope at Nathaniel's wrists. Sweat broke out on her forehead despite the dank chill in the cabin, and a wave of sickness broke over her, but it was anxiety rather than pregnancy this time.

An agonized scream came from on deck, and then another. She took a deep breath, trying not to imagine what was happening. She must concentrate.

Gently at first, she began to saw at the rope at Nathaniel's wrist. But gently took too long. Biting her swollen lip hard, she sawed faster. There was blood on her hands now; she could feel its stickiness, and her nausea increased. Was it Nathaniel's or hers? Impossible to tell.

She stopped, her breath rapid and shallow as she tried to master her terror.

"Keep going, Gabrielle." Nathaniel's voice was calm and steady but so startling in the intense silence of her own private world that she jumped in fear.

"I didn't want you to come to until I was finished," she managed to whisper through dry lips. "I'm afraid I'm hurting you."

"Keep going," he repeated steadily. "I'm holding my wrists as far apart as I can."

"But what if I cut a vein?"

"You won't."

He sounded so confident that she was able to continue despite the blood that now seemed to cover her hands.

"All right," Nathaniel said softly after a long silence when the only sound was the strange rasping of glass on rope. "You're almost there. I can feel it fraying."

"Oh, God," Gabrielle whispered. Her arms were a mass of aching muscle, her wrists cramping with the strain, her fingers so numb, she was afraid she'd drop the glass. She closed her eyes again; it helped her to concentrate, to see nothing but the rope fraying strand by strand beneath the glass.

And then it was done. The rope parted.

"That's my girl," Nathaniel said softly. He sat up. His hands were smothered in blood, but he took no notice, inching his way across to the portmanteau against the bulkhead. Gabrielle was too exhausted to roll over to see what he was doing. He withdrew a knife with a wicked rapier blade and sliced through the rope at his ankles in one stroke.

Then he was kneeling beside Gabrielle. "Hold still." Her wrists were freed and she gave a groan of relief, bringing her hands round, flexing her fingers, massaging her wrists.

"You're bleeding like a stuck pig," she said in horror as he cut the rope at her ankles.

"Bandage them for me," he said matter-of-factly. "There are cravats in the portmanteau."

She found the cravats and wrapped them tightly around his slashed wrists. "There are only four men. Here, put your finger on the knot."

"Only four, you're sure?"

"That's what I heard them say-the other one now-there, that'll do for the moment." She looked up from her handiwork. "They kicked you when you were unconscious."

"I can feel it," he said grimly. He went back to the portmanteau and took out the twin of the knife he still held.

"You've been taught to use one of these." It was more of a statement than a question.

"Yes. And a garrote," she added ashe took out the length of rope weighted at either end. She didn't say she'd never used any weapons outside a training session.

His nod was matter-of-fact as he handed her the knife. "I'd like to reduce the odds on deck. Lie on the floor as if you're still tied and start shouting." He moved into the shadows behind the companionway, the length of rope held lightly between his hands.

Gabrielle curled up, facing the door, her feet tucked under the table so that at first glance her lack of bonds wouldn't be immediately apparent. Then she began to scream, one high-pitched cry after another, shivering the timbers of the deck above her head.

Feet sounded above and the hatchway thudded open, filling the cabin with the gray light of dawn. They must be dreadfully close to the French coast, she thought as she screamed again.

Cursing, a man pounded down the companionway. "Stop that racket, putain."He thundered toward her, hand clenched in a fist.

Nathaniel swung the rope, and the man fell back, clutching his throat. Nathaniel lowered him to the floor.

"Jacques… what's going on down there?" A voice yelled down the companionway.

Nathaniel gave her a nod and stepped back.

Gabrielle's bloodcurdling scream rose again. A figure jumped down the ladder. As his feet touched ground he seemed to realize that something was wrong. He spun around, and the edge of Nathaniel's right hand chopped against the side of his neck and he dropped to the floor.

Nathaniel swung himself onto the ladder, the knife in his hand. Gabrielle was on his heels. The dawn air, cold and salty, hit her in the face, clearing her head, stinging her swollen lip.

The man at the wheel gave a warning shout as he saw them. Nathaniel had crossed the deck in four bounds, and there was a glint of steel as the Frenchman drew his own knife. His partner lunged from behind the mainsail. He didn't see Gabrielle, who stuck out a foot, and he went sprawling on the deck.

Now she was supposed to use the knife. To hell with it. This was a dirty business, but there were limits. She grabbed up a marlin spike from a coil of rope and brought it down across his shoulders as he struggled onto all fours.

"Much better!" She permitted herself a grim smile of satisfaction at the prone figure before she raced to the grappling couple at the wheel, the marlin spike raised like some Viking club.

Nathaniel's opponent had his back to her for an instant and she brought the spike down onto his shoulder. He screamed as the bone cracked, and dropped to his knees.

Nathaniel glanced down at him and then up at Gabrielle. "You got the other one too, I see."

"Yes, but he's not dead. At least I don't think so." She pushed her hair away from her face, bracing herself unconsciously on the slippery deck as the fishing boat heaved and pitched with noguiding hand on the wheel.

She was bruised and bloody, her eyes black-shadowed, sunken in her white face.And Nathaniel didn't think he'd ever loved her more than he did at that moment. He knew he'd never understood her as he nowdid.

Hegrinned tiredly. "You're quite a fighter, aren't you, Gabrielle?"

"I fight forwhat I believe in," she said. "I fight for what I love… in whatever way I must."

Hereyes held his in a passionate plea for his understanding, and in the dawn stillness he nodded in simple but complete acknowledgment. Then he said briskly, "See what you can do forDan and the others. I'm going to put her about and I'll need ahand with the mainsail."

She left him at the wheel and approached the three figures of Dan and his crew, tied to the rail, gags in their mouths. Dan was bleeding from agash in his forehead, one of the others, a youngster of maybe seventeen, slumped unconscious in his bonds, the other had a broken arm, the splintered bone sticking jaggedly through his flesh.

They were unnecessary wounds, the work of Fouche's men, and a red wave of hatred surged over Gabrielle as she cut them loose.

"Bastards!" Dan exploded in soft ferocity. "They've been playing their foul games with young Jamie here for hours." He gently eased the unconscious lad to the deck. Gabrielle remembered the agonized screams and turned her eyes away from the pattern of knife marks on his chest.