Two steps brought him to Wintrow's side, where the boy more held than threatened the man anymore. As gently as if he were picking up a sleeping infant, the burly mate eased his arms about his captain. The smile he gave Wintrow showed him more teeth than a bulldog's snarl. “You lived through laying hands on the captain once. It won't happen again.”

“No. I trust it won't need to,” Wintrow replied, but it was the woman's cold black eyes on his back that made his belly cold.

“I'll see you to your room, sir,” Sorcor suggested.

“After I have presented myself to the ship,” Kennit countered. The man actually tried to smooth his shirt front.

Wintrow smiled. “I'll be pleased to introduce you to Vivacia.”

The methodical slowness with which Kennit worked his way across the deck made Wintrow's heart sink. He was a man held together by sheer will and sense of self. Should either falter, he would die. As long as he was determined to live, Wintrow had a powerful ally in curing him. But if he gave it up, all the skill in the world would not prevail against the spreading infection.

The ladder to the foredeck was a major obstacle. Sorcor did his best to maintain Kennit's dignity as he helped him up it, while Etta, who had preceded them, turned to glare down at the gawking slaves. “Have you nothing better to do than stare?” she demanded of them, and then to Brig she suggested, “There are sick slaves below, no doubt. These ones could be employed in bringing them up for air.” A moment later Kennit gained the foredeck. She tried to take his arm, but he waved her away. By the time Wintrow had gained the foredeck, Kennit had used his crutch to make his painful way to the bow.

Vivacia turned to look over her shoulder. Her eyes traveled up and down him before she said in a quietly reserved voice, “Captain Kennit.”

“My lady Vivacia.” He bowed to her, not as deeply as a healthy man might have, but more than a nod. When he straightened, he returned her inspection. Wintrow watched uneasily, for the man's nostrils widened and the smile that curved his mouth was both approval and avarice. His frank appraisal flustered Vivacia. In an almost girlish response, she drew back and lifted her arms to cross her wrists over her breasts. Kennit's smile only widened. Vivacia's eyes went very wide, but she could not seem to stop the smile that crept to her own face.

She broke the silence first. “I do not know what you want of me. Why have you attempted to claim me this way?”

Kennit took a step closer. “Ah, my lady of wood and wind, my swift one, my beauty. What I want could not be plainer. I wish to make you my own. So my first question must be, what do you wish of me? What must I do to win you?”

“I do not… No one has ever…” Obviously flustered, she turned to Wintrow. “Wintrow is mine and I am his. We have both discovered that nothing can change that. Certainly you cannot come between us.”

“Can't I? So says the girl who speaks fondly of her brother, until her lover steals her heart away.”

Wintrow found himself speechless. Perhaps the only other person as flabbergasted at this interplay was the woman who had come aboard with Kennit. Her eyes were narrowed, like a cat's when she stares down a hostile dog. Jealous, Wintrow thought. She is jealous of his sweet words to the ship. As I, he admitted to himself, am jealous at Vivacia's confusion and pleasure.

The fine grain of her cheeks had taken on a pink blush. The breath that moved her bare breasts behind her arms came more swiftly. “I am a ship, not a woman,” she pointed out to him. “You cannot be my lover.”

“Can't I? Shall not I drive you through seas no other man would dare, shall not we together see lands that are the stuff of legends? Shall not we venture together under skies where the stars have not been named yet? Shall not we, you and I, weave such a tale of our adventures that the whole world will be in awe of us? Ah, Vivacia, I tell you plainly that I shall win you to me. Without fear, I tell you that.”

She looked from Kennit to Wintrow. Her confusion was pretty, as was the sweetness of her pleasure at his words. “You shall never take Wintrow's place with me, regardless of what you say,” she managed. “He is family.”

“Of course not!” Kennit told her warmly. “I do not wish it. If he makes you feel safe, then we shall keep him aboard forevermore.” Again he smiled at her, a smile both wicked and wise. “I do not wish to make you feel safe, my lady.” He crossed his arms on his chest, and despite his crutch and shortened leg, he managed to look both handsome and rakish. “I have no desire to be your little brother.”

In the midst of this courtship, his leg must have pained him, for he suddenly faltered, losing his smile to a grimace of pain. He bowed his head forward with a gasp, and in an instant Sorcor was at his side.

“You are hurt! You must go and rest now!” the Vivacia exclaimed before anyone else could speak.

“I fear I must,” Kennit concurred so humbly that Wintrow suddenly knew he was more than pleased at the ship's reaction. He even wondered if the man had deliberately sought it. “So I must leave you now. But I shall call again, shall I? As soon as I am able?”

“Yes. Please do.” Her hands fell away from her chest. She extended one towards him, as if to invite him to touch palms with her.

The pirate managed another deep bow but made no move to touch her. “Until then,” he told her, fondness already in his voice. He turned aside, to say in a huskier voice. “Sorcor. I shall require your assistance yet again.”

As the brawny pirate took his captain's weight and began to help him aft, Wintrow caught sight of the look that the woman gave the ship. It was not pleasant.

“Sorcor!” All turned back to the Vivacia's imperious command. “Be careful with him. And when you have finished there, I would borrow some of your archers. I'd like these serpents discouraged, if nothing else.”

“Captain?” Sorcor asked doubtfully.

Kennit leaned on him heavily. His face was moist with sweat, but still he smiled. “Give the lady her due. A liveship under me. Court her for me, man, until I can charm her myself.” With a sigh like death, he folded suddenly into his mate's arms. As Sorcor hefted the man and then bore him off to what had been his father's stateroom, Wintrow wondered at the strange smile Kennit yet wore. The woman walked behind them, her eyes never leaving Captain Kennit's face.

Wintrow turned and walked slowly to the bow, to the spot where Kennit had stood. No one, he marked, moved to stop him. He was as free aboard the ship as he had ever been.

“Vivacia,” he said quietly.

She had been staring after Kennit. She broke from her bemusement to look up at Wintrow. Her eyes were wide with wonder. They sparkled.

She lifted a hand to him and he leaned to let their palms touch. No words were needed, yet he spoke them anyway. “Be careful.”

“He is a dangerous man,” she agreed. “Kennit.” Her voice caressed the name.

He opened his eyes to a well-appointed room. The grain of the paneled walls had been carefully selected to match. The fixed lanterns were of brass that would gleam when properly polished again. Rolled charts graced the chart rack like fat hens in nesting boxes. They would be a treasure trove of information, the gathered wealth of a Bingtown Trader family's charts. There were other niceties, too. The washstand with its matching porcelain bowl and pitcher. The framed paintings fastened securely to the walls. The meticulously carved shutters for the thick glass windows. A tasteful and elegant room indeed. True, it had been recently rifled, and the captain's possessions scattered about, but Etta moved quietly about it, setting it to rights. There was an overlying smell of cheap incense that could not disguise the underlying stench of a slaver. Yet it was obvious to him that the Vivacia had not been so used for long; it should be possible to scrub it out of her. Once more she could be a bright and tidy vessel. And this was a room for a true captain.