I told myself that if I got sent on another of those trap-the-bastard white slaver missions I was going to kick some serious butt at Section. With hob-nailed boots preferably. I thought Michael looked sheepish when they called me in that day. At least they didn't lie to me like I they did on the Chandler mission, not that I'm as naive as I once was about these scumbags, and as a plus, I didn't have to have any pool fights with chicks dressed up as piranhas. I didn't like that particular assignment much. I still have some scars to remind me of both those missions; nice wrinkly scars on my knees from the Chandler thing and a few claw scratch scars on the backs of my hand from the other one.

The mission was going pretty well until I decided to get tough with this female guard called Thelma. It was all part of the plan, but I got a little carried away because she was such a bitch. I was playing one of the new recruit sex slaves and Michael was a john. And don't get all excited because nothing of a sexual nature happened between us. He was supposed to romance some other chick, which had me totally twisted, but I was trying to be adult about it for once. I kept telling myself that his heart belonged to me.

Anyway, something happened I couldn't have foreseen. The ship was to dock the next night in where Section operatives would board the vessel and take the leader of the opium-white slaver sex ring into custody. It didn't quite work out that way.

I think it was a case of jealousy on the part of the woman called Thelma, and I use the term, woman, loosely. She messed the mission up something fierce. She took a bad dislike to me because she was sleeping with the slimeball we wanted to apprehend and he supposedly developed this sudden case of the hots for me and kicked her out on her ass. I ended up getting drugged somehow and thrown off the yacht as shark kibble and Michael, discovering my fate some two minutes later, dove in after me. He found me after I went under for the third time and held my head above water as we floated on a single life preserver in the dark water somewhere off the coast of Mustique in the Caribbean Sea.

He held me up for what seemed hours trying to get us to shore. I was so gooned on dope I couldn't even see. I think I was fighting him half the time. I just kept having my life flash before my eyes like they say happens to drowning victims. Only it wasn't my life. It was the life of Kit Black, this pirate chick from the late eighteenth century.

There was a cloud cover that night and for some reason they were having difficulty tracking us and sending a rescue mission in, so there I floated in Michael's arm reliving someone else's life in my drug addled mind. So let me tell you now about the dream or the hallucination. It's pretty cool.

It starts out when I'm in my late teens.

I'm in the dockside market in Tripoli not far from the brothel where I lived with my mother. I can smell rotting fish and the stench of rum barrels and unwashed bodies. I can smell myself because it's been a while since I had a bath. I don't bathe much. The dirt keeps me from looking like a woman.

It was hot and I was dressed like a boy because my mother has always dressed me that way to protect my chastity. The linen that I'd wrapped round my chest that morning has constricted my breathing and made my breasts hurt. I didn't mind dressing this way because it was something I had done my entire life. I liked it because boys had a lot more freedom. They rarely got raped in the street unless it was by some drunken gent who had a fancy for young boys. I've had to run like hell from a few of these unnatural men, but I was convinced being a woman would be far worse.

I lived with my mother in one of the brothel/ opium hells frequented by naval men and smugglers. I have blue eyes and a pretty face, but I am very tall, taller by half a head than most men and strongly-built like my da, or so she told me. He was a handsome fair haired man, too pretty for words. I inherited his wide shoulders and slim hips and his easy smile. I also inherited his temperament. Mama said that I was his spit and image.

I wore pants cut off at the knee, a loose linen shirt and a battered tri-corn pulled down low over my scraggly shoulder length hair, which was yanked back and tied with a piece of leather. My boots were too small for my big feet and I could feel them chafe my ankles and toes through my coarse woolen socks.

My mother. Madeline, was a prostitute and an opium addict. She was once the most desired courtesan in France, or so she asserted. She had a host of lovers, even a Russian prince. That was until she had met my father and let him bring her to Tripoli. She claimed to anyone who would listen that my father was a swashbuckler named Roger Black. He was killed in a horrific sea battle with a man-o-war off the Virginia coast before I was even born. She has been in a state of decline ever since she got word of his demise and had fallen prey to the evils of the opium dens. If it weren't for my ' uncle' Walter, I would never have survived. Walter is the only person who knows my true identity. He sailed with my father as his quartermaster.

I had so far been able to escape the life of prostitution that my mother has known because of the efforts she and Walter made in order to hide my identity. She had contracted syphilis years before and the end was near. I had few choices. Either I remained a boy and signed on with one of the slave smuggling ships or I become a doxy like my mama and likely suffer her fate. Working as a maid in one of the plantations in the Caribbean was not an option I would accept. I was not changing linens or emptying chamber pots for the rich for the rest on my life.

I needed some gold so that I could purchase a sword and a better fitting pair of boots. Real boots up to the knee made by a cobbler and not bought from a rag picker or taken from a drunken sailor. And Walter had already agreed to be my fencing instructor.

I was quite interested in the life of the sea because there were no other occupations for women. I sure as hell didn't want to lie with hundreds of ugly, rutting men only to shrivel up and die of the pox like my mother. But it was a hard choice to make because I didn't believe in slavery and that's what made up most of the sea trade in those days. I liked the idea of plundering and smuggling and being a citizen of the wind and the sea, but I felt too much for the plight of the Africans who were taken as chattel. I had seen them, proud but bent and beaten, being taken in chains to the ships which would carry them to the sugar cane and cotton plantations on the Caribbean islands and New Orleans.

I had decided at a very young age that I was going to have my own fleet one day, a virtual armada like my father had. Like the legendary Ann Bonny and Charlotte du Berry, I would be a lady pirate. I would run my own life. And I would never deal in human flesh, just rum, coffee and spices and beautiful fabrics. I would never be a doxy like my mother, lying night after night on my back under some sweating, stinking sailor. If and when I wanted a man he would look good, smell good and be of my own choosing.

And I was getting ideas about sex by then. I had a lot of natural curiosity. I knew intimately what sex entailed as a result of what I had heard and seen; I'd just never seen any man who made me feel that it would be worth spreading my legs. Besides I'd heard that it was painful. And if some of the screams I'd heard were proof, it didn't sound like a lot of fun for the female.

When I mentioned the screaming to Walter, he just laughed. He said that was an act so the man would pay more. I didn't understand it.

But I was pretty sure that once I had sex, my curiosity would be staunched and I would never need it again.

I had been sent to the market that morning when I saw him, the man who finally moved me to reveal my womanhood. He was with another officer, a good looking man with a mustache and soft black eyes. I heard Michel Samuelle's voice before I saw his face. He was speaking in French, asking the other man if he wished to have piece of the pear he was eating. Up until that point I was just eavesdropping on their conversation. I suppose it was the mention of doxies that got me interested.

" I won't be coming along to The Three Horseshoes, Davenport," he said.

" Come on, Michel. We have an evening to kill. I hear this place is unbelievable. The whores are beautiful, the rum is flowing."

" I'm betrothed to Elena," he said simply.

" So, what's new about that. You've been betrothed to Elena since you were children. You've been with other women before this.."

" I'm turning over a new leaf," he said with a grin. " No more women of easy virtue. Even if it was an arranged marriage, I intended to be faithful until our wedding at the end of next year. Besides this lying with doxies is dangerous, Christophe. You and Gerard are going to end up with a pair of shrivelled pissers. I personally intend to keep myself whole for a long time to come."

" But you would like to be with a woman if the right one happened to come along."

The young officer called Michel laughed. " I suppose if she were pretty enough I wouldn't say no. It's been a long time. Too damn long. "

" So when we set sail out tomorrow it might be a year until we even see a woman."

" Don't remind me, Chris. But still, I don't plan on having some other man's sloppy leavings." he grinned. " Alright, if right now, right this minute, an angel came and offered herself to me, I might say yes."

The officer named Davenport just laughed. That's when they turned and I got a better look at the two men. I felt all the air drain from my lungs when I saw Michel Samuelle's face. My limbs seemed to go weak and limp. My heart fluttered wildly in my chest.

I think I fell head over heels at that moment. If there was ever a man to quench my curiosity and divest me of this cumbersome virginity, it was he. I was pretty sure he would pay gold for night with an angel. I might get my boots and sword after all.

He wasn't a huge man, but tall enough. He was smaller than his friend, leaner, more elegant. He was likely only an inch or two over my height, but he was wide shouldered and lean of hip. He had a powerful physique that owed everything to smooth, long muscles, gracefully sculpted over his perfectly proportioned frame.

Even his hands were exquisite. I watched as he cut pieces of the bright yellow pear and carried them to his mouth on the end of the knife. His nails were pared clean.

His mouth. Oh, sweet lord, his beautiful mouth. Pink and smooth and bow shaped, the full lower lip glistening with the juice of ripe fruit. I felt a weird stabbing ping from my suddenly aching breasts all the way to my groin. And having lived my entire life in a brothel and never even been moved before, the unruly sensation jolted me. I knew exactly what it was: Lust. Plain and simple, something I'd believed myself immune to.

He, like his friend was dressed in the uniform of the French navy. The white buckskin breeches fit his muscular thighs like a second skin, tucked into knee high boots with gold tassels. The blue jacket was fitted perfectly to his broad shoulders and trim waist. His tri-corn hat lay on the crate beside him allowing me to see his hair. He didn't powder his hair or wear a wig, but wore it swept back from his handsome face and tied with a narrow black ribband. The chestnut brown, slightly curling locks picked up glints of the sun in red and gold.

I had never seen a man so beautiful. His face was tanned, his eyes a light jade green with blue and gold flecks, his nose Roman, his jaw lean and his chin cleft. He was perfection. I know that my mouth was open, my tongue hanging out.

I couldn't remember what it was Walter had told me to buy. He was off getting the rum kegs loaded onto the wagon. I was going to catch hell when I didn't show up with the goods. What was it? Molasses. Vinegar. Coffee. I'd think about it later. This was too important.

So this man wanted an angel, did he? That's all I could think about. He was an answer to my prayers. Maybe we could do each other a service. I needed the sword and the boots, I told myself. It really wouldn't be the same as my mother did, would it? If I only did it once it would be fine.

I could feel my knees knocking as I approached them. I kept my head down and my eyes on the ground. " Sir," I said keeping my voice deep. " Did I hear you mention that you might be interested in a night with a young woman. You said you wanted an angel? "

The one called Christophe laughed. " That's what he said, lad. You know of someone who fits that description? "

" Aye. My sister. She'd be willing." I looked up at the handsome officer. " But just with him. And only for one night, of course. For two pieces of gold."

" What! " cried the man called Davenport. He slapped the man called Michel hard on the back. Poor Michel almost choked on the pear. " That's ridiculous. Get out of here, lad, before I kick your scrawny ass."

" I wasn't talking to you, you bleeedin' blowhard."

The man called Michel placed his hand on my shoulder. His firm touch burned me like fire. Maybe this was not such a good idea.

He lowered his head and stared at my face. Then he smiled. Such a smile. The sweetest I'd ever seen. That smile melted me like the sun on butter.

" She's a virgin," I stated with a gulp. " And she'd more than make it worth your while, sir."

" Likely stab you through the heart in his bed. Come on, Michel. We're late." The man called Davenport tugged at Michel's sleeve.

" Please, sir. We need the money, you see." I tugged at his other sleeve. My fingers left a dirty smudge on the fine white linen at his wrist.

" So you've come out to procure for your sister, have you lad? Does she know of this? " the man called Michel asked. He was looking at me strangely, as if he could see through my disguise.

But then maybe he was one of those perverts who liked boys. God, I thought, please don't let that be so.

" You don't like boys, do you? " I blurted.

" No! " he rasped. " I don't as a matter of fact. And I'm not in the habit of sleeping with innocent young girls either."

" She's not young, sir. She'll be twenty next birthday, sir. She's -uh-been saving herself. So to speak."

" Really? She's that aged. " He gave me that smile again showing rows of perfect, white teeth. Was there nothing that wasn't godlike about this male? I just swallowed hard and tried not to swoon. My chest bindings were feeling about to burst. " And she'd been saving herself. And yet she'd be willing to sacrifice herself for one night? One entire night? "

" Yes, sir. She's willing. Most-uh-willing. How old are you, sir, if you don't mind my asking? "

" I'm twenty-eight."

" Come, Michel "

" Go on yourself, Christophe. I'll meet you later."

" Don't cry to me if the young rapscallion and his so-called sister, the angel, pick your pocket. " The dark eyes officer went on his way with a dismissive wave of his hand.

" What's your sister's name, lad? "

He had put his hand on my shoulder again. I could smell him, clean and cool. Like the sea and fresh pears. He smelled divine. I wriggled out of his grasp. Again he was searching my face with those eyes the exact colour of the Mediterranean during a thunder storm.

" Her n-name is Nikita, sir. It's Russian, so my uh- our mother says. Her father was from there."

" And what's your name, lad? " he asked in that softly accented voice.

" Kit, sir. It's Kit Black."

" Well, young Kit Black. Tell your sister to meet me at twenty bells. Can you do that? " He gave me the address. It was an inn in a good neighbourhood. " You'll be coming along, I assume? "

I swallowed hard again. " I shall drop her off. Just see she's safe. I have other business, sir. You won't be seein' me. You're agreed about the price. I'll want to be paid up front. Uh-- I mean, she will want that."

" Of course."

I nodded. " Good."

" Tell her to take a bath, lad. I wouldn't want her to smell as ripe as you do."

I flushed. " She'll be clean, sir. With clean hair and clean teeth an' all--"

" Is her hair long, Kit?"

Oh, no. My hair was only shoulder length, but it was a nice colour. " It isn't too long, sir, but she- uh- curls it in rags. Most say it's pretty. Yellow like mine."

" Is that what colour your hair is? I 'd have said it was much like dishwater."

He smiled. The little divot above his lip was so deep, the most beautifully sculpted I had ever seen. There was the slightest cleft in his chin. He really was most breathtaking. " She doesn't drink rum, does she? "

" I can't abide She can't abide drinking, sir."

" And no perfume, lad. I can't endure the stuff."

' Yes, sir. I'll tell her that, sir."

He smiled and gave me a wink. I watched him walk away. Maybe it was the uniform, but I doubted it. He had this loose hipped prowl that seemed to steal the rational thoughts right out of my head. I watched him until he disappeared behind a pile of wooden crates. My God, he was lovely. This Elena, whoever she was, was a very lucky woman.

And so, it seemed, was my dear sister. At least for one night. For a moment I had quite forgotten the prospect of new boots and a fencing sword. I sighed and then nearly leapt out of my skin as Walter stepped up behind me.

" Who was that? "

I turned, looking into his wrinkled face. His pipe was hanging out of his mouth and his bandana was askew. He's probably try to twist my ear for not gathering the supplies. Walter didn't punish me too often any more, not since I had grown a few inches taller than he. Walter was the only father I'd ever known. He had taught me to read and to do sums and for that I'd be forever grateful " A man, I met. A Frenchman. "

" What were you doing talking to the likes of him? He's too damned pretty to survive long around here. "

I sighed. " Do you think he's pretty, Walter? I would call him manly. Quite manly."

" Good lord, child. Is he one of those men? Does he like young boys? The French navy's full of those queer types. "

" No." I bit my lip and told him what I'd done. Walter just stared at me. " Your not thinkin' of that, Kit? "

" It's not the same as Mama. It'll be this once and never again."

" You tell yourself that."

" I need a bath, Walter. I don't think I bathe enough. "

" Well, hell. I've been telling you that for years. The man must be pretty special if you'd take a bath for him, Kit."

" And a dress. I suppose one of Mama's will do. I think she has some older ones that didn't fit her any more, " I mused.

" Don't let Heloise get a look at you when you're wearing the dress.. She'll put you to work flat on your back in the brothel. "

He was right about that.

" Why are you doing this, Kit? "

I told him about the sword and the boots I'd planned to purchase. He laughed at me.

Mama was asleep when I went into her room. It was a small room, more like a wardrobe in size. Heloise had allowed my mother to stay as there was no where else for us to go. I earned my keep helping Walter and the cook and took no wages so that Heloise would keep her.

Mama's body had nearly wasted away from the syphilis. Her dark eyes were sunken in her head, her lips drawn back over her teeth. She looked like a shrunken head I'd once seen that one of the sailors had brought back from Africa. She'd been a beauty in her day, a spy, she told me, during one of the French wars with Spain. She bragged about a lot of things. Ties to the Russian empire. Dalliances with the bloody pope in Rome, for all I knew. I never knew if I ought to believe her.

She was sleeping when I came in, her breathing laboured. I wanted to tell her about the assignation with Michael Samuelle. It wasn't for advise that I wished to speak to her, but perhaps for reassurance that I was not making a mistake. I was afraid that I would lose more tonight than my maidenhead. Perhaps my heart.

I had lived in a whore house long enough to know about sex and what happened. I knew it would hurt me the first time. I knew that it would be quick and that he might grunt and roll off me and fall asleep. I knew it wouldn't be fun for me. It was never fun for the woman. I had listened to the doxy's talk. They said that a woman had to usually fake her release so the man on top of her would hurry the hell up and be done with it. Whatever that meant. One of the whores swore that in twenty years she had never had one. What ever 'one' was. At least I knew a little about preventing a pregnancy. And I wasn't stupid enough to think it wouldn't happen the first time.

I wasn't about to be bearing any babes yet, though the thought of a babe, a babe as beautiful as the Frenchman was. Having a babe to love seemed a wonderful thing if a woman was ready. Why even Anne Bonny had borne a child, but that was after she'd become a pirate. I might have one after I had acquired my own ship as well.

I had to admit that for a girl raised in a house of ill-repute I didn't know as much as I claimed I did about the act itself. Well, I'd know by tonight what these men came here for in droves. And at least the man who would be on top of me would be clean, good smelling and as beautiful as one of the paintings of the saints in the papist church on the hill.

I found a dress that fit in my mother's wardrobe. It was a bit musty but it was clean and had no wine stains on the skirt. The neck was low, as my mother's bosom had been larger than mine, but the drawstrings gave it a modicum of modesty. Walter had helped me carry the bath water to his room and had left me to my ablutions.

It felt good. Delightfully good, enough to make me wish I could bathe in hot water more often. By the time it was over and I had dried myself I was pink as a new-shorn lamb. The water in the wooden tub was black. I looked into Walter's cracked mirror, pleased with the way my hair had dried into wavy locks the exact colour of wheat. My skin looked smooth and pale as cream. The only thing wrong with me were my ragged nails which I tried to pare clean with Walter's knife.

He knocked and came in at my hesitant reply. I was just squeezing my feet into a pair of my mother's slippers. I wasn't sure about the laces, how to tie them round my ankles. The skirt of the dress was about three inches too short, but it would have to do.

Walter just stared at me.

" My, God, Kit. Look at you. You're beautiful. I can't believe it."

" Hardly." I felt myself flush to the roots of my hair. " Am I really pretty, Walter? Am I? "

" Aye, lass. Any man would fall flat on his face just to see you coming down the walk. Are you sure you're wanting to do this? "

" I want the boots, Walter. New boots. And I want the sword. " I didn't say that I wanted to see him again. But I did. All the time I was bathing and dressing I was thinking about him. About his hair and his eyes and that beautifully honed, muscular body.

The feeling I had in my lower regions was disconcerting. I ached to be touched. By him. By those clean, elegant hands. And by that carnal mouth. I knew I ought to feel ashamed of myself but I did not.

" I'll take you over there."

" I can go myself," I said.

" You'll never make it looking like that, Kit. I won't have any arguments. Sneak out the back here so Heloise won't see you. And put the shawl over your head. "

My heart was pounding as I climbed the stairs to his rooms. The landlady stared at me like I was something she dumped out of the slop pot. I wanted to shove her but I pretended to be a fine lady and held my temper in check.

" No screaming, mind." She held her block like fists on her ample hips. Her breath smelled rankly of garlic and wine. " We've paying guests here. The quality, too, girl."

" I assume he pays his rent on time."

" Aye," was her reply.

" Then he can do whatever he wants, you old sot," I said in a soft hiss. " I'll bet you're wishing you were me. " And with that I flounced up the stairs like the finest lady she'd likely ever see. Except for the fact that my heels had broken out in blisters that hurt like hell. She huffed off as I tapped on his door, my heart pounding despite my false aura of bravado.

He had just finished his own bath. I gasped when he opened the door. He was dripping wet, his lean hips covered with a linen towel that just reached his knees. If he was beautiful in his uniform, he was even more so half naked and dripping wet. He stole all of the breath from my lungs.

" Nikita? " he said, looking me up and down. " Is it twenty-one bells? "

" You said twenty, sir. At least that's -uh-what you told Kit. I came on time."

He smiled and ushered me in. " I'm sorry. I was bathing. I meant to be dressed."

" It's not a bother, sir. You'll just be taking off your clothes anyway, to my thinking." I nervously played with the ends of my shawl. There was something about the look he was giving me. I tugged the shawl a little tighter over my breasts. I was trying not to look at his flat light-coloured male nipples. I'd seen many a naked man before, but none as finely built as this one. " I hope I'm not a disappointment, sir."

" A disappointment? " He gave a soft chuckle. " No, you're not at all. You're more than I expected you to be. You're very tall. I don't think I've ever been with uh, met a woman as tall as you are."

" Am I too tall? " My heart plummeted.

" No. Not at all. It'll be different. One gets a little tired of neck strain. No, Kit uh, Nikita you'll do very nicely. "

I was breathing hard now. Just the smell of him. Clean and fresh, like a morning in the woods. I wanted to drink him in. To lick the droplets of water from those wide shoulders, that awesome expanse of smooth chest. He wasn't hairy either, not like some of the men I had seen. Like great monkeys they were.

" Would you like some wine? To relax you? " He indicated a decanter on the table.

" No sir. I don't drink spirits. But I would like the gold first. I want to put it in my slipper, sir." I felt terrible saying it but that was what I was there for. I had a feeling my mind was going to get quite foggy.

" Of course." He gave me a slow, seductive smile. " Three gold pieces, was it? "

" No, sir. Two."

He nodded, prowling to the dresser and removing two from a bulging purse that lay there. Lord, to have all that gold. Well, I thought to myself, one day I would have chests of it. He put them into my hand. I felt the weight of them and sighed. I was not so rude as to bite them to check that they were not bronze.

" Are you in a hurry? For two gold coins I'll expect you to stay the night."

I nodded. " Yes, sir."

Oh, God, I thought. Does he expect me to be the one to start things. I didn't have a clue as to what I ought to do. I guessed it would be kissing. That was how it started with most of the doxies in the brothel. A round of slap and tickle.

I had seen the doxies take the men's tongues into their mouths. I had always thought it abhorrent. The idea mad me want to wretch, but this man, with his clean shaven face and his straight white teeth. I thought perhaps having his tongue in my mouth would be good. Maybe even delicious.

I started as I felt him come up behind me. I wondered if he knew what I'd been thinking. His fingers were at my shoulders. " I thought I'd take your shawl. It's warm in here but I could still have a fire lit."

" No, sir. I'm fine." I released the knitted shawl. He looked down at my breasts, peeping above my bodice. I suddenly wished I'd worn stays. My waist would have looked better, I think. He smiled at me. " Am I pretty enough, sir? " I was getting worried. He hadn't said a word, just looked at me with those half closed, heavily lashed eyes.

" You're perfect," he said. " An angel. But then I knew you'd be. "

With a heavy swallow, I said, " Thank you. sir, I don't really know what to do. Where to start..." In a way it was true, but in a way I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to follow my heart, my instincts, but I did not know if they were accurate.

I wanted to touch his chest. to see if it were has hard and smooth and damp as I imagined. I took a deep breath and lifted my hand, laying it on the heavy curve of muscle just above his heart. I could imagine I felt the heavy pound of his blood beneath my fingers. I let my fingers trail down the indentation of his sternum, toward his navel, just to the edge of the towel. His body felt, hot and hard and velvety. I could see the outline of his manhood thrust beneath the damp towelling. That made me smile. Made me want to giggle. And then I felt the panic rise.

I was thinking: Oh, God, he's far too big. This is going to hurt.

He took a deep breath and grasped my hand, lifting it to his lips. He kissed the backs of my fingers. The gesture surprised me. " I think you know exactly what to do. You can start by calling me, Michel. You don't have to worry. We have all the time in the world. The whole night."

I nodded. Somehow one night would never seem like enough time.

" I think we'll start with a kiss, shall we? "

" If that's what you'd like, sir. . . I mean, Michel."

" Yes, I'd like that very much. "He stared into my eyes again. I was amazed by the colour of them, so pretty surrounded by that thicket of lashes, yet I knew that angel's face could likely be hard and uncompromising. I ran my tongue along the edge of my lips to moisten them. I had that odd feeling again that I had experienced in the market. That strange tug from breast to thigh, the inexplicable sense of tightening, of wanting to burst out of my skin as if it didn't fit me any longer.

He pulled me toward him and I gasped as the blisters on my feet brought me back into myself.

" Are you alright? Am I going too fast? "

" It's my feet. They hurt. These shoes are too small. May I take them off ? "

I smiled and led me to the bed. I bent to remove the shoes but he stilled my hands, dropping to one knee and began to untie the laces. It was shockingly intimate, having his warm, long fingered hand wrapped round my ankle. " This must hurt you," he said, touching the spot where my half boot had rubbed at my ankle.

" I get used to it. All my shoes are too small, sir. Mostly I try to go bare foot, but last year I stepped on a nail and it got putrid. I was lucky I didn't lose my " I stopped myself. " I'm sorry. "

He nodded, as if he could not imagine being so poor. And I was not half so poor as most. I didn't want to see the glaze of pity in those handsome eyes. Desire was something far more easy to accept, if that's what his look had been.

" After today I can buy proper boots."

He winced. And then he came up on his knees so that he was kneeling between my legs. We were face to face. He took my face in his hands and I could feel his long fingers at my ears, his thumbs near my throat. He drew my face close to his and he kissed me.

It was a dulcet kiss. A drugging, gentle kiss that stirred my very soul. I could smell his hair and his skin. It smelled of fine milled soap and lemons and his mouth was delicious. Hot, spicy, sweet like candied ginger that Walter had once brought me as a present. I waited for his tongue to invade my mouth. I prayed for it to happen with my eyes closed..

" Are you sure about this, Kita? "

" Yes, oh, yes. I'm sure."

" You feel so good, but I want you to want this ,too. I want you to want me, too. As I do you." His tone was husky, sensual, but there was an underlying note that I didn't want to dwell on. Had he called me, Kit? If he had, I didn't care. I suppose I hadn't fooled him with my disguise. He'd seen through it. He could probably see that I was half in love with him already. Something, I'm sure, that he was used to having happen.

" I do. I can't think of anyone I'd rather be with than you." I smiled at him and touched his smooth shaven cheek.

" I'll teach you all you need to know. I hope I can go slow. It's been a long time for me, too."

I felt his hands at the ties to my bodice. He released the ties and pulled the garment from my skirt. I helped him pull it over my head. He looked at my breasts beneath my sheer chemise, his depth of concentration causing me to smile. He looked like Walter's dog when he was expecting cook to give him the soup bone. My nipples were plainly visible and hardened to points beneath the thin cloth. I felt no shame, just a heightened awareness of my womanly self. It was wonderful. I had denied it so long.

I was stunned by the look on his face, the same torturous need that I seemed to be feeling.

" You're beautiful, Kita, " he said softly and drew me against him for another kiss. This time he used his tongue almost like one would use it while fencing. Parrying. Thrusting. Retreating. Inviting me to do the same.. My body was pressed against his, his chest heating me like a stove, inflaming me. I was surprised to hear the involuntary gaps that emanated from my throat. The whimpers became moans as his hand lowered to caress my breast beneath the cloth of my chemise.

And then as if by magic he slowly divested me of the remaining garments and he was telling me how beautiful I was and laying me on the bed, kissing my face, my neck, my shoulders, my breasts. It seemed like hours. He asked me not to touch him back. He said he would make it good for me. That for him it had been too long. He talked about exploding. I told him I just felt as if I might go up in flames. He said that was good and then he laughed, that low, sumptuous rumble. His face was buried between my breasts, his tongue lapping a burning path to my navel, his hand between my trembling thighs. I was wet but he said that was good. Perfect. He said I was ready and that he was so glad I wanted him.

I wanted him more than I wanted to breathe.

How do I describe it? I don't think I have the words. It was perfect. Like honey was flowing through my veins. Like the bed wasn't there and I was floating on clouds, on duck down. And then, when it came upon me and I writhed and gasped at his touch, and he kissed me, sighing into my mouth as if he'd found joy in my joy. Then he smiled at me and I said that I knew then what it was to explode and I asked him he had exploded yet.

He laughed and said: Soon. I told him, quite shyly that I was a star in the heavens burning for him. Only him.

I had felt like that. Oh, I had. Shattering. Expanded. Like a million little points of light, of pure, white brilliance. I think I found my soul then, as if I'd never known who I was before. I would never forget it. It was lovely and devastating. I hoped it would be as lovely for him, that there would be more for us.

I loved him. I knew it then. It was a given. A fact I would never change or deny. I did not know him and yet I knew him better than anyone. It was as if we were meant to be. As if our bodies were meant to be fused together in this liquid embrace, this glittering harmony.

I even loved him when he hurt me, when his body entered mine. But he soothed it with little bites followed by soothing licks of his tongue along my neck and shoulder and then deep, hungry kisses for my mouth. I know he held himself back. I know he was mindful of my tenderness, my inexperience. And when he reached it, that same sweet fulfilment I had found, I watched him, the torment, the triumph and then the peace reflected in his handsome face. I held him tenderly as he shook and moaned, burying my hands in his thick, fragrant hair as he collapsed on top of me, his face in the crook of my shoulder, his shoulders pushing me into the soft down bed. " Oh, God, Kita," he whispered. " My, God." I would have expected him to fall asleep, but he didn't. He lifted his head and grinned at me. His hair was tousled, his eyes heavy lidded. He was so heartbreakingly beautiful he made me want to cry.

" Can you do that again? " I found myself asking as I pulled the ribbon from his clubbed hair and spread the bright, silken locks over his shoulders. His hair was almost as long as mine, the strands curling loosely over my fingers. " Can you? "

He laughed and said it was quite possible. I could feel him stirring to life against my thigh. It was even better the second time. He let me touch him all I wanted, let me explore the wonders of his hard, muscled body. Every inch. Every perfect, ravishing inch.

Later we lay there talking. My head was on his shoulder, his arm about my waist. I was a little sore, but it was nothing to speak of. I felt happy, replete. I don't think I'd ever felt quite like that before even after eating all of the sweets I wanted. I've always been rather an eager learner. I was his willing pupil and I hoped an apt one.

" Where were you born? " I asked him, yawning so hard my jaw cracked.

" Marseilles."

" Why did you decide to join the navy? "

" I like the sea. I had other choices, but I'm the second son of a marquis. My older brother will inherit the title and the land. As younger son I was forced to find some way to make a living." He was playing with my hair as he spoke to me. His voice held a little regret. I don't quite understand the laws of inheritance, that one child is favoured over the other. That was why my father went to sea. He was English, of quality. That's what they had told me.

" I'm glad you came here to Tripoli, Michel Samuelle."

" I'm glad, too." he sounded wistful. " I have to leave next week. We sail for about eight months and then I go back to France."

" Oh," I said softly.

" I'll be married, " he said. " To Elena. It was arranged when we were children. "

" Is she pretty? "

" I don't know. I haven't seen her since she was eight. She had very dark hair and black eyes. I imagine that hasn't changed. She was delicate. Dainty. She's been in convent schools. She's a little older than you."

I stared at him. He seemed resigned to his fate. " You don't love her? "

" I don't even know her, but that's the way it is. She's got a good dowery. I can leave the navy if I want. There'll be plenty to live on. "

" Do you want to? "

" Sometimes. At one time I didn't think there was anything better out there than the smell of the sea. I find it hard to get used to dry land."

" I can't think of anything better than being on the sea." I told him about my father, how he had been a pirate. He just gave me an indulgent smile like one gives a child. It rankled me a little.

" I have a proposition for you. Will you hear me out? " He raised up on his elbow, tracing the freckles on my chest with one long finger. " I can give you carte blanche. Do you know what that is, Kita? "

I shook my head. " No."

" Follow me to France next week. I'll set you up in a house. You can have what ever you need. Dresses. A carriage. Servants. I can afford it."

I stared at him. " You'd keep me, you mean ? " My heart was pounding. I'd heard of this practice before. Of the fine gents who kept their quadroons and their doxies. All above board and with the permission of the wife who turned the other cheek.

" Under the nose of Elena."

He had the grace to look sheepish. " I told you that I have a duty to her. I am honour bound but she's a most understanding girl, I'm sure, as are most wives of our social "

For one minute I imagined it. Having him with me at least some of the time. And then I thought about sharing him with someone else. " I'm not interested in being kept. I have no wish to be a whore."

His face darkened. " What are you doing here in my bed then, Kit Black? "

This time I had the grace to blush.

" I didn't mean that you're a whore. How can a bloody virgin be a whore," he said his brows knitting together. He appeared to be genuinely contrite. " And I know you are a virgin because I felt it."

" Was a virgin."

" Yes, was," he said softly. " Still faultless. " He touched my breast. His fingers burned me.

I jerked back. " You're in the habit of despoiling virgins, are you? "

" No. Of course I'm not in the habit of that. You just felt different. And there's blood on the sheets. Nikita, please "

I sat up and tugged the sheet from the bed, wrapping it around me. I just managed to waylay the arm that shot out to grab mine. I had left him quite naked. He didn't seem to mind at all. Of course the sight of all that tanned hard flesh on the white sheet he lay on took my breath away, but I told myself that I was angry and insulted. But if the truth be known, now that I look back on it, I was flattered by his interest.

That he felt enough for me after having had me twice to offer carte blanche. A home of my own. A carriage. Servants. It was nice to know that if I were so inclined I would not end up like my mother.

Well I would end up that way, just a higher paid version. A whore is a whore. And what if I was to have children? What would they be? Bastards like me? Elena's children would bear his name. And if I got old or unattractive would he leave me in the streets? I knew he would. There would be younger ones wanting him. He would only become more attractive as he aged.

Oh, no. I was not going to be beholding to any man. I was not going to take this man's money. Now or ever. I had made a terrible mistake.

I jerked away from him and left the bed. I lifted my chin high as I searched for my clothes. I planned to refund him his damned coins, too. So much for the coins and the new boots. It was no great loss really and he had done me the favour of satisfying my curiosity. Oh, God, he satisfied it well. I knew no man was ever going to measure up to him.

" Nikita . . . Come back to bed," he beseeched.

" No, thank you."

" We had a bargain. I think I lived up to my end of it."

" Aye we did. But I'm reneging. I don't need your money." I found my chemise on the floor where he had tossed it and slipped it over my head. Then I stepped into my skirt. I still couldn't find my bodice. If it came down to it, I'd wear the shawl home. " And don't think you are so wonderful at fucking Michel Samuelle. You're not. You're too old for me. "

" Really? Decrepit, am I ? "

" Yes. I feel quite sorry for your Elena."

" What are you doing? " He was genuinely nonplussed now. He rose from the bed and walked to the chair naked.

No. The man prowled. How does a man walk the same naked as he does with clothes. With the same regal bearing and the same haughty pride. My God he was splendid. I just watched him, stupefied, my heart thudding against my ribs. I couldn't take my eyes off his smooth rounded rear, white beneath the tanned line where his breeches had stopped the sun from kissing his skin.

He slipped on a robe, jade silk with Chinese characters. I wouldn't have been surprised if he had chosen it because it made his eyes look even more attractive.

" I won't be needing the money. My mother is dying. She hasn't got long. After that I'm going to sea."

" You've got to be joking. You're going to put that silly disguise back on and pretend to be a man so you can go to sea? " He laughed at me again, like it was all some big joke.

" I hate you for laughing. It is not funny. You are the first man who has ever seen through my disguise. The first, Michel Samuelle. I am taller than most men and equally as smart and I can make my voice quite deep. I can use a sword, too. I can read and cipher. I can read maps of all kinds. I know all about the stars and changes in the weather. Walter taught me. I can learn to be a buccaneer just like my da. Damned if I can't. I will have more gold one day than you'll ever offer me."

He shook his head at me. I wanted to punch him. Instead I turned and picked up his sword. " I ought to run you though for that."

He sighed and held up his hands. " I believe you. At least take the three gold coins."

" No. I don't want them."

" You said you needed boots. I want you to have "

" I don't want anything of yours."

" Ah, but you already have it."

" What? "

" You have my heart and my undying desire, my lady pirate."

At that I tossed the coins at him and followed with the sword. He ducked but I think the blade nicked his face. I didn't look at him. I backed out of the door and slammed it in his handsome face. Horrified I wanted to go back to him and see how much damage I had done with the sword blade. I didn't.

I walked barefoot home and cried for the most of the way. My feet hurt on the rough stones and my legs ached between them like I had been ridden hard. I was ashamed and disgusted and terribly sad.

Oh, God, what if I'd taken out his eye?

I couldn't remember crying since I was a child. When I slipped through Walter's window it was to the word that my mother had died.

I didn't think I could cry over Madeline, my mother. I had believed that her death would come as a relief. She had suffered too long. But I did cry. I cried until my ribs ached and all I could manage after a time were dry gasps that hurt my throat. There seemed to be no more tears. She was so still and so thin, so unlike the laughing dark eyed woman of her youth.

There was something in her hand. I had to pry her fingers apart to get it. I didn't want one of the others to take it when they came to wash her body. It was a medallion on a leather string. I looked at it carefully. It depicted a moon with a man's face. A grinning face. I don't know where it had some from.

I showed it to Walter. He told me it had been my father's.

I covered my mother's face with the blanket and walked back to Walter's rooms with him. I was thinking about Michel Samuelle, wondering if that sabre had cut his eye. If I was honest with myself part of my sadness was over the prospect of never seeing him again. I wondered if I would carry that picture I had of him forever in my mind's eye. Of his handsome face lowering to kiss me.

" We haven't got the funds for a burial. I'll take a rowboat out and put her into the sea. She said it would be alright, though she never like it much herself. She doesn't deserve to be in the pauper's field ."

" Aye. That'll do, Walter."

" What happened, lass. Where are your shoes? "

" I left them behind." I sat down and looked at my feet. There were cuts on them, the bottoms black with soil.

" You got your gold pieces, didn't you? " Walter squinted at me, lighting his pipe.

I bit my lip. I had never been able to lie to Walter. Not in my entire life. The few times I did he made me go out back to the bush and choose my own switch so he could whip me with it. I told him the truth always now. With a voice raspy from crying I told him of what was offered and what I did in retaliation for it.

" There's many a fine lady who'd take a gent up on an offer like that," he said. " You could be wearing those wide straw hats and silk dresses. You'd have enough shoes for an army."

" I have no intention of taking him up on it."

" Aye, well he won't be so pretty to look at with one eye gone."

I cringed at that.

" He might sent the authorities after ye."

" I don't think he knows where I live. I didn't tell him. There are lots of whore houses in Tripoli."

" Not many that house six foot blonde boys names Kit, I'd imagine."

I sighed. " I don't care. I hope I missed his damn eye, but he'll have a scar to remember me by. Did I hear that the Black Moon docked yesterday? "

" Aye. It did. What are you getting at girl ?"

" I'm planning to join her."

" With Greg Hillinger as captain? The man's a bastard if there ever was one. You'll not be safe, girl. That is a daft idea. I thought you'd done with that long ago."

" I'll be fine, Walter. I've a week to get my boots and my sword. If I have to steal them I will."

" I'll be joinin' the crew of the Black Moon, too, then. I'll not be lettin' you suffer that fate alone."

" You're too old, Walter," I called after him angrily as he walked away. " I'll not be needing a nursemaid."

I was scrubbing pots for the cook three days later when Walter came into the kitchen. " There's someone to see you. "

I stared at him. " Who'd want to see me ? "

" Your Frenchman. He has something of yours he want to give to you."

My heart was pounding furiously. " If it's the shoes I forgot and my bodice tell him to throw them away."

" He's insistent about seein' you, Kit. He's talking about revealing secrets, if you take my meaning."

My face flamed. The bastard. The skunk. " Where is he? "

" I left him waiting in the lane. Oh," Walter grinned. " You just missed the eye." He went off chuckling heartily. Men.

I took a deep, shaky breath before I got up the nerve to walk to the back door. He was standing with his wide back to me. I let my eyes trail down his fine form, from the top of his head to his gloriously shiny boots.

" You wanted to see me? "

He whirled and smiled at me. He seemed amused by my appearance. I wished I were wearing my hat so that I could tug it low over my eyes. I tried not to let it get to me. I was happy to see him in one piece. The only flaw was a cut to his eyebrow. It appeared to be split in two and had been neatly stitched. There would be little scarring to show for the hardship.

" I'm sorry about your mother," he said.

" Thank you. Is that why you came here ? " I was hard not to feel as I stood there before him. To feel the velvet touch of his lips on mine, his soft fragrant hair against my face. Damned if I didn't want him again. My body was a great betrayer. If I was ever to get anywhere, get away from this beautiful looking man who held my heart prisoner, I would have to be one hell of a lot stronger than I was feeling.

" No, Kita. I've brought you something. And I will not take no for an answer." He held out a muslin wrapped parcel to me. " Open it."

I shook my head trying not to meet the earnest gleam in his lovely jade eyes. I would most definitely not look at his mouth. That would be my undoing. " I told you I didn't "

" Open it. I insist."

I unwrapped the bundle, my heart in my throat. Inside was a pair of shiny new boots. They smelled of leather and boot-black. They were new, custom made, the stitching fine, the leather supple. I knew they had cost him more than the two pieces of gold I had thrown back at him.

" I can't take them."

" Yes, you can."

I shook my head stubbornly. " How did you know my size? " I longed to try them on, to walk in them, to wear something that would actually make my feet feel good for a change rather than pinched and chaffing. I had never had a pair of new shoes before. And to think he'd gone to the trouble to do it. It overwhelmed me. After I'd been so obnoxious.

But then his proposition had been odious and insulting, hadn't it?

" There's no sense telling me to take them back. I had them custom made. I took your slippers in with me and had these made larger. Try them."

" I'll try them. I won't keep them."

I sat on one of the empty crates. I was ashamed of my crude stockings, dirty and full of holes. The boots were perfect. They slipped up over my ankles and calves with the littlest of tugs. There was room for my toes and the heels didn't slip. I stood in them and looked at him, eye to eye, mouth to mouth. I wanted to wrap my arms around his neck and hug him. And I was finding it terribly hard not to cry because, no one, absolutely no one but Walter had ever been so very kind and generous to me.

" You want me to change my mind about the offer you made me to live in Paris, don't you? "

" I want you to be comfortable, Nikita. I don't see you being the type who changes her mind once it's made up."

" I won't, you know. Change my mind. About what you asked or the path I wish my life to take."

He seemed concerned. " You can't be serious about the Black Moon. I know it's docked somewhere near here. There are stories about Hillinger. He was once in the English Navy. They drummed him out for cruelty. "

" He's a privateer. And he's not said to be a slave smuggler." I was going to kill Walter for telling him.

" He's said to be a brute. He's a pirate. "

I shrugged. " I can manage it. I can look after myself. If any man tries anything with me he dies. "

He touched his injured brow. " I believe that, Kit. But you're too pretty. They'll know."

I blushed. " I can do it."

" I'll be worrying about you."

" You have no cause to worry about me. You'll have a wife to worry over soon. "

" Yes, that's true. I wanted to ask you something else. Do you think there's any possibility that you may have conceived that night? I didn't take the precautions I'd meant to."

I blushed. " No. I'm sure "

" Kit, my love. It can happen the first time and I want you to know that I'll "

" I am sure. My monthly flow is on me now." I didn't want him calling me his love. I didn't want that. Not ever.

He seemed relieved. Perhaps he was. I was not certain. It was hard to read his gaze. I suspected he was practised at hiding his feelings as are most military men. He had carefully schooled his features onto a handsome blank before he spoke again. " I have something else to give you."

" I don't want anything else."

" Ah, but you have to take it. It's of little use to me now."

He removed his scabbard and the fine sabre within and handed it to me.

" No! I will not take your sabre, sir! Never."

" I can't use it now." He gave me a rueful smile. " You know what the legend says, don't you? We Navy men are very superstitious."

I glared at him. " How? What legend? "

" If a man " He grinned and looked at my bound breasts. " If a man has taken your sword and used it against you and draws blood, it will never be trusted again. I cannot use it. I'd risk death in battle."

" That is not true."

" It is. I'd not lie to you."

" That's silly."

" It's how I feel. I shall just leave it in the trash heap then. It was a gift from my grandfather."

" You can't."

" I will."

I looked at the sabre, glistening like gold in the sun. It was a fine weapon, beautiful. His initials were carved into the hilt. MDSS " What do they stand for? "

" Michel Dante Sebastian Samuelle."

I sighed, " I'll take it then. I'm sorry I took your luck. I didn't know. One day I'll return it to you and you can give it to your son."

" Maybe I'll have a daughter."

" Maybe she'll need a sabre " I could feel my throat thickening. " If you'll accept something from me, I'll take it and Ill look after it just as you would have."

He nodded.

I pulled the medallion from out of my shirt and over my head. I laid it in his warm palm. " This was my father's. Now it is yours, Michel Dante Sebastian Samuelle."

He smiled. " I'll wear it with pride, Kit. One day I'll return it to you."

I nodded. My chin was trembling. I was going to cry. How I hated this. I didn't want to part with him but he was not mine. And he would never be mine, not the way that I wanted him. I would never share him.

I took the sword and wearing the boots which felt as light as clouds on my feet I walked away from him. I didn't trust my voice to utter a goodbye.

" Kita? "

My God. Could he not leave well enough alone? I felt two hot tears slip down my cheeks. I realised I had not thanked him. I was so used to being gruff and undisciplined as boys are wont to be. Sometimes I think I am male at heart. I turned and looked over my shoulder. For once my boots didn't stab my heels and toes and cause me pain.

I turned, stared into his sad eyes and hurled my self into his waiting arms. He lifted me up so that I was on my toes, hugging me hard against him. I could feel his heart pounding wildly against mine. I buried my nose in the warmth of his neck, my cheek abraded by the braid around his collar. " Thank you," I managed. " Truly, you are most kind."

" My thoughts are hardly kind at the moment," he said huskily. I could feel his hard hands pressing into my back.

I pulled away before he could kiss me. My God, I wanted him to kiss me. I craved it. His taste, his texture. He hadn't shaved so closely as the night we'd been together and his beard prickled my skin.

"If anyone sees us they'll think you're queer. I am supposed to be a male."

He laughed.

" I've got to go in now. I do. I wish you well."

" And I you. I wish things could have been different, Nikita."

I just nodded.

"God speed, Nikita, " he said softly.

" And you Michel Dante Sebastian Samuelle. And you. " And you, my love.

*************

"Who hath desired the sea?-
the immense and contemptuous surges?
The shudder, the stumble, the swerve
as the star-stabbing bowsprit emerges?"
--Kipling

In a little less that three weeks I had set sail on the Black Moon. Walter had joined with me to my great anger. There was nothing I could do to stop him. Hillinger was glad to take him. There were few men who were stupid enough to join his crew.

As a member of Hillinger's crew we sailed for the flag of England. In doing that I became, for all intents and purposes, the enemy of the man I loved, who sailed for the crown of France.

Privateers have an appointed captain, one named by the sponsor, the country of origin. Pirates elect their captains and should he prove not to be up to the job at hand, could easily be ousted by another vote. Privateers loot and pillage in the name of the country who arms them with a letter of marque. Their actions are condoned by said country.

I could see little difference between the two, really, but in my eyes the life a pirate was better in many ways. And I'd rather Captain Gregory Hillinger go down in history as a privateer because he gave pirates a bad name.

I hated him on sight. He was one of those small, puffed up little men who ruled with brutality and no brains or heart. I suppose it made up for what he lacked in size. I'm sure his manly parts were no larger than my baby finger.

Many of the men on board the ship were once in the Royal Navy and had joined in order to make more than the usual ten pounds a year. Hillinger did not make them much happier than the navy had. The rum was scarce and the rations, too. Most of the men had left to escape the punishments inflicted by the British Naval officers, but Hillinger's were worse.

I had not been flogged yet. It seemed that Hillinger had been in a good mood of late. I had done all I could to avoid making myself known to anyone as a trouble maker. I kept my head down and slouched a lot. I spoke only when spoken to. I found being on the ship the closest thing I could imagine to being in a jail except in jail one didn't get tossed overboard in a storm as had happened to two of the crew the week before. We never saw them again.

Jail was likely safer.

I had thought I'd be a swashbuckler. All I had signed on for was hard labour. But I loved the sea and I loved the smell of the air and the blue of the sky. I was born for the sea.

And then I would remember, when I was lying in my hammock, my face stinging from sunburn and my hands oozing from raw cuts and blisters. To think I could have had a wide straw hat, a dress with real lace and looking forward to nights in a high bed beneath Michel Samuelle.

I was not going to think about what could have been. I was going to try to survive this.

There was someone I discovered whom I liked aboard. His name was Seymour. He was quiet and mouse-like, an orphan from London a few years younger than myself. He had dreams of being a mapper and navigator. Instead his job was to help Walter, who had signed on as ship's cook. Some said he had run a way to avoid the workhouse.

I should mention here that Walter was Captain Hillinger's cook. He was the only one who ate decently. He would come to deck burping, the remains of his dinner in his beard and down the front of himself. I used to salivate from the smell of roasting mutton. For the rest of us it was hardtack and cabbage soup made from salt pork. I think I lost a stone in weight the first week. I didn't hardly have to bind my breasts anymore.

Seymour used to look at me strangely in the beginning. I asked him once why he peered at me like a mouse. He grinned and said he couldn't see well. " I once had some spectacles. They helped a lot."

" What happened to them."

" I did something the master at the home didn't like. He crushed them under his foot. I have part of one of the lenses left. " He showed it to me looped on a string around his neck.

" Bastard." So many bastards in the world to abuse the poor. So few men like Walter. And Michel.

" Has the captain ever touched you? " I asked him one day.

He seemed perturbed, " He likes lads, he does. But not me. Thinks I'm too ugly."

" Thank God," I said.

" Heard him talk about you though, Kit. He says you're pretty for a lad. He said he liked you hair and your eyes."

I felt my meager ration of food rise up and choke me.

" Watch out for yourself."

" Aye." I decided I was going to cut off my hair first chance I got.

" If I ever get the chance I'm going to jump this ship and join Jean Lafitte. He's said to be a good man and fair, Kit."

" Jean Lafitte? A Frenchman?" saying the word Frenchman brought Michel to mind. I spent a lot of nights dreaming of him. Sometimes I thought I would moan his name aloud and wake Seymour and the other men. I thought about him a lot. Once I dreamed that we looted a French vessel. I shook with fear when I saw that he was on it. I saw myself strike him down with his own sword and kill him. He lay face up on the deck staring at me with those smoky jade eyes. I woke in a sweat.

Hillinger was such a lousy captain and the ship so rife with worm holes we couldn't catch a French ship if we wanted to. The ship was nothing more than a rat infested, dank smelling dungeon. We would sail to Jamaica empty handed. Hillinger was livid. Even small mistakes were cause for the lash. One man had done nothing more than dip from a drinking barrel. Hillinger delivered the first of twenty lashes himself with a feral grin.

Seymour went on about LaFitte. Every day he would give me some new bit of gossip. " Lafitte's a privateer. He calls himself an American for what that's worth though he sails out of a place called Grande Terre Island."

" He sounds like a good man."

" Aye. Has a fleet of twenty ships now, Kit. None of his men starve and they all get a good share in any loot taken."

I smiled at him. " Maybe things will improve. Maybe some day we will share the loot and a fine island and a hundred ships."

They got far worse before they did improve.

I spent a week below decks coating the insides of the leaking ship with oakum, a mixture of tar, sulfur and tallow to repair the damage done by the teredo worms. It was slow going work. The fumes made me sick. The concoction stained my face and my hands black. I couldn't strip to the waist like the others did to apply it. I had to wear my clothes to protect my identity. I was glad I hadn't a mirror to see the reflection of the girl Michel Samuel had once referred to as beautiful.

At night in my hammock I would touch the frazzled ends of my hair and cry.

Things changed somewhere near the middle of the return leg. I was exhausted as were many of the crew. We had lost three men to fever and had to throw the bodies overboard. It was a bad day but it was to end even worse.

Hillinger had been drinking rum all day and was drunk by nightfall. He was angry with Seymour because he had made some sort of charting error. He had taken over for the ship's boatswain and navigator who had succumbed to the putrid sore throat.

Terrified, Seymour crouched on deck as a red faced, slobbering Hillinger berated him. I thought he'd be lashed for sure but his fate was to be something far worse.

It was a heinous punishment. One of the men was to stuff Seymour's mouth full of rags and oakum, the caulking compound. The disgusting substance would be set aflame. Few survived the burns. Others just choked to death.

I stared at Walter. " You can't let that happen."

" How do we stop it? He has it in for the lad. " Walter hissed. He took my arm and squeezed it hard. " Leave off, Kit. If you interfere, you'll get the same."

I tore out of his grasp, glared at him and went over anyway. My legs were trembling. I cared little then. Death did not seem such a bad thing at all.

" This is animal brutality. Nothing more. This is against the Articles."

" The lamb speaks," laughed Hillinger. " And he knows the articles."

" Aye," I said, sticking my chin out. " You've gone too far, captain."

" I have, have I, pretty laddie? "

" Aye."

" And you'll be willing to take his place then."

Walter cried out my name at that moment. I looked at Seymour, the tears flowing down his small face.

" Aye, I'll take his place."

Hillinger laughed. " Good." He looked round at his men. " I'll take ye below to my cabin then. We'll discuss this. We'll discuss the Articles of Piracy."

He pushed me hard and I fell to my knees. Then he kicked me in the rear and sent me sprawling across the deck. Some of the men laughed heartily at his antics, but for the most part they stared after us in grim silence.

His quarters reeked of urine. There were papers and unwashed articles of clothing everywhere. One of his pistols lay on a pile of maps.

" So, laddie, you think yourself a brave man then? "

" No. I think no such thing. I'm not much of a man."

He laughed. " Aye, well. We'll see." He came up behind me and fondled my buttocks.

" Very nice. Rather soft for a lad. I like that."

He groaned and reached between my legs, looking for something more, looking to undo my britches.

The shock was what did him in. Aye, the fact that there was no penis on me to fondle. That's when I killed him.

Being the captain of a pirate ship is not the same as being the captain of a ship in the Royal navy. A pirate captain is democratically elected by his men. Or her men if the case may be.

Even the most successful pirate captains had to endure a host of things from stealing food and drink from his own stock to his men bringing whores aboard ship. A captain was only allowed absolute power in battle or in a crisis like a storm at sea. The captain was allowed two shares of the booty and nothing else.

Democratic and kind captains fared little better than the ones like Hillinger.

So I found myself a pirate captain once I commandeered the Black Moon. I was now the enemy of the English for having killed Hillinger and the enemy of all others because the Black Moon was now a pirate ship.

A few of the men objected to a lady captain. They were asked politely to leave at the next port and I hired on some new crew. Seymour was appointed quartermaster. We purchased spectacles at the next large port. He no longer had to squint through the broken shard around his neck. Walter became my boatswain, in charge of all maintenance and naval stores. I learned as I went along.

I think I made a fairly nice picture after I cleaned myself up. Sometimes I would catch the men gaping at me as I strolled the decks in my 'uniform' of tight black breeches, long linen shirt and vest. My hair had grown to shoulder length and I kept it tied back with a black ribband. I had a bath every week, though the men would laugh at me. They shook their heads at the lengths I went to clean up Hillinger's mess. I was not about to risk putrid fevers again.

My boots were polished to a high shine, the same that Michel had given me. I had kept them safe in the bottom of my sea chest. His sabre, long hidden in my bunk was now strapped to my side.

I still had the nightmares of meeting him and having to use it on him. Those were interspersed with dreams of him that were of such an erotic nature I'd wake up crying out and drenched with sweat.

We set sail for Grande Terre Island where I would meet the great Jean Lafitte and change the course of my life once again. One year later I turned twenty two and found myself living the dream I had held for so long.

I was Kit Black and I was a buccaneer. And yet I was still in love with a man I'd thought I'd likely never see again.

Jean Lafitte was a handsome man. He was tall, even taller than me. He wore his jet black hair to his shoulders and had his beard trimmed close to his face. His eyes were grey, a light wolfish colour. I was terrified at first when he came on board the Black Moon, but he was impressed with me. He was a little surprised that I would draw my sabre to protect myself.

Instead of fighting we shook hands and he invited me to his villa. He made me several interesting propositions over dinner just as he toasted me with the finest of French wines.

I was just ready to call it a night, a very late, night when Walter knocked on my cabin door.

"Hello, Walter," I said. I was feeling a little tipsy. I'd consumed a lot of wine with Lafitte and even smoked one of his fine cigars. Though if the truth be known those turned my stomach a little. I had little interest in making drink and cigars a habit. But the food was sumptuous. I have never eaten as well and Lafitte laughed to see me shovel it down with both hands. And there was pie for dessert with real cream. I had never tasted anything so wonderful.

And French bon bons. I ate ten.

" So how is it to be keeping company with the likes of the gentleman pirate? "

" He was a gentleman." For the most part. I wasn't surprised at all when he asked me to warm his bed. I held him off at arm's length with a teasing retort. " Do you ask that of the male captains who sit at your table? " He was shocked at my audacity, but he laughed.

I had no intention of sleeping with Lafitte. Unless I lost our wager.

" We set out next week for France," I told Walter excitedly. " And not in the likes of this leaky sponge. I'm going to be sailing in a schooner of Lafitte's called the Kestrel."

" His ship?"

" Aye one of his best. And if we beat him to France I shall be made captain of one of the best in his fleet. If I do well, Walter, I will be given a share in the company."

" And why is that? Because you have a pretty face? "

" Because I am skilled. Because I took this ship from Hillinger You know Walter, you keep giving me those looks I'll have you keel hauled."

" Did you know there's a price on your head? "

" The English have better things to worry about," I laughed. " They're likely glad I rid them of the little pervert."

" I think you're too cocky by half, girl. I think you need someone to take you down a peg or two. Perhaps that Frenchman. What was his name? "

" Don't mention his name to me. I've forgotten him completely."

"Ah, tell yourself that. And what happens if you lose this race to France? "

"I have to sleep with Lafitte. I become his mistress. I won't lose."

" I want to ask you something. I thought you were the one always bragging about your high ideals, Kit. About not wanting to transport slaves."

" I won't be doing it, Walter. Goods. Goods only. Lafitte has agreed."

" Yet, he does it. He makes most of his money on the illegal slave trade. I assume you noticed his servants. Did you notice the keeping huts?"

" They are well treated." I flushed with guilt. I knew he was right but I was to ashamed and too caught up in my change of luck that I wanted to tamp any doubts to the back of my mind.

Walter sighed. " Such a nuisance, lass, these high ideals. I wish you well on the race."

" You'll be with us, Walter, won't you? "

" Aye. I'll be with you, lass. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

I shall not give all the details of the race. It was close. The wind was favourable and Seymour, for all his lack of stature and steel, has a mind like no other for finding a good course. We came through every storm with our sails intact and met no Navy frigates which had been my greatest fear . Lafitte had a run in with some Spaniards. I met him with days to spare.

We danced on the decks, a wild jig of triumph. Seymour and I howled with laughter, dousing each other with champagne. Walter just stood by and smiled at us, a benevolent father.

If Lafitte was disappointed he did not show it. He lifted me up and twirled me in a circle telling me that I was as fine a captain as any he'd ever had. I told him I had a very fine crew but that he was never taking them from me.

" I have an invitation to a ball in Paris in two days time. I want you to accompany me."

A ball. Me at a ball? My heart started to race.

" It's being given by the Marquis de Balzaque. I knew his sons when I was a young man in Marseilles. The toast of Parisian society will be there."

" Would we be welcome?"

" Of course. We'll be most welcome. Rogues such as I are celebrated in society. I am making a grand name for myself. The funny thing is that the Marquis de Balzaque's younger son is a Naval man. But I'm sure he will be quite civilized. He always has been before. "

" If you want to take me, I'd be honoured, Captain."

" Jean, will do, my dear."