Sam laughed. “Stay seated, silly woman,” he said. “Lest you end up as a meal for the sharks.”

Sam. My last image of him was on Barbados as he was led, naked and shackled, by his new master off the wharf and into an open cart with the other slaves, bound for some sugar cane plantation. Despite his injuries at the hands of the slavers, he’d been straight-backed and fearless, bringing tears to my eyes as I’d prayed for him silently. Now he stood before me, a free man, or as free as an African could be in the white man’s world, dressed in a calico shirt, petticoat breeches, a kerchief about his neck, and a brace of pistols slung across his chest. I felt myself choke up.

He was my black pirate. He had to be.

I couldn’t wait for the dinghy to reach the ship, so that I could find out for sure. I nearly tackled Sam once we were finally on board. I flung my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek to his big chest. “Sam! Thank God you’re okay! What are you doing here? How did you get here?”

Sam laughed again, uneasily, taken slightly aback by the emotion in my actions, in my voice. “Easy, nwanyi. I will answer all of your questions.” We sat on the deck and shared a bottle of looted rum as Sam began to explain. “I escaped the plantation in Barbados. There were fifteen of us. We knew our only chance was to find a pirate ship — it was the only place where we would be free. And I had to be free, or die. There was no other option for me.” He swallowed some rum. “We stole a sloop, sailed to Nassau. That was when we found Levasseur and his crew, and they took us on without question.”

I stared at him in wonder, my mouth open. “You make it sound so easy. You escaped the plantation and found a pirate ship, just like that.”

Sam chuckled. “It was not easy. I was shot, we had to hide and steal… No, it was not easy. But even a horrible death was preferable to slavery.”

“And now?” I asked. “You are back in Africa. Why don’t you go back to your people?”

He grinned. “Africa is a big place, nwanyi. And I am not yet at my home. But even so, I would not leave this life.”

I was startled. “Why not?”

He shrugged. “It is hard to explain. I have taken to this life. And there is a certain freedom here, a certain… kinship that I feel with these pirates. We have a common enemy.”

I was silent for a moment, then said, “Levasseur’s men are brutal.”

Sam nodded. “Yes. But life is brutal, is it not? I have no sympathy for my fellow men, least of all the white men. They can kill each other all they want.” He rolled the bottle between his enormous hands, thinking for a moment. “I would like to join Howel Davis. He was good to me on the slave ship, and now we are brothers-at-arms. I would like to fight alongside him.”

I became breathless. “Sam, you… Are you like me? Do you come from the same place?”

Sam tilted his head, looking at me inquisitively. “I do not understand.”

I practically whispered it. “Are you from a different time? From the future? From a time that has not happened yet?”

Sam digested this question for a moment, and I wondered suddenly if his native language had such a concept. Finally, he asked, “You are from a time that has not yet happened?”

I nodded. “Yes. I am from the future. I was in a storm, and I found myself here — in the past.” I leaned forward, excitedly. “I was told by a… sorceress, a witch, that I would be able to get back with the help of a black pirate, who was also from the future. She said this black pirate would come to me.”

Sam studied my face. “I felt you were different, from the beginning.” He rubbed his chin. “And you think I am the black pirate she spoke of, eh?” He sighed. “I am sorry to disappoint you, nwanyi, but I am not.”

I stared. It was impossible. He had to be the one. Who else would it be? “Are you certain?” I asked.

He grinned. “Yes, I am certain that I am not from the future.” His grin slowly disappeared as he saw the despair in my face. “You want to go back to your home, and I am sorry that I cannot help you. But if the witch said he would come to you, then you have only to wait.”

I paused before saying, “You seem… to believe me, Sam.”

“Why would I not believe you?”

I let out a laugh. “Well, because I’m telling you something pretty unbelievable. And I haven’t given you any proof. You should think I’m crazy.”

Sam shook his head. “The white men think you are crazy because they do not believe in the things they cannot explain.”

“Can you explain it?” I asked.

“No, ‘tis beyond the understanding of man,” he replied. “But I can tell you that Chukwu is testing you.”

I sighed heavily. “Fabulous.” I had no idea who Chukwu was, but I was too exhausted to ask. Besides, if the test was anything beyond survival, I didn’t want to know. Once again, I felt immersed in the realm of the supernatural, in the realm of magic.

We sat on the deck quietly together then, the sun setting behind us as we watched the pirates set fire to the fort. It began to crumble amidst the flames and smoke that consumed it. It was a stark contrast, this gorgeous pink and purple sky as a backdrop to the devastation of the fort.

I suddenly said, “That day, back on the Cadogan, when Howel had the men remove your shackles. You said something to him in Igbo that made him think. What was it?”

Sam stared at me. “I do not remember.”

I bit my lip and thought back. “He said, ‘You’ll make some rich landowner all the richer,’ and you replied with ‘You and I together.’ Then you said something to him in Igbo.”

“Ah,” Sam said, his eyes widening as he remembered. “I said, ‘If men are denied the chance to live in freedom, they will make their own freedom.’”

“Wow,” I replied softly, watching some pirates dance drunkenly on the beach of Bunce Island in the distance, wearing some dandy clothes they had found in the fort. If only all the pirates had such lofty ideals.

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There wasn’t as much treasure in Gambia Castle as Howel had hoped — most of the year’s earnings had already been sent back to England, and £3,000 in gold, as well as plenty of goods, was all that was left. This wasn’t mere pocket change, but not as much as the pirates thought they would find, considering the risk they had taken. If Howel felt disappointment, he showed none of it, lavishing his crew with praise and reward, smiling readily, and treating his captives as though they were guests in his home. Before taking the fort, Howel had captured a small sloop that had been anchored in the roadstead near the King James to ensure that none of its crew alerted the fort to the presence of pirates; now, he restored the sloop back to its captain and crew, and gave them some valuable goods as compensation for the trouble he had caused them.

I stood on the quarterdeck, leaning against the guard rail, watching as the pirates fired their salutes to each other and loaded the last of the plunder onto the King James. Howel, no longer the extravagantly-dressed merchant captain, leaped from the ship to the boat to help unload the booty, the sleeves of his linen shirt rolled up, his feet bare, and a kerchief around his neck. I wanted to make peace with him, to tell him that he was angry about nothing, because I missed him something fierce. I longed to feel his embrace, to hear his heart beat steadily as I lay my head on his chest. My efforts, however, were thwarted by the fact that Howel had been a busy man, without a moment’s rest, since capturing the fort. It had been several days, and yet I swore I hadn’t seen him sleep for more than an hour at a time.

I was contemplating approaching him later that afternoon when two ships, apparently sailing together, were spotted in the offing, in full sail. This jolted the pirates into action. They did not know what the ships were, but it hardly mattered. The quarters were quickly cleared, the big guns were brought out, and the black flag was hoisted to the masthead. The pirates armed themselves and crowded onto the deck of the King James, waiting for the ships to draw nearer.

As I was scrambling to put on my baldric, Howel took a moment to pull me aside and say firmly, “If you are intent on fighting, then I insist that you remain dressed as a boy. Who knows what kind of men be aboard these ships? ‘Tis better that they not know your sex.” I complied as Howel instructed his crew to keep my identity a secret. While there were no guarantees that they would, Howel was held in high enough esteem by his men that it was possible they’d keep their mouths shut — for a little while, at least.

The ships were close now, and one of them fired at us. The waves before the King James burst as the cannon ball landed, just shy of the bow. Howel peered through his spyglass as one of his men in the shrouds cried, “They’ve raised the Jolly Roger! They’re both rovers, Cap’n!”

Howel signaled to his gunners and one cried, “Fire in the hole!” The approaching ships must have then recognized that we were also pirates, and they did not fire again. They came alongside the King James and hailed us.

“Ho! Whence came you?”

Howel shouted, “From the sea!”

“Are you ‘o the Brotherhood?”

“Aye, and we welcome you as brothers!”

Thus began the precarious alliance between Howel Davis, Oliver “La Buse” Levasseur, and Thomas Cocklyn.

And I hated every moment of it.

Levasseur and Cocklyn were real thugs, men who delighted in the violence of piracy, who created violence where there need be none. Levasseur was a well-educated Frenchman who had been a privateer for France before turning pirate. He was of medium build, with a large nose and thick lips, and a long, jagged scar that ran across one eye. The eyelid of the injured eye was permanently narrowed to a slit, obscuring his sight. He wore gold rings in his ears (supposedly to improve his vision), and had a sleazy demeanor about him that made me shudder. His nickname was “La Buse,” which means “the buzzard” in French. Levasseur’s contemporaries had meant this as a compliment, since “buzzard” meant “hawk” in those days. I, however, thought the modern definition — “vulture” — to be far more appropriate. The man looked like a vulture. Cocklyn, while being just as violent and sleazy, was simply an ignorant brute, who on dry land would have been a pickpocket and petty thief. Cocklyn was short and stocky, and just all-around ugly. Both pirates had been active in the Bahamas, and had been chased away by Woodes Rogers, just like Howel Davis and Edward England.

The two pirates were thoroughly impressed with Howel’s cleverness in capturing Gambia Castle, and asked him to cruise down the African coast with them. Howel did not know at this point what sort of men Levasseur and Cocklyn were, although he must have had his suspicions. When Walter Kennedy and the crew thought this a good idea, Howel decided to go along with them, and this confederacy among the three pirate captains was formed, with Howel as commodore.

My time with him had been limited before, and now that I was a cabin boy again — and one that was too “pretty” to risk catching the eye of either Levasseur or Cocklyn — I saw him only as often as the rest of the crew, when he was commanding. I watched him do so with ease, but something in his demeanor revealed an undercurrent of… doubt. During the meetings with the crew, Walter Kennedy, as spokesman for the men of the King James, was clearly happy to be joined with two other powerful pirate companies. Howel was fairly terse during these meetings, which was very unlike him; he did not jest and make the men laugh as he normally did, but sat quietly, biting the inside of his lip, uneasy, his face dark with apprehension.

Howel was not like these other pirates. He knew it, I knew it. And he could not meet my eyes on account of it.

We sailed to Sierra Leone, where the three captains intended to capture the Royal African Company fort there, on Bunce Island, just at the mouth of the Sierra Leone River. This time, there was no patience for Howel’s game of deceit. The pirates had strength in their numbers, and brute force would get them what they wanted. They attacked the fort in Levasseur’s brigantine, exchanging musket and cannon fire. I stayed on the King James, anxiously listening to the explosions in the distance, my eyes never leaving the pirate ship.

The exchange went on for hours, and while the fort sustained major damage by the pirates, the brigantine’s rigging was also badly mangled. In the end, the two confederate pirate ships — Howel’s and Cocklyn’s — swept in at the last moment to aid in the attack. The pirates stood on the deck, pounding their weapons against the gunwales, crazed by their desire to kill. I joined in too, screaming at the top of my lungs, slamming the wood planks with my cutlass. When the company soldiers saw the number of pirates they were up against, they abandoned the fort, leaving it to the rovers.

So the ships anchored and their men swarmed the fort, and for the first time since arriving in the 18th century, I saw pirates behave the way I had always imagined they would — like animals. Levasseur and Cocklyn’s crews were not like Howel’s, and the wanton destruction they caused took me by surprise. Furniture was smashed and burned, paintings shredded by blades, crystal and ceramic shattered as they were flung against walls. If any soldiers remained to defend the fort, there was no doubt in my mind that they would meet a gruesome, prolonged death at the hands of these rovers.

I suddenly realized how so very lucky I was to have ended up with pirates like Edward England and Howel Davis. They really were the exceptions to the rule.

I watched as two pirates doused each other in wine they’d found and smashed the bottles against a table. I instinctively crouched against a wall of the fort, suddenly terrified of these men who were supposed to be my comrades, when a hand seized me and lifted me to my feet. Howel stood before me, drenched in sweat, his face darkened by a film of gunpowder. Beads of perspiration trickled down his face, leaving trails of clear skin in the black soot. He held his cutlass in his hand, and he was breathing hard.

“Sabrina!” he yelled, enraged. “Get you back to the ship this very instant!” When I didn’t respond immediately, he lifted me and tossed me over his shoulder, marching out of the fort with purpose. I did not resist, for once.

He dropped me in a boat on the shore, and commanded two of Levasseur’s men to take me back to the King James. Without looking at me again, he rushed back to the fort, walking briskly in the sand. I watched him go as one of the men pulled the dinghy into the waves, waist-high in the surf.

As Howel disappeared into the smoke that rose from the gates of the fort, I turned and looked at the pirates on the dinghy with me. They had their backs turned to me, and they spoke to each other in a strange language. Both were African. I had noticed that Levasseur’s crew was nearly half African, while the other half was mostly French. That was a hell of a lot of African pirates, and I was too afraid of them to try and figure out if one of them was the black pirate. My black pirate. My key back to 2009. Now, as I sat in the dinghy, I was afraid, and I felt for my pistol beneath my jacket. Who were these two men that Howel trusted enough to send me back with?

That was when one of the men, the larger one of the two, turned to look at me, a wide smile on his black face. One side of his face was lined with uniform scars from his hairline to his cheek, and he bore clear marks about his neck from an iron collar that had dug into his flesh repeatedly.

“Allo, nwanyi,” he said in his deep, sing-song voice.

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We were received graciously by the governor’s men and brought to his apartments within the fort, which were illuminated by the soft glow of candles. The governor himself was a broad-chested man with an aquiline nose and the longest eyebrow hairs I have ever seen. It made him look something like a demon, the way the hairs curled upward onto his forehead. On a number of occasions, I felt his eyes on me, studying me. The guy was English, and I was terrified he would wonder about my pathetic accent. In my mind’s eye, I saw Fabia and her ladies, sitting straight-backed in their chairs, fluttering their fans, not speaking. It was all I had to do. I could do that much, right?

“Governor Orfeur, we bring gifts,” Howel said, his smile seeming utterly genuine, his face honest and open as he held two of the bottles of liquor in his hands. He turned and gestured for the rest of it to be brought before the governor.

“Ah!” the governor sighed, clearly delighted by his new acquisition of liquor. “I cannot tell you, Captain Reed, how welcome this gift is! I have been without a fine claret or rum for months…” He took a bottle of rum from Howel, cradling it lovingly in his hands. “I will open this bottle and have a punch made, in honor of your visit, while we wait for dinner to be served,” he said.

“The honor, Your Excellency,” Howel replied gallantly, flashing a dazzling smile, “is all ours.”

We were seated in the parlor, where Howel and the the governor made small talk about London, Liverpool, the slave trade… The only other of Howel’s crew who had come to the governor’s apartments with Howel, Walter and me was the coxswain, a young man named Archie, who had entered under the guise of helping deliver the gift of liquor. His real job was to make sure most of the armed guards had left the apartments, and to notify Howel that the rooms had been cleared of all but the governor himself, his servants, and the two guards who stood unobtrusively along the wall.

I waited, listening to the small talk of the men, stock still save the pounding of my heart, which I swore everyone could hear. Howel was calm, animated, sitting casually in his chair, one leg stretched before him. There wasn’t the slightest hint of anxiety in his face, not a stutter of uncertainty in his speech. He drank his punch, commenting on its flavor, on the superiority of the rum from Barbados… Dude was a damn good liar, and I wasn’t sure that, as far as I was concerned, that was a good thing…

Archie peeked into the room and met Howel’s eyes, giving his pirate captain a brisk nod and disappearing. Howel didn’t move, didn’t alter his relaxed position in his chair. He continued to chat with the governor about the dominance of England over France and Spain, slipping his hand casually into his waistcoat as though he were reaching for a pipe or a tin of tobacco. He pulled a pistol from his coat, still talking, cocked it, and leveled it at the governor. It was done so coolly, so offhandedly, that the governor stared at the pistol, uncomprehending and befuddled, for a few moments. Even the guards stood quietly, unaware of what was happening for several seconds. With a start, they grabbed clumsily for their muskets, but Walter and Archie had already drawn their pistols, covering them.

Howel still sat comfortably in his chair, a pleasant smile on his face. “Your Excellency, as much as I’d hate to ruin this fine evening, I must inform you that you are now the prisoner of the pirate Howel Davis.”

The governor, aghast, his mouth open, his eyes like saucers, managed to stammer, “Who is Howel Davis?”

Howel sat up slowly, lackadaisically, still smiling. “I am.”

The governor looked at me and any remaining confusion he had quickly dissipated as I, too, drew my pistol from my gown. His eyes were fixed on me in horror, and I could see what he was thinking: The woman is a pirate!

“‘Twould be in your favor, Governor Orfeur, to surrender immediately — your house, the fort, and everything in it,” Howel said, standing as Archie, Walter and I took the muskets from the guards.  Howel then went to the window and leaned out, holding his pistol up in the humid night air and firing.

The fight was out of our hands, now: Howel could only hope he hadn’t missed anything important in his quick study of the fort and in instructing his men, and that they had done as they were ordered. As the seven of us waited there, the governor as white as a sheet, Howel spoke softly, warmly, about politics, continuing the conversation he had been having with the governor prior to holding him at gunpoint. Once in a while he paused, his head cocked, listening for gunfire.

We heard nothing — until a great cry went up, and several pirates burst into the room. “‘Tis done, Davies! Gambia Castle is ours!” one of them cried.

The soldiers were locked away, their weapons seized, in the guardroom; the batteries were under pirate control; the fort gates were opened and the flag lowered; reinforcements from the King James had arrived and consolidated control over the garrison.

Howel turned to the governor and grinned brilliantly. “D’you see how civil that was, Your Excellency? The fort is taken without a single man lost, without a single shot fired — except, of course, for me signal.” He dropped the English accent and let his working-class Welsh one take its place. Now, as he stood before his captive with his pistol in hand, he looked very much like an ostentatiously-dressed pirate captain.

The governor must have wondered how he hadn’t seen it from the beginning.

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It was formidable, and I could see a bastion jutting out into the sea, doubtlessly crowded with cannons. Surrounding the fort on the shore were three batteries, each mounted with five guns, ominously guarding the mouth of the Senegal River. Goosebumps rose on my skin as I realized that what Howel was about to attempt was enormous compared to anything he had done before. I could see why he wanted me to have no part in it. A tall, square tower loomed overhead, and I wondered what its lookout had thought when it spotted the King James sailing toward it.

We anchored in the roadstead, and Howel, Walter and Thomas climbed into a dinghy to be rowed to the beach. I felt the familiar beat of the butterfly wings in my belly. God, what if I never saw him again? I should be with him! I reminded myself that, according to Rovers of the Sea, Howel would live to go pirating again… Until June of 1719, unless, of course, I had somehow altered his fate.

But that wasn’t going to stop me from doing what I could to help.

I rushed to the deck and peered through a spyglass as the three pirates reached the shore, where they were received by a troop of musketeers. I thought the fish I’d eaten earlier was going to come up, I was so nervous, watching as Howel gestured, presumably requesting to see the governor. Shortly, the musketeers led the three men into the fort, and I closed my eyes as they disappeared, lowering the spyglass and making a silent prayer.

I hurried once again into the cabin, and once there, undressed as quickly as humanly possible. I had given myself a scrub-down earlier that morning, and now doused myself in lavender-smelling perfume. I was in the salmon-colored gown in record time, piling my hair on my head and slapping on some powder and rouge.

Good enough.

Taking a parasol that I’d found in the lady’s chest, I climbed back onto the deck, mincing over to the guard rail in my pointed, high-heeled shoes. I stood there for what felt like an eternity, watching that dark and forbidding fortress where it sat guarding the steamy lushness that was Africa. I grew tired, sat for a bit, stood up again, and went back down to the cabin for no longer than was absolutely necessary, then returned quickly to my spot on the quarterdeck, gazing out toward land conspicuously.

Jesus Christ, what was taking so long?

Please don’t fail me, Walter.

Finally, I heard our lookout call down that they were emerging from the fortress. I pulled out my spyglass and peered anxiously at the three pirates as they made their way back to the dinghy on the beach. It was hard to see their faces, hard to read their movements, and I thought I would die waiting for them to get back on the ship. As they climbed into the waist, I studied their solemn faces. Walter looked up and saw me standing there, and he smiled.

It had worked. I beamed excitedly, and then Howel looked up and saw me.

“Sabrina, in me cabin. Now,” he said firmly, his eyes blazing.

Oh, shit. He was mad.

I followed the men into the cabin, and before the door was shut Howel was yelling at us. “Are you two going behind me back and plotting? Do you seek to undermine me plans?”

Walter spoke quickly, just as forcefully. “Davies, we have faith in you, don’t doubt it. But Sabrina wanted additional assurance, something to sway the governor toward our side if he seemed dubious of our identity. Admit as much: When the sentry whispered to the governor that there was a woman on board the ship, we had ‘im. It was the push he needed.”

“Me plan would have worked without involving Sabrina,” Howel growled. “I would have had ‘im regardless.” He turned on me. “You had no right to go behind me back, dammit.”

“I am part of this crew,” I cried. “I have a right –”

“I am captain of this ship,” Howel retorted, stepping close to me and grabbing me by the wrist. “I can have you hung from a spar by your pretty little feet.”

It had been a while since we’d touched, and a spark ignited as his hand closed around my wrist. I caught my breath and looked into his face, and I could see he felt it too. He withdrew his hand as if he’d been burned, and returned my gaze in silent anguish. He was still dressed as the gentleman, in the gorgeous maroon coat, the large tricorn hat. But unlike the time he’d dressed as the merchant captain in the Cape Verde Islands, there was something not quite right about him now: The clothes were of highest quality, but the man who wore them was darkly burnt from the sun, even more muscled than before, and had a wild, menacing look in his blue eyes.

The man who wore them looked like an outlaw.

“I hope, for your sake, that the governor continues to accept our story,” Howel said to me, taking a step away, “or you will hang for piracy like the rest of us.”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” I said. “I already know that. I am one of you, Howel, whether you like it or not.”

“We have been invited to dine with him, you, me, and Walter,” Howel said, ignoring my last comment. “I told him I would make sure the ship was properly anchored and then return with a few bottles of liquor — and me lovely wife. So we haven’t much time.”

Walter called the crew to the deck so that Howel could tell them his plan. I looked at the pirate faces around me, the rage and hunger in them. They gazed up at their leader in awe, in reverence, ready and willing to do his bidding.

Howel laid out his plan: “While I was chatting with the kind governor this afternoon, I noted the patrol of the sentries, where the guns and small arms be kept, the number of guards in the guardhouse. With a bit of cunning, we can take Gambia Castle. Walter, Sabrina and I will return to the fort, armed secretly with pistols, and dine with the governor. Twelve of you — Walter, decide which of ‘em would be best suited for the job — will come with us, pistols hidden, and befriend the guards in the guardroom. You will wait for me signal — a single gunshot from the window of the governor’s residence — and then take the guards by gunpoint and open the fort’s gates.” Howel paused, raking his fingernails against his chin, where the hair was beginning to grow back. “The rest of you will wait here, armed and ready, and when the flag is struck make haste to the shore and storm the fort.” He smiled. “It should all be done in less than half a glass.”

An approving murmur rose from the crew, and Walter began choosing twelve men to come ashore with us. We were each given two pistols, and I hid mine in my sash, beneath my gown.

Here we go, I thought. Don’t screw this up, Sabrina.

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I covered my face, wondering what sort of fate awaited the Loyal Merchant’s first mate at Howel Davis’s hands. To my surprise, Howel did nothing more than force the man to join his crew.

With brisk efficiency, he ordered that his new ship be “fitted for the piratical account.” He and his men knocked down most bulkheads, or partitions, and cut additional gun ports into the hull of the ship, so that more guns and men could be accommodated in the lower deck. He said to Walter, “We’ll not flush her fore and aft, because then she’ll look too much like a warship and not enough like a merchantman.” He smiled. “We must continue the ruse.”

Using small dinghies, Howel and his men transferred the armaments and cargo from the Buck to the Loyal Merchant, which he now dubbed King James. It was my first hint at Howel’s political leanings, and I was not surprised to find that they were Jacobite, like those of Edward England.

In the end, Howel’s new ship had twenty-six guns and seventy men. Now a force to be reckoned with, the King James proceeded to ruthlessly plunder every ship that had the misfortune to cross her path.  Under Howel’s command, we bore down on Dutch and English ships, and each time I found myself anxiously helping load the cannons, covering my ears at the deafening explosions. I still flinched at the burst of fire and wood splinters and smoke that erupted on each of the prey, still winced as I listened to the cries of the dying sailors. Howel was kind to his prisoners when they submitted, firm when they didn’t, and when he happened upon a captain who was deemed cruel by his crew, he was utterly merciless.

He was right — I had never seen this side of him. I don’t think he had ever seen it himself.

We were not on a speaking basis, Howel and I. He pretended I didn’t exist, as he had done before, except this time his actions spoke of an angry man. His smiles were less frequent, his eyebrows perpetually drawn together in thought. I wasn’t certain what was aggravating him — that he thought Edward England and I had had a love affair, that he believed I truly thought England was a better man, or that he was having to participate in often grisly acts as a pirate chieftain. I suspected it was a combination of all three things, and the first two, I am ashamed to admit, brought me great satisfaction.

It was about time I got under his skin the same way he had gotten under mine.

His general disregard for the sailors’ lives during attacks, as well as his condoning of the occasional barbarous acts of his pirate crew, were things I hid myself from. I wanted no part of them. As unpopular merchant captains were flogged, hung from the yardarm, or “sweated” — made to dance or run around the foremast while the pirates whipped and jabbed at them with their weapons — I retreated to the cabin, covering my ears to block out the sounds of agony and savage triumph on deck.

Howel’s methods proved to be fruitful, and the loot often included gold dust and ivory in addition to slaves. The pirates did not want the slaves — they had no use for human cargo, so Howel offered a few of the men to join the pirate crew, and the others he put on board the looted prey with the rest of the captives.

I felt my pulse accelerate as I watched the African slaves jubilantly join the crew of the King James. One of them would be my ticket back to the future. The question was, which one? They must have thought it strange, this odd pirate boy, hovering around them and watching them furtively. They spoke very little English, if any at all, and they showed no interest in me. Ruth had said he would come to me. But how would I know…?

The question would have plagued me more, had I not been distracted by the relentless plundering  that was going on. Without me to occupy him, Howel was quickly becoming a big-time pirate. I had to stop the progression, remind him of who he was. I had to reconcile with him, angry as I was, if only to be his moral compass. I was terrified he would forget himself, forget the prophecy…

When Howel and his crew decided to take the Royal African Company fort in Bathurst, Gambia, on the Guinea Coast, I thought I would get my chance. The Royal African Company had initially monopolized the English slave trade, but was slowly becoming a means for trafficking ivory and gold.

“There are riches to be had by capturing the fort by trickery,” Howel told his men. “And we will take our revenge on those base merchants to boot. Whatever robberies we commit, we can be sure that we are not the greatest villains living in the world.”

Walter Kennedy and Thomas Anstis exchanged worried looks. Walter said, “Davies, it’ll be well-fitted with troops, if it has treasure within it… Its defenses will be substantial…”

Howel folded his arms across his chest, unperturbed by Walter’s doubt. He replied, “Walter, have me tactics not brought us wealth time and again? You must trust that I would not lead me men to destruction like lambs to the slaughter.” He looked at Thomas. “Trust me to devise a clever trick.”

I assumed that, since Howel and his men planned to take the guise of Liverpool merchants as they had before, I would play the wife once again. I was wrong.

“She’ll have no part in it,” Howel said tightly, addressing Walter even though I was standing right there. “This time, she will stay here.”

“What!” I cried, looking at Walter for assistance. He looked as surprised as I did. “Howel, I know you’re angry with me, but this plan works, this having me pose as your wife, and it works well. Why take a risk –”

“I said,” Howel interrupted, looking at me, “that you will have no part in it!”

“Davies,” Walter interjected, “she’s right, you know. We had great success before when she came ashore with us as Captain Reed’s wife.”

“True,” Howel replied. “But this time she will remain here. We’ve no need for her. We will tell the governor of Gambia that we are merchants from Liverpool, bound for the Senegal River to trade our iron and plate for gum and ivory. Iron and plate are highly prized by any garrison, so the governor will be intrigued by our cargo. We will then tell him that we were driven off course by two French warships, from which we narrowly escaped. We put into Gambia for refuge, and would be willing to trade our cargo in return for slaves. They will believe us, or at the very least, want our cargo badly enough to turn a blind eye.” He looked at me sternly. “Me plan is good enough, and I will not put you at risk.”

His tone implied that the conversation was over. He looked long and hard at each of us, and we understood that he would not be swayed on the subject. Walter, as quartermaster, had the authority to overrule Howel by taking a vote, but seemed to think Howel’s plan was clever enough, and there was no need to butt heads with his captain unnecessarily. He shrugged and I stormed off, infuriated. Why was Howel being so bull-headed? Was the man’s ego so fragile that he’d risk his life and the lives of his men simply because he thought I had slept with someone else? Men and their stupid notions of pride! And I thought the men in 2009 were bad…

I brooded in the cabin alone after the men left, gritting my teeth. I wanted to be a part of this. I knew that, by being a part of it, I was probably doing some serious damage to the space-time continuum. I wasn’t even sure I knew what that meant — I’d heard it on Star Trek. In any case, I was no doubt altering the future in dramatic ways. But I had kind of thrown in the towel on that front. My simple presence in 1718 had likely changed the future, let alone all the things I had done prior to this moment. Basically, I figured that regardless of what I did now, the future was screwed.

That was when it dawned on me, making me smile to myself.

I could be a part of his plan whether he liked it or not.

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Anyways, I need some encouragement. Just a bit of ass-kissing.

Thanks, guys. I love you.

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“Me men are getting soft,” Howel said to me, chuckling to himself after a final audience with Governor Agostinho. “I must remind them of what they are, lest they get too used to this easy life.”

The Buck set sail, despite its loss of five men, who had fallen in love with the island — as well as its women — and chosen to settle there. With some fifty men crammed into his fast little sloop, Howel set his sights on Maio, also among the Cape Verde Islands. “We ain’t pretending to be gentlemen this time around, Sabrina,” he told me. “Dress in your boy’s clothes and keep to the cabin.”

I raised my chin defiantly. “I will not,” I replied. “I will fight alongside you.”

Howel shook his head and rolled his eyes, huffing in frustration. “Dammit, woman! Do you realize — I’d go mad if something happened to you!”

I smiled. “And I’d go mad if something happened to you. Better to be useful than sit in the cabin biting my nails down to the quick.”

“You know nothing will happen to me. I am ‘pistol-proof,’ say me men.” He grinned audaciously. “So long as I stay away from Prince Island.”

I would not be swayed. “Your reasoning is flawed, but never mind. So long as you put yourself at risk, I will be beside you.” I smiled at him and saw that my bravado made him angry. He seemed to debate between yelling at me and kissing me, frustration and desire fighting in his expression.

“You…” He took a deep breath, clenched his jaw. He cradled my head in his hand, tilting it so that I looked up at him. “You stay alive, lass. I must command this ship of brigands or be marooned for a coward, for an impotent leader. If you follow me into battle, I cannot ensure your safety. I need you to keep yourself alive. You hear me?”

I nodded, trying to keep the emotion from my voice. “You too.”

He gazed at me grimly, and after a moment of silence said, “You are about to see a side of me you ain’t never seen, Sabrina. It’ll be ugly, to be sure, lass. Those French ships were a bit ‘o luck, and we haven’t had to face serious adversity yet. The villain in me must emerge when the fight begins, and I can only hope you still feel for me then, after you’ve seen it, the way you do now.”

I laughed, a bit nervously. “Of course I will. I love you.”

He nodded, unsmiling. “Remember, then, what you love about me, when you see what I am capable of doing.”

Oh.

Whatever. I was certain he wasn’t capable of anything worse than Edward England had been. Or at least, I hoped not.

Maio proved to be a trove of merchant ships awaiting capture. The first was the English brigantine the Loyal Merchant. Howel peered at the lone two-masted ship through his spyglass eagerly. It was square rigged on the foremast and fore-and-aft rigged on the mainmast, like Edward England’s Royal James had been. Howel muttered, “What a fine replacement for the Buck! I want her.” He turned and ordered the chase to begin. “Let’s bear down on her, men!”

As the sloop cut speedily through the waves toward the prey, the master gunner called, “Beat to quarters!” and the deck was cleared, the big guns readied for battle. Howel smirked. “She’s showing her heels,” he said. “She doesn’t want to fight, even though she’s got a good twenty-six guns on her.” He shouted to his crew, “We’re standing to the forefoot, you men!”

The merchantman was altering its course, and Howel intended to cut her off. At first, I was jittery with excitement, but when the chase dragged on for over an hour, I found myself growing bored. This was actually taking a long time. We were gaining on the prey, for sure, but at an agonizingly slow pace. Capturing a ship was much more a game of tactic than force, a fact Hollywood had neglected to point out in any of its movies — and Howel’s tactics were brash, arrogant, and reckless. The Buck was, strictly speaking, the inferior ship in regards to strength, but she behaved otherwise. Under Howel’s orders, she intercepted the Loyal Merchant by sailing across its bow, fired strategically poorly-aimed chain-shot at the crew, and boldly lay by in the lee, stopping the prey dead in her tracks.

The pirates boarded the merchantman and met with little resistance. Many of the sailors, when given the option, were eager to join Howel’s crew. One exception was the surly first mate, a loud-mouthed man with terrible skin, who was brought aboard the Buck and refused to answer Howel’s questions about the Loyal Merchant’s capabilities as a sailor. He only spouted insults at Howel, which Howel took in stride, calmly waiting for the mate to pause in his vitriol, and then posing his questions once again.

“My good man,” Howel said, his good humor slipping away quickly, “I would be most grateful if you would answer me questions regarding this fine vessel, and in return I will welcome you aboard to join us, if you be so inclined.”

This provoked another stream of invectives, including some I had never heard before regarding one’s mother and sister… Howel snapped. His crew was angry, hungry for blood, and Walter Kennedy wanted to see the merchantman’s insolent mate punished. Howel said gruffly, “I gave you several chances, fellow. You stretch me patience.” He turned to his crew. “Dunk ‘im from the yardarm.”

This command was received with much glee by the pirates, and Walter wasted no time tying the still-cursing mate up with rope, his arms against his body. I realized with a jolt of horror that I was about to witness Howel’s first torture.

This would not be pleasant.

The end of the rope was tossed over a yardarm, and the man was yanked into the air and suspended, his legs flailing, his oaths lost in the wind. The ship rocked, and the Loyal Merchant’s first mate swung. He was dropped from that great height, landing in the sea with a splash, bumping against the bulwark as he fell. The pirates roared their approval, and Howel waited a while, letting the mate get a good lung-full of seawater, before signaling for Walter and the men to heave him up again. The man choked, gasped, as he was hoisted all the way up once again, swinging, spraying water into the air.

He was dropped again, but this time the ship’s movements caused him to land against the deck, his body bouncing with a thud against the ship’s planks. I cringed, maybe even cried out, but was drowned out by the vicious joy of the pirates. I looked at Howel, thinking maybe he’d stop the abuse now, for surely the mate had learned his lesson? Howel’s face was impassive as he watched the groaning man rise for a third time, and then a fourth time, and then a fifth, to the yardarm. Sometimes he landed in the waves, sometimes against the ship, and with each splash, with each sickening plop to the deck, I waited with increasing anxiety for Howel to call a stop to the torture.

The mate was hanging limply now as he was lifted into the air, and the sweat rolled from my hairline and down my face. I couldn’t take it anymore. I rushed to Howel’s side and said, “Howel, you’re going to kill the man.”

He looked at me then, as if seeing me for the first time, and there was no glimmer of loving recognition, no acknowledgment of my words. After a moment he ordered, “Walter, let him down. He’s had enough, I wager. See if he’ll talk now.” He then grabbed me by the elbow and led me to the cabin, where he slammed the door shut and turned on me angrily.

“Sabrina, never do that again, do you understand?” His voice was low and controlled, but there was no mistaking the rage in his eyes.

I swallowed. “You would have killed him — ”

“Aye, very possibly!” he said, cutting me off. “But such is the nature of this trade. I am a pirate captain, do you remember? If I want to stay as such, I must show me teeth. If that means the death of a few men, then so be it!”

I wrung my hands. “Why, though? Why must men die for the pleasure of others? I thought you were against that. I thought it offended you. You don’t need that man to tell you whether the ship is any good — you know for yourself that it is. You are wasting your time with him solely to torture him, to feed the bloodlust of your men. You — ”

“Enough!” Howel said firmly. “You know nothing of this business! I have changed… I must change… or die sooner than I ought. These men I lead, many of them would think nothing of turning on me. I must make them afraid of me. Do you see? Now, when I am commanding me men, you will keep your mouth shut, lest me crew think me led by a woman.”

I was so angry I could hardly breathe. So this was what it was like, to be in a relationship with a man from the 18th century. What had I thought? Of course, Howel was sexist. Of course, my opinions meant even less to him than the meanest sailor among his crew. I was nothing but a woman. He turned on his heels, but before he could open the door I said, “Edward England is a better man than you, then.”

That stopped him. He froze, then turned to look at me, his face like stone. He stood, his neck and shoulders tensed, looking like a bear that had reared up on its hind legs and was preparing to attack. After a long pause, he said softly, “Aye, I don’t doubt it. I always suspected something was amiss between the two of you. The way he looked at you, before you parted ways. The way you spoke of him after he left you, in adoration. It was my first clue that you weren’t what you seemed.”

Huh? What was he talking about? I had meant to make him mad, to make him question his motives, but I hadn’t expected the conversation to take this turn. I hesitated for a moment, then asked, “Howel, what are you talking about?”

He was searing me with his gaze, all-engulfed in his own fury, beyond reason. He said, “Tell me, since it was obvious to a simple sailor that you loved each other… Did you let England have you?”

What the hell? It took a moment for the question to sink in, and once it did, it pissed me off. I then made a tactical error: I responded like a modern woman from 2009. I snapped, “Excuse me? That is just… offensive! And if I did, it’s none of your damn business!”

Howel bellowed an oath — a most colorful and creative use for every swear word I knew — and, like the bear he resembled, bared his teeth. He turned and very nearly busted the door down as he left the cabin, pounding at it with his fist rather than bothering with the latch.

What’s worse than a jealous lover? A jealous lover who also happens to be a pirate.

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*Bene — for you. And in honor of the Saints’ win. *

And tarry away we did — for a few weeks, in fact. Governor Agostinho lavished Howel and his crew with everything they could want, mainly wine, women, and good food. The crew of the Buck was welcome into the town, and the merchants happily traded their goods for the French cargo Howel had, unbeknownst to them, plundered in the Caribbean. Perhaps a few of the savvy among them wondered at Captain Charles Reed’s true identity — he and his men were quite the band of revelers — but said nothing, for the cargo he bore was valuable to them, and they paid in gold and silver.

While Howel conducted business in Ribeira Brava, I mingled with the Portuguese noblewomen who lived, either as relatives or wives of relatives, in the governor’s villa. Or, more appropriately, I tried to mingle. I had absolutely nothing to say to them, and they even less to me, especially considering the language barrier. The only pretty one among them, Fabia, was clearly a queen bee, and had made her disdain for me — and interest in Howel — very clear. I must have seemed awkward in their midst, as they embroidered together and practiced their music. I often hid in our rooms, practicing cuts and parries with a cutlass. I may not have been able to sing a song, play a pianoforte, or paint a bouquet of flowers, but I was going to adeptly sink several feet of steel into the vitals of the next unlucky bastard who tried to kill me. If my brain was going to rot in “leisure activities,” they were, come hell or high water, going to be activities of my choosing.

My brain was not at rest, either: I spent much of my time alone thinking about the future. I remembered Ruth’s words: You can go back… one who got here like you, he know how… he… black pirate… I had yet to see an African pirate, or an African who was not a slave. All I had to do was wait and keep my eyes peeled, since he would come to me. Despite finally having the long-awaited knowledge that Howel wanted me, my joy was shrouded in a mist of anxiety. Eleven months from the moment he became a pirate, Howel Davis was supposed to die “like a game cock.” June of 1719, and it was now February. It was as though an hourglass followed me, the sand trickling steadily, ominously through the narrow glass tunnel. I knew I would die trying to keep Howel from meeting the fate Rovers of the Sea had described.

There was another issue nagging me, chipping away at my happiness — what would I do if the opportunity to return to 2009 arose before Howel’s predicted death? Deep down inside, I knew I had already decided I would stay. The best case scenario would be if I could get Howel to come back to the future with me, but I had a feeling trying to convince him of this course of action would be a lost cause. I didn’t know what sorts of catastrophic events I would wreak on the future by bringing a pirate back with me, but that was a chance I was willing to take.

I wanted to go back to my time, there was no doubt. I could not see myself dying in the 18th century. I had to see Sophie and Jake again.

But I could not leave Howel Davis.

I rued the day when my biggest decision was whether to go to the office on a Saturday or attend Sophie’s soccer game instead. Had I really chosen mind-numbing, thankless work to the happy smiles of my child?

These were the things that plagued me in my solitude, waiting for Howel to return to me and rescue me from my thoughts.

In between his visits to the town to sell his goods, Howel retreated to our rooms in the governor’s home and into bed — with me. I was usually going crazy with cabin fever by the time he got back, and my moods fluctuated between thrilled to see him, jealous at his freedom, and anxious for the future. I would often jump him like a horny teenager the moment he walked in the door, then become sullen and combative afterward, resentful that he would have to leave me again in the morning. There was no question about it: The women of the 18th century got a raw deal.

One night several weeks into our stay in São Nicolau, Howel arrived at my door drunk and disheveled late at night, leaning heavily against Walter Kennedy and smelling distinctly of perfume. He and his “officers” Walter and Thomas had taken to calling themselves “The House of Lords,” and after selling their goods in the town would carouse with their crew, drinking and, from what I heard from those catty Portuguese women, visiting the brothels. The moment Walter left, Howel tried to take me into his arms. I dodged him, a hand firmly against his chest.

“Don’t,” I said icily, “even consider it.”

Howel’s eyebrows shot up. “Eh? What’s the matter, lass?” he hiccuped, swaying on his feet.

“You smell like a two-bit whore, that’s what’s the matter,” I replied, the fury building within me. “God, Howel, I hate sounding like a shrew, but I’ve been closed up all day in this room, trying to avoid Fabia and her boring friends, and I think I may go crazy!”

“I’m sorry for it, Sabrina,” Howel slurred, trying to pull me to him by my waist. I once again stopped him.

“You never answered why you smell like a two-bit whore,” I said through my teeth. “I don’t want to catch any venereal diseases, thank you very much!” I hadn’t missed the way every woman in the place, genteel or otherwise, looked at him, the dashing English captain who had an air of danger — of piracy — about him. They were utterly titillated by him, and he did nothing to discourage them, smiling and bowing graciously at each as though she were the Queen herself, and the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.

Howel’s eyes widened innocently. “‘Pon my soul, ‘twasn’t me, Sabrina. ‘Twas Walter and Thomas. I simply accompanied them. I’ve no interest in that, not when I’ve got this –” he stroked my face with his finger — “waiting for me here.” He smiled at me, that Howel smile, his eyes crinkling adorably, and I felt my defenses wilt as the desire to nuzzle his neck overcame me. Son of a bitch. He was so good at this game, so good at getting people to do what he wanted… Before I knew it, he had me in the bed and was pinning me down, dragging his lips along my throat, my collarbone, his rough palms on my breasts, my hips.

I was completely, utterly his, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

As I lay curled up against him later that night, his arm around me, I said softly, “I would stay like this forever, if I could.”

He rubbed his face in my hair. “I thought you grew weary of this place, of the life of a gentlewoman.” He chuckled. “We’ve made a wanderer of you, lass.”

“I do grow weary of it,” I replied. “But I would stand it, if it meant keeping you from a life of piracy, from a certain fate.”

“We can’t stay here, even if I wished to,” Howel said. “Agostinho’s generosity will start to wane, and his suspicions will be roused if the good Captain Reed does not set sail once his goods have all been sold.” His hand stroked my hip mindlessly. “The men love it here. ‘Tis an island of pleasure. The drink runs freely, the women are more than willing, and the place itself is lovely. They’ll be hard pressed to leave it.”

“Let’s go back to the Caribbean,” I said hopefully.

“Sabrina, there ain’t nothing for me there, you know that,” Howel said with a sigh. “Nothing but the hangman’s noose.”

I pushed myself up on an elbow. “Then somewhere else. Somewhere far, far away from Prince Island, for God’s sake.”

Howel looked at me without seeing me, and I could tell he was thinking about his death, his mortality. Strange, the look he got on his face when thinking about it — more pensive and curious than fearful, sort of like he hadn’t fully come to grips with it yet. He knew, better than anyone, that he could die at any point, since his life was already full of risk as it was. To put a date on it, well… It was different than dealing with terminal illness, because he had never been more alive, more vibrant in his life. And, of course, there was always the chance that the book was wrong, that he could escape the fate I had made him believe waited for him.

“Howel,” I said, interrupting both our thoughts. “If I knew how to get back to 2009… Would you come with me?”

Howel shifted his body to face me. “How now? Are you saying you know how to get back?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t.” I hesitated, wondering how best to explain it to him. “A witch doctor in Nassau told me a pirate, a black pirate, got here the same way I did and knew the way back. She said he would come to me.”

Howel processed this information. “Is this witch doctor to be trusted?”

“She knew who I was, where I was from,” I replied. “The first time I went to her, she knew why I was there before I told her.”

Howel pursed his lips thoughtfully. “A black pirate? Who’d come to you, eh?” Then he looked at me and smiled wistfully. “You’ll be leaving me, then?”

“No,” I said fiercely. “I was asking… I want you to come back with me.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Go back with you? You ain’t serious, are you, lass?”

“I am,” I said. “Think about it. You would be safe. You would be with me.”

He blinked, shook his head. “2009 is very different than now, ain’t it? I’d be like a blind man there, like a man who be daft in the head, no?”

“Well, for a little while, I guess,” I said. “It would be an adjustment. But the same way I can adjust to being here, you can adjust to being there. Life is much easier, much more luxurious.”

Howel got a funny look on his face. “And your husband? What would you tell him? That you brought your pirate lover back with you from the past?” He laughed. “So then I’d be both daft and unable to touch you? Nay, thankee. I’ll stay here and take me chances.”

I tightened my jaw. “Then what? You’ll let me leave you?”

He responded by cupping my face in his hands tenderly. “Perhaps once upon a time I would have told you to go back to your family, but now? Now I am embracing the life of the selfish brigand entirely, and now I say you are mine, and that you should stay with me.” He smiled, but his eyes hardened a bit. “I don’t know how much time I have left on this earth, and I want you to spend it with me, self-seeking bastard that I am.”

It was what I wanted to hear, what I needed to hear. I twined my arms around his neck and kissed him hungrily, and he responded in kind, his arms tight around me, his mouth pushing against mine.

I would not leave him, not until I was sure he was safe. And even then, there was a good chance I still wouldn’t leave him.

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In spite of his chiseled form, it would have taken a bit of cosmetic tweaking to make him the 21st century ideal: He was hairy, with plenty of thick dark hair on his legs and chest, as well as in between; he had a serious farmer’s tan, as his forearms, neck and face were burnt brown while the rest of his skin was several shades lighter; it had been a while since his last real bath, and his scent was a rich stew of sweat and environment (luckily, I liked his personal odor enough that it didn’t bother me — quite on the contrary, it drove me crazy). Not that I was one to talk — despite my compulsive scrubbing, I too was constantly sweating and immersed in a swirl of seawater and filth. The smells of the 18th century became intrinsic to everyday life, something I simply didn’t notice anymore (unless they were particularly offensive).

I thought back in amusement on how much preparation had gone into seducing Jake, all the bikini waxes, face masks, eyebrow-plucking, blow-drying, toenail-painting… And here I was now, a good twenty-four hours since my last sponge bath with a semi-clean rag, being told by a man that he preferred I not shave my legs.

Ha!

Miraculously I hadn’t been infested with lice or fleas yet. I didn’t know for sure if Howel had them, and basically tried not to think about it. Just like I tried not to wonder whether I was at risk for sexually transmitted diseases, or, for that matter, pregnancy…

Yikes.

And despite all these horrible things, I wanted him, couldn’t stop longing for him.

As Howel began to pull his shirt on, I protested, “Noooooo,” smiling, my face half-hidden beneath the blanket.

He turned and smiled back at me. “You’re awake,” he said. He leaned over me and kissed me, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, trying to pull him down on me.

“Again,” I whispered coyly against his mouth.

He chuckled, rumbling against me. “Sabrina, I have to… We must… Official business, you know…” I was distracting him with my kisses, my nibbles, my touch. He groaned and said, “Oh, sod it! We’re newlyweds, aren’t we? The governor will understand, I’m sure…”

Afterward, as we lay together, I asked him, “Why did that take so long?”

His face was blissful, relaxed. He blinked. “Bleed me! I’ve never heard a woman complain of that before. Do women in 2009 like it to be quick?”

I let out a laugh. “No, that’s not what I meant. I meant, why did it take so long for anything to happen between us? Why were you holding out on me?”

“Ah.” He smiled, a bit wistfully. “I had me reasons.”

“Tell me. I need to know,” I insisted.

Howel became thoughtful, gazing up at the ceiling. “I’ve wanted you, Sabrina, since I first realized you was a lass, aboard the Cadogan. When the Igbo woman talked about Sabrina the Charmed Woman, I realized that you weren’t just another pretty lass to have me way with.” He hesitated. “I know you had something to do with me release from the gaol. They might’ve charged and convicted me of piracy in any case, were it not for you. And when I was released, there you were, waiting for me. You have a magic about you, Sabrina. Something that drew me in, beyond mere attraction. Then, at the Black Dog, you told me you were from the future, said you were determined to change me fate. Something in the way you said it…”

He rubbed his face and exhaled slowly. “I had already decided what me course of action was. I decided to go on the account while locked up in the hold of the Cadogan, and here you were, reading me thoughts, your face so open and trusting, so full of faith in me, a man who’d already decided to turn pirate. It was… too much for me.”

I listened attentively, gently stroking the hair that trailed down from his navel. “And so you left me.”

Howel looked at me gravely, capturing my wandering hand with his. “Aye. I had to do what was in me heart, and though I wanted you, magical woman from the future, you held me in too high regard. You believed in me, when I had lost all belief in meself. And when you followed me, I thought I couldn’t go through with it. I had to put you away from me, if not in the physical sense, then in me mind.”

“And now?” I laughed uneasily. “Did I just wear you down?”

He stroked my cheek with his callused sailor’s hands. “I was going to be a pirate. You were going to try and stop me. And I was tired of denying this… magic.” He smiled that familiar roguish smile of his. “This ploy… Having you pose as me wife. It was to get you in me bed as much as it was to fool the Portuguese.”

I smiled broadly. “You didn’t have to go through all that trouble, you know. You could have had me that night after your first capture. I wouldn’t have resisted one bit.” Hell, if I was being completely honest with myself, he could have had me way back on the Cadogan, before the mutiny. I wasn’t sure how such an admission would go over with Howel’s 1719 sensibilities, though.

He lifted an eyebrow playfully. “Is that so? And are the women of 2009 all such brazen hussies?”

I rolled on top of him and smacked his arm, laughing. “Life in 2009 is really quite boring compared to all of this. And the women are no more brazen than your Meg.”

He laughed at this. “So the women of 2009 are no more brazen than a whore of 1719? Damn me! I’m living in the wrong era, apparently.”

We began to kiss again, and Howel mumbled, “Woman, you will spend me… I am useless to do anything but your bidding…”

And that was just the way I wanted it, thank you very much.

At some point in the late morning, Walter Kennedy and Thomas Anstis came looking for their captain, knocking on the door and calling for “Captain Reed.” When Howel answered the door in  a state of disarray, his clothes only partially on, and a crooked smiled on his face, the two men grinned.

“‘Twas about time,” Walter grumbled, winking at me playfully. “Good day, Will… er… Madam.”

I stood, fully dressed, my hair still down. I could not look the two grinning pirates in the face for the life of me. I felt my cheeks flaming. “Good day, gentlemen.”

Walter turned his attention back to Howel. “The governor is getting a good chuckle from your… er… inability to leave your bedchamber, Cap’n.”

Howel scratched his head. “Aye, I’ll wager he is, the lecherous old scoundrel.” He looked at me slyly. “He has an eye for Sabrina.” He scooped his stockings from the floor and said, “Tell him I’m on me way…”

“Nay, Cap’n,” Walter said, smiling. “He wanted us to ask you to dine with him in the evening, but to enjoy your pretty little wife and take your leisure.” Walter’s eyes were bright with excitement. “He wants the men of the Buck to come ashore and enjoy the city. A real fop, he is, a real dandy!”

Howel rubbed chin. “Is that so? Then maybe we’ll tarry a while here in São Nicolau, what think you, Wife?” He looked at me and smiled.

He would hear no objections from me. If lounging about, making love to Howel Davis, and taking advantage of Governor Agostinho’s generosity were what was on the agenda, then hell yes, we should tarry! Tarry away.

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*It was Susan’s comment “Mmmm good” that convinced me to post this sooner rather than later. I just couldn’t stop laughing. Now, I realize this is a fairly short post, but hopefully it makes up for its briefness with… juiciness? I hope you enjoy it, and let me know either way.*

When the governor finally decided to end the evening (which wasn’t until well past midnight), I was exhausted, full, tipsy, and ready to collapse in a heap. Only Howel showed no signs of wilting. Governor Agostinho bid us good-night and had his manservant show us to our private rooms. They were everything the governor had promised: large, lavish, with full-length mirrors, a tub, and a large four-post bed. A long window overlooked the harbor, which shimmered by moonlight.

The moment the doors closed behind us, Howel exhaled, slumping. It was the first sign of exhaustion I had seen him show all evening. He immediately shed his coat, sword, and waistcoat, kicking off his shoes. “I’m ready for bed,” he groaned, tossing his hat in a corner. He saw that I simply stood by, twisting my skirt in my hands, and stopped disrobing. “What’s the matter, lass?”

The butterflies in my gut were hard at work again. I glanced uneasily at the bed, and Howel laughed. “Is that what’s worrying you? Egad, Sabrina, rest easy! You can have the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.” He grinned at me as he grabbed a couple pillows and a blanket from the bed and tossed them to the floor, in a pile. He whistled to himself as he removed his stockings and, leaving on his undershirt and breeches, sat on the floor. “G’night, lass,” he said.

I removed everything but my shift, took my hair down, wiped my makeup off with a handkerchief as best I could, then slipped into the bed quietly. “Good-night,” I said with a sigh, the room going dark as he blew out the candles.

Howel had thought I’d been worried that he’d want to sleep with me, while in truth, I’d been worried that he wouldn’t want to sleep with me. I wanted him to take me, dammit. I was so tired of waiting. What was his problem? I was fairly certain he wanted me. What was he waiting for? A written invitation? I thought women these days didn’t make the first move. Maybe I’d been wrong, and he didn’t, in fact, want me…

Enough was enough. I wasn’t going to torture myself anymore. Just as he’d needed an answer, I did too. I was going to take charge of the situation. Instead of waiting around for the damn pirate to take me, I was going to take the pirate. I was from 2009, after all. To hell with decorum.

I slipped from the bed and crept lightly to where Howel lay on his side, his back to me, the blanket tossed across his legs, a pillow tucked beneath his head. As I slowly sank down to lie beside him, I watched his body move with his breathing, and for a moment believed him to be asleep. I gently rested my hand on his arm and tried to peer into his face.

Then he turned, rolling on his back to look at me, his face washed in silver by the moonlight. He was wide awake, returning my gaze intently. I felt giddy with nerves, but determined nonetheless. I leaned forward to kiss him, but suddenly found myself flipped on my back, Howel over me, smiling boyishly.

“Aha,” he said softly. “You think you can ambush a pirate?”

Before I had a chance to answer, his lips were on mine. Finally. Finally. How long had I waited for this moment? How many times had I fantasized about it, sleeping on hard decks of rocking ships amidst terrifying men? Soft kisses became urgent, purposeful. I ran my fingers through his hair as he ran his lips down my throat, his hands working their way up my shift…

He raised his head abruptly, his hands on my thighs, a puzzled look on his face. He lifted the hem of my shift to look at my legs. “Sabrina, what have you done to yourself?”

I squirmed under his disapproving gaze, moving my legs together self-consciously. “I shaved my legs,” I said defensively.

“With what?” he asked. “A cutlass?”

“No,” I snapped. “I used a straight razor. I’m just not used to… In 2009, the razors are so much more… user-friendly.”

He chuckled. “Why did you shave the hair from your legs, for God’s sake?”

I shrugged, embarrassed. “In 2009… men find leg hair on women to be… unattractive.”

He raised his eyebrows, amused. “Is that how it be? How peculiar.”

I giggled. “They actually prefer their women to be hairless — except for their heads.”

“How now?” Howel laughed. “Even there?” He swept the area of my crotch with his hand, over my shift. Oh, my God. I felt dizzy with desire for him.

“Some men, yes,” I said weakly.

“Hmm,” he said, returning to caressing my neck with his mouth, one hand on my thigh, the other pressing me to him. “Seems like… the men of 2009 prefer babes in their beds… not real women… I, for one, like hair on me women… Don’t cut your legs like that, Sabrina…”

Yessir, I thought, my mind in a fog of happiness.

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