Disclaimer: All characters from The Queen of Swords are copyrighted by the producers, Fireworks Productions and Paramount. No infringement or revenue is intended. The story plot is original and copyright to the author.

Chapter Seven

Tessa awoke in the tiny cabin, having hardly slept. The unfamiliar noises of the ship were bad enough, but it was the foul stench of the mate's cabin that kept her from sleeping soundly. She arose in an irascible mood, her rage simmering below the boiling point, and marched out onto the deck, to a day just beginning and the sun peeking over the calm ocean. The beauty of the day held no appeal for her as she searched for Captain Stoner. She spied the captain on the upper deck with the helmsman and strode up to him, tired and seething with anger.

"I will not spend another night in that filth!" she spat. "I would rather sleep on the open deck. You will have someone clean that cabin, Capitán."

The captain started, taken aback by the sudden fury unleashed against him, then smiled placatingly. "Of course, señorita. My apologies for your discomfort. I will see to it immediately." Stoner turned on his first mate, and rasped in his hoarse whisper. "Blake, get that cabin in order or I'll have you keel-hauled." Turning back to Tessa, he said sweetly, "Is there any other way I can be of service to you, Señorita Alvarado? Some breakfast perhaps?"

His conciliatory manner surprised her, but then she reminded herself that he was born a gentleman, and bred to respect women of her class. And he expected her to act the part she was playing, a petulant and spoiled Spanish aristocrat. She hated herself for it, but so far it was getting her fair treatment and hopefully, more.

"Actually, Capitán, I need some clothing. If I am to remain on this ship for more than a few days I cannot be expected to wear this every day," she gestured to her riding costume, a printed culotte skirt and white blouse, soiled from the rough handling she suffered being carried by the sailors. "A change of clothes, por favor." She smiled into his eyes and he seemed to be lost for a second, then recovered.

"I have some things you might be able to use, señorita. We're of a size, though I'm a lot heavier. Still, you could make do with some of my shirts. They're clean and mended. I will have them sent to your cabin&3151;after it is cleaned, that is." He bowed graciously.

"You are most accommodating." For a pirate, she added to herself, then smiled brightly at him. "One other thing. I am used to open spaces and feel quite confined on this ship. Do you object to my walking around the decks to take some exercise?"

"I have no objection. Go where you please." With a last warm look, Tessa descended to the lower deck, heading toward the galley. The captain followed her with his eyes, then sighed, laughing wryly at himself. There's no fool like an old fool, he chided himself. But then I'm not so old, he thought, appreciatively watching her lithe form disappear below decks.

Chapter Eight

Marta sat with her head in her hands, staring at the black lace mask. Madre mío, it never rains but it pours, she thought desolately. Tessa is gone and the Queen of Swords is needed. If she does not appear, Montoya will know she is Tessa. I must do something, but what? Protect her identity, but how? She stood, and paced the hidden room, trying to plan, but her mind was crowded by images of the ship, Mary Rose II, sailing out of the small harbour, and her captain standing on the deck, commanding the sailors as they hastened to unfurl the sails and hoist the anchor. As the sails filled, the ship seemed to take flight. She was a three-masted schooner, built for speed, with two gunports on each side and another on the stern.

On shore, Marta had watched the beautiful vessel slide out of sight around a point of land, heading for the open sea. How she longed to be on that ship, but Mary Rose wanted her here to pretend some normalcy while the lady buccaneer skimmed the ocean, searching for the pirates.

Marta considered the problem that now faced her. Ignacio had told her that one of the few peasant free-holders was in danger of losing his land. The man had been ill and could not pay his taxes. The Queen would be expected to act, but she was far out on the ocean and could do nothing. Or could she?

All that day and the next, Tessa strolled around the decks, getting her sea legs finally. She stopped occasionally to watch a sailor performing some task or study some part of the ship. Soon, the sailors took no notice of her as she ambled through the ship, seemingly without any particular aim in mind.

Finally, leaning on the taffrail, she stared off the stern, introspectively watching the ship's wake. She couldn't remember a time when she had been without Marta for so long, and she missed her. Tessa wondered how Marta was coping with her disappearance. Has she given me up for lost, she wondered. It's been three days but it seems much longer. And what about the Queen of Swords? Has she been needed? What will happen when she does not appear? Will Montoya put my disappearance together with hers and know the truth?

Forcing her thoughts back to the problem at hand, Tessa reviewed what she had learned about the ship. It was a mid-sized vessel, about ninety feet, very sleek and fast, carrying three masts of square-rigged sails. The ship had five cannon, and the rest of the weapons were kept in a locker for which only the captain had keys. She had counted the number of sailors and other men on board — thirty-eight, most of whom were young and fit. Tessa noted the sailors all had knives but no other weapons.

Several visits to the galley had netted her some valuable stores of food which Tessa had coaxed from the cook, who was only too glad to oblige her. She smiled, thinking of his round, flushed face as he practically thrust handfuls of biscuits and dried fruit into her hands. "Ye needs more meat on yer bones," the cook had said in very bad Spanish, making her laugh. And while his attention was focussed on getting her more food, she had filched a knife from a drawer and dropped it into her boot. These items were hidden in the mate's cabin, now neat and orderly, the smell of soap and pine tar replacing the noxious odours she had put up with two nights before.

From her vantage point on the upper deck, Tessa turned and studied the ship's boat hanging from davits off to the side of the rail. A rope at each end held it up, and she realized it would take two people to lower the boat into the water. She experienced a momentary doubt about her plan as she watched the boat swinging with the motion of the ship.

She didn't know where they were and though she had been observing all the changes in direction, had no idea where they were going. The ship had started out heading north, then slightly west and now due west, straight out into open sea and away from land. She was puzzled. Should they not be staying near Santa Helena to get the ransom money they were expecting. Why were they sailing in the opposite direction? Unless... She tried to banish that thought but it surfaced anyway. Unless they never planned to pick up the ransom but only get rid of her. But why, she pondered. Who wants me out of the way? Montoya makes no secret of wanting my land, but would he risk kidnapping and murder to get it? What about Don Hidalgo? So many times he has offered to buy my hacienda and I have refused him. Is this a way to force my hand? Tessa considered the benign countenance of the don, always smiling and affable. Behind that congenial facade, I have seen a hard, calculating mind. He hides behind a mask, and I am becoming an expert on masks.

Tessa smiled grimly as she brushed these pessimistic thoughts aside and concentrated on her plan. If all went well, she should be far away from these villains by morning.

Chapter Nine

Pietro pensively watched the woman walking toward him, the dispirited set of her shoulders wrenching his heart. She looks so sad, he thought with a deep sigh. I could make her happy, if only she would let me. Her mistress is gone, and she has no one now. He felt a small leap of hope. Perhaps she will finally turn to me, as a friend at first, and then... He left the thought unfinished as he realized she had noticed him, standing near the market square.

"Hola, Marta," he greeted with a heartiness he did not feel. She looked up with a faint smile that disappeared quickly. Pietro gave her a warm, compassionate look. He was unsure how to speak to her—as one who has had a death in the family, or someone to whom one gives hope and reassurance. Emboldened by her welcoming glance, he closed the distance between them and said, "Has there been any news of your mistress?" Mutely, she shook her head. Pietro continued, "I hope you know you can come to me for anything, any help. I am always at your service."

"Thank you, Pietro. There is nothing you can do. We must just wait and hope for the best." Seeming to shake herself out of her despondent mood, Marta added, "I have not seen you for a while. What have you been doing?"

Her sudden interest in him thrilled him to the core. He beamed at her. "I am in line for a promotion, beauty," he boasted. "The colonel has noticed my devotion to duty and I shall be a sergeant soon. How about that?"

"What have you done to deserve such an honour, Pietro, catch the Queen of Swords?"

Pietro laughed heartily. "Nothing so exciting. I have made two gold deliveries without the Queen intercepting them and stealing the gold. My plan has worked to perfection, beauty, and I have caught Montoya's eye. My rise in the ranks is assured." He pulled himself up straighter. "And with a higher rank comes more money. I could afford a wife..." He stopped, realizing he was going too fast. Marta looked away quickly and started to move toward the market. Hastily, he said, "Marta, I am very sorry for your loss. It breaks my heart to see you so unhappy."

Marta's eyes snapped angrily and she said sharply, "It has only been three days, and everyone has given her up for lost! Well, I have not!" More gently, she said, "I know you mean well, Pietro. Forgive my outburst. Tell me more about your promotion. About your excellent plan for the gold shipments."

Chapter Ten

The sea was calm and the moon flitted in and out of the streaming clouds. It cast a faint light over the deck, aided dimly by the lantern hanging on the ship's prow. A stealthy figure slipped onto the main deck, moving swiftly toward the lifeboat. Stopping to ascertain if she was seen, Tessa made her way silently to the side of the small boat. Lifting the canvas which covered it, she slid several packages inside — the cache of food she had pilfered from the galley — pausing to listen for anyone coming near. She had planned to be away during the midnight watch with only a small crew on duty.

Pulling the knife from her boot, she sawed at the rope holding one side of the boat. When it was halfway through, she did the same to the other end. So far, so good, she thought, moistening her mouth which was dry with fear. Every noise jarred her nerves, and Tessa kept taking quick looks around in case anyone saw her. Just a few more cuts, and it will be in the water, and me with it. Turning back to the first rope, she lifted the knife and sliced down. The boat jerked noisily and she held her breath. Swiftly, she cut the other rope, and with a loud wrench the ropes unravelled and the boat dropped into the sea with a huge splash. That sound would wake the dead! she thought in alarm. Heart in her throat, Tessa leapt over the rail and began to clamber down a rope ladder toward the boat which was already drifting away. She would have to swim after it.

"Don't move!" a voice shouted from just above her. A grim-faced sailor scowled down at her as she hung from the rope ladder, preparing to jump into the sea. "I have orders to shoot if you try to escape, and bejeeses, I will. Climb back up here and be quick about it!" He spoke in English, but his tone and gestures conveyed his meaning all too well.

Tessa hesitated. How good a shot was he? The distance was only a matter of ten feet, and she realized he couldn't miss from there. And her lifeboat had floated a good distance away—it would be a long swim to catch it. Gritting her teeth in frustration, she began to scale back up the ladder. By the time she was climbing over the rail, a large group of men had gathered, including Mr. Blake, the first mate.

"Well, look what you fished out of the sea, Mr. Billings. Good work." Blake hauled Tessa off the rail, roughly manhandling her onto the deck. "Our ransom just about got away. I don't take kindly to someone trying to do me out of my share." He raised his hand to slap her, but Tessa blocked his move and returned a punch to his stomach that doubled him over, his breath expelled in a loud grunt. He recovered and stood up, glaring wildly at her. "Hold her!" Tessa struggled but two sailors grabbed her arms and pinioned them painfully behind her. "I'll show you how a woman should treat a man. It's a lesson that you need to learn, señorita."

Blake moved his face toward her, and she could smell his fetid breath only inches away as he tried to place his mouth on hers. She turned her head away, but he gripped her jaw painfully, forcing her to face him. Reaching for the top of her blouse with his dirt-encrusted hand, he slid it inside, touching her breast with his rough fingers. His fevered eyes watched her with cruel amusement as she struggled in the grip of the other sailors. With all her strength she tried to avoid him, recoiling from the touch of his lips and hand. He suddenly jerked up and backed away. Relieved, she looked into the cold malevolent eyes of the captain, who was holding a pistol to Blake's head.

"What the devil is going on here? Let her go!" The hoarse whisper sounded chilling and deadly. In a body, the men stepped back and she staggered a little from the sudden release. "Mr. Blake, explain yourself!"

"She were tryin' to excape, Cap'n, and Mr. Billings caught 'er. I were just going to lock 'er up in the cabin when you arrived, sir," Blake said in English. "She cut the boat loose, and it's drifted away." He gestured at the ravelled ropes hanging free where the lifeboat used to be.

Captain Stoner turned his sharp gaze upon Tessa. "You were trying to escape? In our boat?" In spite of his anger, Tessa saw a small gleam in his eyes, something like amusement, or perhaps admiration. "Well, your plan failed, señorita. Go back to your cabin." As Tessa moved past the men, she heard Stoner say to the first mate, "As for you, Blake, if you ever touch that woman again, I'll kill you." Though she didn't understand his English words, the message in that harsh whisper was clear enough. She took a small comfort in its threat.

Back in her cabin, a sudden reaction set in and Tessa began to tremble as she tried to suppress the urge to tear the room apart, so great was her frustration. Tears of rage coursed down her cheeks as she realized her only chance of escape was gone. She was firmly in their hands now.

Pulling the knife from her boot, Tessa began the series of sword drills taught her by Señor Torres. In spite of her exhaustion, she needed some release for the anger boiling inside her. As she exerted herself, a fine sheen of sweat covered her, but she went on, though her breathing was forced and ragged with weariness.

A muffled footstep near the door made her pause; she clenched the knife more firmly as she turned to the sound.

"Señorita Alvarado." The unmistakable whisper of the captain came to her faintly, and she tensed, waiting for him to open the door. "Señorita," he said again, more forcefully.

"Go away!" she rasped, her voice strained with fatigue.

She heard him say, "I am sorry," then his footsteps died away, and she relaxed slightly. Sorry for what, she wondered in fury. Sorry your men handled me so roughly, or sorry I didn't escape? She held her anger closely like a shield and vowed to herself, You'll be sorry all right, sorry you ever met me! With a tight smile, Tessa conceived a bold new plan, recalling where the weapons locker was and how she would get into it. Yes, he would be sorry, she thought as she slashed viciously through the air with an imaginary sword.

Chapter Eleven

Through the telescope, she could see the dust rising on the trail, heading toward her. The black-clad woman crouched lower into her covert on the ledge to await the coach now approaching the narrow canyon she had selected for her ambush. The trail wound between high walls along the canyon floor, just wide enough for the wagon and an outrider.

Her mouth dry with terror and excitement, Marta waited on a low outcropping above the trail. She unclenched her hands and wiped her sweaty palms on her black trousers. The coach was only a quarter mile away and coming on at a good speed. The driver, Pietro, looked warily at the rock walls and down the trail as it twisted through the canyon. The first soldier rode ahead of the coach, cantering easily. The second outrider kept a longer distance behind the coach, trying to stay out of the dust kicked up by the wagon wheels. Only three, Marta thought with relief. Maybe I have a chance.

As the coach drew nearer, Marta tensed, ready to spring. When it was under her ledge, she leapt across the space, timing her jump to land on the coach roof. Her momentum on landing rocked the coach and Pietro looked back. His eyes widened and mouth opened with a startled shout. The soldier behind the coach saw the Queen of Swords suddenly appear on the coach roof, and he yelled to Pietro while pulling out his pistol.

Marta hung on for dear life as the coach swayed, striving to grab onto the roof railing so she wouldn't fall off. Pietro reached for his own pistol, while trying control the horses. Marta moved quickly forward to disarm him, wrestling for the gun, when a shot rang out from behind. Pietro cried out and slumped over, having been hit in the shoulder by his own man. The shot alerted the outrider in front and he turned, shock washing over his face as he saw the Queen of Swords on the coach, holding the reins and Pietro laying across the bench. Marta veered the horses toward his horse and it leapt away, unseating the rider. He fell heavily and rolled for several yards, then lay still.

It was all Marta could do to control the frightened coach horses. They sensed danger and broke from their mile-consuming trot into a full gallop, rocking the coach wildly as it careened around the canyon walls, narrowly missing the boulders strewn near the edges of the trail.

The rear guard urged his mount into a gallop, trying to catch up with the coach. Marta looked back. He was gaining on her. She turned back to the trail and noted with dread that it had opened up onto a wide plain, plenty of room for the soldier to get beside the coach. He pulled even with the coach and sprang onto the side, hauling himself up on the door and then reaching for the railing that surrounded the roof. Marta felt the coach sway and turning, saw him attempting to lift himself onto the roof. She dropped the reins and crawled back to the soldier, who was having a hard time getting over the edge.

As she neared him, observing his fingers clenched around the roof rail, his face contorted by the effort of hanging on, she felt a momentary pang of regret. "Sorry, señor," she said with a rueful shrug, "there is only room on this coach roof for one," then, planting her foot firmly on his chest, pushed hard and launched him off the coach. He tumbled awkwardly and landed hard. In a second, he was back on his feet, shaking his fist and hurling curses that Marta was glad she couldn't hear.

The frightened horses showed no sign of slowing down, and the reins had fallen from the coach seat onto the ground, dragging between the traces. Marta made her way back to the bench, to find Pietro was coming around. He seemed dazed and in pain, but when he saw her, he was galvanized into action. Pietro reached for his sword, struggling to maintain his balance while the coach rumbled across the plain. Marta unsheathed her own sword before he could grasp his, and held it at his throat. Only the Queen kills, floated through her mind as she looked into his terror-filled eyes. But I am not the Queen, she thought wryly, lowering the sword.

Pietro's face paled, his confused eyes tried to focus, then he fainted. Marta sighed with relief. Thank God!. I don't want to hurt him any more than he already is. Turning her attention to the horses, she realized they were finally slowing, winded and labouring from their headlong dash. When the coach came to rest, she climbed down and opened the door. Inside were piles of canvas-covered packages, satchels and pouches. Which one has the gold, she wondered. Hefting each package, she soon determined which contained the treasure she had fought for.

She whistled loudly and Chico, who had been following the coach, trotted to her side. Marta lifted the heavy pouch and tied it to the saddle. She was about to mount when she hesitated, then climbed up onto the coach. Pietro's breathing was harsh and the wound was bleeding profusely. She pulled a linen handkerchief from his pocket and shoved it into the wound, trying to staunch the bleeding. He groaned but remained unconscious. The sound of hoofbeats alerted her it was time to go. One of the soldiers had regained his mount and was charging toward the coach. She sprang from the coach and leapt into the saddle, galloping across the plain towards the sacred valley. The soldier did not pursue her. Instead, she noted with satisfaction, looking back, he went to the aid of his injured comrade, Pietro.

ChapterTwelve

We're in for a storm, Tessa thought uneasily, as she gazed at the dark, unsettled ocean. The ship rocked and pitched as high waves pounded the prow, pouring sheets of water across the deck. The voyage from Spain to California had been rough at times, especially rounding the Horn, so she was not too concerned about the ship's ability to weather a storm. She was more concerned about the scene just enacted in the captain's cabin and her mind was as disturbed as the turbulent sea.

Holding tightly to the taffrail, she reviewed the dinner and its strange aftermath. It had been two days since her attempted escape, and ever since she had been under the relentless scrutiny of the sailors, who were ordered to watch her in case she tried again. Constantly under surveillance with no privacy anywhere, she felt her temper rising toward the flash point. The explosion finally came after their dinner that evening. Determined to get to the bottom of the mystery of her kidnapping, Tessa had asked the captain some very pointed questions and he had tried to be evasive.

"At first, Capitán Stoner," she had said, "I thought you were ordered to kill me and toss my body overboard somewhere out on the ocean. I have seen this is not the case. Nor is the ransom the real reason I have been taken hostage, is it? Money is not the true motive here. But what is? If not murder or extortion, what do you want?"

The captain shrugged and said, "As I told you before, I am sworn to secrecy. You are not to be harmed. That is all I can tell you."

"How many days am I to be held on this ship?" Tessa hammered the table, jiggling the wine glasses dangerously. She stood up abruptly, angry and confused, and began to pace restlessly about the confined space of the cabin. "It has already been nearly a week! What are you waiting for?" Her voice rose as her temper exploded. Coming up behind the captain, she pulled the knife from her boot and with a quick move, laid the blade just under his jaw. "If you don't think I will kill you, you are a fool," she said in a harsh whisper near his ear.

"Now let me tell you what you will do. We will go on deck and you will order the helmsman to steer a course back to Santa Helena and then you will surrender to the authorities there." She pressed the knife against his throat and he winced but remained utterly still. "Let's go."

"If you do kill me, then you are the fool." He remained seated, his hands splayed on the linen tablecloth. He turned his eyes to hers, and Tessa was shocked by the complete absence of fear in those cold grey eyes. He had faced death many times and it held no terror for him. Still holding her gaze, he added, "Consider this. If you kill me, you remove the only restraint that holds Blake and the others from doing their worst to you. I think you know what I mean." In spite of herself, Tessa shuddered, as a cruel smile flitted across his mouth. "Blake is an animal. I barely keep him under control. Whenever we have taken a ship, he goes mad with bloodlust and kills without mercy. What he does to women is not for your delicate ears." The hoarse whispering voice and her own imagination created a vision of horror that made her tremble. There was no escaping this nightmare; it must be played out to its end.

With a scathing Rom curse, she pulled the knife away from his throat and hurled it at the wall where it stuck, vibrating. The only sound in the cabin for several seconds was the ticking of the clock and her own laboured breathing.

Finally regaining control, she said, "At least tell me when this will end. At least that much."

The captain regarded Tessa thoughtfully for a moment, then he replied, "The ransom was to be paid a week from the date the note was received. That will be the day after tomorrow. My man will collect it and if successful, he will light a signal fire at a prearranged place on the cliffs above the shore. I will send you ashore with the boat that goes to collect the money." He shrugged. "You were wrong, señorita. It was about money after all."

"And if the ransom is not paid, you will kill me?"

"I am convinced it will be paid. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some work to do. Buenas noches, señorita." Dismissing her, the captain got up and sitting at his desk, began to riffle through the leaves of his logbook, not even turning when she left the cabin.

Now standing with her feet firmly planted on the upper deck and hanging onto the rail, Tessa tried to find some meaning in it all. Where did this fit into any grand plan? Marta always said everything happens for a purpose. What purpose was being served by her being held hostage on this accursed ship! Her thoughts turned to other events in her life that seemed unnecessarily harsh and purposeless. Like Antonio's death, only a few months ago. It was still a raw wound, and Tessa suffered a sudden wrench in her heart, thinking of him.

Antonio's touch was like flame. I was on fire to have him, his kisses drove me mad with desire. I have no illusions...I would have given myself to him when we were in Spain, whether he was willing or not. She turned her heated face to the cooling winds. But for Marta being near, I would have known what it was like finally, to be loved by a man, by Antonio. Marta preserved my virtue, but at what cost? She drew in a long unsteady breath. We could have had at least that, but Fate intervened as always. Was it Antonio's fate to die for me? If I had stayed in Spain, so many things would have been different. I would have married Antonio and we would have been happy together.

An unsettling thought swept away this picture as Tessa recalled the antipathy between Marta and Antonio. Marta would have had to go if she had married Antonio. He would not have wanted Marta in his household. I would have had to make a choice between them. I am glad I was spared that—I don't know how I would have chosen. The image of the Gypsy woman floated into her inner vision and Tessa felt the familiar sweet warmth flow through her that Marta radiated by her presence.

Staring out into the churning waves, Tessa recalled her own turbulent childhood, as buffeted by unhappiness as this tiny ship was by the sea. When I first saw Marta, Tessa thought with a soft smile, I thought she was fascinating...and a little frightening, with her untamed hair and those vivid colours. So exotic to my young eyes. But when she held me as I needed to be held, I sensed a connection, a rightness to her being there, like we belonged together. She seemed so solid, so self-contained and so loving. Even more than my own mother who was always so cool and distant with me. Tessa tried to picture her mother's face but all she saw was the portrait that hung in the villa. No trace of her mother remained in her heart or memory. So sad not to have known your own mother, she thought. But if I had grown up with my mother, I would not have learned the many things I know, never have become the person I am now. What kind of woman would I have been? Like my mother, I suppose, a Spanish gentlewoman, probably married with several children by now.

She shook her head ruefully. Is that what I would have wanted? Maybe, if that is what I was taught to want. But Marta taught me to search inside myself for deeper meanings for my life, to think for myself, not to worry about conventions or what others thought. She allowed me so much more freedom than other girls of my age. I never even appreciated it until I saw close up how confined and restricted my friends were in their homes and lives. In some ways, I have been very lucky. I could have grown up a shallow and vain girl like Luisa, only thinking of her next romantic conquest, her next gown or party.

Luisa, my best friend—my only real friend other than Marta— introduced me into Spanish society and took me with her to balls and parties, meeting the nobility that my father had wanted me to mix with. But I found, after a while, there was no excitement, always the same people, gossiping and intriguing for each other's lovers. Not for me. My heart was set on Antonio then, and I felt like an outsider anyway, like a foreigner in a strange land. Growing up with Marta and her gitano ways, I found myself torn between the two cultures, but more drawn to the gitano. I believe I am almost as much gitana as Spanish. She chuckled at the thought, how scandalized her aunt and her cousin would be to see her now. I have Marta to thank for most of what I am. Tessa frowned slightly, compressing her lips and sighing heavily. I never told Marta that, and should have. So many things I should have said to her. Is it too late now?

Tessa laughed shortly. If Papa only knew that besides the society he wanted me to be part of, I was also very much a part of a different society— the gitano. Maybe he wouldn't have minded. Sadly, she thought, he really didn't know me at all. His little angel, as he called me, had her devilish side too. He never saw that in me. I wish I had told him everything — about the year with the gitano, the fencing lessons. I could never be the son he wanted, but maybe he would have been proud of me for those things as well as being his little angel. But when he appeared in my dream, he seemed to know everything and expected me to do something with my skills— to become his avenging angel. Would he still be proud of what I have done— the lives I have taken for justice? If I were his son, he would be, no doubt, but his daughter? Yes, I think so. Even though he hasn't appeared again, I feel his approval in my heart.

The strong winds blew spray in her face, whipping her clothing like the sails, but Tessa held onto the rail, lost in her thoughts. At length, she became mindful of the chill and damp. The feeling evoked another memory of being on the ocean, or rather in it, and being chilled almost to death. And of the taciturn man who came to her rescue. Dr. Helm's face swam into her inner vision with that look of wry amusement he always wore, except when she vexed him, as she seemed to so able to do. Tessa chuckled, recalling their first meeting—his stealing the apple she had been about to take for herself. What appalling manners, she had thought then. He was brusque and prickly at times, but also gentle and caring. And that kiss! It had warmed her completely though she was half-frozen from the cold sea, as it was warming her now, just thinking about it. What was there between them, she wondered. He doesn't seem to like me or the Queen of Swords, so what hope is there? Still, there is something that draws us together. Tessa felt a little breathless suddenly as she remembered the cool smoothness of his skin against hers as he helped her swim back to the shore that night. The memory of that intimacy made her skin tingle with sudden heat, warming her body with guilty pleasure. I didn't want to die, not really, I just left things in the hands of Fate, and Fate sent me Dr. Helm. Marta would say our destinies are entwined somehow. A smile played across her lips as she remembered their many encounters, not all friendly. But he kissed me; that means something.

Tessa shivered, and weary of her thoughts, she made her way to the lower deck and went into the mate's cabin. Stripping off her damp clothes, she climbed into the bunk, and for a long time lay searching for peace and letting the rocking of the ship soothe her into sleep.