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employed and the man was impressed. Thus was the case with Hugo Watkins. They’d taken him from a Portuguese slaver off the African Gold Coast four months ago, and he’d done nothing but complain since. He was an excellent carpenter, but Dominic and his men couldn’t wait to be rid of him. “I will leave you to the accounts. Give me a report in the morning on the totals. We’ll add the profits from the rebel guns to everyone’s share after they are sold.”
    Gaspar nodded. “Shall I again wish you luck with fair Clare?”
    “No.”
    Laughter accompanied Dominic’s exit but he smiled and ignored it.
     
     
    Back up on deck, the crew prepared themselves for the onset of the evening. Dominic went to the stern’s rail and looked out at the sun setting over the open water. He loved the sea. Be it dusk, dawn, or midday, the rolling waves and the sights and smells of the ocean fueled him like nothing else. His father had been a captain in the French Navy and Dominic had served as his aide. He’d been only thirteen on his initial voyage, but from the first day he drew the salty air into his lungs, he knew that sailing was what he’d been born to do. Since then, he’d swabbed decks, loaded cannons, climbed riggings, and been voted captain. No matter the job, as long as he had a ship rolling beneath his feet, he was content.
    Out on the horizon, seabirds flew against the dying sun. He grinned at the sight of a pod of dolphins racing beside the ship. Long day, he mused. Profitable, but long. The muskets they’d confiscated from the British frigate would go to a merchant who’d arrange for them to be turned over to the Continental Army, for a profit of course. The gold would be divvied up according to the percentages specified in the Marie’ s articles, and once they reached home, the crew would all go their separate ways until the sea’s siren call lured them back to her watery embrace.
    Dominic had been answering that call for fifteen years in capacities both legal and non; mostly non. He was a wealthy man now in both fortune and property. His dear brother, Eduard, would undoubtedly foam at the mouth were he aware of how much his bastard half brother was truly worth, but Dominic had no plans to enlighten him, nor reveal the whereabouts of the families he’d planned to enslave. Eduard could rot in hell.
    The Marie’ s bell rang the hour, refocusing his mind on the present. He wondered if his guest was sleeping. Thinking of her, he was again struck by her novelty, and he asked himself, why would a slave woman not want freedom? In truth, the answer she’d given had been logical, but he sensed something more at play. Did she have a lover she longed to return to? Was that the reason, or were her protestations about hating her privileged captivity nothing more than a lie? Because he didn’t have an answer, he spent a few moments trying to unravel the conundrum. His own mother, Marie, had been enslaved on the island of Martinique before being plucked out of the cane fields by his father to be his mistress. Antoine had loved her so deeply, he’d freed her, and nine months later, she gave birth to a son. She died when Dominic was twelve, but she’d loved him as he loved the sea; unconditionally and with every breath. Could anything have made her turn her back on the offer of freedom that day in the cane field?
    Thinking about her sent his mind back to Clare’s response when he asked about her children. Three words: They were sold. A grimness settled over his soul. Her children! That was it. Her children were somehow involved in her stance. He was as sure of it as he was of his mother’s love.
    And now his impetuous decision to take her from the frigate weighed even more heavily. He had no explanation as to why he’d done what he had. Yes, he was a pirate, but where other men of his profession made a practice of defiling women, he eschewed such behavior. With the bevy of women willingly raising their skirts for him all