“Nanette.”

Inwardly, Seyliea cringed at the name. She had been given it when she was first brought here, a new name to go with a new life on the plantation. “One upon whom fate has smiled.” She smiled to herself. Indeed, her name had been proven true in those early days, and still even now. She had been chosen, one day, as one of a group of field slaves to be thrashed. While being dragged to her punishment, the planter’s only daughter had seen her, and literally demanded she be brought to the house for her own amusement. The planter didn’t even begin to argue. She was taken to the house, and the amusement began.

And amusement it was. Their days were spent playing dress up, or tea parties, Nanette telling the young heiress stories passed on to her from her mother, playing tricks on the other members of the household, usually the antics of the mischievous Isabel. The girls formed a deep friendship, despite their differences. Isabel had taught her many things, among them how to read, and write, which was still illegal, and none but them knew it. They were both skilled with the sword, which Isabel had insisted was a necessity, what with so many pirate raids happening, and their land so close to the ports.

She has been privileged enough to share a room with Isabel, and was fortunate enough to have her clothes when she became bored with them. But Seyliea was careful never to try and rise above her status, regardless of her mistress’ favor. She was always humble, quiet and fiercely obedient, as any slave should be. Though she hated the name with which she was addressed, she knew she could not leave. Anywhere else, she was nothing more than a slave, a possession, to be treated however her master pleased. She had no notion of leaving; the thought had never crossed her mind.

“Nanette, is the water ready?”

“Awaiting your presence, Miss Bel. Did you fare well through the night?”

“Oh, yes,” the girl said from her bed piled high with pillows and cushions. She casually rolled off her bed, and stretched lazily, throwing off her flimsy lace night gown in the process. She had more than once confessed to Nanette that she often hoped a rogue pirate would sneak onto the property and up to her room and that whatever he did when he found her, she did not want Nanette to interrupt. She lithely made her way up to the raised dais where her beautiful hand carved cedar wood tub sat waiting, little tendrils of steam floating above the rim. She moved slowly, allowing every inch of her sun kissed frame to enjoy the glory of the morning light streaming in through the window.

Seyliea, quite unmoved by this almost natural performance, carefully gathered her mistress’ bountiful auburn curls before they could touch the lavender scented water as Lady Isabel lowered herself into the tub, giving a contented sigh.

“Have you been up long, Nanette?” she asked after a pause.

“Not much longer than usual,” she replied, preparing the sponge for her lady’s bath. “And what would you like to eat to break the fast, my lady? Cook has fresh eggs. What may I direct him to prepare to tempt your palette?” Seyliea asked, scrubbing the girl’s back in little circles.

“Nanette, darling,” she said lazily, “whatsoever you decide is perfect. I know you won’t let me eat anything dreadful.” This was true. Seyliea had been Isabel’s food taster since the day she arrived at the house.

The highly affectionate, spoiled and sometimes arrogant child had grown into a haughty, spoiled, lazy young woman. Beautiful though she was, with her fair skin and thick, curly auburn tresses, she was decidedly selfish, though her friendship with Nanette had been almost unaffected.

“After the morning meal, Nanette, ready yourself for a trip to the market. I fancy a new gown.”

After ensuring that her lady was well on her way to being dressed, Seyliea hurried down to the kitchens to see about her lady’s meal. Seeing that it was in order and instructing that it should be taken up to Lady Isabel, she hurried to see about a carriage for her lady’s trip to market.

At a quarter past ten, Lady Isabel and her beloved Nanette stepped out from the carriage onto the pier among the ports. Isabel gazed at all the merchandise, while Seyliea stood a respectable distance behind. She had chosen one of her more worn, drab dresses for the outing. Not many would approve of a slave dressing in such fine threads as Isabel saw fit to give her. It didn’t matter that Isabel was the only daughter of James Eidenburg, the most prominent planter in the Caribbean, and the brother of the present Governor, William Eidenburg.

Two hours after noon the woman and her slave were heading back to the carriage when a troop of British soldiers emerged, marching towards the docks. Curious, both women turned to see what the matter was. A massive ship was pulling into port, the brazen symbol of the Jolly Roger flapped in the breeze, gazing through empty eye sockets at all below. Instinctively, Seyliea urged her lady to hurry. Almost as soon as she did so, the boom of a canon sounded. Seconds later a merchant’s cart a ways off from the pair’s carriage exploded. The horses skittered, and were gone. Without knowing why, Seyliea turned around and looked behind her. What looked like a hundred pirates were on the land battling with soldiers. Nearly the same amounts were spilling over the sides of the fearsome ship. Above the fierce yelling of the fighting, swords clashed, guns fired and canons roared. The sheer chaos of the battle was a stark contrast to the serene blue of the sky above.

A sword landed close to her feet, startling her out of her haze. There were pirates running towards her, swords at the ready. Seyliea was aware of her lady tugging at her arm, absolutely beside herself with fear. Deftly she picked up the sword and turned with her lady to flee. Before them stood a pirate with such a regal air about him that he could be mistaken for a prince. His fierce blue-green eyes looked much like the sea he rode so often. Quite inadvertently, Seyliea quickly noted his broad shoulders, sculpted with brawny muscles, the tuft of curly chestnut colored curls that dusted his partially exposed chest, his chiseled but somehow soft features, the smart curve of his mouth and the way his chestnut curls bounced in the wind. Pushing all this from her mind, with difficulty, Seyliea positioned herself between the pirates and her lady as best she could.

“You gonna fight us, girlie?” one of them asked, mockingly. They were both broad shouldered and muscular, missing more than half of their teeth between them. Seyliea did her best to keep her eyes on all of them at once, though she was more wary of the pair on her left, as the lone pirate still held his relaxed stance.

Suddenly the pair struck, as one, and the fight began. Seyliea parried and flanked and thrust like her life depended, as indeed, it did. Her lady Isabel was no longer behind her, but had fled, the lone pirate making no effort to pursue. In fact, Seyliea became acutely aware that he was watching her.

She struck out twice in quick succession, disarming one of her opponents and wounding him. She was tiring quickly, her weary arms protesting brazenly, but she would not let them see it. Driven, she pressed the remaining pirate backwards, back down the path that he had come. Her arms were growing heavier, her legs threatening to give way, but still she drove him hard. He was barely trying, she realized grimly. He struck low, and she blocked him, but in that instant he disarmed her and had her on her back.

Seyliea lay there, glaring up at him, feeling sand and rocks protruding into her tired frame. Though her heart had taken up residence in her throat, she refused to let them see her fear, but instead concentrated on steadying her breathing.

“Bloody, brilliant, captain!” her opponent said exuberantly. “Did you see the way she fought? Could have been trained by these British scoundrels themselves with the skill she’s got.” He turned to address the pirate who was moving toward the pair with genial speed. Seyliea kicked him in the shins and had him on the floor in a flash. She found his gun and knife, and simultaneously flung them as far away in different directions as she could manage before he grabbed her wrists and tried to wrestle her to the ground.

“Bloody hell, lass,” he grunted.

Somehow fear cut in through her adrenaline haze and she fought more feverishly. Suddenly, a strong firm arm clasped her around the waist and lifted her upward, while a firm but gentle hand held her wrists stiffly in check. She did not have the presence of mind to scream, though she did become more feverish in her struggle.

“Impressive. Very impressive.” His voice was like silk, just as smooth and alluring. “I think I will take you aboard my ship.” a soft laugh rose in his throat. “I have need of a whore.”

He turned easily, and headed toward the ship. He was the captain, and he had sealed her fate.

She struggled more, causing him to pause. His voice, when it came, was cold with an edge. “If you insist on struggling, I will strip you naked, hoist you over my shoulder, and carry you.” Seyliea froze, she was certain that he would.

She never said a word. Not as they walked through the docks, as they boarded the ship, not as she watched the shipmate she had wounded me tended to. Nor did he feel the need to speak to her, or let her go.

“Property.” the word sounded in her mind, threatening to crush her spirit. She stood there, listless against him as the ship sailed away from the burning carcass that had once been a settlement, on the beautiful glassy ocean.

When the island was out of sight, he let her go. She stood there before him, lifelessly looking into the eyes of whom she was bound to for the rest of her life. He was extremely handsome; his features weren’t sharpened with malice towards her.

He looked away, searching the deck for someone.

“Strong-arm Jack.” His voice was clear-cut and strong. Within minutes, a tall broad shouldered man approached.

“Aye, Cap’m.”

“Take the woman to my quarters. Lock all but the smallest portals, and see to it that she is fed.”

“Aye cap’m.”

“Watch her carefully, Jack. That’s a strong one there. She bested Swords McGee in a swords fight.”

The sailor looked Seyliea up and down. “I’ll watch her, cap’m. ‘S sure’s m’name’s Strong-arm Jack Farley.”

Seyliea walked listlessly behind the rugged sailor. She did not notice the room she was placed in, nor did she pay attention to the food that was brought in. There were so many things to take in, so many things had happened, so many things had changed.

‘A whore.’ she thought. Immediately she got up and barricaded herself in a corner. Her thoughts were a swirling mass of anger and fear. Securely barricaded, she made herself as comfortable as possible, and the rocking of the ocean’s cradle lulled her to sleep. Damien Kensington walked into his chambers that night when the moon hung high in its curtain. He saw the food untouched, the bed as if no one had touched it. He closed the door and saw the barricade, through which he saw the colored temptress, fast asleep. Finding that he could not dismantle it, he grinned. No doubt she had thought him serious when he had said she’d be his whore. The poor lass. He promised himself he’d correct the foolish notion on the morrow. That settled, he undressed and tried to get to sleep. But, alas, tonight he found the task nearly impossible, for never had a woman been so close, yet so very far.