Fighting for the Royal Navy was nothing like what these pirates did. Nothing at all. He only fought those who stood in battle, other military men who knew what they were getting into. Pirates, though, they attacked civilian ships.

But they gave the chance to surrender, didn’t they? And if they refused to surrender to pirates, didn’t they too know what they were getting into? Weren’t they choosing to stand and fight? He’d only ever seen The Morrigan’s crew, Vee included, kill armed men who didn’t surrender, who considered their belongings worth fighting and dying for.

Hadn’t he killed men who considered their country worth dying for? Were the two things so different?

Of course, a country was a more noble cause than money. Vee only attacked to—

Oh, damnation, who was he fooling? He fought for money, the same as she did. Didn’t he target the pirates with the highest bounties? And before that, he’d followed orders, killing those deemed ‘enemy’ to Albion, because his family needed the wage.

The only difference was he killed under the banner of war and country, and that made it legal.

He massaged his buzzing temples, staring into the drifting gun smoke. Where was Vee? It was an age since she’d disappeared behind that wall of royal blue and scarlet. He paced the quarterdeck, hands clenching and unclenching.

There was nothing he could do.

It tore at him, jangling along his nerves, leaving them raw and ragged.

“Come on, Vee.” He stared into the fray, thumb tracing the edge of the little abalone shell she’d brought up from the reef.

She’d been so sure of success, so driven to take this ship, just like he was when approaching a bounty with the promise of victory sweet on his tongue. It was unthinkable that she wouldn’t survive and take her prize.

Fingers raking through his hair, he growled. This was impossible.

Then the marines parted—a crimson coat flashed in the gap. Knigh’s breath caught. Her teeth were bared and bloody, her forehead and down one side of her face covered in red, too. He’d never seen those lines on her brow before.

The back of his neck prickled. That look—it … If he didn’t know better, he’d have called it desperation.

Then Vee moved, and he understood—her left arm was looped around Wynn’s waist, straining to keep her upright. Wynn’s shirt was red rather than off-white, and her head kept dipping as if she fought to remain conscious.

The line of marines closed, and he lost sight of Vee.

He stood at the rail, gripping it with white knuckles, but there was no more sign of a crimson coat.