She narrowed her eyes. Seemed they warranted a welcome party—dozens of men waited on the jetty they’d been directed to, clothing proclaiming them as Navy. At the centre stood a middle-aged man, his uniform far fancier than Blackwood’s, like the one the Duke of Mercia had worn. An admiral, then.

Frowning, she wandered aft from the bow. Could they be here for Blackwood? Ha, maybe he was in trouble for going against his orders and fighting with them. Maybe they’d come to arrest him as soon as he came off the ship.

Her stomach turned, and she sighed. Much as she was irritated at him, by him, he didn’t deserve to walk into such an unpleasant surprise. He’d been an arse, but it wouldn’t hurt to warn him.

Except he wasn’t at the wheel.

Half her mind on the sea, channelling them into a berth between two frigates, she glanced around for him.

The Morrigan glided into place, gently bumping against the jetty as the crew threw mooring lines to waiting workers. Helping slide the gangway in place, the dockers were so quiet, it set her teeth on edge. Perhaps that’s how they worked in naval dockyards, unlike the lively chattering folk she joked with on civilian wharves. She shuddered. Damn the Royal Navy and their stiff restraint.

Speaking of which …

Still no sign of Blackwood. Maybe he was packing his belongings from her cabin. She pursed her lips. If this Admiral really was here for—

“Help!” The door to FitzRoy’s cabin burst open. “Help,” he cried, stumbling out clothed in—

Rags?

Vice gaped. FitzRoy never wore anything short of—

“Help me!” He staggered to the gangway, eyes wide and wild on the men gathered on the dock.

Heart leaping to life, her hand fastened on her sabre, and she searched fore and aft for danger, but …

Wait, were his wrists bound?

She started towards him. “FitzRoy, what—”

“Save me from her.” His finger rose to point unerringly at Vice.

Arresting Weather

Vice blinked, squeezing her sabre’s hilt. What had he just—

Marines and sailors poured across the gangway. Unarmed, The Morrigan’s crew withdrew, sharing wary looks.

What the hells was going on?

Backing away, she drew her sword. No sign of Blackwood. Typical—the Navy was confused and attacking them again and—

“My name is FitzRoy,” he said in the voice he used for orders that carried without any need to shout. He fell to his knees. “I’m the rightful captain of this ship, and I’ve been captured—arrest that woman.”

“What?” she spluttered, raising her sword defensively.

“I’ve been captured by the infamous pirate harlot, Lady Vice.” He levelled shaking hands at her again, turning his wide eyes upon the Admiral. “She kept me in chains—forced me to be her sex slave—”

“Sex slave? What?”

“—while she captained my ship.”