“Yes, I had noticed.” She appeared beside him, peering outside as if she expected to find him occupied by something more exciting than Aunt Tilda’s gardens and the endless drizzle. “I thought you’d want to hear the outcome of all your hard work.”

It had been a week since he’d left Portsmouth. Enough time for—“The trial?” He barely got the words out before his throat closed.

“Guilty, of course.”

“Of course.” He should have felt nothing. Or the swell of pride at victory and a job well done. Instead, there was only cold. Over his scalp, in his chest, coating his fingertips, making his bones brittle, freezing his toes. “And”—despite his attempt to sound light, his voice cracked, forcing him to clear his throat—“and the sentence?”

“Hanging.”

Exhaling, he pressed his forehead against his forearm and closed his eyes.

This was the plan. He’d known this would happen. He’d made it happen. And yet …

His stomach twisted, writhing like that barrel of eels, coating his throat with bile.

“Knigh?” Isabel’s voice was as soft as her touch on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

Blasting a harsh breath, he pulled away, arm dropping from the frame. Get a hold of yourself.

“Nothing is wrong. Nothing.” But the heavy, heaving pit of his stomach said that was a lie.

“You know,” Is said, eyebrows rising as she looked up at him, “I’ve noticed something in the past couple of years—since you started pirate hunting rather than serving with the regular Navy.” Gentle lines creased her brow. “You’ve withdrawn from the family, and I don’t think it’s because of Father and what he left behind. It was after that. What have you seen out there?”

He clenched his hands at his sides as his stomach turned again. He didn’t deserve her kindness. Didn’t deserve her large blue eyes looking up at him so softly, with all the light of a sister looking up to her big brother and all the wisdom of Aunt Tilda.

“I’ve read books about wars and pirates,” she went on, “and I know the things Father did—all of them. I may not have been out in the world and seen it all, but I’m not so innocent. You can tell me.”

But he couldn’t. He’d shatter that look, that admiration in her eyes if he told her what he’d done to Billy and what he’d nearly done to those men who’d surrendered. Swallowing, he shook his head.

“I’ve never seen you like this after an assignment, Knigh.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “What’s eating you up about this particular capture? And what’s the significance of that shell?”