How did they know each other? Had they met through Ashley’s sister, Arabella?

I desperately just wanted to take a moment and appreciate the view, soak them in, and commit every gorgeous detail to memory. But as Ashley’s blade came up and knocked the blackguard’s dagger from his hand, I knew they had it under control.

Turning toward the door, I headed out to look for Madwulf. If he was already off the sand and on his way to the ship, I’d let him go. But I also needed to see who was lingering out there and clear the perimeter for escape.

Clutching tight to the hilt of the cutlass, I crept on silent feet and picked through the sounds of waves crashing on the shore, seagulls screeching overhead, and in the distance, Madwulf’s crew laughing on the ship.

I cautiously stepped over the threshold, my senses on high alert. The angle of the doorway faced away from Blitz. I needed to round the corner to view it.

“Priest…Ashley,” I whisper-hissed over my shoulder. “Let’s go.”

A muffled feminine cry hit my ears, spiraling tingles across my scalp.

The sound came from around the side of the cottage, garbled as if a hand was smothering her mouth. Then another wail joined in, higher-pitched, younger, female.

A child.

My heart felt the chill of winter in Carolina, my limbs frozen in horror. I hadn’t had time to ponder what might have become of the women on this island, but I was about to see it firsthand.

With a shake, I pulled myself from the grip of fear and started forward. Until a hand grabbed the back of my shirt.

Over my shoulder, I found Ashley’s eyes harder than I’d ever seen them, his teeth bared now that the gag was gone. Beside him, Priest’s mean mouth anchored itself in a scowl.

I didn’t have to tell them to listen. The sounds of crying grew closer, louder. Seconds later, Madwulf emerged from around the corner, dragging a petite blond girl who couldn’t have been older than thirteen.

With a fist in her hair and a knife against her tiny throat, he jerked his chin at something out of view.

Footsteps advanced. Pirates rounded the corner, and I found myself staring at the six or so men who had left the cottage only minutes ago. One of them restrained a sobbing woman in her thirties, presumably the child’s mother, with his hand covering her mouth.

My hopes for escape sank like a burning ship to the bottom of the sea.

I tightened my grip on the cutlass. Priest and Ashley flanked me, fisting knives in both hands.