If I could trick Madwulf into plotting a course to the tiny uninhabited island north of Anguilla—the home of more nesting birds than I’d ever seen in my life—Priest and Ashley would find me.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

That was a lot of ifs. Too many.

My heart constricted so painfully I felt a sickening crunch as it collapsed in on itself.

I’d conceived many wild plans in my lifetime. Some worked. Some failed magnificently. This might be my flimsiest, most hole-ridden scheme yet.

As Madwulf dragged me toward the longboat, I cursed my lack of clothing. Once again, I would be boarding Blitz wearing only a man’s shirt and the jade stone. Ashley’s shirt this time. And it was much worse for wear, hanging in tatters around my thighs.

The crew wouldn’t rape me, for fear of contracting syphilis.

But there were endless other ways to hurt a woman.

45

Standing at the bow of Blitz, I held a spyglass to my eye and sank into the overwhelming relief in my chest. The distant palm-tree, with two savagely determined men tied to it, filled the spherical field.

They were still alive, and in a few minutes, the greatest threat against them would sail far away from this cay.

Behind me, seamen strained at the capstan. Others hauled lines and howled with excited laughter. The anchor heaved from the water. Yards swung. Sheets hissed, and the mainsail turned hard, thrilling with the power of the trade wind. A mist of warm spray slashed my cheeks as the warship luffed away from the sand and cast a wide arc toward the blue swells of the open sea.

A tingle raced up my spine, and the glass was yanked from my grip. An iron shackle went about my ankle, connected to a short chain that secured me to the foremast on the upper deck. There, I sat, awaiting my fate amid a menagerie of live chickens, goats, and pigs.

Ashley would have a fit if he saw his ship in such filthy disarray. To think that only yesterday, most of these men had reported to him with the utmost discipline and respect. I supposed the promise of riches and merriment could buy just about any soul.

I depended on that as Madwulf prowled toward me.

He crouched within arm’s reach, joined by two beastly pirates standing at his back. I emptied my expression, squared my shoulders, and met his hard stare with one of my own.

For endless seconds, he held me in deliberate discomfiting eye contact. A tactic meant to intimidate. I sat taller, unmoving, and waited.

“We can be friends, Miss Sharp.” He held out the compass, daring me to grab it. “Just give me the combination.”

“I’ll give you something, darling.” My mouth twisted. “How about an oozing rash? Or a bald head? Just come a little closer.”