LITMIR.BIZ

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fierce blow of a cutlass knocked the ax from Alice’s hand as another pair of strong men subdued her and wrestled her across the watery gap to their waiting ship. She thrashed and screeched and caught one man with a vicious punch of her elbow. No doubt winning him a beautiful blackened eye to remember her by if the blue-tongued curse he spat was any indication.

      They hauled her across the decks, through the swirl of red smoke, and down a darkened stairway. Alice strained to see until she was shoved into an aft cabin. The door slammed behind her.

      Panic swelled. She couldn’t catch her breath. Had she truly fought her way from one pirate ship only to land upon another? At least this time, they hadn’t seen fit to bind her.

      She searched the room for something to defend herself. The chamber was as different from the filthy cave of Rasher’s quarters as mud was to milk. This room was spotless. Surfaces clear and uncluttered. Heavy brass lamps were polished and locked tight in their holders. The bunk was neatly made, and a row of diamond-paned windows curved along the back of the ship and sparkled in the sunlight. Open sea and spice were the only smells.

      She lifted an ornate sexton and judged its weight. It might not be heavy enough to kill a man, but it would put a fine crease in his skull.

      Alice pulled the tattered remains of her bodice back upon her shoulder. Her skirts had been reduced to rags and what wasn’t torn was covered in powder burns and blood. Some of which was hers. Her upper arm throbbed as she pulled the fabric of her sleeve away from the wound. If she didn’t tend to it soon, infection was sure to set in.

      She crossed the room to a washstand in search of water. The pitcher was dry—but the finely honed razor lying near by—now, that would come in handy.

      Amid the chaos continuing to rain down from above deck, booted footsteps heading her way had her poised for attack. A tall man ducked to enter the quarters. His broad shoulders filled every inch of the wool uniform of an English Navel seaman. Gray breeches incased long legs and tucked into tall, cuffed boots.

      He glanced in her direction. “Put down my razor.”

      Like hell. “I’ll put it down if you give me a pistol.”

      Her reply stopped him. “You’re in no immediate danger.”

      “Ha. I’ve had enough dealings with pirates to believe otherwise. How many times must I defend my life in a single day?”

      He removed his leather hat. Without a wig, his blond hair was long, the color of corn silk, and pulled back into a tidy queue. “I give you my word.”

      Alice wanted to laugh again, but a jolt of recognition stopped her. It couldn’t be… Stunned, she relaxed her stance and lowered the blade.

      “Good.” He tipped his head toward her and paused to hang his hat on the back of the door. “I’m Captain G—”

      “Gavin Quinn.”

      Gray eyes narrowed at her. “Yes. How—”

      “I should have guessed. Red smoke. The crimson sails.” Alice scanned the room. “This is the infamous Scarlet Night.”

      Quinn rested his hands on his hips. “Right again. Have we met?”

      “Don’t you remember?” Alice indicated her torn, bloodied clothes. “I was wearing the same outfit. Of course, it was more than two years ago. You look exactly the same. Don’t tell me I’ve aged that much.”

      “Two years? I think I would recall—” He frowned.

      Alice knew the moment Quinn recognized her. His eyebrows pushed toward his hairline. “Bloody hell, you’re the woman from the cave. Port Royal. The one who shot, then tried to behead a duke to rescue Captain Steele and his wife.”

      She’d traveled hundreds of miles to escape the blackest moment of her past, and who should she cross paths with? Someone who had a firsthand accounting of the day that continued to haunt her nights. Alice gave him a contrite grin. “That would be me.” She held out her tattered skirts. “Alice Tupper.” She dipped into a quick, if sarcastic, curtsy.

      “Members of this crew still sing the praises of the great Alice Tupper. It may make things easier for you.” The edge to his voice told her he didn’t think there was anything “great” about her, and she was about as welcome as a case of the pox. Quinn reached out to shake her hand. “Welcome aboard the Scarlet Night.”

      The wound of her upper arm bit when she shook his hand. She fought the gasp catching in her throat. It triggered her eyes to water. Alice pulled her hand from his and lifted the tatters of her sleeve away from the gash in her arm. “I’m sure the tale has been embellished along the way.”

      He frowned again. “You’re hurt.”

      “It’s nothing. A scratch.”

      “From a flying piece of debris, by the look of the wound. It needs to be well cleaned and dressed.” He moved to open the cabin door and called down the galley way, “Neo, bring some fresh water.”

      Alice heard the answering “Aye, Capt’n.”

      Quinn hung up his coat, stopped to roll his sleeves, and began gathering things: clean linen strips, needle, thread. He poured a single glass of brandy and handed it to her.

      “You needn’t fuss, Captain. I can tend to it myself.”

      “If it’s not done properly, I’ll end up tending a feverish woman.”

      His distain was palpable. Condescending. She didn’t care how striking a figure he made with his dusky-gray eyes and chiseled jaw. Alice’s quick dislike for the “great” Captain Quinn heated her cheeks. “I’m betting it’s been quite a while since you tended any woman.” She spoke into her glass before swallowing the brandy in a single gulp. It burned through her like her growing anger.

      “Certainly never on my ship.” He snatched a clean shirt from another cabinet and added it to the growing stack of items. “Women are two things I can ill afford. Nuisance and distraction.”

      Alice planted her hands on her hips. “Really? Shall I toss my womanly self over the rails, or would you rather I throw myself onto your sword? I suppose I should thank you for saving me from the Delmar, but I’ll not stand here and put up with your…your… arrogance.”

      The captain stood to his full height and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’ll ‘put up’ with whatever I say. You’re not at some garden party. You may have a champion or two aboard my ship, but most of my crew will help you over that rail. And the others—well, they’d more want to throw you onto your back.”

      Her jaw dropped. “And what you have failed to understand, Captain, is I am more than capable of handling myself. I neither require your protection nor your champions. Give me a pistol and a cutlass and find the closest port. I’ll happily be gone from you and your ship.”

      “And clothing?” He swept a hand the length of her. “Let us not forget clothing to cover your obvious charms.”

      Alice clamped her mouth shut to keep from telling him her charms had already gotten two men killed today.

      “It will have to be breeches,” he continued. “We rarely see the need for skirts.” He was close enough for Alice to see the frost of his stormy-gray eyes.”

      “How uncanny, I was debating the very thing earlier. Skirts are quite cumbersome when you’re trying to escape being raped.” Her glare locked with his.

      A quick knock on the door broke the ice dam forming between them. Alice pulled the rags of her top to cover as much as she could and crossed her arms over her chest. A huge man carried in a hogshead of water with a brass tap in its end. He set it next to the pitcher and bowl. The man’s skin was the color of polished mahogany. His scalp was shaved. Wide gold earrings ran through both ears. The play of muscles in his thick arms and across a battle-scarred

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