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The Story Starts Here___________________________

Danese heard an explosive, “Damn!” Then a murmur of voices, and a trudging of feet across a wooden floor. The door swung open so quickly, it startled Danese. She jumped backward in surprise. Willing herself not to feel anything, she could not help but drink in the sight of the handsome man standing just a few feet away, as a thirsty man craves water. He stood clad only in his breeches, his bronzed chest and shoulders heaving with great breaths of anger. Danese lifted her eyes and encountered a black scowl and darkened eyes that gradually became clearer as the man visibly relaxed. But Michael’s anger rose again as he saw that the sword in his hand was not needed, but that the person at the door was the very person he wanted watched at all times. Michael growled, “What the hell are you doing here? I’ll kill Oliver. I charged him with responsibility for you.”

An intense odor of alcohol reached Danese’s nostrils at the same time as Michael’s slurred words. “You’re drunk,” she stated blandly, wrinkling her nose.

Michael’s voice mocked her. “Now dear, ah, child, tell me what the hell you’re doing here, and I won’t ask again.” His words lashed out between gritted teeth as he fought to keep his temper under control.

Looking past Michael to the disheveled female on the bed, Danese could not hide her anger as well as her distaste in Michael’s choice of partners. The woman’s once beautiful face did not wear its years well. Shifting her eyes slowly back to Michael, Danese raised an eyebrow.

He flinched as he read her mind. Stepping in front of the open door, he effectively blocked Danese’s view of the occupant. Shrugging her shoulders, as if it were of no concern of hers, Danese pulled out the note from her pantaloons and silently handed it to Michael.

There appeared to be two men, both large in stature, conversing in French. As Danese struggled with her captor, the other man seemed to be issuing orders. Her energy quickly drained and Danese slumped as dead weight. A rope was secured around her wrists, her hands tied behind her back and a dirty gag shoved into her mouth. Her mind wailed at her own foolishness. “Oh, Danese, how do you get yourself into these things?”

In this part of town, Danese knew instinctively that no help would be coming. She had sealed her own fate. Who knew what these men would do to her? It suddenly occurred to her that they didn’t know she was female. What then did they want? Were they a press-gang preying on innocents to fill their quotas?

The man had thrown her over his shoulder and as she bounced along, Danese became light-headed. Bile entered her mouth and she gagged on its bitter taste. She tried desperately to fight back the nausea that was almost overwhelming.

With blackness edging over her eyes, Danese heard a familiar voice reaching across the void in her thoughts. Her prayers were answered! Her white knight had arrived in the nick of time! Danese fought with the absurdity of her fantasies, hoping against the odds that she didn’t faint with relief.

“Stand and hold, gentlemen!” His voice barked out of the darkness. “That package of goods is mine. You may not understand English, but I’m sure you’ll recognize a loaded pistol.” Danese’s huge captor almost dropped her and started to run, but Michael brandished the gun again. Danese was dumped on her hip, producing a sharp shooting pain through her back and left leg. Ignoring it as best she could, she thanked God for sending Michael. She was rescued!

It was so totally dark that Danese could not find Michael in the blackness. An unexpected pistol shot pulled her focus in another direction. As the smaller of the two men lunged at him, Michael rolled quickly and regained his footing to shoot. Another shot, and Danese flinched, holding her breath, dreading the outcome. She could see now that one man was down.

Light suddenly flooded the area as Danese ducked with an outraged cry to cover her eyes at the intrusion. A crowd of rag-draped onlookers seemed to slither out of the buildings along the street bringing lanterns to watch and gauge the excitement. The luminescence fell on two bodies wrestling in the filth-laden street. Danese was now hemmed into the side of a building. She could see nothing but the flash of knife blades, lifted and lifted again.

A shiver of dread ran the length of Danese’s spine. She was unable to move, and the mangy group of people virtually ignored her. Their eyes were riveted on the two fighters.

“Cut him!” A man yelled in English. “Let’s see blood! That bugger has had it coming to him for a long time.” The other taunts were in French and other languages Danese couldn’t distinguish. What she did see, though was a crowd crazed with blood-letting. At each swipe of the blades, a momentary silence would reign. then they would cry out with the elation of malicious children, wagering to see who would fall first.

Danese’s nausea persisted. She knew that if Michael died it would be her fault and hers alone. The folly of her actions took her breath away, as unbidden tears rolled down her cheeks.

The fight continued, as blades clattered against each other causing involuntary shudders to course through Danese’s body. She could hear breath rasping in the men’s lungs above the din of the crowd. Danese noted Michael’s muscles straining with tension, sweat soaking his shirt. Not wanting to see, yet drawn against her will, her eyes strained to see through the mass of watchers. “Michael!” she screamed, though no one could hear. “Michael!”

As the pain receded from her leg, Danese managed to pull herself to a kneeling position and finally by bracing her back against a wall, she was able to stand. She bumped several people trying to get their attention, but they were so absorbed in the fight, they brushed her aside without so much as a look. She screamed and screamed, the sounds muffled and contained. Using her foot, Danese kicked a man who reached out and promptly knocked her to the street again. Frustration overwhelmed her as she began to tremble and shake.

Suddenly a loud cry went up from the crowd. The fight was over, a victor claimed. Her face pressed against the dirt, Danese fervently prayed that it was Michael. She heard laughter and back slapping as wagers were paid off. Would they have backed the bigger Frenchman or was their glee for the challenger?

Even before Danese could react to her own thoughts, the crowd started to merge back into the darkness, taking their lanterns with them. It was hard for Danese to conceive of a place where people would look at her circumstances and then totally ignore her as if she didn’t really exist.

“Come back here! Are you all so stupid you can’t see that I need help?” Tears welled and spilled over, leaving trails of streaked dirt. Was Michael dead? It was black again and Danese could make out only a few solitary figures moving stealthily in the darkness. She began to struggle again at her bonds.

A pair of black boots materialized before her eyes. Michael’s hard raspy voice hit her like a fist. “You little fool! Your stubbornness almost got me killed. Do you value my person so cheaply that you’d put yourself in danger to prove a point? When are you going to grow up?”

“For all you’re worth, I should leave you here trussed up like a turkey for some other white slavers to pick up!” Michael’s voice faded as his weariness took over. “I would do it too, but I fear I need your help getting back to the ship.”

Trembling with a mixture of repressed joy at hearing Michael’s voice and anger in his words, Danese felt the bonds around her hands cut free and a burning pain as circulation was restored. Raising herself to a sitting position, she ripped the gag free of her mouth and breathed in, expecting fresh air. A surge of coughing overtook her at the stench that invaded her lungs. It had not been noticeable with the gag in place. Michael seemed to take great delight in pounding fiercely on her back as finally she was able to regain her composure. As Danese wrinkled her nose, Michael said, “I quite agree, let’s get out of here.”

A grimace passed over Michael’s handsome face as he turned and Danese saw for the first time that he was injured. A dark stain covered his left leg and seemed to be growing in size.

“No, wait!” Quickly tearing the hem of her shirt, Danese bound it tightly around Michael’s thigh. He made no sound but his breath became harsh and his muscles taut. “Here, Michael, lean on me.”

Michael’s silence proved his discomfort, otherwise Danese knew the tongue lashing would have continued.

As Michael limped along beside her, Danese felt his weight more with each step. The bruise on her own hip was not helping matters either.

The streets began to look familiar to Danese and she was grateful, knowing she couldn’t go much further. As it was, she was supporting nearly all of Michael’s weight. She kept murmuring encouragements under her breath to him but his deathly silence was unnerving.

Within sight of the docks, Danese could go no further. Easing Michael down by the side of a building that appeared to be some kind of a warehouse, she took a deep breath drawing on her remaining energy.

Danese’s mind blurred, but she did remember rousing the watch and calling for Oliver. Somehow she was able to lead the men to Michael. She watched helplessly as they lifted him and returned to the ship.

Pushed from Michael’s cabin, Danese managed to stumble to her own. Seized by a fit of trembling, she wrapped her arms tightly around herself and rocked slowly back and forth on the edge of the cot. Tears of frustration and guilt overwhelmed her. Dear God, please let Michael be all right, she murmured over and over again, the sound of her voice slowly drifting away. She finally slept.

Michael fought the fever for four days. In that time, Oliver managed to round up the rest of the crew and put to sea. When dark circles appeared under Danese’s eyes, he relieved her of her bedside duties.

Stumbling to her cabin, she found Oliver had sent water for a bath. Danese attacked her body with a vengeance. She literally squeaked when she was finished. She had never felt so glad to be clean!

Danese didn’t bother to knock, but slipped quietly into the captain’s cabin. “Oh, there you are. Where the devil have you been?” Michael fixed Harry with a piercing frown.

She jumped at the sound of his voice. Four days she had been praying to hear it, and he barks at her! Danese fumed under his heated gaze. “I was in the galley helping the cook. He managed to barter some chickens from the sloop we met yesterday. If you’ll show some patience for once, you’ll get them served at dinner.”

Michael raised one eyebrow in question. He lay covered to the waist with only a sheet. “Patience is it? For a lowly cabin boy, I am beginning to hear a mite too much disrespect, Harry. Perhaps if I boxed your ears occasionally, you wouldn’t be prone to give me so much lip.”

Danese’s hands immediately went to her cap, sighing in relief when she found it was still secure upon her head. “My ears are already much too large from all the boxings I’ve endured in the past. Why do you think I wear my cap all the time?”

This time the captain narrowed his bright green eyes. “Why, indeed? I’ve often wondered what you were hiding under that cap. Continue to rile me and I will have to see for myself.”

“Rile you? Why, Captain. Why would you ever say such a thing? I’m the most even-tempered person I know.” Danese was hard pressed not to throw something at his arrogant head. How dare he tease her when she had been so worried?

She took a deep breath and gathered her courage. “Michael?”

Danese felt the sudden surge of heat and squirmed restlessly, not knowing why. “I’m very sorry. I had no idea why you had ordered me to stay on the ship. If you had just taken the time to explain, I would have obeyed.”

“Come here.” Michael held up his hand. She frowned at the invitation but stepped forward. Danese took his fingers and felt a jolt through her whole body. Her eyes widened when she realized the look on his face was one of pure hunger. “Tell me, sweetheart, what is your real name?”