Pain reverberated through Lucien's body again and again like persistent waves continually clawing their way to shore and then rescinding their purchase. His head was muddled; every breath hurt. He tried to gather his wits about him. Breakers pounded in time with his poor skull, making it difficult to keep a thread of thought going. Combined with the steady sway of the ship, the sound told him they were at sail, but not far from land. He made a physical assessment of his condition, wincing as he touched the broken ribs. He grimaced as he touched his tender scalp. I won't be going anywhere soon. He swallowed, trying to push the pain to the back of his mind.

Rather than dwelling on it, he concentrated instead on piecing together what had brought him to this ornate, elaborately overdone cabin.

He'd followed Captain Bartholomew and a suspicious stranger into a tavern. He'd kept quietly in a corner, staying out of sight. The dark captain was almost giddy, and Lucien strained to hear why the man was so excited. What he'd heard caused his heart to quicken, and he fought to keep a calm demeanor so as not to draw attention. Every part of him screamed to run toward his ship and weigh anchor. The stranger (without a doubt Bronte's spy) told Capt. Bartholomew everything he'd overheard in the churchyard. The hunter knew where to find the Huntress. And he knew about Bronte.

Lucien panicked. Bronte had said even if someone knew the location of the isle, they couldn't sail into her hidden cove without wrecking; it was crammed with hidden reefs and shoals. The way in was singular and all but impossible to navigate without guidance. Still, her assertions did little to alleviate Lucien's concern. If she were caught, she'd be hanged. He could not let that happen.

As quickly as he could without raising suspicion, Lucien finished his meal, paid, and made his way back to the Falcon. Along the way, he passed word to crewmen ashore: They were sailing out immediately. He asked Johnson to catch the next ship back to Bermuda with the captain and refused to answer questions about the hasty retreat, only saying was a matter of life or death.

He didn't give the crew a heading until they passed into open sea. Then he gave the course to the little island. It wasn't far, and they should have arrived long before Bart's slower ship, with plenty of time to warn the Huntress away.

A lamp guttered in the unfamiliar cabin. Lucien let his eyes wander over the dark cherry furniture that filled the room and then up to the canopy of plush maroon velvet that topped the four-poster bed he was in. A four-poster? Where was he? A familiar pervasive odor clung to the room.

He closed his eyes. Memories of the ill-fated journey flowed more easily now, like it was all happening again.

The winds had shifted and a storm was visible on the horizon, but they were nearly there. The island was in sight and he thought he could make out the lines of Huntress in the distance.

They'd made good time.

As Lucien stood on the maindeck looking though a spyglass, he'd felt a presence behind him.

The memory of what happened next caused Lucien to grimace and raise a hand to his bandaged head.

He'd lowered the glass and turned. A cutlass was halfway through its swing before Lucien realized the man holding it meant to decapitate him. Lucien ducked, but not quickly enough, and the blade ripped through the side of his head. The pain nearly caused him to blackout. Warm blood covered his ear and neck. His knees buckled and as Lucien fell, he met the assassin's gaze with the question in his eyes. A bolt of lightning flashed behind Lucien, illuminated the sneer on the attackers deranged face as he raised his cutlass for a killing blow. A deafening crack echoed as lightning hit the Falcon.

The killer paused before he struck. "I can't 'ave you warning Sanders—it would spoil all my plans!" Before he dropped the blade, he focused on something behind Lucien.

Giving Lucien a lopsided grin, the attacker retreated at a run. Lucien stood unsteadily, his hand pressed to his bleeding scalp, and turned to see his salvation. Hoping it was a loyal crewman, Lucien was struck dumb at the sight of the mast aflame—aflame and falling toward him. Knowing it was futile, he'd raised his hands in an effort to halt its fall and then, everything had gone blessedly dark.

He should've died. Memories of people talking to him, and about him, wouldn't congeal. Lucien only remembered waking in pain, feeling surprised that somehow he wasn't dead. Then there was more blackness, and he woke up here.

Wherever here was.

He looked again at the cabin he didn't recognize. The rocking of the ship made gold tasseled velvet swing in time with the shadows, like dozens of ghostly pendulums. Watching made him feel sleepy again. Voices outside brought his attention back. Heavy steps preceded the squeak of the door. Without knowing what compelled him, Lucien closed his eyes and feigned sleep, listening acutely.

More steps, lighter, followed the first, and he felt someone leaning over him.

"Kind of you to let 'im use your bed. We should kill 'im now, no?"

The voice seemed familiar.

"You had your chance, now leave him to me." The other voice paused, then added, "It was the only berth he'd fit into."

This voice Lucien knew.

"'E will be trouble."

Lucien forced himself to remain still, alarmed though he was with the company. The first speaker was the man who'd tried to kill him—the same who'd eavesdropped on him and Bronte—and the other was, of course, Captain Bartholomew.

"On the contrary, Rousse, Bellemare's wealthy father will be overjoyed I've rescued his only son from the clutches of filthy pirates. He will reward me handsomely. My surgeon assures me he'll not remember much of the past few days so we should have little trouble selling our account of matters. What were you doing aboard Bellemare's ship, anyway?"

"After we spoke, I decided to search 'is ship for ze book. I thought perhaps ze pirate gave it to 'im. 'E returned and weighed anchor wizout warning, so I 'id, and zen blended wiz ze crew. When I realized 'e was trying to warn 'er of your coming, I silenced heem. I should expect extra payment for zis service, no?" Rousse sounded all too eager.

"You will have your reward. That little map you stole was very helpful. I trust you finished your search of his ship for your silly little book before it went down. Did you find it?"

"It was not aboard. Sanders 'as hidden it elsewhere. I was obliged to be invited aboard 'er ship and would 'ave 'ad zem at my mercy if zat cursed Albino and 'iz superstitious friend 'adn't stood guard outside 'er cabin last night! Come, it will give you great pleasure to watch me torture its location from 'er."

Lucien listened in panic as footsteps moved toward the door and nearly forgot himself as an urge to stop the scoundrel surfaced, but Bart unknowingly gave Lucien a bit of reassurance.

"It would be a waste of time at present; the guard said she's still unconscious."

"But we will dock soon and zey will take 'er to your steenking prison!" answered the impatient Frenchman.

"True enough, but I will ensure you get to spend time alone with her before we take her to London to be hanged. In the meantime I've one more thing I'd like you to do."

"I 'ave wasted too much time wiz you already."

"Ah, but you will enjoy this. I've thought of a way for us to become even richer. England's reward for pirate crewmen without rank is small, but we can get a fine price for them as slaves for the silver mines. Take the Huntress and a few of my crew. Sell the prisoners to the first Dutch slaver you see. Then meet me in Bermuda for your share of the reward. Bellemare's father is there and can take him off our hands. Then I must refit and re-supply before our journey to England."

"I 'erd zair was a leak in ze—"

The door closed and Lucien was again alone. He opened his eyes, desperately trying to come up with a rescue plan. He couldn't let them take her to London. Lucien attempted to sit up.

That was a mistake.

His vision swam and crippling pain coursed through his body. Lucien dropped back onto the pillow with a groan.

He couldn't help Bronte in his current state.

Was her friend Sam with her? They hadn't mentioned him. Was he working on a rescue? Lucien desperately hoped so. Otherwise, his best option was to play their little game and pretend he couldn't recall recent events. Once he was free of them, he could utilize his other resources. Between now and then he'd use his best resource. Prayer. Number one on his prayer list: that Bronte would sit tight and not do anything foolish.