"Now you don't have to hide your face from me," he whispered. He gently brushed her hair away from the side of her face, leaned down, and kissed the side of her neck. Sara closed her eyes and tilted her head just a little to give him better access.

"Nathan? Did you see how quickly that man turned on me? If the pistol hadn't discharged, I couldn't have defended myself. I don't have the strength. I'm puny."

"You don't have to have strength to defend yourself," he replied.

That remark made absolutely no sense to her. "I hit Duggan, but afterwards my hand stung for the longest time. It was a paltry hit, too. Yes, one must have strength if one is going to—"

"Who's Duggan?"

"The man with Uncle Henry at the tavern the first night we met," Sara explained.

Nathan remembered. He smiled when he pictured the dainty white-gloved fist coming through the window. "You had the element of surprise on your side, but you didn't make a proper fist."

He took hold of her hand and showed her how. "Don't tuck your thumb underneath your fingers. You'll get it broken if you do. Put it here, on the outside, below your knuckles. Now squeeze tight," he ordered. "Let the force of the blow come from here," he added as he rubbed his finger back and forth across the tip of her knuckles. "Put your whole body into the action."

Sara nodded. "If you say so, Nathan."

"You need to know how to take care of yourself," he muttered. "Pay attention, Sara. I'm instructing you."

She hadn't realized she was feeling so insecure with

Nathan until that moment. "Don't you want to take care of me?" she asked.

His sigh parted her hair. "There will be times when I won't be with you," he reasoned. He was trying to be patient with her. "Now then," he added in a brisker tone of voice, "where you hit is just as important as how you hit."

"It is?"

She tried to turn around to look at him. Nathan pushed her head back on his shoulder. "Yes, it is," he said. "The most vulnerable area of a man's body is his groin."

"Nathan, you cannot believe I'd—"

He could hear the blush in her voice. He rolled his eyes heavenward in true exasperation. "It's ridiculous for you to be embarrassed. I'm your husband, and we should be able to discuss anything with each other."

"I don't think I could hit a man… there."

"The hell you couldn't," he countered. "Damn it, Sara, you will defend yourself because I command it. I don't want anything to happen to you."

If he hadn't sounded so irritated, she would have been pleased with his admission. Nathan hadn't sounded happy about the fact that he didn't want anything to happen to her, though. Lord, he was a complex man. He pushed and prodded her to do things she didn't know if she could do. "And if I can't hit a man there? Cowards don't defend themselves," she announced. "And I've already admitted that sin to you."

God, she sounded pitiful. Nathan tried not to laugh. "Explain to me why you consider yourself a coward," he ordered.

"I already did explain," she cried out. "My hands are still shaking, and every time I think about what could have happened I'm filled with terror. I can't even look at that gown without feeling sick to my stomach."

"What gown?" he asked.

She pointed to the blue dress on the floor. "That gown." she whispered. "One of those villains held it. I want you to throw it overboard," she added. "I'm never going to wear it again."

"All right, Sara," he soothed. "I'll get rid of it. Now close your eyes, and you won't have to look at it."

"You think I'm being foolish, don't you?"

He started to nuzzle the side of her neck. "I think you're experiencing aftermath," he whispered. "It's a natural reaction, that's all. It doesn't mean you're a coward."

She tried to concentrate on what he was saying to her, but he was making it very difficult. His tongue was teasing her ear, and his warm breath was making her warmer. The shivers were easing away, and she was beginning to feel drowsy.

"Do you ever have… aftermath?" she asked in a faint whisper.

His hand was caressing the underside of her breast. The rustling of silk against skin was arousing. "Yes," he told her.

"What do you do about it?"

"I find a way to vent my frustration," he answered. He pulled the ribbon free from the drawstring bow at the top of her chemise and then eased the straps down her shoulders.

Sara was feeling relaxed. Nathan's voice was soothing against her ear. She let out a little sigh of pleasure and closed her eyes again.

His hand rested on her thigh. When he began to caress the sensitive skin near the junction of her legs she moved against him restlessly.

His fingers slipped beneath the edge of her chemise, and he slowly began to stoke the fire in her. He knew just how much pressure to exert, just where to touch to drive her wild. She let out a ragged moan when his fingers thrust inside her.

"Easy, baby," he whispered when she tried to stop him. "Don't fight it, Sara. Let it happen."

He held her tight against him and continued his sweet torture. His fingers were magical, demanding. Sara was soon mindless to everything but finding her release.

"I love the way you respond to me. You get so hot, so wet. It's all for me, isn't it, Sara?"

She couldn't answer him. He was becoming more forceful with his demands and she was coming unglued. She couldn't stop the cl**ax. It happened before she realized it was going to happen. Her hands reached down to hold his hand between her thighs, and she tightened around him by drawing her knees up and squeezing him tight.

It was a shattering orgasm. Sara went limp from the wonder of it. She fell back against her husband's chest in blissful surrender.

As soon as her heartbeat slowed a little and she was able to catch a thought she became embarrassed. Her chemise was down around her waist, and Nathan was gently caressing her br**sts.

"I didn't know that I could… that is, without you inside me, I didn't think it was possible…" She couldn't go on.

"I was inside you," he whispered. "My fingers were, remember?"

He turned her around until she was on her knees facing him. God, he was sexy. Her breath caught in her throat, and she suddenly realized she wanted him again. Her gaze held his as she pushed the chemise down over her thighs.

She leaned forward until her br**sts were pressed against his chest. He was already pulling his pants off. It was awkward, but in seconds they had both tossed their garments aside. Sara was once again kneeling between her husband's legs. She held his gaze as she reached down to touch him. His low groan told her he liked that boldness.

Then his hands were fisted in her hair, and he was pulling her toward him. "This, Sara, is how you get rid of the aftermath," he whispered. His mouth claimed hers, cutting off any reply she might have made. Sara didn't mind. He was, after all, instructing her, and she was his ever-attentive student.

They spent another hour together before Nathan went back to directing the repairs. Sara did a lot of sighing as she dressed. She collected her charcoals and her sketch pad and went up on deck to sit in the afternoon sun.

In little time the work had ceased, and she was surrounded by men who wanted her to draw their likenesses. Sara was happy to accommodate the men. They praised her work, and their disappointment seemed sincere when she'd used the last paper and had to quit.

Nathan was up on the spar deck, helping to strengthen one of the smaller sails that had been knocked loose when the cannon had hit. He finished that chore and then turned to go back to the wheel.

He paused when he spotted his wife. She was sitting on the wooden ledge below him. At least fifteen of his men were sitting on the deck by her feet. They seemed to be extremely interested in what she was saying to them.

Nathan moved closer. Chester's voice reached him. "Do you mean to say you were only four when you wed the captain?"

"She just explained it all to us, Chester," Kently muttered. "It were by the daft king's demand, weren't it, Lady Sara?"

"Do you wonder why the king wanted to end the feud?" Ivan asked.

"He wanted peace," Sara answered.

"What caused the rift in the first place?" another asked.

"No one can recall," Chester guessed.

"Oh, I know what caused the disagreement," Sara said. "It was the cross of gold that started the feud."

Nathan leaned against the post. He smiled even as he shook his head. So she believed that nonsense, did she? Of course she did, he thought to himself. It was a fanciful story, and Sara would certainly believe it.

"Tell us about this cross of gold," Chester asked.

"Well, it began when a Winchester baron and a St. James baron went on a crusade together. The two men were good friends. This was back in the early middle ages, of course, and everyone was out to save the world from infidels. The two barons' holdings were adjacent to each other, and the story has it that they grew up together in King John's court. I don't know if that was true or not, though. Anyway," she added with a shrug, "the two friends went to a foreign port. One of them saved the life of the ruler there, and in return he was given a gigantic cross made all of gold. Yes," she added when the men looked so impressed, "it was encrusted with large stones, too. Some were diamonds, others rubies, and it was said to be quite magnificent."

"How big was it said to be?" Matthew called out.

"As big as a full-grown man," Sara answered.

"But what happened then?" Chester asked. He was eager to hear the rest of the story and didn't like the interruptions.

"The two barons returned to England. Then the cross suddenly disappeared. The Winchester baron told everyone who would listen that he'd been given the cross and that the St. James baron had stolen it. The St. James baron gave the very same story."

"It weren't ever found, m'lady?" Kently asked.

Sara shook her head. "War broke out between the two powerful barons. Some say there never was a cross, and that it was used only as an excuse to gain the other's land. I believe the cross exists."

"Why?" Chester asked.

"Because when the St. James baron was dying he was said to have whispered, 'Look to the heavens for your treasure.'"

She nodded after making that statement. "A man doesn't lie when he's about to meet his Maker," she instructed. "Directly after saying those words he clutched his heart and dropped dead."

Her hand moved to her bosom, and she bowed her head. Some of the men started to applaud, then stopped themselves. "You aren't believing this story, are you, Lady Sara?"

"Oh, yes," she answered. "One day Nathan's going to find the cross for me."

Nathan thought his wife was a hopeless dreamer. He smiled, though, for he suddenly realized he liked that flaw in her.

"Sounds like the captain will have to go to heaven to find it," Chester said.

"Oh, no," Sara argued. "It was just a little clue the baron was giving when he said 'Look to the heavens.' He was being cunning."

The talk continued for a few more minutes. A storm was brewing, however, and the wind soon became too high to ignore. Sara went back to her cabin to put her charcoals away. She spent the remainder of the day with her Aunt Nora, but by nightfall Nora was yawning like an infant, and Sara took her leave so that her aunt could get her needed rest. The events of the long day had clearly worn her out.

In truth, Sara was just as exhausted. She started having the telltale back pains while she readied herself for bed. The pain was a sure indication that she was about to start her monthly.

An hour later the cramps came on with a vengeance. They were much worse than usual. She was in too much pain to worry that Nathan might find out about her condition. She was freezing, too. The pain did that to her, and it didn't matter at all that it was warm and humid inside the cabin. She was still chilled through to the bone.

She put on her heavy white cotton sleeping gown, then crawled into bed and covered herself with three quilts.

She couldn't get comfortable no matter what position she tried. Her lower back felt as though it had been broken in half, and the agony soon made her start whimpering.

Nathan didn't come down to the cabin until the night watch had changed. Sara usually left a candle burning for him, but the room was pitched into darkness.

He heard her groan. He quickly struck two candles and hurried over to the bed.

He still couldn't see her. She was cocooned beneath a mound of covers.

"Sara?"

His alarm was obvious in his tone of voice. When she didn't immediately answer him he jerked the covers away from her face.

Fear made him break out in a cold sweat. Her face was as white as the sheets. Sara pulled the covers back over her head.

"Sara, what in God's name is the matter?"

"Go away, Nathan," she whispered. Her voice was muffled by the quilts, but he understood her all the same. "I don't feel well."

She sounded near death. His worry intensified. "What's the matter with you?" he demanded in a rough whisper. "Does your face hurt now? Damn, I knew I should have killed that bastard."

"It isn't my face," she cried out.

"Is it fever, then?" He jerked the covers away again.

Oh, God, she couldn't explain her condition to him. It was too humiliating. She let out another low groan and rolled onto her side, away from him. Her knees were pulled up against her stomach, and she began to rock back and forth in an attempt to ease the pain in her back. "I don't want to talk about it," she said. "I just don't feel well. Please go away."

He wasn't about to do any such thing, of course. He put his hand on her forehead. It was cool, though damp, to his touch. "It isn't fever," he announced with an added grunt of relief. "God, Sara, I didn't hurt you this afternoon, did I? I know I was a little… rough, but—"

"You didn't hurt me," she blurted out.

He still wasn't convinced. "You're certain?"

She was wanned by his obvious worry. "I'm certain. You didn't cause this illness," she added. "I just need to be alone now."

A cramp claimed her full attention then. She let out a low moan, then added, "Let me die in peace."