The year is 1702, and the turn of the century has brought even greater conflict to the troubled waters of the Caribbean. The war of Spanish Succession rages in the old world, and glorious England is at war with France and Spain once more. When French and Spanish ships sail through the Caribbean sea, they keep a wary eye on the horizon for Royal Navy ships, and for Pirates...

***

"Load the grapeshot if you please, Mr Kinney!" The rakish Captain bellowed to his master gunner, as he leaned over the wooden balustrade of the quarterdeck.

"I still think we should burn 'em out, Cap'n," the grizzled man at his side grumbled under his breath, as he scratched at his eye patch irritably.

"Not now, Mr Hastings. I'll have no part of your need for senseless destruction. Besides, I'd rather not unduly damage our prize!" the Captain said, with a gleam in his eye.

He pulled aside the silver brocaded lapel of his dark blue jacket, and reached into the inside pocket, before withdrawing a brass coloured cylindrical object. With a quick flick of his wrist, the spyglass snapped out to full length, and he raised it to his eye, so that he could better study his quarry.

It took him a moment to refocus on the frantically fleeing ship that they were pursuing, and he could clearly see the name 'Santa Maria de la Rosa', embossed on the name plate affixed to the stern. He tilted the spyglass higher, so that he could study the aft-castle of the merchantman they were chasing. He looked around the billowing red and yellow flag that was hanging at the back of the vessel, and saw the Spanish Captain frantically yelling orders at his crew.

"You and I will soon be having words, my dear Captain," he said quietly with a smile.

He lowered the spyglass, collapsing it once more, and stowed it away in his jacket. He looked up at the Caribbean sky, seeing an endless blue expanse, save for one large cumulus cloud that drifted slowly above them.

"More sail Mr Dennings, and have quick about it!" he yelled to the swarthy sailor standing with him on the quarterdeck.

The bearded fellow nodded immediately, and began barking orders at the sailors below, who quickly began climbing the rigging to unfurl additional sails. The expert sailors soon had the sails snapping tautly in the wind, and the ship surged forward, as if eager to close with the Spanish ship. The fierce equatorial sun shone brightly off the nameplate on the prow of the ship, with the word 'Fortune' written in flowing lettering and etched in brass. The smaller ship began to rapidly catch up with the significantly larger, but much slower, merchant vessel, and it was soon time to bring the chase to a close.

"Hard a port, Mr Hastings, then bring us alongside for a broadside!" the Captain said exuberantly to the surly helmsman.

"Aye, aye, Cap'n," the man muttered, before bringing his left hand down on the Fortune's wheel and turning their vessel, so that he could execute the Captain's orders.

They quickly began to flank the merchantman, and the Captain could clearly see the crew of the enemy ship as they ran about the deck. He noticed the telltale glint of steel coming from behind the wooden sides of the ship, and he realised the Spaniards must have a compliment of marines aboard.

"Open fire on their foredeck, Mr Kinney!" he shouted to his Master Gunner on the deck below. "Let's see if we can encourage them to strike their colours!"

The heavy set man nodded, grinning up at his Captain, before setting about his deadly work. With a rapid series of barked orders, the gunnery teams repositioned the cannons, before lighting them with long torches. The Fortune's weapons roared angrily as the gunpowder ignited, sending the clusters of iron balls blasting into the front of the merchant ship.

The grapeshot tore through wood and flesh alike, devastating the front of the merchantman, and the squad of Spanish soldiers that had been hiding out of sight. Screams of pain could now be heard emanating from the enemy ship, and the Captain knew it was now time.

"Bring us alongside her, and prepare to grapple!" he yelled to his men, as he placed his right hand inside the basket hilt of the sword at his side.

He drew the long, elegant rapier from the scabbard at his waist, and the razor-sharp steel glinted brightly in the noonday sun. He strode over to the starboard side, and waited patiently while the two sailing ships drew ever closer. He could see the fear in the eyes of the enemy sailors now, they were that close, and there was a rapid exchange of musket fire from both sides.

His men began to spin grappling hooks at the end of sturdy ropes, rotating them in the air to gain momentum before the throw. He looked up at the aftcastle, his eyes searching for the enemy Captain, and it didn't take long to find the man, dressed as he was in a shining steel breastplate and a red plumed Morion helmet. The Spanish Captain was bellowing orders at his men, desperately attempting to rally them in readiness to repel boarders, and had drawn a golden hilted rapier of his own.

There was a clang of metal, mixed with dull thuds, as his men cast their grapnels over to the other ship, and they bounced off metal cleats, or dug into the wooden hull. The ships creaked loudly as the two vessels were drawn together, their wooden hulls groaning in protest as they were tied together in preparation for the boarding action.

"To arms, men! For Queen Anne, and for England!" the Captain called out in a strong and vibrant voice, which was joined by an eager roar from his crew.

English sailors began to leap across the narrow gap from the Fortune to the Spanish merchantman, and soon the ring of steel could be heard as men duelled one another in a deadly melee. The Captain backed up several paces, and then tensed the muscles in his legs in readiness. He could see his target leaning over the wooden balcony of the aftcastle, shouting orders at his men below, as he tried to keep the panicked sailors from routing.

The Captain sprinted full tilt towards the crevasse between the two tall ships, and sprang up so that his buccaneer's boot landed on the balustrade of the Fortune, then used the extra height to launch himself through the air. He sailed across the gap, and then grabbed at the rigging on the merchantman, using it to slow his momentum, and bring him to a graceful landing on the deck of the enemy ship.

The Spanish Captain looked up in shock, his eyes widening as the Englishman pulled a flintlock pistol smoothly from his belt, and cocked the weapon before pointing the loaded pistol towards him.

"Pleasant greetings to you, good sir! My name is Captain Matthew Taylor, and if you would care to strike your flag, we can bring this unpleasantness to a close."

The Spaniard was about to respond, when a Spanish marine charged up the steps to the aftcastle, musket in hand. The soldier snarled in anger, and began to raise his weapon, aiming for the bold Englishman who was threatening his commander. Matthew was faster however, swinging his flintlock pistol in line with the marine, and then pulling the trigger. The shot rang out and his aim was true, striking the Spanish soldier in the chest, and making him stumble backwards. The wounded man toppled over the wooden railing behind him, and with a terrified scream, plunged into the deep blue waters of the Caribbean Sea.

"It looks like matters are not yet decided between us after all, Capitan Taylor," the Spanish Captain said with a strong accent, as he brandished his sword.

"In all fairness, I must warn you that I'm undefeated with a blade. Why not be a good fellow, save us this bother, and just surrender?" Matthew requested with a cocky grin, as he shoved his empty pistol back into his belt.

"We shall see, Capitan Taylor, we shall see. I myself trained in Madrid for ten years, and you will find me to be a most worthy adversary," the Spaniard replied confidently.

Before the Englishman could reply, there was a flash of steel in front of his eyes as the Spanish Captain lunged to attack, thrusting his rapier towards Matthew's face. The man was certainly fast off the mark, and Matthew had to step back to bring up his own sword in a lightning fast parry to avoid being struck.

"Not bad, Sir," Matthew complimented the other man, as he twirled his blade with a flourish. "How about you try this on for size?"

Matthew stepped forward, and his sword was a blur as he attacked, forcing the armoured man onto the defensive as he parried and blocked the rapid slashes. Their blades rang out as they clashed, steel ringing against steel as they moved in their deadly dance, each man trying to force the other into making a mistake. The Spaniard certainly was a fine swordsman, but as Matthew parried and riposted, he smiled confidently, as he realised that his skills surpassed those of the other man.

He forced the Merchantman Captain back towards the staircase that led down towards the lower deck, knowing that their duel would soon be done. The Spaniard had also realised that he had met his match, and Matthew could see it in the fearful man's eyes.

Matthew stepped back and raised his rapier in a jaunty salute. "There's no need for this to end badly. Surrender, and I'll return you and your men to Port Royal as prisoners of war. You'll be back in Madrid within the year," he said with a smile and a respectful nod.

The Spanish Captain looked relieved, and lowered his own blade. He smiled in return, and was about to speak, when there was the horrible shriek of metal on metal. The man looked down in horror, and then tipped forward, clutching at his chest. As the man fell to the floor, Matthew could see that a cutlass had been driven through his back, with Robert Hastings holding the hilt of the sword and grinning evilly.

"Hurry up Cap'n, stop messin' about," the grizzled man said with a wicked smile, as he yanked the bloodied blade from the Spaniards back.

"He was about to surrender, Mr Hastings!" Matthew protested. "There was no call for that!"

"Looks like he took too long about it... Sir," Hastings said, sounding anything but respectful.

"I'm not amused, Mr Hastings. We'll discuss this later," Matthew said furiously, before striding over to the edge of the aftcastle so that he could see how the rest of the battle was progressing.

The other Spanish sailors had seen their Captain fall, and all the fight had gone out of them. They dropped their weapons with a loud clatter of metal, and raised their hands in surrender.

"You'll be treated kindly, have no fear," Matthew called out to them, and the handful of Spanish sailors who could speak English translated for their compatriots.

They nodded in gratitude to the smartly dressed English Captain, and Matthew's crew led them away to secure them in the brig on the Fortune.

"Explore the ship lads, let's see what's on this fine vessel that they were so eager to protect!" Matthew shouted to his crew, and they let out excited whoops and cheers as they celebrated their victory.

He sheathed his sword, and walked over to the stairs, looking down at the fallen Spanish Captain with regret. "My apologies, Sir, you fought bravely," he said, then stepped over the corpse to walk down the stairs.

Hastings had run over to the foredeck to take a look down in the ship's hold, leaving Matthew alone at the wooden door of the aftcastle. He opened the door, and looked around carefully, lest there were any lurking Spanish sailors who had decided not to surrender after all. The corridor was empty so he stepped inside, keeping a wary ear out for any ambushers.

The corridor was fairly short, with just three doors leading off it, one to his immediate left and right, and the third at the end of the hall. Matthew reloaded his flintlock pistol, and then gingerly pushed down on the handle to the door to his left. It looked like this room was a guest quarters. There were a couple of trunks pushed up against the wall, with a variety of delicately stitched clothing spilling out; as though someone had tried to pack them away in a hurry, but had been interrupted.

Matthew raised an eyebrow speculatively, and then backed out of the room, to open the door opposite. This was the map room, and charts were sprawled out across a wide table, charting the voyage of the 'Santa Maria de la Rosa' as it travelled from Spain, to the colonies in the Caribbean. Seeing no signs of life in this room either, he closed the door, then walked down the corridor to the door at the end. He tentatively pushed down on the handle, and he winced as a noisy squeak pierced the silence. Figuring that the element of surprise was well and truly lost, he shoved open the door into what he was guessing was the Captain's cabin.

There was a shocked feminine gasp as the door swung wide open, and slammed into the wall with a crash. When Matthew stepped forward cautiously, he saw a dark haired girl in a blue dress cowering on the other side of the room. Her hands clutched at the back of the chair she was hiding behind, and she stared at him with terror in her eyes.

Putting away his pistol, he bowed to her courteously. "Captain Matthew Taylor at your service, miss."

"Are you a pirate, monsieur?" the frightened young woman asked him, in a delightfully melodic French accent.

"No, mademoiselle, I'm a Privateer!" he said, smiling at her disarmingly. "I have a letter of Marque signed by Queen Anne that proves it," he added with a wink.

"Are you and your men going to ravish me?" she asked him fearfully.

"Of course not, my dear," he told her soothingly. "I plan to sail this ship to Port Royal in exchange for a bounty, and I will leave you quite unharmed in the capable care of the Governor. I imagine you will be sent back to France, once the hostilities between our nations have abated."

"Merci, monsieur," she thanked him gratefully, as she stood up straight behind the desk.

Now that she wasn't huddled in fear, he could see that she was a beautiful young woman, with her elegant face framed by long black hair. "Would you grace me with your name, mademoiselle?" he asked her in a friendly voice.

"Christelle de Gabaret," she replied shyly.

"De Gabaret... that surname sounds oddly familiar. You wouldn't be related to the Governor of Martinique would you by any chance, Christelle?" he joked light heartedly, as he strolled over to the Captain's table, and began to flick through his logbook.

"He is my father, monsieur," she said, watching him warily.

"Well, this is a surprise!" Matthew replied, as he looked up to study her face. "I met Nicolas before, several years ago. He was a splendid fellow, but I don't recall seeing you at the colony?"

"I was living with my mother in France. When I came of age, my mother decided I should visit my father, and his holdings on Martinique," she explained.

"But why would you be travelling on a Spanish ship?" he asked her in confusion.

"We were assured that the Spanish controlled the seas in the Caribbean, and arranging passage on a Spanish merchantman was the safest way to travel," she explained carefully.

"Well, as you can see, Christelle, that isn't the case unfortunately," he said with a wry smile.

"Yes, that has become quite evident, monsieur," she agreed with him sadly.

"Call me Matthew, please," he said in a jovial tone. "It doesn't seem right to leave a pretty young girl like you, languishing in the brig at Port Royal. I'll tell you what, we'll drop you off at Martinique on our way there, how about that?"

"Oh, Matthew! That would be magnifique!" she gushed excitedly, her pretty green eyes lighting up with hope.

"Think nothing of it, my dear," he said magnanimously. "Come, let's return to my ship, and we can complete your journey."

Christelle beamed at him with delight, and took his hand when he held it out to her. Her slender fingers felt wonderfully soft as they slipped into his, and he led her carefully out of the cabin, back down the corridor to the door that led out onto the main deck.

"There was a battle outside, Christelle, so you might want to look down to avoid seeing anything unpleasant," he told her considerately.

"Merci, Matthew," she said gratefully, and looked down as he suggested.

Matthew opened the door, and led the young woman out onto the deck. His crew were busy hauling the goods from the merchantman over to the Fortune, and a few of them stopped and stared at the girl, until he gave them a sharp look, and they scurried back about their business. He guided her over to the side of the ship, and then turned to face Christelle.

"It's a long drop to the sea from here, and I'd hate for you to suffer such a fate. If you will forgive the lack of decorum, mademoiselle, I will carry you safely across to the Fortune," he said to her gently.

"The Fortune?" she asked him curiously.

"Ah yes, my ship, the fastest vessel to sail the Caribbean sea I'd wager," he claimed boldly.

"I will take you at your word, monsieur, that you will keep me safe," she said softly, looking up at him trustingly.

Matthew swept into a low bow. "You have my word of honour as a gentleman, that no harm will befall you while under my protection, Christelle," he said sincerely.

She smiled at him and nodded, then he stepped close to her and swept her up into his arms. Their faces were only mere inches apart now as he held her securely, and her breath caught as she looked up at him. He stepped confidently up onto the guard rail of the merchantman, and then leapt across, while holding the girl tightly to his chest. She had screwed her eyes shut when he had made the jump, and she kept them closed even when he had landed on the other side.

"You're safe now, my dear, remember, you have my word," he said to her warmly.

"Merci, Matthew," she said quietly, and he carried her through to his cabin, ignore the lewd winks her received from the onlooking crew.

The Captain's cabin on the Fortune was a large room, that encompassed most of the space in the quarterdeck. Matthew closed the door behind him with the heel of his left boot, and then carefully lowered the young woman to her feet. Christelle looked around the room curiously, and her eyes lingered on the four poster bed for a moment, before she blushed slightly and turned to look at the extensive bookshelves that lined the walls.

"Monsieur, you do surprise me!" she exclaimed with delight, as she glided over to examine the titles of the books. "Educated men are in short supply."

"I aim to please, Christelle," he replied with a merry laugh. "Make yourself at home, there's water in the jug, or wine in the decanter should you prefer. I'll arrange for your possessions to be brought aboard."

"Your hospitality is much appreciated, Matthew," she said, as she glanced over her shoulder to smile at him, before returning her attention to the bookshelves.

"It's my pleasure to cater for such a charming young lady," he said when he returned her smile, and then turned to leave the cabin.

Matthew exited his quarters, and strode out purposefully onto the main deck. "Mr Dennings!" he called out in a booming voice.

His second in command leaned out over the wooden balustrade of the quarterdeck. "Yes Captain?" the bearded man replied.

"How's the transfer of goods progressing?" Matthew asked curiously.

"We're making good time, Captain. We'll be done within the hour," he replied with a thoughtful nod.

"That's what I like to hear, good man," Matthew said with satisfaction. "I'd also like you to assemble and lead a prize crew to take the Santa Maria de la Rosa back to Port Royal."

"Very good, Captain," Dennings said eagerly. "We should get a fine price for her."

"We should indeed, Mr Dennings," Matthew said with a grin, and he walked over to two sailors who were busy cleaning their weapons after the fight.

"Nice work today lads," he told them proudly. "We showed those Spaniards how to fight!"

"Thanks Cap'n," they said as they grinned at him.

"When you're done here, would you be a good couple of fellows, and bring over the trunks from the guest cabin on the merchantman? Our passenger will be requiring her possessions," he ordered them with a smile.

"Of course Cap'n, right away, Sir!" they replied, and immediately sheathed their cutlasses.

"Much obliged, lads," he said appreciatively, and then turned back to walk up the steps onto the quarterdeck.

This area of the ship was deserted at the moment, with Dennings rounding up men for the prize crew, and Hastings still looting the merchantman. Matthew smiled with satisfaction at the day's events, and then frowned as he recalled Hastings' borderline insubordination. He wasn't above having a man flogged if the situation demanded it, but such events were always unpleasant, and best avoided wherever possible. In the case of his truculent Helmsman, Matthew feared that just such a punishment might be on the horizon for his cycloptic crewman for a second time, and his mouth twisted with distaste.

Matthew looked up at the wide open expansion of sky, still blue and featureless apart from the single large cloud that still slowly drifted nearby. He was surprised to see that it had not left them far behind by now, and he glanced up at the sails with alarm, fearing becoming becalmed. Fortunately the sails flapped animatedly in the breeze, and he smiled with relief. He walked over to the balustrade, and leaned on it as he watched his men work for a while, listening to their cheerful banter, and the occasional bawdy sea shanty. Morale seemed to be in fine shape aboard the Fortune, and he chuckled to himself when he thought how happy the crew would be when they divided the shares of today's haul.

In short order the cargo was transferred between the ships, and once the prize crew were safely aboard the merchantman, the sailors released the grappling hooks that were tying the vessels together. The Fortune slid away from the merchantman, and the ships held formation with the Santa Maria de la Rosa following behind, as they set sail for Port Royal.

Matthew strode along the short corridor to his cabin several hours later, and Christelle rose from the leather seat behind his desk when he entered the room. A quick glance told him that she'd been reading one of his books, a favourites of his by the look of it, and she smiled happily as he walked over to join her.

"Enjoying the devil's temptations, mademoiselle?" he asked her mischievously.

"Oh my, yes! The works of Christopher Marlowe are my favourite," she gushed enthusiastically. "Although this particular book was deemed sinful, and banned from our library at home," she added in a conspiratorial whisper.

She closed the book, and was about to return it to the bookshelf, when he placed his hand on the cover, holding it in place. "The trip to Martinique will only take a day, so I'm afraid you will be unlikely to finish it in time. Take the book as a gift, then you can read it at your leisure," he offered generously.

"Monsieur, you are too kind!" she exclaimed happily, and moved her slender hand to reopen the book once more.

Her fingertips brushed over the back of his hand, and the accidental touch made her catch her breath, and she looked up at him coyly for a moment. Matthew smiled back at her, and then removed his hand.

"I'll speak to our cook, Mr Fenchurch, and arrange for us to be brought some supper," and he turned to leave.

"Captain Taylor..." the young woman called after him tentatively, in her lilting French accent. "Where am I to sleep tonight?"

"You can take my bed. I'll keep watch over you from there," he said, nodding towards the comfortable padded chair behind the desk. "I trust my men, but with a young lady as beautiful as yourself aboard, I'm unwilling to take any chances."

"Merci, Matthew," she said, and they smiled at each other as he left the cabin.

He returned to the room a little while later, carefully balancing a tray in his right hand as he opened the door. Christelle looked up eagerly, feeling quite hungry, and the enticing aroma of a lamb stew wafted around the round as he brought the tray to his desk. He offered her some silver cutlery, and she smiled at him gratefully as she sat down in his chair behind the desk.

Matthew saw that she had an empty glass on the table, and the lack of telltale red staining let him know that she had been drinking water. "Would you care for some wine with your meal?" he asked her courteously, and she nodded with a smile of gratitude.

He strolled over to the decanter, and retrieved a couple of silver plated goblets, which he filled with the rich dark red liquid, before bringing them back and setting one on the table beside her plate. He put down his own goblet, and picked up his plate of food and a fork, then walked over to the window, to lean against the sill.

Christelle waited for him to start, and she took an experimental bite herself. "This stew is excellent, monsieur," she said, sighing happily.

"I'll pass on your compliments to Mr Fenchurch," Matthew replied with a grin. "He's been with us for several years, and having a skilled cook does wonders for the ships morale."

"How many years have you been a pirate?" she asked him curiously.

"I've been a... Privateer," he corrected her with a grin, "for six years."

"And what did the illustrious Captain Taylor do before he decided to sail the seven seas?" she asked him playfully.

"More sailing," he said with a laugh. "I joined his majesty's royal navy at fourteen, served ten years and then resigned my commission when my father passed away. I had no interest in running his estate, so I left that to my younger brother, and used my share of the inheritance to purchase this ship."

"And why would a man of means abandon that life to one of uncertainty, such as this?" Christelle asked him, looking around the cabin, her brief glance meant to encompass the entire ship.

"Sitting around getting fat, whilst living off the profits of my father's estate wasn't the life for me. I yearned for adventure!" he said, his light blue eyes sparkling.

Her musical laughter echoed around the room. "Then I believe we are kindred spirits, Matthew!" she said, as she smiled at him happily. "I'm enjoying my first adventure very much indeed."

They finished their dinner, and chatted amiably about the books in his extensive collection. Time seemed to fly by as they discussed their favourite authors, and with a start, he realised it was starting to get dark. He got up and lit a couple of lanterns, and the light from the wick illuminated the room in a warm orange glow.

"I'll take these back to the galley," he said, as he scooped up the plates and put them on the tray. "You should probably retire for the night," he added gently.

Christelle nodded shyly, and walked over to the trunks, which had been brought to the cabin as Matthew had requested. He left her to get ready for bed, then returned to Mr Fenchurch to return the plates. He passed on his guest's appreciation of their supper, and the jolly, rotund cook grinned at him happily.

Matthew decided to give the young woman plenty of time to settle herself, so he strode up the steps on the quarterdeck. Mr Hastings was not around thankfully, having changed shifts for the night. Instead Bill Crowthorn was manning the wheel of the Fortune, and the young man grinned exuberantly at his Captain when Matthew walked past him. Matthew nodded to the man with a smile. Bill was the youngest man aboard, aged only seventeen, and his cheerful optimism was always uplifting for the spirits.

The Captain looked ahead of them, and saw that it was cloudier now, and the wind had been picking up. The setting sun cast the sky in red hues, providing a dramatic background for the Santa Maria de la Rosa, which followed faithfully in the wake of the Fortune. He watched the sun set ahead of them as they sailed west, and stared up at the night's sky for some time, thinking about the events of the day.

"That's a curious cloud, Sir," Bill said to him, interrupting the companionable silence, as he looked off into the distance.

"What do you mean, lad?" Matthew asked him absent-mindedly.

"The high wind has the rest scurrying about the sky, but that one seems to be keeping pace with us," Bill said with a frown, brushing his tousled blonde hair out of his eyes.

Matthew turned to look where the young man was pointing, and spotted a large cumulous cloud off to their port side, illuminated by the moonlight. With a frown, Matthew thought it looked like the cloud he had seen earlier that day, then shook his head with a laugh. "The mind plays tricks on you out here, lad, pay it no mind," Matthew said with a chuckle.

"As you say, Captain," the young man replied, but he continued to glance at the cloud suspiciously.

Matthew grinned at the lad's antics, and then headed down the steps to return to his cabin. He opened the door carefully, making sure that it didn't squeak to loudly, and he saw that there was now just one lantern still burning, casting flickering shadows about the room. When he glanced at his bed, he could see that Christelle was now tucked up under the covers, turned away from him.

He crept across the room to avoid waking her, then quietly doused the last lantern. He sat in his comfortable chair, leaned back, and put his boots up on the desk, crossing them comfortably.

"Goodnight, monsieur," the young woman said to him softly, her voice drifting across the room to him.

"Sleep well, ma chère," he replied, and smiled as he closed his eyes.

***

The creak of floorboards woke him some time later in the night, and his eyes snapped open warily, his hand automatically moving to the flintlock at his belt. He trusted his men, but a wary Captain was a long lived Captain. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, the furtive figure stepped forward into the pale moonlight from the window, and with a start, he realised it was Christelle.

His eyes went wide as he saw that she was nude, and he drank in her slim lithe body as she glided over to him. "I was feeling scared and lonely, Matthew. Your bed is so big for just little old me. What would you suggest we do to ease my fears?" she asked him coyly as she held out her hand.

"I'd be a terrible host if I didn't do something to address that, mademoiselle," he said, as he stood, and took her hand.

She smiled, and looked up at him under hooded lashes, before she turned, and led him back to the bed. He watched the delightful sway of her hips, and the rounded curve of her bottom as she walked, before she turned to face him. She helped him shrug off his brocaded jacket and waistcoat, then peeled off his silk shirt. When his chest was bare, she ran her hands over it, the touch of her fingers electrifying as they brushed over his muscles appreciatively.

He reached out with his hand, to tilt up her face so that she looked up at him, and leaned in to kiss her. She parted her lips and he pressed his against them, softly at first, and then more insistently. Christelle let out a little gasp as he brushed his hands over her breasts, the pliant flesh filling his grasp comfortably. He massaged her carefully, while gently rubbing his thumbs over her nipples which hardened to erect points.

She broke away from him, then climbed onto the bed, and glanced at him over her shoulder with an alluring look in her eye as she crawled to the middle. He removed his pistol from his belt as he unbuckled it, and after pulling off his boots, he removed the last of his clothes before moving to join her.

Christelle knelt in the middle of the bed, and watched him with a sultry smile, as he climbed on it after her. When he reached the young woman, and sat down facing her, she approached him silently, and straddled his legs. She stared into his eyes as she pressed her chest against his, and she let out a gasp when he reached behind her to feel the cheeks of her bottom, cupping them in his strong hands.

"Let me reward you for your chivalry, Matthew," she purred to him, and raised herself up slightly so that she was aligned with him.

He helped support her weight as she sank down on his length, and her eyes were wide with arousal as she gazed at him in the moonlit room. Christelle began to move, rocking her hips back and forth as she rested her hands lightly on his shoulders. She stared down at him with her lusty green eyes as she massaged his cock, and her lips were slightly parted as she moaned breathily. They moved together, slowly at first, and then with more passion as they worked in a harmonious rhythm. He could feel the toned muscles in her young body as she writhed in his lap, and he delighted in the feel of her wonderfully smooth skin under his fingertips.

Christelle began to pant, as her body was covered with a sheen of perspiration, and she pushed him onto his back so that she could ride him more easily. He watched entranced as she sat astride him, looking up at her beautiful face, with her black hair hanging loose around her shoulders. She ground her pelvis into his as she writhed in place, and he felt her began to move more erratically as she rode him to the finish. He reached up to hold her breasts in his hands, and she leaned her weight against his supportive arms, her hips a blur as she stroked his cock inside her. Suddenly she arched her back and cried out with passion as she climaxed, and seeing the girl taking such delight in their union, whilst hearing her feminine moans, proved to be the trigger for him too.

He came hard inside her welcoming body, and she gasped as she felt him shooting his cum into her. She rocked gently now, murmuring to him in her native tongue as she urged him to fill her up. Finally he was done, and she leaned down, resting her pert breasts against his chest, as she stared into his eyes from inches away.

"Do you still feel fearful and lonely, Christelle?" he asked her with a playful smile, as he wrapped her in his arms.

She giggled with amusement, and shook her head emphatically. "No monsieur, you have been a wonderful host," she replied with a grin.

He held her for a while, and she lay against him with a happy smile on her lovely face, as she looked up at him with her bewitching green eyes. They eventually separated, and then lay back on the bed under the covers. He smiled at her as she cuddled up under his arm, and it wasn't long before he could hear her breathing deepen as she fell fast asleep. Matthew smiled at the young woman affectionately, and enjoyed the feelings of protectiveness he felt, as he encircled her with his arm. He closed his eyes, and soon began to slumber himself.

***

The next day passed in a blur. Matthew got up early and secured breakfast for himself and his lovely young guest, then left the Captain's Cabin to make sure that all was well with his crew. The Fortune was making strong headway, and the Santa Maria de la Rosa was still following faithfully behind them.

One of the perks of being the Captain, was not having to answer to anyone aboard the ship, and once his duties were done, he spent the rest of the day in Christelle's delightful company. They chatted together like old friends, sharing their hopes and dreams, or discussing their interests, such as a love of a good book. She also seemed to enjoy his muscular body as much as he relished her yielding young flesh, and they spent as much time in bed together as possible.

It was late in the evening, around ten o'clock, when there came a polite knock on the door.

"We're nearing Martinique, Captain, what are you orders?" Bill, the young night watchman said respectfully.

"One moment, lad," Matthew said, and he vaulted out of bed, quickly putting on his trousers and shirt. Christelle giggled softly and hid under the covers.

Matthew opened the door to his cabin, and looked out into the corridor beyond, to see Bill's eager young face staring at him.

"Rouse Mr Hastings, and have him bring us close to the harbour, but out of sight of the garrison or the fort," he ordered. "I intend to drop off our guest by longboat."

"Very good, Captain," the young man replied immediately before he hesitated, looking like he wanted to say something, but he changed his mind at the last moment.

"What is it lad? Speak up," Matthew asked him encouragingly.

"That cloud is back," Bill said cautiously, knowing how ridiculous it sounded.

"Have you been overdoing it with the Rum? You might end up tripping over your feet, and falling overboard. Not a wise thing to do!" Matthew said, as he let out a hearty laugh.

Bill flushed with embarrassment, and he turned to leave, but hesitated a moment as though wanting to say more.

"I'll come and have a look. Sorry for jesting with you, lad," Matthew said kindly.

The young man smiled up at his Captain gratefully, and then turned to stride down the corridor. Matthew let out a final chuckle, which he kept quiet so as not to upset the youth, before he closed the door, and turned to face the bed.

"I'm afraid we've nearly arrived at Martinique, ma chérie," he said to the young woman, with a fond smile.

"It's been a most enjoyable adventure," she said appreciatively, as she grinned up at him. "I won't ask if you would ever be interested in settling down. I sense too much of a wild spirit in you for that," she added with a laugh.

"You're a rare and precious flower indeed, mademoiselle," he replied, bowing to her with respect.

She smiled back at him warmly, and then they hugged a final time, before she began to get dressed. When they were both ready, he led her outside, and Matthew spotted a couple of sailors who were smoking pipes by the rails.

"When you've finished, I'd be mightily obliged if you'd retrieve the young woman's trunks from my cabin, lads," he said with a smile.

"We'll do that right now, Sir," the men said respectfully, as they emptied out their pipes over the side of the ship, and strode away quickly.

Matthew and Christelle waited by the railing as the Fortune drifted silently closer to Martinique, under the skilful guidance of Mr Hastings. When they got as close as they dared to the hostile port, Matthew ordered the anchor be lowered into the shallow water, and then they watched the sailors prepare the longboat, then haul in the trunks. Matthew and the young woman got in, and the sailors lowered the boat to the water.

"We'll row you in, Sir," the men called down to him, and then scampered down the ladder to join them in the boat below.

"Thanks lads," Matthew said appreciatively, and then turned his attention back to Christelle, as the eager sailors rowed them closer to the docks.

"I had a wonderful time, thank you, Matthew," she said to him with a wistful smile.

"I should be the one thanking you, Christelle," he replied, and the two of them kissed, knowing that in all likelihood it would be for the last time.

The longboat soon edged up to the docks, and the sailors; Mr Carver and Mr Balford, carefully lifted out the trunks, to place them silently on the jetty. Matthew helped the young woman out of the longboat, and then glanced along the docks, searching for the night watchman. He soon spotted a lantern bobbing along in the darkness, illuminating two French soldiers who were heading their way, and checking the docks for signs of trouble.

"You should be fine now, mademoiselle," he told her, as he stepped back into the longboat.

"Stay safe, mon chéri," she whispered to him softly, and waved goodbye before turning to walk up the jetty to the approaching soldiers.

Matthew smiled, and then nodded to the two sailors who grinned at him with admiration. They rowed quietly away, returning them to the Fortune.

***

The Fortune was making good time under Hastings' capable hand, the wind still gusting well, and sending them along at a fair clip. The surly, one-eyed fellow had surprisingly volunteered for the night shift, and he held the ship's wheel in a sturdy grip, as they followed the Santa Maria de la Rosa on the last leg of their journey to Port Royal.

Before he had retired for the night, Bill had pointed out the odd cloud to Matthew when he had returned to his ship. Matthew now stood against the balustrade surrounding the quarterdeck, with a goblet of wine in his hand, looking up at the cloud over the stern of his ship. The fluffy white cloud was reflecting the moonlight, and seemed to be drifting along in the same direction as the wind, which was not in any way unusual. What was odd, was that Matthew could have sworn it looked exactly the same as the other cloud, that both he and Bill had spotted the day before.

Matthew shrugged, putting it down to one of the mysteries of the sea, and then gazed off into the distance as his mind wandered. A happy smile formed on his face, as he recalled the day with his lusty young guest, and he felt a pang of regret at letting her go.

A sudden searing pain lanced through his chest, and he looked down in horror at the cutlass point that now poked out several inches through his waistcoat. The blade was yanked out just as suddenly, and Matthew staggered against the railing, before turning to see Robert Hastings grinning at him evilly.

"We all could have had some fun with that little strumpet, but no... good Captain Taylor would never allow anything like that," the man snarled with contempt, his one good eye watching Matthew warily as he gloated.

"You treacherous dog," Matthew gasped, as laboured for breath, his lungs feeling like they were on fire. "The rest of the crew will never stand for this mutiny," he added with a wet cough.

"What mutiny?" Hastings smirked, as he plucked the goblet out of Matthew's hand. "You fell overboard, after drowning your sorrows like a lovesick fool."

Hastings grinned maliciously, and tipped the wine over the quarterdeck, before dropping the goblet on the floor with a clatter. Matthew stared at the malevolent man in shock, as he realised Hastings was likely to get away with murder, and his death would never be avenged.

"Farewell, Captain Taylor... Sir," Hastings sneered contemptuously as he shoved Matthew, tipping him over the railings.

Hastings cackled as his hated Captain disappeared overboard, with nary a splash signifying his passing. He'd spent years waiting for the perfect time to have his revenge, ever since the Captain had ordered him flogged for assaulting that Spanish girl. Now, he only had to convince the rest of the crew to put him in charge, and he'd be able to slake his desires to his heart's content. He turned back to the ship's wheel, and began to hum a jaunty sea shanty as the Fortune sailed away.

***

"Have you got him?" the young woman said excitedly, as she bounced up and down eagerly.

"Of course, Kate, but are you certain about this course of action?" the disembodied, unemotional voice replied.

"Have some faith, Rom," she replied as she peered at the holographic viewscreen set into the spotless white console. "I know what I'm doing, he's absolutely perfect!"

A holographic representation of Matthew, showing him shrouded in a soft blue glow, floated above the console. He was unconscious, and currently held in stasis, hovering inches away from impact with the choppy Caribbean sea below.

"We still have a little more time before the temporal rift becomes unstable, and we have to return to the 28th Century. Wouldn't it be preferable to find someone more... suitable?" Rom asked her tentatively.

"He's brave and heroic, and was very caring and protective towards that young woman. No, Rom, my mind's made up. We need someone exactly like Captain Matthew Taylor, if we're going to stand any chance of survival," she said decisively.

"There's nothing I can say to persuade you against this course of action?" Rom asked her with a sigh.

"Nope," she replied with a grin. "Be a good boy, and bring Captain Taylor up to the ship, so that Khrelan can patch him up," she said enthusiastically.

"As you command, Kate," Rom replied obediently.

With no further need of subterfuge, the holo-emitter image of a cloud that had been shrouding the spacecraft disappeared in an instant. With the careful application of retro thrusters, the sleek elegant ship drifted lower, while the tractor beam pulled the critically injured man up towards the vessel. A panel slid open in the underbelly of the ship, and Matthew disappeared from view, into the gleaming interior of the vessel.

***

A pod of dolphins cavorted through the sea, leaping out of the water playfully. The moonlight reflected brightly off the large metallic object as it raced through the sky, and one of the bottlenose dolphins stopped to look up at it with interest. There was a sudden strobing flash, and the silvery spacecraft was gone, leaving the only 18th Century witness to the temporal interloper, staring up at the empty night's sky. The dolphin chattered excitedly, and when it heard the sonic responses from its podmates urging it to join an exciting hunt for mackerel, it dived back under the water, the silver object forgotten.