Pirate

Notes: Written for Nerodi's Historical Fiction Challenge.

Two definitions:
Men who sleep "before the mast" are common sailors (as opposed to officers or surgeons, etc.). They get the name because sailors sleep and live in the forecastle, which is forward of the foremast.

"Watch on watch" was the rotation that sailors had on a ship. There were 8 watches, each 2 to 4 hours. The crew was divided into two teams (also called watches), and they rotated each watch around the clock, never sleeping or working more than 4 hours at a time.

The battle had been short but fierce, with the other crew putting up a passionate, if disorganized and somehow confused, fight. Caught up as he was with shouting orders and employing his cutlass against any opposing foe, it wasn't until Alexander actually boarded the other ship that he realized they were attacking an English ship. Which meant that they'd turned pirate. Again. Without his father consulting him.

This was getting ridiculous. Yes, when all was said and done, piracy was more lucrative. In some ways, Alexander enjoyed it more, for it was more lucrative and offered more freedom. Well, more freedom, relatively speaking, since his father ruled his ship with an iron fist unlike other pirate ships. This control was one of the reasons why, whenever they docked in England, his father went directly to the king with a trunk of gold and jewels. If they were still considered privateers, the gold was simply to continue to stay in favor. If they'd been pirating against England, the gold and the humble apology that always sounded sincere was enough to buy forgiveness and a new Letter of Marque, once again clearing them to attack ships from other nations.

Alexander picked his way carefully over the blood soaked dock of the defeated ship. Although there were a few men from both sides who had been injured and taken away, bleeding profusely, most of the blood had been shed during the executions after the battle. There had been a full complement of naval officers aboard and Lionel, a man who believed in burning bridges and throwing them in the ocean, had wanted them taken care of.

"Leave no officer alive," he'd ordered. He hadn't even looked at Lex, who would have shot each man neatly in the head or, perhaps, hanged them all at once.

However, the order was given to Lucas. And Lucas didn't believe in death with dignity. He believed in pain, worshiped it, practically. With a sense of impending doom, the crew had been locked in the mess while Lucas carried out his creative executions on the officers. Now that the bodies were stacked in a heap--and their missing body parts placed in a sack by Lex's orders--the crew was back on deck, sullenly setting the ship to rights alongside the pirate crew.

Lionel had ordered Alexander to make sure the ship was still seaworthy, which he had done while keeping an eye on his brother's executions. Now he had finished his inspection and determined it was fine. He would be able to sail it to whatever port Lionel chose, where the ship would be sold and profits divided among the crew--after the Luthors took their portion, of course.

"How does it look, son?" Lionel asked as he crossed the deck to Alexander.

"Everything seems in order, Captain. There was damage to the foremast, but it's not bad. She'll sail fine."

"And the crew?"

Alexander's eye roved over the sullen men. They did their work grudgingly and he could hear them muttering about pirates. However, they weren't fighting anymore, and they seemed willing to work as long as there was guidance. "They'll cooperate," he said. He had a good eye for these things and rarely misjudged a crew's willingness to serve a pirate.

"Good. You and Lucas will take control and follow me. We'll take her into Louisiana; she'll sell well there."

"The colonies, Captain?" Alexander said in surprise. He'd assumed they'd go back to Port Royal.

Lionel's teeth gleamed briefly. "With any luck, we'll sell the ship and no one will be the wiser who took her. Then we'll restock, and go out on the account again just in time to net us a Spanish galleon. For king and country, of course," he added, eyes practically twinkling in amusement and self-satisfaction.

"Of course," Alexander replied dryly, catching onto his father's game. "But, Captain, I think Lucas should stay with you. This is his first voyage, and ..."

"And who better to tutor him than his brother?"

Alexander raised one sun-bleached eyebrow, but wisely said nothing. The truth was, he hated the little bastard, and hated the fact that Lionel had plucked him out of the brothel he'd been raised into to take to sea. There was something definitely ... off about Lucas, and he had a feeling that it was that something that Lionel wanted to nurture. Alexander, his first and only legitimate son, was ruthless, cold, and an efficient killer. He was an expert swordsman and had a deadly aim with even the most unwieldy musket. But, unlike Lucas, he didn't derive pleasure from killing. It wasn't his life's mission to take the lives of thousands of men and bathe in their blood.

To be honest, Alexander wasn't sure if his father really considered Lucas' obsession with pain and death to be good or if he was simply intrigued by Lucas' lack of remorse or anything resembling common sense. Bloodthirstiness only helped in the middle of battle; the daily life of a pirate called for more decorum. However, even Alexander had to admit that his brother's complete lack of remorse in anything, and his imagination when it came to pain and torture was ... fascinating. The problem was, on land, there were many people, and Lucas could be kept well entertained. At sea, the number was limited, which put them all in danger.

Of course, he didn't bring any of this up with his father. Instead, he nodded and said, "Of course, Captain. I will do my best."

"Choose five men to help keep this crew in line and take whatever belongings you want from 'Lady Lillian.' We leave in one hour." Lionel turned sharply on his heel and left, crossing the planks set up between the ships back to their own.

Alexander looked across the deck at his closest companion, Damien. Without Alexander having to say anything, Damien quickly came to him.

"Yes, sir?"

"Round up the crew and tell them we are setting sail in one hour. After we depart, they may have whatever services they wish for their dead. Tell Hamilton, Jenkins, Trenton, and Dickens they are with us. Also, I want you to get my belongings from the ship."

Damien saluted sharply. "Aye, aye, sir."

"Have you seen Lucas?"

"I believe he's below decks."

Of course. The only thing Lucas loved more than blood was booty, so it made sense he was in the hold. Either that, or he was in the forecastle, looking for flesh, his third great love. It was almost fortunate that he preferred men, as Alexander himself did, since, even on the off chance they stumbled across a woman at sea, the penalty for forcing her was death. Even Lionel was hesitant to waive that punishment, because once you allowed one man to get away with it, the others got ugly, wanting their turn. Alexander knew that from experience for, years ago, when he'd been but a boy, Lionel had bent the rules.

Alexander really didn't enjoy thinking about that incident. He still had scars and nightmares that caused him to wake up in a cold sweat.

"Don't do this to me, Whitney. Don't give up," a voice floated up from down below.

Alexander looked in the darkness around him to make sure he was the only one who'd heard the voices. The voices had come from the hold beneath him, and he wanted to investigate before Lucas found them. Ears open and listening for anything more, he continued down into the next hold.

"Clark, it is all right," he heard another man say. "Tell Lana ..."

"I will tell her nothing. You will tell her when we go home."

Curious, Alexander picked carefully around the boxes that were blocking him from the voices. He knew they didn't belong to his crew, and wondered why they were hiding. If they were officers, he'd have to kill them, and if they were regular crew ... well, he could only hope they didn't put up a resistance that forced Alexander to slay them. He needed every hand he could get.

They were hidden behind a large stack of boxes and nestled against the port side of the ship. One of the men was wounded. He was stretched on the floor on a bed of net, a musket wound in his side just above his hip. It was bleeding profusely. The man was blond and bronzed from the sun; he was dressed in a pair of tattered breeches that were too big for him, since he was slim. His skin was flushed, but sickly, sweat glistening on his brow, and face contorted in pain.

There was another man leaning over him, also shirtless. Just looking at his back, Alexander could see the immense physical strength in his back and arm muscles. His hair hung in a messy tail down the nape of his neck, and his back was streaked with dirt and tar.

"Okay, Whitney, I've got it," he was saying. He had a pair of rusty metal tweezers, probably taken from the surgeon, in his hand, and was digging in the musket wound. Blood seeped around the wound, staining his fingers, but his hands were fairly steady.

The injured man opened his eyes. "You do?"

"Yes. Take a deep breath and ..."

There was a popping sound and the man screamed. His back arched off the netting as the ball was pulled from his side. The air was heavy with the smell of blood, sweat, and sickness. Alexander doubted he would last the night.

"Good. Good," the other man was whispering, even though Whitney had passed out. He turned and picked up the shirt that was resting behind him. His eyes met Alexander's, and he froze.

Oh, dear Lord in heaven, this man--boy, for while his body was that of a man's, his eyes were innocent and clear--was beautiful. It was not a term that Alexander often applied to men, as he'd been terrorized with it as a child, but it was true. There was no other word to describe the sculpted, strong, and somehow otherworldly face.

'I want him,' was the first thought that passed through Alexander's mind, quickly followed by a myriad of visions of the boy, thoroughly debauched in his bed, eyes heavy-lidded, and skin glistening with evidence of their passion.

And then, the cold douse of reality hit him with his second thought, 'Lucas will kill him.'

Cold, throat closed, Alexander nodded very slightly and said, "Carry on."

The boy swallowed hard and turned back to his friend. He tore the shirt into strips and quickly bandaged the wound. When he was done, he turned and rose.

"You're one of them," he said softly, not meeting Alexander's eyes.

A smile flitted over his lips. "Aye. First mate, Alexander Luthor. Or, rather, "Captain," at least until we arrive in Louisiana. And you are?"

"Clark Kent."

He raised an eyebrow and stepped closer to him. "Have you forgotten ship's protocol already?"

Clark stiffened and looked up. Seeing that Alexander was serious, he straightened his shoulder and saluted. "Clark Kent, Captain."

"Very good." Alexander ran his eyes over Clark's half-naked form, careful to note the breeches he wore were torn and ill fitting. They were too small, and Alexander wasn't positive they belonged to him. His eyes flicked to Whitney. "And he is?"

"Midsh ... Whitney Fordman, Captain," Clark stumbled. His cheeks colored and he lowered his eyes once again.

Alexander nodded thoughtfully. A midshipman, but an injured one. Young, as well. He was probably not a threat, although the wise thing would be to kill him anyway. If he were to survive, there was always a chance he would make it to the nearest colony and report the Luthor's behavior to the governor there. With Alexander's luck, the ensign wouldn't remember anything except the color of his hair, and within days, there would once again be a bounty out on the "Flame-Haired Pirate, Alexander." This time, however, Alexander highly doubted Father would bother making his case to either the King or Governor, not with Lucas around as a possible replacement.

He sighed and ran his hand over the short, silky strands. He'd just begun allowing his hair to grow back, too. A few months ago, Alexander had killed a man ashore for assaulting a lady friend of his, and garnered the most recent price. Storms had prevented them from going to sea, so they changed towns and Alexander had shaved his head as a disguise until Lionel could go to the governor and explain what had happened. Still uneasy--his father had a tendency to turn to piracy mere weeks after the prices that were periodically put on their heads were lifted--Alexander continued to shave. When four months had passed and only Spanish ships were attacked, he'd finally stopped the practice.

It looked as if he would have to start again.

He should kill the midshipman. Just to be safe.

And yet, Alexander simply said, "Do not allow yourself to slip like that again. From now on, Mr. Fordman lives before the mast with you. He is no one."

Wide blue-green eyes looked into his, and Clark nodded. "Aye, Captain. Thank you."

Oh, Lord, Alexander wanted him. Wanted the innocence, wanted the strong, muscular body pressed into his, wanted the calloused hands to touch him. His eyes focused on the lips, and he felt his blood rise. It hadn't been a long time since he'd last been with a man, for he and Damien had frequent liaisons in Alexander's cabin, but that was different. Damien was a friend, his only true friend, and he served Alexander in all ways without hesitation. But it wasn't ... this. Alexander wasn't drawn to his friend as powerfully as he was to this boy.

He licked his lips and swallowed, feeling parched. "How old are you?"

"Fifteen, Captain."

"And how long have you sailed?"

The eyes darkened and Clark looked away. "This is my first voyage. I was ..." He trailed off.

Ah. A pressed man, then. Not too surprising, since the press gangs were always out in full force, stalking men whom they could sell to sailing vessels as forced labor. Except, most gangs preyed on drunks, and it was hard to imagine this boy imbibing. "And you met your friend on the ship?" he asked. Officers weren't in the habit of treating the crew well, and the lengths Clark had gone to save Fordman were extraordinary.

"No. I knew him before."

"I see." Unable to help himself, Alexander reached out and touched Clark's face gently.

The boy stiffened in surprise, but immediately relaxed. He looked more quizzical than scared, and his eyes roved Alexander's face, searching for answers.

"Brother!"

"Damn," Alexander swore. He turned just in time to see Lucas emerge. "Yes, Lucas?"

"I heard you were looking for me?" Lucas wasn't even looking at him. As soon as he'd joined them, his dark, possessive eyes had fastened onto Clark, just as Alexander had suspected they would.

"Aye," Alexander said, fighting the urge to stand in front of Clark to shield him. "Father wants us to take the ship to Louisiana."

"Will he be staying?" Lucas pointed at Clark.

"Yes."

Lucas smiled, and Alexander had to suppress a shudder. The smile promised pain and humiliation, two of his brother's staples. If Alexander did not intervene in some way, the boy would face serious harm, even if he consented.

"Good."

"Captain?"

"We're here, Damien." On impulse, Alexander took Clark by the wrist and pulled him from their hiding space.

Clark followed docilely, twisting his hand so his fingers brushed against the inside of Alexander's wrist.

Shivers raced up Alexander's spine and he firmly chastised himself. Now was not the time to be thinking about sensual pleasures.

Damien was waiting for him. His eyes flicked to Clark momentarily, before returning to Alexander's face. "Captain Luthor is ready to depart."

"Is everything in order?"

"Aye."

"Very well. I'll give orders to set sail. I need you to take the young man behind those containers to the surgeon."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

Keeping Clark close, Alexander climbed out from the lower decks. The crew was preparing the sails as he made his way across the deck.

"Are we ready to set sail?" he asked Jenkins, who was apprenticed to the sail master on their ship.

"Aye, Captain," Jenkins answered. "And the crew is ready to do your bidding."

"Then set course, and be off. I'll be in the captain's cabin. The crew can have their funeral rights at ... six bells. Have them continue with their standard rotation." He paused, eyes scanning the deck. "What is Nixon doing here?"

Lucas, who was running his hand over Clark's arm and back, said, "I brought him over." He smiled charmingly. "Father told me what we were taking the ship before I found you. I thought it only fair I bring some of my mates over as well, since you were bringing yours. Rickman is aloft."

Alexander glanced up into the rigging; sure enough, Rickman was working the sails with the crew.

He said nothing about his countermanded orders, instead telling Lucas to, "Stay and watch the crew. I'll be in my cabin." Then, his fingers curling around Clark's wrist once more, he left the deck and went into the captain's cabin.

"Have a seat," the captain said after he'd led Clark into the cabin and shut the door behind them. He gestured to the table and chair that were in the front part of the cabin.

Tentatively, Clark went to the table and sat down. He'd never been in the captain's cabin before, and hadn't known what to expect. Whitney had said it was the nicest place in the ship, and he'd been right. There was a bed--an actual bed--built into the starboard side of the ship. There were four plump pillows, a quilt, and a canopy that could be drawn around it if privacy was wanted. There was also the table, a desk by the great windows, a chest, a wardrobe, pictures on the walls, a cabinet, and lamps hanging from the ceiling.

It felt a little like home.

That was a mistake. Home. Clark had been so homesick the first few months of the voyage, he'd had to pinch himself in order to remind himself not to cry every night. It hadn't hurt, but it had helped to remind him to keep his head. None of the crew wanted to hear the sniffles of a pressed man.

He swallowed hard, forcing memories of home away. This wasn't home, it didn't feel like home. This was now a pirate ship, and he was in the cabin with his new captain.

The captain was rummaging through the desk, no doubt looking for the key to the cabinet. Clark would offer to help, but he didn't know where it was. So, he studied the man instead.

He wasn't very old, maybe a few years older than Clark was. He was thin, but powerful; the fingers that had held his wrist were strong. Not as strong as Clark, of course, but strong enough. His skin had been tanned by the sun until he seemed to glow, and his hair ....

Gorgeous. That was the best way to describe it: gorgeous and eye-catching. It was very, very short and bright red, the color of a sunset. Clark wanted to touch it and see if it felt as silky as it looked, which it probably didn't, but he couldn't help it. His fingers itched to run through the short strands and feel their texture.

As for the rest of him, 'neat' was the word that came to Clark's mind. Tidy. Even covered in blood and grime from the battle, Clark could see it. It was in the fine bones that made up his face, and the way his body was put together in long, lean limbs. His hands were graceful as well, speaking of elegance with thin, long fingers. They were like musician's hands, even stained with blood and powder as they were.

He was breathtaking.

Clark swallowed hard when he realized he hadn't been looking at the captain merely to take stock of his appearance. He'd been ... Clark wasn't sure what he was doing, but his cheeks felt hot, and stomach was fluttering oddly.

"Ah, here it is," the captain said, pulling a key from the desk. He crossed the room and unlocked the cabinet. Inside were several bottles, and a stack of tins. The captain took a bottle and a tin and crossed the room. "Hungry?" he asked, opening the tin.

Inside were biscuits. Unweeviled ones that still looked soft and fresh.

Clark looked up at the captain, unable to really believe that he was being offered this treat. He'd been living off hardtack since they'd left Jamaica.

The captain smiled, eyes softening. "It's no trick; take one."

Eyes still on the captain, Clark reached out and took one. Then, he lifted it to his mouth and took a bite.

"There. That wasn't so hard. You'll need a shirt, too. I take it you gave yours to your friend?" He set the tin down and went to the sea chest.

"Aye. For ... for his bandages."

The captain walked back to him, a shirt in his hand. It was white. Clean. Almost unheard of in his new life.

"His bandages." The captain studied him a moment, then reached out and touched Clark's hair gently.

Clark flinched involuntarily.

Captain Luthor froze. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "Please believe me, I mean no harm to you."

"I ... No, I ..." Clark stammered, because he knew it was true. The eyes of the man who called him brother devoured him, burned him, but the captain ....

The captain was different. His eyes wanted in a way Clark could understand. He'd seen enough things in the past year to know some of relations between men, and to know that, while they were sometimes about pain and dominance, there were others who ... well, if not loved, found as much pleasure with a man as others did with women.

The other, Lucas, looked at him in such a way that Clark knew that he would hurt him, if that were possible. The captain wanted him, but not for pain.

"Clark," the captain started, but Clark interrupted him by blurting out, "I am dirty. Blood and ... dirt and tar and gunpowder." Cheeks flushed, he looked away.

There was a short laugh and the captain's hand cupped his cheek. "Clark, look at me." He gently nudged Clark's face, until he yielded and looked back at the captain. "It's all right. I've been at sea since I was a child; I know the dirt and grim a man collects here. And I am not exactly pristine myself." He stepped back and gestured down his body, drawing attention to the blood and dried sweat and dust on him.

"Oh," Clark said, feeling stupid.

Still smiling, the captain went to cabinet and took out two glasses. "Tell me, Clark. How did you come to be on the fair 'Persephone?'"

Clark shrugged. "I had the misfortune to encounter a press gang. They approached me, I tried to get away, they hit me on the head, and when I woke, we were at sea." Which was mostly true, when you left out certain details.

"I see." The captain poured the liquor from the bottle into the glasses, and then handed one to Clark. "And your relation with Fordman. How did you become friends?"

He flushed, remembering his slip earlier. Clark had been near Whitney when he'd been injured. Without thinking, Clark had dragged him below decks; when the pirates had started executing the officers, he'd stolen clothes from one of their fallen comrades and given his own to Whitney. It had all been in the name of protecting him, and Clark had betrayed them to the very man who had put Whitney in peril in the first place.

Well, not the very man. The man's son, he supposed, since the name was the same. But close to the "very man."

The captain was still gazing at him out of his incredible blue eyes that seemed to pierce right through him. He was utterly calm and still as he waited for Clark to answer.

"Whitney and I grew up together. He ...." He hesitated and looked at the captain.

"It's okay, Clark. Just tell me the truth."

Clark nodded and took another bite of his biscuit. "His father was a knighted and given land. My parents were employed by him. My father worked the land, and my mother taught his children. I am three years younger than Whitney, and we were but sporadic companions. He ... tolerated my presence, as I was the only boy nearest his age, and his junior, which meant he could order me around." He blinked and looked up. "My mother requested I be educated with the children, so I was allowed in the schoolroom."

The captain nodded.

After taking a sip of his rum, Clark continued. "This was Whitney's first commission. To help protect the 'Persephone' from pirates." He smiled at the irony. "His beloved--Mistress Lana--was distressed by his departure and requested that I take him a message, and a token of her affection. She placed it in a box, and gave it to me, begging me to hurry before he left. And I ..." His cheeks burned again and he found he could not meet Alexander's eyes. "I left as soon as I could to complete my mission."

The captain narrowed his eyes and studied Clark carefully. He squirmed under the scrutiny

"Tell me, this Lana. Is she pretty?"

"Lovely. Beautiful. She looks like an angel."

One eyebrow arched. "I find it hard to believe that two such creatures exist."

Clark frowned, confused. "I ... I don't understand."

"Never mind. I take it Whitney is not the only one who loves her?"

Hot with shame, Clark squirmed and he answered, "No. She was betrothed to a man. Lord Summerville. They were to be married the week after Whitney left. He'd asked me to give her something as she left the church on her wedding day."

"Did you often take messages between them?"

"Aye. I would carry their letters and tokens back and forth when they could not meet." He looked down at the table, crumbling the biscuit between his fingers.

The captain gently brushed his fingers over Clark's hair. "Are you in love with her?"

He sighed softly. "Aye. She is special. Beautiful. I am fond of her. She has always been very kind to me."

"I see. So you rushed off on your lady's mission and encountered the press gang?"

"Yes. They took me by surprise, and I dropped the box." Clark closed his eyes remembering when the necklace had fallen from the box and his immediate reaction. He'd been sick and shaky. Vulnerable. So when he'd been hit, he'd actually been knocked unconscious. It had been a new experience.

"Why try to save his life, then?" the captain asked softly. "From what I understand, he never did anything but use you. You both loved the same woman who, yes, married another. But if she were willing to love outside the bounds of matrimony, perhaps she would have loved you when you returned. You could have comforted her, perhaps even bedded her."

Clark looked up at the captain in shock. "She is a married woman. And I ... I am nothing but a poor man with nothing to my name. I would not dream of tainting her ... her purity and her honor by ... by .... How can you even suggest such a thing?"

The captain shrugged. "I have done it. Bedded married women, I mean. I've not loved them, but the sport was there."

"She is not sport." Clark rose and turned away, arms crossed tightly over his chest. "And I ... I could not. Even if she loved me."

There was a silence. Clark's stomach quivered, afraid he'd said something to upset the captain. It wasn't that he was shocked to discover the captain had encouraged women to break their holy bonds. He was, after all, a pirate. And Clark wasn't exactly innocent of such matters; he'd seen Mistress Lana's aunt once with a man who was not her husband. Well, more than once, to be honest. It simply pained him to imagine Lana doing the same, or him asking her break her bonds. It was wrong, and sickened him to the core.

"I am sorry," the captain finally said. "Of course you would not do such a thing. You are too good for that."

"Captain, if I have given you offense ...."

"No." The captain touched him on the back gently. "No offense. I forgot you are young, and have come from a sheltered world. But, to be honest, such things happen often at court, and if your love goes there ..."

Clark turned. "No. She would never do such a thing."

He smiled softly. "Of course not." The captain touched Clark's cheek. "I will see about getting you water to wash. I cannot have my cabin boy walking around with blood and grit on him." He brushed his thumb over Clark's cheek again and Clark found that he rather liked the captain touching him, even though he knew he should not.

Then the words sank in. "Cabin boy?"

"Aye. Oh, you're a little old, that's true, but 'tis safest for you. You'll sleep in here. I'll have a hammock brought in for you."

"But I ... I am nothing. Why?"

The captain's face turned serious. "Because my brother, Lucas, desires you. And there are no articles forbidding the rape of a man at sea. I do not want to see you hurt."

Clark shuddered. "Why? I mean, why would he ...."

"Because you are beautiful. And strong. Lucas is ... not quite right in the head. Pain is the world to him, and he will do whatever he can to destroy your purity and innocence simply because he can."

"Then why protect me?"

The captain smiled sadly. His hand ran casually, almost languidly, down the length of Clark's body, causing him to shiver and burn at the same time.

"I cannot bear to see something so magnificent hurt." He straightened. "Stay here. Relax. Lie down, if you so wish. I won't be gone long." His eyes ran over Clark's body once more, and then he turned sharply on his heel and left the room.

Shaky, Clark sank to the ground and pulled his knees to his chest. He'd never felt this way in his life. Even during all those years of pining after Mistress Lana, worshiping her from afar and wishing she could be his, it had never been like this. Never ... never this fire. This hunger.

He whimpered softly and wondered what he was going to do.

"How is the injured man?" Alexander asked without preamble as he joined Damien on deck.

"He is doing as well as can be expected. Captain Luthor, this is the ship's surgeon, Dr. Senatori."

Alexander nodded at the man who was standing beside Damien. He was gazing at Alexander through suspicious and slightly fearful eyes, but his shoulders were square and head held straight.

"Doctor. What is your opinion of Mr. Fordman?"

He grimaced every so slightly. "He is in a lot of pain and is feverish. The wound was grave, but the musket ball was removed in such a way not to cause further damage, and the binding was well done. If he fights, he may survive, but it is in God's hands now." Dr. Senatori made as if to say more but hesitated.

"Yes, Doctor?"

"What will happen if the boy were to die?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Do your best to see that he doesn't."

"But if there is nothing I can do?"

"Then there is nothing you can do. You are not God, I understand that. I only want you to do what you can."

Relief washed over the doctor's face. He glanced at Damien, and then back at Alexander. "Why are you so concerned with Mi ... Mr. Fordman?"

Alexander raised an eyebrow at Dr. Senatori. "Please remember that there is a funeral for all the officers of this ship in two hours. You were spared because you are valuable. All other officers are dead, do you understand?"

He paled and nodded. "Yes, Captain."

He held the doctor's gaze another moment before nodding. "I witnessed a young man attempting to save Mr. Fordman's life. He was quite passionate and brave. I feel that bravery should be rewarded. Hamilton!" he called suddenly, catching view of one of his men.

"Yes, Captain?" He quickly crossed the deck.

"See that a basin and pitcher of water are taken to my cabin. Instruct the boy inside he is to find clean clothing in the chest, and wait until someone is sent to escort him on deck."

He had questions, it was obvious, but Hamilton merely saluted and went to fulfill his orders.

"Where is Lucas?" Alexander asked Damien, scanning the deck.

"Below, with Nixon. They are going over the stores."

Alexander narrowed his eyes and slowly looked over the ship again. "Doctor, I believe there are others who are wounded. Perhaps you should attend to them."

He felt rather than saw Dr. Senatori's surprise. "Um ... aye." He turned and left.

"Tell me, Damien," Alexander said when he was gone, still studying the ship, "is this a merchant ship or a ship of the line?"

"I do not know, Captain. This is not a man-of-war, but it is armed and staffed as one."

"Aye." He sighed. "I think my father misled me. I don't think he merely wants to sell the ship and use the men and money to attack a galleon. I think he wants this ship, but for what purpose, I do not know."

"Do you think your brother does?"

Alexander smiled wryly at Damien. "Most assuredly. My father wishes to play us against each other, and all I can do is play along until I have enough information." He sighed and rubbed his chin. "I think it is time I left my father's business, Damien. I grow weary of his games."

"What will you do?"

He thought about it a moment. "Perhaps I'll take this ship, go into business for myself. I am not without my contacts. Or, perhaps return to England and my mother's estate. I could claim my birthright." He frowned. There was appeal in the idea, but he would miss the sea. He would miss the freedom that his life gave him now. "I don't know." His thoughts turned to the beautiful boy in his cabin. "I might take the boy home," he said softly, almost to himself.

Damien stirred besides him. "My loyalties lie with you," he said.

Alexander nodded. "I've no doubt of that. The one thing I can always count on is your loyalty, Damien."

"You saved my life once, Alexander, and for that I would willingly follow you into hell itself."

"You're a good man, Damien." He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "If I do break with Father, he will do his best to make my life hell. Just look what he did to Sullivan, and that was his closest friend. I'm only his son." Alexander opened his eyes again and looked out at the sea. "Tell Hamilton and Jenkins to keep their ears open for anything Lucas and the others might be saying. I've no doubt Nixon and Rickman are in on whatever he and father are planning."

"Aye, sir."

"And tell both of them that they are to keep an eye on my new cabin boy whenever he is on deck. Lucas wants him, and I do not want the boy backed into a corner." He frowned. "I would keep him with me, but he'll be needed aloft and on deck. And I don't need him at all times." He sighed and glanced into the rigging. "Also, have a hammock brought to my cabin for him."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

Without looking at Damien, Alexander left the deck. He headed below to see if there were any mysteries he'd missed earlier.

Clark stood on the officer's deck, awkwardly at Captain Luthor's side. The crew had thrown him curious and increasingly dark looks when he emerged from the captain's quarters, wearing their former captain's trousers and shirt. He'd flushed and kept his eyes trained on the deck as he was escorted across the deck to the captain.

They were wondering what he was doing, if he'd turned traitor. Although, it wasn't like they were really resisting the new leadership. And Clark hadn't asked Captain Luthor to take a special interest in him; it had just happened.

Captain Luthor had simply given him a very faint smile when he'd been presented. "Stand here," he'd said softly. Then he had turned to the crew and asked if there was anyone among them who wanted to read the rites for the departed.

After a moment of silence, Dr. Senatori had stepped forward and agreed to read.

For the most part, the pirates stood respectfully, not interrupting, some even praying. Lucas, however, was anything but respectful. At first, he'd stood next to Clark. Eyes resting disdainfully on the crew below, he'd caressed Clark's arm, sliding underneath the loose sleeve to pet the skin below.

Clark had said nothing, only stood there, stiffly. He was unused to such attention and unsure what he should do about it.

Captain Luthor hadn't noticed until Lucas had put his hand underneath the back of Clark's shirt and begun tracing his fingers over the skin there. Clark had been unable to stop his shudder of disgust and that had caught the captain's attention. He'd tapped his brother's arm before yanking it out himself. A moment later, a tall, dark-haired man stepped between Clark and Lucas, and another came to stand behind him. Out-flanked, Lucas had made a face at Captain Luthor and left, joining the crew below, where he now stood, talking with two men who kept glancing up at him.

Captain Luthor's fingers closed around his wrist. "Pretend you don't see him," he breathed softly, barely moving his lips. "Do not give him power over you."

Clark nodded and kept his eyes trained on the funeral below.

The last body was given to the ocean a moment later. He breathed a sigh of relief and said a quick prayer of thanks that Whitney was still among the living, then turned to the captain.

"Give every man an extra ration of rum this evening and then have them go back to their normal watches. Clark, when would you be going on watch next?"

"Um, I've the night watch."

Captain Luthor furrowed his brows. "I need rest, and you need to stay with Damien or me. You'll start with the forenoon watch tomorrow and continue keeping watch on watch with that group. Damien, take count of the men. If necessary, transfer someone to cover him. In fact, move Nixon and Rickman to Clark's watch, with Lucas in command of them. If Clark's shift runs short, put Hamilton or Jenkins in it until he joins the watch tomorrow. But I want one of them watching Lucas. Understood?"

"Aye, Captain."

Done with his business, Captain Luthor turned and left the deck.

Clark hesitated, but followed him when Damien cocked his head and looked pointedly after the captain. He hurried down the stairs, and almost bumped right into Lucas.

"Hello, pet," Lucas said. He did not touch Clark, but he did step closer until his breath washed across Clark's face.

Tense, Clark muttered, "Sir."

"My brother seems to have an interest in you, but we both know who you belong to."

"I belong to no man," Clark said heatedly. It was a sore point with him, even though he knew he was being baited. Clark was pressed, not a slave. The distinction may be fine, but it was there.

Lucas smirked. "Oh no?" He stepped so close his lips brushed Clark's ear as he whispered, "I will have you, pet, make no mistake. You'll beg me to stop, and then you'll beg me never to stop. By the time I'm through with you, you'll be bloody, exhausted, and I'll be satisfied. And if you please me, maybe I'll keep you."

Teeth nipped his earlobe gently, and then Lucas pulled back and swaggered across the deck.

Knees shaky, and breath stopped in his throat, Clark turned and forced himself to walk to the captain's cabin. He would not show fear. He would not give into the urge to flee. He would walk with what dignity he had.

Captain Luthor was pacing when he finally stepped inside the great cabin. "Where have you been?" he asked sharply.

"Sorry, Captain, I ... forgot. I am not used to ...." He swallowed, wishing he could sit. "What am I supposed to do? I only know ship's work, not the duties of a cabin boy."

His face softened slightly. "Didn't your previous captain have one?"

"Well ... aye, but I only know some of what he did. I was working most of the time, but I know Kip ran messages, swabbed the quarterdeck, and was the main form of communication between the captain and the first mate until he died mid-voyage. The captain never replaced him."

"Well, since you'll still be tending to your regular duties, I won't ask you to do much. Indeed, there isn't much you can do for me. There are no uniforms to mend, and while I'll have you take the occasional message to Damien, I won't have you running around much. Mostly, it's an excuse to keep you close." He shrugged out of his coat, which he threw over the chest.

Clark watched him, stomach churning with nervousness. He took a deep breath and said, "May I ask a question?"

"Of course." He rose from the bed and walked to the table. A sack had been placed on it, and he opened it, digging through the contents.

Clark licked his lips. "We ... all have surrendered, I suppose. The crew, I mean. No one is trying to fight your authority, or take control of the ship. Is that normal for when a pirate takes a ship?"

Captain Luthor's teeth flashed briefly. "It depends on the ship. If this were a Spanish vessel, then no. We wouldn't have even bothered taking the ship to sell. Most likely, we'd have burned it and condemned the crew, as ordered by the king."

"As ordered by the king?"

"Aye." Captain Luthor removed a small parcel from the sack. "We've permission from the king to pirate against vessels from other countries."

"So you're a privateer," Clark said. "Then why attack us? We're an English ship."

He sighed and unwrapped the canvas from whatever was in his hands. "I know. At first I thought it was merely that my father wished to change venues again. Quiet often, pirating brings in more profit, since we can attack whom we please. Unfortunately, the price is our heads." Smiling sardonically, Captain Luthor revealed the large, sharp knife that had been wrapped in the canvas and made a slashing motion across his throat.

Clark shuddered. "They take your head?"

"Well, no. Hanging is the standard punishment, and the body is then displayed as warning. Not that it ever stops anyone," he added wryly. Captain Luthor walked to the basin and poured some water in it.

After a moment, Clark asked, "Why do you think you attacked us, if not merely for profit?"

Captain Luthor was wetting his hair. His eyes met Clark's in the glass above the basin. "I think there is something special about this ship that my father knows about. I, however, do not. Tell me, Clark, why are there so many men from His Majesty's Navy aboard?"

He blinked and frowned. "I do not know. Whitney was here with another midshipman and a lieutenant so they could learn the trade routes and, as I said, help protect the ship. They were going to join a ship in Jamaica. But there was a change of plans. When we left Port Royal, we met up with the 'Intrepid' and all the officers transferred over. But I was never told why," he added.

Captain Luthor looked thoughtful. "Either they brought something over with them, or you left Jamaica with something ... something that was of great importance and secrecy. And you needed protection, so the officers."

"But what could we have that might be so important?"

"I don't know. But I'll find out before we arrive in Louisiana." He nodded, looking determined, and raised his knife to his hairline.

"What are you doing?" Clark asked, alarmed.

He smiled wearily. "My hair is too memorable, and if your friend lives, he'll be able to identify me. Actually, any of the men will be able to. I blend in more easily when I am bald." He shrugged. "I had it shaved before, and my hair is only just now growing back. 'Tis no great loss."

It was to Clark. He thought the captain looked quite ... attractive, and his hair fascinated him. But, it wasn't his place to protest.

However, he did rise and cross the room. "Your hands are shaking from fatigue. Sit. I can do it."

Captain Luthor blinked. "Clark ...."

"I took a bullet from a man's body today. Surely I can shave hair off your scalp without injury." He held his hand out for the knife.

The blue eyes studied him for a long moment. "Very well," he finally said as he handed over the knife. "Just remember, you're only shaving, not digging. Don't press too hard."

Clark smiled. "I'll remember."

Captain Luthor took a chair from the table and pulled it to the basin. He sat down, eyes locked on Clark in the mirror.

Suddenly, Clark felt a lot less sure of himself than he had the moment before. He moved so he was behind the captain, forcing himself not to look into the handsome face that was reflected before him. With a steady hand, but a stomach that felt like the sea during a violent storm, he gently brushed it over Captain Luthor's hair.

He'd been right: itwas silky. Clark bit his lip and ran his hand over it again, reveling in the texture.

The captain made a sound in his throat that caused Clark to look, startled, at him in the glass.

He was very still, eyes burning. There were two faint spots of color on his cheeks, and his breathing was shallow. It seemed to Clark as if the captain was trying very hard not to move, as if he were afraid something would happen if he did. Clark wondered if he were merely afraid Clark would slip and cut him, or if it was something more. He opened his mouth to ask, but stopped; maybe if he asked, if he gave voice to the captain's fears, he would ask Clark to stop. And Clark didn't want to stop.

He swallowed, feeling heat streak down through his body and pool at his groin. Tearing his eyes away from the glass, he dipped the blade in the basin and lifted the knife. Very carefully, he dragged it from the captain's forehead all the way back.

Strands of red fell away under the sharp blade, revealing soft, pale skin beneath.

Captain Luthor inhaled sharply as Clark lifted the blade and repeated the movement. Hair fell away with each stroke, baring more skin. He began to look oddly ... vulnerable. Naked, even, and all Clark wanted to do was cover the bared head and keep it safe.

The blade scrapped along the captain's scalp as Clark ran along the same path one more, determined to cut away every last strand. If the captain wanted it gone, then Clark would do his best to make sure it was gone.

The captain's eyes were hot. He hadn't moved his gaze from Clark's face, and it was so tangible, Clark couldn't look in the mirror at all. Not that not looking helped at all. The captain's eyes scorched across Clark's skin, racing along every limb and down his chest and stomach until heat pooled at his groin. His heart raced and his cheeks grew warm. Even his breathing increased as he continued to draw the blade over the captain's scalp, shearing away the silky-fine hair to reveal the skin beneath.

Clark didn't know what was happening to him. He'd never felt like this. Well, once. In Jamaica. When he'd gone to the brothel to make sure Whitney was safe and walked in on him and a lady of the night together. Another woman had drawn Clark aside and tried to, well, do what they do until she realized Clark had no money.

But then it had been because of women and sex. This was a man and ... and shaving. Still, there was no denying his feelings were the same: hot, pulsing, and hard. So hard, Clark's teeth ached.

There were two stripes left, right above each of the captain's ears. Very carefully, Clark bent the right one back. His fingers briefly, and only a little bit involuntarily, brushed against the gold hoop earring dangling from it.

Captain Luthor inhaled sharply, his eyes shutting.

Clark bit his lip, unsure if he'd done something wrong. When Captain Luthor said nothing, he very lightly brushed his finger against the hoop again. When he touched the hoop, his finger rubbed against the delicate skin indented behind the captain's earlobe.

Something that was like a moan sounded deeply in Captain Luthor's throat.

Clark's blood pulsed at the sound, his knees going weak. Quickly, before he succumbed to the sensations running through him, Clark dragged the blade over the strip of hair above Captain Luthor's ear. Then he repeated the movement on the other side, pulling the ear back as before, but careful not to touch the inviting indent beneath the lobe, even though he was sorely tempted.

"There," he said softly. He set the knife down and breathed out slowly. "'Tis done."

All the beautiful hair was gone, shaved away. It was scattered on the captain's shoulders and the front of Clark's shirt, looking like the fallen leaves of autumn and leaving him with the same sense of melancholy.

But the captain .... Somehow, the captain managed to look even more handsome than before. Serene and calm, sitting with his eyes closed, his long, red-tinted lashes standing in contrast to the muted tan of his cheeks. He seemed to glow in the light of the lamp, stealing Clark's breath and very soul.

His hands shook as Clark dipped his hands in the water. He took a breath to steady himself and ran his wet hands over Captain Luthor's scalp to wash away any trace of hair.

It was so soft. Tantalizingly so. It was as soft as Clark had always imagined Mistress Lana's skin to be, and he couldn't stop moving his hands over the surface, drinking in the sensation. His eyes fell shut as he traced his fingers over the smooth head, and he sighed softly and desperately.

Suddenly, the captain rose and turned. "Clark," he said roughly. He caught Clark's hand in his, holding tightly.

Shame flooded Clark, but did not dissipate the heat. He felt the captain's touch acutely, and his body yearned for more even as the shame beat with his every pulse. Turning his head, he closed his eyes, feeling tears build up behind the lids.

The captain cleared his throat. "Clark," he said again, voice a little unsteady. "Is something wrong?"

Not trusting himself to speak, Clark shook his head.

"Don't lie to me, boy," Captain Luthor said sharply, shaking Clark's arm as he did.

He said nothing.

With a sharp inhale, the captain moved so his body was pressed against Clark's. "Don't tempt me, Clark, please," he whispered, lips connecting with the underside of Clark's jaw.

He gasped, eyes flying open. As if encouraged, the lips moved upwards, across his heated skin, until they closed over his bottom lip. Hot blue eyes gazed up into Clark's as Captain Luthor sucked on his lip.

Clark shuddered hard, tears building even as his body cried for more. He tried to banish the tears and give into the sensations running through his body. It felt so good, and he wasn't scared. Not exactly. The captain's mouth over his, sucking Clark's lip, felt right. Confusing, frightening, but right.

So he said nothing. He did nothing, unsure of what, if anything, he should do. Deep in his mind, something was telling him to wrap his arms around the captain, open his mouth, kiss him, strip his clothes away. But he was too frightened to do anything, afraid that the captain would stop, and, paradoxically, afraid he would not.

Captain Luthor released his lip briefly, and exhaled. His hot breath washed over Clark's skin, raising bumps on his arms. The captain bent his head back farther and pressed his open mouth against Clark's parted lips. His tongue tentatively touched Clark's, making him feel wet and open and very, very unsure.

A tear fell from his eye and Clark was unable to stop the shaky breath that accompanied it. It was not a tear of sorrow or one of fear. There were just so many unfamiliar emotions and feelings coursing through him that Clark was overwhelmed. He couldn't help the tears any more than the desire setting him afire.

The tear rolled down his cheek, and fell onto Captain Luthor's face. It splashed onto his cheek and onto the corner of his lips.

Immediately, he pulled away. A hard, penetrating look came over his features, and he studied Clark for a long moment.

Conflicted and frightened, Clark lowered his eyes again. To his horror, a few more tears fell. If he could only think for one moment. This was all so confusing. Yes, he had suspected the captain had wanted him, and it was apparent that Clark desired him in return but ... but he did not know what to do, or how to feel.

Finally, the captain released his hand. "Clark," he said in a much different voice than before. "Are you a virgin?"

Clark had thought he could not get anymore mortified than he already was, but he was wrong. He swallowed and shrugged.

"I mean, of any kind. Have you laid with either a woman or a man?"

"N-no," he whispered.

"I see." He took a deep breath and turned. Walking to the basin, he said, "Please forgive me for my actions." Captain Luthor wet his face. When he turned around, his eyes were cool and distant. "As much as I despise my brother, he and I do share some things in common. One of them is our preference for men. Do you ... know of such things?"

"Aye."

Captain Luthor nodded. "I would never force myself on anyone, nor take advantage of a situation where my partner might feel he had no choice. I forgot myself, Clark, and I humbly ask for your forgiveness."

He swallowed and whispered, "There is nothing to forgive."

"Clark ...."

"My feelings are ... unfamiliar. Strange. I do not understand them. But there is nothing to forgive."

There was a silence. "I see." He sighed. "It has been a difficult day. And a long one. No doubt, you have missed some sleep. Your feelings, however real you may think they are, are no doubt due to exhaustion and confusion. Please believe me, Clark, you will not always feel this way. You mustn't be ashamed of your behavior. Everything that has happened here has been my doing."

Clark frowned and looked at the captain from under his lashes. His feelings, though confused, didn't feel like the product of exhaustion. Nor confusion. He'd believed the captain to be handsome from the first. The stirrings in his belly had been there from the very moment the captain had found him. And, somehow, Clark couldn't believe they would go away. Maybe not ever.

But he said nothing and nodded.

The captain smiled tiredly. "Very good. Now, we should sleep. This is probably the first full night's rest you've gotten in some time."

"Aye." Clark stayed put as the captain moved passed him.

He was undressing as he did, removing his sword belt and vest. The coat that had been flung over the chest was hung in the wardrobe, with the belt and vest. The captain also removed his breeches, folding them neatly and placing them in the chest. Clad only in his knee length shirt, he climbed into the bed. "Clark?"

Clark swallowed. A hammock had been placed in the corner of the cabin next to the bed. It was stretched between the bedpost and the wardrobe. He removed only his sea coat before climbing in. Normally, he only slept four hours at a time before being called on watch, so undressing was a waste of his time. Besides, if there were a storm, or another attack, he would need to be able to get to the deck in a short a time as possible.

Captain Luthor doused the lamp and settled back into bed. Clark had chosen to lie facing the bed, so he could watch the captain sleep, if he so choose. But right now, he did not. His stomach was still churning, cheeks still flushed, and he was still slightly hard. More than that, though, he was embarrassed of his feelings and of his fear. He felt stupid and unsure.

How was he going to survive this?

Clark closed his eyes. "Father, who are in heaven, hallowed be thy name," he prayed silently. He prayed for guidance for an hour before he finally drifted off to sleep.

The door creaked in the darkness, waking Alexander. He forced himself to lay as if in sleep, even as his heart thudded in anticipation. When the door closed again, and footsteps sounded on the floor, he opened his eyes a crack and reached under his pillow. A pistol lay there, and he curled his hand around it, still careful not to draw attention to himself.

The figure was a little blurred, but Alexander knew his brother's shape well. He held his breath, waiting to see if Lucas was going to try and kill him. But, no, he didn't even glance in Alexander's direction. Lucas' eyes were fastened on the hammock hanging from the end of the bed.

Clark was sound asleep, head tucked against his body. His arms were crossed over his chest and he was snoring very softly.

Lucas stopped in front of the hammock. He inhaled deeply and licked his lips. Then his hand slid into his breeches, where it began moving slowly.

Alexander's breath caught in his throat at his brother's audacity. Not only did he dare to break into the captain's cabin, but he was ... he was ....

He rose from the bed, even as Lucas' breath quickened. Pressing the pistol into his brother's head, he whispered, "It'd be best for your continuing health to remove your hand and yourself from the room now, dear brother.

His breathing grew heavier. "Come now," he said, voice tight and wheezy. "You'd not want to muss the boy with bits of brain, would you?"

Furious, Alexander reached down with his free hand and stayed Lucas' hand. He tried to yank the offending limb out of his pants, but it just caused Lucas to moan and fall back against him.

"You disgust me," Alexander hissed. He twisted around and threw Lucas to the floor, away from the hammock and himself.

Lucas sprawled on the floor, his legs obscenely parted. The material between his legs was tented with the evidence of his arousal and slow pumping of his hand.

He laughed. "Come now, Alexander, tell me you don't want him. Tell me that you don't dream of him, as do I, in your bed, sweaty and limp as you pound into his tight, virgin ass. Tell me you don't dream of the blood running down those perfect thighs as he screams for mercy and ... and ..." Excited by his own filth, Lucas broke off, gasping.

Alexander stalked to him and kicked him hard in the side.

Lucas howled and arched off the floor. When he fell back, he rolled onto his side, shaking.

"Get out. Now. Do not go anywhere near him, and if you come in my cabin again without permission, I will kill you," Alexander said dangerously. He meant what he said; he held no affection for his bastard brother. In fact, there was nothing in him but loathing and disgust and if it weren't for his father, Alexander would have killed Lucas long ago as a favor to the world.

Lucas rose slowly and withdrew his hand from his breeches. It was coated with the evidence of his twisted pleasure. Eyes smoldering, he closed the distance between him and Alexander. "You are no different than I am, brother. Inside, you are just the same. You want his pain and you will make it your pleasure. That is your nature, deny it as you want, but I know."

"You know nothing," Alexander said.

He smirked and stepped around Alexander. Alexander turned to catch him, but before he could, Lucas had his hand on Clark's cheek.

Clark had woken and was sitting up in his hammock. His eyes were a vaguely unfocused, and he looked at Lucas in sleepy confusion.

"I'll come for you, pet," Lucas promised, fingers spreading his seed on Clark's cheek. "He cannot always be with you."

"Get out!" Alexander grabbed Lucas by the collar of his shirt and dragged him away. He opened the door to his cabin, punching Lucas soundly across the face.

Lucas fell onto his buttocks, wincing from the blow.

"I will throw you in the brig if you cannot follow orders."

He smiled. "I have allies, brother. The brig will not help you."

"You wouldn't ..."

"Father would be upset if you did not survive this voyage. I would not be." He rose, brushing off his backside. "I won't kill you unless I have to. Don't make me."

Alexander shook his head and closed the door. He was not going to rise to threats, real as they might be.

"Captain?"

"Don't," Alexander said harshly. "Just go back to sleep." He turned.

Clark was standing in the middle of the room, looking confused and hurt. He hadn't even rubbed the substance from his face.

"I should kill him," Alexander muttered, walking swiftly to Clark. He pulled his sleeve down over his hand and scrubbed Clark's cheek. "Castrate him and then kill him for daring to defile you. To even think about defiling you. To ..."

To his surprise, Clark stayed his hand. "Calm down."

Alexander blinked. "What?"

"I don't need to be protected. Not from that. Not really."

"Clark," he sighed. "My brother will hurt you. Badly. Believe me, I have seen his victims. He shows them no pity. He will beat you, cut you, rip you, hurt you, and leave you to bleed to death. He does not know beauty, and thus he seeks to destroy what he cannot understand. And you would represent a great mystery."

Clark swallowed and shook his head. "He won't hurt me, Captain. He can't."

Alexander smiled sadly. "I know you are strong, but ..."

Abruptly, Clark pulled away. Walking swiftly across the cabin, he went to the basin where the knife was still laid out. "Have you another?" he asked.

"Aye," Alexander replied slowly. "Why?"

He moved to the great windows so the moon lit his figure. "Come here."

Alexander obeyed, crossing the room.

"He cannot hurt me, Captain," Clark repeated. Then, he brought the knife plunging into his stomach.

"No!" Alexander shouted. His limbs turned to liquid as he yanked the knife away.

It was bent. The tip had been bent in on itself and cracked. Confused, he looked from the knife to Clark and back again. "What?"

Clark pulled off his shirt. "Do you see?"

The flesh that should have been bleeding and broken was whole and smooth. There was no sign of injury. Nothing.

Unable to believe his eyes, Alexander reached out and touched Clark's stomach. It was no illusion, but it did not make sense. "How?"

"I don't know," Clark answered. "I only know that I have never been sick nor injured a day in my life. Hit me, cut me, slice me, and nothing happens."

"Does anyone know?"

"Aye." Clark nodded. "My parents. The crew. Whitney. But we kept it secret from the captain. The crew said I brought them good luck. I was able to do the work of two, sometimes three men. I could race down the rigging if someone fell, which happened twice, and save them. I never got injured, and my hands never calloused. They laughed and said I was an angel. And they attributed other things to me: storms were not as rough, and the captain was not as harsh. They even protected me the one or two times someone found offense with me, so I was not beaten. Whitney helped the most with that, and then, if someone was beaten, I took over their duties, moving so quickly, no one could see me."

He felt lightheaded. What the boy was saying was impossible. He couldn't trust that his eyes were telling him what was really there. Had he imbibed too much last night? Was this a drunken dream?

"This is impossible, Clark."

As if expecting that answer, Clark took the knife back and bent it back. "Stab me."

"No."

"Captain, it won't hurt me."

"I can't. Clark ..."

Clark took his hand and forced it down towards his chest. Alexander couldn't have stopped him if he'd thought of it; Clark moved faster than Alexander could think, and his strength was incredible.

The knife smashed into Clark's chest and broke. Pieces of it scattered all over, a couple hitting Alexander.

"Do you see?"

Alexander was grateful that Clark had hold of him. If he hadn't, his legs would have given out and he'd be on the floor, amidst the broken pieces of knife, trying to decide if he should cower or kneel.

"What are you?" he asked.

"My mother thinks I am a gift from heaven." Then he smiled slightly. "She and my father used to have a small farm. One day, there was a storm that devastated the village. Their farm was destroyed. People were killed. The next day, as my parents tried to salvage what was left, Mother found me, floating in a boat in the river."

"A boat."

"Well, it was a small, metal pod floating in the river. It had been caught in the reeds. She took me home, and they adopted me as their own. When my gifts began to develop, Mother said they were from God because, above all, I was His child and blessed."

"This is impossible."

"But true. Do you require further proof?"

Alexander shook his head. "I think further proof would be dangerous to my health." He smiled faintly and extracted his hand from Clark's. Then he placed his hands on Clark's arm and looked at him seriously. "Do not let anyone know." God only knew what his father or Lucas would do with this knowledge.

"I only tell when I must," Clark said. "I hid my gifts from the crew for two months, and when I was discovered ... at first they were hesitant. They are superstitious. My gifts could easily be from the devil. And could easily be used for his works. But, as I proved that I was their friend, they grew to trust me." He frowned. "Now they will turn against me. I've brought pirates upon us, and am good luck no longer."

"I am sorry."

"You did not choose to attack us. Your father did." He licked his lips. "I can help you find whatever it is your father wants. I've a new gift. I can ... see through things."

"What?"

Clark's cheeks grew pink. "See through things. 'Tis how I found the musket ball in Whitney's side so quickly. I looked through him until I found it. I can go to the hold and look through the cargo."

"See through things?"

"Aye."

Alexander went to the chest, where he'd placed his sack. Inside was a cameo of his mother, which he closed his hand over. "Very well. Look through my hand."

Clark took on a look of incredible concentration. His brow furrowed, and eyes seemed to turn in on themselves somehow, their color growing deeper.

"It's a cameo. Of a woman." He looked up at Alexander and smiled. "She's beautiful. Who is she?"

"My mother." He opened his hand and held it out for him. "She was my mother."

Clark's smile disappeared as he took it. "I am sorry."

"It happened long ago. Clark, what you are telling me is impossible."

"But it's true. You've seen it with your own eyes."

"Yes, but Clark ..."

"You touched me where I should have been injured and found none. Even Thomas believed after he touched our Lord and felt his injuries."

"What?"

Clark cocked his head. "When Jesus was resurrected, all the disciples but Thomas had faith and believed it to be him. Thomas said he would not believe until he felt the print of the nails in Jesus' hands, so Jesus bade Thomas touch him, as you touched me. After Thomas felt the wounds, he believed. You, Captain, have seen. You've touched. And still you don't believe."

Alexander rubbed his forehead. "It is not that I don't believe, Clark, for I do. But, perhaps I don't want to believe. These gifts are dangerous. If the wrong person was to discover them, you might be used and exploited. Enslaved."

"I don't think ..."

"I do." Alexander went to him and took his arm. "You are strong, and fast and invulnerable. You can see through things. But you can still be hurt. Your heart is good, and you want to do right by people. Just knowing that, I know many different ways I could twist that goodness and use your gifts to my advantage. I won't, but others will. Lucas will."

Clark blinked and shrunk back. He touched his cheek and shuddered.

"I do not want you to wander the ship by yourself. Even without knowing about your gifts, Lucas will use whatever he can to twist and hurt you. To force you to do his bidding. Do not go anywhere without either me or one of my men to escort you."

Clark looked out the windows a moment, and then back at Alexander. "Part of my appeal to him is my virginity."

Alexander narrowed his eyes warily. "Aye."

"And if I had slept with a woman ..."

Alexander looked at him sharply. The boy hadn't lied to him, had he? "Have you?"

"No. But if I had ... if I told him that I had ..."

"It would not matter. You have not been with a man."

Clark frowned, his brows drawing in. He took a deep breath and said, "Then you should ... take me."

*'Lord, give me strength*', Alexander prayed silently. "No."

"But, Captain ..."

"No. End of this conversation. I will hear no more of it." Turning from Clark, Alexander went to the sea chest and dressed. "We will eat, and then we will go down to the hold together." He pulled his watch from his coat. "It is five-thirty. We've time before the forenoon watch. You can further show me how you can look through things."

"Aye, aye Captain." He went back to the hammock and pulled his coat on. "Lead the way."

Clark emerged from the hatch into the mess slowly. It had been converted to the hospital to hold the injured men, and Clark didn't want anyone seeing him. Most likely, the only one who would report him coming from below would be the doctor, since he was the only man in the room who had regular communication with the captain. Luckily, though, the doctor was gone and the rest of the men were in varying stages of unconsciousness.

He breathed a sigh of relief and emerged from the hold. He'd stayed down longer than he'd meant to; it was five bells now, and he'd left at two, which meant he'd been down in the hold almost an hour and a half. The captain would not be pleased if he knew Clark had gone down alone, especially since he'd been given special permission to go into the hospital in the first place. Damien had been busy, so he'd left Clark in the hospital alone with the doctor, who had gone to the head soon after. When he'd been left alone, Clark had made his escape to look through some of the cargo he and the captain had not yet looked through.

Clark paused over Whitney's sleeping form and said a quick prayer. Then he left, heading back for the captain's cabin.

"Where have you been?" the captain demanded when Clark entered.

Clark flushed and hunched his shoulders. He hated the captain's tone; it made him feel like a naughty child. "I was with Whitney. Dr. Senatori said he was out of danger, so I went to visit him. I told Damien."

The captain arched his eyebrow. "I know. He told me. And then he informed me you were missing. You were missing for almost an hour."

"I was using the head?"

"For an hour?"

Clark tightened his jaw and crossed the room to the basin. His reflection in the glass was dirt-smudged, so he poured water into the basin, picked up the soap, and set to washing himself.

Behind him, the captain sighed. "Clark, you do understand why I don't want you wandering the ship alone, don't you?"

"He didn't even know I was down there. He was on watch."

"And when has that stopped him? He is so very rarely where I've ordered him to be. He's not used to taking orders, Clark. He's only been at sea for six months. And he doesn't respect me."

"I wouldn't let him see me if he came down."

"Clark ..."

He set down the soap. His speed was such an old gift; he didn't even have to think about how fast he wanted to go when he began to race around the cabin. He circled behind the captain twice before snatching the scarf covering his head, and then racing back to the basin. When Clark stopped, he waved the scarf at Captain Luthor and smirked.

The captain did not look amused. "Yes," he said flatly. "I know you are fast. But what if you are looking through a box, trying to find something, and he comes up behind you? Grabs you?"

"Then I will throw him off and run away. I am not completely incapable of taking care of myself, you know. You are the one who has decided to keep such a close eye on me. I've never asked for your help."

"Fine. The maybe you should move back to the forecastle and await your fate."

Clark's stomach dropped. He set down the soap and turned around. "You wouldn't really make me leave. Would you?"

The captain walked to him, eyes cold. "If you continue to disobey me, yes, I would. What is the use of me trying to protect you if you continue to put yourself in danger?"

"I want to help you."

Captain Luthor took a cloth and wet it in the basin. Lifting it to Clark's face, he began to wipe the soap away. "You do help, Clark. You've helped me learn the crew's names quickly. You've helped me settle in. We've looked through a lot of the cargo and decided that none of it was worth the protection of the navy. And ... you've given me a companion these past few days." He smiled. "I've never met a man like you, Clark, and I am glad I have."

Clark grinned, feeling as if his world had just been lit by bright sunbeams. "I feel the same way, Captain."

"I am glad. But, please, do not continue to risk yourself as you have been. Not for me."

"But, Captain, I ..." He frowned, unable to articulate what he was feeling. "You're troubled by this. I can tell. And I know I can help, and do it faster than anyone else. I just ... I just want to help."

"I know. But I don't need to find this right away. We have time. And, if Lucas does find it, we can always take it from him."

"Oh. Of course." Eight bells rain. Clark glanced at the door and sighed. "I'm on watch."

"No." Captain Luthor took him by the arm and led him to the table. "No, you are not. You need to eat and rest."

"But, Captain, I should ... I mean, then men are already talking about me. Saying ... things."

"Things?" He seemed troubled, and Clark hastened to reassure him.

"It was expected, Captain."

"What are they saying?"

Clark felt his cheeks turning red and he found he could not meet the captain's eyes. "They now believe I am devil-spawn. They think I brought the attack upon us. And they say ... they say we are ... That you are ...." He trailed off, terrifically embarrassed.

"I see." His voice was tight and unhappy. "I am sorry. I should have warned you they would assume such a thing."

He took a deep breath and forced himself to look up. "I would not ... I would not mind if it were true."

The captain's eyes went wide. "Excuse me?"

"I would not mind if you were ... if we were ...." Clark stopped and shrugged. "I would like to lay with you."

"What?"

"I want to lay with you, Captain."

The captain's mouth fell open, and he looked at Clark through wide, shocked eyes. Then, inhaling sharply, he crossed the room to the cabinet. He pulled a bottle of rum from it, and took a long drink. His head tilted back as his throat worked, swallowing the rum down without even breathing until the rum was half gone.

"You what?" he asked finally, lowering the bottle.

"I want to lay with you," Clark said again, embarrassment painting his face.

"Do you even know what you're saying?"

"Even if I were innocent of such things before, which I was not, I certainly would know after these past few days. What with Lucas desiring me, and the crew thinking you've already had me, I know. And I've thought on it. I'm ... attracted to you."

"Clark."

Before nervousness made it impossible to act, Clark rose and went to the captain's bed. He climbed into it and looked at the captain shyly. "I'm not on watch."

A smile passed over the captain's face and he shook his head. After taking another drink from the bottle, he went to the chest and dug around. A moment later, he pulled a book from its recesses.

"Can you read, Clark?"

"Aye," Clark said, confused by the topic. He wondered if he should remove his shirt, and wished that the men's words had given him a clue on how, exactly, he was supposed to get into the captain's bed. He assumed the captain would know what to do with him once he got there.

The captain got into bed with him. "Here. Read to me."

Clark took the book, frowning. "But, Captain ..."

"Clark, we have known each other for two days. You are a virgin, and a religious man. We are not going to lay together."

"But ..."

"No. Read."

Heart sinking, Clark took the book. "William Shakespeare? My mother has a book of his sonnets and plays."

"Then you've read them."

"Aye. So I needn't read them again." Clark turned, looking expectantly at the captain.

He smiled patiently and pointed to the book. "Read, Clark."

Clark sighed, opened the book, and dutifully began to read.

"'Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest,/Now is the time that face should form another,'" Clark read dutifully, sounding bored.

Alexander smiled and leaned back against the wall, watching Clark though slitted eyes. The boy could read, which was fortunate. Alexander had always enjoyed having someone read to him. His mother had done it when he was a child, and there was a sense of security that was wrapped in the act. Of course, in his life, it was difficult finding someone who could read, must less be persuaded to read to Alexander. Damien read well, and had a beautifully rich voice, but he didn't enjoy indulging Alexander in his fancies. He did it on occasion, but only when Alexander had promised him sex afterwards.

Ironic, really, considering now Alexander was using poetry to take Clark's mind off sex.

He sighed and touched Clark's hair gently. It was tangled and knotted, as it was often was. Alexander had never seen it groomed nicely. Of course, there had never been a reason for it to be combed, since they were at sea, but Alexander still wanted to see what Clark's hair looked like when it wasn't a snarled mess. So, he climbed out of the bed and went to the chest.

"Should I stop?" Clark asked.

"No. Continue."

He gave a heavy sigh, and turned back to the book, sounding for all the world like a recalcitrant child.

"Clark," Alexander said, as he climbed back on the bed, brush and comb in hand. "Don't you know that poetry is the language of love?"

"Oh?"

"Yes." He moved so he was sitting behind Clark and undid the yarn that had tied his long hair back. "These sonnets are love poems, designed to seduce. Poetry is all about seduction."

"Really?" Clark sounded interested now.

Alexander smiled and began to brush the long black hair. "It is. So, when you read, you should read as if all your heart and soul were in the words." He began to pick through the tangles with the comb, carefully separating the strands.

Clark was silent a moment. Alexander could hear him breathing softly, fingers rustling the pages of the books. Then he lifted the book and began reading again.

"'Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend/Upon thy self thy beauty's legacy'."

Still combing Clark's hair, Alexander suppressed a shudder that ran through him. Yes, this was the way that poetry was supposed to be read. With passion and sensitivity. Alexander had known Clark could read this way, even if the boy hadn't. It was almost as if he had been made to love, and, if Clark really was a child of God, perhaps he had. Alexander had always suspected that God was a bit of a romantic. Just look at sunsets.

And Clark ... was more magnificent than a sunset, Alexander decided as he listened to the cadence of Clark's words. A languorous feeling swept through him as he combed the pretty black waves.

Feeling fanciful, Alexander tried to imagine Clark dressed as a young lord, all in satins and well-fitting clothes as he was presented into society. He'd shine like a star, Alexander knew, clean and fresh-smelling. All eyes would be drawn to his figure as he participated gracefully in a dance or talked shyly to beautiful ladies.

His imagination kept going. Clark, in Alexander's home, reclining on the velvet sedan by a window overlooking the gardens. His head was nestled in Alexander's lap as he was fed grapes, one by one. The book of poems was in his hands and he read in a low voice as his free hand stroked up and down Alexander's leg slowly.

And then, later ... the clothes would be on the floor, and they would make love as the later afternoon sun streamed in through the windows.

Alexander swallowed and shifted. Those were not the type of thoughts he needed right now. The point was to not lay with Clark, not excite his imagination with erotic thoughts.

Those thoughts made Alexander's stomach tighten. And his groin. And, to be perfectly honest, his heart, which was odd. Alexander was vaguely familiar with the concept of love. He'd said the word a few times, to pretty village girls and the occasionally lady of the court. The word, however, was simply a word when he used it, designed to get him permission to slip between the sheets with the object of his desire. He'd never meant it, never felt it. Aye, there had been times in his past when his heart had contained tender feelings for one lady or another, but he'd never committed himself.

And, as for men .... Although Alexander preferred men to women, it was bedsport and nothing more. The most he'd ever felt for a man was a sense of camaraderie, friendship, and lust. There was nothing tender, nothing that resembled love. The fact that Clark affected him so and made him think of love was ... odd and unfamiliar.

Alexander sighed and set the comb aside. Clark knew love, he mused as he picked up the brush and began stroking it through the black waves. Clark was made for love. He had a sweetheart at home, Mistress Lana.

Without having met her, Alexander despised the girl. He could imagine her: pretty, soft, sweet, virtuous, and fair. The type of woman who would always demure to her husband, never have an opinion of her own, have many babies, and remain beautiful forever. And Clark would pine after her forever, unless she had the courage to take Clark as a lover Although Alexander couldn't imagine Lana would do so, at least not with someone beneath her station. It was easy to sleep with many people within your own social standing, and Alexander took advantage of his peers when he was in their company, but Clark was of a different class. And despite wild tales and fantasies, it did not happen much.

But it should, for Clark's sake. Alexander couldn't understand how anyone would not love him, or flout conventions to be with him. Clark was ... he was ...

Clark. There was no other way to describe him. He was purely Clark, and he made Alexander's heart pound whenever he happened to glance at him.

Clark made Alexander think of love.

"Tell me about Lana," Alexander interrupted, because if he was going to think foolish thoughts about falling in love with the boy, then he deserved to torture himself a little.

Clark put the book down and turned. "What?"

"Tell me about Lana. Your love."

"Why?"

"Because two days ago, I was under the impression that she was the one you loved more than anyone in the world, and you wanted nothing more than to marry her. And, today, you are claiming you want to lay with me."

"Love and lust are not the same."

"They are to you."

"Captain ..."

"Clark, you are a man who would not even contemplate taking a woman outside the bonds of marriage. That tells me much about your character."

"I am attracted to you. I have affection for you. You are right: I do love Lana. But ... I love ... love only. Nothing more. I think I love her more than a brother to a sister, but less than ... I suppose, less than Whitney does. As for my claim, I can only answer that Lana never made me feel the way you do."

Big, blue-green eyes blinked up at Alexander, and, for a moment, he felt the world bottom out. How the hell was Clark doing it? With one look, Alexander could feel his entire body lurch and yearn for him. No one affected Alexander like this. Ever. And this boy ...

Alexander swallowed.

"Then why do you love her?"

Clark shrugged. "Because she is lovely, and perfect. I've never seen a flaw in her. She is devout, and kind. She always made time to help others. And she never was pretentious or haughty due to her standing in society. In fact, it was as if she were made better because of it. Mistress Lana would always have a kind word for the less fortunate, or a coin. At Christmas, she would made treats for the children of the village." Clark smiled sadly. "And she was always kind to me."

"You say she has married?"

"Aye. To a man old enough to be her father." His face darkened. "She was frightened of him, but more frightened to disobey her aunt."

Alexander frowned. "Aunt?"

He looked up. "Mistress Lana was orphaned as a child. Her parents were killed in the same storm that led my parents to me. Her aunt and uncle raised her and, since they were childless, treated her as her own. They betrothed her to Lord Summerville when she was eleven years old." Clark sounded angry, and his face twisted into a scowl.

Alexander shrugged, unable to feel Clark's anger. "I know of such things. It's quite common."

"But it's not fair. Whitney and Lana share the purest love I've ever seen."

"Marriage isn't about love; it's a business."

"I know. It just feels so wrong to me. Love is ... beautiful. Being one with your husband or wife, experiencing the joys of the flesh, and the beauty of joining with them." Clark sighed and shook his head. "I feel that it should be more than simply a business contract. Marriage is the most sacred part of life, and the most holy. I cannot believe that God really wanted it to be used for profit."

Absently, Alexander reached out and brushed some hair off Clark's face. "And yet it happens. Every day."

"I know." Clark shifted uncomfortably. "I wish it didn't. I wish we could always marry where we love."

Alexander gazed at Clark fondly and silently agreed. He knew of many a person who would have been happier had they married the person their heart drew them too, rather than by arrangement.

Clark looked at him a moment, and then away. A flush stole over his cheeks. "Do you know how I know Whitney's love for Lana is more true than mine?"

"How?"

"Whitney desires her. Wants to be with her. I have heard him speak of their children, and of their life together. I have read his letters to her, and seen how he laid out beautiful fantasies of their joining, of lying together in bed, of being one flesh." Clark sighed. "I tried to feel the same way. I knew I loved her. My heart leapt when I was near, and I would feel breathless and happy. But my dreams of having her were never ... right. I never felt them. Not as deeply as Whitney seemed to. And now, having met you, I know ... She and I weren't destined to be together. My love was that of a child, whereas Whitney's was that of a man." He bit his lip and looked at Alexander.

"As you said before, Clark, lust is not necessarily love. Whitney lusting after Lana does not make his love more true than yours."

"Perhaps not," Clark agreed. "But there is room for desire and lust in love. It is right and good for a man to want to lay with his beloved. My dreams tended more towards protecting her, keeping her safe and happy. Being with her as a man and woman are made to be together never really entered my mind. That is why if Mistress Lana had wanted to run away to be with him, I would have helped her. I truly believe that God would have blessed their union."

Alexander smiled softly. "Perhaps the world would be a better place if people were allowed to be with those they loved. My mother certainly would have been happier." He ran the brush through Clark's hair and sighed. "I think she would have married a poet or a painter. Someone who suited her romantic tendencies better than my father."

"They were not happy?"

"Father was. My mother ... was happy to have me. She lavished affection on me, probably because not much existed in our house. But happiness never seemed to enter into their marriage."

Clark stretched out on his stomach. "Your family ... are you rich?"

"Aye. My parents were landed gentry, my mother the only child to a great fortune. My father was ... nobler in blood than rich in the purse, but he did quite well in trade in his early days. The match was advantageous mostly on his side."

"Well, then are you promised to anyone?"

"I was. I was promised to the daughter of my father's dearest friend, Gabriel Sullivan. Her name was ..." He thought a moment before the name came to him. "Chloe. Her name was Chloe. Sullivan and my father grew up together, and later were partners in trade. Sullivan was part of my life until I was fifteen years old. And then he and Father fought. Sullivan had always disapproved of my father turning privateer, but he said nothing for years. When I was fourteen, he asked my father to sell his portion of the business. My father refused, and they fought long and hard. In the end, Father gave in. He spent the next year attacking ships that belonged to Sullivan." He smiled wryly, a smile that Clark returned, as if he, too, appreciated the obviousness of what had happened.

"So, the engagement was broken off?"

"Aye."

Clark licked his lips. "Did you ever meet her?"

"A few times. She was a bit of a hoyden, which I found at times charming and times annoying. Pretty, although young. I think she's about your age, actually, and I've no doubt she'll be marrying someone soon." He frowned. "She was clever. I remember that. Her father had her educated well, much to his chagrin at times, for she could think circles around some men and always spoke her mind." Alexander thought about her a moment more, then shrugged ruefully. "Actually, it might have been a good match all around, for I could not tolerate a vapid wife."

"Do you want to marry?" Clark asked through a yawn.

Alexander shrugged and propped himself on his elbow. He reached out and began to lazily stroke Clark's hair. "'Tis not so much a desire as a ... a certainty. I have lands. I have a name that needs to continue. In order to have heirs, I need to marry."

"But you said you preferred men."

"That doesn't mean I don't enjoy the company of a woman. Besides, it would be a business arrangement."

Clark rolled onto his side, gazing up at Alexander through sleep-heavy eyes. "I would never marry for anything but love."

He smiled. "You would not have to. No one could look on you without falling in love."

Clark returned the smile. His eyes fell shut.

Sensing his companion was succumbing to sleep, Alexander reached for the book.

"Captain?"

"Yes?"

"What do men do when they are in love?"

"What do you mean?"

"Men and women marry. What do men do?"

Alexander blinked. "I do not know," he answered after a moment. "I suppose they live together much like man and wife."

Clark smiled and closed his eyes again.

Alexander opened the book and flipped through until he found a sonnet he liked. "When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes / I all alone beweep my outcast state, /And trouble deaf Heaven with my bootless cries, / And look upon myself, and curse my fate." He stopped when Clark began to snore softly. Then he smiled and set the book down and rested his head against the wall.

He must have fallen asleep, for when there was a sharp rap on the door, he jerked, startled. Clark had rolled onto his back, and his head was resting against Alexander's thighs.

Careful not to wake him, Alexander climbed out of bed and went to the door. "Doctor," he said, frowning. He'd thought it was Damien. If he had known, he would have drawn the curtains over the bed.

"May I speak with you, Captain?"

"Of course." He stepped back and let the doctor in. "There is rum on the table, if you like," Alexander said as he walked to the bed and drew the curtains around Clark. Then he went to the desk and sat behind it.

Dr. Senatori was gazing at the bed, looking troubled.

Eyes narrowing, Alexander said, "Doctor?"

He blinked and looked almost guiltily at Alexander. "I'm sorry, Captain."

"Is something troubling you, Doctor?"

"No. Of course not. It's only ... What the men are saying is true, then? You and the boy ...."

"It's really none of your business."

"No, it isn't. Except it is hard to think well of a man who is abusing a boy in his cabin nightly. I know such things happen, but that does not mean I must approve."

Alexander raised and eyebrow and inclined his head slightly. "Set your mind at rest, Doctor, I haven't touched the boy." Much, he added in his head. And not in a satisfactory way for either of us.

The doctor's face cleared and he sighed. "I see."

"We were reading. The boy is extremely bright."

"I know. That, actually, is why I am here. My assistant was killed during the battle. I thought I would be able handle it, but there were too many men injured, and many of them are falling ill. I need help, and the Kent boy seems to be the most likely candidate to help me. He did quite well with Mr. Fordman, and I thought he might be of further use to me. Whatever skills he would learn with me would be quite valuable should he continue to sail." He raised an eyebrow. "I know he is as uneducated as the next man onboard, but ..."

"He isn't. Uneducated, I mean. His mother was a teacher to a nobleman's son, and Clark sat in on the lessons. He can read, at the very least."

The doctor smiled. "Then I can teach him anatomy and such as well."

Alexander raised an eyebrow. "Bored, doctor?"

"Well." His cheeks colored slightly. "The days do drag on a bit."

Alexander nodded and thought a moment. The men were beginning to turn on Clark; he'd heard the rumblings, and seen how they shied away from him as much as possible. Clark was isolated and alone in work and in his spare time. He might enjoy a change of duty.

He glanced at the bed where Clark still slept. "I will ask him."

"I want to do it," Clark's voice floated through the curtains.

Alexander couldn't help but grin, and he turned to the doctor. "There. You have your answer."

"So I heard." The doctor sounded amused. "Do you want to start now, Clark, or wait until you wake up?"

Clark emerged from the bed, looking rumpled, but rested. Alexander wondered how long they had been asleep. "Now's fine." He seemed eager and happy.

"You're off watch until further notice, Clark. Now, go have fun," Alexander said.

"Thank you, Captain. Doctor?"

The doctor rose and touched Clark's arm gently. "This way."

The next few days passed swiftly for Clark. He spent most of the time in the company of the doctor, listening to his lectures, pouring over his books, or applying what he'd learned to the men. Whitney had not been the only man gravely injured, and Clark spent a lot of time trying to nurse the injured men back to health. Some were growing better, and even returned to duty. Other's recovered more slowly, but progress was being made. Whitney was one of them.

The work was interesting, if a little disheartening. The bandages were filthy and smelled horrible, and Clark wasn't sure if he would be able to do much good. He did his best to bring comfort to the men, even taking the captain's book of poetry at one point, and reading it to them. Only Whitney seemed to appreciate it, though, which made him feel worse.

Clark sighed and turned the page of the anatomy book the doctor had given to him to study. The text was dry and uninteresting, speaking of the humors and circulation of the blood through the body. The pictures were interesting, but inaccurate. Clark had taken to comparing what he saw in the books to what he could see in the people onboard. He'd even begun to draw his own pictures on paper he had borrowed from the captain, and kept them tucked inside the back of the doctor's book. One day, he decided, he would find a way to get them published, so doctors would have accurate pictures to work from.

"Clark," the doctor said, walking up to him.

Clark, who was sitting against the bow of the ship, book propped against his legs, looked up. "Yes, Doctor?"

"I need you to go change Robert's bandage."

"Can I take him some rum? He was in great pain when I visited him earlier."

He nodded. "You may. I am going below for awhile."

"What if I have questions?"

A look of annoyance crossed over his face. "You are only changing a bandage, not doing anything else. You should have no questions that need answering until I return."

Clark frowned but nodded. "Aye, sir." He rose and closed his book.

Dr. Senatori preceded him to the galley, to Clark's surprise. He stood in the doorway as Clark fetched the bottle of rum, watching him closely, but not moving. When Clark left, he saw the doctor enter the galley, going about his business. Clark wondered at it for a moment, and then shrugged it away, going to the mess.

There were six men inside, including Whitney, who was lying fast asleep on a pile of blankets underneath a window. The other men were in similar states of unconsciousness, so Clark had to wake his charge.

This man, Robert's, was the worst of all the inured. He'd been sliced with a sword through his stomach, but not died. The doctor had haphazardly stitched the wound, which now oozed pus. The man himself was feverish and stank. He seemed to worsen every time Clark saw him, which made his heart sink and mood darken.

"Hello, Roberts," he said cheerily, fighting back gloom. "I've some rum for you."

Roberts was sweating with fever, his face sickly pale. "Thank you, Kent. You are kind." He took the bottle and, with Clark's help, took a long drink. "Tell me, how did a lad like you end up doing this work?"

Clark shrugged and put the bottle down. "The doctor's assistant was killed, and I saved a man's life. The captain thought I could help." He licked his lips and carefully undid the soiled bandage wrapped around Roberts' waist.

Eyes glassy, Roberts blinked. "You're lucky, lad. There's almost nothing more valued at sea than a surgeon. Study well, and you'll have your life set for you out here."

"I am grateful ... Oh." Clark grimaced at the sight of Roberts' wound, for it was red, angry, and smelled of death. There was pus oozing from it, and the stitches had rotted. "Oh, Roberts."

He laughed wheezily. "No doubt the sawbones will be teaching you to ... to cut me up, next."

Clark liked his lips as his stomach turned at the thought. Glancing at the door, he thought a moment, unsure of what to do. He was just supposed to change the bandage, but, if he did, Roberts would surely die. The wound was disgusting, and needed attention. Nothing in the books he'd read could help him. No doubt, they'd advise him to start praying. But Clark had to do something.

"I'm going to clean and restitch your wound," he said, rising. The doctor kept his supplies in a cabinet, which Clark opened with the key hanging on the wall next to it. Inside were his surgeon tools and a bottle of distilled alcohol. He took those to the bed, and then took the pitcher of water and basin to the bed too. Finding a relatively clean cloth, Clark sat down and lifted Roberts' head. "Drink," he urged, giving him some more rum.

The man obeyed, but when Clark lowered his head, he protested, "Clark, I'm gone. Don't waste your time."

"And don't waste yours trying to dissuade me. I'm doing this." Clark threaded the needled and then picked up the scissors, slowly cutting away the stitches.

When the wound opened, blood and pus began to ooze out. Roberts gasped and, after a moment or two, passed out.

Clark continued on, undeterred. He dipped the cloth into the water, and then poured some of the alcohol onto it. Then he set about trying to clean up the worst of the gunk from Roberts' wound. He worked quickly, using his gifts to speed the process along. He encouraged the flow of blood, hoping that it would clean what he missed.

When he was satisfied, Clark picked up the needled and thread. He began to sew the skin back together, using small, tight stitches as he'd seen his mother use. He'd grown proficient with a needle since coming to sea, but mending the sails and his own clothing hadn't prepared him for sewing together human flesh. So, he called to his mind the image of his mother bending over a quilt, and tried to copy the movements. He knew he was moving faster than men could see, and was glad. This had to be painful and Clark wanted to get it over with as soon as possible. Roberts was still alive, and if Clark could save him some pain, he would.

Finally, it was done. He closed off the thread and broke it off. Then he mopped down Roberts' sweaty brow. Clark paid no mind to the blood covering him as he rebandaged the wound and put everything back where he found it.

"Clark."

Startled, Clark turned. "Whitney. I thought you were asleep."

He nodded. "I was. I woke when he cried out." Whitney struggled to sit up, causing Clark to help him.

"You shouldn't exert yourself."

"Sorry." He was breathing hard and sweating again.

Clark quickly fetched the rum and gave Whitney some. "How do you feel?"

"Sick. Injured. But I will be fine." Whitney's face darkened. "Clark ... I've heard the rumors. About you and the captain." He looked Clark in the eyes. "Is it true?"

Clark's face went hot and he looked down. "Aye. No. I ... I don't know. No."

"Too many answers, my friend. Which is it?"

"No," Clark said softly. "The captain has not touched me, but not for lack of me wanting."

"What?"

He looked up at Whitney. "I've feelings for the captain. Desires. I want ... The crew accuses me of things I've never done, but I've done them in my mind, so maybe they are right. He is only trying to protect me from Lucas. But he ... he is tugging at my heart."

Whitney sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Clark, he is a pirate. He is not an honorable man. Don't allow him to confuse you. You've been at sea a long time; perhaps it is just the normal longings men get. And confusing your lusts with deeper feelings ... well, I've seen the captain, and he is, I suppose, pretty. His features are delicate, and they remind you of a woman. But ..."

"No. I want the captain because he is a man."

"But, Clark ..."

"Whitney, I am not a child. I am not innocent and I am tired of everyone trying to say that my desires are not what they are. I want to lay with the captain because he draws me to him. He makes me think the same thoughts Mistress Lana made you."

Whitney's face changed. He looked ... sympathetic and sad. "Oh, Clark," he sighed. "I wish I could spare you from the heartache that will most certainly befall you. He's a pirate, Clark. He doesn't know love."

Clark blinked. "I didn't say I loved him."

"You don't have to. It's in your eyes." He sighed again and touched Clark's hair gently. "If it were just desire, I could help you with that. But it is more, isn't it?"

"It is more, but ... but ..." He frowned. "Do you think it is love?"

"How do you feel around him?"

Clark thought, a smile spreading across his face as he thought of his captain. "Happy. Nervous. Like I'm flying."

Whitney nodded. "Aye. It is love."

"You were just lucky he didn't die," Dr. Senatori said sharply.

Clark flushed and bent his head over his work. "I just did what I thought was best."

"You have been studying for two days, Clark. Two days. I've been a doctor for twenty years. How dare you second guess me?"

"You did a poor job stitching that man. I understand you were busy at the time, but I see no reason I shouldn't have done it."

Alexander laughed softly, and turned to face the sea. He was glad Clark had stood up for himself, considering the state he'd returned to the cabin after performing the impromptu surgery. He'd been covered in blood, shaken, and a little dazed. When Alexander had touched him, he'd flinched back and retreated to his hammock where he had laid for nearly and hour, his back to the rest of the cabin. When he finally rose, he'd still been dazed, but he'd docilely allowed Alexander to wash the blood from him and comb his hair. Clark had changed into a clean shirt on his command, and had eaten everything that was put before him.

Still, he'd worried Alexander. Clark's too-wide eyes had followed Alexander all night, even after they'd retired. When they'd awaken, Clark had still been subdued. But now, listening to him argue with the doctor, Clark was acting himself again. The tight knot that had formed in Alexander's chest eased and all was well.

"Brother."

"Yes, Lucas?"

"Tell me," Lucas said as he leaned against the railing. Alexander knew without looking his eyes were on Clark and the doctor across the quarterdeck. "Did you ask the doctor to take your boy because you were tired of keeping watch on watch?"

"No. Dr. Senatori asked for Clark's help. He is very intelligent and his talents need a better outlet than ship work."

Lucas snorted. "I could give him an outlet for his talents."

Alexander turned. "Stay away from him."

"Why do you care?" He seemed genuinely interested, as if he really didn't know.

"I find your sport disgusting. I think what you would do to him is abominable."

Lucas sighed and shook his head as if he were very disappointed. "Brother, I find your hypocrisy astounding."

Alexander stiffened. "I don't know what ..."

"Your story is famous. It's all anyone talked about for months, how you brought bad luck on the ship by driving that boy to suicide. Father even had to get a new ship, since no one would sail on it after. Really, brother, you have no right to be so up in arms about my interest in Clark." Lucas smiled as Alexander's insides turned cold. "Perhaps I'll go gently on him. Take a lesson from you. I won't hurt him; just keep at him until he, too, kills himself. Might be fun."

Alexander punched him.

Unprepared, Lucas tumbled overboard, falling into the water with a large splash.

"Man overboard!" someone shouted.

Lucas surfaced, sputtering and panicked. "Alexander!" he screamed. "Help!"

He walked away as if he didn't hear. "Get him up," he said to Damien as he passed. "But drag him along for awhile. I'll be in my cabin."

"Bless my parents, and watch over them. Make their lives comfortable and full, and give them solace since I am still gone from their lives. Send them hope and allow them to know in their hearts that I am safe and happy where I am, although I miss them terribly. Bless Mistress Lana and her new husband. Make their marriage fruitful and loving. Bless Mistress Lana with the children I know she has dreamed of, and allow them to fill her heart with love. Please watch over this ship, bless the crew and our mission. Allow the winds to favor us, and the pirate crew to continue to act with honor and mercy to their taken crew. And please," Clark licked his lips, "please watch over the captain. He has seemed sad the past few days, and I don't know why. And please ... please let him love me as I do him. Let him take me into his heart as I know you have taken him into yours. Amen."

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Captain Luthor said, hesitating at the door.

"I was done," Clark said. He went to the table, where supper was laid out. It wasn't very appealing; today it looked as if the cook had merely thrown everything that wasn't hardtack into water and presented it as stew. But, Clark hoped it was edible, for he was hungry. "Dinner is ready."

"Thank you, Clark," Captain Luthor smiled at him as he sat at the table and bowed his head as Clark said a quick prayer to bless the meal.

"Captain," Clark said as he eyed the fruit the cook had given him warily. It looked as if it were about to walk away.

"Yes?"

"Tomorrow is Sunday."

"Yes, I know."

Clark flushed. "We normally have services every third Sunday. All hands on deck at 10 during the forenoon watch."

"Ah." Captain Luthor frowned and nodded. "Well, I do not want to disrupt the normal way the ship is run. Do the men seem to respond well to the services?"

"Aye," Clark said slowly, thinking about it. He'd always liked the services, but he was different from the crew. Clark felt a close affinity to God due to his gifts, which he firmly believed were from the heavenly Father. Even if they weren't, Clark had to remain true to his faith, lest he use his gifts for evil deeds.

The captain arched and eyebrow. "Do they?"

"I did. I've not heard the others say a word against them. Captain Jaggary, our first captain, not the naval one who came over, allowed anyone not of Christian faith to remain below if they so chose."

"Very well. Then I shall do the same. I'll have Dr. Senatori lead the service."

"Thank you, Captain."

"Of course."

Clark ate his fruit in silence; it was a little spoiled, but he never got sick, so it did not matter. It seemed to make the captain feel better when Clark ate everything, spoiled though it may be.

"How go your studies?"

"Well. I'm having trouble understanding many words that are used, so the doctor has begun to teach me Latin. That's mostly what we concentrated on today, except when he went below and I was with the injured men." He smiled impishly as he stirred his soup. "I think the doctor has troubled bowels. He spends much time in the head each day."

"Does he?" the captain asked, sounding uninterested.

"Yes."

"Do you enjoy the work?"

Clark nodded. "It's ... different. Spending my days reading about blood and disease and humors and such. It's very different from poetry and arithmetic my mother taught me, nor is it like the rigging and the swabbing of the ship." He looked up at the captain, feeling a flush steal over his cheeks. He couldn't help it; ever since Whitney had confirmed that Clark was in love with the captain, he had felt like a lovesick fool. "Thank you for letting me do this."

"My pleasure."

He ate some of his soup, wishing that the captain did not still seem so depressed.

"The men still avoid you, though," he said after a few moments.

"Aye," Clark admitted. "And their taunts have grown louder. They don't know what to think of my new status." He licked his lips. "Captain, I wouldn't mind if we were ..."

"No." Captain Luthor rose and walked to the door.

"Why not? I want it. I want ... I want you," Clark persisted, rising.

He turned. "Clark, you do not know what you want. You are young and away from home. The world has turned on its side for you and now you've been thrust into a world you do not really understand. There is a goodness in you, Clark, that I cannot bring myself to destroy."

"You wouldn't. Not you. It would be different with you than him." Clark couldn't bring himself to say the name.

He snorted and shook his head. "Nay. It would not, not in the end. The pain would still be there. Oh, pleasure too. Definitely pleasure, and I would show you things you have never imagined. But, once it was over, and we were on land, and my father had whatever he wanted, things would be different."

"How?"

Captain Luthor looked away. "I am going to part ways with my father, I believe. Go back to England, whether it be on my own ship, or as a passenger, I don't know. I will take you home, and once you are there, you will realize the evil I have done to you."

Home. Clark's head spun at the thought.

"Home?"

"Aye. I'll take you home, provide you the pay you are due as sailor, and leave. You shall go back to your life as a farmer or servant or whatever you were. You will continue to love your Mistress Lana until someone who is of your station captures you heart. You will raise children who are as blessed by God as you." He finally looked at Clark, eyes raw and full of pain. "Don't you understand that I cannot be no part of that life? By your faith, your religion, what you want is a sin. What I would do to you is a sin, and I cannot bring myself to taint you."

Clark shook his head and approached his captain slowly. "It is not what you would do to me. It is what we would do with each other. And I have reconciled myself to the idea that I will sin." He took a deep breath. "But it is a sin in the eyes of the church. I cannot believe any form of love, or any expression of it, is a sin."

"You can say that now, here. Away from priests and those who would condemn you. But when you're home ..."

"Then I shall stay with you," he interrupted.

Captain Luthor shook his head. "No, Clark. You want to return home. I can see it in your eyes, and your reaction when I told you. You don't want to stay with me."

He swallowed and whispered, "But I do. Forever. People are meant to be together like that."

The captain raised his eyebrow. "When they marry." He frowned. "Unless you are saying you want to marry me."

Clark frowned as his stomach quivered at the thought. He had never thought of it in those terms, but the captain was correct. "I want to ... be as if we were married."

Captain Luthor closed his eyes. "You are precious in your innocence. You know not what you say."

"I do!" Clark shouted. "I am not a child. I am not daft or innocent or pure. I am a man and I have lusts and feelings and hungers just as any man. I lust for you. I burn for you. I want you. Stop trying to protect me!"

The captain looked at him for a long time. He was frowning and looked confused, as if he were not sure what to think.

Finally, he shook his head. "I am sorry, Clark." And then he left.

"This is not the end!" Clark called after him. "I will not let you do this to me!"

There was no response.

Furious, Clark stalked to the bed and threw himself on it. The captain was being unreasonable. Treating Clark as if he were a child, and an extremely simple one at that. Clark knew what he wanted from Captain Luthor was considered a sin. He simply didn't care. His relationship with God was secure, and no church, no body on earth, would ever make him believe what he wanted and felt was wrong.

But the captain didn't hear him. He persisted in seeing Clark as young and as someone who did not know his own mind. The truth was, Clark knew his own mind very well. And he knew his heart.

He suspected that the captain knew neither.

"No," Clark corrected himself out loud. "He knows his mind well but that is all he knows. I shall have to teach him his heart."

Alexander spent the rest of the day avoiding Clark. When Clark was on deck, dutifully conjugating Latin verbs, Alexander was in the cabin, or below decks, going through cargo, trying to find whatever it was his father wanted. When Clark was in the cabin, Alexander was on deck.

But Clark's eyes seemed to follow him everywhere. It hurt. Alexander hurt. He wanted the boy so badly. His resistance was wearing down, even though he knew he must be strong. Alexander was right in his matter; he wanted to do right by the boy. He wanted to take him home and have him settle into a life where he could be safe, be happy, and forget Alexander.

No matter how much it pained him.

There was a knock on the door. Alexander looked up from the captain's log, which he was going over once again for a clue as to what was on the ship.

"Enter," he called.

The door opened and Damien stepped in. "Captain?"

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Come in, Damien."

"Are you all right?" He crossed the room, taking a chair from the table and pulling it to the desk.

"I'm fine. I'm just tired of not knowing what I am looking for. The captain was very careful only to note that officers from the Royal Navy were joining them for the return voyage without stating why." He yawned and rubbed his eyes again. "I wonder if he even knew."

"I think I have a clue as to what it is."

"Oh?"

"Your brother and his men have been going through the men's belongings."

Alexander looked up. "What?"

"They are looking through their belongings," he repeated. "They've also been interrogating the crew when they are off watch, and threatening them to keep silent. Hamilton also noticed that Nixon spent four hours yesterday keeping an eye on the head."

He closed the log. "Why the head?" he mused. "I understand the interrogations if it's a person, but the head?"

Damien shrugged. "Perhaps this person has a distinctive marking. A tattoo, or birth mark or ..."

"Or genitalia," Alexander suggested.

"Sir?"

He smiled. "We could be looking for a woman in disguise."

"I hadn't thought of that."

"'Tis one possibility, and one we should keep in mind as we look." He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "So, a person. Perhaps a woman. Lucas has been sent here to assassinate this person, or he has information my father wants. Either way, we need to find him first." Alexander reached into one of the drawers and pulled the roster from the desk. "We're having Sunday services tomorrow, with all hands assembled. Afterwards, I want you to call the roster and account for everyone."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

"In the meantime, look for anything unusual."

"I will."

Alexander sighed and rubbed his eyes. "We have, roughly, two weeks until we dock. If we don't find who we are looking for before then ..." He sighed. "Why have I been kept from this?"

"Perhaps because whoever we are looking for requires your brother's singular talents. And your father knows that you will not approve."

"And he wants it done before we dock. Damn," Alexander swore. "And it's not Clark. It should be, but it isn't. Clark is entertainment, and whoever Father is looking for ..."

"Is business," Damien finished.

"Aye. Is business." He sighed again and rubbed his eyes.

"Do you have a headache, Lex?" Damien said.

Alexander opened his eyes. Damien rarely called Alexander by his nickname, and he was the only one who was allowed to anymore. "Lex" had been a name given to Alexander by a childhood friend who'd found the word, "Alexander" to cumbersome to say. His mother liked the nickname, and had called Alexander by it until she'd died. Damien was privileged to it because he was Alexander's closest friend at sea, and even then, he only used it when they were intimate.

"I do," he admitted. "Right behind my eyes. I've had it since this afternoon."

Damien rose, circling behind Alexander. He placed his hands on Alexander's shoulders and began massaging them firmly. "Did anything happen?"

"Clark and I fought." He sighed. "The boy is getting ... I don't know. He doesn't know what he wants and I am forced to put up with his confused notions." Alexander sighed again and allowed his eyes to fall shut.

"Why don't you have him move out of your cabin, then? I'm sure the doctor would allow Clark to sleep in his."

"And then Lucas will kill the doctor, rape Clark, and all this torture would have been wasted. No, thank you."

Damien said nothing in reply. He continued to massage Alexander's shoulders a moment, before pulling the scarf from his head. "I like the way you look when you shave." Lips brushed over his scalp. "More dignified, somehow."

Alexander held his breath until Damien's teeth closed over his earlobe. Then he hissed sharply and jumped, causing his friend to laugh.

"You've the most sensitive ears of anyone I know." He tugged the chair out from the desk and turned it around. "I know something that will make your headache go away." A smile playing over his lips, he leaned in, licked the small indent beneath Lex's ear, and then lowered himself to his knees.

Alexander swallowed and closed his eyes. His heart was pounding so loud he could hear it, and his limbs were trembling. He wanted this. It was fun. He needed something fun and enjoyable to take his mind off things. To take his mind off Clark.

So why did it feel so wrong?

Damien undid Lex's sword belt and let it fall to the ground. He quickly unbuttoned the vest and pulled up his shirt.

"Damien," Alexander whispered through a dry throat.

Damien was unfastening his breeches, tongue sliding down Alexander's stomach to his crotch.

He inhaled and tried to relax. Tried to want this. Try to do anything but think about how Clark was just outside on deck and could walk in at any moment.

"What's wrong?" Damien asked, nuzzling his pathetically limp sex.

Alexander sighed and pushed Damien off him. "I can't. Clark might walk in." He rose from the chair.

"So? He'll see that we're busy and leave." Damien stepped into Alexander and wrapped his arms around him. "What do you want?"

'Clark,' he thought, but he merely shook his head. "No, Damien. Thank you, but no."

Damien frowned. "Why not?"

He pulled away and turned to face the window. "I don't know. It's ... everything, I suppose. I'm tired, I've a headache, Lucas is making me insane, Clark ... Clark keeps trying to get into my bed, and I have to push him out, and ..."

"Why?" Damien sounded almost aghast. "He's offering himself to you and you're refusing?"

"Aye," Alexander said miserably.

"I know you're attracted to him. Why would you deny yourself the pleasure? Believe me, if that boy were making overtures to me, I'd have taken him many times by now."

He laughed helplessly. "I know. And I almost did the first night. But he's a virgin ..."

"So?"

"Who's never been with a man ..."

"So?"

"Who's so bloody beautiful that he makes me ache to be near him."

"So take him." Damien turned Alexander around and held him by the shoulders. "I know you're not abstaining out of any loyalty to me. Why ..."

"He says he loves me," Alexander whispered. He shook his head and sighed. "He says he loves me, and I cannot hurt him."

Damien's entire face changed and he released Alexander. He took a step back, looking Alexander as if he'd never seen him before.

"What?"

"My God. You're in love with him."

Alexander snorted. "Damien ..."

"You are, Lex. Otherwise, you would have had him without a second thought. You wouldn't be willing to torture yourself if you weren't. I know you. I've been your closest companion since you were sixteen, and you've never done anything like this."

"Damien, love isn't real."

"Don't attempt to talk your way out of this, Lex. You feel what you feel. You of all people should know that, with your poetry and ... You're a romantic." He smiled and shrugged. "You always have been. Only you were sent astray by certain incidents in your life. I think Clark is what you need to bring you back."

He was frightened. Damien, his best friend, was telling him ... telling him the impossible And yet ...

"No."

Damien shook his head. "Deny it all you want, my friend, but I know you. I've seen the way you look at Clark, but only now do I understand. You're in love with Clark Kent."

Alexander sighed and rubbed his eyes. "And may God have mercy on my soul."

The captain had not spoken to Clark since their fight. Despite his still bruised feelings, Clark watched him throughout the services on Sunday morning. Dr. Senatori read to them, choosing a passage from the Bible and leading the crew in prayer. Clark was gratified to see he was not the only man who seemed to find solace and comfort in the words; many of the men, including Hamilton and Jenkins, who'd come from the pirate ship, prayed and listened respectfully.

As for Lucas and his companions, well ... Clark had never expected them to listen to the words of God. The stood at the bow of the ship, sharing a bottle of rum, talking. Lucas kept his eyes on Clark much of the time, but he ignored him, listing to the service, and watching his captain.

Captain Luthor spent the service on the quarterdeck, eyes on Clark, who had taken his place with the men. They watched each other steadily, the captain as if he were unable to look away, and Clark not wanting to look anywhere else. He bowed his head for the prayers, but the rest of the time, he watched the captain with increasing longing.

After the final prayer, Captain Luthor asked for them all to remain on deck.

"We have been sailing with each other a week tomorrow and, thus far, you have proven yourself to be an excellent crew. You are resourceful and cunning. You understand the necessity of cooperating with my men and me. I thank you for that. I tell you again that I do not know my father Captain Luthor's plans for your ship. I do know that you will be paid for your service, and offered a chance to sign articles and join our crew on the 'Lady Lillian.'"

A murmur went through the crew. Clark could tell quite a few were interested by the offer. Being a sailor paid little, and the lure of gold and adventure was tempting to all.

Clark knew his mind already, and he tried to telegraph his desires to the captain. But Captain Luthor was avoiding his eyes, which made his heart sink. Clark would gladly turn pirate to stay near Alexander for the rest of his life. He would risk never seeing his family again, for didn't the Bible say that a man would leave his home to become one with his wife? Captain Luthor was no woman, and Clark did not know what two men living as a married couple would be called, but the principle seemed the same.

"Mr. Walters is now going to take an account of the crew. We wish to check it against the crew roster for our own records. When your name is called, please say 'Aye,' loud enough for him to hear." Then he stepped back.

Damien stepped to the railing of the quarterdeck and began calling the roster in a loud, clear voice.

Clark only listened with half and ear. Instead, he puzzled over Dr. Senatori's reaction to the roll call. The man had paled slightly and shot a frightened look at the captain. As if he ...

As if he knew something. The doctor knew what they were looking for, only now it appeared the "what" was a "who." But who could it be? Clark mentally ran down the list of whom he knew on the crew. Not many had been killed in the battle: Adams, Rodgers, Mathews, Davis, Donnelly, and Foster, whose identity Captain Luthor had given to Whitney. And the officers, of course.

Finally, the last name was called. The captain ordered a double ration of rum to be served to everyone. Clark fell into line.

"If it's not the captain's toy," one man remarked. "Don't you get enough wif 'im?"

"Na," another said. "He's too busy being buggered to get anything. That's all 'e does all day, 'cept of course when 'e's out 'ere, reading 'is fancy books. They think we don' know what's going on."

"I bet he's being he gets the best, our Kent does," the first man said again. "'as to keep up his strength."

The both snickered and continued to speculate about what Clark was getting from the captain. As usual, Clark ignored them. He wasn't angry, for he understood their frustration. Clark was the youngest of everyone on the ship, and the only one who'd never been to sea. To see him suddenly having everything so easy--or so they supposed--must be impossible for them.

The irony, of course, was Clark didn't think the men actually thought he was sleeping with the captain. They just said it to get under his skin. Or, perhaps they did think so. It didn't matter, though, since what Clark wanted more than anything was admittance to the captain's bed, and that was the one thing he was refused. So the men could talk about him all they wanted; they couldn't hurt him. The only real pain was the one in his heart.

"Hullo, pet," Lucas purred as he slid into line behind Clark.

He stiffened. "Your brother," he began, but Lucas snorted, and began to toy with Clark's hair.

"My brother is back in his cabin. Damien is in ... conversation with the doctor. No one else cares about you." The hand not in Clark's hair slid down the back of his breeches and teased the top of Clark's crease. "How long are you going to make me wait?" he asked. When the line began moving forward, Lucas took hold of Clark's shirt and dragged him out of line and behind the shelter of some barrels. They were not hidden by any means, but no one was paying them any mind.

Clark swallowed as Lucas pulled him around so they were face to face. "You will not have me," he replied.

Lucas laughed. "Spoken with such confidence. Many have spoken so before, and all have fallen to me."

"You speak as if I am a city to be conquered or a ship to be taken. I am neither."

"No. Not country, nor ship, nor city, nor town. You are nothing but flesh and blood, and I shall enjoy feeling your blood pound as I sample the delights of your flesh." He stepped closer to Clark and took him by the hair. "Do you realize that right now, I could do so much to you? Right on this deck, and no one cares. I could force you to your knees and make you suck me."

Clark frowned, not understanding.

Lucas smiled. "So innocent." He released Clark's hair and slid down his body.

Kneeling so his face was only inches away from Clark's crotch, Lucas looked up at him. "Do you know how sensitive this is, Clark?" He rubbed against the front of Clark's breeches, causing him to gasp. "Do you know how good it tastes? Like sweat and life and substance. And the feeling is ... like touching heaven." He opened his mouth and leaned in.

"No," Clark moaned weakly as Lucas' mouth found the head of his sex through the fabric. He could feel the heat and wetness surround the sensitive skin. Against his will, he pulsed and hardened.

Lucas laughed.

Clark swallowed hard and thrust Lucas away. Not expecting the rebuff, he fell back, head slamming into the deck.

Clark stood over him a moment, gazing down. His stomach was tight with anger and humiliation. Clark's fists clenched. He wanted to kill Lucas, right where he lay. Bash his head in with his fists for touching him. For violating him, and for desiring to do so much more to him.

Lucas turned his head, looking up at Clark. He looked dazed. "You're strong."

"Stronger than you will ever be. Take that as a warning. Do not touch me again, or I will kill you."

Lucas snorted. "Will you?"

"Aye."

He studied Clark for a long moment, looking thoughtful, even though he still was a little dazed from the fall. Clark had, after all, thrown him hard.

Finally, he nodded. "Very well then. I'll not be touching you again."

Clark frowned, knowing it could not be that easy. He wanted to fight. He wanted an excuse to crush Lucas' skull, or to further demonstrate his strength.

But Lucas did nothing. He didn't even rise. His eyes were dark, but blank. Clark could read nothing in them.

Finally, he turned and left the deck. He didn't need extra rum. He didn't need anything but to be off deck and away from Lucas.

When Clark stepped inside the cabin, the captain was at his desk, looking over the log.

"Clark, do you ... What's wrong?" He rose and went to Clark.

Clark swallowed. He was beginning to feel a little shaky, as if his legs weren't quite strong enough to support him. "Nothing, Captain."

"Don't lie to me. Something has happened. What?" The captain took his arms and held tightly.

"Lucas."

"What did he do?"

"Touched me. I wanted ... I wanted to kill him. I've never killed before, and I wanted ..." Clark broke off and pulled away. His arms crossed tightly over his chest as he walked to the wall and leaned against it.

"You've never killed?"

"Nay. I don't ... I've shot a musket before. Twice. Once when I was being taught to prime one, it went off. The other was during battle. I was on deck when your ship attacked. A musket was thrust into my hand, and I fired at someone crossing over to board us. I don't know if I killed him, because that was when I saw Whitney get hit. But that ... it's fair then. I've no advantage. I don't want to take a life, but I am prepared if I must. But I don't want to use my gifts to kill. I am too strong, and it is not fair. But just now ... I wanted to crush his skull."

A hand rubbed his back lightly. "But you didn't."

"It could have been so easy."

"Yes, it could have. But you didn't do it. Wanting and doing are two different things, Clark." He sighed. "I understand your hesitance in using your superior strength to kill, but ... I would not care if you killed Lucas."

Clark sniffed. "I don't want to kill anyone like that."

"I know. Perhaps you should carry a musket. Or a dagger."

"I just ... don't want to."

"Clark, you only need to use it as you see fit. But it is good for you to have some form of protection that you are willing to use." He sighed and moved his hands so he could squeeze Clark's arms. "It would make me feel better, at any rate."

Clark leaned back slightly, wanting the captain to hold him tighter. He considered the offer of a dagger, simply because he knew that his captain worried about him. Taking the life of another still troubled Clark, even though he wanted to turn pirate simply to stay with his captain. He'd thought of what that would entail, and despite the knowledge that eventually he would have to kill, Clark was still determined not to be left behind.

"I will take a dagger, then." He hesitated. "Have you one?"

His captain laughed and pressed his forehead into Clark's back. "Aye. I've many." He made as if to pull away, but Clark turned quickly and took hold of the captain.

"As much as I hate your brother's presence, and fear him and what I might have to do to him, I am grateful that he brought me to you."

The captain blinked and looked sad. "Clark, I ..."

"I love you," Clark interrupted quietly. "Why don't you believe me?"

"It's not that I don't believe that you think you love me. But our circumstances leave much to be desired. I am captain of this ship, and you are, for all intents and purposes, my captive."

"No."

"Yes, in a way you are. No, I don't consider the crew as my captives. You are all free men who will be paid for your services. But you are different. My brother has made you my captive because of his desire for you. And I must take all of this into account when I hear your declarations. You claim to love me, but you also offered yourself to me on the very first night as a form of protection against Lucas. How can I be certain that this is not your way to make me want to protect you even more than I am doing?"

Clark frowned. "I'm not. I love you."

"And then, of course, you may think you love me because I have protected you. And perhaps you do, a little. But the love is of the fleeting kind, and it will fade once you are safe and home once more."

"No."

"Clark ..."

"No!" he said louder. "Why do you insist that I do not know my own heart and mind! You treat me like a child when I am not one."

"Clark ..."

"No!" Clark stepped into the captain and took his face between his hands. Then he leaned in and kissed him firmly.

The captain--Alexander, his name was Alexander--groaned softly. He reached up to thread his fingers through Clark's hair. His mouth moved gently over Clark's, opening. After a moment, his tongue began to lick along the crease between Clark's lips, pressing as if trying to breach them.

Obediently, Clark opened his mouth. The cap ... Alexander's tongue slid into his mouth, brushing and sliding slickly over his teeth and gums. When it slid across Clark's upper palate, he jerked in surprise.

Alexander broke the kiss. "Why have you never slept with a woman, Clark?" he asked, undoing the leather strap that held Clark's hair back from his face.

He licked his lips. "I ... No reason in particular. At home, there was always work to be done."

"And yet, most boys find time to visit taverns and brothels and such."

"Aye, but ... I had no real friends. I never went alone, and when Whitney went ... I followed him once, and was laughed home. And then, when we were in Port Royal, I ... I was not supposed to leave the ship, but I feared for Whitney. I promised Mistress Lana that I would keep him safe."

The captain frowned. "I thought you'd promised to deliver the necklace."

"When I failed in that, I made a new promise." Clark shrugged. "I followed Whitney to a brothel. When I was there, one of the ladies tried to ... offer her services, but I had no money. And it felt wrong." He blushed when he said the last, knowing that he sounded young and foolish.

But the--Alexander didn't laugh. Instead, he nodded thoughtfully and kissed Clark gently. "You are a romantic. You truly believe in love."

"I do," Clark said earnestly.

Alexander nodded once more and pulled away. Taking Clark's hand, he led him to the table. "Sit."

Confused, Clark obeyed and lowered himself into the chair. He watched as Alexander walked around the room, first getting a bottle of rum and a tin of biscuits, and then the brush. He placed the rum and tin on the table in front of Clark, and then took a position behind him.

"If you insist that you want me and that you love me, then you need to know everything," he said. He finished unbinding Clark's hair, and then spread it over his shoulders. "I have told you my father raised me at sea. He began as a merchant, and I was his cabin boy, beginning at the age of eight. My mother, Lillian, did not want me to go, but Father believed that he knew best. So, I went to sea."

Alexander's voice was soft, almost conversational, but there was something underneath ... something in the tone that bothered Clark. It was almost as if Alexander was reciting a lesson that was hard learned, and a lesson that he'd oft repeated.

"I was homesick, of course, as we all are when we first leave home," Alexander continued. He began brushing Clark's hair, parting it carefully and working through the tangles and salt-matted sections meticulously. "However, I soon grew use to life at sea. I loved it. Love the ocean and the sun, the constant movement. I came to understand my father's manners at home, for commanding a ship requires a certain personality. He leads forcefully, both at home and at sea. I responded to his orders well out here where I was no longer being pampered and protected, and thrived.

"When I was nine, my father became a privateer, and, as I've told you, soon sold the business to Sullivan. One year later, he decided t'would be better to sail against all flags." He sighed and began working on a particularly tangled patch of Clark's hair. "This grew to be a pattern with him. We would pirate for a few months, sometimes years, and then return to England--sometimes even the nearest colony--and buy forgiveness. None of this, of course, mattered much to me when I was young. I was as yet unaware that they hung children just the same as adults."

"Really?"

"Aye." The brushing was paused a moment, but resumed. "There is a difference between being a pirate and a privateer. Privateers operate much as a merchant vessel or even a naval one. The captain has complete authority over the crew, and there is a hierarchy among the men. On a pirate vessel, no one man has any more authority than another. The captain is voted into the position for his courage and leadership skills, and the other positions are filled by those possessing the necessary skills. Father doesn't want to give up control, so he refuses to. The men stay because they think they have to; they signed onto a privateer vessel in which the captain has total authority. Father changes what we are often enough to keep everyone off balance so they don't question it. Since we still pull in a decent booty, they don't protest."

He fell silent. Clark frowned and took a bite of his biscuit. Alexander seemed to have a purpose in telling him this, but, right now, he couldn't discern it. Still, he was reluctant to break the silence. He loved the physical attention he was getting from Alexander, and didn't want it to end.

Finally, Alexander stirred. Lifting all of Clark's hair to brush from the nape, he said, "When I was eleven, we found a woman on a ship. She was an indentured servant, traveling with her master, who was killed. Father ... placed her in a cabin, but he didn't ... didn't make clear that no one was to touch her. Or, perhaps they didn't listen. I woke one night to her screams. When the others demanded their turn--for we had been at sea nearly eight months--Father refused. A riot broke out, and ...and in the confusion, the men took me hostage. I was ..." He set the brush down and laughed bitterly, a hopeless sound that squeezed at Clark's heart. Pressing his forehead into Clark's head, he laughed again and said, "I swore I would never allow that to happen to anyone if it was in my power to protect them."

Clark reached up, and slid his hand over Alexander's neck. "And you are."

"No. Now I do. But back then ... I became worse than them. Worse than a man who would force someone into his bed. Worse than a man who would physically hurt someone. I ... when I was old enough, I began coercing people into having sex. Making young virgins think that the only way to save themselves was to sleep with me. I would tell them--women of standing, men of standing, people's whose reputations were so vitally important to them, they'd lose everything if they were ruined--I would tell them that if they did not sleep with me, I would tell everyone they did, and have my claims backed up by my father and other men of standing. I would spread the vilest lies about them to ruin them. I even did this once when a woman refused me. She was eventually sent to a nunnery in absolute disgrace; not even her family would speak to her. But she was the exception; everyone else fell into my bed."

"Captain ..."

"I've lied. I've stolen. I've taken advantage of people. We found a boy once, about your age. I was only two years older. Father took him aboard, and I ... I convinced him I would protect him from everyone else, only he had to sleep with me. I told him tales of what the crew would do to him, things that only Lucas does. He was so scared. I took him so many times. He never said anything, but he cried silently the entire time. I never hurt him. Never ... never did anything, but made him feel as if he had no choice. He never even fought me." He inhaled sharply. "One day, I went looking for him, and found him dead by his own hand. That's when I realized what I was doing. That I was no better than the men who had taken me. Worse, in some ways, because I made my victims feel ... feel like nothing. It was part of the game. Make them feel as empty and worthless as I."

Clark rose. He was shaking at his captain's admissions, unwilling to believe them, but he knew they were true. In his heart, he knew.

But, at the same time, he could not believe it was entirely Alexander's fault. It was a world and life he'd been raised to, and he was no more to blame for his circumstances than Clark was for his good fortune at being found by his parents.

He took a deep breath and took Alexander's hands in his. "You've sinned, and you have suffered, both because of your sins and for events that were out of your control. You ..."

"If you say I am not to blame, so help me, Clark, I will throw you overboard and make you swim the rest of the way to Virginia."

"Well, no," he said awkwardly. "You knew what you were doing, of course. But your life did not exactly teach you another way to live." He tightened his hands around Alexander's and knelt. "We will pray."

Alexander snorted. "And then what? I'll be forgiven and you can take me as you lover?"

Clark frowned. "Ah ... no. Aye. I mean ... we will pray for your forgiveness, aye. It is up to the Lord if He wishes to bestow it. We will not know."

He pulled away roughly and picked up the bottle of rum. "I will not pray," he said roughly. He drank. "God and I are not exactly on speaking terms."

"But ..."

"No." He took another drink. "I think you should change cabins. Sleep in Damien's from now on. Fall in love with him for all I care."

Clark rose. "No. I will not. My heart is yours, whether you pray or not, no matter what your background is."

"Stupid fool."

"Aye. I suppose I am." Heart aching, Clark turned and left the cabin.

The men had finished their rum and had gone back to regular work. No one said anything as he crossed the waist to the central hatch. Even if they had, Clark wouldn't have heard them. His mind was too preoccupied.

Alexander refused to be reasonable, refused to see that Clark was not going to condemn him for any of his actions. Yes, he was upset to learn that Alexander had lived a less than admirable life, but he was a pirate. Clark had known that. And despite that, he was also an intelligent, reserved, quick-witted man who did not allow his emotions to get the better of him and, for the most part, seemed to treat people fairly.

He climbed through the hatch and down into the hold. Needing to be as alone as he could, he continued to climb until he was in the main hold, bathed in darkness and surrounded by silence. Only then could he relax.

Clark knelt behind some boxes and closed his eyes. "Father, hear me, please," he prayed. "I know you have brought me to Alexander, and him to me. I know that he has not lived a life that has been blessed by your presence, and yet, here we are. And I love him. I have no doubt this is what you intended. You knew I would be drawn to the goodness and light that I know is in him. In the way he looks at me, and the way he touches me. The evil in his life has not taken all his goodness away. Please, give me the strength to stay with him, even though he may deny me, as I know he will. Let him love me. Please. And ..."

"Awe. Aren't you precious?" The voice broke through Clark's prayers.

He stopped praying as fear closed his throat. When he opened his eyes, he saw Lucas standing above him, holding a lantern and smirking.

"Praying for your love." Lucas laughed. "Frankly, I'm surprised he hasn't taken you already." He set the lamp on the floor and walked to Clark. Tracing his face gently, he said, "You are just his type."

Clark slapped his hand away. "Did I not just tell you I would kill you should you touch me again?"

"Aye. But things are different now. I know a secret." Lucas knelt in front of Clark, sliding his fingers in his hair. "I asked myself what your weakness was. Besides my brother, whom my father would miss should he not return from this voyage. I thought and thought, and realized I don't know you very well, which is unusual. Normally, I can tell you everything about a conquest, from who their parents were, to how many freckles are on their bum. But my dear brother keeps you under lock and key, making you more the challenge." His thumbs were caressing in slow circles on Clark's temples. "And then I remembered your friend, for whom you risked life and limb to save."

"Not life and limb. I merely pulled him off deck and ..."

"And traded his clothing with another man to hide his rank," Lucas said.

Horror blossomed in Clark's stomach. It must have shown on his face, for Lucas laughed and leaned in.

"Aye. I know all about Midshipman Whitney Fordman, and how you saved him."

Clark shook his head, wincing as Lucas bit him on his cheek. "Nay, his name is Ryan Foster," Clark insisted, naming a man who had fallen in battle.

"No, Clark. It is Whitney Fordman. The good doctor told me everything."

"What?" Clark gasped, mouth falling open. Dr. Senatori had betrayed Whitney? How ...

Lucas smirked and bit him again. "I had a very enlightening conversation with him earlier. When I asked him how the patient was, he told me that the midshipman was feeling just fine. And then he told me much, much more. Which brings us to you." He placed his thumb on Clark's mouth and pressed hard, trying to seek entrance.

He clamped his mouth shut, determined to keep Lucas out.

He grunted and pressed harder. In face, he pressed so hard, that his thumb bent backwards. "Bloody hell!" he swore, pulling it away. Glaring at Clark, Lucas rose. "This is how it will be. You will submit it to me, or I will gut Whitney Fordman."

Clark blinked and frowned. "What?"

"Do you know what the insides of a man look like? Or how long they can survive before the body finally gives up? Have you reached that stage of your training yet? No? Well, I know. It once took me five hours to kill a man, and I look forward to beating that record with Whitney. I'll start with his stomach, I think. Just below the navel." Lucas dropped to his knees again and made a slicing motion along Clark's abdomen with his finger. "I'll make an incision just there, deep enough for me to slide my hand in and feel around." He dug his fingers into the skin. "I might pull a few things out, but I may wait. The next thing I'll do is slide my dagger up, just to here." The tip of Lucas' index finger trailed up Clark's torso, stopping at his breastbone. "There are a lot of interesting things in here to feel. I like to spend time here, sometimes breaking bones, sometimes puncturing things. I do this all slowly, you know. I talk. Ask questions. It's amazing what men will tell you when they're in pain." His smirk grew. "It's amazing what women will say, as well."

"You're a demon," Clark gritted out through clenched teeth.

"Aye. But I love what I do, so I'll not give it up." He flattened his hand on Clark's torso. "So, shall I continue?"

"No."

He moved forward, bringing his lips mere inches away from Clark's. Gazing up into his eyes, he said, "Then off with your clothes, pet. Or shall I help you with them?" He reached behind his back and pulled a dagger from his belt. "I would love to help," he breathed, teasing the dagger over Clark's skin. He dug the point into his cheek, obviously trying to draw blood.

Heart thundering in his chest, Clark closed his eyes and said a quick prayer. Then, moving faster than Lucas could see, he took hold of the dagger and threw Lucas away.

The other man flew, slamming into a stack of cargo. There was a muffled shriek as the cargo fell, and then Lucas was on his feet. "What the hell ..."

"I'll not let you hurt Whitney!" Clark said, holding the dagger tightly in his hand. "Nor anyone else."

Lucas shook his head. "Come now, Clark. You're not going to kill me. Bend over and accept your fate like a good boy."

"No. This ends now." Eyes on Lucas, Clark marched across the hold. His hands were sweaty, but he gripped the dagger firmly.

Lucas backed up, ready to run. Not wanting him to get away, Clark took off, only to trip over a box. He slammed into the floor and skidded across the hold, smashing into the port side of the ship.

The entire ship lurched and shook.

Lucas was on him then, kicking and biting. He was trying to get the dagger away from Clark, who was still disoriented from the lurching of the ship.

"That's right, Clark," he grunted. "I like it when you fight."

Clark squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. Then he tossed Lucas off. When he sat up to finish the job, the ship lurched again, throwing him away from his prey. His hand slammed against a box, and he dropped the knife.

"Wind's picking up," Lucas called. "How's your balance?"

Clark moved into a crouch and sprung towards Lucas' voice. He landed on top of him and slammed the man's head into the floor. "Just fine. Yours?"

The ship pitched forward, causing them both to roll. They hit a stack of boxes, which tumbled on top of them.

Clark immediately threw the boxes off him and stood. Lucas was still buried, so Clark moved back, looking for the dagger. "Where is it?"

"Here. Use this," a voice said.

Clark turned, startled.

A boy stood behind him, holding a pistol out. "Just shoot him."

"Who are you?"

"Chloe. I'm ... look out!"

Clark hit the floor as he was tackled from behind.

"I'll get to you next," Lucas said as he grabbed Clark by the hair and slammed his head into the floor.

He exhaled hard and rolled over. Lucas was shoved into the floor.

"Chloe!" Clark shouted, holding Lucas down. He held out his other hand.

The girl, boy, whatever threw him the pistol. Once his hand closed over it, Clark released Lucas and rose.

He laughed. "You aren't going to kill me, Clark. I'm ..."

"God forgive me," Clark prayed, and then he squeezed the trigger.

"Captain, we have a problem," Damien said, jogging across the wait of the ship to the quarterdeck.

Alexander turned from his place at the railing. "What is it?" he asked. He glanced around the ship and realized that he didn't see Clark, Lucas, or Dr. Senatori. His heart constricted in a moment of irrational fear.

"Lucas had gotten to Dr. Senatori. He's been badly beaten and is barely conscious."

"Where's Clark?"

Damien shook his head. "No one knows. The doctor said Clark hasn't been with him since earlier today. Captain, Dr. Senatori told Lucas about Fordman, and where to find the person we are looking for. She's in the hold."

The ship pitched suddenly. It had been doing so for quite a few minutes already, and Alexander already had a good grip on the railing, so he didn't stumble. When the ship had pitched back to an even keel, he let go and began moving to the central hatch. "Then that's where Lucas is. Are you armed?"

"No."

"Get a pistol, though I will cut off his head if I must." Alexander put his hand on his cutlass. "Hamilton! Jenkins!" he shouted towards the rigging. "You're needed below." Nimbly, Alexander leapt down off the quarterdeck and landed lightly on the deck. He all but ran to the central hatch when, to his surprise, it opened.

"Come on," an unfamiliar voice said. "We're almost there. That's right. One more."

A small figure scrambled out from below and immediately turned back to face the hatch. She--for the voice was definitely female--stretched out on the deck and reached back in. "Come on, Clark."

The name is what sent Alexander into action. He knelt over the hatch. "Clark?"

Clark's dirt and bloodstained face looked up at him through dazed eyes. Something sparked in them briefly when they met Alexander's, and he finished up the rest of the way, climbing onto deck.

"Clark," Alexander gasped, gently touching his tousled hair, and dirtied face. His hands shook when he saw the rips in the shirt and breeches, images of his brother causing them playing out in his mind.

Clark blinked and glanced at Alexander, then the girl. He stood, shakily, and under both Alexander and Damien's support as the ship pitched once more. "Captain," he said in an unsteady voice. "I regret to inform you that your brother is dead."

Alexander shook his head. "I am glad to hear it. Jenkins? Hamilton? Get his body."

"Aye, aye, sir," they said, and immediately slipped down the hatch to take care of the problem.

Alexander put his arm around Clark. "Come. Both of you. We need to talk."

Clark fell against Alexander and pressed his lips into Alexander's skull. Alexander gave only a moment's thought to the crew, before dismissing it. It didn't matter. Clark needed him.

Alexander, Clark, and the girl went into the captain's cabin. Alexander noticed that the girl had put her arm around Clark as if in support too, and bristled. Who was this hussy and why was she here? Did she have a relationship with Clark? Had Clark lied to him? What was going on?

"Sit," Alexander said, guiding Clark to a chair.

Clark grasped the front of Alexander's shirt. "I'm sorry," he said, eyes wide and lost.

"I'm not." He bent over and kissed Clark's forehead lovingly. Then he turned. "I am Captain Alexander Luthor."

The girl cocked her head and smiled. "I know. I am Chloe Sullivan."

A jolt ran through him at the name, and his mouth fell open. "No." Alexander looked at her a moment, narrowing his eyes. "No," he repeated.

"Imagine me a little younger, a litter cleaner, and in a dress." She smiled charmingly. "Surely you remember the little girl you once gave a doll to?"

"I remember her. I just find it hard that that girl has turned into ... you."

"Oh, thank you," she said wryly. "That's just the sort of thing a woman wants to hear. And to think I was going to marry you."

"What are you doing here?"

Chloe shrugged. "Father brought me out here four years ago, hoping I would marry a friend of his. Unfortunately, the man got malaria and died."

"I'm sorry."

"I am not. He was old and, I've heard, quite unpleasant."

Alexander nodded, glad for her sake that her intended had died. As he'd told Clark days ago, he remembered Chloe being both smart and wild. Marrying an old man would have crushed her spirit, and that would have been a shame. "Why are you on this ship? Are you the reasons there were so many officers here?"

She nodded. "Aye. My father is much favor at court these days. So much so that there is talk of him becoming a governor of one of the colonies. And I ... I have been promised to an important man in England." Chloe frowned. "I don't know much about him, although Father promised that he wasn't all that old. Merely thirty-five. But, ever since the engagement was announced, and even before, there have been attempts to kidnap me. So, he devised this disguise, believing it would keep me safe. I was supposed to pose as an assistant to the doctor, but I wanted to be with the crew. Father, after much convincing, relented, but he made arrangements with the governor for the naval officer's presence. That way, if we were attacked, they would be here to defend us." She shook he head. "I should have transferred to their ship. This one was not defended well enough."

"No, it was not," Alexander agreed. He combed his fingers through Clark's hair, trying to soothe him. "I would hazard to guess it was the governor who told my father about your presence on this ship. When we were last there, I heard rumors he would soon be replaced. I suspect he hired my father to kidnap you as a warning." He tread over the last lightly, not wanting to scare her.

Alexander needn't have worried, for she snorted at his words and said, "Kidnap me? Have you met the sadistic son of a bitch in the hold? I don't believe kidnapping was on his mind."

"No," he conceded. "You are right. He would have killed you."

Chloe nodded. "Dr. Senatori, who hid me in the hold during your attack, warned me of him, that is why I had musket. If Lucas ever came near me, and I was cornered, I was to shoot him." Chloe licked her bottom lip, looking uncertain. "I only wonder, as did the doctor, do you plan on ... on finishing your brother's job?"

Alexander shook his head. "No. My father didn't see it fit to inform me of his plans, so I see no reason to finish my late brother's work. No." He sighed again. "I was thinking of returning to England." He placed his hand on Clark's neck, rubbing it in comfort. "I will take you home and return you to your father safely."

Chloe frowned. "I suppose that is best," she said morosely.

He arched an eyebrow. "Why do you sound as if I've condemned you?"

"It's just, I'd prefer not to return to England. Or to marry," Chloe said, her eyes very wide. Her lower lip seemed to tremble too, but it was subtle, as was her act.

"And?" Alexander prompted, sensing she was going somewhere.

The lower lip extended further. "I've been a sailor for almost two months, and, though it's hard, I enjoy it. I'd like to ... continue being one."

He rolled his eyes. "Then once you get to England, sign onto a ship."

She gave him a long look, dropping the pouting act. "But you're taking a ship. And you said you're going to break with your father. So ... why don't you become a pirate, and allow me to join your crew?"

Dear Lord, a woman on the ship! Bad enough that the crew thought Clark was devil-spawn, now this girl wanted to add to their superstitious rumblings. Alexander didn't believe women at sea brought bad luck, but most of the crew probably did. Not that he would necessarily keep this crew. In fact, Alexander had already decided to go to Jamaica instead of Louisiana. There, he would pay off anyone who could not work with Clark and find men to replace them. Still, having a woman aboard was never a good idea.

And yet ... Alexander didn't want to say, "no." Her plea intrigued him. She would rather live a hard life at sea, than a comfortable life, married to a man she didn't even know. He knew of many a woman who'd wish for such a thing, but none would have had the courage to actually fight to get out of a betrothal. It wasn't fair that her life was in the hands of others. She should be allowed to make her own choices. Shouldn't she?

He shook his head, this was not something he should decide right away. He'd speak with Damien and the doctor before sitting down and seriously asking Chloe to consider what she was saying. "I'll see," he finally answered. "I need time to consider what I am going to do before I can decide what you can do." Alexander bent down. "I'll be right back, Clark."

He nodded, but said nothing.

"Is he going to be okay?" Chloe asked as Alexander took her arm and led her to the door.

"Eventually, yes."

"Lucas was trying to ... he was threatening someone. Describing how he would kill him in detail. And his hands were on Clark, and ..."

"Thank you, Chloe. I can imagine all too vividly what Lucas was planning to do." He led her onto the deck.

"Captain." Chloe stopped and put her hand on his chest. "Clark was ... praying for you. Desperately. He thinks that God has led him to you, and blessed his love for you."

Alexander stiffened and looked at her coldly, both embarrassed and annoyed that this stranger was trying to interfere with his relationship with Clark. "Clark is foolishly sentimental."

"Aren't all men who are in love fools?" Chloe was flushed, and she looked uncomfortable.

"What do you know of such things?" Alexander asked, surprised that she had even realized Clark was talking about romantic love, and not fraternal.

She shrugged. "Nothing. I was ... surprised to hear him speak like that of you. And I don't know much about love, except what I have read. But Clark's seems true."

"This is none of your concern."

"You are right. It's not. Except he needs you."

"I ..." Unable to think of anything to say, he turned from her. "Damien?"

"Aye, sir?"

"Please find a cabin for the lady to rest in," Alexander said, soft enough so only his friend could hear. "Take her food, rum, water, and try to find a change of clothes. Then tell the crew we are changing course. Set course for Jamaica, Port Royal."

He nodded. "Aye, aye, Captain. Miss?"

Alexander watched as they headed for crew cabins. Then he turned.

"Clark," he said in surprise, he hadn't heard the boy emerge.

"I must see if Dr. Senatori is all right. I know Lucas ... spoke with him." He was shivering, eyes still dazed and a little fuzzy. Blood was on his face and clothing, but he pushed past Alexander.

Cursing under his breath, Alexander followed Clark to the mess. The doctor was lying on one of the beds, his face bruised almost beyond recognition. He was breathing harshly, blood gathering at the corners of his mouth. His eyes were practically swollen shut, and he was curled on his side, holding his hand as if it pained him.

"Clark," Whitney said when Clark entered the room. "Are you all right?" He was kneeling next to the doctor and holding a bottle of rum.

Clark nodded and dropped to his knees besides the doctor. "I am. Were you here when this happened?"

"No. It happened in the hall. I brought him here when I found him."

"Doctor?"

The doctor stirred when Clark touched his forehead lightly. "Clark," he rasped.

"Where do you hurt the most?"

"Hand. Chest."

Alexander watched as Clark's eyes took on that look of concentration when he was looking through something.

"Three fingers are broken and I believe you have a crack in one rib." He rose and went to the cabinet. From it, he produced several strips of linen, and a dagger. "How did your fingers get broken?" Clark asked as he returned to the doctor.

"Lucas broken them to get me to talk. I'm sorry, Clark, I told him about Whitney. And where to find ..."

"It's okay." Clark was moving the doctor's fingers around gently. "He's dead now."

"Oh." The doctor closed his eyes, grunting.

"I'm sorry." Clark wrapped the three broken fingers together, and then sliced through the doctor's shirt.

Alexander winced in sympathy. Dr. Senatori's entire chest and stomach were black and blue. Lucas had given him a thorough beating. The sad thing was, Alexander could tell that he'd gone easy on the doctor. He'd seen Lucas do much, much worse.

Clark quickly bound the doctor's chest, and then set about cleaning the blood from around his mouth. "Rest," he said when he was done. "Whitney, can you keep an eye on him?"

"Yes." Then he frowned. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Rest well, doctor."

The doctor smiled faintly as his fell shut. "I am glad I've trained you, Clark."

"Me too." He turned and looked at Alexander.

Without a word, he slid his arm around Clark's waist and escorted him back to their cabin. He hung heavily off him the entire time, head resting wearily on Alexander's shoulder.

"It is all right, Clark. You did what you had to."

Clark said nothing. When the entered the cabin, he headed directly for the bed, upon which he collapsed.

Alexander sighed. It been so long since his first kill, he couldn't even remember his reaction to it. Even if he could, it didn't mean it was anything similar to Clark's. Alexander had grown up around death and killing; it was as natural for him to pick up a weapon as it was to breathe. Well, not quite, but Alexander had killed young, and had never felt as much remorse as Clark was exhibiting now, especially over an enemy.

He poured some water into the basin, picked up the soap and cloth, and took it to the bed. The ship was still rolling, but not as heavily as before; despite that fact, Alexander wasn't about to ask Clark to get out of bed. He could only hope that the water didn't spill on it.

"Sit up," Alexander ordered softly as he climbed on next to Clark. He crossed his legs and placed the basin in the space between his legs and body.

He sighed heavily and pushed himself up. "I killed him," Clark said dully.

"I know," he replied as he dipped the cloth in the water and lathered the soap. Then he set to scrubbing the blood and dirt from Clark's face, needing to remove any trace of his brother.

"I've never killed before."

"I know." He rinsed the cloth, and then wiped the soap from Clark's face. After a moment's thought, he scrubbed Clark's face again so it was clean and glowing. Then he set the basin aside a moment and ripped Clark's already torn shirt from him.

Clark flinched slightly, but shrugged out of the tattered remains of his shirt. His eyes were still distant and fuzzy; Alexander could tell he wasn't quite there, and wasn't sure what to do. He picked up the cloth again, wet Clark's chest and arms down, and set about washing the grime off his body.

"I feel ... relieved," Clark said after a moment. "As if a burden has been lifted from me. I was so ... disturbed by him. Frightened. Everything. No matter where I was, or what I was doing, he was always there. I would turn around, and he would be there, or I would know he was thinking of me. And what he wanted to do to me." Clark swallowed and lifted his arm so Alexander could scrub the underside. "Then I would feel foolish. I'm not that important. He wasn't always thinking of me. And, yet, he was."

"You weren't being foolish, Clark. He put those thoughts in your mind to make you feel that way. To weaken you." Alexander moved behind Clark and began to scrub his back. "He's a master of getting under one's skin and he reveled in it." Alexander bit his lip. "Lucas' mother wasn't right in the head. She was the madam of a brothel, but she ... she had her hand in many things. I don't know if she taught Lucas to be as she was, or if he simply caught her illness. And Father never was of any help; he encouraged Lucas' bloodthirstiness, and provide outlets for him to practice his brand of torture." He sighed and kissed Clark's neck. "He was a demon, Clark. I am glad he is gone."

"His soul was completely black," Clark whispered. "His eyes ... frightened me. Consumed. Devoured."

"But he is gone now." Alexander put the basin and soap aside, and moved in front of him. Taking Clark's face between his hands, he said, "Lucas is dead, and he cannot harm you anymore."

"I know. But I feel ..." He closed his eyes. "No one should hate this much."

Alexander kissed him gently, still trying to comfort. "It was a shame, yes, but there was something wrong with Lucas. He ..."

"No," Clark interrupted. "I mean me."

His heart twisted. "Oh, Clark," he said softly. He slipped his arms around Clark's neck and rested their heads together. "Forgive yourself, Clark," he said seriously. "What you did ... what you felt and feel is natural under the circumstances. It has been a trying week. Lucas was a constant threat to you, despite my efforts to protect you. Anyone under the same circumstances would hate just as much. Perhaps more." He smiled slightly and ran his thumb over Clark's bottom lip. "Aye, much more. You are too good to hate too deeply."

"No. I'm not. I'm not innocent. I'm not good. I'm just a man, Alexander."

Alexander's heart skipped a beat when Clark said his name. His real name, not "captain." It was a silly reaction, and Alexander knew it, but it signaled just how deeply he was into this, if he had any doubts left.

"I know," Alexander said. He kissed Clark's forehead. "I know you are just a man. But you are good, and you are much better than Lucas could ever hope to be." Alexander pulled the covers down, and urged Clark to slide beneath them. "Rest, Clark. You've had a trying day, and you need to sleep."

He obeyed, laying back and closing his eyes. "Don't leave me," he whispered.

"No." Alexander stretched out next to Clark and took him into his arms. "No, Clark. I'll not leave you. I promise."

When Clark woke, the sun had set and moonlight was streaming into the cabin. He blinked and glanced around him in confusion before remembering what had happened.

A wave of desolation washed over him. He'd killed. He'd taken the life of another man. Yes, it had been necessary. Lucas had been evil. He'd been planning on raping Clark, killing the girl, and probably Whitney as well. He'd beaten the doctor. He was a bad, evil man, and Clark was glad that he was dead.

It was that thought that made Clark cringe. It had been necessary to kill Lucas, but he didn't need to feel relieved. Did he?

Clark sighed and rolled onto his side. Alexander was sleeping next to him. He was on his stomach, face turned towards Clark. His head was covered with red stubble that Clark wanted to rub his face against.

For a moment, Clark lay still, watching Alexander sleep. He examined his feelings towards the man, wondering if they had changed. Everything seemed different, somehow. Clark himself seemed ... harder. Sadder. He wondered if he would always feel like this.

He didn't want to.

Very lightly, Clark reached out and touched Alexander's cheek. He was so beautiful. There was something about him that moved Clark deeply. He was like the sunlight, the wind, the ocean on a brilliant day.

He was like a prayer, touched by God, and sent to Clark to love and protect.

Clark swallowed and slid out of bed. He went to the window and knelt by it, looking out.

"You have tested me, my Lord. I know this has been a test, but I don't know how to pass it. Lucas was evil; I could not sense you in him anywhere. I am no judge or jury, and yet, I was his executioner. But I had to be. At least, I think so. I know I could have submitted to his wishes, but that was wrong. And I would rather die than be taken by force. You made me so. He would have tried to kill me, and the girl, and, one day, Alexander. I could not let that happen. Please, Lord, forgive me. I have taken a life, I did not turn the other cheek, but I protected my love. I know you love Alexander as much as I do, and would not want harm to come to him. Please forgive me, Father. Please continue to bless my life as you have thus far. Take my gifts if you wish, but let me stay with Alexander." He blinked the tears from his eyes and looked up at the moon. "Make our love holy and blessed by your presence always. Help me keep on your path. Amen." Clark closed his eyes a moment, and then rose.

"Do you feel better?" Alexander asked quietly. He was propped up on one elbow in bed, watching Clark.

Clark shrugged "Some. Not completely."

"That's to be expected. Give yourself time."

"I will." Resolve settled in Clark's heart and he knew what he wanted to do. What he'd wanted to do since the first night they'd met, and wanted for the rest of his life.

Swallowing hard, Clark went to the bed and climbed on top of Alexander. "Marry me," he whispered as he kissed him.

Alexander made noise in his throat. His mouth parted underneath Clark's, and he took advantage by sliding his tongue inside. The kiss was long and slow, and when they broke apart to breath, Clark was short of breath and flushed.

"What?" Alexander whispered as he threaded his fingers through Clark's hair. He lifted his head to kiss Clark's upper lip.

"Marry me," he repeated. He kissed each of Alexander's eyebrows, and then trailed soft kisses up his forehead. The stubble on Alexander's scalp bristled on Clark's chin, so he moved so he could rub his cheek against it, enjoying the scratchy feeling.

"Clark ... stop." He tugged on Clark's hair, pulling his head up.

Clark frowned. "Why?"

"I'm a little confused, Clark."

"About what? I love you. I want to marry you. Will you have me?"

Alexander laughed slightly, his eyes falling shut. "Clark, you'll be the death of me. You think these things are so simple."

"No. I did think they were simple, but I don't anymore. You never seem to understand that I only wanted to lay with you before. Aye, I loved you, but I didn't think you loved me. Now I know better and I think we should make our union permanent."

"How do you know I love you?" Alexander asked. He ran his knuckles over Clark's cheek, up to his ear.

Clark smiled and kissed him. "You needn't say it," he whispered into Alexander's lips. "I know."

Alexander sighed and deepened the kiss. His hand ran up Clark's back. "Clark," he sighed. "You don't even know if you would like sleeping with a man. It's not the same as with a woman."

Clark pushed his knee between Alexander's legs, and then settled in the opening he provided. "I have no basis for comparison," he said, sliding his hands underneath Alexander's shirt. His skin was silky smooth, and Clark traced patterns on it, shivering inside at the sensation. "And I cannot see how I would dislike it, not if I'm with you." He placed a kiss on Alexander's neck. "Shouldn't I be given a chance to see if I find it enjoyable?"

He was silent a moment, considering. Clark couldn't read the expression in the hooded eyes, but Alexander's hands were still caressing up and down his back, fingers dancing along his spine, building tension and expectation in his stomach.

"Alexander?" Clark whispered, growing hard. He gently thrust into his love's body, trying to relieve the tension.

The eyes grew wicked, and a lazy smile crossed Alexander's face. "Your argument is persuasive, Clark. But I'm not convinced. What if we begin, and you stop? Do you what it is like to be left unsatisfied?"

"I'm a virgin, Alexander, not a eunuch. I've had my share of frustration in my life."

Alexander laughed, a loud, joyous sound that made Clark's heart swell. "Then you'll not leave me in such a state?" he asked when his laughter had subsided.

Hesitantly, he squeezed Alexander's nipples between his fingers, since their softness had been enticing him as he stroked the skin still maddeningly hidden beneath his clothing.

His partner gasped, his nipples hardening and cheeks flushing. His sex swelled against Clark's leg, large and hard.

Clark swallowed as heat suffused his body. His heart pounded in his ears, almost masking Alexander's next words, which were, "Undress me."

"Aye," Clark whispered, hands shaking. He kissed Alexander quickly and a little sloppily, his mouth open and tongue lapping against Alexander's before he sat up.

There was a crooked smile on Alexander's face. He lay almost passively on the bed as Clark pulled his hands from under his shirt.

"Sit up?" he asked.

Alexander complied, lifting his arms over his head as Clark tugged the shirt over it. His eyes were on Clark the entire time, hot and hungry.

The shirt was tossed onto the floor. "Oh," Clark breathed, his eyes feasting on the flesh laid bare before him. "You're so pale," was all he could think to say.

It wasn't pale, so much as untouched, although there were freckles scattered over Alexander's shoulders and back. His skin was creamy white, which contrasted with the golden tan on his face and hands.

Alexander laughed. "Aye. I don't often remove my clothing onboard. Every once in awhile, I'll wear only a vest, but only when it's very hot or humid. You, on the other hand, seem to be the same color all over." He moved forward slowly, eyes gleaming. One elegant hand trailed down Clark's chest to the breeches that were hanging off his hips and held up only, it seemed, by the swollen sex beneath. The back of Alexander's hand brushed against it, causing Clark to moan as a rush of pleasure roared up his body.

"But are you, Clark?" Alexander asked as he moved his hand back up. He took Clark's left nipple in his hand and rolled it. "Are you the same all over?"

Clark gasped, his groin tightening. His nipple pearled, sending ripples through is blood.

"Clark," Alexander whispered, his lips on Clark's neck. One of his hands slid beneath Clark's breeches, stroking along the juncture between his thigh and groin. His knuckles brushed against Clark's manhood, making his legs tremble. "I want to see all of you."

"I w-want to see you, too."

Teeth sank into his neck before Alexander pulled away. He made to strip away Clark's breeches, but embarrassed, Clark pulled away and undressed himself, eyes on the bedclothes. Blood mounted in his cheeks as he tossed his breeches onto the floor. A moment later, Alexander's joined his and Clark knew that his love was naked now as well.

He couldn't bring himself to look at Alexander. Clark was suddenly afraid that he wouldn't acceptable, and didn't want to see the disappointment in his eyes.

"Clark ..."

Before he could finish his sentence, Clark moved into Alexander, pushed him onto his back, and began kissing him almost frantically. His tongue delved into Alexander's mouth, stroking along his upper palate. Alexander's tongue brushed against Clark's. Clark made a sound in his throat and deepened the kiss as if he wished to devour Lex. As he kissed--nay, tried to conquer his lover's mouth, his fingers stroked down his face until his fingers got tangled up in the golden hoop in Alexander's ear.

Unexpectedly, Alexander groaned loudly, his entire body bucking into Clark's. His hot, hard sex thrust against Clark, making it pulse hard.

Panting, Clark tore his mouth from Alexander's. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No," Alexander answered shakily, fingers clenched in Clark's hair. "My ears. Are a little sensitive."

A smile spread over his face. "Your ears are sensitive?"

As Alexander answered, "Yes," Clark leaned over and took his earlobe into his mouth. The metal hoop rested against his tongue, and Clark sucked delicately on it.

"Oh, God. Oh, Clark." He broke off, hissing as Clark released the hoop and ran his tongue around the shell of Alexander's ear.

"I like it when you say my name," Clark murmured, caressing the sensitive skin behind Alexander's ears.

His face was contorted so much it almost looked like he was in pain, but Clark could feel the evidence of Alexander's pleasure resting along his thigh. It filled him with a sense of power and happiness to know he could bring such pleasure to the man he loved.

Clark ran his fingers to the tips of Alexander's ears, bending over so he could suck the other lobe.

Alexander moaned loudly, hooking his leg around Clark's and thrusting hard into his hip.

He couldn't help laughing, pleased at being able to elicit such a marked response.

"Clark," he whispered, hands shakily releasing Clark's hair. Alexander's hands caressed down Clark's arms, and he took both wrists in his hands. "As good as that feels, I want to see you." He pushed, trying to urge Clark to roll over.

Clark resisted, his embarrassment returning. But Alexander looked so eager, and it really wasn't fair to hide himself. If, for some reason, Alexander found Clark unattractive or unacceptable, it was better to find that now before they got too far.

Inhaling and closing his eyes, Clark allowed himself to be pushed onto his back, Alexander falling on him.

For a long moment, there was no movement. Clark risked a peak through his eyelashes. Alexander was propped over him, hands still around his wrists, eyes taking in every bit of him. Clark felt his entire body flush, even as his cock grew harder under the ravenous gaze, aching acutely.

Alexander seemed to study Clark manhood a moment before finally returning to his face. Quickly, Clark squeezed his eyes shut, heart thundering.

"Clark." His lips whispered over Clark's mouth and then down his neck to his chest. "You're lovely." He licked Clark's nipple, and then blew across it gently.

Clark gasped, his muscles clenching. A fine sheen of sweat broke out on his body and he opened his eyes.

Alexander smiled at him, bending over. "Absolutely perfect from head to toe."

Clark closed his eyes as Alexander began to caress his flesh with his lips and hands. His lips were slightly chapped, and they moved slowly over Clark's chest to his stomach, marking a path of embers that smoldered on his skin. His calloused hands traced over muscles, making them bunch and tighten, displaying the power that had been created through months of hard labor and gifts from God.

"God, you're like a statue." Alexander muttered before he sucked on a fleshy part over Clark's hip. "Every bit of you, perfect. You must have fallen from heaven, for I've never seen your equal."

"I see God's hand in you as well," Clark said, blushing furiously at the praise.

He smiled and kissed Clark's stomach lovingly. As Alexander moved lower, Clark ran his hand over his head. The rough stubble scratched his palm and, suddenly, the idea of the head between his legs, stubble scratching at his thighs, caused him to cry out, his entire body straining as he drew near his climax.

"No, Clark, not yet," Alexander said. He wrapped his hand around the base of Clark's cock and squeezed.

Clark panted, pressure mounted in his groin. "Alexander," he wailed.

He pet Clark's stomach soothingly. "Deep breaths, Clark; I've plans for you yet."

Clark took a deep breath and exhaled; gradually, the pressure bled away, leaving only a pulsing sensation and a mounting sense of anticipation.

Smiling faintly, Alexander began to massage up and down Clark's sex.

"Oh," Clark gasped.

"Feel good?"

"Yes." The moan that issued from Clark's throat sounded obscene, wild and needy. Embarrassment ran though him, but was quickly swept away by another wave of sparking pleasure.

Alexander laughed softly and kissed the head of Clark's sex. His lips wrapped around the girth and he moved downward, sucking hard.

"Oh ... oh, Alexander." Clark let go of Alexander and gripped the bedclothes. He was so hard. His cock was throbbing, beating in time with the pounding of his heart. He could feel it leaking slowly, falling into Alexander's mouth. His tongue lapped up the substance leaking from him, painting over the sensitive head and spending sparks down the lengths and through his body. Clark couldn't stop moaning, or stop his hips from moving, pushing into Alexander's mouth as he tried to bury himself further in the warm, wet space.

Alexander moved his hands from Clark's hips, which allowed him to thrust himself further into his lover's mouth. Somewhere in the recesses of his passion-addled mind, Clark knew he shouldn't thrust too deeply, lest he choke Alexander, but he couldn't help it. Alexander was slurping around his cock, wetting it, drawing fluid from its tip. His fingers were caressing Clark's balls, rolling them gently, until he bucked and gasped.

"I'm going to ... Alexander, I ..." He thrashed his head on the bed as his body tightened with the impending climax.

The pressure on his sex increased. Alexander moved his fingers down until they'd slid into the crease of Clark's ass. His fingers slid between Clark's buttocks until they were caressing the sensitive skin around his opening.

A fireball raced through Clark's veins and he climaxed, shouting Alexander's name. His back arched off the bed as he ripped through the sheets. Limbs trembled in ecstasy, and Clark felt as if he were soaring through the clouds. When he fell back to the bed, he was shaking and sweating, skin prickling in the backwash of absolute pleasure.

Alexander swallowed and moved so he was propped over the lethargic Clark. There were white drops on his lips and chin. With a faint groan, Clark tugged Alexander down and lapped at his chin and mouth. Salt and bitterness and sweat and life burst on his tongue, making Clark tremble.

"That was ... that was ..." he started.

"Yes?" Alexander propped himself on one arm, idly stroking up and down Clark's sweat-slicked chest.

"Why do people say that is sinful? That's the nearest to God I've been in my life."

He laughed and kissed him lovingly. "I think it's sinful because most people don't think as you do," he answered, his hot tongue sliding down Clark's jaw. "To them, if it's good, it's a sin. To you, goodness is blessed by God."

"I wish everyone believed as I do."

"As do I. The world would be a much happier place." He nipped at Clark's neck.

Clark grew shy again, becoming aware of the hardness digging into his hip. "What about you?" he asked, rolling over to take Alexander into his arm. He stroked up the lean back. "Do you want me to take you into my mouth as well?"

"As much as I would love to be buried in here," he replied, running his calloused thumb over Clark's bottom lip, "I want to do something else." He kissed Clark gently, and then climbed off the bed. Going to the chest, he rummaged through it a moment before returning to the bed, a small jar in his hand.

"What's that?"

Alexander uncapped it and dipped his fingers in. "It's to make me fit more easily. And to make it more pleasurable."

Clark blinked, tensing slightly. "Make what fit?"

"My cock ... inside your body. Right here." Alexander's fingers brushed against the sensitive opening to Clark's body, his right hand--the hand not coated with ointment--spreading his ass cheeks.

"Oh," Clark breathed shakily. His heart began to pound. "Oh," he moaned again when Alexander's finger worked its way inside him.

"Does it hurt?"

"No. No, it doesn't hurt." It was uncomfortable, but not painful. Alexander's finger was caressing him from the inside, prickling slightly and tightening his stomach.

Alexander continued to move his finger, occasionally pressing against the walls of the passage. Gradually, Clark felt himself relaxing, especially when Alexander began to suck lightly on one of his nipples, making his body rekindle.

"I'm going to put another in," he said after awhile.

"Yes." Clark's sex was swelling again as his body relaxed; the movement of Alexander's finger changed from being uncomfortable to welcome.

Another finger slid inside Clark; he gasped, body beginning to vibrate.

"So tight," Alexander whispered. "My, God, you're so tight."

"I've never put anything in there before," Clark laughed, kissing Alexander. "It feels good. It ... Ah!" Clark twisted on the bed, leg kicking out. A deluge of sensation raced through him, lighting every limb in a blaze until Clark was burning so hot, he was certain he'd never feel normal again. Nor did he want to.

Alexander licked a stripe of flame from Clark's now painfully hard sex to his navel. "The gift of manhood," he murmured against the skin. Another finger slid in as he continued to stretch and slide, occasionally brushing against whatever it was that made Clark's body explode so until he was practically crying from being overwhelmed.

"Alexander," Clark keened, fingers scrabbling at the torn bedclothes. "Alexander, please, it's too much. I need ... I need ..."

"It's all right, Clark. I know." Alexander kissed him as he slid another finger in. They spread wide in Clark's body, forcing his passage apart and causing him to gasp. "Did that hurt?"

"No," he whimpered. His hips rose off the bed, trying to take Alexander's hand further inside him.

"Very well." Alexander pulled his fingers out.

"Alexander," he moaned, arching his body into him.

"I'm here." Alexander was sounding breathless, and his cheeks were flushed. He'd coated his hand in the ointment from the jar and was slathering it on his engorged cock. "It might be easier if you were on your stomach."

The thought was intolerable to Clark. He wanted to be able to see Alexander, so he shook his head.

"Very well. But roll onto your side."

Clark frowned. "But I won't ..."

"Here." Alexander guided Clark onto his side, but turned his upper body so it was lying flat on the bed. "Is that comfortable?"

"Comfortable enough," Clark replied.

Alexander kissed him gently. Their mouths moved against each other, comfortable now; they knew each other, were growing comfortable with the shape and feel. Tongue brushing against tongue, lips melting into each other. Clark knew without a doubt that, no matter what happened next, whatever it was that had Alexander so excited and nervous, even if Clark hated it, this was the man with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. This was his partner, his lover, and his soon-to-be husband.

Finally, Alexander pulled away with a gentle nip to Clark's lower lip. He set the ointment aside and moved so his chest was resting against him. Hooking one arm under Clark's leg, Alexander lifted it and slid, very slowly, into him.

Clark grunted as he body moved to accommodate the new object. It still didn't hurt; luckily, his immunity to pain extended here, as well. But Alexander's cock was so much bigger than his fingers, it almost felt as if Clark were being split in two.

He bit his lip, unable to stop the pained-sounding moan that escaped his throat.

"Relax," Alexander whispered. "Just relax."

"I'm trying." Panic made his throat close as he became convince Alexander would never fit. And if he didn't fit, he wouldn't want Clark, and he'd be sent away, never seeing Alexander again and ...

"Clark. It's all right. Just relax." Alexander kissed him again, this time pulling Clark's leg up further.

Clark concentrated on the kiss, focusing his attention away from the intrusion. Tongue and lips soothed him, biting his bottom lip, tracing each tooth, caressing his gum line. Focused on the kiss that curled his toes with the sheer eroticism of it, Clark's muscles began to relax.

"That's right, Clark," Alexander whispered, kissing down the side of his neck. He stroked Clark's stomach and down to his cock. As he stroked Clark's cock, Alexander slid further inside him, until he was fully sheathed.

"There," Alexander said, sounding breathless. "That wasn't too hard."

"No." Clark swallowed hard, his concentration focused on his lower regions. Stretched and open as he was, he didn't know how to feel. Alexander was inside him. He'd never been so close to anyone in his life.

Tentatively, he squeezed his muscles.

"Oh," Alexander groaned. A look of bliss overtook his face and his fingers scratched at Clark's chest.

Violent streaks of pleasure rolled down Clark's chest. He gasped, and the gasp turned into a loud wail as Alexander moved inside him. He hit that spot again, causing Clark to jerk, feeling as if his blood were fizzing.

Burying his face in Clark's neck, Alexander began to move. He thrust slowly, sliding slickly in and out of Clark, brushing against the pleasure-spot with every movement.

Clark closed his eyes, feeling as if his heart would burst. Pleasure mounted in his body, building in his blood, his limbs, his stomach, his groin. Every sensation radiated from where Alexander and he were joined, spreading out in circles, wider and wider. He was moaning constantly, fingers scratching at Alexander's arms and the bed.

"Alex ... ander, I want to see you," he ground out, his body beginning to jerk as his climax drew near.

He lifted his flushed and dewy face from Clark's neck. "Sorry," he whispered. He began thrusting harder, their skin smacking together, sticking slightly when they joined. Sweat ran down Alexander's neck and chest, falling on Clark, igniting Clark's sensitive skin.

"Your face," Clark moaned, throwing one arm over Alexander's back.

"What ... about ... my face?"

"Every day. I want to see it every day for the rest of my life."

"Aye," Alexander wailed, body stiffening. His finger threaded into Clark's hair and he tugged. "Clark, I .." The rest of his statement was wordless as he threw himself back, climaxing hard.

When Clark realized that Alexander had reached his climax, and felt Alexander's semen pouring inside him, his breath caught. He felt pressure build around his groin, and he reached down and caressed himself a few times. Excited as he was already, he didn't need much more stimulation, so he climaxed fairly quickly.

Alexander had fallen against him, breathing heavily. He rested his forehead against Clark's shoulder and dropped his leg. Slowly, very slowly, he pulled himself from Clark, but remained cuddled against his back.

Clark's breathing returned to normal first. Rolling onto his side fully, he took Alexander's hand in his. First, he brought it to his lips and kissed it, tasting the sweat and skin, and then threading their fingers together. He brought their joined hands to his heart and held it there.

Alexander shifted and kissed the back of Clark's neck. He tightened his fingers in Clark's, but remained silent.

Unwilling to break the silence, Clark held Alexander close and close his eyes. There was a sacredness to the moment that words would ruin. So, they stayed together, neither speaking, merely breathing each other in, their skin drying, muscles melting into each other, and sleep washing over them comfortably.

Clark dozed for a time, always aware of the man at his back. The man whom he loved, and whom he planned to spend the rest of his life with.

Awakening to Alexander peppering kisses on his shoulders, Clark smiled.

"What are you smiling at?" Alexander asked, kissing his neck. He climbed over Clark and rested in his arms, one leg hooked over Clark's hips. Their cocks were brushed together, limp and sated; Clark liked the way they looked, nestled against each other.

Clark placed his hands on Alexander's ass and pulled him close. He liked watching his tanned hand on Alexander's pale skin; their contrast in colors complemented one another.

"I'm smiling at you. At us." Keeping on hand on Alexander so he was tight against his body, he raised the other to brush over Alexander's lips. "Do you know how magnificent you look with you're in the throes of pleasure?"

He laughed, ears turning red. "I've never thought on it."

"I could watch it the rest of my life," Clark said seriously, running the tip of his index finger over the curve of Alexander's ear.

He shivered slightly and place his hand on Clark's arm. "You still want to marry me, then?"

"More than ever."

"Oh." He went still.

Clark smiled. "You weren't expecting me to say yes, were you?"

"I don't know what I was expecting." He laughed and caressed Clark's hair. "You're determined when you want something, aren't you?"

"I never give up until I have attained it." Clark kissed Alexander's cheek, then each of his eyes.

"Do you ... do you want a ceremony?"

Clark stopped his exploration and opened his eyes. Alexander looked ... confused. And a little scared, which sat oddly with Clark, for he wanted to think his captain was brave in the face of all unknown dangers.

But, then again, Clark supposed this danger was different from a battle or anything he'd faced before.

"No. Well, not a public one. No priest, no witnesses. We will make vows to each other, and be satisfied with that," Clark said, running his finger over Alexander's jaw line. "If you'll have me."

Alexander nodded and to Clark's hand. "Aye, I'll have you. And you'll have me?"

"Wasn't it I who asked?" he teased, kissing Alexander gently. "We should be kneeling." He rose to his knees, facing Alexander.

Alexander rose as well. "Clark, there is one thing I ask of you."

"Yes?" Clark asked.

"My mother had a name for me. She called me 'Lex.' I only allow people I trust to call me by that name. So, only three people have ever used it: my mother, a childhood friend, now dead, and Damien." He licked his lips. "I ... I would like you call me by that name."

Clark kissed him. "Very well. Lex." He rested their foreheads together, he said, "I take you, Alexan--Lex Luthor, as my one and only love, now and forever. Now you."

Alexander swallowed. "I take you, Clark Kent, as my one and only love, now and forever."

"May the Lord bless our union." Clark kissed him.

"Does this mean I can't have a wife?" Alexander asked when they broke apart.

Clark sighed. Of course he would bring up something like this now, at the most holy and serious time. "Are you engaged now?"

"Well, no, but ..."

"Then let's wait until that problem arises."

Alexander nodded and smiled. "That seems wise." He moved until he was sitting on Clark's lap, arms wrapped around him. "And now, I think it's time to consummate our union."

Well rested and ready for more, Clark felt his blood rise. "You are a demanding husband," he said as he massaged Alexander's back.

"I am. Will that be a problem?" His lips closed over Clark's nipple.

Clark gasped and shook his head. "No. I'll enjoy meeting your demands night and day, for the rest of my life."

"Good."

"This, I think, is my favorite part of your body," Alexander said lazily. He licked Clark's lower back slowly before resting his head against the swell of his bottom.

Clark laughed and looked over his shoulder. "Which? My back or bottom?"

"Both. Either." He curved his fingers around Clark's hips. "Of course, these are nice as well. As is ..." Alexander wiggled his hand underneath Clark's thigh and took hold of his cock. "Actually, this is my favorite part. I lied before."

Still laughing, Clark rolled onto his back. "Lying is a sin, my love."

Alexander climbed up his body. "Pray for me?"

Clark kissed the tip of his nose. "I will." They kissed gently. When they parted, Clark asked, "We've been here almost all day. 'Tis first dog watch."

"So? I'm captain. I'm allowed to be slothful if I so choose to be." He laid his head over Clark's heart. "Besides, I am enjoying my first day as a married man."

"You are not ... sorry? You do not think me foolish?"

Alexander raised his head to look at Clark in the eyes. "No," he said softly. "I'm not sorry. And you could never be foolish."

That sunbeam smile broke over Clark's face, and his eyes shone with love. He was about to kiss Alexander again when there was a hard knock on the door.

"Yes?" Alexander called, frowning.

"Captain, the 'Lady Lillian' is approaching off the port bow."

"Damn it," Alexander swore. He rolled off Clark and out of bed, reaching for his clothes. "Enter."

The door opened and Damien entered the cabin.

"What's going on?" Alexander asked as he dressed.

"She appeared over the horizon just a few minutes ago, but she's approaching fast."

"Is she armed?"

"It doesn't look like it, but she could be. Jenkins is in the crow's nest with the glass, trying to see what the men look like."

Alexander finished dressing and went to the wardrobe. From it, he pulled a cutlass, a pistol, and a key. "Arm our men. Take people below to man the cannons. Make sure Chloe stays in her cabin." He handed everything to Damien.

"Aye, aye, sir." He turned and left quickly.

"Damn, I'd hoped ... I don't know what I'd hoped," Alexander said as he fastened his sword belt around his waist. "I knew that Father would come for me, but I still hoped he would not."

"Have you another cutlass?"

"Can you even use one?"

"I don't know," Clark said as he pulled his shirt on. "I've never tried."

Alexander sighed and went to him. "Clark," he said, putting his hands on Clark's arms. "If you are not prepared to take a life ..."

"I am prepared to do what I must to protect you and this ship," Clark said, determination in his voice.

"I hope you don't regret this." Alexander kissed him quickly and went to the wardrobe where another cutlass was stored.

Clark took it and the both went on deck.

They stood side by side on the quarterdeck, watching as the 'Lady Lillian' sailed closer. Alexander could see his father on his ship, his pose mirroring Lex's: hands behind his back, head tilted back, feet spread and strongly planted. No one said anything as they ships drew closer. Alexander could hear his heart beating in his ears as he wondered what surprises his father had in store.

At last, the ships were side by side.

"Alexander," Captain Luthor called over. "Do you mind if I join you on the 'Persephone'?"

Alexander was surprised his father had even bothered to ask. It wasn't the formal question, but it was more than Alexander had expected. In fact, he was a little surprised that Lionel wanted to come over to this ship, instead of asking Alexander to board his.

"Permission granted," Alexander called back. Formal question or no, Alexander was going to adhere to some form of protocol. It was, after all, his ship now.

Lionel smiled toothily and gesture for a man to tether the ships together. When the hook was in place, and a board had been laid out between the ships, Lionel and his quartermaster boarded.

Alexander said nothing as Lionel made a show of studying the ship and crew. His eyes crossed Clark briefly, before moving to the rigging, and then down the loosely assembled men on the deck. The rest of the crew was below, readying the canons as ordered. Only one watch was on deck, some aloft, all armed, as ordered.

Finally, Lionel crossed the deck and climbed to the quarterdeck. "You seemed to be heading in the wrong direction, Alexander," he said, eyes on Clark once more.

Alexander said nothing.

"Are you lost?"

"No, Captain. I am heading exactly where I want to be going."

"I see." Lionel nodded gravely. "Is there a particular reason you wish to go in the opposite direction than where I wish you to be heading?"

Alexander looked at him steadily. "I'm leaving your ship and claiming this one as my own. I do not like having things hidden from me."

"Oh, you don't?" Lionel said wryly. He glanced around the deck again. "Where is your brother?"

"Dead."

Lionel raised both his eyebrows. "Dead?"

"Aye. He was killed yesterday, and his body sent to Davy Jones' Locker." He could feel Clark step closer to him, and put his hand behind his back in an attempt to stay him.

"Did you kill him, Alexander?"

"No, I did not," he answered, knowing if he said yes, Clark would step forward anyway.

"And the man who killed him is dead as well."

"No," Clark said. "I am not."

Lionel looked at Clark sharply. His eyes raked over his form. "I see. And who are you?"

"Clark Kent, Captain." He stepped next to Alexander, hand resting lightly on his cutlass.

There was a long silence as they studied each other. Alexander swallowed and fought the urge to take Clark into his arms and try to hide him. Clark was a grown man, and in possession of gifts Alexander couldn't even begin to understand. He didn't need Alexander's protection, a fact that he'd demonstrated the day before.

That didn't stop the need to do so.

"Clark Kent. And what manner of man are you?"

Clark frowned and glanced at Alexander. "I ... I don't know."

"He's training to be a doctor, Captain."

Lionel laughed. "Well, he's off to a bad start if he's letting men die. Excuse me, killing men. Why did you kill my son, Clark Kent?"

Clark swallowed and tightened his hand on his cutlass. "He was attacking me." A flush colored his cheeks and he blinked rapidly a few times.

"I see. Well. It's too bad. I'm sorry to lose a man, but I suppose it was inevitable. Alexander, where is my package?" Lionel turned away from Clark, allowing Alexander to breath more easily.

Alexander raised his eyes and shrugged. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"Don't lie to me, Alexander," Lionel said fiercely. "The only reason I can imagine you running away from me is that you've discovered Miss Sullivan is onboard and, in a misguided attempt, you are trying to protect her. Hand her over."

"No."

"No?"

"No, Captain, I will not. I am outraged that you hid this from me when you turned over control of the ship to me. How am I supposed to captain a vessel when I don't even know what I am carrying? And you told Lucas. He was out of control from the day he was born, and he did nothing but disrupt my crew, even when he was not searching for Miss Sullivan. I refuse to be treated like the lowliest seaman when I am supposed to be your first mate. Therefore, I have taken command of this ship and am leaving you."

Lionel's eyes darkened. "You would not dare."

Alexander looked at his father coolly. "I would. Now, I suggest you leave my ship and sail away before I blast you out of the water, Father."

He glanced around, once again taking stock of the armed men. "Do you really think your ship could beat mine?'

"Aye."

"And what do you plan on doing, Captain, with your ship should you beat me?"

Alexander forced himself to stay still as he grasped for the best answer. Pirate or privateer? Or did it really matter.

"What's wrong, Captain Luthor? Afraid that your son will take all the best ships should you allow him to sail?" Clark asked, breaking the silence.

He caught his breath and looked at Clark. Surely he was not serious?

But Lionel was looking at him with a faint smile on his lips. "I've taught him the trade, but he is young and ruled by his emotions. He would be no match for my experience."

It was actually working. His father seemed intrigued. Wanting to part ways without bloodshed, Alexander smiled and said, "So you think. But are you willing to put it to the test?"

Lionel considered him a moment, before nodding slowly. "Aye."

Alexander bowed, feeling the tightness in his chest ease. "Then we will see each other again."

"That we will. How soon?"

"I am returning to England. I have a package that needs to be delivered. But I'll be in these waters in a year or so."

"I will see you then."

"Do you want Nixon and Rickman back?"

Lionel nodded. "I do, thank you." He gazed at Lex a moment, and then nodded. "Take care, Alexander. I look forward to besting you."

Alexander grinned. "As do I, Father."

With a final nod, Lionel went back to the 'Lady Lillian,' Nixon and Rickman in tow. The ships separated, the 'Lady Lillian,' sailing towards the colonies, and the 'Persephone' on course to Jamaica.

"Will you be able to be a pirate?" Alexander asked Clark as they watched the other ship sail away.

"Aye. I hope to talk Dr. Senatori into continuing on. I can continue to learn how to be a doctor and be of use to the ship."

Eyes on the horizon, Alexander covered Clark's hand with his. "You will always be of use to the ship."

He felt rather than saw Clark's smile. "I know, Lex," he whispered. "I know."

Epilogue

Chloe got her wish: she stayed on board. Somehow, during their journey from Port Royal to England as they sailed under the English flag, she became a functioning part of their crew. Against Alexander's orders, she took her place among the men, climbing the rigging, swabbing the deck, and guiding the wheel. The men took to her, much to everyone's surprise, and no talk of bad luck could be heard. By the time they reached England, and she turned those determined eyes on Alexander again, he found that he had no cause to stay no. So, she stayed.

As did Whitney Fordman, much to Alexander's surprise. He'd asked to stay aboard when they'd gotten to Port Royal, saying he didn't want to face his fellow officers while still injured. As the voyage to England dragged on, Alexander noticed that he and Chloe seemed to be getting closer and closer. When they arrived at England, they were lovers, and Whitney approached Alexander and asked him for permission to stay aboard.

Clark continued his studies with Dr. Senatori, who was persuaded to stay. He worked hard, learning Latin and all the medical terms that Dr. Senatori thought he needed. He continued to perfect his drawings of the human body, and, whenever he got the chance, practiced making his own medicines, collecting herbs and such while on land and seeing what healing properties they possessed.

As for Doctor Senatori ... Alexander had his suspicions about the real reason he chose to stay. Clark was a good student, but Alexander suspected that doctor was infatuated with Damien. For his part, Damien had only smiled mysteriously when Alexander had asked. Which was fine with Alexander. He still had his longtime friend, and his lover. Both existed peacefully and there was even a developing friendship between the two of them.

Clark's parents were lovely. Kind, considerate, and the kind of good people that would raise a miracle like Clark without exploiting him. They accepted Alexander into their home without reservation--although he and Clark were careful not to tell his parents about the true nature of their relationship. They also agreed to take stewardship of Alexander's lands, and broke with Fordman's parents amiably.

Mistress Lana had twins. She'd named them after Clark and Whitney, since Clark had been presumed dead and Whitney had been reported missing. Her husband, she informed Clark with a twinkle in her eyes, was much overseas, giving her the run of the place.

It was impossible for Alexander to feel jealous of her. Clark obviously loved her, but not as he loved Alexander. And she was impossibly sweet, but strong in a way that surprised him. She would never break her marriage vows, but she was not unhappy with her situation. She loved her children dearly and kept herself busy with their education and the management of her house.

As for Alexander and his father ... they met often, both in England and in the West Indies. Their competition seemed to suit Lionel, for he had yet to flat out attack Alexander, as he'd been expecting. And, to be honest, Alexander enjoyed it as well. There was something in the thrill of the hunt, and the constant mental maneuvers to keep one day and one ship ahead of his father that thrilled him. Life at sea suited him, and always would. And, should his father grow weary of the game, Alexander would be ready.

In the meantime, he had his lands and inheritance, a ship containing an excellent crew and people he actually cared about, and Clark. His love, his lover, and his partner in the eyes of God.