7 comments/ 33234 views/ 9 favorites Morgan on the Spanish Main By: ronde The "Mourning Dove" sailed bravely ahead of the gale, her canvas stripped to the main staysails and the spritsail to keep her before the wind. She labored up the rise of one mountainous wave to plunge heavily into the trough with a sickening screech as her timber bones flexed inside her oak planked skin. The loose ends of cables and sheets whipped against the masts and yards as the wind shrieked through the tattered rigging, the combined sounds the screams of a strong ship in her death throes. No man stood on the deck save two helmsmen and one mate, all tied to the mizzen with lines around their waists, and all three barely able to see the compass floating in the binnacle for the sheets of rain and spray that coursed the length of the ship. The rest of the crew huddled in the leaking foc'sle while the officers and passengers clung to life in the aft cabins of the vessel. Suddenly, with the sound of a musket blast, the fore-top mast was carried away, and as the main top stay grew taught, that mast too was consigned to the sea. How the brave ship survived that night, no one of the crew could say, or would say. Each had prayed, repented, and promised his vision of the Allmighty that if allowed to live, he would begin life again in a more penitant manner, but none wished to display this weakness before his shipmates. She did survive, all the same, and daybreak found her floating on a calm sea, and the morning watch slowly making repairs. Thankfully, the spare spars had remained lashed to the channels, and new masts would be fashioned from these. The second watch was turned out shortly after breakfast, and clambered over the rigging. The Mourning Dove would win no race on this voyage, but she would make safe harbour on Tortola, and take time for permanent repairs there. Morgan McGreggor had spent the hellish night huddled with Penelope in their small cabin. In her nineteen short years, Morgan had not experienced such fear as on that night, nor such excitement. While she knew the probable outcome of the storm, and had resigned herself to ending life as the virgin daughter of a Tortola sugar planter, she found she was alive with the storm, as if she could hear the laughter of nature at the pitiful ship that dared to challenge this, her most intimate of domains. She had heard the Captain say at dinner one night that the sea is a fine but dangerous mistress, and when one becomes lulled with her charms, she often strikes out in rage at this indifference to her. Last night, Morgan had heard the sea's song of rage, became one with it, and despite her terror, admired the sea for her strength. Morgan was the daughter of a moderately successful businessman in Greencastle, and a beautiful, auburn haired maid from Dublin. Morgan knew her mother only from the description given her by her father, for Brenna McGreggor had given up her life to give life to her daughter; Brenna died of childbed fever a few days after Morgan's birth. John Morgan had often described his beautiful wife to Morgan, always saying that Brenna had been reborn in her, and indeed, Morgan wore the same shining, auburn tresses. Morgan had also matured with the same slender, feminine body John had loved, although he was too proper to reveal this to his daughter. With soft curves at hips and bosom that spoke of ripe womanhood and promised embraces of passion, Morgan would have been a prize indeed for any man fortunate enough to win her favor. Penelope was a large breasted, full hipped woman of forty-odd years who had been employed as first a wet nurse for Morgan, and then as her permanent nanny. Penelope had been there when Morgan took her first steps, when she wept at the loss of her puppy, and when Morgan had become a woman. Penelope taught Morgan the ways of a proper lady, but unfortunately, had a taste for the grape, and in her less sober moments, also taught Morgan the ways of men and women in a manner not to be confused with the somber bed manners prevalent in 1666 England. Morgan did not ask the source of Penelope's knowledge, for a lady would not ask such a thing, but she was intrigued with the mental pictures painted by Penelope's wine-freed words and gestures. Morgan's father had a penchant for investments considered by others of his profession to be less than adviseable and when offerred a small plantation on Tortola, he quickly purchased the property. John.left England in 1667, bound for the Virgin Islands of the New World. His fortune would be found in sugar and rum, and he left Morgan in the able care of Penelope with a promise to send for them as soon as the plantation was established. His plan was not to be realized. The letter she received in May of 1669 informed Morgan of her father's death, and her subsequent inheiritance of the plantation. With nothing to hold her longer to England, she made arrangements to sail in September. Penelope would accompany her as guardian and companion. The Mourning Dove was a three-masted English merchant ship of thirteen-hundred tons burthen, and carried a cargo of supplies and trade goods for the planters of this latest British conquest in the New World. The weather had been good, both for sailing and for Morgan's daily walk around the deck. Penelope had been stricken from the first wave with an unsettled stomach, and spent the days in their small cabin, but she always admonished Morgan to cover her bosom with a handkerchief before venturing on deck. "Morgan, my child, no man wants a woman with a freckled chest. They want a woman with a white bosom, pure as the snow in the mountains. Take care to cover yourself, dear." The voyage had been enjoyable as Morgan watched dolphins race the Mourning Dove, riding her bow wave in obvious pleasure, and on one day, whales surfaced on the port side and kept pace for most of the morning. Morgan inhaled the sights, the sounds, and the smell of the sea as if breathing for the first time, and spent hours just watching the even swell of the surface. Then, ten days out of Tortola, the storm front was seen approaching, the Captain lowered sail in preparation, and the hellish night began. When Morgan walked up the companionway into the sun, the ship was as busy with activity, both on deck and aloft, at least as busy as the weather-worn sailors could manage. Sailors above rove new rigging to replace that swept away by the fierce winds and hoisted spars to the mastheads and lashed them into place, while others on deck opened lockers and retrieved the massive sheets of snow-white cotton canvas in preparation for getting underway. By noon, the temporary rigging was in place, the mains hoisted to the jacks, and sailors were busily lashing them to the irons. In a few hours, the Mourning Dove would fly again. The cry came from the main top. "Sail Ho, off the port beam." The mate on deck fetched the long brass telescope and trained it on the tiny speck of white that stood above the horizon. Morgan strained to see the colors, but the distance was too far without the aid of the glass. Still, she stayed at the rail, watching the white dot rapidly grow larger. Suddenly, the mate lowered the glass, turned, and walked quickly to the companionway. He was gone for only a minute and then reappeared, trailing the Captain. The Captain motioned for the glass, stared at the sail for a few minutes and then asked the mate to call all hands. "The sail to port is a brig flying the black flag of a pirate. We can not outrun her with our temporary rigging, but we are more heavily armed, and can send her to the bottom if our resolve is firm and our aim is true". Then to the First Mate, "Mr. Lewis, get enough sail aloft to allow us to maneuver, then loose the gun tackles and prepare to fire." Sails billowed in the breeze, then were hauled to trim and cleated to the rails. The Mourning Dove began to gain speed, although the now visible brig was rapidly coming abeam. The Captain asked Morgan to go below, and followed her to the cabin. "Miss McGreggor, our chances of succeding in this battle are only fair, as the crew is exhausted from the storm and from re-rigging the ship, and I must ask you to lock your cabin door and remain there until the fight is over". He pulled the two flintlocks from his belt and placed them on the bed. "I will do everything in my power to keep you from harm, but should we fail to defeat the brig, use these pistols to end the life of your servant and yourself. These heathens show no respect for women, and death will be more bearable than the fate that would surely be yours at their hands. May God bless you, and give us the strength to protect you". As the cabin door closed behind him, Morgan pushed home the bolt, and then sat beside Penelope. She thought it strange that, although she was afraid, she was not shaking. Rather, her senses seemed to be honed to razor keenness, and her mind was filled with thoughts and imaginations of how the battle would be waged and the results of the struggle. She had not long to think before the first of her cannon rocked the Mourning Dove, heeling her to starboard. A second, then a third shot shuddered through the hull. The air was full of men screaming and acknowledging orders, with the pounding of bare feet on the deck overhead, and with the dull boom of answering fire from the Brig. An enormous "CRACK" of shattering wood sounded above and forward,followed by the loud crash of splitting decking and timber as her mainmast fell, shot through at the base, and the Mourning Dove began to slow. Another "CRACK" and Morgan felt the ship shift direction as the rudder was shot away. Both were thrown from the bed as the two hulls crashed together, and as they struggled to rise, a loud cry arose from above, accompanied by the sound of many more bare feet on deck. The blasts of the cannon gave way to pistol shots and the sounds of steel slashing against steel. Screams Morgan thought not possible reached her ears as men were gutted by cutlass and boarding axe, and the acid coppery odor of blood and the stench of excrement drifted down the companionway and through the louvres of the cabin door. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, all was quiet. Morgan heard footsteps above as men walked about the ship, and then heard the scuffle of bare feet on the floor outside the cabin door. The door rattled, then was silent. As Morgan and Penelope waited for the Captain's voice, the door burst off the hinges, landing on the floor at their feet, and a dark skinned man stepped through the doorway. Upon seeing Margo, the scar across his left eye and cheek was rippled by his smile, a smile that showed olive colored teeth set in the dark, pock-marked face. He stepped slowly forward, the dirk in his right hand waving menacingly, and blood dripped from his filthy right sleeve to stain the flooring with dark red spots. "Neptune, suck me codpiece, what have we here? Why, it's a young lady and an old crone. Now...old crone, you most likely be loose, and dry as hardtack, but the lady...the lady be tight as a goat..." He brushed the stringy hair from his forehead with bloody fingers. "Aye, and slippery as a fish". He approached closer, unlacing his codpiece and freeing his manhood. His small organ waved in the air, and he manipulated it with his free hand, sliding the foreskin over the head and back. "Aye, fine lady, just stay quiet, or I'll take you after this dagger finds your heart. 'Twouldn't be the first time I've poked a corpse. Corpse's, they don't fight, and be warm and wet for a long while". He grinned a yellow-green smile again. "Bit the titty tips off the last dead bitch, just before I shot her belly full with seed". Morgan was shocked when Penelope spoke up. "I fancy you know much of crones and corpses, you bastard son of a squid. No proper woman would want that little wrinkled little pricker or your slimy juice in her belly". Penelope chuckled. "I say's you wouldn't even get a dried up whore to lay for you lessun you paid her twice her price". "Belay yer tongue, hag. After I finish with the lady here, I'll take a trip up your windward passage and show you how my "little pricker" feels. Maybe my mates would like a turn or two at that sloppy, scratchy hole. Aye, you'd be wet after that, slimy wet in both ports". He was almost within touching distance now, and let go his organ to reach for Morgan. She remembered the pistol on the bed and whirled to pick it up. Cocking the hammer as she turned, she raised it to belly level, and prepared to fire. He crossed the few feet between them, as quickly as a viper, and struck the pistol from her grasp. It discharged upon landing on the floor, the ball lodging in the bulkhead. The man smiled again and sucked his yellow teeth, then extended his hand to touch Morgan's breast. At that instant, she heard a dull thud, and the dirk dropped to the floor. The man's mouth and eyes opened wide, and then he fell at her feet, a dagger protruding from his back. Morgan looked back to the doorway, and almost gave up hope. Three more men stood there. Morgan turned to get the other pistol, but found it missing, lost during the violent rocking as the hulls met. As she turned back, she picked up the dead pirate's dirk, and held it before her. The three men had not moved. As she prepared to defend herself, Morgan eyed the three men. Two were as the dead one at her feet, unkept and in filthy, bloody clothing. The one on the right was even more fearsome in appearance, with a ring of silver pierced through his nose and shaved bald as a doorknob. His eyes flitted nervously around the cabin, looking at Penelope, then at the other two men, then at her, and never stood still. The man on the left was less harsh in appearance, having only many tatoos upon his chest and arms, but the bulge in his baggy trousers left no doubt of her fate should he be left alone with her. He stood with his hands clenching into fists, then relaxing, over and over, and he licked his lips in a manner that was lewd and disgusting. The man in the center was last to meet her gaze, and she was taken aback by both his stature and by the ease at which he confronted her. His body, tall in height and large in muscle seemed relaxed and at the same time, ready to spring into motion should the occasion demand such action. His raven-black hair lay casually on his shoulders, the front combed back and held in place with a band of red silk. His grey eyes pierced her soul for a second, and then even, white teeth gleamed through his open smile. "A dumb sod was old Jaques, and now he meets his maker." He made a mock bow. "I am sorry, my lady, for robbing you of the pleasure of killing him yourself, but at times, my hand is quicker than my thought. Jaques would think nothing of killing you before ravaging your body, and you are worth far more than to be the unbreathing vessel for his spunk. If I am correct in my assessment, your charms are as yet untouched, and will fetch more in ransom or in the slave markets if they are allowed to remain so." He stepped toward her, and Morgan waved the dirk. The tall man laughed, and said to the other two, "Ah, a virgin with spirit. She will bring much gold from some Spaniard in Cuba. Or... perhaps I shall keep her for myself, for a time at least, and then sell her to Madame Brigitte. But, if I am to make this decision, I must first inspect the goods." He crossed the distance between them casually, and in a most haughty manner. As Morgan raised the dirk to strike, he easily caught her wrist. His crushing grip caused her to cry out in pain, and the dirk dropped from her grasp. Still holding her wrist in his large hand, the man stooped to retrieve his own dagger from the back of the dead sailor. He wiped it on the dead man's shirt carefully before rising to look into her eyes again. "Now, lads, we shall see what fortune has brought us this day, and if she was worth wetting my blade in Jaques' blood." His eyes locked on hers again, and she went cold with the realization that she was powerless to resist against such strength. In terror, she watched the steel blade slip under the lacings of her bodice and then slice through them as if they were mere threads. He inserted the blade between her milk white breasts and, with the soft sound of tearing cloth, the bodice and underlying corset was slowly slit to her belly. Her full breasts fell into the opening upon being freed from their bindings, and the sudden exposure to the air caused the nipples to harden. "Look at this, will ye lads, the lady is pleased at my treatment". He laughed again. The keen edge continued it's travel down her belly, the fabric parting before it as a field before the plow, and in a moment the skirt fell to the floor. Morgan stood in pantaloons and her open corset, blushing in embarassment. The humiliation was not yet complete; he slit the tie on the pantaloons, and they too fell into the soft pile that had once covered her lush body. Her most private areas were now revealed to her captors, and she was deeply shamed. The tall man released his hold, and stood silent, drinking in the curve of her breasts, the dark nipples surrounded by dark circles, and wrinkled with the temperature, at the gentle, rounded belly that ended in the sparse, ginger curls that guarded her mound. His gaze traveled down to the soft, pouting lips visible beneath the soft downy hair, over the soft thighs and slender, firm legs. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, almost reverent in tone, and he spoke to only her. "By the Saints, if you were only half as beautiful, I would take you now, but beauty such as this will fetch a fortune. Ah, would that I were a common sailor with no worries of sharing the prize with my crew. Fortune shines on you this day, my lady, for you shall escape unharmed, at least for the time. Your servant also shall remain untouched only because she serves you, though many of the men have been without a woman for weeks." He strode toward the door, then turned back to her and said, "I am Captain Duncan Smithfield of the brig "Diablo". Your ship shall be sunk after we plunder her, and you will reside in a cabin on my brig. My word is that you shall receive good treatment as we sail for Terriva Island. There, I shall send word to the person of your choice that you are held for ransom. If your ransom is paid in a reasonable time, you will be released untouched. If not, I alone shall decide your fate. Gather your belongings. My two mates will show you to your quarters." Morgan gathered her courage and spoke. "How do we know that you will be true to your statement?" "My word is known to be law among my crew. Just as Jaques discovered, failure to obey results in death. No man shall touch you, not even myself, providing you do not attempt harm to us. On this, I again give you my word." They were shown to their cabin, and as they walked across the deck of the brig, Morgan's blood chilled. Several of the heathen crew swore at the mates for allowing the women to be so near the Captain. Their opinion was that he was keeping them to satisfy his own needs at the expense of theirs. They heard the grumbling as they walked down the companionway. The cabin was smaller than the one on the Mourning Dove, but was at least had one large bed and the bedclothes were clean. There was a door opening onto a small gallery that traversed the stern of the ship, and Morgan and Penelope were free to walk there. They were not allowed on deck. On her first walk, Morgan noticed that the Captain's windows also opened onto the gallery, and she took care to determine if he was in his cabin before venturing across the stern. The window's were never open, but she could peek around the sash on the side and see most of the interior. If he was there, she usually stayed on the side of the ship. Unfortunately, the "seat of ease" was on the other side, and at least once a day, she was forced to walk past the windows even if the Captain could see her. He never spied on her as she took care of this personal task, at least she was not aware of any such act, but she always tried to make the walk in the morning, when the Captain was likely to be on deck, giving orders for the day. Morgan on the Spanish Main The ship sailed through another storm, the force of which was not so strong as the one endured on the Mourning Dove, but the gales were sufficient to keep all hands on deck through the night. Morgan had been stirred from her sleep in the early hours of the morning, and heard the Captain's voice shouting orders to the crew. She again slipped off to slumber, and arose to a bright sun. Her body reminded her of the necessity of the trip 'round the gallery, and she slipped on her dress and slippers. As she rounded the stern, she peered through the window, and saw no one. She quickly passed by the windows and arrived at the small platform with the hole that opened to the sea below. After taking care of her need, she walked back across the stern, enjoying the scent of the sea and the brilliance of the rising sun. As she passed by the windows, she glanced inside, and froze. The only part of the cabin she could not see by peering around the corner of the stern was the Captain's bed, but from her current vantage point, she could see it well. She could also see the Captain, lying naked in the sleep brought on by the exhaustion of the night before. Morgan had never before seen a naked man. The only knowledge she posessed of the personal areas of a man's body had been learned from Penelope on those occasions when her tongue wagged with the ease created by wine, and Morgan had never taken them seriously. She could not believe Penelope's descriptions of the anatomy of men nor her seemingly authoritative statements of various sizes. Yet, here was a naked man in her full view, and the stature of his manhood was in keeping with the rest of his person. He lay on his back with legs spread, and the large organ was draped over one thigh. The dark bush of hair on his belly was much larger than Morgan's, she thought, but seemed to fit. As he lay sleeping, the organ began to swell, and as she watched, it rose to stand straight up from his loins, the head extending out of its sheath and becoming dark purple. Then, it slowly lowered itself back to it's position over the thigh. She stared at his broad chest and hard belly as they rose and fell with the regular rhythm of his breathing. The Captain stirred, then rolled to his side, his back to the window, and Morgan saw the hard buttocks and legs laced with the cords of muscle and sinew. His back was roped with more muscle, and as he moved, she saw the bulges ripple under the dark skin. Morgan became aware of the pounding heart in her chest and realized she had been holding her breath. She tried to avoid gasping as she hurried across the stern and back to the cabin to find Penelope. "Penelope, you told me about men, about their...manhood. Does it ever grow of its own volition?" "Well, yes it does, if the man has not been with a woman for a while. Why do you ask?" "On my way back across the gallery, I saw the Captain, through the window. He was asleep on his bed...naked, and as I watched, his organ rose up in the air. It stayed that way for a bit, and then fell back down. Why would it do that?" "Well, my child, men dream about women, sometimes, and their...organs grow just as if they were with a woman. Sometimes, if it has been a long time, the man will spit his seed before the hardness subsides. It's perfectly normal, and only indicates that the man needs a woman." "Penelope, how is it that you are so versed in the ways of men and women? You have never, to my knowledge, taken a husband, nor have you ever even been seen in the company of a man." Penelope contemplated the question for a few moments, and then took a deep breath, as if preparing for some difficult task. "Considering our circumstances, and considering that you are a young woman, I may as well tell you my tale. Come sit beside me, that I may talk quietly. We do not know who may be listening, and what I am going to tell you could endanger my safety." "When I was your age, I lived in the countryside, next to the moors, on my fathers farm. I hated life on the farm, I hated the hard work, and as I watched my mother grow older and weaker each year with no reward save continuing life, I made up my mind that I would not suffer the same fate. I took three hens, and fled to London to seek my future, thinking to hire myself to a seamstress or perhaps to be the maid to a rich lady. When I arrived in the city, I found that employment was difficult to acquire, as I had no reference other than my promise to perform my duties with determination." "I had sold the hens for a little money, but in a day this was gone, and I was faced with starving. I sat on a street corner that night, with no place to sleep, and tearfully considered my future. As I sat, miserable in the damp and cool night, a carriage stopped beside me. A woman's voice called to me, and as I rose, the door opened. Inside the leather upholstered carriage was a pretty woman, all dressed in red silk and satin, and the carriage had fresh roses in the vases on the doorposts. The woman introduced herself as Miss Jennifer Singleton, and bade me get in. She asked my tale, and I related my short adventure. As I finished, I began to weep, and Miss Singleton took me in her arms. She assured me that I was safe for the night, and took me to her home. In a short time, I was fed a good supper, then washed in the most wonderful scented water, and Miss Singleton tucked me into bed between clean white sheets." "When I woke, the next morning, Miss Singleton brought me tea and breakfast. As I ate, she explained that she was a business woman, but when she explained her business, I nearly choked on my toast. Miss Singleton employed several women to serve as concubines to wealthy men. The men would come to her house, pick out their companion of the evening, and, after paying the required amount, would retire with the young lady to one of the upstairs bedrooms. Miss Singleton explained in great detail what acts were committed in those rooms, some of which gave me chills, and then offerred to give me similar employment. What was I to do? I had no money, no place to stay, and no way to go home. I accepted her offer, and began life as a lady of pleasure." "I rather enjoyed my new trade, after the first few times. Men can be so stupid, and it became easy to exhaust my partner of the evening quickly, and then go to sleep. Usually, I had to perform again at least once, but the work was easy and the payment rich. Only once did I fail to use the lambskin, and that was my undoing. The gentleman was insistent that we "gallop bareback", as he called it, and for a few additional Shillings, I agreed. Two weeks later, I learned the folly of this act, as my flow did not come on time. After another month, it was still absent, and I asked Miss Singleton what would become of me." Miss Singleton set aside bedchambers for me on the top floor, and I spent the next seven months awaiting the birth. Miss Singleton had arranged with a childless couple to take the child, and when I delivered, the baby was whisked away before I saw its face or knew if it were boy or girl. I was recovering quickly, in body if not in mind, but I was filled with milk and my breasts were very painful. Miss Singleton learned of a man whose wife had given him a daughter, but who had died a few days later. She spoke to him, and he hired me as a wet nurse for the baby girl. Morgan, that man was your father. I came to live with you as wet nurse, and later became your nanny." "So, you see, I have had more experiences with men than most women, and I know truths about men that they would rather be left untold. I am not ashamed of my past, but I would not return to it. You became the child that I lost, and I soon found that I could not leave you." The days passed quickly, and Morgan became more at ease with her situation. She no longer peered around the end of the stern before taking her morning ease, and began to wish the Captain would still be asleep so that she could examine him closer. On the rare days that fortune shined on her, and she was able to see him, a strange thrill came over her. As the days went by, other feelings began to enter her mind, feelings that were unknown to her before this time. On the mornings when she watched the Captain in slumber, she felt her breasts swell, the nipples rising and becoming rigid. If she brushed them through her dress, a tingle ran through her body to settle deep inside her belly with a tightening feeling. Morgan found that she would experience the same feeling if she thought of the sight while in her cabin, and began to experiment with the sensations even though Penelope was asleep at her side. On one such occasion, she was caressing her breast with one hand, and the other involuntarily slipped over her soft belly and touched her soft pouting lips. The sensation was more than Morgan could stand while remaining silent, and a soft moan escaped her lips. Penelope rose, smiling at the young girl, and Morgan stopped immediately in shame. "Now, now, my child. . The sight of our dashing, young Captain has stirred these feelings, as it would with most women, including myself. Nothing is wrong with you, and your actions are normal for a girl your age. I sometimes have those feelings, and satisfy them myself, so do not be ashamed. It is pleasureable, is it not?" Morgan nodded, struck by this new revelation by Penelope. "It is much better with a man between your legs, but your fingers will suffice, if you have the knowledge. Would you wish me to teach you?" Morgan could only nod again, as she was too overcome with surprise to speak. Penelope raised on one elbow, and lifted Morgan's nightdress to her throat. As Morgan lay naked before her, Penelope gently caressed Morgan's firm breast, then stroked the rigid nipple. At Morgan's gasp, Penelope giggled, and said, "My, you are a ripe young lady, and fit to burst. Pay careful attention, and I will show you how wonderful you may feel when the bursting comes." Her hand slowly slipped over Morgan's chest, down the soft belly with its barely visible downy hairs, through the ginger curls and then over her swollen lips. Penelope's soft fingers gently stroked over the outside of the soft petals, and Morgan moaned again. "These are the petals of your flower, my sweet, but the honey is to be found deeper inside." Penelope slipped a fingertip between the lips, causing Morgan to spread her thighs wide. As she did so, her lips opened fully, and the softer, wrinkled inner lips began to protrude in passion. Penelope touched a fingertip to her tongue, said "mmmm", and then stroked these newfound delights. Morgan moaned again, louder this time. "A man would love these inner delights, and worship your scent and taste. You have a very beautiful flower, Morgan, a very beautiful flower, and I see that the bud is growing. This bud is the center of a woman's passion, and is the secret to the wonderful feeling. Concentrate on this feeling, and you will know great pleasure." Penelope's fingertip brushed gently to one side of the swelling nub, and Morgan's hips immediately shot off the bed. As she stayed arched, the finger continued it's gentle massage. Morgan relaxed, but now, her breathing was faster and a bit raspy, Penelope moved the finger inside Morgan's wet pulsating passage, and used her thumb to continue the soft rubbing motion. "Don't worry, dear child, I'll not push so far as to damage your maidenhead. That pleasure shall be left for some fortunate man." Morgan did not hear the last words, for her mind was on only the feelings caused by Penelope's fingertips. She did not know when her hand found her right nipple and began to tug and roll it gently, nor was she aware when Penelope's lips found the left nipple and began to suckle. Her existence was centered on the feelings in her body, and the rapidly building tension she felt in her belly. Morgan's hips slowly began to rise from the sheets, arching higher and higher until the first wave of release swept over her. With a gasp, she thrust against Penelope's hand, sighed heavily, and then, with a small cry, arched high off the bed, her hips rocking up and down as wave after wave washed from her toes, through her rippling belly, and finally crashed down in her mind. She fell back to the bed, and squeezed Penelope's hand between her silken thighs. After a few moments, her deep blue eyes opened and found themselves looking into Penelope's smiling face. She smiled back, and then stretched her body to it's full length. "Penelope, that was the most wonderful feeling I have ever experienced. Is it always so wonderful?" "Yes, but it can be better with a man, if the man is skilled in the ways of a woman, and if the woman feels for him." Morgan sighed once more, and was asleep. She awoke, refreshed, and somehow changed. She no longer feared the Captain; instead, she became intensely curious. No opportunity arose for her secret examination of him for a few days, although Morgan made good use of her recent instruction. She was sure that Penelope knew, but her companion did not touch her again. One fine morning, Morgan crossed the stern to relieve herself, and upon rising to return, saw a sail in the distance. At the same time, a lookout spoke the sighting, and she heard the padding of feet on deck. As she passed the stern windows, she saw the Captain striding from his cabin, telescope in hand. She had barely returned when the cabin door opened, and the Captain appeared. "We are being overtaken by a Spanish brigantine, and she means to send us to the bottom. Stay in your cabin, for you will surely be injured should you go on the gallery. The Spanish have no love for the English, as you know, and will not treat you in so grand a manner as I, so entertain no thoughts of escape." The events that followed were a twin to that which Morgan had experienced on the Mourning Dove. The cannon boomed, over and over, and then the brig shook as the hulls crunched together. The same screams and shouts were heard overhead, and the same sickening odors permeated the cabin. At last the sounds of the battle began to ebb, and Morgan and Penelope awaited the outcome. They heard grunts and scuffling mixed with the icy, metallic crash of steel against steel, grow closer and closer. Suddenly, the cabin door burst open, and the Captain fell through. He was followed by a Spanish officer wielding a saber, and narrowly missed being thrust through. The Captain was quick, however, and rolled to his feet, catching and deflecting the thrust with the hilt of the dagger in his left hand. He returned the thrust with his cutlass, but the officer neatly parried the stroke with a sweep that threw the weapon from the Captain's hand. Another slash of the sword, and the Captain dropped the dagger from his bleeding fingers. As the Spanish officer began to approach, the Captain retreated until the bulkhead stopped his motions. The Spanish officer, now standing between Morgan and the Captain, said something with a vehement tone, and drew his arm to impale the Captain. Without thinking, Morgan picked up the Captain's dagger, lunged at the Spanish officer, and plunged it into his back with all the force she could muster. The man screamed a scream made silent by the dagger piercing his lung, and collapsed in throes of agony on the floor. In a short while, his struggle ceased, and with a gurgling sigh, he died. Morgan stood, staring at the dying man until he stopped moving, and then looked at the Captain. He was bleeding from slashes on his breast, belly, and his right arm and hand. Telling Penelope to fetch the water pitcher, Morgan ripped the skirt from her dress, tore it into strips and began attempting to stanch the flow of blood. When Penelope arrived with the water, she carefully washed away the blood and dirt to examine the wounds. She found them to be deep cuts, but none had penetrated through to the inside, nor had any cut through bone or sinew. She asked, "Do you have rum?", to which the Captain nodded and pointed through the open door to his cabin. Penelope went without being asked, and returned shortly with the bottle. "This will hurt, but you must have it", said Morgan, and poured the golden liquid into each cut. The Captain winced, but made no sound. Morgan tore more of the dress into pads and bound each wound. When she had finished she sat back on her heels to examine her work, and found the Captain's eyes boring into hers. She did not speak; she did not know what to say. She was saved from the embarassment of a long silence by the bald man from the Mourning Dove. "Captain, we are victorious. The last Spaniard has been thrown over the side. What are we to do with the brigantine?" The Captain rose slowly, and then ordered, "Take off her guns, ball, and powder, and anything else of value, and then send her to the bottom." The bald man eyed the women and the Captain carefully, then said, "Aye, Sir", and left. The Captain sagged against the bulkhead, the wounds finally taking their toll on his strength. "I must get to my cabin. The crew cannot see me in this condition. The mate will have told them that I am weakened and they may decide to take the ship from me. If they should, your lives will be worth nothing." Morgan and Penelope each took an arm over their shoulders and helped the Captain across the short distance to his cabin. "Put me in the chair behind the table", he said, and they lowered hin to the seat. "Get a shirt from that chest, and help me put it on." They quickly complied. "Now, the pistols and the two large muskets from the bulkhead case." The weapons were soon on the table before him. In a few moments, the Captain sat at his chart table, dressed in a clean shirt, and looking as if nothing had happened, and was heavily armed to repel an attack. "Now, go back to your cabin, and close the door as best you can. If you can block it closed, do so." They rushed back to the cabin, pulled the door shut despite the bent and broken hinges, and drug the body of the dead officer up against the foot. It was the best they could do, and they waited, breathless, for what would transpire next. They had not long to wait. Footsteps pattered down the companionway and an angry sounding murmer came with the footsteps. They heard the Captain's door slam open and then his voice boomed through the opening. "What manner of entry is this. This cabin belongs to me, your Captain, and no man shall enter unless given permission. Explain yourselves this instant and I may decide to spare your lives." "We want the women", they heard a voice say, to which the Captain replied, "The women's fate shall be decided by myself alone. Return to your quarters." They heard a shout as the mob started forward, and then the loud crack of the musket. Men screamed in agony, and they heard the second musket discharge. There were more screams, and then a few footsteps running back down the companionway. They waited for half an hour before dragging the body away from the door and venturing through the opening. Dead sailors lay on the floor, in the doorway, and as they progressed through the Captains doorway, they saw more on the floor there. The Captain was sitting, a pistol in each hand, but was very pale. They heard more footsteps, and the Captain motioned them to the chairs against the bulkhead. "Captain, permission to speak with you?" "Enter." "Captain, what would you have us do? There are nine of us left, plus the cook." "Take everything off the Spaniard save a barrel of powder and set a slow fuse. Set the jib and main, and make sail for Terriva. Then get these dead bastards out of the cabins and over the side. Since the mates chose to lead the mutiny and are now dead, you shall oversee these tasks, and a mate's share of the cargo shall be yours. Tell the others that any more attempts at mutiny will find them feeding the sharks along with this lot. I shall hold the captives until we arrive; since we are few, they may attempt to escape. Have the cook bring their meals with mine to my cabin. Now, look lively, before I have need to find another mate." Morgan on the Spanish Main The sailor hurried away, and when Penelope closed the door, the Captain sagged in the chair and dropped the pistols to the table. As soon as the meger crew had removed the bodies and shut the cabin door, Morgan felt his forehead and found it afire with fever. She and Penelope half carried, half drug him to his bed, and rolled him onto his back. He was unconscious. All night, Morgan bathed his face and chest with cool water, and as the dawn shone purple through the cabin windows, he woke. "Water", he croaked. Penelope brought the pitcher, and he took a long draught. He looked at her and said, "Yesterday, why did you kill the Spaniard?" "When the Spanish officer was going to kill you, I knew if you died, we would surely die also, no matter the outcome of the battle. You spoke as much yourself. "Why did you tend my wounds?" "You were injured and suffering. That is the only reason I can give." He nodded slowly, and his eyes closed. "What is to become of us now?" The Captain did not answer. He was unconscious again. All that day, Morgan fought the fever with the only medicant available to her, cool water administered to his face and chest. The Captain slipped in and out of consciousness, and when the cook brought supper, Morgan could not wake him. She looked worriedly at Penelope, for if their only protector were discovered unconscious, their fate would be grim indeed. Penelope whispered to Morgan, and then went to the door. She opened it a crack and peered out at the cook. "Where's the Cap'n", the cook asked in an accusing manner. "The Captain is occupied at the moment", said Penelope, "and has ordered me to receive his supper. Please hand me the tray." "Well, Oi think the Cap'n is dead, or near so, and Oi mean to see fer meself." He pushed the door open, almost knocking Penelope to the floor, and strode into the room. After two steps, he stopped, mouth agape, and then stammered, "Beg pardon, Cap'n. Oi was just seein' if you needed anythin'." He looked at the Captain's bed, and at Morgan kneeling, her head bobbing up and down in the area of the Captain's hips, and chuckled softly. "From the looks of things, yur doin quite well. I'll be leavin' you now." He turned and took a step, then turned back. "Cap'n, Oi was behind you, back when them others tried to do you in. Oi been thinkin' that ought to be worth a poke at this old hag, if it please you, of course. What say ye?" The answer came in the "click, click, click" as the pistol that appeared beside Morgan's bobbing head was cocked. Without another word, the cook disappeared through the doorway. Penelope closed the door, turned to Morgan, and gasped as she remembered to breath. Morgan lifted her head from the unconscious man, and as she looked at the door, she uncurled her right arm, and uncocked the pistol she had placed over the Captain's chest to frighten the cook. "Penelope, this play-acting sufficed to hide the Captain's incapacity tonight, but the same ruse is not likely to succeed again. What shall we do tomorrow?" "We must do the best with the Captain that we can, child, and trust to Providence that he is better in the morning." All through the night, Morgan and Penelope appied the cooling water, but the heat of the fever continued until the early hours of morning. Penelope had collapsed in a chair, exhausted from the late hour and from the events of the day, and Morgan was tending the Captain. She noticed that his skin felt cooler to her touch, and when the first, grey rays of light filtered through the cabin windows, she was sure the fever had broken. As she lay her palms on the full, muscled chest, and felt the steady rise and fall of his breathing, she realized that, save for having her hand taken in social politeness, she had never before touched a man. She found that she enjoyed the sensation of his skin against hers and as she touched him, she had the sudden realization that she wanted to be with him, to be at his side and never leave. Was this what Penelope had meant, what she had called love? She lay her cheek on the broad chest, and let her fingers slip down to the rippled belly. The ridges of muscle contracted at her touch, and she quickly remover her hand and looked at the Captain's face. He was still unconscious, and she reasoned the sudden convulsion to be only an involuntary reaction to her touch. She again placed her hand on his belly, and experienced the same tightening of muscle, but when she allowed her hand to remain, the Captain soon relaxed. She gently stroked over the surface, and without knowing why, allowed her hand to move towards his trouser waist. Her fingers slipped under the waistband, as if willed by themselves to do so, and she caught her breath when her fingertips touched curly hair. She felt the curls, enjoying the coarse, springy feeling under her fingers, until she again felt bare skin. The Captain stirred, and when Morgan felt the skin twitch at her touch, she quickly withdrew her hand. She sat motionless in the dim light as she watched the front of the Captain's trousers rise, and then slowly fall back to his thighs. Just when she reclined beside the unconscious man and fell asleep, Morgan did not remember. When she woke, bright sunlight lit the cabin. She looked around the cabin to find Penelope still asleep in the chair. She turned to look at the Captain, and found steel grey eyes staring into hers. In her half-awake state, she tried for a moment to remember where she was and her circumstances, and in that same moment, the Captain placed his hand on her shoulder, pulled her to him, and kissed her. She was preparing to speak, and his mouth closed against her parted lips. The sensation was dizzying for Morgan, and she responded to the kiss in a manner that surprised even her. Her hand found the back of the Captain's neck, and held him close as her mouth moved about his. When his tongue tenatively tickled her upper lip, Morgan sighed a tiny moan, and held him tighter. The Captain broke the kiss, and looked at the girl lying beside him. Morgan's eyes were closed and she was smiling. "Do you treat all your captors to such inviting kisses?, he chuckled. "If such is your habit, I may never let you go." Morgan's eyes flew open as she realized where she was, and what had just transpired. She blushed deeply, leapt from the bed and went to wake Penelope, for she knew not what to say or what else to do. As Penelope stretched, yawned and then stood, the Captain slowly rose from the bed, and took the chair behind the chart table. "Would you be so good as to relate to me the events of last night? I remember the attempted mutiny, but little else after that. I assume that I remain Captain of this brig, but that position is quite in jeopardy still, I must know of any interaction with the crew that may have transpired." Morgan recounted the visit by the cook, blushed when she described the ploy they had used to disallusion him, and told of their efforts to relieve the Captain's fever. She omitted their waking kiss, but the Captain's smile told her that she need not remind him of this. "The remaining crew will attempt to ascertain my condition shortly, and if I am found weak, they will again attempt to overthrow my command. Your charade was ingenious in concept, and apparently conducted convincingly. The crew still fears me, after last night, but even as that may be, they are slaves to their greed, and will surely make another attempt. I must keep control until we reach Terriva; they will not mutiny after some time on shore. If you are to survive to be ransomed, you must assist me in this respect, for if I fall, so shall you both. " "You shall both stay in my cabin. I shall trust you with arms, for you have nothing to gain by killing me, and everything to lose by allowing the crew to take command. When the attempt commences, your courage must be high. They will give no quarter, and the only end shall be with their deaths or with mine...and yours after they have had their enjoyment. In the meantime, you shall continue to act as my prisoners. Is this understood?" "Captain, before, you were able to kill so many with only two shots. Can you not do so again?" "The muskets were made to my order. They have a large bore, and were loaded with small, cut nails. When fired, the nails fly in all directions rather than straight as would a ball. The result is effective for large groups at close range. The circumstance that made the muskets effective shall not occur again, for this time, the crew will not attack as a mob. They will attempt to kill me by surprise." The attack came as the cook brought supper to the cabin. Penelope went to the door, as before, and opened it only a crack. This time, however, the cook pushed to door open with such force that Penelope was thrown to the floor. As he charged through the doorway, he pointed a piston at the Captain. His finger was compressing the trigger when the small hole appeared in his forehead, and he instantly fell to the floor of the cabin, his brain stirred to mush by the Captain's ball. As he fell, another charged the door, followed by a second. The Captain's second pistol shot caught the first in the belly, and he fell writhing to the floor. As he rolled in agony, spreading the pool of blood flowing from his wound, the second raised his boarding axe to crush the Captain's skull. At the range of three feet, the musket charge of flat nails nearly cut him in half, and he fell with a thud in front of the chart table. "Quickly, reload the pistols", shouted the captain at Morgan, who was already engaged in that same process. As she rammed the ball home on the first, two more sailors entered the cabin, each bearing a cutlass and a dagger. They rushed the Captain, who discharged the second musket load of nails into their path. The first fell, but as the second was directly behind him, he was unharmed by the rain of steel. With a heathen scream, he leapt for the Captain. Midway through his leap, he crumpled and fell, shattering the chart table and sending charts, glasses and a rum bottle to all corners of the room. Morgan's shot had pierced his heart and resulted in his instant death. Morgan had no time in which to reload the pistols. The windows behind the Captain's chair shattered as two more sailors broke into the cabin. The Captain grasped his cutlass and dagger, and rose shakily from his chair. "Aye, the cook were right. The Cap'n's on his last legs.", snarled one, and slashed at the Captain with his sword. The Captain parried the blow, but reeled from the force. His own cutlass sliced through the man's arm, nearly severing it at the elbow, and the sailor fled across the room in terror. He did not see that Penelope had regained her footing, nor did he observe her picking up a cutlass from one of his fallen comrades. His last sensations were the sharp pain as it pierced his gut, and then the emptying feeling as his entrails spilled from the wound. The Captain was engaged with the second window-crashing heathen, and was failing quickly. His wounds from the day before had opened and the bandages were stained red. Had the sailor not stumbled over a bit of the broken chart table, affording the opportunity for the Captain to pierce his heart with the dagger, the challenge might have had another end, but the sailor fell dying to the floor. "There are three left", cried the Captain, and as if on that que, the three entered the cabin, one by the window, and the other two by the door. As the Captain impaled the first on his cutlass, a shot rang out, and he fell, clutching his side. Morgan and Penelope, huddled together at the side of the bed, holding each other in terror. "We've won, we've won the ship", shouted the taller of the two sailors. We'll share even lots for this voyage, starting with these two. They started toward the two women. "Well, well, what have we here", said Penelope. "Two sailors aching to taste our charms. I, for one, could use a good poke, after all this time at sea." She beckoned to the taller of the two. "You be tall in height, be you long of root also? I like a long shaft, long and thick between my legs. Perhaps you would fit the bill? With her left hand, she raised her skirt to reveal her milky thighs. "Aye, long enough for a whore such as you". They were close, only two feet away, when Morgan and Penelope raised the daggers they had conceled in the folds of their skirts, and plunged them into the bellies of the two sailors. "Perhaps these shall also be long enough for two filthy pirates", yelled Morgan as she jerked the dagger from the sailors body and plunged it home again, this time twisting it after the blade sank in to the hilt. Both sailors fell at the side of the bed. Morgan and Penelope stepped over the dying men, and rushed to the Captain's side. He had been wounded by the ball, but not seriously, the missle having only cut a track through the muscle of his side. He was very weak, but not in danger of losing his life. Morgan cleaned and bandaged the wound as she had the others, and she and Penelope helped him into his chair. "We have won the battle, but we cannot sail the brig by ourselves. We must abandon her for the longboat, as I can manage the canvas on that boat alone. As you see, we are drifting, for the crew dropped sail before the attack. We shall be safe enough for this night, and in the morning we shall depart." The next morning, the Captain was strong enough to climb to the deck, and fixed their position at two day's sail from Terriva. Morgan and Penelope roamed the ship under his instruction, gathering food and water to provision the longboat. With much effort, they succeded in attaching the tackles and lowering the boat over the side. They loaded the provisions, the pistols, muskets, and a few other weapons, the Captain's instruments and chest, and some of their possessions. As the Captain instructed them to prepare to depart, Morgan asked, "Aren't you forgetting your treasure?". The Captain laughed. "My only treasure from this voyage was you fair ladies, if you had someone to pay your ransom. The Mourning Dove carried only supplies and cheap trade goods, not gold and silver. The legends surrounding my trade greatly exceed the facts. And now, after you have twice saved my life, I cannot bring myself to barter for yours. I end this voyage with less than I started, for I have also lost my ship." They sailed through that day over a calm sea, saying little to each other. After Penelope had fallen asleep in the bow, Morgan went to sit beside the Captain. "Captain Torrez, what shall become of us when we reach your island?" "As I said, I can not bring myself to hold you for ransom; upon our arrival, you are free to go where you will." She was silent for several minutes. "That morning, in the cabin, why did you kiss me?" "I woke to see a beautiful woman lying beside me. Would you have had me throw you to the floor? "I mean, you could have taken me, by force, if you wished. Why did you only kiss me, instead?" "Unlike those of my former crew, I do not bed every woman who should cross my path, either forceably or with her consent. A woman should come to a man because she wishes to do so, not because she is forced. And I would ask you a question. When I kissed you, why did you respond? "I do not know. It felt so...I had never been kissed like that, and it made me feel...made me want to do what I did." She moved closer, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him, her lips tasting his as her tongue gently touched his teeth. When he responded with his own tenative touch of his tongue, a quiet "mmmm" escaped Morgan's throat. He gently pushed her away. "Woman, you will your own undoing if you continue this conduct. I am but a man, and will be neither willing nor able to stop." "Perhaps I do not wish you to stop. Perhaps I wish you to take me, here and now." "Why would you wish this. I am your captor, if you remember, the captor who would have held you for ransom, or would have sold you to become a consort on Terriva." "Yes, the same captor who could have taken me on the Mourning Dove, or at any time during the voyage. The same captor who could have given me to his crew, and possibly have saved his ship from mutiny. And the same captor who could have abandoned me to my fate while he sailed away. Why would you behave thus? "When I first saw you, I was taken by your beauty and innocence, and resolved to protect you from harm. Then, after you killed the Spaniard, I was in your debt for my life. Your care during my fever saved that life, and I knew I could never cause you harm. You have insinuated yourself into my life with your beauty, your careing touch, and by bravely standing by my side during the battle with the crew. Would that we had met under different circumstances.... But that can never be." "What can never be?" "Morgan, I grew to love you after the battle with the Spanish brigantine. At first, I thought it was the fever that made me feel things that weren't there, but after the fever broke, the feeling was still present. When you caressed my chest and belly, I ached to hold you, but held back. When you touched my manhood, my mind reeled with need to be with you. "You were awake then?, Morgan gasped. "Yes, and it was then that I realized that I needed to be with you, always, but that our stations in life would not permit such a thing. So, the next morning, I kissed you, knowing that I could at least remember that kiss for the rest of my life." "Would it shock you to know that I have the same feelings, that as I cared for you that night, I realized that I want no other man save you? For such is the truth, my Captain." Morgan sniffed as tears came to her eyes. "I do not care what stations we may hold; I only know that I want to hold you, forever." He took her in his arms and held her tightly, stroking her hair and kissing her forehead until her sniffing stopped. As she gazed up at him with tear streaked eyes, he kissed her eyelids, then her sweet lips, and this time, he did not push her away. Tingling sensations shot through her body, and she became aflame with desire for this man. Her hands went to his chest, stroking, loving the feel of him against her palms. His hands were also exploring this treasure of womanhood, seeking and finding the sides of her breasts and gently rubbing. He found the ties of her bodice, and gently removed the garment. He broke the kiss to slip the chemise over her head, and gazed at her large, firm breasts in the moonlight. As his hands cupped the soft globes, she began kissing his shoulder and neck, and when his thumbs brushed over her nipples, she gasped and kissed him fiercely, her tongue finding his and sending shivering sensations through them both. Removing the rest of her clothing was difficult but he managed, and sat her on the sail that would have served as her pallet for the night. He removed his trousers, and when his member bobbed free, she circled it with her fingers. Her caress was so soft, so gentle, as she stroked his length, slipping the foreskin back from the head and then back down, just as Penelope had taught her. She marveled at his hardness and size, but as she stroked the organ, it seemed to enlarge even more. She feared this not, as Penelope had explained this to her, and assured her that her passage could accept any man. He knelt beside her, and his fingers touched the downy, ginger curls that guarded her portal. He gently stroked her mound, then slipped his fingers lower to her swollen lips. He kissed her again, slowly and gently rubbing and squeezing her petals until her inner lips began to swell and open the portal to their pleasure. He teased between her delicate lips, finding the inner surface moist with her nectar, and as he moved to suckle her nipple, he slipped his finger between them. Morgan moaned, and her hips bucked against him. She held him tight to her breast as her nipples swelled long and firm. He rasped his tongue across the very tip and slid his finger deeper, eliciting another moan from Morgan. Her thighs spread wide, opening her outer lips, and he found her small bud with his thumb. He gently massaged the growing nub, and Morgan began to thrust against his touch. He felt she was nearly ready, and he knelt between her soft thighs. He rubbed his organ rubbed between her moist lips, then pushed at the opening of her passage. Morgan tried to arch against him, to drive him deeper, but he held back to allow her to open to his size. He pushed in a short distance, then pulled out to rub the head against her lips and bud, then back inside, pushing deeper into her flowing passage each time. He kept this pace until his shaft felt resistance. He began rubbing her little bud faster and raster, and Morgan began to make small noises deep in her throat. Her hands found her own nipples and began gently tugging at them as her body began to stiffen. Her hips thrust in time to his penetration, but he stopped at the resistance until she began to cry out. As Morgan lifted her hips from the pallet, he thrust through her maidenhead, causing her to whimper for a moment, but then the pleasure of his continuous caresses on her little, swollen button buried the pain in immense waves of pleasure. He held back no longer, and buried himself deep in her belly with each thrust. Her passage began to ripple over his length, and he found he could no longer control his passion. He leaned to kiss her open mouth, and as their tongues met, Morgan shuddered and arched high, driving him deeply inside herself. The thrust pushed him over the peak of his passion, and he erupted, his seed spurting through his length to splash deep in Morgan's belly. As Morgan cried out and arched again, another spurt coated her passage, and as she sank back to the pallet, he felt the third wave of seed flow from his body. Morgan on the Spanish Main They lay, locked together, until he slipped from her passage, and he held her in his arms until she slept. He covered her with her dress, and resumed his vigil through the night. Morgan woke when the bow of the longboat grated over the sand on a tropical beach. She rubbed the sleep for her eyes, then felt the sticky sensation between her thighs and smiled in rememberance of last night. She closed her eyes and stroked her breast, enjoying the tightening feeling in her belly. "Would Penelope understand if she woke to find you naked and caressing yourself on this fine morning?" Morgan blushed at the Captain's words and hurriedly dressed. "So, we are arrived at Terriva. Am I to lose you now? Tell me please, that I may endure the shock before we meet others." "My lady, we have indeed made land, but that land is Tortola, not Terriva. After the battle with the Spaniard, I determined to leave the sea upon completion of the voyage. My father was the first of the English to force Tortola from the Dutch, and as his heir, I own a large sugar plantation on this island. When I came of age, the sea seemed filled with adventure, and I left the plantation in the care of the overseer to seek another fortune by relieving others of their gold. I would visit the plantation from time to time to assess the success of the business, but I shall now assume the management of this endeavor, while my head still rests tight on my shoulders. If you would be willing, the plantation owner needs a woman to be at his side. The life is not so adventurous as that to which you have become accustomed, and rarely is it required that one plunge her dagger into a man's heart, but the rewards would be many for the wife of the owner. Penelope would be welcome as well. The overseer has no wife. He is a good man, a hard worker, and while strict taskmaster in matters of the plantation, is very gentle with women. She would do no better in London or in Port Royal." "And from the sounds and rocking of the boat last night, you may soon have need of a nanny", said a sleepy Penelope from the bow. Morgan blushed and then laughed. "Then you must manage two plantations, for I also am heir to such on Tortola, and it was to claim my inheiritance that I sailed on the Mourning Dove. It appears that you end this voyage with a treasure, after all, my gentle Captain." He pulled her into his arms and kissed her tenderly. "Yes, dear Morgan, I end this voyage with the greatest treasure of all here in my arms."