He worked his jaw thoughtfully. "It was more than a year until I could slip away from the Casterbridge. Bad grub, that's what's wrong with them Tories. Cost me four pegs, so it did." He bared what was left of his teeth to show them he was not exaggerating.

"Jemmy, you lazy bastard!" Stoker's shout brought the little man up sharp. "Be on your way or I'll set Granny Stoker on you. You know she'd like nothing more than to peel yer spotty arse."

The old sailor shrugged. "Aye, Capting. On my way." He shambled off, wise enough not to make excuses.

Stoker came over to hunker down next to them, his hands dangling between his knees.

"You've got shadows under your eyes," Hawkeye said. "Not getting enough sleep?" There wasn't a body on board who didn't know how much he slept, and didn't sleep. When Stoker's voice wasn't raised in an argument he was bellowing like a stag in rut.

The scar around Stoker's neck flamed red. "It's a smart mouth you've got, Bonner."

"Captain!"

Stoker raised his head with a jerk. "For bloody Christ on the cross, what!"

It was Micah, one of the younger sailors, a hard worker and keen-eyed. He pointed astern. "Sails, sir!"

Stoker's expression shifted suddenly. He got up and took his long glass from its loop on his belt; when he lowered it again there was a thoughtful crease on either side of his mouth.

"Trouble?" asked Robbie.

He shrugged. "Don't know yet. Micah! Keep an eye on her, and let me know when she raises her colors."

The boy grinned. "Aye, Captain."

Giselle still stood alone at the rail, but Stoker hunkered down again.

Robbie shot him a sideways glance. "The course o' true luv nivver ran smooth, so goes the auld sayin'. Take heart, laddie."

"Sure and I've had more than me share of your old sayings," Stoker snapped.

Hawkeye squinted into the sails overhead. "We had a cat lost her tail in a door, once," he said. "She was mighty jumpy after that, but I think you're worse, Stoker."

"Jumpy, am I? And why should I be any different, with the Tory navy thick as flies in these waters and two old men wasting me time."

"You'll be well paid for your time," said Hawkeye evenly. "I guess you'll survive another week of our company to get the gold you've got coming to you."

"Gold." Stoker spat the word. "Sure and you like to talk about it, but your pockets look empty to me."

Robbie bristled, but Hawkeye laughed softly. "You're right there. Nathaniel's got the coin, and you'll keep up with the Isis if you want to claim it."

Stoker frowned. His gaze skittered over to the rail and jerked away again when he saw the way Giselle was watching him. With the simple weight of her stare she was willing him to do her bidding. Cora would have called her fey, a woman who understood men better than they understood themselves. Thinking of his wife, who had crossed these waters to find a better life on the other side, a thought came to Hawkeye.

"She don't much like the idea of Scotland, does she? I'll bet she ain't eager to head back to Canada, either. Where's it to be, then? Ireland? France?"

A random shot, but it found a target. Stoker jerked as if Hawkeye had laid hands on him.

"France!" Robbie's head came up sharp. "Why wad Giselle want tae go tae France?"

"I never said she did!" Stoker barked.

All three of them came to their feet to stand in a triangle.

"The Isis is bound for Scotland," said Hawkeye. "That was our agreement, and you'll see it through."

"Damn me if I'll stand on me own deck to be ordered about like a bloody tar!"

Robbie clucked his tongue. "Shame, man. Tae let the lass lead ye aroond by the pecker."

Stoker flushed red to the roots of his hair and reached out with both hands to grab Robbie by the shirt. Robbie sidestepped neatly and brought up an arm as hard as a war club to cut him off.

Behind them, Giselle said, "I hope this boyish behavior is simple high spirits, gentlemen."

Stoker's head snapped around to her. "There you are, sweetings. These two are asking why you'd want to go to France. What I want to know is, what you'll live on while you're there."

Giselle pressed her lips together, inclining her head toward Hawkeye.

Stoker laughed at her. "Do you think he hasn't figured out that you stand there without a penny to your name?"

She flushed so that her sunburned skin mottled. "And whose fault is that? Who let Nathaniel Bonner leave this ship with the gold and never raised a finger to stop him?"

Stoker leaned in toward her. "If that gold had been on my ship, do you think I wouldn't have known it? No, it's your doing, sweetings. You let an old black woman and a little girl come between you and the gold."

"You can't prove that!" Giselle spat.

"And what does it bloody matter?" roared Stoker. "There's no gold on this ship, and you're not going to France without it. So shut your bleedin' gob, woman, and get out of the way of men's work!"

Giselle pursed her mouth. "Oh, I'll keep out of your way, Captain Stoker. As long as we're bound for Scotland, I'll make it my concern to do just that. I give you my word on it."

"Is that so?" Stoker produced one of his terrible grins. "There are bloody few hiding places on the Jackdaw, me darlin', and I know every one of them. And I give you me word on that."