Though no one who's ever met me would believe I almost married a pirate, it's the truth.

It was long ago, of course, when I was only seventeen – over 10 years ago now. I lived on an Island in the West Indies, Barbados; my father was fairly high up in the local society, mostly merchants from England. Our family had made the crossing when I was a baby, and our big house nestled up high in the hills was the only home I knew. We were rich, I suppose, I never had any comparison then but looking back I see a spoilt girl whose every whim was granted. I've often heard poverty brings out the worst in people, but I believe it was my privileged lifestyle that turned me into the disagreeable young madam I was at seventeen.

Our family had quite a lot to do with His Majesty's Royal Navy, supplying them with cloth for uniforms as far as I know – I admit I never cared much about my father's business. But it did mean we spent a lot of time around the docks, in the small rocky bay of our little island. My father would conduct his business and I would wander around, looking out to sea wistfully. Not out of any desire for adventure, you understand, but because I had read about young ladies doing this in popular fiction of the time and thought it a terribly romantic thing for young ladies to do.

I never had any desire to leave my small world, no feeling of restriction in my life. Quite the opposite' I had everything I could possibly want and looked forward to some dashing Navy husband and a house of my own, with all the servants, conveniences and luxuries of my youth. I was not the sort of girl who went on adventures, nor did I want to be. I felt girls of this sort were a wild and stupid bunch – to search out perfection when it lay before them on a silver platter, held by a West Indian slave.

Nevertheless, adventure came to me, in the shape of a Captain of a ship with black sails. Pirates were one of the chief fears on the island. We were isolated and not very well defended, and they had come before – looting the grand houses, raping, pillaging and burning. Many times a ship had sailed in, blown into a sorry state by cannon fire, half the crew dead and cargo stolen. I, like everyone else, liked to see the bodies of pirates, hung to rot on an outcrop of our jagged bay. These did not deter the Black Pearl though.

The ship sailed in on a foggy evening on the edge of winter. There were ghost stories about this ship; black sails, made berth at an island no compass could find (that was wrong, it turned out) and crewed by the damned and captained by a man so evil hell itself spat him back out again. And in it sailed, the boats came to shore and the pirates clambered up the beach. I saw all this, though by rights I should have been in my warm bed by that hour.

I had had an argument with my mother (the subject so petty I cannot even remember it now) and had stormed off to the bay out of childish anger. It was something I had done so often before, my parents were not worried – they assumed I would come back, as I always had on previous occasions, once my temper had cooled.

I had almost reached this stage and was feeling rather foolish and sorry for myself when I saw the Black Pearl. I knew every ship that regularly came to our island, and this dark and foreboding stranger struck a deep chord of fear with me. For, though I hardly dare even admit it to inanimate paper, I truly believed God had sent the Black Pearl to punish me. In the minutes before the ship came into my sight I had been contemplating all the untimely ways I might meet my death that evening and how my mother would regret not granting my request if that occurred (as spoilt young persons are apt to do in such situations). No sooner had the word 'pirates' crossed my mind, than the Black Pearl sailed into view.

I hitched up my skirts and ran the full length of the beach to a shallow cave I had played in as a child. There I crouched in a dark corner, the pungent smell of seaweed around me and saltwater stinging my eyes. And, for the first time in my life I believe, I sent up a reverent and truly honest prayer to God, to save me from these dreadful criminals if it was in his power with a faithful promise never to disobey or aggravate my parents ever again. The dark figures made their way up the beach, avoiding the area of my cave but making straight for the town. I sent solemn thanks to God, selfish enough to believe whatever deity there might be above us would send pirates to attack a whole community to save one girl.

I sat in that cave for hours – I watched the moon rise and the beach illuminated in black and silver – a depressing contrast to the golden sands and clear blue sea of daytime. I listened to the screams and clash of swords with a kind of stupefied detachment. My legs were numb and damp and my head ached – I truly could not believe my situation and the sounds of destruction for the town meant no more than a fairytale to me. The ship lurched on the waters like a drunken man – with one solitary light on its prow.

I must have fallen asleep, because my next memory is that of silence, with a deep fog over the bay and feeling very cold. The moon was clouded over, the night was black as pitch and there was no sign of the ships lamp – in short I felt under enough cover to risk emerging from my hiding place and returning to my home. Carefully, with aching muscles, I crawled out of the bay, the feeling of sharp cold sand on my knees and palms was agony and after only moving a few feet, I stopped to rest them. And I sat cross- legged on the beach, rubbing my painful hands then raised my head, where my eyes met with a barrel of a pistol.

"'Ello, me lady" Drawled a common, but oddly elegant accent of a kind I had not heard before.

My eyes focused on the figure behind the pistol and I confess I had never seen a more fearsome man in my life. His clothes were soiled and ripped, his hair a matted mess adorned with beads and surmounted by a red bandanna, with a tri-corner hat over that. His face was deeply tanned, his eyes lined with kohl and gold flashed in his mouth as he grinned. He kneeled down in the sand opposite me, still aiming the pistol. He leant close to me, his rum-tainted breath was on my face, but I dared not move.

"Now," He spoke slowing, as if instructing a child, though I was too afraid to be infuriated "You're going to keep ver' quiet an' follow me, savvy?"

No one had ever spoken to me like that before, no one had dared, the very idea of this common pirate ordering Catherine Barbrook around like a servant! This was not to be borne! Despite my fear, a flame of anger flickered inside me and I stood and began to run. Naturally the pirate was faster, even if I had not been sitting in a cave for nearly a whole night, with pins and needles shooting up and down my leg, I believe he would have caught me. As it was, he had both my arms locked behind my back and the pistol pressed into the base of my spine within a few paces of my attempted escape. I went quietly then, I had seen prisoners shot for their crimes and I had no desire to suffer the same bloody death. The pirate called some names I did not catch and two men moved, as if by magic, out of the shadows and almost dragged me bodily through the shallow waves to a boat waiting in the protection of a rocky outcrop.

"I don't like this Jack, jest so's yer know." I heard one whisper. "I thought we were to keep to the code."

We rowed out to the ship in silence, it waited in the inky waters, sails fully unfurled – ready for a quick escape. The pirate was not grinning now, but staring at me, with his dark eyes. I felt deeply uncomfortable and self- conscious. Suddenly the boat knocked against the hull of the ship and the pirate stood.

"After you, me lady." He took a deep, slow bow. Despite the dark night I could see the twinkle of amusement in his eyes and I hated him for it.