Disclaimer: Unfortunately for you, me, and that new Apple laptop just begging to be bought, I don't own this, and I'm not making any money off of it.

Prologue: Thy drugs are quick…

She finds it is easy to get a crew. Somehow, her reputation has preceded her, and when she turns up (soaking wet and still quite the commanding lass) on a beach in the Caribbean, a man named Cairbre Nolan greets her with barely suppressed mirth, and informs her in a quiet voice that there is a ship, just down the dock, where the men are all discontent with their captain, and wouldn't mind a…shift in rule.

It does not take much to steal the Murchadh. The captain has left to enjoy his land time, and Nolan is the first mate. The bosun puts up a bit of a fight until Elizabeth unsheathes her cutlass and points it at his neck.

There is a celebration that night on the ship, and she is introduced to her new crew. They are a rowdy bunch, most of them Irishmen who had heard of the legends of Grace O'Malley for their entire lives, and who had begun to hear of her only a few weeks ago.

Just in case (for they did seem very easily convinced to mutiny) she writes up Articles, and every man on the crew signs them so quickly she thinks maybe she was a little quick to judge them. They tell her stories of the sea, and wait with bated breath for when she'll tell them hers. They sing, and dance, and give her odd looks when she refuses their rum, and Elizabeth finds herself watching Cairbre Nolan in fascination.

The first thing that comes to her mind is that he seems less Irish than the rest. Black Irish, she knows, but he seems too big, too quiet, too…something. He is tall. Perhaps a foot and a half taller than her, and with a disposition that reminds her more of a cuddly bear than a raging one. He is strong, and could probably break her in half if he felt like it, but he is gentle. So gentle around her that she wonders sometimes if he's afraid he'll break her.

She can't deny that she finds him attractive.

But then, whenever she studies him, from the crows nest, or the helm, or even across the table in the Captain's cabin, she feels that twinge of regret, remorse. Suddenly sees Will, in her minds eye, only the edges are blurry, and she isn't quite sure if that smile is his, or one she's made up for him.

Cairbre doesn't have that heavy accent like her crew does. When he speaks, it is like honey, soft and flowing, but strong and commanding, and it sticks. He never raises his voice, but she's begun to realize that he doesn't have to. The quieter his voice gets, the quicker the men step to.

She wonders, sometimes, if she'll ever dare ask him to teach her that trick.

They sail from the Caribbean up the coast of the America's, where discontent has begun to spread like the Plague, and it is easy to find a few American's willing to point them in the direction of an English ship coming with supplies.

They make a large profit off the first batch of English merchandise, selling it tax free for about three fourths it's original asking price. They also make an alliance with the town of Salem.

Captain Swann-Turner is a name whispered from door to door, pew to pew, and soon all across the upper territories, she is being contacted by towns in want of provisions that still have the English seal, but not the large price.

She makes a business of it for about four months, until she is wounded in a battle with the British (funny how she doesn't include herself in that group, anymore), and Cairbre pulls up her shirt to find the no longer quite small swell of her belly.

They fight about it for five days until Elizabeth finally agrees that they will dock somewhere safe, until the babe is born. She sees, in Nolan's eyes, that he means to have her stay longer, but neither of them want to continue the fight.

So Nolan takes command of the ship, and practically locks her in her cabin for days on end, and she throws herself marvelous tantrums that only seem to make Cairbre laugh. He'll bring her food, three meals a day, and when she sees the rations she knows her men have given up bits of their own meals. He'll sit with her, watch her trace patterns across the maps strewn over her desk, and sometimes he'll tell her stories about being an honest sailor, and how little honesty was involved. This way, he'll tell her, at least we're honestly dishonest.

Sometimes he reminds her a bit too much of Jack Sparrow, but she never mentions his name, even in her own stories, and so she never knows exactly why Nolan always makes her think of Jack.

She finds that, without the crew to order around, she sleeps a lot. It is a dreamless slumber, and when she wakes she is refreshed, ready for something – anything – and it never comes.

It is a week after they pass Florida that Nolan knocks on her door, and she hears the men calling to weigh anchor.

She sees old ships outside, lights glittering everywhere, and she knows where they've come.

She thinks it should surprise her that Cairbre Nolan should have taken her here. But it doesn't.

She refuses his hand when he offers to help her up, and breathes in the tangy air, the spices, the distinct smell of rum and gunpowder, the salty sea spray that has tinted the undersides of crashed ships. Somewhere up above her she can hear men fighting, and just inside the doorway, off from the dock, she can see a flash of gold in almost black hair, and can hear the strings of an old song wafting in her ears.

Shipwreck Cove, she thinks, will be a very nice place for her to birth her baby.