James reclined in his hammock aboard the Sagitta, his head still reeling from the weighty revelations of two days' past. Since his inadvertent discovery of Brodie's treacherous plans, James had spent much time in the solace of his own thoughts, brooding over bottles of rum and stewing over what he'd learned and what, if anything, he could or should do about it.

After emerging from his hiding spot next to the inn, he'd wandered the streets of Port-au-Prince, mindful of the fact that Devereaux's men might still be searching for him. And what of Devereaux? Brodie had described him as a "friend." Did that mean Devereaux was a part of the plot as well? James had gleaned from Madame Devereaux's words that her husband was either a privateer or a captain in the French navy; either way, he would be well-placed to aid a French invasion force, should Brodie's conspiracy ever come to fruition.

James had eventually returned to the ship, which, having had its hurricane-damaged sails and rigging repaired or replaced, had pulled up anchor just that morning. Wells, Crosby, and Simple Pete had been full of good-natured ribbing that he, who had already earned a reputation aboard the Sagitta as the man among them who most enjoyed his drink, had failed to join them in their carousing; he'd accepted their taunts with the expected raucous cheer and intimated that he'd found far lovelier and more feminine company with whom to spend his evening and his coin. Fortunately, he'd also gained a reputation as the man among them who most enjoyed the company of women, and so the men accepted his excuse without question, tossing a few bawdy jokes his way before leaving him be.

But James had, in truth, been far too distracted even for the company of lasses, and even more so for the company of his friends from the ship. He thought about each of them in turn: Riggins, Wells, Crosby, and the others. Were they aware of Brodie's treason, or – worse – were they active party to it? Were they committed Jacobites like their captain, or had Brodie merely offered them a handsome purse to betray their king and country? Or were they innocent of all wrongdoing, as ignorant as he was to their captain's true purpose?

And why, he thought sullenly as he took a long pull from his bottle, should any of it matter a whit to him at all? He'd loyally served His Majesty in the Royal Navy since the age of thirteen, and look where it had gotten him: disgraced, scapegoated, and cast aside, left to wallow in his own miserable filth on the island that God Himself forgot. So Brodie wanted to depose one king and replace him with another. What the devil's difference did it make to him who wore the crown he no longer served?

But even as he took a bitter swig of rum, he knew that he could not abide such musings for long. It was true that perhaps as recently as a month ago he might well not have given a tinker's damn for such lofty ideals as duty, loyalty, or honour; but ever since the hurricane – since that remarkable moment atop the crow's nest when he'd felt the weighty millstone around his neck at last loosen and allow him to slip free of its bonds for the first time in three years – he'd felt a sense that, well, something critical had changed in his life. Purpose, perhaps – that was the best word for it. To what end, he could not yet say, but the thought of returning to Tortuga, to his life as an aimless, shiftless vagabond who did nothing but drink and whore and fight and wait for death to claim him, was unbearable now. And it was true that the Commodore, that other man from that other life, had begun to chime in rather irritatingly often in his thoughts, advising him on the honourable or the right thing to do as opposed to the merely expedient or self-serving. And despite all his simmering resentment at the way he'd been treated by the Admiralty, he could no sooner forswear allegiance to England than he could cut his beating heart from his chest.

"Oh, bugger it," he grumbled, reaching the last drop of his rum and tossing the bottle under his hammock. All these noble inclinations meant piss-all if there was nothing he could do about them. And without knowing the full extent of the conspiracy, nor whom (if anyone) he could trust, piss-all certainly summed up his options at the moment. Muttering a sequence of oaths, he decided that, moping about being of no use, he might as well go and join the others, playing their games and drinking their grog over in the crew's mess. He might even, with the right amount of subtlety and finesse, be able to put out a few feelers about the men's knowledge of their captain's agenda.

"Ho, Norrington! Where've ye been? Been squirreled away all by your lonesome since we sailed from Port-au-Prince, ye have – what's the matter, mate, lost all your coin in a French whorehouse?" Wells' eager taunting provoked a gale of laughter from the other men seated at the table as James sidled up and took a seat across from the grinning gambler.

"Maybe I just wished to escape your constant nattering, Wells," he retorted, earning an appreciable amount of chortles from the rogue's gallery. He slapped a tuppence on the table and motioned for Wells to deal him in. "But I've decided I miss your company after all, you handsome bugger. Or perhaps I just miss your rum. Either way, let's play a hand, shall we?"

Wells cut him in, and soon enough, James had managed to acquire the grog belonging to Wells, Jenkins, and a quiet, smallish man named Polwyn, who'd only tonight worked up the courage to join in on the cards and was likely wishing he hadn't.

"Another night, another bounty. I wonder that you all are still so willing to allow me to sit at your table," James crowed, uncorking one bottle and taking a long, grateful pull.

"It's just a matter of time, Norrington – one of these days your luck will run out, and bugger me if I won't be the one to profit from your misfortune," Wells said, doubtless having experienced no man's misfortune but his own. James shook his head at the man's eternal and ill-founded hope.

"Perhaps you should try your luck at the next port, Wells. The scuttlebutt says fortune did not exactly favour you in Port-au-Prince."

"Aw, bugger you, Norrington," Wells groused. "It's only because I can't understand none of them French bastards. Probably all cheated me and I didn't even know it. I sure's to God hope we're making for an English port this time around."

"As do I," James said, deciding to test the waters. "I've certainly had my fill of foreign nonsense for the year. Nothing sets my teeth on edge faster than being surrounded by the bloody French."

"Here here," Crosby replied lustily. "Thought I was going to go mad around all those froggy blighters."

"Aye," the quiet Polwyn piped in. "I can't say as I understand why the captain took us there. Seems a bit dangerous to be conducting business in a French port, leastwise it does to me."

James felt some of his tension relax, if only minutely. It appeared that most of the other men not only had no love lost for the French – and thus would be highly unlikely to join into a French conspiracy against their own motherland – but they did not even know that the Sagitta was making for Barbados, let alone why. Then again, James hadn't really expected his fellow foremast jacks to know anything about the plot – his true concern was with Kurtz, and Riggins.

James liked Riggins, and nothing he knew about the man would lead him to believe that he was overly political, let alone an avowed traitor neck-deep in an active conspiracy. But James had learned through hard experience that not everyone was as they seemed , and, in the end, he had to admit that he didn't really know Riggins. Riggins was currently seated at a table with Simple Pete and another crewman, and James knew any sort of meaningful discovery would be impossible with Pete slobbering all over his shirtsleeves (though, James was forced to admit with no small touch of irony, Simple Pete was certainly the one man aboard the entire ship of whose loyalty he could be assured). At any rate, any assessment of Riggins's true loyalties would have to be done both privately and judiciously, something that was impossible at the moment.

Deciding to adjourn for the night, James bid the men a good evening and took his rum, stowing it in his coat pockets as he ascended the ladder topside. It was a cool, clear night, and the Sagitta had left Saint-Domingue behind hours ago, and the island had slowly slipped into the horizon until the ship was once again surrounded only by the shimmering blue sea. A skeleton crew manned the sails at this late hour, the calm seas having enticed most of the men below decks to engage in the merriments in which James had just partaken. He would be up with the dawn and knew he should retire to his hammock to claim what rest he could, but he'd spent so long in the damned bunk already that he longed for fresh air to clear his head. Uncorking a fresh bottle of rum, he took a long, slow drink, his thoughts tumbling around inside his head like so many marbles. Despite all his consternation and fretting, no answers offered themselves to his troubled mind – only more questions.

Leaning over the railing, he took a pull on his bottle, and as he was tilting his head to swallow, movement on the foredeck caught his eye. Glancing over, he noticed Hinks shambling over to Kurtz, who stood, arms crossed, like a marble statute, glaring out over the bow. James shook his head and took another drink. Hinks never socialized with the rest of the crew, but nor did he trouble them; however, James could not shake the feeling that the weaselly man was always watching, and that every movement made by any of the men was noticed and reported by Hinks to Kurtz and, possibly, to Captain Brodie himself. James grimaced – if any men aboard the ship were a part of Brodie's conspiracy, he'd be willing to wager a good year's wages that it was those two.

James felt a prick of surprise as a shadow fell across the foredeck, and Brodie's familiar lean form casually strolled up to Kurtz and Hinks, the latter immediately adopting a cringing, deferential posture that made James quirk his mouth in amusement and disgust (having never appreciated such obvious toadying from subordinates when he had been in command of a ship). His interest in the impromptu palaver on the foredeck heightened considerably, though James knew there was no subtle way to move close enough to hear what was being said. The three men clearly knew they were isolated, and would notice – and wonder – at any man who strayed too close to the obviously private discussion. Of course, it might have had nothing at all to do with the Jacobite conspiracy, but a nagging feeling in his gut told James otherwise.

Well, fat lot of good you can do about it here, standing all the way back by the poop deck, he thought sullenly, swilling his rum. If only he'd stayed closer to the forecastle, where perhaps he might have remained inconspicuous –

James started, struck at once with an idea so bold he wondered that he must be mad to even consider it. Now that he knew the truth of Brodie's villainy, the notion of being caught was more dire than ever. And yet, he'd done it before, hadn't he, and lived to tell the tale? And with Brodie and his two cronies deeply absorbed in conversation, this might be his only chance to speak with the one person who was bound to know the truth of Brodie's secrets. James pushed quietly away from the rails and straightened at once, gripped by the firm decisiveness that had once made him such an effective commander. Wasting no more time, he corked his rum, shoved it in his coat pocket, and – glancing back to ensure that Brodie, Hinks, and Kurtz still paid him no heed – quietly but swiftly crept towards the quarterdeck hold and descended the ladder below.

A quiet but firm knock on Brodie's cabin's door was rewarded with silence, and James, his stomach churning with fear, wondered if he had made a fatal error. Perhaps Niamh, frightened of how close they must have come to being caught, had reconsidered her welcoming attitude towards James and would permit no more visits from him; or perhaps she was party to the conspiracy herself, and had only been cordial to him in an attempt to draw him out, either to expose him or to recruit him for her husband's treacherous scheme. She was Irish, after all, and it was no secret that most Irish would prefer a Catholic king on Britain's throne to a Protestant –

James's musing were cut short as the cabin hatch opened slowly, revealing Niamh's frightened, wide-eyed face.

"Niamh – "

"What are you doing here?" she hissed in alarm. "It is very dangerous for you to be here now, James. You should go now, before he returns – "

"He is occupied at the moment," James replied, although Niamh's reaction unnerved him. Had Brodie suspected that his wife had had a visitor? Had he treated her harshly in response? "And I am very sorry to intrude upon you again, but there is something I must know, something only you can tell me." He took a deep breath – if she was in fact a willing accomplice with her husband's schemes, then he was about to seal his own fate. "It concerns your husband."

Niamh regarded him warily, but she opened the door and ushered him inside with a quick wave of her hand. "I must admit I did not think I would see you again, James," she said. "But now that I have, I find I do not particularly care to discuss my husband. Is it not enough that he occupies my every night?"

James frowned at this unexpectedly intimate revelation. "You are not happy with him?"

Niamh gave him a tight, sad smile, the kind of smile one might give a child who had asked a naïve but acutely uncomfortable question. "Oh, you truly are a kind-hearted man, my dear, sweet James. But you did not come here to ask after my happiness."

Her melancholy air, together with her already-considerable beauty, threatened to unravel him. His mouth went dry, and he struggled to maintain a sharp presence of mind – he had come to ask after Brodie's conspiracy, and he would not have much time. But he recalled her mournful keening that had drawn him below decks all those weeks ago, and he realized suddenly that it was not seasickness, nor mere loneliness that had spurred her grief.

"He mistreats you?" James involuntarily balled his hands into fists at his side. "I know that another man's marriage is none of my concern, but if he abuses you –"

"It is not nearly so simple as that, kind James." Her smile, though still doleful, nevertheless seemed brighter as she regarded him with inscrutable eyes. "Though your concern is welcome. It has been so long since there has been anyone to ask after my welfare." She turned around, gazing longingly out of the cabin porthole at the silvery reflection of moonlight glinting on the waves beyond. "I believe you were going to inquire about the captain. Ask, and I will tell you what you wish to know."

James, his eyes drawn hungrily to her shapely form, was puzzled by her easy acquiescence. "Just like that? You will betray your husband to a man who is a virtual stranger to you?"

She rounded on him at once, and for the first time a fire blazed in her eyes, having burned at last through the film of melancholy that had shrouded her, veil-like, for the entirety of their acquaintance.

"Betray Andrew Brodie? Aye, and with what power I still have in me to do so! He is not truly my husband, and if anything I can tell you will bring about his end then so mote it be!"

Her outburst startled James into a shocked silence, from which he struggled for several moments to recover. "Not your husband? But – "

He cut himself short when he realized that she was weeping. "Niamh, I am terribly sorry to have upset you. If you wish me to leave –"

"No!" Her eyes were wide and brimmed full with tears, and she shook her head firmly. "I have suffered this lie for far too long. I will tell you whatever you wish to know about him, on one condition – that you also hear my tale. It will give me a great comfort to know that my grief is not entirely forgotten by the world."

James felt a terrible dread filling his heart, and he began to wonder that perhaps he did not know the half of Brodie's wickedness.

"Of course," he said softly, wishing he could reach out and draw her into his arms, though not for any selfish carnal purposes – he found himself, rather, wishing to provide her with true comfort and succour, to ease her pain and grief and protect her from whatever ills had befallen her.

She smiled at him, and he was glad to note a hint of the mysterious amusement that had so enchanted him before. "I wonder whether you have finally rekindled your fire, James. I hope so, for it would please me."

The words to which she hearkened back, which had been so mysterious to him at the time, seemed much clearer to him now that he had rediscovered a purpose in his life beyond finding his next bottle of rum or willing whore. "If that is so, then I have you to thank for it," he offered sincerely. "You had faith in me when I no longer had any in myself. Your unexpected kindness to a drunken, wayward sailor was a gift that I shan't soon forget. Please – if there is anything I can do to help you in any way, you must tell me. I will aid you in whatever way I am able."

She shook her head at him sadly. "I am beyond your help, I am afraid. All I ask is that you remember me as I spend the rest of my days in this prison of Brodie's making."

"Prison? Is that why he tells none of his crew of your presence? He chains you down here? Forbids you to leave?" James felt his ire rising and struggled to keep his voice low. "Niamh, why did not you tell me before – I will help you escape when we next make port –"

"Listen to me, James, I beg you." Her voice was kind, but there was an unmistakable steel in it that silenced his protestations at once. "If it were only a mere matter of escape, but it is not that simple. But first, before I tell you more, I must know – why did you come here tonight to ask me his secrets? Why do you seek to betray your captain?"

Her question threw James askew. "But you have just said that he has imprisoned you! Surely such a wicked man – surely you have no affection for him?"

"'Tis not my affection I speak of – it is yours," she said. "And when you came down here tonight in such a tumult, you knew nothing of my troubles. So I ask you again: why do you seek to betray your own captain? Is that not a sailor's cardinal sin?"

James was entirely confused – he'd been so certain he had found an ally in Niamh, but now she was asking him such probing questions, and for a moment he wondered whether this had all been an elaborate ruse to gain his confidence. But he realized that she was right – that he'd never said why he sought information about Brodie – and that if she was going to trust him with such sensitive information, she had a right to know for what purposes he sought it.

Trust – that was what it came to. He would have to decide, right now, whether he could trust Niamh, or not. It was a terrible risk, and if he was wrong, he would lose everything. The Tortuga wretch he'd been for so long had trusted no one. But Niamh had been the first to reach beneath that man's ragged, dishevelled exterior and find what noble spirit still lurked within, and if anyone deserved his trust, it was she. And so James did what he had not done in over three years, and took a leap of faith.

"I discovered that Captain Brodie is involved in a French plot to depose the king," he said without preamble. "He mentioned something about a 'totem' that the French were supposed to give him in exchange for his assistance in the rebellion, but they did not have it, and so he is going to collect it from a trader in Barbados. Once he has this totem, he intends to contact his fellow conspirators and put the plot in motion. So it is imperative that I stop him before he can move forward with his plans."

Niamh regarded him for a moment, her countenance unreadable. "And you thought perhaps he had confided in his 'wife'?" The bitterness with which she pronounced this last word was subtle but unmistakeable. "I admit I know little of your politics, James, and the kings of earthly realms matter little to me. But I find your loyalty to your homeland admirable all the same."

James furrowed his brows. "And yet Brodie claims that he is acting out of loyalty to Scotland. Do you not find his actions similarly admirable, no matter what other sins he has committed?"

Niamh shook her head. "You have already mentioned to me that he seeks some sort of totem. You see, whatever Andrew's political inclinations may be, they are not what drive him, no matter how he may protest otherwise. I suspect you have already encountered his penchant for collecting rare and valuable treasures?"

James recalled the cabinet of curiosities in Brodie's stateroom, and his bizarre fixation on the so-called Totem of Ikenna. "Yes, he showed me his collection. I did gather that acquiring this totem was of the utmost importance to him; he was quite agitated when the Frenchman informed him that he would have to travel yet further to acquire it."

"Then you have your answer," Niamh said, the bitterness in her voice now unmistakable. "Andrew Brodie may indeed adhere to his chosen political principles, but one thing and one thing only motivates him: and that is his desire to amass the greatest hoard of rare treasure the world has seen." She closed her eyes, as if preparing to impart an uncomfortable truth. "So yes, James, I admire your fealty to your people, as unblemished by personal greed as Andrew's is tarnished by it. And if I could help you foil his treachery, I would. But I am afraid I can offer you nothing you do not already know, for he has confided nothing of his plans to me. He confides precious little in me, I am afraid."

James struggled to hide his disappointment. Niamh had been his only meaningful lead. "But you know about his curio collection."

"Of course I do," Niamh said with a rueful smile. "For I am the centrepiece – Brodie's rarest treasure of all."

She turned from him then, towards the porthole, and stretched out a yearning arm, as if reaching for the sea forever beyond her grasp.

"You see, dear James, I am a selkie, and the day Andrew Brodie stole my skin was the day he stole my life. Now I am bound to him as surely as if by chains, and you see why I have said that there is nothing you can do to aid me."

James could feel his jaw drop as he goggled, wide-eyed, at Niamh, this strange and enchanting woman whose mysteries began to take shape, the pieces falling into place at last.

"A selkie? The seal folk from Ireland? I had thought they existed only in legend!" Though, having seen many fantastic and unbelievable things nevertheless prove to be true, he supposed, on the whole, that he should be less incredulous.

"Perhaps we are indeed legendary, but we are no less real for all that," she said with a small smile. "We prefer to keep to ourselves, to our simple lives among the waves, though we cannot help but be drawn to the villages of men – I suppose we are thus to blame for our own aura of mystery."

"But how did Brodie –"

"Capture me?" The sadness in her eyes had returned. "Yes, I did promise you a tale, did I not? And so a tale you shall receive, though it is a short and, I am afraid, a tragic one. I have said that our people are drawn to the shore, to mingle among men, and it is true – though I did not, as many of my kind do, go in search of a mate. You see, I already had a mate – my true husband, with whom I would often venture to shore to mingle among the men and women of a small fishing village on the coast of Clare. We would come ashore and assume the forms of man and woman, leaving our seal-skins buried in the sand, then journey to the village to dance and make merry. The villagers believed that we were merchants from the east, and we were content to allow them their fancy, for we greatly enjoyed their company." Niamh's expression grew wistful and faraway, as she indulged briefly in memories of a happier time.

"One night, as my husband and I danced and sang and entertained our friends in the village inn, a strange man entered, and I could not help but know as soon as I felt his cold appraising eyes upon me that he had somehow discerned my secret. Perhaps he had seen other selkies in human form before; I do not know. I inquired about him to the innkeeper, and he told me that the man was a merchant seeking a saint's relic rumoured to be buried nearby in an old monk's clochán. I felt uneasy and begged my husband that we should return to the water. He was certain I was spooking at phantoms, but seeing my fright, he bowed to my wishes. What a fool I was – to leave the safety of the inn!"

James began to understand where Niamh's story inevitably ended, and his heart clenched in sympathy. "Niamh, you could not have known –"

"No? Well I should have!" she said heatedly. "I know very well that a man can deceive and trap a selkie to keep her for his wife. I should have realized that to such a man, the presence of my husband would present little obstacle." Tears again spilled from her eyes, and James fought the urge to take her in his arms and console her.

"We left the village behind and returned to where we had buried our skins. He watched us long enough only to see where we had hidden them; then he revealed himself, like a spectre in the night. My husband of course stood to confront him, but all of his desire to protect me mattered nought against a pistol." She wept even as she ploughed on resolutely through the retelling of her tragedy, and this time James did not resist taking her hand in comfort. It was smooth and soft, as soft as any woman's hand he'd ever held, and his heart broke for this gentle creature who had been so cruelly torn from her husband and her life.

"I'm sorry," he offered, aware that the words were pitifully inadequate.

She offered him a sad but sincere smile in return, squeezing his hand and sending a thrill through his blood. "You are so kind, James, to comfort me. I have told this tale to no one – I have seen no one, save him, for as long as I have been his prisoner. You do not know how deeply felt is your kindness." Her smile turned to a grimace of anger and pain as she finished her tale. "When my husband was – when he was gone, the man – Brodie – bound me wrist and foot, and he took my seal-skin, along with my husband's. The worst of it was his false pity – he kept apologizing for murdering my husband, and vowed that he would treat me well, that he simply adored the chance to possess such a rare and wonderful creature as myself, and that I should have no fear, for I would want for nothing." Her voice became bitter, full of bile. "Nothing but freedom, or companionship, or love! I long to die, to cast off these fetters and join my husband, but Brodie ensures that I remain in good health. And that is one favour I cannot ask of you, James, for it would not be fair to you. And so now you see why I say you cannot help me. I ask only this: that you remember me, and that you do whatever you can to stop that monster before he destroys any more lives." She kissed his hand, sweetly and softly, and graced him with a smile before releasing him. "And now you must leave – he shall not be gone much longer, I suspect, and if he catches you here, you now know the full extent of the cruelties of which he is capable, and I would not wish them upon you."

James felt his heart thumping hard against his ribs, and he struggled to come up with any words that could possibly do justice to Niamh's tragic tale. He had come to visit her for admittedly selfish reasons, to interrogate her about her knowledge of her husband's – no, her captor's – affairs; but though she had been unable to offer any assistance on that score, he had learned something far more valuable: that Andrew Brodie was not merely a traitor, but a wicked malefactor of the highest order, and a man who would make a very dangerous and lethal foe. James now harboured no doubt that he had to do everything in his power to stop Brodie, though he was no closer now to knowing how to do that than he was before. But there was something else, something that niggled at the back of his mind – an important detail that had been missing from Niamh's story, and that somehow fit together with what he'd learned on Port-au-Prince – but what?

"Your skin," he said suddenly, recalling the missing detail that had worried at the edges of his mind. "You said Brodie took your seal-skin, and thus bound you to him in your human form. But if you were to find your skin, you could return to your seal form, could you not? Then you would be free of him!"

Niamh shook her head. "He told me the first night he brought me aboard his ship that he had burned it. That is how men trap selkies – they seize us and destroy our seal-skin, and we are thus forever bound to our captors. If Brodie were to die, I would be released from his thrall, but I would still be doomed to walk the earth forever in this form. I am afraid that is the best I can hope for now."

James sagged, his brief hope dissipating away like the morning's fog. "Your tale grieves me sorely, Niamh. But I give you my most solemn vow: I will not rest until I have ended Captain Brodie's menace and freed you from your bondage. You have my word."

She reached a hand up, then, and touched his face, and, in spite of all the gentle tenderness he felt for her, he could not deny the jolt of warmth that flushed through him at her touch. "Thank you, James," she whispered. "Thank you for giving me something I have not had since that terrible night." She leaned in then and kissed him softly on the cheek, and James felt as though his heart would pound right out of his chest. "And now you must truly leave. He will not be long. Go, before he finds you. I could not bear the thought of harm coming to you as well." And with that, she opened the hatch, glanced swiftly across the hold to ensure that they were alone, and pushed him gently but firmly out.

"Good night, Niamh," he said quietly as she closed the hatch behind him. "I will not fail you. I swear it." His heart still drumming a frantic tattoo, he made his way shakily towards the topside ladder, his thoughts a maelstrom. Peeking carefully above decks to make certain that Brodie, Hinks, or Kurtz were not looking his way, he slipped carefully onto the deck and crept stealthily back to his usual perch against the starboard rails. He knew he should go to his bunk and try to rest, but with his mind in such a riot, he knew sleep was not to come any time soon. He reached into his coat pocket for the bottle of rum, uncorked it, and took a long, deep swig. Perhaps the liquor would quiet the tumult in his head. He needed time to think, but he knew no solutions would be forthcoming tonight – and he still did not know whom, if anyone, he could trust.

"A fine mess you've found yourself in, old boy," he muttered, taking a pull on his bottle. He'd just finished a long and satisfying swallow when a shadow against the deck ghosted beside him, and he turned to find Captain Brodie, clad as ever in the burgundy greatcoat, sidling up beside him on the railing.

"A fine mess, eh? Found yourself in a spot of trouble, have you, Norrington?" Brodie's tone was conversational, and James fought hard to stifle the rising cold panic that had clenched his stomach and twisted it into a score of knots. "Can't say as I'm surprised – I've always said that excess drink will lead a man to ruin every time. And the Lord knows you enjoy your excess drink, don't you?"

James tried to swallow, but his throat was utterly parched, as hard and implacable as a stone. Brodie fixed his unblinking black eyes directly on him, and James knew he had to respond in some way.

"I can manage my drink, sir," he croaked, clearing his throat to dispel the lingering dryness.

"'Sir?' It's 'sir' now, is it?" Brodie's mercurial humour careened into whimsy, and he bestowed upon James a smile that was more wolfish than mirthful. "You've certainly become much more deferential and how-do-you-do since you first boarded this ship, laddie. To be honest, I can't say it suits you. It's clear you're used to being the man giving orders, not taking them. I suspect it rankles you to answer to another man on board a seafaring ship. Do I have the right of it?"

Brodie had not averted his eyes, and James felt pinned in the captain's glare like the blue butterfly in the curio case. "I am grateful for the chance to earn my keep aboard the Sagitta, sir," he said levelly. You traitorous scum. Murdering, raping, absconding, treacherous villain. I shall see you destroyed if it costs me my life.

"Glad to hear it," Brodie responded, all traces of mirth gone. "Because I can't help but wonder whether you truly do appreciate this opportunity I've given you. I've shown you favour, Norrington, and you repay me with disappointment."

James's blood ran cold. "How do you mean, sir?" Could it be that Brodie had seen him disappear into Niamh's cabin after all?

"Do not play coy with me – that suits you even less than all this 'yes sir' horseshite," Brodie grated. James tensed, wishing wildly that he had his sword at his side – if Brodie was going to accuse him now, he wanted to at least go down with a fight.

"Do you make a habit of rogering other men's wives, Norrington?" Brodie demanded, and James gritted his teeth for the inevitable. He felt the sudden mad urge to laugh – his bold plan to stop Brodie had ground to a premature halt, and not because the captain had discovered that James knew of his treason or of Niamh's terrible secret, but because he was a jealous 'husband' – and, irony of ironies, the woman for whom James was about to die was the one woman he hadn't bedded.

"Nothing to say for yourself?" Brodie mocked. "Because my friend Captain Devereaux had quite the story to tell me, you can be certain. He assures me that he caught his whore of a wife in flagrante delicto with another man, and furthermore, that this man had just delivered several crates of goods to his residence on my behalf. I assume you don't intend to tell me that you buggered off your duties and left one of those other simpletons to complete the delivery which I had entrusted to you?"

"What?"

"I trusted you to act on my behalf, and that most certainly did not include taking Madame Devereaux for a tumble!" Brodie was clearly incensed, but James felt only a clear, cool wellspring of relief, and he stifled the urge to laugh.

"You have disappointed me, Norrington. I had to plead Devereaux's forgiveness and assure him I would take care of the miscreant who bedded his wife." Brodie glared at him imperiously. "Fortunately for you, I have greater use for you as an able seaman than as an invalid, and I won't be flogging you for your absolute idiocy in Saint-Domingue. But consider yourself on notice – I won't abide such a betrayal of my trust again."

It was all James could do to suppress a wicked smile. To be lectured about betrayal and sexual ethics by a traitor and an absconder of women was nearly more than he could bear, but his relief at not having yet been found out supplanted his urge to taunt his villainous captain.

"I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again," he said with the wide-eyed sincerity of a schoolboy facing a thrashing. "But I must offer in my own defence, sir, that Madame Devereaux rather determinedly seduced me. I do not know if you are acquainted with the madame, sir, but her… charms are difficult to resist."

"I am not, but it would not matter at any rate, for I am a happily married man," Brodie retorted, and James struggled to keep from slugging the captain in the jaw right then and there. "You ought to mind your prick, Norrington. It's going to get you in a load of trouble one of these days, and the next man you cuckold may not be so forgiving." And with that, he swept abruptly from the rails with a flourish, and stalked towards the quarterdeck hatch.

"You should find your bunk, Norrington. Drunk or not, I still expect you on the main topsail before dawn breaks." Brodie disappeared swiftly down the ladder, leaving James alone and in a tumult on the deck, where he stood, in a daze, for several long moments. He decided at last to take Brodie's advice and retire to his hammock, but he did not sleep a wink, his mind consumed by thoughts of Niamh, alone and enslaved, keening out her pain and torment to the uncaring sea.

A/N: Once again I apologize for the long wait between chapters - my semester is busy as ever and I'm afraid from here on out I'll have to work in writing time between class and assignments. My goal is to have a new chapter out at least every three weeks, but please bear with me if it takes a bit longer!

I have endeavoured to remain true to the mythology of the selkies, the mythical seal-people of Scotland and Ireland, and it is indeed a common feature of such tales for a selkie maiden to be tricked or overpowered by a treacherous man, who would steal her skin and thus force her to remain his captive.

The clochán, to which Niamh refers, was a beehive-shaped hut common in southwestern Ireland and the outlying western islands used by early Christian ascetic monks for solitary prayer and contemplation. Many still exist, and they are a common sight along the west coast of Ireland.

As always, reviews are greatly appreciated!