OK Lady Legrace and Miss Flossy, you terribly naughty girls! There should be a little present in your inboxes. Nothing like the wild bacchanalian debauches that go on in the Dark Tower, of course. But thanks again to you both for taking the time to give specific constructive feedback.

Don't worry about Captain Howard. Rose will very shortly be forced to eat crow when she sees how wrong she's been about him. Also, look for him and Mr. Allen to play a bigger part once they get to Kingston. Now all we need is Harry Belafonte, steel drums, and some rum drinks served in coconuts.

Legrace: about the birdhouse, it was originally jus a sweet sad thing, and I was going to make Mrs. Terayen give her the chart wrapped up in the chiffon. I just couldn't get it to work in my mind, though. Flint was a smart man and he probably knew that there was no one he could leave the chart with. And yes, the parrot in Treasure Island is called Captain Flint and was always saying "Pieces of eight!" However, if you ever read that story (one of my favorites) you'll see that the map, the mates, the treasure – it's all the legacy of Flint, who died before the story starts so all we know about him is what the others say.

Here is something I'm copying from a site that compares the movie and book characters:
"Much to Stephen Maturin's dismay, Mr Howard is an enthusiastic slayer of all wildlife whenever and wherever the occasion arises."

Here is one of my favorite O'Brian quotes about Stephen (I've done things like this):
"Few creatures in the sea gave Stephen Maturin more delight than dolphins,
and here in the Strait of Otranto he had them by the score. One particular
troop had been with the ship ever since he finished with the sick-bay, and
he had been watching them all this time, as far forward as he could get,
leaning against the warm figurehead and gazing down. The dolphins would
come racing up the larboard, the sunlit side, and leap all together before
crossing and going down to play in the wake before running up again: some-
times they would scratch themselves against the frigates side or even her
cutwater before turning, but generally they leapt, and he would see their
amiable faces clear out of the water. The same troop, with two exceptionally
fat, profusely spotted dolphins in it, had appeared several times before; he
knew most of the individuals, and he was convinced that they were aware
of his presence. He hoped that they recognized him and even liked him,
and each time they rose, he waved."
Treason's Harbour

A Private Apology

Feeling rather awful for the way he had spoken to the lady and parting without any friendly words, Tom Pullings made his way down to the gunroom to ask her pardon. He knocked on the door to her cabin and opened it when he heard her call to come in. He stood casting his eyes around his own familiar quarters, now so foreign. The cot had been hung low for her, and there was a little rug on the floor. His shelf held her a few books along with some colorful glass jars. On the table was a half-finished letter, a leather writing case open now with the inkpot and sealing wax set out upon the tabletop, an open book set face-down, a small frame with a portrait of two children, plus her blue birdhouse.

The lady herself wore only her plain night gown and was reaching for her dressing gown, her tousled mane of red hair loose down her back. Before his mind could even register that he should turn away or avert his eyes, he stared at her, at the outline of her body revealed in the thin cotton and the cloud of silky hair. A strong urge to bury his fingers in that thick red hair seized him, leaving him feeling almost breathless.

"Mr. Pullings!" she exclaimed, startled, when she saw him. "I thought you must be the doctor coming to check on me!"

"Forgive me." He tore his eyes away as she slipped on the dressing gown. "I had only wanted to share a cordial word with you after speaking so ugly today. It will keep until tomorrow. Good evening, ma'am, sorry to disturb you."

"Wait. I should like to speak with you as well after our unfortunate row." She quickly fastened the front of her dressing gown. They stood there for a moment in embarrassment, both knowing it was quite improper for him to even be there.

"Are those your boys?" He gestured at the portrait.

"They are." She went to take it up in order to show it to him. Then she paused and tilted her head to one side. "Perhaps, if we sat in the gunroom…?" she asked uncertainly, for she did not want to face Captain Howard tonight.

"Yes, of course, and there is no one here," he said in relief and led her out into the larger room and called for one of the lads who waited on the gunroom to fetch a glass of wine for them. When they had sat down together, she showed him the portrait. The two small boys were obviously brothers with the same dark curls and the same round dark eyes.

"They are certainly fine-looking boys." It was what any mother wanted to hear, but it was also true in this circumstance.

"Thank you." She beamed with pleasure as he handed it back to her.

Feeling strangely uncomfortable, he had to force himself to look at her. "Ma'am, I am heartily ashamed of speaking to you so roughly this afternoon."

She chuckled. "Please don't concern yourself, for I certainly spoke more roughly to you!"

He could not disagree and he grinned, shaking his head in wonder. "There was a moment when I thought you were going to charge me with naming my seconds."

His words and the amused way he said them made her laugh delightedly. "A duel at dawn! I'm sure Captain Howard would have been thrilled if we chose pistols."

Laughing, he glanced around to be certain no one had overheard her remark. Then, he turned back to her. "I beg of you not to speak thus. It can only mean more trouble."

"Yes, you are right," she sighed, looking a bit chastened. "From first to last, this has all been my fault."

"Well, I did my part, I'm sure. It was folly for me to quarrel with you. I knew perfectly well why you were angry."

"As did I." She placed her hand on top of his. "I beg you to forget what I said. I know you are a fine man and a master mariner. Forgive me for my shrewish tongue, for I spoke words that I did not mean and now sorely regret the pain that they caused."

Hearing this and seeing the earnest expression relieved him immensely for her words had stung! His shoulders relaxed and he turned his hand up so that hers rested in his. "Thank you. I think we must both forget those heated words."

She smiled ruefully. "I am sure it is mostly my fault, for I have never been able to bridle my anger with certain people. Richard and I used to quarrel fiercely but held no grudges." She sighed at the memory. "No one could ever roil me the way he did." Then she grinned at him with the familiar glint in her eyes and squeezed his hand. "You are in good company, Mr. Pullings!"

"I?" he laughed. "It cannot be! No, ma'am, it is you who roil me, for I have never in my life lost my temper with a woman."

"Ah, now you are speaking untrue, sir," she teased. "Never?"

"If you are accusing me of dishonesty, it is you who provoke me to such ungentlemanlike behavior," he shot back with a grin.

"I provoke you?" she asked in a low, silken tone, gazing at him warmly. "Hmm. Provoke."

They both looked up when they heard a step, and they let go of each other's hand. Mr. Mowett entered the gunroom, and when he saw the two of them sitting together and laughing, holding hands, both a little flushed and the lady in a near-scandalous state of undress, it took him a moment to hide his surprise. "I hope you are feeling better, ma'am."

"Much better, thank you, sir." She smiled at him. "Although the doctor has ordered me to rest a bit."

He stood still a second looking at her, for she seemed to glow with happiness. Like the days on deck when she became one with the elements, the fierce, unfettered joy made her seem almost molten. "I am glad to hear it," he finally said. "I shall pass the word on deck that I have spoken to you, and I am sure that all will be relieved."

"How very kind of you," she replied, looking touched by the concern.

"Ma'am." With a polite bow, Mowett left the gunroom, and a little silence fell. They did not look at one another. Although both of them knew that Will Mowett was far too much of a gentleman to speak of what he had seen, awareness of propriety had returned in a rush at his surprised expression.

"Perhaps it would be best if you did go and get some rest," he said slowly, sounding a little awkward. "First, though, I should like to say how sorry I am that I spoke out of turn today. About your little girl. I had no right to say it."

"No – it was because I thought you would tell them…" She stopped uncomfortably and reached to push a lock of hair behind her ear. "Well," she said and then stopped again. Finally, she said, "They would not have understood, or I would have felt silly."

"Perhaps. That is the last I shall speak of it, for I know it was spoke in confidence." He heaved a great sigh. "Hearing your words today grieved me no end, I must own. I am quite in agreement with Captain Flint's opinion. Now that we know all, we shall have Pitt hanged like the damned dog he is – traitor, coward, and unnatural man preying upon a helpless woman."

She blinked at him in surprise, for he spoke with anger that was unusual for him. Seeing her reaction and thinking it was the uncouth language that had upset her, he hastened to add something softer.

"Forgive my coarse way of speaking. In truth, I am glad to know the truth, painful though it is. I am only sorry that there is no way upon this Earth to fix it."

Her eyes clouded with a veil of grief and she looked away. Realizing he had said the wrong thing, he cast about for something kind to say. His eye fell upon the portrait.

"Your boys certainly have promising careers ahead of them with the patronage of Admiral Bellows."

The dramatic segue made her smile, and sweet affection pierced her sorrow as she gazed again at him. Her smile then disappeared, and she studied him, seeming troubled and uncertain. Determined not to say the wrong thing yet again, he remained silent, wondering how to offer her comfort.

Unexpectedly, she got to her feet, so he rose as well. "Tom," she said, not quite looking at him. "May I kiss you?"

Shock and excitement jolted him at these words. "Of course," he replied as evenly as possible. He had a few times seen the doctor kiss her upon both cheeks, as Frenchmen did, and he thought that was what she meant.

Coming close, she reached her hands to his shoulders, for he was very much taller, and his own arms closed around her almost automatically. He leaned down, and Rose touched her lips to his, soft and light as the brush of a butterfly's wings. She drew back slightly to gaze into his eyes with a searching look as if she were looking for something within him. And then she moved to embrace him closer, resting her cheek against his shoulder.

He held her while a riot of feelings coursed through him. The lady was trembling, and he knew very well that despite anything he might feel, tenderness was called for now, so he took in deep breaths to try and calm himself. Stroking her hair, he murmured, "My pretty Rose." Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a movement, but when he glanced over, there was nothing. At the moment, whomever might be there could go to the devil as far as he was concerned.

They stood there embracing for several minutes until she again pulled back and looked up at him with her lovely dark eyes wide. "I must go."

"Indeed, you must," he said back, forcing all thoughts from his mind except her well-being. Turning to the table, he took up the portrait and pressed it into her hands. "Sleep well."

"Good night, Tom," she said very quietly.

"Good night, Rose." When her door was closed, he heaved a sigh and sank back down in his chair, rubbing his hand over his eyes. On the one hand, she was so terribly helpless and vulnerable, and on the other hand, she tortured him almost beyond endurance.

"Buck up, lad," he told himself as he got to his feet and headed out of the gunroom.