Sarah was right, when the man moved he was lightning fast. She hadn't even sensed his approach before he was upon her, his hands wrapped around her throat, choking her cruelly.

'You were sent to kill me!' he roared in her face.

'No! NO!' she tried to say but she couldn't find the air to make herself heard. He pinned her to the ground, his massive frame filling her sight even as her vision began to blur and darken at the edges. Her neck was agony as his iron grip tightened, her hands clawing hopelessly at his brawny forearms, drawing blood as her nails scraped his flesh. Her lungs were screaming for air and she could hear the blood pounding in her ears.

Then, almost as quickly as it had begun it was over. His hands suddenly released her and he was pushing himself up, backing away on unsteady feet. Sarah just lay there for a moment gasping for air, her hands on her throat but then the sound of him swearing brought her back to a sense of reality. Terror got her to her feet, adrenalin pumping, and panic set her running down the beach. She knew it was futile but she also knew she had to try. She angled down to the hard packed sand in the surf and set her sights on the caves at the far end of the beach, maybe if she made it that far she could find one to hide in. She knew she couldn't go into the jungle, he would know it better than she, and there were so many obstacles to tangle and trip her. The sea was a worse option, leaving her with only the caves. She pounded down the beach, her breathing ragged, the pain in her lungs worsening with each step. She heard him curse and looked back to find him in pursuit so she increased her speed trying desperately to keep ahead of him but every time she looked back he was closer. She fumbled for her knife and pulled it wildly from her pocket. There was no way she was going to out run him, she knew that for certain now and no amount of prayer was going to slow him, but from somewhere, born of fear and desperation she found a sort of reckless courage and so she slowed and swung to face him, knife extended in trembling hand.

'Don't come any closer!' she screamed as he slowed to a stop, far, far too close. He raised his hands as if to show her he had no weapons but she was not fooled, those hands were his weapons, cruel, brutal, choking weapons.

'Jesus, Fuck! I'm sorry! I…I…didn't mean…' he stammered. She ignored his entreaties such as they were and slashed at him with the knife.

'Stay back!'

'I'm sorry, I'm sorry.' He sounded contrite but she didn't care. Chest heaving she never took her eyes off him. He stood, equally breathless, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides and then for a split second he looked away as if he was struggling to meet her accusatory gaze. Sarah didn't hesitate, there was a kind of madness upon her. She launched herself at him, intent on sinking her knife into any available flesh she could find. So unexpected was her attack that she succeeded in knocking him to the floor, but from there it went rapidly downhill. Swearing profusely he grabbed the wrist of her knife wielding hand and pressed hard on the tendon until pain forced her to release the knife. It dropped to the sand and when she made a grab for it he was already there, throwing it out of her reach. When she struggled to pull away from him his grip tightened so she bit his arm as hard as she could, only letting go as the warm, metallic taste of his blood filled her mouth.

'For fuck's sake! You fucking she-devil!' he raged, rolling her onto her back and pinning her legs under him even as he caught both her hands in one of his large ones. Impotent, but still fuelled by her adrenalin and her fear she continued to thrash, attempting without success to throw him off her. Realising she had reached the limits of her strength she glared balefully at him and then spat his own blood in his face. The look her gave her as he wiped blood and saliva off his cheek was almost amused but there was no amusement in his tone.

'Will you calm the fuck down,' he said menacingly. 'I'm sorry. I'm not going to hurt you,' he paused and then amended, 'again.'

Sarah ceased her struggling, glowering up at him in silence to hide her dread of what he would do next.

'I really am sorry and I promise it won't happen again,' he said less fiercely. 'I've been alone for a long time and Rogers is part of the reason I am stuck here. I heard his name and I sort of lost my head.'

'Sort of?' she croaked.

'I went fucking insane?'

She stayed silent.

'I went fucking insane and I'm sorry. I'm going to let you go now, please can we just talk? No choking, no running, no biting, just talk?'

She eyed him narrowly for a moment before she nodded once. She realised she couldn't do anything from her current position so was forced to acquiesce. He let go of her hands slowly and then pushed himself away from her. Sarah immediately scrambled away, curling herself up tightly to put as much distance as possible between them.

'I really have been alone for a long time, it's good to have someone else here.'

Sarah's eyes widened in fear. She wondered if she had escaped imminent death at his hands only to find herself the victim of this savage man's carnal urges. He caught her expression and frowned.

'What? What did I say?' he asked, then suddenly he appeared to realise what she must be thinking because his brow darkened. 'Don't be alarmed on that count, I'm not the type to force a woman.'

'I imagine you would have said you aren't the type to strangle a woman either, and yet here we are,' she said sharply without considering her words and then inwardly quailed at her temerity.

He gave an almost wry arch of his brows but then said seriously, 'A woman comes to my bed willingly or not at all.'

She didn't really know what to say to that so she simply regarded him until he dropped his eyes.

'Why are there no ships?' she asked when he seemed disinclined to break the silence.

'The island isn't plotted on most maps and it enjoys a dubious reputation for those who are aware of its existence.'

'Dubious reputation? What does that mean?'

He shrugged. 'There's some stories of unnatural goings on, ghostly apparitions, terrifying creatures, that kind of thing.'

She looked into the forest, alarmed. 'What kind of creatures?'

He looked at her slightly pityingly. 'They're not true. Some say you can hear the voice of God in the interior but it is just the echo of the waterfall. Sailors are a superstitious lot and give them a mist covered island and they'll be seeing and hearing all kinds of things within minutes.'

'Are you a sailor?'

He snorted, she wasn't sure why and then replied cryptically, 'Of sorts.'

'And how did you come to be here?'

She blanched and shrank back a little further at the expression her question elicited, part horror, part shame and part anger. Looking swiftly around she tried to locate her knife. It was a good six feet away, she could see the hilt glinting on the sand. Mr Bones scrubbed his hands through his hair and the movement brought her eyes back to him.

'I was abandoned here, left for dead,' he said, the undertone of rage making her cringe inwardly.

'By Woodes?' she said, wondering if she might regret asking.

'By everyone!' he burst out, his anguish clear to her. 'They betrayed me, then I betrayed them and then they left me here.'

'They betrayed you?'

'Tried to kill me.'

'Is this the same people who you thought had sent me to kill you?'

'Call that temporary insanity, but yes, those people. It's a long story, long and unnecessarily complicated.'

She took the hint, 'I have nothing but time it would appear but perhaps we can save the life stories for another day and stick to the potted histories for today.'

'Agreed,' he responded. There was a pause and then he said, 'so how is it you are calling Governor Rogers your husband, as far as I remember he was married to Eleanor Guthrie?'

She stiffened at the mention of that woman's name.

'He was married to me first,' she said, feeling shamed by how childish she sounded. 'I came to find him to talk him out of this…this…' she couldn't bring herself to say marriage, it was not a marriage. 'I came to convince him to discard his…whore,' she stumbled a bit over the unfamiliar word but continued, 'and come back to his true wife.'

'You did, did you?' She didn't like the look he was giving her, it seemed both amused and pitying and she had a horrible feeling that he knew this Guthrie woman and that the comparisons he was making were not flattering. She pulled herself erect under his gaze, straightening her spine, her pride stinging from the imagined criticism.

'Reports were confused in England, some said he had been captured by the pirates, some said he had been imprisoned for debt. I thought if I came here I could make some arrangement regarding his debts and secure his release, convince him to return to England.'

'And in doing so incur his eternal gratitude?'

She nibbled pensively on her thumb nail and then, sighing deeply, said, 'Something like that. Although given my current circumstances I am not sure how I will manage it now. Even if I could get to Nassau, my possessions are all lost including all my paperwork and I not sure how much I would be able to achieve without any evidence of my identity or wealth.'

'Given what I've seen, I imagine you could achieve quite a lot,' he said ruefully, absently rubbing the bite on his arm. She was perplexed, his comment had the ring of an offhand compliment. 'And you don't need to worry about Eleanor Guthrie any longer.'

'No? Why not?'

'She's dead,' he said blandly.

'Oh, well good,' she said slightly defiantly, even though she sensed that this woman's death caused him some pain. The look he shot her confirmed her assumption and she raised her chin rebelliously, all the time wondering what she thought she was doing. She had already experienced first-hand the strength in those arms and yet she couldn't seem to stop herself from deliberately goading him. She was also morbidly curious, 'How did she die?'

'The Spanish came, she was caught in the crossfire. Your husband invited them to the island to destroy his enemies and they destroyed everything he held dear at the same time.'

'I'm sure he had his reasons' she declared somewhat imperiously, her resentment at the description of that woman as everything Woodes held dear making her impudent.

'Yes, well, we all made some fucking stupid decisions at the time but he lost his wife and unborn child because of his.'

Sarah felt her stomach drop and her throat constrict. Sucking in a breath as best she could she fought those ever present tears.

'She was with child?' she managed to say, though her voice cracked slightly as she said it. He nodded slowly and she clambered laboriously to her feet and turned her back on him. When he began to say something she held up her hand to stop him and to her surprise he was silenced. She walked quickly down the beach, to put some distance between them and give herself the illusion of some privacy. She could feel the emotions building in her chest, the nausea as her stomach rolled and lurched, the constriction of her lungs as she fought for breath. She sank to her knees and let out a discordant noise that was somewhere between a groan and wail, a sound of despair and grief. Her shoulders shook as intense sobs wracked her body. She punched ineffectually at the unresisting sand, weeping all the time and occasionally tearing at her hair as all her pent up emotions of what felt like the last ten years came pouring out. That Woodes had created a child with her was the deepest cut of all, but it seemed as if all the shallower wounds had been torn open at the same time and were weeping blood on her agony.

It was some time before she had cried herself out but eventually she fell forward, resting her head on her forearms feeling drained and weary. Realising with a start of self-consciousness that Mr Bones was probably still watching from not very far away, she sat up, sniffed deeply and took several deep breaths before getting up and making her way down to the surf. She crouched down carefully to avoid wetting her skirts and splashed some sea water on her face, before drying it on the edge of her petticoat. She knew her eyes would be red and her face puffy but she felt more composed. She stalked back up the beach and sat down in front of him, folded her hands neatly in her lap, daring him to mention her lapse.

He didn't, he sat there in silence, eyeing her speculatively until he said suddenly, 'Are you hungry? I'm hungry.'

'Mr Bones, at the moment I am always hungry,' she admitted without thinking.

His lips twitched. 'I have pork.'

'Pork? Truly?' she tried not to sound too eager but the moment he had mentioned it her mouth had begun to water.

He nodded solemnly. 'Truly.' He got to his feet and awkwardly held out a hand to help her up which she ignored. The thought of food had momentarily clouded her judgement but she was rapidly realising that she couldn't just follow this man to who knew where. He was dangerous. Her stomach didn't seem to care about any considerations other than food but her head was adamant. She shook her head slowly.

'I can't go with you.'

'Why not?' he said clearly confused with her sudden change of mind.

'I don't know you…you might…' she trailed off uncertainly. He gave a huff of exasperation and strode over to her knife. Picking it up from the sand he dusted it off and handed it to her hilt first. She took it, not feeling any more secure in his presence. When she seemed no more inclined to follow him he swore under his breath and pulled a pistol from his belt. She froze. He held it out to her and when she hesitated shook it impatiently.

'Take it,' he said shortly.

She reached out and took the wooden grip in her hand and then looked up at him doubtfully.

'If you cock it and pull the trigger it will fire, so don't cock it unless you mean to shoot me. I don't have enough shot to be wasting it.'

She ran her finger over the cocking mechanism and watched him tense. She contemplated shooting him, it was tempting her emotional state being fragile at best, but she didn't think she could do it in cold blood. Had she had the gun when he was chasing her down the beach it might have been a different story, although she was realistic enough to know, having never fired a gun in her life, in all probability she would have missed. It was galling to comprehend how little threat he saw in her, she knew he would never have given her the gun if he thought she would effectively use it. The temptation to shoot him returned but common sense, or rather her stomach, prevailed, announcing its demands with an audible growl. To his credit he didn't comment, just strode towards the trees without a backwards glance.

She followed him through the forest feeling apprehensive, the gun clutched in her hand. She had no reason to trust him but there didn't seem to be any more appealing choices and she was very hungry. The thought of actual meat had dulled any other considerations. If he wanted to kill her there wasn't a great deal to be done about it and at least this way she might experience a full stomach again. There would be a certain satisfaction in that. She felt an odd mixture of terror and resignation and seemed to be oscillating between them in a manner that she found quickly exhausting, but terror in the face the subdued threat this man now seemed to offer was hard to maintain. He walked ahead of her, leading the way and occasionally looking back as if to check on her whereabouts. Once he held a branch back so she could pass, an incongruous act of chivalry that almost made her curtsey in acknowledgement. She caught herself, ignoring the ingrained courtesy of her previous life and sidled past him keeping as much distance between them as possible and gripping the gun ever more tightly.

Mr Bones' shelter was about a half an hour walk through the forest, although shelter was not quite the word to describe it, it was a hut and far more impressive than she would have considered possible under the circumstances. She surveyed it, wondering how he had managed to construct it. It was a one room structure built of an assortment of bits of wood, some of which appeared to be slightly fire scorched. Outside, in front, was a fire pit, the embers smouldering gently and a haunch of meat hanging to one side. Her tension eased another degree, he hadn't been lying about the food. She took in several chests, a bucket and some tools, including an axe and a cutlass hanging neatly on a series of nails on the side of the house. He watched her silently as she inspected his living space.

'Well, you've certainly been busy,' she said at last.

'I've had a bit of time on my hands for the last six months,' he replied.

'Six months? You've been here on your own for six months?'

He nodded. She was silently appalled but stopped short of sympathy, six months of isolation was still no excuse for attacking her.

'Where did everything come from? The wood and chests and tools, I mean?' she asked.

'There was a ship, well, there still is a ship, that didn't make it back. I salvaged what I could from that though a lot of it was burned beyond use.'

He gestured her to sit on one of the two chests arrayed around the fire.

'Expecting company?' she said as she sat on one, placing the pistol carefully down by her side.

'Hoping,' he grunted.

He opened the other chest and pulled out a pair of tin plates and tankards for the both of them and then began to carve meat off the hanging pork joint with his knife. Sarah wiped her mouth surreptitiously as she once more began to salivate at the thought of actual meat. Once he had finished carving a generous portion he went into the hut and came out a moment later with a pile of what she recognised as ship biscuits on the plate beside the meat. Filling her cup from a cask beside the door he handed both the plate and tankard to her. She nodded her thanks, too entranced by the food to speak properly, and as soon as his attention was on his own meal sank her teeth into the topmost piece of pork. Immediately warm, salty meat juices filled her mouth and she almost groaned with the pleasure of it. Devouring the first piece she looked up to find him sitting opposite her regarding her with what could have been amusement. She swallowed the huge mouthful she had taken with some difficulty and nibbled somewhat more daintily at the second piece, ignoring the raging hunger in her belly. Soaking one of the biscuits in water for a time to soften it she took a bite and was surprised to find even hardtack could be delicious if you were hungry enough. She realised that she had forgotten to say Grace but thought perhaps God might forgive her on this occasion, however just in case she said a quick silent prayer of thanks for the food. It then occurred to her that she really should thank the man opposite her who had provided the meal. Mr Bones only grunted in response, apparently uncomfortable in the face of her gratitude.

'So there have been no ships in the last six months?' she asked quietly when she had finished the pork and was chewing on her last biscuit.

'You're really not going to let that lie are you?' he said thickly through a mouthful of meat. He swallowed and took a drink from his cup before continuing. 'I have seen no ships, no ships have landed on the island. I haven't even seen a ship further out to sea. No-one is coming here any time soon.'

She digested that, still determinedly looking for some ray of hope. 'But surely, surely you have some friends who might come looking for you?'

He grimaced. 'I don't have any friends any more, besides they probably think I'm dead. I fell off the ship.'

'So they didn't leave you behind, they didn't know you were here?'

'They would have left me regardless, if they didn't kill me instead.'

'Was it so very terrible, what you did?' she asked, curiosity overcoming caution.

'Yes,' he said shortly. 'I took a vow and I broke it.'

'Men break vows all the time,' she said with degree of asperity. 'Why was this one so different?' She wanted to bite her unruly tongue, worried she might anger him again.

'Men died because of me,' he said almost inaudibly. 'I let my desire for revenge against one man get the better of my judgement, I forgot about my vow and fucked everything up.' He was quiet for a time and Sarah was too timid to ask any more questions. He sighed and said, 'I know I accused you of being sent to kill me but there is really no reason to think they even know I am alive. They are not coming, no one is coming…unless…' he stopped and seemed to be thinking hard.

'Unless?' she prompted him carefully but he shook his head, as if to shake away unwelcome thoughts.

'Unless nothing, no one is coming and the sooner you accept that the easier it will be for you.'

There was something else, that much was clear but she was afraid to push him further. Still it gave her some faint hope. Perhaps the Spanish might come and he was rejecting them already as a possible avenue for rescue. She had no such qualms and would throw herself at the mercy of anyone who turned up in order to get back to civilisation. She sensibly kept that thought to herself though.

'Do you want more?' he said, getting up. She nodded and he came over to take her now empty plate. As he did so she saw his eyes move to her now sore throat. She imagined that bruises were already starting to form. He stopped and put his hand out as if to touch her. She shied violently fumbling for the discarded gun at her side. He dropped his hand immediately and moved quickly away, before she even had time to get a proper grip on the pistol.

'Sorry,' he said quietly as he began to refill her plate.