The tip of Royce's sword pierced Charlisse's gown. She glanced at Sloane, who had frozen in place with one hand gripping the handle of his pistol, the other on the hilt of his cutlass. His haunted blue eyes fixed upon Royce's blade, a burgundy hue rising on his cheeks.

"Back off, ye flabby barracuda," Sloane spat. "D'ye mean to kill the captain's wife? He'll be having yer head fer a cannon ball."

One corner of Royce's mouth lifted in a crooked grin, revealing gaping ...