Humming, I turned and snuggled into the remnants of my dress-turned-cushion. Hm...how nice and comfy. Mr Ambrose's suggestion to wait a night before infiltrating the pirate camp was a really good idea. After spending more than a week sleeping on the cold floor of a cave, I had already forgotten what it felt like for my whole body not to be aching. Compared to that, the sand of the beach was so warm and comfy. I reached out for Mr Ambrose beside me to pull him close and—

My hand came up empty.

Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

Instantly, my eyes flew open and I sat up. My head swam, and the bright light blinded me, but I saw enough to make one thing crystal clear: he wasn't here.

And if he wasn't here, that meant he would be...

Heck!

Scrambling to my feet, I raced out from behind the outcropping of rocks we had been hiding behind during the night, only to be faced with a trail of his footsteps in the sand, leading off into the distance. Towards the pirate camp.

Blast! Blast! Blast!

What the hell was he doing? We had a plan! He said he had a plan! He—

My thoughts abruptly cut off as my eyes fell on the sand before me. Right there in front of my feet, markings had been left in the sand. Letters forming curt sentences.

Stay here. There is enough food, and you know where to find water. I will make sure to keep the pirates away. You will be safe.

R.A.

Darn bloody son of a bachelor! He let himself be caught! And worse yet, he let himself be caught without me!

Crap, crap, crap! What the hell is this? I thought he said he had a plan!

Then it suddenly hit me. Of course he had. This was his plan. How could you possibly create a convincing male identity for a pregnant woman? The answer was simple: you couldn't. No, this had been his plan from the very beginning, the stupid, granite-headed, overprotective son of a...

Then again, who was I calling stupid? Did I really expect Mr Rikkard Ambrose to send his pregnant wife into a pirate camp?

Bloody chauvinist! He is so going to double his donations to the Rikkard Ambrose Foundation for Women's Suffrage and Equal Rights.

And I would make darn sure he would be alive to do it!

Not wasting another moment on anything else, I dashed across the beach, following the footsteps in the sand, and soon, the palisade around the pirate camp appeared in the distance. Yes! With any luck, I'd still catch him before he managed to get himself caught by—

"Hey! Hey, you there!"

Instinctively, I hurled myself to the ground, taking cover behind a rock. Raising my head ever so slightly, I peeked over the top of the large stone just in time to see two filthy men in linen and leather grab my husband and drag him towards the entrance of the camp.

Dammit!

I'd seen Mr Rikkard Ambrose in action before. He could have easily struggled free of those two. Heck, he could have taken them out in a blink! But he didn't. Instead, he let himself be dragged straight into the camp.

Bloody hell!

He was doing this for me. For me!

Keeping behind the rocks scattered over the beach, I slowly circled around the camp and approached it from behind. Even through the thick wooden palisade, I could hear rough voices inside, yelling at each other. Sidling closer, I pressed my face against the rough wood, close enough to not only watch, but listen. Through a gap between two posts, I could see Mr Rikkard Ambrose being frogmarched towards the centre of the camp, where a beefy man was sitting atop a barrel as if it were a throne. The two ruffians who were dragging him forward forced Mr Ambrose to his knees in front of the fat pirate.

"I'm Gaptooth." The pirate smiled, showing a truly horrific collection of rotting and missing teeth that made clear how he got his name. "I'm in charge of this camp while the captain's away. Now...can you give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you where you stand?"

Mr Rikkard Ambrose coolly met the man's gaze—then pointed at his bent knees digging into the sand. "Because I am not standing."

That did not seem to be the answer the pirate was looking for. With a snarl, he gestured at my husband's two guards, who delivered a swift, ruthless blow to the back of his head.

"You do not speak to me like that!" he growled. "Trash that washed up on the beach should keep its mouth shut! Now tell me—who the hell are you?"

Whereupon Mr Rikkard Ambrose, with his admirable talent for nonverbal comebacks, kept his mouth shut.

"Well? Speak!"

My dear husband cocked his head ever so slightly. The silent message was clear: you are contradicting yourself.

I didn't know whether to snort in laughter or slam my head against the closest wall. This bloody man...! He would be the death of me! And himself, if he went on like that!

"Speak!" the pirate roared. "Or I'll have your throat cut right here and now!"

"Now that would be rather wasteful," Mr Ambrose finally decided to break the silence. "Considering that I've come to join you."

There was momentary silence in the pirate camp—then the fat leader burst into laughter. "Join us? Ha! Mwahahaha! And why the hell should I let you? For all I know, you could be a plant by some bloody navy bureaucrat looking to catch us and make a name for himself. And even if you aren't, why the hell would I want you on my crew? Why would the captain?"

Mr Rikkard Ambrose met the other man's eyes with a steely gaze, not looking away for a single instant.

"For the same reason you want anyone on your crew. Because they can hold their own."

"Hm...is that so?" The pirate's eyes narrowed. Leaning forward, he stared at Mr Rikkard Ambrose for a long moment—then apparently decided to switch tactics. "Tell me...how exactly did you find this place? We aren't exactly advertising for volunteers in the local newspaper."

Dark chuckles rose from the crowd.

"Ah, well..." Mr Ambrose shrugged. "You could say fate brought me to this place."

"Fate?" The pirate pulled a face.

"Well, that, and the coast guard. They didn't seem to appreciate my playing hide-and-seek with them. Particularly since I was a lot better at hiding than they were at seeking."

That caused a few more chuckles to rise from the pirates. Only, this time, they weren't filled with malice or derision. A fact that didn't seem to escape their leader. I saw his posture tense, and he leaned forward to study Mr Ambrose more intently.

"So...you're a smuggler?"

"Was. After spending a few days with that bastard Tom, I decided to change jobs."

"Tom?" One of the pirates next to Mr Ambrose jerked in surprise. "You...you don't mean my cousin Tom, do you?"

"Naturally. If not because of him, why would I be here?"

"How the hell do you know Tom?"

Mr Ambrose gave a snort. "How else? Got caught and shared a prison cell with him. When I got broken out, things were a little too hot at home for my taste." He shrugged. "Then I remembered Tom going on and on about his cousin living it up on the high seas, and I thought, why not join up? Out there on the ocean, free and unfettered... Has to be a wonderful life, right?" He gave a mirthless laugh. "That's what I thought before my ship went down halfway here. Well, at least I got shipwrecked on the right island, right?"

"So...you really wanna join up?" The fellow with the imprisoned cousin stared down at my husband suspiciously. "You look like no pirate I've ever seen."

Mr Ambrose snorted. "How stupid do you think I am? Going sailing looking like a pirate? That's just asking for some navy goon to shoot you in the back. Besides..." He gestured down at his scarce, tatted clothes. "After the shipwreck, I don't look like much of anything anymore."

The pirate leader gave a bark of laughter. "Ha! Well, that much is true, for sure!" He glanced over at the guard beside Mr Ambrose. "You...you really have a cousin called Tom?"

"Aye, Sir! I do."

"And he's really stuck in chokey?"

"Aye, Sir!"

"Hmm..." The fat pirate stroked his triple chin, scrutinizing Mr Ambrose who, despite kneeling on the ground, still somehow managed to look down on everyone around him. "So you really wanna join up?"

"Yes. I do."

"And I'm supposed to take you in because—How did you put it?—because you can hold your own?

"Indeed."

"Well then..." He clapped his hands. "Prove it! Cyclops!"

Nothing happened.

Behind the palisade, I frowned. What the heck was that supposed to—

Thump!

I stiffened.

Thump!

Thump!

Thump!

Was that...an earthquake?

Thump!

THUMP!

No, it couldn't be. Could it?

Through the narrow gap between two wooden poles, a gigantic foot came into view.

THUMP!

Footsteps. Those were bloody frigging footsteps!

Shifting desperately from side to side, I tried anything I could to get a better view of what was going on inside the camp. When I finally managed, I regretted it immediately.

He was huge. No, that wasn't enough. Karim was huge. This man...he didn't look like a man at all. He towered at least two heads above anyone else. His arms were thick as barrels, and he had legs like the trunks of hundred-year-old trees. His fists swung through the air like industrial hammers, and his face...

I swallowed.

Oh hell. The less said about that, the better.

Mostly, because there wasn't much to say. He didn't have much of a face left. Cuts, slashes and other scars were scattered across the ruins that had once been skin. A huge burn mark had devoured nearly a third of his head, including his left eye.

Well, at least I know where the name "Cyclops" came from.

"Gaptooth." The voice was like two giant rocks grinding together. "Got some heads for me to crack?"

"Just one." Then, the fat bastard on his barrel-throne raised his arm and pointed straight at Mr Rikkard Ambrose. I so very much wanted to choke the fatso as a smirk spread over his lard sack of a face, and he stared down at my husband on his knees in front of him. "Well? Still wanna prove that you can hold your own?"

My heart froze.

No. Oh heck, no!

Slowly, deliberately, Mr Rikkard Ambrose rose to his feet, meeting the beefy pirate's gaze head-on.

"Prove how?"

"How else?" The pirate's smirk turned vicious. Or at least more vicious than it had already been. With a gesture, the fat man sent one of his minions scurrying forward. Quickly, the man grabbed a stick and drew a rough circle in the sand, the purpose of which was quite obvious.

Thud!

Thud!

The ground almost seemed to tremble as Cyclops stepped into the circle. Cracking his knuckles, he took up a fighting stance.

"So..." Mr Ambrose's eyes narrowed infinitesimally. "That's how it is, is it?"

"Aye." The fat man smiled. "You win, you're in. You lose...well, you won't have to worry about what happens then. Or about anything anymore, really."

"I see." My husband tensed almost imperceptibly.

No! No, don't you dare—

He stepped into the ring.

"Well...then let's get to it, shall we?"

Bloody hell!

"On the count of ten!" the pirate leader barked, silencing the mutters all over the camp. People gathered around, eyes full of eagerness and bloodthirst. "One...two...three...four..." It was then I saw him give another of those nasty smirks. "...ten!"

Cyclops leapt towards my husband, his fist slamming down.

--------------------------------------------

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

Time for the big battle! Bets are accepted at odds of two to one! All proceeds shall go to the Rikkard Ambrose foundation for Enriching Greedy Business Magnates! ;)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob