Over the next few days, I had lots of fun. And no, by that I do not mean having secret trysts in the captain's cabin! Get your mind out of the gutter!

Although we did that, too. A lot.

Ehem, where was I...

Ah, yes! Explaining how much fun pillaging and setting things on fire was!

Was that bad? Probably. But here was the thing: I didn't give a flying fig. These people hadn't hesitated even an instant to let a ship flying the Jolly Roger approach and escort them across the ocean. It had taken me some time to realize what that meant, but finally it clicked.

"They know." Eyes narrowed, I gazed out across the sea at our next target. The sailors were waiting at the railing, big grins on their faces. "I thought it was just a captain here and there, but that's not it. They all know about the pirates being hired to eliminate their competition."

When nothing but silence came from behind me, I turned around. Mr Rikkard Ambrose was looking at me, his eyes cool and unperturbed.

"You knew. You knew that they knew from the beginning."

He cocked his head. "Why do you think I started approaching my competitor's ships flying a pirate flag?"

Oh.

So...that had been a test?

Of course. This was Mr Rikkard Ambrose. He always had a reason for what he was doing, and most often more than one.

"So..." Eyes narrowed into slits, I once again stared at the distant ship. "Do you think they know about the other things as well? The sabotage? The murder attempt?"

"Most likely not. But..."

"But?"

"Probably only because nobody bothered to inform them. As for whether they would have cared had they known...?"

He trailed off meaningfully.

I swallowed. "I see."

"Indeed."

"Captain Rockface?"

"Yes, Freddy the Fatty?"

"Do you think you could show me how to load a cannon?"

"With pleasure."

Five minutes later...

Boom!

"Mwhahahahaha!"

"Um...are you all right, Mister?"

Glancing behind me, I noticed Liam. For some reason, he was eyeing me wearily.

"Never been better! Hand me that cannonball, will you?"

"Err...all right."

Boom!

"Haha! Mwhahahaha!"

Suffice it to say it was a very satisfying day. Firing cannons does wonders for pregnancy moods. I should recommend it to Ella once I got home.

"Homeward, men!" Mr Ambrose roared from where he was dangling in the rigging, a sabre clutched in his right hand. "Homeward to celebrate!"

A roar of cheers went up from the crowd of pirates on the deck below. The fact that the deck happened to be spattered with blood and was part of a stolen ship didn't seem to bother any of them. It also didn't really bother me, for that matter.

"Plenty of whiskey and rum for everyone!"

"Huzzah!" the pirates roared. Throwing my arms into the air, I joined in. "Huzzah, huzzah!"

"We'll revel all through the night, celebrating our victory!"

"Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!"

"And we shall feast to our heart's content!"

"Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzz—"

Wait just a minute. Feast?

Someone would have to cook that, wouldn't they?

Crap.

***

Thwack! Thwack!

"I...sniff...h-hate...chopping...onions!"

With a few mumbled curses, I threw the onions into the giant, bubbling pot. At least those were the last ones, right?

Just then, I heard the tent flap behind me being pulled open. Glancing over my shoulder, I spotted Liam, tugging a giant tub full of onions into the tent.

"Was told...you...needed this," he panted.

My eyebrow twitched. "Oh, you were, were you?"

"Um...yeah." The boy took a hurried step backward. Then several more. "I'll be going then. I've got stuff to do and, well...stuff."

"What's the hurry?" I cocked my head. "Won't you stay for a bit? I've got a few treats for you, and I could use better company than that thrice-damned bird."

"Err...thanks, but I don't think I can. I've got to...got to..."

Putting down the knife, I turned to fully face the boy. "Is it just me, or do you seem unusually nervous about being in my tent? Is there a reason for that?"

"N-no! Of course not! No reason at all." And he took three more steps back. "I'm totally fine. I have no problem whatsoever. No prob—"

"Squawk!" Polly picked this moment to join the conversation. "Dressing up! Girl dressing up in men's clothe—"

Clang!

The parrot was abruptly silenced by the cast-iron pot slamming into his cage.

"Ehem...just don't pay any attention to her." Clearing my throat, I sidled over to the bloody bird and clamped its beak shut. "That bird says the strangest things. Haha. Funny, right?"

"Yes, haha," Liam agreed woodenly. I scrutinized him closely, looking for any sign that he'd taken the bloody bird's words seriously, that he had realized who I really was—but, once more, he wasn't even looking at me. Instead, he was staring at the bird with a face full of terror. Was his ornithophobia rearing its head again?

Reaching out, I placed a comforting hand on the little fellow's shoulder. "You know...we all have problems of our own. If there's anything you want to tell me, I'll listen. A burden shared is a burden halved."

The little fellow's face paled, and he stumbled back, staring at me as if he'd seen Satan himself. "N-no, thanks! I'll be all right! And I don't have anything to share in the first place. I mean, what kind of secrets could a cabin boy like me possibly have? Haha, right? Bye, I'll be going now!"

And he ran out of the tent.

Blinking, I stared after him. Well...all right then. That was...odd.

Not that I currently had any leisure time to think about it. My eyes lowered to settle on the enormous tub full of onions in front of me.

Back to work. Oh joy!

Soon, I was so busy chopping onions that I didn't hear the mutters and curses coming from outside.

Over the next few days, Captain Rockface and his band of bloodthirsty bastards unleashed a campaign of terror all over the Caribbean, at the memory of which people would shiver in fear for years to come. Or maybe not, because in order for people to feel fear, there actually needed to be survivors. I wasn't there for most of the action, unfortunately—for one very simple reason.

"By Davy Jones' beard, Freddie!" I heard a voice from beside me and, a moment later, spotted Jackal settling down in front of the campfire. Eyes wide, he was staring down at my belly. "You really like tasting your own food, don't you? No wonder you became a ship's cook."

"Pffft!" I sent a spurt of my drink into the fire and started coughing. "Cough, cough...ehem, yes, that's it. I just can't stop eating my own food. It's almost addictive. That's definitely why I'm gaining weight, no other reason."

"Well, can't say I disagree." Grabbing a nearby bowl, he filled it from the pot bubbling over the fire and started devouring the contents. "Though I'd be careful if I were you. I noticed the Captain's benched you for the last few raids. You should cut back a bit if you wanna go with us the next time."

One corner of my mouth quirked as I glanced over at Mr Rikkard Ambrose, who just so happened to choose that moment to look up and send an intense stare at my belly.

"Thanks for the advice, but I think there's little chance of that."

My pregnancy was now well and truly showing, and Mr Rikkard Ambrose had informed me in no uncertain terms that I would be going on further pirate raids over his cold, dead body. And even then, his zombie self would probably try dragging me to safety. And the worst thing? I couldn't really bring myself to disagree with him. Back in my London office, I would be the first to proclaim that any pregnant woman could do the work of a man perfectly fine, thank you very much. But if that "work" involved storming enemy ships, swinging a sabre and evading pistol shots?

Even my optimism had its limits. And so did Mr Ambrose's restraint. I was aware that "ball and chain" was a phrase for someone's spouse, but if I decided to join in on a raid in my current condition, I wouldn't put it past Mr Ambrose to take the expression a little too literally.

Suffice it to say that my new inactivity was not very much to my liking. With every passing day, my impatience grew, because, every day spent hunting those "merchant ships", we were not hunting the true culprit behind all of this.

That is, till the tenth night after we left.

We were just coming back from a resupply trip, one of the few recent trips I had been able to convince Mr Ambrose to let me join. Night had already fallen. I was about to make my way to my cabin—which just so happened to have a connecting door to the captain's cabin—when I noticed a tall, dark figure at the railing, silhouetted against the moonlight. I stared for a moment, not quite believing what I was seeing. Stepping closer, I confirmed that, yes, it was indeed Mr Rikkard Ambrose, who was apparently spending his time just...enjoying the view?

"Stargazing, Dicky Darling?" I whispered as I sidled up to him from behind.

"Not quite. Although I am looking at the pretty lights."

If I'd looked at him oddly before, it was nothing compared to now. I was just about to peek into his ear to check if he had lost his marbles when I noticed it: the light flashing in the distance. Rhythmically.

I stiffened. "What's that?"

In answer, I only received a silent look. What did that mean? Why would lights be flashing in the middle of the night, as if...

Then it clicked.

"That's...a signal."

"Adequate, Mr Linton."

I felt a tingle travel down my spine. "What for?"

"I left orders back at the bank to send someone to the shore every night who would send signals that I could spot when sailing past this island."

My eyes narrowed at the distant light. I swallowed. "And what does the message say?"

He turned around. Icy eyes glittered at me in the darkness. "They found him."

***

A line of men strode onto the pier in a certain city's harbour. A line led by a massive figure with an even more massive beard.

"Um...Mr Karim, Sir? Are you sure about this?" a suicidal sailor asked.

All the others instantly took a step away from him. The huge bodyguard slowly turned around, his slightly reddened and swollen nose becoming visible.

"What. Did. You. Say?"

"I, um...asked if this was a good idea?" the sailor mumbled, taking a step back. "I mean, we went out to catch pirates, and all we caught was a cold, right? We—"

"I did not catch a cold!" Karim growled. "And I most certainly did not—achoo!"

Poignant silence descended over the pier.

The bodyguard slowly pulled out a handkerchief, wiped his nose, put the handkerchief away, and fixed the sailor with a glare that could make milk curdle.

"We will set sail again. And we will find both the pirates and Ambrose Sahib and the Sahiba."

"But, Mr Karim, Sir...we've combed this part of the ocean for days upon days now, and haven't found a single thing!"

"Of course we're combing the ocean! Where else are we supposed to look? On land?" Karim's fist slammed against the side of the nearest ship and a snarl erupted from his throat. "Do you think pirates would suddenly beach their ship and become bank robbers?"

The sailors cowered under his glare.

"Of course not, Sir!"

"You're quite right, Sir!"

Karim gave a grim nod. "Good. Now get moving!"

"Aye aye, Sir! Right away, Sir!"

***

The very next morning, Mr Ambrose ordered the ship to be turned around. When the pirates asked why, all my dear husband said in response was: "Heading back to the bank."

Needless to say, all the pirates were quite impressed with their captain's guts. Robbing the same place twice in a week? Now that was pirating with style!

Thus, only a few hours later, our ship was anchored in a hidden, natural harbour not far away from the city of Hamilton, and I found myself climbing down into a dinghy that was to take us ashore. Something that would have been a lot easier without a bulging belly, let me tell you.

"Remember," Mr Ambrose instructed, his cold eyes boring into the first mate, who stood at the railing above. "If we have not returned within the hour, you are to implement the plan."

"Aye aye, Sir!" The first mate nodded solemnly.

"Oomph!" With a thud, I let myself slide from the last rung of the rope ladder, landing in the dinghy. It probably said something about my current state that, even with Mr Ambrose in the other half, this made the boat tilt noticeably in my direction.

Mr Ambrose cocked his head, gazing at me.

"Not a word!" I raised a single finger. "Not. A. Word. Especially not the f-word!"

His gaze lowered, focusing on my belly.

Goddammit! How does he do it? How is that son of a bachelor able to insinuate I'm fat without saying a word?

And the worst thing? Without him saying anything, I couldn't even complain about it!

Reaching out to steady me, he gazed into my eyes. "Are you sure you don't want to stay behind?"

I opened my mouth to shoot back a biting retort—then met his eyes, and the words caught in my throat. Such deep, dark, unfathomable eyes. Sea-coloured orbs akin to pools of icy water, filled with ferocity and...concern?

I swallowed.

"We're just going to visit the bank," I told him. "What's the worst that can happen?"

He sent me a look. "Mr Linton?"

"Yes?"

"Do you know one reason why I speak so seldom?"

"Err...no?"

"It is a simple way to avoid famous last words."

One corner of my mouth quirked. "As well as any others. Let's go, shall we? I'd like to have time to stop at the market on the way back. Maybe I'll be lucky and find some stall that sells ice cream and mustard on toast."

"Unlikely."

"Hey! Don't crush my hopes and dreams!"

He didn't deign to dignify that with a response, so we spent the rest of the journey in silence. It didn't take long for our dinghy to reach the shore. With a grinding sound, the prow met the sand, and Mr Ambrose leapt onto land. Reaching out, he extended his hand to me.

"Oh?" I cocked an eyebrow. "What if your crew sees us holding hands?"

"Then," Mr Ambrose said in a completely neutral, not at all teasing voice, "my crew will think Freddy the Fatty is too voluminous to get out of a boat alone."

"You...!"

Needless to say, I got out of the boat very quickly, nearly as quickly as I aimed a kick at Mr Ambrose's shin. Unfortunately, he moved out of the way in a blink and, a moment later, was already halfway across the beach.

Drat!

Just you wait until I get my hands on you, Mr Rikkard Ambrose!

"You...are...going to...pay...for...this!" I panted, trying as hard as I could to catch up with him and failing. "Just as soon...as I catch up...with you!"

"Some exercise is quite healthy for pregnant women, I've heard."

"And getting hard kicks in the bollocks can be quite healthy for men, I've heard," I told him sweetly.

In answer came a moment of silence. Then...

"Let's forget about the subject of health for the moment and take care of the matter at hand." He held out his hand. "Agreed?"

I grinned and shook his hand. Yay! Victory!

"Agreed, Captain Rockface, Sir."

And, together, we set out up the path towards Hamilton. And if our hands stayed intertwined, that surely was pure coincidence, right?

By the time the sun had risen to its zenith, we reached the outskirts of Hamilton and stepped into town, heading straight to the square where the bank was to be found. As we reached the front door, he cast a glance my way. "Follow my lead."

Then, without another word, he flung open the door and strode inside. The bank was much busier than last time. Judging by the calendar on the wall, it was the end of the week, and all sorts of people had come to deposit their week's wages. Seems like we would have to wait in line for a while.

...

Hah! Yeah, right!

Mr Rikkard Ambrose strode straight past the queue, completely ignoring the scandalized looks and exclamations from the other customers. Rapping on the hardwood counter, he fixed his gaze on the frozen clerk.

"I'm here for the package."

"Ah, um...yes, of course, Sir! The package! One moment, please!"

I would never have thought a bank clerk could move that fast without a gun pointed at his head. In a jiffy, he was back, carrying a thin folder held together by string. My eyes landed on the package with ravenous intensity, and I could hardly keep myself from snatching it.

Wait just a bit. Just a bit longer.

"Here you go, Sir!" Without daring to waste another instant, the clerk handed over the folder. "Here you go!"

Mr Ambrose gave a curt nod. Then, without another word, he turned and strode back towards the exit.

"Well?" I hissed the moment he reached my side. "Open it!"

"Not now." He gave a minute shake of the head. "Later, on the ship."

With great effort, I exercised patience. He was right. It was a bad idea to look at sensitive information out in the open. Besides, it wouldn't be long now. It wouldn't be long until I finally got my hands on the bastard who'd tried to introduce my family to full-time deepsea diving.

It was amazing what proper motivation did for one's exhaustion. Where, before, I'd had difficulties keeping up with Mr Rikkard Ambrose, now, I was easily keeping stride. We quickly left Hamilton and once more found ourselves on the path down to the beach.

Close! So close! Soon, I'll know, and they shall pay!

Marshalling the rest of my strength, I sped up even more, approaching the beach at a fast pace—that is, until we reached a narrow bend in the path, and a dark-clad figure with a military haircut and pitch dark eyes stepped out from behind a rock, blocking our way.

Mr Ambrose stopped in his tracks.

"Lachance."

"Rockface." The Frenchman sneered. "If that truly is your name, Monsieur."

My husband's eyes narrowed infinitesimally. He shifted ever so slightly, positioning himself between the other man and myself. Something I would normally have taken issue with—but not now. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"

The Frenchman's sneer twisted even further. "Not just mine." And he snapped his fingers.

In a blink, figures appeared from behind the trees on both sides of the path. Men with guns and dangerous looks in their eyes.

Mr Ambrose's eyes narrowed another fraction of an inch. "What's the meaning of this?"

"It is an amusing little story, really, mon ami." Striding over to an oak tree, Lachance leaned against it, leisurely crossing his legs. "I believe I hired you to protect my employer's ships, non?"

"Indeed."

"In fact I paid you quite a bit of money for the task, n'est-ce pas?"

"A sufficient amount."

"Then why, pray, when a man was washed ashore on this island a few days ago, did he claim to be part of the crew of a merchant ship belonging to my employer? A ship that, according to him, you personally sank?"

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

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

A bit of trivia: Ornithophobia means "fear of birds". In order to find that out, I had to take a look at a wiki page listing all the various phobias in the world. It's hard to believe how many of those there are. My sincere respect to anyone who has one and manages to get through life anyway! :)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob