Mystery in the Moonlight by Lynn Patrick Page B

actually capable of compassion? Caitlin wondered. It was hard to tell; he seemed a little balmy. Feeling braver, she told Lars, “I suppose Captain Winslow prefers to make women wish they were dead.”
    “Well, he’s broken a few hearts, if that’s what you mean.”
    Not knowing what to say to that remark, Caitlin tried to rise from the bunk. Her body protested the movement, and every joint and muscle seemed to be sore or aching. Smoothing down her torn and rumpled dress, she limped toward the small bathroom, or head, that opened off one side of the cabin.
    Lars made no protest at her uncharted stop. He’d turned his back politely while she was getting out of bed. She heard him singing nonsense verses about mermaids and eels as she attempted to tidy herself.
    After washing her face and trying to untangle her long hair with a brush she’d found on a shelf, Caitlin felt a little better. Even so, she was appalled by the ragged-looking young woman who gazed back at her from the room’s small mirror. Dark semicircles underscored her huge eyes; numerous fine red scratches decorated much of her exposed skin; and her formerly pristine white sundress hung by one narrow strap from her shoulders. She looked like a half-dead zombie.
    It wasn’t that she wanted to fix herself up for her present, company’s sake, Caitlin hastily assured herself. It was simply that she thought she’d feel more positive if she cleaned herself up. And she desperately needed to feel positive.
    Although she intended to try to escape when she got the chance, it would be best to let her captors think she was going along with them. She’d try to be agreeable and do the work they required of her. After all, she needed to eat. Throwing back her shoulders courageously, she entered the captain’s room again, to meet Lars’s curious gaze. He blinked and looked away, all the while humming to himself. Though he appeared relatively innocuous, could this old man mean to harm her too?
    “Let’s go,” Caitlin told Lars bravely, noticing the multiple gold chains he wore around his weathered neck and the row of tiny charms dangling from his left ear. Had the jewelry been the cook’s share of bounty from pillaged ships?
    “All right, little lady. The galley’s this way. You’ll probably want some grub to start with.” The old man chuckled as he led the way with his halting, bowlegged stride, then began to sing, “Rum and cornflakes, gin and beans…”
    Hoping that menu wouldn’t comprise her breakfast, Caitlin followed Lars out into sunlight so bright that it made her squint. The outer deck was firm and solid beneath her feet, the ship obviously standing still. When and why had they stopped sailing? Where were they?
    Glancing around, not noticing anyone else, she opened her eyes wide when she saw the rise of a hill in the near distance. They were anchored off land! Hope rising, she stopped near the ship’s rail. Should she jump into the sea and swim for it? But then she realized that the island was small, with barren beaches. It was obviously uninhabited.
    “Come along now,” Lars admonished kindly. “It’s late. You’ll have to eat fast so we can set about fixing the noonday meal and swabbing the galley floor.” He motioned for her to follow him down the narrow stairway into the ship’s kitchen area. Turning backward, she started to descend when she felt strong hands encircle her waist.
    “Well, if it isn’t the soiled little dove. Did you sleep well, Caitlin O’Connor…without Moreau to keep you warm?” Bryce’s deep voice was taunting as he lifted Caitlin the rest of the way to the floor.
    “I slept as well as can be expected, surrounded by thieves and murderers,” Caitlin said tightly as she twisted to extricate herself from the man’s hold.
    But Bryce only released her waist to swing her around into the curve of his arm. “Feisty, isn’t she, Anselm?” he remarked to his mate standing nearby. “What do you think we should do with