The following story is erotic fiction meant for adults
only.  

I wrote this story based on the subject matter of a
song.  The names have not been changed nor the general
mood of the song.  However, I did take artistic license
and added my own special twist.  For those of you who
enjoy a challenge, tell me what song I wrote this to by
emailing me at mdmvirago@aol.com.  If you are really
lost, I may be enticed to provide hints.  The winner
will get the choice of either a cameo appearance in my
next story or a lifetime supply of virtual peanuts.  If
the idea of a cameo appeals to the winner I will get
the winner's written permission before I post the next
story.  Enjoy.

Feedback always appreciated at mdmvirago@aol.com.

******



Stand And Deliver
(c)2000 by Virago Blue


Molly crept from her rented room behind the rustic
tavern.  Edging cautiously around the corner of the Red
Boar Tavern, she trailed a hand over the sun-warmed
wall.  She absorbed the warmth.  Moonlight illuminated
enough of her surroundings to keep her steps careful as
she rounded the corner and stepped into the alley
leading to the docks.  The onset of evening had brought
with it a chill breeze off the bay.  Molly tugged the
old woollen cloak around her securely, hiding her
intentions from view.

The Segovia rocked in silvery light, creaking and
groaning in protest although the waves were only a
docile lick against the bow.  Once upon a time the
Segovia braved high seas adventure and insatiable acts
of piracy.  Now, the galleon, one of the least
impressive vessels in Lord Jackson Weatherford's fleet,
was said to have sailed its last voyage.  Rumor had it
that is, rumors that were discussed freely in front of
the serving wench believed to be a simpleton, a mute
simpleton at that.  Molly had them all fooled,
excluding the current Captain of the Segovia.  

She'll never forget the moment she recognized the
handsome captain.  One quiet afternoon Molly took it
upon herself to greet the Captain with some curious
news.  Her news had more impact simply because all,
including the Captain, had assumed she was ignorant of
all but her tasks as a lowly kitchen maid.  Now the
Captain looked upon her with a measure of respect, and
he kept her secret in order to learn more.

It seemed Lord Jackson Weatherford neglected to inform
certain key crew members aboard the Segovia of their
futures.  How many knew Lord Jackson Weatherford's real
identity?  A pirate, a rapist, a murderer, those were
also part of Lord Weatherford's legacy.  He left few
witnesses behind.  Very few.  Some of the current crew
had served Lord Weatherford back when he was Captain
Jack or Black Jack.  This new captain was one.  The
hijacking of the Emily Claire was a topic of discussion
among many higher-ranking officials in Court.  Even
after all these years a mystery shrouded the ship.  The
ship was carrying a payload of some kind.  Some
speculated that it was a hoard of gold sent with an
unimpressive elderly gentleman to deliver to a certain
tobacco grower in the states.  Others said there was a
dignitary on board, one that owed a huge gambling debt
and was escaping to the new world and the debtee had
contracted out for revenge.  Whatever the case, the
mysterious massacre of the Emily Claire would not go
away.  Black Jack was nervous. The few who knew his
background had little reason to wonder why he was so
nervous.  Those who knew him as Lord Weatherford, on
the other hand, would be shocked to know of his past. 
The Segovia had been fingered as the only connection to
the Emily Claire.  Black Jack felt a change in the
Segovia's status was necessary to save face. 

Molly sneered at the memory of Black Jack. She would
have time later to reflect on her plan of revenge
against Black Jack.  For now, the first step in her
plan needed to be set in motion.  

A planked gangway still connected the galleon to the
dock.  She waited a moment, observing the first
watchman on deck, careful there weren't others.  His
tobacco mingled with the salty breeze.  She inhaled,
the aroma triggering a memory of a time spent with
another man.  Molly blinked back a tear.

Molly stepped from the shadows, a vision in black.  Her
pale green eyes scrutinized the watchman's movements. 
In the last half hour of her surveillance she had yet
to see him move from his one spot.  He continued to
smoke his pipe, leaning against a recessed alcove near
the main mast.  He was lazy, she concluded, and
wouldn't be too difficult to subdue.

She strode, confident and brisk, to the edge of the
dock, flaxen hair braided down to the small of her back
and swinging slightly with each step.  A red ribbon
signifying a whore-for-hire from the town of Concordia
fluttered loosely at her nape.  She clutched at her
cloak, concealing the deadly rapier sheathed at her
side and the pistol tucked into the waistband of her
breeches.  She lowered her head and walked determinedly
up the gangplank.  

"G'eve to ye, milady."  The shipman leered with his
crooked smile, pushing away from his perch.  He stepped
in front of her, cutting off her passage.  "I see Cap'n
has hired a little entertainment for the night.  A
might pricey one, by all looks."  The shipman ogled
Molly from the top of her head to the tips of her
boots.

She lifted her eyes and gazed coolly into the lout's
face and smiled a slow smile, meant to entice for only
a minute, a distraction, before slamming the butt of
her pistol into his temple.  He fell to the deck with a
grunt.  She hurried past the slovenly heap.  She
presumed he wouldn't be out for long.  A few minutes
was all she needed anyway.

She followed the directions her informant had given her
to the Captain's cabin.  The door to his cabin gave way
silently. Captain Farrell was at his desk and, just as
she suspected, a young shipmate or cabin boy was also
in the room.  She watched the boy for a moment through
the crack in the door.  He wasn't armed, as most of the
crew weren't, to prevent a mutiny, she guessed.
Besides, the lad seemed harmless.  She waited until the
boy stepped away from the Captain's desk and busied
himself with cleaning up the dinner tray before
stepping completely into the room. 

The captain sat hunched over his desk, his linen shirt
pulled from his breeches, hanging open and loose over
his torso.  His brown doublet was tossed over the back
of his chair and she noticed, with a smile upon her
lips, that the dear captain was barefoot.  He was
intensely counting the notes stacked in several neat
piles on his desk top.  She knew the money to be a
small fortune made from Lord Weatherford's latest cargo
deliveries.  The notes were enough for her to live off
of forever, at least by her standards, and enough to
form a noticeable dent in Lord Weatherford's fortune.

A candle sputtered with the breeze through the open
door, catching the burnished brown of the Captain's
long hair.  He didn't keep it tied back at the nape as
was the convention at the time, instead sweeping it
back from his brow, accentuating his hawk-like
features.  He was an appealing man.  

Molly stepped silently into the room, her eyes never
leaving the captain.  She spied the cabin boy from the
corner of her eye and he hadn't noticed her entrance
either.  It really didn't matter if he had at this time
because what happened next happened very fast.  She
pushed her cloak from her shoulders and stood, legs
shoulder-width apart and strongly set.  Her rapier
sliced through the musty air with a sharp metallic
zing.  The Captain's head snapped around to meet her
amused glare. The cabin boy gasped.  She was already
staring down the barrel of her pistol at Captain
Farrell.

"Well met Cap'n Farrell.  A fine night it is to be
countin' out m'fortune."  She winked at him over the
pistol, a smile turning up the corners of her rosy
mouth.  

Captain Farrell's storm gray eyes studied the woman, a
look of amused disregard on his handsome face.  He took
his time studying her long legs clad to the thighs in
leather boots, a studded scabbard slung low over her
hips.  The blonde wore a man's tunic, several sizes too
large, which now slipped seductively from one shoulder. 
He watched her breasts heave through the open laces of
the man's shirt before his eyes met hers over the
barrel of Molly's pistol.

"I prefer my whores unarmed, milady."  Captain Farrell
said coolly.

"The notes, Cap'n.  'Tis all I be wantin'" The smile
left her face.  "For now."  Her eyes narrowed slightly. 
"An' if ye think ye can try anything funny, yer lad
will get a little surprise, too."  Molly jerked her
head, indicating the frightened boy.

She touched the tip of her rapier beneath the cabin
boy's chin.  A bead of red stained the tip of her
blade, drip-dripping blood down the front of the boy's
shirt. She turned her cat-like gaze back to the
Captain.

"Stand and deliver, sirrah.  I'll take the notes,
stuffed nice and pretty in that pouch on your desk, if
you please."  She pulled the sword away from the cabin
boy and smiled prettily.  "Now."

Captain Farrell's eyes followed the path of her thin
sword.  It touched his chest, ripping a slash down the
front of his old nightshirt.  A few more strokes and
the shirt was in tatters.  She smiled sadistically. 

He took his time stuffing the notes in the cloth bag,
his eyes shifting from her to the sword to the notes.  

"Very well, Cap'n.  I see you can follow orders."  She
paused to admire his chest, dappled down the center
with dark hair, a darker strip disappearing into his
breeches.  "I think it would please me if you would
remove your garments."  Molly flirted over the barrel
of the pistol.

"What?"

"'Tis a simple request, sirrah.  Drop your trousers."

He loosened the drawstring on his breeches, slowly, his
eyes never leaving her face.  Molly watched his deft
fingers working the trousers past his hips.    He stood
before her, his cock half-erect.

She nodded.  "Aye Cap'n.  A nice piece.  Too bad I
don't have the time."

"I take it that means you didn't kill the watchman?"

"A might careless of you to post only one watch
tonight."  Molly commented with a laugh.  "Two would
have been more of a challenge."

"The Devil take ye, woman." 

She laughed.  "That he already has, m'lord.  Now, tie
your boy up.  Wouldn't do for him to be alertin' the
neighbors, now would it?  By the way, all the crew are
out and about this eve or are there more I can rouse
from their bunks?"  Molly passed her tongue over her
lips.  "The boy, Cap'n.  Now."

Captain Farrell turned slowly and padded over to the
juvenile.  She admired the way his muscles worked and
flexed, enjoying the contrast of darkly tanned chest,
back and legs, his tight backside a paler shade of tan. 
He spoke softly to the boy, like she knew he would,
carefully binding the boy's hands behind his back and
tying him to a chair.

"Very good, Capt'n.  I like the way you follow orders. 
Now.  See that window right behind you?"  

She watched in amusement as a muscle worked in his jaw. 
"Yes, that one right there."

"Yes," he answered.

"Open it.  It's a beautiful night for a swim, don't ye
think, sirrah?"

"What?  That---"

"Ah, ah, ah.  No arguments.  The window, Cap'n.  Open
it."

She opened a small cut on his arm.  He stepped back,
reaching for the latch on the window. 

"Be a good fella and climb through."

Captain Farrell glared at her.  

Molly pushed at him from the window with the tip of her
blade, smiling at the loud splash heard seconds later.  

***


The streets of Concordia were busy this night, Molly
noted, as she walked swiftly through the crowd.  She
kept a sparsely furnished room above the Red Boar
tavern, the small comforts of a straw mattress, a trunk
and a roughly made table and chair were all she could
afford.  The clean linens cost extra, a rare luxury for
now.  

One candle illuminated the room. She busied herself
with lighting two more.  She removed her cloak, hanging
it on a peg behind the door.  Thomas burst through the
door as she was removing her belt and scabbard.

"Molly?" He breathed eagerly.

"It's all done, my dear.  Nice and neat.  I told you it
would be, didn't I?"  Molly smiled over at her young
companion taking in his mussed appearance.  He reeked
of liquor again.  "Truly, Black Jack will probably
never miss this fortune.  We are only getting our due,
after all."  

Sixteen-year-old Thomas trotted after her like an eager
puppy.  Not that his behavior around her was anything
new.  Thomas had been her little companion since the
massacre on the Emily Claire eight years earlier.  

"Did you kill him?"  Thomas asked eagerly, interrupting
Molly's thoughts.  He began wringing his hands together
in a fashion she found most irritating these days.

"No need.  There were only three to deal with this time
and one of them a mere boy.  If I guess right, neither
one of them will be making a loud to-do over the
robbery, it being done by a woman.  Cuckolded by the
likes of a serving wench."  Molly laughed, turning to
face Thomas.  "Now, be a good boy and fetch me a
drink."

She watched, mildly contemptuous as Thomas hurried to
the trunk, yanking the latch free, and slamming the top
into the wall.  He rummaged through their meager
belongings until he found the flask.  He uncorked the
crude container, pouring a splash of the hoarded liquid
into their only crystal snifter, a glass 'procured'
from their last home.  

Molly pulled the shirt from her breeches, flouncing
into the chair.  She stretched her long legs out in
front of her with a yawn.

Thomas handed the whiskey to her, the crystal cradled
carefully in two hands.  "What now, Molly?  Do we leave
tonight?"  He knelt at her feet, tugging at her boots.  

Molly breathed deeply of the pungent liquor.  One day
it would be a fine port, sipped from her own store of
fine crystal, not ill-begotten while on the run.  "Not
to worry, my boy.  Haven't I always seen to our
future?"  She lifted the glass, staring through the
amber-brown liquid.  Thomas had managed to work one of
the boots free.  He ran his hand up her leg, finding
the top edge of her stocking.  He rolled the stocking
from her outstretched leg placing a kiss on the arch of
her foot.

"You always take good care of me, Molly."  Thomas began
to work her other boot loose. "I want to take good care
of you."  He smiled wolfishly, his expressionless eyes
glazed over with too much drink. 

Molly studied the top of his sandy head as he knelt
before her.  The whiskey burned a path down her throat,
warming her stomach.  The warmth never reached her
heart.  

Thomas removed the boot and stocking.  His hands slid
up her thighs, reaching for the drawstring to her
breeches.  His hand brushed over her pubic mound. 
Molly suppressed a shudder.  "Is this---?"  Thomas
stopped, his hand clutching the pouch tucked at her
waist.

"--all that will be our future, Thomas."  Molly smiled.
She sipped from her glass.  He carefully placed the
pouch full of notes on the table by her pistol.  His
face had grown serious.  He turned back to Molly,
reaching up to unfasten her breeches.  Molly continued
to watch the dull expression of Thomas, wondering
exactly what he was thinking.  Her free hand worked the
braid loose from her hair.  She shook the golden mass,
scratching her scalp.

Thomas laid his head on Molly's chest, feeling the
heaving of her bosom with her measured breaths. Molly
thought about her latest booty, hardly revenge against
the man formerly known as Black Jack, but still it gave
her a small measure of satisfaction. Had it really been
eight years ago when her life was turned upside down by
the pirate known as Black Jack?  

***
 
One moment a virginal sixteen, happily sailing to the
colonies to be married to her fianc‚, the next a
stunned captive of a murderous rampage.  Her life was
over.  She resigned herself to the fact when, amidst
the burnings and slashing aboard the decks of the Emily
Claire, her father's blood had splashed across her
skirts.  She watched in disembodied horror, his torso 
butchered in front of her, her mother raped over his
dead body.  She shrunk away into a dark place, ripped
back to the burning light with a blow to the side of
her head.  She stared blankly into the dead black eyes
of a man, a monster.

The screams aboard ship were fading.  Bodies lay in
heaps, the pungent aroma of burning flesh and tar
making her gag.  The monster was dragging her, his
bloody hand entangled into her once carefully arranged
hair the other hand still wielding a saber.  Molly was
handed roughly to another sailor, one with fetid breath
and rotten teeth.  She felt his hand squeeze her
girlish breast.  She wanted to scream but nothing came
out.  He hauled her roughly across the sticky plank
deck.  Somewhere along the way she lost a slipper.  She
stared at her ripped stocking, her toes already black
with filth and peeking ridiculously through the hole.
She retreated back into the dark place when she was
slammed into the main mast.

Molly stirred.  The pain that pervaded her small body
made her whimper.  She gasped at the sudden onslaught
of a club to the side of her head.  Her head lolled
forward, once again throwing her into darkness.

She awoke this time, realizing she was unable to move. 
She had lost all feeling in her arms, bound above her
head tightly to the main mast.  Her bodice hung open,
her small breasts naked and exposed to the sun and sea,
and to the eyes of the crew.  Her gold hair now hung in
front of her face, brushing her shoulders in wind-swept
ropes.  She jerked as her skirt was ripped.  She met
the eyes of the black-eyed monster, the beast who
killed her family and destroyed the Emily Claire.  He
sneered, slapping her once again.

"Cap'n Black, ye knock her about too much an' we won't
get the pleasure of hearin' her screams.  Keep her
alive a little while longer so's we all can have our
turn."  Laughter and shouts broke out.  The captain
ripped the remains of her skirt from her waist. 
Molly's head lolled back and forth as she fought
consciousness.  His claw-like hands, still caked with
blood, snapped off her garter and stockings with hardly
an effort.  She wouldn't meet his eyes this time.

His hands pawed her breasts, kneading and crushing.  He
bit her nipple and when she cried out, he delivered
another blow to the side of her face.  From then on she
bit her lip, sometimes so hard she felt the blood
running into her mouth.  

Once again she tried to straighten her neck.  Her head
was too heavy.  Her eyes fell to his hands as they
hastily released his rigid member.  Tears clouded her
vision.  He lifted one of her slender legs, guiding
himself to the furred spot at their juncture.  She
couldn't struggle, her body was limp with pain.  He
lifted her other leg, pressing her thighs back with his
hands and shoved his weight into her.  

She was disembodied again, blessedly disembodied.  The
first sharp tear startled her and when he began his
animalistic mating she thought she would cry out again. 
She bit down harder on her lip watching the blood drip
over her breast.  

In seconds it was over.  The monster, Captain Black,
pulled out, tucking his now limp member into his pants. 
She saw her own blood and something else glistening on
its head.  She closed her eyes, feigning
unconsciousness.

Her life was over, she thought again.  If he wasn't
going to kill her, the rest of them would.  She still
had no future.  Her virginity was a precious commodity,
one this pirate had stolen for himself.  She was
nothing now.

Molly turned her head and focused on the vast expanse
of gray sea.  One after another she could feel them
pushing inside her, scraping against her dry flesh and
raw insides.  She was raped brutally over and over, too
many times to count.  Her womanhood wept with their
slime, bleeding continuously.

Nightfall and she was granted a reprieve, not by the
generosity of Captain Black, only because, she
surmised, the celebrating had led to drunken brawls and
unconscious sailors.  

A man appeared in her line of vision, one different
from the rest.  There was no mistaking his duty aboard
the ship as he was dressed in the breeches and doublet
of the others.  He laid something down out of her sight
and studied her.  

Molly closed her eyes and turned away.  She was trussed
up, naked and filthy.  Only hours before she was a
proper lady in silks and bows, her flaxen hair kept
swept back from her creamy complexion, her shining
green eyes, so much like her father's, laughing and
happy.  What was she now?

"Bastards, ever' one of 'em.  None know what it's like
to take a woman the proper way."  The man spoke in a
low voice.

Molly peered up at him behind her curtain of hair. 
"Please don't" she whispered hoarsely.  Her throat was
dry from the sun, her skin felt raw and burned. 
Nothing she could say would make a difference, she was
loot to these barbarians.  She thought she could see
something different in this one, though.  He was a
young man, not much older than her, with dark brown
hair and gray eyes.  His eyes were not hard and cold
like the others.

"Here."  He pressed a wet cloth to the side of her
face.  "Rum has taken the lot of 'em for now.  None
o'that for me, though.  Take what I offer for now, 'tis
all I can do for ye, lass."  He dabbed at her face.  

"Untie me.  Let me go."  Molly whispered her plea to
the stranger.  "Please just let me go."  

"That I cannae do, lass.  You'll sure as I know myself
jump ship.  No place for you to go but down.  Black
Jack will be in a murderous rage then.  Ye haven't seen
the worst of 'im."  He dabbed at the cuts on her chest,
wetting her breasts with more water.  "Tsk.  Animals
they be.  You'll heal, though.  The cuts aren't too
deep and the bruising on your face will go away.  It's
the other that will lay scars to your soul."

Molly breathed deeply, swallowing the lump in her
throat.  "Black Jack?"  She whispered his name, fearing
he would hear her.  The young man was now kneeling
before her, scrubbing at the filth between her legs.

"Aye, milady.  Black Jack is the captain of this here
ship.  You've been brought aboard the Segovia.  But
listen here . . ."  The man stood, stepping closer to
Molly's ear.  "We hit land in less than a day.  Cargo
ship is what we are, if ye didn't know.  Lots of places
to hide down below if ye have a mind to do it.  You
aren't the only prisoner, there's a small lad, about
eight years or so, sent to the kitchen.  He's been
beaten too.  I don't take to beatin' no children or
women."  He opened a flask, holding it to her parched
lips.  "Drink this.  Watered wine, will fortify your
blood my mum used to say."  

Molly gratefully accepted the wine, drinking greedily
until it dripped down her chin.  He wiped at her face
again.  "Tomorrow, near nightfall.  Hold on til then if
ye can, milady. 

Molly met his eyes.  She could tell her left eye was
swollen shut, the flesh on that side of her face
throbbed and ached.  She saw enough of him to wonder at
his sincerity.  He was a pirate, after all.  Maybe this
was the way he worked at stealing what he wanted.  She
couldn't speak.

He looked into the dark sky.  "Clouds cover the moon. 
A storm is on its way."  He turned back to her and
smiled a crooked half-smile.  "These things I know. 
They'll be callin' me Captain Farrell one day when I
take this ship over from Black Jack.  Best I leave
before the others start stirrin'."  He left her still
tied and curious, grateful that her last hours spent on
this earth was spent in the company of a man of
redemption. 

Her captivity ended soon enough.  She was freed from
the main mast before the storm hit.  Black Jack never
looked at her again as he was too involved with keeping
his ship afloat.  Molly found the boy, Thomas, and they
hid in the hold among the cargo.  They finally pried a
board loose from one of the crates and slipped inside,
nestling among dark fabrics.  That was how they made
their escape the next day.  Molly and Thomas formed a
bond of some kind after that, traveling about as
brother and sister, orphans, preying on the kindness of
strangers.  She could never hope to rise to the station
she once held, and truly never tried.  Her fate was
sealed the day Black Jack punished her for being a
woman.

***

Thomas tossed her breeches to the floor with a
discontented sigh.  He looked up at Molly.  "You're
still angry with me, aren't you?"  He asked sullenly. 
His arms wrapped around her waist.  He lay his head on
her belly pulling his body in close between her legs.

Molly startled from her reverie, looking down at
Thomas.  She took another slow sip, absentmindedly
stroking his head and cheek.  "You did a very bad
thing, Thomas.  Lord Carrington didn't mean us any
harm, I told you that from the beginning."  They were
forced to leave their last home at Carrington Hall as
fugitives, Thomas bludgeoning her benefactor in a
jealous rage.  Molly felt deeply for the sweet Southern
gentleman, a feeling she had never experienced before,
a feeling she truly thought would never be felt by the
likes of her after that nightmare voyage across the
ocean.  Perhaps it could have grown into love.  Thomas
jealously took that from her.  

"He loved you, thinking you were my brother.  You would
have been well taken care of, as I would . . . could." 
She let the words trail away.  They had this discussion
too many times already.  She grew weary of his
steadfast whining.

"He was coming between us Molly.  Look at us now. 
This" Thomas looked up into her eyes "is the way it
should be."  Thomas grabbed her hand, bringing it to
his lips.  He kissed the back of her hand softly.  
"Say you'll marry me, Molly.  We can start over in a
new place, with the money we have now, and you will
never have to serve any other man but me."  His eyes
shifted from her face to the swell of creamy skin
visible above the neckline of the shirt.  He stroked
her breast.  George's old shirt slipped further from
her shoulder, one full breast crowned with a pale
nipple now exposed through the open laces.  Thomas'
eyes fell to her exposed flesh.  He tweaked her nipple,
suckling fiercely.    

Molly looked away, pressing his face into her breast. 
She closed her eyes and quickly drained the snifter,
grimacing, but not at the taste of the rotgut whiskey. 
Thomas murdered her lover, a man she felt herself
falling in love with, and inadvertently made her seem
the murderer.  She had no choice but to run and leave
the sanctuary she wanted to call home.  

She had taken Thomas' virginity nearly ten months
previous.  A grievous mistake.  His companionship
turned to obsession.  She could barely stand to have
his body on her anymore.  Her body reacted mechanically
to his attentions, only when she fantasized it was
George or another making love to her could she actually
find release.  

Thomas had matured into a young man these last two
years with all the needs and cravings of a man.  She
steeled herself as he clumsily pulled the shirt down
from her shoulders, exposing both breasts.  He
continued to nuzzle hungrily at her heavy breasts,
working his hands lower until he found the damp nest of
curls between her legs. Molly leaned back in the chair,
losing herself in the touch, the feel, and her own
imagination.

Thomas licked down her belly drawing a soft moan from
her parted lips.  He ventured lower, leaning in to lap
at her wet opening.  She opened her legs wider, arching
her hips closer to his mouth.  She felt his warm tongue
flicking and sucking on the sensitive part of her sex. 
She began to undulate beneath him, whimpering in
pleasure.  

"Yes.  Just like that.  A little higher up love.  Oh,
yes."  Her body began to convulse, bucking wildly
beneath him.  Thomas held on, never losing contact
until she pulled his head from her lap.

Molly was still dazed, still lost in her haze of
imagination.  "Come to me, George.  I wish to taste of
you now.  You're sugar in my mouth, love."

"What?"

Molly's eyes snapped open, staring into the face of
Thomas.  She knew instantly the mistake she had made,
speaking the name of another while still coming down
from the bliss caused by Thomas.  "I'm so---"

Thomas shook his head, dismissing Molly's explanation
before she could even get the words from her mouth. 
"It doesn't matter, Molly.  We love each other.  In
time you will forget."

He grasped her hands once again, peering into her eyes. 
"Say it.  Say you'll marry me, Molly."

"Thomas, I will never marry, you know that."

"You love me."

"I love you . . . differently."

Thomas stood, dropping her hands.  He turned away,
pacing the floor.  Something in his expression made
Molly shrink back for a moment.  Her pistol and rapier
were on the other side of the room, she would have to
get past Thomas first.  Just in case . . . 

"If I can't have you--" Thomas sputtered.

"Don't be ridiculous, Thomas."

Thomas spun around, eyes flashing at Molly.  She felt
fear again for the first time in a long time.  This was
not her Thomas looking back at her, it was another
monster.  He grabbed her wrists, jerking her from the
chair.  

"Thomas!"

He slammed her shoulder into the wall, pulling her arms
above her head.  He tightly wound her discarded
stocking around her wrists, securing them high on the
bedpost.

Molly stood in shock, trussed up and naked once again. 
She shook in outrage and fear.  From the corner of her
eye she saw Thomas disrobe, his member already hard and
distended.

"Thomas, no" she pleaded.  He pushed her face against
the wall, lifting one of her legs up to rest on the
straw mattress.  She fought back, bucking back against
him.  He slapped her head with his open hand before
pressing his fingers deep inside her.  He started
rubbing himself against her backside.
 
The door opened, crashing against the wall.  They both
startled in surprise, Thomas shrieking as he turned to
face Captain Farrell and his first mate, both ready to
do battle.  

"There's the thief."  Captain Farrell bellowed.  His
eyes skimmed Molly.  Molly's head was lowered, she
wouldn't meet his gaze.  He then focused on Thomas'
rigid expression.  "Him."  

"No.  Oh, but . . ."  Thomas couldn't continue.  His
panicked gaze moved from the Captain to his companion
and back to Molly.  Molly wouldn't look up.

Captain Farrell growled.  He lunged for Thomas.  Both
men crashed to the floor.  Thomas put up a good fight
but had no hope.  Although old, Captain Farrell's first
mate was strong as an ox.  Thomas was subdued in no
time.

"Molly!"  Thomas screamed. "Molly, tell him.  Tell
him!"

Molly stared blankly at the wall.  

Captain Farrell had Thomas' hands behind his back,
twisting viciously.  Thomas cried out in pain. 
"Molly!"

Molly remained silent.

"Sire, I knew she couldn't have worked alone.  It's
clear to me the man has her under some kind of spell." 
The old shipman remarked, pointing at Molly. "He must
have threatened her somehow.  It appears we arrived in
time.  No telling how much longer the girl had to
live." 

"Aye, James, you must be right.  A woman could nae have
had the strength to do what she did unless under some
kind of witch's spell.  It was this one--he's the
thief."  

Captain Farrell shoved Thomas towards James, using the
remaining fabric to tie his hands together.  "Take him
to the mayor, James.  Prison is where he'll be spending
the rest of his life.  I'll recover the notes and meet
you back at the ship. There's no need to discuss this
further."

Thomas wailed.  "Molly!  No!"  James easily wrestled
him out the door of Molly's chamber.

Captain Farrell watched the two of them jostle out the
door and turned to face Molly.  "Well, Molly."  His
grim demeanor cracked, his face breaking into a grin. 
"You're a fine sight.  I have half a mind to leave ye
tied like that and have my way with you."

Captain Farrell took a step closer to Molly, his hands
reaching out to touch her round bottom.  He froze.

Molly turned her tear-streaked face toward him,
trembling in fear.  Part of her unbound hair had
slipped over to hide half her face, the same half that
was bruised and bloody eight years ago.  She looked at
him, pleading, with one eye.  The words caught in her
throat, bubbling past the tears and panic.  "Please
don't" was all he heard in that timid voice, the same
voice he heard all those years ago.  

"Molly?"  Farrell approached the woman.  In stunned
silence he quickly untied her.  

She fell into his arms. Tears ran down her face
silently.

"You?  It was you all those years ago?" Captain Farrell
asked, closing his arms around her tightly. 

She nodded her head against his chest.

"Ye didn't tell me the whole story then, lass."  He
stroked her back as she continued to sob, the cries
lessening with each pass of his hand down her silky
hair.  "The girl taken captive from the Emily Claire?" 
Captain Farrell said aloud, disbelief in his voice.

"I knew who you were the minute I saw you in the
tavern.  You are responsible for saving my life, but
not my fears."  Molly wiped the tears from her face,
looking up at the Captain.  "I knew I could trust you. 
Now I have a small piece of what was mine taken eight
years ago, a little money to live my life comfortably. 
It's the least that I was owed from that bastard.  As
for the rest that was taken . . . " She pushed away
from him, shaking her head.  "That cannot be salvaged." 

"I don't know what to say."  Captain Farrell searched
her eyes.  

"Say it's time to go, you jack ass.  Tell me we need to
hurry and leave, and begin our life, free of Black Jack
and all his curses."  Molly quickly dressed, shoving
the pouch of notes down the front of her shirt.  She
turned back to face Captain Farrell, a defiant lift to
her chin.  "Are you coming or not?"

"The devil take ye, Molly."  Captain Farrell replied, a
crooked half-smile curving his mouth.

"That he already did, my love."