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Liam.
    Liam scowled, but Flannery chuckled.- "Aye, the little chicky has steel pinfeathers. Must have got 'em from her da. They'll be plucked soon enough." He resumed his stance at the wheel. "Take the girl below, Liam. Tie her and don't dawdle. I want ye to spell me at the wheel."
    Liam scooped up the limp prisoner and desposited her below, glancing resentfully at the still face as he tied efficient knots. How could any female be vulnerable one minute and mean as a mink the next? The witch probably deserved anything she got.
    As Liam returned and took the helm, Flannery dragged a cigar put of his pocket. Poking it into the lantern, he puffed until it caught. "Tell you something, laddy.
    We're not ten miles off Antrim. If she'd made it ashore to tattle to the authorities, the English would be on us like bloodhounds. On the other hand, maybe she'd have only shot one of us. I don't like bein' a leak-mouth, Liam, but Sean has to know ye were foxed. We can't afford soft spots."
    Liam's blue eyes flared. "I didn't want this job. And you cannot claim we're doing it for the sake of home and country. We're doing it for Sean's sick hate. If he wants to break Enderly, why not aim for the man himself? That girl is barely seventeen. I daresay she knows nothing about her father's activities."
    Flannery leaned on the binnacle and tapped his cigar so that the end glowed briefly like a hot, red eye. "Little Miss Enderly did quite a job in a space of ten minutes, didn't she?"
    "For God's sake, she didn't put these words into my mouth. I thought of all this before we ever set sail from Donegal."
    "Did ye now? Well, think again. Irish women and children have been made into proper hash by the English, though ye've never seen much of that. From now on Fll see ye do, should the stinkin' occasion arise. Ye've not seen pregnant women raped and bayoneted and babes bashed against the walls. Seen girls—and lads not five years old- abused and strangled." He bit off a piece of his cigar and spat it viciously downwind. "Then ye'll see the Enderiy girl's no different from them, that she gets no pity. She's the enemy. Do ye think yer mother died of polite conversation with the English?"
    Liam's lips tightened. "Megan was a spy."
    "Aye, so ye heard that, did ye? Well, so she was, and a good one, too. But the other forty people in that village weren't spies; they were poor, dumb fisherfolk and they got the same as her." He chewed the cigar, twirling it thoughtfully. "Ye niver forgave her for leavin' ye. That's more like it, an't it, boy?"
    "She was nothing to me. I hardly remember her." Liam's profile was stony as he checked the compass needle.
    "No, I suppose it's what ye don't remember that gripes at ye." Flannery yawned again. "It's been a long night and this cold's bitin' me bones. Hold her steady 'til ye sight South Rock Beacon, then pick up five points north and rouse out Jimmy." He stubbed out his cigar. "I'm goin' below to sleep. Think on what I said. She's the enemy. The day ye forget it again will be a sorry one for us all."

    Stiff and cold, Catherine awoke at dawn. Prison gray light wavered over the roughhewn bulkheads. Wrapped in blankets, the big redhead snored loudly in his hammock. Liam, an inert bundle, lay in a pile of sails at his feet. Her stomach growled when she shifted to renew circulation. As she burrowed awkwardly into her covering, Jimmy came below to rouse Flannery. Without giving her a glance, they left Liam sleeping. After some time, she drowsed.
    The regular pattern of men changing watch and taking turns at the sails continued for the rest of the trip. Late in the day she was fed hardtack and coffee by the grinning Jimmy, who loosened the fetters but left her feet hobbled. Sometime after that, she slept again.
    The next day seemed like one fitful nap, again broken by a single feeding. Catherine was awakened after nightfall when someone wrapped her tightly in the cloak again, head and all. She was lifted and carried, then lowered