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a Spaniard whether they be male or female,” Crawford intoned dryly. “Are you forgetting what die bastards did to you?”
    Morgan’s body tensed. “I’ve forgotten nothing.” He paused, then said, “The woman belongs to a Papist order. Are the men so eager to ravish a holy woman?”
    Crawford grinned. “Beneath that gray rag is a woman like any other. And you have to admit she is comely. The men have been at sea for months, it matters little to them what the woman is.”
    Morgan looked away. “I freely admit the wench is most appealing, and endlessly vexing. Yet something about her troubles me. She seems sincere about her faith. But she is too earthy, too damn sensual to be what she claims. Hidden in the depths of those dark eyes is a fiery nature even she isn’t aware of.”
    Crawford sent Morgan a troubled glance. “Do you fancy the wench, Morgan? If so, bed her and get her out of your system. Then give her to the men. It wouldn’t do to keep her aboard too long; she’ll cause trouble for sure. The entire crew will be fighting over her after you’ve finished with her.”
    “I do not fancy the witch, Stan,” Morgan denied unconvincingly. “Man, woman, or child, I cannot abide the Spanish. You know that as well as I.”
    “Aye, but mere is always a first time,” Crawford warned. “Beware, Morgan, don’t let the wench beguile you. Keep in mind that she is probably bald as an egg beneath that hideous headcloth she wears.”
    “See to your duties, Mr. Crawford,” Morgan said with a hint of annoyance, “and I’ll see to mine. Bald women never did appeal to me, but I admit the black-eyed witch intrigues me as none other has in a long time. Impress upon the men that she’s not to be touched until I’ve had my fill of her.”
    Suppressing a grin, Crawford saluted smartly and walked away, leaving Morgan confused and undecided about his captive’s fate. His men wanted die woman, and ordinarily he wouldn’t balk at giving her over to them. He had no idea what was preventing him from doing what his conscience demanded. Was it the woman’s piety? Her pleading dark eyes that spoke eloquently of mysteries he longed to discover? The hint of a passion even she was unaware of? Or could it be the lush promise of her virgin body? What was there about her that made her different from other women?
    Morgan knew it wasn’t the young nun’s beauty alone, for he’d tumbled women even more beautiful and not been fascinated by them. And now he must decide what was to be done with her. His gaze swept over the deck, where his crew toiled to clear away wreckage inflicted by the Spanish galleon. Though fiercely loyal, most were rough men, crude of speech and manners. He winced at the thought of any one of them tearing into Sister Luca’s innocent, virginal body. He knew if he gave her into their keeping that more than one man would claim her fragile body in the most violent ways imaginable. She wouldn’t last the night Why should he care what happened to the Spanish witch?
    Her Spanish blood should have made Morgan’s decision simple, but it only complicated matters. Had he grown so callous, so heartless, so utterly devoid of honor that he would allow his men to ravish a holy woman? Or ravish her himself?
    His grim thoughts were interrupted by the first mate, who had returned to report on damage sustained by the Avenger. “Captain, the men have discovered more damage from the galleon’s guns than originally thought We need to head to port for repairs. Shall we turn back to England or set a course for Andros?”
    “Andros, Mr. Crawford,” Morgan said succinctly. The answer he had sought concerning Sister Luca suddenly became clear. “The men are due for a short respite from the sea, and I certainly can use the time ashore to attend to my plantation.”
    Crawford cleared his throat. “What about the woman, Morgan?”
    “The nun will come with us. Mayhap she can save a few souls on our island.”
    Luca paced the