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needn’t seek advice from his brother about his quandary. He already knew what to
    do about the predicament: stay away from Sophia.
    “The old brigand’s still alive,” said James, beset with stirring reflections, haunted by
    brilliant brown eyes. “He has a grown daughter, Sophia.”
    “Oh?”
    “She takes care of him.”
    “Is she chained to the furniture?”
    James snorted. “No, she wants to look after the surly brigand. She’s a good cook.”
    “I see.”
    The rising inflection in Wil iam’s voice suggested that the man was suspicious about the
    captain’s interest in Dawson’s daughter, and so James quashed his brother’s curiosity by
    switching the subject:
    “How’s the ship?”
    “The ship is fine…however, the crew is another matter.”
    James sighed. “What happened?”
    “Eddie and Quincy had another row. Both fell overboard and landed in the water, but
    Quincy was injured.”
    James growled. The two fledglings in the family had a penchant for fisticuffs, and James
    was sorely tempted to maroon both their arses on the first uninhabited rock.
    “Wil the pup live?”
    “He’ll live.” William scratched his chin. “I don’t know how it happened, though.
    Quincy must have stepped on poisonous coral or a venomous fish, for he’s suffering from
    some sort of rash.”
    “Blimey,” James cursed under his breath. He sidestepped his brother and departed the
    poop, descending belowdecks through the open hatchway. “Where is he?”
    William fell in step behind the captain. “I placed him in your cabin.”
    “What the devil is wrong with the forecastle?”
    “The pup’s in agony. He needs a nursemaid, and I figured it wasn’t a good idea to put
    him with the rest of the tars. He would only disturb them with his yowls.”
    James sensed the blood pounding in his head. He opened the cabin door and entered
    his quarters, Quincy prostrated across the coverlet, Edmund tending to his injuries with a
    damp rag and a bowl of water.
    “Hold still,” ordered Edmund. “Stop scratching!”
    “Sod off, Eddie! It hurts.”
    Quincy raked his fingers across his blistering legs, trousers sheared at the knees, the
    thirteen-year-old miscreant in clear distress.
    “I leave for one morning, and you two almost kill each other!” James stormed.
    William quickly entered the space before the captain slammed the door closed.
    James glowered. “I should shoot you both.”
    “Please shoot me!” pleaded the pup. “I can’t take it anymore.”
    Edmund frowned. “I said stop scratching.”
    “I can’t!”
    James approached the bed. Fifteen-year-old Edmund quickly stepped aside, allowing
    the captain to examine the pup’s legs in greater detail. “It looks like a jellyfish sting.”
    “Am I gonna die?”
    “No.”
    “Oh!” Quincy curled into a ball, still scratching. “I wish I would die.”
    James looked at William. “Have a few of the men go into the woods and search for
    Jamaican dogwood.”
    “Aye, Captain.”
    William departed the cabin.
    Edmund shifted his lanky frame from one foot to the other. “Do you want me to stay
    and look after him?”
    “No.” James snatched the medicinal bowl from his brother. “You’re going to take a
    bucket of water and vinegar and scrub the decks—all the decks.”
    Edmund bristled. He pointed at Quincy. “But he started the fight!”
    “Fine!” snapped Quincy. “I’ll scrub the decks, and you can suffer with the bleeding
    sores.”
    “Enough!” James glared at Edmund. “Out!”
    “Aye, Captain,” he grumbled as he swaggered from the cabin.
    As soon as Edmund had departed from the room, James heard the distinct sound of
    chuckling. He scowled at Quincy. The pup sobered and resumed his yowling.
    James took in a deep breath before he placed the bowl of water on the table. “I’ll try
    and wash away most of the toxins, but I’m afraid you’ll have to suffer for the next few
    days.”
    “The dogwood?”
    James gripped the pup’s ankle, twitching,