“Captain Grace O’Leary,” she declared, setting her tricorn hat back on her head with a flourish, the faintest trace of an Irish brogue accenting her voice. “Of the privateer Pink Pearl. I bear letters of marque from the Continental Congress, giving me authority to raid British merchant vessels. Your name, Captain?”
“Captain Ethan Roswell, of the Kestrel,” he sighed heavily.
She nodded, but her voice was polite. “And do I have your surrender, captain?”
“You do. My crew are not soldiers. We will…” his voice broke, then firmed. “We will not resist you.”
She nodded again. “It is never easy to lose a ship, sir. We will treat you and your crew with all proper respect.” A note of warning entered her voice. “As long as that courtesy is returned in kind. My crew may be…unusual. But we will not
