On the seventh day of Christmas Anita gave to me . . .

A sweet tidbit from the Captain’s Rose . . .

Later that afternoon Jayce returned to his cabin, feeling his lack of sleep overtake him. He quickly drifted off and woke to the subdued light of evening shining through the porthole. He was barely awake when he felt a harsh jolt that nearly heaved him out of his bed, and before he could grab his boots, distant sounds of commotion filled his ears.
“Heaven help us,” he muttered, not finding it difficult to assess what might be happening. He had one boot on when Timothy threw open the cabin door.
“What’s going on?” Jayce demanded, pulling on his second boot.
“We’ve been boarded. Get your weapons. It’s not looking good.”
“Are we at war with somebody and no one told us about it?”
“Apparently. We just don’t know who the somebody is.”
Jayce followed his cousin up the stairwell to see the deck a mass of confusion. The clashing of swords and the firing of weapons was intermingled with the cries of anguish as the wounded fell. In a split second he surmised where he was most needed and moved toward the ongoing skirmish.