"Come on, my pretty," he invited Moira.
She met his hot eyes with level scorn.
"Do ye put your finger on me, I'll either be the death of you or myself," she warned him.
He laughed uncertainly and started toward her, and as I lifted my foot to step between them the hilt of a knife was thrust into my right hand.
"Go to it," Silver's voice bade me. "Tell him ye'll fight for her."
I finished my step automatically and found myself a pace inside the pool of light surrounding Bones' barrel. Bones himself had come to a halt and was examining me with some evidence of disconcertion.
"He says he'll fight ye for her, Bill," Silver called officiously over my shoulder, and as Bones discharged a streak of curses, he muttered in my ear:
"Put your mark on her. That's old buccaneer law."
And as I still hesitated, scarce understanding him and unwilling to remove my eyes from Bones, who was drawing his own knife:
"Go on, ye fool! Anywhere! A cross on her hand'll do—wi' your knife!"