Derek leads the way up the steps to the veranda, rushing in front of me so I have to half run to keep up with him. "I'm always glad to get home," he says over his shoulder. "Too many humans out there. Bloody fools. Things make more sense here."

On the veranda, he stops in front of two massive wooden doors, throws them open and motions for me to enter first. I pause, look into the dim interior, take a deep breath, smell the mustiness inside, try to quiet and slow the thumping of my heart. "Come on, old man." Derek smiles. "It's just my family in there. Chances are, you'll survive meeting them. They might even like you."

"Chances are," I repeat, walking forward, not at all sure of Derek's assessment.

Elizabeth's family stands at the foot of a wide spiral staircase, the room lit only by the diffuse light filtering down from the great room, three stories above, and a series of large, circular iron chandeliers, each one holding at least three dozen burning candles-each fixture hanging from long metal chains anchored to the ceiling's wooden rafters.

The Bloods stare at us as we enter. I stare back, try to adjust my eyes to the room's irregular illumination, the dim light and half-shadows that obscure the family's features and make their pale visages look almost ghostlike. Elizabeth's father, mother and little brother all mirror Derek's pasty complexion and sharp, thin-lipped features. Only Chloe's fine full lips, her rounded Jamaican features and the mahogany hue of her brown skin-contrasted with the white linen shift she wears-allow her to survive the pallor the wan light inflicts on the others.

Elizabeth's parents show no expression, make no movement, their youngest children frozen in place beside them-Chloe next to her mother, Philip alongside his father.

My smile seems fixed on my face. I wonder if I should look as solemn as they, wonder if I could.

Derek introduces us. "My father, Charles Blood," he says. "His wife, Samantha." Each one nods as Derek says their name. Chloe, alone, returns my smile.

Elizabeth's father, tall enough to tower over all of us, thicker than Derek, but not appearing much older, dressed in a black, three-piece, Victorian suit, tugs at the collar of his shirt, and fiddles with the buttons below it. "Bloody stupid thing to walk around weighed down with all this cloth," he announces, and turns to his wife. "Look at them. They're dressed for comfort."

Philip, hardly more than eight, but obviously his father's son, fidgets with his suit too, nods agreement with his father.

Equally formal in an elegant, flowing white gown and equally youthful in appearance, Samantha Blood puts her hand on her husband's arm and says, "Charles, you promised…" She looks at me. "You'll have to excuse my husband. We rarely have company."

Charles Blood shakes his head, steps forward and extends his hand. "You needn't excuse me at all." He squeezes my hand, his grip tighter than Derek's. "You just have to endure me."

He locks eyes with me. For all the warmth that shows in his eyes, they could be true emeralds, cold and hard. I stare back without blinking, my hand held captive by his. "You're related to that old scoundrel, Captain Henry Angry?" he asks.

I'm well aware of the anglicization of my family name and like it no more than Father did. He told me, in the old days the English had called our island Angry Key just as they pronounced Caya Oeste as Key West-even though the Spanish words translated as Bone Key.

"Don Henri DelaSangre was my father," I say. "When he was alive, no one dared call him by any other name."

Charles barks out a laugh, slaps my back. "No offense intended, son. My father, Captain Jack Blood, sailed with him. The captain told me many stories… Made me wish I'd been born in those times when our people could do as we wished."

Near us a Jamaican woman busies herself sweeping the stone floor. I glance at her iron collar and say, "It looks like you recreate the old times fairly well around here."

He nods. "Just because the British were fool enough to release their slaves doesn't mean we had to follow suit. Whatever goes on outside Cockpit Country, Morgan Hole is our land. We rule it as we desire."

"Now," Charles says, tightening his grip on my hand, a smile appearing on his face for the first time. "Tell me, Peter, just what did you bring for us?"

He frowns and releases my hand when he sees the blank look on my face. I glance back to Derek, hoping he will explain.

"Sorry, old man." He shrugs. "I thought you had a reason for coming without gifts."

"Gifts?" Wishing again my parents had educated me more on our traditions, I dig in my pocket, bringing out the gold necklace I've brought for Elizabeth and hold it in front of me.

"I brought this for your daughter," I say.

"A trinket?" Charles Blood's face turns bright red as he stares at my outstretched hand. "You want me to exchange my oldest daughter for a bloody trinket? How dare you, sir!" He turns his back on me and starts to stomp away. Philip follows on his heels.

"Charles… for pity's sake, come back right now!" his wife says. She turns to me. "Please excuse my husband's temper. It sometimes gets ahead of his reason."

Elizabeth's father stops ten paces away, and glowers at us.

"Your daughter warned you he was brought up strangely," Samantha Blood says to him, as if I'm not in the room. "I'm sure if Peter had been aware of the custom, he would have brought an appropriate tribute."

For the first time in my life, I find myself empathizing with humans and their in-law problems. I'm tempted to tell them all just what they can do with their customs and their feast. Instead, I take a deep breath, think of Elizabeth and the life we can have on my island far away from these people. "If someone would tell me what the custom is, I'd be glad to try and work things out," I say.

When no one else speaks, Chloe throws an angry glance at her father, another at her mother, and says, "You're supposed to bring your bride's family gifts, expensive ones like gold and gems. I was taught, the more valuable your gifts are, the more obvious it's supposed to be-how much you care for your bride."

"Oh." I nod, picturing the chests of treasure crowding the underground vault at home, thinking how little of it I ever use. "I wouldn't want you to feel I didn't value your daughter," I say to Charles. "If I send you twice Elizabeth's weight in gold, once we return to my home, will that reassure you enough?"

"Righto!" Derek says. Chloe and her mother both beam at my answer.

Charles Blood grins, walks over to me, takes my hand captive again. "My apologies, son. The anger sometimes gets the best of me. Bloody good gesture that. Your gift is going to go a long way toward replenishing the family's treasure." He frowns at his older son. "Derek could learn from you. All he ever brings home are baubles, cameras, watches and pocket change. I think he lacks the piratical spirit we and our fathers had. He's certainly taken out more gold than he's put in the last few years."

"Sorry about my father," Derek says later, as he guides me to my room. "He likes to muck things up a bit, see who he can scare and who he can't. Honestly"-Derek's voice lowers-"there are times he still can scare me. Wait till you see him in his natural state. He can be most fearsome."

He pauses outside my door. "Mum said to tell you, we're to meet just after sundown, in the great room on the third floor. She'll have one of the servants ring a bell when it's time. Wear your jacket. I think they expect you to."

I pace the floor after Derek leaves and wonder how to pass the next few hours. I feel as if I've gone back in time. Nothing adorns the room's unpainted stone walls. I doubt there's any television, radio, books or magazines in the whole house. What little furniture graces the room-an oversize bed and a chest of drawers next to it-are made of rough-hewn wood.