Jamie rose to his feet, certain that the barked command required it. He eyed the two uniformed men facing him with apprehension. One was a guard, short and stocky, holding a bayonet-tipped musket. The other was the officer who had directed his capture the day before, who stood slapping his rattan cane against his palm. Both stood well outside the reach of the chain binding Jamie to the wall of the narrow cell. The officer spoke. "I am Lieutenant Javier Molina, commander of this prison. While you do not understand our language, Scotsman, I see that you have become sufficiently obedient to stand in the presence of an officer. I do not regret ordering my men to beat you nearly senseless, for you are responsible for their injuries during your capture. I assure you that if you strike any of my men again, senor, I will inflict the bastinado." His mustache twitched as he smirked. "You will be bound to a table and your bare feet lashed with a cane like this until the soles bleed. The pain is...exquisite." In 1762, Spain unexpectedly joined the French cause in the Seven Years War, just when the British felt that they were near an end to the conflict. In retaliation, a massive armada formed to attack Havana, whose harbor was guarded by twin citadels. Flung from the deck of the capsized HMS Kingston, an unconscious Jamie Drummond drifts to shore, where he is captured and imprisoned in the fortress of El Morro. Trapped in the dungeon, Jamie wonders if he will survive the twin threats of torture by the Spanish guards and unending bombardment by the British army and navy.