Part One: Claiming The Maiden

1815, Atlantic Ocean

"I do not think this is wise, m'lady."

Rebecca sighed. "As you have said fifty times in as many days, Nora."

"Your father would not have wanted you to do this."

Her mouth tightened. "Well, he should not have gotten himself killed over a gambling debt, should he?"

"Yes, but—"

She leaned against the rough wooden rail of the deck. "There was no one else to guarantee the delivery to the Colonies."

"Your father's men."

She snorted at her companion's naiveté. "Let us please drop this discussion. What is done cannot be undone, and it is making my head ache."

"Would you like an early night, m'lady?"

Rebecca propped her chin on her hand, staring at the sky as the sun began to set. Hues of orange, pink, and red swept across the purple night sky in glorious strokes. It was impossible to tell where the sky ended and the dark ocean began.

If not for the constant lull of the Margaret, named after her mother, on the waves, she might be able to forget they were at sea. "Yes, I do believe I would, and perhaps a bath too. It has been a few days since I imposed on the men."

Nora nodded, heading off to commandeer a few of the more pliant sailors for lugging pails of water from the galley to the main cabin.

Rebecca turned to go to her quarters, almost running into Stokes, the first mate. "Pardon."

He gave a half nod of his head. "M'lady, I do not like the looks of this."

"What, Stokes?"

"The night sky is ominous." He crossed himself. "It is a bad night to be sailing." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Especially with women on board."

Her lips tightened, but she ignored his muttered protest. "Do you have anything to base this on, or is it merely a feeling?"

He glared at her, his cast eye narrowing, but focused on the main sail. "Do not mock me, m'lady. I been sailing the seas since I was but a lad of nine. I know—"

She waved her hand. "Yes, yes, you have told me many times, Stokes." She bit back a sigh, tired of the constant struggle with him for command of the Margaret. "I bow to your expertise, but I am the captain."

He spat on the wooden planking of the deck. "Ye ain't no captain, m'lady." He glowered at her. "Dressing like a man will not make ye one."

"Goodnight, Stokes." She swept past him, knowing her grand exit was ruined by the lack of full skirts she was accustomed to wearing. Admittedly, the trousers were more practical, but the wool scratched unbearably. It was a relief to enter her cabin and remove the cap covering her long fall of ebony hair.

If not for the bath coming, she would immediately shed the clothing she had purloined from her father's closets and slide into the frothy sleeping gown folded neatly in her trunk. However, appearances with the men must be maintained. They knew she was a woman, but it was to her advantage to not remind them of that blatantly.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. She lifted the latch to admit Nora, followed by four burly men. One carried the small tub Rebecca had brought on board with her, and the other three carried six pails of water between them. Without a word or expression on their faces, they emptied the water into the metal tub, and then exited the cabin.

Nora, paranoid as usual, took the pistol from the trunk and planted herself on a weathered chair, after positioning it before the door. "You may disrobe, m'lady."

Rebecca rolled her eyes, but didn't comment. She removed the trousers, white shirt, and heavy jacket, tossing them across the trunk at the foot of the narrow bed. She slid into the water, wishing she still had some of the rose oil that had been depleted with her last bath. She settled for the thick cube of homemade soap the men used, grimacing as the rough texture turned her skin pink. Once she had washed her hair, she stepped from the tub and wrapped herself in a soft, absorbent sheet.

"Shall I send for the men, m'lady?"

She shook her head, stifling a yawn. "I am too tired to put those clothes back on so they can remove the tub. Tomorrow morning will be soon enough." She lifted the lid of the trunk, removing the gown and her gold brush. She blinked back unexpected tears and a wave of homesickness. How she longed to be in their country home, sipping tea in the garden, or riding horses with her younger sister; anywhere but this awful ship. Damn Father for his irresponsibility.

"M'lady?"

She shook her head, looking up at Nora. "Yes?"

"Shall I brush your hair for you?"

She nodded, taking time to drop the sheet and slip into the pale blue, silk nightgown before sitting on the bed and leaning forward. There was comfort in the familiar motion of having her childhood governess brush her hair. Thank goodness Nora had insisted on accompanying her to ensure the safety of her virginity. She couldn't have gotten through this hellish voyage without her. Not that it was over yet. Several more days loomed ahead of them before they saw the port of Boston.

Once Nora moved away, Rebecca pulled back the covers and slid into the narrow bunk. As her eyes closed, she saw Nora sliding out the trundle bed. She tried to offer help, but another yawn stole the words. Her lashes drifted over dark—green eyes as the long day caught up with her and she slept.