“Tell me something,” Hugo said conversationally. “Am I going to have a choice, or do you have written orders for me from Admiral Moreton?”

“The admiral agreed to accommodate the wishes of the Duke of Wellington,” Julian said delicately. Traditionally, the navy was the senior service and even the commander in chief of the army would request rather than order a senior naval officer.

“I see. In that case perhaps you had better give me a glass of wine to soften the blow,” Hugo said wryly.

“I'm…” Julian cleared his throat. “We are putting up at the Rose. The taproom's pleasant enough.”

“By all means.” Hugo had not missed the change of pronoun.

They turned together away from the quay just as a figure came barrelling toward them in the broad-striped trousers and red waistcoat of a seaman, two hooped earrings swinging, a spotted handkerchief tied over his long tarred sailor's queue.

“Eh, Cap'n, sir. I've found us a brace of pigs, bonny as you please, and three nanny goats, burstin' with milk.” He beamed with pride.

“Good, Samuel. Listen, take this requisition and get it filled. Three four-pounders and as much round shot as you can squeeze out of ‘em.”

“Aye, sir.” The sailor took the parchment, cast an incurious glance at the captain's companion, and rolled away with his swaying seaman's gait.

“Samuel could find a filled scuttlebutt in a desert,” Hugo Lattimer commented as they turned into the cool dimness of the Rose. “Invaluable man.”

“I know the type,” Julian said, indicating a table in the window, instructing the waiter, “Lad, bring a bottle of port.”

The captain sat down, sweeping aside the skirts of his blue coat to free his sword. A dusty bottle and two glasses appeared; the wine was poured. The captain downed his first glass almost without tasting it.

“First one fast, second one slow,” he said without apparent humor, refilling his glass. “So let's hear the worst, Colonel.”

“Four passengers, three horses, and a mountain of baggage,” Colonel St. Simon stated bluntly.

“Dear God!” Captain Lattimer stared at him. “How am I to find room in a frigate? The Isabelle is not a ship of the line, sir.”

Julian moved his hands in a gesture combining both comprehension and powerlessness. “The admiral seemed to think…”

“The admiral is an interfering old busybody who doesn't understand the first bloody thing about commanding a man-of-war. He's sailed a desk throughout his entire career,” Hugo said furiously. He refilled his glass and tossed the contents down his throat with a flick of his wrist.

Julian was accustomed to men who drank deeply, and refilled the captain's glass without giving it a second thought.

“Oh, there you are, I've been looking all over for you. You'll be pleased to know that we'll be two chests lighter… Oh, I beg your pardon?” Tamsyn stopped in midspeech and looked inquiringly at the gentleman in his white-Iapeled blue coat with its deep white cuffs and gold-buttoned sleeves.

“This is Captain Lattimer. And a taproom is no place for a lady.” Julian made no attempt to conceal his annoyance. He'd hoped to have everything settled with the captain before exposing him to the full effects of Tamsyn's presence.

“Well, I'm no lady, as you never tire of telling me,” Tamsyn said cheerfully, putting one booted foot on a spare chair, resting her arm on her knee. “Good morning, Captain. Are we to voyage in your ship?”

Hugo blinked at the diminutive figure with her vibrant violet eyes and the short shining cap of silvery hair. She was wearing a riding habit, the skirt hiked up by her inelegant stance to reveal leather britches. Not if I can avoid it, lass. It was a silent declaration as he thought of the havoc such an astonishingly unconventional creature could cause among the crew.

“In the name of grace, take your foot off there,” Julian said, sharply pulling the chair out from under her foot. “Sit down, if you must.”

Tamsyn put her bottom where her foot had been and smiled warmly at the captain. “Don't mind the colonel. He's as cross as two sticks this morning. I expect it's the heat. My name's Tamsyn.” She held out her hand in a friendly manner.

Bemused, Hugo took it. “Tamsyn what? Doesn't she have a surname? “Delighted, Miss Tamsyn, he murmured.

“I promise we won't be in the least a nuisance on your ship,” Tamsyn continued blithely. “Josefa and I can share a sleeping space. We're perfectly accustomed to discomfort and cramped spaces, you should know. And you'll find Gabriel a very useful person to have around… won't he, Colonel?”

“Quite possibly,” Julian snapped, se recovering from the implication that he was suffering from heat stroke. “Where is he?”

“Concluding the deals we made with the merchants,” she said. “I told you we'll be two chests lighter for the rest of the journey. We've sold all the bole of cloth and the smaller casket of jewels. That leaves just the gold and the two bigger caskets. You'll have room to store such things, Captain?”.

“Hell and the devil,” Hugo muttered, developing the unshakable conviction that he was as firmly caught as a fish on a hook. “You'd better show me what you've got.”

“Come upstairs, then.” Tamsyn pushed back her chair, getting energetically to her feet. “You can meet Josefa at the same time. She's standing guard at the moment.”

Hugo sent a glance of despairing incomprehension toward the colonel, who was looking grimmer than ever. “I had hoped to ease you into this more gentle,” he said. “But there's no such thing as gentle, with Violette around. She has about as much finesse as a stampeding herd of elephants.”

“Violette?” Captain Lattimer's bemusement was running amok. “I understood the lass to say her name was Tamsyn.”

“Yes,” Julian said. “I'll explain the situation to you in full.” He turned to Tamsyn. “Would you make yourself scarce for half an hour… if it isn't too much to ask? When Gabriel returns, ask him to join us here.”

“Are you going to tell the captain everything? Because if so, I'm sure I ought to be here.” Tamsyn's brows drew together in a somewhat aggrieved frown. “It is my plan, after all, and I could surely explain better how-”

“No,” Julian said flatly. “I will apprise Captain Lattimer of the facts in my own words. He and I speak a language that you do not. Now, be off.”

Tamsyn, very put out, nibbled her lip. This was her enterprise; surely she should be present at strategy discussions. Then it occurred to her that while the cross-country journey had been conducted according to her wishes, from now on she would be a guest of His Majesty’s navy, under the escort of the army. She didn't know anything about such travel, and she certainly didn't have the right to make decisions or even offer an opinion. And Colonel, Lord Julian St. Simon wasn't going to lose the opportunity to let her know it, however public the arena.

It was a galling thought. Without saying anything else, she turned and trailed forlornly from the taproom.

Julian watched her crestfallen departure. It was surprising that such a fiery individual could be cast down by a sharp snub. Well, she'd better get used to it. He turned back to his visibly confused companion. “Let me fill you in, Lattimer.”

Tamsyn lay listening to the rhythmic scrape of a holystone on the quarterdeck a few inches above her face. Judging by the heavy rasping, they were also using one of the massive lumps of granite studded with nails that they called bears. It was close to dawn, a faint graying light seeping through the small window in the captain's sleeping quarters.

She stretched and turned onto her side, the hanging box bed swinging with her movements. It was like being in a permanently rocking cradle, very soothing combined with the gentle motion of the frigate on the presently smooth Atlantic waters. Josefa, in her own box across the small space, muttered as she came out of sleep.