Charlotte was tired of being wet. After spending four hours each watch in and out of the rain above deck, all the pieces of her uniform had been soaked through multiple times over the past two days. And because the six to eight hours between watches were not long enough for even the muslin blouse to dry out in the dank darkness of the cockpit, she had no choice but to continue wearing damp clothes.

At least she was not alone in this misery. Everyone, even the officers, shared in it.

“I’ll have your grog ration today, Lott.” Kent swiped the mug off the table in front of her once again. She did not have the energy to pretend to protest. If he thought it bothered her, he would continue to take it, giving her the excuse she needed to not drink the vile stuff—almost as vile without the turpentine as with.

Kent laughed and carried the mug to the other end of the table. Parker might have succeeded in mixing his midshipmen with Collin’s on the three new watches, but the segregation remained in the cockpit during meals and idle hours.

“You can have half of mine, Charlie.” Isaac offered his cup.

Charlotte waved it away. “No, thank you.” She gave the boy the best smile she could muster. “I really don’t like it anyway.”

She shoved her plate away.

Hamilton pushed it back in front of her. “Eat. That’s an order. You’re already skin and bones. Even if you aren’t on my watch anymore, we can’t risk you becoming faint because the food doesn’t meet with your overscrupulous tastes. I don’t know how you’ve lasted three years, Lott, if you’ve always turned up your nose at the perfectly acceptable food good King George provides for us.”

Charlotte picked up her fork and pulled off a few strings of the grayish meat. She had never cared for mutton, especially plain boiled mutton like this. But Hamilton had a point. She needed to keep up her strength.

“Listen. Quiet, everyone!” Martin rose, holding out his hands, head cocked. A slow smile showed his excessively crooked teeth. “It stopped raining.”

Charlotte strained her ears, but she did not notice a difference in the sound of the ship. Isaac took it upon himself to verify Martin’s proclamation.

He reappeared moments after disappearing up the companionway. “He’s right. It stopped raining. I could see clear sky to the northwest.”

Charlotte joined in the cheers, drinking her water along with the toasts. If the heat returned with the sun, perhaps by tomorrow evening she would once again be wearing dry clothes.

After dinner many of the idlers, including Charlotte, went up on deck to view the clearing sky and try to guess how soon the bank of clouds still hanging over them would be gone. When the afternoon watch began, she took her place in the forecastle with much more energy than she’d had just an hour before.

Audacious had fallen far enough behind Buzzard that Charlotte needed her telescope to see it clearly. About halfway through the watch, something caught her attention and she raised the glass to her eye.

“Signal from lead ship.” She watched as the colorful, patterned flags were raised. “Mr. McLellan, my respects to Lieutenant Howe. Lead ship signals we are to make all sail and close to within fifty yards of the ship ahead.”

“Aye, aye, Charlie—Mr. Lott.” Isaac grinned and ran aft. Charlotte shook her head and wrote the message in her log book.

A few minutes later, the boatswain’s whistle shrilled the all-hands signal. Charlotte headed for the shroud—but stopped a few feet from it, stomach churning. She needed to climb halfway up to monitor the crew on her station on the foremast. The memory of the sailor who’d fallen during the storm flashed before her.

She had to do it. She had to climb up there. She grabbed the ratlines and willed her arms to tighten, to pull her body up. After three false starts, she swung her legs up and hung from the inside of the shroud, face to the sky. One…two…three steps up, and she managed to flip around to the outside of the grid of ropes. Her heart surged when she looked at the deck several feet below.

Don’t look down. She raised her chin and kept her eyes on the sails and yards above her. Somehow she managed to climb up to the spot from which she could see the men hoisting and rerigging the topgallants. Every time one of the sailors moved along the footropes hanging below the yards, her breath caught in fear he was about to plunge to his death.

But the longer she stayed up on the shroud, the easier it became. She relayed orders from the officers and soon the sails unfurled and billowed as they caught the wind. Finally, the order came to lay off, and she climbed down as fast as she could, not wanting to stay aloft any longer than necessary.

Within minutes of the crew coming down from the masts, the rolling tattoo of the drummer beat to quarters for evening inspection. Charlotte ran down to the gun deck to command her two gun crews at their battle stations.

Captain Parker seemed slow in his inspection tonight. Charlotte eyed the twelve men under her command critically, trying to see anything with which the captain might take exception. Seeing nothing, she turned to stand at attention just in time.

The captain strolled down the line of cannon and men, pausing occasionally to silently observe a gun crew more closely. Finally, he came to a stop halfway between Hamilton and Charlotte. His frown dug lines around his mouth.

“Lott—your log book.” Parker extended his hand toward her without a glance in her direction.

She pulled the small leather journal from her coat pocket and handed it to him, confident he could find no fault with it. Her penmanship was better than anyone else aboard—at least so Howe told her—and she scrupulously wrote down every message, every position, every course change, just as all midshipmen were required.

Parker handed it back to her without a word. “Lieutenant, release the men to supper.” But even as Howe shouted the dismissal order, Parker remained standing near Charlotte. She turned and dismissed her crews.

“Lott, a moment.” Parker looked at her now.

Heat flooded her face and her heart hammered. What did he want? Had he learned her identity? Had Kent gone to him with some falsehood about her again?

After the deck around them cleared, Parker clasped his hands behind his back. “You seem to be a fair hand with numbers and arithmetic, Lott.”

Numbers? “Y-yes…aye, sir.”

“I have decided to ask Lieutenant Howe to make some assignment changes in your watch. From now on, Mr. Kent is to be the midshipman of the forecastle, and you will be on the quarterdeck, primarily responsible to the sailing master for keeping the log board and assisting with reckoning our position.”

“But Mr. Kent is senior to me, sir.”

Parker’s brows raised. “I am aware of the seniority of the midshipmen on my ship, Mr. Lott. However, it is a captain’s prerogative to observe the strengths and weaknesses of the men and boys under his command and make changes in assignments when necessary. Mr. Kent is still senior of the watch, but the ship will be better served by having you on the quarterdeck. Report to Mr. Howe there on your next watch.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

She remained rooted to the spot until long after Parker disappeared up the companionway; then, as soon as she knew she was alone, she bounced on her toes and clapped her hands. She’d be on the quarterdeck—working with the ship’s sailing master, doing something more than just staring at the back end of the ship ahead of them waiting to see if they were going to signal another message from William.

She started toward the cockpit at a half run, eager to tell Hamilton and Martin and the others about the honor…but then she came to an abrupt halt. Kent would be furious. The senior midshipman of the watch served on the quarterdeck by virtue of his being the senior midshipman of the watch.

Trepidation weighed her feet, and she trudged the rest of the way back to the midshipmen’s berth. Loud voices and laughter emanated from the cockpit—Kent’s being the loudest. He sounded happy—perhaps Captain Parker or Lieutenant Howe had not informed him of the change yet.

She’d hardly entered the room when Kent’s voice rang out over everyone else’s. “And so I told Cap’n Parker that I did not want to be the sailing master’s clerk, that I wanted an assignment that took a true man to do. So he agreed to make Lott do the sailing master’s bidding and allowed me to choose which place I wanted during the watch. Of course I chose the forecastle.”

Martin let out a snort. “More like he wanted a posting where he didn’t have to do so much work.” After glaring at Kent a moment longer, Martin turned to Charlotte. “Congratulations, Charlie. The captain must be very impressed with you to have given you the quarterdeck.”

Charlotte’s teeth rattled in her head from the back-pounding congratulations she received from Martin, Hamilton, and a few others. “I only hope I can live up to his expectations.”

“I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see you promoted to lieutenant before Kent.” Hamilton kept his voice low. “You seem to have a knack for making the superior officers like you—even when they originally set out not to.”

As the boys went back to what they’d been doing when she arrived, Charlotte allowed herself a rueful smile. Two weeks ago she had purposely set out to make the men surrounding her pay attention—flirting and dancing with them while rebuffing their puppyish attempts to make her like them in return. Here, she had wanted nothing more than to stay unnoticed, to blend into the sea of faces and do whatever was necessary to ensure herself safe passage to Jamaica—and once there, to disappear without anyone from Audacious being any the wiser as to her true identity.

Now, looking around at Hamilton, Martin, Isaac, and the others, she realized she might have a hard time saying goodbye.

Julia tucked her book by as four bells signaled ten o’clock. William was usually back in the cabin by now. Though she risked his ire by leaving the cabin unaccompanied, she exited through the wheel-house. The sailor at the wheel and midshipman of the watch both knuckled their foreheads.

“Good evening, missus.” The fourth lieutenant touched the forepoint of his hat.

“Good evening, Lieutenant Eastwick. Is Commodore Ransome about on deck?”

“He’s aft, on the poop, ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

Eastwick looked as if he wished to say more but stepped aside. “Ma’am.”

She climbed the steep ladder steps to Alexandra’s highest deck—the roof of their cabin. One solitary figure stood at the stern, silhouetted by the moon and stars, his back to her. Halfway across the deck, she stopped. Was she making the situation worse? Not knowing his current temperament, she could not be certain if her presence would be welcomed or if she would make him angry by her willful disobedience.

She turned to leave, trying to be as silent as possible. The water and the wind gave her some measure of cover—until she gasped when her toes smashed into the raised dining-cabin skylight. She hopped on her left foot, pain shooting through the two small toes of her right one.

“I used to do that all the time.” William’s deep voice was soft as his hands settled on her waist to steady her. “Except I was more likely to break glass than toes in these shoes.”

“I…” Embarrassment clogged her throat.

“Here, try to put some weight on it.”

She did. Though it hurt, she wasn’t about to let on that it did. “I think the pain is beginning to subside.” She noticed the sextant and journal he’d set down on the deck. “I had no wish to disturb you.”

“Come, let us get you to the cabin where you can sit.”

“No. I believe I am well.” She gritted her teeth and put weight on the throbbing foot.

“Then I shall be glad of your company, if you would join me in a stroll.”

Though each step felt worse than the step before, Julia took William’s arm, grateful for the support he offered—and his acceptance of her presence here when they both knew she had broken her promise to not come on deck unless accompanied by him.

“I have just finished calculating the distance between Alexandra and Audacious. The convoy is still far too spread out for my liking. And after this weather, we are likely to have thick fog by morning.”

Julia looked out into the silvery blackness. “How have you taken measurements when the next ship is but a shadow in the dark?”

William stopped at the aft railing. “See the yellow light there?” He pointed slightly to the left.

“Yes, I can just…oh, is that a signal light?”

“Aye. Each ship in the line has one. It is how we communicate after sundown.”

“Is it very dangerous to have the convoy spread too far?” The wind blew loose curls into her face.

William reached up and gently brushed the hair back. “I am not overly concerned. We shall see where we stand in the morning, and I will make adjustments then as needed.” His palm cupped her jaw, and he caressed her cheek with his thumb.

Julia’s knees nearly buckled. She held onto the balustrade with every ounce of strength.

His eyes, deep blue as the night sky above, roved her face and then rested on her mouth—followed by the soft touch of his lips.

She released her grip on the railing and rested her hand on his shoulder, raising up on her toes—

Her gasp of pain ended the kiss. William looped his arm around her waist for support and then pressed his forehead to hers. “Foot feeling better, is it?”

Even though her breathing hitched with each throb in her toes, Julia had to smile. “Tell me, would you admit to the pain caused by tripping on the skylight? Or any sailor aboard—would he confess or just suffer to save himself humiliation?”

He raised his head, his expression serious. “You are not a sailor, Julia, and I would be very displeased should you start acting like one.”

Offense rose in her throat, but before she could speak, William pressed the tips of his fingers to her lips.

“You are the strongest woman I have ever known. I well remember you climbing the shrouds and doing everything else your brother did—usually better. But that was twenty years ago when you were a child, the captain’s daughter.” He brushed more unruly curls back from her face. “Now you are my wife, the lady of my household, and it makes me unhappy that you are in pain and trying to hide it from me. I wish for us to always have honesty between us, even if it causes either of us embarrassment. Agreed?”

Lost in the sapphire depths of his eyes, Julia couldn’t help feeling like a besotted schoolgirl. “Aye, aye, Commodore.”

William shook his head and kissed her again. “Do you think you can walk, or shall I carry you?”

“You’ll carry me only if you clear the entire quarterdeck and dismiss the marine standing guard at the cabin door.”

William indulged her stubbornness—for the moment. As soon as she gave any indication she would be unable to continue, he was ready to sweep her into his arms and carry her to her bed.

In spite of his doubts, Julia managed to make it all the way back to their quarters, where she collapsed on the small sofa in the corner of the main cabin.

William knelt and untied the pink ribbons at her ankle. She drew in a sharp breath through her clenched teeth as he slipped the shoe off her foot. Even through the silk stocking he could see that the side of her foot was beginning to swell and bruise.

“You stay right where you are—and remove your stocking. I’m going for Hawthorne.” He stood and reached the door in two strides.

“No—William, please. Let me…at least let’s have a look at it privately first.” She uncovered her foot.

He brought a lamp from the desk to get a better view. The pool of light shone on her swollen, black-and-blue skin. He looked up at her, cocking his left brow in question.

“Oh, all right. Get the doctor.” She lay back with a huff. “But when he says it’s nothing—”

William closed the door on her complaint. Most of the crew were turned in for the night, so he met no one on the main deck as he made his way through the sea of hammocks. Their loud snores made it unnecessary to try to muffle his footsteps.

As he expected, a light still gleamed in Hawthorne’s quarters. He knocked.

The young doctor looked shocked to see the ship’s commander at his door at such a late hour. “Commodore Ransome, sir, is something wrong?”

“Yes. Mrs. Ransome is injured and in need of your services.”

The doctor shrugged into his civilian coat and gathered up some medical supplies into a large black bag. As soon as he doused his lamp, William spun on his heel.

“How did she acquire the injury, sir?” Hawthorne panted, climbing the stairs behind William.

“She…” What had she said about humiliation? “She hit her foot against something in the dark.”

The main cabin was brighter than William recalled, and Julia sipped a cup of tea, a damp cloth covering her bare foot.

Dawling lowered the glass chimney over the lamp on the wall behind Julia and then knuckled his forehead. “Com’dore. Doc.”

“That will be all, Dawling.” Had Julia’s protestations of not wanting anyone to know been to make William somehow more sympathetic toward her plight? He paced the width of the room while Hawthorne examined Julia’s foot. A couple of times, William paused at her sharp intakes of breath.

“The two smallest toes are dislocated. I need to reset them and then bind your foot until they’ve straightened. Commodore—”

William joined them.

“Mrs. Ransome may need you, as this will be quite painful.”

He sat beside her. She sat up, and he put his arm around her. As soon as Hawthorne began manipulating the toes, Julia grabbed William’s left hand with both of hers and buried her face in his shoulder with a groan.

A few minutes later, William pulled his hand from hers to assist the doctor by holding a small board to the bottom of Julia’s foot while the doctor swathed it in bandages.

Julia seemed to regain her composure quickly, though a sheen of perspiration shone on her forehead.

Hawthorne knotted the bandage and trimmed the excess. “Now, you must stay off your foot for several days, Mrs. Ransome. Else, we’ll be right back here putting those toes in place again.”

“Thank you, Dr. Hawthorne.”

He inclined his head. “Ma’am. Sir.”

William waited a few moments to ensure that Hawthorne was out of earshot. “Julia—”

“William,” Julia said, her voice low. “I really do believe you should speak with Dawling. I think he listens at the door. No sooner had you left than he came in and started propping a pillow behind me and telling me I needed tea and a cold compress.”

William sank into the desk chair and untied his neckcloth. The truth of her statement made him feel guilty for doubting her. “Yes. I have been meaning to speak to him. He seems to have gotten worse about it since our time in Portsmouth.”

“You know I’m fond of him,” Julia quieted her voice even further. “And I do not believe he does it with any ill intent—on the contrary, I think he does it to try to improve his service. But it worries me to think that our private conversations may be…not private.”

“I will speak with him first thing in the morning.”

“Thank you. Of course, he did tell me he’s seen a crutch down in the hold—”

William glanced at her, noticing for the first time her pallor, emphasizing the dark circles beneath her eyes. She sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the sofa.

He was immediately at her side and lifted her into his arms, smiling at her surprised, “Oh!”

“Hawthorne said you are to stay off your feet. No crutch. At least not until he gives his approval.”

“And what am I to do all day? Lie abed?”

“How are you getting to that bed?”

She finally stopped frowning at him. “I do thank you for this.” She reached her hands behind her to steady her descent as he settled her into the box bed. “But you cannot stay with me all day. I will need to dress and move about the cabin to…take care of necessities. A crutch would be a great help.”

He opened his mouth to argue further but was interrupted by a knock at the door. “We are not finished with this conversation.”

“I tingle with anticipation.” Her green eyes sparkled with humor.

He went out through the main room and opened the door. “Hawthorne?”

“I thought your wife might need this, sir.” The doctor thrust a long stick at William. “She will need to use extreme caution, though, until she is accustomed to it.”

It took William a moment to realize the stick was a crutch. He thanked the doctor and sent him on his way.

Julia had somehow managed to get her dress off before William returned.

Her lips trembled with what looked like an effort to restrain her smile when he propped the crutch in the corner. He crossed to his sea chest and withdrew a large canvas bundle. He started to hang his old hammock from the iron rings in the ceiling beams.

“William, I…meant no disrespect.”

The fear in her voice surprised him. He turned and tried to reassure her with a smile. “Disrespect? No. Stubborn you may be. Strong willed, certainly. But never disrespectful.”

“Then why…?” She motioned at the hammock.

He laid the ropes and canvas aside and moved to lean over her, his hands on the feather tick on either side of her. “Because I’ve no wish to hurt you while we sleep.”

“You won’t.” She held her foot out. “He has so swathed it in bandages that no harm will come to it.”

He dropped his head and sighed. He had no desire to give up sleeping beside her, but it was nice to hear she wanted him with her. “Fine. But the first time you so much as twitch…”

She kissed the top of his head. “Good. Now, it is late. You need your rest.”

When he finally doused the last lamp and climbed into bed, Julia was nearly asleep, on her side facing away from him. He pulled her close, careful to be aware of the position of her foot.

“Good night, husband.” She twined her fingers in his where his hand rested at her waist.

“Sleep well, wife.”