"I suppose a woman likes to think of the day she gets with child for the first time."

Elizabeth jerked a little in surprise.

"You can't know that. It could have happened any time, we were ... quite busy with each other."

Nathaniel pressed his mouth to the top of her head; she could feel him trying to smile.

"You've forgot your words," he said. "And I went to such trouble to teach them to you."

Elizabeth shook him lightly. "Don't change the subject, you know I can't be distracted so easily. Why are you so sure that I fell pregnant at that particular time?"

He shrugged. "Because I know. Because I felt it happen. And you did too, if you'll think about it and trust your gut."

"It is very strange how these conversations always come down to my inner workings," Elizabeth said, and she heard the tone of her voice, and regretted it. She wound her fingers in Nathaniel's shirt and squeezed his arm as hard as she could. "I trust you, that is enough. Right now, it's all that I have."

He whispered into her hair, his tone solemn now and nothing of teasing in him. "The world will be right again, Boots. Tomorrow or the day after we'll catch up with the Isis, but now we'll sleep. Sleep's the thing." He shifted her slightly against him and the pain in her overfilled breasts flared hot, so that she had to stifle a cry against his chest.

Nathaniel jerked up, holding her so that he could peer into her face. "You're hurting," he said, his cool hands on her skin under the borrowed homespun shirt, full wet with tears and lost milk. "I didn't know it was that bad. Can I help you?"

"No," she said, trying to turn away in the narrow space, mortified and undone. "There are some hurts that even you cannot mend, Nathaniel."

"And some I can. Let me help you." His voice broke, and with it her resolve. And so she let him have his way, let him take what was meant for her children--their children--and tried not to imagine their sweet faces at a strange woman's breast as she wound her fingers in Nathaniel's hair hard enough to make him gasp. In time he brought her to a place where she could offer him some comfort in turn, and then she fell away shuddering still with his touch, and this newest burden of relief.

They woke to the sound of raised voices as the larboard watch came on deck, just as the first of the sun found its way through the seams on the canvas cover. Elizabeth blinked and rubbed her eyes, and then she heard the whisper she had missed at first: Robbie, standing at the side of the longboat.

"Are ye awake?"

Nathaniel stretched and reached out to toss back the cover. "We are."

Elizabeth stood, wobbling a little in her disorientation. Robbie sent her a sidelong glance, and she marveled that in all the time they had spent with this man, he still blushed furiously at the sight of her, whether she was in her finest gown or at her worst, as she was now. Her hair was a tangled mass and her face still swollen with weeping; Granny Stoker's borrowed shirt and breeches were too large and hung awkwardly, cinched at the waist with a rope that served as a makeshift belt. And she itched, so that she could barely keep from scratching.

Robbie held out his arm and she took it, landing on deck with a thump. With both hands she swiped at herself in an attempt to dislodge the grit of the longboat, but her gaze moved out over the sea. It was a beautiful morning, and she had slept deeply. Nothing could lessen the ache and anger at the heart of this journey, and she was still in considerable --and renewed--discomfort, but she was heartened by the sun and the hum of the winds in the sails; her resolve was still firm, but despair had loosened its grip.

"Today," she said to Robbie. And saw what she had not thought to notice, that he was in need of a kind word, too.

He nodded. "It canna be too soon."

Nathaniel clapped Robbie on the back. "I'll bet you've already been down to the galley."

Robbie grimaced slightly. "Aye, that I have. But I wadna recommend it for Elizabeth --it's a wee rough. I'll bring ye what there is tae eat, but first there's word."

Elizabeth and Nathaniel turned to him in one movement.

"Hawkeye and Stoker are waitin' for the baith o' ye on the quarterdeck."

Elizabeth would have started off in that direction immediately, but Nathaniel caught her by the arm. "What's this about, Rab?"

"The Osiris."

"What of the Osiris?" asked Elizabeth, seeing how Nathaniel's expression darkened. He seemed as angry about Moncrieff's arrangements for them to be chaperoned to Scotland on the Osiris as he was about the kidnapping itself.

"She's been sighted, five miles off," said Robbie. He looked toward the western horizon, where Elizabeth could see only a smudge of haze. She thought of climbing the rigging, and put the idea reluctantly aside, as light-headed as she was.

"The Osiris is following us?"

Nathaniel grunted softly. "Her captain can't much like the idea of explaining to Carryck why we aren't on board."

Her disquiet growing rapidly, Elizabeth said, "The Osiris must outgun us."

"Aye, that she does," said Robbie. "I saw her in Québec. Thirty-two guns, and near two hundred men. The equal o' the Isis, I'd say."

Elizabeth took in this information in silence. Throughout her girlhood she had been fed facts about the Royal Navy with her breakfast, for her uncle Merriweather had always wanted to go to sea, and lived the life vicariously--and volubly--with the aid of newspaper reports. She knew very well what it meant for the Osiris to carry thirty-two guns. With four twelve-pounder carronades to a side, the Jackdaw was better armed than most schooners of her size, but she was undercrewed and in a battle she would never prevail. She wasn't made to fight, but to run: that's what smugglers did.