Perhaps it was the memory of what he’d seen before. The lass from the ship whose name he’d never learned, who had lived merely one day past the day they’d met before her nearly lifeless form disappeared over the ship’s railing. Never to be seen again.

He told himself this wasn’t the same girl. This one had fire and spirit, had lifted her head and all but bared her teeth at her captors. She had the nerve to stow away aboard a ship, even if it was the wrong ship entirely.

That might not have been nerve, however. It might have been plain stupidity.

Her body was warm and soft in his hands, almost welcoming. So easy to press her to him, so pliable. Another few seconds and he might begin to entertain thoughts which weren’t entirely devoted to the lass’s welfare.

Her eyes opened, searching his. A bright, frank blue which reminded him of the sea on a clear day. They brought him to his senses.

“Are you all right, lass?” He helped her straighten up, careful not to entirely release her until he was certain she could stay on her feet. She bent slightly, hands on her knees. The long, flaxen braid she’d tucked into her tunic fell from inside and hung over her shoulder.

“I’ll be all right now, thank you,” she murmured, sounding markedly less determined than she did when she was being so roughly handled.

It had all been an act, naturally. The poor thing had been more frightened than a rabbit in a snare—and in just as much danger, whether she’d known it or not.

Broc caught his eye, watching the scene from several feet away. His expression was unreadable. What did he think of this development?

Derek turned his attention back to the girl, who was taking great gulps of air as if to clear her head. “You’re safe from them now,” he offered.

“Thanks to you.” She offered him a weak smile.

“Do you…” He was at a loss. It seemed unthinkable to leave her alone, vulnerable. She weighed less than nothing and looked as though she hadn’t enjoyed a proper meal in a fortnight. Her skin was sickly pale, her breathing heavier than it should’ve been considering she wasn’t stressing herself in any way. “Do you know where you’re going now?”

Her teeth sank into her lower lip. Even teeth, all present, clean enough. She was well cared for prior to stowing away. Not a homeless wretch. Well-spoken, too. Learned. Not a gentlewoman perhaps, but a step above poverty.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. Was it his imagination, or did her chin quiver ever so slightly when she admitted this? “I didn’t intend to disembark in…”

“Kirkcaldy,” he confirmed. “The lowlands of Scotland.”

“Do you…” She pressed her lips together in a show of utter dismay. “Do you know how far I am from London?” She sounded like a lost child, terrified to the point of tears.

He shook his head, sorrowful. “Quite far, however. That much, I can tell you with certainty. At least the better part of another week over the sea.”

“And much, much longer over land,” she murmured, staring off into the distance as though considering making the trip.

He was beginning to wonder whether she was touched in the head. Who would consider such an outlandish journey? A woman, traveling alone to boot?

“Indeed. Months, perhaps.”

Her face fell. “I was afraid of that.”

“Why is this of such importance to you?” It was a rude question, without a doubt, but one he couldn’t help asking nonetheless.

She seemed determined enough, recklessly so. She had to have a strong motive for putting herself in such danger.

“I have my reasons,” she assured him, tucking her gray tunic more firmly under the length of rope cinched tight about her waist. She wore stockings beneath that, with leather sewn to the soles which took the place of shoes. Reaching into her pack, lumpy with an assortment of goods, she withdrew a hat which she jammed firmly onto her head.

As though that would hide her being a woman. Did she think she had anyone fooled? Her shapely legs were a giveaway under their dark hose, and even a bulky tunic many sizes too large for her couldn’t hide the curves of her bosom and hips.

She actually believed she could go about her journey, disguised convincingly, and survive. If it wasn’t all so dire, he might have laughed.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, stepping in front of her before he could stop himself.

What was he thinking, getting in the girl’s way? What business was it of his?

Broc snickered under his breath—but not silently enough to escape Derek’s hearing.

“I’m going to do what I need to do. Whatever that is.” She looked up at him, her jaw set firm. “Unless you can help me in some way, I suggest you step aside now.”

“But…”

Her expression softened, and she sighed. “Forgive me, sir. You were of great service to me earlier, and I owe you my freedom.”

She owed him much more than that, but it was likely better for her if she didn’t know the particulars of what a band of sailors could do to an innocent young woman.

“However,” she continued, “I feel it is best that we part ways at this time. I’m certain you have duties of your own, as do I. I will not require your assistance any longer.”

His mouth fell open at her formal turn of phrase—and before he knew it, a barking laugh escaped his throat.

She drew herself up to her full height, lips pressed tightly together until they all but disappeared. “Do not laugh at me.” For such a small thing, she could lash out with her sharp tongue. “There is nothing amusing here. I have to find a way to exist, which I hardly consider a laughing matter.”

“My apologies, lass,” he offered, his hands held up with palms facing out. “I meant no insult, I assure you. I was taken aback by the way you have of expressing yourself, is all. It isn’t often a man is treated to such politeness. Especially a man accustomed to rather hard living.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the ships in the harbor.

“Oh. I see.” She fell back, only slightly. As though she was unsure whether or not to believe him.

He turned his attention to the rows of buildings which lined the other side of the road abutting the docks. There sat the tavern in which he’d enjoyed refreshment less than an hour earlier. His mind was made up.

“At least allow me to ensure you have a hot meal before we part ways,” he offered. “You look as though you could use one.”

She was sorely tempted, it was clear. He wondered how much money she could possibly carry on her person—considering how naïve she appeared, it seemed unlikely that she’d brought nearly enough to sustain herself.

Something about her captivated him. Why was she traveling alone, and under such circumstances? Why would she take such a risk? How did she intend to live until she reached her destination? Why London, of all places?

Who did she belong to, and why would they let her go on such a foolhardy journey?

Broc approached, standing by his elbow. “If I may…”

“Yes?” Derek asked, turning his head slightly.

“I thought we were going to find lodging for the night. Rest a bit before deciding what to do next.”

Derek held back a sigh, knowing his first mate was right. The girl was none of his concern. If only he wasn’t so certain that she would get herself killed before the day was out, he’d leave her to her own devices and go about his life.

“I highly doubt every room in the village will be filled during the short amount of time we’ll spend in the tavern,” he decided.

Broc went silent, his face falling once again into unreadable lines.

He turned to the girl, pointing across the road. “Come. We’ll go to the tavern. Hardly the sort of place a lady would normally choose to seek refreshment, but there aren’t many choices—and anyhow, you’re pretending to be a lad. Right?” He couldn’t help having a bit of fun with her.

Her eyes narrowed, as though she were carefully considering whether to lash out at him. Her better judgment won out, and she composed her face into normal lines. “You don’t have to do this. You’ve already done more than enough.”

“I insist. I went to a lot of trouble, getting you away from those three, and I don’t intend to allow you to starve to death now.”

She looked reluctant, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Which would win out? Her hunger or her considerable pride? He’d battled both within himself over the years and knew which of the two was inevitably the stronger, so it was no surprise when his new charge slung the pack over her shoulder and followed him and Broc.

“Do you have a name?” he called over his shoulder.

“I do.”

Broc chuckled at her reply.

Derek merely gritted his teeth and asked, “What would it be, then?”

“Margery.”

He knew he wasn’t imagining the saucy edge to her voice, as though she were teasing.