Will paced back and forth along a short stretch of the cluttered deck. Every inch of the deck of the Canis Major was crowded with wooden crates and barrels lashed together with rope. There was little room to maneuver about the deck, let alone go for a proper stroll.

He tapped his fist against the side of one of the oak barrels, it was full. He licked his lips, thinking that a large glass of rum would be perfect right now. The crates stacked next to the rum, were marked SUGAR. PINNEY ESTATE. NEVIS. FREE MEN PRODUCE.

The former slave plantations in the West Indies were now being worked by free men, paid for their labor. It sickened him to think that at one point the Canis Major would have regularly shipped slave labor goods to England. Goods he and his family would have purchased and used. England may have won the war against a French tyrant, but it most certainly did not have a clean moral sheet.

The slap of a thick rope against his legs stirred him from his musings. He stepped to one side as two members of the crew pushed past him and lashed a rope around a stack of nearby barrels.

“Expecting rough weather?” said Will, half in jest.

“Yes,” they replied in unison.

He looked to where one of the sailors was pointing his head. The clear skies of Southern Spain had disappeared. In their place was a near black cluster of storm clouds.

Within minutes he noticed a perceptible increase in the wind. The sails flapped loudly against the mast as the crew working in the ropes overhead struggled to bring them in.

Looking over the side of the ship, he could see the waves rising and falling in ever increasing tempo.

The ship's captain got Will's attention with a firm tug on his sleeve.

“Mr. Saunders, I suggest you might wish to retire to your cabin. The ship is heading into the North Atlantic and storm weather. It's going to be a rough night. The young lady may be in need of your comfort before long.”

Will nodded. It was going to be a long night in the cramped cabin, the oncoming storm would only add another layer of discomfort for the two of them.

“The captain says we are sailing into a storm. It's going to be rough sailing through until the morning,” said Will, stepping back into the cabin.

Hattie was sitting quietly on the bed a book in hand.

“I had noticed that the motion of the boat was getting stronger,” she replied.

Will looked down at the floor. She had made up his bed while he had been out on deck. While Hattie had used all the blankets and the soft mattress given to him by the captain, it did not look particularly inviting. With the ship heading into a rough storm, he doubted he would get much sleep.

“Will they feed us?” she asked.

Food. He had not thought to ask. Hattie ever practical had.

“I shall make enquiries.”

With that he disappeared back out onto the deck.

When Will returned a short time later, Hattie was seated in the same spot as when he left. He crossed to the bed and handed her a plate containing two apples, some cheese and four thick slices of bread. A small knife was stuck in the cheese.

“The extent of our supper I’m afraid. The cook and cabin boy are busy helping to secure the cargo below decks. There will not be any hot food tonight.” he said.

“Better than many will eat tonight,” she replied.

The words rolled off her tongue so easily that Will suspected it was a common saying in the Wright household.

“Come sit and eat something. I remember the weather on the journey here. Mama was terribly ill for several days as we crossed between the seas.”

* * *

Will sat down in the chair opposite the bed and faced Hattie. There was a matter of inches between their knees. They both chuckled at how cramped the space was between them.

“We are going to be the best of dance partners by the time this voyage is over. Moving around one another will be second nature. Our bodies will be as one,” said Will.

He had the manner of one whom she expected would be a skilled dancer. She had always enjoyed dancing in her younger years. Her brother Edgar had spent many hours patiently teaching her the waltz the year of her coming out. She had barely got to use all those lessons before her father determined that dancing was a sin and it was not permitted for his daughter.

Edgar. She had not thought of her brother for some time. The sudden memory shook her.

“Are you alright? My words about dancing perhaps came out a little askew. I meant we would move around the dance floor as one. I meant nothing untoward.”

She looked up to see Will studying her, a concerned look on his face. He cared about her, that much was evident. There were certain mannerisms that gave his frame of mind away at times. Right now, he was worried he had offended her in some way.

“Yes of course I am. You just gave me a reminder of my old life. I sometimes forget my family life was not always this way. My parents used to love to dance when I was younger,” she replied.

While she was prepared to talk about her parents, Edgar Wright was the one person she was not going to share with Will. The one person in London Will could take her to was also the last person who would want to see her.

She had treated Edgar and his wife Miranda terribly. Shunned them for not having taken up the mission of serving the poor. When the time came that she sent word pleading for his assistance to avoid going to Africa, Edgar had rightly abandoned her to her fate. There was no going back to being loving brother and sister.

She willed herself to think of the task at hand, of trying to eat before the storm hit. Pulling the knife from out of the block of cheese, Hattie proceeded to cut the cheese into bite sized portions. When she was done she wrapped some of the cheese up in a piece of bread and handed it to Will.

As he took it from her hands, their fingers touched. A frisson of heat raced up Hattie's spine. She shivered.

Will slowly withdrew his hand. Whatever she had felt, she knew he had felt it too.

They were as close as they could be without being on the bed together, yet she yearned to be even closer to him. His touch made her heart race.

She should not feel this way about Will. The struggle was real. Hattie tried to force the feeling away, to calm her turmoil, but it was too strong to fight.

In another time and place, she might have called this attraction love, but here and under the present circumstances she was at a loss to find the right word. Her body was sending signals she had never known before. It both frightened and thrilled her.

“Are you a good sailor?” she stammered.

He looked at the bread and cheese in his hand.

“Not particularly,” he replied.

He took a bite of the sandwich and sat chewing it slowly. For the first time since she had met Will, Hattie sensed he was not entirely comfortable. The self-assured man of the world now revealed a vulnerable side of himself. She could tell he did not like it.

Hattie looked around the cabin, relieved when she spied a bucket in the corner attached to the wall by a small hook.

“So, what you are saying is that we may have need for that at some point tonight?” she said.

A pensive looking Will nodded and retrieved the bucket. He placed it on the floor next to the desk.

There was a knock at the door and when Will answered it, the first mate stepped inside. He doffed his cap to Hattie.

“Captain says to tell you to stay in your cabin until he sends word that it is safe to come out. There is a big swell building and we are likely to be tossed about a bit,” he said.

Hattie's heart sank. It would be the ultimate irony for her to die at sea on the way home to England.

The first mate read her mind, and gave a reassuring grin.

“Nothing to worry about miss, we sailors travel these waters all the year round. With the ship getting thrown around, some of the cargo may come loose from the ropes. It won’t be safe up on deck. Me, and the rest of the crew will be taking shelter soon to ride out the storm. By tomorrow morning it should have blown over and we will be making our way up the coast of Portugal. We should reach England in ten days after that. I’m sure your Mr. Saunders will keep you safe.”

Will locked the door again after the first mate had left. He stood and surveyed the cabin before starting to take things from the top of the desk and putting them in his trunk. Hattie silently watched.

When he finally completed the task of securing the cabin, Hattie offered him some more cheese and sliced apple, but Will waved them away.

“It might not be a good idea for me to have too much food in my system as the storm hits.”

Hattie hastily packed up the rest of the food, stowing the plate and knife in one of the desk drawers. Will retreated to his makeshift bed on the floor and lay down.

“When I said I wasn't a good sailor, what I meant was that I get a tad dizzy when the ship rolls up and down the waves. Silly for a grown man to suffer in such a way but there you have it,” he said.

The ship gave a sudden, violent lurch, tossing Hattie back on to the bed. Before she could sit back up, a second wave hit the ship and forced her down again.

As the ship finally righted itself on the downside of the next wave, she rolled over and put her head over the side of the bed to check on Will.

He was rolled up in a ball in the corner, his hands were gripped tightly to his travel trunk. She muttered a word which would have had her mother turning red with embarrassment.

The floor was a dangerous place for Will to be at the best of times. With the ship now beginning a rolling pitch up and down the giant waves, the floor was quickly becoming a deathtrap.

“Will please, you need to come up onto the bed. If you stay on the floor you are going to be injured or worse,” she pleaded.

He was no fool. Will scrambled to his feet, grabbed his blankets and was half way to the bed when the ship was hit by yet another wave and he was tossed back onto the floor. Will's head and the hard-wooden floor made sickening contact.

“Merde!” he bellowed.

Hattie clambered to her knees and put a leg over the side of the bed, but Will stopped her.

“No, stay where you are. The last thing we need is for the both of us to go bouncing off the walls and floor of the cabin. I shall come to you.”

Getting to his feet a second time, he launched himself at the bed, landing inelegantly beside Hattie with a loud “Ooof”.

She checked his face and head for any signs of blood, relieved when it was clear Will had not cracked his head open.

“When you have fallen from a horse as many times as I have you eventually realize that your head is a lot tougher than you think,” he said.

Hattie moved across the bed and sat up with her back against the wall. Her feet were hard up against the side wall of the bed. Will did the same.

As the boat continued to pitch and roll, it felt like they were riding an out of control carriage. Hattie’s stomach prayed for a set of reins with which to pull up the non-existent horses.

“If this is an indication of the night ahead, something tells me we are not going to be getting any sleep,” Will said wearily.

She looked at his face and saw he had closed his eyes. Dark lashes kissed the skin above his cheeks, but his face was ashen. Pity replaced much of the fear she was currently feeling. With the storm likely to continue unabated for hours, Will was facing a tortuous night.

“If it's too difficult to sit up, then I suggest you lie down,” she said.

“Yes,” he finally replied. The weakness of his voice giving a clear indication of the growing depth of his discomfort.

With his large, masculine frame fully stretched out on the bed, Hattie was left with little option. She lay down on her side, her back facing toward his chest.

“Your bed is nice and soft. The padding is much better than mine,” Will observed.

“Close your eyes and hopefully that will help to keep your head from spinning,” she replied.

The full force of the storm hit the ship a short while later. With it came driving rain. The cabin door rattled as the fearsome wind challenged its hold on the door frame. Fortunately, it held fast. The bucket on the floor was not so lucky.

For the longest time Hattie lay awake, watching the bucket slide back and forth across the floor from door to bed and back again. When the ship encountered a larger set of waves the bucket was pushed all the way back hard against the side of the bed.

She reached down and swiftly grabbed a hold of it. With the bucket now in her hand she had solved one problem. The next question was what to do with the bucket. Holding onto it for the rest of the night was not an option.

There was a hook with a rope tie on the wall opposite, near the door. It must have been all of seven feet. She decided to risk it.

She slid one leg over the side of the bed and slowly sat up. Turning, she looked at Will. He was fast asleep, a soft snore rippled from his lips.

He really was a handsome specimen of a man. Her fingers ached to touch his hair. In his sleep it had become ruffled and a stray curl now sat on the edge of his fringe.

Her gaze dropped to his lips. Lips which she knew to be soft and warm. Lips her heart desired to possess forever.

“Oh, if only you weren't who you are and I wasn't who I am,” she whispered.

She turned back to the task at hand. It was only a few steps to where the hook which would hold the bucket secure was nailed to the wall.

After a short period of sitting and counting, she began to perceive the patterns of the waves. Twenty counts for the ship to lean to starboard, ten seconds of stillness, then a further count of twenty for the ship to lean back fully portside.

As the ship began its next starboard lean, Hattie stood and with bucket in hand, quickly scrambled to the hook. By her reckoning she had fifteen counts to secure the bucket before she would need to be ready to make her way back.

Nervous fingers hoisted the bucket onto the hook and wrapped the rope handle round and round, securing it firmly in place.

She turned just as the ship set her staggering back toward the bed. She reached the bed and threw herself over the raised side. She had done it. The satisfaction of having achieved her goal, had her grinning.

“Well done,” said a husky-throated Will.

“I thought you were asleep,” she replied.

“I was, but as soon as you left my side, I woke.”

Will threw the blankets over them and then wrapped a strong arm around her waist.

“Don’t try and leave the bed again unless you absolutely have to, the safest place for the both of us is right here. You should try and get some sleep,” he said.

They were in the middle of a ferocious storm in the North Atlantic, on a ship which was riding up and down huge rolling waves. But, with Will beside her in the bed, Hattie felt safe for the first time in a very long time.

As sleep finally took her, she slipped into a long warm dream of a man who always held her tight throughout the worst of life’s storms.

When morning came, the storm had mostly blown out. Rain still lashed the decks. After a cursory view out the door, Hattie decided there was little purpose in venturing outside and she climbed back into bed.

* * *

It was late morning before the deck was safe enough to venture out onto. The crew spent the best part of the morning checking the ropes and making repairs to the ship. Several crates of cargo had been swept overboard during the night and were lost at sea. Despite Hattie’s efforts to rouse him, she was unable to wake Will.

“Sleep of the righteous,” she muttered.

Only someone with a clear conscience could sleep that soundly. Finally accepting defeat, she put on Will's greatcoat and went in search of sustenance.

The ship's cabin crew, which consisted of the cook and a young lad of about fourteen stood silently at one end of the galley table as Hattie ate her breakfast. The cook, who wore an apron which had seen cleaner days, roughly cleared his throat.

“Would the young miss be wanting anything else?” he asked.

Hattie looked up from her contemplation of her hard-boiled egg. Both cook and cabin boy shifted on their feet. It was like watching a pair of dancing pigeons. As one moved to his left, the other followed.

“Yes, please. My fiancé is still abed. He had a terrible night. Could you please fix him some breakfast so I may take it back to our cabin?”

While Hattie waited for Will’s breakfast to be cooked, she went and sat outside on the deck. Near the captain’s cabin she found a small solid bench which was mostly out of the wind.

The sun was out and the storm clouds of the previous night had gone. The contrast of stormy night to blue sky morning was astonishing. Apart from the weary looks on the faces of the crew, and several tattered sails blowing in the sea breeze there was little evidence that the ship had been through a tumultuous night.

“Good morning.”

She turned to see Will standing in the sunshine, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His hair was tussled from him having slept so deeply. She was heartened to see the natural color had returned to his face.

“You look a lot better than you did last night. Cook is making you some breakfast,” she replied.

She looked at the blanket covering the warm masculine frame which she had slept against the night before and suddenly realized why he was wearing it.

“Oh, I am so sorry, I forgot I took your coat,” she said.

The cabin boy arrived carrying two mugs of coffee. Will’s face lit up.

“Coffee the elixir of the gods.”

Hattie laughed. “I thought ambrosia was the elixir of the gods.”

Will shook his head. “Not in my world. My brain does not function until I have had a strong brew of coffee in the morning.”

The cabin boy scurried off to tell the cook that the gentleman passenger was awake and ready to take his breakfast.

Will sipped his coffee, watching as the boy disappeared back inside the galley.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone. Remember what the captain said about not knowing his crew very well.”

Hattie was on the verge of explaining to Will that she regularly walked the dangerous streets of London on her own, but decided against it. Memories of lying awake in the early hours of the morning while Will slept beside her were still warming her heart.

“Sorry. I forgot. The captain has been up on deck most of the time I have been out here, and I haven’t wandered away from this vicinity. I won’t do it again,” she replied.

The truth was, she was so used to being in the violent and unsafe streets of the Parish of St Giles that she had become somewhat indifferent to all but the most obvious signs of danger. After the fourth time she had been accosted and robbed on the street in the early days of their mission, she stopped bothering to tell her parents. Risk came with the territory of giving aid to the poor.

“I just want to ensure that you get home safely to your uncle. I don’t mean to be overbearing. If we can agree that you don’t venture from the cabin without me, I will be content.”

Hattie agreed. For what was only a matter of days, she was prepared to concede to as many of Will’s demands as she felt necessary. She told herself it was purely for the sake of ensuring they both enjoyed a cordial and pleasant journey home. Her heart however was beginning to beat to the sound of a different drum.

With mugs of coffee in hand, they followed the cabin boy into the galley.