Free Kitty by Deborah Challinor Page B

the sea spray out of his eyes.
    Kitty hadn’t wanted to visit Rian Farrell’s schooner at all, but Sarah, deciding she needed a decent rug for the parlour, had asked her to go as she herself couldn’t face even the idea of stepping off dry land again. Amy had volunteered to accompany Kitty, to say ‘kia ora’ to the crew, but Sarah had said certainly not and given her the job of washing the musty-smelling linen that had been stored in the travelling trunks for months.
    As the dinghy drew closer to the Katipo, Kitty was able to appreciate what a truly beautiful vessel she really was, even with her sails furled. A three-masted fore-and-aft schooner—which Kitty was delighted to be able to recognise as a result of her frequent illicit conversations with Captain Monk—she sat long and low in the water, not yet having unloaded her cargo. Her sleek wooden hull was painted black with a blood-red stripe running just below the bulwark, and her jib-boom seemed to soar above the waves. The schooner’s figurehead, tucked unobtrusively beneath the base of her bowsprit, was the head and torso of a woman with canary-coloured hair and a good deal of bosom on display.
    She could see Captain Farrell now, standing amidships looking down at them as Win manoeuvred the dinghy alongside, and deliberately turned her head away in time to see someone hurl the contents of a bucket over the stern of the schooner. From nowhere a cacophony of screaming gulls descended, swooping onto the greasy mess floating on the water.
    Win tossed up a line to secure the dinghy, then climbed the rope ladder lowered by one of Farrell’s crew. When he reached the top he waited while Rebecca followed him, although she ascended with considerably more care than her husband. Kitty had been surprised, even a little shocked, when Rebecca had stepped into the dinghy: at home a woman in her advanced condition would seldom have been seen outside her front door, never mind gallivanting about in dinghies. But, as Kitty had no need to remind herself, this wasn’t England.
    Mr Colenso took her hand until she had a firm grasp on the lower rungs of the ladder. Above her she could see Win leaning as far out as possible to help Rebecca over the rail. As Rebecca stepped off, Kitty began to climb. Nearing the top she glanced up again and was dismayed to see Rian Farrell’s face looming over the bulwark. At least he wasn’t laughing this time. He reached out a callused hand and hauled her rather indelicately over the rail. She banged her knee sharply and bit her lip, but refused to give him the pleasure of seeing how much it had hurt.
    ‘Good morning, Miss Carlisle,’ he said. ‘I thought I’d do you the honour of welcoming you on board the Katipo myself.’
    ‘Thank you, Captain,’ Kitty replied, dying to rub her throbbing knee but forcing herself to stand upright. ‘How thoughtful of you.’
    ‘Yes, wasn’t it?’ Rian agreed. ‘I imagine you’re here to inspect the carpets?’
    Kitty gave him a cool stare, annoyed that he’d assumed she would be interested only in household furnishings. ‘No, actually, I’m here to look at the agricultural machinery.’
    Rian’s eyebrows went up. ‘Are you really?’
    The look on his face made Kitty smile. ‘No. My aunt would like a rug for our house, but she doesn’t care for the sea and sent me to look instead.’
    ‘She must have had an awful time on the way out, then,’ Rian said.
    Kitty checked his face for signs of sarcasm, but couldn’t see any.
    ‘I mean it,’ he said. ‘It’s a hell of a voyage for someone averse to the ocean.’
    ‘Yes, she did suffer somewhat.’
    ‘Did you enjoy it, though?’ he asked. ‘The voyage, I mean?’
    Unable to help herself, Kitty’s face lit up. ‘Oh yes, I adored it,’ she said, remembering the hours spent leaning over the ship’s rail watching the ocean run past beneath her. ‘There’s something about the sea, isn’t there?’
    But before Rian could respond, Win,