Free Beloved Captive by Kathleen Y'Barbo

precautions?”
    “Aye,” he said, his tone agitated. “Bolt your door and do not light the lamp no matter how tempting the urge might prove. Answer no one lest they call you by name. In the meantime, we’re racing for Havana.”
    “Havana? But I paid extra to—”
    “Miss, those coins won’t do either of us any good if they’re in the hands of ruffians. Now do as I ask.”
    Emilie nodded, her fingers fisted around the bonnet.
    “And Miss Gayarre?” he called.
    “Yes?”
    “If someone comes to your door and does not identify themselves as a member of my crew or one of your fellow passengers, do not remove the bolt.”
    “But that makes no sense, Captain,” she said. “Who would come to fetch me except someone from the Sunday Service ?”  
    He gestured toward the approaching vessel.
    “But that’s just a ship.” Emilie shielded her eyes and looked over the trim vessel for some sign of ill intention. “Indeed, it appears to be much the same as all the other vessels we’ve seen on this voyage.”
    “Indeed it does,” he called down, “yet this one seems to be dogging our steps. Now, for a reason known only to her captain, she’s begun to chase us down. Could be she’s sailing under the Mexican flag and thinks she’s found her a slaver to hold until someone comes up with the taxes.” His chuckle was dry and humorless. “They call it taxes, but I have another word for it.”
    “But we’re not slaving,” Emilie said.
    The captain looked indignant. “Indeed not. Yet ours would not be the first to be boarded under the guise of checking.” He lifted the spyglass and held it to his eye, then lowered it slowly. “She’s too far off course, and she’s been toying with us too long. I’d not make her for Mexican navy.”
    “Are you certain?”
    He gave her a stern look, then dismissed her question with a wave of his hands. “Now get below and hide. I’ll not concern myself with womenfolk when the care of this vessel and its cargo is my first priority.”
    Emilie gave the oncoming vessel one last look, then squared her shoulders and quickly found her cabin. The sounds above were muffled in her cell-like room, but nothing sounded amiss.
    When the ship lurched, its sails obviously catching in the brisk wind, she let out a long breath. Surely no vessel was a match for this one. They would soon outrun whoever gave chase, and that would be that.
    “And indeed all will be well,” she said, her voice echoing in the cabin.
    The packet now bulging in her skirt, she made to repair the damage. Its weight and bulk, however, made hiding it impossible. Emilie sighed and crossed the cabin to open her trunk. Perhaps there was a way to remedy the situation.
    She pulled an underskirt from the trunk and began work on adding a pocket much like the one she wore now. By the time she was done and the money distributed between the two hiding places, a commotion had begun above.
    Men shouted. The watch bell clanged. Above it all came the sound of the captain barking orders that made little sense to Emilie’s untrained ears.
    The shouting stopped and only the bell continued to pierce the silence. Emilie took hope in this. Perhaps the action above was not one of distress but one of welcome. Perhaps the vessel was merely following the same route and had clarified this with some sort of nautical signal.
    “Lord,” Emilie said as she allowed the idea to sink in and become possible, “would You give that vessel and all aboard safe sailing to their destination?”
    Within the hour, a man from the crew came to slip a note beneath Emilie’s door, and she lit the lamp for just a moment in order to read it. Dinner would not be served in the dining room for the vessel was still under full sail and in hopes of arriving in Havana at a time to be determined. Until then, all passengers were confined to quarters.
    Confined to quarters? Her stomach complained, and she spied the trunk. “Thank you, Cook, for sending