Free Pirates by Linda Lael Miller

were old, greeting Phoebe with toothless smiles, but the others were closer to her own age or younger, and they looked at her with curiosity but no visible trace of friendliness. One, a tall, lithe creature with the sandalwood skin and black hair of a native, contrasted by wide hazel eyes, tossed the pair of breeches she’d been scrubbing into a tub of soapy water and crossed the room to face the new arrival. She smiled, obviously aware that shewas beautiful, but her expression was hostile as she took in Phoebe’s short hair and ill-fitting, borrowed clothes.
    “You go on back to your washing, Simone,” Old Woman said.
    Simone didn’t move, except to put her hands on her hips. She was exotic in her bright yellow sarong, and Phoebe felt somehow fraudulent, like an insecure actress ad-libbing a part, or a little girl dressed up in her mother’s clothes.
    “This be the witch-woman,” Simone said, in a speculative drawl. “The one that came out of nowhere.”
    Phoebe opened her mouth, then closed it again.
    Old Woman gave Phoebe a subtle shove toward the washtubs, though her words, like before, were directed to Simone. “No more than you are,” she retorted. “Don’t you be devilin’ this child, either, girl. I hear of such a thing, I’ll take off some of your hide with a switch.”
    How to win friends and influence people
, Phoebe thought, and offered a faltering smile before stealing a swift glance at the other women in the laundry. They were all concentrating pointedly on their various tasks—pressing, sorting, scrubbing, and mending—but most likely every ear was tuned to the unfolding drama in the center of the room.
    Simone curled her lip, turned with a flourish, and went back to her tub, where she snatched another pair of breeches out of the water and pounded it against the washboard with a vengeance.
    Old Woman ignored the girl and whispered to Phoebe, “You can keep me company in the kitchen if you’d rather.”
    Phoebe shuddered. She was not a cook. “I’ll earn my keep like everyone else,” she said, with some bravado, and approached the untended tub. There was a small mound of dirty stockings on the floor beside it.
    Moments later, Old Woman was gone, and Phoebe was alone with the others. Biting her lower lip, she turned and saw that except for Simone, they were all watching her, some with wary interest, some with indifference. It didn’t take a nuclear physicist to guess that Simone cared for Duncan, and that she probably saw the mysterious newcomer as a rival for his attentions. He, as lord of the manor in particularand no doubt of all he surveyed in general, might well have given the beautiful laundress reason to believe he returned her devotion.
    Maybe he did.
    Phoebe’s shoulders slumped a little at the thought. With a sigh, she gathered up the small mountain of stockings and dumped them into the assigned tub. She owed a debt to Old Woman and, indirectly, to Duncan, and if she could offset it by washing socks, that was fine with her.
    She did not wish to be obliged to either of them. Besides, if Simone could do this work, so could she.
    Scrubbing, rinsing, and wringing, Phoebe occupied her hands with menial labor while her mind reeled from one wild, unworkable plan to another. The past had become her future, while she wasn’t looking, and until further notice, she had to make her way in a strange, antiquated environment. Whatever Old Woman’s fancies might be, and Simone’s suspicions, Phoebe had no intention of living out her days as a prisoner on Paradise Island, laundering the master’s socks.
    As much as she wanted to be near Duncan, she was neither his mistress nor his servant, and she would not be at his beck and call. Furthermore, being a history buff, she wanted a look at the outside world. It wasn’t every day that a person stumbled into another century.
    Phoebe racked her brain for a plan to get off the island. After twenty minutes or so, she was soaked with steam and sweat,