Free Love's Odyssey by Jane Toombs

and spices, a land of adventure. The right decision? It was. It must be. If she didn't like Hendrik van der Pol, she wouldn't have to marry him--hadn't he intimated as much?
    She watched as people began to board the next boat, turned to pick up the cloth bundle filled with cheese and bread that her cousins had insisted she take with her.
    Greta laid a hand on her arm. "Give your allegiance to the Lord, but listen to your heart," she said in a low tone. "When I was young I feared to follow my dreams. Do as your heart directs." She kissed Romell quickly on the cheek and stepped back. "God go with you."
    "Tot ziens," Romell said. "Goodbye, goodbye." Tears blurred her eyes as she took her place in the ferry. When she could see clearly again, water was between her and the wharf where her cousins stood waving. The boat unfurled sail and pulled away from the bale-laden wharfs into the River Y, heading for the East Indiamen at their deep-water moorings off the Isle of Texel, at the North Sea mouth of the Zuider Zee—the South Sea.
    Once into the Zuider Zee, the ferry swung to the north. Romell watched the city buildings grow smaller and smaller until Amsterdam seemed to have been sucked into the sea for all she could see of it. To the north were the bright tile roofs of a village; the sails of windmills rose from the dikes.
    By the time Romell spotted the four Indiamen swinging at their anchors, the sun was low in the west. As the ferry drew nearer, the ships bulked dark against the red-streaked sky, big three-masters with furled sails looking twice as large as the ship Romell had crossed the Atlantic on.
    Goudland, Smaragadgroen, Zuiderwind, three retour ships of the VOC—the Dutch East Indies Company— Goldland, Emerald, and Southwind. Beautiful names for beautiful ships. The fourth vessel, a man-of-war, was slimmer and less richly decorated. Prinsen— Prince—it was called.
    Romell stared up at the scrolled and carved hull of the Zuiderwind , which was lavishly painted green and gold, the bright scarlet lion-of-Holland figurehead snarling defiance at the waves. Above the lion the long straight bowsprit pointed west. Four flags whipped in the late afternoon breeze: one of the VOC with the A for Amsterdam over the intertwined letters, two of broad red, white and blue stripes, one of the Holland lion.
    Once aboard, Romell was guided past penned chickens and tethered cows and goats. Seamen scurried about, lighting the ship's lanterns against the gathering dusk. Romell was led to a tiny cabin beneath the quarterdeck and noticed, in passing, that Margitte Van Slyke and her maid had been assigned a somewhat larger cabin two doors away.
    Although Romell tried not to admit to herself what she was doing, ever since she'd climbed the ship's ladder she'd been straining for a sight of Adrien. With her cabin door still open, Romell could hear Margitte's voice, raised sharply to the maid, a moment later, Margitte popped her head around the door frame.
    "Shall we use first names?" Margitte suggested. She tilted her head to examine Romell. "Ja, jij mooi."
    Romell stared at Margitte, surprised to hear her say that she was beautiful. "Thank you," she said uncertainly.
    "I shan't fret over you," Margitte went on briskly. "A pretty girl can have almost any man for the asking—no need for the old ladies to worry. No doubt you'll find yourself too occupied to be indiscreet with one particular man."
    "What? I don't understand."
    "Oh, come, don't you think your cousins knew why you insisted on sailing aboard the Zuiderwind ?"
    "I am to meet a man named Hendrik van der Pol in Batavia," Romell said, wondering wildly if Greta had somehow heard that Adrien was aboard.
    Margitte brushed Romell's words aside with an impatient flick of her wrist. "That has nothing to do with it. Cadet Brouwer is aboard this ship, is he not? And you knew he would be—correct?"
    "Why, yes, I knew Pieter was sailing for Batavia. But I don't—"
    "Shall we be truthful with one