Free Surrender by Heather Graham

water.
    She struggled to free herself, incredulous and irritated by the strength he displayed in the water. Beneath the surface, arms engaged in keeping her prisoner, he still managed to jettison them some distance from the Union ship with the sheer power of his muscled legs before they surfaced.
    She wanted to strike out at him—she could not. She gasped for air, clinging to him to stay afloat. “It’s a Union ship!” she insisted. “And I will scream and bring every last man jack of them—”
    She broke off, hearing a peal of laughter float over the water. She held dead still, watching as a half-clad soldier appeared from a deck cabin, a black-haired woman—just as brazenly half naked—on his arm.
    “Hey, Tully!” he called to the man who had apparently been keeping some kind of watch on deck. “Now, tell me, boy, isn’t this much better than sweating in a hellhole gun port on the Mississippi somewhere? Leave the rich boys and the abolitionist bitches to their bloody war! This is the life for me! Palm trees, rum—and women! Ah, yes, ’tis your turn now lad with good Mary Terese. She’s a might worn-out, but you’re a young ’un, quick as a flash in a pan, eh? Pity we have to share, but when the crew is back from gaming and whoring on the mainland, we’ll find more women. Aye, boy, that we will!”
    Risa stared in horror, rudely awakened to the fact that the world was not so simple as blue and gray.
    She was roughly jerked around.
    “Still want to scream?” Jerome asked politely.
    “Oh, let me go!” she lashed back, and breaking free, she started swimming toward the
Lady Varina
. She was actually sorry she had been so determined to escape him. She was exhausted. Her clothing seemed to weigh hundreds of pounds.
    One of the small boats was down, coming toward her through the water. She paused, trying to tread water as she waited. Her skirts swirled around her legs, heavier than ever. She took a deep breath, starting to sink.
    She felt swift movement around her legs; she realizedthat she was freed from the cumbersome skirt, that she could kick and propel herself upward. She surfaced, aware that Jerome McKenzie had once again made tatters of her clothing in order to save her life. As she emerged above the water line, raggedly inhaling, strong arms reached out for her and she was dragged on board a small boat.
    “Miss Magee, you will be the life of us yet!”
    It was Michael who pulled her up. She didn’t answer him; she couldn’t. She laid back, feeling the sun warm her face as she gasped for air time and time again.
    She was aware when Jerome McKenzie eased himself over the side into the small boat. “Back to the ladder, Michael, if you will,” he said.
    “Aye, sir.”
    She was still struggling for breath as Jerome McKenzie propelled her up the ladder, strong hands upon the damp bands of satin and lace that lined her pantalets in rows. She moved as quickly as possible to avoid his touch, her cheeks on fire.
    He came deck side right behind her, silent and swift as a cat. The crew of the
Lady Varina
had stopped at their tasks, and all eyes were on the two of them.
    “Gentlemen, to your work,” he commanded lightly, just an edge of steel underlying his voice. “And you, Miss Magee, to the captain’s cabin.”
    She spun about, irritated that she should feel so humiliated standing there, dripping. Half clad once again, she was anxious to reach the master’s cabin.
    She couldn’t hear him, but she knew he followed her. She tried to close the door quickly behind her; he caught it with the palm of his hand and entered in her wake. He closed the door and strode by her, wrenching open a drawer in his desk to produce a bottle of brandy and a glass. He poured out a portion of the liquor, and thrust it toward her.
    “No, thank you—”
    “Take it. You’re soaked. Shivering.”
    She angrily grabbed the glass and swallowed the brandy, then slammed the glass down. They circled one another slowly and warily