Beloved Castaway by Kathleen Y'Barbo

don’t need t’see.” He gave her arm a tug. “I know where I’m goin’.”
    Isabelle followed blindly as the sailor led her by the hand, stumbling on the hem of her cloak as she went down rough stairs and lurched painfully into dark, unseen walls on her journey into what seemed to be the deepest recesses of the ship.  
    Each step forward sent a shaft of fear into her heart, and each obstacle she struck gave her pause to wonder if her companion had become every bit as lost as she. Then she heard laughter, deep booming sounds that shook the very timber of the walls.  
    Ahead, a slice of light appeared in a slender, horizontal yellow line. When her guide stopped short and began to knock, Isabelle realized they’d arrived at a door. The laughter, she surmised, had belonged to Captain Carter. Perhaps his good humor would save her yet.
    As soon as the door swung open, she found herself being thrust into the glaring light. All laughter ceased, and once her eyes accommodated the change, Isabelle discovered the reason.  
    Their trunks had been removed from the wagon only to be brought to this room where the contents had been strewn on the floor. One of the sailors, a fellow of middle age and large girth, held one of Emilie’s lace camisoles in the air and waved it about as if it were a flag.  
    “Welcome, Mademoiselle Gayarre.”
    Humiliation swiftly passed as anger took its place. If not for the certain peril her complaint would bring, Isabelle would have cried out. Rather, she clamped her mouth shut against the torrent of words begging to be spoken.
    Refusing to acknowledge the crude man, she shifted her attention from the sailors to their captain. Seated at a table made of rough wood, Josiah Carter held her small traveling trunk open before him. Another chair sat vacant nearby, a curiosity since the room seemed near to full with people.  
    A feast had been spread before the captain, and it appeared the group had partaken of much of it. Only the captain seemed to wear a hungry look.  
    “You wish to see me?” she asked. Of course he does, Izzy. You haven’t paid the man.
    But the money was in the trunk. Isabelle stared at the ripped lining and knew the coins were gone. Her heart sank.
    That same afternoon, she’d carefully filled the lining with the coins that would pay for her passage to England and set the trunk behind the summer kitchen in the courtyard for the mademoiselle’s messenger to find. The rest of her small savings, a pittance really, she’d sewn into the hem of her cloak. All of it had been done just as Emilie instructed.
    Even now, with the eyes of the captain and several others watching, she could feel the weight of the coins pulling at the cloak. “You’ve opened my trunk,” she said. “I trust you’ve found the amount we agreed upon.”
    To her surprise, Carter smiled. “I would have you properly greet my associate.”
    From the ragtag group assembled there, he indicated a dark-haired man of approximately her age. Despite the condition of his clothing, something about him seemed to speak of wealth rather than poverty, and of being ill at ease among the half dozen others sharing the room.  
    “Good evening, sir.” She extended her hand, and the fingers that grasped hers were soft, lacking in calluses as if they’d been covered with gloves much of the time. When he smiled, a row of perfect white teeth spoke more clearly of his rank than his bland greeting.  
    The fact that no names were exchanged had not been lost on her. Isabelle recognized his type; she’d been warned about men like him. Another shaft of fear snaked up her spine and forced itself into her throat. What if he demands more than coins from you, Izzy? How then will you pay for your freedom?
    “May I join my companions now, Captain Carter?” she muttered.
    The Virginian spoke a few words in rapid-fire Spanish to the man, and they shared a laugh. Finally, the captain regarded Isabelle with a serious look.  
    “As yet,