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Where could she hide the pistol? She was afraid of leaving the gun on the desk or deck, fearful that a sudden lurch of the ship would send the gun slamming against a bulkhead, firing it. Finally she raised the goose-down mattress from her bunk and put the gun between the mattress and the canvas underneath.
    Satisfied, she turned the spirit lamp low, lay on her bunk and pulled the blanket over herself, telling herself she would surely fall asleep at once, she was so tired, so exhausted. But she did not. Thoughts of her father, her mother, Thomas and Amos Malloy whirled through her mind, even thoughts of Jordan Quinn and the Kerry Dancer.
    She forced herself to picture the Sandwich Islands as she imagined them to be, with the Yankee sailing into a sheltered cove where palm trees arched over white sand beaches. Her imaginings mingled with reality as the ship rose and fell to the rhythm of the sea and she heard the creaking of the Yankee's timbers as the ship bore her on toward her destiny.
    She was swimming in warm, milk-white water. Turning onto her back, she floated, feeling the sun on her face. When she looked down she drew in her breath at the sight of her uncovered breasts breaking the surface of the water. She ran her hands down along her sides. She was naked.
    Rolling over in the water again, she swam toward shore, feeling freer than she had ever felt before. When her hand touched bottom she stood up, wading to the beach. She turned, standing at the waterline with her hands on her hips as she looked at the breaking surf. Her nakedness did not shame her, rather, she felt a pride in her body.
    She sensed someone behind her.
    "You are a thing of Satan, a creature of the devil." It was Thomas's voice. "Cover your lustful body, woman."
    Her hands went to her breasts and she began to run, her hair jouncing damply on her shoulders, her toes digging into the wet sand. When she could run no more, she climbed the slope of the beach and threw herself on the sun-baked sand, feeling the granules hot against her breasts and thighs.
    A man's hand closed on the nape of her neck, his fingers moving down to the small of her back. A rough hand. Alitha looked over her shoulder and . . . woke up. The cabin was totally dark--the spirit lamp was out. The ship was pitching more violently than before, rising high to meet each wave and crashing down into its trough. Had she heard a sound in the cabin? Had something or someone touched her? Wakened her? She held her breath, listening. Yes, there was someone here, close by. She hunched herself up in the bunk, holding a blanket in front of her.
    A hand grasped the blanket and tore it from her. She screamed although she realized no one could hear her above the wail of the storm. She felt a hand on her shoulder. The hand felt its way to the neck of her gown and yanked downward. The ribbons pulled loose and the gown opened to the waist, exposing her breasts. She clutched at the cloth.
    The gun. She had hidden the gun beneath the mattress. Shifting her body to the far side of the bunk, she whispered, "Who are you?"
    "Why, 'tis Amos Malloy," a voice answered, "your husband-to-be."
    "You've lost your senses." Her hand slid down between the bulkhead and the mattress, her fingers searching for the gun.
    "You'll never say no to me again," Malloy told her. "Once I've had you, you'll have no choice but to marry me. You'll be begging to marry me."
    Her fingers closed on the gun's barrel and she pulled the weapon from beneath the mattress. Shifting her grip to the handle, she pointed the pistol where she had last heard Malloy's voice. "I have a loaded pistol in my hand," she said. "If you touch me, I'll kill you."
    He laughed in disbelief. When she felt his huge hand close on her knee, her finger tightened on the trigger and she heard a snap. The gun had misfired. She pulled the trigger again. Still the gun failed to fire. What had she done wrong when she loaded it? She took the weapon by the barrel and swung it at