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has your aunt forbidden you to go?"
    Her
mind elsewhere, Nicole answered absently, "Probably. At least I think
so."
    Left
alone, Nicole sat thinking for several moments. The sea, perhaps that was the
answer. America, far away from the Markhams. Here was an unhoped-for
opportunity of the greatest magnitude. Surely a kind fate had led Sally to her
today. Her young mind filled with schemes and plans, a flame of elation
flickering through her body, she scrambled down from her place of concealment
and scampered off to Ashland.
    It
wasn't until well after dinner, a strained and uncomfortable meal, that she was
able to put her hastily concocted plan into motion. But once she had been
dismissed for the evening, amazing her aunt by not arguing, she climbed the
stairs to her room and locked the door behind her. Flying across the room, with
hands that trembled with feverish excitement, she rooted through the few
precious effects she had managed to keep of her brother's. Amongst them were
the objects she sought—a pair of faded pants, one of his shirts, and his
favorite jacket, a soft much-worn brown tweed. Quickly she ripped off her dress
and pulled on the unfamiliar clothes, using the sash from one of her own gowns
to hold up the pants. Not to be daunted by such minor things as baggy pants and
a jacket whose sleeves nearly covered her hands, she surveyed herself hopefully
in the mirror.
    What
a laugh she looked, she thought with a giggle, staring at the clownish figure
she presented. But then serious, she considered the long sable locks with the
glinting auburn lights. That would have to go! Ruthlessly she hacked off
the long silky hair, carefully gathering the shorn locks and stuffing them into
a pillow covering to be dropped in the nearest well. Her hair, what was left of
it, stuck out in odd patches, but it definitely gave her a more boyish look—a
pretty boy but boyish nonetheless! Feeling more satisfied, she once again
examined her appearance. Thank goodness she was still bosomless, but frowning
she peered closely at her face. Large, wide-spaced topaz-brown eyes, fringed
with exorbitantly long black lashes, stared back, causing her some dissatisfaction.
Her nose was pert and straight, if still childish in its appearance, and her
wide, generous mouth with a full bottom lip and decidedly firm, little chin
completed the picture. After some closer scrutiny she agreed with herself that
she made a handsome boy, except for those very feminine curling eyelashes.
Well, desperate actions called for stern measures, and carefully, her face
pressed close to the mirror, the scissors in one hand, she painstakingly
trimmed the offending lashes until they were practically nonexistent. Then
taking another long look, she was positive no one would guess her sex, and
darkly she vowed that whatever the outcome, she was not returning. She would
see the man at the Bell and Candle tonight and she would make him take her
to sea with him! Without another glance or a second thought she climbed lithely
out the window and down the old oak tree that grew near the house.

CHAPTER 3
    If
Nicole's spirits were considerably lighter as she fled through the window,
Captain Saber's were not. Seated in the private parlor of the inn, a foaming
tankard of ale in his hand, he found his present situation intolerable. Yet at
the moment he was unable to do anything about it. Discreet and careful
questioning of a number of village inhabitants had elicited the information
that Robert's assessment of the situation was correct. Simon Saxon had suffered
a seizure in January, and the old man's rages and sudden flights of temper were
legendary to the townfolk. But in spite of this news it galled him to allow
Robert Saxon to have any say in his affairs. Unfortunately, it appeared he
would have to trust Robert's diplomacy. He knew he was a fool to have returned,
a fool to think perhaps Lord Saxon had forgiven him or learned the truth. And
to have returned alone and unarmed was