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return to the deck.
    Moments later, he spied someone slipping out of the captain’s quarters with a dark bundle held tight to his chest. The sailor glanced about. Amid the escalating wind and rain, amid the shouted orders and echoed responses, amid the chaos on deck and aloft, it appeared that one of the spartan crew was taking advantage of the confusion to commit thievery against the captain. Though that bastard deserved the loss of a few coins, Blake was infuriated that one man would risk the ship and his fellow mates at such a dangerous time as this.
    Blake glanced up at the poop deck. Johnson had his back to them, the nefarious flogging rope in his hand. Blake advanced on the thief, hoping to hell he could divert trouble before the captain spied the criminal in his midst and again doled out retribution with the rope.
    As he crossed the deck, he wondered how it was that he had not seen this sailor earlier. Nothing about the man looked at all familiar. Where had he been when the crew had been gathered for the flogging? There were so few hands on board that it was impossible for the captain or other officers not to notice his absence. Unless he was a stowaway. Unless he was . . .
    The thief looked up as Blake closed the distance between them. He halted in midstride.
    . . . a woman?
     
     

 
    Chapter 3
    B lake thought he must be mistaken as he looked into dark eyes that peered out beneath a rain-drenched fringe of hair and a knit cap. Surely the face could not belong to a young man. It was too pretty by anyone’s standards. And yet the idea of a female on a ship, masquerading as a sailor, was even more preposterous. The fleeting moment of speculation vanished when the captain called out, “You there!”
    The stranger glanced over his shoulder at Johnson, then slowly turned around while surreptitiously sliding the satchel behind his back.
    “What have you there, boy?” demanded Johnson.
    “It is mine, sir,” Blake answered, taking one long stride and confiscating the leather bag. The thief looked up at him in surprise. Those hauntingly beautiful eyes mesmerized him. He felt his body respond with an unexpected flash-fire in his loins that startled him beyond comprehension. He had only a heartbeat of time to regain his composure. Dragging his gaze away from the exotic feminine eyes staring up at him, he looked at the captain once more. “I mislaid it earlier. He was bringing it to your cabin for me.”
    Blake hoped to heaven the rain obscured the old man’s vision so he would not catch the lie. The rough seas pitched and rocked the brig, slamming the thief into Blake’s chest. In spite of the layers of masculine attire, there was no question in his mind any longer that this sailor was a woman.
    “Go to the fo’c’sle!” Blake shouted over the noise of the storm. He would tell the captain he’d sent the boy down to take care of the injured seaman. Later, he would allow himself time to wonder what brought a lady aboard dressed as one of the crew.
    The woman mutely nodded and darted directly toward the hatch, managing the slippery tilting deck with the experience of an old salt. She certainly knew her way about the ship, by the looks of it. But her hasty escape was quickly thwarted by the first mate, who shouted orders for all hands to lay aloft. She paused, peering through the sheets of rain at Blake, with question in her eyes. Her hesitation cost her.
    “All hands aloft!” The captain repeated the first mate’s order, marching across the distance to the woman at the hatchway. It became clear to Blake that Johnson could not see that the sailor was neither a man nor one of the regular crew. The rest of the men were too busy at their duties to pay any attention one way or the other. Yet the captain— arrogant fool that he was—could not see what was quite obvious to Blake.
    “I ordered you aloft, boy!”
    The thief nodded, keeping his head down.
    Wise of her , thought Blake as he approached the two on the