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those months cooped up below decks in cramped, stinking quarters with a load of thieves and whores. "We don't live near the sea, so there's naught to fear, you'll not see it again unless you go back to the wharf."
    "Thank the Lord." She pointed to a cluster of weird looking grasses that caught her eye. Each had a single stem sticking out of the top like a spear. "Those plants are very odd."
    "Aye, the plants you'll see here are like none you've ever come across before. Those trees over there are blackwood, those eucalyptus, those wattles." He pointed to each as they passed.
    Isabella began to feel very sleepy and her eyelids drifted down. She blinked a few times, but in the end couldn 't fight the drowsiness.
    Tiger watched as she dozed. What an obstinate little chit. Even though obviously bone-weary she looked as if she fought sleep, still clutching the hat even as her head lolled. Every now and then she gave a startled sigh as they went over a rut in the road. Just the sight of him annoyed her no end. What had some obscure member of the English gentry done to make her hate them so?
    "Turn in here, Dougal," he ordered, and she opened her eyes with a jerk. Tiger hid a grin as she straightened the grubby rags about her knees like a prim madam at a tea party.
    Although Dougal had been handling the reins efficiently until now, he made such a hard go of maneuvering the wagon through the narrow gap that it was clear he'd been bluffing. Tiger admired a man, or woman, who had enough gumption to bluff their way out of any situation. Hadn't he done it himself, more times than he could count?
    "Stop, I 'll open the gate." He vaulted over the side, unhitched the gate, and then waited until the wagon passed through before climbing aboard again.
    The path wound through a stand of the great trees that seemed to be growing everywhere, then as they crested a small hill a house nestled in a small valley came into view.
    "My home." There was a distinct note of pride in Tiger's voice.
    Isabella hadn 't known what to expect, but the house came as a pleasant surprise. It had a wide chimney at the end nearest them. The house was built of bricks, and bigger that she'd expected. She'd thought it might be a dwelling of bark and weatherboard similar to some of the isolated farms they'd passed on the road. A verandah along three sides, festooned with a clinging vine, cast shade over the four windows at the front. 
    A dozen or so chickens scratched about in the dirt outside the fence. The fowls scattered as two black and white dogs came galloping to meet the wagon, their barks insistent and their long tails wagging. Isabella couldn 't hold back a smile for the dogs looked so familiar and ordinary when she'd been expecting those peculiar kangaroos they'd seen on the way here.
    A few hogs snuffled about in a small yard, and some geese and other large fowl she didn 't recognize busily poked about in the dust of another yard.
    The ship's crew had been wrong; this was no untamed desert. Isabella said a silent prayer of thanks.
    As the wagon rumbled towards a small gate in the fence around the house a woman came out of the front door. Isabella guessed her to be in her forties. Wisps of greying hair peeped from beneath the white mobcap topping a face that, although unsmiling, appeared friendly and inquisitive. She wiped frail-looking hands on the coarse apron swathing her slight frame. She looked as if the strong wind would likely blow her over.
    "Called me skinny," Isabella muttered.
    The woman lifted a hand in a welcoming wave, and her master returned it with a small salute as the horse stopped in front of the gate. He jumped down then went round the back and undid the catches holding the flap in place.
    "Come on," he ordered, holding out his arms.
    Isabella allowed him to lift her to the ground and that same strange sensation shot through her as his hands rested briefly at her waist. Taking the hat from her head he tossed it into the back of the wagon, then