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fleetingly considered a second dive into the water—even if she didn’t escape, she could cause so much trouble that Jerome McKenzie might wish that she did.
    Yet with that thought she turned to look at him, rowing behind her, and she discovered that he was watching her. He smiled grimly. He set a booted foot firmly upon the middle seat where she sat, firmly pinning her in place with his weight upon the skirt of her dress.
    “No more swimming. Time is of the essence,” he said flatly.
    “Where is Finn?” she demanded.
    “I’ll tell you soon enough.”
    “You swear that he is alive and well?”
    He arched a brow, and for a moment ceased to row, leaning toward her. “I keep my word, Miss Magee. He is alive and well. You are the one who can’t be trusted. Here we are. The
Lady Varina
. She was once the
Mercy
. She’s been renamed.”
    The ship that emerged in the burgeoning light of day looked like a ghost vessel at first, appearing from a gray shrouded morning mist against the crimson rise of morning. She was well named for a lady such as Varina—wife of President Davis of the Confederacy. She was beautiful, riding the water with sleek grace. She was compact, small as schooners went, yet long and elegant. As they came closer, Risa saw that she was fitted with five guns on her starboard side, and no doubt five guns port side as well.
    She tried to tell herself that most decently sized Union Navy ships could blast this Rebel easily from the seaswith superior firepower, but though she had grown up around military men, she’d understood the value of speed.
    As they reached the starboard side, a ladder was swiftly lowered. The small boat teetered precariously as Risa rose, a moment’s panic making her want to risk the sea again rather than sail away with this captain and crew.
    But Jerome was right behind her, balancing the small boat. He took her hands, placing them on the rope ladder, and she had little choice but to climb. The sandy-haired fellow who had guarded her room at Belamar was first to greet her, helping her aboard. She quickly tried to assess the crew. There were perhaps fifteen men visible, though she assumed there were more about, preparing to set sail. The fellows surrounding her wore no uniforms, but worked in various stages of dress—and undress. They seemed to be of all ages, mostly young men, but a few graybeards among them. Many were barefoot and clad in nothing but breeches. Some wore shirts against the morning chill. They all stared at her with silent regard, awaiting Jerome’s arrival on deck.
    He leapt aboard with the perfect agility of a cat, and stood beside her. “Gentlemen! We’ve a guest aboard for a spell. And though she deplores all our flag stands for, we’ll convince her that Southern hospitality is not a myth while she remains with us. In short, gentlemen, at all costs, we must convince her to stay—she has a penchant for swimming. Thank you for your attention—Hamlin, we sail!”
    A tall, slim man with silver-tinged dark hair saluted and smiled. He nodded respectfully to Risa, then stepped forward, calling out orders as he did so.
    Risa felt a hand on her shoulder. “Come, I’ll escort you to your quarters.”
    Despite her situation, she had to admire the ship. She was led past the men who now hurried about in a spree of preparation. He propelled her forward along the main deck and then down a small flight of three steps. He pushed a door open there, and she found herself thrust into the captain’s cabin. She paused, blinking to adjust to the dim light. Though morning was coming quickly, ahandsomely globed lamp remained lit upon a large oak desk, illuminating the cabin. To her left, a large bunk was fitted into the wall. Wooden paneling rimmed the bunk, and around that, the bed was surrounded with shelving that housed an astonishing array of books and a number of crystal decanters. Curiously, to the left of the bunk, was a small door, and before it, caught in the corner