She suspected she would.

Grag came no closer. His voice went deeper and softer. His blue eyes were gentle and confiding. “In you, I see a strong woman. One who could sail with me, or capably manage things ashore while I was gone. I see someone who is not jealous of Ophelia.” He paused and smiled ruefully. “If anything, I am a bit jealous of how quickly she has become fond of you. Althea, I cannot imagine a better choice for a wife than you.”

Although she had been anticipating his words, they still stunned her. “But . . .” she began, but he lifted a warning finger.

“Hear me out. I have been giving much thought to this, and I see advantages for you, as well. It is scarcely a secret that the Vestrit fortunes have not prospered lately. The Vivacia is not yet paid for; that leaves you as ransom to the family's debt. It is also well known that the Rain Wild Traders would not consider taking a woman who is already married, or who has pledged marriage. Simply by considering my offer, you could put yourself out of their reach.” He watched her face carefully. “We are a wealthy family. My wedding gift to your mother would be substantial, enough to secure her old age. You have made it clear you have no faith that Kyle will care for her.”

Althea found it hard to speak. “I don't know what to say. We've talked as friends, and yes, we've flirted a bit, but I had no notion that your feelings ran strong enough to propose marriage.”

Crag gave a small shrug. “I'm a cautious man, Althea. I see no sense in letting my feelings run ahead of me. In this stage of our relationship, I see planning rather than passion as what we must first share. We should be talking honestly with one another, to see if we share the same ambitions and goals.” He was watching her face carefully. As if to give the lie to these words, he touched her hand again with one fingertip. “Do not think I don't feel an attraction toward you. You must know that I do. Nevertheless, I am not the sort of a man who would fling his heart where his head had not gone first.”

He was so serious. Althea tried for a smile. “And I feared you were going to try to kiss me.”

He returned her smile, shaking his head. “I am not an impulsive boy, nor a rough sailor. I would not kiss a woman who had not given me her permission to do so. Besides, there is no sense in taunting myself with what I cannot yet claim.” He looked aside from her startled expression. “I hope I have not spoken too crudely. Despite the rough shipboard life you have shared, you are still a lady and a Trader's daughter.”

There was no way to share with him the thought that had suddenly flashed through her mind. She knew, with vast certainty, that she would never desire to be kissed by a man who had first asked her permission. “Permission to come aboard,” some impish part of her mind whispered, and she fought to keep from grinning. Perhaps, she suddenly thought, Brashen had already ruined her, but not in the social sense. After the sailor's matter-of-fact declarations of his desire, Crag's restrained and polite courtship seemed almost silly. She liked the man, truly she did. Yet, his careful negotiations left her unmoved. Abruptly, the situation was impossible. And as if Sa knew that there was no way Althea could rescue herself, fate suddenly intervened.

“All hands on deck!” someone roared in a voice that mixed both indignation and fear. Althea did not hesitate as she plunged out the door, nor did Grag even pause to put his toothache binding about his jaws. All hands meant all hands.

The crew of the Ophelia lined the bow railing, looking down. When she joined them, Althea was incredulous at the sight that met her eyes. A Chalcedean war galley, flying the Satrap's colors, was challenging Ophelia's passage. The size comparison between the two ships might have been laughable were it not that the galley bristled with soldiers and their weaponry. The smaller, lighter galley confronting them was far more maneuverable than the cog. Such a vessel was often swifter than a sailing ship as well. In the light evening breeze, Ophelia could not avoid and outrun such a ship. The galley had run up to her on the windward side, taking advantage of the light breeze that pressed the ships together. They had no choice now; they would have to deal with the galley. The liveship's figurehead stared down at the Chalcedean's horse-prowed ship, still and shocked. Ophelia's arms were crossed stubbornly on her chest. Althea lifted her eyes to scan the horizon. The Chalcedean appeared to be operating alone. Captain Tenira shouted down, “What mean you by barring our way?”

“Throw down a line. In the name of your Satrap, we will board you!” declared a bearded man standing in the galley's bow. His blond hair was bound back in a long tail down his back, and battle trophies-finger bones bound with hanks of hair-decorated the front of his leather vest. Missing teeth gapped his threatening snarl.