The high seas were dark and choppy, the clouds above, iron-gray, lowering from the sky like the stern admonition of some ancient sea god upon the white-masted ship which listed first to one side and then the other, from the gale-force wind. Raindrops, hard as bullets, pelted the deck. Thunder boomed and lightning rent the sky. The crew of the ship cringed as ol’ Neptune unleashed his fury as they slipped and slid fore and aft, struggling to keep their balance as they hurried for cover. Their shouts and curses were snatched away by the rain-lashed wind and blown out to sea.

The captain of this august ship, a more hardy and impenetrable soul if ever there was one and who had braved many a storm as fierce-some as this, remained calm and uninterested, enjoying a snifter of brandy in his quarters while he scratched notes in his log.

Below decks, the miserable passengers, if they could be called such, huddled in absolute terror, praying and crying that they not be consigned to Davey Jones’s locker for a watery grave. Though the irons about their ankles chafed their flesh and the rattle of the chains constantly reminded them of the fate awaiting each at the end of this unholy voyage, that fate seemed infinitely more appealing with the threat of imminent death now breathing gleefully at the nape of their necks.

In a dark corner of the hold, Raine clasped her arms about her knees and solemnly waited for death to come and claim her, her body trembling violently with each canon boom of thunder that shook the timbers of the ship. Beneath her, she could feel the awful swell of the waves heaving the ship higher and higher as if to offer it and all aboard as a sacrifice to the ominous skies, only to plunge them with sickening force back down to the watery depths. And each time, she waited in dread anticipation for the ship to break apart, the crack of wood and the rush of sea water into the hold that would carry her hapless body out into the ocean for the sharks and fishes to nibble on come morning.

It had been frightening enough to be clapped in irons and forced below deck after days in a rancid, London jail and before that, to stand before the magistrate, trembling at the false accusations listed against her and knowing there was nothing she could do or say to save herself.

Sea-sickness had assaulted her at the beginning of this horrific voyage. Raine had refused to eat because she could not keep the nasty gruel down which they fed her and the others twice a day. It was no comfort, either, to realize that the other ‘criminals’ down in the hold with her, were just as sea sick. All of them were expected to arrive in the colonies with at least the appearance of health and vigor. Seven years of indentured servitude would require it.

Exasperated, the crew tried to force-feed them, pouring the awful stuff down their throats, abusing and cursing them when it only came back up again. At the onset of the storm, the sailors had all cast a baleful eye Raine’s way, blaming the inclement weather on the fact that there was a woman aboard ship. Among the motley collection of prisoners, Raine was the only female among them. At first, the crew had looked upon her with male interest, which gradually turned to lust. Raine had had to fight off wondering hands and endure their abuse when she rebuffed their advances. But as the weather worsened, they heaped blame upon her and there was talk among the men of throwing her overboard. The stalwart captain reminded his men that they would be paid accordingly for every prisoner who arrived safely ashore and that included the woman. He would personally dock each sailor’s pay at the woman’s sudden disappearance he warned and the perpetrators would feel the ‘cat rip the flesh off their backs if that should occur. After that, Raine and the others had been let alone, to starve if they were of a mind to, the crew decided scornfully.

Now, Raine was even more frightened of being trapped on this ship in the center of a vast, storm-tossed sea. None of the crew had ventured down below decks since the storm began and an erratic fear had begun to grow inside Raine that they, along with their intrepid captain, had been washed overboard and the ship, with its handful of pitiful prisoners, was foundering at sea. It might be weeks, perhaps months before they were rescued, if at all. And here they were, shackled in the dark hold like animals, without food or water. The length of their chains allowed them to move about within the enclosed space, although none could reach the stairs that led to the deck above. Raine, herself, being the only female aboard, had been separated from the others and chained in her own corner at the captain’s orders, to avoid rape by the men down in the hold with her during the long voyage at sea.

Angrily, Raine brushed away the tears that tracked down her cheeks with the sleeve of the coarse cotton dress her jailors had thrown at her, ridiculing her pathetically thin body and scraggly appearance as she put it on. Her face flaming with humiliation, the expensive silk dress, a hand-me-down from the Winton’s daughter whom she had companioned for the past four years, had been stripped from her and returned with obsequious haste to Winton Manor.

Raine could not believe the cruel twist fate had taken that Lady Winton should betray her to the authorities with the lies she had told and that even now she was being shipped to the colonies in chains to serve out a term of indenture.

Despite her grubby appearance, Raine had been born to privilege; her father, a distant cousin to the king, a nobleman, no less. Her mother, God rest her soul, had crossed the threshold of death attempting unsuccessfully once again and for the last time to give her husband what he most desperately desired, a son and heir. Raine had been left motherless at the age of seven, though not unloved, at least not then. Her father had doted

upon her, but after the untimely death of his wife, he was a broken man: broken in spirit, broken in heart.

Lord Geoffrey Leighton began to squander his wealth, indulging himself at the gaming tables and with drink. He stayed out till all hours, leaving Raine in the care of her governess and a handful of servants who began to grumble that his lordship was swilling their pay each month when wages were due. And one by one, the household staff began to take their leave. Their house fell into disrepair, bills began to mount up and their family possessions sold off to cover the debts and her father’s gambling habit.

The governess was the last to make her exit, leaving Raine to fend for herself and to care for a drunken, dissolute father. It had not been easy, but they were together and that was what mattered to Raine. Her father was all she had left in the world.

As the money ran out, Lord Geoffrey, in his sodden mind, hit upon the idea of pensioning off his only daughter to rich friends and acquaintances among the aristocracy. It solved two problems at once for him. He would no longer feel guilty or responsible for leaving the girl alone when he took off on one of his binges and now that his means had been squandered nearly to the last tuppence, it was a way to supplement the meager income the king benevolently granted him in light of familial association.

When she learned what he was about, Raine tearfully pleaded with her father not to do this thing. She didn’t care about the money, she only wanted to be with him, he was all she had, but his lordship assured her it was for the best. He looked forward to the extra coin in his purse which hiring Raine out would bring him. It meant another round at the gaming tables, another round of drinks. It meant oblivion. And so, he had hired his daughter out to be lady’s maid to spoiled aristocratic wives, a companion to wealthy widows or the playmate of children of the upper-crust. The blue-bloods, especially those well-acquainted with Lord Geoffrey, disdained the state of affairs Raine’s father had allowed himself to fall into and took the girl in grudgingly only because of past association. For Raine, each successive position was demeaning. Not all of her employers treated her with kindness or respect.

Her father took to disappearing after securing her a position in a prominent London home, sometimes for weeks at a time until his absences became longer and longer. Raine began to despair if she would ever see him again. What if he were murdered in the back alleys of London? What if, drunk, he wandered into the Thames and drowned? She was not blind to his blackened reputation, but Lord Geoffrey was her father and she loved him. Her employers, on the other hand, complained that if his lordship up and died, they would be saddled with an orphan they neither needed nor wanted and whom they would be forced to feed and clothe out of their own pocket. It made her blush with shame and humiliation to hear such talk. For what, indeed, would happen to her, if her father never came back?

When Raine was fifteen, Geoffrey did not return for nearly a year and she feared to be left at the mercy of this particular woman, an elderly, aristocratic widow who treated her with contempt and never seemed to have a kind word to say. To her relief, when at last Lord Geoffrey showed up on the doorstep looking more bedraggled and down-trodden than ever, Raine begged him to allow her to remain with him. He relented for a time. The manor had long ago been sold to cover his mounting debts and the tiny flat they lived in was cramped and often cold, food scarce. That winter, Geoffrey’s gambling habit seemed appeased. He still frequented the pubs, but a small hope had begun to grow in Raine that maybe, at long last, her father was coming to his senses. However, that hope was short-lived and in the spring Geoffrey, chafing at his empty pockets, once again sought a position for his only daughter.

This last had been the worst and the reason why she was even now shackled in the hold of this ship.

Lord Bennett Winton and her father had once been boon companions and business partners. Somewhat officious, Winton had distanced himself from his association with Raine’s father as the man continued to deliberately sully his reputation. He had not wanted to be saddled with Raine, but her father had pleaded and begged pathetically, much to Raine’s embarrassment, until Lord Winton had reluctantly agreed, but only after she had been cleaned up and given new clothes, assuring himself, after insisting upon seeing her first, that she would not bring the pox or lice into his home.

Lord Winton was somewhat taken by surprise by the lovely, young girl before him, her hair, the blue-black color of a raven’s wing and hauntingly beautiful dark eyes, though her face was somewhat pale, her expression sad and wan. She was a little too tall for the length of the dress which had been loaned to her, but she was trim of waist, the peaks of her breasts set firm and high. Lord Winton’s sharp, discerning eye traveled down the length of her body in an arrogant, assessing manner, glimpsing the bit of ankle he could see beneath the hem of her skirt. His gaze lingered there far longer than was necessary. A small, cruel smile briefly touched the corners of his mouth as he raised his eyes to meet Raine’s suddenly wary features.

Raine recognized that look all too well and her apprehension increased. She had come to know what that look meant in the eyes of the men she encountered over the past year. Inwardly, she strained toward her father, willing him to change his mind, but the heavy purse he had been given was already safely tucked inside his tattered frock coat and Raine knew it was already too late.

Lord Winton nodded his assent. For the next year and a half, Raine would act as companion to Lord and Lady Winton’s daughter, Nicolette. Raine would be able to complete her schooling with Nicolette under the guidance of the private tutor he had hired. And because of his benevolence toward his old business associate, Raine would be given a modest wardrobe of her own, meager to be sure, he informed Geoffrey, after all, he had his wife and daughter to keep in the current fashions, but she would at least be adequately clothed.

Her father, overwhelmed by such generosity, bowed and scraped his gratitude, bussed Raine on the cheek and then was gone. It took all of her willpower not to go running out the door after him.

Living with the Wintons, companioning their spoiled, selfish and self-centered daughter, was no better than many of the other menial positions she had held in the last two years, in fact, in some ways, it was worse, growing more so as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months.

Lady Lydia, Winton’s wife, disliked Raine upon sight. She disdained the fact that her husband insisted on Raine eating at their table instead of in the kitchen with the other servants. She despised even more that his lordship spent good money on clothes for the chit when it might be better spent elsewhere, like a new necklace or earbobs for herself or new kid slippers for Nicolette.

Nicolette took Raine’s presence in the household in haughty stride. She liked the idea of Raine as her personal companion, compelled to do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted it. And she found it utterly amusing that had circumstances been different, Raine would have been her equal in polite society.

“It must be so awful for you,” Nicolette made a small moue of false commiseration, “you’re situation being what it is and your father . . . . being what he is. But never mind that.” She admonished briskly. “At least you’re not out on the streets, grubbing out a living in the gutters. You should be grateful to my father for the position you have at Winton Manor.” She reminded Raine, as she did at every given opportunity.

Therein lay the crux of the matter. That Lord and Lady Winton and Nicolette all expected her to grovel at their feet in subservient gratitude for their magnanimous benevolence toward her and her father which Raine inwardly rebelled against. She might have been dependent on strangers for her livelihood, but she did have her pride.

Raine’s duties entailed the unenviable task of following Nicolette wherever she went: on her many trips to exclusive ladies’ shops each week, paying daily calls on her large circle of friends, attending to Nicolette’s every selfish whim. Raine especially hated it when calls were paid upon Nicolette at Winton Manor. She was expected to collect capes and hats and gloves at the door, serve tea and biscuits quietly and discreetly so as not to call attention to herself and then was expected to retreat to a corner of the drawing room while Nicolette and her companions chirruped and gossiped incessantly among themselves. More often than not, Raine suspected the gossip revolved around her. Sly glances were slanted her way on these occasions, followed by titters of cruel laughter, making her blush with the humiliation of it.

Above all, she grew ever more wary when in Lord Winton’s presence. His sharp, penetrating stare seemed to linger longer and more often upon her and Raine noticed that the décolletage of the simple gowns he had made for her revealed more than she would have liked to his lascivious gaze.

Raine silently despised his lordship. He was cruel and exacting with his household staff. Lord Bennett Winton was famous for his ill-temper and impatience, as well as the harsh discipline he felt obliged to mete out to the servants on occasion.

When his lordship decided that a servant required punishment for some infraction, no matter how minor, he called in the entire household staff to witness it, including Raine. There was no avoiding it, she discovered. His order was mandatory and Raine shuddered with dread each and every time it occurred.

It was awful and fascinating to watch at the same time. A pathetic parlor or kitchen maid was forced to stand before the sober-faced group assembled in the kitchen and declare her offense: a broken dish, perhaps a task left incomplete, oversleeping, a burnt pudding for that night’s supper, or any one of a dozen infractions that may have been committed. Then, sobbing profusely, the girl would bend over the table, stretching her arms across the wide plank top until her fingers clutched the table edge. At a curt nod from Lord Winton, one of the other girls would solemnly step forward, flip up her skirts, draw down the coarse cotton pantalets to expose bare, quivering buttocks, then stepping back as Lord Winton delivered his punishment: twelve strokes of his riding quirt and the miserable wench was expected to count aloud each stroke for all to hear.

The sound of the riding quirt cracking against tender flesh haunted Raine, filling her with dread that some day it might be herself bent over the kitchen table and she made every attempt to avoid attracting Lord Winton’s attention as much as possible.

Little did Raine realize, until it was almost too late, that it was not only Lord Winton and his riding quirt she need fear, but his daughter, Nicolette.