She’d never sailed beyond the Inner Hebrides or on a voyage lasting more than an hour or two. At first, aside from Divana’s not being able to see, everything seemed to be fine. Once they’d carted her aboard, she chewed on a bit of dried meat and drank some watered wine. But a few hours later, the hull began to groan like a retching dragon. Worse, Divana’s stomach followed suit, and she spent the next day curled up at the bottom of the barrel praying for either relief or death—whichever came first. Several times she had surged upward, retching over the side of the barrel, positive her insides had emptied and she was about to die.

By the time the seasickness had run its course, she had no idea how much time had passed. The hold was dark and already stank of excrement from the animals they’d taken aboard, though a crew of men came down daily to siphon out the water. Nonetheless, inches of tainted sludge sloshed outside her barrel.

During daylight hours, a faint ray of light shone through the lattice portal in the deck above. A bit more light came through when men removed the cover to clean the bilges. But they never saw her—she made certain of it. The rats stayed hidden as well. Those hideous varlets pattered about only when it was dark. And for some reason they weren’t afraid of her. Divana had to pull the cover over her head when she slept and ate to keep them from crawling into the cask with her. Of course she’d learned her lesson the hard way when she awakened to a rat in her lap with his head in her sack, finishing off the last of her bread.

And now she’d gone a whole day without eating a morsel. Her stomach growled and clawed at her insides like the early days on Hyskeir—before she’d perfected throwing the slingshot—before she knew all the tricks about clamming.

The problem was now that she’d stowed away, she had no idea how to feed herself. What if she was discovered and Kennan decided to return to Scotland? Or abandon her on an isle like Hyskeir for the rest of her days just as her own kin—people she’d loved—had done?

And what if a roguish sailor found her? Some of the shipmates had come from Glasgow, and from the little she’d seen of them on their visits to the hold, they weren’t as friendly as the folks at Achnacarry had been. Kennan had warned her about wily crewmen. She needed to steer clear of them.

If only she could find Runner, he’d help her for certain.