With a grunt she used all her strength to lever up the peg from its hold. As it released, her body swung down and around, crashing into the ladder. Up top, the dowel hit the deck with a hollow clank as loud as a smithy’s hammer.

Divana wrapped her arms around the ladder and hung on for dear life while she imagined the entire crew waking with a start and charging into the mid-deck with weapons drawn. Though it was chilly, a bead of sweat streamed down the side of her face.

As her breathing calmed, she heard not a single footfall approach. She glanced into the blackness of the hold. The pattering of scampering rats sounded below.

Should I go back?

To the tune of her growling stomach, she strengthened her resolve. Divana hadn’t stowed away to cower and die in a barrel—a fate far worse than living alone and abandoned on a deserted isle.

It didn’t take long to shift the trapdoor enough to slip out. On the mid-deck the air was fresher, and the wafting aroma from a pottage led her forward to the galley while her mouth watered. And she was right. A large pot secured to an old brick hob simmered with brine and salt pork. Overcome with hunger, she grabbed a wooden spoon and ladled a few bites into her mouth, burning her tongue. Round ship’s biscuits caught her eye next. She chewed as fast as she could, devouring the food like a starved dog.

But the dry biscuit stuck in her mouth, her saliva like glue. In the corner was a tapped beer cask and beside it a basket full of wooden cups. She filled one and greedily drank while ale streamed from the corner of her mouth.

But it wasn’t enough and the longer she stayed, the greater the chances of being caught. She filled her cup once again, then set to spreading a cloth and filling the center with biscuits. She tied the ends and cradled it in her arms, then picked up her cup and headed off.

Except Lachie Mor blocked her escape. His blue eyes blazed, his mouth hidden by a face full of grizzled whiskers.

“Saint Columba,” she uttered, freezing where she stood, the food in her belly turning to lead.

“What the bloody blazes are you doing here?”

Divana glanced beyond his shoulder while clutching the food in her arms. If a lass could wilt and die, this would be the moment. Visions of being whipped and humiliated in front of the crew danced through her mind. Should she run? But to where? “I…ah…stowed away.”

“Aye. That part is obvious, but why?” Rather than take her by the scuff of the neck, the man leaned against the galley’s jamb. “The captain never allows women aboard.”

Her tongue slipped to something caught between her molars and probed. “Whyever not?”

“On account of they cause trouble.”