Jayti Singh: Part 3 free porn video

Mark finds a man. Overboard! London. A meeting with Sir Walter Raleigh. The plan to convince Queen Elizabeth. Bear baiting. Mark meets the Queen. The horrors of smallpox. Problems at the altar. Jayti returns? Warning: Some subject matter and explicit language may offend. Don't read unless you are over 18. Jayti Singh Part 3 By Aardvark Chapter 17: Mark finds James Rana Pratap rose and paced the floor for a few anxious moments. His only objective had been to defend Mewar from the Moghuls. This... woman was talking about controlling all of India. Why did she have to be so beautiful? It was distracting. "You'd better explain yourself, Mark. I don't have enough information to ask the right questions." Mark acknowledged Rana Pratap's predicament. "Please call me Jayti, your Majesty. From the view of the future, your Majesty, there are three bad problems preventing India from being a strong country." She ticked them off on her fingers. The first finger went up. "The most immediate is the Moghuls. They suck the wealth from India for themselves. They will never integrate as the Aryans, Greeks and the Mongols did and will only be able to rule by force." She lifted the second finger. "If they're kicked out, India still has a major problem. India is not centralized. It's a group of small states like Mewar, Jaipur, and Jodhpur that constantly make war on each other. The reason the Moghuls are here at all is because they are unified and India is not. India needs to be unified to prevent future invasions by foreign powers." Mark looked at Rana Pratap significantly. "And there will be more invasions, your Majesty." The third finger went vertical. "The third problem is the caste system and the Brahmans. The Brahmans look out for themselves first. There's no chance for a smart man to get ahead in India if he's born into a lower caste. This weakens the country and hurts the people. It needs to be changed." "Your Majesty, with the help I give you, you might be able to defeat Akbar. Once that happens, you'd have a strong chance to control his empire before it disintegrates. That would solve problems one and two. I have some other ideas about the Brahmans." Rana Pratap laughed. "You talk very big for a 16 year-old girl." Mark blushed and lowered her eyes. "Forgive me, your Majesty. I was a teacher, before." She spread her hands. "I'll do my best to help you regardless of what you decide. I just hope you give me the chance to convince you to think seriously about what I've said." 'She blushes prettily,' he thought. "Fair enough," he said. James Pennington had a difficult time getting to sleep again. The surprise of being rousted from his bed by two burly guards and brought before the Maharana was bad enough. He had done nothing wrong and the Maharana was thought to be a fair man, but in these times, who knew? When he met the young Indian woman, all that was pushed aside. The strange, beautiful girl with the direct gaze and peculiar speech was all he could think about. Albert McFarlan, the expedition leader, would probably laugh at him for even thinking about her. It could get even worse; "You'll be eatin' it for sausage if I find out!" was his usual gentle warning of relations with the upper class. But she seemed to like him too, or was it just his imagination? Who could possibly know what goes on in a woman's mind? Mark was awake, too, but for different reasons. This was the first time she was really attracted to a man without a running commentary from Jayti. She was on her own, and the silence in her head finally brought it home. She had never mourned for her because she had never accepted that Jayti wouldn't be back tomorrow or the day after--until now. It hit her hard and fast. She began to sob. Hassan heard her in the next room and knelt down by her bed. She buried her head into his strong shoulder and cried long and hard. "Hassan, I don't think she's coming back." "I know, Mark. I know." He held her in the darkness until she fell asleep. Mark and Hassan were summoned to meet with Rana Pratap and his advisors every day to work out a myriad of details. The new telegraph would need sets of operators trained on a new Arabic script version of the Morse code, the copper lines would have to be insulated and buried, and larger generators would have to be built and tested for long-distance transmissions. Mark requested and received a team of skilled alchemists familiar with acids and metals to research and produce gun cotton, blasting caps and brass works for bullets. Rana Pratap also brought in gunsmiths to rifle barrels and develop a breech-loading design for a bolt- action rifle. A nice system had been worked out; Mark developed the ideas and ran with them as far as possible. Hassan supervised the overall operation and kept the teams on course. Several times, his active mind suggested solutions to difficult problems that the specialists had overlooked. It was a happy crew and with frequent visits from Rana Pratap, it became a proud crew that even the Rajput soldiers envied. Results soon followed. As soon as the gunsmiths managed to rifle their first barrel, they were able to show the Maharana the much greater accuracy the gun had. It could now hit a man-sized target reliably to well over 300 meters with gunpowder and a streamlined lead projectile. Several of these guns were made and were put into immediate use as sniper rifles. A few months later, the lab developed primitive guncotton and a few hand-made bullets were made to fit a fairly reliable bolt-action prototype rifle. The telegraph communicated to all the surrounding hills out to almost ten miles in all directions. Udaipur had an effective early warning system. Rana Pratap was delighted. Mark was making slow progress with the Maharana. They often took long walks with only a couple of trusted advisors and a few guards as company. Mark liked Rana Pratap. He had a deep sense of honor and obligation to his people and land that was very real. His men loved him and would follow him through death. Mark's problem was convincing him to expand his vision to include the rest of India. The Maharana could see in theory where this would be a good thing. It was simply difficult to turn a whole life's dedication to the defense of the homeland to offense. Mark was not immune to Rana Pratap's charm either. If he had tried, he might have been able to take Mark for himself. Regardless, he restrained himself. Rana Pratap had a hard time dealing with the likable young woman from the future. Her thoughts were sweet but alien. She was nice, but anything but submissive. When he relaxed around her, eventually she would say something that reminded him that she used to be a he. Mark had an almost equally difficult time with James. The trade delegation lived together in a house on the outskirts of the city. For the first time in her life, Mark wanted to be noticed by someone, but didn't have a clue how to do it. She had never felt so strange when she thought about him. She knew that he, and others from the group, worked out with wooden swords in the yard every day after lunch. If she were a man, she would have just walked up and said hello. Now she was a woman, and didn't dare. It was so frustrating! Christ! How do you meet a guy? How would Jayti have done it in this day and age of arranged marriages, prejudice against foreigners and caste protocols? Finally, she decided to do the obvious, just happen to be there when they started practice. Pretending to be vaguely interested in the smelly brutes working their big, sexy muscles in the sun might even get her somewhere. She reminded herself that she didn't want a man that would treat her like some delicate thing. She wanted respect. She would plant her cute butt down on a wall near them and demand respect. Good Plan! She couldn't even convince herself, but she was getting desperate. James and three others came out to practice on cue as she waited up the street. She decided that she would walk by at first; she didn't want to make it too obvious! The men wore padded shirts that covered their arms and helmets for protection. A few warm-up strokes and they began, first using the longer hand-and-a-half wooden swords with two hands and then the shorter practice sword with shield. James was holding his own with the exercise at first until he saw Mark. His performance fell off drastically after that, and his opponent, an older man in his early forties, began to pummel him unmercifully. For some reason, Mark felt pleased in a very pleasant, feminine way. Then, it struck her; it was her fault for distracting the poor man! Without thinking, she lifted the skirts of her ghagara and ran to James who was recovering on the ground. She helped him up. "Are you all right, James?" she asked, concerned. James Pennington looked up and saw her. He was mortified. His Vision had returned just in time to see him throttled by his Master. She had even helped him up! The look on the Master's face did not bode well. He recovered in time to reply. "Yes, Sahiba, I'm fine. I thank you." Mark smiled brilliantly. "Just call me Jayti, if you please, James." Oh God, what a smile! Jim saw his Master, Albert McFarlan, reddening noticeably. A stray thought wondering if he would be allowed eggs with his sausage entered his mind, but his heart wouldn't let him worry about it. He smiled back. "As you wish, Jayti." Albert could not have helped misread the situation. It was odd, she spoke English of a sort, but she had the look of a Rajput, and Rajput women were rarely educated. "Sahiba, do you know James?" Mark turned and looked at the older man with the grim expression. "Forgive me, sir. My name is Jayti Singh. I met James once before when he was brought to an audience with the Maharana a few nights ago. We spoke briefly, then. May I ask you your name?" Well, the lass had a winning smile. He recognized her. She went for walks with the Maharana almost every day and oddly, seemed to be held in high regard. Her English was strange, to say the least. She said 'you' for 'thou' and 'do' for 'dost', among other things. "My name is Albert McFarlan. I'm the leader of the English trade delegation." "I'm glad to meet you, Mr. McFarlan." Mark paused. She knew she needed to think of something fast to see James again. "I understand you're negotiating for a permanent trading house in Udaipur?" McFarlan nodded. "I realize there's been a considerable delay; the Maharana has been very busy with other things. Perhaps I could help both you and the Maharana by speeding up the process a little. I talk to the Maharana almost every day when he's in Udaipur. If you tell me the details of your request, it's not unlikely I could do you some good. All I ask in exchange is that you give me news of England and Europe." Mark hesitated. "Forgive me for being forward, but perhaps we three could meet on the top of the hill overlooking the palace tomorrow at this time, all properly chaperoned, of course, and discuss what to do?" "Sahiba... Jayti Singh, is it? We would appreciate any help to ensure the success of our mission, and it goes without saying that we would be glad to satisfy your curiosity. We'll be there tomorrow, and happily." He bowed slightly. This young woman could be the break they needed. He would also make sure he wrung every detail from James about his meeting with Jayti Singh and the Maharana. He understood why James hadn't mentioned her; she was lovely, but still! * * * * * * * * * * Mark borrowed two women servants and some food for a picnic on the hill. She saw them approach her in their best clothes and they walked up the hill together. She was pleased James took part of the burden from one of the servants. He was considerate. They had a wonderful time. She was careful to be polite and respectful to Mr. McFarlan and she brought writing materials to make sure she had all the details of their trade deal. She had also spoken with Hassan earlier that morning to discuss any special items that were in scarce supply in Udaipur. The trade deal was about what she and Hassan had expected. They wanted trade rights and a permanent, trading house in Udaipur, but they were also feeling out the local market for profitable trade goods. Mark could help them with that, too. Udaipur needed machine tools, stamps, tap and die kits and a variety of chemicals. She had drawn up descriptions and made pictures of what they needed. She showed the list and pictures to McFarlan, and he thought he could get almost all of them ready made or manufactured easily, if necessary. There would have to be a substantial deposit, but he was more than satisfied with the order; the next trip to Udaipur would be profitable. The business having been concluded, James and McFarlan told them of home. McFarlan was born in Scotland, but had moved to London at an early age and entered a London trading firm more than a decade before. James came from a large family in Plymouth. His family business was sail making, but he had an urge to see the world and asked to be put on the trade mission several months ago. Mark told them of life as a girl in Jodhpur from Jayti's memories and Akbar's harem in Lahore. They were both too polite to ask her about it, but as a former guy, she knew they had to be fascinated, so she told them in great, vivid detail what it was like, who her friends were and what happened when Maryam danced for Emperor Akbar. Her unfortunate wedding to Abdul, she left for last. This was the big test for James. Mark had liked what she had seen of James so far; he was more than meeting her expectations. But what would this young Englishman of the 16th century think of a divorced woman, and to a Muslim at that? Her heart pounded as she looked for his reaction. The extent of her relief was a surprise, even to herself. He passed. He was sympathetic; there was none of the look of being 'used goods' that she had feared so much. James was certain he was in love when he got back to the house. Albert had talked to him about it on the way. Despite all his threats to him of mutilation, he knew that James was a good man. He liked him like a son. He also liked Jayti. There was some mystery and some unlikely maturity in her. Rajput women didn't normally act like she did; they had strict caste guidelines and families to control them. He thought about Jayti further; 16 year-old girls didn't advise Maharanas, either. She was remarkably open and direct, and she seemed to be acting on her own authority, unthinkable for one so young. James hadn't realized it, but he had just been tested. Albert caught the look on her face when she told him of her divorce. Her relief at his reaction was palpable. The lad had passed, thank God, for him. There was a story here. She didn't fit into any pattern he knew. He considered forbidding James from seeing her again, but he doubted it would do any good. The lad was besotted. He couldn't blame him; Jayti was a true beauty. He would talk to Hassan Faisal as soon as possible before James had a chance to make a fool of himself. He seemed to be her protector and knew her well. Perhaps he could shine some light on Jayti Singh. Mark couldn't hide her smile as she walked back to the factory. Unfamiliar, but wonderful feelings enveloped her. She imagined herself in his arms holding her and touching her hair. He really liked her! A horrible thought held her bliss in check; what if he couldn't see her again? What if Albert McFarlan wouldn't permit it? Short of acting like a slut, she had tried to give James clues she was available. Did she go too far? She waited until her heart stopped racing. She worked up the courage to talk to Hassan about it the following evening in their apartments. Hassan couldn't help but find amusement in this predictable turn of events. "Mark, in the absence of your parents, I'm your guardian. Before you see this Englishman, you must obtain my permission. I'm afraid that I need to find out more about him before I approve this match." Mark could hardly believe this was Hassan speaking. Her mouth opened and shut a few times, appearing briefly to be a fish finding the water suddenly lacked oxygen. "I don't believe this! I'm as old as you are, Hassan!" Hassan shook his head. "Not anymore, Mark. Here, you're a 16-year old girl." He raised his hand at Mark's red face. She was working up to an unladylike outburst. "Mark, calm down. I know who you are. I'm trying to make you aware of what is possible and how things are done. There are reasons for this. You're a Rajput woman who is interested in a foreigner. You also have to maintain your reputation if you want to be useful to Rana Pratap. Without permission and supervision from me and Albert McFarlan, you will become little more than a whore in the eyes of many." Mark dropped into the nearest chair and held her head in her hands. She couldn't stop the tears from forming. "Hassan... I don't know what to say. All I know is what I feel. I know that intellectually you're right, but these feelings are so strong!" Hassan moved a chair closer to her and sat. "Mark, I won't forbid you to see James. The idea is ludicrous, considering the circumstances." He smiled and touched her arm to get her attention. "Albert McFarlan met me yesterday afternoon." Mark looked up in surprise. "Apparently, James is feeling much the same way about you. Not too surprising, but nice to know. "You are in danger. Jayti had experience with her feelings and knew control. She was ready to be married. You are like a young girl with her first love. Trust me, Mark. You really need to be chaperoned until you get adjusted to your new life. Be honest and ask yourself, Mark, if you are you certain you have the necessary self-control to stop yourself before you go too far, and if you are able to rationally judge a man's character feeling the way you do." Her miserable expression told him what he knew already. After two happy but often frustrating months of being watched, James and Mark were permitted to get away for a few hours at a time on their own. She knew James much better by then. He was smart, funny, and had a lot of common sense. They took trips into the woods and sometimes walked for miles, talking and laughing. After a very short time, Mark felt comfortable leaning on Jim and having his arm around her waist. At some point she had surprised herself by imagining herself seriously as his wife. She re-examined her feelings, but could find no fault in them; it was what she felt. The lust she felt for him earlier was still there, but manageable. Overlaid was a new feeling of satisfaction and completeness when being with him. She felt pride while on his arm and enjoyed the looks of jealousy she saw on the faces of men and women. If he asked her to marry him, she knew she would say yes. It was different being in love as a woman, she found out. She enjoyed it when he took the initiative, knowing that he was strong enough to make decisions. Thoughts of becoming a mother, although still alarming, forced her to consider James as a father, astonishing her at the importance her new body gave it when thinking about him as a mate. There was just one problem; James was a man of his times. He didn't think women were particularly strong or should normally stray too far from the bedroom or kitchen. It wasn't him; in this day and age, most women believed the same thing. It even made sense for the 16th century. Work was quite physical and generally better suited to a man's strength. Women did have babies all the time. Cooking and keeping the home really was a full time job and acknowledged and respected as the woman's territory. Mark knew in her heart that she couldn't accept that role, though, not completely, anyway. Mark was sure how Jayti would have handled it. She would have been honest and loving. Mark tried loving and honest. She held her head up to him and leaned against him. He really had only two choices, and one of them was to run. He kissed her energetically, and Mark melted against him. He put his fingers in her hair, and she pulled him closer. She felt his passion against her lower stomach. She chose that moment to strike. "Jim, we have to talk," she breathed in his ear. "I'm a little bit different than most of the women you've met before. If you think of me as part Amazon, you wouldn't be far wrong." She looked at him and touched his hair softly. "What do you really want in a wife, Jim?" Jim was breathing heavily and was half in lust; his mind was lost in thoughts of how this woman felt and how her wonderful her hair smelled. Continuing such a conversation was not what he had in mind. With an effort, he thought of a reply. "I'm looking for what most men want, Jayti. A mother of our children, someone to keep the home." "I want that too, Jim. The question is what do you consider the home? My last husband kept me in the house all the time and would only let me out once a week to go to the bazaar with him. He thought he was being a good man. Would you do that to me?" He was still hot. Disappointing her was far from his mind. Jim snorted. "Of course not." "You're planning to come back to Udaipur on this next trade mission, aren't you Jim? If we were married and I wasn't pregnant, would you still expect me to stay home in England and not come with you?" She was getting serious. With a final lurch, he brought his mind back to earth. "Hmm. I'd be concerned about you, but I see what you mean. I could say that the church gives me the right to tell you what to do and that Paul said a good Christian woman is supposed to be submissive to her husband, but I'm not particularly religious, and I doubt Paul had you in mind when he wrote it." "Jayti, you're not Christian, are you?" Jim peered into her eyes in a supposed attempt to discover the 'Christian element' within. She wasn't laughing; she really wanted an answer. He gave up. "Well, this is what would happen; I'd talk it over with you and tell you that I was worried about your safety. You would consider it and tell me you really wanted to go anyway, and then we would go." Jim smiled and touched her thick black hair. "I know you a little better than you think, Jayti. I wanted to know more about you after we met on the hill. I was told you were injured, and the Bhils took care of you, so I talked to a Bhil. He told me about your heroism and how very good you are with a sword, hard as it is for me to believe. I talked to Hassan about it and he confirmed it. He even told me you saved his life. We had a long talk about the way you got your divorce, and I heard enough, although I know he didn't tell me everything. He's very proud of you." Jim took Mark's hands and kissed her forehead. "I waited for you to tell me yourself, but you never did. I had to think about it for a while, and then I realized that you were worried about how I would feel if I knew you were so strong. And you were right. I was concerned about it. The man is supposed to be the one with the reputation!" He sighed. "But I got over it. I began to look at you differently. On the surface you're a beautiful girl, warm and loving, but I also see that not far below, is a layer of steel and a very strong spirit. I fell in love with all of you and I have no wish to change you." He stroked her cheek. Mark leaned her face into his hand automatically. "You have no idea how much I respect you and how happy I am that you chose me, for you were the one who chose me, let's make no mistake about it. And let there be nothing like this between us again." Mark allowed the tears to roll down her face unimpeded. "You will allow me a secret here and there, won't you Jim?" Mark considered telling Jim right away what her real name was for a mad second, but she wasn't crazy. 'Maybe, after our firstborn,' she thought. Jim considered that last question. "Well, I suppose so, but I don't want any new secrets, Jayti." Mark told Hassan of her plans to leave with the trade mission when they went back to England. She didn't try to hedge on anything. It was partly to go with James and hopefully be married there, but also to satisfy a selfish need to see Elizabethan England. It would also be a working vacation. She intended on bringing back knowledge of metallurgy, chemistry, gun making, and anything else she could think of, to compile a set of Urdu texts on a wide variety of useful subjects. Hassan approved of her plan wholeheartedly. Rana Pratap approved her plan when she presented it to him two days later. The Maharana couldn't see any reason to deny her. The projects were moving along, and they didn't absolutely need her for anything at the moment. In fact, he drew up papers designating her the Representative of the State of Mewar and gave her a few jewels to give as a gift. At the very least, he told her, she could probably see the Queen with them. Mark was delighted. She kissed the Maharana on the cheek. Albert McFarlan wasn't completely thrilled with the idea of Mark going back with them on the ship to England. The idea of a woman on the boat, especially a woman as comely as Mark, was bound to cause trouble. It was only after a reminder that she could unmake trade agreements as well as make them, did he grudgingly allow her passage. Actually, he wasn't displeased to be talked out of it. He liked her. It was a long, five-day journey to the port of Surat in Gujurat where their ship, the Silver Fish, waited with its load of silks, spices, and porcelains. When Mark saw it for the first time, she was unimpressed. It had a dingy white foredeck and quarterdeck and a black hull with a scummy waterline, although she had to admit it did look serviceable. The lines seemed to be well cared for and the topside looked clean. It was a medium-sized, three-masted galleon about 100 ft long and 30 ft wide with a crew of 130, lightly armed with 18 guns. Mark had made preparations for the trip. She had heard enough horror stories about rotten meat and bad water aboard ships of this era. She decided to carry about 50 gallons of boiled water sealed in ceramic containers as well as a large quantity of nearly incorruptible cooked and salted deer jerky that she had the Bhils make for her. Mark was also concerned about shipwrecks. Most sailors couldn't swim and had no back-up safety provided. If they went overboard, they generally drowned. She wanted a fighting chance. She had taken a week- long sailing course on the North Carolina coast one summer after college and wanted some sort of fall-back at least similar to what her training boat had. Before she left Udaipur, she had an orange survival trunk. It contained water, deer jerky in a waterproofed pouch, hatchet, drill, knife, over 100 ft of rope, inflatable bladders that could be attached to the side of the trunk to provide a stable, floating platform, a paddle, a sewing kit, and several square yards of canvas for a shelter. As Representative from Mewar and the only woman on board, she had her own tiny cabin on the port side of the ship under the Poopdeck. Her only daylight was a small window to the stern. The voyage was to last close to six months. Captain William Bricker was a stern martinet hired by the company who was most assuredly not pleased at Mark's presence aboard ship. He was of the strong opinion that a woman would be only a hindrance to discipline. He had little choice in the matter, he knew, but she would stay below during the day and only be allowed out at night. It was a ridiculous position, even for a martinet. Mark was furious and would not let it stand. Before they sailed, she demanded a meeting with Albert McFarlan and Captain Bricker. They met in a room she selected on shore, a small restaurant she rented from the owner for the day. Mark was well aware that in 16th century England, the prevailing thought was that people were most definitely not created equal and the aristocracy was quick to ensure that they were treated with suitable respect, using the cane to their inferiors, if necessary. The lower classes had been taught to respect their 'betters' from birth. Mark had decided to play on that attitude to the hilt. She stood with her back to them when they entered. She turned and they saw her dressed in her finest court clothes with the jewels Rana Pratap had given her for the Queen and the large diamond bindi centered over her forehead. Neither man had ever seen her dressed that way before. The impression was obvious; she was royalty. "Gentlemen, I'm glad you could come." The two men glanced at each other. She had demanded this meeting. "Please, sit down. There are a few items to discuss." They sat. Her assurance was startling to McFarlan; he had never seen her behave like this. He couldn't help but notice the jewels; she could have easily bought the Silver Fish five times over with what she wore. "First off, Captain, I will not be spending my time belowdeck in the heat of the day. The idea is absurd." She raised her hand as the Captain attempted to interrupt. "It is absurd, Captain! I will be spending my time primarily on the Quarterdeck and the Poopdeck, most of the time behind a curtain for privacy, and I will not be dictated to like a dog!" "Captain," she continued in a calmer voice. "I'm not a fool. I have no desire to interfere with your authority on this ship. What I am is the Representative of Mewar and a Rajput. When you insult me, you insult the Maharana of Mewar and all that that implies." Silence. "Very well. I'm glad we understand each other. Good day, gentlemen." She turned in a swirl of silk and left the room. A large, reddening vein in Captain Bricker's forehead throbbed visibly. "She can't get away with this, McFarlan! It was for her own protection, damn it! If she does this, I will not be held responsible for protecting that woman on my ship!" Albert McFarlan was amused. "Well, if that's your objection, Captain, you can stop worrying. It's hard to believe, but that girl has killed men in battle. She's also said to be a tiger with her bare hands. I pity the man who tries to molest her. And by the way, Captain, I know you got off on the wrong foot with her, but really, what choice did she have? Even for the best of reasons, you wanted to put her in a tiny, hot room crossing the Equator. Disobedient prisoners are treated in similar fashion. What would you have done?" He stood and bent over the glowering man. "She's really a sweet lass, once you get to know her. Give her a chance." He patted his back. Chapter 18: Madagascar James and Mark spent their last day on shore together. They made a holiday of it visiting the local market and sitting by the water, watching the smaller Indian boats tied together with coconut fibers make their easy way down the inlet. Jim sat, his back against a tree, while Mark's head rested in the soft spot between the arm and chest. "Jim, do think I'm a loose woman?" "No, Jayti, I don't." He kissed the top of her head. Mark moved her hand to the inside of his thigh. "Jim, I want to make love to you before we leave. We won't have another chance for a long time." She could feel him rise instantly. 'Damn, it's great to be a woman,' she thought. She turned her head and looked up at him. "You know, I have that restaurant over there rented for the rest of the day." She spoke very casually, allowing her hand to drift inside Jim's shirt. "It would be a shame not to get full value for an entire day's rental." Any objections he may have had were swept away by a kiss. They made love in a wide Hammock stretched out in a back room, a little breeze blowing in through the bamboo wicker. Jim was inexperienced, but Mark helped him find those spots she loved. She was amply rewarded soon afterwards, and Jim was pleased and proud he could make her so happy. Mark had given herself completely to him. This was it, she decided; they were in it for the long haul. During one particularly contented pause, as Jim held her in his arms, he contemplated the contrast her light golden color made with his lighter skin. He thought, not for the first time, just how extremely lucky he was. They lay in the large hammock together until it was time to go back. Mark made sure everyone saw them together. She wanted no doubt in the minds of any in the crew who she was with. They left with the tide early the next day. Mark wore a modest choli and ghagara and stood on the very rear of the ship, the Poopdeck, just behind a thin cotton curtain. From there, she watched the dock slowly disappear behind the bend of the isthmus. Her survival chest had been moved to the Poopdeck at her request. Surprisingly, to Mark, the Captain had approved. He was a pragmatic man and considered it a sensible precaution. They weren't clear of danger. To the south and east lay the Portuguese ports of Daman and Dju. Portugal wouldn't be pleased that their near monopoly on the spice trade was in danger and ships from either port could be lethal to their only moderately-armed galleon. They hugged the southern coast of Gujarat to avoid detection from Daman and passed Dju in the dark under sail. The way was clear now, as they made their way across the Arabian Sea towards Africa, taking advantage of the trade winds from the northwest. There was little to do. The first thing she did was put in a bimini to protect her from the hot sun and install a pair of wood and canvas deck chairs. Most of the time, the curtain was up. She despised it; it reminded her too much of purdah. She filled the time by exercising, practicing katas and doing forms with a practice sword the ships carpenter made from a piece of driftwood. She caught the Captain looking at her sometimes when she practiced. She was hard to miss; the Captain normally patrolled the Quarterdeck, just a few yards towards the bow. She hoped to break the ice with him soon. The chance came several days later. Late one night, she left the quarterdeck and ventured to the waist, the flat, middle area of the ship, looking over the rail at their slow passage. It was very hot. The ship was close to the Equator and winds were scarce. Unexpectedly, the Captain joined her at the rail. "Good evening, Captain." She said, giving him her best smile. "Good evening, Miss Singh." Mark sighed. He may as well get this over with. The Captain's pride was too strong to allow him to be friendly without some sort of peace offering. "Captain Bricker, I wish to apologize to you. I was very hard on you earlier, and I was wrong to do so. I realize, now, that it was your intent to keep me from harm. I misjudged you. I can only ask that you accept my apology." He tapped the rail with his index finger--a nervous habit of his she had seen before. "Er. Harumph! Well, Miss Singh, we all make mistakes. I did wish to protect you from the men. Fortunately, I see that you may be able to take care of yourself under most circumstances, and I see you've been trying to keep from underfoot. I accept your apology, Miss Singh." "Thank you, Captain. Please call me Jayti." She tried to think of something else to say to the Captain that didn't involve the weather-- always hot, lately, or was a nautical version of "Are we there yet?" The sound of bad singing came from belowdeck and broke the awkward pause. "Oh, McCarthy," the Captain moaned low, "why must you sing like a constipated donkey?" Mark laughed. "I know a few songs, Captain. I wouldn't mind drowning out that sick dog." He smiled unexpectedly. "Perhaps I will allow it, Miss, er... Jayti, but not right now. Let the lads have their fun." Jim came by the Poopdeck often and stayed for hours. There was little for him to do. He was a part of the trade mission and not a member of the crew, so he had few duties other than to make sure the cargo was safe. The Captain insisted that they be in plain view of the crew when he did visit. A sign of romance aboard ship could have caused trouble. It was inconvenient, but Mark and Jim followed his wishes. Once past the Equator, the wind had picked up, this time from the southwest, which slowed things down. The galleon, although better than most of its sailing predecessors, had a problem sailing very far into the wind. The voyage became a series of long tacks. They had been fortunate; the voyage had been relatively uneventful. There had been only two storms so far, and the Captain had been able to find ports to shelter in when they came. They were making a last tack to the west towards Madagascar to pick up fresh supplies, when menacing, dark clouds formed with unexpected speed in the East. Mark watched the sight from the Quarterdeck. The wind picked up so fast and hard, she brought everything that could be moved from the Poopdeck to her cramped room. She met Jim on the way down. Although he pretended it was normal, he was plainly worried; Mark knew this was something special. The Captain ordered the topsails and mizzen brought down and the main and fore reefed. He brought the ship around and set the sails to heave to, pointing the ship into the heart of the oncoming storm. Mark grew worried. If they were in the open sea, or in a port, it would probably have been fine, despite the gradual rise in swells, now at 50 ft and rising. The galleon was a tough ship. The problem for the Silver Fish was that Madagascar, although over the horizon, was only 30 miles away. If the storm went on long enough, the Silver Fish would be blown helplessly onto the beach at best, or broken up on an offshore reef. The Captain knew this even better than Mark, so he set a sea anchor, a parachute-like device on a long line in front of the bow, using the resistance of the water to slow the boat from the relentless pushing action of the now raging wind. Mark stood in the Quarterdeck cabin opening, the salt spray stinging her face, more fascinated by, rather than afraid of, the power of the sea. This was the first time she had ever heard the tough mahogany of the hull actually groan in protest. The waves were routinely coming over the side now, washing the waist on every pass. There was something wrong on the main, she saw. A sailor who had just finished tying down a reefing line was having trouble getting to the deck. What she had feared, happened. He fell soundlessly to the deck in the raging chaos and blood from the head of the suddenly still man mixed with the latest deluge. Mark had to do something. She left the Quarterdeck door, stopping to hold onto to a line here and a support there as she worked her way towards the helpless man. In the howl of the wind, she heard her name being called, but she couldn't stop to answer. She reached him and began to pull him back. She knew she was in trouble almost immediately. The sailor was a big man and no matter how she strained, she couldn't make appreciable progress towards the door on the wildly rolling deck, but still, she refused to let him go. Suddenly Jim was at her side, his strong arms and legs taking over from her exhausted limbs. She was gasping and had to stop to rest at a stay. It was then, that a rogue wave dislodged her tired arms, still quivering from fatigue, and swept her overboard. It was a brief fall to the cold sea. She knew her only chance was to swim to the line that trailed the ship, but she was wearing a ghagara that was dragging her body down. In her condition, it was almost all she could do just to stay afloat. She watched helplessly as the line slipped past her, still straining to untie the wet knot that held her dress to her hips. There was nothing she could do now, except wait for death. Even if she could get the ghagara off, she was moving too fast. She watched as the ship drifted away; she could see the Silver Fish was more than 300 yards distant when the enormous waves brought the ship back into sight. She finally managed to untie the dress and let it fall away into the deep. That would only give her a little more time to think about her life. She regretted the gift of life from Jayti that she had just wasted. She cried bitter tears about the lost future with Jim, knowing it was only her incredible stupidity that made her forget for a moment she was just a medium sized girl, and had no business trying to drag a large man around in a storm. She was making her peace with the world when she heard her name shouted. It was Jim! She waved her tired arms over her head and shouted back, "Over here!" The next time she heard him, he was closer. Then she saw him. He was in the water, swimming towards her. A larger wave of disappointment came over her. He had come to her only to die; she had yet another life on her conscience. He reached her, and they held each other. His warmth was briefly welcome in the chilly waters. Then she looked at him, the pain etched clearly on her face. She cried out in despair. "Why did you come after me, Jim? I wanted you to live." He snorted. "We aren't going to die, you beautiful, brave idiot. I have your survival chest tied off to my waist. With any luck, we'll blow to Madagascar. Then we can catch a ride back home, eventually." Mark's eyes lit up. The sick feeling in her stomach disappeared. She hugged him again, forcing him to tread water for two. "Have I told you I loved you today, Jim? That was incredibly brave." He shook his head. "That may have worked before, but I'm not happy with what you did. What the hell were you thinking? Brave is fine, but I don't want to worry about my wife taking unbelievable risks when they aren't necessary." Mark grimaced. He was angry and he had a right to be. He had earned her trust. "Jim, I promise if we survive this, I'll tell you why I did it. I'm ashamed of myself for having to put you through this." He shook his head again. "That's not good enough. I think we can talk about this on the way to Madagascar. Let's inflate the bladders and get out of the water first. I see no reason why my future wife can't give me an explanation as soon as possible, or do you have something better to do?" When they finally filled the bladders and tied them off, they were both cold and tired. It was a vast relief to struggle on top of the relatively dry chest in the rolling sea. While they were huddled together, shivering from the cold water, she told him. It took her most of an hour to partially convince him, and even then he wasn't sure. The implications slowly came to him. "You're telling me that you're really a man?" he asked incredulously. Mark shook her head firmly. "I was afraid you'd think that, and that's why I didn't tell you. I am not a man. I am most definitely a woman; I love you like a woman; I cry like a woman; I want to have your babies. I'm a woman with the memories of a man, but I've been a woman for almost two years now." He still looked skeptical. Her worst fears were being realized and the sick feeling was back. "Jim, please don't let me lose you because of this." Mark dropped her head, and the tears started again, mixing unseen with the lukewarm rain. "I just wish Jayti could explain this to you. She knew. It was both of our wishes to fall in love with someone like you." He let her finish crying and he lay back for a time. Mark thought he looked worried and confused. Finally he took her in his arms and kissed her. "I can't say I am completely happy about it, but I believe you. I can live with it and live easy." He smiled. "It explains a lot. The way you speak English was a complete mystery. The way you fight and how you knew not to tell me about the fight with the bandits... You truly have seen both sides." He looked at her again, this time with a familiar look, one that she knew. Her heart leaped and she ached for him. "I look at you and try to think of you as a man, but I just can't see it, especially now." He looked down. Her ghagara was at the bottom of the ocean. Mark blushed. The storm blew over during the night. The sun woke them. Madagascar was in sight a few miles to the west. They opened the trunk and ripped into some of the deer jerky and drank some water. "There are so many questions to ask you, Jayti, such as how this water is still good after three months in the trunk and why you chose deer jerky instead of beef." "I can explain the deer jerky easily enough. As a Kshatrias, Jayti could eat deer, but not beef. There's a lot of Jayti in me, and I just felt more comfortable with it. The water is more difficult." She explained germs and bacteria to him. "You know so much more than us. We must look like little children to you." She looked at him very directly. "Don't make that mistake. Think of it as if I had read a book you didn't. I had a chance to read it, you haven't. Anyway, this is the 16th century. I don't know how to make sails, sail a galleon, or even cook with a wood stove. Most of what I know is completely useless here. If I hadn't had Jayti to guide me, I would have died, or ended my life as a slave." "Still, I think it's a good idea to ask your advice before doing something important." Mark smiled slyly. "You are soooo smart. I knew there was a reason I wanted to marry you." She shrieked in delight when he tickled her into submission. Jim used the paddle to clear the reefs and get to shore. They were tired again by the time they dragged the trunk into the lush, green forest, out of sight of the beach. They rested for a few minutes. "Jim, have you thought of building a boat to get out of here?" "Normally, I would just say no, but I think you have something in mind." She did. She explained what she could remember of the political climate of Madagascar. It was difficult to say what tribe they would meet. Some were into the slave trade and Mark was afraid they would be sold if found. She drew a picture of a catamaran she used to sail years before, in the sand and explained how the American Indians used to make dugout canoes. Jim was initially skeptical; it was a radical idea. Mark told him how fast a cat like that could sail and he grew thoughtful. "But you must decide, future husband," she said, clutching his arm and looking up into his eyes with innocent helplessness. Jim did a double take and laughed. "Actually, I think I could build such a boat, but not exactly as you drew it up. We don't have the equipment, although the hatchet and drill you so thoughtfully provided in the trunk will help greatly." He kissed her. "Leave this to me. We only have one hatchet and you don't have the skills we need. You'll have to gather food and cook for us." Jim saw her roll her eyes and walk away, mumbling something about 'enjoying this too much,' but he caught her smile. Mark's was worried about being discovered by a hostile tribe. It was likely that at some point in the next few weeks, the time it would take to build the boat, someone would come by. She stood lookout when she was not searching for food, or getting water from the local stream. A series of connected vines were tied to a rock in Jim's work area that would drop on a pull if Mark saw anything suspicious. Burning the interior of the logs Jim selected to remove excess material was done at night to avoid any visible sign of smoke. Mark inspected the work Jim was doing on the boat. She had to admit it; he was making a fine boat. It was done using post and beam, a difficult, but very strong method requiring precise joints. She made a couple of suggestions, but mostly stayed out of it. Her first cooked meal for them wasn't bad. She found some nuts, a kind of plum that didn't taste bad, and a fat fish in a stream. He came in hot and sweaty from the tropical heat. Eating what she provided for him and actually enjoying it gave her a peculiar feeling. She would definitely make love to him tonight, she thought, as long as he washed himself. He stunk. She was finally able to help on the boat when it neared completion. She carved out a few pulleys, grommets for the sails, rings for the masts, and a couple of paddles. They still needed the sails cut when they had their first argument. She wanted the standard cat sloop rig. He wanted a, more familiar to the 16th century, lanteen sail. It took her being angrily stubborn before he realized that she might just know how the boat should be rigged, having sailed one before. He shook his head. It was going to take some time before he was used to reconciling her appearance with her knowledge and experience. Mark pulled the rock in the late afternoon after five weeks of work. Jim stopped work instantly, and covered the boat with the already cut branches. Mark quietly made her way back to the clearing and told him the news; there was an armed tribe of natives with a trussed-up group of people camped on the beach about a mile away. She was positive they hadn't seen her. It was real trouble. The only source of water in the area was close by. It would be real luck if they weren't found out in the morning. There was only one real possibility if they didn't want to abandon the boat. They would have to leave tonight, ready or not. The boat was almost done, but the mainsail wasn't complete. The problem would be getting the boat into the water. Doing it at night would be very difficult. They worked all night, dragging the boat along through the trees in the near darkness, using the boat pulleys to gain leverage. Once they had it on the beach, it was downhill, although they had to make their way through some tough sand. It was in the water just as the sun began to rise. They paddled their way out past the reefs, dropped the centerboards, and Mark raised the jib. Jim was shocked at how fast and how close to the wind it would sail, even with just the jib. Although exhausted, Mark couldn't hide her smug satisfaction. They were very sleepy, tired, and sunburned when they pulled in that night many miles down the coast. Jim finished the mainsail the next day, and Mark made a bimini to protect them from the sun from their last piece of canvas. She also made an anchor and crisscrossed native vines to make webbing for the front and rear to give them a place to lie down. The next day, while they were on the water, Jim spotted an enormous bird eating leaves from a tree. It must have been well over six feet tall. It surprised him, but Mark was ecstatic. It was extinct in her time, she explained. They stocked up for the trip around the Cape of Good Hope, hoping to catch it on a quiet day. Jim had caught and killed a wild pig and butchered it. They baked it dry with some rock salt to preserve it. The trip through the Cape was rough, but fast. They sped up the African coast and raced passed a distant and surprised Portuguese ship making a mere 5 knots to the cat's 12. Mark saw the Silver Fish first in the early afternoon, as it was lumbering up the Ivory Coast, just after passing an ugly Portuguese Slave Fort. By late afternoon, they had caught them. Mark saw the Captain on the Poopdeck, staring at the strange craft's approach. Mark waved to him and blew him a kiss. They circled the Galleon in a triumphant homecoming and the ship's crew lined the sides, giving them a load huzzah. Ten minutes later, they were aboard, the cat in tow. At the Captain's table that night, Mark apologized for causing them concern, but the officers laughed it off as mere bravado. Only Jim and Mark knew that it wasn't. Jim was the hero of the moment. There were many toasts to their health and honor. An extra ration of rum was requisitioned for the men who could be heard celebrating belowdeck. When supper was over, Mark asked to speak with Captain Bricker. On the deck by the rail, she told him how foolish she was to have fallen overboard. It could have cost the crew and the Captain prestige and money. She asked the Captain his forgiveness again for putting him in needless jeopardy. He shook his head. "It was foolish, Jayti, but you did what you thought you must. Everyone understands that. If you want to apologize to anyone, apologize to James. He jumped in the water to save you." "I already, have. Still, Captain, I'd like to do something for them. I'd like your permission to dance for the crew. And for me too, Captain. I feel so damned alive this evening." He laughed. "That, I can understand. You have my permission." The fiddler was good, if a little drunk. It only took a few repetitions before he had the Indian tune memorized. Mark set up on the Quarterdeck, did the same dance she gave the Emperor so long ago and a couple of others. Then, she sang for them. Seaman Michael Warner would be teased for the rest of his days about being passed out in the hold on Jayti's Night. Seven weeks later they were in London. The voyage was over. Chapter 19: Elizabethan England Mark and Jim watched together from the port side railing as the Silver Fish pulled slowly into the dock. Mark's excitement had been building since they passed the town of Tilbury. This was Elizabethan England! Crewmen wearing freshly cleaned and repaired clothes threw thick lines to waiting dockworkers, who secured them to huge cleats. The men on board finished securing all sails and the long, wooden loading ramp dropped. Two company representatives in dark hose, striped pumpkin pants, and doublets were on hand to greet the ship. The Captain was the first man off, carrying the ship's log as he met with them. Mark couldn't quite make out what they were saying. It was just too noisy; the docks were next to a busy, cobblestone street. Children in dresses and breeches stood watching the ship, thinking of adventures and far-away places. Women in long, thick dresses wearing long sleeves, kirtles and bodices that pushed up their breasts shared the streets with men in work clothes of leggings or hose and loose shirts. The other side of the street held a line of taverns, inns, tackle shops, offices, and warehouses. The Captain and the company men stood just out of the way of the flow. Whatever was said, the company men were very pleased. They each clasped the Captain's arm tightly in turn. Only then, did they notice Mark standing on the rail. Captain Bricker waved her and Albert McFarlan down to the dock. After showing them the letters of introduction from Rana Pratap, she followed them into a nearby office. She waved to Jim and then to the men at the rail, smiling brightly. They waved back enthusiastically. After a brief period of incredulity, they finally believed that this 17 year- old girl really was the Representative of the Maharana. The trade documents were examined and copies Mark had made were passed around. Everything was in order. There were smiles all around. Mark still had one request. "Gentlemen, I have a supply of jewels for the Queen and some gold I wish to keep safe for the time being. Do you know where I can safely put them?" They looked to each other. "Yes, Miss," said the taller man, "we have a fine, strong safe in the office where we keep our documents and valuables. Just come by during the day and one of us will be here to retrieve them for you." She dumped the bag of jewels and gold on the table. "Excellent, gentlemen. I just need a receipt." Albert McFarlan pulled Mark aside. "Jayti," he said earnestly, "have you given a thought where you're going to stay? A young lady just doesn't stay on her own. It's not done." He motioned to the north. "I'd be very happy to keep you at my house across the river with my wife. I have a daughter about your age who would be well pleased with your company." "Well, I was hoping to stay close to James..." "James will be busy for the next few days doing inventory and assessing the market." "Your wife wouldn't mind, Albert? I'd hate to impose." "You must be joking. She'd love it! She always said she wanted to see the world. I'm bringing India home to her. Really, it would be a pleasure. You'd have to share a bed with my daughter, of course." 'I'll bet he wouldn't have made me that offer two years ago,' thought Mark. "Albert, I accept your offer, and gladly." They needed to hire a carriage to carry the luggage with them to Albert's house. Jim was planning to stay in an inn by the dock and completely approved of the arrangements. When he was finished with the inventory, he would see her. Fortunately, he already knew where Albert's house was. The ride over was amazing. Mark had a tough time at first getting over the smell. She knew they just threw refuse into the streets, but to actually see it happen... The horses deposited their load everywhere and in the beginning of July, the horse flies were out in force. No wonder everyone wore long sleeves! Kites were a menace, flying around picking up the garbage and worse. Mark even saw a few rats on the street. She remembered that the Black Death was due to strike London in a couple of years. The streets were mainly narrow and winding, the houses were mixed up with shops and restaurants. It was slow going. London Bridge, the only bridge across the Thames, was just ahead. Mark leaned out the window, trying to memorize everything. Narrow houses lined the bridge. There was even a church about midway. A couple of heads mounted on poles, decaying slowly in the summer heat, were just more reminders of how far away from home she was. She was close enough to smell some of the passersby. Didn't anyone take a bath regularly? The smell of perfume mixed oddly with the most foul body odor. She ignored it, and concentrated on the other sights she could see from the bridge. Several churches lay to the east, including a small castle. They arrived at a well-built, two-story, white house with green trim. Albert walked quickly to the door. His wife, a good-looking, solid woman in her late thirties answered his knock and immediately threw her arms around the man she hadn't seen for over a year and a half. She started to cry. "Welcome home, husband," she said. Mark saw a girl with light brown hair and green eyes waiting her turn, behind her mother. She came forward and embraced him. "My dear father, you have returned," she cried. Albert introduced her to them. "Jayti, this is my wife, Margaret and my daughter, Erin. Family, this is Jayti Singh, the Representative for the Maharana of Mewar. We brought her back from India. She is James's fiancee. She'll be staying with us for a while." They looked at her closely for the first time; her choli and ghagara weren't exactly standard issue in London. "Good afternoon. I hope this isn't an inconvenience." "You speak English!" Margaret was pleased. She'd been thinking the worst. "Yes Madam, I try, although I've been told I speak it strangely." "Please, child, call me Margaret and my daughter, Erin." Mark followed the driver and Albert as they moved her trunk up the narrow stairs into Erin's room, a small room with a sturdy-looking, medium-sized bed, a small chest of drawers with a decorated make-up box, a stand with a large ceramic basin, a desk and straight-backed chair. A pair of small paintings with a religious theme decorated the white plaster walls. Jayti remained upstairs for a while. The family was enthusiastically catching up on news of the last year and a half, and she didn't wish to interfere with their personal reminiscences. She had a good chance to look around, and she leaned over the windowsill, fascinated by the sights of the city traffic, below. When the loud chatter died down, she came downstairs. They all talked for a few hours about India and the trip home. As his wife made supper in the kitchen, Mark brought down several drawings she had made on the ship of her home, Jodhpur, Amber, Udaipur, and the harem architecture. When Albert told his wife that Mark could use a sword, she looked on in disapproval, but Erin loved it. "Jayti, what are you going to do for clothes?" asked Erin. "You can't wear Indian clothes in London." Mark had thought about it. "I was hoping to go shopping tomorrow. I don't know what to buy or where to buy it, though." Erin looked at her mother. "Mother?" She looked at her daughter with approval. "Yes, daughter. It would be the Christian thing to do. Help her." She looked at Mark. "I suggest The Exchange. It would be faster." Erin nudged Mark under the table and smiled. "This will be great fun, Jayti." A prayer was said before the meal. Queen Elizabeth had forbidden the eating of meat on Wednesday, Friday and Saturday as an act of piety and to help the fishing industry. It was Wednesday, so they had baked cod with garlic and lemon juice, some apples, onions and leeks. They drank ale, as did everyone except the smallest of children, the local water being unhealthy. Mark was slightly drunk when they lit the lamps and sang songs while Margaret accompanied on the fiddle. Noticing the fond way Albert and Margaret were looking at each other, Erin and Mark decided to say good night early, and went upstairs to their room. Erin was the same age as Jayti and wanted to know all about the shocking details of 'heathen' India. Mark did her best. They sat cross- legged facing each other on the thick goose-feather mattress and Mark answered every question Erin had that she felt wouldn't get her in trouble with her mother, but there were some things that were just too hot to handle. Mark was well aware that the main reason for wars in this era and especially in England was due to religious differences. Not too long before, Mary Tudor, "Bloody Mary" as she was known, had backed the Catholics in their efforts to exterminate the Protestant religion in England. Many Protestants were burned at the stake during her reign. Queen Elizabeth was keeping things calm with difficulty, but hatreds ran deep. 'How could she explain Hinduism to Erin without stirring up revulsion or hatred within her?' she mused. Instead, she showed her what was in the trunk, mainly clothes. They were close to the same size, so Mark and Erin tried on each other's clothes. Mark had shared clothing sometimes with Inayat and Farha in the harem, but never with someone as enthusiastic as Erin. The silk and expensive fabrics of her Indian clothing fascinated her, especially when Mark unpacked her long mirror so Erin could get a full-length view of herself. "Oh, Erin, you would make the Emperor such a fine concubine," Mark teased. That earned Mark a pleased smile and an extended tongue. Mark found that wearing a long-sleeved shift, bodice and long dress wasn't as uncomfortable as it looked. The bodice she tried on actually helped support the back as well as the pair of milady's assets. It pushed them up and together in a way the choli, really not much more than a fancy brassiere, didn't. Erin made the judgement that Mark could probably pass for a Mediterranean Italian with a tan. It was late. The ale had done its job and they were both sleepy. After a trip to the privy, Mark put on her nightdress and Erin her shift and they slept side by side in the bed. In the morning, she found that Erin had turned over during the night; her hand was draped over Mark's waist and her breasts were pressed into her back. It felt comfortable, but it made her miss Jim. They all slept late that morning, but eventually Albert had to return to the ship and help with the cargo inventory. Margaret wasn't about to allow two sleepyheads to lay in bed while she made breakfast, so their fate was sealed. Mark made a trip to get water to wash up. In England at this time, people rarely took baths. They compensated, to some extent, by using a basin to wash. Mark washed her entire body down vigorously and dried off with a towel. Then she flossed and washed her mouth with baking soda. Erin was curious. Mark told her all about basic dental hygiene. Teeth in India were bad enough, but surely, there never was a country in more need of dental care than England, with all the sweet foods, drinks and meats to be trapped between the teeth. Breakfast was more ale and a bagel. Albert had already left for the morning and despite her husband telling her Mark was a Representative from Mewar, Margaret couldn't quite connect the title with the 17 year- old girl. Instead, Mark was treated like she was a daughter. That meant chores. They didn't leave the house until they met her strict standards. They finally escaped Erin's mother. Mark had never felt more like a little girl in her life. She wore her blue silk salwar--kamiz