She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart. Her time and effort was justly rewarded, because the hard cold facts she knew about neighborhood intrigues were better than fictional soap operas. If you have enjoyed it, please consider leaving a review – it does help so much. She hated the manor. She wanted to take him in her arms and hush him, but she sat perfectly still.
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