And she was his ship, not just one he was commanding; she belonged to him now, a thought that kept returning, again and again. And filling him with guilt, because he knew how much Payton had wanted her. More than that, he knew how much Payton deserved her, how hard she’d worked for her, how lovingly she’d polished her brass, and how much input she’d had in her design. And yet there was joy inside him, too, just when he’d begun to think he might never feel happiness ever again. Joy because she was a beautiful ship, the fastest craft on water, as finely made as Chinese porcelain, just as lovely, just as strong. Yes, she should have been Payton’s. And maybe it was true that, deep in his heart, he knew she was Payton’s, and that he was only borrowing her—taking care of her—until her rightful owner could claim her. And he didn’t mind. He didn’t mind at all. It was something they could share, something that connected them across the waves, across the miles separating them.
