Morgan looked around the familiar room, remembering the last time she had occupied the Stromwell’s guestroom. John had returned not long after sunset and all of her things were now spread out across the room. Sighing softly she pulled her sleeping shirt over her head and sat on the edge of the bed, closing her eyes as she sank into the welcoming mattress. A soft knock at the door kept her from laying back and she tucked a leg under her.

"Come in," she called softly. Isabelle cracked the door and poked her head in, smiling as she took in the personalized space.

"All settled?" Morgan nodded and patted the bed behind her.

"I never could find a bed quite this soft," she quipped and Isabelle laughed.

"No, I imagine not. Though, you are the only one who’s ever slept in this room you know." Morgan’s eyebrows twitched in surprise and Isabelle moved closer, motioning for Morgan to lie back.

"I think I’m a bit old to be tucked in, Isabelle," Morgan said, laughter evident in her voice. Isabelle shrugged and grinned.

"So humor the old woman then. I’ve already tucked Ann in." Morgan chuckled and slid under the covers, blushing a little as Isabelle pulled the quilt up over her shoulder then sat on the edge of the bed. The younger woman was suddenly struck by a memory of Isabelle doing the same thing right after she arrived in port and swallowed hard on the lump forming in her throat. Isabelle nodded and brushed a hair away from Morgan’s temple.

"Seems to be a habit of yours, Isabelle, putting me back together when I fall apart." Morgan’s voice cracked and Isabelle smiled sadly. "Though this time it’s of my own doing." Isabelle cocked her head and nodded a little.

"I wish it weren’t so, Morgan, I really do. But it’s not always easy to see what everyone else does. We’ll get you back on your feet though, and in doing so maybe you can help me get my dear husband off of his." Morgan smiled and nodded.

"I will certainly try, Isabelle, I promise I will." Isabelle patted Morgan on the shoulder then leaned forward and blew out the lamp.

"Sleep well, Morgan," she said quietly. Morgan responded and Isabelle closed the door softly behind her, her footsteps fading as she made her way down the hall. Stretching her arms over her head she folded them and tucked her hands under her skull, staring up at the moonlit ceiling.

"How are you, Allison? Are you happy? Does he treat you well?" Morgan clamped her jaw shut on the question she almost whispered next and tried to shove away the thoughts that accompanied it. Squeezing her eyes shut she rubbed at them, trying to force the thought of Allison is someone else’s arms away. Groaning softly she rolled over on to her stomach and buried her face in her pillow, letting the soft fabric absorb the tears that she didn’t want to acknowledge before finally drifting into an exhausted slumber.

Two days had passed since Morgan had moved into the Stromwell’s guestroom and during that time she and George worked constantly together. She helped Isabelle with her goal to get George to transfer some of his responsibility to his son, and between the four of them they came up with a temporary plan to take care of both the Dockmaster and Harbormaster duties. Isabelle and Ann did their best to help her deal with her heartache, and though she outwardly tried to show she was doing better, inside she still fought constantly with the pain.

Morgan walked slowly through the house, dinner long over but reluctant to join the family in the library. Eventually she ends up on the rear patio, leaning on the railing and looking down into the garden. She leans there for a long while, oblivious to the passage of time until the sound of someone clearing his throat quietly prompts her to turn around.

"Yes, John?" The man steps out from the shadow of the doorway.

"Sorry to bother you, Captain, but one of your crew is at the front door with a message for you." Morgan frowned and motioned for John to lead the way, following quickly on his heels. He pauses at the end of the hallway and lets her pass and she moves briskly across the foyer to the door. Quietly she slips outside and finds Jonathan leaning against one of the columns supporting the portico.

"What’s wrong, Jonathan?" He turns and looks at her, a serious look on his face.

"I don’t know all the details, Cap’n, but Jacob says you need to come down to the wharf right away." Morgan feels a moment of panic seize her and shoves it down.

"Did someone try to get to the ship again?" she asked urgently. Jonathan quickly shakes his head.

"No, Cap’n, it’s not the ship. Will you come now?" Morgan frowned briefly at the mystery of the message but nods, stepping back into the house briefly to ask John to let the Stromwells know where she was going. John handed her a cloak and she shut the door behind her, swinging the cloak around her shoulders before rushing down the steps after Jonathan. John had sent one of the stable hands for her horse when Jonathan arrived and as she reached the driveway he jogged up and handed her Mercury’s reins. Morgan swung up into the saddle and Jonathan nudged his horse into a trot down the drive. Mercury leapt after the other horse and Morgan found herself holding on with a death grip for a few yards before she settled into the steady strides. They quickly passed Jonathan and Morgan let her horse tear through the streets, hooves beating out a sharp staccato beat on the cobblestones.

Within minutes Morgan slowed Mercury’s headlong dash as they approached the street that followed the curve of the harbor. Jonathan quickly caught up with them and as Morgan turned toward the inn where she had stayed he patted her on the arm and pointed in the opposite direction. Frowning, she followed him as he wove his way through the men moving up and down the wharf. He stopped suddenly and swung down from the horse, tossing the reins to another member of her crew waiting there. Morgan carefully dismounted and handed Mercury’s reins to the waiting man, following Jonathan as he led her towards a stack of crates waiting to be loaded on the edge of the dock.

"Ev’nin’, Cap’n," Jacob’s voice drifted out from the shadows and Morgan stepped closer, her eyes adjusting slowly to the dark.

"Hello, Jacob," she said quietly. "You said I should come?" She saw the motion of Jacob’s head nodding and he moved around the crates to the other side where there was more light. Morgan followed him and waited patiently as he scanned their immediate surroundings.

"Mor’, t’men and I ‘ave been keepin’ an eye over thar," he said quietly, nodding at something behind her. Morgan glanced over her shoulder and felt her stomach twist as she saw the sign of the Dockside Inn. Swallowing hard she turned back to look at Jacob.

"And?"

"We’ve been hearin’ some disturbin’ things about t’Irishman." Morgan stiffened.

"What kind of things?" she asked sharply. Jacob scrubbed at the back of his neck.

"Well, Mor’, Jonathan heard some of t’servin’ gals talkin’ about him, and t’things they were sayin’ were not good things." Morgan stood looking at him for a long moment, then turned and started walking across the dock. "Morgan?" Jacob called after her.

"I’ll be out in a little while, Jacob," she said over her shoulder. She moved casually through the foot traffic on the street, pulling the hood of her cape up to shield her face. Morgan took a deep breath as she approached the open door to the Dockside’s common room, laughter and music drifting out into the street. A group of merchant’s guards jostled each other as they headed in and she tucked herself into the tail end of the group, slipping through the door and stepping along the wall of the common room to look around.

The room was crowded, barmaids running around with harried expressions as men hollered orders at them. Morgan moved unobtrusively around the perimeter of the room to a small empty table in the back and took a seat. The table sat well back in the shadows and she shoved her hood back off her head as a young barmaid made her way through the maze of tables.

"What can I get, sailor?" Morgan cocked an eyebrow and chuckled softly as the young woman blushed, realizing that Morgan wasn’t her typical patron.