Page 111 of Storm over the Caribbean
I sent him a sweet smile. “Well, then why don’t you stay and help me chop these lovely onions?”
“Unfortunately, I shall have to decline.” Reaching out, he patted my shoulder and stepped away. “It would be best to leave the cooking to the professionals, Mr Ship’s Cook.”
And he stepped out of the galley before I could throw an onion at his head.
“Thrice-blasted son of a bloody bachelor! When I get my hands on him, I’ll—”
“Oy!” came a holler through the wooden bulkhead beside me, interrupting my rant. “Where’s the food?”
“Um…coming right away! I’m nearly done!”
Ten minutes or so later, I hurried up onto the deck with a steaming pot in both hands. A cheer went up from the pirates, and they gathered round from all directions. With a disgruntled expression, I watched them devour the stew that I had spent two hours making. Foremost amongst them Mr Rikkard Ambrose, who was on his second bowl already.
And the worst thing? I couldn’t even screw up the cooking and introduce him to the divine delicacy that was shoelace stew with salted banana peels! If it were only my dear husband, it might still be doable. But serving inedible mush to a crew of bloodthirsty pirates? Not the best idea. Not if I wanted to keep my head attached to my neck, anyway.
Well, I had to admit to myself as I watched the men munch on bread and stew,at least they seem to be enjoying it. Seems like my hard work isn’t going to waste if—
“Ship ahoy! Ship ahoy!”
Crash!
Dozens of bowls slammed to the deck and stew spilled everywhere as the lounging pirates leapt up to race to their posts. I felt my eyebrows twitch. Those bloody ungrateful, flea-bitten sons of—
Boom!
All right, maybe right now wasn’t the time.
Boom! Boom!
My eyes snapped to a spot in the distance. There, quite some way away, I saw a cloud of smoke rising from the ocean, almost as if someone had just fired their cann—
Splash!
A geyser of water shot up only a few yards away from the ship. I was abruptly doused in water, and it didn’t take a genius to realize what was happening.
“Shit, they’re firing!” Someone shouted. “Men, get to the cannons, now!”
I glanced down at my tattered, and decidedly male trousers. Men? That included me, right?
Splash! Crack!
Oh, to hell with this! Turning around, I rushed away from the railing, towards the ladder that led below deck.
Shame on you, Lilly!demanded my inner feminist.Where is your strength? Where are your convictions? Your courage?
Already below deck. They don’t want a cannonball to the face, either. Besides, didn’t Shakespeare say it so well? Screw courage!
…to the sticking place. Screw courage to the sticking place.22
Details, Shmetails. Plus, those men up there would have cheerfully slit my throat yesterday. Somehow, I was not in the mood to put my life on the line for them. I was even less inclined to risk something infinitely more precious.
A trembling hand slid down and came to rest on my belly.
You’d better come back, Mr Ambrose, do you hear? You’d better come back! If you leave me to change the diapers alone, I’m going to punt you straight out of the circle of hell reserved for the greedy and find some place worse to roast your arse!
In the distance, I heard another rumble, and I was fairly certain that it wasn’t from a thunderstorm.
And then I’m going to rip him a new one for coming up with this asinine plan! ‘We’ll be safer with the pirates, darling! Let’s get on a ship with people who want to murderise us, darling!’
