Page 113 of Storm over the Caribbean
I stared forlornly at the cupboard that I’d planned to make my safe haven. Then, muttering a silent curse, I hunkered down next to the cupboard—then promptly was thrown against the wall as the ship swayed harshly, something from which the blasted brat in the cupboard seemed to be perfectly safe. Darn motherly instincts!
“This is your fault, you know?” I said, glaring down at my belly.
“R-really?”
My eyes snapped up to the boy, who was eyeing the empty storage cupboard he had taken refuge in, then looking over at my big belly with wide eyes.
“You mean…everything in here? You ate—”
I felt my cheeks redden.
“No! That’s not what I meant!”
“Oh?” The boy blinked, confused. “But then, what—”
This would probably have led to some awkward questions about why a corpulent, definitely non-pregnant man would be talking with his belly. Yes, it definitely would have—if, in the very next moment, the air hadn’t been ripped apart by a massive explosion. One that was much closer than the earlier ones. A moment later, I felt something grab hold of my trousers. Glancing down, I saw a small hand holding onto me. I let my gaze travel up the thin arm it was attached to, ending at the tiny boy who was desperately trying to avoid my eyes.
I hesitated—then reached out, and gently pulled the little brat against me.
Goddamn maternal instincts! Is this what is gonna happen every time from now on when I look at some snot-nosed brat?
“It’s going to be all right,” I cooed, as the ship shook and shuddered around us. Me! Cooed! “I promise, it’s going to be all right.”
Yep. It probably is.
“R-really?” The little boy’s Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.
“Yes.” I gave him an encouraging nod. “Really.”
Unfortunately, that was the moment when, from above, a thunderous boom sounded. It was followed by a tearing sound and the sudden knowledge that we had just barely avoided death. Though I’d wager that there was a pretty big hole in our ship’s sails now.
At least we’re safe down here. At least, down here, we can’t be hurt by stray bullets or cannonba—
That was when something occurred to me. I was away from the fighting, true. But I was also on a ship that was being fired on withfrigging cannons. Which meant…
Crap, crap, crap!How had I not noticed this before?
Muttering curses in half a dozen languages, I grabbed hold of the galley table and pulled myself to my feet.
“Where are you going?” the boy yelped.
“Well…” I swallowed, glancing down at the little brat. “It just occurred to me, we’re in an enclosed space made out of wood, being fired upon with cannonballs. If one those hits, and the ship starts to sink…”
The little fellow paled, and I was fairly sure I didn’t need to finish the sentence.
“Shit.”
“Yep. Let’s just say below decks might not be the safest place after all.”
“I suddenly feel really brave. Let’s join the fight!”
“Yes. Let’s.”
As fast as we could, the two of us made our way down the passage. When we reached the ladder leading up to the deck, I stopped and listened. Not that I had to listen very hard to hear the cacophony of screams and gunshots coming from above.
And Mr Ambrose was up there.
Blasted belly! Why can’t pregnancies go faster? Then I could be up there with him, fighting!
