Page 97 of Storm over the Caribbean
“Well, at least we’ve got good food.”
“Aye, there’s that.”
Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Mr Ambrose make a gesture. I nodded, and the two of us silently retreated until we were out of hearing distance.
“Notice anything?” My dear husband enquired, his eyes sharp.
“Aside from the fact that piratesreallydon’t live up to their romantic image?”
His eyes narrowed infinitesimally. “What, pray, made you think of pirates asromantic, Mrs Ambrose?”
Oh fudge.
I cleared my throat in the most innocent, delicate manner I could manage. “Ehem…let’s get back to the subject. Is there anythingyounoticed about them?”
His eyes narrowed another fraction of an inch—then he nodded, accepting the subject change. Thank the Lord! “As a matter of fact, there is. I believe I’ve found a way for us to infiltrate the pirate camp.”
I blinked. “You have?”
“Yes.”
“Then…why aren’t we already on our way?”
“Because that’s not theonlything I found. Something is fishy here. Didn’t you realize?”
I frowned. “Realize what?”
He met my eyes. “They’re speakingEnglish.”
I stared at him for a moment. “And? So are we.”
“They’re speaking English, Mrs Ambrose. In theCaribbean. Which mostly consists of French and Spanish colonies. True, there are a few islands here and there that belong to Britain, but the odds of us landing on one of them, which just so happens to be inhabited by purely English-speaking pirates? Not high. Unless…”
I suddenly felt cold, even in the heat of the Caribbean. In front of my mind’s eye, I once again saw that scene: the man with the axe in his hands and a pained look in his eyes. I once again heard those words, harsh and desperate:
“They have my family.”
I swallowed.
“You think all of it is really planned. That someone set this up and sent these pirates here to raid your shipping lanes.”
“Indeed.”
“Crap. That’s not good.”
“Au contraire, Mrs Ambrose.”
“Huh?”
I looked over at him, confused—and only then noticed the cold glitter in his eyes. It sent a chill down my spine. “These gentlemen have been so nice as to prepare a welcome for us. It is only fitting that werepaythem, is it not?”
Mr Rikkard Ambrose, offering to pay someone?
Those poor pirates.
Irate Pirate
Humming, I turned and snuggled into the remnants of my dress-turned-cushion. Hm…how nice and comfy. Mr Ambrose’s suggestion to wait a night before infiltrating the pirate camp was a really good idea. After spending more than a week sleeping on the cold floor of a cave, I had already forgotten what it felt like for my whole body not to be aching. Compared to that, the sand of the beach was so warm and comfy. I reached out for Mr Ambrose beside me to pull him close and—
