Page 211 of Storm over the Caribbean
Oh well.I shrugged.It can’t really be anything that important, right?
Don’t Mind Us, We’re Just Kidnapping People!
“Bluuurgh!”
I really was unable to stop putting my foot in my mouth, wasn’t I? Completely and utterly incapable. Did I like the taste of my own toes so much?
“Urgh!”
Well, it would probably be preferable to the taste that was currently pervading my mouth.
“Grk! Bleeargh!”
“Enjoying the view, Mrs Ambrose?”
Pushing myself up from the railing that I had been bending over, I wiped my mouth and sent my dear husband a baleful glare.
“I hate you, you know that?”
“No. In fact, I am quite certain of the contrary.”
Damn and blast! The son of a bachelor didn’t bat an eye as he casually contradicted my very reasonable declaration. And do you know what the worst thing was? I couldn’t even argue with him! Not when, at this very moment, he was gently wiping the sweat off my face with his precious, mint-condition, ten-year-old handkerchief.
“Why the heck is it,” I groaned, “that the whole time I was part of a pirate crew I had perfect sea legs, and the instant we start heading home I begin barfing again?”
“I am uncertain. I am, however, quite glad that you restrained yourself from ‘barfing’ until now, MrsShip’s Cook.”
A choked laugh escaped my throat, and then…
I whirled back towards the railing.
“Bluurgh!”
More stuff escaped my throat. Lots more.
Blast, blast, blast! Goddamn morning sickness!
Why was it even called that? The time wasn’t anywhere near morning! It was the middle of the afternoon, for heaven’s sake!
“Bleeeargh!”
Apparently, my stomach didn’t care. Oh joy!
“How much farther to England?” I enquired weakly.
“About half a nautical mile less than when you last asked, Mrs Ambrose.”
“That wasnotvery comforting, Mr Ambrose.”
“Indeed?”
“Bluurgh!”
I bent forward, and his hands clasped my shoulders once again, supporting me.
“I-indeed, Mr Ambrose, Sir. But you still haven’t answered my question. How. Much. Farther. To. England?”
“Not far.”
