Page 7 of Found at Sea
My stomach knotted with fear. Fear of the unknown.
Where would I go? How would I make a living? My skillset wasn’t that valuable. I’m sure I could be taught to do more, something like carpentry or smithing, but most places wouldn’t want to have to train me. Plus, I was small and most men viewed that as a weakness.
Perhaps the local Inn would hire me on. It’d be similar work to what I was already doing.
But Ned is right. I want more out of life. I want adventure.
“Get yer head outta yer arse, lad!” one man growled as I stumbled and accidentally bumped the edge of his table.
“Sorry,” I said as my face heated.
I was so lost in my head that I’d had to ask several men to repeat their questions, which didn’t always go over well due to the angry outbursts that so often followed these types of burly men. None of them laid a hand on me, but the threat of such violence was clear in their mannerisms if I continued to be so mindless.
Focus, Fletcher, I told myself.Breathe.
Eventually, men started leaving, and the crowd considerably died down, until there were only six men remaining in the room. Three sat at one table, talking amongst themselves, and the others sat a table away doing the same.
I had my back to the entrance when the door opened and footsteps sounded on the wooden floor. Everything went quiet. The conversations ceased, as did the clanking of mugs on the table. The hairs on my nape stood on end.
When I turned to see who’d entered the tavern, I froze, just like I had earlier that evening.
It was him; the man I’d seen in the brothel.
His short dark hair was longer on top and was parted to the side, somewhat hiding the right side of his face. Two golden rings were in his left ear, and his clean shaven face revealed his sharp jawline and high cheekbones. His white shirt was opened to reveal his tanned chest, and his black breeches clung to his legs before disappearing in the top of his boots.
He smirked when he saw me, and I knew he recognized me as well.
Four men trailed behind him, and by their way of dress, they were unmistakably pirates. The other patrons knew it, too, by how they lowered their gazes as the men passed them.
“First round’s on me, Cap’n,” a shorter man with long dark hair said to him.
Captain?
They sat at the back table in the corner. Ned met my stare from across the room and motioned for me to serve them. My hands trembled, and after inhaling a few gulps of air, I approached them.
“Good evening,” I greeted, trying not to look at the captain. The last thing I needed was to fall under his spell again. The images of him inside that other man were still vivid in my mind—the way his muscles had flexed as he pumped into him. “Our specialty tonight is the mead.”
“And what makes it so special?”
My skin tingled at his voice, and I finally looked at him. His brown eyes were bright and filled with a type of deviousness.Wait.Not eyes…eye.His right eye—which I saw once he moved his hand through his hair—was blue.
I nearly fell backward.
The pirate from the old man’s tale the night before. The sea demon.
“He’s shakin’ like a leaf,” one of the men jested, causing the others to chuckle. “Poor lad looks like he’s goin’ ter piss himself.”
All men found humor in his words—except for the captain. He watched me with an unreadable expression.
“You haven’t answered my question, boy,” he stated.
“Um, I—it—er,” I stammered like a fool. His question was nowhere in my mind.
“The mead,” he snapped.
“It has a strong honey taste,” I answered, still on edge, especially since they all stared at me. Well, glowered was a better word. “Other meads taste of honey too, but we add more, giving it a sweeter flavor. Not as dry as some blends. If that’s not of your preference, we also have ale.”
Once they decided on the mead, I left their table and tried to compose myself.
