Page 20

Twenty

T he boatswain paused in front of the tavern, gazed up at the sun as if checking the time on the town tower clock.

“But I thought we were making a deal?” The tavern owner rushed out of the tavern after the boatswain.

“You tricked me. I told ye, no’ of yer ladies. I need a woman wit’ no experience. Ye git me? No know how.”

“She’s the best I’ve got fir ye.” The owner gave an open-arms shrug.

“Then I canna deal wit’ ye today.” The boatswain shook his head, walked away from the man and in my direction.

“Guid luck findin’ yer maidenhead on this island,” the man shouted after him.

“Geesh,” Ace muttered. “Sounds like the boatswain is looking for his vestal virgin bride.”

“Excuse me, sir.” I clomped up to the boatswain, blocking his way toward the harbor.

He stopped, ran his eyes down my body and back up, stopping at my chest hidden beneath layers of ruffles. He glanced at Ace and scratched his head. “I paid the proprietor.”

I sucked in some air and gained control of my temper. “I’m not employed by the tavern. You’re with the Sea Storm , right?”

“Aye.” He stared at the puffy white dress. “Yer no a wench. Are ye part of the local ministry?”

“No. I heard you require a doctor.”

He looked at Ace, and his face soured. “What kind of doctor are ye?”

“Not him, me. I’m a healer.” I hiked a thumb at myself and heard Ace groan behind me.

“Yer a witch then?”

“Not a witch, a healer. I’ve studied under the most experienced of medical experts.” My brother counted, right? A chiropractor was a doctor. And my dad had pumped his knowledge of herbal remedies into me since I could walk.

He spat on the sidewalk. “Yer British.”

“No. We’re from New England.” Ace explained, drawing out his accent a bit.

“Are ye married?”

“No.” Geesh! What did that have to do with healing his injured captain?

He stared for a contemplative moment. As if associating with the woman in white and her Captain Morgan sidekick might get him in more trouble than he bargained.

“Follow me.” The boatswain walked briskly ahead.

I breathed a sigh of relief and inhaled the fresh sea air as we left the ramshackle town and started toward the beach.

“A healer. Bloody ’ell,” Ace mumbled beside me. “You go green at the sight of blood. We’ll walk the plank before dawn.”

“Stifle it. We’ve got to get on the Sea Storm .” I shuffled ahead in my stilettos and ruffles, trying to keep up. Ace trailed behind me, grumbling every few steps.

“If’n the men accept ye, ye’ll come accordingly to the ship,” the boatswain told me over his shoulder.

My heart did a double-dutch. We had a ride to the Sea Storm , to Marco.

A group of men waited by a long rowboat. I recognized the giant hunky guy from the tavern. After telling us to wait a few feet away from the boat, the boatswain spoke with the giant.

Was the giant the captain of the Sea Storm ? He seemed to make all the decisions, and he looked very captain-like. All hard lines, strong jaw, and muscles. Lots and lots of muscles.

“That man belongs on the cover of a romance novel.” Ace gave a nod toward the giant. “One of those bodice rippers where the pirate captain sweeps away the fair maiden, and she falls madly in love with ’im, then ends up traveling the world.”

The captain didn’t look sick. “Didn’t the man in the tavern say the captain was ill?”

Before Ace could reply, the giant summoned us over. He looked down at me with those odd blue eyes. Eyes that would make a girl’s heart zing around like a pinball dropped in a Plinko game, but my heart already had too many men assigned to it, so I looked away.

“Are ye the healer?” The giant’s deep voice radiated romance hero, for god’s sake.

“Yes.” I jutted out my chin and nodded confidently, my lying eyes finding his again. They really were a beautiful shade of blue.

He looked at Ace, then back at me. “Are ye married?”

Married? Why was everyone asking me if I was married? What kind of question was that?

“No. Not married. Never married. Not even engaged for real.” I held up my naked ring finger.

His dark brows knitted together in an agitated confusion.

“Have ye bedded many?”

What did he mean by many? “I don’t think that’s any of your?—”

He turned to leave without me.

“No!” I shouted after him. I mean, how many was many, right? My inner voice held up her hands and began ticking off her fingers.

He stopped and turned back around, taking me in. “Why do ye want to board Sea Storm ?”

“I-I-I enjoy healing men of the sea. They need my skills so far from land with no proper doctor.” Healing men of the sea. Mental head slap. I sounded like a canned tuna salesman.

“She’ll do.” He motioned for the men to escort me aboard the rowboat.

She’ll do? The nerve. Two of the men grabbed my arms and lifted me into the boat.

Ace was left standing in the sand.

“Wait!” I leaped to my feet, rocking the boat. “My manservant must attend me.”

Ace’s mouth dropped open. The giant turned to me. “Only you.”

“He can—” I struggled for a reason to bring Ace. Maybe Marco needed help in the galley. I’d never known Marco to make a meal. For cripes sake, he had a standing order at the local deli. How was he feeding an entire crew?

“He’s my—lucky cook.”

Ace stifled a squeak.

Everyone turned and looked at me.

The giant scrubbed his beard. “I need a cook.”

“You do?”

“Aye, my cook was taken from me. Bring him aboard.”

Oh crap!

Ace trotted out, kicking up water along the way.

Once on board the boat, Ace leaned close and lowered his voice. “Doll, you do know I can’t cook?”

“Shhh. I know.”

“And did you hear ’em say he needed a cook?” Ace shifted uncomfortably. “That means the blond god is not aboard.”

“We’re going to find Marco. If he’s not on the ship, we’ll get off.”

“How?” Ace gaped at the massive ship our small rowboat headed toward and back at the long distance to the beach. “You going to swim?”

One of the men gave us an uneasy glare as if I had the black plague sewed onto my petticoats.

“I’ll think of something.”

“These men don’t play games. I hope you know what you’re doing.” Ace rotated his wrist toward the giant. “Just look at the captain—he’s menacing. Gorgeous but menacing.”

“Do you think he’s the captain?” I studied the giant. He stood at the helm of the rowboat, one knee on the bow, very George Washington crossing the Delaware-like. His dark hair caught in the wind, exposing a solid jaw and tanned skin.

“Of course.” A gust of wind rocked the boat as it angled toward the ship, and Ace grabbed his hat before it blew away. “He’s the most captain-looking one here. And he’s dressed better than the others. That jacket screams money. He probably stole it off a royal admiral.”

“The boatswain said the captain was sick.” I cocked my head and gave the captain a once-over. “He doesn’t seem sick.”

“It’s probably syphilis.” Ace pursed his lips. “Most of the pirates had it during this time.”

I looked at his crotch snug in tight breeches that hugged the muscular curve of his thigh. My eyes followed a well-defined torso through sinewy forearms and thick biceps that I recalled lifted me like I was cotton. As I reached his face, I realized he’d caught me staring. I looked away, but not before I saw the small smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“For heaven’s sake, love, don’t stare at the man’s privates. You’ll see them up close and personal for the healing.” Ace air quoted healing with his fingers. “Besides, I think he’s into you. I saw him check out your Nanny McPhee gown.”

“Would you get a grip?” I elbowed Ace in the ribs. “I have no intention of having a fling with a pirate. I’m engaged to Caiyan.”

“Fake engaged.”

The rowboat came to a stop at the gunnel. I knew this from memorizing an illustrated page on parts of a pirate ship.

The men grabbed ropes hanging from the top rail of the ship and began scaling up the side.

“Oi.” The pirate next to me pointed to a rope ladder.

I leaned back to see the long climb ahead of me. Before my jump, Gertie quizzed me on the different types of ships used in the 1700s. This ship was a brigantine. It wasn’t the biggest ship in the harbor. It wasn’t a Captain Hook ship.

Another resounding “Oi.”

I inched my way up the ladder with Ace climbing behind me, mumble-cussing about transporters staying on base. Ace’s quibbling faded away as I came to the top of the rope ladder. I paused. The top rung was missing.

“Oh, jeez.” The reach to pull myself over the rail required me to perform a fucking pull-up. I hated pull-ups. I had spaghetti arms. My forced time in the gym on Jake’s orders gave me tone, but I had no strength to pull my body up for even one pull-up. I tried and faltered.

Ace climbed up next to me. His head, even with my ass. “What’s the problem, love?”

“It’s missing a rung. I can’t boost myself over the damn railing.”

“I’ll give you a little boost on three.”

“OK, one, two…”

“Alley-oop.” Ace shoved my butt from below.

“Holy fucking hell.” I toppled over the railing and onto the deck, cartwheeling my legs and exposing my undercarriage to the many eyes standing topside. Me and my problematic petticoats kicked around on the deck like an overturned crab.

“Yer woman has a tongue on her,” one of the men called to the giant, then bent down to get a closer look at me.

I snarled at him. Ace stepped over the rail and scooped me to my feet. “She hasn’t had her afternoon tea. Makes her quite the cranky pants.”

I stood and smoothed the fluff of my skirts before glancing around at the men who had gathered, the vast length of the ship, and the blue sea beyond. My inner voice held up a sign that read Keep Calm: They Can Smell Fear.

“Well, this is nice.” I ran my fingers over—what was this large rope pulley doohickey called? I walked toward the giant, a hint of amusement in his eyes. Mouths gaped at me, and a few gasped. “Not a Captain Hook ship, but not bad.”

When I reached him, he frowned down at me. “Who is this, Hook?”

Before I could answer, a thin, balding man with scraggly shoulder-length hair and a red bandana around his neck stepped forward and huffed at the captain. “Rowan, why’d ye bring the woman?”

Rowan? Oh my god. Even his name screamed romance novel.

“Dinnae worry, Shrug,” Rowan said. “The lass is a healer.”

A uniform sucking intake of air followed, then an eerie silence.

“Ye brought a witch aboard?” asked a man as tall as Shrug was short, with brilliant blue eyes and skin the color of an eight ball. “Yer sentencing us ta death.”

“Women ’board a ship, ’tis unlucky.” Shrug fingered his bandana. A few heads nodded. Others stared, and some didn’t look at me at all.

Rowan’s gaze dropped from me down to the weasel of a man. “Shrug, take her to the brig until I’m ready for her.”

The brig? Wasn’t that the sailing term for jail? My inner voice flipped through her dictionary of eighteenth-century sailing lingo.

“What aboot this one?” Shrug motioned to Ace.

Rowan only grunted and disappeared down a ladder to the deck below.

“He’s the new cook,” one of the men who was on the rowboat with us announced to the crew. A round of whoops rose from the men. It sounded as if they were more excited for a cook than a healer.

“The last thing I cooked was microwave popcorn.” Ace fidgeted next to me.

“Boy, take this one to the galley,” Shrug instructed a boy no more than twelve, then pushed at my shoulder. “This way, witch.”

Shrug led me below decks, down a steep ladder where I stepped on the hem of my dress twice, to a musty, damp, dark cell, and shoved me inside. “Why are you putting me in here? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Shrug slammed the cage door shut and stood outside the entrance to the prison ward, for lack of a better term.

How in the name of Blackbeard’s ghost was I supposed to cure the captain of whatever STD ailed him and find Marco locked in here? I had traded one jail cell for another.

After my eyes adjusted to the dimly lit space, I realized it was rather clean for an eighteenth-century pirate ship. The floors were scrubbed and there weren’t any cobwebs that I could see from the sunlight coming from a small porthole.

“Hey,” I called out to Shrug.

“No speak to me, witch,” Shrug said. “I’ll not hear yer cursed tongue.”

“I’m not a witch. I’m a healer. Heea-ler.”

“Whatever ye say, witch.”

The fatigue that always accompanied time travel washed over me, and I sat hard on the wood floor, my dress pillowed around me. Had I made a mistake jumping without the WTF’s permission? How dare they lock me up like a criminal. I had to escape. Marco’s life depended on it.

And what did Rowan mean they needed a cook? Where was Marco? If Marco wasn’t aboard the Sea Storm , my chance of finding him before he got arrested just went to snail dung on hardtack.

The subtle rocking of the ship must have lured me to sleep because I jerked awake and blinked until I recognized my surroundings. The floor creaked and the boatswain stood on the threshold.

He nodded at Shrug, then eyed me like a cat, confirming the caged canary was still on her perch. He turned away to speak with Shrug.

I struggled to my feet and pressed against the bars to hear them.

“Ned, has Rowan lost his head?” Shrug pushed off the wall and paced in front of Ned.

“Keep your tongue, Shrug. You mind the guns. I’ll keep my eye on Rowan.”

“Why am I in here?” I rattled the cell door. Both men turned and looked at me. “I thought you brought me on board to help the captain?”

“Hush, witch. Rowan may seek ye, but I dinnae trust ye,” Shrug called to me from the doorway. Ned walked over to me and tugged on his red beard as if evaluating my worth like a prized tuna. “I can see why Rowan fancy’s ye. Yer younger than the others. Fine on the eyes, too. If’n yer no using yer magic to keep yerself young and beautiful. I heard ye witches have the power to do so.”

“For the last time, I’m not a witch. And I have a name.”

“Do ye now?”

“Yes, it’s Jennifer.”

“Miss Jennifer, the cap’ns in a bad way. If ye are a healer, and ye cure him, he might ta look a favor on you.”

“He looked fine to me.”

The man wrinkled his brow.

“Don’t get too close, Ned. She’ll pull ye in with her wily ways.” Shrug stepped toward Ned as if to rescue him from my sorceress siren song.

“Oh, for the love of God. I am not a witch.”

A shadow fell across the room, and Rowan filled the doorway. He looked at the two men and grunted, then turned and left the room.

“Bring her.” Ned motioned to Shrug.

“How do you know he wants me?” I released my grip on the cell door bars. “He didn’t say anything.”

“That’s his way.” Shrug handed the keys to Ned.

“Does the man do anything other than look like a brooding pirate and grunt his orders?”

“We’re not pirates, we’re smugglers,” Shrug said.

Ned unlocked the cell and gave me a wide berth. “Now you’ve gone and done it. Cap’n’s no’ going to like ye tellin’ ’er aboot our business.”

Shrug lifted an unconcerned shoulder but I didn’t miss his worried brow.

I stepped out of my cage. “Where are we going?”

Shrug took my arm in a firm hold. “Keep yer words to yerself. These men are no’ used to having a woman aboard, and they could vote to have ye removed.”

“They’re going to vote me off the ship for speaking?”

“Aye, unless ye cure the cap’n.”

I slid my hand into the pocket of my dress and fingered the small plastic pouch containing seven days’ worth of amoxicillin 500 milligrams. I’d brought it in case Marco was sick. If the captain had syphilis, it wouldn’t cure him quickly, but it would give him some relief, eventually. I hoped it would give me time to find Marco.

Shrug marched me down the ship’s length until we stood outside a wooden arched door I assumed by all the fuss was the captain’s quarters.

I squinted at the gnarled planks separating me from the giant. Was that a bullet lodged in the wood? Blade marks tattooed the old door and told the story of this ship. It had seen its share of battles.

I dug deep for my bravado, straightened my spine, and prepared to charm every last detail of Marco’s whereabouts out of Captain Hunk.