Page 38 of Storm over the Caribbean (Storm and Silence Saga #8)

My blissful sleep was abruptly interrupted by the banging of a ladle on a cooking pot. Grumbling, I snuggled closer to Mr Rikkard Ambrose, whose naked chest—

My brain froze.

Wait a minute. Me, lying snuggled up against Mr Ambrose’s naked chest? While trying to pretend to be a man in a bloody pirate camp ?

Crap!

Swearing, I leapt up, quite an impressive feat considering the weight currently stuffed into my belly.

“Oy! You bloody lazybones!” roared a voice from outside. “Get your arses off the ground! We’ve got work to do!”

Crap, crap, crap! Triple crap with a pirate hat on top!

Racing around the tent, I scrambled to put my clothes back on. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Mr Rikkard Ambrose still prone on the ground, unmoving.

Oh, for Pete’s sake! Now, of all times, he decides to sleep in?

Desperately tugging on my trousers, I stumbled towards my shirt while, outside, the camp came to life. Two seconds later, I was struggling to put on my shirt while stumbling back in the other direction towards my shoes. In passing, I gave Mr Ambrose a loving kick in the kidneys.

“Wake up!” I hissed. “You’ve got to get out!”

“Is that any way to treat your husband?”

“Would you like to find out what I’d do to a naked man who I find in my bed and who isn’t my husband?”

That got him out of bed fairly quickly. Though it also might have had something to do with the footsteps approaching from outside.

“Out!” I hissed. “Out, now!”

Eyes boring into me, he stepped towards me.

“Didn’t you hear me? You’ve gotta get ou—mmmmphh!”

His lips crashed down on mine in a mind-melting kiss. Strong arms drew me into a tight embrace. His tongue delved into my mouth in a merciless attack that made my spine tingle and my toes curl. One second. Two seconds. Three.

Then, suddenly, he was gone, leaving me breathless. I blinked, looking around—but all I could see of him was the back of the tent, fluttering shut in his wake.

A moment later, Jackal stuck his head through the tent flap, a frown on his bony face. “Are you all right, Freddy? Thought I heard someone groaning in here.”

“Y-yes.” Clearing my throat, I did my very best to sound magnificently manly. Not at all like a woman who’d just had the life kissed out of her. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Well, then get moving! People are waiting for breakfast, you know?”

Oh yes. I was the cook for a whole camp full of hungry, hung-over pirates. Lovely.

Was it too late to become a housewife?

Patience, Lilly. Patience. You’ll get out of here. And then you’ll make Mr Rikkard Ambrose cook all meals for three months straight. Dressed in a flowery apron. Only a flowery apron.

“Freddy? Freddy!”

“Uh…oh. What?” I blinked at the pirate.

“Are you all right? You looked out of it for a second there. And you were drooling.”

“Ehem, I…I was thinking of the meal I’m going to make. Yes, exactly! I was thinking of some, err…juicy bacon.”

“Great!” Beaming, he clapped and stepped back. “I’ll tell the others you’re gonna get started right away. I can’t wait to bite into that bacon.”

I think Mr Ambrose might have something to say about that.

Deciding not to say that out loud, I waited until he had left, then turned to survey my kingdom. Last night, for, ehem…certain reasons, I had not paid a lot of attention to my surroundings. Now that I truly took the kitchen tent in for the first time, I was not impressed.

The place was a mess. Piles of half-cleaned bowls and cutlery littered the tables.

Supplies were stashed in two dozen different crates, all unlabelled and rather too dirty for my liking.

Mould was growing on several of them. Oh, and then there was the crown jewel in this treasury of grime and chaos…

“Croak! Polly wants a cookie! Polly wants a cookie!”

I levelled a glare at the bird in the cage that hung from the central post. Ah yes. The parrot.

The previous cook, who apparently had recently died from heavy metal poisoning (i.e.

a heavy metal cutlass through the gut) had decided, in his infinite wisdom, that it was a good idea to keep a poop-happy bird in the same tent used to prepare food for his entire crew.

Such a good idea, in fact, that he had nailed the blasted bird’s cage to the main post so hard you’d need a crowbar.

“Cookie?” The parrot enquired. “Squawk! Want cookie!”

“Shut up, you stupid bird!”

“Squawk! Shut up! Shut up, stupid!”

“Polly wants caviar!”

I felt one of my eyebrows twitch. Quite demanding, eh?

Thank God that blasted bird hadn’t been awake last night. If he was in the habit of repeating everything anyone said, I was profoundly grateful he had not listened to the, ehem, goings-on last night, or else he would—

“Ooh! Aaah! Give it to me! Squawk! Oh yes, give it to m—”

Clang!

“—squawk!”

The pot bounced off the cage, unfortunately doing no damage to the blasted bird in the process. So much for that! Well, at least nobody was here to hear—

Crunch. Crunch.

Footsteps!

A moment later, Jackal stuck his head into the tent once more. “Is something wrong? I thought I heard some strange noise.”

“N-no, everything is fine!” Smiling brightly, I waved him away. “I just dropped a pot. There’s nothing wrong here. Nothing whatsoever.”

“Give it to me! Squawk! Cookie! Give it to me!”

I covered my face with both my hands.

…

…

When I finally dared to peek between my fingers, I saw Jackal staring at the parrot with one eyebrow cocked.

“Heck! That bird gets greedier every day! Now he’s even learning new words to demand cookies?”

“Ehem…yes, cookies.” I was not blushing. No, I was definitely not blushing! “Now, I’m afraid I’ll have to cut this conversation short. I’ve gotta start working on breakfast, or I’ll have a mutiny on my hands.”

“Sure thing. See you.”

I remained there, stock-still, waiting until his footsteps had receded into the distance—then sagged in relief. Thank God! I’d gotten away with it. I would just have to make sure that the bloody parrot didn’t continue blabbing—

“Croak! Give it to me! Hold me! Hold me tighter—”

Marching forward, I stabbed a finger at the bird, cutting it off in mid-sentence. “Would you really like me to hold you? I’d be happy to, as long as it’s around the throat.”

Wisely, the bird decided to shut its beak.

Without further ado, I proceeded to get to work on breakfast. It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be.

Behind the tent, I found a humongous pot already set up above a fire pit dug in the sand.

The supply crates provided potatoes, dried meat and various other bits and pieces.

Then I commandeered several of my crew mates to fetch some water, and got to work in earnest.

It wasn’t long before we were all sitting merrily on the beach, enjoying roasted potatoes with meat stew. And I do mean “all”.

“Woof!”

“All right, you’re getting some meat, you greedy guts! No need to pester me.”

Yes, Fence, my loyal friend, had found me again just in time for breakfast. What a coincidence.

“Aaah…” Putting aside his empty bowl, Jackal slumped back into the sand and rubbed his slightly bulging belly. And no, he wasn’t pregnant as well. He was just a glutton. “That was incredible, Freddy!”

“Want another helping?” I offered.

“Ha, no! I’m full!” He gestured over to the other side of the circle. “He doesn’t seem to be, though.”

I glanced over and saw Mr Rikkard Ambrose wolfishly devouring his third bowl of stew.

“It’s strange, though…” Pushing himself back up into a sitting position, Jackal cocked his head at my husband quizzically. “I mean, did he do anything particularly strenuous? He’s eating like he’s been exercising the whole night.”

“Ehem.” I cleared my throat. “He’s probably been diligently training or something. Yes, that, definitely.”

Then I quickly turned to Fence to feed him another strip of meat.

Breakfast finished quickly after that. I received quite a bit of praise for my skills as a cook—and no, I did not get a warm, fuzzy feeling inside at the compliments—and I managed to sneak some extra food to the younger members of the crew.

But things came to an abrupt halt when a figure strode over to us.

I recognized him as one of Gaptooth’s guards, who had fetched some food for the fat man earlier.

The man who led the pirates in the absence of their captain was the only one who hadn’t joined us for breakfast.

“Oy, Jackal!” the man called out. “The boss wants to see ya!”

“Duty calls.” With a sigh, the pirate pushed himself to his feet and lazily waddled off towards his glorious leader, hands on his full belly. Seemed like he was going to take a while.

I was wrong.

It didn’t.

He was back in less than five minutes, his face unusually serious.

“Hey! Everyone, gather down at the shore! Gaptooth is calling everyone together!”

I blinked, lowering my bowl. “What does he want?”

“No idea. But by the way he’s shouting, you don’t wanna be late.”

Now didn’t that sound ominous? Quickly throwing on an overcoat I had stole– ehem, borrowed during yesterday’s raid, I strode out of the tent and down to the shore, where the rest of the pirates were gathered around Gaptooth’s barrel throne in a half-circle.

On the other side, I caught a glimpse of Mr Rikkard Ambrose, his cool gaze sweeping over the area, probably wondering what was going on. I certainly was.

“What’s going on, boss?”

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one. I glanced over at the man who had spoken and who, judging by his scrunched-up expression, was severely regretting how much he drank last night.

The pirate leader narrowed his beady eyes at the man. “Enjoyed yourself last night, did you?”

“Um…well, aye, I did.” The man scratched his head—then winced and stopped. “We’ve gotten a good haul! It’s only right to celebrate!”

“Gotten a good haul, have we?” Gaptooth let his eyes sweep over the assembled crowd. “Wanna know exactly what we got yesterday?”

Royally rogered , a thought flicked through my mind. I chose to not say that out loud, however.