Hook makes a frustrated growl, then backs up and gives her a hard kick to her ass. She goes flopping at my feet, and then Widow and Shiner are on her, dragging her out of the cave as she spits and screams curses.
“Are you all right?” Hook kneels in front of me.
“You were going to cut her throat? Just, ‘wham bam, you’re dead, ma’am’?”
“Aye. That matters naught. Tell me you’re all right.” He takes my hands in his. “Please, lass.”
The concern in his eyes make my own water. “She didn’t hurt me. But I think … I think I might be giving up,” I admit. “I’m just so tired.”
“I know, lass. But you’re stronger than you know.”
“Am I?” I shake my head. “Anne didn’t seem to think so.”
His jaw clenches. “If the Jolly Roger were still afloat, I’d keel-haul her sorry ass until she drowned.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Oh, I love a good keel-haul.” Cookson chortles as he limps up with an armful of driftwood and starts setting up for a fire. “It’s when we tie a rope ter the brigand, then drag them from port ter starboard, you see?”
That gives me a somewhat amusing mental image. “You just drag them back and forth across the deck until they get tired or something?”
Cookson bellows a laugh. “Goodness, no. We pull themunderthe ship. Haul them right past the keel again and again.”
“Through thewater?” I think my eyes must open wider than they ever have. “That’s … that’s torture.”
“No less than she deserves.” Hook turns to the pile of driftwood and begins striking a flint at the base of it.
“Bit more kindling. Here, Cap’n.” Cookson pushes some sort of hay-looking stuff beneath the logs. It catches quickly, sending wisps of smoke into the air. In only a few moments, a decent fire is started and Cookson is perching a pot over it. “Can we still keel-haul her once we’re back at sea, Cap’n?” he asks, hopefulness in his tone.
“If I don’t kill her on the shore, perhaps.”
“All right. Fair enough. I don’t want ter go getting me hopes up.” Cookson nods and pours some water into his pot as Starkey and Cecco show up with more wood.
“No killing.” I know my words fall on deaf ears, but they don’t argue with me, just go about making the fire.
“She’s beached as well as she can be, Captain.” Smee is winded as he jogs into sight. “Once the tide goes out, we’ll be able to repair her. Might be a week, perhaps two, but we—”
“You have two moonrises, Smee.” Hook stands. “And that’s too long.”
“Two moonrises?” Smee, soaked and pale as he is, goes almost translucent. “There’s no way—”
“Then you better find a way, Smee!” Hook yells and advances on him. “I’m getting Moira to that goddamned Spinner or we will all die trying, including you. So, I suggest you get to it!”
I wince at his tone, glad I’m not on the receiving end. Then again, Hook has never spoken to me like that. Not once.
Cowed, Smee lowers his chin. “Yes, Captain.” He sulks away, then starts barking harsh orders at the crew to collect Anne’s timbers and start a fire to heat pitch.
“Bloody wanker.” Hook shoves some more wood into the fire.
“Bit hard on him?” I ask.
“He’s lucky he still draws breath after the way he scared you that time.” Hook strips off his shirt, giving me another delightful view of his beautiful, scarred body. He wrings out what’s left of the water in it, then spreads it on the stone bench for me.
“That happened a million years ago.” I yawn as he lays me down and feels along my clothes so he can wring out the fabric in spots. Smee isn’t my favorite person by any stretch, but I understand his jealousy. Hook is his captain, his life.
“It shouldn’t have happened at all. I’ve half a mind to take a hand or more from him for it.”
I know he isn’t lying. I can still see the crimson rivulet of blood he’d cut at Anne’s throat. He’s ruthless and cruel to everyone who crosses him.
