“Come now, Captain,” the rough-looking man with the scar on his cheek spoke up.“You know Patches likes to wander the ship.The lady hardly stole her.”
“Nevertheless, she seems to have a penchant for thievery.”The captain’s suspicious gaze bored into her.
Desi turned to leave.Hungry as she was, she had no desire to dine with these men.All of whom were still staring at her like she was the dessert.All except the doctor who sat in one of the chairs, open book in hand, reading.
But the MMA wrestler who’d brought her here stood in the doorway, arms folded across his bare chest, preventing her exit.
She spun back around.“What is it you want, Captain?”
Oddly, a soft look had replaced his anger as he gestured her forward.“Dine with us, Miss Starr.You’re among friends.For now.”
His last words carried a threat, one she knew was real.So, she moved cautiously toward the only empty chair, flanked by the captain on one side and the handsome Irishman on the other.
“You remember my officers.”The captain waved a hand over his men before taking his seat.
“Evenin', love,” Liam O’Neil said with a wink.“At yer service, m’lady.Boatswain, poet, and available for courtship in thirty-seven ports.”
The heavyset man across the table looked up from his book.“Ignore him.He flirts with figureheads.”
“Only the finely carved ones,” Liam protested with a wink.
Across the table, the rugged man with a broad chest and weathered face gave a polite nod.The quartermaster, if she remembered.Candlelight flickered over the wooden cross at his collarbone.“Alden Shaw,” he said, “and the last sane man on this ship.”
“I heard that,” grumbled the man beside him, pushing his spectacles up his nose.“Dr.Oliver Brandt.Ship’s surgeon and resident alchemist of lost causes.”
Caleb gestured to a scrawny-looking sailor with a shock of red hair and freckles that covered his face like measles.“Shorty, our helmsman.”
The lad nodded but quickly looked away as if he were shy around women.
“And Keg, our master gunner.”Caleb pointed to the beefy man across from Shorty with black stains covering his shirt and the edges of his hair singed.
“Keg!”Caleb shouted, and the man finally glanced up and attempted a smile.
“Lost his hearing a while back,” Alden offered.“Too many gun blasts.”
Dr.Brandt looked up from his book.“It may return to him one day.Time will tell.”
What an odd group of sailors.But then again, if she really was aboard a pirate ship in 1718, what did she expect?The growl of her stomach was thankfully drowned out by the men’s laughter and the rush of water against the hull.Her gaze darted to the steaming platters of pork, root vegetables, and a strange dish that smelled vaguely of cinnamon and smoke.
“Sweet yam stew,” Caleb said, catching her hesitation.“Ayida’s specialty.You’ll find no better cook on land or sea.”
As if on cue, the Creole glided into the cabin with a tray of warm biscuits and a satisfied smirk.“Mind your tongues, gentlemen,” she said, setting it down.“An’ your manners.Dis one here,”—she nodded toward Desi—“ain’t used to your crude ways.”
Shorty, the wiry helmsman with a shock of ginger hair, leaned across the table.“Aye, where did you come from, miss?You drop from the clouds or swim from the depths like a selkie?”
“She fell from the heavens,” Liam said with theatrical reverence.“Sent to torment me heart.”He laid a hand on his chest.
“You mean your groin,” muttered Dr.Brandt without looking up from his book.
“Same thing.”
Uncomfortable, Desi shifted in her seat.Ayida wasn’t kidding about crude ways.Not that she wasn’t used to men flinging indecent comments her way.It was unavoidable in the modern world.And apparently in this one, too.
“I must apologize for my crew,” the captain said, his voice steady and rich.“It’s not every day a lady graces our table.”He speared each of them with a gaze that needed no vocal warning.
The room hushed, the clatter of utensils increasing as the men took to their meal.
“Nonetheless,” the doctor said.“Your appearance begs explanation.You wear strange garments.Speak oddly.And I can’t place your accent.”
