Chapter 8
Alister had to make a choice. No, he had to make a plan, because he didn’t bloody have one!
He’d honestly thought her crew would join his, considering he was a man, and she was a woman. He was the great ‘Bloody Storm of the Seas’ after all, and she was nobody.
What was he supposed to do now?
He mulled over his options while some of the crew who stayed behind showed him the changes she made to his ship.
Everything was neat and organised in a way that was, surprisingly, better than how he left it. He wasn’t happy, but he couldn’t deny it was more efficient.
Everything had been changed, from the way the cannonballs were stored to the barrels of food now in alphabetical order. Their recent loot was put away in a manner that allowed for maximum storage space for more.
Even Glen Darkley’s kitchen had been rearranged, and apparently, the stubborn man was rather pleased with it. Not even Alister could get him to change his ways if he didn’t want to.
He was surprised to see Clint there, already helping his father, considering the boy liked to hide in the sails if he could. He hated kitchen duty.
“What are you going to do to her?” one of his crew asked. Alister didn’t like the look in his eyes.
“What’s it to you?” he snapped, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt to bring him closer. “Grown to fancy her while she was captain, did you?”
“No.” Greyson ran a hand through his brown, medium-length hair. “But she was good to us. We expected her to treat us like shit, but she didn’t.”
Another man came to lean against the wall in the dim hallway with his arms folded. “She was fair.”
“I don’t give a shit what she was. She stole my ship.”
Actually, Alister did care how she’d treated his crew while he was gone. He cared about their wellbeing, not that he showed it.
Now that he was in possession of the Howling Death again, he wasn’t too upset he’d lost it in the first place.
He wouldn’t tell them that, though.
“Aye,” the one against the wall said with a nod. “But we’re tellin’ ye she ain’t bad.”
“Bitchy.” Another man laughed as he rounded the corner, walking past them with a small crate of rags. “She was bitchy, but she was funny.”
These three men had fought with him when he’d returned, but she’d somehow managed to gain their respect. How does she do it? Alister couldn’t believe his ears. They weren’t saying it, but he knew these men were asking him, in a roundabout way, to show her mercy.
How does she get men to fall to her will? They were like him, not interested in mercy. So why her?
Things had changed on his ship. Already, he could see the friction between those who stayed behind and those who had jumped off at Dunecaster with him.
Those who journeyed with him were rightfully angry; they wanted payback and punishment for everything they’d suffered getting here. Those who stayed behind were relieved to have him back, but also worried for those of her crew they had started, unwittingly, building relationships with.
“She must be a siren then,” he spat out, pushing the man away. “Since you’ve all lost your bloody minds.”
“Nay, just one hell of a woman.”
Greyson shook his head. “I think the feast last night helped to convince us she’s crazy.”
Which, of course, they liked.
“Why?” Alister’s brows furrowed as he waited for an explanation.
“Where is Kent?” Greyson chuckled. “We should get him to give the captain a big wet kiss.”
Laughter erupted from his men before they walked away, hoping he’d follow. Curious to know what the hell happened, Alister did.
It didn’t take them long to find the man even taller than Alister in height. He was standing in his sleeping cabin, going through his personal items like he feared something had gone missing during the takeover.
“Good gods,” Alister remarked. “Why is he wearing lipstick?”
“Captain!” Kent exclaimed, then quickly ducked his head, rubbing the back of his hand across his mouth in an attempt to wipe off the crimson paint.
“Hey!” Greyson leapt forward. “You can’t remove it just because you’re ashamed Alister’s here.”
“She’s tied to the mast.” He pointed his finger at Greyson. “She can’t force me to follow the bet.”
“Yeah, but we can!”
“Tell me what is going on!” Alister yelled, appalled that she was forcing one of his men to wear lipstick like some... some... woman! What has she done to my men?
“She beat him in an arm wrestle.”
Alister’s eyes widened. Impossible. Kent was almost as strong as he was.
“She stabbed me with a fork! It shouldn’t count.”
Greyson wagged a single finger at Kent.
“She still slammed your fist down. It doesn’t matter that she used her brain to do it.” He wagged it even harder as he said, “And she paid up her side of the bet because she knew she’d cheated.”
Well, that made more sense.
“She bet that you’d have to wear her lipstick if you lost,” Alister stated, folding his arms across his chest to hide his curiosity. He rubbed his chin. “What was your bet then?”
“We all got to see her tits.” Kent grinned, cupping the air in front of his chest. “Had been dying to see her rack.”
Alister gave a bellowing laugh. He couldn’t believe it. “She actually paid up?”
“Oh aye,” Greyson said, his smile forming. “She offered because she knew she’d cheated the rules of the game but told Kent here he still had to pay up for losing. Told him he had to be a pretty woman for a week.”
“And you’ll honour that bet,” Alister told him with a chuckle, slapping Kent on the back when he gave a whining groan.
“Look, if you want her dead, then so be it. We will follow your lead.” Greyson sighed, ruffling a hand through his hair again. “We don’t really care what you do with her, but we can’t say we hated her in charge.”
He expected Kent to disagree with him, but the man merely turned his gaze away when Alister raised his brow. Even he agrees?
“Your opinion has been noted,” Alister replied, before turning from the room. “I’ll think on it.”
He didn’t need to. He’d made up his mind a long time ago that he wouldn’t kill Rosetta Silver, not if he didn’t have to.
Actually, there was much he wanted to do to her and none of it required violence. Unfortunately, he didn’t trust her.
He’d thought he’d imagined it, perhaps exaggerated her beauty from the last time he’d seen her, but he realised he was mistaken. She’s a bonnie lass.
Other than being sleep tousled, her long brown hair had been brushed – unlike the nest of knots he’d seen last time. Her deep-blue eyes twinkled with the sunlight growing on the horizon, catching his attention every time he looked at her.
Her nose was small, curving upwards. Her lips pouted with an adorable defiance he thought she’d displayed before – rather than just appearing that way.
Those wild freckles sprinkled all across her lightly tanned skin – a result of many years in the sun – reminded him of the spirited personality she’d already shown him.
She hadn’t been wearing her doublet coat this time, so he’d seen her in those black tights and white tunic tucked in just below her palm-sized breasts. Her body was curved, but strong.
He’d bet that tunic hid strong muscles.
Still, the lass had kicked him in the nuts, blackened his good eye, and split his upper lip. She appeared gentle, but she was anything but.
And Alister liked them feisty. He preferred a nasty piece of work who could take him when he wanted to vent his many months at sea like a rutting animal.
This woman would be able to handle him, might even enjoy the ride, and he couldn’t act on it because he knew she’d most likely try to slit his throat.
So, what was he supposed to do with her?
With a grumble, he walked through the lower decks of his ship to return to the surface. His men lazed around, very few of them needing to watch over their captives. Most of them were below deck, since the ship was stationary and didn’t need manning.
He entered his chamber on the quarterdeck and inspected it. There were a few of her personal items lying around. More specifically, there was a tiny chest filled with the dress she’d used to trick him, as well as other items of little importance to him: shoes, perfume, and other womanly things.
Then he noticed the pillow and blanket in his hammock. Pulling on the blanket, he brought it to his nose to find it smelt like gardenias, a scent she’d worn last time.
It seemed to be a favoured smell of hers.
It was strange to think that an odd woman had been sleeping in his bedding.
He moved away from the hammock to inspect his desk and her route, wondering where she was heading and why. It looked as though she was trying to intercept a ship, but he couldn’t find any information stating which one, only some diagrams of its interior.
What are you up to? Alister could only guess.
He spent the rest of the morning in his chambers, fixing it back to the way he liked.