Chapter 6
Alister sat at the head of a long, distressed wooden table in the very middle of the large, two-level tavern. There was no roof above him, since the second level was merely a small walkway around the edges with a railing, and people could sit along it.
It meant Alister could see all those above them.
Pillars that held the top level up were connected by planks of timber coming only to chest height, with the rest missing to appear like glassless windows. He couldn’t see those sitting on the other side unless he got up and walked to peek over the half-wall. It separated them like a square ring.
There were many people inside the tavern, sitting at small, round tables fitted around where he and his men sat. The sound of chatter was deafening, and the terrible music made it even harder to hear.
There were at least a dozen of his men with him, those who had been with him the longest. They sat on the long benches of a grand table, he in a single chair at the end with no armrests, leaning back casually with his knees apart.
He slammed his bottle of scotch down and clicked his fingers at a barmaid for more for him and his men. He paid for the round.
They cheered when they were handed their bottles, and Alister took his own with a grin. He looked down at the label.
“Can’t remember the last time I had good scotch.”
“I like my rum, but we should stock up on other booze now that we’ve got the space,” Pierre commented, taking a swig of his own bottle.
Pierre and Derek sat the closest to him right at the end of the table.
“Aye, but it’s expensive. Rum is cheap.” He let out a thoughtful noise, inspecting the label again. “Perhaps we can get a barrel or two.”
Alister would covet it, since good alcohol was the only thing that seemed to get him truly legless anymore.
“He’ll just drink it all,” Derek nearly growled, pointing at Pierre. “Yer a carouser, ye pisshead.”
“There’s nothing else to do but drink and work on our ship!” Pierre threw back at him. “Even blind drunk, I can still man the helm better than you.”
Someone came to sit on Alister’s lap, and he paid her little mind as he leaned forward and pointed two fingers at Pierre.
“You’ve got a bottomless pit of stomach, lad.” He motioned to Derek. “He’s right. Any food or drink we buy goes straight into your wide gob. If you want extra booze, buy it yourself!”
Chortles of agreement flittered around the table as his men joined the conversation.
“Don’t be like that, Captain.” But Pierre chuckled, knowing full well Alister was right.
They often called him captain on land, keeping his name and who they were to a minimum. The bounty posters had their faces on them; the last thing they needed was to share his name so openly in a crowded place like this.
“The kraken has a smaller gut than ye!” Derek yelled. “Yer nothing but a lazy, eating pig!”
“And you’re nothing but an old, one-legged seadog.”
“Come here and say that.” He leaned across the table to grab Pierre by the scruff of his shirt. “I’ll gut ye so quick–”
Alister kicked the underside of the table with his free leg to stop them.
“Nay. I’m not drunk enough to deal with you two starting a bar fight. Do it later, when I may want to join.”
“Aye, Cap’n.” Derek gave Pierre a glare but released him.
“Woof,” Pierre barked at the older man, earning a kick in the knee. “Ah shit! I think you broke my leg, Captain.”
Alister let out a bellowing laugh, fixing the person on his lap so she was seated higher. He hadn’t even looked at her yet. Actually, he’d barely noticed someone had come to sit on him – especially since she’d sat on his blind side.
When he did turn to her, he expected to see Rosetta. Instead, Alister found he had a blond-haired woman on his thigh.
He shrugged, leaving her where she was, and grabbed the bottle of scotch from the table. He took a deep swig of it.
“What would you prefer?” Alister asked them. “Whiskey or scotch?”
He felt a finger tickling over his jaw and down the side of his neck, then a hand rubbed over his chest. It dipped inside his tunic.
Considering this woman had only come to him after he’d bought a round, he figured she was after his coin. The wenches who usually came to sit on a man’s lap in these places were generally cheap street prostitutes. Some had come to sit on the laps of his men and not one of them was dismissed.
“Whiskey,” Pierre said.
“Scotch,” Derek argued.
“You’re only saying the opposite of me!”
“Aye, yer darn right I am. Don’t want ye getting nothin’ ye want.”
“Whiskey it is,” Alister sighed, shaking his head with a laugh. It was cheaper and would get the job done.
“I also kept a few bottles of the sweet wine we plundered,” Pierre said, taking a swig of his scotch.
Alister frowned.
“Why did you do that?” He leaned forward, disturbing his lap partner. “I didn’t say you could do that. We could have sold that today!”
How dare Pierre do anything like this without his say so!
“Ye did it to sweet talk Rosetta.” Derek slammed his fist on the table. “Yer a rotten traitor.”
Pierre placed his other hand over his heart like it was wounded. “I need her to like me! The woman keeps hurting me when I’m just trying to be nice to her. You and I both know she likes wine.”
“And how the hell do you know that?” More importantly, why didn’t Alister know it?
“She was drinking it the day she stole our ship and invited me and this old bag of hot air for dinner. She made a teasing comment about missing it.” Pierre leaned back, looking around at the table. “Speaking of her, didn’t you say she’d be joining us?”
Now that he mentioned it, Alister didn’t see her. He looked down at his unoccupied thigh, wondering why she wasn’t seated on it. Then he looked at the nearly empty bottle of scotch he had. It was his second.
I expected her to be here by now.
His gaze fell on the pretty woman who’d been sitting on his lap for quite some time, who he still hadn’t spoken to.
Why should he care? If Rosetta would rather spend the night with her crew, then why should he worry after her? He tried to tell himself he’d turned to the blond not because of irritation and dismay, but rather with interest.
“Need a drink, lass?” he asked her with a cocky grin.
She reached forward to hook her finger around the neck of the bottle he was holding, tilting it towards herself to peek inside, as if she was trying to figure out what it was.
“What are you drinking?” Her voice was undeniably gentle, the kind that would be sweet to hear in bed.
He figured she couldn’t read the clearly written label.
“Scotch.”
“I like whiskey,” she answered. “We can share it if you like.”
Well, wasn’t that just kind of her, offering to share his own spent money with him? “Aye, whiskey it is.”
He hailed for the barmaid again, just as Pierre got up and started making his way to the door. He went out the front of the tavern from whence they’d entered, no doubt to rid himself of the liquid he’d just drank.
Alister downed the last of his scotch. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey when it was given to him, took a swig, then handed it to her.
“I haven’t seen you in these parts before,” she said after a deep draw from the bottle. It was as though she wanted to drink as much as she could, like she thought she may not be able to get more.
“Nay, don’t come here often. I’m a sea-loving pirate.”
She gave him a pout. “All the pretty ones go to sea.”
He gave a deep chuckle. I like this one. She obviously knew all the right things to say.
Just as he opened his mouth once more to sweet talk her, placing a palm over her breast from behind, a hand grabbed his shoulder on his good side.
Pierre leaned in to speak right next to his ear. “You should go for a piss, mate,” he said quietly, before taking his seat.
He had a grim look on his face as he grabbed his bottle but didn’t take a drink of it. The usually joyful man was glaring at the table.
“I’ll go when I’m good and ready to.”
Christ! Someone was trying to tell him what to do with his own body. He was quite in tune with it, since he’d been using it for twenty-nine years.
Pierre peeked at him, his sour look darkening.
“Then it’s your own fault. I’m not getting involved. Last thing I want is you biting my head off.”
Seeing the man was quite serious when he usually wasn’t, and it had been a while since Alister used his legs, he relented with an eye roll.
“Fine, take her for me.” He turned to the woman on his lap. “Sorry, lass. I’ll be back.”
He threw her into Pierre’s lap, who grabbed her but didn’t attempt to steal her from Alister like he normally would. That alone was enough to make his hackles rise.
He made his way to the front of the tavern, went outside, then headed down the side of the building while unbuttoning his breeches. A handful of moments later, business concluded, he sauntered back inside, admittedly feeling better.
He picked up random strings of chatter, since he always listened out carefully while on land. Mostly, it was useless things he had very little interest in.
Eventually, though, a conversation caught his ears. He was about to pass the wall that separated him from the people sitting in the outer section of the tavern’s interior.
“You got your chance when she was here last. I want tails of her this time!”
“Didn’t we flip a coin back then? We’ll just do that again. Whoever gets heads, gets head,” a woman declared with a giggle. “Just hurry up. I’m ready to leave this godforsaken bar.”
When he realised the feminine voice sounded awfully familiar, he halted and stepped back to see into the walled-off area his men weren’t seated in.
That’s where he spotted Rosetta sitting in a booth. She was seated not on the lap of one man, but two.