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“I said, I never said it. Now I am.”
“Well then, Captain, let’s go see what trouble I can go stir up before I manage to fall overboard.”
Now, that was something to fear. There was no telling what trouble a woman alone could stir up on board a ship of renegade pirates.
Morgan reached out and lightly grabbed her arm. “Remember our talk, Serenity. There are a lot of rough men aboard my ship and I’ve already breached one of the pirate’s ten greatest commandments.”
“Which is?”
“Never bring a woman on board a ship. It’s rather like storing gunpowder in the galley, next to the stove.”
Serenity cocked her head, and too late he realized what he’d let slip. Holding his breath, he hoped she hadn’t caught his words.
“It’s true then,” she asked, “that pirates have a code of honor they observe?”
“Yes, they do,” he answered, thinking the danger had passed.
“And how is it you know about this code?”
So much for that—damn the wench for her intelligence. He should have known he couldn’t slip anything past her. Aye, she was a sly one. And Morgan wasn’t about to divulge his past to her. “I sail for a living.”
“But you’re not a pirate…” She paused and watched him closely as if trying to see through him. “Or are you?”
Morgan decided on the truth. “Depends on whom you ask.”
And with that flippant response, Morgan crossed the deck to speak with Jake.
“Fine,” Serenity whispered. “You go your way, but I promise I shall get to the bottom of all your secrets, Captain Drake. Just you wait and see.”
Chewing the tip of her pencil, Serenity glanced around the deck at the men who were now working quietly. A few of them glanced her way, then quickly looked back at their tasks. None of them seemed approachable.
Who looks like the most interesting member of the crew?she asked herself, looking around.
Serenity glanced up at the sails flapping in the wind. It was a gray morning, uninviting. But at least the light drizzle had stopped for the time being. By the look of the clouds, she could tell the rains would be back.
She walked around the center of the deck. Heavy winds blew at her skirts and hair, making it difficult to walk.
There was a young man of about twenty climbing up a mast with rope curled about his torso. He might have a story, but she wasn’t about to go up the sail to find it.
Maybe later.
Three men were to her left, folding the canvas sails, while another man scrubbed at the decks. To her right was a large, well-muscled black man who sat to the side with a huge rope and some long, thick, needle-shaped tool she couldn’t name.
There was something about the man that warned of danger, but even so he looked to be the crewmember with the most interesting stories.
Which meant he was the perfect man for her to talk to.
Crossing the deck, she stopped directly in front of his stool. “Hello,” she said, offering him her warmest smile.
He glanced up with a feral snarl. “I’ve killed over a hundred men,” he growled out in a low and vicious voice. “Half of them I kill for simply saying hello.”
Her heart instantly sped up.
Run away, Serenity!
Nay,she told herself. A good writer doesn’t turn tail and run. A good writer gathers the story in spite of danger.
Besides, there was something about this man that belied his fierce voice, a kindness in his dark eyes that bespoke a more gentle nature.
