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Chapter 12
Two days went by as Morgan waited forsome sort of acknowledgment of his note.
None came.
He’d pushed her too far. No doubt the entire incident had embarrassed and shamed her. He should have never touched her—he knew that. If only he could apologize. Make some sort of restitution.
Sighing in frustration, he headed to the galley for a quick bite to eat to tide him over until dinner. Maybe a good run-in with Cookie would distract him from his guilt over Serenity.
As he approached the galley, he could hear Court speaking, then the gruff rumble of Cookie. At first he couldn’t make out the words, but as he drew nearer, something odd happened. Something that defied belief.
“Now, tell me again about this rosemary.”
Frowning, Morgan stopped just outside the door, stunned immobile. Was that Cookie’s voice?
Surely, it couldn’t be. He’d sounded almost…well…friendly.
“The doctor said that if you add a sprig to wine it’ll help with digestion and cure a headache.” Serenity’s voice was like a symphony to his ears and it brought a warm rush to his blood. “What I’ve found is that it helps your head best when steeped in boiling water.”
Cookie snorted. “Who would have ever thought?”
“Court?” Serenity asked with a tender note in her voice. “Would you please bring me the milk?”
“Aye, mum.”
Morgan walked forward, keeping himself to the shadows so that he could spy on them.
Sure enough, Serenity stood before the stove, stirring something inside a large iron kettle while Cookie leaned over the table, rolling out dough. She wore the pink and white striped dress, her hair coiled neatly around her head. There was a quiet grace to her as she tapped the spoon against the side of the pot and wiped her hands on the white apron pinned to her skirt.
A rich, sweet aroma filled the air, making his stomach rumble.
Court handed her the milk. “Would you be needing the potatoes now?”
“Yes, please.”
Her smile brought a surge of pleasure to Morgan’s chest, but still he was too stunned to know what to do. Never before had Cookie tolerated anyone other than Court in his galley. Never mind someone to actually help himcookin the galley.
“Now, Mr. Rodale,” Serenity said, and it took Morgan a few seconds to realize that must be Cookie’s real name. She added the potatoes and milk to the pot, moving back slightly as some of the boiling water splashed out. “You never finished telling me your story.”
Cookie chuckled as he cut biscuits out of the dough and placed them on a pan. “That’s right, where was I?”
“There was a young pirate in a tavern,” Serenity supplied for him as she returned to stirring her pot.
“Aye,” Cookie said with a laugh as he balled the dough up again and began kneading and flouring it. “A young lad of about twenty or so had just sat down and got his mug of ale when this old pirate comes hobbling up with a peg leg, a hook for his right hand, and a patch over one eye.”
He paused as he picked up the rolling pin, coated it with flour, and once more rolled the dough out across the floured table top. “This young fellow looks him up and down like a young fellow would and is impressed by what he sees. ‘How’d you lose your leg, old man?’ the boy asks. The old pirate snorts at his impertinence. ‘I got this peg leg the day me crew and I attacked the largest port in Portugal. We sailed in and fought like the devil hisself and while we was fighting, the captain of the flagship jumped onto me ship and I fought him too. But while we was fighting me foot got coiled in some rope and as I was trying to get free, he swung his sword and lopped off me leg at the knee. So I grabbed a plank from the railing, stuck it in me bloody stump, and that’s how I got me peg leg.’”
“How dreadful!” Serenity gasped, picking up spare dough from the table. She pulled off little pieces and added them to the pot. “The poor fellow.”
“But wait,” Court said, his face beaming with enthusiasm. “Pa’s just getting to the good part.”
“Mind your chores, boy,” Cookie snapped in his usual distemper. “Now, where was I?”
“The pirate had explained his peg leg,” Serenity said, stirring the dough into the pot.
“Oh, aye. Well now, the younger pirate was awed to be sure so next he asked, ‘What about the hook?’ ‘Arrrrr,’ said the old pirate, ‘the hook came when we were firing our cannons at the fort in St. Augustine. I’d just loaded a cannonball and lit the fuse when a blast jarred me ship and the cannon swung around toward our hull. Without thinking, I reached out and pulled the cannon around—saved me ship, but the cannon went off and took me hand with it. So I picked up a hook from the riggings and jammed it in me bloody stump, and that’s how I got me hook.’”
Serenity visibly cringed and made an awful face. Morgan bit his lip to keep from laughing. She made an adorable sight. One that made his mouth water even more than the delicious aroma that was coming from the pot she stirred.
