“Is this a hurricane?” My stomach dropped again as the ship lurched over yet another monster wave, water pummeling against the wood and sloshing through any openings available. Everything that I’d previously thought was waterproof was now proving not to be. Even the room had water splashing around in it, seeping in through the ceiling and disappearing through the floor. A pot had been put out to catch the majority of the bad leaks, but it didn’t really seem to be helping. The candle that was lighting the room flickered dangerously close to going out every two minutes. My skirts were soaked, as well as the socks and shoes I’d been given. The ocean water was cold and I felt there was no escaping it, like we were being swallowed bit by bit with each attack from the outside.
“No.” O’Rourke had joined me in the room at the first sign of bad weather, informing me that everyone who didn’t have to be on deck was ordered to stay below. Unfortunately, he’d been no help in reassuring me, since the storm had caused him to be massively seasick. When I wasn’t worrying about whether or not we were all going to end up at the bottom of the ocean, I was fearful of being puked on. “My apologies,” he said again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand after emptying the contents of his stomach into a bucket once more. “Ye’d think I could handle it after all these years at sea, but no. It’s as if Manann saw fit to make me a pirate, but at the same time wanted to punish me for it. He’s a god of the sea,” he added, seeing the confused expression on my face. “From the old religion.”
“And you practice the old religion?” At this point, it seemed like anything that would get my mind off of certain death was a good thing.
“Ach, no,” he laughed. “I’m a Christian. My family used to practice, when the old religion was accepted and not viewed as witchcraft. That was generations ago, though, before we had to leave Éire.”
“You don’t live in Ireland anymore?” That was surprising, given his accent. Hadn’t he said he wondered if he still had it? “Where are you from then?”
“I grew up in La Coruña,” he answered, pausing for a moment after to dry heave into the bucket clutched tightly in his hands. After he was sure nothing was coming up, he spoke again. “My family had to leave Éire after the English invaded and took control. My grandfather was king of our lands and fought very hard to keep them. In the end, we were driven out, no better than beggars.”
“Excuse me, did you just say your grandfather was a king?” To say I was shocked was an understatement. “Why are you living as a poor thief?”
“As I said, we lost everything. I’ve never even been to Éire, save to stop at a port now and then. When we were driven out, we fled to Spain, where I was born. Trust me, lassie, having a grandfather for a king means nothing if he’s not on a throne.”
“How awful for your family, to have everything and then nothing.” I was talking to myself mostly, steeling my stomach as another wave hit us, leaving me feeling like we’d been rocketed halfway to the moon. More water rained down on us.
“It’s not bad. I enjoy the sea. If I’d been a prince, I probably wouldn’t have been allowed to sail as much. This life is the one I would have picked, methinks.” His skin flushed suddenly and he turned to his bucket, streams of swear words flowing out between heaves. I didn’t blame him. A storm like this made even the most sea hardy men empty their stomachs. I considered it a small miracle that I’d been able to choke it all back up to this point.
“Why a pirate?” I asked suddenly, curiosity filling me. “Why not join the navy or a merchant ship?”
“Where do ye think we got this galleon?” He grinned widely, leaning against the wall and hugging his bucket tightly. “We stole it from the merchant we signed up to work for.” Laughing, he shook his head, as if it were one of his favorite memories. “The poor man never even saw it coming.”
“Oh.” I didn’t find the story nearly as amusing as him. Had they killed the man? How long ago did they steal it?
“As for being a pirate,” he continued, not noticing my frown, “I look at it as my own little way to get revenge on the English. They steal from me, and I steal from them. Everything else is simply an added bonus.”
“You think that taking the lives of other men is an added bonus?” The sour taste in my mouth had grown rapidly and it wasn’t just from seasickness. “You look at murder as sport!”
“Calm yerself,” he replied amicably. “We don’t murder if we don’t have to. All ships boarded have the option to join the crew. We have to make some money, ye know. If we don’t steal, there’s no food for us to eat.”
“You don’t have to steal to eat,” I replied ferociously. “You—all of you—could have an honest man’s job. You choose to come out here and pillage and murder!”
“Careful.” The warning in his tone was heavy and I clamped my mouth shut. “There are men on this ship who live for the kill, that much is true, but there is more here than meets the eye. It’ll do ye good to keep yer opinions to yerself, when ye have no idea what yer talkin’ about.” His eyes had narrowed dangerously and I remained quiet, suddenly feeling like I’d made a great error in jumping to accusations.
Silence settled in between as the storm continued to beat against the ship, lightning flashing outside the window, but the sound of thunder was lost among the waves. My stomach abruptly turned for the worst and I shot up off the bed, slipping across the floor and tearing the bucket away from him. It seemed like forever before I finally finished heaving and gingerly handed it back, quickly aware that he’d been holding my hair that’d come loose from the ribbon I’d tied it with.
“Thank you. Sorry I stole your bucket.” My voice was hoarse and barely audible above the noise around us, but he smiled softly all the same.
“We can suffer together.” Eyes twinkling with humor, he smiled. “Maybe Manann will take pity on ye and call off the storm.”
Swept Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book One) Page 20
