Swept Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book One)

Chapter Thirteen

There was no wind. The ship sat in the water, drifting wherever the sea felt like taking us, the sun beating down in uncharacteristic warmth. It'd been three weeks since I'd been taken aboard the Adelina and almost every single day of that time had remained cold and wet. It was hurricane season, they'd told me, and I lived in fear of the day that we would be sunk by a storm, but the crew didn't appear to think that a little rain was that much to worry about—yet.

Every evening, I attended dinner with Captain Rodrigues, accompanied by O'Rourke, and watched him drink himself into unconsciousness. It seemed like he should have caught on to what was happening, but after a few days I concluded that he really was that drunk all the time. Not that I was complaining any.

Currently, a chair had been brought up for me to sit on the main deck, as well as a pretty fan to help keep me cool. My arm was getting sore from waving it back and forth, in an attempt to stave off the stench of all the men. The heat definitely helped me remember that they didn't like to bathe, for whatever reason. Anyone watching me would have thought I was dying of a heat stroke—which wouldn't have been that hard to believe considering all of the material I was wearing—but, no. I was simply trying to keep from gagging.

Unfortunately, I hadn't been able to bathe myself either. My hair felt like a greasy mop and I felt that I was always covered in sweat. Today I had a plan, though.

The captain had drunk himself silly the night before, got up this morning, and proceeded to do the exact same thing, never even leaving his room. O'Rourke—who I'd learned held a station called quartermaster—was second in command and promptly took control, ordering the men about despite the fact that we couldn't go anywhere. He appeared to be in a good mood, judging by the fact that he had me set up here, and it seemed as well a time as any to ask him for a favor.

Rising from my chair, ignoring the catcalls and leers from a few of the crew who stood on the lower deck, I easily made my way up to where the wheel was, watching O'Rourke speaking with the man who normally did the steering. The captain had introduced me to him about a week ago as Adam Kelly. They were laughing about something and I smiled, enjoying this side of him. Some days he was downright mean, others he was more than cordial. He'd kept his word to keep me safe, though, so I was always grateful to see him.

"Ah, Miss Greene," he said, turning as I approached them. "Lovely weather, isn't it?"

Kelly laughed again, grinning at me stupidly. His white, billowy shirt had sweat stains on it and I tried not to recoil from the stink he was emanating.

"It is." Raising an eyebrow in question, I glanced at them both, trying to figure out what was so funny about the weather.

"Ye looked like yer trying to fly away, waving that fan like that." The two of them started laughing again, Kelly flapping his arms like a bird.

"Yes, the stench of the men on this ship is quite overpowering," I replied coldly, feeling great satisfaction as they both stopped in surprise. "It's a miracle that you all don't just kneel over and die from the smell."

"Really?" O'Rourke seemed genuinely surprised. "I've never noticed it. It just smells like a ship to me."

"Of course it does. You're used to it, aren't you? Thank heavens it's only sweat stink, I don't think I could handle bodily function smell."

"Huh?" Kelly stared at me strangely, not understanding what I was saying.

"She means she's happy the sea is the privy," O'Rourke chuckled. "So am I, to be honest." He took a moment to survey the ship, a thoughtful look on his face. "Well, if ye think the smell is that bad, I can think of one way to remedy it. Mr. Kelly?"