Swept Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book One)

Chapter Twenty-Two

"Show us yer tongue, eh, Smith?" Several men laughed at the jeer as I turned all of my attention to the soup I was ladling out. Two days had passed since Father Torres got carried away and there had been almost nonstop pestering from the crew. Every moment I had was spent in the galley, the one place that I could sort of keep my distance from them.

"They're testing ye," Tristan had said. "Looking to see how far they can push ye. Don't give an inch, lass, or they'll be all over ye like flies on something dead."

I did my best to keep to myself, ignoring anyone who questioned me, silently fuming over the whole ordeal. The story had been retold by some of the men—exaggerated to the point of me taking on a whole native army with just my fists and only leaving five of them to tell the tale—and the hype continued to build. Reason told me that it wouldn't be much longer before someone managed to learn the truth.

It was evening now, and they were gathered in the pit after dinner, listening to Father Torres tell them the story of Romeo and Juliet. His love of reading and ability to weave a tale together had already earned him favor among the crew, with many requests for entertainment throughout the day. He didn't seem to mind much, but he did apologize profusely for my story.

The majority of the group hadn't seemed to have heard the story yet, which wasn't all together too surprising. It had only been written around a hundred years before, and they didn't strike me as the theatre going, reading type. Alfonso was beginning to tell them of the secret wedding, when a hand rested on my shoulder and I turned to find Tristan. Motioning for me to follow, he slipped away into the dark of the ship, moving down the stairs to the deck below.

After a few moments, I trailed after, slipping away easily as the men hooted and called out obscene phrases—Romeo and Juliet were experiencing their wedding night. I went below deck on the opposite side of the ship, moving through the hammocks as I searched around for him. He was waiting for me on the other side in the galley, tucked back under the stairs where we would be able to see or hear anyone coming.

"How are ye holding up?" he asked, holding his arms out to me.

"Fine," I mumbled. "It's not anything I can't handle. I've been ignoring them, like you said."

"Hm." He rubbed my back softly, pulling at the ends of my hair as I rested against him, my hat hiding everything else from view.

The crew was in an uproar about something above, but everything felt perfectly peaceful between us here. There was only the light from the dying galley fire and the stars peeking through the opening above, and his warm arms around me. No need for words, no need for anything really, other than each other's company.

After about fifteen minutes, the story was winding to a close up top, and I sighed, knowing that it was time for us to part again. "I don't like this," I grumbled. "Acting like I don't know you. At least before it was okay to talk with you when I saw you. Now I can't talk to anyone, which isn't that easy to do with some of the things I've heard these men say."

"It won't be forever." He smiled, tilting my face towards his and kissing me softly on the lips. "We'll figure it out." Looking past me, he suddenly froze, his expression going blank in surprise.

Turning, I stiffened as well, catching sight of John Butler, his mouth gaping open and eyes practically popping from his head. For a second, we all remained still, staring at each other. Then, abruptly, John turned and ran, darting through the galley and into the hammocks. Tristan was after him in a second, myself hot on his heels, heart pounding in fear and anticipation of the capture.

John was weaving through the space, only a few steps ahead, slipping just out of reach. As he neared the stairs, Tristan suddenly hurdled the last bed, grabbing him by the back of the shirt and clapping a hand over his mouth.