Swept Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book One)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

As it turned out, I really had almost died. It was another week before I woke up enough to actually comprehend what was going on around me and another five days after that before I finally sat up and got out of bed. In that time, the ship had sailed all the way to Madagascar, where the Captain had declared we would careen the ship and settle for a month or so. The word was he'd heard about Thomas trying to sway a vote and was attempting to calm the crew down before such a thing could happen. The profits from the three ships we'd taken would be more than enough to stay for a while, and the men weren't complaining about being in female company again. It was the careening that they weren't excited about, but Tristan had explained to them all the importance of doing it.

"I have to do it each time," he'd laughed to me. "It's like they forget that cleaning the bottom of the ship will make us faster and keep the boat together longer. No one ever wants to do it—it's a nasty chore—but we're all always grateful when it's done."

"You should be captain of this ship," I'd said, smiling up at him from the bed. "You care about it. You care about her men. You're the one running everything. I can't believe that no one has seen fit to vote you in."

"I've never asked anyone to."

I was sitting in his room now, my bandaged arm feeling much better, though still sore and gross looking. The cut had been a nasty one, stretching from just below my elbow all the way up to my shoulder. Thankfully, it'd missed any arteries, but was deep enough to do some serious damage.

Outside, the cove that had been designated for the careening was waiting, the men unloading everything they could from the ship and putting it on the beach. The process wasn't an easy one, I'd been told. It involved getting the entire ship on land, propping one side up, cleaning everything off of it, and then doing the same to the other side. The wind had to be just right, the ropes had to be tied perfectly, and the beams to hold up the one side had to be strong and exactly placed.

"Ready to go, Sam?" Turning, I saw Tristan in the doorway, a smile on his face.

"Yeah, let me get my hat."

Despite being gravely injured and bedridden, my secret identity had remained intact, enforced by my terrifying fighting and murder of two men. Tristan had made sure I stayed closely attended while I was unconscious, promising that no one had learned the truth. I had a sneaking suspicion that he'd told someone, so they could help watch, but I hadn't ever seen anyone but him and Father Torres at my side, so I couldn't be sure.

As soon as I was sufficiently covered, we left his room, climbing into a long boat with some other crewmembers, and were rowed ashore. As the tide went out, ropes were used to pull the large ship inland, effectively beaching her. The island became a flurry of activity then, the majority of the men going about cleaning the ship, while others wasted time sneaking off with island women who'd come to watch.

Alfonso had somehow gotten his hands on a cow, which was being cut up and roasted on a spit further up the shore, the smell of the cooking meat drifting down and enticing those who were hard at work.

Tristan was heading up the crew, vigorously scrubbing the hull with a brush, working away at removing the sea grime. Every now and then he would order someone to move somewhere else, constantly keeping everything as efficient as possible.

"Did he confront Thomas?" I asked Alfonso from my seat beneath the cooks tent, where all the food was laid out waiting for its turn in the fire.

"I don't think so." He seasoned the meat as he spoke, turning it evenly over the flames. "Thomas has been scarce since the battle. Methinks he is trying to stay away from Señor O'Rourke."