amusing in my offer to assist Maccus. It was sincerely made."
Dead Bob's expression was once again deadpan. "That's why it's funny."
When she had filled her pockets, Blowfish began introductions again. "This is Plum, this is Italy, this is Dove …"
Dove was the black man. He spoke in a soft, oddly accented voice, his fingers fluttering as he spoke.
And so it went, down the line until she'd been introduced to every one of the sailors. At the top of the table, she looked them over again. "Don't any of you use your real names?"
Shoulders shrugged up and down like a wave.
"A bad notion when ye're a pirate," Blowfish explained. "Me mum would be mortified."
"Your mum," Cate said faintly. He was worried about his mother's opinion. As foul pirates went, these lads were failures.
Blowfish shoved Italy off his stool, then with a bow indicated Cate should seat herself there. "Lilbit, grab the lady a plate an' some rations from Mr. Cleary in the kitchen. Shooting the Cap'n is hard work."
The men cackled again, and Cate realized that with a single gunshot, she'd won their hearts. She thanked Lilbit for the plank of food, most of which appeared edible, and dug her fork out of her reticule.
"Oo, she's prepared," Blowfish marveled.
She said, "I like my dinnerware clean."
"Here in Cleary's Pub, 'tis spittin' clean." Blowfish spit on the floor in lieu of demonstration, placed his foot on the edge of her stool and leaned his arm on his thigh. "We've told ye our names." He grinned as if he knew a huge joke. "So, li'l lady, introduce yourself to the men."
"I'm not little." With her elbow, she knocked his leg off the stool.
The pirates roared with laughter.
She waited until the commotion had died down and Blowfish had stopped faking distress. "I'm Cate MacLean."
All merriment stopped. All heads turned. All eyes stared — at Cate.
"What?" she asked.
"Cate? Caitlin?" Maccus spoke at last. "Ye're Caitlin MacLean?"
CHAPTER NINE
Blowfish cackled. "Thought that would knock ye men back onto yer conch shells!"
Some of the younger men looked confused.
But the others, the ones who looked as if they'd been around the globe a few times, exchanged glances and nudges.
Blowfish waved a hand up and down beside her as if selling her on the auction block. "Tall. Bit on the bony side. Red hair. Fair skin. Aye, she's Caitlin MacLean, all right."
"My God," Maccus said.
So they'd heard of her. She would love to know what Taran had told them, but in the end, what mattered was how she performed her post. "Thank you for assuring me of my identity."
Blowfish didn't notice her irritation. Or he didn't care. "The Cap'n runs to type, he does. Appreciates ladies of yer general stature and, shall we say, curvature."
"Does he keep them or does he sell them?" she snapped.
Blowfish exchanged a glance with Quicksilver. Quicksilver shook his head, and Blowfish said, "The Cap'n's all fer trading goods. He don't keep anything if he can help it."
"Then he hasn't changed a bit." She vigorously polished her fork on her handkerchief. "A good reason to shoot him. I'm surprised to hear I'm the first woman to do so."
"Not the first to try, but definitely the first to succeed," Quicksilver assured her.
She tasted the egg. Surprisingly, it was good. She took a bite of golden-brown biscuit. The crust was flaky, and from the inside steam roiled up like froth from a crashing wave. The bacon was crisp, not burned, and the potato patties contained a hint of parsley. She looked up, amazement plain on her face, and the men burst into laughter.
"Why do ye think we stay here when we're in port?" Blowfish asked. "Cleary cooks like a dream, and after a long sea voyage, all we asks of life is a pat of butter an' a frothy pint of ale."
Cate considered them skeptically. "Is that all you ask?"
"That's all we can tell you , ma'am." Lilbit spoke with an odd accent. "The Cap'n says we're not supposed to talk about whores in mixed company."
Dead Bob
Dead Bob's expression was once again deadpan. "That's why it's funny."
When she had filled her pockets, Blowfish began introductions again. "This is Plum, this is Italy, this is Dove …"
Dove was the black man. He spoke in a soft, oddly accented voice, his fingers fluttering as he spoke.
And so it went, down the line until she'd been introduced to every one of the sailors. At the top of the table, she looked them over again. "Don't any of you use your real names?"
Shoulders shrugged up and down like a wave.
"A bad notion when ye're a pirate," Blowfish explained. "Me mum would be mortified."
"Your mum," Cate said faintly. He was worried about his mother's opinion. As foul pirates went, these lads were failures.
Blowfish shoved Italy off his stool, then with a bow indicated Cate should seat herself there. "Lilbit, grab the lady a plate an' some rations from Mr. Cleary in the kitchen. Shooting the Cap'n is hard work."
The men cackled again, and Cate realized that with a single gunshot, she'd won their hearts. She thanked Lilbit for the plank of food, most of which appeared edible, and dug her fork out of her reticule.
"Oo, she's prepared," Blowfish marveled.
She said, "I like my dinnerware clean."
"Here in Cleary's Pub, 'tis spittin' clean." Blowfish spit on the floor in lieu of demonstration, placed his foot on the edge of her stool and leaned his arm on his thigh. "We've told ye our names." He grinned as if he knew a huge joke. "So, li'l lady, introduce yourself to the men."
"I'm not little." With her elbow, she knocked his leg off the stool.
The pirates roared with laughter.
She waited until the commotion had died down and Blowfish had stopped faking distress. "I'm Cate MacLean."
All merriment stopped. All heads turned. All eyes stared — at Cate.
"What?" she asked.
"Cate? Caitlin?" Maccus spoke at last. "Ye're Caitlin MacLean?"
CHAPTER NINE
Blowfish cackled. "Thought that would knock ye men back onto yer conch shells!"
Some of the younger men looked confused.
But the others, the ones who looked as if they'd been around the globe a few times, exchanged glances and nudges.
Blowfish waved a hand up and down beside her as if selling her on the auction block. "Tall. Bit on the bony side. Red hair. Fair skin. Aye, she's Caitlin MacLean, all right."
"My God," Maccus said.
So they'd heard of her. She would love to know what Taran had told them, but in the end, what mattered was how she performed her post. "Thank you for assuring me of my identity."
Blowfish didn't notice her irritation. Or he didn't care. "The Cap'n runs to type, he does. Appreciates ladies of yer general stature and, shall we say, curvature."
"Does he keep them or does he sell them?" she snapped.
Blowfish exchanged a glance with Quicksilver. Quicksilver shook his head, and Blowfish said, "The Cap'n's all fer trading goods. He don't keep anything if he can help it."
"Then he hasn't changed a bit." She vigorously polished her fork on her handkerchief. "A good reason to shoot him. I'm surprised to hear I'm the first woman to do so."
"Not the first to try, but definitely the first to succeed," Quicksilver assured her.
She tasted the egg. Surprisingly, it was good. She took a bite of golden-brown biscuit. The crust was flaky, and from the inside steam roiled up like froth from a crashing wave. The bacon was crisp, not burned, and the potato patties contained a hint of parsley. She looked up, amazement plain on her face, and the men burst into laughter.
"Why do ye think we stay here when we're in port?" Blowfish asked. "Cleary cooks like a dream, and after a long sea voyage, all we asks of life is a pat of butter an' a frothy pint of ale."
Cate considered them skeptically. "Is that all you ask?"
"That's all we can tell you , ma'am." Lilbit spoke with an odd accent. "The Cap'n says we're not supposed to talk about whores in mixed company."
Dead Bob
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