Read Online Mistress of the Stone by Maria Zannini - Free Book Online
Authors: Maria Zannini
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cloth.
Long minutes went by and the crew remained silent, waiting for the bird to realize its passing. When it finally stilled, Paqua pierced it below its breast bone and opened it up. Out spilled its entrails like dusky pearls bathed in slime. Paqua dug them out and scattered them onto the wide cloth.
He poked at the gizzard and then the intestine, wispy tendrils of steam rising from the tiny organs. He held its bloodied heart, and studied it for imperfections. Finally, he examined the liver and rubbed his fingers against the slick surface. It was mottled with purple spots and the bile sac had been torn. He lifted two fingers painted with the dark green smear of malodorous bile.
Paqua fell back on his haunches, his shoulders slumped in submission, while empty eyes looked beyond the mortal world. His lips moved, but no sound came out. Those words were for the spirits alone.
When he stood, he grappled to his feet as if he’d aged a hundred years. “Quartermaster,” he said with melancholy. “Your hen gave her life for a good cause. We have our answers now. Make ready to sail.” He glanced at Luísa, his brow more crinkled than before, a look of grim resolve. “The Mistress will give you your heading.”
Chapter Five
Luísa could only give the sailing master vague directions. They would need Paqua’s guidance once they got closer to the Dragon .
There were still several days’ sail ahead of them with little to do. She’d keep the men busy with repairs and cannon drills, but for her, the days would feel like months.
Paqua still wanted to throw Daltry overboard and part of her wanted to agree, but every time she looked into the Inglés’s amber eyes, she felt her resolve melt. The devil had cast a spell on her, and though she tried to stay away, she kept finding reasons to climb down to the bowels of the ship to check on her prisoner.
She never spoke, and she stayed out of lantern light, letting her eyes adjust to the dark and to the man who haunted her every waking moment.
Daltry looked at her once then turned away in disinterest.
The cad!
His hard lean body rocked to the sway of ship. Long dark hair, once bound, hung loosely, titillating her in ways she couldn’t comprehend. Madonna forgive her. She was beginning to know the full meaning of lust.
How dare he not acknowledge her? Men were always noticing her, sometimes to their misfortune if any of the crew caught them in the act. Papa had made it clear that Luísa was to remain chaste. It was up to every man onboard to defend her virtue—even when she didn’t want it defended so rigorously. What was wrong with a few appreciative glances?
Luísa bolted from the hold and cursed her way back to her quarters.
Blast that man and his demon ways. Why did he vex her so?
She kicked a chest, then winced, realizing too late her toe was the only thing punished here. Served her right for kicking solid oak. The devil, it smarted. She sank to the floor, and pulled off her boot so she could rub her poor foot.
Her gaze shifted to the trunk in front of her.
English like Daltry. Peonies and ivy. Ribbons and finches. And wood as hard as… A woman could easily find her desires tied up in both.
The trunk had been liberated from an earlier siege, and strategically left off the booty manifest. It was wrong and she knew it. Pirates shared their plunder. It was law. But she couldn’t bear to see these lovelies sorted and sold for mere coin.
This trousseau was her escape from salty air and sweaty men. She coveted its belongings whenever she was feeling particularly unappreciated. Like now.
She opened it, then pulled out a silk dressing gown, pressing the cool, silky fabric against her cheek. These were fragile things. Woman things. Wicked pretties that filled men’s heads with lust. The ends of her mouth tilted up as she fondled her plunder. Ivory fans and silk handkerchiefs. Diaphanous chemises and lacy skirts. What man, she wondered, relieved the original owner of
Long minutes went by and the crew remained silent, waiting for the bird to realize its passing. When it finally stilled, Paqua pierced it below its breast bone and opened it up. Out spilled its entrails like dusky pearls bathed in slime. Paqua dug them out and scattered them onto the wide cloth.
He poked at the gizzard and then the intestine, wispy tendrils of steam rising from the tiny organs. He held its bloodied heart, and studied it for imperfections. Finally, he examined the liver and rubbed his fingers against the slick surface. It was mottled with purple spots and the bile sac had been torn. He lifted two fingers painted with the dark green smear of malodorous bile.
Paqua fell back on his haunches, his shoulders slumped in submission, while empty eyes looked beyond the mortal world. His lips moved, but no sound came out. Those words were for the spirits alone.
When he stood, he grappled to his feet as if he’d aged a hundred years. “Quartermaster,” he said with melancholy. “Your hen gave her life for a good cause. We have our answers now. Make ready to sail.” He glanced at Luísa, his brow more crinkled than before, a look of grim resolve. “The Mistress will give you your heading.”
Chapter Five
Luísa could only give the sailing master vague directions. They would need Paqua’s guidance once they got closer to the Dragon .
There were still several days’ sail ahead of them with little to do. She’d keep the men busy with repairs and cannon drills, but for her, the days would feel like months.
Paqua still wanted to throw Daltry overboard and part of her wanted to agree, but every time she looked into the Inglés’s amber eyes, she felt her resolve melt. The devil had cast a spell on her, and though she tried to stay away, she kept finding reasons to climb down to the bowels of the ship to check on her prisoner.
She never spoke, and she stayed out of lantern light, letting her eyes adjust to the dark and to the man who haunted her every waking moment.
Daltry looked at her once then turned away in disinterest.
The cad!
His hard lean body rocked to the sway of ship. Long dark hair, once bound, hung loosely, titillating her in ways she couldn’t comprehend. Madonna forgive her. She was beginning to know the full meaning of lust.
How dare he not acknowledge her? Men were always noticing her, sometimes to their misfortune if any of the crew caught them in the act. Papa had made it clear that Luísa was to remain chaste. It was up to every man onboard to defend her virtue—even when she didn’t want it defended so rigorously. What was wrong with a few appreciative glances?
Luísa bolted from the hold and cursed her way back to her quarters.
Blast that man and his demon ways. Why did he vex her so?
She kicked a chest, then winced, realizing too late her toe was the only thing punished here. Served her right for kicking solid oak. The devil, it smarted. She sank to the floor, and pulled off her boot so she could rub her poor foot.
Her gaze shifted to the trunk in front of her.
English like Daltry. Peonies and ivy. Ribbons and finches. And wood as hard as… A woman could easily find her desires tied up in both.
The trunk had been liberated from an earlier siege, and strategically left off the booty manifest. It was wrong and she knew it. Pirates shared their plunder. It was law. But she couldn’t bear to see these lovelies sorted and sold for mere coin.
This trousseau was her escape from salty air and sweaty men. She coveted its belongings whenever she was feeling particularly unappreciated. Like now.
She opened it, then pulled out a silk dressing gown, pressing the cool, silky fabric against her cheek. These were fragile things. Woman things. Wicked pretties that filled men’s heads with lust. The ends of her mouth tilted up as she fondled her plunder. Ivory fans and silk handkerchiefs. Diaphanous chemises and lacy skirts. What man, she wondered, relieved the original owner of
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