Read Online Sparhawk's Angel by MIRANDA JARRETT - Free Book Online
Authors: MIRANDA JARRETT
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with an evenness that made the back of his neck prickle. "I'll forgive you whatever sins you please. As long, of course, as you're willing to forgive mine in return."
Gathering her skirts in one hand she headed toward the companionway after the two sailors carrying her trunk, her back straight and her head held as high as if the
Angel Lily
still belonged to her father. With one last muttered oath for all infernal British women with flower names, Nick turned on his heel and stalked across the deck in the opposite direction.
He'd been fighting the British already for three long, hard years. So why, then, did it feel as if the war had just begun?
Chapter Four
« ^ »
"A ye, miss, this be your cabin." Hobb thumped the massive trunk down on the deck and slid it through the doorway. "Mr. Cole cleared out so's you could have a space all to yourself."
"That was very kind of Mr. Cole," said Rose faintly as she peered past Hobb's broad shoulder at her new quarters. "I must be sure to thank him "
Hobb shook his head vigorously. "Oh, nay, miss, 'tweren't Mr. Cole's notion. 'Twas the cap'n's orders that you have a cabin of your own, on account of you being a lady an' Sir Edmund's daughter an' all. It's the cap'n you should be thanking."
"Indeed." To Rose's mind,
cabin
seemed far too grand a word to describe this tiny, murky closet of a space, tucked in tight against the curved side of the ship. Built along one bulkhead was a bunk with a wool-stuffed mattress and a mottled looking glass beneath a single shelf, and that, it seemed, was the extent of the accommodations. The space was so small that with her trunk on the deck she had perhaps eight inches clear between it and the edge of the bunk. Longingly she remembered her cabin on board the
Commerce
, with a chair and a writing table and more than enough space for both Phoebe and her to turn around.
"Aye, miss, 'twas the cap'n's doing, no mistake." Hobb reached up to light the single oil lamp, a small brass lantern that swung from gimbals fastened to the bulkhead. He rested his hands on the wide belt at his waist, in no hurry to leave. "He's a good man, is the cap'n, an' a sight better mariner than that sorry rascal Fotherill, though I 'spect your father don't want to hear it."
"You're English, then?" asked Rose in disbelief.
Hobb nodded. "As English as any man, I 'spect."
"You signed on to sail on behalf of my father, and then when these rebel pirates killed Captain Fotherill, you joined them instead? You're a traitor, that's what you are, a traitor and a turncoat!"
"Aye, miss, and what of it?" Hobb shrugged carelessly. "What the king an' his fine, fancy ministers decide don't mean much to me, miss. The way I sees it, this war's no different from that of Cromwell's time, with Englishmen fighting with Englishmen, an' me, well now, I'll throw my lot with him that treats me best. An' that be Cap'n Sparhawk."
"Captain Sparhawk, Captain Sparhawk!" cried Rose irritably. "I am sick unto
death
of Captain Sparhawk!"
Hobb looked at her with surprise, clearly amazed that she didn't share his admiration. "He's a good master, miss," he said staunchly. "He has his share of temper, and he goes daft sometimes, but he's a good master, no mistake."
"Then I vow I must be the most mistaken woman in creation, for I can see none of the man's merits at all." Rose pressed her fingers to her temples. "Now if you will please leave me, I rather wish to be alone."
"Very well, miss." Hobb tugged at the front of his shapeless knitted cap and slammed shut the door with a rattling force, latching it from without.
With a sigh, Rose perched on the edge of the bunk and lifted the lid of her trunk. She'd been careless not to lock it, but on board the
Commerce
such precautions hadn't seemed necessary. One look at the trunk's contents now, though, showed her the price she'd paid for her trust. Everything from her other cabin had been thrown and squeezed into this single trunk, shoes on top of
Gathering her skirts in one hand she headed toward the companionway after the two sailors carrying her trunk, her back straight and her head held as high as if the
Angel Lily
still belonged to her father. With one last muttered oath for all infernal British women with flower names, Nick turned on his heel and stalked across the deck in the opposite direction.
He'd been fighting the British already for three long, hard years. So why, then, did it feel as if the war had just begun?
Chapter Four
« ^ »
"A ye, miss, this be your cabin." Hobb thumped the massive trunk down on the deck and slid it through the doorway. "Mr. Cole cleared out so's you could have a space all to yourself."
"That was very kind of Mr. Cole," said Rose faintly as she peered past Hobb's broad shoulder at her new quarters. "I must be sure to thank him "
Hobb shook his head vigorously. "Oh, nay, miss, 'tweren't Mr. Cole's notion. 'Twas the cap'n's orders that you have a cabin of your own, on account of you being a lady an' Sir Edmund's daughter an' all. It's the cap'n you should be thanking."
"Indeed." To Rose's mind,
cabin
seemed far too grand a word to describe this tiny, murky closet of a space, tucked in tight against the curved side of the ship. Built along one bulkhead was a bunk with a wool-stuffed mattress and a mottled looking glass beneath a single shelf, and that, it seemed, was the extent of the accommodations. The space was so small that with her trunk on the deck she had perhaps eight inches clear between it and the edge of the bunk. Longingly she remembered her cabin on board the
Commerce
, with a chair and a writing table and more than enough space for both Phoebe and her to turn around.
"Aye, miss, 'twas the cap'n's doing, no mistake." Hobb reached up to light the single oil lamp, a small brass lantern that swung from gimbals fastened to the bulkhead. He rested his hands on the wide belt at his waist, in no hurry to leave. "He's a good man, is the cap'n, an' a sight better mariner than that sorry rascal Fotherill, though I 'spect your father don't want to hear it."
"You're English, then?" asked Rose in disbelief.
Hobb nodded. "As English as any man, I 'spect."
"You signed on to sail on behalf of my father, and then when these rebel pirates killed Captain Fotherill, you joined them instead? You're a traitor, that's what you are, a traitor and a turncoat!"
"Aye, miss, and what of it?" Hobb shrugged carelessly. "What the king an' his fine, fancy ministers decide don't mean much to me, miss. The way I sees it, this war's no different from that of Cromwell's time, with Englishmen fighting with Englishmen, an' me, well now, I'll throw my lot with him that treats me best. An' that be Cap'n Sparhawk."
"Captain Sparhawk, Captain Sparhawk!" cried Rose irritably. "I am sick unto
death
of Captain Sparhawk!"
Hobb looked at her with surprise, clearly amazed that she didn't share his admiration. "He's a good master, miss," he said staunchly. "He has his share of temper, and he goes daft sometimes, but he's a good master, no mistake."
"Then I vow I must be the most mistaken woman in creation, for I can see none of the man's merits at all." Rose pressed her fingers to her temples. "Now if you will please leave me, I rather wish to be alone."
"Very well, miss." Hobb tugged at the front of his shapeless knitted cap and slammed shut the door with a rattling force, latching it from without.
With a sigh, Rose perched on the edge of the bunk and lifted the lid of her trunk. She'd been careless not to lock it, but on board the
Commerce
such precautions hadn't seemed necessary. One look at the trunk's contents now, though, showed her the price she'd paid for her trust. Everything from her other cabin had been thrown and squeezed into this single trunk, shoes on top of
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