Read Online The Devil's Fire by Matt Tomerlin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Matt Tomerlin
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absent water, and it gave them a worthy excuse to glug spirits all the more recklessly.
However, Griffith was growing weary of stale biscuits and tough jerky. He would have given anything for the tender meat of a Caribbean turtle or a stout mug of ale. He didn’t particularly care for the dryness of white meat, but even a hearty breast of chicken would suffice right about now.
It was twilight by the time Griffith found Livingston fastening a cannon that had come loose on one end. It was not unlike the quartermaster to attend to lesser duties on his own, to make certain they were done proper. Griffith informed him of the ship's pressing need for provisions. Livingston indicated that he would pass the information to the crew on the morrow.
Griffith took his leave and wondered what more he might find to do. It had been a productive day. The work had kept his mind off of Katherine Lindsay. She had tried to kill him, nearly succeeding where the most dangerous of men had failed. For the first time in his life, Griffith was afraid. Of all the dangers in the ocean, he was afraid of a girl.
Before releasing her from the mainmast, he had removed all potential weapons from his cabin, leaving nothing for her to wield against him, though he seriously doubted she would have any strength left to try anything. And there was still a chance that she would die of her injuries.
So why was he apprehensive?
The silence of the crew,
he realized. It was unnerving. Was his fear plain for all of them to see? How well did he conceal it? How long could he stay out here in the cold, with their eyes fixed on him? Perhaps Livingston was right. Perhaps he should have killed her. Perhaps he should have saved himself the trouble and just left her at the mainmast to die.
The very thought twisted his stomach in knots. He would have left a man to such a fate without a moment’s hesitation or subsequent regret, and he had done so many times before, for lesser crimes than Katherine Lindsay’s attempt on his life. Why was this so difficult?
He realized, suddenly, that he had never taken the life of a woman. This should have been obvious, but it was something he hadn’t been required to consider until now. Men went to sea knowing the dangers inherent, and left their women on land where they belonged, sparing them a plethora of dangers. If a man died at sea, Griffith saw no tragedy in it, for he knew the risks when he set out.
A woman did not belong out here.
It was Thomas Lindsay who brought her to sea,
he reminded himself.
The fool should never have taken his wife to sea in the first place. The blame is his, and it died with him. All that remains is the frightened, wounded creature in your cabin.
He entered the cabin with a pewter plate of jerky and hardtack in one hand and a cutlass in the other. Neither was necessary.
The girl was fast asleep, breathing heavily through a gaping mouth, her body twisted strangely with one arm behind her back, the other spread out across the bed, and a bent leg crossed over a straight leg. The dress she had worn since her capture was as ragged a mess as her hair. Her skin was an angry shade of red and her lips were blistered. The hollows around her eyes were black, reminding Griffith of the dying men he had visited earlier in the day. She was a faint shadow of the beauty he had first gazed on.
He kneeled beside her and watched her stomach rise and fall. Her eyes vacillated beneath twitching lids. He set the plate on the bedside table and crossed the cabin to his desk, where he fell into the chair and leaned back. He put his heels on his desk, crossing one leg over the other, and stretched his arms, interlocking his fingers behind his head.
He fell asleep before he could appreciate how exhausting the day had been. The day's exertions carried into his dreams. He dreamed that he was still toiling with the crew, studying charts, and discussing provisions.
It seemed that he dreamt for several hours before he awoke
However, Griffith was growing weary of stale biscuits and tough jerky. He would have given anything for the tender meat of a Caribbean turtle or a stout mug of ale. He didn’t particularly care for the dryness of white meat, but even a hearty breast of chicken would suffice right about now.
It was twilight by the time Griffith found Livingston fastening a cannon that had come loose on one end. It was not unlike the quartermaster to attend to lesser duties on his own, to make certain they were done proper. Griffith informed him of the ship's pressing need for provisions. Livingston indicated that he would pass the information to the crew on the morrow.
Griffith took his leave and wondered what more he might find to do. It had been a productive day. The work had kept his mind off of Katherine Lindsay. She had tried to kill him, nearly succeeding where the most dangerous of men had failed. For the first time in his life, Griffith was afraid. Of all the dangers in the ocean, he was afraid of a girl.
Before releasing her from the mainmast, he had removed all potential weapons from his cabin, leaving nothing for her to wield against him, though he seriously doubted she would have any strength left to try anything. And there was still a chance that she would die of her injuries.
So why was he apprehensive?
The silence of the crew,
he realized. It was unnerving. Was his fear plain for all of them to see? How well did he conceal it? How long could he stay out here in the cold, with their eyes fixed on him? Perhaps Livingston was right. Perhaps he should have killed her. Perhaps he should have saved himself the trouble and just left her at the mainmast to die.
The very thought twisted his stomach in knots. He would have left a man to such a fate without a moment’s hesitation or subsequent regret, and he had done so many times before, for lesser crimes than Katherine Lindsay’s attempt on his life. Why was this so difficult?
He realized, suddenly, that he had never taken the life of a woman. This should have been obvious, but it was something he hadn’t been required to consider until now. Men went to sea knowing the dangers inherent, and left their women on land where they belonged, sparing them a plethora of dangers. If a man died at sea, Griffith saw no tragedy in it, for he knew the risks when he set out.
A woman did not belong out here.
It was Thomas Lindsay who brought her to sea,
he reminded himself.
The fool should never have taken his wife to sea in the first place. The blame is his, and it died with him. All that remains is the frightened, wounded creature in your cabin.
He entered the cabin with a pewter plate of jerky and hardtack in one hand and a cutlass in the other. Neither was necessary.
The girl was fast asleep, breathing heavily through a gaping mouth, her body twisted strangely with one arm behind her back, the other spread out across the bed, and a bent leg crossed over a straight leg. The dress she had worn since her capture was as ragged a mess as her hair. Her skin was an angry shade of red and her lips were blistered. The hollows around her eyes were black, reminding Griffith of the dying men he had visited earlier in the day. She was a faint shadow of the beauty he had first gazed on.
He kneeled beside her and watched her stomach rise and fall. Her eyes vacillated beneath twitching lids. He set the plate on the bedside table and crossed the cabin to his desk, where he fell into the chair and leaned back. He put his heels on his desk, crossing one leg over the other, and stretched his arms, interlocking his fingers behind his head.
He fell asleep before he could appreciate how exhausting the day had been. The day's exertions carried into his dreams. He dreamed that he was still toiling with the crew, studying charts, and discussing provisions.
It seemed that he dreamt for several hours before he awoke
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