The Irish Bride by Alexis Harrington

yardarm.”
    “ Ye’re a workin’ man. I’ve
seen you laboring on all kinds of jobs. You know what it’s like to
be hungry, I’d warrant.”
    “ The problem is that if I
give you extra now, we’ll run short of provisions before we make
port.” He met Aidan’s gaze briefly. “We usually do anyway. There’s
barely enough—barely, mind—for a voyage that he thinks will last a
certain number of weeks. But he’s not very good at planning—the
trips always outlast the food.”
    “ It doesn’t sound like a
mistake to my ears. We were promised there’d be meals for every day
we’re aboard.”
    Morton shifted uncomfortably in his
chair. “Could you persuade those with more to contribute a
bit?”
    Aidan lowered his brows for a moment,
then shrugged. “Aye, I’ll ask. It’s as we’ve always done—protected
our own from those who would starve us.”
    Color rose in the younger man’s face
and Aidan knew he’d unintentionally struck a nerve. Morton might
have seen the world, though perhaps not into the dark hearts of
evil men. But it wasn’t his fault he worked for a knave. Aidan
released him from a riveting stare.
    “ Would ye win some of this
back before you stand watch again?” he asked, gesturing at the
money before him.
    The second mate chuckled, obviously
relieved for the change of subject, and shook his head. “I tell
you, I’ve got nothing left to wager.”
    Aidan glanced around the tiny cabin,
with its neat bunk, round window, wall mirror and lamp. It might
not be grand to some, he supposed, but compared to the hold, it
seemed most luxurious. To be able to sleep with his wife, out of
the weather and away from the living hell that steerage had become,
was a great incentive indeed.
    Aidan smiled too. “Ah, but I think you
do.”

    CHAPTER SIX

    Farrell was busy plucking two chickens
for the officers’ dinner when she heard her name. She didn’t need
eyes to know who was at the galley door. But when she looked up,
her heart lightened to see Aidan standing there, grinning as if he
knew the answer to one of the brain-wrenching riddles his father
used to pose beside the peat fire. He’d charm the birds straight
from the trees with his handsomeness, she thought with some irony.
That he affected her the same way worried her.
    “ And what would you be
looking so pleased about?” she asked, dragging her forearm across
her brow. The cookstove put out a lot of heat and the close
confines of the galley were stuffy. Chicken feathers swirled like
snow and stuck to her hair and apron-front. Then she perked up a
bit. If he was that happy— “Were you able to get more whack for the sickly folk
below?”
    “ No,” he said, and his smile
faded. He ducked through the doorway and stepped into the little
space. His head cleared the overhead by only two or three inches.
He brought with him the scent of fresh salt air, and traces of
porter and someone’s pipe tobacco. Looking at the half-plucked
chicken in her blood-smeared hands, he nodded at it.
“ They aren’t doing
without, are they?” he asked, meaning the officers. “I wasn’t able
to convince Morton to give you more rations.” He related the second
mate’s explanation. “It’s sorry I am, céadsearc . He wouldn’t budge. So I
told him we’d take care of our own, just as we always
have.”
    Her hands fell still. “But how? There
is so little to go round.”
    “ Aye, well, we can give a
bit, and I’ll convince those with more to provide.”
    She looked at the chickens again.
“Maybe when I cut these up for stew, the men might not notice if a
leg or wing is missing.”
    He shoveled a hand through his dark
hair. “Aye, and how will you decide who’ll get the leg or wing,
while the rest watch? Nay, lass, that won’t do.”
    “ I could make broth,” she
proposed. Then she sighed at the futility of it. Someone would be
sure to notice an extra kettle on the stove, and even then, there
probably wouldn’t be enough to around. “I suppose