Untamed Hearts (A Highland Hearts Novella) (Entangled Edge) by Heather McCollum Page B

a discarded stick. He drew a rough rendition of a boar. “Do you happen to have apricots this far north?”
    “Nay,” Donald answered.
    Will shrugged. “Maybe Cook has some apples I can use.”
    “Whatever makes ye think to use fruit with meat?” Ann asked.
    Will smiled at the young woman. “I like to play with foods, mix them into interesting combinations. A bored crew leads to trouble. I make certain they aren’t bored.”
    “Yer captain must be having a hard time while ye’re away,” Jonet said and grabbed a stick herself.
    “Well now, Captain Bart can handle his men, he did so before he found me. I just make myself useful.”
    “He found ye?” Jonet asked. Will noticed the avid attention from the other two as well.
    “Aye, in the hull of a slave ship headed to Asia. He was saving the children on board. I was one of them.”
    “Do ye remember yer life before that?” Jonet asked.
    Did he? He’d always blocked it out. He shook his head. “Not much.” He looked directly at Jonet. “Just a hazy feeling of being ignored.”
    He didn’t look down, even though the feeling would have pushed him that way. Aye, he knew that feeling of being ignored, but for him, it was better than being under the cruel eye of a slave trader or harsh master. What did it mean for Jonet?
    Charissa plopped into his lap. The boar’s tail was brought out to roast over the fire, and Will gave pieces to all the children, much to their delight. The day gave way to night as they ate and chatted. The children ran in a game of tag, and a light session of gameball got the kinks out of Will’s legs from riding.
    He watched Jonet and Ann walk back in through the bailey gate, having taken the children safely to their temporary beds in the village. As the evening wore on, more whisky flowed, and the jokes became bawdier. Will relaxed by the fire while watching Jonet out of his periphery near the castle steps. She laughed with Ann, who handed her a flask. So, the woman imbibed a bit. Maybe the whisky would loosen her tongue. He saw her look his way, and he met her gaze with a smile and nod.
    Jonet took the flask and walked over, sitting on the bench beside him but not touching.
    “The children in their beds?” he asked casually.
    “Tucked in tight and tired.”
    “Are you tired?” he asked, not sure where he should try to take the conversation. Confound it. His stomach was tight like a nervous lad’s.
    She shook her head. “Would ye like a sip? ’Tis good Scot’s whisky.”
    His finger brushed hers as he took the offering. The fire slid easily down his throat. “Oooh, ’tis good.”
    “Be careful, ’tis potent stuff,” she warned.
    His eyebrows rose. “I’ll do that.” Though he doubted any sip of spirits could affect him much. Drinking was a regular competition with the crew. He could certainly hold his liquor.
    “So what do ye do on that ship to pass the time? Ye mentioned cooking strange concoctions, and ye play the drums and, of course, keep the ship working.”
    “There’s always something to do,” he said and crossed his legs at the ankles before the fire. He glanced at her and grinned. “We have contests.”
    “Contests?”
    “Aye, drinking, throwing the dagger, dancing, even poetry.”
    She laughed. “I can’t see a bunch of pirates sitting on deck reciting poetry.”
    He chuckled with her. “Well now, ’tis not the type of poetry ye would hear in a gentlewoman’s parlor.”
    “Oh?” She took another sip of the whisky, her little mouth closing on the swallow. “What type of poetry do pirates recite?”
    “The scandalous kind,” he whispered against her ear.
    She turned to him. “Give me an example.” She raised one eyebrow as if daring him.
    He grinned up at the stars overhead, his mind quickly fastening on a rhyme. “The competition lies in coming up with something that makes sense, rhymes, and is terribly shocking.”
    She snapped her fingers a couple times. “Very well, let’s see ye come up