Her Master and Commander Read Online Free PDF

the rigging, smell the pitch and tar of a newly scrubbed deck. Reflexively, Tristan rolled back on his heels—
    A red-hot pain lanced through his leg. “Bloody damn!”
    “Cap’n!” First Mate Stevens grasped Tristan’s arm.
    Tristan shook off the first mate. “Blast you to hell, Stevens! I don’t need a nursemaid.”
    “I know, Cap’n. I just didn’t want ye tossed overboard like an empty barrel. ’Tis a far drop off’n this cliff.”
    Teeth clenched, Tristan lowered his foot back to the ground, leaning heavily on his cane as he did so. “I am not in any danger of falling off the cliff, you blasted ass. I may not be able to keep my crippled foot solidly on the deck of a seaworthy ship, but I damned well can navigate dry land by myself.”
    Silence met this outburst. Tristan knew without looking that his one-time first mate’s face would be as long as the sea was wide. Damn it, he hadn’t meant to wound the man’s feelings. He silently cursed his uneven temper; every little incident was a burning swab to a primed cannon.
    “Sorry to disturb ye, Cap’n,” Stevens said in a miserable voice. “I didn’t mean to—”
    “You didn’t,” Tristan said abruptly, willing the pain in his leg to subside. “’Tis me and naught else. I’ve a bit of a temper. This weather—” He pressed a hand to his thigh.
    Stevens nodded. “Indeed, Cap’n! Master Gunner Thurwell was sayin’ his arm was painin’ him jus’ this mornin’.”
    “Thurwell spends a lot of time complaining of his injured arm even though the doctor found nothing amiss.”
    “So I’ve noticed.” Stevens looked out over the ocean, his face easing a bit at the sight of the swells. He sniffed the air. “A nor’wester is comin’.”
    “Aye. A fierce one unless I miss my guess.” Tristan looked down at the small man and gave him a twisted smile. “I miss the sea on days like these. She’d have roiled beneath us and given us a merry ride.”
    “Aye, so she would have, Cap’n,” Stevens said wistfully. “The men and I don’t feel the same as we used to, back when we were sailors.” Stevens leaned against the tree and tugged a bit on the knit hat that covered his wispy white hair, a sad look in his eyes. “I never knew how much stock I took in bein’ a first mate until it was gone. One day ye’re a sailor, the next day”—he spread his hands, a faint shake visible in his callused fingers—“ye’re nothing. Nothing at all, it don’t feel like.”
    Tristan clenched his jaw. Something happened to a man once he was forced from the sea and left to hobble about land like a commoner. It left one feeling empty. Useless. Like flotsam tossed upon the shore and left to rot. Which was why he never slept. Or rarely, anymore. He knew with an odd certainty that he was going to die wrapped in loneliness.
    The only place he felt at peace was here, on this ledge, the wind and spray buffeting his body. If he closed his eyes and let the feel and sound carry him away, he could almost pretend he was back at sea.
    His leg twinged when he accidentally put his weight on it. For a moment, he welcomed the familiar ache. It filled the emptiness of his soul, pulled his thoughts from the hollow days that spread ahead of him.
    “Lor’ Cap’n!” Stevens exclaimed. “Batten the hatches. There’s a Lady O’ War headed this way and she looks ready to fire in our direction.”
    Tristan looked in the direction of Stevens’s stare. There, marching down the ragged path that led into the garden, was a familiar figure. Smallish in size, shorter by a head than even Stevens, was a woman. She marched along without even looking at the path before her, attesting to the number of times she’d made the trip.
    She reached the garden gate, flicked the latch to one side, entered the garden, and shut the gate smartly behind her. The wind tickled the bottom of her blue cloak, swirling it about her booted ankles and tugging at her tightly pulled hair.
    Tristan glanced at