Mistress of the Stone Read Online Free PDF Page A

backed out of the captain’s quarters as quickly as they could.
    Daltry’s shirt and trousers were soaked with sweat and blood. Luísa stripped them off his body just before Paqua barreled into her room.
    “ Sinvergüenza ! Are you mad?”
    “Not now, viejo .”
    “Luísa, you can’t have a man in your room.” His eyes widened when he noticed Daltry in his skivvies. “Especially a naked man!”
    “Aye, and do you think I’ve never seen a naked man? I am stranded on a ship full of muscle and spit. We need this pirate-hunter alive.”
    “What will the crew say?”
    She soaked a rag in the pail of warm gray water and rung it out. “They’ll say Luísa Tavares did what was necessary to find the capitán of the Coral .” She wiped the sweat from Daltry’s face. “Blast you, Paqua. It’s not as if he’ll be sleeping between my sheets. If we’re lucky, he might live long enough to tell us what we need to know before he goes to the devil.”
    Paqua glowered in disapproval. “It is shameful.”
    “As shameful as having one woman on a ship full of men with stiff breeches?”
    “They’d never touch you. You know that.”
    “Neither will this one.” She patted the pistol tucked under her belt. “Have a little faith.”
    “Dagh! Get him conscious. As soon as he can be moved, I want him out of here. Understood?” He turned to walk out then stopped and tossed her a small black book that she caught in midair. “His,” he said as his only explanation. “You might find its contents interesting. Perhaps that will convince you to throw him over the rail now.”
    Luísa ignored the book, knowing the poor bastard in the hammock faded to oblivion. Daltry had sweat enough to fill an ocean, and the fever had worsened.
    There was no choice. She had to strip him down to bare skin.
    She shot a look to either side of her, then tiptoed to the door to have a listen. If Paqua thought having a man in her room was shameful, she hated to think what he’d do if he knew she stripped the bastard naked. It was best if he didn’t know—on both their accounts.
    She walked back to the Inglés , the hammock swinging gently on the steady roll of the Coral . He was handsome even if he was half dead. His skin had paled, but underneath its pallor were the undertones of golden flesh, not ruddy or sunburnt like most of the Inglés she’d met, and a thick mane of dark hair that tied in the back. His nose was straight and slender, but his lips were full. Madre de Dios , they were full. The soft stubble of day-old whiskers framed his face.
    Her fingertips brushed his stubbly cheek ever so lightly and then flinched back. Was she mad? What possessed her to touch him like that?
    Luísa swallowed hard before summoning the courage to tug off his drawers. She tried not to look down while she worked, but wicked curiosity got the better of her and she snuck a peek. He was as naked as the day he was born and her hands were all over him. She stumbled back, and realizing his skivvies were in her possession, flung them to the floor like purloined goods.
    She’d had plenty of opportunity to see a naked man here or there, but none of them looked like this one. Her mouth went dry as her gaze traveled up his long muscular thighs and a belly so hard you could bounce a gold doubloon off it. More was the pity of his death.
    She reached for a small leather bag that hung around his neck. Coin, she thought at first, but no, it felt light. She opened the pouch and poured out the dried remains of pale purple flowers into the palm of her hand.
    Wolfsbane? She’d heard of people wearing powerful herbs as protection against demons, but this herb had been dried and crumbled, as if to use in snuff or chew.
    Luísa funneled the papery skins of dried wolfsbane back into the pouch and tossed the satchel onto a nearby table.
    The Persephone’s first mate claimed his captain had been shot in the back, but McLeod reported he found the wound nearly healed. Indeed, she had to