Chapter Three
The crashing noises echoing through the Revenge’s crew quarters brought Ian instantly alert. Not that he’d been in the hammock long, only about ten minutes, but he’d been so tired he quickly fell into that hovering state between sleep and wakefulness. He heard no screams, only a feminine voice—to his knowledge, the only female voice aboard his vessel—raised in anger. Sarah shouted threats of smashing some poor creature’s head in and feeding it to the fishes.
“By Christ’s blood, I swear I will—” a crash, more thumping, and muffled words, “—then toss your tiny arse out—” more unintelligible words, the likes of which he could only imagine, then, “—the sharks, you little rat.”
Ian threw his legs over the side of the hammock and jammed his feet into his boots. Perhaps she neede
