Lady-Ceridwen

Wendy leaned back, her head resting against the velvet cushions of a maroon chaise longue. She shifted, trying to get comfortable. The couch she'd been sleeping on was small and firm, and after a long day in the hot sun, her body sore from pulling ropes, she longed for the soft, cool embrace of her bed. But that was thousands of miles away, perhaps further, waiting in London for an owner that might never return. Once again, Wendy wondered if a hammock in the barracks might be more comfortable, but fear and reason quickly pushed the thought aside. The crew of the Jolly Roger respected her boundaries during working hours, when their Captain's piercing eyes were always watching, his hook ready to claw any man who stepped out of line. At night, however, after a few cups of grog and in the darkness of close quarters... well, Wendy didn't want to chance it. A tightness in her lower back made her sit up. Setting her book aside, Wendy sighed and fluffed her pillow -perhaps a little too