Talk Like a Pirate Day with Cherry Tucker
“Dangit." I parked my hands on my hips. The frame swung out and bumped a pirate. He bowed, sweeping his coattails behind him. "Milady. Might I interest you in a spot of rum?" "Better make it a beer." I followed him to the bar. Standing on my toes, I reached for a beer from a long, copper ice bucket. The frame smacked a wine glass, shattering it. I swung around to grab a napkin and a knocked over a glass of scotch. Giving up, I leaned my back against the bar and sighed. "I was so proud of this costume." "And who are ye? The Mona Lisa, argh?" His ruffled sleeve caught on the corner of my frame. "It's not you. Damn lace keeps dipping in my drink, too." "You could stuff them inside your coat sleeves." I helped him slide off the doublet and fingered the heavy material.
"Velvet? This is no Party Barn costume." "Thank ye, milady. Yes, it's a copy of the original dress of one of my ancestors, Henry Morgan. Was forgiven for his acts of piracy by the crown when he took Panama from the Spanish. England knighted him and made him governor of Jamaica." He pushed back the lace sleeves and I helped him slide the tight-fitting coat over it. His chin rose with his eyebrows. "A rogue and a hero. The painting's from the late seventeenth century."
"Why aren't your people still in Jamaica?"
"We got around. You ever heard of Captain Morgan's Rum?" He winked. "His great-grandnephew was a Revolutionary War hero and his descendant was the Confederacy's General John Hunt Morgan. I had this made and go as Captain Morgan every year."
"A DAR and UDC son. I understand why you're a friend of the Bear—I mean, Max Avtaikin's." I eyed the expensive costume. "By chance are you wearing a codpiece?"
He grinned. "I thought you'd never ask."
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