Page 26 of The Sea Witch
Her regard skimmed over the clean lines of the sailing master’s face, how his jaw tightened as Priestley spoke of thishe. Whoever that man was to him, the shadowhecast over his life was long, and darkened the sailing master’s path to this day.
There was something in his words, the finality that came from grief and loss. She’d known it herself when her parents had been felled by scarlet fever, leaving her to the care of indifferent relatives, when she’d learned from her marriage that the love of songs and dreams wasn’t the same as the love a husband used to fetter his wife and crush her spirit. She’d known grief, too, when her own sister had been killed by a mob.
“Iamsorry,” she said softly. “For burning your maps.”
He gave a slight frown. Still, he must’ve heard the sincerity in her voice, because he answered, “You don’t have my forgiveness, but you do have my understanding.”
They were quiet together, each taking the measure of the other. All around them were the sounds of a ship at sea: creaking timbers, waves slapping against the hull, voices of the company gossiping and telling tales as they took the late watch. She’d grown used to these noises over the past year, comforted by them, far more than the wind rattling the bare tree branches in the depths of a Massachusetts winter or the yells of men bringing their fishing boats into the dock. Those noises only heightened her loneliness, and reminded her she was powerless.
The sea was her home now. It strengthened her resolve and gave her magic life. No one would take that from her. Including this sailing master.
He held the key to finding the fail-safe, but she’d have to find some different means of learning it other than dreamwalking. Best not to meddle in magic that she’d little understanding of, power that held consequences neither she nor Stasia grasped, and so it had to be set aside.
“Sleep now.” Alys nodded toward the hammock, slightly swaying as theSea Witchrose and fell upon the waves. “However they run ships in the navy, here we start early.”
“Four bells,” he said. On land that time would be six in the morning.
Sitting on her berth, she pulled off her boots and let them fall to the planks with a thud. She undid the large buckle of her wide belt, but set her flintlock on her pillow, before pulling off her leather tunic. Her hands hesitated at the hem of her linen shirt.
“Funny,” she said softly.
“This scenario is about as far from amusing as we are from Shanghai.” He’d clambered into the hammock, though it hadtaken a small amount of fumbling due to his bound hands and feet. Still, he’d managed to be as agile as anyone could be, given the circumstances.
“You won’t hear any laughter from me.” Her fingers plucked at the hem of her billowing shirt. “It’s only... most nights I sleep nude.”
There was a long silence, and then his voice came low and deep on the other side of the cabin.
“As do I.”
His answer ran like a rough hot palm across her flesh. She ignored the shiver dancing over her skin, and the images his reply had stoked in her mind. She could only guess at the body that was covered by his clothing, but she’d no doubt he wasn’t one of those soft gentlemen who didn’t do a lick of work to keep a ship running. Hehadkept pace with her through the streets of St. Gertrude.
She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes. As soon as theSea Witchdocked next, she’d find herself a warm and eager body to enjoy until she was thoroughly spent and ready to resume her solitary life.
As much as she told Stasia that she’d stay alert and armed for the duration of the night, Alys wouldn’t be too foolish and strip completely while sharing her quarters with a man she’d met a handful of hours ago. A man who was in every capacity her enemy. Yet maidenly behavior wasn’t her way, not any longer. Those embarrassed and chaste years were behind her.
She worked off her snug buckskin breeches and threw them beside her boots.
“Jesus.”
His oath was low and barely audible.
She smirked to herself. Without pride she could claim that her legs were fine ones. Not a lady’s legs—they were too muscled for that—but they were sleek, and she never felt unsteady on them. Clad only in her long loose shirt, she climbed intoher berth, though shewascareful not to give him an eyeful of her bare arse as she did so. A nice arse, to be sure, and he was entirely unworthy of seeing it.
As for the muslin binding around her breasts, which she kept secure for ease of movement in combat, that she’d leave on. It wasn’t especially comfortable. She always looked forward to that time at the end of the day when she could unwrap the length of cloth from around her chest. Not tonight. He definitely didn’t deserve seeing her teats, even with her linen shirt covering them.
She doused the horn lantern beside her berth by taking the fire back into herself, letting its spark become part of memories of midwinter bonfires. Lying back, she touched her hand to her trusty flintlock on the pillow beside her head. The weapon was already primed and loaded, and she held tightly to her dagger, which had been a gift from the crew after their first successful raid against a British merchantman and was as much a treasured possession as it was a weapon.
Thanks to the irons binding him, she did indeed hear his every shift and movement.
“Keep that clinking and clanking down, damn you,” she growled into the darkness.
“Freeing me is the solution to that,” he answered.
“I’m no cribbage peg to be moved around the board, Sailing Master.”
“Stale mate, then.”
“The other option is you could settle the fuck down and go to sleep,” she retorted. “God—you had better not be one of those types who leap up and down all night like a flying fish.”
