Page 71 of The Sea Witch
Her hands stilled in their movements. There was a rare openness in his voice, a vulnerability she sensed in throbbing pulses.
His head was bent, his hands curled into fists at his sides as he continued to speak, the words coming from him as if he cleaned an old infected wound.
“I liked...” he cleared his throat “...to pretend I was a pirate.”
She said nothing, but he glanced quickly at her, feeling her shock.
“I would take leaves from the black-bead plant and float them on the water, pretending they were my fleet of buccaneer ships. That’s what I was doing when—”
He drew in a ragged breath.
“The octopus had disguised itself as one of the rocks,” he said lowly. “I hardly knew what was happening until it was too late, and by then I hadn’t any voice to shout for help, not that any would have come for me. Here I was, playing at being a pirate, when my father risked his life to hunt them. The attack was retribution. Or so I thought. Maybe... maybe it was.”
She threw on her shirt and her breeches, but stayed where she was.
“I didn’t know octopi could attack a human,” he went on. “I’d never seen it or heard about it. But this one did. I still feel the lash from its tentacles, its ink covering my skin.”
The vivid dream surrounded her, and she was there with him, his pain and fear and isolation, left alone to fend for himself against something that wasn’t supposed to be his enemy. Twisting tentacles wrapped around his arms, his legs. For whatever reason, this animal had unleashed itself upon him, and he’d had no means of protecting itself.
“It went on forever,” he continued. “Seemed that way. And then, as quickly as the attack began... it ended. The octopus shuddered and shriveled. It died, its body swaying with the movement of the tide pool. I was so afraid it would come back to life I just stared at it for what seemed like an eternity. But then I knew it was dead and couldn’t hurt me anymore. The salt water stung my skin as I tried to wash the ink off. It left behind the markings you’ve seen. They faded, but from that day to this, they appear when salt water touches my skin.”
“Today, at the waterfall, it was freshwater, not salt.”
His expression was unreadable, yet his bewilderment formed a fog in their connection. “Much of today mystifies me.”
Their gazes held.
He’d revealed something of himself to her, yet there was more he kept hidden, secrets and motivations. Especially after their kiss, remaining wary around him was vital.
But she wasn’t in the navy, or one of those pirate captains that reveled in their captives’ misery. She could be cautiousandconsiderate.
“Some clean water remains in the pitcher,” she noted. “There are more fresh cloths, too. I’m certain you’re as eager to bathe as I was.”
He glanced with longing toward the ewer and basin. “Privacy might be as rare on a pirate ship as it is a naval one.”
“These aremyquarters.”
A debate raged behind his eyes. Finally, he muttered, “The hell with it,” before striding toward the table that held the bathing supplies. He held out his manacled wrists. “I’ll need these off.”
From between her breasts, Alys pulled out the key, dangling on a cord. She also grabbed a loaded flintlock and pointed it at him. With the muzzle trained on the center of his chest, she walked to him and unlocked the manacles before taking several steps back.
He rubbed his wrists, and then shrugged off his tattered coat. Neatly, he laid it over the back of a chair, smoothing it carefully with his hands. She bit the inside of her cheek. In the name of the constellations.
The linen of his shirt pulled tightly over his shoulders. His hands hovered over the buttons of his waistcoat.
“Missish behavior from a member of His Majesty’s Navy?” She snorted. “With my own eyes, I’ve witnessed people cut wide open, their guts spilling over their boots. The sight of a bare male torso is hardly cause for me to require sal volatile.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. His gaze shot to her breasts, pushed up and against the thin fabric of her shirt. Well, if she was going to insist on seeinghischest, she might as well afford him the same privilege.
Still, he hesitated.
She exhaled. “Pick one: cleanliness or modesty. I can’t keep myself and my crew safe and look away.”
After a moment, his fingers moved over the buttons of his waistcoat. Though his hands were rather large, his fingers were deft as they undid the buttons, and she held her breath as his waistcoat opened. Finally, he shrugged the long garment off, and placed it atop his discarded coat.
That left only his shirt. His gaze holding hers, he reached behind his head and tugged until he pulled the whole garment off.
“Well,” she said, her brows lifting. “A pleasant surprise.”
