Page 72 of The Sea Witch
“I... uh... climb the rigging frequently to take readings. And practice my swordsmanship.”
“I see the proof.”
Living in a fishing village as she had, she’d seen many men without their shirts. Since becoming a pirate and taking lovers, she’d also seen her share of naked men. Even so, she could appreciate that life at sea had left Ben lean and athletic.
A flush spread across his cheeks. “As bad as watching someone be eviscerated?”
“Slightly less bad.” She tipped her chin toward his chest. “No sign of the markings.”
“And there won’t be, unless we’re washing with seawater.”
“We can’t use our fresh stores.”
Ben poured water into the basin, before dampening the cloth. He ran it down the length of his arms, across his chest, and along his stomach. Light from the lamp gleamed on his now wet flesh.
He’d been bold enough to chase after her in St. Gertrude, and hale enough to climb halfway up the waterfall of the Weeping Princess. Yet his body told a story of a man who pushed himself. A thin creased line across his left bicep and a round puckered mark on the back of his right shoulder revealed there was more to the tale of Benjamin Priestley.
The more she learned of his story, the more she wanted to discover. And, as she watched, markings appeared on his skin, lines in unknown configurations tracing over his flesh.
His gaze shot to her.
Ah, damn. She couldn’t hide her feelings from him.
“The markings...” She cleared her throat. “On your skin. They appear to be some variety of pattern. Writing, almost.”
“If they are, I’ve never learned what they meant.” His voice had gone deeper. He worked the soap into a lather and spread it across his torso before rinsing. “Perhaps you recognize them.”
“I don’t.”
That wasn’t true. She’d seen such figures before... yet she couldn’t remember where.
He paused again, hands hovering over the fastenings of his breeches. When he glanced warily at her, she sighed loudly.
She spun her hand in the air, calling forth the webs woven by the garden spiders that gathered in the vegetable patch behind her old cottage. Filaments made of tawny light zigzagged across her quarters, spanning the distance between her and Ben, caging him in a narrow space.
Plucking one strand, a loud chime sounded. “You move toward me,” she said to him, “or reach for something to arm yourself, I’ll know.”
Then she turned and faced the wall.
The sounds of his boots being removed filled the room, followed by the unmistakable noises that came from removing his breeches. A cloth was dipped in water, and then silence.
She quickly glanced over her shoulder. He faced away from her, treating her to the sight of his naked arse, taut and flexing. The markings covered his entire body and highlighted his long, hale form.
Alys made herself look away.
“What happened at the waterfall,” she said. “When we were thrown from the cave, that energy came from you. And then the markings appeared.”
She heard splashing. He was likely rinsing himself. The goddess of the moon help her.
“Never before has that happened.”
“A link is likely, between the appearance of the markings, even without salt water, and that magic—”
“Not magic,” he said at once. “It’s impossible.”
“I can see the feathers on a gull perched on the topmast, and Iknowwhat I saw at the waterfall.”
“That can easily be explained.”
