Page 13 of Captive of the Pirate King
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Quickly and quietly as I can, I run to the area of the hold where Locke scrounged up the half-boots for me. After opening and rifling through a couple of trunks, I find a clean, well-made shirt and a pair of trousers that look as if they might fit me. There are several rolls of cloth bandages, too, and I take one. It will do as binding for my breasts.
Now I have to figure out how to bathe without Locke watching me.
When I get back to the galley, Locke is still there, lounging against the wall and gnawing on a carrot. “That was fast,” he drawls.
“I’m quick.”
“So I’ve noticed. You’re always whisking and scurrying about as if you’re terrified of standing still.”
He’s been keeping an eye on me? That’s flattering and unnerving at the same time. What if hedoeslike boys, and he’s interested in something physical? Much as I’d like to indulge him, he’d take one look at my parts and run to the captain. And then I’d be dumped overboard as the Pirate King’s law demands.
“Please,” I say. “Wait outside while I bathe.”
“I said I won’t tell anyone about whatever you’re trying to hide.” He holds my gaze, and a challenge burns in his eyes. “Hunchback, mottled skin, tiny dick—whatever it is, I won’t judge. I showed you mine. Show me yours.”
“I—I can’t.”
If Locke won’t listen, I’ll have to bite him and coat my mouth with his blood. Then I could make him leave me in peace. The compulsion would only last for a minute though, long enough for him to get up on deck—and then he might come back. He’d remember what I did to him, and then I’d be twice screwed—discovered as both a woman and a wielder of magic.
That’s the trouble with my ability—it’s an “all or nothing” sort of power. If I use it on someone, I usually have to kill them. And I don’t want to kill Locke, but I don’t want to be tossed overboard either.
I’ll just have to skip the bath.
“I’m not that dirty,” I mumble. “I’ll bathe another night.”
“Not that dirty?” His eyebrows shoot up. “Boy, your stench is enough to knock a man from the rigging. If you won’t bathe, I’ll have to make it happen.”
“You can’t force me to bathe,” I protest, shrinking backward.
He prowls toward me, a half-grin twisting his mouth. “For your own health and wellbeing, Nick. And for the sake of everyone aboard. What’ll it be? Do I have to strip you naked and scrub you down myself?”
Oh gods. My butt hits solid wood—I’ve run out of space to avoid him.
Locke moves in, caging me against the cupboards. He’s still grinning as if he thinks this is all a big joke. Then he meets my eyes.
I’m not sure what he sees in them—fear, vulnerability, pain? The look of a cornered animal? But he stops, and his face changes.
“Only teasing, lad.” He sighs and takes the roll of bandages from my hand. Then he tears off a strip and wraps it around his eyes as a blindfold. “There. Happy? Now you can bathe in privacy.”
“Thank you.”
He mutters something under his breath and sits down in front of the door.
Trembling, I strip myself of everything. I drop the soiled, ragged, smelly clothes and wrappings into the low fire in the oven. And then I step into the washtub.
The water is only mildly warm, but there’s soap, and it’s heavenly to feel the grime peeling away from my skin. I lather my hair and body quickly, keeping my eyes on Locke. He makes no move to dislodge his blindfold, only sits with one leg arched up and the other stretched long before him. He leans back against the door so no one can push their way in and disturb me.
As I bathe, Locke begins to sing softly, a sea shanty about a wellerman and a whale. He has a silky baritone that’s unnervingly sexy. When he leans his head back against the door, I find myself staring at the slope of his neck, the way the lump of his throat bobs as he sings. He hasn’t replaced his bandana, and his dark hair drips onto his clean shirt, soaking the fabric. The scruff along his jaw is perfect—long enough to be pleasantly rough, yet not short enough to be scratchy.
“Are you done yet?” he asks. “Because I’m starting to feel ridiculous. I don’t usually blindfold myself, you know. I like to be able to see clearly, in case of enemies or emergencies.”
“Yet you wear a patch over your eye.”
“Ah yes. That.”
“You’re hiding for some reason. Why?”
