that, put fingers to the misshapen sculpture of scars along my ribs where her sword had cut into me, felt again the pain, the shock, the chilling flame of Boreal eating into flesh and muscle and viscera, the captain came up from behind.
"The reef was cruel," she said.
I glanced sidelong at her, saw red hair knotted back into a haphazard braid, the shine of glass beads and gold at earlobes and throat, the snug fit of the wide belt buckled around a waist I could span with my hands, and the freckled upswell of generous breasts at the droop of her neckline. A thin tunic, rippling in the wind. Baggy leggings tucked into low, heelless boots, but a curve of calf played hide-and-show in a rent. She was worth looking at. No question. And she was looking back.
So. The plan commenced.
"It wasn't the reef that drove us aground." I spread my feet again, bent to touch the deck with flattened palms. I let her see the effort not to show the effort, now that she looked.
"Better to say you were cruel."
"So I am." She put a hand on my spine, into the small of my back above the dhoti, and pressed. "Does this hurt?"
I caught my breath, swearing inwardly. If she was that kind of woman... well, it made the plan problematical. To say the least. Maybe even impossible; I had not taken this quirk into consideration.
Queasy again, I straightened, felt the fingers walk up my spine. The hand, without warning, slipped around to the scar tissue, squeezed. "That hurt," she said. "Once."
Beneath that hand, beneath the dead tissue, the bones remembered. So did the softer insides. Indeed, it had hurt. Very much. And now I felt sicker than ever.
"Your feet are bleeding," she observed.
I swallowed tightly. "Forgive me for staining your deck." I waited for her to remove the hand. When she didn't, I removed it for her, lifting it off my ribs. She was close enough for me to consider making a grab for her sword or knife, but I was certain she wanted that. Therefore I decided not to do it. Not yet. Not yet.
"My deck will survive," she said. "Will you? Can you?"
"That depends on the alternative." I took a step away, then turned toward her. "A man will do many things to stay alive."
The skin by her eyes creased. "So will a woman."
"Does that include running other ships aground so they break apart?"
"You may blame your captain for that. His choice was to come about and allow us to take his ship, unharmed; instead, he misjudged and tried the reef."
"You knew he would."
"Other men have not made that mistake. I believed he would choose to let his ship and his crew live." She paused. "And his passengers."
"It makes no sense to lose the cargo, captain."
"No sense," she agreed, "but that is my risk. I throw the dice--" A quick reflexive movement of her right hand. "--and occasionally I lose."
"This time."
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. There is no coin of it, that is true. But there are two men and a woman."
"And you already know there is no one to ransom two of us."
A negligent shrug of her left shoulder. "Probably no one will ransom the captain, either.
I doubt he is worth much even if he has a wife."
"So much for booty, captain."
"Booty is many things. It shines, it sparkles, it chimes, it spends." She smiled. "It breathes."
This time I hid my reaction. It took everything I had. "Slavers?"
Her eyes, intently clear under sandy lashes tipped in sunbleached gold, were patently amused. "A woman will do many things to stay alive."
I drew in a careful breath. "So will a man."
"Then do it," she suggested. "Do what is necessary."
I turned sharply to walk away from her, thinking it necessary as well as advisable--and nearly walked right into the first mate, whom I had not known was anywhere nearby.
Which didn't please me in the least.
Behind me, as I stopped short, I heard the woman laugh softly, saying something in a language I didn't understand. In morning light, the rings piercing the man's eyebrows glinted. He answered her in the same language, but did
"The reef was cruel," she said.
I glanced sidelong at her, saw red hair knotted back into a haphazard braid, the shine of glass beads and gold at earlobes and throat, the snug fit of the wide belt buckled around a waist I could span with my hands, and the freckled upswell of generous breasts at the droop of her neckline. A thin tunic, rippling in the wind. Baggy leggings tucked into low, heelless boots, but a curve of calf played hide-and-show in a rent. She was worth looking at. No question. And she was looking back.
So. The plan commenced.
"It wasn't the reef that drove us aground." I spread my feet again, bent to touch the deck with flattened palms. I let her see the effort not to show the effort, now that she looked.
"Better to say you were cruel."
"So I am." She put a hand on my spine, into the small of my back above the dhoti, and pressed. "Does this hurt?"
I caught my breath, swearing inwardly. If she was that kind of woman... well, it made the plan problematical. To say the least. Maybe even impossible; I had not taken this quirk into consideration.
Queasy again, I straightened, felt the fingers walk up my spine. The hand, without warning, slipped around to the scar tissue, squeezed. "That hurt," she said. "Once."
Beneath that hand, beneath the dead tissue, the bones remembered. So did the softer insides. Indeed, it had hurt. Very much. And now I felt sicker than ever.
"Your feet are bleeding," she observed.
I swallowed tightly. "Forgive me for staining your deck." I waited for her to remove the hand. When she didn't, I removed it for her, lifting it off my ribs. She was close enough for me to consider making a grab for her sword or knife, but I was certain she wanted that. Therefore I decided not to do it. Not yet. Not yet.
"My deck will survive," she said. "Will you? Can you?"
"That depends on the alternative." I took a step away, then turned toward her. "A man will do many things to stay alive."
The skin by her eyes creased. "So will a woman."
"Does that include running other ships aground so they break apart?"
"You may blame your captain for that. His choice was to come about and allow us to take his ship, unharmed; instead, he misjudged and tried the reef."
"You knew he would."
"Other men have not made that mistake. I believed he would choose to let his ship and his crew live." She paused. "And his passengers."
"It makes no sense to lose the cargo, captain."
"No sense," she agreed, "but that is my risk. I throw the dice--" A quick reflexive movement of her right hand. "--and occasionally I lose."
"This time."
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. There is no coin of it, that is true. But there are two men and a woman."
"And you already know there is no one to ransom two of us."
A negligent shrug of her left shoulder. "Probably no one will ransom the captain, either.
I doubt he is worth much even if he has a wife."
"So much for booty, captain."
"Booty is many things. It shines, it sparkles, it chimes, it spends." She smiled. "It breathes."
This time I hid my reaction. It took everything I had. "Slavers?"
Her eyes, intently clear under sandy lashes tipped in sunbleached gold, were patently amused. "A woman will do many things to stay alive."
I drew in a careful breath. "So will a man."
"Then do it," she suggested. "Do what is necessary."
I turned sharply to walk away from her, thinking it necessary as well as advisable--and nearly walked right into the first mate, whom I had not known was anywhere nearby.
Which didn't please me in the least.
Behind me, as I stopped short, I heard the woman laugh softly, saying something in a language I didn't understand. In morning light, the rings piercing the man's eyebrows glinted. He answered her in the same language, but did
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