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“Captain wouldn’t like it if he knew I’d sliced you.”
“I goaded you.”
“Doesn’t matter. I should be better than that.”
“Pirate,” I remind him.
“Still doesn’t matter. Now…” He picks me up and sets me on the table so I’m sitting with my injured leg extended in front of me.
“I can sit all by myself,” I say, completely off balance by the effortless way he lifted me.
“I know, but that was more fun. Now, take your breeches off.”
“Ha. Not a chance.”
“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“You haven’t seenmebefore. Nor will you.”
Riden gives me his devilish smile. How quickly he can muster it up.
“I’ve a better idea,” I say, reaching down. I grab the bloody rip in my breeches and tug. The cloth gives, ripping away from my thigh. I wince.
“And here I almost believed you couldn’t feel pain.”
“Shut your mouth, Riden.”
He’s quiet, and I know it’s not because he listened to me. Instead I realize he’s staring at my leg. No, not my leg. My scars. I have them all over my arms and legs.
“What happened?” he asks.
“I was born to the pirate king.”
He reaches his hand out, about to trace one of the many thin white marks.
“Don’t,” I say. “I’ve just had to fend off Sheck. I don’t need anyone else touching me.”
“Of course,” he says hurriedly. “Forgive me. But I wasn’t going to—” He cuts himself off, ending the awkward moment. Instead he reaches down and brandishes a cleaning salve and clean rag.
“Give me those,” I say. “I’d rather do it myself.”
“And that is why I’ll be doing it for you. You’re a prisoner, and you tried to escape. You don’t get to make any more demands.”
“I could just hit you.”
“And I could make cleaning this cut hurt more than it needs to.”
I sit still, but I don’t look at him as he rubs a foul liquid onto my leg. Bubbles come up from the cut, and the pain is searing hot. I grab Riden’s arm and squeeze to keep from crying out.
“It’s all right, Alosa. Almost done now.”
I’m amazed at his soothing tone. It sounds a lot like the one Mandsy uses when she patches me up. Strange to hear it coming from a man.
He wipes the remaining liquid from the wound. The cloth becomes stained with pink. With steady hands, he cuts a bandage strip and ties it around my leg. His hands are warm in this freezing cell.
“It’s over,” he says. “It should heal quickly. It was a small cut.”
“Yes, I know. As you can see, this is not my first injury.”
