Page 33 of The Sea Witch (Salt & Sorcery #1)

Balancing always left Alys humming with more energy than she knew what to do with. Had she been on land, she would have found

someone to share her bed for several enthusiastic hours, which either quieted the tumult in her blood to a low roar or, depending

on who she fucked, filled her with even more vitality.

She wasn’t on land, and she always adhered to her dictum of not sleeping with her crew. Briefly, she considered touching herself

for some quick help. It had been too long since her last climax and her body demanded release. Kiss or no kiss, she wasn’t

about to have Ben return to her quarters while she was in mid-frig. Even if that kiss had hinted at an unpredictable—and shared—attraction.

She took lovers only for the night. Anything beyond that... She’d been married before. Alys had been obedient to men’s

whims and desires and demands. She’d been forced to grind by the yoke of affection.

Already, she felt Ben’s interest in her sharpening. And while she might want his body, she couldn’t risk anything more with

him. His naval coat was frayed, but he still served the King. And he was hiding something from her.

She called for a pitcher of warm water, and it was brought with a basin, cloth, and cake of honey-scented soap that had been taken from an English merchantman.

They were all luxuries, but after tramping around the island of the Weeping Princess in dense heat, being flung from a waterfall, and fleeing unknown creatures, she could use a bit of bathing.

Alys placed the basin on the little table near the foot of her berth. She poured half the ewer’s contents into the bowl. The

water giggled as it filled the porcelain. Turning her back to the door, she removed the dagger from her belt, pulled off her

coat, jerkin, and shirt before undoing the band of linen wrapped around her breasts.

The bindings fell away. She scratched at her red itchy flesh. Then she dipped the cloth in the water, before rubbing the cake

of soap on its fabric, pulling up a lather that smelled of honey on a summer day.

Grime from the day rinsed off her body. As a pirate, there wasn’t much time or means for luxuries like a soaking tub, so she

had to take what delight she could from this smaller indulgence. What a series of calamities the day had been.

Including the kiss.

She touched her lips.

A knock sounded on the door, and she dropped her hand from her mouth. No sense in dwelling on something that couldn’t go further.

“Enter,” she called.

“Luna said I was to come back and—Jesus God.” Ben’s strangled voice carried across the cabin.

He’d turned his back to her, facing the now closed door. His back and shoulders were ramrod straight.

“You’re a veteran of these seas for many years,” she said wryly. “Surely you aren’t shocked by the sight of someone bathing.”

“It’s the who that’s naked from the waist up that has ensnared my attention.”

If he couldn’t control himself at the sight of her partially nude, well, that was his concern. Besides, he was manacled, and her dagger was close at hand. Should he get too free with his hands, stabbing him was always an option.

With a shrug, she resumed bathing.

“The course has been set?” she asked.

“We’ll arrive at the island in three days, barring inclement weather.” His voice was gruff. “Luna’s an excellent navigator.

She’ll get us there.”

“A prize, that Luna. Earns her share and a half. I’ll never let anyone take her from my crew.”

A strained quiet descended, interrupted only by the sound of her dipping the cloth in water and abrading it across her skin.

Even Samuel had walked out of the room whenever she bathed. “ Shameful ,” he used to say, his hand over his eyes. “ Where’s your modesty? Your self-respect? ”

“ But you’re my husband,” she’d answer.

“ Eve ,” he’d mutter as he fled, and she’d stare down at her nude body, the Massachusetts cold pebbling across her pale vulnerable

skin.

Ben still faced the door.

Briefly, she considered sending him out of her quarters. Yet she’d had enough of enforced modesty.

She tugged off her boots and then, after a moment’s hesitation, shucked her breeches. The air in her cabin pressed dense and

warm on her now completely naked flesh.

She washed her sex, her movements quick and impersonal. It had been a long time since she’d given herself a release, and the rubbing of the cloth on her cunt made hot sensations rocket

through her—but he didn’t deserve the honor of watching her pleasure herself.

Still, even with his back to her, his arousal was hot and sharp, a whetted edge.

Once she was satisfied that she’d gotten herself clean, she grabbed a fresh cloth and washed her face.

“Those markings on you,” she said in the silence.

He said nothing for a long while. Then, “I wasn’t born with them. They appeared when I was nine.”

“Appeared.”

“After... an attack.”

“The octopus,” she recalled. “In the dream.”

Again, he did not speak. Uncertainty thrummed. He didn’t know if he could trust her.

Finally, he said, “Father was at sea and my mother was always distracted when he wasn’t home. As though part of her was on

the waves, with him. There were tide pools near our home in Port Royal. I loved to go to them and be amongst the sea creatures

that lived there. I would roll my breeches up and wade around, looking at the corals and fish and all manner of things living

there.”

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 cautious

and considerate.

“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 are my quarters.”

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 seeing his chest, 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.