Total pages in book: 173
Estimated words: 163328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 817(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 817(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
I had an idea of what he’d suffered, but I didn’t pretend to understand what he was feeling. Fear? Hatred? Hopelessness? Rage? Whatever it was that hardened his eyes, I couldn’t take it away. Couldn’t make it better.
“Get out!” A gnarled hand whacked my shoulder. “Always in my way, nosing around and— Don’t touch that!” Ipswich smacked me again, knocking my hand from the table of surgeon’s tools.
Undaunted, I pushed around him to check on the other man, whose skin glistened beneath the cold sweat of a fever. “I want an update on your patients.”
“Once you remove your puny carcass from my infirmary, I’ll have them convalescing successfully.”
“Shear off, you miserable shabbaroon, or I’ll be retaliating successfully.” I anchored my hands on my hips and stared at him with a threatening set to my chin. “Let’s hope you’re conducting yourself in a more…gracious way with these men. If I learn otherwise, you shall receive forty stripes lacking one across the bare back. Do I make myself clear?”
“You wouldn’t.” He grunted through a nest of wiry silver hair.
Meeting my eyes, he saw the unflinching promise in them. I didn’t care how old he was, if he didn’t improve his attitude, he would be punished.
“Yes, Captain.” He bowed his bald head. “Will there be anything else?”
“No, Doctor. I believe that will be all.”
I gave the bed-ridden men a parting glance and stepped into the passageway, closing the door behind me. A few yards away, Jobah stood with a shoulder leaning against the wall, his hands clasped behind his back, and the whites of his eyes glowing in the dark.
“Doctor is not…” He rolled his lips together. “Pleasant.”
“He’s the worst. I should run a sword through him.”
“But he helps many people.”
“He follows orders.” I approached him and mirrored his pose, staring up at him. “I’m sorry we were too late to save the ones who weren’t on that ship.” Too late, too often, I thought, sick at heart.
“We saved two.” He smiled softly, his gaze drifting to the door behind me.
It wasn’t enough. Then again, I never claimed to be a savior or a hero of any sort.
When a slave ship crossed my path, I sank it. But I wouldn’t risk Jade or her crew in an attack against an entire island like St. Christopher. Jobah knew my purpose when he joined me, and he never tried to persuade me to change course.
I squeezed his strong shoulder, stretching my arm way up to reach it. His quiet, towering presence intimidated me sometimes. I respected that. It meant he intimidated our enemies, too.
“What about the other one in irons?” He crossed his arms.
“What other one?” I dropped my hand.
“Your mate in the bilge.” He winged up a brow. “When will you save him?”
My breath stilled.
Jobah had been with me throughout my courtship, marriage, and fallout with the king of libertines. Along the way, he and Priest had formed a staunch friendship.
“He doesn’t need saving.” My tone turned icy. “If you intend to free him—”
“I will not interfere. But I’ll tell you this.” He leaned in. “Hear him. Listen.”
“I do, Jobah. He speaks in lies and manipulations.”
“Listen to what he’s not saying.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What do you know? Did he tell you—?”
“I visited him this morning.” He held up his hands. “But if I knew his secrets, you would, too. You have my loyalty, Captain.”
I nodded, trusting him implicitly.
“Whatever you have planned for him, be gentle.” Jobah straightened, his expression somber. “Hurting you has already caused him the greatest pain.”
Every surface of Jade was lifted, scoured, and replaced until my hands and nerves were chafed raw. Planks, doors, walls, ladders, sails, clothing… Even bodies. Every man on board was subjected to a thorough inspection by myself or Reynolds.
The compass remained hidden.
Days bled into a week, and I lost myself in the search, so I might forget the real reason my boots carried me down to the bilge every morning.
My longing for Priest refused to abate.
I tried to heed Jobah’s advice and listen to what Priest didn’t say with words. But every visit yielded the same as the first. He glared in brooding silence. I analyzed every twitch. He demanded my fidelity. I repeated my threats. We argued. He roared, and I left.
I refrained from torture or fornication—with him or anyone else. I tried gentle.
“Gentle doesn’t work with Priest.” I stood alone in my cabin, naked and resolved. “He leaves me no choice.”
I grabbed a peeled orange from the desk, held it to my chest, and squeezed. The juices sluiced down my breasts, and I caught the sticky rivers, rubbing nectar into my skin from shoulders to waist.
With my torso bathed in the fruit, I donned Priest’s shirt. The white one with leather laces he’d left in my cabin a week ago. It hung to my knees and still smelled like him—dark, musky, sinful. But not for long.