Part 3 (1/2)
The woman raised an eyebrow. ”You have some att.i.tude for a man in your condition.”
”You bought my att.i.tude.”
”Guess I did.” She ripped the chamber pot from him and disappeared outside, leaving him to fix his own loincloth. He finished the task and sat on the edge of the bed, too numb to move. The whole situation was so incredibly degrading, and he was in too much pain to do a thing about it. He didn't dare risk an escape attempt. He knew he didn't have the strength to break the chains, and even if he did, he doubted he'd make it past the front door. No, he'd have to wait.
The woman returned with a bucket of fresh water. She brought him a full mug and he accepted it, willing himself not to flinch at the motion. When he drank, even swallowing hurt. He almost wished for that old witch's potion from the night before.
”You should eat something.”
He shook his head.
”Maybe after you clean up.”
He stared at the basin of water. He felt disgusting, not having washed since his s.h.i.+p had crashed, but the thought of moving any more than he had to was far from appealing.
”I'll help you.” She dampened a cloth in the basin.
With a snarl, he s.n.a.t.c.hed the cloth from her and began was.h.i.+ng slowly, every movement excruciating.
”You know being this stubborn is what got you into trouble yesterday,” she said, watching him.
”You don't even know me.”
”I know if you weren't stubborn you'd have pa.s.sed out long before they got you to the rack.”
He nearly s.h.i.+vered at the memory. ”It has nothing to do with stubbornness. Some people just faint easily.”
”You call that easily?” She reached for another cloth and finished helping him wash. This time he didn't protest. All he wanted was to lie back down and not move until he had to pee again.
”I want to change those bandages.” She nodded toward his arms.
She walked across the room and filled a bowl from a pot simmering over the fireplace.
”Eat this.” She placed the stew on his knee. The aroma of boiled vegetables and meat made him realize he was a little hungry, and he had to sit up while she worked on his arms.
She unraveled one of his bandages. He glanced at the symbols branded into this flesh and asked, ”What does it say?”
”This arm is for thief,” she told him. ”The other one says murderer.”
At least his flesh would carry no lies.
By the time she'd finished cleaning his arms and applying fresh bandages, he'd managed to empty half the bowl.
”Do you need help lying down again?” she asked.
He shot her another annoyed look and lay on his stomach. He'd been sitting up so long that the salve had dried on his oozing flesh, and movement was almost as agonizing as when he'd first awakened. He closed his eyes tightly, his cheek resting against a pillow that smelled faintly of wild flowers. After a moment, he realized his hair-the only part of him that didn't hurt-was being stroked with a gentleness he'd never experienced. How can anything feel good enough to rival the pain in my back?
He opened his eyes and found himself staring into the woman's large, soft ones.
”As your slave, do you expect me to put up with your touch?” he said in his most frigid voice.
The caress stopped instantly, and without a word she returned to the table and continued sh.e.l.ling peas.
When he closed his eyes, he wondered why he could still feel her hand on his hair.
”That's what I get for trading my mother's necklace for the son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h,” Sparrow muttered to her cow, Daphne. Seated on a milking stool, she squeezed the cow's udder, listening to the rhythm of the milk as it hit the bucket.
”Sparrow, I'm back!” Shea-Ann stepped into the barn, looking weary. She'd been gone all night and part of the morning caring for other newly-bought slaves. ”I'm going to get some sleep. How's the pirate?”
”Flippant.”
”Excuse me?”
”He was arguing with me all morning.”
”He has the strength to argue?”
”Evidently. It's as if he's furious because I saved his life.”
”I told you.” Shea-Ann shook her head. ”He's going to be nothing but trouble. Do you want to ride to Begonia and see if the bounty hunters will take him back before it's too late?”
Sparrow's stomach twisted at the thought of what they'd do to him. He might be rude and ungrateful, but any further punishment in his condition would kill him, and she had no desire to see him dead, though she wondered why not.
Shea-Ann left Sparrow alone to finish her ch.o.r.es and reflect on the pirate lying in her bed. Her bed! She'd slept wrapped in blankets by the fire, and he had the nerve to speak to her with contempt!
She stalked to the house with the bucket of milk and slammed it on the table, the white liquid slos.h.i.+ng onto her hands. She glared at the pirate only to realize he was staring at her.
”Don't you ever sleep?” she demanded.
”Switch places with me and see how well you sleep.” He sounded tired.
”If it wasn't for me, you'd be dead.”
”Did I ask you to buy me?”
She shook her head. Evidently he wasn't tired enough to keep from arguing.
”I wish I'd never stepped into the village yesterday,” she muttered.
”I wish I hadn't either.”
Her lips flicked upward in a smile. ”I'm sure that's true.”
He lifted his arm and reached for the mug of water by the bed. His hand curved around it for a second before he dropped his arm, his breathing shallow.
”Would you like a drink?” She couldn't keep the sarcasm from her voice. His manner made her furious. To her, there was no shame in admitting weakness, but he'd rather deny his own limitations rather than ask for help. Such behavior made no sense.