play. For form, Nathan objected, but in the end, submitted to having his face tended. There were three parallel streaks, each deep enough to be crusted with dried blood. They curved from his cheekbone down to the line of his beard. She washed the scratch marks first with hot water—God knew what had been under the unknown woman’s nails. She had seen far more minor scratches go foul. His sprouting beard was a soft plush under her fingers, left over-sensitive by the oakum. The dark sable sparked with random bits of russet, copper, and gold in the candlelight.
The scenario was becoming a familiar one: standing close, tending his wounds.
“Twice in as many days,” Nathan said, divining Cate's thoughts. “If I keep this up, you’ll think me a dull-witted oaf.”
Many words came to mind, but those would be a long time in coming.
“Mark me,” he said, mirth touching the coffee-colored eyes, “if I fall and break me leg on the morrow, you shan’t learn of it.”
As Cate stood over him, she delicately sniffed, but detected only rum, wood smoke, a hint of tobacco, and Nathan, the same warm spiciness that clung in the mattress upon which she slept. She was near enough to see the blood had been washed from his headscarf, too. There were whitish smudges on the faded blue, which looked too much like face powder for her comfort.
His lids hooded, the heavy veil of lashes fanned darkly across his cheeks. With his head tipped back to allow easier access to his cheek, the scar at his throat was in stark evidence. A scalp-peeling blow to the head and clawed by a whore: a pirate’s life was a dangerous one.
Unable to bear the silence, she groped for another topic.
“How long before the repairs are complete?”
Nathan stirred, his brow furrowing. “Day or two, but we’ll make weigh as soon as the wood and watering is complete. His Honor, the lofty Señor Corretja, shan’t bother us whilst we’ve hostages, but best not tempt temptation. What remains can be accomplished under way.”
He shifted in the chair, his agitation rising. “The bastard started having memory problems as soon as we caught up with him. Even his wife crying at pistol’s point didn’t answer.”
“I thought you were going to avoid all that.”
“Aye, well, best-laid plans, and all that.” He smiled faintly. “’Twas remarkable the clarity of memory he possessed when we put him on the altar: the chests were hidden in the cellar. Helluva man what uses the church to protect his most precious possessions. I’ll wager he didn’t tithe his fair share either,” he huffed. “Had half a mind to inquire if he desired we take his wife and daughters—there was another, by the way—seeing as how they seemed so burdensome.”
Nathan sucked in sharply when she pressed into a deeper scrape with the vinegar.
“I'm sorry my hands are so rough,” Cate said, wiping them self-consciously on her breeches. “I should have warned you.”
His eyes met and held hers then dodged away. “I’d be a damned ungrateful scrub were I to complain, when it's me own ship what roughened them.”
Cate became acutely aware of Nathan's nearness. Feeling her tense, he shifted to a more comfortable distance.
“There,” she said softly, giving the scratches a final dab. “All done. You should rest.”
Her hand came to rest on Nathan's shoulder, sagging with weariness. Other than a piece of dried meat, she had not seen him eat that day, nor the one before. A lesser man would have been bedridden for the day after such a blow to the head. Her presence seemed to have upset his lifestyle in several ways.
Nathan smiled nonetheless. “I’ve plenty of time to sleep when I’m in me grave.”
He rose and went around the table to retrieve his hat.
“You've a gentle touch, Cate Mackenzie,” he said with somber intent. “Pryce represents you’ve been quite able-handed. You’ve don’t this before, the healing and sewing of bodies.”
“I’m no physikan or healer, but yes.” Cate sighed, her limb suddenly feeling filled with sand.
“You’ve done it a lot.” It was more an observation than accusation.
She nodded, grimacing. “More than I care to think.” It wasn’t a matter to brag about; one did what one must and could.
Nathan turned his head toward the window, his gaze going distant. “The other day, you spoke of war.”
Cate closed her eyes and nodded.
He fell quiet. His brow furrowed as his mouth worked under his mustache.
“I’ve seen the hell what can be wrought when two ships—a hundred guns each—haul up to hammer