he water was cold between Evie's thighs as she washed herself clean. Her blood and his semen had mixed and made a mess down her legs. She winced and tried not to cry anymore as the washcloth touched her bruised and damaged flesh. After wiping everything away, she discovered she was no longer bleeding.

 She looked toward a chamber pot and drew her eyebrows together at the thought of the pain Ronan had mentioned. She desperately needed to relieve herself, so she took several deep breaths and did so as quickly as she could. She cried as her hot acidic urine stung her injuries. She hurried to wash herself again as soon as she was done.

 She used another cloth she found to pat herself dry, then grabbed the jar of ointment Ronan had left for her. She applied a little at first to be certain it wouldn't hurt. Her breathing slowed and her shoulders relaxed when the area went numb. She could feel no more pain as if nothing had happened. She set the lid back on the jar and put it on a small table beside the bed.

 She sniffed her tears as she looked for her bloomers. When she found them and lifted them, she could see he had ripped them at the seam when he pulled them off. She tossed them to the floor with her stockings and dress and sunk down beside them to cry again.

 Her mind was so distraught thinking of all that had transpired that she didn't hear the door open. When she heard boots on the wooden planks, she quickly turned and saw Captain Garson had returned.

 Her eyes grew as she stared at him and backed away on the floor. She stood and pulled the blanket around her.

 "Please, don't hurt me anymore," she loudly sobbed. "It hurts terribly."

 He swallowed hard several times as he watched her tremble and cry in sadness and fear.

 "Lay on the bed," he calmly commanded. "You'll hurt yourself trying to stand like that. I won't touch you."

 She watched him walk lazily toward a thick wooden table and sit down hard onto a chair. He poured a cup of something she assumed was liquor and slowly sipped it down. She did as he said and crawled back onto the bed with the blanket wrapped around her like a cocoon. The mattress was soft, and it was what she needed.

 Captain Garson looked over to see her adjusting herself into a comfortable position as far away from him as possible. He looked at the table where she had placed the medicine and noticed her flower beside it. It was a small little wilted thing now, and he turned from it when he felt stinging at the back of his eyes.

 "Ronan brought you medicine, I see," he remarked.

 She didn't respond. What did he care if she had medicine? Although, Ronan had told her the captain was the one who sought him out to help her.

 According to Ronan, he had never cared about the welfare of a woman on the ship until her. Had he figured out the identity of her uncle? Was that why he was suddenly considerate of her? No, he couldn't know. They were out at sea, and neither she nor Edgar had spoken her uncle's name.

 "Was he well-mannered?" he asked, surprising her with the question. "Did he say or do anything to upset you?"

 She stared at him in wonder over his concern. When he glanced at her, she quickly shook her head in answer.

 He gave a single quiet chuckle. "I supposed he wouldn't. He has flowery words and a pleasant appearance."

 She watched as he drank another sip from his cup. She wondered if he was jealous of the handsome features of the doctor. She supposed one with his scars probably would be.

 As he sat looking down into his cup, she looked him over. She hadn't dared when they met, nor did she care to when he was hurting her. Now that he sat peacefully, seemingly not caring about her sitting half-naked in bed, she seized the opportunity to examine her captor.

 His thick black hair was still loose as she recalled and reached almost the entire length of his back. His beard was short along the jaw but was allowed to extend a few inches past his chin. It was bound by a single silver band, which was embossed with a pattern she couldn't make out from her distance. The sides of his mustache were almost as long as his beard, and he had braided them straight down alongside it. They were fastened at the bottoms with smaller silver bands.

 The weathering on his face made him appear older than she believed him to be. Although it wasn't as youthful and smooth as her cousin's, he lacked the wrinkles of men in their thirties.

 Other than the scar, he was quite handsome, though she didn't feel any appreciation for it. He wasn't a man to be longed for.

 She tried to shake away the memory of what he did and looked away toward the medicine he had mentioned. The pouch Ronan left was on the table, and she wondered again what it was. She recalled her cousin and his friends stuffing strange powder up their noses. Afterward, they behaved erratically and frightened her so much, she would barricade herself in her room.

 Captain Garson looked at her from over his cup as he drank the last of his grog. It was a mix of rum and water and rationed to two servings a day for the crew. This would be his second that he usually drank at bedtime, but given the circumstances, he felt it best to calm himself in her presence.

 He set his mind to not touching her again. Her cautious appraisal of him would make it difficult. She didn't wear the sneer or look of revulsion all women did upon seeing him. When he thought about the times she had seen his face, she seemed more concerned by what was happening to her than his infliction.

 He gave another single sort of chuckle at the absurd notion it didn't bother her. He looked directly at her as a challenge for her to keep staring and was surprised when she did without blinking.

 "You may call me Garson," he blurted, waking her from her studious gaze.

 Evie gripped the blanket tighter as he stood and walked toward the bed. Her lip trembled as she stared into both eyes, one blue and one white. Instead of climbing onto the bed as she feared, he stopped at the small table and lifted the pouch.

 Garson breathed in slowly as he held it in his hand. He knew what it was and gave a slight shake of his head. Ronan was wise but he regretted he had given the doctor the impression she would need it.

 "You won't need this, but I won't take it from you," he softly told her. "I won't hurt you again. I'm certain Ronan explained why I did what I did. He speaks of things he oughtn't, though I suppose you deserved to know."

 He turned to look at her after replacing the pouch and she leaned away. He was only three or four feet from her, and she readied herself for him to grab her with his long arms.

 He shook his head at her reaction and reached, instead, to the shelf with his prism. He turned it around in his hand a few times before setting it back.

 "You may have that if you like it," he offered. "You may explore this room as you wish. The desk drawers, however, are to remain closed."

 He looked back at her and then toward her dress and underthings on the floor.

 "I'll have someone look for suitable clothes," he continued. "You're to stay here and not leave this room. It isn't safe. The only men allowed to enter when I'm not here are Ronan and Radnor, my second in command. I have a lock on the outside, but keep the door bolted for added safety. Open it when I knock like this."

 He hit the table three times, paused, and hit it once more. He watched her to see that she was paying attention.

 She had kept her eyes on his every move, terrified he was lying about not hurting her again. His instructions were all about her well-being, and she began to believe what Ronan had told her was true.

 Why should it matter? It was a pirate ship, as Ronan said. These men had unconventional ways of doing things. Living with these ways wasn't anything she would wish upon anyone. Except, perhaps, Edgar.

 "Do you understand all that I've told you?" he asked when she only stared without reacting.

 She gave him a few small nods in response. He looked around to see if there was more she needed to know. He noticed she had used the chamber pot and saw a few drops of blood. He cleared his throat and said nothing as he picked it up and went to a small side window. He opened it and tossed out the contents of the pot, then returned it to where it had been.

 "That's where you can dispose of what you do," he instructed.

 "I'm sorry," she said quietly, and he saw her lip trembling in worry.

 "Don't apologize to me. You've done nothing wrong," he replied in a gruff tone.

 He wouldn't have her saying sorry to him for anything after what he had done.

 She felt his response came with an air of guilt, and she took a deep breath in hopes he felt enough remorse to keep his word.

 "I'll not return until nightfall," he said as he went to the door. He faced her as he continued. "Remember what I said about who is allowed. Ronan and Radnor only. They'll call out to you when they knock. Only I will knock as I've shown you. Bolt the door as soon as I leave."

 She watched him step out and hurried to do as he said. Not only didn't she want to disobey him and cause him to hurt her again, she wanted to feel as safe as she could among this crew. Staying within that locked cabin that was now both her home and her prison was her only chance of survival.