Lock (4 page)

The guard motioned for the flames to be doused and the torture to stop.

Sparrow approached the scaffold, unfastening the pouch on her hip. Though crime was uncommon in Blue Hollow, she’d always feared a random thief and the loss of the only ties left to her family, so when she ventured out for the day, she kept her jewels with her.

As she climbed the steps to the scaffold, she caught the reek of blood and smoke and nearly gagged. She glanced at the pirate. His eyes were unfocused with pain, his body slick with blood and sweat. She knew he’d committed terrible acts, but couldn’t help feeling pity for his suffering. If they’d wanted him to pay for his crimes, why couldn’t they have simply killed him and gotten it over with?

Sparrow turned her attention to the guard, extending her hand, her mother’s ruby and sapphire necklace resting across her palm.

The guard snatched the bauble, inspecting it closely.

“Nice,” he said. “Very nice. Zaltana is willing to pay two thousand gold pieces for him. As beautiful as these jewels are, they’re not worth quite that much. Nearly, but not quite.”

“If you don’t bargain with me, you’ll still have to travel to Zaltana to collect payment. That’s quite a distance, and you know how dangerous it is for strangers to cross Zaltanian land.”

The guard pondered her words then nodded, his gloved hand closing over the necklace. “He’s yours. Where would you like us to take him?”

“My farm several miles north of here.”

He glanced at the group of guards. “Do what she says.”

The guards unchained the pirate from the rack and hauled him to his feet. Disoriented, he took two unsteady steps before one of the bounty hunters kicked him down the scaffold stairs, dispersing the crowd. Lock landed with a grunt on his stomach. He braced his hands against the packed dirt, the muscles in his big arms straining as he attempted to raise himself. A second guard approached with a pail of water that had been heating beside the coals. He threw it on the pirate’s mutilated back. The shriek of agony that sprang from Lock the White’s throat made Sparrow shiver.

“So he is human after all,” the bartering guard muttered.

Sparrow flung the man a vicious look before walking from the scaffold. The guards dragged Lock to his feet, wary of the pirate though he was far too weak to fight them again. Beneath his dark skin, his face was as pale as the streaks in his hair and beard. His eyelids flickered rapidly, and she wondered if he was fighting for consciousness or oblivion.

“This is going to be a disaster,” Shea-Ann said from beside Sparrow. The small woman folded her arms across her chest and shook her head. “I cannot believe what you’ve done.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t feel a little sorry for him.”

“I feel sorry for the people he’s hurt, too, but somehow I doubt he has any regrets. You, better than anyone, should know that.”

Sparrow’s chest tightened. Shea-Ann was right. Sparrow knew first hand the damage a man like the pirate could visit on decent people, such as herself. By rights she should have reveled in his pain and destruction, but her fury was reserved for one man alone. Lock the White had nothing to do with her—until the moment his stubborn strength had touched an unexplored part of her spirit and driven her to this unthinkable deed.

“One more thing, Missy.” The guard Sparrow had paid approached her with a wicked smile. “You are aware of Empress Daryn’s law?”

“What law?” Sparrow lifted an eyebrow. In truth, she’d always avoided the slave trade and knew nothing of the laws surrounding it.

“Anyone who purchases a prisoner wanted for murder agrees that should he escape, she will take his punishment for him.”

“Death?” Sparrow felt a little sick.

The guard shook his head. “No. It would never be death. Empress Daryn isn’t unnecessarily cruel. You must take his lesser punishment, the one used during bartering.”

“Tortured until I faint?”

“That’s the one, Missy.” The guard smiled brightly. “Nice doing business with you.”

The bounty hunters cleared the remainder of prisoners back to the wagons, but Sparrow remained planted at the bottom of the scaffold.

Shea-Ann clicked her tongue. “Now you’ve done it! That’s what you get for having such a soft heart. Compassion has always been your worst fault.”

“You should talk! You’re the healer. I’m just a farmer.”

“A farmer who has responsibility for Lock the White, the worst pirate to ever sail out of the Archipelago of SothSea!”

Sparrow opened the door of her farmhouse, a structure containing one spacious room and a small loft above. Behind her, Shea-Ann muttered under her breath about the foolishness of young women, but Sparrow refused to argue with her until later. At the moment, she had other things to think about.

“Where do you want ‘em?” asked one of the guards who dragged Lock toward the house.

“Drop him against that trunk.” Shea-Ann pointed to the simple oak trunk at the foot of Sparrow’s bed. She glanced at the former princess. “We can see to his front side first, then lay him down. He certainly won’t be on his back any time soon.”

The guards hurled Lock to his knees, his stomach slamming against the edge of the trunk. He uttered a soft moan and leaned against the wooden surface, his head buried in his arms.

“Good luck to you, girl,” one of the bounty hunters said to Sparrow. “You’ll be needing it.”

“Take my advice and never take these off,” the other guard motioned towards Lock’s shackles, “or else he’ll be out of here like a shooting arrow and will most likely cut your throat before he goes.”

Sparrow offered a nervous giggle. “Then I guess it will save me Empress Daryn’s punishment.”

The first guard shook his head. “I like your spirit, girl. I hope what you did for him today doesn’t lash back in your pretty face.”

“Oh, it will.” Shea-Ann tossed a disgusted glance at her young friend as she gathered her healing supplies. “The likes of him respect the whip more than kindness.”

“I thought you were against me keeping him?” Sparrow snapped at her friend. “Why are you helping?”

“I’m a healer,” Shea-Ann retorted. “I’m doing my job. Besides, someone has to watch out for you.”

The guards offered to install a base for Lock’s manacles strong enough to keep him from escaping.

“We’ve had practice with this,” the guards told her. “He’s strong as a team of oxen. Nearly escaped twice before we got here, but we know what holds him now.”

“I’d be grateful for your help,” Sparrow said.

“Where would you like to keep him? The barn?”

Sparrow shook her head and pointed to an empty corner of the room. “That will be fine for now.”

“In the house?”

“Just do what she tells you.” Shea-Ann waved her hand, but muttered under her breath. “The girl is daft. If he’s staying here, I’m finding a room in the village.”

While the guards worked, Sparrow assisted Shea-Ann. Sparrow washed the pirate’s burned arms, marveling at the thickness of his biceps. She was considered a muscular woman, strong from working her farm, but his arms were easily three times her size, about as big as the blacksmith’s they’d visited in Begonia last year, except Lock’s limbs were much longer.

When she’d finished bandaging his arms, Shea-Ann said, “Move him so I can see to his front. I want to hurry up and get to his back—not that there’s much skin left.”

Sparrow nudged the pirate, surprised to find him still awake, but she doubted anyone could sleep with that much pain.

“Move back,” she told him, both hands clutching one of his arms. He did as she suggested, closing his eyes tightly and swallowing hard as the motion must have been excruciating. He shivered in spite of the warm summer day.

Sparrow noticed the slightest expression of sympathy in Shea-Ann’s dark eyes. “As soon as we find you a permanent position, I’ll give you something for the pain.”

If the pirate heard her, he didn’t acknowledge her words. Shea-Ann worked quickly, leaving Sparrow to apply bandages while she walked to the round wooden table in the center of the room and prepared a sleeping potion.

“Think you can get to the bed?” Sparrow asked Lock.

“Drink this first.” Shea-Ann held a mug to his lips. “Tastes lousy, but you won’t wake up until morning.”

He swallowed the pungent mixture, and after a moment’s hesitation, stood and stumbled to the bed, one hand braced against Sparrow’s shoulder.

Damn, he’s heavy
, she thought, relieved when he dropped stomach-down on the mattress.

“What a mess,” Shea-Ann said as she set to work on the pirate’s back. “You’re going to need new bedclothes.”

Sparrow glanced at the blood staining her blankets and shrugged. There was nothing she could do about it now.

“Move his hair,” Shea-Ann ordered.

As gently as she could, Sparrow pulled his long hair away from his back. Blood had pasted the two-toned mass to his flesh, and he nearly jumped off the bed at the first sweep of her hand. Sparrow felt sick. She doubted she could have ever been a healer like Shea-Ann. She reached into her waist pouch and removed a carved wooden clip to pin Lock’s hair on top of his head so it wouldn’t slip into the raw mass of his shoulders and back. Several strands of hair clung to his forehead, and she brushed them away, thinking that if he was clean and healthy, he’d be very handsome, bush-like beard and all.

His eyes opened halfway, and she was struck again by their odd blue color.

“Hurts to breathe,” he murmured in a SothSea language, but Sparrow understood. Before her family had been stripped of power, she’d spent her days studying with many fine teachers and had mastered ten languages. The pirate’s dialect was unusual, but she could communicate with him.

“What did he say?” Shea-Ann asked, her eyes fixed on her work.

“He said it hurts to breathe.”

Shea-Ann laughed humorlessly. “I don’t doubt it. Tell him that potion will work soon and he won’t feel a thing.”

Sparrow translated, and even as she spoke, the pirate’s eyes slipped shut and his strained breathing became regular. Sparrow’s entire body relaxed, and she realized she’d been holding every muscle tense since the village square.

“I don’t like how you’re looking at him,” Shea-Ann said.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve known you since the day you were born, Sparrow. In fact, I was there. Don’t get any ideas about this slave. He might be harmless now, but he is evil. Believe me. There’s not a pirate from the Archipelago who has a decent bone in his body, and this one is the worst of the lot.”

“I don’t feel anything.” Sparrow nodded toward the bloody meat that was his back. “Look at him.”

“You’re remembering what you saw
before
they set to work on him. All those long, sinewy limbs. Those thighs. I haven’t seen a buttocks this tight since I was a girl.”

“Shea-Ann, it sounds to me like you’re the one whose thoughts are straying.”

“I’m being honest. He has the look of a breeding bull if ever I saw one—at least he did. Those bounty hunters have made a wreck of him. If he doesn’t die of infection, it will be a miracle, and these scars are not going to be at all attractive.”

“He has a lot of scars.” Sparrow glanced over the untouched skin of his arms and some old, white marks interspersed with the bloody ones on his ribs.

“I’m not surprised. They’re all rough, those pirates. Scum. Worse than scum.”

“I think you’ve made your point, Shea-Ann.”

“I hope so. If he lives, I hope you know enough to fear him and never, never risk his escape.”

Sparrow glanced at the pirate’s large body sprawled on her bed, remembered the expression of utter hatred in his eyes when he’d been dragged to the scaffold, and felt her stomach knot again. No, she wasn’t stupid. She definitely knew enough to fear him.

Lock awoke to a streak of sunlight across his face. He attempted to move, but his back was on fire and the rest of his body ached like he’d fought a White Island yak. Across the room, the young woman from the day before sat at a round wooden table, shelling peas. She wore baggy trousers belted with a strip of leather and worn brown boots. A vest left her rounded arms and shoulders bare, her muscles moving sensuously in the light shining in through the room’s single window. Her long, light brown hair hung in a braid down her back. Her rose-colored mouth was small and delicate, her nose straight, and her forehead high and smooth. Even from where he lay, he noted the thickness of her dark lashes. Somewhere in his fuzzy brain, he realized she was pretty, but he was in too much pain to really care what she looked like. All he knew was that she’d
bought
him.

Her gaze fixed on him, and she offered a smile.
Go ahead and gloat, you little bitch
, he thought.
Wait until I can get up again
.

She dropped the peas and approached the bed. Her eyes were darker blue than his, wide-set, and beautifully shaped. A light spray of freckles decorated her nose and full cheeks.

“I’d say good morning, but I don’t think there’s anything good about it for you right now,” she said.

Hearing her speak his own language surprised him. He thought she’d spoken it the night before, but after he’d been brought up to the scaffold, the rest of the day was hazy.