“Why Bull Creek?” Kennit asked.

Sorcor shrugged. “There's a decent haul-out beach there.” He shook his head. “She'll take some work before she'll be sea-worthy again. And Bull Creek has been raided twice in the last year by slavers, so I think we'll be welcomed there.”

“There. You see,” Kennit said faintly. He smiled to himself. Sorcor was right. The man had learned much from him. Put a ship there, speak persuasively there, and he could win another little town over. What could he say to them. “If the Pirate Isles had one ruler . . . that raiders feared . . . folk could live ...” A tremble ran through him.

Etta rushed at him. “Lie back, lie back. You've gone white as a sheet. Sorcor, go for those things, the bath and all that. Oh, and bring in the basin and bandaging I left on the deck outside. I'll want them now.” Kennit listened in dismay as she ordered his mate about with a fine disdain for protocol.

“Sorcor can bandage this,” Kennit declared mistrustfully.

“I'm better at it,” she asserted calmly.

“Sorcor-” he began again, but now the first mate dared to interrupt him with, “Actually, sir, she has quite a nice touch for it. Took care of all our boys after the last set to, and did a fine job of it. I'll see to the wash water.” Then he was gone, leaving Kennit helpless and alone with the bloodthirsty wench.

“Now sit still,” she told him, as if he could get up and run away. “I'm going to lift your leg up and put a pad underneath it so we don't soak all your bedding. Then when we're finished, we'll give you clean linens.” He clenched his teeth and squinted his eyes and managed not to make a sound as she lifted his stump and deftly slid more folded rags under it. “Now I'm going to wet the old bandages before I try to take them off. They pull less that way.”

“You seem to know a great deal about this,” he gritted out.

“Whores get beaten up a lot,” she pointed out pragmatically. “If the women in a house don't take care of each other, who will?”

“And I should trust the care of my injury to the woman who cut my leg off?” he asked coolly.

All her motion ceased. Like a flower wilting, she sank down on the floor beside his bed. Her face was very pale. She leaned forward until her forehead rested on the edge of his bed. “It was the only way I could save you. I'd have cut off both my hands instead of your leg, if that would have saved you.”

This declaration struck Kennit as so profoundly absurd that he was speechless for a moment. The charm, however, was not. “Captain Kennit can be a heartless pig. But I assure you that I understand that you did what you had to do to preserve me. I thank you for your deed.”

Shock warred with fury that the charm would so betray itself to another. He immediately clapped his hand over it, only to feel tiny teeth sink savagely into the meat of his palm. He snatched his hand away with a gasp of pain as Etta lifted her face to regard him with tear-filled eyes. “I understand,” she said hoarsely. “There are many roles a man has to play. It is probably necessary that Captain Kennit be a heartless pig.” She shrugged her shoulders and tried to smile. “I do not hold it against the Kennit who is mine.”

Her nose had turned red and her leaky eyes were most distressing. Worse, she dared to believe him capable of thanking her for cutting off his leg. Mentally he cursed his sly, malicious charm for putting him in such a fix, even as he grasped at the straw of hope that she truly believed such words could come from his lips. “Let's say no more about it,” he suggested hastily. “Make the best you can of the wretched mess of my leg.”

The water she used to soak the bandaging free was warm as blood. He scarely felt it, until she began gingerly to peel the layers of linen and lint from the wound. Then he turned his head aside and focused on the wall until the edges of his vision began to waver. Sweat sheeted his body. He wasn't even aware that Sorcor had come back until the mate offered him an open bottle of brandy.

“A glass?” Kennit asked disdainfully.

Sorcor swallowed. “From the look of your leg, I thought it might be a waste of time.”

If Sorcor hadn't said that, Kennit might have been able not to look at his stump. But now as the sailor fumbled clumsily in a cupboard for an appropriate glass, Kennit turned his head slowly to look down to where his sound, strong, muscular leg had once been.

The dirty bandaging had actually cushioned the shock. Seeing his leg end in a wad of stained fabric was not the same as seeing his leg stop in a mangle of chewed and seared flesh. The end of it looked partially cooked. His gorge rose, and sour bile bubbled into the back of his throat. He swallowed it back, refusing to disgrace himself in front of them. Sorcor's hand was shaking as he offered him the glass. Ridiculous. The man had dealt worse injuries than the one he was looking at now. Kennit took the glass and downed the brandy at a gulp. Then he took a shaky breath. Well, perhaps his luck had held in one odd way. At least the whore knew how to doctor him.