She felt his muscles stiffen. “Hard hands?” he said in a strangled voice. “Does he— Alise, he hasn’t . . . Has Hest ever struck you?” He sounded horrified.

“No,” she admitted in a low voice. “No, he has never struck me. But there are many ways for a man to be hardhanded with a woman that do not involve striking her.” She thought of how he would take her arm and grip it when he wished to leave an evening’s entertainment and she had not responded immediately to his polite suggestions that it was time for them to go home. She thought of how he sometimes took things from her, not snatching them but removing them from her grip as if she were an errant child. She refused to think of his hands on her shoulders or upper arms, gripping so tight that sometimes she had bruises, as if she might flee him even though she had never shown any resistance to his attempts to impregnate her.

Sedric cleared his throat and moved away from her. “I’ve known Hest a long time,” he said stiffly. “He’s not a bad person, Alise. He’s just—” He halted and she saw him searching for a word.

“He’s just Hest,” she finished for him. “He’s a hard man. Hardhanded. Hard-hearted. He doesn’t strike me. He doesn’t have to. He has a hard, cruel mouth when he’s crossed. He can humiliate me with a glance. He can pound me with words and smile while he’s doing it, as if he doesn’t realize what he’s doing. But he does. I’m ready to admit that to myself now. He does know just exactly how much he hurts me and how often.”

She turned away from his shocked gaze but kept her eyes on the moving riverbank. “I’m not sorry,” she finally said. “I’m not sorry I defied you and I’m not sorry that we’re headed up the river. I know it’s foolish and dangerous. I’m scared. I’m scared of going and I’m scared of what I’ll have to face when I return home. But I’m not sorry to be doing it. I’m not walking away from my life, Sedric. I’m running toward the chance to have a little bit of a life of my own, for a little time.

“I am sorry to drag you along, Sedric. I know it’s not the sort of thing you’d choose to do. I wish Hest hadn’t inflicted me on you. But I’ll admit that I’m glad you came back to the barge and you’re here. If I’m going to do a foolish thing like this, I can’t think of a better companion to have along with me.”

She sensed him fumbling for some sort of a reply. She had told him things that had made him uncomfortable, things he probably should never have heard about his employer. She tried to regret it and couldn’t. She only hoped it would not sever whatever it was between them. Almost she hoped that he would gather her into his arms and hold her, even if it was only for a moment, as a friend. She tried to recall the last time anyone had embraced her with affection. She recalled her mother’s quick hug of farewell. When had a man held her?

Never.

He took her hands in both of his, giving them a gentle squeeze before he released them. Then he made an awkward attempt at levity as he stepped clear of her touch. “Well, I suppose that should be a comfort to me. But it’s not.”

His words were harsh, but the rueful smile she looked up to see was not. It faded quickly from his face however, as if he did not have the strength to sustain it there. He shook his head at her and then said, “I’d best go get things settled in my room. It looks as if I may be living there longer than I thought.”

HE LEFT HER as quickly as he decently could and walked briskly back to his compartment, trying not to appear to be fleeing from her. Even though he was.

He shut the door of the tiny room behind him. Earlier, he had opened the ventilation slots in the upper wall. He refused to think of them as windows. They were too high and too narrow to provide any sort of a view. But they did let in a flow of air, even if it was tinged with the river smell, and admitted a murky light in his room. A reflection of the river rippled on the ceiling of the small cabin. He sat down on his trunk and stared at the closed door. His case with its precious cargo was on the floor. A fortune in dragon parts, and he was headed upriver with them. Away from all profit, and away from every reason he had for dreaming of making a profit. He hoped the salt and the vinegar would preserve the tattered flesh. They represented his last, best chance for an honest life. He lowered his face into his hands and retreated into stillness.

Hest. Oh, Hest. What have we done to her? What cruelty have I been a party to?

Hest’s hard hands.

He didn’t want to think about it yet he could not stop himself from thinking about it. He didn’t want to envision Hest’s hands on Alise. He knew that Hest must be with her, that he must do his best to father a child with her. He’d chosen never to think of the mechanics of that, never to wonder if Hest was tender and passionate with her. He didn’t want to know, didn’t want his feelings stirred about such things. What would it matter? It had nothing to do with Hest and him.