“Do you want me to warn you when I—”
“No. Just . . . no.” She knew she was being ridiculous, but she couldn’t help herself. When she was younger, she’d had stitches twice and it had been a painful experience, leaving her physically ill from anxiety afterward. And, with the recent crossing on the Providence, stitches signified death. It was one thing to sew someone else up, but to be on the receiving end of the procedure . . . This was the one fear Anne couldn’t seem to conquer.
“I’ll need that,” Teach said, taking the brandy out of her hands. Before she knew what he was about to do, he poured the alcohol over the wound. Anne shot up out of the chair and rounded on him, her back scorched beneath the fire of the brandy. She felt the watery sting of tears in her eyes. “The devil take you,” she hissed, looking around for her new favorite pistol. It was lying on the hammock, but Teach swept it into his hand and tucked it into his waistband before she could take it.
“I’m sorry, but you told me not to warn you.”
“Are you daft? I didn’t want you to warn me about the needle,” she said, looking around for her other weapon.
“I’m sorry. I misunderstood.” And from the look on his face, she could see he truly was repentant. His hands shook slightly and he took a gulp from the bottle before handing it back to her. Leaning forward, he gave her a swift kiss and she tasted the fruity flavor of the brandy on his lips. “Forgive me.”
With a shuddering breath, she nodded and sat down, her back tensed, deciding another swig couldn’t hurt. “Do you see this scar?” Anne asked after she swallowed. She lifted her left leg and pointed to the thin white line on her shin.
“Aye.”
“I had to have stitches—” She jerked away as the needle punctured her skin.
“Be still. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then don’t—”
“Finish your story.”
She turned her head slightly, not trusting herself to move for fear of bumping the needle. “Has anyone ever told you, you sound just like your father? So commanding,” she muttered, tilting the bottle to her lips. Teach waited until she was still before he moved again.
For a second, Anne’s vision clouded as he tugged on the thread. Feeling slightly light-headed, Anne was sure she was going to be sick.
“Would it help to know that I understand what you’re going through?” Teach asked.
Once again, the needle pierced her skin. One stitch complete. She was afraid to ask how many more were needed. “You do?” Focus on his voice. Focus on his voice.
“Aye, I do. The captain of the Deliverance had me flogged when I disobeyed a direct order.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s healed.”
“But there are scars,” Anne said.
“Wounds always turn into scars, but that means the pain is over.”
“No, that just means the wound has closed. Every time you see the scar, you’ll be reminded of the pain.”
“If you choose to be. But if you’re able to move on, you’re stronger for it.”
Anne bit her lip and Teach worked quietly. His breath, slightly faster than normal, fanned the nape of her neck. Sparks of awareness chased along her nerves as his fingertips brushed lightly against her skin. Anne stared straight ahead, her heart lurching in an unsteady rhythm. She closed her eyes against a wave of dizziness that had nothing to do with her fear of needles. “May I see them?”
His hands stilled. “My scars?”
“Yes.”
She could practically hear his indecision. She suspected his injuries had been worse than he let on.
“All right,” he said at length. “Once I’m done with you.”
By the time Teach finished, Anne was much more relaxed. The alcohol had worked its way into her head like warm clouds, diluting the pain, but also dissolving any self-consciousness.
Anne stood and turned, meeting Teach’s eyes. She raised the bottle to take another drink, but Teach quirked a brow at her.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”
Unperturbed, she took a sip. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she motioned for him to turn around. “Show me.”
Teach’s color heightened as he stared at her, his green eyes darkening. “I should go up on deck.”
“You said you’d show me your scars.”
Teach was motionless as a flush burned across his cheeks. With unsteady hands, he reached for the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head.
His broad bronzed shoulders sloped down, flowing into the powerful lines of his arms, and Anne could feel the heat of his skin. Somehow she managed to drag her mesmerized gaze away from his chest. He didn’t turn.
Anne paced around him slowly, her head buzzing with more than the alcohol. When she saw his back, she realized why he’d been so hesitant to show her.
He claimed he no longer felt the pain, but she certainly did. Tears slipped from beneath her lashes, even as she tried to blink them away. Her fingers traced the thick, uneven scars crisscrossing his back. Teach shivered beneath her touch.
She didn’t know what was worse: having suffered under the sting of the whip herself, or knowing that Teach had suffered as well, and she’d been helpless to do anything about it. Whoever had sewn him up had done a terrible job. There were jagged edges of skin that would never lie flat or smooth again. She covered a scar tenderly with her palm. The gold band on her finger winked up at her and she realized that she’d never answered him. “Yes,” she whispered.
Teach turned. “Yes, what?” he asked, his voice low.
“Yes, I’ll marry you,” she murmured, tilting her head back to meet his eyes.
Teach’s lips lifted at the corners. His hands skimmed down her sides, careful to avoid the wounds on her back. Taking the bottle from her, he placed it on the chair before returning his palms to her waist. He used his grip to bring her closer until she listed against him, his mouth briefly touching hers. Anne responded to the tender kiss before she turned her head and leaned her cheek against his chest. For several moments they simply held each other, their connection strong and unshakeable.
Someone knocked on the door. Reluctantly, Anne pulled away. She put her hand to her midriff, her nerves trembling.
Teach fell back a step. “What is it?”
“It’s important,” John said, his voice muffled. “Otherwise I wouldn’t bother you.”
Teach opened the door and peered out before allowing John to enter.
John quirked a brow at Teach’s state of undress. Anne hid a smile at John’s expression as Teach hastily donned his shirt.
“What’s wrong?” Teach asked, his voice slightly hoarse.
“We spotted a sail. From the same direction I saw the light last night. In the next cay.”
“Do you think it’s Easton?” Anne asked.