She frowned. “To a wall?”
God help him, he could not lie. “On occasion.”
And on other occasions, to a long, thin plank the pirate could easily straddle.
His memories simmered—a messy stew of fear and shame and hatred.
Tu n’es rien.You are nothing.Je te possède maintenant en entier.I own every part of you, now.
Pen lifted her gaze to his.
Her eyes contained no guile, no pity, no disgust. Yet they stung worse than Emmaus’s needle. Would it be easier to tell her behind this veil of partial anonymity?
“Please,” he choked. “Don’t ask any more questions.”
“Truth for truth,” she whispered.
“I can’t.”Fuck.The sting in his eyes eased as dampness collected between his lashes. “You don’t want to know.”
“Will silence protect me? Will my ignorance make everything right?”
“No.” He swallowed through a dry throat. “Nothing can make everything right.”
“Then what do you have to lose?” She placed her cool palms on either side of his face. “Trust me. Please.”
Trust.Yes.Save me, Pen.
“My secrets—they are vile. I was—I suffered—I suffered—”
Damnation.
Truth, when able to be put into words at all, came out a halting, sticky substance. He could not gentle what he’d experienced. There was no polite way to describe what he endured.
“I can’t.”
“Will you let me ask questions?”
He nodded.
“Your jailor...did he defile you?” she asked.
“Yes.” The word was a serrated knife forced through his mouth.
How could she know? He scowled furiously. What had she experienced that could possibly allow her toimagine...?
She dropped her gaze. “A friend—a fellow seamstress, spent time in Bridewell.” Her brows drew together with concern. “She told me stories—terrible stories—about the ways the guards would humiliate the women...and the men.”
Now, he was shocked.
Shocked and ashamed. He’d never considered such things could happen. Not here. In his own country.
Then again, how many would lift up their voice in defense of those who had broken the law? Most would shrug and look away.
Unless they, too, had been brought low.
Demeaned. Forgotten. A mistake, a lapse in judgment—even a lead ball mis-fired—did not negate a person’s humanity. Life—all life—was sacred.
“My jailor,” he spoke quietly, as if a whisper could lessen the blow, “was a she.”
