“Then you can write the message yourself.” She offered a scrap of parchment and a quill from the nearby mantel. “I’ll make sure it’s delivered.”
Ginger thought of everything.
I took the items from her hand, foreign to the way just the brush of her fingers tickled my heart.
I dipped the quill into the ink, then paused.
In simplicity, my men would recognize my voice.
Safe. Healing. Hold position.
I signed my name and handed it back.
She took it without question, folding it carefully. “Who should I give it to?”
“Destin. My cousin. First mate.”
She nodded, already turning toward the door.
“Ginger,” I said before I could stop myself.
She turned back. “Yes?”
I didn’t know what I meant to say. “Thank you” felt too small. “I owe you my life” felt too large.
So instead, I made a playful guess. “Is your name Anne?”
She tipped her head, as if amused. “Not close.” Perhaps we could make a game of this to pass the time.
“Rain?”
The corner of her lip turned up. “It should’ve been.”
Silence, then she held up the letter. “I’ll be back soon.”
I wanted to say more, and in a rush of words that didn’tfeel like me, I said, “I appreciate you… and all you’ve done for me.”
A beat of silence passed between us. Then, she nodded, a trace of a smile on her face. “I’m doing what anyone else would do.” It was as if she wanted to dismiss the idea that she had been helpful at all, her eyes looking past me.
She left, her skirts brushing the floor like leaves on stone.
And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t mind the stillness she left behind.
“Alright, I’m getting up,”I said. “The sooner I walk around, the better.” A groan escaped as I tried to sit up, the pain in my side flaring. I froze and cursed under my breath, to which Ginger said, “Don’t.”
“Sorry,” I muttered, knowing thatnotcursing would take some time to get used to if I was going to be here much longer. My chest heaved with the effort to stay still, the muscles in my back and shoulder tight with strain.
The woman sat beside me in an instant, her hand at my back. The warmth ignited something in me.
“I’m fine,” I said, but she braced herself to help me stand as I rested my left arm over her shoulders. She was so small compared to me, yet, at the same time, she was the perfect size.
Alaric,I warned myself.
“You’re not fine,” Ginger whispered. “But you will be.”
I let out a short laugh, but the pain kept me from doing more than wincing. “At least I can walk.”
Her gaze was sympathetic as she slowly stepped away from me. “For now. But don’t push it.”
