The added tongue-in-cheek salute made his jaw clench. “On that note, I think I will require a bath tomorrow evening. Tell Gideon to have the men use some of the rainwater we collected from the last squall.” The expression on her face was so full of longing that Rhystan nearly cackled. “If you behave, you may have a bath as well.”

She scrunched up her nose as if the thought of sharing his bathwater was beneath her but then shrugged as though her next thought was that beggars couldn’t be choosers. The frown reappeared when she narrowed her eyes at him in sudden suspicion. “What’s the catch?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you being so…generous?”

His smile was slow. “I consider it quite selfish actually. A beautiful woman bathing in my cabin? What’s not to want?”

“You won’t be anywhere in the cabin with me,” she said tartly. “I’ll forego the bath if I have to.”

He grinned, feeling the odds finally beginning to tip in his favor. “Care to make a wager on that? Because trust me, Princess, you’ll be begging for it.”

Six

Sarani itched everywhere. She had grime on her neck, in her armpits, behind her knees, in every imaginable bodily crease. And the more she thought of the proffered bath, the worse the itching became. It wasn’t as though she was dirty. She cleansed herself from top to bottom with a cloth and water from the wash basin every evening, but the thought of actually submerging her body into clean water, even if it was only a hip bath, made her delirious with need.

Damn Rhystan for putting it into her head! Bloody man.

You’ll be begging for it.

The five words became a taunting drumbeat to her pulse. By the time she’d consumed her simple meal of boiled beef, bread, and peas with Asha, she was a mess of want and anger and frustration. All over a sodding bath. One of the simple pleasures she’d taken for granted was now on her top list of coveted things. Not only was her temper holding on by a thread, but her vocabulary had taken on a distinctly unladylike slant. She had the boatswains to thank for that.

At first, they’d tried to curb their language, but when she didn’t gasp in ladylike horror, they’d fallen back to old habits. Now she had a very colorful collection of oaths, some she’d employed more than once in the past day. Under her breath, of course. And usually always directed to one rotten soul in particular.

If that man thought she was going to beg, he was mistaken. Sorely. Completely.

She scratched at her ribs beneath the rough clothing and sighed.

Who are you fooling?