India stared at Thorn in horror. “That’s awful! And it could have been dangerous. Were you in danger of drowning when the tide came in?”
“Broken glass was a bigger problem. It lurks in the mud, and if you’re unlucky with your foot or your hand, it will slice you, as easily as I’m slicing this apple.”
“ ‘Slice you’?” India whispered. “Slice you?” she said, louder, because she didn’t believe in whispering, even when the word was frightening.
“Infection took a lot of the boys.” He was watching her over his glass. “There are corpses in the water, and if you went into the water with an open wound, you were likely to get infected.”
“What?” She shouted that. She didn’t mean to; it just came out of her mouth. “He made you go in the river when there were dead people in there? Did you step on them?”
“No.”
“That’s despicable!” she cried. “Despicable! How did he force you to wade into the mud?”
“He was a violent man,” Thorn said, without a trace of emotion in his voice. “Though he never hit me. I would have killed him, and he knew that.”
“You should have.”
“I would have, sooner or later. Just to make him stop shouting at us.” The memories didn’t appear to bother him much, but they had to, somewhere deep inside.
But the story explained for her why Thorn wanted to marry Lala, besides the obvious fact of her beauty. She was such a sweet girl: she would make him feel better. She would smooth over all those bad memories.
India told him that, leaning on her elbow again. “Lala is just right for you. She’s like sugar icing. She’ll make it all sweet again.”
He looked up at her, a bit squinty-eyed. “What are you talking about? Make what sweet again?”
“Life. She’s the perfect antidote to such a terrible experience.” But there was one more thing she wanted to know. “Did he feed you enough?”
The look in his eyes was sardonic, as if she were an idiot. Which she was. Whom she was?
“I hate being hungry,” she said. But really, there wasn’t much to be said about it, and she knew it as well as anyone, so she stood up, just catching the edge of the table before she lost her balance.
“And I never drink to excess,” she added.
“You’re more interesting when you do. What do you know about being hungry?”
India ignored that. “I must go to bed. The carts will begin arriving at six in the morning. I promised a twenty percent bonus for every piece I take.”
He drained his glass. “Bloody hell.”
“You’re supposed to stand up as soon as I do,” she said, letting go of the table and heading toward the door. “It’s never too late to learn, Dautry. Lala will expect you to stand in her presence.”
Then she jumped, because somehow he had got himself to the door before her. “I’m not Dautry,” he said, a big hand curling around her upper arm.
“No, you’re a bastard,” she said obligingly, and giggled. “To be honest, I never said that word aloud before I said it to you.”
He turned her around so they faced each other. Her hands naturally came up to rest on his chest.
“I’m Thorn, not ‘Mr. Dautry.’ Can you remember that?” He gave her a little shake, as if she were a poplar tree and the wind had swooped by.
“Some married couples don’t even address each other by their Christian names!”
“Thorn isn’t my given name, remember? Tobias is.”
He looked rough and dangerous, like a man who would threaten to kill an evil master and mean it. “Tobias is not the right name for you,” she said, leaning in a little bit to make her point.