A Breath of Snow and Ashes - Diana Gabaldon [590]
“I’ll remember that,” Brianna said dryly, and pulled the edge of her ripped chemise up higher. She glimpsed a glass bottle amid the rubble on the desk, filled with a clear liquid, containing a small round object. She leaned closer to look at it, frowning. It couldn’t be . . . but it was. A round, fleshy object, rather like a hard-boiled egg, a pinkish-gray in color—with a neat round hole drilled completely through it.
She crossed herself, feeling faint.
“I was that surprised,” the whore went on, eyeing Brianna with open curiosity. “He’s never had two girls together, so far as I know, and he’s not one as wants someone to watch while he’s at his pleasure.”
“I’m not—” Brianna began, but then stopped, not wanting to offend the woman.
“Not a whore?” The young woman grinned broadly, exposing the black gap of her missing tooth. “I might ha’ guessed as much, chickie. Not as it would make no never mind to Stephen. He sows as he likes, and I can see as how he might like you. Most men would.” She looked at Brianna with dispassionate assessment, nodding at her disheveled hair, flushed face, and tidy figure.
“I expect they like you, too,” Brianna said politely, with a faint feeling of surreality. “Er . . . what’s your name?”
“Hepzibah,” the woman said with an air of pride. “Or Eppie, for short, like.” There were coins still on the desk, but the whore left them alone. Bonnet might be generous, but evidently the whore didn’t want to take advantage of him—more likely a sign of fear than of friendship, Brianna thought. She took a deep breath and pressed on.
“What a lovely name. Pleased to meet you, Eppie.” She held out a hand. “My name is Brianna Fraser MacKenzie.” She gave all three names, hoping the whore would remember at least one of them.
The woman glanced at the extended hand in puzzlement, then gingerly shook it, dropping it like a dead fish. She pulled up her skirt, and began to clean herself with the rag, fastidiously wiping away all trace of the recent encounter.
Brianna leaned closer, bracing herself against the odors of the stained rag, the woman’s body, and the hot smell of liquor on her breath.
“Stephen Bonnet kidnapped me,” she said.
“Oh, aye?” said the whore, indifferent. “Well, he takes as he likes, does Stephen.”
“I want to get away,” Brianna said, keeping her voice low, with a glance at the cabin door. She could hear the sound of feet on the deck overhead, and hoped voices wouldn’t carry through the heavy planks.
Eppie wadded up the rag and dropped it on the desk. She rummaged in her pocket, coming out with a small bottle stoppered with a plug of wax. She still held her skirts up, and Brianna could see the silvery streaks of stretch marks across her plump belly.
“Well, give him what he wants, then,” the whore advised, taking out the plug and pouring a bit of the bottle’s contents—a surprisingly mild scent of rosewater—into her hand. “Chances are he’ll tire of ye in a few days and put ye ashore.” She wiped the rosewater lavishly over her pubic hair, then sniffed critically at her hand and made a face.
“No. I mean, that’s not what he kidnapped me for. I don’t think,” she added.
Eppie recorked the bottle, and dropped both it and the rag into her pocket.
“Oh, he means to ransom you?” Eppie eyed her with a little more interest. “Still, I’ve never known scruples interfere with the man’s appetite. He’d take a virgin’s maidenhead and sell her back to her father before her belly started swelling.” She pursed her lips, a belated thought coming to her.
“So how did you talk him out of havin’ you, then?”
Brianna put a hand on her stomach.
“I told him I was pregnant. That stopped him. I wouldn’t have thought—a man like that—but it did. Perhaps he’s better than you think?” she asked with a wisp of hope.
Eppie laughed at that, small eyes squeezing half-shut with hilarity at the thought.
“Stephen? God, no!” She sniffed with amusement, and smoothed down her skirts.
“No,” she went on, more matter-of-factly, “best story you could tell, though, if you don’t want him at you.