“How do you know Lance?” Had he used her services?

“I saw him talking to someone outside my friend’s house.”

He glanced at her indecent gown and wondered if her friend was a whore too.

“I wanted to know why he was there.” She continued prowling the room, an odd action for a woman, but she moved with grace and power that tightened his loins. What the hell was wrong with him, thinking about how bonny she looked when they were both trapped in a dungeon, and he still didn’t know how he’d gotten here, or why? They just dragged him away and beat the hell out of him, waited for him to heal, and did it all over again. He would have tried to escape—he was certain he could kill the guards—but every time they opened the door, they either had that bloody pistol or slipped him a potion that made him helpless as a bairn.

What now? Even if he could escape, he couldn’t leave a woman here. Not even a whore. Not after the things they’d done to him.

The guard appeared at the door holding a plate. “Stand back.” He set the plate down and held the pistol on them as he unlocked the door. He slid the plate inside. “Eat,” he said, leering at her. “You’ll need your strength.” He tossed in a basket with towels. “And take a bath, both of you.”

The woman’s eyes met his. He saw a flicker of alarm underneath that bravado. The guard expected them to bathe, without privacy. They both ate their food, and he tried not to think about it. It didn’t work. There wasn’t a lot of her that wasn’t uncovered, but he was unusually curious what the rest looked like.

“Don’t they believe in cooking?” she asked, taking a small bite of the rare steak.

He shrugged. “They prefer it bloody.”

“I’m not surprised,” she said. “I wish I had a bowl of cereal.”

What was cereal? A roar echoed somewhere in the dungeon before he could ask.

“That must be the hybrid,” she said. “What is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“If they’re calling him a hybrid, he must be a mix of two different species.”

She seemed troubled by the thought, as he was. He found it just as troubling that she wasn’t hysterical at the thought of something as alarming as hybrids. “I’ve heard him, but I haven’t seen him.” He took a bite of his meat, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“I think he saw you. The guards said they didn’t move you from the torture room. They thought he carried you back here. Do you remember anything?”

“Someone carried me, I think.”

“Maybe the hybrid felt sorry for you? They’re probably doing the same thing to him that they’re doing to you—” She broke off.

Were they trying to turn him into a hybrid? He looked at Anna’s legs stretched in front of her. Long, firm, and very bare. What would they do with her?

“Could I have a drink of your water?” she asked.

Her cup was in the other cell near the pot. His face warmed, remembering how she’d used hers. He handed his over. “I’m sorry you had to…” He wasn’t sure how to phrase it, but she knew what he meant. She didn’t look at him but focused instead on his cup.

“It’s OK.” A slight smile touched her lips. “I’ve faced a few embarrassing situations before.”

“Aye?” He kept forgetting what she was, or what he suspected she was. She looked like a whore, but although she acted damned strange, she didn’t have the manner of a whore.

She handed his cup back. “They keep talking about their master. Do you know who he is?”

“I don’t know his name, but I’ve seen him. I feel I ought to know him.” He’d dreamed of him, dreams that felt real, like memories trying to surface.

“What does he look like?”

“Black hair, long. Pale, bonny face.” Speaking of bonny…“Is there someone looking for you?” he asked. “Do you have a husband?” He didn’t want to just come out and ask if she was a whore.

“I’m not married.” Her voice was firm, almost as if he’d insulted her.

Aye, a whore then. A woman with her beauty couldn’t have escaped male attention for long. “What about family?” Everyone had family. The thought made his chest tight. He must have a family. Were they searching for him?

“None.” Her voice sounded flat. Bitter.

“They’re dead?”

“My mother is. I don’t have a father.”

Everyone had a father. “What about brothers, sisters?” He saw faces in his mind, but the vision vanished as fast as it had come.

“No. I have cousins and friends,” she said, her voice warming. “They’re all I need.”

What kind of friends allowed a woman to sell her body? “Are they looking for you, do you think?”

“I don’t know if they’ve realized I’m missing.” She sounded worried. “I’ve got to get out of here. I think someone’s going to attack them. I have to warn them.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Something I overheard from the man Lance was talking to.”

This made very little sense. What was her connection to this place and to Lance? It was apparent that he didn’t want her here, and the fat guard, Bart, hadn’t expected her.

After they ate, he waited as long as he could. “They don’t offer much in the way of privacy. I need to use that fancy pot.”

She stared at him until he felt uncomfortable. Perhaps it was an insult to mention it after she’d had to help him piss into a cup, but bodily functions didn’t consider circumstances.

“Fancy pot?” She looked at the pot, her expression puzzled.

“Sorry to mention it, but…”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll…just be over there.” She stood and walked to the front of the cell, turning her back to him.

When he was finished, he turned to her. “If you need to use it, I’ll watch for the guard.”

She shook her head and then uttered a soft thank-you. “What did you call it? A fancy pot?”

“Aye. It’s…strange.”

She looked even more puzzled. “Interesting,” she said quietly.

It was that. He wished he’d had one at home. Another flash…a big house. A castle? But the image quickly faded. He didn’t know if he was remembering this place—it must be some sort of castle—or someplace else. “We’re not going anywhere tonight,” he said. “Might as well clean up a bit. I’m sure I don’t smell too good. They haven’t let me bathe for a while.” He’d been chained most of the time.

She glanced at the sink. “I probably don’t smell like flowers either.”

She smelled like heaven. “I’ll hold the blanket if you want to bathe first,” he said, inspecting the basket. He pulled out cloths and a bar of soap. “Look here. There’s another wee brush so you can clean your teeth.”

She gave him an odd look again. “You go first. You need to clean your wounds.”

It was awkward, but she held the blanket up for him. He tried to remove his shirt, but it was stuck to the cuts on his back. He could rip it off, but they would start bleeding again. He cursed softly as the shirt pulled at the dried blood and raw skin.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“Aye. My shirt’s stuck to my back. I don’t want to reopen the wounds. Do you think you could help me?”

She lowered the blanket and put it on the bench. “I’ll have to wet the shirt to loosen it from your cuts.”

She ran the water until it was warm. A delightful thing, he thought, having warm water right out of a pipe. Even more delightful, her hands on his back as she put the wet cloth over the wounds, soaking his shirt. It stung, but her touch took his mind off the pain.

“I think it’s working.” She gently lifted the shirt away from his back in the places where it had been stuck. “You should be able to take it off now.”

He stretched, feeling the shirt freely move. “Aye. That does it.”

“Do you need help?” She glanced at the floor. “The wounds on your back need to be cleaned. I don’t think you can reach them.”

He swallowed and nodded. “That would be helpful.” Among other things. He turned his back and shrugged slowly out of his shirt, tossing it onto the bench next to the blanket.

“My God. What have they done to you?” She gently bathed one of the wounds. “What do they want? Usually a person is tortured to get information. Secrets.”

What would she know about torture? “If they wanted me to tell them secrets, they shouldn’t have stolen my memories. I don’t know anything to tell them.” Not even his name. Apparently it wasn’t Faelan as he’d been told.

It took several minutes. Long, aching, sweet minutes with his body feeling the closest thing to pleasure he’d felt in many a fortnight.

“There. That’s as good as I can do without a first aid kit.”

A what? He didn’t ask. He was busy trying to calm his body enough to turn. It wasn’t working. He reached for the blanket and held it in front of him. “Thank you.”

“You should finish up. You have more wounds to clean.”

He’d like for her to clean them all. Blimey, he’d let her wash every part of him. She took the blanket from him and put it back in place, and he resumed bathing. He removed his kilt and cleaned his face and the cuts on his body. When he’d gotten off most of the blood, he soaped up, washing his chest, belly, arms, and oxters before moving below the waist. He ran the cloth over his groin, thinking what it’d feel like if it was her hand. He didn’t stay there too long for fear that he’d embarrass himself.

* * *

The sound of the washcloth moving over his skin made Anna tingle in places she didn’t want to tingle. She turned her face, and a movement caught her eye. There was a small hole in the blanket. She’d seen lots of naked men. On the battlefield, forest or city, privacy was compromised. But this man…holy cow. He was like a beautiful painting that had been vandalized. Perfectly muscled hips and thighs and a sleek broad back, marred with bruises and cuts.