18
Roberta woke to the taste of blood in her mouth. She groaned when her stiff muscles protested as she sat up. She blinked in a daze as she took in the sight of the luxurious cabin. She lay in a narrow bed that was unfamiliar. This wasn’t King’s Landing, and the gentle sway beneath her warned her that she was no longer on land. The gilt-frame bed and writing desk nearby spoke of wealth, and she would wager it was ill-begotten wealth at that.
“Awake at last,” a cold, silky voice said. “I was worried my quartermaster might have been a bit heavy-handed with you.”
Roberta saw the shadow of a man seated in the corner. He leaned forward, letting the lamplight bathe him in its glow. Andre La Roux. She was in his cabin aboard the Red Lady.
“What, no screams? No pleas for mercy?” He chuckled.
