Chapter 12

There were also winding, white scars, covering her skin like a map. He traced a scar with his fingertips, a question in his touch.

“What was used? A horsewhip?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Christian didn’t answer. Maybe she didn’t have an explanation, or maybe she didn’t believe he needed to hear it. Mal didn’t push. It wasn’t his business, and if she wanted him to know, she would tell him in time. But that didn’t stop him from following the marks and welts with his fingers, delicately acknowledging each unjust hit.