The Captain's Caress

by Leigh Greenwood

  Finally, just as she was about to fall asleep, she heard a scratching at the door and sat up, shivering with fright, the hair standing up on the back of her neck. It was a large animal, much larger than a rat. Why hadn’t she thought to ask if wolves or bears still lived in the hills?

  Now the scratching was accompanied by a whining sound that became increasingly insistent. At least it wasn’t a bear. She was safe as long as she stayed in the attic. The scratching stopped, only to begin again and then stop once more. Summer crawled out of her bed and went to the ladder. She could still hear the whining, now from one window and soon from the other. Summer wondered if the animal was attracted by her food. Unable to stand the suspense any longer, she picked up her pistol and climbed down the ladder.

  With great stealth she crept over to the window, placed her face to one of the dusty panes, and peered into the night. A sudden scurrying made her reel back and scream. Her heart beating wildly, she stared into the big brown eyes of a huge sheepdog which barked a friendly greeting and wagged its tail so energetically its whole body shook.

  Weak from shock, Summer sank to the floor, laughing at herself and her imagined fears. “I’ll bet you want a piece of meat,” she said, beginning to recover her courage. “I can’t give you any food, but I’d be grateful if you’d stay and guard my door.” The dog barked again, entreating her to let him in; instead Summer climbed the ladder and went back to bed. No further sounds worried her, and she soon fell fast asleep.

  The sun was high in the heavens before Summer woke the next morning. There was no sign of the dog; but she was not lonely. She looked forward to spending a day in idleness, but this turned out to be the most boring day of her life. Summer was used to being busy, and after an hour she began to look for things to do. She was finally reduced to sweeping the dirt floor to keep from going crazy.

  Summer was dozing when she heard the horse whinny. She sat up, listening intently. There was no answering call from the barn, but the unseen horse whinnied again. Then the whining and scratching of the past night started up; Summer was sure it was the same dog. She held her breath and waited. Minutes later she heard hoof beats in the lane and she fled up the ladder. For a time the only sounds that came to her were made by the dog, and she began to hope that the rider was just passing by. But just as she was trying to decide whether to go back down, footsteps approached the house and someone tried the door. When it didn’t open, the stranger knocked and then tried the door again, then the windows.

  “Countess, are you in there?” The man spoke with an accent Summer had never heard before. “I’m not one of the earl’s men. I’ve come from Captain Douglas.” Summer’s heart lurched so violently she nearly lost her grip on the ladder.

  Fool, she told herself, that’s exactly the kind of cruel trick Gowan would employ. He wouldn’t care if the pain tore you apart. But the voice kept calling, kept using Brent’s name, until it rang inside her head with the insistence of a tolling bell. She fought the weight of sadness, the birth of hope, the tears and the racking sobs that had not been exhausted by months of grieving.

  At last, unable to stand the torture any longer, she called out, “You’re lying. Go away and leave me alone.”

  The intruder pushed on the door harder than before. The wooden bar was stout, but dry rot had eaten into its cradle and one mighty heave sent it crashing to the floor. As the door swung inward and banged against the wall, Summer reached into the pocket of her cloak and took out a pistol. She had hoped she wouldn’t have to use it, but if she let this man go, he would tell Gowan.

  Roberto smiled when he saw the freshly swept floor. It reminded him of Madelena. “Countess, I’m coming up,” he called, knowing instinctively that Summer was hiding in the loft. “I don’t want to harm you. I only want to talk with you, to tell you about Master Brent.”

  Summer closed her eyes. The pain was almost too much to bear. If he didn’t stop using Brent’s name, she would have to shoot him. She couldn’t stand to hear him talk as if Brent were still alive, as if all she had to do was climb down the ladder and he would lead her to him. She blocked Brent’s image from her mind, and forced herself to think only of the danger below.

  Roberto placed one foot on the ladder and began to climb slowly and deliberately. When he put his head into the loft the first thing he saw was the pistol less than six inches from his forehead.

  “Don’t move,” Summer commanded. “I’ll kill us both if I have to.”

  Roberto stared at her, his breath coming quickly. “You are beautiful,” he said, in awe of her, “just as beautiful as Master Brent said you were.”

  “I’ll shoot you if you speak Brent’s name one more time,” she cried out, fighting back tears. “I know he’s dead. I saw him die with my own eyes.”

  “He almost died,” Roberto told her, advancing very slowly, “but he’s well now, and he’s here in Scotland.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Summer’s tears were almost blinding her; but against her will, the seed of hope took root. “I saw Gowan shoot him. I saw all the blood. I saw him die!” She broke down and sobbed uncontrollably.

  “He’s very much alive. We started searching for you the moment we heard you’d escaped. We thought you might be on Douglas land.”

  “How?…”

  “My wife visits your egg woman every day.”

  “Please don’t say this if it isn’t true,” Summer begged. “I will go mad if I lose him again.”

  Roberto was in the loft now, but he made no move to approach Summer.

  “I wouldn’t lie to you. I’ve know Master Brent since he was a boy. I would do anything for the woman he loved, especially when she’s carrying his child.”

  Summer instinctively covered her belly. “Why do you say that?”

  “Brent swore you wouldn’t let the earl come near you.” A heartrending sob broke from Summer, but it was cut short by a stabbing pain.

  “My labor has started,” she gasped.

  “You’ve got to get below,” Roberto decided.

  “I can’t move.”

  “I’m going for Brent, and a midwife. We may not be able to move you by the time I get back so I’ll hide you under the straw. My dog will guard you.”

  “A large sheepdog?” she asked.

  “How did you guess?”

  “He was here last night. He nearly scared me to death.”

  “So that’s why he led me this way. I would never have taken this lane in the dark, but when my horse neighed I knew there was someone about. I hoped it was you.”

  A spasm of pain swept over Summer as she descended the ladder; she froze and held on until it passed.

  “Are you sure you’ll be all right? I can try sending the dog back alone.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she promised. “Just bring Brent as quickly as you can. And if you’ve lied, I swear I’ll kill you.” Roberto prepared a deep straw pallet for Summer, and as soon as she was comfortable, he left his dog with her and vanished into the night.

  The wait was the most terrible torture Summer had ever endured. Sometimes she expected Brent to walk through the door and sweep her into his arms. At others she feared that Gowan would appear and drag her off to Edinburgh and those doctors who were willing to do anything for money. Only the huge dog sitting next to the door convinced her she hadn’t dreamed it all.

  As time inched forward, doubts scourged her newborn hope and the pains grew sharper and more frequent. She was slipping into semiconsciousness when she heard horses’s hooves and wagon wheels.

  Brent’s nerves were stretched nearly to the breaking point by the time he pulled into the farmhouse yard. “She’s on a straw pallet in the corner,” Roberto called as he leapt from the still-moving wagon, taking the lantern with him. He rushed through the door holding the light above his head, his eager eyes searching the dark corners.

  “Brent?” The weak voice came from his left. “Is it really you?” Turning in the direction of the sound, Brent beheld Summer lying in a corne
r, almost entirely covered in straw. Her tear-stained face was contorted by a spasm of pain, but when she recognized him joy relaxed her features. Brent tenderly took her into his arms, but Summer, laughing, crying, and saying his name over and over, was momentarily oblivious to pain. She covered his face with kisses, and clung to him, unable to believe that he was really alive. Brent, too, forgot the baby and returned her embraces with crushing strength. The three onlookers, gathered at the door, were mute witnesses to a reunion that moved even the pragmatic Roberto.

  “Shouldn’t she lie down?” Roberto asked, fearful that the tight embrace would injure Summer or the baby.

  “Let them be,” whispered Madelena. “The baby can wait.”

  When a contraction turned Summer rigid in Brent’s arms, the more practical Fiona announced, “You can finish this later,” and bustled into action, adding, “right now we’ve got to get her comfortable.”

  “Don’t leave me,” Summer begged.

  “I won’t stir from your side,” Brent promised.

  “This is no time to have a man about,” Fiona admonished. “You go stay in the wagon.”

  “I’m staying here,” Brent declared.

  Fiona was disgusted by the foolishly adoring way Brent stared at Summer, but she was never one to waste time on lost causes.

  “Then make yourself useful. A wagonload of things have to be brought in. You and Roberto see to it while Madelena and I try to get her settled.”

  When Summer refused to let go of Brent’s hand, he said, “I’m just going outside. I’ll never leave you again.”

  “I’m going to need a lot more straw,” Madelena declared. “If you will have your baby like a mare, at least we can make a decent bed for you.” She scolded the two men sharply every time Summer made a sound, but Summer was finally settled on a fresh bed. “Now go start the fire and heat some water while we get her out of these clothes,” Madelena said to the men.

  “Roberto can make the fire by himself,” Brent argued. “I’m not leaving her again.”

  “If you can look at her in the straw and still think she’s beautiful, I guess you’re as besotted as she is,” Fiona said huffily. “But you’ll have to turn your eyes away while we change her. I’ll not have you staring at her naked.”

  “How do you think she got this way?” Brent smiled wickedly at Fiona.

  “Young people have no manners anymore,” lamented Madelena. “If Roberto had spoken to my mother like that, my father would have shot him.”

  “If your father had seen Summer, he would have understood.”

  “Are you saying I’m so ugly it’s a relief to turn away?” Madelena’s eyes glinted dangerously.

  “Everyone knows that Roberto still has to drive your admirers away with a knife, but look at her. Even now she’s the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  “You’re hopeless,” said Madelena. “If you must stay where you have no business to be, get out of my way so I can do my work.” Brent continued to hold Summer’s hand and to whisper lovingly in her ear even when Madelena poked him in the ribs to make him move. She grumbled while she changed Summer’s clothes, then made some pungent remarks on the behavior of young people as she drew the sheet over Summer; but later, when she stepped outside to confer with Roberto, her attitude was quite different.

  “You should see the two of them holding hands and staring at each other as if there were no one else in the world. You’d never know they were in a crumbling shack on a dirt floor.”

  “I thought you would send him out, or haven’t you changed her yet?”

  “He’s so blinded by love he wouldn’t know whether she was mother-naked or wearing a golden gown. Did you ever feel that way about me?” she asked coyly.

  “With you rolling about and screaming like a wild woman?” Roberto asked, aghast. “I stuck my head in the wagon once, and you let out such a screech I thought they were cutting you open.”

  “You have no romance in your soul. You couldn’t really love me,” she pouted.

  “Then your sister pushed me off the step. Your father had to protect me.”

  “Master Brent’s not afraid.”

  “Why should he be? You and Fiona treat him like a prince. Your mother and sisters treated me like an archfiend for getting you pregnant.” He pulled Madelena roughly to him. “But I’d do it again in a minute,” he said, responding instantly to the warmth of her body against his.

  “Behave yourself,” his wife scolded, though she was enormously pleased. “I’m too old for that kind of stuff.”

  “That’s not what you said last night,” he teased, breathing hotly in her ear.

  “I’ve got to go back.” Madelena blushed and tried to break out of his hold. “Fiona can’t manage without me.”

  “Neither can I. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said shyly. She gave him a deep kiss and then ran back into the farmhouse, feeling younger and more lighthearted than she had in years.

  Chapter 46

  The women took turns watching Summer throughout the night. “She’s not going to be quick with her time,” said Fiona. “It may take another day.”

  “How can she stand another day of this agony?” Brent asked, fretting helplessly as Summer lay exhausted after a wave of pain.

  “There’s nothing wrong,” Madelena insisted, trying to allay his fears. “She just started her labor too soon. The poor thing is worn out, but she’s doing fine.” Brent tried to be reassured, but he became more and more worried as the morning wore into midday and then afternoon. He wanted several times to throw caution to the winds and send for a doctor.

  “Don’t be an imbecile,” Madelena admonished. “How can you expect Summer to remain calm if you act like a spooked yearling? You can’t tell me you carried on like this when your ship was in trouble. She needs someone to lean on, not someone to add to her fears. It’s going to take all of her strength to deliver this baby.”

  Brent felt like an apprentice seaman being dressed down.

  At sunset the pains intensified and started coming closer together. One hardly receded before another swept around Summer’s body like the coils of a large snake, causing her to moan distressfully and arch her body in protest. The two women then came out of their state of seeming unconcern and busied themselves with preparations for the birth; Brent’s offer of help was firmly refused. “You’ll have all you can do to keep yourself calm,” Fiona told him tersely.

  So Brent, completely shaken by the terrible agonies Summer was being forced to endure, stayed by his wife’s side. He had never considered what it meant for a woman to bear a child; the ordeal of birth was completely foreign to his masculine experience. Despite the pain of his own wounds, and the deaths and maimings he had witnessed, it nearly drove him mad to see the woman he loved being battered by this seemingly perpetual torment. He wanted to fight something, to curse someone for her pain.

  It was a new experience for him to sit by while others were busy, but he clenched his teeth and curbed his rage as best he could for Summer seemed to derive comfort from his presence. It was his own fault that she was having this baby. If sitting by her side, holding her hand, mopping her brow—woman’s work he would have scornfully called it just hours earlier—could make her trial any easier, then that was what he would do. It was the only way he could relieve the guilt he felt for having forced this misery on her. He made a silent vow never to do it again.

  As the light faded, her pains grew worse. Summer reached out to clasp Brent’s hand as a particularly vicious convulsion wrenched at her abdomen, burying her in a haze of torment. She felt that she was drowning in pain, her head rolled from side to side, and she was unable to stop the low moans that slipped from her compressed lips. Faces became unclear and voices seemed to be coming from a distance, but Brent’s hand was her lifeline, the link that kept her from being pilotless in this storm of suffering.

  Then the most terrible pain of all gripped Summer, and pushed down with violent force. A muf
fled scream escaped her lips, but before she could recover, another contraction, even worse than the first, seized her like the embrace of a constrictor. She felt a terrible pressure, an overwhelming desire to push down, to rid herself of the burden that tortured her so. Brent cradled her in his arms as still another wave gripped her and she tried to throw herself from the bed.

  “It’s coming,” cried Fiona. “I can see the wee creature’s head.” Without knowing quite why he did it, Brent yielded Summer to Madelena. It was his child and his arms must be the first to hold it.

  “One more push ought to do it,” prompted Fiona. Summer tried to respond, but before she could gather herself, another wave washed over her. It was so all-consuming she felt swallowed by it. Through a haze she felt the baby’s head slip from her body; another push, and the baby lay in Brent’s arms. The brutal pains rapidly lost their force, and Summer closed her eyes. She had done it, she had given birth.

  Brent stared transfixed at the tiny, wrinkled face. The infant boy opened his eyes, took his first gulp of air, and cried out in protest. Brent had looked forward to becoming a father and had thought in an inchoate way of what it would be like. But now that his dream had turned into reality, he felt as much at a loss as any man could.

  “You’d think the man had never held a baby.” Fiona laughed.

  “I haven’t,” said the bemused Brent. “We don’t have babies at sea.”

  “Bless me, I never thought of that. He really doesn’t know what to do.”

  “Then it’s time he learned,” said Madelena. Brent came out of his fog long enough to discover he was about to drop the baby. The women laughed heartily as he tried to balance the infant, rear end in one hand and head and shoulders in the other. His hands kept going up and down like the weighing pans of a meat scale.

  “Bless the man if he’s not trying to juggle with it.” Fiona was enjoying Brent’s confusion. The baby, dwarfed by Brent’s enormous hands, looked up at his father with clear blue eyes.