Oh, what she wouldn’t give for a long, sharp knife! She would carry it with her constantly, hidden in the sleeve of a voluminous nightshirt, and the next time the brute tried to rape her, she’d plunge it deep into his back! She pictured his writhing agony with deep relish. But the cabin was bare of knives, or any other obvious weapons. So she rescoured the cabin for anything that could possibly be used as a weapon. When she stopped at last, exhausted, her arsenal was not impressive. A heavy brass candlestick was the most promising of the small collection. She thrust it beneath the mattress so that it would be handy for use as a head-basher. The porcelain chamber pot also had possibilities, but she was afraid that if the pot were nowhere to be found, her captor would undoubtedly become suspicious. Despite his villainy, Cathy knew that the pirate captain was far from stupid.
She flatly refused to dress again in another of the hated nightshirts. If she could help it, nothing of his would touch her skin again for as long as she lived. Instead, she wrapped herself mummy-fashion in a quilt, and settled down in one of the hard chairs to wait. Sooner or later Captain Jonathan Hale would have to return to his cabin. When he did, Cathy wanted to be sure to make the occasion a memorable one.
It was Petersham, however, who next tapped on the door. The cabin was beginning to darken as the last of the day’s brightness faded away, and Cathy’s legs were growing cramped from sitting so long in one position. But she was determined not to be caught unprepared a second time. At the knock she stiffened, then relaxed. If there was anything certain in this suddenly mad world, it was that the arrogant scoundrel would not have the courtesy to knock before entering. He would just barge right in!
“I’ve brought you some supper, miss,” Petersham said as he entered. “Cap’n said as how you weren’t feeling too well at midday, but it’s almost seven o’clock now, and you need something solid in you. This seasickness will leave you weak as a kitten if you don’t take care.”
“I am no longer seasick, Petersham,” Cathy replied acidly, not moving from the chair. Petersham eyed her covertly as he set the meal on the table, his glance touching on her white face and tousled hair before taking in the final evidence of her quilt-clad body. It was plain what had happened. Master Jon, no longer hampered by the storm, had spent the morning enjoying what he would consider the spoils of battle. Well, men had their needs, as he, Petersham, knew full well, but it was hard on Miss Cathy. She was very young, and he’d stake his life that she had been an innocent.
“Be you all right, miss?” Petersham questioned huskily.
“Certainly I am all right, Petersham,” Cathy snapped, suddenly afraid that he would somehow guess her shame. She would simply die if anyone knew! But Petersham didn’t say anything else. He arranged the meal in silence, and left without venturing another word.
Sighing, Cathy uncurled herself, pulled the chair up to the table, and began to eat. She was surprised to find that she actually felt hungry, despite the trauma she had suffered.
She was just forking the last of the corned beef into her mouth when another tap sounded at the door. Her eyes flickered toward the oaken portal apprehensively. Who was it this time?
“Yes?” she called warily. Petersham poked his head around the door, and she relaxed.
“I thought you might enjoy a hot bath, miss. We’ve had an old tub down in the hold for months that nobody has had a use for. If you’d like, I’d be pleased to bring it up for you.”
Cathy thought quickly. A bath sounded wonderful, and her abused body screamed for her to accept. But if this was a gesture from the captain, designed to ease what passed for his conscience, she would jump overboard before she would agree. She would take no favors from him!
“Whose idea was this?” she asked sharply.
“Why, mine, miss. Whose else could it have been?”
This was so true that Cathy was surprised into a wry smile. Did she really think that Captain Jonathan Hale would spend his valuable time worrying about her comfort, especially now that he had taken what he wanted from her? Not likely! To him, she was just an inanimate body without thoughts or feelings.
“Thank you, Petersham, I would like a bath,” she answered.
Petersham beamed at her, then disappeared around the door. Cathy leaned back in her chair, suddenly faintly ashamed of her earlier behavior. After all, what had been done to her could hardly be blamed on Petersham. He at least had shown her nothing but kindness since she was taken prisoner.
Cathy was prepared for the brief knock this time. When the door opened in response to her summons, Petersham entered, closely followed by a husky sailor lugging a large hipbath, and another bearing one of her own small trunks.
“My clothes!” Cathy exclaimed joyfully.
“Cap’n gave permission to bring up some of your things, miss,” Petersham said, smiling at her. “I took the liberty of selecting the trunk with your night attire. Was that right?”
The mere mention of the “Cap’n” was enough to make Cathy see red, especially in connection with him giving permission for something to do with herself, but bit by painful bit she was growing wiser. There was no point in cutting off her nose to spite her face. If she instructed Petersham to take that trunk back to the gloating devil with the message that he could wear the dratted clothes himself, she would gain nothing but a fleeting instant of satisfaction. Better to make the best of things now, and bide her time. As Martha had often said, all things come to he who waits. And Cathy was prepared to wait forever, if need be, for her revenge.
“It was very thoughtful of you, Petersham,” she murmured, her face a cool mask hiding her thoughts. Then, as the sailors brought in steaming buckets of water and proceeded to fill the tub, she added gruffly, “Petersham, about this evening, when you brought my supper. … I—I wasn’t myself. I’m sorry if I was rude.” It was the first time in her life that Cathy had ever apologized to anyone for anything, and she felt absurdly shy. But Petersham’s beaming smile was her reward.
“That’s all right, miss. Everyone has a bad day now and again.”
That was the understatement of the year, Cathy thought, but said nothing. When the sailors had the tub filled to Petersham’s satisfaction, the three men left her alone in the cabin.
The first thing that Cathy did was to take one of the wooden chairs and wedge it firmly against the door. Although it wouldn’t keep Jon out for long if he was determined to get in, at least she would have enough warning so that she wouldn’t be caught naked in the bath!
That done, she went across to her small trunk and opened it lovingly. Just the sight of something from home was enough to make her eyes water. What she wouldn’t give to hear Martha scolding, or her papa bellowing as he did when everything didn’t go his way! Firmly she wiped a wayward tear from her cheek. Crying made everything seem so much worse.
Carefully, she lifted out the little tray of scented soaps and perfumes that fitted neatly over her clothes. She sprinkled attar of roses liberally in the bath water, sniffing appreciatively at the cloud of scented steam that rose to her nostrils. Picking up a bar of rose-scented soap and a small washcloth, she stepped into the tub. The feel of the hot water closing about her body as she sank down into it was pure bliss. She rested her head against the rolled back of the tub, not moving, luxuriating in the knowledge that she would soon be thoroughly clean again from head to toe. After a moment’s enjoyment she began to scrub vigorously at her arms and legs and body, almost rubbing away the skin in her zeal to be rid of Jon’s touch. Finally she splashed her face until her cheeks were pink and glowing. The only thing left to do was her hair, and taking a deep breath, she plunged her head beneath the water. Her hands worked their way through the long strands, wetting them thoroughly, and soaping them.
Cathy was rinsing her hair, her head under water again, when the doorknob rattled. The sound was closely followed by an impatient curse, then a shrill scraping as a strong shoulder set against the door pushed the detaining chair steadily over the planked floor. Jon squ
eezed through the opening he had made, looked about the cabin warily, then broke into a broad grin. All he could see of the little she-cat was a hank of dripping dark-gold hair and a pair of creamy shoulders. He crossed quietly to the side of the tub. Her face when she surfaced should really be something to behold!
At that moment Cathy came up for air, and Jon chuckled audibly at the absurd picture she presented. Her wet hair trailed limply over her face and shoulders to float around her in the water like trailing strands of seaweed. At the sound of his chuckle she stiffened, her hands coming up to push the hair out of her eyes. When she could see again, she glared at Jon as he towered over her, her face contorting with fury.
While she searched for her tongue, Jon amused himself by studying her soft curves through the water. Very nice, he thought appreciatively, admiring the impudent thrust of her breasts and the tender turn of her hips. Very nice. A slow grin was stealing across his mouth when, with an inarticulate cry of pure rage, Cathy hurled the bar of scented soap straight at his head. It struck him hard as a rock in the corner of his left eye. Jon staggered back, his hand clapping disbelievingly over the injured place. His temper, never placid, began to simmer in its turn. If the little vixen wanted to play rough, he would see to it that she got more than she’d bargained for!
“Get out!” Cathy shrieked, finding her voice at last. While he was still off balance she tried to leap from the tub, grabbing frantically for the quilt to wrap herself in. Jon caught her in mid-leap, his hands clamping around the slippery skin of her waist. Twist and turn though she might, Cathy was unable to free herself as he thrust her forcibly back down into the water.
“Why should I? It is, after all, my cabin,” Jon drawled, his hands on her shoulders holding her firmly in place. Only the steely look in his eyes warned her that she was on dangerous ground. But Cathy was too furious to heed any warning.
“I’m taking a bath!” she screamed, her fists clenching as his eyes moved over her body with insolent appraisal.
“I can see that you are.” His voice was approving, and his eyes echoed the sentiment. The little flicker at the backs of them should have given her pause, but Cathy stormed on regardless.
“I hate you! Get out of here!”
When he continued to stand there like some great immovable object, Cathy began to kick and beat the water with her fists like a child in a tantrum. Jon’s mouth clenched as the soapy water sloshed over his dry clothes. He moved around behind her so swiftly that Cathy had no chance to prepare for what happened next.
“You were rinsing your hair when I so rudely interrupted, I believe,” he said silkily. “Let me help you.”
Cathy felt a large hand pressing down on the top of her head, and just had time to take a deep breath before her head was forced under the water. She squirmed and twisted, clawing frantically for the surface, but Jon held her under until she thought her lungs would burst. Finally he relented, removing his hand while she came up for great gulping breaths of air.
“You swine!” Cathy gasped when she could speak. “Isn’t rape enough for you? Or do you drown all your victims afterward?”
“Not all of them, no,” he told her, sitting down on the edge of the tub and playing idly with the wet strands of her hair. Cathy jerked the locks away from him angrily, tossing him a fearsome glare. He smiled mockingly back at her. “Just cheeky little brats who need to be shown who’s master.”
“Master!” Cathy screeched, recovering at this jab to her pride. “You’re not my master and never will be, you insufferable animal!”
“Now, that’s where you’re wrong, my sweet,” Jon’s eyes narrowed until they were nothing more than glittering slits in his dark face. “I’ve been your master since the moment you first set foot on this ship. If you haven’t realized it yet, then I’ve been too damned soft with you. Something which I intend to remedy right now.”
His hand was on the top of her head again. Cathy didn’t even have time to draw breath before he was forcing her back beneath the surface of the water. She slipped and slid on the bottom of the tub like an eel, finally managing to free herself. He grabbed for her again as she sucked air into her starved lungs. Cathy caught one of his reaching hands in both of hers, burying her teeth in it until they touched bone.
“Bitch!” he yelled, snatching his hand away. This was the chance Cathy had been waiting for. She jumped up, flinging the soapy washcloth in his face. During the instant he took to free himself from its entangling folds she grabbed the quilt and sprinted for the door. The knob turned easily under her hand, but the blasted thing wouldn’t open! She pulled at it frantically. It had to open, it had to!
“It’s locked,” Jon growled menacingly from across the room, and Cathy whirled to find him advancing toward her, his face tight with anger. He had wrapped the washcloth around his hand where she had bitten it, but blood was already beginning to seep through. Cathy felt a momentary triumph. Whatever the outcome of this night’s work, at least he wouldn’t escape totally unscathed!
“So the big, brave pirate had to lock the door, did he?” she jeered recklessly, edging toward the corner where she had strategically placed the chamber pot. “What’s the matter, Captain? Were you afraid a mere female might get the better of you?”
Jon moved slowly toward her, his eyes promising a painful retribution. Cathy was too incensed to notice, or care if she had. At least she was getting a little of her own back on him! She made it over to the corner and bent to retrieve the chamber pot, straightening and hurling it at him so quickly that Jon didn’t even have time to duck. It hit him squarely on the shoulder, making him stagger backward. Cathy cursed her poor aim even as she grabbed furiously for another weapon, this time a book of plays. If he’d had a blow like that to the head, he would no longer be any threat to her!
“That’s torn it, you little hell-cat!” Jon roared, making a lunge for her. The book bounced harmlessly off his muscular chest. Before she could launch another missile his arms closed around her, squeezing like a boa constrictor until she could hardly breathe. Cathy kicked and clawed at him, but only managed to bruise her bare feet on his hard legs. Her nails had more success, scraping down the side of his face before he jerked his head back out of reach. She fought frantically as he half dragged, half carried her across the room, screeching hysterical curses at him. He seemed unimpressed by her vocabulary. Cathy screamed in earnest as he jerked the quilt from her, leaving her totally naked in his grasp. Teeth bared and nails flaring she reached for him but was left holding air as he twisted her effortlessly around. Before she knew quite what was happening he was sitting in one of the wooden chairs with her upended and furiously squirming across his lap, her long wet hair trailing the floor and her bare bottom wriggling ingloriously.
“I think it’s time you learned a few manners, my lady,” Jon snarled, and took a hard swat at her heaving backside. Cathy gasped as his hand found its target with all the force of a bullwhip, then screamed as he spanked her again and again. In a short time she was reduced to hiccupping sobs.
“Let me go, you filthy swine,” she managed with creditable defiance, but his hand thudding down hard on her buttocks refused her even that small measure of pride.
“From now on, you’re going to do exactly as I tell you, right?” he questioned grimly, his hand hovering over her tender flesh.
Cathy said nothing. The hand stung against her bottom in a resounding slap.
“Right?” he asked again.
“Right!” Cathy screamed furiously, mentally condemning him to all the tortures of hell. He’d be sorry for all the indignities he was forcing upon her! She had her pride, and she would see him dead at her feet if it was the last thing she ever did!
“Who’s your master?” he went on.
Cathy hesitated. She couldn’t, simply could not, give him that satisfaction. Jon whacked her again, harder than before, and Cathy shrieked with pain and humiliation.
“I’m waiting,” he said ominously.
“Oh, you a
re, you bastard!” Cathy sobbingly hurled the admission at him and braced herself, sure he would beat her even more for her phrasing. But to her surprise he let her go, shoving her off his lap contemptuously as he stood up.
“See that you remember it,” he growled, and went to retrieve the chamber pot from where it had landed beside the door. When he picked it up he saw that it had broken cleanly in half. He regarded it grimly, then turned to survey the havoc in the cabin. Water stood in a lake around the half-empty tub, and the bar of soap lay forlornly beneath the table. The quilt was wet and lay in a soggy heap of color near the bunk. Cathy huddled on the floor where he had pushed her, her knees drawn up in front of her and her arms wrapped around herself to shield her body from his gaze. Her eyes blazed with hatred as she glared up at him. Jon smiled menacingly at the feral picture she presented. By God, it was time the vixen was tamed!
“Get up!” he snarled. Cathy looked at him mutinously.
“I won’t!” she hurled back.
“I said, get up!” Jon thundered, his voice cracking like a whip. Cathy glowered at him, prepared to defy him further, but what she saw in his face dissuaded her. He looked ready to strangle her if she disobeyed him.
“I can’t. I—I don’t have any clothes on,” she muttered sullenly, not quite daring to openly contradict him.
“If you don’t do as I tell you, right now, I’ll make you very, very sorry. And that’s a promise.” His voice was deceptively soft, but Cathy could see a muscle twitching angrily at the corner of his mouth. As she looked at him he took a step toward her. Cathy scrambled hastily to her feet. Arrogant bully! She knew and he knew that she had no choice but to submit to him now. But later, she promised herself, later he would pay in blood for every humiliation he was making her suffer!
Island Flame Page 6
