Island Flame

by ROBARDS, KAREN

  Cathy glared at him, too incensed at this cavalier dismissal of her importance to be able to frame any kind of a reply. “And,” Jon continued coldly, “as for the rest of your remarks, I’ll take them point by point. First, I thought we’d already agreed that no rape occurred. Second, I steal to survive. If you’d ever gone hungry you’d be more sympathetic. Third, if I don’t kill my opponents, they’ll kill me. And I prefer to live, thank you. And finally, as to starving those pudding-bags, let me inform you that the Margarita’s rations are carefully calculated before each voyage so that there’s enough to get us where we’re going and back—no more. We have no room for extra stores. When we took the Anna Greer, our food supplies were already low. We had followed her for some days longer than I had originally planned, you see. If your three friends were allowed to gorge themselves, then I or my men would have to go without sufficient food to make up the difference. And the prisoners are not needed to sail this ship. They get enough to keep body and soul together, and we’ll reach port before they suffer any real ill-effects. You should be grateful that I was sufficiently taken with your soft curves to want to keep them that way.”

  “I despise and detest you,” Cathy said slowly after a long moment. “You have the hardest heart of anyone I’ve ever met. If you even have a heart, which I’m beginning to doubt.”

  “I have one, never fear.” His long lashes dropped to mask his eyes. “But I also have sense enough to realize that if I don’t take care of me and mine, no one else gives a damn. Something you’ll doubtless realize as you grow older, my child.”

  “I’m not a child anymore, thanks to you,” Cathy replied bitterly. “You’ve seen to it that I’ve grown up fast.”

  “And I’ve enjoyed every minute of your education.” The mocking light was back in his eyes.

  Cathy abruptly turned her back, too sick at heart to argue further. She crossed to the window to stare pointedly out.

  “Would you please leave? I’d like to be alone for a while.” Her voice was icy.

  “Then alone you shall be, my lady. For a while. Just don’t get too fond of solitude. Remember, it’s only temporary.”

  Cathy clamped her lips together and refused to dignify his needling with a reply. After a moment she heard the door open, and then click shut behind him. Through the window, the sunlight was making sparkling, ever-changing patterns on gently breaking waves. Cathy stared at them blindly. She felt shattered, drained of all emotion. For the first time she acknowledged to herself how completely she was at the pirate captain’s mercy. Then she smiled, her expression grim. Only a fool would expect mercy from a merciless man.

  Five

  Eleven days later the Margarita sailed into the Spanish port of Cadiz. The weather had turned hot and sunny again, after almost a week of intermittent squalls. Since their quarrel, Cathy had spoken to Jon only when she absolutely had to, and he was equally terse with her. The only use he now had for her was to take her body roughly, quickly, at least once, and sometimes even two or three times a day. Cathy found it increasingly easy to lie as unmoving as a stone statue beneath him while he did his worst to her. It had become a point of pride with her to feel nothing—and to make sure that Jon knew it.

  His temper had deteriorated steadily as her resistance increased. Even Harry tiptoed around him as one would around a live and extremely volatile bomb. Petersham took care to stay away from the cabin when Jon was there, telling Cathy frankly that he had no wish to be present when the inevitable explosion occurred. Cathy resolutely refused to be intimidated. Her tactics, though admittedly dangerous, were working.

  Her attitude was as irritating to him as a small stinging fly was to a large horse. He was being exasperated to the point where he found it impossible to conceal the fact that she was getting under his skin. Only the night before, as he began what Cathy was coming to think of as his ritual assault, he was goaded into revealing just how much her total lack of response irked him. She was lying flat on her back on the bunk where he had thrown her, as limp and unresisting as a rag doll while he systematically stripped her. Finally, with a muttered curse, he stopped with one large hand hooked around the waistband of her pantalets to glare at her. Cathy clenched her eyes tightly shut, refusing to respond to him by so much as a look.

  “That’s right, bitch,” he sneered savagely. “Just close your eyes and think of England. Do you think I give a damn how you feel?”

  With that he lowered himself on her stiff body and proceeded to take it brutally. Cathy made neither sound nor movement to help or hinder. She lay like a corpse, inwardly triumphant. He might walk off with an occasional battle, but she was winning the war.

  His hands and mouth were deliberately ungentle, inflicting bruises that were still sore the following day. When he had finished, he rolled cursing onto his side. After a few moments he had risen from the bunk and dressed, stomping out of the cabin without a word. She hadn’t seen him since. Cathy smiled, remembering. She was making him suffer, and the thought brightened her day.

  The unaccustomed sight of land out of the small window beckoned Cathy irresistably. She decided to end her self-imposed exile. After all, she was the only one to suffer from her confinement. As Jon had repeatedly said, she could stay in his cabin until doomsday as far as he was concerned. All he cared about was having her body available whenever he cared to avail himself of it. Unspeakable animal, she thought bitterly, and then dismissed him from her mind. She was determined to enjoy the day.

  Cathy dressed hastily, suddenly so tired of the four walls of the captain’s cabin that she could have screamed. A simple, peach-colored linen dress seemed the best choice considering the heat, not to mention the way it blended with her creamy skin, giving the illusion at first sight that she was naked. A large straw hat tied beneath her chin to protect her complexion from the sun completed her toilette, and she was ready. She opened the cabin door and stepped out on deck.

  Her arrival caused not the slightest ripple in the smooth running of the ship. Indeed, no one even so much as glanced her way. The men were all busy taking in the sails so that the Margarita could safely drop anchor. Bawdy songs and jovial curses floated down to Cathy’s ears from the rigging, where the men clung like chattering monkeys.

  Jon was not on the quarterdeck. Cathy looked around for him on the theory that it was always safest to know the location of the enemy. He didn’t appear to be anywhere on the ship, in fact. Her eyes were beginning another disbelieving swing when she heard his deep voice high above her. She looked up, searchingly. When at last she spotted him her heart stood still for a frightened instant before resuming its beat double-fast. He was in the rigging with his men, high up near the tip of the main mast, climbing even higher as Cathy watched to release the rope that held the topsail to the spar. At last he succeeded, after several precarious tries, and the canvas came fluttering down like a huge white moth. Jon yelled triumphantly, then began to back down the pole after the sail, legs wrapped tightly around the smooth wood as his hands moved one beneath the other. He was grinning, and Cathy could have cheerfully slapped the ridiculous smirk from his face. It was dangerous to go up that high! He should have left it to the men! She was too disturbed to wonder why the thought of his falling from such a height should so upset her. She just knew that it did.

  “Michaelson, you and Finch check that canvas for tears,” he bellowed, as the sail floated down to the deck.

  “Hell, Cap’n, we ain’t tailors!” a man called back amiably.

  “You are if I say you are!” Jon retorted, still grinning. “Now get to it!”

  The men complied with much good-natured grumbling. Cathy wondered that they dared, considering the mood Jon had been in lately. Even he seemed cheerful, though. Lately he had been about as lighthearted as a graveyard. Then the words to one of the songs began to make sense. Jon had said that when the Margarita made port there would be plenty of women willing to warm his bed, and apparently the crew was of a similar mind. Cathy shut her mind to the obscene
lyrics, her eyes beginning to narrow. If Captain Hale chose to sleep with whores, she could only be grateful to them for relieving her of the onerous duty! She shrank back against the wall beneath the quarterdeck, suddenly anxious not to be seen. The arrogant beast might take her presence on the deck as a sign that she was weakening toward him!

  “Ahoy, Cap’n!” Harry came to stand beneath the mast, neck craned back to look at Jon as he still worked high aloft.

  “What is it?”

  “About the prisoners, Cap’n. You want me to see about their ransoms while I’m ashore ordering supplies?”

  “Hell, yes! The sooner we’re rid of the stinking pests the better!”

  Cathy was shocked at the pain this callous dismissal caused her. She stood biting her lip, unnoticed by all, and told herself sternly that she was elated. Soon she would be free to resume her life where it had been so rudely interrupted, to go to parties and balls, to meet handsome young men. She would return to Portugal, she planned. No one there would know what had happened to her, and she could be assured of her good name. Eventually she might marry. … Then the Margarita and all that had happened aboard the ship would seem no more real than a bad dream.

  “Harry!” Jon yelled after a moment’s silence. The second officer had already turned and was making his way toward the rail; far below a small boat waited to take him to shore. He turned back at Jon’s summons.

  “Aye, Cap’n?”

  “Uh—just arrange ransoms for the old lady and the couple. I’ve a mind to keep the girl for a while.” This was said in an offhand tone, but Jon had to repeat it at a bellow before Harry could hear him properly.

  “You sure about this, Cap’n?” Harry asked worriedly, when the words were made clear to him.

  “Damn it, don’t argue every time I give you an order. Just do it.”

  “But, Cap’n.…”

  “Look, consider her part of my share. Does that make it easier for your puritan soul to accept?” Jon sounded thoroughly exasperated. Harry cleared his throat nervously, remembering the captain’s temper of late.

  “Yes, sir,” Harry said smartly, but he was shaking his head as he walked away.

  For just an instant Cathy was conscious of a quick stab of delight. Jon meant to keep her with him … ! Then she took herself firmly in hand. Yes, he meant to keep her—until he tired of her. Then she would be cast aside like a pair of worn-out breeches while he found another to take her place. She wouldn’t even have exclusivity while she was with him! Not if she had read his plans for the night correctly. Was that what she, daughter of an Earl, wanted out of life? To be the transient receptacle of a pirate’s lust? Not a chance! She would throw herself overboard before she would submit to being so degraded! Her pride hotly rebelled against the picture she had conjured up. She wouldn’t take it, she wouldn’t! She would escape … !

  Cathy looked toward where the breakers pounded the curving shoreline, some seven hundred yards away. She had always been a strong swimmer—an unusual accomplishment for a girl. But she had insisted on learning, and, as always, had gotten her own way. For once her willfulness would stand her in good stead. She was certain that she could swim the distance to shore. True, she had never swum so far, but then she had never had so much reason. She was positive that she could do it. Just the thought of thwarting Captain Jonathan Hale would give her the necessary strength!

  Eyes glittering triumphantly, Cathy slipped back into the cabin. Jon mustn’t know she had overheard what he’d said to Harry. He must think that she still believed that she would be released while they were in port. He would go blithely ashore tonight, not knowing that she could swim. … Cathy smiled. He would soon learn that she was not so easily tamed!

  It was about an hour after dark when Jon returned to the cabin. Cathy, demurely dressed in her blue wrapper over a matching nightgown, was already curled up with a book on his bunk. She favored him with a haughty glance as he entered, but said nothing. Neither did he. Cathy kept her eyes trained zealously on the book while she inwardly rejoiced. He was going ashore! Instead of stripping off and attacking her as he usually did as soon as he came in, he was carefully setting out his shaving gear. She watched, gloating, as he cleared the thick stubble from his face. Moments later, wiping the excess soap away with a small towel, he pulled on breeches of a good, gray broadcloth that would not have shamed a court dandy. Then he shrugged into a white linen shirt, clean and whole for a change, which sported a small ruffle down the front and at the wrists. That done, he peered into the wardrobe mirror, carefully tying a white silk cravat around his neck. Finally, he donned a black velvet frock coat. He looked almost extremely handsome. If she had met him, dressed like this, at a party or a ball, she would certainly have exerted her charms to attract him. But, as Martha had frequently told her, handsome is as handsome does. By that reckoning, though, Jon should look like the toad prince!

  “Going somewhere?” Cathy asked at last, her voice as cold as ice. To display no curiosity at all might invite suspicion.

  “I’m honored!” Jon sneered, turning to stare at her with exaggerated awe. “Her ladyship deigns to speak at last! Well, for your information, my lady, I’m going to visit an old friend. A female friend,” he emphasized. “I’ve a fancy for a livelier tart in my bed tonight than you’ve become of late. You should be thankful. Your rest tonight will be as undisturbed as a virgin’s.”

  “I am thankful,” Cathy assured him, firmly suppressing what felt almost like a prick of jealously. “I only wish you’d decide to replace me altogether. If you’re worried about wounding my sensibilities, don’t. I believe that they would survive the blow.”

  Cathy was justifiably proud of the careless tone of her speech. If he’d had any inkling of what she had planned, that should help gull him.

  “I’m giving it serious thought,” Jon answered coldly. Cathy had to fight back an urge to scream “liar!” at him. She knew better! The perfidious dog was planning to have her as a main course while he took any other woman he happened to fancy on the side! Well, not for long, she vowed, and almost smiled. Luckily, though, she caught herself in time.

  Jon turned back to the mirror to smooth his unruly hair with his gold-backed brush. It looked ridiculously dainty in his big hand. Cathy watched him, triumph glowing in her eyes. The arrogant thing hadn’t even considered that she might try to escape him. Would he ever be in for a shock! Hastily she lowered her eyes, afraid he might be able to read her rising excitement in them.

  She maintained a stony silence while he finished his toilette, refusing even to look up or answer when he bade her a mocking good-night.

  Cathy had to force herself to remain where she was as he shut the door behind him. She had to give him time to get clear of the ship. … This might be the only chance she would have. She’d better make the most of it.

  Finally the splash of oars told her that he was on his way. Cathy jumped up and raced to the window. He was going, all right. She could see the light bobbing on the water as he rowed himself to shore.

  She dropped the curtain and raced across to Jon’s sea chests. Slow down, she told herself, as she almost tripped over the leg of a chair. There’s plenty of time. If he had told her the truth about his destination, he’d likely be gone all night. Yet her fingers flew as they searched his sea chest for suitable swimming gear.

  Moments later she stood up with her prize. Breeches and a shirt would have to do. They would certainly be better for swimming than her own long dress. Its material would quickly have become water-logged, dragging her down with its weight. And besides, Jon’s clothes would serve her better once she had reached the shore. She would pretend to be a boy until she was sure she was in good hands. One thing that this voyage had taught her firsthand was a young lady on her own faced danger at every turn.

  She dressed hastily, thanking God for the bagginess of the clothes. They allowed not the smallest hint of her shape to show through. Except for her hair, she could easily pass for some ragtail lad. She would
have to do something about her hair. Quickly she braided it into two long plaits, then secured them across the top of her head. With one of Jon’s caps pulled low over her forehead, she’d do, she thought, surveying herself critically in the mirror. Anyway, it would be dark, and she would take good care to stay out of the light as much as possible.

  Taking her plainest shoes from the wardrobe, she tied the laces together so that they could be hung around her neck. She couldn’t swim in shoes, but on the other hand she couldn’t walk through the town barefoot. The sight of her dainty feet would be a dead giveaway.

  Finally, Cathy stripped the two sheets from the bed, tying them together lengthwise and pulling on the knot with all her might to test its strength. Jon had undoubtedly left some of his crew on guard, so she would have to leave by the window, and lower herself by the sheets to avoid the noise of diving. With a lot of care and a little luck, she shouldn’t be missed until Jon returned the next morning. By then she would be safely in the hands of the authorities. When she told her story they would arrest him, and he would hang. … Well, maybe she wouldn’t tell the whole story until the Margarita had sailed away. She wouldn’t want any man’s death on her conscience. Thoughtfully, Cathy blew out the candle.

  Getting out of the window proved to be easier said than done. Cathy was a small girl, but the window was smaller yet. She heaved and panted and struggled and finally, just as she was beginning to think she was stuck forever, popped clear, like the last olive from a bottle. Luckily she had decided to go feet first, and had maintained a grip on the rope. If she hadn’t, she would have tumbled headfirst into the water with a splash loud enough to alert every ship in the harbor. As it was, except for a few very unladylike words, Cathy managed to lower herself down the Margarita’s side in comparative silence. She gasped a little as her bare toes first encountered the waves. The water was colder than she had expected. Well, no one had ever promised her that escape would be fun, she told herself, gritting her teeth as she lowered her body into the chilly depths. After all, a little cold water never killed anyone. Yet, her traitor brain added. Cathy quickly shushed the thought.