Island Flame

by ROBARDS, KAREN

  “Cathy?” Jon called weakly as he had many times over the last few days. Her presence never really penetrated his clouded mind, but he seemed to find it comforting to have her sit beside him, holding his hand or bathing his fevered brow.

  “Yes, Jon, I’m here,” she answered, coming to stand beside the bunk and looking tenderly down into his dark face. What she saw this time surprised her. The gray eyes were open and seemed to be comprehending as they fixed on her.

  “Jon!” she exclaimed joyfully. “Can you see me?”

  “Of course I can see you.” His voice was weak, but a thread of irritation at her seemingly ridiculous question laced the words.

  “How do you feel?” Cathy sat down on the edge of the bunk beside him, her hand going automatically to stroke his forehead. It felt cool, she noted with relief.

  “Like hell,” he said bluntly. “What day is it?”

  “Wednesday, the twenty-second of June, 1842. You’ve been unconscious for the past six days.”

  “What happened?” he asked, a frown wrinkling his brow as he tried to remember. Then, before she could attempt to explain, his eyes fastened themselves on hers, anger burning in their depths. “You little fool, don’t you know you could have been killed, or worse? Beautiful blondes like yourself fetch a mint in the brothels around here. If that had happened, no one would ever have heard from you again, and they would have used you until you died of it! God, of all the cities in the world to run away in, you pick Cadiz! And of all the places in Cadiz, you wind up at the Red Dog, the hangout for every hunted man on this coast! I couldn’t believe it when I saw that ridiculous sheet and followed your trail there! God, when I heard all those bastards laughing inside, I thought I was too late!”

  He was growing increasingly agitated. Cathy caught his hand, trying to calm him before he caused himself an injury. The long fingers fastened around her wrist with surprising strength.

  “You’re not to try such a thing again, do you hear?” he asked fiercely. “I’ll keep you safe if I have to lock you up! I’ll … !”

  “You don’t have to, Jon,” Cathy told him quietly, not even trying to free herself. “I won’t run away from you again, I promise. I’ll stay until you’re ready to let me go. Now, you must be quiet. You’ve been very ill. Would you like some gruel, or a drink of water?”

  Jon stared up at her, his eyes plumbing the depths of hers. What he saw there must have reassured him. He released his stranglehold on her wrist to sink back more comfortably against the pillows.

  “Gruel!” he snorted. “If that’s all you’ve been feeding me, no wonder I feel weak as a newborn babe! I want real food, and a bottle of red wine!”

  “Not until Dr. Sandoz has seen you,” Cathy denied firmly, a small smile tilting at the corners of her mouth. “For now, you can eat gruel and like it!”

  Jon started to protest, caught her eye, and grinned himself.

  “It seems that I’m at your mercy for a change, my cat. Well, do your worst. My turn will come again soon enough.”

  Cathy stuck her small tongue out at him playfully, then got off the bed and crossed to the door to yell for Petersham. She could feel Jon’s eyes boring into her back as she moved. When the valet appeared at a dead run, she smiled at him.

  “The captain is awake at last, and hungry. Would you please bring the usual, Petersham?”

  “Thank God!” Petersham exclaimed, and hurried away to do her bidding.

  “The old goat was worried about me, huh?” Jon grimaced as Cathy came to perch on a corner of the bunk.

  “Everyone was.”

  “Everyone? Even you?” The words were said casually, the long lashes dropping to veil the gray eyes.

  “Even me,” she answered honestly, smiling at him when he flicked a quick glance at her. “Especially me,” she could have added, but she didn’t.

  “Then you know how I felt when I found you gone,” he murmured, his lips twisting a little as he caught her hand and carried it to his mouth. The touch of his hard mouth against her palm jolted through both of them like an electric shock. Cathy pulled her hand away, laughing shakily.

  “Enough of that! You mustn’t get excited, you know. You’ve had a very high fever and.…”

  “Just looking at you excites me,” he said half under his breath, his fingers reaching again for her hand. Cathy’s heart quickened but she refused to give in to the warmth that flooded her. Instead she jumped to her feet and moved jerkily toward the door.

  “Where on earth is Petersham?” she wondered aloud, then mentally scolded herself for the inane question that revealed all her sudden nervousness.

  “Cathy …” Jon began, only to stop abruptly as Petersham appeared in the open doorway, carefully bearing a bowl of steaming gruel. Behind him came Harry. Cathy took the bowl from Petersham and set it on the bedside table as the two men crossed to the bunk. Jon grinned up at them weakly.

  “Sorry to disappoint you gentlemen, but I’m not dead yet.”

  “Thank God!” Petersham’s voice was fervent.

  “It’s good to have you back with us, Cap’n,” Harry reached for Jon’s hand, pumping it vigorously until Cathy felt forced to intervene.

  “Harry,” she warned. “You’ll start him bleeding again if you’re not careful.”

  “Oh, sorry,” Harry said, dropping Jon’s hand as if it had suddenly burned him. Jon’s eyes narrowed slightly at the familiarity between the two of them, but he said nothing.

  “How do you feel, Master Jon?” Petersham asked.

  “I’ll live,” Jon grunted.

  “He’s very weak,” Cathy put in. “And he needs to eat this gruel and then rest. If you’ll excuse us.…”

  “Of course,” Both men took the hint, shook Jon’s hand again, and left.

  “Bossy little madam, aren’t you?” the invalid said when they were alone once more. He eyed her thoughtfully as she carefully stirred the bowl of gruel. While she was so occupied he tried to lever himself into a sitting position only to fall back with a groan.

  “God, my leg!”

  “You’re not to move,” Cathy told him severely, coming to sit beside him, the bowl of gruel within reach. “If you start bleeding again, you may very well not live.”

  “And just how am I supposed to eat?” he asked crossly, disgruntled at his own helplessness.

  “The same way you’ve been eating up to now. Like this.”

  She wiggled over until she was sitting behind him, carefully lifting his head onto her lap. Then she tucked a pillow beneath it so that he was propped in a half-sitting position with her body supporting his weight. He grunted derisively, but allowed her to situate him as she wished.

  “Now, if you’ll hold the gruel,” she said finally, placing the bowl in his lap. “You can eat.”

  Dipping the spoon into the steaming mush, she raised it to his mouth. Jon rolled his head around until his eyes found hers.

  “Are you actually meaning to feed me like some just-weaned infant?” he asked disbelievingly.

  Cathy looked down at him admonishingly. “Yes, I am. And I’ve been doing so every day since you’ve been ill. If you object, I’ll have Petersham feed you. But you’re not strong enough yet to do it yourself, as you would quickly find if I let you try it.”

  Jon stared up at her, then broke into a reluctant smile.

  “The next time I take a female captive, I’m going to pick a nice, gentle, timid one. Not a bossy little spitfire who takes the bit between her teeth the first chance she gets.”

  “Very funny,” Cathy snapped, not liking his reference to other females or captives. “Open your mouth.”

  Jon slanted another quick glance up at her. “Yes, ma’am,” he said meekly, and opened his mouth.

  When the gruel was finished and the bowl set away, Cathy started to gently extricate herself. Jon caught her wrist, holding her in place while his mouth moved to nuzzle at the inside of her elbow.

  “Don’t leave me,” he whispered huskily.

&nb
sp; “I have to,” Cathy’s voice was weak as she battled the shivery sensations invoked by his warm lips. “You need to rest.”

  “Stay with me,” he murmured, his mouth tracing down the soft underside of her arm. “You look like you need some rest, too. We can rest together.”

  “Jon,” she warned in a shaky voice. “You’re too weak for … for.…”

  “I know.” He looked up at her appealingly. “I just want you beside me. I sleep better that way. I have nothing else in mind. I promise. If I try anything, you have my permission to slap my face and get up.”

  “Well …” Cathy wavered.

  “Please,” he said softly.

  “Oh, all right,” Cathy capitulated with a sigh. “Just as long as you remember. If you start to … to. … Well, I’ll get up.”

  “I won’t,” he promised, and watched as Cathy slid off the bed to lock the door.

  He said nothing as she slowly came back to stand beside the bunk, a faint flush staining her cheeks. Knowing the cause of her sudden confusion, he grinned.

  Cathy turned her back as she slowly unfastened her gown. She undressed down to her last petticoat, feeling absurdly shy. Now that Jon was awake and aware, she was regaining some of her former reserve with him. Don’t be a fool, she scolded herself, feeling a blush creep over her cheeks as she turned back to face him. The blush deepened as his eyes rested hungrily on her scantily covered bosom. His mouth crooked teasingly as the warm gaze traveled gradually up to her face.

  “Blushing, my cat?” he mocked gently. “There’s no need. I have seen you in less, you know.”

  Cathy forced herself to meet his gray eyes, determined to downplay her ridiculous embarrassment if she possibly could.

  “I know,” she managed evenly. “But that was … was different.”

  The stutter in her last words dismayed her. That too-knowing grin was making her even more uncomfortable.

  “Because then I took your clothes off and now you’re doing it?” Jon guessed astutely. “Well, never mind, sweet. Consider it your duty to humor a sick man.”

  “Oh, hush,” Cathy said, annoyed.

  “I will,” he promised, seeing that she was about to turn away. “Come to bed. Please.”

  Cathy glared at him, but then broke into a reluctant smile as she pretended to cower away.

  “You really are impossible, you know. I’ve a good mind to have Petersham take care of you from now on.”

  “Petersham lacks your—er—skills. Come to bed.”

  Cathy frowned at him severely, then gave up. The dratted man was really beginning to get to her, she thought vexedly as she slid into the bunk on his uninjured side. She would have to watch that she didn’t grow too fond of him. That would mean only heartbreak.

  But despite her reservations she allowed him to draw her close against his side, her head snuggling cozily into his shoulder of its own accord.

  “Go to sleep,” he murmured, his arm tightening around her.

  And to her surprise, she did.

  Seven

  Why did you run away?” The question, asked in a carefully offhand manner, caught Cathy by surprise. She stared down at the playing cards she held for a long moment before replying.

  “I should think that was obvious.” When she looked up at last, she found Jon’s eyes fixed on her intently. He frowned, as if considering her answer, then shook his head.

  “Not to me.” His hand of cards lay forgotten on the quilt beside him. Cathy sighed. Plainly he was not to be distracted from the subject.

  “You must have known that I’d try to escape if I could. Heavens, you act as if I’d done you some grievous wrong! You’re not my father, brother, husband, or even fiancé, you know. You’re the pirate who abducted me and forced me to … to. … Well, I was and am under no obligation to stay with you.”

  “Are you saying that you ran away because your pride obliged you to do so?” Jon frowned at her thoughtfully. Cathy sighed again, not feeling adequately prepared to cope with the conversation. But she resolved to do her best to make him understand her position, without giving away the ambiguity of her own emotions at the present time.

  “Jon, I don’t think you realize the enormity of what you’ve done to me. I was brought up to be a lady. A lady does not—uh—uh.…”

  “Make love?” he interjected, smiling a little. Cathy tilted her chin at him haughtily.

  “… does not allow a man to take liberties with her person before marriage. You raped me brutally—not once, but many times. Of course I was going to run away from you the first chance I got!”

  “So you’re telling me that you ran away because you couldn’t stand me making love to you?”

  “Raping me!” Cathy corrected sharply.

  “Call it what you will.” Jon dismissed the nomenclature as unimportant. “Is that why you ran away?”

  “Yes!” she answered, relieved to be done with the subject at last.

  “You are lying to me, my cat,” he chided. “You like the way I can make your body feel. You can’t hide it from me. I know.”

  Cathy flushed bright crimson under his penetrating gaze. How had she ever gotten involved in such a conversation, she wondered desperately. More important, how was she ever going to get out of it without revealing to him more than she meant to?

  “You’re very conceited, Captain, if you think that,” she managed, not quite meeting his eyes. She could not, for the life of her, control the betraying redness of her cheeks.

  “So I’m back to being Captain, am I, when you’ve called me Jon very nicely for the past two weeks. Very well, if that particular subject displeases you, we will return to another.” Jon’s voice was sardonic. “Tell me, my cat, since the damage to your virtue had already been done, wouldn’t it have been wiser to wait until I was ready to let you go? Why run away, and put yourself in such danger? Good God, you’re not going to try to tell me that you weren’t glad to see me when I walked into that hellhole! Hosannas sang out of your eyes!”

  “I was glad to see you, I admit.” Cathy bit her lip. “But the circumstances were unusual.”

  “Agreed.” Jon said nothing more for some time, his brow furrowed as he mentally worried the subject like a dog with a bone.

  “You went for help.” The words sounded like an accusation. Cathy just managed not to squirm uncomfortably, staring down at the cards in her hand as if fascinated by them. This was the point she had been dreading ever since he began the conversation.

  “Would you prefer that I hadn’t?” she countered defensively.

  “No, I confess I like living.” Jon paused, intent on the small face that was carefully averted from him. “Cathy, look at me.”

  Unwillingly her eyes lifted to his. His regard was frankly speculative, while hers was wary.

  “Why did you go for help? If you dislike my lovemaking so much, you had the perfect opportunity to be rid of it—and me—forever. I even told you where the constabulary was located! Why didn’t you take advantage of it?”

  Cathy met his probing eyes defiantly. If he was waiting to hear her confess to an undying love for him, he’d wait for a long time, she vowed. Anyway, it was nothing like that!

  “I’m not like you, Captain. I couldn’t just stand by while you were murdered!”

  “Is that it?” His eyes were beginning to take on a mocking glint. “Or is it that you’re—ah—growing fond of me?”

  “Don’t be more conceited than you can help!” Cathy snapped angrily. “You’re twice my age, and not at all my type! I infinitely prefer gentlemen to rampaging pirates!” His words had flicked her in a vulnerable spot, and Cathy was determined to hide it. “Anyway,” she continued, bouncing the ball back into his court. “Why did you come after me? After all, as you said, there were plenty of women in Cadiz who would have been happy to share your bed! So why not just let me go? Could it be that you’re—ah—growing fond of me?”

  Deliberately she aped his words, wanting to prick him as he had her. Jon’s eyes gli
nted at her.

  “I have a very simple answer to that, my sharp-clawed little cat, and one that you would do well to take heed of: What is mine, I keep.”

  “And am I yours?” she asked, her blue eyes sparkling up at him provocatively.

  “For the moment, yes.” Then it was Jon who seemed anxious to drop the subject. He picked up the cards he had let fall and attempted to teach Cathy the intricacies of the game of veinte-un. Cathy allowed the conversation to lapse, but kept it carefully in the back of her mind to ponder over at her leisure. Was it possible that her fierce pirate captain was beginning to fall just a little bit in love with her? The thought warmed and excited her in a way she hadn’t thought possible. If Jon were to love her, she mused, she’d have him just where she wanted him—at her feet! And from time to time she might even relent and let him kiss her. But no more. Captain Hale still had much to learn about the correct way to woo a lady! She grinned at the thought of her lusty pirate captain being forced to content himself with the chaste pecks grudgingly permitted in polite society. He wouldn’t like that at all! Well, perhaps after he had suffered sufficiently she might relent.…

  “You look like a very smug little cat who’s just finished off a big bowl of cream,” Jon observed laconically, breaking her out of her reverie. “Care to tell me what you were thinking about?”

  “Veinte-un, of course,” Cathy replied pertly, wrinkling her nose at him. Her fantasy vision had restored her good humor. “What else?”

  “What else indeed?” he asked enigmatically, and then turned his attention back to the cards. The subject was finally allowed to drop.

  Once restored to consciousness, Jon was a difficult patient. He was mocking and irritable by turns, chafing at his inability to get out of bed or perform any but the simplest chores for himself. He flatly refused to let Cathy feed him again after that first time, but he had to let her cut up his meat for him before he could fork it into his mouth. This annoyed him considerably and he took it out on Cathy, throwing barbed remarks at her like darts as she helped him. Cathy managed to stifle her natural impulse to tell him to go to the devil, knowing that his helplessness grated on him like a sore tooth. Even though it occasionally cost her an effort, she used sweet reason when she dealt with him, pointing out that if he wanted to be shaved and bathed, either herself or Petersham would have to do it for him. He submitted with bad grace to her ministrations, which he grudgingly preferred to Petersham’s.