Island Flame

by ROBARDS, KAREN

  He was acting just like a spoiled child, as Cathy told him hotly when he sulkily refused to let her change the dressings on his wounds. His nostrils flared angrily at this description, and angry color seeped high into his cheekbones. He opened his mouth as if he would hurl abuse at her, but then with a wry grimace closed it again, and let her change his bandages and give him his pill. Later he kissed the inside of her elbow penitently. Cathy glared at him, sighed, and forgave him.

  Under Dr. Sandoz’s supervision, he had been just barely manageable, but once the Margarita was back again on the high seas he was at his autocratic worst. In deference to Petersham’s sensibilities, Cathy had persuaded him to allow himself to be attired in the nightshirts he despised. He gave in to her grudgingly, then complained about how uncomfortable he was in the pesky things until Cathy longed to tell him to be naked and be damned. The only way she could handle him at all was to threaten to turn him over to Petersham’s tender mercies. This he refused to hear of. He wanted Cathy at his side constantly, reading to him, playing cards or chess, talking, or even just sitting there. She was only able to get away for a scant fifteen minutes or so each day while he very reluctantly napped.

  “You’re looking pale, Cathy,” Harry said to her with concern late one afternoon as she joined him on the quarterdeck. The Margarita had been at sea again for over a week. Today the ship was moving briskly through gently rolling waves, a sharp sea breeze at her back. Cathy took a deep, invigorating breath of the salty air before replying.

  “I must confess that I’m feeling a little pale.” She laughed, her blue eyes twinkling up at Harry roguishly. “Jon’s like a child. He demands constant attention.”

  “You’re not much more than a child yourself,” Harry answered sharply, his eyes cloudy with disapproval. “If I’d known from the first how young and sweet and—and everything you were, I would never have let Jon have you. He was a brute to take advantage of your innocence!”

  Harry’s unaccustomed frankness took Cathy aback. Of course, she had realized that he was aware of the unorthodox nature of her relationship with his captain, as indeed every man aboard ship must be. Her constant presence in Jon’s cabin was enough to make it plain. The captain was a lusty man, and before he was wounded there was nothing in the world to stop him from taking her. Still, it was not a subject that was easily discussed. Cathy blushed a little, but her answer was wryly honest.

  “You couldn’t have kept him from—well, doing what he did. And as you see I’ve survived, and will continue to survive. One day, when I’m back home again, this will probably seem like a tremendous adventure.”

  Cathy smiled whimsically as she spoke, thinking that it was not likely that she would be going home again for a very long time. Jon showed no disposition to rid himself of her at any time in the near future.

  “The other hostages were freed in Cadiz,” Harry told her abruptly.

  “I know.” Cathy’s smile widened. “I heard Jon tell you to see to it the day I ran away.”

  “So, that’s why you did it! I wondered, you know. By then, it was too late to. … Well, it was just too late.” Harry broke off, color suddenly staining his cheeks.

  “Yes, it was too late,” Cathy agreed gently, her eyes on the distant horizon.

  “I could kill him for what he’s done to you!” Harry burst out, losing his control in the face of her placidity. “He’s one of my oldest friends, and I swear I could kill him!”

  Several of the crew looked around, surprised at the unexpected loudness of Harry’s voice, then grinned knowingly as they saw Cathy on the quarterdeck beside the young second officer. There was bound to be another explosion when Cap’n got wind of what was going on between those two. He wasn’t a man to share his women!

  Cathy saw the speculative looks that the men were casting their way, and felt suddenly annoyed at Harry. This infatuation he had for her was beginning to get out of hand! She prayed that Jon would remain in blissful ignorance of Harry’s devotion. Like the crew, she had no illusions as to what Jon’s reaction would be if he found out that Harry fancied himself in love with her. Jon was a violent, possessive man, and once returned to full strength could easily crush Harry like an insect beneath his heel. And if Harry made the slightest claim to herself, Jon would be very likely to do so!

  “It’s really none of your business, Harry,” Cathy rebuked quietly, hoping to dampen his ardor before Jon got wind of it.

  Harry stared down at her disbelievingly.

  “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” he bit off viciously. “God, I can’t believe it! I thought you were too pure, too fine. … But all he had to do was get you into his bed, and you fell in love with the swine! Tell me something, Lady Catherine,” he emphasized her title deliberately, leering down at her, “would you have fallen in love with me if I’d bedded you first?”

  Before she thought, Cathy’s hand came out and slapped him hard across the face. Then, biting her lip as she listened to the hastily muffled guffaws from the crew, she could have kicked herself for giving vent to such a display. Now it was just a matter of time before Jon heard that something was going on between herself and Harry! In a closed community like the Margarita, talk spread like wildfire.

  “Excuse me,” Cathy whispered, stricken, and hurried below to calm herself before Jon woke.

  “Where have you been?” he demanded sharply as soon as she entered the cabin. Cathy fought the urge to press her cool hands against her hot cheeks, knowing that if Jon were to suspect something was amiss he wouldn’t let her rest until she had told him everything.

  “On deck,” she answered equally sharply, then ignored him as she crossed to where her brush and comb set were kept on a shelf of the wardrobe. Still not looking at him, she took the pins out of her hair and shook it until it hung in a coppery cloud around her face. Picking up the brush, she attacked the shining mass vigorously, feeling the need for physical activity no matter how slight. Jon watched, captivated by the length and glorious brightness of her tresses, but gradually, as Cathy continued to ignore him, a frown puckered his brow.

  “I’m thirsty,” he said at last, his voice plaintive. He had found that if he wanted her attention, pleading some physical need was the best way of getting it.

  “There’s fresh water in the pitcher by the bed. Pour it yourself,” she snapped. Jon did as she suggested, eyeing her with some puzzlement. A spreading warmth began to grow in his loins as he watched her. Her face, reflected in the wardrobe mirror, was as smooth and delicately tinted as a peach. His eyes moved lower, lingering on the swelling curves of her breasts, and then slid to caress her tiny waist and rounded hips. She was so lovely that just looking at her could set him aflame, he thought half humorously, enjoying the rush of physical desire that sent blood flowing through his muscles. He decided that if he was strong enough to want her, he was strong enough to take her, and smiled broadly in anticipation of the pleasurable event.

  “Come here,” Jon said, leaning his head back against his pillows and feeling pleased with himself.

  “I’m not your slave,” she retorted, throwing him a sharp glance over her shoulder. Jon began to feel annoyed himself, able to find no reason for her shrewish mood.

  “No, you’re not,” he conceded, nettled. The little witch was getting above herself, and needed to be reminded of her place. “You’re my mistress, and I intend to take advantage of the fact. Come here.”

  “What—did—you—say?!” she cried, whirling on him, her eyes flashing fire and her arms akimbo. Jon instinctively lifted his good arm to protect his head from attack. Her reaction both amused and angered him. Little vixen, did she think to rule him now that he was confined to bed?

  “I said you’re my mistress and I want you,” he repeated boldly, keeping a wary eye out for unexpected missiles.

  “I am not your mistress!” Cathy spat through taut lips, and suddenly the humiliating events of the past several weeks seemed to all crowd in on her at once. Her soft lips began to quiver
, tears shimmered in her eyes, and then overflowed in shining rivers down her cheeks. Jon stared, amazed that his words, meant half in jest, should cause such an outpouring of grief.

  “I—am—not—your—mistress!” she repeated with shaky composure, then broke down completely, turning her back and covering her face with her hands as shuddering sobs racked her slender form.

  “Cathy! Cathy, love!” Her tears wrenched at him. He hadn’t meant to cause her pain, God knew. “Cathy, listen to me. I was only teasing you. I take it back. I’m sorry!”

  She continued to cry as if her heart would break. Jon swore succinctly and profanely, then tried to haul himself out of the bunk. He managed to get to his feet by using the headboard as a lever, but when he tried to take a step toward her his legs refused to support him. His knees buckled and he collapsed onto the floor, cracking his head on a corner of the table as he went down. The air in the cabin turned blue with his curses.

  “You bloody stupid fool!” Cathy railed, running to kneel beside him. “Go on, kill yourself! Do you think I care?”

  Tears still poured from her eyes like rain. Jon, wincing with pain, caught her by the wrist.

  “Let me go, you ungrateful oaf!” she cried, trying to pull away from him. Jon was weak from loss of blood and his long confinement to bed, but even so he was stronger than Cathy. He held on to her grimly, not even able to raise his other arm to protect his head from her blows because of the half-healed knife wound in his shoulder. Finally she stopped struggling and crouched limply beside him, doing her best to gulp back the sobs that shook her.

  “Cathy.” Jon’s leg ached from its rude contact with the floor and his head throbbed where he had cracked it on the table, but he scarcely noticed the pain. His attention was concentrated on the keening girl beside him.

  “Cathy, love, I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” His voice was soft, coaxing, his fingers caressing her wrist even as they refused to release her.

  “You’re despicable,” she got out between gulps. “Your mind is as filthy as a gutter. I wish I’d let them kill you! I wish I’d killed you myself!”

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured again contritely, lifting her resisting hand to his lips to kiss the slender fingers. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.” He pulled her fingers into his mouth one at a time to suck at them gently.

  “Stop that!” she screamed, startling him, and at the same time gave a tremendous jerk on her hand. He was so surprised that his hold loosened, and in that instant she was free, leaping to her feet and running for the door.

  “Cathy, come back here!” he called after her furiously, but his only answer was the taunting slam of the door as she flung it shut behind her.

  “Cathy!” he roared, knowing it was useless even before her name left his mouth. You goddamn fool, he raged at himself, trying to manuever into a sitting position. He felt a tearing in his leg and sank back, cursing loudly.

  “Petersham!” The bellow shook the ship. He had to repeat it several times before Petersham at last appeared.

  “Master Jon!” Petersham rushed to his side. “What in God’s name happened? You’re bleeding!”

  “Never mind that now,” Jon answered sharply. “Get me back into that damned bunk and go find Miss Cathy. Bring her back here if you have to drag her by the hair! And hurry up! There’s no telling what the silly chit might take it into her head to do!”

  Petersham did his best, but he was not up to handling Jon’s weight. Jon swore at him, and at himself for being so helpless.

  “All right, leave me!” he grunted after several futile efforts. “Go find Miss Cathy. Send Harry and another man in here.”

  “But, Master Jon, you’re bleeding.…”

  “Goddamn it, man, go find that girl! I tell you she’s upset, and she’s liable to do something stupid!”

  “Yes, sir, Master Jon,” The valet’s eyes turned suddenly disapproving, as if wondering what Jon had done to cause Cathy such distress. Jon didn’t blame him. For the first time in his life, he heartily disapproved of himself.

  Harry and Finch, the gunner, strode through the door some few minutes after Petersham had left. Between them they managed to get Jon back into the bunk. The white nightshirt was stained with blood from the wound on his thigh, but neither Jon nor Harry was inclined to worry about it. As soon as Finch was no longer needed, Harry dismissed him and turned on Jon angrily.

  “What did you do to her?” he rasped, his mouth white around the corners. Jon stared up at him, surprised. After a moment his eyes narrowed.

  “I fail to see that it’s any of your business,” he said evenly.

  “I’m damned well making it my business!” Harry choked, his face mottling with anger. “We’ve been friends for a long time, Jon, but, so help me God, if you’ve hurt that girl I’ll kill you!”

  “You’re mighty concerned about my property, aren’t you?” Jon drawled bitingly. “I’m grateful. But I think you ought to remember something—she is my property. I can do what I damned well please with her!”

  “Over my dead body!” Harry flared.

  “If you insist.” Jon’s eyes glittered with all the warmth of a cobra’s. “Now, if you don’t mind, get the hell out of here. This is still my ship!”

  “Yes, sir!” Harry said bitterly, and, turning on his heels, stalked out.

  It was half an hour later when Petersham finally tapped at the door. Jon had been cursing his own helplessness and stupidity for most of that time. Also, an ugly suspicion was forming at the back of his mind. What had been going on between Harry and the little jade while he was confined to bed and safely out of the way? Had they … ?

  Petersham’s knock put a halt to these musings.

  “Come in!” Jon snapped impatiently, glaring at Petersham as the valet stuck his head around the door. The man was obviously alone.

  “I told you to bring her back here!” Jon roared angrily. Then a sudden fear darkened his eyes. “You did find her? She’s all right?”

  “Yes, Cap’n, I found her, and she’s all right, except that she’s still considerably upset. She was crying.” Petersham’s eyes met Jon’s accusingly. Jon sighed.

  “I know.” He thought for an instant about telling Petersham precisely what had happened. From the chit’s tears, anyone would be excused for thinking that he had done some vile and unspeakable thing to her. Then he dismissed the idea. After all, he was the captain of this ship! Damned if he would let some sniveling twit reduce him to the point where he was forced to explain his actions!

  “So why didn’t you bring her back with you?” he asked sharply instead.

  “She refused to come. Begging your pardon, Captain, but she said to tell you to go to hell!” Petersham’s eyes gleamed triumphantly as he repeated Cathy’s message. It was plain to see where his sympathies lay!

  Jon stared at Petersham for a long moment. He had known from the first that the chit would likely cause trouble, and here it was, the closest thing to a mutiny a crew could get without actually drawing weapons. Two of his oldest companions had turned on him, in her behalf, in one day! Jon’s eyes snapped, and the glare he turned on Petersham was ferocious.

  “I didn’t lay a hand on the little she-cat, if you must know,” Jon ground out, seeing that if he wanted to talk to Cathy he would have to enlist Petersham’s support. “I said something to hurt her feelings. I want to apologize, and now she won’t listen. So, would you please see if you can get her to come in here? I give you my word of honor that I won’t hurt her.”

  This last was a lame attempt at humor to cover the angry embarrassment he felt at having to confide so much to Petersham. Things had reached a pretty pass when the captain of the ship had to plead with his crew to get them to follow orders! He scowled, but Petersham’s face relaxed, and his tone was warmer when he answered.

  “Very good, Master Jon. I’ll—uh—I’ll tell her that the wound on your leg has broken open, and I can’t stop the bleeding. That should get her back in here.” He started to
turn away, then looked back. “And—uh—sorry, Cap’n, I should have known that you wouldn’t hurt Miss Cathy.”

  Jon’s brows snapped together, but Petersham was gone. What had he meant by that remark? Petersham knew from long experience that he, Jon, had no aversion to striking a woman if he felt it was deserved, so why should the valet have known that he wouldn’t do such a thing to Cathy? Unless Petersham suspected that he was getting soft where she was concerned. Damn the troublesome chit anyway! He should have listened to his instincts back there on the Anna Greer and let her be. Now she was threatening to turn his whole life upside down!

  “If you lay a finger on me, I’ll hurt you,” a truculent voice warned from just inside the door. “I’m going to see to your leg, and then I’m leaving. I’ll stay somewhere else until the Margarita reaches wherever she’s going, and there’s not a thing you can do to stop me. When we dock, I’m going home to my father. Petersham can take care of you if you still need help.”

  Jon’s eyes widened in surprise at this cheeky speech from what was, after all, a prisoner. Little bitch, who did she think she was talking to? He’d cut her down to size so fast. … He glared at her, then reluctantly felt his anger fading. Her tear-stained little face looked so woebegone that he didn’t have the heart.

  “My leg’s bleeding pretty badly,” he groaned cunningly, knowing that he would have to get her close enough so that he could grab her again before she would listen to anything he had to say.

  “Serves you right!” she answered, sniffling a little as she approached the bunk, as warily as a young doe. As she got closer she could see the bloodstains on the white nightshirt, and her guard dropped somewhat.