Calypso Magic

by Catherine Coulter

  She quickly fetched a cloth and soaked it in the cool water in the basin on the commode. She herself sat beside Lyon and laid the cloth over his forehead.

  "Lyon," she whispered, touching her fingertips to the nasty lump on his head. "Please."

  "We're sailing in the morning, Capt'n," said Rollo. "We must get back to the Seawitch."

  "We will wait for the doctor," said Rafael, observing Diana's pale face and shaking hands.

  At his words, Diana looked up. "Tank you, both of you. You saved us. It was so awful ---" She paused, hearing the voices outside the door.

  "The doctor, I fancy, my lady," Rafael said, and moved to the door. "Ah, do come in and see to the gentleman."

  Dr. Williamson was drunk, Rafael quickly realized as he watched him move uncertainly toward the bed and lean down.

  "Need to bleed him," said Dr. Williamson, giving Lyonel only a cursory glance.

  Rafael cursed. "You bounder, you're stinking drunk! What the hell do you mean, he needs to be bled?"

  The doctor turned a bleary eye toward Carstairs. "I know what I'm doing, my good man. Get me a basin," he said to Diana.

  Diana rose to her full height. She was eye to eye with the doctor. "You are drunk," she said, contempt filling her voice. "You will not touch him."

  "Now see here, missie ---"

  "Get out of here, you bleater!" As Rollo spoke, he firmly took the doctor by the arm and dragged him toward the door.

  Diana stood very quietly, watching the ejection. "We are ourselves to sail in the morning," she said. She raised blank eyes to Captain Carstairs. "I don't know what to do."

  Rafael could no more stand a woman's distress than the next man. "Where were --- are you sailing?"

  "To the West Indies. Tortola or St. Thomas."

  He blinked at that, and saw a future that would in all likelihood include him. He gave it up without a struggle. "Aboard what ship?"

  "I am not certain, no, wait, it is the Nelson, a Captain Poutten."

  "He's a fool," said Rollo, overhearing this last. "Lord, the man wrecked his last ship, bloody idiot. If I had to serve on his ship, I'd mutiny."

  Diana looked from one to the other, helplessly.

  "We're sailing to St. Thomas," said Rafael Carstairs, sealing his fate. "I also have an excellent doctor aboard the Seawitch to see to his lordship."

  Diana's immediate worry was Lyon. "Can you fetch your doctor, Captain?"

  "Why don't we simply repair to my ship? My doctor can take care of Lord Saint Leven." He grinned down at her. "If you wish to come with us, we will sail with the tide in the morning."

  Diana wanted to throw her arms around his neck. She gave only a moment's guilty thought to the Tomlinsons. She simply didn't care. And, she thought, Captain Carstairs had appeared like Saint George. Who could dismiss the services of such a savior?

  "Oh, yes, thank you," she said, relief spilling out of her voice like rain off a roof.

  Within fifteen minutes, Captain Carstairs was carrying Lyon out of the inn. Rollo was seeing to their trunks. Diana, who had no money, had gone without a thought to Lyon's stash and removed the required payment for the innkeeper.

  Diana, who had sailed all her life, was impressed with the Seawitch, a sleek, very modern schooner.

  "I normally do not take passengers," said Rafael as he assisted Diana down the companionway, "but there's always a first time for everything. Rollo has given over his cabin. It should be comfortable enough for you. Now, you stay here for the moment. I will send in Dr. Blickford."

  The cabin was small but not overwhelmingly so. It was larger than the one she'd sailed to England in. The furnishings were few and simple: a narrow bed, a desk and two chairs, and built-in armoire against one wall, a shelf of books, and other nautical odds and ends.

  She had no more time to do anything for at that moment a very small, slight man entered the cabin. He was wearing black breeches and a clean white shirt. His hair was grizzled gray, his eyes a bright blue.

  "Well, what have we here? My name's Blickford, my lady. Rollo says your husband got in a rollicking fight and received a smash on his head."

  "Yes," said Diana, "yes, he did."

  "Now, don't you worry, my lady. A fine, strong young man he appears. He'll be himself in no time at all."

  With those bracing words, Dr. Blickford forgot Diana and gave his full attention to the unconscious man on the bunk.

  Husband!

  Diana stared at his gray head. My God, he thinks we're married! As the haze of shock lifted, she realized now that Captain Carstairs and Rollo as well must have believed them husband and wife. Denials were tripping over themselves on the tip of her tongue, but they remained tripping, for Dr. Blickford turned at the moment of their release and said, "As I said, my lady, he will be all right. Quite a bashing he took, a concussion, I fancy. When he comes out of it, we will have to watch him very carefully. You ever do any nursing?"

  She nodded. "Yes, on my father's plantation."

  He raised a brow.

  "Savarol Plantation on Savarol Island."

  "I see," he said. He rose and extended his hand. "My name is Stacy Blickford. Blick to my friends."

  She gave him her hand. "And I am Diana Sav--- Ashton. Thank you, Doctor."

  "Long voyage, my lady. Blick, please."

  "Thank you, Blick. And do call me Diana."

  The decision was made. She knew in her bones that if she admitted that she and Lyon weren't married, Captain Carstairs would more than likely put them ashore, splendid savior though he was. She couldn't allow it. She told herself that Lyon was very ill and needed Dr. Blickford's care, not some quack who was a drunk. That's what she told herself, very firmly and with ceaseless repetition.

  There came a groan from the bed.

  Blick turned quickly. "Ah, he's coming about."

  If he regains his wits, he will tell them that we aren't married. We will have to return to London.

  But Lyon wasn't coming around. The rumbling moan, from deep in his throat, signaled that he was more alive than otherwise, feeling pain, and little more.

  To Diana's chagrin, she felt relief that he wasn't as yet regaining his senses. She then felt immense guilt. She started wringing her hands, something she had never done before in her nearly twenty years.

  "It's all right, my lady," said Stacy Blickford, gently patting her arm. "He will come about. Ah, here's Neddie with your trunks. This is her ladyship, Neddie. Why don't you stow their trunks over there?"

  Neddie grinned, revealing a wide space between his front teeth, ducked his head, and neatly stowed the trunks on the far side of the cabin.

  "Now, I shall take my leave. I've got a sick sailor on my hands. I will instruct Neddie to stay close by. When your husband comes around, Neddie will fetch me."

  "Thank you, Dr. --- Blick," Diana said.

  "My pleasure, and don't worry."

  "Easily said," Diana said ruefully.

  "You young folk haven't been married long, have you?"

  "No, not long at all." And we will unmarry as soon as we reach St. Thomas.

  "Why don't we get your husband out of his clothes? He would be more comfortable, I wager. Ah, here's Rollo to clear away his things."

  "Thank you," Diana said to the first mate as she watched him neatly pile his clothes for removal from the cabin.

  "No problem at all, my lady," said Rollo. "I'll be nice and snug with Neddie."

  She turned to see Blick easing Lyon out of his coat. Oh, dear, she thought, consternation flowing through her, the consequences of a grand lie. She heard her own voice say, perfectly calmly, "Yes, he will be more comfortable. Let me help you."

  She assisted the doctor with Lyon's coat and shirt. She found herself staring down at his chest. A very manly chest, she thought, and she wanted to giggle, for that description was from one of her romantic novels. When Blick began unfastening his trousers, her courage evaporated. "I feel a bit faint. Do you mind if I sit down?"

  "No, of cou
rse not," said Blick, not looking at her.

  Once Lyon was undressed and under a sheet, Blick straightened. "There, we can find him a nightshirt in the morning when he feels more the thing. Do you feel better now?"

  "Yes, certainly," Diana said, eyeing Lyonel's clothing, neatly folded at the end of the bed, then the length of his body under that single blasted sheet.

  "Well, you just relax, my lady ---"

  "Diana, please."

  "Very well, Diana. Try to rest, all right? I've moved your husband over just a bit so there is room for you if you wish to lie down."

  She nodded, not up to more words. Blick picked up a pile of Rollo's belongings, and the two men took their leave. She was left staring at Lyon's uncovered chest and pale face. His chest was very nice, very solid, covered with dark-brown hair, a bit darker than the hair on his head.

  You have certainly done it this time, my girl.

  Lyonel moaned a bit, and she sat down beside him. His eyes opened, and he stared at her for a very long time.

  "You are all right," she said, gently touching her fingertips to his shoulder. He felt very warm. "You must rest."

  She didn't know if he had understood her or not. He closed his eyes again. She gently placed her palm over his heart. The slow, steady beat reassured her.

  "Smooth weather, Rollo. Take the wheel, I shall see to our patient."

  "Aye, Capt'n," said Rollo, his keen eyes on the endless horizon.

  Rafael loved the early morning, the usual silence filled with the activity of his men, the sounds of sea birds squawking overhead, the stiff channel breeze on his face. He made his way to Rollo's erstwhile cabin and quietly tapped on the closed door.

  Diana opened it.

  "How is your husband, Diana?"

  "Blick says that he will drift in and out of consciousness perhaps for several more hours. He seemed to rest comfortably last night."

  "And you didn't," Rafael said.

  "No, I suppose not. This is all very worrying, you know." He didn't know the half of it, she thought, moving aside so he could enter. He was a large man, of Lyonel's size, broad shoulders, and a handsome face saved from beauty by a stubborn chin and a nose that was just slightly off center. His hair was glossy black and tousled by the wind. His eyes were startling, a pure midnight blue, fanned by thick black lashes that any woman would envy. She prayed he was as sensible and kind a man as he appeared to be. He moved to Lyonel's bunk with silent grace, and Diana wondered if he realized he was the physical epitome of the swashbuckling captains she loved reading about who sailed the West Indies in the last century. She grinned at the thought, wondering if she should swoon like the bleating heroines in the derring-do legends.

  Rafael laid the flat of his hand on Lyon's forehead. Cool to the touch. Suddenly, Lyon shouted, "Diana!" and lurched up.

  Rafael grasped his bare shoulders and pressed him down. "Easy now, my lord. She is here and you both are quite safe."

  "Diana, you little twit, I am going to thrash you!"

  Rafael grinned. He made soothing noises and Lyonel quieted. "You have a perfectly normal marriage, I see," said Rafael, standing.

  Diana couldn't bear another lie, at least the actual sound of it that could come out of her mouth. She simply nodded, utterly miserable with herself, her head down.

  He misunderstood and quickly wiped away his grin. "I'm sorry. I know you're worried. When did Blick see him last?"

  "An hour ago."

  He nodded. "Blick tells me that your father is Lucien Savarol of Savarol Island. I have had the pleasure of meeting your father. A very gracious gentleman." And a man who wants the French and their damned little emperor six feet under, he added to himself.

  "Yes, he is. Lyon has inherited a plantation on Tortola --- Mendenhall."

  "Oliver Mendenhall?" At her nod, his lips thinned a bit. "That old man wasWell, I suppose it doesn't matter now. Now, Diana, it's time for you to have some breakfast. I'll have Neddie bring you something nourishing, and hopefully edible as well."

  "Could I also have some water? I would like to bathe and change my clothes."

  "Certainly. We must of course keep our water use low, at least until we have a good rain."

  "Yes, I know. Thank you, Captain."

  "Rafael, please."

  "Rafael, Rollo, and Blick. You sound like two peas in a pod and one turnip."

  "I'll have to think about that," he said. "The three of us have been together for years."

  "You don't have all that many years."

  "Behold a man of nearly thirty. Well, twenty-eight, if you wish to be precise. All right, we've known one another for eight years, then. A long time, particularly in our line of work. I see that you lost your wedding ring. Those damned bastards pulled it off your finger? I wish I had known. Did they take anything else?"

  Diana was relieved that he'd continued talking, for her own tongue was stuck like glue in her mouth. Her lie had burgeoned into a mighty cloud that threatened to rain on her with typhoon magnitude. She managed to say finally, "No, they didn't."

  Her ambiguous reply didn't seem to faze him. Rafael gave her another encouraging pat. He turned in the doorway and said, "Incidentally, most of my men are good fellows and trustworthy. However, some of them might look at you with a grand feast in their minds. If you wish to be on deck, do tell me, Rollo, or Blick so we may escort you."

  "I also understand that, Rafael."

  Diana found that as she bathed and changed to clean clothes, her eyes went every few seconds to Lyonel. It hadn't occurred to her until that moment when she was standing quite without covering, that there might be a privacy problem. She shook her head. No, Lyon would be reasonable about it. He had to be.

  When has he ever been reasonable when she'd been involved? A worrying thought, that.

  Lyon thought he heard his mother humming. That was odd because she had died when he was very young. He wondered lazily if he himself was dead and in the hereafter. Then he felt a throbbing pain in his head and opened his eyes.

  He wasn't in heaven. He was in a small room. It was a blurred Diana who was humming. She slowly came into focus and he watched her silently as she lifted clothing out of a trunk and placed the things in the drawers of an armoire. What the devil was the little twit doing in his room?

  He said, his voice sounding rusty to his own ears, "Diana, what are you doing here? In my room? You know it isn't proper. Kenworthy didn't let you up here, did he?"

  She whirled about and hurried to the bunk. "You're awake and sensible! How do you feel, Lyon?"

  He thought about that and memory flooded back. "My God, those bastards who attacked usAre you all right? What happened? They didn't harm you?"

  "No, no, I am fine."

  He frowned. "I guess I'm not. The room is rocking about."

  "Well, actually, we're not in a room."

  Had he lost his wits from that blow to the head? "Of course we're in a ---" He broke off abruptly. "Diana, where the devil are we?"

  She swallowed. There was no hope for it. But then again, it was too late. She managed a smile. "Actually, we're aboard the Seawitch. This is Rollo's cabin, he's Rafael's first mate, you know."

  "No," he said very clearly. "That is impossible. Come clean, my girl. Where are the Tomlinsons? We're aboard the Nelson with Captain Poutten."

  "Now, Lyon, you mustn't excite yourself. You were coshed on the head very hard by one of those ruffians. Captain Carstairs saved us. You were quite ill and a quack came to the inn to attend you. He was drunk and wanted to bleed you and we booted him out. There was nothing for it, Lyon, please. Dr. Blickford is attending you."

  "This is absurd!"

  "We are on our way to St. Thomas. It was meant to be, Lyon, don't you see?"

  He closed his eyes. An awful muddle. A ridiculous muddle. And here he was lying helpless as a damned babe in a damned bunk. In Rollo's bunk. He started to pull himself upright, but he didn't have the strength. He realized at the same time that he was naked and covered on
ly to waist with a sheet. Had Diana?

  He forced himself to calm. "I trust you have chaperones aboard this vessel?"

  Silence.

  "Diana?" He knew deep in his gut what the answer was, but he said nothing. Perhaps he was wrong, perhaps

  "Actually, no, if by that you mean another female."

  He came to another realization. The clothes Diana had been removing from a trunkthey were her clothes.

  "Diana, do you have another cabin?"

  "Lyon, why don't I fetch Blick for you? That's Dr. Blickford. He will want to check you over."

  "If you move, I will thrash you."

  "Ha! No, forgive me, I don't want to bait you. Please, Lyon, lie still."

  "Diana, are we sharing this cabin? All the way to the West Indies? For six weeks?"

  "Yes."

  "Did you arrange to share your favors with the captain? Is that why he brought me and mydoxie aboard?"

  She remained unruffled at this insult. "No. I'm your wife."

  He groaned. Perhaps the boat would sink. Perhaps he would succumb to his wound. Or he could simply throttle Diana. Being a widower wasn't such a bad thought.

  "I didn't realize he thought that, not at first. Truly, Captain Carstairs assumed we were husband and wife, as did his doctor. I want to go home, Lyonel. I realized I couldn't tell him the truth. We would have been left ignominiously in Plymouth. It would have ---"

  "Shut up." He sent his left hand downward to scratch his stomach. "Since you are my dear wife, did you strip me?"

  "No! That is, I helped Blick with your upper garments and I got faint before he took off your breeches."

  This ingenuous confession made him want to fling off the sheet. "I should thank you for protecting my privacy? Or protecting your maidenly sensibilities?"

  "You forget I grew up with slaves. I have seen many of them with little more than loincloths."

  He couldn't find words for that. "My head aches and I'm thirsty and hungry."

  "I'll see to it at once," she said, and gladly left him to himself. It hadn't been too awful, she thought as she flagged down Neddie and made her requests. She returned to the cabin with a hesitant step, praying that Blick would come quickly. She disliked Lyon's current mood.