Island Flame (18 page)

Cathy sighed, and dismissed him. Petersham’s unexpected prudery was a difficulty she did not feel equipped to deal with at the time.

For the next five days Cathy nursed Jon devotedly. She cleaned and tended his wounds, and called Dr. Sandoz anxiously when they showed signs of swelling. The gash on his thigh began to putrefy. Dr. Sandoz lanced it, draining off the yellow pus with its streaks of red blood into the basin that Cathy held for him. Jon’s hands and feet were tied to the bunk frame for this operation, and his screams of pain were bloodcurdling. Tears rained down Cathy’s cheeks, but she steadfastly kept to her place. She gathered up the gory bandages afterward, and then when Dr. Sandoz untied Jon’s limbs she gathered his sweat-soaked head to her breast, holding it tightly while she crooned over him. Her wordless murmurings seemed to soothe him and he dropped off into a troubled sleep, his head still cradled on her breast.

In addition, she fed him, spooning thin gruel into his mouth at regular intervals and holding his lips pressed tightly together until he swallowed. She gave him water, and applied hot compresses to his inflamed thigh. As his fever rose she bathed him almost hourly with cool water, but this no longer served to lower his body heat even slightly. His natural functions she tended to herself, knowing that Petersham would faint with dispproval if she were to ask his assistance. Her total dedication to his well-being surprised everyone, including herself. Cathy would never have imagined that she, who had never so much as picked up one of her own discarded dresses, could care so intimately and selflessly for another human being.

Despite her tender nursing his condition steadily deteriorated. Dr. Sandoz, when he came, looked grave and shook his head, which drove Cathy almost out of her
mind with worry. Jon’s continued high fever was the most serious threat he faced now. The doctor could only advise Cathy to bathe him frequently, and see that he had plenty of liquids. Otherwise, the captain’s recovery was in the hands of God.

Jon frequently became agitated beyond her ability to control him as his temperature soared, and Cathy was forced to summon either Petersham or Harry to help her with him. Both men gradually lost their stiffness with her and came to look upon her as one of themselves. Cathy pacified Petersham by assuring him that, as soon as Jon’s condition permitted, he would be dressed in a proper nightshirt. But for the time being, even Petersham realized that Jon’s illness was too severe to allow Cathy to spend time worrying about such a nonessential as modesty.

Cathy’s complete devotion to their captain’s well-being won her friends among the crew as well. They would speak to her respectfully when she went out on deck for a breath of fresh air, their manner completely devoid of the lewdness that had marked their earlier perusals of her. For this, Cathy was thankful.

On the sixth day, Cathy could see, and Dr. Sandoz confirmed, that Jon had reached a crisis. His temperature had to be brought down or he would die. The doctor advised frequent cool baths mixed with a large amount of prayer. Cathy snorted angrily as he left. Prayer was a good thing, as she had frequently found, but one of Martha’s most loved axioms was that the Lord helped those who helped themselves. With that in mind, Cathy sent for Harry and told him that he was to send the entire crew of the
Margarita
out to scour Cadiz for ice. When Harry
protested that there was no ice to be found in the humid Spanish city, Cathy refused to listen. If Jon was to live, she must have ice to lower his temperature. The Lord could work on providing the ice.

He did. Harry returned less than an hour later with a huge block of it. Cathy’s pale face mirrored her relief.

“Thank God! He’s getting worse! Here, help me with this.” Cathy set Harry to chipping off small chunks of ice and floating them in a large basin full of water. When the water was icy cold, she had him soak a sheet in it and then wrapped it around Jon’s fever racked body. He moaned, but Cathy repeated the operation relentlessly, replacing the sheets as soon as Jon’s body heat warmed them. They worked for what seemed like hours, soaking, wrapping, then soaking again. Finally perspiration popped out in tiny beads on Jon’s brow.

“It’s broken!” Cathy whispered, scarcely able to believe that the small droplets were real. “Oh, Harry, the fever has broken!”

In an excess of joy she flung herself into Harry’s arms. They closed around her automatically. It took her only an instant to recollect herself and pull blushingly away. She looked up at Harry, suddenly shy, and what she saw in his face stunned her. He was gazing at her with naked adoration, his eyes showing that he was in love.

“Let me go, Harry,” Cathy ordered tremulously, greatly disturbed by this new complication.

“Lady Catherine—Cathy …” he began. Cathy knew that she had to cut him off before the situation got out of hand.

“You mustn’t forget Jon, Harry,” she said gently, glancing back at the bunk and trying to free her hands.

“Jon,” Harry repeated blankly. Then, coming to himself, “Yes, the captain.”

“Yes, Jon, the captain,” she repeated with gentle mockery. Her eyes warned him to say no more. After a moment his hands fell away from her.

“I’m sorry. Please forgive me,” Harry muttered, then turned on his heel and strode from the cabin. Cathy shook her head, moving back to hover over the bunk. Jon was still unconscious, but he seemed to be resting much easier. If not for the little scene with Harry, this would have been one of her happiest days since Jon became ill. Oh, why was everything always so complicated?

Love was a funny thing, Cathy mused later, as she wandered across to look out the window. It could grow in the most unlikely places. It was absurd and yet a little sad that Harry, who had so despised her, should now be helplessly in her thrall. Why was it that adoration in the eyes of one man was a matter of total indifference, while if another man were to look at her in such a way. … Cathy’s breath caught as she pictured Jon’s gray eyes soft with love. Then she grinned. Jon would never plead with a lady for her affections. He would demand them as his right, and, if they were withheld, he would fall into a towering rage!

“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.

“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.”