Island Flame (37 page)

One day about two weeks later Martha tactfully absented
herself during Jon’s visit. Cathy took the opportunity to catch his hand, drawing him down to sit on the edge of the bunk beside her. He allowed her to hold his hand, but his eyes as they ran over her were wary. Cathy could see the tension forming in the lines beside his mouth.

As simply and convincingly as she could, she told him that she had had no part in what had happened to him in prison. She hadn’t even known he was captured again, she told him earnestly, not understanding why his face was beginning to poker up. Before she was finished he got to his feet abruptly, pulling his hand away from her grasp and glowering down at her.

“Jon!” she cried as he started to turn away. The pain of his disbelief cut through her like a knife. He glanced back at her, hesitating, the muscle working in his jaw the only indication he gave of feeling anything at all.

“It doesn’t matter,” he told her briefly, seeing her obvious agitation. “It’s in the past, and we’ll forget it. You’re my wife, regardless of how it came about or what happened afterward. We won’t discuss the subject again.”

With this curt pronouncement, he strode from the room. Cathy called after him frantically, determined that they would discuss it until everything was quite clear, but he neither answered nor turned back. She collapsed back against the pillows with a dispirited sigh. Beneath his polite exterior Jon still distrusted her as much as ever. It might take years, or even longer, to persuade him differently. Tears began to trickle down Cathy’s cheeks, overflowing one at a time until her whole face was wet. When Martha came back into the cabin, Cathy was crying unrestrainedly. Martha threw up her arms in horror, then
bullied her charge into drying her eyes and drinking a nice, bracing cup of tea. After that Cathy was told to go to sleep, and, rather to her own surprise, she did. From then on Martha was careful to remain in the cabin whenever Jon was present. And to Cathy’s intense annoyance, Jon seemed almost relieved at the other woman’s presence. Because of sheer lack of opportunity, Cathy grudgingly put the subject on hold. Once the baby was born. … The words beat like a Greek chorus in her mind. Once the baby was born, she vowed determinedly, he would not find it so easy to avoid the discussion she had in mind. She would badger him relentlessly until, from sheer exhaustion, he was forced to believe her. Her cheeks dimpled in a secret, droll smile. As she knew from experience, there were ways to make him listen, and believe. She wouldn’t scruple to use them … once the baby was born.

Cathy was thankful to discover that Petersham at least was not so pig-headed. Gradually, by infinestimal degrees, her relationship with the little man returned to where it had been before the soldiers came to Las Palmas. He mothered her almost as much as Martha, scolding her for not eating or for allowing herself to feel depressed. The baby’s welfare should be her main concern, he told her sternly, and he set himself to cheering her up.

Martha regarded this strange camaraderie with uncertainty. In her world, it was worse than improper for a man to enter the bedroom of a lady who was not his wife, much less to sit and talk with her for hours. But if the captain saw no harm in it, then she could find no grounds to object herself. The little man was harmless, she knew very well, and he did serve to bolster Miss Cathy’s spirits. Grudgingly she concluded that his constant popping in
and out must be endured for the sake of her charge. But that didn’t mean she had to like the man, and she most emphatically didn’t.

Cathy was aware of Martha’s growing jealousy of Petersham, but she found the valet’s snippets of information too intriguing to permit her to discourage his almost constant presence. From him she learned that they were bound for South Carolina because of a sudden inexplicable whim on the captain’s part. Word had come while Master Jon was still in prison that old Mr. Hale had died, leaving Woodham and the rest of his personal possessions to his son. When Petersham had informed Jon of this, the captain’s face had been a study for a few minutes before he curtly ordered that the
Margarita
be set on an easterly course. It was time, Petersham quoted Jon, that they returned home.

Harry came in to see her only once, and then reluctantly. Cathy supposed that he feared Jon’s wrath. He need not have worried, Cathy thought dispiritedly. Far from showing signs of jealousy, Jon was coolly indifferent when she informed him of Harry’s visit.

Petersham found some good quality wool in the hold, and Martha used it to clothe herself decently. Cathy, confined to bed as she was, was perfectly content to wear Jon’s nightshirts again. If the sight of her small body enveloped in the too-big white folds brought back memories, Jon didn’t show it by so much as the flicker of an eyelash. Cathy was forced to conclude that the only interest he now had in her was as the mother of his child. But if his emotions had warmed toward her once, they could again. And she meant to see to it that they did.

The
Margarita
sighted Nova Scotia some three weeks
after setting sail. From then on they were never far from land as Jon sailed down the coast of North America toward his goal. The ocean during the winter months was unpredictable, and for the sake of everyone on board he elected to make the voyage longer but safer. Cathy, ruthlessly confined to bed, was not even permitted up at the first sight of land. Although Jon volunteered to carry her up on deck if she were set on looking, Martha firmly prohibited the notion. And, despite Cathy’s sulks, Martha got her way.

The weather warmed gradually as the
Margarita
sailed southward. The child was due on the third of March according to Cathy’s and Martha’s calculations. Jon told them that they should drop anchor in Charleston sometime during the third week in February. His estimate was dead on target, as always.

Cathy insisted on going up on deck as the
Margarita
sailed into the bay at Charleston. She wanted to see her new home, she declared, and she would if she had to crawl. Jon overruled Martha’s objections for once, wrapping Cathy securely in a quilt and then hoisting her up into his arms. Despite the added weight of the child he held her easily. Cathy twined her arms around his neck, secretly relishing the feel of his strong muscles against her skin. Soon, she thought, she would be in a position where she could use her female charms to convince him of her innocence. Until then, she would have to be satisfied with being held distastefully.

A small, anticipatory smile curved her lips as Jon bore her out into the sunshine. He saw the feline contentment in her face, and his eyes narrowed warily at her. Cathy, buoyed by her plans for the future, rewarded his suspicions
with a blithe smile. His sure stride faltered, and he stared down at her with the dazzled expression of a man who has looked too long at the sun.

Cathy returned his look with candid interest. During their seven weeks at sea he had regained the weight he had lost, and he was now as big and powerful as ever. His arms about her were corded with muscles, and Cathy gloried in their sure strength. His face had regained its healthy bronze color, and the beard had been shaved to reveal the lean firmness of his jaw. His ruggedly hewn features were still compellingly handsome. Cathy felt a pleasant little tingle start at the base of her spine and shiver up her back as she stared at the hard mouth. She wanted to touch it with her own. … Her thought must have shown in her face, because she felt his breathing pick up as she looked at him. He wanted her too, she realized with a mingling of triumph and desire. The kindling fire in his eyes spoke not of anger, or distrust, but of naked passion.

“Excuse me, Captain, is something wrong?” Martha’s worried voice behind them brought them both back to reality with a thump. Cathy saw a faint red color steal up to stain Jon’s cheekbones. Her own face felt uncomfortably warm. Jon hitched her up as if he had merely stopped to make sure of his grip, speaking over his shoulder to Martha with wry humor.

“Your mistress has picked up a considerable amount of weight since I last had occasion to carry her,” he grunted. “But I’ll do my best not to drop her. After all the trouble she’s caused us, it would be a pity to lose her now.”

He glanced significantly over the side of the ship into the sparkling blue waters of the bay as he spoke. Cathy squealed playfully, knowing that nothing short of a hurricane
would make him drop her, while Martha frowned at his nonsense disapprovingly. Cathy felt giddy with happiness as he bore her up to the quarterdeck, rejoicing in his gruff teasing. He was more like the Jon of Las Palmas today than at any other time since he had stolen her away again.

With her head pressed back against Jon’s shoulder, she didn’t notice the sudden tightening of his mouth or the grimness that came into his eyes as she nestled into him like a small, trusting kitten. He didn’t speak, but then she didn’t feel like talking either. Relaxing against the hard muscles of his chest, she looked with interest toward the city that was to be her home.

Charleston was a thriving seaport, a bustling southern town dependent for its sustenance on the ocean’s proximity. Ships from all over the world were at anchor in the harbor, come to trade spice or rum or textiles for Charleston’s most profitable export: cotton.

Cathy took a deep breath of the sweet air, enjoying the feel of the sun that shone warmly down even at the end of February. Jon had been born in this town, had spent his boyhood here. Despite the bitterness of his memories, Charleston was his home. Cathy was determined to make it her home, too.

She protested when Jon began to carry her back down to his cabin again. She could have watched the activity in the harbor all day. But when he insisted, she gave in with good grace. As he said, Charleston would be around for a long time. It wouldn’t disappear if she went in for a rest.

Jon went ashore while Cathy napped. He was still gone when she awoke. To her surprise, Martha had accompanied him, leaving Petersham with Cathy. It was after dark before they returned to the ship.

Martha bustled in first, her arms loaded with packages. Jon followed, similarly burdened. Cathy sat up in the bunk, her eyes widening with astonishment. Her eyes flew to Jon’s face. His eyes met hers steadily, then a slow smile curved his mouth.

“I couldn’t take my wife ashore dressed in a quilt,” he explained simply, dropping the bundles on the bed. Cathy looked from the packages to her husband and back, speechless. Jon continued: “And I like the idea of a naked baby even less. I think you’ll find everything you both will need in there.”

A nod indicated the packages. Cathy’s fingers flew to open them while Martha beamed at her. There were three dresses, all sized to fit a very pregnant lady, in lovely yellow and palest green and peach. Petticoats and underwear designed specifically for an expectant mother were in another box. Cathy held up a pair of drawers with an elasticized middle panel made to expand as her belly did, her eyes quizzical as they turned on Jon.

“You didn’t pick these out,” she accused, half laughing at the idea. Jon grinned.

“I must admit that I didn’t,” he said. “Nor did I select the ungodly amount of infant paraphernalia without which I have been assured no child can be adequately cared for. Martha did. You must thank her.”

“Captain Hale told me to get what I thought you both needed,” Martha said, defending him stoutly. “And he paid the bills. Which is more than a lot of gentlemen would have done.”

“I am unmanned,” Jon murmured satirically in response to Martha’s unexpected championship. Cathy smiled at him, and at her nanny. She caught at Martha’s
arm, pulling the woman down so that she could plant an affectionate kiss on her cheek, then turned to hold out her arms unselfconsciously to Jon. Red washed up under the swarthy skin of his face, and he looked undecided for a moment before Martha’s expectant look forced him to bend rather stiffly toward her. Cathy’s arms closed tenderly about his neck, and she brushed a soft kiss against his firm mouth. Under her touch his lips parted, hardening, and his hands moved convulsively as though he would crush her to him, belly and all. The sound of Martha discreetly clearing her throat in the background brought him to his senses. He pulled away, his breathing perceptibly harder. Cathy smiled at him tremulously. His eyes lingered on her face for a long, disturbing moment before swinging away.

“If you ladies will excuse me …” he said rather jerkily, turning on his heels. Cathy stared at him, her eyes warm, admiring the powerful swing of his tall body as he left the cabin. Martha had to speak to her twice before she managed to tear herself away from a rapt contemplation of the closed cabin door. The older woman’s eyes were knowing as she watched her mistress lovingly unwrap the tiny infant apparel, but she refrained from mentioning what she had seen. It was plain as the nose on Miss Cathy’s face that she was head over heels in love with the captain. As for him, well, men were better at hiding their feelings. Still, Martha smiled contentedly as she helped Cathy pack away the baby’s things.

By the time Cathy was dressed in the yellow gown, her hair fixed in a demure style as befitted a young matron, and her and the baby’s new things were safely packed in the sea chests, it was mid-morning. Jon had been striding
about the deck for an hour, impatiently sticking his head in the door from time to time to demand testily what in blazes was taking so long. Cathy smiled at him, but Martha was less forbearing. She shooed him away firmly, saying that a lady’s toilette was an intricate business and that a real gentleman knew this and adjusted his schedule accordingly. Jon clenched his jaw, but knew better than to retort. A seasoned warrior, he had been in enough battles to recognize defeat. He retired with reluctant grace, leaving Martha in command of the field.

At last Cathy was ready. Jon was summoned to carry her to a waiting boat, and two sailors were told to take care of the luggage. Their jaws sagged when they saw the towering mound of trunks and packages, but they nodded valiantly in response to Jon’s terse instructions as to how they were to convey them to the house. Jon picked up Cathy, one arm supporting her shoulders and the other beneath her knees. She held on to his neck carefully, smiling at him as her head rested against his shoulder. The scent of her freshly washed hair drifted to his nostrils, and he half closed his eyes. Only Martha’s impatient hustling movements behind him kept him from stopping to press his lips to the fragrance’s source.