Island Flame Part 19

"It's all right, Martha," Cathy repeated rather wearily, and, with one last horrified glance at Jon, Martha scut-ded from the cabin.Petersham , finished with his task, followed Martha without another glance at Cathy. Cathy stared after him, perplexed, and then her eyes swung back to Jon. He was stepping rather stiffly from his breeches.

The thick black hair that covered his body was dull now and matted. Cathy caught her breath at the sight of bones showing through the swarthy flesh.Before he had been a lean, finely-honed animal with smooth, powerful muscles. Now he looked like the survivor of a famine. The only thing about him that was unchanged was his manhood, standing tautly away from the surrounding black bush. Its burgeoning fullness looked obscene amidst all that wasted flesh. Cathy averted her eyes hastily.

"A Little late for maidenly modesty, isn't it, wife?" Jon commented sardonically. The way he said the last word made it an unspeakable insult. Cathy flinched from the hatred that still licked like flames through his voice.

"Don't call me that!" she protested sharply, automatically. Jon leaped toward her, snarling, and Cathy cowered back against the pillows. His hands closed over her shoulders, tightening cruelly on the fragile bones. Cathy gasped with pain and fear. Jon's lips parted in a feral smile and he dragged her up so that her face was level with his.

"Do you know how close you came to being strangled, last night?" he asked almost conversationally, his face not more than three inches from hers. The crazed glitter had returned to his eyes. Cathy shook her head fearfully.Anything to placate him.

"Very close. In fact, if not for my child, you wouldn't be alive today. So don't try telling me what to do. I might decide that the child isn't worth enduring your b.i.t.c.hy ways."

His hands dropped away from her as if she had suddenly become distasteful to him. Cathy slumped back down in the bed, her eyes following his every move, her breath coming fast and shallow. He turned his back to move stiffly toward the steaming bath, and Cathy gave a little shocked cry of horror.

"Your back!" she breathed. "What happened to it?"

Jon swung around, the glow in his eyes so bright that Cathy felt scorched by its intensity.

"Don't pretend with me, s.l.u.t," he growled. "I find I'm extremely short of patience where you're concerned. It wouldn't take much to persuade me to show you just how excruciating a whipping can be."

Cathy stared at him. He looked mad, and yet spoke with the confidence that his att.i.tude was justified. Petersham , too, had treated her with scathing contempt. Conjecture crystallized into fact: they were both blaming her for something of which she had no knowledge.

"Jon, I realize you're angry with me," she said softly, her eyes never leaving the blazing gray ones. She was going to add, "Won't you tell me why?" when he interrupted with an enraged bellow.

"Angry? Angry! You b.i.t.c.h, I could cheerfully cut you up for bait with a dull knife, and I may do it yet if you don't keep your G.o.dd.a.m.ned mouth shut!"

His fists were clenched as if he were having great trouble restraining himself from hitting her. Cathy recoiled from the taut menace in his face. When she remained silent he gradually relaxed, and, turning away, crossed to the tub. He stepped into it, sliding down into the steaming water gingerly. A grimace of pain crossed his features as the hot water touched his raw back. From the bed Cathy could still see the suppurating sores. It looked like he'd been beaten not once, but many times. Wherehad he been, she wondered feverishly. What had happened to him?

"Jon, won't you tell me what happened?" she ventured after some minutes. His head snapped around, and he fixed his burning eyes on her. The bristly black beard made him look like a fearsome stranger.

"You have a very soft voice," he drawled in reply."Soft and twining. It almost persuaded me that you were like that too. But you taught me better, didn't you, wife? You taught me that beneath that distracting exterior beats a heart of pure flint, and a selfish, grasping mind. Do you think you can play the same trick on me twice? I warn you now, don't try. Killing you would give me more pleasure than anything in my life, and if you tempt me I may not be able to deny myself even until the child is born."

Cathy gaped at him, feeling sick with shock. There was no mistaking the venom in his tone. Hatred stared implacably from his eyes. She started to protest her total bewilderment, then though better of it. Plainly he was determined to despise her. Besides, there was no way she could properly defend herself until she knew of what she stood accused. But if she couldn't tell her innocence in words, she could express it in deed. Swinging her legs over the side of the bunk, she struggled laboriously to her feet. Her swollen belly surged against the clinging pink nightdress and her plaits swung rhythmically against her breast as she moved toward him. Jon watched her warily, his eyes veiled. His gaze moved first to her delicately etched features then traveled as if drawn by a magnet to her surging middle.

"G.o.d!" he muttered, closing his eyes as if he could no longer bear the sight of her. Cathy flushed, thinking that he must find her pregnancy repulsive, but she refused to be deterred. She walked forward steadily until her thighs just touched the cool porcelain rim of the tub. Jon's mouth set grimly, but he still refused to open his eyes. Cathy stared doggedly down at his overlong black hair.

Jon opened his eyes at last, glaring ominously up at her.

"What do you think you're doing, b.i.t.c.h?" he grated.

Cathy's eyes sparkled at the expletive, but she bit her tongue and said nothing as she bent to scoop the soap and cloth from the water. Her fingers just brushed his chest, and his hands flew up to capture hers, tightening cruelly around her wrists.

"I asked you what you think you're doing?" he snarled, his eyes snapping at her like a wild beast's.

"Your hair needs washing," Cathy said coolly, masking her apprehension beneath a surface calm. She was gambling all on the notion that he wouldn't hurt her, at least not as long as she carried his child. If she were wrong, the consequences could be disastrous. But if she were right-well, her touch had been the key that freed his softer emotions once. Perhaps it would be again.

"Are you proposing to wash it for me?" heasked, his voice very soft as he jeered at her. "You really think you can touch me with those little white hands and erase everything you've done, don't you? Well, wife, it won't work, so you may as well not bother. I've found out about you the hard way, and I'm not likely to forget."

"I don't want you to forget, Jon," she said in a calm voice, freeing her hands from his grasp. She wet the rag and squeezed it over his black head. The water trickled down to his scalp, and he didn't move away. Cathy repeated themanuever , then bent and scooped more water in her cupped hands, wetting his hair thoroughly. When he still didn't protest, she soaped the thick strands, letting her fingers run deeply through them. His hair and scalp were thick with grime; Cathy should have felt repulsed but she didn't. Her fingers ma.s.saged his scalp, softly working out the dirt. Jon tensed at first under her ministration, than at last began to relax.

"h.e.l.l, why not?" she heard him mutter, more to himself than her. "I've got your measure now, b.i.t.c.h, and you won't find me so easily taken in a second time."

Wisely, Cathy continued as if he hadn't spoken. After a while she took up the bucket of hot water that Petersham had left and tipped its contents in a steady stream over Jon's head. The grimy soap rinsed away, and Jonswivelled around to look at her. Whatever words he had planned to utter froze on his lips as his eyes narrowed ferociously on the large wooden bucket that was still half full of water and which she still held in her hands.

"Put that down!" he roared, his teeth snapping together furiously.

Cathy was so startled that she lost her grip on the bucket. It fell with a crash to the floor, cascading water all over her nightdress. She was wet to the waist. Her eyes were huge as she stared at him incompre-hendingly , one hand clasping her throat. Jon surged to his feet, cursing fiendishly, stepping from the tub and s.n.a.t.c.hing up the towel to rub himself dry. All the while he rained oaths on her while she cowered dumbly away from him. What had she done to make him so angry this time? She couldn't understand it, and her blue eyes mutely pleaded with him to explain. Jon met those eyes, his own growing savage.

"So you think to seduce me again, b.i.t.c.h?" he ground out. "You think to make me solicitous of your condition, is that it? Are you perhaps hoping to be spared the punishment that awaits you after the child is born? I'll see you in h.e.l.l first! Thinking of it, planning it-it was the only thing that kept me alive, and you're not going to weasel your way out of it. Your insidious little ways are wasted on me!"

While Cathy still struggled to make sense of his words, he threw' on clean clothes and stormed out. The door banged behind him, and she was left staring blankly at the wall. The horrifying truth crashed over her head like a tidal wave. No matter how violent his rejection of her, or how fierce his hatred, her love for him remained unchanged.

Jon didn't return to the cabin at all that day. Martha came in, and bullied her into bed, andPetersham stiffly carried in their midday meal. But Jon didn't come. Cathy brushed aside Martha's care of her impatiently, and felt like screaming whenPetersham turned a deaf ear to her questions. If she were going to be able to understand what motivated Jon's savage resentment, she must know what had happened to him, and why he blamed her. Besides Jon himself, who would undoubtedly meet her questions with furious invective,Petersham was the only one she could turn to.

Darkness fell at last, and the ship gradually quieted. Cathy waited with nervous expectation for Jon to retire to bed. It must have been around midnight when she at last faced the truth: he wasn't coming. He must really despise her if he couldn't even bear to stay in the same cabin with her, she thought forlornly. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she disconsolately blew out the bedside candle and settled down in the bunk. She felt lost and alone beneath the covers. Sobs tore from her throat, and, mindful of Martha's contentedly snoring form tucked up in a pallet at the side of the bunk, she m.u.f.fled the sounds in her pillow. Come tomorrow, she comfortedherself, she would get some answers to her questions.If not from Jon, orPetersham , then from the crew. Someone would tell her, she felt sure.

The weather defeated her. She rose the next morning to find that it was snowing, not in drifting fat flakes but in a driving curtain of white. From the window she could see icicles forming on the wooden overhang. The sea was gray and choppy, and if it had been possible to see the sky Cathy knew it would look the same. Commonsense, and a lack of warm clothes, kept both her and Martha glued to the small area around the coal stove. Any questions she had would have to be saved for whoever entered the cabin first.

Petershamarrived after a while bearing the midday meal. Cathy answered his curt knock, and instead of taking the tray from his hands she caught his arm and pulled him inside the cabin. Then she shut the door, leaning against it so that he would have to push her out of the way to get back outside. Knowing Petersham , she realized that his innate respect for a woman in a delicate condition would stop him from restoring to actual physical force.Unless he, as well as Jon, had suffered a severe sea change.

Petershamset the tray down on the table, and then, with great dignity approached the door. Cathy crossed her arms over her chest, leaning against it, smiling at him determinedly. With the thick quilt around her shoulders and her hair hanging in braids down her back, she looked like an Indian squaw. Petersham paused some two feet away, uncertain of what to do.

"If you'll excuse me, ma'am," he said stiffly, not quite meeting her eyes. His face was rigid with disapproval.

"I want to know what happened to Jon,Petersham ," Cathy said softly. "And I'm not moving until you tell me."

"You'll have to ask the Captain that, ma'am."Petersham's tone was very formal, his eyes as they met hers hard with dislike. "It's not my place to discuss his personal business."

Cathy tried a different tack. "Petersham, I am his wife. I have a right to know what's wrong with him."

"There's nothing wrong with the Captain, so far as Iknow. Mistress Hale." The emphasis on the t.i.tle was scathing. Cathy's temper, exacerbated by first Jon's and nowPetersham's unreasonable antagonism,went up in flames. Her blue eyes snapped, and her mouth contorted furiously. She came away from the door, advancing onPetersham . The man backed before her, not knowing what else to do. Martha sprang up and ran to Cathy's side, clutching at her arm.

"Miss Cathy, you must remember the baby!" the womancautioned, her voice shrill with alarm. Cathy saw the flicker inPetersham's eyes as they went from her face to her belly, and suddenly knew the way to get him to tell her what she wanted to know.

"Oh, Martha!" she gasped, clasping her middle and bending almost double. Martha's face went white, andPetersham mirrored her concern. Cathy moaned, and Martha turned furiously on the valet.

"Now see what you've done, you sp.a.w.n of Satan!" she raged. "Upsetting Miss Cathy, and her so far gone with child! You'll have that baby stillborn with your cruel ways, and serve your fiend of a Captain exactly right!"

"I didn't mean . . . ,"Petersham gasped, bending over Cathy. Cathy looked up at him, still moaning.

"Petersham, what happened to Jon?" sheasked, her voice hoa.r.s.e with pretended pain.Petersham's face stiffened, but as she gave vent to another rending groan he capitulated, albeit unwillingly.

"You know the answer to that very well, Miss Cathy," he said severely, and Cathy stifled a triumphant: smile at the familiar form of address that had slipped out. "But if it amuses you to have me tell you what you already know, I will. Master Jon was imprisoned under sentence of hanging. The execution would have been carried out this morning if Mr. Harry hadn't got word about what was going on. We rescued him, which I'm sure you'revery sorry for. Any woman who would have her husband beaten and starved deserves whatever happens to her later, as we've all agreed. You'll get no help from us, Mistress Hale."

The freezing dislike was back inPetersham's voice. Cathy straightened quickly, forgetting her supposed pain in the shock ofPetersham's revelations.

"I . . . had him beaten and starved?" she repeated disbelievingly, staring atPetersham as if she thought he too had gone mad."In prison? I didn't even know he was in prison! He escaped the day the soldiers took Las Palmas! How was I to know he'd been captured again later? I tell you I didn't know,Petersham . I didn't know! You must believe me!"

"It's not me you'll have to convince, Mistress Hale." Again that hateful inflection was present in the last words. "It's Master Jon. But if I may give you a piece of advice, don't try that tale on him. He's too canny a bird to be taken in by such an obvious lie."

"But it's not a lie!" Cathy wailed, starting to go afterPetersham as he walked with immense dignity to the door. Martha held her back, unaware that Cathy's physical distress had merely been a.s.sumed. By the time Cathy shook free of Martha's restraining hands,Petersham was gone.

"Martha, what am I going to do?" Cathy cried, turning wounded eyes on her nanny, who clucked sympathetically over her distress. The woman's plump arms came around the girl's shoulders, and Cathy allowed herself to be led over to the bed and tucked in beneath the quilts. Cathy thought furiously as Martha brought her meal across and set the tray on her lap. Somehow she had to convince Jon that she was completely innocent. But how was she to do that if he wouldn't even comenear her? The answer was painfully obvious: she would have to go to him.

The storm the "Margarita" was caught in howled for the rest of the day. The ship was tossed around like a toy in the hands of a capricious giant, and Martha became violently seasick. Cathy, whose stomach had become accustomed to the ocean's vagaries on her previous voyage, made her nanny as comfortable as she could, but there was really no treatment for seasickness save time or the cooperation of the sea. At last she persuaded Martha to lie down in the bunk, where the woman curled up in a fetal position. Eventually her groans quieted and she fell asleep.

Cathy, huddled in a chair in front of the stove, pursed her lips thoughtfully as Martha's light snores drifted to her ears. This was the chance she had been waiting for. As long as Martha was awake, there wasn't any way she could leave the cabin. Martha would tie her to the bunk before she would permit her to venture out in such a storm. As far as Cathy was concerned, however, her need to talk with Jon was paramount. She dismissed the storm with little more than a shrug.

Her decision made, Cathy got to her feet and slid stealthily toward the door, casting an uneasy glance back over her shoulder at Martha. The woman slept on, oblivious.

She pulled a quilt high over her head so that it would give her some protection from the wind, and then attempted to venture outside. The force of the wind almost jerked the door from her hand, but she held on to it desperately, knowing that a crash would be sure to waken Martha. The muscles in her arms ached as she struggled to close it quietly behind her. Finally it was done, and she leaned back against it with a sigh to catch her breath.

The boards of the deck were icy wet beneath her bare feet. Cathy curled her toes against the cold, her eyes widening as she looked about her. What she saw was a study in gray and white. The sky and the sea were both the color of lead, the former seeming so low that it would almost crush the ship, and the latter straining upward to defy the heavens with menacing, white-tipped waves. Fine, grainy particles of snow and ice mixed with the freezing salt spray to sting against her face and hands like a thousand tiny bees. The wind howled as if outraged that such a puny thing as the "Margarita" should dare to challenge it. Cathy thought for an instant about abandoning her mission and going back inside where it was warm and dry and safe, but then squared her shoulders resolutely, squinting up at the quarterdeck. It was so close, and she would hold on to the rail every step of the way. If she wanted to talk to Jon, the storm was something she had to face.

Clutching the quilt about her with one hand and leaning into the force of the wind, Cathy struggled up the stairs. They were slippery with ice, and her frozen feet were so numb that she had trouble moving. Twice she fell to her knees on the shallow flight of steps, and twice she righted herself and went on while the ship heaved like a malevolent spirit beneath her. Splinters drove into her hand as it pulled her upwards, but Cathy was unconscious of the pain. Only one thought was in her mind: she had to tell Jon that she had had nothing to do with his imprisonment or subsequent torture. Only then could she hope for his love.

Finally she made it to the quarterdeck. She held on to the thin wooden rail, looking about herself disbelievingly. The quarterdeck was deserted. The wheel was lashed with rawhide thongs to hold the ship on course. Cathy turned to peer over the rest of the ship. The decks were completely bare of life. There was not a man in sight. Her heart began to pound erratically as a terrible thought occurred to her. Had everyone been washed overboard? Were she and Martha the only people left alive on the ship? Dear G.o.d, what had happened? What . . . ?

"Jon!" she screamed in a paroxysm of fear. "Jon! Jon!"

"s.h.i.t!" The enraged response whirled down on the wind. Cathy looked up, still frightened, unable to see a worldly source of speech, but at the same time registering dimly that a heavenly being would scarcely resort to such language. Her eyes widened and her mouth went dry as she saw men clinging like blurred gray shadows to the rigging as they hacked desperately away at the ropes that held the canvas at full sail. One man had left the work and was lowering himself toward the deck at a furious pace. His face and the clear outline of his body were obscured by the driving snow, but Cathy knew with an inexplicable certainly that it was Jon.

There was a dull roaring in her ears as he reached the deck. She could just make out the leaping fear in his eyes as he came toward the quarterdeck at a dead run. She shook her head to clear it of the buzz, holding tightly to the rail with one hand and feeling a smile quiver at the way he was forced tozig-zag across the deck in time to the pitching of the ship. The roar seemed louder as he reached the base of the steps, and Cathy glanced reflexively over her shoulder.

What she saw stopped her heart. Rushing toward her like h.e.l.l itself was a huge wave, dark and terrifying as death. Cathy threw her hand up over her face in an absurd effort to ward it off, knowing that she could never reach safety in time.

Suddenly she was thrown to the deck and a heavybody crashed down on top of her. Hard arms came around her, holding her tightly against the railing.

"Hold your breath!" The words were screamed in her ear.

Automatically Cathy did as she was told. No sooner had she closed her mouth than tons of icy water came hurtling down on top of her, threatening to crash her, trying to pull her away from the strong arms that held her penned to the deck. She could feel the force of the water dragging at her, doing its best to suck her into the depths. Alone, she would have been no match for its force; with Jon, she stood a chance.

It was over in a matter of seconds. The "Margarita" bucked wildly,then righted itself, shaking off the deluge Like a s.h.a.ggy dog. Cathy felt herself being hauled to her feet,then the arms that had kept her safe shook her until her teeth were rattling in her head.

"You G.o.dd.a.m.ned stupid little fool!"Jon raged, too angry to realize that the wind was carrying away his bellows or that Cathy could barely hear him above the sounds of the storm. "You d.a.m.n near got yourself killed!"

"I had to talk to you. . . ." Cathy tried to explain, cringing in his rough embrace. With a feeling of frustration she realized that he could no more hear her than she could him. Still, she had to try.

"You have to listen to me!" she screeched, shaking his arm. He glared down at her murderously, his hands moving from her shoulders to meet around the base of her throat.

"Shut up or I'll throttle you here and now!" he yelled, his hands tightening around her slender neck. Cathy jerked free, her eyes widening as a stabbing pain tore through her belly. She screamed, its force bending her double.

"What the h.e.l.l . . . !"

Cathy dropped to her knees on the quarterdeck, her arms clutching her middle protectively. Another pain tore through her. Oh, G.o.d, she was losing the baby! Jon bent over her, then divining what was wrong he scooped her up in his arms, cradling her against him as he battled his way to the stairs. The swirling wind carried away the curses that were falling in a steady stream from his mouth. Cathy stared up at his lean face, her eyes glazing over as pain ripped through her belly with increasing intensity. She moaned, trying to hold her baby safely inside her with both hands pressed frantically to the convulsing mound. Jon's eyes met hers, and she saw in them leaping flames of panic. Why, he's frightened, too, she thought with vague surprise. Then all thoughts vanished under another sweeping onslaught of pain. She screamed,then merciful blackness descended like a curtain. Jon swore profanely as she went limp in his arms, leaping down the stairs two at a time to carry her unconscious form to the shelter of his cabin.

Fourteen.

The only thing that kept Cathy from losing her baby there and then was Martha's skilled nursing. Routed from the bunk by Jon's frantic bellow and ignoring her seasickness, Martha pressed cold cloths between Cathy's legs and packed them tightly around the heaving mound of her belly, hoping to stop the hemorrhaging before it was too late. Jon hovered helplessly until Martha turned on him like a ruffled hen, driving him from the cabin. Such things, she sniffed, were not suitable viewing for gentlemen. Her disparaging glance at Jon seemed to doubt whether in fact he belonged in such a category, but still she insisted that he leave. Knowing that there was nothing he could do to aid Cathy and their child, other than seeing to it that the "Margarita" was not sunk by the force of the storm, he complied with a meekness that did much for him in Martha's eyes. As a compromise, he sent Peters-ham along to help the woman in any way she needed it. Once the immediate danger was past, Martha gloried in usingPetersham as an errand boy. She was in her element presiding over a sickroom.

Cathy did not return to full consciousness until two days later. By then the storm had pa.s.sed, and the baby was once again a firm resident of her womb. She was weak from the ordeal she had pa.s.sed through, though, and Martha insisted that she remain in bed until after the baby was safely born. Jon added his command to Martha's, and Cathy was too frightened by what had almost occurred to disobey either of them. Jon's gruffly expressed words pleased her more than she had thought was possible with their implicit message of concern for her. He was wary, and distrustful, but she didn't think he hated her any longer. Rather shyly she mentioned the matter to Martha, who nodded at her comfortably.

"Captain Hale was sick with worry about you," she confirmed with brisk cheerfulness. "He's one who takes his woman's child-bearing hard. That fool of a valet tells me that his mother died in child-bed, soI guess it's not to be wondered at. You know, Miss Cathy, I thinkImay have been mistaken about the man. He's not nearlyso fearsome asIthought. He might make you a proper husband after all."

Cathy had to smile at what was, from Martha, an accolade. If onlyJonthought he might make her a proper husband, she would be content. Her love for him was devouring her, and it was all she could do to keep herself from telling him outright. Instinctive caution kept her silent, however, as she did not want to drive him further away from her. Time was her ally, she thought-time and the child she carried. After it was born he would surely let down his guard with her, realizing that the baby's birth bound her to him irrevocably.

Jon still slept out of the cabin, and Cathy reluctantly conceded that it was probably just as well. But he paid her a visit nearly every afternoon. Although his manner was stiff and rather formal, she delighted in his presence, and smiled at him warmly whenever he appeared.

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 afterwards. We won't discuss the subject again."

With this curt p.r.o.nouncement, 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'spesence . 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 thatPetersham at least was not so pig-headed. Gradually, byinfinestimal degrees, her relationship with the little man returned to where it had been before the soldiers came to Las Pal-mas. 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 ofPetersham , 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 SouthCarohna 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, leavingWoodham and the rest of his personal possessions to his son. WhenPetersham 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 wastime,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.

Petershamfound 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, antic.i.p.atory 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 pa.s.sion.

"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 sinceIlast hadoccasion 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.