Island Flame Part 8

"She's gone!" he began to mutter. "By d.a.m.n, she's gone!In Cadiz, of all places. Den of cutthroats. . . . Like a lamb wandering in awolfpack. . . . Won't stand a chance! Cathy! Cathy!"

"Hush, Jon, I'm here, and perfectly safe as you can see," Cathy murmured soothingly, trying to calm him. Her words were unable to penetrate the haze of fever, but Jon seemed to take comfort from the soft touch of her hand as she gently stroked it over his hot brow.

"See what you've done?" Harry spoke in a low tone that was vicious none the less. "I knew you'd be trouble from the moment Jon brought you aboard. I warned him, but he wouldn't listen, he was crazy over you, and now you've d.a.m.ned near killed him!Witch!"

"I have had just about enough of your insolence and abuse," Cathy said through her teeth, her temper surfacing through the pall of guilt that weighed her down. She refused to let herself dwell on the one warming part of Harry's speech-that Jon was crazy about her. Her heart melted at the thought. Was it true?

"Don'tcome the fine lady over me!" Harry snapped. "I've seen you with him, remember, and I know that inside you're no better than those women out there walking the streets! You're dying for what he can give you-it's obvious whenever you look at him. And then you have the gall to pretend that you hate it! G.o.d, deliver me from women!"

"Get out of here!" Cathy's voice was icy cold and laced with contempt. "I won't have you in here spewing such filth! If you truly cared about Jon, which you don't, you'd see that our quarreling will only hurt him!"

"If I truly cared . . . ?" Harry choked disbelievingly. "And I suppose you do? Pray enlighten me if I'm wrong, but I seem to remember that you hated him just over a week ago! Rather a quick change, wasn't it?"

"I was angry," Cathy confessed, her wrath abating somewhat. "Of course I don't hate him. He-he saved my life tonight. I'll take good care of him, Harry, I promise. Only it would make it much easier on me if you wouldn't watch every move I make like you think I'm going to poison him!"

Harry's own anger and guilt subsided as he read the sincerity in Cathy's eyes. He stared at her indecisively for a moment,then nodded.

"All right, I trust you. But if something happens to him. . . ."

"It won't, if I can help it," Cathy said with quiet a.s.surance. "Now, would you please leave? Dr. Sandoz said that Jon needs to be kept as quiet as possible, and we can't be sure that our voices aren't getting through to him."

Harry wavered,then moved toward the door. He paused with his hand on the k.n.o.b.

"I'll sendPetersham down to help you when he comes back aboard. And-uh-Lady Catherine. . . ."

"Call me Cathy," she said wearily. "Jon does."

"Cathy." Harry hesitated for a moment,then took the plunge. "I'm-I'm sorry for anything I may have said to offend you. I'm only concerned for Jon's well-being. We've been friends a long time."

"I understand." Cathy smiled at him,then gestured toward the door. Harry took the hint. She thought he looked somewhat relieved to escape.

"I'llsend.Petershamwhen I can," he repeated, and then departed.

Cathy turned back to check on Jon. He was still unconscious and was muttering unintelligibly. His dark face was pale beneath its tan as his head tossed back and forth against the soft white pillow. His Lips and eyelids had a bluish tinge, Cathy noted worriedly, due, she supposed, to the loss of so much blood. When she had arrived with Harry and the hastily a.s.sembled rescue force back at the "Red Dog," Jon had been lying unconscious in a congealing crimson pool. At his side had been the bodies of three men he had managed to kill before being brought down like a proud wolf. The s...o...b..ring beasts had left him for dead, and gone back to their drinking. Not that many of them would drink again, though, Cathy thought with satisfaction. For the few who had escaped the b.l.o.o.d.y vengeance of the "Margarita's" crew would be in no shape to enter a saloon again for a long time to come. As Jon's body was borne away, Cathy tripped over a familiar form sprawled lifelessly near the saloon's door. It was Billy, the man who had slapped her. He'd been shot through the head. . . .

"Cathy?" Joncalled, his voice fretful. Cathy bent over him tenderly, catching his big hand in hers. It was fiery hot.

"I'm here, Jon," she said with quiet insistence, but her words didn't get through to him. He continued to call and mutter and thrash about for the next several hours. Cathy could only sit beside him, holding his hand. Once he asked hoa.r.s.ely for water and she gave it to him, pouring some from the pitcher by the bed into a gla.s.s, holding it to his lips and letting just a few drops dribble into his mouth. He swallowed, then seemed to sleep. But the quiet lasted only a short while, for his fever began to rise rapidly soon after his brief rest. Cathy poured more water into the basin and then pulled the covers down to his feet, taking a cloth and sponging his naked body as naturally as she would have her own. His maleness held no terrors for her now. The cool bath seemed to bring him some relief, and he lay still. Cathy's eyes stroked the hard length of him, admiring the muscular limbs that even in illness were corded and strong-looking. He was a handsome man. . . .

Almost reluctantly she pulled the covers back up to his chin, tucking them firmly about him. She was surprised to see pink heralds of dawn streaking the sky through the window. Soon it would be time to change his dressings again. . . .

She was so tired. Taking a quilt from the wardrobe, she spread it out on the floor next to the bunk and sank down upon it, leaning her head back against the mattress wearily.If she could just rest her eyes. . . .

"Miss Cathy?"Petersham's voice roused her from a sound sleep. "Miss Cathy, it's moving toward noon. I've brought you something to eat."

Cathy jerked upright, immediately alert. Her eyes flew automatically to Jon, movingresdessly beneath the pile of covers.

"How is he?" she gasped. How could she have fallen asleep when he needed her . . . ?

"He's much the same,"Petersham reported gravely. "I came in several hours ago, and I've been sitting with him. You're not to think he's taken some hurt because you've slept."

Cathy stood up, shaking the sleep from her eyes.

"I must see to his wounds. The doctor said every four hours. . . ."

"I've already done it once. Mr. Harry came in and told me what to do. He said to let you sleep-that you'd been through a bad time yourself."

"That was so kind of him," Cathy said, wondering at Harry's unprecedented concern for her.

"If you hurry, miss, you'll have time to eat and freshen up a bit before anything else needs to be done." When Cathy shook her head he added severely, "You won't be any good to Master Jon if you're half dead from not taking care ofyourselfproperly."

Cathy thought about it for a moment. Not eating certainly would not help Jon, and it might actually hurt him. She needed to keep up her strength so that she could nurse him.Petersham had tended his master's wounds for the last time, she vowed. From now on she was going to do everything herself. She owed it to him. . . . And besides, she found that she actually wanted to tend him.

Petershamurged her into a chair and Cathy felt her muscles, stiff from sleeping on the floor, scream as she sat. She ached all over. Her jaw throbbed as she moved it experimentally.Every inch of her felt like it was bruised. But she had brought her injuries on herself, she admitted silently. If she hadn't been so foolish, neither one of them would be in such bad shape now.

An appetizing breakfast was pushed before her byPetersham . There was fresh orange juice, toast with fruit conserve, and even ham and eggs. After the dried salt pork and hard biscuits that had been the "Margarita's" bill of fare at sea, the food looked and smelled marvelous. She fell to with a will and managed to eat every last bite. Finally she sat back, replete.Petersham beamed at her approvingly.

"That was delicious,Petersham . I feel much better."

"I thought you would, miss. There's warm water in the basin, if you'd like to wash. Master Jon's dressings aren't due to be changed for another half-hour."

"Thank you,Petersham . I'll call you when I need you.

"Very good, miss," he said gravely, and left the cabin.

Cathy laid a gentle hand on Jon's forehead before performing her morning ablutions. He stirred restlessly, muttering, but his eyes remained closed and he gave no sign that he was aware of her presence. Ilis forehead was burning hot against her palm. Cathy frowned as she turned away to dress. To her untrained eye he seemed even worse than he had the night before. She thought about sending for Dr. Sandoz again as she began to wash, but decided that she would wait until she had checked the condition of his wounds.

While one of the men had run to fetch a doctor the night before, Cathy had hastily shed Jon's torn and filthy clothes and pulled on a dress. At the time she had been far more concerned with modesty than fashion. Now she saw with a grimace that she had donned her pink morning dress inside out. She changed it quickly, brushed her hair into a simple chignon, and then gathered up the basin, fresh bandages, and the powder Dr. Sandoz had left.

She set her supplies down on the bedside table and pulled back the sheet. Jon's naked body was long and dark and hairy against the white linen. She sat down on the edge of the bunk and began to ease the bandages gently away from his wounds. There were six lacerations, varying in their severity, scattered randomly over his body. The one on his right thigh was the worst, she decided. Long and jagged, it looked like it had been made with a broken bottle. The swollen, angry looking tear ran from just inches beneath his manhood to his knee. Cathy felt tears start in her eyes as she looked at it. She could imagine the feel of the sharp gla.s.s gougingdeep into Jon's flesh, ripping his leg apart. G.o.d, it must have hurt! And he had endured the pain for her. . . .

The wounds themselves were serious, but Dr. Sandoz had a.s.sured her that Jon would survive them. Infection and its accompanying high fever were the real danger. In his weakened state, Jon would be unable to fight gangrene if it should set in. Cathy shuddered, wiping the crusted blood away from the wounds. The only known cure for a gangrenous limb was amputation. And Jon, debilitated as he was from loss of blood, was equally unlikely to survive that. If he did, he would be maimed for life and she knew that Jon would prefer death.

He began to trash wildly as Cathy gently bathed his torn thigh. She called forPetersham to help her, afraid that his struggles might re-open the wounds and start them bleeding again.Petersham , when he came, stopped dead in the doorway at the sight of Cathy leaning anxiously over Jon's naked body, a single strand of her golden hair, which had worked itself loose from the pins, mixing with the black furring on his chest.

"I'll finish this, Miss Cathy. It's not a proper sight for a young lady like yourself,"Petersham said when he had recovered his powers of speech. Cathy glanced around at him impatiently.

"Don't be ridiculous,Petersham . I have seen a man unclothed before, you know. This man," she emphasized. "Now, would you please hold him still while I put this powder on his wounds? I'm afraid it may hurt him, and if he jumps around he may do himself injury."

SlowlyPetersham moved to do her bidding, his reddened face stiff withembarra.s.sed disapproval. Cathy sensed rather than saw his shock, but there was little she could do about it. Jon's well-being had to come beforePetersham's notions of propriety.

Jon moaned piteously when the healing powder waspoured over his wounds and it began to penetrate his torn flesh. After a moment, his moans turned to howls of pain. Cathy wanted to flee from the sight of his agony, but she could not. He needed her now as she had needed him the night before. So instead of hiding, she cradled his head in her arms and murmured soothing words to him whilePetersham did his best to control Jon's flailing limbs. If Jon had not been so weak, it would have taken four men of Petersham's size to hold him. Cathy trembled fearfully at the loss of strength that allowed her bold pirate captain to be so easily subdued.

At last the pain lessened and Jon rested more quietly.Petersham stood away from the bunk, but it was a moment before Cathy gently lowered the dark head to the pillow. Jon stirred uneasily as her comforting presence was removed. Cathy's hand came up to stroke his brow and he was still.

"Will there be anything else, my lady?"Petersham was still being stiffly formal, a sign that he was gravely offended, as Cathy knew from her years with Martha. She sighed.

"Petersham, you must see that this is not the time to be concerned about conventionality," she tried to explain. "Captain Hale is very ill, and needs care. The rest of you have duties about the ship, which leaves me to be his nurse. Would you have me shrink away because he is naked, and leave him untended?"

"I will be glad to take over the nursing, my lady. When Mr. Harry told me that you were to do it, I did not fully comprehend the-uh--delicacy of the task."

"Oh, for goodness sake,Petersham !"Cathy exclaimed, exasperated. She was too annoyed to p.u.s.s.yfoot around. "You must be aware that I-that he-well, that our relationship is scarcely that of brother and sister. Inshort, Iknow allabout the Captain. The sightof his body is no novelty to me."

Cathy blushed at her own boldness. Three weeks ago she would never have believedthat shecould have spoken with such a total lack of modesty. But her words were the plain truth, and there was no sense in wrapping them up in fancy clothes. She lookedupto seePetersham regarding her coldly.

"Be that as it may, my lady, such sights are not fit for one of your s.e.x and tender years. Will that be all, my lady?"

Cathy sighed, and dismissedhim.Petersham'sunexpected prudery was a difficulty shedid notfeel equippedtodeal with at the time.

For the next five days Cathy nursed Jon devotedly. She cleaned and tendedhiswounds, andcalledDr. Sandoz anxiously when they showedsigns ofswelling. The gash on his thigh began to putrefy. Dr. Sandoz lanced it, draining off the yellow pus with its streaksofred blood into the basin which Cathyheld forhim. Jon's hands and feet were tied to the bunk frameforthis 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 afterwards, and then when Dr. Sandoz untied Jon's limbs she gatheredhis sweat-soaked head to her breast, holding it tightly whileshecrooned over him. Her wordless murmurings seemedto soothe him and he dropped off intoatroubledsleep,his head still cradledonher breast.

Inaddition,she fed him,spooning thin gruel into his mouthatregular intervals and holding his lips pressed tightly togetheruntilhe swallowed. She gave him water,and appliedhot compresses to his inflamed thigh. As his feverrose shebathed him almost hourly with cool water, but this no longer served to lower his body heat even slightly. Hisnatural functionsshe tendedto herself,knowing thatPetersham would faint with disapproval if she were to ask his a.s.sistance. Her total dedication to his well-being surprised everyone, including herself. Cathy would never have imagined that she, who had never so muchaspicked 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'scontinued 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'srecovery was in the hands of G.o.d.

Jon frequently became agitated beyond her ability to control him as his temperature soared, and Cathy was forced to summon eitherPetersham or Harry to help her with him. Both men gradually lost their stiffness with her and came to look upon her as one ofthemselves . Cathy pacifiedPetersham by a.s.suring him that, as soon as Jon'scondition permitted, he would be dressed in a proper nightshirt. But for the time being, evenPetersham realized that Jon'sillness was too severe to allow Cathy to spend time worrying about such a nonessential as modesty.

Cathy'scomplete devotion to their captain'swell-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 G.o.d! 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,Cathymused 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. Whywas 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 tobe 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 h.e.l.l," 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 likeyourself 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! G.o.d, 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! G.o.d, when I heard all those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds 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 rea.s.sured 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 G.o.d!"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.