Fire Glow

by Linda Ladd

  Caitlin strolled on, glad the crew had accepted her presence aboard. Each treated her with unparalleled respect, and it was obvious that all were devoted to their captain and would do nothing to offend him or his wife. A few had even been bold enough to talk with her about the various tasks with which they busied themselves, listening respectfully to her opinions on the subjects they discussed.

  Depression settled in a heavy cloak over Caitlin's spirit as she detected a dark and foreboding bank of clouds beginning to gray the day. As the storm approached, the ocean swells grew wilder, roughened by cresting whitecaps, and she moved slowly down the steps to the main deck, holding her full skirts against the increasing wind. Despite herself, she lifted her eyes to the quarterdeck, where Trey stood with Richard. The penetrating blue gaze she met was so intense, so smoldering with desire, that it left her own nerves in a ragged state. She hurried on to the cabin, an acute melancholy weighing down her heart before she reached its portal.

  Almost a week afterward, she sat alone on a cushioned settee below the open windows of the sternwalk. She looked around the stifling cabin, totally bored. Without the freedom to work the sails and riggings as she had done on the Anna, long weeks at sea lost much of their appeal, and the proximity to a husband she wanted but could not forgive was beginning to take its toll on her. She had weakened in her resolve just the night before when Trey had come near her bed before she slept, looking down at her with a longing and despair that matched her own confused emotions. She had longed to open her arms to him, but her deep resentment had surfaced, bringing her anger with it, and she had turned away.

  She tensed as the door opened, and she kept her eyes on Trey long enough to see the dark beard stubble along his lean jaw and chin. He was dressed in black breeches and a loose white shirt, and when he leaned against the door and stared at her with tired eyes, Caitlin forced herself to look away.

  Trey muttered an inward oath as he picked up a bottle of rum and took a deep drink straight from the bottle. Her continued coldness was driving him mad. And now, on top of that, one of the men had come down with a fever. He drank again, looking back to Caitlin, who sat totally serene and beautiful in her place before the windows. She seemed totally unaffected by the one night they had shared, though the bittersweet memory of it haunted his every waking thought. Damn what she had done to him! Suddenly furious with her, he banged the bottle down on his desk, glaring at her with fire in his eyes.

  "You are not to go out of this cabin again without my permission," he said harshly, and Caitlin jerked her head toward him. Her delicate features gradually grew as hard and unyielding as the set of his jaw.

  "Like the bloody devil I won't."

  Trey's long fingers clenched reflexively, and he fought for control that was very close to disintegrating. By force of will, his words came calmly, belying the dark blue fury that remained in his eyes.

  "Do not press me too far, Caitlin. We have fever aboard, one man down already and four others showing signs. You will remain here in quarantine until the outbreak is at an end."

  Caitlin's face paled, her years at sea having taught her the devastating effects of such illnesses during long voyages. She had heard many stories of the plague ships, lying unmanned, every crew member dead from fever or plague or too weak to work the sails, eventually perishing from lack of water or starvation. She had succumbed to a fever herself when she was ten years old, and barely survived it.

  "Has the surgeon named the fever?" she asked in concern, and Trey ran his fingers tiredly through his thick black hair, his anger leaving him as quickly as it had come. He found himself only glad that she was being reasonable; her question was the first civil sentence she had spoken to him in days.

  "He doesn't know, but he feels sure it is infectious. But do not concern yourself; once we have the sickness isolated and under control, you may resume your walks again. I would not take that from you."

  Their eyes met, then slid away from each other, only to meet again. The awareness that crackled between them was nearly a tangible thing, and the spell was only broken when Samuel knocked and entered with the evening meal.

  Trey went to the bowl and pitcher to wash, and Caitlin tried to keep up her end of the conversation with the lad as he moved round the table, and to keep her eyes off her estranged husband as he removed his shirt and tossed it carelessly to a nearby chair. All efforts to look elsewhere failed, and her attention lingered on his broad bronzed back, where powerful muscles rippled as he splashed water over his face and neck. Her body quivered, her pulse accelerated, and she moistened dry lips as he reached for a clean shirt and pulled it over his head. She swallowed hard as he walked back to the table, holding her chair for her with the utmost gallantry. She hesitated a moment, then took it. She had felt far more secure when he had left her to dine alone; his nearness rattled her nerves and robbed her of her appetite.

  Samuel served them rice-stuffed fowl, a most luxurious supper aboard a ship at sea. She had found that Trey insisted on decent food and living conditions for his men, a trait Caitlin admired, since she and Christian had done the same aboard the Anna.

  Thoughts of her own ship brought a lump into her throat, and she wondered sadly what had become of Roger and the others. Christian was now free, and she hoped he had somehow managed to rejoin the ship. She could only hope they were safe and well; it would be many months before she would see any of them again. If indeed she were to ever see them again. As Trey Cameron's wife, she was at his mercy, and if he wished her to remain in England for the rest of her life, she had no real recourse against it. Her finely arched brows drew together, and she mentally vowed that she would return to Barbados, with or without Trey. She would escape and find her own way home!

  Trey sipped the fine French wine that Samuel had poured, wondering at Caitlin's changing expressions. She had looked unbelievably sad for a fleeting moment, and he had watched with wary eyes as her jaw flexed with the steely determination he had come to know so well. He looked away from her as Richard entered, his face set in worried lines.

  "Doctor Harte has diagnosed seven more men with fever in the last hour, and he fears more will be stricken before the day is out."

  "Damnation," Trey muttered darkly as he scraped back his chair and stood. "We cannot lose that many men without being shorthanded on the watches."

  "Aye, ‘twill have to be double watches for every able man," Richard said.

  The alarm in Caitlin's face faded as a thought came to her. She leaned forward, her eyes intent on Trey's face.

  "I am well versed in the duties of the watch, and I would be most willing to lend assistance wherever needed."

  Trey and Richard turned to her in surprise, but Trey shook his head.

  "That is out of the question, Caitlin. You have no business abovedecks now, and especially not in the riggings."

  "And, pray tell, why not? I have done it for most of my life."

  "I will not have my wife endangering herself in such a way," Trey said in a tone that brooked no argument, and Caitlin's teeth came together.

  "I am not your wife any longer, damn you."

  Richard cleared his throat as a slow and angry flush rose to darken Trey's face.

  "There will be no further discussion on the subject. I will not risk your health or safety, and that is final."

  Trey departed then, leaving Caitlin staring after him, her fingers biting into her clenched fists as she fought her angry tears.

  Chapter Seventeen

  In the next few weeks, the fever ran rampant aboard the Glory, dwindling the crew to meager proportions, and Caitlin saw less of her husband now than she had before the outbreak. He had not come to the cabin in over a week, and Caitlin was feeling the strain of being cooped up there alone. Her only respite from the four encroaching walls was the narrow course of the sternwalk, which at least afforded her the luxury of fresh air. She spent most of her time out there, watching the wide foaming wake as the beleaguered ship wallowed and cut its way throu
gh the towering waves of the mid-Atlantic.

  Her only other entertainment was her friend Samuel, who often lingered from his duties to talk or play chess with her. He was with her now, and Caitlin looked at him with affection that had grown in the past weeks aboard ship. He had seemed to sprout in height and now stood higher than she, and his constant cheerfulness eased her frequent spells of depression.

  "How are the sick faring?" she asked him suddenly, and Samuel raised his liquid brown eyes from where he studied the board. Since Caitlin had taught him the game, he had become most proficient at it.

  "Most are recovering, mum, but ‘tis a slow road with much weakness of the limbs. Four have died and been put into the sea."

  Caitlin frowned. "How can the ship be manned with so many ill?"

  "It has been a hard time on those who do not have the fever. The captain has worked as hard as any, and Master Hale as well. I do not know when they find time to sleep."

  Caitlin had wondered the same thing about Trey, and her concern deepened as she absently fingered the intricately carved ivory bishop on the board before her. Samuel continued to deliberate on his next move, and Caitlin glanced up as the door opened and gasped in shock.

  Trey looked terrible, his face unshaven, his skin tinged gray with fatigue. Caitlin hardly realized that she had come to her feet in dismayed alarm. He paused, and it seemed at first that he really didn't see them. Caitlin took a hesitant step toward him, stopping as he turned bloodshot exhausted eyes on her.

  "I am just tired," he answered her unuttered question, then shifted his gaze to Samuel. "Fetch me a mug of rum, boy."

  He moved with great weariness across the cabin, while Samuel hurried to obey. He gave a grunt as he sat on the edge of the bed, removing a boot and dropping it with a thud to the floor. The other followed, and Caitlin's worry increased as he slumped forward, dropping his head into his hands. She had never seen him so exhausted.

  Samuel crossed the cabin to hand Trey the pewter mug, and Trey downed the rum gratefully before he stretched out on the bunk with an audible sigh. Samuel watched him worriedly for a moment, then came back to Caitlin as she motioned him away from the bed.

  They resumed their game, Samuel returning to his deep concentration at once, but Caitlin no longer heeded the game, her gaze returning repeatedly to the man on the bed. Trey slept restlessly, muttering unintelligible words; when he continued to toss, Caitlin rose and moved to his side. His face was flushed and lined with perspiration, and Caitlin leaned over him, taking his large hand between her palms. Trey opened fever-bright eyes and peered blearily up at her.

  "Caitlin, Caitlin," he mumbled thickly, pressing the back of her hand to his cheek. His skin burned where it touched her cool hand, and Caitlin turned to Samuel, her worst fears realized.

  "Samuel! Bring me a basin of water and be quick about it! He is stricken!"

  The boy rushed to the pitcher, and Caitlin pushed back damp black hair where it lay tangled over Trey's forehead as he fitfully turned his head from side to side. When Samuel brought the bowl, Caitlin hurriedly dipped a cloth into the water, squeezing out the excess, while Samuel hovered anxiously nearby. She stroked the cloth gently over Trey's face, and the soothing coolness brought Trey closer to awareness.

  "Caitlin?" he whispered again. "Come to me."

  Before, Caitlin could move, his arm had encircled her back, pulling her bodily against his chest. Even in his delirium, he was much stronger than she, and Caitlin could not free herself as he breathed hoarse words into her hair.

  "I want you so much; I want to touch you and make love to you. . . ."

  Caitlin's face flamed with embarrassment as his fingers fumbled clumsily with the laces of her bodice, and she took hold of his hands quickly, well aware that Samuel's eyes had widened as he watched Trey's amorous pursuits.

  "Go get Mister Hale, Samuel, and tell him that the captain has taken the fever."

  "Yes, mum," Samuel said, already halfway across the cabin.

  Caitlin looked back at Trey, now in the throes of a feverish doze. He murmured her name again, and she bathed his cheeks and chin, then moved the cloth lower into the open throat of his shirt. She murmured soothing words to him, realizing that for the first time since she had known him, he seemed very helpless and dependent on her. A great tenderness for him overwhelmed her, and she picked up one strong, sun-browned hand and pressed her lips against his long fingers. It was then she knew that no matter what he had done to her, or why he had done it, she wanted no divorcement from this man. The extent of her love frightened her, and fear tightened like a vise around her heart at the thought of losing him.

  "How bad is he?" Richard said from the door.

  "Very bad, I am afraid."

  "It is little wonder," Richard said as he came up beside her. "He has driven himself ruthlessly these past weeks."

  "Aye, but I can nurse him back to health. I have done so many times before with men of our ship."

  Her eyes found Richard, who looked every bit as exhausted as Trey had, and she frowned.

  "And you? Are you well?"

  "Aye, but most of the crew is not. We barely have enough hands to work the sails, and at times we cannot take advantage of the winds at all."

  Caitlin nodded as she bathed Trey's feverish body. She was ready to leave the running of the ship to Richard, no longer concerned with anything but nursing her husband back to health.

  * * *

  For ten days Caitlin kept a constant vigil at her husband's side, feeding him broth and spoonfuls of water, only dozing briefly when his ravings were not violent. The Glory sailed in sporadic bursts when there were crewmen enough to work the sails; men were continuously being taken sick as others grew strong enough to resume their posts. It was as if the dreaded disease refused to leave any unscathed, and only those like Richard, Samuel, and Caitlin herself, who had suffered such fevers before, had the good fortune to remain in good health.

  One afternoon, as Caitlin slept on a settee pulled close beside the bunk, a rough hand shook her awake. She sat up in alarm to find Richard standing beside her. He smiled tiredly, then looked to where Trey now rested in peaceful repose.

  "He is much better," Caitlin whispered. "He will be up and about within a week, I should say."

  "With thanks to you," Richard said, leaning his shoulder against the wall, and Caitlin gave a small smile.

  "Your cousin is much too stubborn and pigheaded to die, and you know that as well as I."

  Richard laughed, having to agree with her, but he was very relieved that Trey would survive. His expression sobered quickly, and he helped himself to the bottle of rum sitting in a recessed hole in the shelf beside the bed.

  "The weather grows threatening. I fear the winds and rain are the leavings of a hurricane to the south," he told Caitlin, sitting down beside her. "But the gusts do us little good, with the men suffering double watches and no sleep. At this rate, we will be lucky to get to England at all." He shook his head as he took a hearty swig of rum.

  "You have done a good job. Trey will be pleased."

  Richard shrugged and stood. "I am glad he is all right, but I suppose I must rest now if I am to last through another watch."

  Caitlin sat very still as he left, staring thoughtfully at the door as it closed behind him. An idea was forming in the back of her mind, one she welcomed wholeheartedly after weeks of inactivity. Trey was well enough now to be put in Samuel's care, and even if she only replaced one man per watch, it would give them desperately needed rest. Her excitement blossomed as she contemplated climbing high atop the masts. It had been a very long time since she had enjoyed such pleasures, and she had missed the exhilaration of it more than she had let herself admit.

  She looked down at the full-skirted gown she wore. She certainly could not wear such voluminous garments while aloft, she thought with a smile, not without becoming an extra sail herself. She frowned, looking around the cabin for a solution to her problem. Her gaze stopped on young Samuel, whe
re he leaned back against the wall in a chair, small snores emanating from his open mouth. A slow and satisfied smile took possession of Caitlin's lips, and she stood, laughing as she crossed the floor and shook Samuel awake.

  "Samuel, wake up!" she cried, and the boy rubbed his eyes with his fists as he fought away remnants of sleep.

  "Take off your clothes and give them to me! Quickly now!"

  Samuel's drowsiness fled him at once, and his mouth fell open, his eyes white and round in his dark face. When Caitlin impatiently went for the buttons of his shirt, he quickly found his tongue.

  "Please, mum, I cannot take off my clothes here in front of you!"

  Caitlin laughed at his stammering boyish modesty.

  "Don't be silly, Samuel. I will not look at you. I only have need of your breeches and shirt. And your shoes, too."

  Samuel stared without comprehension at her, then backed away as Caitlin reached again for his laces.

  "Would you be pleased to turn then, mum," he asked in timid tones, and Caitlin grinned again but did as he asked, instructing him as he removed his clothes.

  "While I am working the sails, you must stay here and take very good care of the captain. Do you understand, Samuel? You must never leave him, and if he appears to worsen in any way, you must come for me at once. Is that clear?"

  "Aye, mum," the boy said, quick to wrap himself in a blanket before she turned around.

  Caitlin was careful not to look at him as she took the breeches and shirt. "Go on now and find something else to wear while I change."

  Samuel nodded, glancing at the sick man as he left, thinking it was a good thing he still slept, because he did not think Captain Cameron would like at all what his lady intended to do.

  Caitlin quickly unlaced her stomacher, grateful to at last shed the heavy skirts and petticoats. She had few dresses, since Trey had seen fit to leave as he had, but she had longed for the comfort of masculine attire for many days. The simple linen fabric of the small breeches felt wonderful against her skin, so much more so than yards of lace and silk. The shirt was too big for her, but it didn't matter, for she could knot it at the waist for a close enough fit. However, her hair would not do, loosened as it was, so she took a moment to braid it in a long queue down her back.