“But they singled you out amongst all the other passengers.”
“Sí.”
“Can you explain?”
Anton took a quick glance at the captain. “Not yet.”
Captain Bushwell exhaled in exasperation and ran his fingers through his hair. “Señor Contreras, you’re not making any sense.”
“I know. That is because I am just as confused as you.” He looked back at Vivian.
“Do you know of any reason they had for finding you?”
Anton remained silent for a few moments, then nodded. “I think my uncle sent them to kill me.”
“Why would he do that?”
Anton tore his attention away from Vivian for a brief moment when he looked at the captain again. “Because I am the sole heir to a large inheritance, and my uncle wants it.”
Captain Bushwell sucked in a quick breath. “But I don’t understand—”
“Captain,” Anton spoke, but returned his attention to Vivian. “Can we discuss this at another time?”
“Yes, of course. I need to question my crew to find out why nobody knew about those other men.” The captain turned and left the cabin grumbling.
“Well,” the doctor said, standing as he closed his medical bag. “I think she’s going to be fine. We’ll have to keep a close eye on her in case she catches pneumonia, but if you remain by her side and take care of her—”
“I plan on it,” Anton interrupted.
“Good. Keep me informed on her progress.” Anton nodded to the doctor as he left.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Anton sat on the bed beside Vivian. Her lips had a little more color, but she still looked more like a corpse than the exuberant woman he knew.
The strenuous activities of the evening wore on his exhausted body, so he turned down the lamp and crawled into bed, taking Vivian back in his arms. Once he rested her head on his chest, her ragged breathing turned soft.
With a smile, he realized how well she fit next to him. He’d always enjoyed the way she felt in his arms, but now as he lay beside her, he knew their bodies molded perfectly together.
He kissed her forehead. “Sleep well, my little kitten. No need to fear any longer.”
And he would make certain of that.
* * * *
Vivian’s weak body lay still as death, but her chest rose and fell with life. Anton remained by her side and nursed her, but uselessness grew inside him. She’d gained consciousness a few times, but she mostly slept. On a few occasions, her eyes drifted open and he cajoled her into eating a bite of hot soup or sipping water from a cup.
Soon, fever consumed her body as coughing wracked her, and Anton summoned the physician. Doctor Lewis diagnosed her with pneumonia.
Fighting for control over his own panic, Anton kept his words calm. “Are you saying she is going to die?”
Doctor Lewis shook his head. “On the contrary. I know many people who have lived.”
“And I, Señor, have known people who died.”
The doctor moved beside Anton and patted his shoulder. “She will live, because you won’t let her die.”
Emotion welled in Anton’s chest, his eyes stinging with tears, so he quickly turned away and hurried back to Vivian’s side. He took hold of her hot, weak hand and gently stroked her skin.
“You are correct, Doctor Lewis. I will not let her die.”
“Make certain she drinks plenty of fluids, and keep her as warm as possible. If her temperature rises, we’ll have to place cold rags around her body to bring it down.”
Anton nodded and returned his concentration back on Vivian.
The physician left the room without delivering any more instructions. Sighing, Anton ran his fingers through his hair. Death was not an option, yet what could he do to stop it from happening? So far, nothing he’d done had helped.
A light knock came upon the door before it opened. He looked back to see who had entered. Mrs. Summers smiled as she brought in a tray of food.
“The cook fixed some special broth for Vivian.” She set the tray on the table. “And I brought you some food, as well.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Summers, but I am not hungry.” He turned back to Vivian.
She touched his arm. “But you need to keep up your strength if you expect to help her.”
He glanced at the lovely brunette and smiled. “You are correct. It is hard to think about myself when I am so worried about her.”
“Yes, I can see how concerned you are. It’s evident in your eyes.” A blush stained her cheeks. “But can I ask you a question?”
“Sí.”
“You give the impression you and Vivian are distant relatives, but I think she means more to you than that. I’ve seen the way she looks at you, and she’s not looking at you like a woman who looks upon her uncle.”
He chuckled. “Indeed?”
Her cheeks grew darker. “Yes, and you don’t look upon her as a niece, either. You’re not really related, are you?”
He smiled. “No.”
“Do you love her?”
He glanced at Vivian on the bed, and his heart twisted again with that unknown emotion. Is it love?
He quickly dismissed the notion. Although he cared deeply about Vivian, he wasn’t in love with her. “I do care about her very much.”
Mrs. Summers dropped her hand and stepped away. “You men are all alike,” she muttered under her breath as she turned.
Anton reached out and stopped her by grasping her wrist. Her pleasant smile had been replaced with a scowl.
“Why do you say that, and in a sarcastic tone?” he asked, releasing her.
“Because men like you ignore your true feelings. You’d rather follow your head than your heart.” She stopped, looking like she fought an inward battle. “At one time I loved a man, but he didn’t return my feelings—at least he wouldn’t allow himself to return those emotions. So, when Mr. Summers offered for my hand in marriage, I accepted. I could tell George loved me, but because I still harbored feelings for my young gentleman friend, I couldn’t let myself love George the way he needed. Three months after I married George, my secret love finally admitted he loved me, but it was too late.”
With the back of her hand, she wiped a tear away then straightened her shoulders. When she looked back at Anton, her smile wavered. “All I’m saying is don’t hide your feelings. If you love her, let her know or it will be too late. Good day, Señor Contreras.” She turned and left the room.
Anton blinked in a daze. Did he really feel that way about Vivian? His heart ached with that familiar emotion he’d been experiencing lately.
Could it be love?
Chapter Eleven
When Vivian stirred on the bed, Anton momentarily put aside Mrs. Summers’ words. Vivian’s eyes fluttered open, and she focused on him. Her pretty grayish-blue gaze darkened with fever, and his gut twisted.
“You’re here,” she rasped.
“You doubt I would stay with you? I am wounded, my dear.” He smiled, hoping to give her the impression he was emotionally strong. “Are you hungry?”
She nodded. “Just a little.”
He quickly moved to retrieve the broth Mrs. Summers’ had brought then came back to sit beside Vivian. He propped a few pillows behind her before feeding her.
While he carefully placed the spoonful of broth in her mouth, she kept her eyes on him. She offered a weak smile, and his chest ached from the tenderness displayed.
“How do you feel today?” he asked.
She gave him a one-shoulder shrug. “My chest feels like a horse is sitting on it, and my whole body hurts when I cough.”
“This broth will help you become well.”
“You are so kind,” she whispered.
He shook his head. “You forget. If not for me, you would not be in this condition.”
“No, you mustn’t blame yourself.” Her chest rattled when she coughed. “It was my choice to leave the room and wander on deck.”
He fed her another
spoonful. “Why did you?”
Her smile widened slightly. “To catch you in a lie.”
“What lie?”
“The one I thought you had told Mr. Summers when he came to fetch your revolver.”
He fed her again. “Why did you think I was being untruthful?”
She shrugged. “Because I’ve thought that since we met. I know I told you I trusted you, and I apologize for that. But the truth is, I doubted your story.”
It pained him to hear those words. “What about now? Do you still doubt me?”
Her smile disappeared. “No.” She opened her mouth and leaned forward for more, so he fed her. She relaxed back on the pillows. “I would still like to know more about your birthright, but I do believe men are trying to kill you for one reason or another.”
“They are.”
She coughed again. “Did you kill them all that night?”
“Only a few. Captain Bushwell tied up Raúl and took him away, but some of his friends were fortunate enough to escape to their ship. Sadly, the captain was too busy tying up those wounded and trying to help the ones who fell overboard at the same time.”
She lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry about Raúl. A good detective would have known he was a fake.”
“But my dear, you did know.” He stroked her cheek. “You were wary about him, which is why you searched his room. That tells me you are very skilled. I am just saddened because I know you wanted to be his friend.”
She met his stare and gave him a weak smile. “I never thought I’d hear you say that. Thank you for telling me.” She took a deep breath mere seconds before she had a coughing fit. When she gained control, she shook her head. “As for wanting to be his friend... I used Raúl to distract me, that’s all.”
“Distract you from what?” He offered a glass of water, and she sipped.
“From you.”
He grinned and brought another spoonful up to her mouth. “Did it work?”
“No.”
Laughing, his heart skipped a beat. He had suspected she was falling in love with him. She’d practically confessed to him the other day.
Without another word, she finished eating the broth then weakly sank into the bed. “I don’t know why I’ve been so very tired.”
“You are sick, mí dulce. As soon as the illness passes, you will be back to perfect.”
“What does the doctor say I have?”
“Pneumonia.”
She nodded. “As a young girl, my father became ill with that. It was a rocky two weeks, but he eventually recovered.”
“My maternal grandmother became sick with it, and after a week, it took her life.” He reached out and stroked Vivian’s hair.
“Don’t worry, Anton. That won’t happen to me. I’m strong.”
“No, you are not, but you are stubborn.”
Snuggling into the blankets, she closed her eyes. “I’m tired and I ache all over.”
“Then sleep.” He kissed her forehead.
Fevered eyes opened and met his gaze then she smiled. The impulsive sensation to kiss her lips became strong, but he resisted. She was still too ill, plus he couldn’t break her heart again.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He waited until her breathing became even and her lips fluttered with each exhalation before he moved to the table and ate his meal. He really wasn’t hungry, but he needed to keep up his strength, especially for the days ahead. This illness would get worse before getting better, and he wasn’t looking forward to that.
* * * *
Vivian awoke in the middle of the night, heated moisture sopping her gown. Yet at the same time, an icy coldness penetrated every bone in her body. Anton lay beside her with his back turned, so she curled up behind him to feel his warmth. The moment she wrapped her arms around his middle, he jumped and turned.
“Vivian?” he questioned groggily.
“Anton, I’m—I’m—so cold.”
He gathered her in his arms, and she pressed her face against his bare chest.
“Díos, Vivian, you are as hot as fire.”
“No.” Her body shook. “I’m cold.”
He mumbled a few words in Spanish as he moved off the bed.
“Anton?” She reached for him.
“Querida, I have to fetch the doctor. Your fever is out of control, and we need to bring it down.”
“No, Anton.”
After pulling on his shirt, he knelt on the bed and took her in his arms. “I will be right back,” he told her in a tight voice then kissed her forehead.
Vivian curled in her blankets, but remained still. Invisible knives stabbed her everywhere, and her body ached. She sobbed from the sheer torture it brought. It even hurt to breathe.
Slowly, a cloud filled her mind, and she saw a peaceful place, a place where no pain could reach her. Emotionally, she grasped for that haven, hoping to escape her sickness.
* * * *
Anton rushed through the hallways before he found the doctor’s door, then pounded frantically until the older man opened it. “Doctor.” Anton breathed heavily. “Her fever is very high.”
The doctor quickly slipped on his robe and ran with Anton back to the room. When they entered, Anton noticed something different. Vivian lay still as death. His heart dropped, and he ran over to her.
“Vivian?” he shouted, shaking her. “Vivian!”
The doctor pushed him aside. “Let me look at her. Go fetch a porter and have him bring buckets of cold water.”
“Tell me she is alive,” Anton demanded, his voice as shaky as his heart.
“She is, but barely. Now go.”
Anton would have wakened the whole ship if he had to, but he found people who would help. Captain Bushwell even offered his services, and soon the room filled with buckets of water.
The physician moved off the bed and soaked a towel. “Anton, please help me. We should lay as many wet rags over her body as we can.”
Between Anton and the physician, they covered every inch of her with cool cloths. On her forehead and around her face they laid a few more.
The doctor cursed. “Well, this is better than nothing.” He swiped the moisture off his temples with his forearm.
“I am wondering if that is not the proper procedure,” Anton said.
The doctor gave him a quizzical look. “Explain yourself.”
“I remember when I was young and had a high fever, mí niňera put rags filled with ice in my armpits and between my legs. These are the hottest spots on your body, and so with the ice packed there, it cools the body quicker.”
The doctor scratched his head, his gaze jumping between Anton, the captain, and Vivian. He heaved a sigh and nodded. “Although we don’t have ice, I think we should try it with the cold rags.”
Putting aside his own panic, Anton forged into his work until the wet cloths had been placed against certain parts of her body and a whole sheet had been soaked in cold water and placed over her. She shook violently. Her lips faded to that terrifying blue color again, her breathing became shallow, and her chest rattled.
Anton swallowed the lump of fear lodged in his throat and wiped at the tears that had crept upon him. He had to stay strong for her.
After a few minutes had passed, Anton asked, “What else can we do?”
“We’ll keep her covered until her temperature drops.”
“But she is unconscious. That cannot be good.”
“No, in fact, I think it’s better that she is unaware of her condition right now.”
“Will she...die?”
“Not if we’re lucky.”
Anton groaned and bunched his hands into fists. “And what if we are not?”
The doctor hung his head without answering.
Anton paced the small room, wanting to let his frustration out, but not knowing how. Vivian looked white as death. Her breathing frightened him, and he wished he could take on the fever for her. She was too frail to suffer this way. And to think it was all because of him
.
Beside her bed, he touched her burning cheek.
Within time, the cloths dried and needed to be replaced. Tears, Anton refused to spill, stung his eyes. He fought to keep the turmoil building inside of him in check, looking for another way to express his frustrations.
Taking a deep breath, he turned his thoughts to performing at the opera—songs that Vivian loved. He cleared his throat and began humming, creating a theatrical stage in his mind. Not bothered by what those in the room thought, he burst into song. Each lyrical stanza released pent-up emotions, until at the end, he felt totally drained.
He slumped next to Vivian’s bed and took her hand in his. Her skin didn’t feel like fire to the touch. Her chest didn’t rise and fall as rapidly as before. When he touched her cheek again, the coolness met his skin.
The doctor rushed to her side, inspected her eyes, and listened to her heart. “I don’t know what you’ve done, my good man, but keep it up. It’s making her better.”
Driven by the doctor’s prognosis, Anton garnered strength for another song. He sang until his voice turned hoarse while the doctor and Captain Bushwell continued replacing dry clothes with ones soaked with cool water from the buckets. It wasn’t long before the doctor announced Vivian’s fever had broken.
Cheers echoed from the hallway. Anton turned to see it filled with spectators. Unfazed, he brought his attention back to the patient, wanting to be alone with her.
The captain quickly ushered the crowd away, urging them to return to their rooms—all except for Mrs. Summers.
The captain shook his head. “You’ll need a different bed. This one is soaked.”
Anton met his stare. “What do you suggest?”
“We’ll have Mrs. Summers dress Vivian in drier clothes, then you can take her to my room and finish caring for her there.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes. I’ll have my cabin boy make it ready as soon as possible.” He left the room and closed the door.
The doctor stayed to help clean up, then he took the buckets and left. Mrs. Summers had Anton leave the room again so she could dress Vivian. Within a few minutes she opened the door for him. He lifted Vivian against his chest. Her body hung weakly in his arms, and he treated her as if he held a precious crystal that could break at any moment.
The Spanish Outlaw Page 14