“Let’s hope cook has something nourishing to offer. I could eat a horse, I am so hungry!” she said as she plodded to her cabin.
Cook not only had a hot meal of steaming stew and biscuits, but he had also managed an applesauce cake and rice pudding. Kathleen, who had completely forgotten her own birthday, was surprised and pleased that her companions had remembered. After the delicious dinner, she opened her few gifts. Finley had given her polished shark’s teeth, which she decided to have fashioned into a pendant and earbobs. From Isabel, there was a new silk sash. Dan had obviously been planning ahead for weeks, to have finished the whittled carving of a parrot, easily recognized as Peg-Leg. Jean, too, had a gift for her, which he said he would give to her in the privacy of their quarters.
Later, he presented her with a small package which fit neatly into the palm of Kathleen’s hand. In her heart, she knew what it contained before she began to untie the ribbon. Her hesitancy showed in her troubled green eyes and trembling fingers.
“Jean, if this is what I suspect it is . . .’’she whispered.
His hands came up to cradle her face, his eyes sincere as he said, “It is a gift, Kathleen—nothing more. If you only wear it in friendship, I will try to understand, but you must know how I feel about you. Someday I hope you will wear it for the purpose for which I originally purchased it.”
He helped her to unwrap the small box and lift the lid. Inside, lay a beautiful white gold ring, the center stone of which was a sparkling marquise-cut diamond, encircled by small, perfect aquamarines.
“Oh, Jean!” Her eyes flew up to meet his. “It is beautiful, but. . .”
“Think of it only as a birthday present for the time being,” he interrupted, as he slid it onto the third finger of her right hand.
It fit perfectly; Kathleen suspected he had bought it from the same jeweler Reed had frequented. Tears sprang to her eyes. “Jean, I know I am hurting you, and that is the last thing I wish to do. Please be patient with me a while longer until I can sort out my thoughts and feelings.”
His hand brushed her hair back from her face. “What else can I do for you, my Kathleen?”
Her hesitancy melted beneath his caress. “Hold me, Jean,” she murmured as she slid into his welcoming arms. “Make love to me!”
Near Easter, feeling they had earned a short respite from their labors, Kathleen and her fellow pirates returned to Grande Terre, where an unpleasant surprise awaited them on Jean’s island. Dominique lay seriously wounded, Charles in attendance. Near Santa Cruz, Dominique had encountered a Spanish warship, and the battle had gone badly. The Tigre was damaged, but the crew had managed to escape and limp home with their injured. Charles had been summoned from New Orleans to tend the wounded, and was there when Jean, Pierre and Kathleen arrived with Isabel.
“How is he, Charles?” Jean asked when the good doctor finally emerged from Dominique’s room.
Charles shook his head. “It could be worse, Jean. Dominique took a ball through the shoulder, which would not have been so serious if attended immediately. But infection has set in, and that is our primary problem now. His fever is high, and he is often delirious.”
“Will he live?” Isabel asked fearfully, her voice small.
“I think so,” Charles answered, “but his attitude worries me. He does not seem concerned with recovering.” Turning to Jean, he inquired, “Has he been worrying about something lately? Is there anything you can suggest to revive his will to live?”
Jean leveled a thoughtful look in Isabel’s direction. “I have an idea what is bothering Dominique—but the answer is not mine to give.”
Isabel bit her lip and turned red under his direct gaze. “I want to see him, if I may,” she said finally.
Kathleen released the breath she had been holding. “Do you want me to come with you, Isabel?” she offered.
“No.” Isabel shook her dark head. “This is something I must do alone. It should have been done long ago, but I was too stubborn to see it.” Her velvet eyes filled with tears. “Now it may be too late!”
It was two long and worrisome days before Dominique’s fever broke, and another twelve hours before he awoke to a bright spring morning. Isabel stayed with him nearly all that time, letting Kathleen or Jean relieve her for short periods only. In those hours Isabel spent with Dominique, she talked to him, even when she was not sure he could hear or understand, begging him to get well, and promising that they would talk things over as soon as he was able. Though Dominique did not waken, or give any indication that he heard her, Charles said he now seemed to be struggling to throw off the infection.
When he finally awoke, fever-free and lucid at last, the first thing he saw was Isabel’s face above his. As he struggled to speak, she hushed him with a gentle finger on his dry lips. “Save your strength, Dominique. We will talk later.” Tears of joy made her eyes sparkle like gems. “Welcome back. I have missed you.”
“Love you,” he croaked out drowsily.
Isabel smiled shyly. “I love you, too, Dominique, but you have to get well before we speak of that.” She started to rise from his bedside. “I’ll go tell Jean and Pierre you are awake. And Charles is here from New Orleans.”
Dominique spoke through cracked lips. “Come back?” he asked, grabbing at her hand.
Isabel’s smile widened. “Yes, I will be back, you great bear! In fact, you will probably be tired of seeing me by the time you are well again.”
“Never,” he whispered.
Kathleen and Jean stayed a week at Grande Terre, until Charles assured them that Dominique would completely recover. Jean’s birthday happened to fall at the end of that time, and Kathleen wanted to be sure it was especially festive, to make up for all the worry Jean had been through these past days. Pierre had revealed to her the date, and helped to arrange a special, quiet dinner in honor of the occasion. It was also Pierre who ushered everyone else out of the way shortly after dinner, leaving Kathleen and Jean alone.
“Do you recall the wager we made on our duel a while back?” Kathleen asked, feeding Jean a fig and letting her finger trace his lips provocatively.
They were seated outside on the gallery, watching the dark sea in the distance and the moonlight playing on the waves.
Jean nipped at the pad of her finger with his teeth. “Yes, my little tease, I remember.”
Kathleen smiled a half-smile. “Do you remember what you wanted, had you won?”
“It would be hard to forget,” he said quietly. “Why?”
“Because, my dear,” she purred, as she urged him out of his chair, “that is exactly what you are about to receive as your birthday gift from me!” At his stunned look, she said softly, “Come. Your bath awaits, and your slave is eager to serve you in all the ways that please you most.” It was a night that Jean would carry in his memory forevermore. His most magnificent fantasies of Kathleen fell far short of the reality of this mystical night of love. She was bold—she was shy. She was goddess and nymph. She was his to command, in all but her heart. Could he have commanded her to love him and made it so, Jean would have done so, but he knew he could not force her feelings. Still, for this one night, they shared a rare magic, and as the morning sun peeked over the horizon, they fell into a deep sleep of satiated exhaustion.
When the Emerald Enchantress and the Pride sailed once more, Isabel stayed behind to nurse Dominique. All went well, and the weather was unusually free of storms. They followed their usual pattern of attacking British ships at random and quickly veering off in another direction in search of their next victim. Then, on the first day of May, a storm hit—several in fact, each of a different and volatile nature. It was a day fraught with problems. First, it marked Kathleen and Reed’s wedding anniversary, and Kathleen was in a foul, depressed mood from her first waking breath. She was surly and withdrawn to the point that Jean itched to shake her out of her silent, private musings. She spent a good part of the morning perched high in the rigging, suffering alone and ignoring everyone and e
verything.
If they had not sighted a British frigate, Kathleen might have stayed there all day. Instead, she was forced to climb down and lead her crew in the fight. The battle this day was more intense than most, or so it seemed to Kathleen. A storm was moving in, and Kathleen wanted to end the conflict as quickly as possible, but it seemed destined to be a long, drawn-out fight. Kathleen’s opponents were particularly skilled, and her concentration was not at its best. All these factors combined against her. Kathleen could not have said what happened exactly—one moment she was parrying a blow, and the next, she was lying flat on her back, staring up at her opponent from the deck. Just in the nick of time, she rolled out of the path of his blade as it came slicing toward her. A sharp pain in her left arm told her she was wounded, but she had no time to be concerned. Leaping to her feet, she brought her rapier hard about as she rose, catching her enemy off-guard with her swift recovery. Her blade entered just below his ribcage and sliced upward through his lung to his heart.
Jean was angry as he watched the ship’s doctor bandage Kathleen’s arm. The gash was neither deep nor severe, though it might leave a small scar as a reminder.
“You can not mean to go back on deck in this storm, Kathleen,” Jean railed at her. “Finley is capable of manning the wheel in your place. Isn’t it enough that you let your memories interfere with your concentration today and nearly got yourself killed? Do you need to try a second time by braving this gale with a wounded arm?”
Kathleen’s temper flared to match his, her eyes flashing fire. The doctor escaped before her retort singed the air.
“This is my ship, Jean, and I will do as I damned well please! Besides which, I do not need your permission to be pensive on the anniversary of my marriage to a man I love and miss more than you can imagine!”
“It nearly cost you your life, you little fool!” he roared, wincing inwardly at her words.
“That is my concern!” she retorted.
Jean’s face closed into a hard mask. “It is, indeed,” he stated coldly. With that, he proceeded to collect his belongings from the cabin.
Stunned, it took several seconds for his actions to register. “What are you doing?” Kathleen demanded.
Jean swung about to glare at her, his eyes hard. “I am tired of doing all the caring, Kathleen. I am tired of giving everything, and getting nothing in return from you but the gift of your body. The woman I love nearly got killed today—thinking of another man, I might add—and she tells me it is none of my concern! I would say it is past time for me to stop beating my head on a stone wall, don’t you agree?”
Kathleen was shaking inside, whether from anger or the day’s events, she did not know. All she did know was that Jean was leaving, and she had to stop him. Her hand went out to him imploringly. “Jean, please! Don’t go! I’m sorry. We will talk!”
“We can talk later, perhaps, when we are both more reasonable,” he stated firmly. “Do not look so stricken, cherie. I will be in the next cabin. The storm is too severe for me to return to the Pride tonight.”
“But Jean, I need you,” she argued tearfully. “This entire day has been miserable from beginning to end! My head is aching, my arm is throbbing, I am tired, wet, hungry, and I can not even think straight. Now this! I do not want to fight with you, Jean. What I want most is to creep into the comfort of your arms and forget today ever happened.”
Jean shook his head and sighed. “No, Kathleen. Not this time. What I need must come first this time. For my own sanity’s sake, I must refuse you. I have reached the limit of my patience. I can no longer go on taking your body without your heart. I need more from you than that. There are times I could swear there are three persons in our bed—you, me, and Reed. I refuse to share you with a ghost any longer!”
Jean headed for the door, leaving her standing as if rooted to the floor. He glanced over his shoulder, noting her pale face. “When you can come to me and tell me that you love me, I will listen, Kathleen. When you can assure me that you have laid Reed’s ghost to rest and I need not compete with his memory in your heart, then we will talk, but not before.” He closed the door softly behind him, leaving her in stunned silence, staring at the door through a mist of tears.
Kathleen stood at the helm of the frigate, her hands clenched tightly to the wheel. Her thoughts were as turbulent as the storm about her. Long, wet strands of ebony hair whipped about in the wind, occasionally robbing her of what little vision the driving rain had not already obliterated. Salt spray and rain mingled with the tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks. The gash on her arm throbbed as she strained to control the lurching ship and guide it through the immense waves. Lightning speared the sky continuously with white jagged bolts of light that seemed to launch themselves with fierce intent into the sea surrounding the Emerald Enchantress. The constant rumble of thunder deafened her to all but the roar of the storm, the thud of the frigate slamming against the waves, and the wind whining in her ears.
Kathleen winced involuntarily as lightning hit close off the starboard bow, and again, seconds later, slightly astern. The heavens seemed to be toying with the frigate in a terrorizing game of touch and run. This was a seaman’s nightmare—to be caught up in a storm of this intensity, watching for the next devastating bolt to come tearing through the rigging or strike with deadly accuracy at a mast. This frail wooden vessel was the only thing standing between a sailor and a raging sea, waiting to claim him with yawning jaws.
“Damn! Damn! Damn!” Kathleen swore, but her curses were more directed toward her personal dilemma than the storm she fought. Her thoughts were on Jean. “I am going to lose him if I do not make up my mind soon,” she worried, gnawing at her lower lip.
Her temper flared briefly. “Three short weeks ago, Jean said he would give me time. Evidently, my time is up, according to what he said earlier this evening. It’s not fair!” Fresh tears ran their course from lashes to jaw. Her chin wobbled precariously.
Kathleen sighed defeatedly. “Why can’t I decide what to do? Why do I hesitate?” Her mind ticked off known facts. “Jean loves me. Reed is dead. I love Jean ...” Kathleen’s eyes widened at this last thought, her mind stunned at what her heart had inserted into her mental listing. “I love Jean,” she repeated aloud, slowly, thoughtfully, as if testing the flavor of the words on her tongue. It felt right. It tasted of truth. No wonder she had gone so unresistingly into his arms and his bed! Her heart must have known all along what her mind refused to accept.
Even after admitting this to herself, Kathleen’s eyes squeezed shut in distress. “Still, the idea of it scares me simple!” she screamed silently. “To put my heart into Jean’s keeping frightens me. It requires a faith and trust on my part that I am not sure I possess since Reed’s death. There is so much more to be considered than the fact that we love one another. Do I have the courage to take a chance on love again—to dare to think that Jean and I could have a future together? Could I give my children into his care?”
Her thoughts raced round and round in her weary mind, always coming back to the one basic fact. “Yes. I love Jean. Not as I loved Reed, but differently, as Eleonore had said. Now, what do I do about it? How much am I willing to risk?”
Caught up in her thoughts, and in managing the ship, it was a while before Kathleen noticed Jean standing on the main deck below, leaning against the mast and silently watching her. Even through the slashing rain, the intensity of his gaze seared her. Jean stepped toward her. At the very moment he started forward, a vicious streak of lightning split the night sky, arcing with all the accuracy of a perfectly aimed arrow toward the mast under which Jean had moved. The white light was blinding, leaving only the ears to register the sharp crack as the mast split.
“Jean!” Kathleen screamed as canvas, line, and beams came crashing toward the deck—and Jean. She saw the spar hit him, and he fell, to be shrouded immediately in the folds of the sails.
Abandoning the helm to the hands of Fate, Kathleen ran for the ladder. At the corn
er of the sterncastle, she collided with Finley coming on deck. Together they raced to Jean’s aid. With no one to guide her, the Emerald
Enchantress lurched and bucked against the waves. The stench of charred wood was heavy and frightening, as others joined in to help. Above the raging storm, Kathleen shouted, “Jean is hurt!”
She lost her footing as the frigate lunged sideways. “Finley! Take the wheel!” She struggled up and fought her way through tangled lines and sails toward where Jean had fallen. Just as she neared the spot, a wave caught the ship broadside, making her list dangerously, and Kathleen lost her footing.
It was then she spotted Jean. Unconscious, his face deathly pale, he was sliding across the deck toward the rail, limbs ensnared in tangled lines. Before she could regain her feet, she saw him slide beneath the rail, pulling line and sail with him into the boiling dark waters far below.
Stark terror held her in its grip. Then, with an anguished cry, she tore off her boots and flung herself into the savage sea after him.
Chapter 17
An inky blackness encased her as Kathleen dove beneath the waves. It was terrifying in its absolute lack of light and sound, and for a moment, Kathleen almost succumbed to the fear that threatened to engulf her. Fighting her disorientation, she swam blindly through the water. Here, below the churning surface, the water was calmer, buffeting her only slightly as Kathleen headed in what she prayed was the right direction.
Relying solely on her instincts, she sensed a disturbance in the course she had chosen—a presence somewhere nearby. Her outstretched hand touched the tangled lines of the broken mast. Following the line and floating sails deeper, she prayed she would find Jean before it was too late.
After what seemed centuries, her fingertips brushed against cool flesh. “Oh, God!” her mind shrieked, as her hands worked frantically to free him from the rope and sail. “Don’t let him be dead!” She yanked viciously at the wet hemp, dragging yards of canvas out of her way, until, at last, she had Jean free. Her lungs were on fire and her head pounding for want of air as she wrapped her arms about his chest. With a strength born of desperation, she lunged for the surface.
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