Island Flame

by ROBARDS, KAREN

  She stood up at his urging, smiling at Juta as she came in to clear the table, and allowed Jon to lead her into the large sitting room. The long French windows were open to the night, their thin veiling of mosquito netting fluttering in the gentle breeze. The only illumination came from a pair of wall-bracketed candles.

  “Come for a walk with me?” Jon asked, nodding toward the windows. Cathy acquiesced, still faintly puzzled as she followed him out into the lush garden. The moon was a large, pale disc floating high over the tops of the palms, and the garden was alive with a chorus of insects. Sweet perfume from the brilliantly colored hibiscus trees floated in the air. Cathy breathed the heady fragrance deeply into her lungs.

  “It’s beautiful here,” she murmured, more to herself than him. Jon’s arm came around her waist, pulling her loosely against his side, supporting her as they strolled away from the house.

  “Beautiful,” he agreed huskily, but his eyes were on her.

  “You’re very gallant tonight, Captain,” she teased lightly. “Are you trying to soften me up for some bad news?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do have something to tell you,” Jon answered, his tone matching hers. “Whether it’s bad or not I leave up to you.”

  He hesitated, and Cathy cast a quick glance up at him. Was he about to tell her what had been worrying him all evening?

  “Well?” she prompted impatiently.

  “I have to go away for a few days,” he said finally. Cathy felt faintly uneasy at something in his tone.

  “Go away? To where?”

  “There’s another island near here—Tenerife. I had word this afternoon that a man there is willing to buy the Margarita’s cargo. I had meant to dispose of it in Cadiz, but circumstances intervened.” He slanted a look down at her. Cathy walked slowly on, not noticing whether he was moving with her or not. Was he not planning to take her with him?

  “May I come?” she asked in a small voice, not looking at him. Her feet came to the edge of the small cliff overlooking the beach and she stopped automatically, not even aware that she had done so.

  Jon shook his head.

  “Not this time, my cat. Tenerife’s a rough place, and I’ll be busy. I won’t have time to look after you properly. I’d rather leave you here, where I know you’ll be safe.”

  He came to stand behind her, his arms sliding possessively around her small waist, pulling her back against his chest. Cathy stared unseeingly at the reflected moonlight shimmering on the ocean below. The gentle roaring of the waves echoed in her ears.

  “Will you miss me?” Jon asked huskily, his mouth nuzzling at the soft curve of her neck.

  “You know I will,” Cathy whispered, her pride deserting her. She turned in his arms to slide her own around his neck. Jon stared down at her small face, admiring the translucent gleam of her skin in the silvery light. With moonbeams catching in her hair and her lips softly parted, she was so lovely that she took his breath.

  Cathy stood on tiptoe, reaching for his mouth with hers. At the same time Jon’s head came down, and their lips met with an explosion of passion that set them both to shaking. Jon’s big hands moved over her body, slowly at first and then with increasing urgency. Cathy moaned as his trembling fingers slid inside her bodice to cup her breasts. Before she quite knew how it had happened, she was standing naked in the moonlight, Jon’s eyes dark with desire as they ran sensuously over her. Her fingers were unsteady as she helped him unbutton his shirt, and then with an animal-like groan he lowered her to lie in the tall grass by the cliff. The ground was cool and prickly against the bare skin of her back, but Cathy scarcely noticed as she held up her arms to Jon beseechingly. When he came to her at last, he was as naked as she. Their bodies coupled fiercely, with no thought of preliminaries, conscious only of a raging need so intense that they were both caught up in its flames.

  Ten

  Cathy was sick for the third morning in a row. She lay gasping over the porcelain chamber pot, racked by violent spasms of nausea. When her exhausted stomach was finally quiet, she made her way back to bed, trembling, and rested weakly against the cool linen sheets. What on earth was the matter with her? Had she contracted some strange tropical disease? If this morning was like the other two, she would soon feel all right again, able to go about her business as if nothing had happened. Besides her one bout with seasickness, she had never been ill a day in her life before. This intermittent vomiting was beginning to alarm her.

  “I bring coffee, mam.” Juta’s cheerful brown face appeared around the door. Cathy smiled at her wanly. Useless to expect either Juta or Kimo to knock. They treated Jon’s house as their own, and herself and Jon were catered to as if they were honored guests. Cathy could not quite get used to them walking in unannounced, but Jon had told her with a shrug that there was nothing to be done about it. He had merely forbidden the servants to enter the little room Cathy used for dressing or the big bedroom that he and Cathy shared. Juta appeared to consider that Jon’s absence negated that last prohibition.

  “Mam, you all right?” Juta asked, concern in her velvety dark eyes. Cathy sat up to sip her coffee, still feeling a trifle shaky.

  “I’m fine, Juta. I’ve just been a little nauseous lately. I don’t think it’s anything to worry about.”

  “Nothing to worry about,” Juta agreed, turning to leave Cathy to drink her coffee in peace. “Baby’s nothing to worry about. Cap’n will be pleased. Proves him plenty strong man.”

  Juta sailed majestically from the room while Cathy slowly put the delicate china cup back down on the tray, her hand unsteady. Baby! It couldn’t be! She thought back quickly, and blanched. So much had happened to her over the past three months that she had completely lost track of her monthly courses. The last one had been—let’s see—about a week before she had sailed with the Anna Greer. Her hand crept to her stomach, still firm and flat beneath the filmy nightdress, with a feeling of awe. Juta was right. According to all the signs, she was going to have a child.

  Cathy’s emotions dissolved rapidly into a wild mingling of happiness, worry, and fear. She would love Jon’s baby as she loved Jon. Already her arms yearned to hold her child, to lavish care and affection on it. What would it be—a little boy with black hair and swarthy complexion or a little girl with gray eyes? Cathy faltered. Would Jon be pleased? Would he learn to love her as the mother of his child, or would he turn from her, as she grew big and unwieldy, to seek out females with a more seductive shape? Perhaps he would even send her back to her father, once she was no longer able to please him? She suddenly knew that she didn’t really care if she never saw her father or Martha again. Her life was with Jon now, and as long as he wanted her she would stay with him. And if she had her way, he would want her for the rest of his life.

  A frown puckered her brow and her hand caressed her belly protectively. According to the tenets of society, her child would be a bastard—unless she did something about it. If there was any way she could manage it, her baby would have a right to his father’s name, would be able to hold up his head with anyone as he grew to manhood—or womanhood. In that moment she resolved to persuade Jon to marry her by any means available. Whether he loved her or not, he had a duty to their unborn child. She didn’t think he would shrink from it.

  She thought about Jon’s background, and chewed her lip. Did she want a pirate for her baby’s father—for her husband? A thieving, murdering brigand who would certainly hang if he were caught? Well, like it or not, he was the father of her child. And she loved him. She would marry him and take her chances on the rest.

  Cathy got rather gingerly out of the big brass bed and began to dress. She would really have to see about getting a new wardrobe. Few of her clothes were suitable for the tropical heat. Then she thought about how her stomach would bulge in the coming months, and smiled. She would soon be needing a new wardrobe in any case.

  Dressed, she wandered out of the house and down toward the smaller dwelling at the end of the garden where Petersham staye
d. After the incident with Harry, it seemed that Jon was taking no more chances with her. He had ordered her not to go out of sight of the house without Petersham in attendance. The men on the island would keep their distance as long as she was protected, but if some of the more unscrupulous characters were to come on her while she was alone, they might consider her fair game. Cathy obeyed Jon’s instructions more from a desire for company than from fear for her own safety. The days were long and tedious without Jon, and Petersham was at least someone to talk to.

  The valet was sitting on a chair outside the front entrance of the palm-thatched cottage, carving busily at a piece of wood. He smiled when he saw Cathy approaching, his faded eyes crinkling in appreciation of the lovely picture she made with her golden hair piled high on her head for coolness’ sake and her simple white dress emphasizing her youthful sweetness. Master Jon was a lucky man, Petersham thought, had he but the sense to know it.

  “You’re late, miss,” he grinned at her. “I thought you might have decided to sleep all day.”

  “Just most of it,” Cathy twinkled in response, and waited while he carefully took the wood he was carving inside.

  “Where to this morning, miss?” he asked, dusting his hands as he rejoined her in the garden. “Fancy another ride on one of them ponies?”

  “Oh, no, I can’t, thank you, Petersham,” Cathy said hastily before she thought. She wanted to take no chances where her baby was concerned, but she didn’t feel like explaining the facts of her condition to Petersham at the moment. Besides, she wanted Jon to be the first to know.

  “You can’t, eh?” Petersham said astutely, looking at her through narrowed eyes. Cathy, intent on one of the gorgeous parrots that were as plentiful here as sparrows in England, missed his words and tone. She surfaced to hear him say, “Well, how about the beach, then?”

  She agreed smilingly to the beach. They crossed the garden and climbed down the cliff path onto the white sand. Cathy found a little outcropping of rock and sank down in its shade, resting her back against it comfortably while she watched the breaking of the waves. Petersham sat down beside her, his expression thoughtful. It wasn’t like Miss Cathy to sit when she could be doing.

  Cathy took off the leather sandals that Jon had fashioned for her out of one of his old jerkins and wriggled her toes in the warm sand. Petersham watched her, saying nothing. The merest germ of a suspicion was beginning to form in his mind.

  “What was Jon like as a baby?” Cathy broke the silence to ask, her expression dreamy as she stared out to sea.

  “About as mean-tempered and pig-headed as he is now, as I recollect.” Petersham grinned. Cathy looked at him reproachfully.

  “I’m serious,” she insisted. Petersham chuckled.

  “So am I, miss.”

  Cathy sent him an admonishing look and Petersham continued.

  “Well, miss, he was a big baby as I remember, about ten pounds or so at birth. Mr. Hale was so excited about having a boy that we all thought he’d bust a gut. Passed out good Jamaica rum like it was water, even to the grooms—that’s what I was then, a groom. Then Miss Virginia—that was Master Jon’s mother, a real fine lady, she was, too—up and died. For a while there it looked like Mr. Hale might die too, of grief, or drink. But he didn’t, though it might have been better for Master Jon if he had. After Miss Virginia’s death Mr. Hale was a changed man. He was bitter, you see, and after a time we all saw that he blamed Master Jon for his mother’s death. Mr. Hale got some women in to care for the boy, but none of them lasted long and Master Jon was sort of just passed around among the servants. His daddy wouldn’t hardly even look at him. He was a real quiet, solemn little boy, miss.”

  “Poor little boy,” Cathy said softly, picturing Jon unwanted and unloved. Then, to Petersham, “Go on, please.”

  “Well, Master Jon sort of had to grow up on his own, if you know what I mean. He was about ten when he started hangin’ around the stables—no place else around there that he was welcome. Like most boys, he got into his fair share of trouble—just pranks mostly, nothing really bad. But Mr. Hale, he didn’t see it like that. The only time he hardly noticed Master Jon was to wail the tar out of him for something he’d done wrong. Then one day Master Jon got big enough to fight back, and the whippings stopped. Things got a little better after that, because Mr. Hale found a pretty little girl he wanted to marry. Mr. Hale thought the sun rose and set with that woman, and Master Jon liked her too. Followed her around like a puppy dog with its master, though she wouldn’t hardly give him the time of day. Considered him a nuisance, I guess. Master Jon was sort of tall and gangly as a boy, nothing like as handsome as he is today.” Petersham broke off to look at Cathy. “You want to be patient with Master Jon, miss. He didn’t have nobody to love him growing up, and he’s suffered because of it.”

  This last was said very earnestly. Cathy blinked away the moisture that was starting to form in her eyes. She would love Jon and her baby doubly hard to make up for everything Jon himself had missed as a child.

  “And then he left?” Cathy asked softly. Petersham shot her a wary look.

  “Master Jon told you about that?”

  Cathy nodded wordlessly. Petersham shook his head.

  “I didn’t think he’d ever tell anyone about that. The only reason I know is because I found him throwing up his toenails afterwards, and when I threatened to get his daddy to bring a doctor to him he told me what had happened. I told him not to take it so hard, but I guess he did anyway. The next morning he was gone. Mr. Hale didn’t much care for a couple of days, but after about a week the folks in town started asking after Master Jon. So Mr. Hale sent me out to see if I could find him and bring him back. Well, I found him all right—signed on board a brig called the Merciful as a deckhand. Master Jon was set on going to sea, and said point-blank that he was never going back to Woodham again. Seeing as how I couldn’t change his mind I went with him. I didn’t blame him for not going back. The Merciful wasn’t much, but it was more than he’d had at home.”

  “Was Mr. Hale rich?”

  “He had some money, but he was real stingy with it where Master Jon was concerned. Why, the stableboys had better-looking clothes than he did, and sometimes more to eat. Mr. Hale spent his money on cards and women. He even let the place go to ruin, last we heard.”

  “Has Jon ever been back?” Cathy asked slowly, her heart aching with pity. She had had so much as a child, love as well as material things, and Jon had had so little. She wished that he was here now, this second, so that she could make up for all that he had suffered.

  “Never,” Petersham said shortly. “And I doubt he’ll ever go. He likes the life here. Suits him just right. Me, too.”

  Cathy was silent for a while, thinking over what Petersham had told her. It explained so much about Jon—his distrust of women, his toughness, his fierce possessiveness. Having had so little, he had become determined to take what he could, and keep it.

  “And—and how did he become a pirate?” Cathy asked finally.

  Petersham took up the tale again.

  “Well, working on the Merciful, Master Jon saved enough to go partners with this other fellow in a lugger. We sailed it up and down the coast of North America, taking as cargo anything we could get. Master Jon was captain on this one voyage, and our cargo was guns. Somehow some pirates must’ve got word about what we was carrying, because they attacked. Naturally, not being trained in fighting and the lugger having only one gun, we lost. Anyone who refused to join up with ’em was killed on the spot. Master Jon’s no fool, no more am I, so we signed where they told us and took up pirating. Master Jon had a real talent for it, and liked it, so we stayed on. No reason not to. It’s a good life, and we have more now than we ever did.”

  Cathy digested the story for some time in silence, then turned to smile mistily at Petersham.

  “Thank you for telling me,” she said softly. Petersham nodded a wordless acknowledgment of her thanks, suddenly embarrassed by his own garrulity.
They sat silently watching the waves. It was Petersham who spoke at last.

  “You have something to tell Master Jon, Miss Cathy?”

  The question out of the blue caught Cathy by surprise. She flashed Petersham a quick look, then felt burning color begin to creep up her neck and over her face.

  “W-what do you mean?” she faltered unconsciously.

  Petersham grinned. “You can’t hide it from me, miss. I’ve seen too many female creatures when they’re breeding. They get a look about them … like you have.”

  Cathy felt herself flush even more painfully. The idea of having Jon’s baby was still new to her. Even though she was happy about it, she was conscious of a deep-seated shyness. A child was such an intimate thing to be having—and it was undisputable evidence of the use Jon had for her.

  “I—I …” she stammered, then said more calmly, “You’re right, of course, Petersham.”

  “I knew it,” the man said with satisfaction. “Master Jon’ll be as thrilled as a dog with two tails. It’ll be the best thing in the world for him.”

  “Why do you say that?” Cathy asked with genuine curiosity. Her embarrassment was fading. After all, having a man’s child was the most natural thing in the world—except that she wasn’t married to the man in question. Like it or not, that did make a difference.

  “He’s always needed someone to love—and to love him. Now he’ll have his child—and you.”

  “What makes you think he wants us, Petersham?” Cathy’s voice was suddenly wistful.

  “Miss Cathy, the way he feels about you is as plain as the nose on your face. Master Jon may not know it himself yet, but he needs you. You’re good for him. He’s been happier this last month or so than I’ve ever seen him. When he hears about the baby, he’ll go over the moon. And he’ll do the decent thing by you. You wait and see.”

  “I hope you’re right, Petersham,” Cathy sighed, dropping her reserve altogether.