Island Flame (28 page)

“He’s right, miss. You’d only get in the way,” Petersham put in quietly. Cathy ignored him, her eyes searching Jon’s lean face. Suddenly he smiled, his eyes warm on hers.

“Please?” he asked. Those silvery gray eyes and that twisted grin were her undoing.

“All right,” she said grudgingly, defeated. “But be careful, will you? For my sake?”

The words had a special meaning now, though he didn’t know it. He had to be careful for their baby, too.

“For your sake,” he answered, as if making a solemn oath, then gave her a little shove toward the bedroom. “Go get your warmest cloak, you may need it. It gets cold on the water at night.”

Cathy did as she was told. As always, he was getting his own way. When had he ever not, with her? As she came back into the room, her cloak over her arm, she heard Jon say, “… see that she gets back to her father.”

“Cap’n, there’s something you ought to know …”
Petersham began, only to break off as he saw Cathy standing in the arched doorway, eyes wide as the import of Jon’s words sank in.

Jon turned slowly to face her, the set bleakness of his face, which he quickly tried to disguise, echoing the fear in her own heart. Tears started in her eyes and threatened to overflow as she ran to fling her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

“Jon, you must come with us,” she whispered frantically into his ear. “I’m going to have your baby. You have to come!”

There was a moment of astounded silence. Jon’s long body stiffened in her arms as if he’d been poleaxed. Petersham turned discreetly away.

“Oh, my God, no,” Jon muttered at last in a queer, strangled voice. “Are you sure?”

Cathy pushed away from him to look up into his face. He looked horrified.

“You’re sorry, aren’t you?” she cried tormentedly. “You didn’t want anything as permanent as a child, did you? Well, you should have thought of that before you raped me!”

“Oh, Cathy, no, of course it’s not that I don’t want it! I …”

The unmistakable boom of a cannon cut him off.

“Christ, there’s no time to talk about it now! Petersham, get her out of here!”

With a frustrated groan Jon’s mouth covered hers in a hard, passionate kiss, his lips bruising hers with their intensity, and then he was pushing her away from him, giving her to Petersham as he turned to stride from the house. In seconds he was gone, and Petersham was
urging her through the French windows and across the garden.

The distant booming of cannons could be heard as they made their way across the small island. Spirals of smoke began to float toward the sky with increasing frequency as the guns found their mark. An acrid, burning odor filled the air.

The stench of fire and destruction made a chilling contrast to the languid beauty of the countryside they were hurrying through. Parrots squawked in the palms and hummingbirds flitted from bush to bush, lunching on the lush tropical fruits and berries. The crimson of the bougainvillea blossoms blended with the pink and white hydrangeas to form rolling banks of exotic color. After a twenty-minute walk they reached the sea, sparkling like an endless silver carpet before them.

Petersham urged her down into the lee of a clump of small palms, and Cathy dropped to the soft ground. She huddled with her arms around her knees, her back resting against one of the trees. Petersham eyed her with some concern as she stared silently out to sea.

“He doesn’t want the baby, Petersham,” she said finally. Petersham squatted down beside her, catching her small cold hand and chafing it briskly.

“Miss Cathy, Master Jon was upset. When all this fuss has passed, and he’s back to normal, he’ll change his tune, you’ll see.”

Cathy stared up at him blindly. “When all this fuss is over … if Jon’s even alive. Oh, God, life is such a mess!”

The thought that Jon might even now be dead or dying mixed with the horrible realization that their child was nothing more than an unwanted responsibility to him.
Her lips trembled, and she bit down hard on her lower one, willing back tears. Her arms wrapped protectively about her midriff as she fought for control. Petersham could only sit beside her, aware of her pain but unable to do anything to alleviate it. From time to time he patted her drooping shoulder.

Cathy watched the breaking waves blankly, her mind in a turmoil. The one thought that consistently came through was that, more than anything, she was concerned for Jon’s safety. If he came through this battle in one piece, she would ask nothing else of God!

Petersham’s voice broke through her reverie, and Cathy looked up to find that he was leaning over her anxiously.

“Miss Cathy, someone’s coming. We must move.”

Cathy was suddenly fully alert. She got quickly to her feet, following Petersham in a crouching run until they were out of sight of the cliff. From their new position they couldn’t see who was approaching, nor, however, could they be seen themselves. In the present situation, it was better to be safe than sorry.

“Cathy! Cathy!” A man’s voice rang out from the overhang above them. Cathy and Petersham looked at each other, then scrambled out from their hiding place.

“Harry?” Cathy called disbelievingly. The man strode into view, and, sure enough, it was Harry. Cathy felt a cold little hand of fear clutch at her heart. Jon had said he would come himself if he could. Why hadn’t he? Had something happened to him … or did he no longer want to be with her now that he knew about the baby?

Petersham drew closer to Cathy’s side as Harry came toward them down the cliff. When at last he was near,
the valet asked challengingly, “What are you doing here?”

Only then did Cathy remember the contretemps between Harry and Jon. Petersham was right to be wary, she thought. Jon wouldn’t send Harry of all men to get them through … unless he no longer cared whether or not Harry wanted her.

Harry came right up to them, stopping directly in front of Cathy. She could see the marks of powder burns on his face and hands.

“Jon sent me,” he said shortly to Petersham. Cathy felt the last little ray of hope die. If Jon had sent him, then it must mean that he himself no longer had any use for her now that he knew she was with child.

“Now that I find hard to believe.” Petersham’s hand closed over Cathy’s arm protectively. Harry looked at him impatiently.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Petersham, do you think I’m going to rape her now that she’s pregnant? I know when I’m beaten, and Jon knew that I would feel that way when he told me.”

“Jon—told you?” Cathy asked slowly. If Harry knew, then Jon must have sent him. Besides herself and Petersham, Jon was the only other person she had told.

“Is he all right?” Cathy breathed.

“He was when last I saw him,” Harry said, his eyes strangely hard. “He may not be now. You see, he was holed up with myself and three other men in one of those thatched cottages. The soldiers were getting ready to set it afire when I sneaked out. This uniform, you see.”

Cathy stared blankly at the British navy uniform, singed and ripped in places, that Harry was wearing. He had worn it when she had first seen him on the
Anna Greer
, she remembered. But what did that have to do … ?

“Soldiers?” Petersham was quicker on the uptake than Cathy. Harry smiled mirthlessly.

“Did I forget to tell you?” he said softly. “The ships were filled with soldiers—British soldiers. I assume they’ve come in your honor, Lady Catherine. After all, as you once told me, your father is a very rich man.”

“Oh, my God, they’ll hang him!” Cathy whispered, horrified. Already her mind was filled with visions of Jon being summarily executed. British soldiers were both quick and efficient, she knew.

“If he doesn’t burn to death, I imagine that’s what they have in mind,” Harry agreed.

“I must go to him!” Cathy cried. Harry looked at her with the faintest glimmer of respect.

“I thought you’d feel that way,” he said. “And I agree with you. You’re the only chance he has. But going into that town could be dangerous. Those men are drunk with blood, and they’re not liable to take time to ask your name before they string you up for a pirate lass!”

“I believe I can handle British soldiers, Harry,” Cathy replied with unconscious hauteur. For almost the first time Petersham and Harry saw her assume the mantle of her rank, and were, in their different ways, impressed.

“Maybe you can, at that,” Harry admitted.

“We can’t waste time talking.” Cathy was determinedly moving toward the cliff as she spoke. Harry and Petersham exchanged a quick glance, then fell in behind her. She looked back at them in surprise.

“What are you two doing? You can’t come with me. They’ll hang you!”

“And do you suppose either of us could ever face Jon
again if we let you go alone?” Harry snorted derisively. “That’s supposing we get there in time to keep them from hanging him!”

At this unnecessary reminder Cathy picked up the pace, almost running over the rough ground. A hand on her arm slowed her.

“Remember the baby, Miss Cathy,” Petersham warned her, casting a concerned look at her flushed face.

“I’m not made of porcelain, Petersham!” Cathy snapped. “And if we don’t hurry, it may be too late! Now come on!”

It was not far to the town, but to Cathy it seemed to take hours to cover the short distance. She rushed by the remains of Jon’s house without giving it more than a glance. A cannonball had apparently crashed through the roof, and the structure had caught fire. Nothing was left but a burned-out shell. But what did a house matter, she thought, compared to Jon? All she could think of was Jon hanging, his long body twisting and turning at the end of a rope, his handsome face blue and swollen. It didn’t even occur to her that she had once longed to see him meet that exact fate. She loved him now, and she felt that if he died, so would she.

A pall of thick, black smoke hung over the cluster of once sturdy huts that marked the mouth of the harbor. Not one of them was left standing. Debris was everywhere, as though a giant hand had snatched up this side of the island, shaken it, and then flung it down again. Bodies of men, pirates and natives, lay where they had fallen. On one of the huge ships anchored in the bay Cathy could see more bodies dangling by their necks from spars. Oh, God, they had started the hangings! Was Jon even now
choking at the end of a rope, his body twirled by the brisk wind in the movements of a macabre dance?

Harry and Petersham came up on either side of her to take her arms, both looking down at her worriedly. The complete absence of gunfire told its own story.

“The battle is over, Cathy,” Harry said gently. “You’d do better to come away. You don’t want to see Jon dead, do you? The shock might harm the baby. We’ll look for him, and if there’s need we’ll fetch you.”

“No!” Cathy exclaimed fiercely, snatching her arms free. “He’s not dead, I know he’s not!”

She ran toward the harbor, picking up her skirts and moving faster than she had ever moved before in her life. Harry and Petersham panted along behind her, muttering curses at her stubbornness. Both of them felt it was too late to save Jon, and in her heart Cathy was afraid that they might be right. He would have fought like a demon to keep from being captured, and if she were honest with herself she would have to admit that he was very likely one of those who had been killed in the battle before the hangings started. But if not, if there were even one chance, she was going to do her best. She didn’t even know if she could stop the hanging if she got there in time, she reminded herself. A seasoned soldier might think twice before halting an execution on the say-so of a mere girl, no matter who she was. No matter, she had to try.

A troop of British soldiers stood on guard at the mouth of the harbor, obviously stationed to prevent any surviving pirates from escaping. As Cathy rushed toward them they drew their muskets, pointing them at her in a body.

“Halt!” cried the officer in charge, warningly, as he
strode out in front of his men. Seeing Cathy’s sex, he hesitated to give the order to fire.

“Don’t shoot, you fools!” Cathy cried, not slowing until she was level with the officer. Her face was flushed and her breath was labored, but drawing herself up to her full height she still managed to look a lady. The officer stared at her, perplexed.

“I am Lady Catherine Aldley,” Cathy spoke to the officer quickly but imperiously. “And I require to be taken out to the ship where they are hanging the pirates. At once, if you please!”

The officer looked her over suspiciously, then glanced behind her to run even more guarded eyes over Harry and Petersham, who had approached rather warily. Cathy knew that the only thing that was saving the two men from being seized out of hand was Harry’s uniform. She turned to them quickly, holding out her hand.

“Thank you, gentlemen, very much for providing me with an escort,” she said rapidly, catching first Harry’s hand, then Petersham’s. “I’m sure you must be anxious to get back to your duties. Don’t let me detain you any longer.”

The two men stared at her, then catching the warning in her eyes solemnly shook her hand and started to turn away. They had done all they could for both Cathy and Jon, and now knew that they must think of their own skins.

“Wait!” the young officer ordered suspiciously as the two men started back up the cliff. Harry and Petersham stopped, but before anything else was said Cathy whirled on the man.

“Lieutenant, I said that I require you to escort me to that ship immediately! I do not have time to waste while you bandy words with these men!”

The lieutenant stared down at her, undecided. He had no way of knowing if she was who she claimed to be, but he did remember hearing that a Lady Catherine something was either dead or captive at the hands of these pirates. If she were the lady in question, it behooved him to obey her commands. Apparently she had some powerful friends at Court.

“Immediately, Lieutenant!” Cathy’s words cracked like a whip, and the officer visibly started.

“Yes, my lady!” he stammered, and turning back to his men ordered them to prepare a boat for her ladyship and look sharp about it! In the confusion, Harry and Petersham were able to escape unnoticed.