The Flame and the Flower (31 page)

"It was the Yankee who took me. It's his child I carry. No one else has laid hand upon me. He thinks to make me his mistress and have me bear his bastard child while he weds another in his land. He is so pompous. Let it be a girl. I did not mean to cry out. You startled me. Please don't hurt me. He left his hat, George. Will he be back soon?"

"The captain is a good man."

"Oh Brandon, what were you doing up there? He treats me like a child. He pats my belly, then talks of his fiancée."

The heat was unbearable. She thrashed about to escape it. Something cool and wet slid over her body again and again with slow, unhurried motion. She was turned by strong yet gentle hands and her back exposed to the cooling caresses.

"Swallow," she heard a voice. "Swallow."

She saw her father again holding a cup to her lips as he held her up, and always obeying his slightest wish, she drank the warm broth.

Aunt Fanny appeared before her and she screamed as she saw the woman holding her dead brother in her arms, a knife plunged firmly in his chest. She tried to explain that it was an accident, that she really didn't kill him, that he fell on the knife. Thomas Hint came to her aunt's side and shook his head and pointed a finger at her accusingly. She saw the executioner's axe and saw his hooded head and his bared chest. He pressed her head down on the block and smoothed her hair from her neck. The cooling movements returned and her father brushed her long hair up from the back of her neck.

"Swallow. Swallow."

"Is she any better, cap'n?"

She was possessed by shivering. She was cold. Something warm was placed around her, and she was weighted down once more by heavy quilts.

"Papa? Don't leave me, papa. Henry, I cannot marry you. Please don't ask the reasons. There is so much blood. It was only a small wound."

William Court laughed and leered drunkenly at her. Mr. Hint was by his side and they were coming for her. Their claws reached out to catch her, and she whirled and ran from them straight into the Yankee's arms.

"Save me, please! Don't let them take me! I'm your wife!"

"You're no wife to me."

She tossed about in suffocating heat and the cooling motion began again. She saw Brandon above her and he stroked her body with a cool, wet cloth.

"Don't let my baby die, Brandon!"

His large hand slid over her belly and he looked at her. "It lives, my love."

Aunt Fanny laughed behind him. "Do you hear that, missy? Your bastard still lives."

The faces of William Court, Thomas Hint, Aunt Fanny and Uncle John bore down on her, all laughing loudly with their mouths gaping wide.

"Murderess! Murderess! Murderess!"

She flung her hands over her ears and thrashed about wildly. "I'm not! I'm not!
I am not!
"

"Swallow this. You must."

"Don't leave me, papa," she whimpered.

The fields were green with spring grass, and she laughed as she ran from the person behind her. She was caught and swung upward in sturdy arms, and laughing gaily she looped her arms about the man's neck in gleeful abandonment, and his face pressed close as he bent to kiss her. A scream was torn from her as she recognized Thomas Hint. She fought the arms about her waist and turning, saw the figure of a man retreat across the brow of a distant hill.

"Don't leave me! Don't leave me here with him! Don't leave me!"

She was being drawn down into darkness, peaceful, peaceful darkness. She floated, she glided, she swayed, and a mist rolled upward around her and consumed her.

Heather opened her eyes and saw the timbers of the bunk above her and everything was calm and peaceful, only the slight creaking of the ship could be heard. She lay unmoving for a moment, trying to recall what had happened. She had been trying to reach the bunk, but she must have fallen. She moved slightly and winced. She felt bruised, as if every inch of her had been beaten, and she was so weak. She turned her head on the pillow and saw Brandon. He was asleep in a hammock hung between the quarter-deck beams.

A hammock? Here? In the cabin? And he looked so gaunt. There were dark circles under his eyes and his hair was badly mussed and shaggy. Strange, he usually took great pains with them.

Her frown deepened as her eyes went about the room. It lay in complete disorder. Clothing was flung over chairs and boots lay askew on the floor. There was a pan of water near the bunk and rags hung on lines above the stove. She mused vaguely at what disaster had swept the place and why George had not tidied up.

With a painful effort she rose on an elbow and instantly Brandon's eyes flew open. He swung himself from the hammock and hurried toward the bunk but slowed when she looked up at him with sanity in her eyes. He smiled broadly and came to sit down on the edge of the bunk. He reached to feel her brow.

"The fever is gone," he said, as if in relief.

"What has happened?" she asked softly. "I feel so tired and I ache all over. Did I fall?"

He smoothed her hair from her face. "You've been ill, sweet, for several days now. This is the sixth day."

"Sixth day!" she gasped. Everything was a flurry of confusion with her. Six days had gone by. It seemed but a few hours.

Suddenly her eyes widened with fright and she grabbed for the quilt over her belly. "The baby! I've lost the baby, haven't I?" she cried. Frightened tears sprang to her eyes and panic bleached her soul. "Oh, Brandon, tell me true. Oh, Brandon!"

He smiled gently and placed his hand upon hers. "No," he murmured. "The child is still with us. He moves often."

She choked on tears and would have hugged him for his answer had she not caught herself. She brushed the wetness from her cheeks and smiled at him as she relaxed and lay back in the bunk, feeling relieved but exhausted.

He grinned. "I'd never have forgiven you, madam, if you had lost my son after all I've been through with you," he teased. "I have great plans for him."

She searched his face, hardly able to believe what her ears had heard. "You have plans for him?" she questioned. "You will be proud of him—of my child?"

"Of our child, my dear," he corrected warmly. "Did you think I would not be—my own son? Fie on you, madam, for believing otherwise. I told you once I was fond of children—and of my own I will be doubly so."

She continued to stare at him, her eyes wide and uncertain, then for the first time her lips spoke of a matter which had haunted her of late.

"Brandon, am I the first—" she began hesitantly. "Is this your first—I mean, have you ever sired a child before by another woman?"

He sat back and raised a startled eyebrow at her, making her flush scarlet. She quickly dropped her gaze and murmured an apology.

"I'm sorry, Brandon. I didn't mean to pry. I don't know why I asked, really I don't. Please forgive me."

He chuckled suddenly and her eyes met his again as he drew her chin up. "For a man five and thirty years, I can't very well say I've never bedded another woman, can I?" He grinned. "But with reasonable certainty I can assure you that no woman before you has ever borne a child of mine. I pay no support for bastard children to any woman. Does that please you, my sweet?"

She smiled brightly. For some strange reason it pleased her very much. "Yes," she replied happily.

Feeling much better now, she struggled to sit up, and he quickly slid his hands behind her back to help her, and she clung to him as he drew her up and fluffed the pillows behind her.

"Are you hungry?" he questioned softly, still holding her. The quilt had fallen from her, leaving her bare to the waist with her hair streaming wildly over her shoulders and breasts. He was reluctant to turn her loose. "You should try to eat. You've lost a little flesh."

Her eyes lifted to his face. "So have you," she whispered.

He chuckled then and helped her back to the pillows as she drew the quilt over her breasts. "I'll tell George to prepare us both a lunch. He'll be quite pleased to see that you're better. He has become quite attached to you, and I'm afraid you worried ten years off his lifetime." His eyes sparkled. "Needless to say, my sweet, you won't be sleeping in the window again."

She giggled. "I've never had a more horrible night," she admitted.

"You have a most stubborn nature, madam," he grinned. "But next time you'll have little chance to prove it." He grew serious again. "From now on I shall allow my better judgment to dictate, and will enforce it accordingly."

She smiled uncertainly, knowing he was not jesting. Another thought crossed her mind as he rose and turned to leave. Halfway to the door she stopped him.

"Brandon?"

He turned and waited for her to continue. In confusion she wrung the quilt in her hands, not wishing to broach the subject, fearing his reaction, yet knowing she must. Again she murmured.

"Brandon—I—" She summoned her courage and looked straight at him. "Will you tell your family that you were forced to marry me?"

He stared stonily at her for several seconds, then without word or nod, turned on his heels and left. Heather rolled her head to face the wall in embarrassment at having asked the question. He had not answered her and the reply was now most clear. She wondered if she could bear the shame she would suffer.

When Brandon returned she had recovered herself and had vowed never to reopen the subject. He took one of her nightgowns from her sea chest and brought it with him to the bunk.

"Heather, if you will allow me, I'll help you put this on."

She let him draw it over her head, and as he pulled it together over her breasts and fastened it her eyes moved over his face. He looked so tired and so ill kept. His hair had always been neatly trimmed before, and the dark circles under his eyes were deep. He hadn't taken care of himself at all, and now she longed to reach out and touch his face and smooth away the lines of fatigue.

"George hasn't been taking care of you," she murmured softly. "I must speak with him about that."

He ducked his head away from her hand, embarrassed by his unsightly state, and stepped away from the bunk. He turned his back, but his attention returned again when she moved in the bunk, trying to get comfortable. He saw her wince.

"Ugh," she grimaced. "This bed has made me sore." She raised her eyes to his. "May I sit up please, Brandon?"

He took a quilt from the bunk and smoothed it upon a chair by the stove, bringing back her slippers which he placed upon her feet. He gathered her up into his arms, and Heather did not resist this time, looping her arms about his neck. She was rather sorry it was such a short distance to the chair. He was just tucking the quilt about her when George knocked on the door. The servant entered, carrying a tray of food and smiling broadly.

"Aye, mum, you had us all frantic, you did," he said, gently rebuking her. "We thought sure it were the last of you, and the poor cap'n never left your side one moment night or day, mum. He wouldn't let no other touch you."

Brandon scowled at the servant. "You have a loose tongue, George," he growled.

The man grinned at him. "Aye, cap'n," he replied, not greatly rebuffed, and set about placing the meal before them.

Heather felt no urge to eat although the soup sat temptingly before her, but in good manner she took a taste and then another. A gnawing appetite grew within her, and she ate with increasing gusto. She paused and found the eyes of both men quietly upon her and felt daintily disposed at this display of her own hunger. She lowered the spoon and feeling the need to say something, raised an eyebrow to the servant.

"By what I can see, George," she said, nodding to the disheveled room, "you've not been taking good care of your captain."

Brandon snorted and turned away, and George shuffled his feet and rubbed his hands together.

"Aye, mum. 'Twas a terrible fit he was in. He wouldn't even let me past the door." And nodding rapidly to emphasize his point, he said again. "'Twas only himself what tended you and brought you through, mum."

A low growl came from Brandon, and he stepped forward as if to seize the grinning man who bobbing, hastily withdrew on a parting comment.

"'Tis good to see you up and about, mum, and I'll be bringing you some harder vittles later."

Heather tasted the soup and began to eat but kept her smiling eyes upon her discomforted husband.

That night he was undressing for bed when she moved over in the bunk and pushed the covers aside for him expectantly. He gave the inviting space a sidelong regard then finally looked away.

"I'd better not sleep in the bunk anymore," he said. He glanced at her, saw her confused frown and cleared his throat. "It's warmer weather now and we need not share the heat, and I—ah—I've been concerned that I—in my sleep—might roll upon you and injure you or the babe. There'll be more room for you without me."

And in clumsy haste, he swung into the hammock and settled himself to take the rest he sorely needed. With lower lip thrust out in a petulant pout, Heather fluffed the quilts, gave him a last sidelong glare, turned her back and pulled the cover close about her neck.

The days grew into weeks and after making their turn at Grand Banks the weather began to warm as they sailed further south with the strong northerly breezes behind them hastening their journey. Under the ever warming sun the natural color returned to Heather's cheeks and all signs of illness faded away. She bloomed more beautiful than any flower, and to look at her one could surmise motherhood definitely agreed with her. Whenever she was about on quarter-deck, close under Brandon's hand, every man's eyes were drawn to her at one time or another, and with the wind whipping her cloak about her and teasing a stray lock of hair she was something to behold. But never was there anything said nor done to suggest they thought of her as anything but the finest of ladies, and her delicate condition brought about many helping hands when she climbed to the quarter-deck.