The Spanish Outlaw (16 page)

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?

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 othe
r 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.

A
fter 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.

He thanked Mrs. Summers for her assistance, and then she left.
Draping several blankets around Vivian, Anton carried her to the captain’s quarters. The cabin boy had the room ready and the bed turned down. Gently, Anton laid her down and covered her with clean, dry sheets and blankets.

The captain came up behind him and placed his hand on Anton’s shoulder. “I think you should get some sleep yourself.”

“No, I cannot rest.”

“She’s going to be fine. She’ll sleep peacefully, so I suggest you do the same.”

Anton smiled. “
Gracias
.”

The captain nodded, left the room and closed the door.

Exhaustion consumed Anton, his limbs felt like great weights. But he mustered the strength to change his own clothes before climbing in beside Vivian. He took her in his arms and held her tight.

Sleep beckoned. After kissing her forehead, he closed his eyes. Unbidden tears drizzled down his cheeks. He turned his face into the pillow and sobbed out his relief, thanking the Almighty for sparing
Vivian’s life, once again.