Pirate's Daughter, Rebel Wife. June Francis

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      Harry nodded.

      ‘So what happened to the ship?’ asked Joe.

      ‘I could see no sign of any wreckage, so it appears that her master managed to avoid the rocks. Perhaps on the morrow I will have a search made for the ship.’ He changed the subject. ‘Now, Joe, what about supper?’

      ‘I’ll have it ready for you, Captain, in no time at all.’

      ‘Then I will dine as soon as I make certain that the lady is still breathing. In the morning you can wash her clothes along with mine.’

      Harry climbed the stairs, disposed of his outdoor clothes and went to visit his guest. He drew a chair up to the bed and looked down at her. Her cheeks were flushed and when he placed his hand on her forehead, he found it hot and dry. Damnation! She was feverish. Hopefully her condition would not worsen.

      He leaned back in the chair, thinking as soon as she was awake he would ask what was her name and for information about the ship and her father. Now he would have supper and return here later. Perhaps she would be willing to speak to him then.

      Bridget felt as if she was floating, drifting in that state betwixt sleep and wakefulness. She was aware of discomfort and of being hot one moment and then cold the next. She had vague memories of a man lifting her and being carried in his arms. He had a great black beard, but he was not the cruel master of the slave–trader’s ship who had beaten her for her defiance of him. Even so, could she trust him? There was something that had happened before she fell asleep that worried her, but she could not remember what it was.

      She heard a door open and footsteps. A chair creaked and she sensed it was not the lad, but him. He must be sitting by the bed and looking down at her. She could feel his wine–scented breath on her cheek and then she felt him lift her damp curls and feel her brow. She struggled to force open her eyelids, but when she managed to prise them apart, the candlelight so hurt her eyes that she swiftly closed them again. Even so that brief moment was long enough for her to catch a glimpse of him: he with the strong nose, dark brows, frowning eyes and that great black beard. She shivered.

      ‘So you’re awake,’ he said roughly. ‘You’re feverish and that is an inconvenience.’

      ‘Perhaps you should have left me on the shore to die,’ she whispered.

      ‘That’s a foolish remark to make,’ he growled, ‘Why did you swim ashore if it were not because you wanted to live?’

      ‘That is true. I was in fear of the slave trader. Do you know what happened to the ship?’ she asked anxiously.

      ‘I could see no sign of it.’

      ‘So that beast could still be alive!’ She grasped his arm with a tremblimg hand. ‘You must not tell him I am here.’

      ‘His ship could still be in difficulties further round the coast. I shall see what I can find out on the morrow. Now don’t fret yourself about him. You are safe here.’

      Was she? She gazed into his eyes, but could not read his expression and could only pray that he was telling her the truth. She sank back against the pillows, exhausted.

      ‘How did you come to be on his ship?’ asked Harry.

      ‘I was sold to him by a pirate in Africa,’ she whispered. ‘I deem originally the slave–trader’s aim was to sell me to some Eastern potentate, but his woman was utterly against such a plan. She wanted me as her servant. She was very beautiful and he could refuse her nothing. We sailed to different islands with slaves, to Tenerife, the Cape Verde Islands. Sometimes we went ashore for several days and twice we returned to Africa for more slaves. I tried to escape, only to be beaten for my attempts. Then disease struck the ship and one by one people began to die.’

      Harry felt anger and pity and knew that she’d had a very lucky escape indeed. But what she had said about disease disturbed him greatly. ‘What was this disease?’ he asked.

      ‘I do not know its name, but I deem it was not the plague,’ she said hastily.

      He frowned. ‘How do you know? Have you seen people die of the plague?’

      ‘No, but I know someone who suffered from the smallpox and she described its symptoms to me.’ Bridget’s eyelids drooped wearily despite all her efforts to stay awake.

      Harry was relieved to hear that she had not been in contact with that horrendous disease. Still, he hoped that she had not been infected by whatever had struck down those on the ship. ‘Sleep now,’ he said. ‘We will speak again in the morning.’

      The door closed behind him and she drifted into sleep. Now her dreams were not of the slave trader, but of her father and how the handsome Captain Black Harry had offered him a berth on his ship that was sailing westwards in search of a passage to the Indies. Her father’s conversation to her had been full of plans to regain his lost fortune. His excitement had been infectious and Bridget had been just as eager as Callum to take part in such an adventure. But then Captain Black Harry had refused to have her on board his ship and so, rather than allowing her to accompany the men to the Indies, instead he had paid for her passage to Scotland to the home of her father’s brother and his wife.

      Now fear stalked her dreams. For her kindly aunt had died and her Uncle Ranald had taken her south to the home of his mistress, Lady Monica Appleby, once a McDonald and twice married. Both wanted to get their hands on her father’s hoard and would not believe Bridget when she’d told them it had all been stolen. They had even tried to force her into marriage with the lady’s imbecile son. She must escape! She had to get away from them!

      Bridget shifted restlessly in the bed and began to cough. She was aware of the sound of footfalls and a door opened. She started with fright, for outside it was now dark and the candle burning beneath the statue of the Madonna and Child cast shadows on the walls. Her heart thudded inside her breast as she watched the captain approach her.

      ‘What are you doing?’ she asked hoarsely.

      ‘You will need to sit up if you are not to spill this potion,’ he said in a low voice.

      She remembered the conviction that she’d had earlier about the drink she had downed and croaked, ‘Potion! Are you wanting to poison me? I deem the drink I was brought earlier was drugged.’

      ‘A little poppy juice, that is all,’ he said easily. ‘Joe deemed it would ease your pain. By the Trinity, why should I wish to poison you? I might consider some women cruel and selfish, but the truth is that I heard you coughing. Now drink up and pray to God that in the morning you will be rid of the fever.’

      Did he speak the truth? It was certainly true that her body ached all over. She struggled to sit up, but the act was beyond her. The captain perched on the side of the bed and hauled her upright, slipping an arm about her shoulders. He reached for the cup and held it to her dry lips. As she felt warm liquid trickle into her mouth, she was aware of the strength in the arm that held her and hated being in his power. So he considered women cruel and selfish, did he? Well, no more so than she thought some men arrogant and brutal. Even so she had no choice but to suffer the captain’s ministrations for the moment. She swallowed thirstily until the cup was empty.

      Harry lowered her against the pillows and watched as, with a faint sigh, she drifted back into sleep. He did not immediately leave the room, but remained sitting in the chair at her bedside. There was a СКАЧАТЬ