For a second she stood motionless. Then she whispered, "I'll go now. You stay here for a few minutes, Lola! Then find Cosmos."
David said, "No!" He heard the door open, and then he heard it shut again. The candle had flickered in the draft.
Catherine moved forward in the darkness. At the foot of the ladder she waited, listening, for the distant footsteps that were coming slowly closer. She seized the rung of the ladder and climbed up.
The passageway was dark. There was no sound. The footsteps had stopped, and she leaned against the wood for a moment to catch her breath. Then she felt her way forward.
There was a burst of sound that tensed her whole body. Dimly she remembered the rockets. She went on. Now she could hear nothing, but ahead of her was a light; she realized that it had not been there before.
"Dios," she said under her breath. She had come the wrong way; she was aft.
A door banged; she heard a man's tread. She went ahead; she stopped, and did not know which way to go. Then there was another burst of sound, and the light from the rockets.
"Dios," she said again, helplessly, for she realized that someone must have gone out on deck, after she and Cosmos had walked through, and that this person was between her and safety. She heard the footsteps coming toward her, and there was nowhere to go except back. She turned and fled.
But the footsteps behind her were swift now. There was no escape, and she whirled around, leaning back against the wood, almost as she had been the very first time he had seen her. And like that time, he put his arm out to bar her flight. He put one hand against the wood behind her, not touching her; he stood over her, his white shirt making a spot in the darkness, not moving, not speaking, his breath coming a little swiftly. She smelled the tobacco on his breath
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She raised her eyes to his face. Her eyes were accustomed to the darkness; she could see that his shirt was open at the neck, the sleeves rolled up to expose the heavily muscled arms. A bursting rocket flared light into his face, briefly, from the doors he had left open.
She put her hands against his chest, flat. She felt his arms go around her; she bent back from him, but he gathered her closer, his mouth on hers, seizing now what he had wanted ever since he had first taken her into his arms that night on the Santa Anna. Even as she struggled against him, he lifted her easily and carried her to his cabin.
Chapter XVIII
Cavendish turned his head to look at the clock, it was ten. Two hours had passed. It had been two hours since he had carried her into his cabin, her hands balled up into two little fists against his chest.
She had fought him desperately. Now, as she lay beside him on the narrow bunk, his conquest was complete.
He smoothed her hair.
"I cannot keep you here longer," he whispered.
Her eyes had been closed. The long lashes went back; her eyes were shadowed; her parted lips fresh from his kisses. There was a bruise on her white shoulder. He laid his fingers on it gently.
"You're the first wench I've broken a rule for," he said.
There was hostility in the green eyes. He smiled.
"I forbid women aboard."
She ran her red tongue over her lips. "Dios, I hate you sometimes," she said.
His hands caressed her. He kissed her. "Tell me you love me," he said insistently. "Tell me."
"No," she said. "No." She tried to escape his kiss. "You've no right!"
"No right?" he asked.
"But you are a man of honor and will not betray me," she said.
"I swear I'll beat you," he said.
"Not now, Captain," she said. "Let me go, Tom."
He shook his head.
"Tom." She was suddenly pleading with him; her hands on his head. "Tom, you'll not punish Cosmos? He did it for me."
His brows drew together. "I'll not need to punish him. He is probably in a sweat of fear. He'll not repeat this."
She said, "He'd do it again for me!"
He laughed then. The pure amusement, the real laughter in his
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eyes and on his lips, she studied. It went through her mind that she must later, some day, catch that expression on canvas, and the idea of it sent a quick joy through her.
"And if I punish him, everyone would know you'd been aboard." She sighed. "I care not why you don't punish him. I was afraid you would, because you—"
"What?" he asked, levelly.
She said simply, "You are going to try David on charges of mutiny, whether or not he's your own brother."
"Aye," he said. There was the look in his blue eyes that she had seen before—the look that asked for understanding but was willing to forego it, anyway. "Listen, Catherine," he said. He drew her close and buried his head in the shining hair. He spoke softly. "I must sink the Santa Anna. I cannot leave the largest Spanish ship in the world afloat. That is why David rebelled. But there can be no mutiny aboard. None."
He continued. "I built the little bark for you. She will carry word of your plight to the mainland. I'm leaving food. Plenty. And weapons. This is a war, Catherine. Even for you, I cannot leave the Santa Anna. Did you see David?"
"Yes," she whispered.
He frowned a little. She had seen the results of his violence. "I was extremely angry," he said. "Look at me, Catherine." He raised his head, and she looked into his blue eyes.
He muttered an oath. It puzzled her, for she had never heard the expression before.
"Forgive me," he said. "That's no language for your ears. What did David say to you?"
"He told me he would not consent to be freed even if Lola and I could aid him. He said, 'This is between Tom and me.' Then I gave him my little knife."
"Good," Cavendish said. "I was going to get a weapon to him, but it is better that you do it. David has three choices, under the law. None of them is pretty. You must depend on me. The responsibility is mine. And David's."
"I depend on you," she whispered.
"You shall, from now on. You shall come to me, in England."
"We cannot marry," she said. "But I could live in London."
His hands tightened on her arm. "What are you talking about?" he said.
"I cannot marry you," she said. "You are wealthy, are you not?"
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"Aye," he said. "Very wealthy."
''You have estates. An old name."
"True," he said. "Why?"
"You should have children. An heir. I have difficulty bearing children. I lost my second child."
"Jesu," he said, with relief. "I didn't know what in God's name you meant!"
"What did you think I meant?"
"How many men have supported you?" he asked.
Her green eyes blazed. "You dare say that to me? After you— after you spend your nights with Arabella!"
"I?" he asked. "Oh, well, that is quite different. You hardly expect me to have lived like a monk."
"A monk? You?"
"Jesu, wench, you are angry with me." He grinned. "But you shan't live in London, by yourself. The next time I leave you, you shall be tucked away safely in Suffolk."
"Oh," said Catherine. "Aren't there men in Suffolk?"
"How many duels do you want me to fight?" he asked.
She said soberly, "You do not trust me."
He looked down at her face. "You are too fair."
She said, "You are so selfish. I wish I were still fighting you. I wish—if I had not come tonight—if—"
He said roughly, "I was coming ashore later."
"You may take me ashore now," she said.
"May I?" he said. "Not yet, Catherine."
"Have you forgotten, Captain, you are breaking your own rules?"
He paid no attention. His blue eyes went over her possessively; his hands reached for her. Her anger would disappear in a minute.