Pirate's Daughter, Rebel Wife
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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 definite lilt to her voice and it would not surprise him if her first language was the Gaelic. He found himself thinking of Callum McDonald and his daughter, Bridget. What had happened to Callum after he had disappeared sixteen months ago along with one of Harry’s two ships, Odin’s Maiden?
His eyes darkened with anger. God’s Blood! He had made a mistake in trusting that wily old pirate when they had met again in Ireland. He should never have offered him a helping hand or been keen to assist the lovely but hot–tempered Bridget, who would now be a young woman of seventeen or eighteen summers.
He gazed down at the beautiful face on the pillow, trying to imagine how this woman might have looked two years ago, remembering how he had considered Bridget older than her years when he had first set eyes on her. Then he had discovered she was much younger than he’d thought, and knew he must put some distance between them in order to protect her from herself. She had been furious with him and he had likened her to an angry cat, spitting out accusations that he was well–named Black Harry because he had a black heart. How dare he separate her from her father, she had ranted. She had attempted to persuade Callum to get him to budge from his stance, but the old pirate had told her in Harry’s hearing that it did not do to cross Black Harry. It was then that Harry realised that Callum also did not want to take his daughter with him on such a risky venture, but did not have the heart to tell her.
So Harry had parted from Bridget with her insults ringing in his ears. If naught else, her behaviour had proved to him that however comely she was, she still had some growing up to do. She knew what shipboard life was like from having sailed with her father after her mother had died. Surely her common sense should have told her that his decision was the right one? He certainly hoped she had come to realise that in the past two years.
He continued to gaze down at the woman in the bed. Was she Bridget McDonald? She certainly had a look of her. If she was Bridget, then where was her father? When Callum had vanished along with Harry’s ship, he had wondered if the man’s intention had been to cross the northern seas and make landfall in Scotland in order to be reunited with his daughter. Yet here she was in Madeira, having just escaped a slave–trader’s vessel. Perhaps Callum had never arrived in Scotland and, along with Harry’s ship and other crew, was now at the bottom of the ocean?
Harry could scarcely contain his impatience for her to wake up and to provide him with some answers to his questions!
Chapter Two
‘You must ride into Machico, Joe, and bring Juanita here,’ said Harry, turning away from Bridget’s bedside. Two days had passed and he had hardly had a sensible word out of her. ‘The fever is getting worse. She needs a draught that is stronger than the one you mixed for her.
Joe gazed down at Bridget’s scarlet cheeks and twitching face. ‘She does look bad and she’s been muttering in her delirium.’
Harry shot a glance at him. ‘I know. She mentioned a Lady Elizabeth and pirates and then the rest was just a gabbled stream of nonsense. I want you back here with the widow before midday. I need to visit the cane fields and see how the harvest is progressing.’
Joe nodded and left the bedchamber.
Harry resumed his seat next to the bedside and tried to contain his worry. He must persuade Juanita to stay here at the house; only then would he feel some freedom from anxiety about the sick woman he suspected was Bridget McDonald. He could not afford to change his plans and needed to be on hand to supervise the loading of the sugar cane into the carts that would carry the cargo to his ship.
He gazed down at the shivering, restless figure; as he did so, she flung off the bedcovers and, muttering to someone to get away from her in Portuguese, attempted to get out of bed. Starting to his feet, he caught hold of her and could feel the heat emanating from her body. He lifted her back on to the bed and it was then that he noticed what looked like red pinpricks on her skin. His heart sank. Perhaps her fever was not the result of her soaking, but from that disease she had mentioned?
He considered the consequences if that was true and swore beneath his breath. Yet he had no choice but to accept that if whatever had caused the rash was infectious then it was too late for him to protect himself from its effects. He could only hope and pray that it was just a heat rash.
He left the bedchamber and returned shortly after with a cloth and a bowl of cold water. He soaked the cloth in water before wringing it out and wiping her face with it, bathing her eyes especially. Then he folded the cloth into a wet compress and placed it on her forehead. Carefully, he repeated this action and carried on doing so until she appeared less restless. When he touched her skin, although it still felt hot, it was not burning. Was the fever breaking? Or was she cooler due to his ministrations with the wet cloth? Perhaps it was both.
Suddenly her eyes opened and she stared up into his face. Her hand shot out and her fingers fastened on his wrist. ‘What have you done to me?’ she croaked. ‘Where is my father and Captain Black Harry?’
He stiffened. ‘What is your father’s name?’
‘Callum McDonald. Have you seen him here?’
‘No.’
Her eyes showed dismay.
Harry’s heart began to thud with heavy strokes. So his instincts had been right and she was Bridget McDonald, but it seemed she was expecting to find her father and him together. So was he right in thinking that Callum had never arrived in Scotland? It would do no good him asking her that question now. He prised her fingers from his wrist and said, ‘You have a fever, mistress. I have sent Joe to fetch a healer.’ He wrung out the cloth and placed it on her forehead once again.
‘I need help to find him. I cannot waste time lying here,’ she said fretfully. ‘I must find my father. Perhaps someone else has seen him.’
She made to push down the bedcovers, but Harry prevented her from doing so by placing his hands over hers. ‘You’re in no fit state to go anywhere right now,’ he said firmly. ‘Be patient. I will fetch you a drink.’
‘Where are my clothes?’ demanded Bridget. ‘I must find my father.’
He bit back the words that were crowding to be released and went downstairs. He went to the kitchen and made her a drink of wine and water and poured himself a measure of liquor. He decided he needed some fresh air and carried the drink and the flask outside. He sat on the terrace, moodily gazing out over the ocean glistening in the sunlight. He had survived hunger and thirst, battles and storms since last he had seen Bridget. He had been prepared to confront all these adversaries for himself, wanting adventure, as well as discovering new ways to increase his wealth, but he had refused her passage on his ship, determined that not only would she not have to face such dangers, but that her burgeoning beauty would not distract himself or the crew from the business in hand. Now she had come back into his life, bringing uncertainty and trouble.
Why was she searching for Callum here on Madeira? Who was this Lady Elizabeth she had spoken of in her delirium? On whose ship had she originally set sail before being captured and sold to a slaver?
He downed the drink in one gulp and refilled the cup. He stayed there for a while longer, thinking about the fragments of information he’d gleaned from Bridget so far. Then he went indoors, cut bread and spread it with honey and placed food and drink on a tray and carried it upstairs, hoping that she had recovered her composure and would be able to eat something.
As he reached the upstairs passage he heard a crash coming from the bedchamber and made haste. He was stunned by the sight that met his eyes. The small table had been knocked over and Bridget was writhing on the bed and babbling words he could not make out. He seized one of her hands and clasped it between his own. ‘Hush, woman, there is no need for such a commotion,’ he said gently. ‘You are safe.’
She stared at him, but he sensed she was not seeing him because she was still muttering to herself. He wondered if she had fallen asleep and was having a bad dream. She was defying someone, saying that she would not marry their son. Suddenly she went limp.
Harry took her in his arms and brought her against his chest and spoke soothingly, recalling words in Swedish that the grandmother of his friend Alex, the Baron Dalsland, had used to comfort him when he’d suffered from his recurring nightmares. He was ashamed by the memory because he had been a youth on the verge of early manhood at the time. He should not have given in to such weakness after he had survived three years on board a pirate ship. He’d finally escaped by sneaking off and concealing himself from his shipmates behind a pile of barrels in the Swedish port of Visby. It was Alex who had found him and taken Harry to his grandparents’ home. They had provided him with a roof over his head and fed him until his lean body filled out and grew strong. That first summer he and Alex had become like brothers and they were soon fluent in each other’s language. Alex’s grandfather, the old Baron, had a merchandising business and owned several ships. Harry had asked if he could work for him and the old man had put him under the tutelage of one of his finest captains. When the old Baron had died he had left Harry the Thor’s Hammer.
Harry stroked Bridget’s dark red hair, remembering how he had grieved for the old man. Suddenly he realised that the room had fallen silent. His patient had fallen asleep again. He waited several moments before placing her down on the bed and pulling up the covers over her. He decided to stay with her until she woke or Juanita arrived in case she should have any more bad dreams.
Bridget opened her eyes and her gaze fell on the man asleep in the chair by her bedside. His bearded chin was cupped in one hand and his elbow rested on a cushion on the arm of the chair. His thick dark lashes would have been the envy of many a woman, she thought, wondering how long he had been sitting there. He shifted suddenly and Bridget started nervously and, clearing her throat, asked, ‘Captain, are you awake? ‘
He yawned, revealing excellent teeth, and then his eyes opened and met her gaze. For an instant she felt as if drawn into the depths of those dark blue orbs and her heartbeat quickened. ‘I did not mean to go to sleep, but I’ve been keeping long hours lately,’ he said drily.
‘You mean because of me, Captain? I am grateful to you for your care.’ Her voice was husky and Harry found it extremely attractive, almost as seductive as her physical beauty. ‘I wish to leave as soon as possible. I need to find my father. My information is that he and Captain Black Harry were on this island.’
Harry wondered from whom she had had this information. ‘But you are ill. You cannot possibly leave,’ he said firmly.
‘I am feeling much better,’ she insisted.
He wondered if he should tell her that her face was covered in spots, but at that moment there came the sound of voices below. He asked her to excuse him and left the bedchamber.
Bridget gazed after him, wondering if it was the healer who had arrived. She was aware that the shirt she was wearing smelled of her perspiration due to her fever. Despite this she knew it to be a fine shirt of excellent quality, so her rescuer was a man of some wealth. At that moment she heard the sound of footsteps coming upstairs and along the passageway towards her. She decided to pretend to have fallen asleep again, thinking she might discover more about the man who had given her shelter that way.
‘I have seen this rash before,’ said Juanita in Portuguese, glancing over her shoulder at Harry. ‘It is a complaint suffered mainly by children and can sometimes kill, but the fever has broken and I have no doubt this woman will recover.’
‘How soon will she be fit to leave?’ asked Harry, taking coins from a pouch at his belt.
Juanita’s eyes fixed on the money. ‘Where would you have her go?’
‘She is seeking her father, a Callum McDonald, and she has heard that he has been seen on this island. As far as I am aware he has never set foot on Madeira, but I could be mistaken. I ask that you would keep your ears and eyes open in Machico. I will have a search made of Funchal, just in case he could have anchored there at any time this past year.’
Juanita stared at him from under grey, bristling brows. ‘You do that, Captain, but if her father is not here, what will you do with her then? She is young and no doubt beautiful when she does not have this rash, but she is also a foreigner. Surely you will not desert her?’
‘I have a cargo of sugar cane to get to Lisbon. She needs a woman to keep her company. If I were to leave her here in Madeira, will you stay with her? I will pay you,’ Harry offered.
Juanita shook her head and said firmly, ‘No, I wish to leave Madeira. I am getting old and I would return to my family home in Portugal. I still have kin there and would spend my last days with them.’
Harry frowned. ‘I understand, but would ask another favour of you. Have you heard aught of a slave–trader ship foundering anywhere off this coast or it may have anchored in Machico?’
‘I have heard nothing, but I will make enquiries for you.’
He thanked her and changed the subject. ‘Is there aught you can prescribe for her rash?’
The old woman fished in a capacious cloth bag and produced a phial. ‘You may give her three drops of this liquid if the rash itches her unbearably and keeps her awake.’
Harry took the phial and handed a coin over to Juanita. ‘When do you plan to leave for Portugal?’
‘When the signs are auspicious.’ She chuckled and patted his arm. ‘If you have need of me again, send Joseph to fetch me.’
‘I will bear in mind what you say.’ Harry glanced towards the bed as a thought occurred to him, but he remained silent and went downstairs. He called Joe to keep a watch over their patient and headed for the fields, knowing that he could not afford to change his plans to leave the island once the sugar–cane harvest was gathered in.
Bridget inspected the rash on her arms and frowned, turning over in her mind the conversation she’d overheard between the captain and Juanita. Unfortunately, she had not been able to understand every word spoken, but she felt certain that he had asked Juanita to make enquiries about her father and for that she was grateful. Hopefully he would also have a search made for the slave trader and his vessel. What if the slave trader was still alive and came looking for her? After all he had bought her. A chill ran down her spine. What was she to do if the captain were to sail for Lisbon, leaving her behind here on Madeira at the mercy of any unscrupulous person?
There was a knock on the door. ‘May I come in?’ asked Joe.
Bridget sighed. ‘Aye, please do.’
The lad entered the bedchamber, carrying a tray.
‘D’yer know that at one time me and the captain thought you might die, but here you are looking a whole load better despite your rash. The captain reckons it could be caused by the fever making you all hot.’ He beamed at her.
Bridget forced a smile, guessing why the captain had not been completely honest with Joe. She was also remembering that it was the lad who had put poppy juice in her drink the first day she was here. ‘I am much better so I do not need any potions, Joe,’ she said hastily.
‘All right. But the captain said you’re to eat this bread and cheese and then I’m to bring you a custard apple.’
‘Tell me about your captain?’ she asked.
Joe grinned. ‘He’s a hard man to please, but he’s fair. His ship is anchored in Machico harbour and he’s here to load and transport the bulk of Senhor Jorge’s sugar–cane harvest to a buyer in Lisbon. It’s the senhor who owns this house, but he’s gone off with a fleet of warships, led by the explorer Vasco da Gama. They’re going around the tip of Africa, hoping to find a swifter passage to the Indies. The captain intended going as well, but we were caught up in a battle with the natives at one of the Portuguese trading stations on the African coast.’
‘What happened?’ she asked, unable to conceal her curiosity.
Joe’s eyes took on a faraway expression and he did not immediately answer, then he said solemnly, ‘I don’t think the captain would like me to give you the gruesome details, but I can tell you that there were more of them than us. There were spears and arrows flying through the air with us managing to dodge most of them. Then it was hand–to–hand fighting. Unfortunately whilst the captain was fighting three of them at once and winning, a spear came out of nowhere and he got wounded in the thigh. The captain drew out that spear and stuck it in one of the enemy. He has a stubborn streak does the captain. Even so that didn’t stop him, but then something even nastier happened and we had no choice but to get him out of there.’
‘It sounds as if he was lucky to survive,’ said Bridget, admiring the captain’s bravery.
‘You can say that again,’ said Joe, his face alight with enjoyment. ‘It was the same when we sailed the northern seas and we did battle with pirates. We often ended up in hand–to–hand combat. The captain only ever used the cannon as a last resort. He’s always aware that there might be innocent captives aboard who could suffer along with the sinners.’