Despite what both Joss and Betsy had said, the storm did not break that night. The Swift Wind continued on its southerly course, with a skeleton crew at the helm. Around midnight, Dr. Freeman summoned Lilah from a snatched few hours of sleep.
He had more bad news. Three more were down with the cholera, including his wife. He needed Lilah's help. She got to her feet, shaking her head to clear it and feeling her hair tumble lose from its knot to fall over her face. She twisted it back wearily as she first bent over Kevin to check his breathing-he continued deep asleep-then stumbled after the doctor. At least she didn't have to dress. For the last few days she'd been falling asleep in her clothes.
Mrs. Freeman was taken bad. After more than two weeks spent nursing the cholera, Lilah had developed a sixth sense about who would live and who would not. Mrs. Freeman, she very much feared, would not. The doctor knew it too. She could read it in his face as he straightened from his delirious wife's bedside. He was haggard, but still he spent no more time with his wife than with other patients.
"Try to keep her comfortable, and get what liquid into her you can," he told Lilah. As he turned away she saw moisture glimmer in his eyes. For the first time in many days, emotion stirred in her breast. She'd thought she'd become too numb to feel.
"I'll do my best for her, doctor. And if there's any change I'll call you."
He looked down at her, patted her hand where it rested on his sleeve. "Thank you, Miss Remy. I know you will. That's why I wanted you to stay with her instead of one of the other ladies. She was telling me just this morning how much she liked you, and what a good- hearted girl you are." His eyes moistened again. "We've been married thirty-seven years," he added bleakly. Then, before Lilah could do more than look up at him compassionately, he shook his head, cleared his throat, and was gone.
True to her word, Lilah sat with Mrs. Freeman all through the night. The woman never knew she was there. She was burning up with fever, and vomited almost ceaselessly although there was nothing left inside her but yellow bile. The diarrhea scourged her body as well, until the normally plump, motherly doctor's wife was reduced to a waxen, barely breathing shell. Near morning, Lilah knew that the woman had not much time left. She stuck her head out into the passageway and called for help. Mrs. Holloway answered, and Lilah sent her for Dr. Freeman.
When the doctor came, he saw at a glance that his wife was near the end. He knelt by the bed, taking her wasted hand in his and pressing it to his lips. Tears rolled down his lined cheeks. Holding back a sob, Lilah left the two of them alone together and melted into the passageway without a sound. Unconsciously, her feet carried her up the stairs that led to the deck. The hot, sultry wind hit her full in the face, causing her to stagger back almost into the companionway. A hand caught her arm to steady her.
Even through the tears that nearly blinded her she knew who it was. He seemed like a dear friend suddenly, and in her grief she was glad to see him. When his hand lifted from her arm, she missed its warm strength. But she could not give in to the panic and weariness and grief that threatened to overwhelm her. She was needed. She had to be strong a while longer.
"You're crying," he said.
"Mrs. Freeman is dying. They've been married thirty- seven years," she said with just the tiniest quaver, lifting both hands as she spoke to dash the tears from her eyes. She looked up at him to find him regarding her inscrutably. Those emerald eyes gleamed as they caught the light of the blood-red sun that was just peeping over the horizon. The deck was deserted, the few sailors who were not resting below going about their business high in the rigging. She had this sudden feeling of being alone with him and the sky and the sea.
"They were lucky to have thirty-seven years. Most people don't have that."
It was what she needed to hear, sensible, calm and comforting. Lilah nodded, taking a step out onto the deck and swallowing a huge gulp of the sultry air. The wind was drying the tears on her cheeks, and she was beginning to feel that she could go on after all. His hand caught her arm again as the pitching of the deck threatened her balance.
"You shouldn't be on deck. The sea's getting rough."
Only then did she notice that the pitching of the ship seemed more marked than it had before, and that the Swift Wind barely seemed to be touching the surface of the water as she skudded over the rising waves.
"I had to have some fresh air. There's so much-so much death below, I couldn't stand it."
He said nothing, just stood there holding her arm and looking down at her. In the orange light of the new dawn, he looked as indescribably weary as she felt. Lilah had a strong urge to lean against him, to rest her tired body against his strength. The urge was so strong that it shocked her back to an awareness of who and what he was, and who and what she was. Stiffening her spine, she took a step away from him. His face tightened.
"I beg your pardon. I shouldn't have touched you, should I? Slaves don't touch their mistresses. They let them fall flat on their faces." There was no mistaking the bitterness that edged his voice.
"It's not that…" she started to protest, but he deserved better than to be lied to. "Yes, it is. You're quite right, you shouldn't have touched me. You mustn't anymore."
"If I do I suppose I can expect the boss man to send his flunkies after me with a bullwhip?"
"Kevin's very ill."
"Is he indeed? Pardon me if I don't say I'm sorry. Tell me something, was he your fiance when you were letting me kiss you in the gazebo that night?"
Lilah suddenly knew how a deer grazing in a peaceful meadow felt when it discovered a hunter in a blind gunning for it. She had worked so hard to blot that night out of her mind, and she'd hoped that he had put the memory behind him, too. Now he was reminding her of it quite deliberately. She looked up into his eyes, up at the mouth that had kissed her, twisted now in a bitter, mocking smile, and shivered. Even knowing what she did about him, she discovered to her horror that she was not immune to the tantalizing attraction he had held for her from the first.
"No," she managed to get out on a croak.
"Ah, then I owe you an apology for what I have been thinking since learning of your engagement. Apparently you're not such a lightskirt as I'd supposed."
"You mustn't talk to me like that." Lilah could hardly get the words out past the constriction in her throat. She took another step away from him, fighting to get herself under control, her eyes fastened on the handsome face that darkened with anger at her words. "For your own sake, you mustn't, and for mine too."
"Afraid I'll tell about your taste for dark meat?" The barely suppressed anger in his voice lashed at her like a whip. It was all she could do not to cringe. Clearly he had overheard the oaf in the crowd the day she'd bought him, and the man's words rankled with him yet.
"Don't say that!"
"Why not? It's true, isn't it? I can see it in your eyes even now. You'd like nothing better than to have me kiss you again-or do even more. But your conventional little soul is horrified by the very idea. And why? You weren't horrified the night we met. So it stands to reason that what horrifies you now is not the thought of my kisses- we both know you liked that-but of my blood."
"You go too far!" Outraged and embarrassed, she picked up her skirts, meaning to turn and flee along the deck. But he stopped her with a hand on her arm.
"On the contrary, I don't think I've gone far enough," he said through his teeth. Then, before she realized his intent, he jerked her against him and lowered his head to hers. Gasping, she pushed against his chest with both hands as his mouth found hers. But the touch of those soft warm lips jolted her into immobility, stilling her struggles and her mind. Still she fought one last battle against the humiliation of abject surrender, turning her head away from his seeking lips. But when he caught her chin in his hand and turned her mouth back up to his she could fight no more. Her eyes fluttered shut and her body relaxed against his as it longed to do. He gathered her closer, bending her backwards against his arm, his mouth slanting over hers in a ferocious, starving way that did strange things to her heart.
Then, abruptly, he let her go. She stumbled backwards, shocked almost senseless by the violence of what had flared so briefly between them, barely able to keep her balance without the support of his hard arms. Her eyes were huge as they flew to his face. One slim pale hand came up to cover her mouth.
He stared back at her for an instant, his chest heaving as though he had been engaged in some vigorous activity. Then, as he took in the horror slowly dawning on her face, his mouth twisted.
"I think I've made my point," he said. The bitter words scourged her almost as much as the searing kiss. Before she thought, acting solely on instinct, she lifted her hand and slapped him hard across the face.
"Ah," he said, his hand going to his cheek, his eyes fixed on her pale face. For a long moment they stared at one another without speaking. Then the first fat drops of rain splattered on die deck between them. Lilah looked at them without seeing them, her heart pounding as she waited for his revenge. But Joss saw, and realized what they portended. The anger died from his face.
"Boone's carrying too much sail." He made the statement as if their quarrel had never been. His fingers absently smoothing the cheek that she had slapped was the only visible sign he gave of what had happened between them.
"What?" She should run away, she knew, while she had the chance, but he stood between her and the open doorway and she did not want to go along the deck in the rain.
He looked at her impatiently. "He's in a hurry to reach Haiti, and he's carrying too much canvas. If this storm's a bad one, and I think it's going to be, we'll be blown straight to hell."
Lilah bit her lip. The seriousness with which he appeared to regard their situation made her suddenly nervous. "Why don't you tell him?"
He looked angry again, but not at her this time. "Boone won't take my word for it. However experienced a seaman I may be, I'm just a slave, remember? He's bound and determined to captain the Swift Wind as he sees fit-and I don't blame him for that. That's what I'd do myself, but he's making a mistake."
Lilah laughed almost hysterically. "Are you saying that the ship might sink?"
He looked at her without answering. He didn't have to. His face spoke for him. Lilah stood unmoving as the rain darkened the disordered tangle of her silvery hair, bathed her face and splashed over her stained gown. After all that had come before, could God in his mercy truly be going to put them through the additional trial of a deadly storm? Surely not. Surely the Swift Wind had been through enough.
"For God's sake, get out of the rain," Joss said impatiently. When she still didn't move but just stared at him he reached out and caught her by her arms, pulling her into the protection of the companionway. The touch of his warm lean hands burned through her thin sleeves like a brand. Vividly it reminded her of the searing heat of his mouth… Her eyes, huge and defenseless, flew to the still-red imprint of her hand on his cheek. Then she looked up to meet those emerald eyes. They were turbulent, glittering, alive as few things were on the Swift Wind these days. He stared down at her for a moment, his hands tightening. Then his mouth tightened too, and he released her arms. Beyond the shelter of the companionway the rain came down in silver sheets.
"Stay below," he ordered grimly, then turned on his heel and vanished into the downpour.