‘Who’s there?’ she asked in a husky voice.
‘I’ve brought you some soup and bread and a drink, mistress,’ replied a cautious young English voice.
Bridget was confused. Hadn’t her rescuer spoken to her in Portuguese earlier? She opened her eyes and stared at the youth holding a tray. He could not have been more different to the other man as night was from day. He had straw–coloured hair and a freckled face that was filled with curiosity.
‘You’re English,’ she stated in that tongue.
‘Aye, mistress.’
‘What is your name?’
‘I’m Joe,’ replied the gangly youth.
‘Where is the bearded man who was here earlier?’
‘That would be the captain. He’s gone off to see what’s happened to the ship you deserted.’
She prayed that he would find no sign of the ship or that it was wrecked and its master drowned. ‘The captain? Is he a mariner, then?’ she asked, picking up on what the youth called the man who had rescued her.
‘Aye.’
‘He—he looked fearsome. Is he Portuguese?’
‘No, he’s English and you have naught to fear from him.’ He gave her a reassuring gap–toothed smile. ‘Here, mistress, I’ll leave your food and drink on this little table here. You get it down you and then have another little sleep.’
Bridget clutched the open neck of the shirt and managed to ease herself into a sitting position. ‘Tell me, where am I?’
He paused in the doorway without looking back. ‘You’re on the island of Madeira, mistress,’ he replied and closed the door before she could ask him any more questions.
Bridget sank back against the pillows. Her relief was such that tears filled her eyes and threatened to overpower her. Praise the Trinity that she had at last reached her destination! Now she must hope that she had not arrived here in vain. She remembered her first meeting with the man she still thought of as Captain Black Harry. She and her father, Callum, had been on the coast of Ireland after escaping from a brigand called Patrick O’Malley and his cutthroats. For many a summer past Callum had set sail with young warriors from Scotland to support his Irish wife’s family in their battles with the O’Malleys. That summer two years ago his luck had run out and Callum had lost not only his fortune, but his ship.
When Bridget had met Captain Black Harry, she was alone, having left her father trying to persuade the master of another ship to take them back to Scotland with only the promise of payment when they arrived there. She had been embarrassed due to his need to beg for help. Then she had walked slap bang into the handsomest young man she had ever seen. He had helped her to her feet and she had begged his pardon. He had inclined his head and asked in the Gaelic whether he could be of further assistance to her.
Impulsively she had explained their situation and he had escorted her back to Callum. Only then did she discover that the two men had sailed together when Black Harry was a boy. They had much to say to each other and had headed for the nearest tavern.
Bridget frowned as she reached for the cup on the table and gulped down the drink thirstily. If only she had overheard their discussion, she would have been more prepared for what happened the next day. Her eyes darkened. She would never forget what she considered Black Harry’s hardhearted treatment of her.
She placed the cup on the table and reached for the food. She dunked the bread in the soup and, despite being ravenous, ate slowly because it hurt to swallow. As she gazed at her surroundings, her eyes began to feel heavy. The white walls appeared to waver and the blue shutters at the window shimmered. On another wall was a niche holding a statue of the Madonna and Child and they appeared to be smiling at her. She fumbled for the cup, picked it up and sniffed it. Had she been drugged? The lad might have assured her that she had naught to fear from the captain, but could she trust him? She had suffered sorely at the hands of men in the past and she felt a rising panic. Her last thought before she slipped into unconsciousness was of her father.
‘You put what into her drink?’ exploded Harry.
‘Only a little poppy juice, Captain,’ replied Joe hastily, backing away from him. ‘It was what Juanita gave to me when I couldn’t sleep for my aches and pains after I was attacked in the town. She dosed you with it, too! It’s not that long since we returned from Africa with you wounded so bad, and I thought you’d not only never walk again, but smash every looking glass in sight.’
A muscle clenched in Harry’s jaw. He would never forget seeing his scarred reflection in the mirror for the first time. Later, when he had rattled in the cart into town, the women who had previously fallen into his arms had shrunk away from him and walked by on the other side of the street. Deeply hurt and also suffering agony from the wound in his thigh, he had grown a beard to conceal the scar and chose to keep away from women altogether.
‘What if she suspects you’ve drugged her?’ Harry pointed out.
‘Why should she? Surely she’ll deem her feeling drowsy is due to exhaustion after swimming ashore? I was only trying to ease any pain she was in.’
Harry gazed at him with exasperation. ‘I suppose you thought you were doing what was best, but I wanted to question her. Now I’ll probably have to wait several hours before she wakes up. Don’t ever do such a thing again without my permission, Joe, or you’ll be out on your ear!’ He paused. ‘So what did you think of her?’
‘Comely. Her eyes are hurting her. She could do with a potion to bathe them. More importantly, Captain, is the information that she does speak English and there is a lilt to her voice that convinces me that it is not her first language.’
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