63 Ola and the Sea Wolf Read online

  Then he was engaged in resisting the men who were struggling to regain their hold on him, while Ola stood between him and the chief with his loaded pistol.

  She knew if she moved he would fire it.

  Then, glancing back at the struggle going on beside her, she saw one of the brigands had drawn a knife from his belt and had raised it high to strike the Marquis in the chest.

  Without thinking, without even considering what she was doing, Ola threw herself at his arm forcing the long sharp evil-looking blade upwards.

  Then, as she knew that she had not the strength to prevent the Marquis from dying, there was a sudden explosion that seemed so loud as to almost perforate her eardrums.

  At the same moment she felt the knife pierce her own shoulder, felt it sear its way into her flesh.

  As she fell to the ground, there were more explosions and the noise of them seemed to herald a darkness that covered her completely –

  *

  The Marquis opened the door of the cabin quietly and walked towards the bed and Gibson, who had been sitting in a chair beside it, rose to his feet.

  “How is she?” the Marquis asked in a low voice.

  “Running a high fever, my Lord, and hasn’t regained consciousness, which is what’s to be expected.”

  “I thought I heard her voice during the night,” the Marquis said.

  “She was delirious, my Lord, and I didn’t know what she were saying.”

  “I will stay with her now. You go and rest, Gibson, and that is an order!”

  “Thank you, my Lord, but I’m all right. I’m used to making do with very little sleep.”

  “You will be watching over Miss Milford tonight, unless you allow me to do so,” the Marquis replied.

  “I’ll stay with her, my Lord, as we arranged. If you’ll stop with the young lady now, I’ll do as you tells me and have a bit of shut-eye.”

  “Do that,” the Marquis said. “If she is thirsty, is there anything for her to drink?”

  “Yes, my Lord. There’s lime juice in one jug and fresh water in another.”

  “The water that nearly cost us dear!” the Marquis remarked as if he was speaking to himself.

  Gibson did not reply.

  He only gave a last look at Ola to see if there was anything more he could do and then left the cabin.

  The Marquis, now in charge, looked at Ola and thought that they were both extremely fortunate to be alive. He had been certain that there was no hope for either of them.

  He was aware now, it was her brave effort in trying to save his life that had allowed time for the seamen to climb the cliff and appear at precisely the right moment to shoot down the chief brigand and six of his men before the rest fled.

  “I blame myself, my Lord,” the Captain had said, when the Marquis had reached the yacht in safety and they had managed with great difficulty to get Ola, who was unconscious, down from the flat rock outside the caves.

  They had been forced to lower her with ropes and the Marquis was afraid that any rough movements would make her shoulder bleed more freely than it was doing already and she might die from loss of blood.

  “Why should you blame yourself?” the Marquis asked.

  “It never struck me that your Lordship and the young lady would climb the cliff,” the Captain replied, “and, when you started, I was actually below, making sure that the water butts when they came on board would not get loose again, however bad a storm we might encounter.”

  The Marquis looked as if he approved and the Captain went on,

  “Then, when I saw you and Miss Milford climbing upwards, I remembered the last time I was in this bay I was told to watch out for Spanish brigands. ‘Nasty customers, they are!’ one seaman on Lord Lutworth’s yacht informed me. ‘Cut your throat before they ask your name and some of them are armed with pistols and muskets!’”

  “When you remembered this, what did you do?” the Marquis enquired.

  “I sent a man up aloft, my Lord, with a glass and told him to watch you and the young lady. When he shouted that he could see you being dragged inside the caves, I knew only too well what was happening.”

  “It was certainly an Act of Providence that your quickness of action saved our lives,” the Marquis breathed.

  “I’d never have forgiven myself,” the Captain said fervently, “if anything had happened to your Lordship.”

  “I have been near to death many times in my life,” the Marquis sighed, “but this was too near for me to wish to encounter such a situation again!”

  “I can only thank God that you and Miss Milford returned without worse injuries,” the Captain said sincerely.

  The Marquis knew that he echoed those sentiments.

  Now, looking at Ola, he thought it almost impossible to believe that any woman could have been so brave and so resourceful.

  He had been surprised to find, when he reached the cave, that she was not crying or collapsing in the hands of her captors.

  Then, when she had managed to free her mouth, he was aware that she was deliberately speaking slowly in Spanish so that the brigands could understand what she was saying and he thought it amazing that she was neither cringing with fear nor pleading.

  Then, as she stood in front of him to save his life and actually grappled with the brigand who was trying to knife him, he thought it was an act of heroism he would not have expected from any woman, especially one as young and frail as Ola.

  He supposed her fiery red hair reflected the indomitable spirit within her. Certainly only a woman of exceptional bravery could have been involved in so many strange and desperate situations since she had entered his life.

  The last one was almost incredible and it was tragic that she must be the one to suffer what had happened rather than him.

  The brigand’s knife had driven deep into her shoulder and by the time they had taken her back to the yacht the blood had seeped over her gown in a crimson tide and her face was so pale that the Marquis was half-afraid that she was in fact dead.

  Gibson, who was as skilled as any surgeon and better than a large number of those the Marquis had known in the Army, took charge in his usual efficient manner.

  He and the Marquis had cut Ola’s gown off her, to save her from being moved more than was necessary. Then they had cleansed the wound with brandy for fear the knife had been dirty.

  Ola was fortunately unconscious when Gibson had stitched the flesh together with such skilled neatness that the Marquis was sure no professional surgeon could have done better.

  The valet had bandaged her deftly and they both knew that the next twenty-four hours would be critical in case the inflammation was so severe that gangrene would set in.

  Gibson had insisted on staying with Ola that night.

  “Leave her to me, my Lord, and you get some rest. Your Lordship can take your turn tomorrow and it’s goin’ to be some time before the lady’s on her feet again.”

  The Marquis had seen the common sense of what his valet said, but, although he had gone to bed, he found it difficult to sleep while his brain went over and over what had occurred and his thoughts kept returning to the injured girl in the next cabin.

  As he looked at her now, he thought that it would be difficult to find such a lovely and at the same time unusual face anywhere else in the world.

  He realised for the first time that her eyelashes were dark at the tips and shaded away to gold where they touched her skin, similarly the winged eyebrows above them were dark, while her hair against the white linen pillow was like a flame.

  It made him think of the torches flaring in the brigands’ cave and he wondered if any of the men who had fled in terror when the seamen had killed their comrades would ever go back.

  He had the feeling that as their leader was dead this particular gang of ruffians would be disbanded and at least a few wretched travellers would escape persecution at their hands in the future.

  In addition the Marquis told himself it was a salutary lesson that he sh
ould have learned long ago, not to take chances in foreign countries.

  There were so many parts of Europe that were wild and uncivilised and he was aware that, even if Ola had travelled on the main highway to Paris, she would have been in danger.

  She might have been molested, not perhaps by brigands, but certainly by thieves who would relieve her of the jewellery she carried and by the men who would find her looks irresistible and would be equally prepared to use violence to get what they wanted.

  ‘How can any woman take such risks with herself?’ the Marquis asked angrily.

  Then he realised that he had forgotten how young, innocent and inexperienced Ola was.

  Since they had been talking to each other on equal terms, he had found it hard to remember her age or that she was, in some ways, little more than a child.

  He found himself remembering how she had puzzled over the word ‘cocotte’ and supposing it referred to some kind of actress.

  ‘Some man will take it upon himself to enlighten her about such things, one of these days,’ the Marquis thought cynically. ‘Then she will be like every other woman – pursuing men and, having caught one, be prepared to manipulate him to suit her own ends.”

  Once again he was thinking of Sarah.

  Then he recalled how Ola had told him that she had no wish to marry and submit to being ordered about by a husband.

  ‘He will be an exceptional man to get his own way,’ the Marquis thought with a smile.

  A sudden movement caught his attention.

  She was moving her head from side to side and now she said in an indistinct murmur,

  “I – must – escape – I must! Help – me – oh – help me!”

  The Marquis rose and put his hand on her forehead. It was very hot and he knew that her temperature was rising.

  She moved again restlessly and, although Gibson had bound her arm tightly to her side, he was afraid she might break open the wound.

  He went to the basin where Gibson had left a clean linen handkerchief and beside it a bottle of eau de cologne.

  The Marquis soaked the handkerchief in the cologne and some water, squeezed it out and then, when it was moist and cool, put it on Ola’s forehead as she mumbled,

  “It is – foggy – do – be careful! Look out!”

  He knew she was back in the post chaise reliving the difficulties and drama of her escape from her stepmother.

  “It’s all right, Ola,” he said gently, “you are safe and you must go to sleep.”

  She was still for some minutes as if the handkerchief on her forehead was soothing.

  Then with a little cry she said agitatedly,

  “I – cannot go back – I have to – escape again – I hate him! I – hate him! How – can I – save – myself – ?”

  There was something pathetic in the last words and the Marquis whispered softly,

  “You have saved yourself. Listen to me, Ola, you are safe and you don’t have to go back to your stepmother. Do you understand?”

  He was not certain whether his words reached her or not, but he thought, although he was not sure, that some of the tension seemed to go from her body.

  Then once again she appeared to fall asleep.

  ‘I suppose I have committed myself now,’ the Marquis told himself ruefully. ‘Whether she heard me or not, I have told her she will not return to her stepmother and that is a promise I have to keep!’

  Chapter 6

  “I congratulate you, young lady, on having been lucky enough to have your wound treated so expertly,” the doctor said.

  He was a hearty man who had been summoned on board at Gibraltar to examine Ola’s wound and could in fact find nothing wrong with it.

  “I expect you’re feeling exhausted after your fever,” he went on, “but with rest and good food you’ll soon be on your feet again.”

  “What about a tonic?” the Marquis suggested, who had come into the cabin after the doctor had finished examining Ola.

  The doctor glanced round the luxurious surroundings and said with a twinkle in his eye,

  “The best tonic I can prescribe comes from France.”

  The Marquis smiled.

  “I presume you mean champagne?”

  “It’s what I always prescribe for my richer patients,” the doctor laughed, “but the poorer ones expect a bottle from me which is usually little more than coloured water!”

  The Marquis laughed.

  “At least you are frank.”

  “I believe it’s a patient’s willpower that counts. If they want to get well, they get well, if they want to die, they die!”

  The Marquis noted that Ola, weak though she was, was smiling at this exchange of words and now she gave a little chuckle.

  “I come into the first category,” she said. “I want to live.”

  “Then as I’ve already said, we shall soon have you up and dancing,” the doctor answered.

  He glanced at Ola’s hair before he left the cabin and she heard him say outside the door,

  “It’s seldom I’ve had the privilege of attending so beautiful a young lady!”

  Ola listened for the Marquis’s reply, but they had moved too far away and she wondered if he had qualified the doctor’s compliment by complaining that she was also a nuisance, a positive encumbrance.

  When she regained consciousness, she had learnt how much trouble she had been.

  It was Gibson who told her that the Marquis had sat with her every day when she was delirious and running too high a fever to be left alone.

  ‘He must have been terribly bored,’ she mused.

  Then she told herself she had upset him in so many different ways that one more would make little difference.

  But when she was on the way to recovery, she realised that the Marquis was sitting with her when there was really no need for him to do so.

  He read to her and was not offended when she fell asleep and, as soon as she could sit up in bed, they played chess and piquet and, what she enjoyed more than anything else, they talked.

  It was after they had left Gibraltar and were moving over the blue sea of the Mediterranean that Ola began to feel more like her former self.

  Gibson was sure that it was not due to the champagne but to the fresh oranges and lemons he had been able to buy in Gibraltar.

  “I’ve seen too many sailors, miss, suffer from lack of fruit when they were a long time at sea,” he said, “not to realise how important it is, especially when there’s a wound that needs healin’.”

  Because Ola was prepared to believe that he was right, she drank glass after glass of the juices he prepared for her and had to admit that they seemed to speed the healing of her wound.

  “Will I have a scar?” she asked Gibson when he was dressing it.

  “I’ll tell you no lie, miss,” he replied. “You’ll carry a mark there to your dyin’ day, but fortunately it’s not in a place where it’ll show unless your evenin’ gowns be cut over-low.”

  Ola laughed.

  “I must remember to make them discreetly modest!”

  When she told the Marquis what Gibson had said, he laughed too.

  “You will certainly not be expected when you go to Court to have a very low décolletage,” he said, “not with Queen Adelaide’s eye upon you.”

  He spoke without thinking and only as he saw Ola flush did he remember that, if her behaviour at this moment were known in Society, she would receive no invitation to Buckingham Palace and would be ostracised by all the grand hostesses of the Social world.

  He thought with a frown that this must not happen and decided that before they reached Nice he must find some solution to Ola’s problems. Above all she must have a chaperone.

  As if she knew what he was thinking but felt too tired to argue about it at the moment, Ola shut her eyes.

  He thought she was asleep and after some minutes he very quietly left her cabin.

  Then she lay staring at the ceiling and wondering once again despairingly what wo
uld happen to her in the future.

  *

  After four days sailing in the Mediterranean, Ola was well enough to be carried up on deck.

  “What you wants, miss, is some good fresh air, to put the colour back in your cheeks,” Gibson told her.

  Ola thought that he sounded exactly like her old nanny, who had always believed that fresh air was a cure for everything, including a bad temper.

  When she was on deck, she realised why the Marquis looked so well and did not seem to mind that they were sailing more slowly towards Nice than they would have done if she had not been on board.

  Although the sunshine was warm, the sea was cold, but he bathed in it twice a day, once in the morning and again in the afternoon.

  She liked to watch him swimming until his head was only a little spot in the distance, but she could not help feeling anxious in case anything should happen to prevent him returning to the yacht in safety.

  She found herself remembering the stories of men who had cramp in the sea and sank before anyone could rescue them.

  When she enquired about sharks, she was told there were none in this area and the only thing the Marquis had to be afraid of was catching a chill.

  “He’s unlikely to do that,” Gibson said and added with pride in his voice, “there’s few men as strong as his Lordship and whether he’s ridin’ or huntin’ it’s always the horse as tires before his Lordship.”

  When he was not swimming, Ola found that the Marquis liked to take the helm of the yacht and sail The Sea Wolf himself.

  She realised how expert he was and that he could sail closer to the wind than anyone else aboard without letting the sails flap.

  She thought it must give him the same thrill as driving his phaeton to break a record or riding his own horse past the winning post in a steeplechase.

  Lying comfortably on the soft couch Gibson had constructed for her on deck and propped against silk cushions, Ola found the activities going on all around her far more fascinating than being alone in her cabin.

  She was taken down below when the sun began to sink and, as often happened, a chill wind blew up and the Marquis would come with her.

  Then they would talk and to Ola’s delight they would discuss subjects as diverse as Oriental religions and the abolition of the slave trade.