Swept Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book One)

by Kamery Solomon

  “Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up . . .” My muttering was barely discernable to my own ears as I stared out the tiny side window over the bed, watching a small boat with the captain on board row out to us. My fingernails dug into my palm painfully, drawing blood before I finally stopped. Biting my tongue yielded the same result. What was going on? “Okay, Sam,” I said, speaking at a normal volume to try and calm myself. “Think. You’ve woken up on the beach and everyone is insisting it isn’t the twenty first century. What explanations could there be for this?” The vessel outside was coming up alongside us, sliding out of my view. What if he remembered I was here? “One, I’m drowning and the lack of oxygen is causing me to have extreme hallucinations.” My voice was a little shaky and my leg was burning, but I was keeping it together so far. “Two, you’re dreaming. You spent too much time listening to Mark and his theories. Three, Mark is a jerk and is hiding somewhere waiting to laugh at me. Or, four—” Oak Isle sat across the water, but something was different about it. There was more to it than I’d ever noticed, like it was larger or something. The trees weren’t the same as they’d been just a few hours ago. Most of all, I couldn’t see any buildings on the mainland. It was like the entire city had disappeared. Every now and then, I thought I caught a glimpse of a little house, but my eyes were straining so hard I couldn’t tell if they were really there or not. “You’ve really gone back in time.”

  How could I even think to add that as a rational option? Any moment now, something was going to show up—a plane in the sky, or a car—and everything would be okay. There was no need to entertain crazy ideas.

  Then again, I’d just seen a man murdered. There was no denying that. He’d been shot almost right next to me, like it was no big deal at all. Was I being taken along because I was a witness? A troupe of actors commits a crime, so they take the only one who can recognize them with them? That seemed even crazier than going back in time for some reason.

  On the other side of the door, I could hear muffled orders being shouted and scurrying footsteps going every which way overhead. The ocean rocked the ship gently, causing my stomach to turn slightly. Sighing, I abandoned my spot at the window and curled up in the corner on the bed, taking care to not bump my injured leg on anything. By the time night fell I’d be able to see lights on the shore. Then I could laugh at myself for thinking I’d gone back in time.

  The door outside banged open and I flinched, wondering who was coming in—O’Rourke, or the rapist captain. Either way, I wasn’t going to let either of them touch me without a fight. Thankfully, whoever it was went into the bedroom next door.

  The next several hours were spent in the company of my growling stomach and the lip I repeatedly bit to try and wake myself up. As the sun started to set, the ship began sailing out to the open ocean and panic flooded me. Knowing that the captain was on board now made me too nervous to call out, though. Darkness enveloped us and, desperately, I searched for the lights on the distant shore. There was nothing there, not even a soft glow in the sky marking where civilization was.

  Vaguely, I was aware of the door opening behind me, closing softly after whoever it was had entered.

  “There’s no lights,” I croaked out.

  “I expect anything but a bonfire wouldn’t be seen from this far out to sea,” O’Rourke stated, not moving from the entrance.

  “Where are we going?” All of my energy was being put into not spiraling out of control. If there were no lights, there was no city. If there was no city then this couldn’t be the twenty first century. I didn’t know how I’d done it, or why for that matter, but I was lost in a different time.

  “We’ll be stopping at port in La Coruña, where ye’ll be getting off, mind ye. If ye survive that long.”

  “Spain?” I turned away from the window, pushing myself into the corner once more without looking at him. “How long is that exactly?”

  “Two months, if the wind is good. Three if not.”

  “Awesome.” I kept my gaze on my hands, fingers brushing over each other as my brain screamed a torrent of different emotions. Water pricked my eyes and I sniffed, trying to remain calm in a situation that made it practically impossible. Only when O’Rourke cleared his throat and stepped in my direction did I look at him. Instantly, my mouth popped open in surprise at the beautiful gown in his arms. The fabric rustled against itself quietly as he pulled a chair out from the desk and laid it across the seat.

  “I thought ye’d like something a little more comfortable and—ah—” He looked me over, apparently not sure of what to say about jeans and a tank top. “Well. Ye’ll look more like a lady, savvy?”

  “Thank you.” I was shocked, to say the least, but immediately grateful to have something other than my salt encrusted clothes to wear. My pants had rubbed sore spots on my thighs every time I moved and I was more than ready to change.

  “I’ll leave ye alone to dress, but I’ll be just outside the door to help with yer lacings.” He smiled and I felt my heart flip oddly at the sight, the breath catching in my throat as I watched him. He didn’t seem to notice, turning and leaving the room just as quickly and silently as he’d come.

  Glancing down at the clothes, I filled with horror, realizing immediately that I had no idea how to put any of it on. Besides what I’d thought was just a dress—which was actually just one of several skirts—there looked to be a slip, socks, a jacket, and a few other things I didn’t recognize.

  “Uh.” I didn’t know what to say. Did I open the door and tell him I had no idea how to dress myself? Running my hand over the fabrics, I tried to find something like underwear, but there was only the slip. In my mind, I seemed to remember something about underclothes being a more modern thing. Great.

  Torn between embarrassment and fear, I paused between the chair and the entrance, not sure what my next step would be. Finally, I simply sighed and opened the door, greeting a very surprised O’Rourke. “Hey. I’m sorry, but I’ve never worn anything like this before. Where I’m from doesn’t really get all that fixed up.” Well, that was true.

  “Ye’ve never worn a dress before?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Yes,” I corrected him. “But not one like this.”

  Eyebrows raised, he stepped around me and crossed the short distance to the chair. I didn’t think he exactly believed me, but was grateful that he was being nice enough to help instead of hurting me again.

  “First the shift,” he spoke, a hint of laughter in his voice as he pointed to the slip. “Stockings—ye’ve worn stockings, aye?”

  “Yes,” I replied ferociously, blushing a dark red.

  “The stays go over the shift and the skirts, laces in back. I’ll help ye get them tightened.” He tossed the corset onto the bed as he spoke, a strange gleam in his eyes. “Do ye need any more assistance than that?”

  “I can manage,” I choked out, feeling scrutinized. The last thing I wanted was to be naked in front of anyone.

  Smirking, he strode out the door, closing it with a soft click. Still blushing furiously, I stared at the dress, feeling like I was on another planet. I might as well have been, for all I knew about this time period. Tears filled my eyes again and I blinked hard, trying to steady myself. Crying and being afraid would do me no good at the moment.

  My jeans and tank top didn’t feel like such a great loss, but I fervently didn’t want to part with my panties or bra. The dress was an off the shoulder design, though, so I reluctantly took the bra off and laid it on the bed. Quickly, half expecting O’Rourke to burst back in the room at any moment, I grabbed the slip and pulled it over my head, groaning as I realized it was practically see through. Dressing as fast as I could, I slid the skirts on in no particular order, saving the one that matched the corset for last. Finally, I pulled the loose garment over my head and covered my chest, a sigh of relief escaping me. After a few moments, it became clear that I really did need help with the laces, so I opened the door again. Without a word, he en
tered and motioned for me to stand by the chair. As soon as I did, he began tightening the strings, tugging them painfully tight and nearly squishing my breasts out the top. A gasp shot through my lips and I grabbed the chair to remain upright.

  “Is something wrong?” He laughed softly, not stopping his assault on my torso.

  “No,” I coughed. “I’ve just never worn one of these—”

  “Before. Aye, I thought as much.” He continued to chuckle, his fingers moving quickly down the line. After everything was tied and tucked away, he held the matching jacket out for me.

  “How do you know so much about dressing women?” I asked, sliding into the finishing touch.

  “I don’t. I know how to undress them.” Stepping back to survey me, he didn’t make any comments on my wild blush and awkwardness. “Well, lassie. Ye look like a proper lady now.”

  “Thank you,” I replied, uncomfortable. “It’s a very beautiful dress.”

  “Aye. It would have caught a pretty fair sum at market. Alas, we’ll just have to find another way for ye to make up the cost.” Winking at me, he folded his arms across his chest, drawing my attention to his broad muscled width. My heart hammered as I stared at him, trying to decide what he meant by that and praying with all my might that it wasn’t what I thought. “Ye’ll want to stay in here most of the time. Captain Rodrigues usually retires at sunset to drink and doesn’t wake until late morn’, but I wouldn’t risk it if I were ye.”

  “Why are you helping me?” I suddenly blurted out. “First you kidnap and hurt me, then you bring me beautiful clothes and tell me when to stay hidden. Why?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” he asked, shocked. “Ye’re a lady, aren’t ye? Not a whore?”

  “I’m not a whore,” I growled, instantly angry at the casual way he asked.

  “I didn’t think so,” he replied coolly. “I may be a pirate, but I know how to treat a lady. My ma saw to that. It’d be a dishonor to her memory to throw ye to the dogs in this crew. Ye’re here because the captain wants ye and he’s the biggest dog of them all. Mind ye, if ye give me any reason, it’ll happen.”

  The threat hadn’t been said in a menacing manner, but it was there all the same. Do what he said and I’d be safe. Otherwise, I was surely scheduled for several terrifying acts.

  “If ye do manage to make it out on deck,” he added conversationally, “make sure ye bring a cloak. It’s been frightfully cold and wet this season. I’ll bring one down for ye later, along with some shoes.”

  Swallowing hard, I nodded, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed. Actually, it was more like falling on the bed as I tried to accustom myself to the number of heavy garments on me. When I glanced at him again, I felt the strange sensation in my heart as I studied him over.

  He didn’t appear much older than me, around his mid-twenties like he’d told me earlier. His skin was tanned, which I assumed was from being at sea, a few thin white scars noticeable on his hands and arms. Short black hair brushed around his chiseled face, leading down into sideburns. There was some facial hair, not enough to be a beard, but sufficient to give his features a dashing look. His green eyes seemed to burn with a dangerous fierceness, though, causing me to turn away as soon as I met them.

  “Wait,” I said, stopping him from turning the handle and leaving. “Will there be any dinner?”

  “I’ll bring ye some later, after the captain’s received his share.” Twisting the knob, he looked out into the hallway, checking to see if anyone was there.

  “Ireland,” I blurted, covering my mouth in horror as I realized how loud I’d spoken.

  “What?” he hissed, closing the door quickly and glaring at me.

  “Your accent,” I explained. “I couldn’t place it earlier, but I just realized. You’re Irish, right?”

  Grinning broadly, he stepped away from the exit and folded his arms. “Noticed that, did ye? I’d wondered if I still had it.”

  “I did,” I replied, nodding.

  Bowing low in a mocking manner, his gaze burned into my eyes. “Tristan O’Rourke at yer service.”

  His poking fun made my blood boil, so I stood and curtsied, giving him the most scorching look I could manage. “Samantha Greene. Pleased to meet you.”