With his heart pounding, he began to run while tracking the deeper impressions in the soil made by someone who must have carried Lesley away after injuring her.
How could he have let her out of his sight? He loved her. She had changed him and given him hope in the future. Without her, he had no reason to go on living.
Smoke rising from a fire warned him to take care as he neared a small encampment. From a safe vantage point behind a lush overgrowth of palmettos, he drew as close as he dared and surveyed the scene. Wrath filled him when he saw the boat on the beach, which had belonged to the Lyrical. Cook stood over the fire roasting fish while Aloysius plied mussels from the rocks at low tide. Two more men appeared to be fashioning traps.
The loyalty of the men could not be counted upon and with only one knife to defend himself he did not stand a chance in fighting them. But where was Lesley?
The answer to his question came soon enough when a high-pitched shriek rent the tropical air. Harlan’s heart nearly stopped. The four men ignored the sound and continued their work.
They did not look up—as if they expected to hear such a cry—as if they were following orders.
His blood boiled. Slipping noiselessly along behind the palmettos, he came to the back of a small hut. What he heard inside multiplied his rage, but he knew he must contain his heated fury and act with cool though deadly precision.
“You touch me again and I will scream even louder.” Her brave words belied the touch of fear in her voice. Harlan fisted his hands.
The deep tones of the guttural male laugh gave Harlan all the information he needed to know about the other occupant of the hut.
“If you persist, I will gag you and tie you, but I will have you. Sullying Sterford’s wench will be a delightful amusement.”
“I took a self-defense course and I know how to hurt you.”
“You have no weapons. I shall slit your throat if you persist in your loud protestations.”
“If you kill me, you’ll never lure Captain Sterford to walk into your trap.”
“He will not know you’re dead--only that we have you. Take off your garments.”
“Hell no.”
“Do what I tell you.”
When gasping, choking sounds came from Lesley’s throat, Harlan sprang into action. He leaped onto the rock at the back of the hut and jumped through the grass roof.
Hooper, startled by the intrusion, did not have time to react. Harlan landed a blow that cracked the man’s jaw. Hooper staggered backward.
Harlan’s blood pooled in his boots when he saw Lesley lying limp with dark bruises on her throat, but he had no time to grieve. Hooper growled and came at him with a knife. Lifting a small barrel, he threw it with such force that Hooper fell backward, hitting his head against a footlocker. The blow knocked him out.
Grabbing Hooper’s knife, he held it above the traitor’s heart. He intended to wait for Hooper to open his eyes before he plunged the blade downward. He wanted Hooper to watch his life seep away like a receding tide. Vengeance pumped unholy power into his veins. He wanted Hooper to die in agony, he wanted to see every last drop of the man’s wicked blood sink into the sand. He wanted to hear death gurgle in his throat.
When he felt a strong tug on his boot, he glanced down to see Lesley shaking her head and pleading with her eyes. She lived!
His hand trembled as opposing emotions surged through him. She did not want him to kill the man who would have killed her, but he hated Hooper and could see nothing wrong in ridding the world of such a depraved creature.
Lesley’s eyes brimmed with tears as she formed the word no with her sweet lips. That’s when he remembered he did not want to be a pirate anymore. He only wanted Lesley by his side--forever. He lowered his arm, stowed the knife in his boot and swept Lesley into his arms.
* * * *
Lesley could not talk and struggled to breathe, but feeling Harlan’s arms around her and his lips on hers lent her a far different strength.
“Hooper would have killed you. If he regains his senses, he will try again.” Harlan whispered in her ear.
She put a hand up and gently pushed him away, though she longed to stay in his arms, but neither of them could risk Hooper waking and calling for his fellow pirates. She pointed to the vines used to fashion the crude table.
Harlan nodded in understanding. Pulling out the vines, he tied Hooper’s hands together. Her hands shook, but she whipped the sturdy vines around Hooper’s feet. Though he remained in a stupor, he stirred briefly. Lesley ripped off the bottom of her pants and handed the strip of cloth to Harlan. He wound a gag about the man’s mouth and knotted it securely in back of his head.
They both paused when they heard footsteps shuffling toward the hut. Harlan drew out his blade and handed Hooper’s knife to her. She closed her eyes, aware of the inevitable. While there had been too much killing and destruction, in this backward time the strongest survived. If they wanted to live, they had to fight—and win.
Gripping the handle of the knife, she held her breath as a plank of wood laden with braised fish and steaming mussels appeared beneath the flap of canvas along with a bottle. The footsteps scurried away.
Lesley crawled to the food and picked up a tender portion of fish. She still could not speak, but she sure as hell would do her best to swallow whatever her narrowed esophagus could manage.
Harlan followed her example and the food disappeared in minutes. It wasn’t much but it was the most protein either of them had consumed in days. They shared the water.
Hooper groaned.
Lesley pulled at a few of the boards along the back wall of the hut abutting the rock. Harlan used the tabletop to shore up the structure so it would not fall in upon them. Lesley crawled out, carrying the empty bottle. Harlan followed her. They both crept low, keeping beneath the shelter of the verdant palmettos. As soon as they were safely out of sight of the camp, Lesley hopped onto Harlan’s back.
“When we reach our boat, we leave this island,” Harlan said.
Lesley forced herself to speak though her throat still hurt from Hooper’s hands. “Jibby?”
“Dead.”
Anguish swept through her. He had been so young, so good. The few friends she had made in this ancient world never lasted long. She clung fiercely to Harlan. Would he die, too? An ache welled up from the depths of her soul and she closed her eyes. If she lost him, she could not bear it.
“Forgive me, for I did not bury him. The vultures ....”
Despair took away her last spark of hope. The odds of survival in this wretched time were appalling.
“I saw Elsbeth.” He stopped for a moment and shuddered.
She opened her eyes and glanced about them, fearing their foes would be hot on their heels. She saw no one, but that did not ease her apprehension.
He shifted her weight and went onward. “She came as a phantom, begging for my forgiveness and an end to my anger. Afterward, I fell into a stupor. When I woke, the vultures had come.”
“Elsbeth ....” She thought she had seen Elsbeth, too. Had that been some sort of dream or hallucination? Elsbeth had also mentioned Harlan’s love. That he had come to rescue her seemed proof of his concern for her. But love? Could she love someone from such a barbaric time? Still, he had not killed Hooper at her request. Maybe he could reform.
Then there was the matter of the charm. Could she return to her own time? How? If she did return to 2011, she would never see Harlan again. Cold steel clamped around her heart.
Harlan paused again at the edge of the wide plateau. He lowered Lesley to the ground. “Stay here, out of sight. I will fill the bottle.” He took it and went off to the rivulet, leaving her in the relative safety of the bushes.
But she did not feel secure at all. She glanced all around wondering if Hooper had recovered and sent his band of thugs in pursuit. Anxious, she kept track of Harlan’s progress on the open plain.
When Harlan returned with the water, she relaxed slightly. They shar
ed a few sips each. Her throat did not ache as much.
“I left the toy horse on Jibby’s chest.” Her voice came out as a bare whisper.
“I put it in my pocket, but it burned my hand. Elsbeth’s form swirled out of it like a fog. She went to join Josiah. Perhaps she will not haunt me anymore.” From his deep pocket he pulled out the small wooden animal. “It is most surely cursed.”
As she took it from his hand, the little horse vibrated. She held it against her chest and it warmed her as it usually did, but though it had traveled with her to this time she had no idea how it could send her back to 2011. Her car had spun and been hit by lightning. Dr. Gilroy had attracted lightning to the Lyrical. Was lightning necessary to go through time? How could this small wooden toy be a vehicle?
Maybe she had only been dreaming when she saw Elsbeth. She remembered an old saying, and sighed. “If wishes were horses ....”
Harlan surprised her by finishing the saying. “Beggars would ride.” He gave her one of his dazzling smiles and her heart turned over. “I am your steed, madam. Let us be off.”
She clung to his broad shoulders and fought to stifle her emotions. There could never be another man like him, not in any century. Indeed, like a pirate he had stolen her heart.
Chapter Twenty
With her thoughts and emotions in turmoil, Lesley watched the island grow smaller as they sailed away from it.
“Why didn’t they come after us?” She scanned the sea all around them but did not see any other boats.
Harlan shrugged. “Hooper may still be insensible.”
“So ... we have escaped disaster ... again.”
“For now.”
Lesley twisted her hands together, well aware of their circumstances. They had hastily gathered some plums for their journey, but they would need more than fruit to sustain them. She had begged Harlan to head toward home for she feared if he headed to New Providence, he would fall in with another crowd of rowdy, lawless pirates. Touching the bruises on her neck, she winced. She hoped she never saw another pirate again. Harlan had claimed he would give up pirating and he seemed to be sincere about it. Back in the colonies, he had a chance to be a respectable member of society.
“We can go out west. There’s a lot of empty space.”
“I am not a farmer,” he grumbled. “Sailing is all I know.”
“We’ll make pills,” she suggested. “We’ll start a pharmaceutical company of our own. We can call it Leslan or H&L, if you prefer. We’ll be rich.”
“I do not like it. Witches use herbs.”
“Don’t start that again. Herbs are plants that contain chemical compounds which aid in healing. Aspirin is made from willow trees. Digitalis from foxglove—”
“Bibble-babble.” His crooked grin warmed her. After all they had gone through, they had developed an understanding--of sorts.
“I’ll go to medical school and become a doctor.”
“You are a woman.”
“I’ll continue to pretend to be a male.”
He laughed. “You can get away with being a lad, but you have no beard.”
“I’ll glue some fur on my face.”
His deep sigh surprised her. “You need not work. I will take care of you.” His light eyes were suddenly somber and sincere.
Her breath caught in her throat. She thought of telling him that she enjoyed working outside the home, but he probably would not understand what that meant. He might think she wanted to work in the garden. Still, his vow touched her deeply. He had been caring for her all along, but could they have a long-term commitment?
What was she thinking? She didn’t belong in this century.
They headed northwest and the setting sun touched the golden strands in his hair with a russet glow. The wind blew against his wild mane as he gripped the tiller with his powerful hands. He looked as wild and free as any seabird skimming over the waves.
Dammit. She loved him.
The small toy tucked into her waistband vibrated like a cell phone. She pulled it out and held it in her hands. If she spoke to it, would she get an answer? Would it grant her a wish if she asked for one? Would it take her home?
She hated the eighteenth century. She hated the hopelessness and misery of it. She could not understand how humanity had managed to survive the rough and brutal struggle to stay alive. Yet, she had found one person good and true—Harlan. Watching the joyful expression on his face as the boat sped through the swells, filled her with an overwhelming longing. She wanted to wake up beside him—tomorrow and the day after that—and for as many days as possible.
Forcing herself to stop staring at him, she gazed instead at the horizon as the sun settled down for the night. She thought of her sister, whose heart would be breaking. She thought of her niece and nephew, the condo, central heating, indoor plumbing, electricity, her job, pizza, beer, and a creamy latte. If there was a chance for her to go back she would take it, but if she did return to 2011 her heart would be torn in two. She would never find another man like Harlan.
She leaned against the gunwale. How could she love him with such fervor? They never had sex. Not once had she experienced that cannon in his britches. That one time in his cabin, she came close. Since then, they had endured one crisis after another. Who knew what catastrophe would overtake them tomorrow?
Some minutes later she realized the sun had long since disappeared and the sky overhead glittered with stars. The wind died down and Harlan fussed with the sail to no avail. The sea flattened out.
“Doldrums,” he muttered with a touch of anger in his tone. “We are becalmed. This should not be. We are too far north.”
“Let’s have dinner then.” She handed him a plum.
“No. I will row.” A thunderous cloud gathered on his brow. He moved to grab an oar.
Lesley suspected his crabby attitude resulted from exhaustion. He needed a little rest and relaxation. With a calm sea and nobody around, she made her move by slipping out of her clothing. “How about me for dinner instead?”
For a moment, a mixture of shock and hunger warred in his eyes.
Hunger won.
As he swept her into his arms, the toy horse slipped from her fingers. Her hands wound around Harlan’s neck and sought his lips. Famished for love, she drank in the taste of him—all male and so very rough around the edges. She reveled in his ardor, which was far sweeter than any other she had experienced. He handled her as tenderly as a rose petal, but the hard calluses on his hands excited her as he smoothed them along the soft skin of her rounded curves. She wanted him, needed him—skin to skin.
She tugged at his coat and he got the message. Taking it off, he placed it on the floor of the small craft.
“For your comfort. May the stars shine down upon your beauty.” He had never uttered such a poetic phrase in reference to her.
She smiled in wonder and her heart danced. When she settled upon his coat, he unbuttoned his britches, releasing his magnificent instrument of pleasure. Intoxicated by the sight, her breathing quickened and dampness gathered at the juncture of her thighs.
He knelt above her. “I will explore you, like an island. I will seek out your hills and valleys, and all your flowery delights.”
Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes as she listened to his eloquence. He proceeded to worship every inch of her and her desire escalated until she writhed with need.
“Take me, now,” she begged, but his tender torture continued. She ached for fulfillment while his ministrations turned her bones to putty. He moved to kiss that most sensitive apex of her sex and she could do nothing but moan as the sensations overwhelmed her. When his tongue slid along her clit, a cataclysm took her. Her blood pulsed and throbbed until she lay spent.
“I wanted you inside me.” She could not help the touch of disappointment in her tone.
“But now you are ready.” His wide grin intoxicated her.
In awe, she spread her legs as he slid that wondrous weapon into her wet heat. In moments, s
he flew through the stars overhead as his thrusts brought her to a monumental pinnacle, far above the first. Her hands slid along his slick buttocks and pressed him deeper until they both cried out in the throes of ecstasy.
The stars overhead blinked out one by one and Lesley closed her eyes as Harlan’s body sheltered her. She fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
* * * *
With the rising of the sun, the wind stirred and woke Harlan. While Lesley remained in the land of dreams, he stared at her and wondered whether their lovemaking had been real or a fantastic reverie of his own. Nothing in his experience could compare to it for surely he had been brought to the gates of heaven at their climax.
A shudder ran through him at the memory for he wanted to take her again, now as she lay in slumber with only a sweet smile gracing her naked curves.
He loved her. He wanted to wed her and care for her always. He marveled that she had changed him in so little time. He had spent years fueled by bitterness and hatred. Now, he was freed by this strange woman who had been brought to him so mysteriously, who resembled Elsbeth but was not Elsbeth. He saw the small pony lying beside her, but he did not touch it for he still feared its magic. Could this small object, wrought with his own hands, have brought Lesley to him? Most assuredly the pony had been imbued with powerful magic. Undoubtedly the Widow Vetter had instilled it with her most potent charm.
Did it lend protection to Lesley? She did not have it in her possession when Hooper’s band of thieves captured her. She did not have it on her when Moody attacked her. She had held it when the cave ceiling collapsed and she had found him with its light.
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