Within seconds, the whole house was locked down and I found myself sitting at the window I’d been so eager to peer through that morning. Now I feared what I would see on the other side.
Minutes slipped into hours, the sun setting and darkness covering the street outside. Closing the curtains, I dared to hope that we had truly lost the Black Knights and were safe.
Thomas Randall didn’t give up easily, though.
Abella sat at attention beside me, her hands clasped in her lap as she anticipated some kind of sign that everything was okay. “Should we send for someone?” Her voice was tired and soft, but the fear I still felt was there in her tone.
“The carriage driver will have noticed that we disappeared,” I replied, hopeful. “Someone will come. I don’t want to send anyone out, not when they could be hurt.”
Silence stretched between us once more. Exhausted from our run, I felt my eyes drooping, my head nodding slightly as I drifted off to sleep, unaware that I was even slipping away.
It was the crash that woke the both of us. We’d fallen asleep in our chairs, waiting for something to happen, and now that moment was finally here. Several bumps and muffled shouts reached our ears as I shut and locked the bedroom door.
“What do they want with us?” she asked, trembling, her face white.
Grabbing her by the shoulders, I shook her hard, getting her full attention and looking her straight in the eye. “They’re coming for me,” I said evenly, having put the pieces together as I’d sat expecting them. “Tristan is a member of the Knights Templar. He’s either been sent on a false mission, or he’s been captured or—” The word stuck in my throat, but I forced it out anyway. “Killed. It was all a trap to get him away from me.”
Her eyes were wide and filled with misunderstanding, but I didn’t have time to tell her delicately.
“I’m from the future. I know things no one else does and they want me to tell them those things.”
Her eyes grew even larger, if that was at all possible, and her mouth popped open, but no words came out.
“Hide in the dresser,” I told her, shoving her toward the giant piece of furniture. “They don’t want you. Hide and after we’re gone, run to the Temple and tell them what happened. Shout it into the night if you have to. Do you understand?”
Stunned, she stumbled toward her designated hiding place, ripping the doors open and climbing inside. I’d just shut her in when the banging on the door started.
“I know you’re in there,” Thomas Randall’s voice sneered, my hair standing on end. “Open up, Sam. This doesn’t have to be difficult.”
“Like hell,” I muttered, grabbing the gun that Tristan had hidden under the mattress. I shoved it in the pocket of my dress, pressing myself against the curtains.
Suddenly, the wood splintered and the entrance flew open, revealing a gang of cutthroats and murders. Randall stood in front, smiling, a pistol aimed right at me. His expression was triumphant, excited even as our eyes met. In the time since I’d last seen him, he had changed clothes, his form now covered in threads fit for a sea captain. A long, red coat hung around him, a gun belt slung across his shoulder. His hair had been tied and braided, leaving his face clear and open for all to see. “We meet again,” he said smoothly, stepping into the space.
“It’s not my pleasure, I promise,” I snarled in return.
“Come now,” he scolded me. “There’s no need to be rude.”
The man behind him caught my attention for a split second, and I recognized his face as the driver who had taken us to the Temple that morning. My stomach clenched at the sight. Tristan had been right; I shouldn’t have trusted anyone just because they were part of the Order. Anger washed over me at the betrayal and I looked back at Randall, giving him a half smile.
“Of course there is.” In a flash, I had the blunderbuss out, aimed, and fired, missing Randall and dropping the driver to the floor. Chaos erupted in front of me, the group lunging forward and grabbing at me, but I was determined to not go down without a fight.
Clawing at the eyes of the closest man, I kicked out at another, shouting as I was knocked off my feet. With the weapon in my hand, I clubbed Randall over the head, desperate to put at least some distance between the group and myself.
There were too many hands, too many feet kicking me. In fear, I tried to roll away and protect my stomach, but had the wind knocked out of me first. They were dragging me away, my screams and curses echoing off the walls as I fought tooth and nail, tears streaming down my face from pain.
Across the room, the wardrobe doors flew open and Abella launched herself on the closest man, pulling his hair and biting his hands, shrieking as she foolishly tried to help me.
“Abella, no!” I shouted, but it was too late.
The smoke was curling from Randall’s gun, the barrel pointed in her direction. She went limp, sliding to the floor as a red stain stretched over her chest. The sound of the fired shot rang in my ears, blocking out everything else.
“No!” I cried, over and over again as they picked me up, carrying me away. “Abella! She needs help! Abella!”
They hauled me down the stairs, quickly tying my hands together and shoving a cloth in my mouth. Outside, a large chest waited. When they threw me inside, I felt like I was going to pass out from lack of air. All I could see was Abella, collapsed on the floor, her blood seeping into everything.
My baby. Was it okay?
Crying, I tried to assess the damage to my midriff. I’d been kicked a few times, maybe even had a broken rib. But I didn’t know if my baby was alive or dead.
Head knocking against the wooden cell, I tried to calm my nerves and assess what was happening. Every time I felt like I might be able to relax some and think, though, I was jostled violently, knocked around like a sack of potatoes. After the third time, I began to think they were doing it on purpose. The fourth fall left me seeing stars and I would have bitten my tongue badly if it weren’t for the gag in my mouth. Finally, though, I recognized the gentle sway of water and realized we were on a boat. The thought gave me some calm, knowing we were on our way out of the city and toward the seaport, where I assumed they’d place me on their galleon, or whatever type of ship they had.
The pirates either weren’t speaking, or the box was incredibly sound proof. Eventually, I was lulled into a dreamless sleep, waiting for whatever was going to happen next. It seemed like an entire lifetime passed before I was suddenly hoisted up again, my trunk swaying every which way before it finally landed on a wooden floor with a loud clunk. There were voices now. I could hear them. Why hadn’t I been able to before? Someone was pushing me across the floor, which I soon realized to be the deck of a ship.
So, we had arrived. Now my only question was if I got to come out or not.
“You there!”
Randall’s voice shot out in the din and I flinched, my heart starting to race again.
“Yes, Captain?”
“You were assisting the last doctor on board before he died. I’m promoting you to surgeon. Come with me.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Again, I was lifted up and carried somewhere else. It was like a guessing game, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
“Set it down there,” Randall ordered. “Carefully. You’ve had your fun. Now get out, both of you.”
Footsteps shuffled away and I held my breath, waiting for something to happen.
“I want you to take care of what’s inside this chest,” Randall said evenly. “If it dies, so do you. Do you understand?”
There was a brief hesitation before the man finally agreed, his voice sounding somewhat strained.
“Good,” Randall said. “Get to work.”
More footsteps went out of the room, leaving me in silence once more. Suddenly, the chest began to rattle, the lid creaking open.
Fearful, I tried to pull back as far as I could, blinking in the light at the shadow looming over me now. The man sucked in sharply, freez
ing for a second.
“Oh my god!” He removed the gag from my mouth and I coughed, eyes watering as I sucked in a good, deep breath.
“Sammy?” he asked tentatively.
It was then that I saw whom I was talking to, my eyes fully adjusting and shock almost knocking me out again.
“Mark?”
Mark Bell
This wasn’t possible.
Samantha continued to stare at me from her tiny prison, her body beaten and bloodied. For an instant, I wondered if her ghost had finally found me again and was torturing me once more. Blinking hard, I waited for the vision to subside, but it never did.
A strange rush of emotions filled me, causing my eyes to prickle. She was alive! By some happenstance, fate had brought us back together. Her dress was torn in several places, gore splattered over the fabric—some of which looked like it might not be hers.
“Mark?” she questioned again, but I couldn’t even answer her. My mouth refused to form words as I stared at her, trying to accept what I was seeing before me.
Anger coursed through me, seeing her in such a state, but my surprise kept me rooted to the spot, mouth hanging open like a sail without wind. Fear touched the back of my mind, for both her and me. Something told me Captain Randall wouldn’t find me necessary to keep around any longer if he found out I knew his captive. What did they want with her?
Curiosity also slapped me across the face. How long had she been in this time? Had it happened in the Pit? Did she know how? What had she been doing since the slip? Were there more time travelers?
Most of all, there was a radiating sense of peace that burned me from the inside out. It touched every part of me, causing the tears that now fell freely down my face. My hands shook beneath its power, my knees giving out as I crumpled to the floor. The feeling urged me to reach out and take her in my arms, to hold her and share my relief. Not even hesitating, I followed the instinct, gasping as her hands clutched the front of my shirt, wrists still bound together.
I wasn’t alone anymore.
“How are you here?” she asked, her voice muffled against my shoulder. “How?”
“I don’t know.” My fingers felt her hair, long and frazzled, even more wonder filling me as I held her.
Common sense raised its head and nudged me, the realization of her situation hitting me full force.
“Here, let me untie you,” I spoke, releasing her quickly and setting to work on her bindings. “Then I can look at some of your injuries.”
Randall had left us both in the room the ship used as a surgery. It wasn’t large, or even adequate for such a task, but there was a table for patients to sit on and a desk for the few scant instruments the last doctor had left behind.
Frowning, I pushed thoughts of Abel Martinez from my mind. He’d been a good man, despite how he’d met his end.
Sam’s eyes seemed to burn into me as I worked, quickly freeing her and pulling her from the trunk. It was immediately obvious that she’d either been clubbed over the head at some point, or her ride here had been a bumpy one, judging by the lump under her hair. Carefully, I led her wobbly form to the makeshift bed and sat her down, grabbing a lit candle off the supply table and holding it in front of her face.
“Open your eyes, wide,” I coached her, trying to watch the dilation of her pupils and determine if she had a concussion.
“How are you here?” Her voice held an air of anger and I paused, looking at her in surprise.
“I told you; I don’t know. It just happened.”
“How are you here, on this ship?” she clarified. “Working for Thomas Randall? Do you have any idea who he is?”
“A bit.” Feeling somewhat miffed, I went back to observing her eyes until I was satisfied her head injury would be fine. “I was pressed into service, along with the former doctor.”
“Pressed?”
“This ship fought and boarded the one I was on,” I explained. “After they took all of the goods, they decided they needed a few men for the crew as well. The doctor and I went, as well as another man. Everyone else was killed.”
Appearing aghast, she pulled away as I tried to feel the spot as well. “You went willingly?”
“Yes. No. I did what I needed to, to survive. You of all people should understand that, I think.” Staring pointedly, I waited for her to relax and let me continue my evaluation.
My emotions were still a roller coaster as I touched her, drinking in the presence of someone from my own time. It didn’t seem like it would have mattered much, but it did. I couldn’t explain it, but it was as if my soul had found a missing piece in the image of someone who knew completely what had happened to me. Not just that, but someone who understood the situation wholly, because it had happened to them, too. A person who knew what a cell phone was, who would understand television and movie references, or know exactly what I meant when I used slang from the twenty-first century.
Several minutes passed as I checked her, happy to find that she was mostly banged up and not mortally wounded. “I think you’re going to be okay,” I told her, stepping away and giving her some space. Being by her was like being drunk, not knowing what to do or say, but having so much I needed to express.
She nodded, biting her bottom lip, her hands resting against her stomach. Her eyes were troubled, something bothering her more than the abuse she’d taken from the crew. What had they done to her? Balking, I instantly worried someone had touched her in an intimate way.
Pirates were not above rape.
“Were you hit there?” I asked her, hoping she would quell my fears for her.
“Yes. Kicked,” she said, her voice strained.
Sighing in relief, I felt my posture slump some as my muscles relaxed. “You’ll probably have a bruise, but I don’t think anything too bad happened, based off your other injuries. It’ll be sore for a while, though.”
She nodded again, her eyes tearing up, and then took a deep breath, seeming to calm down some. “Mark—” She hesitated, eyes glancing toward the open door.
Taking the hint, I got up and closed it, checking to see if there was anyone in the hallway. Once I was sure we wouldn’t be overheard, I motioned for her to continue.
“I’m pregnant,” she whispered, her eyes wide with fear.
It felt like I’d been shot in the head, the words causing me to stare blankly for a moment before I shook myself roughly.
“It’s only a few weeks along,” she hurried to say, seeming to tremble. “But I was kicked in the stomach. Is there any way . . .” Her words trailed off as she covered her mouth, tears starting to roll down her face.
Nodding, I shoved my startled and slightly outraged thoughts into a box and closed the lid, tight. “Lay down,” I ordered, crossing to her side. “There’s no way for me to know for sure, but I can feel around where you were kicked and try to see if there was internal damage.”
She did as I asked, hiccupping, and stared at the ceiling.
The good news was that wombs were made to protect babies. Based on the condition she’d arrived in, the trauma had probably occurred before she was put in the box. She would have noticed bleeding if she were miscarrying.
Feeling through her dress, I tried to be gentle, watching as she flinched. Whoever had kicked her hadn’t spared any force. Unfortunately, just as I’d thought, I wasn’t able to tell anything.
“We’ll just have to wait and see how it goes,” I told her comfortingly. “That’s the best we can do. How are you feeling?”
“Sick,” she replied, laughing slightly. “That’s a good sign, right?”
“I guess.” My experience with pregnancy was limited to my time as a paramedic, before I’d decided to become a history professor. Even then, I’d rarely actually had to use any of the skills I’d been taught. Since being here, I’d picked up small things from other healers, but not so much about this.
“Sammy,” I started, my frustration getting the better of me. “Whose baby is this? What on earth were you thi
nking, getting pregnant? We’re not from this time! We have to be careful!”
“Excuse you,” she said, her tone instantly dangerous as her expression morphed into a glare. “It’s my husband’s.”
I didn’t know how many more surprises I could take today.
“Your husband?” Stepping back, I looked at her like she was crazy. “You’re married?”
“For over a year,” she said briskly, frowning at me.
“How long have you been here?”
Her face softened at that. It was obvious that we had a lot of talking to do.
“Almost two years. You?”
Gulping, I turned my back to her, hands clenching into fists. “Ten,” I said softly.
Hearing her small gasp, I glanced over my shoulder, getting some satisfaction from the expression of sorrow on her face.
“How?” she asked. “How did it happen?”
Chuckling some, I shrugged, moving to face her as I leaned against the wooden wall. “It’s a mystery. I was in Arizona and got caught in a dust storm. When it ended, I was in another time. Of course, it took me a little while to figure that out. It wasn’t a fun period.
“I was in the desert, no city in sight. For a while, I thought I was dreaming. Then I started to wonder how I could have wandered so far away during the storm. It didn’t feel like I’d gone that far—I’d been at a hotel in the middle of the city. It didn’t even seem possible.
“I got sick. There was no water, no food, no anything. I remember laying in the dirt and looking up at the sky, watching vultures circle around. That was when they found me.”
“They?” Her eyebrows raised in surprise.
“The Apache Indians.” Smiling, I could easily recall their faces when they came across me, even though I’d been in a haze of sorts.
“I didn’t understand it then, but they argued about whether or not to take me to their village. The leader, Taklishim—Grey One—thought I was too far gone to bother with. A few of the party agreed with him, but there was a young man who refused to go without me. He said I must be either an offering from the gods, or I was lost and they were being tested to see if they were kind at heart.”
Carried Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book Two) Page 16
