Carried Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book Two)

by Kamery Solomon

  “Not steal,” he corrected me. “We’re going to liberate it. These things were meant to be used, to be seen! When that ship finally catches up with us, I’ll have all I need to know in order to get what I want.”

  “You want the information the men have,” I said, finally catching on. “Not just for the treasure you’re after now, but for the other ones, too. You mean to take the information from them, but only when they least expect it.”

  “You’re a smart man, Snake Eyes. Yes, I intend to attack when they think they have the upper hand. Right now, we have it. Samantha O’Rourke is our biggest bargaining piece. When the time comes, we’ll use her.”

  Numbly, I followed the stairs down into the hold, finding Samantha just where I’d left her, watching as other members of the crew stacked our stolen loot into place, securing it with ropes and nets. The knife I’d given her was tucked into her makeshift belt, her arms folded across her chest as she leaned against the wall, watching them.

  Clearing my throat, I continued to stare at her, feeling a sense of calm and regret settling around me. It was like she was my anchor, the one person who had managed to make me feel like my old self, the man who had been buried beneath all of the mulch and false identities, sacrificed in order to remain alive. As she turned to look at me, her eyes slowly widening, the pain in my heart grew.

  The faces of the men I’d just killed seemed to reflect in her gaze.

  Pushing away from her spot, she came to me and touched my forehead. “Are you okay?” Her voice was full of worry and shock, her fingers covered in blood as she pulled them away.

  “Yeah.” I sounded hoarse, like I hadn’t said anything in years. It felt like I’d been locked away for just as long. Maybe I had been, never fully realizing it until right then.

  Now, she was here, her face sympathetic as she took my hand and squeezed it gently. Her hair spread across her shoulders, long and wild, not like I’d ever seen before in our time. Skin, tanned from being at sea, brushed against mine—skin that had felt things from my century.

  Here was a person who had been flung into the past, but somehow managed to keep herself, when I’d so desperately lost myself. Samantha was the only thing that could bring me back. Standing here with her, watching, as she looked me over, her bottom lip caught between her teeth in worry, I knew she was the savior I needed.

  Blossoming inside me, the realization grabbed hold in the pit of my stomach, flooding me with warmth. Breath caught in my chest, and I allowed myself to look at her the way I’d been longing to. I devoured her image hungrily, memorizing every detail, giving into the hope and relief that she supplied me with.

  “Come on. Let’s get you to the surgery.” Her voice barely permeated the haze that was surrounding me, the sound of my heart beating filling my ears. I didn’t even realize I was following her, clutching her hand tightly as she led me away from all that I’d become lost in. Each step seemed to peel off another protective layer I’d swaddled around my consciousness. Faces flashed before my eyes, battles, lonely nights, Devil Dancers, each a memory that had added to the shell I carried. By the time we reached our destination, everything was gone. I was the man dying in the desert, vultures circling overhead, expecting to eat my corpse.

  Patiently, I waited for the face of Runs With Wolves to flood my vision, to remember what had happened to me, to know why I had done all of the horrible things I’d carried away and locked out of my awareness. When the face finally came, though, it wasn’t my Apache friend I saw.

  It was Sammy.

  “You’re hurt,” she was saying, the front of her shirt covered in blood from my clothes. Slowly, my environment seeped back in. She’d sat me on the table, her hands exploring, touching every part of me, the gory signs of my battle washing her in red. “Your forehead,” she said again, speaking a little slower. “What happened?”

  Blinking, I stared at her, not knowing what to say. For a moment, I couldn’t remember anything but her, standing in front of me, hands outstretched to help.

  Saving me.

  “Shot,” I finally managed to spit out, the image of a sailor pointing a gun at me and firing flitting through my mind. The shot barely grazed me as I rushed forward and cut him down. Now that I thought about it, the spot was burning fiercely.

  She nodded, moving away to the other table, pulling things out and looking at them. A ripping sound reached my ears and I watched as she soaked a strip from her shirt in a bucket of water, picking the barrel up and hauling it over to me. Without saying a word, she began to wipe away the mess, softly, the liquid turning darker each time she put the rag back in to wet it again.

  Love burned in me and I closed my eyes at her touch, reveling in the feel of it. It didn’t matter what our ages were, or that she was married, or that I would never have her in this time or any other. I loved her, even though I desperately wanted not to, revulsion at my own feelings trying to stab at me through the cloud of emotions crowding her. But, how could I not love the woman who had saved me? She brought me back to myself—she understood exactly what it was to be a person lost in time. There had never been another so like myself in my whole life. In the same instance, there had never been anyone so different, so perfectly fitted into the parts of me that were jagged and rough. For as long as I lived, she would be the one who filled those holes, the one whose face I would see when I needed rescuing from the darkness.

  “Mark?”

  Opening my eyes, I let myself fall into her gaze again, drinking up anything she would give me.

  “Are you okay?” she asked urgently, grabbing my face and leaning in close. Staring into my eyes, she turned my head to each side, frowning, before releasing me and stepping back. “What can I put on your cut to stop it from hurting?”

  “It doesn’t hurt,” I replied thickly, suddenly wondering if maybe I had lost a lot of blood and that was why I felt so strange, on top of all of my personal feelings coming to the surface.

  “You’re crying,” she pointed out, looking like she didn’t exactly believe me.

  Surprised, I reached up and touched my face. The moisture that I’d thought was blood was in fact tears. When had I started that?

  Looking back up at her, I opened my mouth to reply and found myself at a loss for words. The faces of the men I’d killed came to mind again and my newly revealed self felt the full brunt of what I’d done, no layer of protection in place to convince myself I’d acted as needed.

  “Sam,” I started shakily, feeling the tears as they gathered in my eyes.

  “It’s okay,” she said quickly, leaning forward and wrapping her arms around me firmly. “I think you’re in shock. Everything is fine.”

  “Those men.” Holding her tightly to me, the wall of emotions finally burst, and I sobbed against her shoulder. I cried for the lives I’d taken, the life I’d forced myself to live, and the life that had been lost in the desert, all those years ago.

  Mark Bell had died that day and the man who’d replaced him was not someone I wanted to be.

  Now, with Sam’s help, I was crawling to the surface, fighting through the demons that tried to hold me back, breathing life into Mark Bell when it should have been impossible to do so.

  But nothing was impossible with Samantha at my side. It was her strength that brought me back, my love for her that made it possible to dig my way out of the pile of hate and fear I was buried under.

  I didn’t know how long I sobbed, or why I was having such a powerful reaction, but she never let me go. Her arms stayed around me, comforting phrases whispered in my ear, her hand brushing through my hair. There was no judgment from her, no condemnation for behaving in such a manner, which made me love her even more.

  As I finally started to calm down, new resolutions formed like concrete inside me. Randall meant her harm on some level and it wasn’t going to happen as long as I was around. No one would lay a finger on her again, even if it meant that I fought every single Black Knight on this ship in her place. Her husband would see
her returned in good health and happiness if it killed me. Samantha would be reunited with her Tristan if it were the last thing I did, because it would be the one thing that would make her happiest. She would be safe with him, safer among the Templar Knights, and that was enough to calm my aching heart as I thought of losing her completely.

  Truth be told, she was already lost to me, and I knew that, but it didn’t hurt my resolve at all. Everything I did from this point would be for her and in her best interests.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled, regretfully leaning away from her and wiping my face with the sleeve of my shirt. The action only made me dirtier and I laughed, sniffing as I tried to compose myself.

  “Don’t be sorry.” She smiled, a gesture that seemed more understanding than anything else, and continued her work, wiping my face off again. “You did what you had to do. We’ve both done it. Sometimes it just catches up with you, that’s all.” Her tone was so dismissive and final that I believed she truly didn’t hold anything against me.

  “You were all right in the hold?” I asked, anxious to know how the battle had been for her and to make sure I wasn’t accidentally missing her own wounds in my overly emotional state.

  “I was fine,” she replied, nodding. “No one even came in until it was all over. I was worried when you didn’t come right away.”

  “Sorry,” I mumbled, instantly chastising myself for not being the first one to return. Of course she would have worried. Why had I let myself get caught up in the fight? Why hadn’t I stopped and thought about what I was doing?

  “You’re here now. That’s all that’s important.”

  Her words made me feel light and a bit dizzy. Actually, maybe that was my gunshot wound.

  “Am I still bleeding?” I asked quickly, grabbing onto the table as the room started spinning around me.

  “A little,” she answered in a matter of fact tone. “But not bad. I don’t think you’ll even have a scar.”

  A knock at the door interrupted my reply and we both turned to see who it was, the action making me feel like I needed to vomit.

  “What’s this?” Captain Randall stood in the doorway, looking just as he had on the ship when he’d told me part of his plans. “Are you injured, Snake Eyes? I thought you were fine just a while ago.”

  “He was shot in the head,” Sam replied, folding her arms as she glared at him. “Didn’t you notice the blood all over his face?”

  He seemed somewhat put off, but the excitement from the catch had put him in a good mood. He came closer, glancing me over with interest. “I don’t think I realized it was yours, Snake Eyes. I’ll send White in to tend you. He was our unofficial doctor before you showed up.”

  “I can handle his injuries just fine,” Sam said through clenched teeth.

  “What’s the matter?” Randall sneered at her, having finally decided to acknowledge her presence. “Have you fallen for your captor yet again? Poor Tristan will be devastated to hear that you’ve forgotten him so soon.”

  Her hand snaked out so fast that I didn’t even have time to blink before she’d struck him across the face, a red mark instantly blossoming across his cheek.

  “We both know who wins in a fight between the two of us,” she hissed back, daring to enter his personal space and speak right in his face. “Or don’t you remember? I’ve beaten you once. I could do it again.”

  This Sam was somewhat frightening. There was a flash of what I’d just gotten rid of in myself, the darkness that we had to use to survive at times. It was news to me that the two of them had dueled before and I watched the exchange with mild alarm and interest.

  Randall smiled, a laugh shaking him as he straightened, looking down at her. “You only won that fight because you had men to back you up,” he said coldly. “Do you really think you won because you were better than me?” His voice sank dangerously low and he stepped forward, making her move against the table, her hip brushing my knee. “It didn’t make sense to kill you then, so I didn’t. It was luck that you managed to land a blow on me at all.”

  He moved even closer, causing her to back up out of what seemed to be instinct, wedging herself between my legs, almost entirely blocking my view of him.

  “Victory or death, Missus O’Rourke,” he breathed, taking a piece of her hair in his hand. He rubbed it between his fingers, eyeing it as if he were truly interested in its qualities and the woman it was attached to. “As of yet, you have not experienced either.”

  “I hope you burn in Hell.” Her voice held only the tiniest bit of fear, but he heard it, just as I did, and laughed gleefully.

  “Haven’t you noticed?” He motioned all around us. “We’re already there! Look outside—the fires of the Devil burn across the water.”

  “You would compare yourself to Satan?” She seemed appalled, pressing against me like she wanted to be as far away from him as possible.

  At the moment, I rather thought he was embodying the father of all evil, the expression on his face one that could turn people to stone. His entire body was tense, angling all of the hatred that was rolling off him toward us.

  “Even Lucifer was an angel, thrown from Heaven for believing in a cause unworthy to God. Tell me, what does that sound like to you?” His eyes searched hers eagerly, his tongue darting out and licking his lips as he waited for her to reply.

  “You’re no angel, Randall,” she whispered bitterly. “And the things you did were not a worthy cause.”

  “Who are you to play God to my plans?” he snapped, raising a hand to strike her.

  “Stop!” Surprised by the sound of my own voice, I was shocked to see I’d grabbed his wrist before he could hit her, my free arm snaking around her and holding her protectively. Trying to think of a good reason for why I would have stopped him, I let go of them both, nodding at him. “She’ll be fine enough as a nurse. If you rough her up now, I’ll have to put up with White’s prodding. My head hurts bad enough as it is.”

  He glared at me, clearly not happy to have been interrupted, but backed away all the same. “Very well.” Then, peering back at Sam, he gave her a look of condescension, laughing lightly as he took his leave. “This devil has things to do elsewhere.”

  “We can’t sell the goods in Veracruz,” White announced, a good majority of the crew agreeing with him. “They’ll spot us as pirates right from the start. Captain’s ordered a pit stop on the way, to empty the hold and recharge before heading on.”

  A buzz of excitement washed over the group again, the men grinning like fools.

  “Is it Nassau?” Flanagan asked, showing a rare amount of enthusiasm. “Tell me it’s Nassau!”

  “Boys.” White beamed at all of them, just as thrilled as the crew anxiously awaiting his reply. “We’re headed for Nassau’s white, sandy shores!”

  Cheering, the men clapped each other on the back, chattering excitedly, their duties forgotten for the time being.

  “Three days of leave, for the whole crew!” White yelled over the din, creating even more uproariously loud celebration.

  Chuckling, I watched the masses below, scratching around the edges of the scab that was forming at my hairline. Sam had been right; the bullet graze wasn’t too bad, but had bled a lot because it was a head wound.

  Glancing behind me, I caught sight of her, standing at the very rear of the deck, looking out over the water as usual. I’d given her one of my own shirts, a black fabric that fit her better than what she’d been wearing previously. While her bruises had faded, she still had the look of a ragged prisoner, her glowing happiness that I so longed to see sinking further and further away each day.

  Aside from waiting for Tristan to come for her, I knew she was worried about the baby. When the morning sickness started to go away, she’d confided in me that she felt her sudden lack of symptoms had meant something was wrong. That had been a few days ago, with no throwing up or nausea to speak of. I’d done my best to reassure her it was normal—she was nearing the end of her first trimester, from what we cou
ld tell—and she should have been starting to feel better. However, I couldn’t shake my own worries that something was wrong.

  Rolling waves and calm seas brought us to Nassau in another week, the island’s pale beaches and blue waters overloaded me with a sense of excitement I hadn’t dared feel since Sam came aboard. I considered trying to sneak her away while we were anchored, but in the end decided it would be too much of a risk. The place was always overrun with pirates, who wouldn’t think twice about raping her, even if I was there to defend her. Randall would probably hunt us both down and kill me. Tristan might never find her if he was chasing after the ship, as well.

  So, we found ourselves in a long boat, being rowed toward land with Randall at the helm, three more vessels full of cargo behind us. The harbor was a flurry of activity, as was the beach, pirates littering almost every space the eye could see. Shacks rested against the tree line, old sails strung over the tops of the huts like a giant canopy. Beyond the shoreline was the town, bustling with activity and sound. It appeared just as it had the last time I’d been here, except for the large, imposing, castle-like structure resting on the small hill beside the port.

  “The fort is new,” Randall called, pointing to the building. “Is it the Navy’s? They’re doing a rather poor job if it is.”

  “Private investors,” White answered calmly, rowing as if it cost him no effort at all. “Ones willing to turn a blind eye in trade for good profits.”

  “Do you know them?” Randall asked, curious.

  The two fell into a conversation about the powers that controlled this place, palm trees swaying on the sand in front of them, seeming to welcome us to the den of thievery.

  “Are you okay?” I asked Sam quietly, worried by the pained look on her face.

  “Fine,” she breathed. “Just a backache. I’m excited to sleep in a real bed tonight.”

  Frowning, I thought of the room we would be renting in the brothel. Randall, apparently, had also thought Sam might try running away while on land. The whore house was the best place to lock her up, seeing as how any man who went in there was immediately occupied by some woman who wanted his money. The Templars wouldn’t hardly be able to move one inch without being detained long enough for us to make our escape. However, even if Sam did somehow manage to get away, anyone here would turn her in; Randall would pay to have her back.