Wherever You Are

by Sharon Cullen

  “You would what?”

  “I won’t let him near you. I swear on my life I will not let him touch you again.” He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and opened them. “Trust me, Juliana.”

  Morgan entered his cabin. He’d stayed up on deck long after he should have retired for the evening. He knew he was procrastinating, putting off the inevitable conversation he didn’t want to have with Juliana. Her words made his blood run cold, but it hadn’t surprised him. He had come to the same conclusion. Barun would not let her go easily and neither would he wait long to make her his.

  Morgan understood her fear, had lived with its twin since his escape three years ago. He knew the terror of the mere thought of being in Barun’s care and never would he visit that upon Juliana.

  He would protect her. He would lay his life down for her. But what then? He would be dead and Barun would still come after her. An obsession had been born on the Bhaya and Morgan knew the man enough to realize nothing short of death would stand in his way when there was something he wanted. And he wanted Juliana.

  Could he do it? Could he kill her to save her?

  She stood at the large windows overlooking the wake of the Adam. The night was almost sinister. The candles she’d lit to conquer the dark burnished her once pale skin a tempered gold. Her hair, always blonde was nearly white from the sun.

  He’d spent the better part of the voyage avoiding her when all he wanted to do was touch her, lay her on the bed and stroke her, feel her skin against his and make her cry out. He’d convinced himself he was no good for her while she tried to convince him otherwise.

  The truth was Juliana was far braver than he. Deep down he was a coward. He wouldn’t tell her the truth because he feared her disgust at the man he’d become. He couldn’t face her reaction and so he hid behind a cold indifference that for some reason didn’t affect her but merely drew her closer.

  And yet he still couldn’t tell her he was Zach. Because he was afraid.

  Giving in to the need he’d been fighting, he stroked her hair and placed a kiss on the top of her head. Here they were, in a race for their lives and all he thought about was himself.

  Their only defense was to run. To use all his sailing knowledge to make this ship move faster than Barun’s. If they got to London first he had a chance, a slim chance, of hiding Juliana away. If Isabelle reached London before them and if she was waiting for them. Those were a lot of ifs.

  His hand settled on her stiff shoulder and he rubbed the tense muscles. “He can’t get to you tonight, Juliana. He’s far away and I have watchmen posted throughout the ship.”

  She leaned her head against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her. Together they watched the moon play off the waves.

  With a nudge of his fingers under her chin, he tilted her head up. Her green eyes were a blank canvass, all emotion tucked carefully away where he couldn’t reach her. He’d seen that look before, after he’d had her flogged. Her defense mechanism. A way to cope with the uncopable. And who could blame her?

  “Ah, Juliana.” Come back to me. It was too cruel to ask. Unfair to expect her to act as if their lives weren’t in danger. Yet, he wanted his Juliana back for one last night. They were a day from London and no matter how he looked at it, this was their last night together. Whether Barun caught up with them or they made it to London, this was the end of the line for them.

  He leaned down and kissed her, a soft kiss meant to bring some life to her.

  He led her to the bed, laid her on the soft feather mattress like he’d fantasized about doing for days and climbed up beside her. Her eyes were open; she seemed to be watching him but there was no reaction. Please come back to me. He kissed her neck, her shoulder. Fifteen years of dreaming of her and she lay beneath him. He still had a hard time grasping the concept. His Juliana with him. Here. Now. He wanted to weep he was so happy and yet so heartbroken.

  He’d had his share of women over the years, but none compared to Juliana. Every one of them he’d walked away from with a sense of something missing, an incompleteness that bothered him. It had just been sex, a physical joining to relieve the tension, and they had been nothing more than receptacles to receive his pent-up tension.

  Juliana was different. With her, he finally felt complete. Soon she would be gone and he would be alone again, but tonight he wouldn’t think about that. Tonight he would live for the present, not the past or the future.

  “Morgan.”

  He smiled down at her. She was there, with him. Fifteen years ago they’d been teenagers fumbling in the dark, unsure, yet in love. They were different now, in all ways. And yet the same.

  He looked deep into her eyes. How could she not know? How could she not see who he was? It hurt yet he didn’t blame her. She wouldn’t expect to meet Zach here. She didn’t know the history of the mirror and he was positive she still didn’t know how she got here.

  He brushed her hair from her face. She looked up at him with trusting eyes, bright with unshed tears. Something stabbed at his heart. Betrayal. He’d done nothing but betray her and lie to her. He of all people knew what she was going through, how lonely and scared she felt and yet he still kept silent about his true identity. Yes, he was a coward of the worst sort.

  “Make love to me,” she whispered. “Please.”

  He wanted to stay there forever, never leave her side, never say goodbye. If he couldn’t give her that, he would give her this last request. “Absolutely,” he said.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Juliana finally managed to make it up the steps to the forecastle. It took some practice. She about fell on her face twice after tripping over the long skirts Morgan unearthed from some trunk of Isabelle’s. What she wouldn’t do for her worn, torn and holey Levis. But they wouldn’t be lying in the bottom of her closet until two-hundred-odd years from now.

  Today was bittersweet. Last night she felt Morgan finally and truly open up to her. Their lovemaking had been sweet and tender and she almost felt the emotions he kept bottled up pouring out of him. This morning he seemed a little less distanced yet they were set to reach England this afternoon.

  If Barun didn’t reach them first.

  As soon as she stepped onto the forecastle, she immediately sensed the tension on the ship. It wasn’t uncommon to see weapons strapped to the men. Most considered themselves undressed if they were without at least one. But today they were decked out. Pistols were strapped to their chests and tucked into the waistbands of their pants. Not one, but two cutlasses hung at their sides. There were no jokes or jests, no sense of excitement that they were finally, after all this time, close to making land.

  Morgan made it clear it was a race against Barun to see who would make it first. The one thing she loved about Morgan was that he didn’t hide the truth from her. He spelled it out carefully and completely.

  The Bhaya stood off the starboard side, its form disfigured by the loss of its main sail. She and Morgan hadn’t spoken again about her request but she sensed in him an acceptance. He would do what was needed to keep her from Barun’s clutches. It was all she could ask even though it was too much to ask. She didn’t want to die enslaved to another man. She’d rather die free and Morgan understood. Possibly he was the only one who would understand.

  Dodging sailors, she hurried port side. England stood an equal distance away. So far. Too far. Even at full sail they might not make it. How had the Bhaya reached them with one less sail?

  A large blast sounded from behind the Adam and with stunned horror, Juliana watched a cannonball fly over the bow, feet from her, and land in the ocean, sending a spray of water at least twenty feet into the air. Galvanized into action, sailors yelled orders to others. The cannons were prepared for firing.

  Morgan suddenly appeared, taking the steps to the forecastle two at a time, his lips pulled tight, eyes fierce, weapons strapped to him. No longer was he the tender lover of the night before but a warrior.

  He took her by the shoulders. “Are you
all right?” He looked her over as if expecting to see a cannonball-sized hole in her. He pulled her tightly against him. “My God,” he said. “I saw that shot go straight toward you. There was nothing I could do. Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine. They missed.”

  “They weren’t aiming for us. It was a warning shot. They want us to heave to, bring her to a standstill.”

  “What will they do if you don’t? Heave to, I mean.”

  He grimaced, the truth plain in his brown eyes. “The Bhaya will attack.”

  She watched the sailors on the various decks hurrying about to ready the ship for attack, climbing the sails in the hopes of gaining a little more speed. So many lives lost if the Bhaya attacked. Her gaze came back to Morgan. “You can’t risk these men’s lives to save mine.”

  “That’s not the way it works, Juliana. If we’re boarded, we’re all taken prisoner.” Morgan squeezed her shoulder. “Go below, lock yourself in my cabin.”

  She was shaking her head before he finished speaking. She would not play the damsel in distress. If something happened, she wanted to watch it unfold, not hide. She wanted to help and she wanted to be prepared.

  The shore drew closer but it was taking a lot longer than she’d anticipated to reach England. The Adam had a bit of luck with the winds and the fact she was operating with more sails than the Bhaya. She managed to keep out of firing range, but the Bhaya continued to hover off the starboard side, inching closer. A shadowy menace.

  Morgan and his crew coaxed every bit of speed out of the sails, used every bit of cunning and knowledge to outrace the Bhaya. Knowing once they reached English waters, Barun wouldn’t dare attack.

  A shout went up. The entire crew seemed to pause, their gazes trained port side. A third ship entered the deadly dance. The unidentified ship slipped between them, effectively cutting the Bhaya off from the Adam and another cheer rose up. Juliana joined in, surprise mingled with relief.

  They made it.

  The mysterious third ship kept her distance yet never wavered in her protection, and now the crew trimmed the sails, preparing to drop anchor in London, England.

  The expression in Morgan’s eyes when he approached Juliana, however, was dour.

  “Isabelle’s ship managed to give us time to make it to port,” he said. “Once we drop anchor, I want you off this ship as swiftly as possible. Isabelle will be waiting for you on the docks. Go with her, she’ll keep you safe.”

  A flutter of apprehension tickled Juliana’s stomach. This was it, the moment she’d been dreading. She was leaving the ship and stepping into another country, in another century, leaving Morgan behind. To hide her shaking hands she buried them in her skirts.

  His eyes were turbulent, troubled. She sensed his withdrawal, aching to reach up and touch his cheek, to feel the rough stubble of his jaw. Instead she sent a prayer to heaven he would stay alive.

  “I want to thank you for everything. I…” Her words got stuck in her throat and she had to swallow. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.” She attempted to smile, but her lips trembled. “We started out rocky, but I think we can safely say we’re…friends.” Oh, how that word hurt because he was much more than a friend. But she sensed he wasn’t ready for her to be more, and may never be. They’d made love, he'd saved her life, yet it didn’t seem to be enough.

  “I’ll get in touch with you,” he said, his expression closing off any emotion he might be feeling.

  “Be careful, Morgan. Keep safe.” She laid her palm against his chest where his heart beat.

  He took her hand, placed a kiss on her palm and nodded. She watched him walk away, her heart thudding with each step. She couldn’t let it end this way, yet her fear made the words she wanted to say stick in her throat. You’re in the eighteenth century, Juliana. You’ll probably never see the man again. Just tell him.

  But he’d already disappeared from sight.

  Juliana disembarked from the tender. Her sense of foreboding had little to do with finally reaching London. She turned to take one last look at the Adam, searching for Morgan among the men scurrying about the deck. She wanted to climb back in the tender and row back to him, but what then? He didn’t need her. His mind was already on securing the ship and going after Barun. He was probably relieved to be rid of her.

  A light touch on her arm drew her attention and she turned to Isabelle. Or Lady Isabelle. She didn’t look at all like the woman who saved Juliana from a flogging. This Isabelle was the epitome of nobility in her long dress with all that black hair gathered at the back of her neck and an impressive emerald pendant at her throat. A carriage stood behind her with impatient horses stomping their hooves and tossing their heads. If Juliana had any delusions she was in the twenty-first century the horse-drawn carriage and Isabelle’s attire shattered it.

  And the smell. The smell of the eighteenth century was atrocious. Dead fish, unwashed humanity, rotting vegetation and just plain stink clogged her senses. Bedraggled and dirty, the people spoke English but it was an English she’d never heard and the ability to understand them far beyond her at the moment.

  They drew a crowd. It wasn’t the nice sort of welcome-wagon kind of crowd either. These ragged, dirty, hungry-looking people would happily slice her throat. Instinctively, she stepped closer to Isabelle even though the carriage driver looked as if he could take them all on, never mind the four other men on horseback waiting for them.

  “We need to go.” Isabelle guided Juliana toward the coach. A man, dressed in a uniform of scarlet and silver, opened the door of the coach. Juliana settled into the dark blue velvet seat across from Isabelle. Her dress bunched underneath her and made it difficult to sit. Suddenly she realized how much she had to learn in order to survive—from smoothing her voluminous skirts, to learning a new language. The coach door closed with a snap and after a yell from the driver they were off.

  Juliana grabbed onto the seat. Shock absorbers, apparently, had not been invented yet.

  Pushing the curtain aside, she peered out the window. The Adam grew smaller as they drew away from the docks. She couldn’t help but feel she was leaving a large part of herself behind.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Juliana stared into the flames of the fire, her feet tucked beneath her, nightgown pulled over her knees.

  She hated London. A fine mist perpetually hung over the city, dampening everything and frizzing her hair. She hated the damn dresses and the smell of horses that permeated everything. She hated that the servants waited on her every whim, anticipating her needs before she did.

  For goodness sake, she couldn’t even refill her own teacup! She guessed it came from living with a mother who treated her daughter like her personal servant or maybe it was a sense of decency, of humanity, of thinking no one person was better than another.

  Numerous times she tried to extricate herself from the Parker’s hospitality, determined to find her own lodging and begin her search for employment. She wouldn’t need a lot of time or money. Just enough to get by until she remembered how she got here and figured out how to get back home. But Isabelle wouldn’t let her leave the townhouse without an escort and Juliana didn’t want to hurt the Parker’s feelings or appear ungrateful that she wanted to find her own place to live.

  A log fell in the fireplace, hissing loudly and sending up sparks. She wanted to be back on the Adam, beneath the shining sun with the waves under her feet and the clouds above her head. She wanted to hear the sailors sing as they went about their work. She wanted to feel the wind in her hair and stare out at the endless ocean.

  She wanted Morgan.

  He was in town, damn him. She heard Isabelle tell Reed. Juliana had been walking past Reed’s study, on the way to the library, when she heard Morgan’s name mentioned. She stopped at the closed door and pressed her ear to it to learn Morgan was searching for Barun who was believed to also be in London.

  So why hadn’t Morgan been by? Why hadn’t he made any effort to see her?

&nb
sp; Someone knocked on her door. Juliana hesitated, wanting to be left alone but not wanting to appear rude. Reluctantly she stood and opened the door. A whirlwind in lavender and white swept in.

  “Oh, good, you’re awake.”

  The girl plopped onto the bed. Her skirts billowed around her. She batted them down. Bright blue eyes twinkled with a mischievousness Juliana didn’t quite trust. Raven black hair with thick curls, the kind women in the twenty-first century tortured themselves with perms and hot rollers to achieve, fell over petite shoulders. She looked all of eighteen.

  “Do I know you?”

  “I apologize.” Her eyes twinkled even more. “My name is Sophia Parker. I’m Reed’s sister. What are you wearing to the ball tonight?”

  Ah, Sophia. Juliana heard Reed and Isabelle speak of Sophia. It was always with a slight eye roll and a what-are-we-going-to-do-with-her tone.

  “What ball?”

  Sophia Parker blinked. “The ball,” she repeated, as if that explained everything.

  Juliana fell into a chair by the fire, massaging her aching temples and wishing the last two days away. Life on the Adam had been much simpler.

  “Apparently, Isabelle didn’t tell you about the ball,” Sophia said.

  “No, she didn’t.” This was the last thing Juliana needed. Maybe Isabelle hadn’t told her because she wasn’t expected to attend. That thought lifted her spirits a little.

  “There’s to be a ball tonight. Isabelle’s Aunt Sylvia loves to give them. We’re expected to attend.”

  “Am I expected to attend?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” Sophia appeared confused.

  “Why do I have to attend?”

  “Well…because.” Her ebony eyebrows furrowed. “Why wouldn’t you attend? Invitations are sought after.”

  “Because I’ve never been to a ball before and I have nothing to wear.” Ah, the age-old dilemma. She didn’t know anyone and she didn’t have anything to wear and the boy she wanted to go to the dance with hadn’t asked her. In fact, he hadn’t even acknowledged her existence since she stepped onto London’s soil.