Wherever You Are

by Sharon Cullen

  “Yeah, you could walk the plank,” Molly said.

  Zach scowled at her. Didn’t his dumb sister see this girl wasn’t the type to walk a plank? She was too…small. Or something.

  “Sure,” Juliana said, still being real quiet. Zach wasn’t used to quiet people. In his family if you wanted to be heard, you yelled.

  “Cool. I’m the pirate.” He pointed to himself with his cutlass/stick. “And Molly’s my prisoner. She knows where the buried treasure is and if she doesn’t tell me she has to walk the plank and die. Who do you wanna be?”

  Juliana looked at him with wide green eyes, like she’d never played pirate or something. “I dunno. Whatever, I guess.”

  Zach thought about what part Juliana could play. He stood on one leg while absently scratching a mosquito bite on the other.

  “I know. You be the queen and I have to rescue you and then we get married.” His face got kinda hot thinking about marrying her. Juliana’s face was red, like she was sunburned. It hadn’t been red before.

  Molly scoffed. “Pirates can’t marry queens, you dumb head.”

  He swung around to his sister. “Why not?”

  Ordinarily, he wouldn’t let Molly get away with calling him a dumb head. Normally he would tackle her to the ground and pin her there until she said she didn’t mean it. But he didn’t want to do that in front of Juliana.

  Molly crossed her arms over her chest again and got that look that said he was such a…dumb head.

  “Because queens have to marry kings. It’s the law.”

  “Oh.” Molly was right. Queens didn’t marry pirates. What was he thinking? Because if queens married pirates then pirates would have to stop…pirating…and that was really dumb. Why would anyone stop pirating?

  “Juliana!”

  Juliana jumped and looked behind her. The voice that called her name was shrill and not very nice sounding. Zach remembered the kids at school said her mother was a drunk and mean. Zach felt sorry for her and he also had a strange feeling, like he should protect her from her mother. But that was dumb because kids didn’t need protecting from their parents. His own parents were pretty cool even though they made him do chores like make his bed and stuff.

  “I gotta go,” she said, looking behind her again.

  “Can’tcha ask her to stay?”

  She shook her head. Her blonde curls got stuck on her eyelashes and her green eyes looked scared. She pushed the hair out of her face and before he knew it she disappeared into the flowers, as if she hadn’t even been there at all.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Juliana stroked Morgan’s hair. Her body ached and exhaustion weighed her down but she didn’t sleep. She was too afraid he’d die while she slept. By staying awake, he stayed alive. She knew she wasn’t thinking rationally but she was beyond rational thought.

  Earlier she felt the Bhaya jump to the wind like a horse released from the starting gate. She tried to ignore her panic, fought not to give in to it. Yet the questions wouldn’t stop coming. Did anyone know where they were? How was she going to escape from a ship in the middle of the ocean with Morgan so hurt?

  The hand buried in Morgan’s hair balled into a fist, clutching strands of the thick mane. Her head fell back and she closed her eyes on a sob.

  The ship picked up speed. She could tell by the rise and fall of the hull. She listened as men moved above them. Occasionally, the sound of laughter floated through the boards above her head. Voices raised in anger grew, then faded.

  The sound of approaching footsteps had her tensing. Carefully, so as not to disturb him, Juliana lifted Morgan’s head from her lap to stand. The blood rushed to her legs sending pinpricks of pain shooting through her lower extremities. The footsteps stopped at her door. A young boy, no more than twelve stepped in, placed a plate of food and a mug on the floor along with a lantern then retreated.

  The light hit Morgan’s face. Blood caked his cuts and bruises. His face was so swollen she almost didn’t recognize him. His hair was loose and tangled and matted with dried blood.

  “Morgan?” She shook him lightly and he groaned. “Morgan, wake up.”

  He struggled to sit up, pressing his arm against his ribs and wincing with each tiny move. She tried to help him, but he waved her away.

  She held up the plate of biscuits. “Food.”

  She dunked a hard biscuit in the beer and held it out to him. He looked at their surroundings. The room was larger than she first thought and carefully cleaned out. There was nothing here. No straw, no forgotten barrels, no exit except for the door they’d been brought through. It was obvious Barun prepared this place to hold his captives.

  “Where are we?” Morgan asked.

  “On the Bhaya.”

  He took the biscuit she kept shoving at him and bit down, watching her with a narrowed eye. “I know that,” he said, sounding more like the old Morgan. “I mean where are we headed?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  He finished his biscuit and scooted back slowly until he was resting against the wall. His eyes drifted closed. He jerked his head, but eventually he lost the fight and nodded off.

  Juliana took his hand and squeezed, willing her strength into him. Time passed and the steady up-and-down motion of the ship lulled her to sleep. However, even in sleep she had to touch her husband, afraid if she let go for even a moment he would slip away forever.

  Another set of footsteps outside their door had her jerking awake. She scrambled to her feet, placing herself in front of Morgan. The door opened, a crack at first, then wider until John slipped in. He studied Morgan slumped against the wall unconscious, and turned tortured eyes to Juliana.

  “I didn’t know,” he whispered.

  She didn’t feel sorry for him, not after what he’d done and not even for the reasons he did it.

  “He wants t’ see you.” John’s gaze fell on his former captain.

  Juliana clutched fistfuls of her skirt, willing herself to breath. “Who wants to see me?”

  “Barun. I’m to take you to him.”

  Her heart beat erratically and her stomach churned. As much as she didn’t want to leave Morgan alone, afraid of him slipping quietly away from her, she couldn’t ignore this summons.

  She sank to her heels in front of Morgan, pushing his hair away from his face. “I love you.” She brushed a kiss across his lips and one across his forehead before pressing her cheek to his. Tears pricked the back of her eyes but she blinked them away.

  “We have to hurry,” John said. “You don’t want to make him angry.”

  Her anger flickered then died. They were on the ocean sailing to only God knew where. Right now they were at his mercy until she thought of a way to free them. She stood and with one last lingering look at Morgan, walked out of their prison.

  John led her across the forecastle, up the quarterdeck and down a short flight of steps to the captain’s cabin. Surreptitiously, she looked around but saw only endless miles of churning, pewter gray sea. Land was long gone and not another ship in sight. Some part of her had hoped and prayed Isabelle would come after them in a daring rescue attempt. But she was alone, a twenty-first century woman fighting an eighteenth-century evil with no weapon and no means of escape.

  Far too soon they reached the door to Barun’s cabin.

  Before knocking, John turned to Juliana. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t know.”

  “And that makes what you did acceptable? If you’re looking for forgiveness, you won’t find it here.”

  His blue eyes flared with pain and she felt an unwanted glimmer of sympathy. She placed a hand on John’s arm. “Do you know for certain Andrew is alive? Did Barun provide proof he has your brother?”

  He lowered his lids and when he raised them again there was determination in his eyes. “I had to do what I could.”

  Against her will, she understood. Barun was an evil man, using a combination of brute force, fear and mental manipulation to get people to do what he
wanted. They were effective weapons, but Barun didn’t corner the market on mental manipulation. Juliana learned at the knee of an expert. Her mother.

  She smoothed her skirts and squared her shoulders then nodded to John.

  When she stepped across the threshold, a strange combination of anticipation and apprehension settled in her stomach.

  Barun waved her forward. “Sit down, please.” He pulled a chair out for her and she sat, eyeing him skeptically as she folded her hands in her lap.

  Barun paced behind the desk, chuckling to himself every once in a while. He waved his hand in the air, a la Vanna White, indicating an old sword lying across his desk.

  The Holy Lance. A piece of history that promised great things to those who owned it. It wasn’t shiny like Morgan’s beloved cutlass. It had no engraved hilt or fancy scrollwork.

  “I wanted you to see what my slave took such a severe beating for.” Barun rested his hip on the front of his desk. “I also wanted you to see that no one, not even the revered Morgan, can hold out against me when I want something.” Barun leaned forward until she could smell the rum on his breath and the heavy cologne seeping from his pores.

  “I want you, Juliana. I want you by my side when I take my rightful place as ruler of the Indian Ocean. As I conquer new lands, I want you with me.”

  Tears of frustration burned the back of her throat. Crying, Juliana? Her mother’s words mocked her, echoing through centuries, giving her the strength she needed.

  You have your own weapon, Juliana. Use it.

  She stared at the lance, hating it. Hating that a piece of metal held her life in the balance.

  Barun watched her, as if trying to read her inner thoughts, dig into her brain and discover her secrets. If this man knew her secrets, discovered when and where she was born and lived her entire life he would tumble into a void far beyond the insanity he now lived.

  He paced around her chair, tightening the circle with each rotation. She felt cornered, stalked. Exactly what he wants you to feel.

  She knew what she had to do. Saying the words, however, proved difficult. “Why do you want me by your side?”

  “Because, sanam, you are different from the women of my country. Your beauty far surpasses any I have encountered.”

  “What about Morgan?”

  “What about him?”

  “I’m married to him. I carry his name.” I may even be carrying his child. The shocking thought came from nowhere and instinctively her hand covered her abdomen in an age-old protective fashion. Her mind raced with new questions and she began counting back, but the dates were all jumbled in her head. She definitely hadn’t had her period while in the eighteenth century, but did the dates line up with the twenty-first?

  What if she were carrying Morgan’s child?

  Barun was watching her closely and she schooled her features, hiding the shock she was feeling inside. This changed everything if she were. Suddenly everything took on new meaning and a much greater urgency because deep down she knew she was carrying Morgan’s child. She’d been here well over a month and they’d made love enough times to conceive. With difficulty she pulled her attention back to the conversation.

  “You can’t ignore our marriage,” she said.

  “Morgan is a slave now. Your marriage is no longer valid.”

  She stomped down on her anger. No longer valid? Of course it was still valid. He wasn’t God. He didn’t have the authority to annul a marriage. She pretended to consider that logic, then gave him what she hoped was a sly look. “What kind of riches will you give me?”

  Barun paused. She’d changed tactics too soon, hadn’t pretended to think about it long enough. An error on her part.

  “Anything. Everything,” he said.

  “Everything?” She laughed, but the sound was too shrill and she quickly cut it off before he recognized her anxiety. “What if I wanted the moon?”

  He stepped up to her and took her chin in his hand. It took every bit of willpower not to jerk away, to look deep into the bottomless cavern of his soulless black eyes. “I will give you the moon, sanam.”

  She closed her eyes briefly and let the tears she’d been holding back leak out. “I’m tired,” she whispered. “So tired, Sanjit. I just want this all to stop.” That wasn’t a lie.

  He drew in a breath when she spoke his given name and his hand on her chin trembled. “I can stop it, Juliana. I can make it all go away. Let me help you. Let me take care of you.”

  She almost believed him. Almost succumbed to his smooth words and the determination and truth in his eyes. He would make it all go away. He truly believed that with him, her life would be complete.

  She looked up at him knowing the tears made her eyes appear greener, more luminous, hoping it would work on him. “Will you? Will you really take care of me?”

  His expression softened and for the first time there was real emotion there. A possessiveness that made her want to shudder in revulsion. She would be his, but she would always be a prisoner. Never free. “Always, Juliana.”

  She hated the sound of her name coming from his lips. “May I ask one thing of you, then?”

  The possessiveness was met with triumph. She felt the trap closing and wondered who was being trapped.

  “You have but to name it and it is yours.”

  She took a deep breath. “I would like to treat Morgan’s wounds. I want clean water, clean rags, bedding and decent food.”

  Barun’s hand tightened on her chin until she feared her jaw would crack under the pressure. She pressed her lips together to keep from crying out but tears of pain sprang to her eyes. He let go and walked around his desk to sit in his chair. He studied her for a long time, his fingers steepled under his chin.

  “Why do you ask such things for a slave?” He spit the word out and his features twisted into such revulsion she was taken aback. What had Morgan ever done to this man to inspire such hatred?

  “What good is he injured and dying?” She stood and walked around the room, feeling his gaze bore into her. She’d learned the art of lying as a child and she’d become an expert at it. She hadn’t had to lie in a long time and hoped she wasn’t too rusty.

  “He’s a strong man, a strong back to row your ships.” She turned, leaned against a small table and crossed her arms beneath her breasts.

  She was playing with fire. Knew it the moment she saw his gaze drop to her breasts nearly spilling out of her gown and he balled his hands into fists. She took a deep breath, the action pushing her breasts higher. Barun swallowed.

  “Give me five days alone with him and he will be good as new. He will be a useful slave after that.”

  “In those five days you will meet with me every day,” he said, his gaze still trained on her breasts.

  She hesitated. “Meet with you how?” Not to have sex, please God, not to have sex.

  He shrugged and raised his gaze to hers. He wasn’t nearly as taken with her breasts as she thought because there was calculation in his eyes and a smile across his face.

  On the way back to the hold, Juliana leaned over the side of the ship and threw up.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Five days. Five days to heal Morgan. Five days to be his wife. Five days before she had to give herself to Barun. That was the bargain she struck. Five days for her body. She tried not to think about it but it was a constant loop in her head. Five days, five days, five days.

  In return, Barun sent clean rags, clean water, bedding and decent food.

  Juliana wrung the water out of the cloth. Morgan’s face was a roadmap of cuts and dried blood. What did the rest of his body look like?

  Somehow in the little time they had together, she’d have to make him better and find a way to escape the Bhaya. The thought alone was daunting and damn near impossible considering there was nowhere to go in the middle of the ocean. And what about the baby? Should she tell Morgan what she suspected? She shook her head, as if she were answering herself. No. He didn’t need that pres
sure right now. Not when he needed all his strength to heal. He would worry and push himself to get better. It was best if she told him later. When they were free.

  But what if they never got free? What if, after five days, she still hadn’t thought of a way to get them out of this? What if she was forced to meet her end of the bargain?

  What if Barun discovered she was pregnant?

  Cold terror slithered up her spine and she shuddered, closing her mind to all possibilities except one. Escape.

  It was up to her to save them all. The burden was heavy on her shoulders but she would bear it. For Morgan. And for their child.

  He moaned periodically and she began to talk, mostly from nerves but also to calm Morgan when he became too restless or when she hurt him too much while cleaning him up.

  His ribcage was black and blue and swollen. She ripped strips from her underskirt and wrapped them tightly around his ribs, hoping they were merely bruised. The worst damage had been done to his right knee. She had to swallow a few times to keep from throwing up again. His knee was swollen to twice its size and every time she moved it he moaned. If by some twist of fate she found a way to escape, how was Morgan going to climb the stairs or swim if he couldn’t even bend his knee?

  She sat back on her heels and dropped the bloodied, wet rag in the pink-tinged water. Her back ached but she still wasn’t finished.

  She spread the bedding out on the floor, making pillows out of the extra blankets. She should have asked for clean clothes, but was frankly stunned she received what she had. Never in a million years had she expected Barun to agree to her demands. Even the five days were four more than she’d hoped for. Something in the back of her mind told her Barun had given in too easily. Something was up but at the moment she didn’t have the energy to explore what.

  Morgan woke when she tried to move him to his new bed. Against her objections, he stood, his legs unsteady. Juliana grabbed him around the waist to help him balance. He leaned heavily on her, giving testimony to how much pain he was in. The fury boiling just below her surface bubbled to the top. She’d been thinking about escape these last hours but she hadn’t discounted the notion of killing Barun. The thought was still foremost in her mind and right now, seeing how much pain Morgan was in, the need to kill Barun was almost overpowering.