by Jenny Lykins
“It’s a credit card. It’s like money. Oh! And here!” She snatched up two folded pieces of grayish-green paper. “This is money. Five dollar bills. Here. Look at the date.”
She pointed to a minuscule number. 1995. The word “Series” was printed above it. The number on the second one read 1997.
She fumbled through the few things left, muttering, “Damn. I left my license and cell phone at the condo. Why did I have to walk to the ship?”
While she babbled, Alec studied the “money.” The number five was printed or spelled out in all four corners on both sides. A picture of a homely, bearded man with enormous ears sat in the center, beneath the words “The United States of America.” The other side had a picture of a temple or building that looked like something from ancient Greece. The “money” felt more like stiff fabric than paper. He could see more printing but couldn’t make out the words in the dim light of the oil lamp.
He tossed them on the desk. None of this proved anything except that she had a penchant for carrying odd things in her reticule.
“What is this in my mouth?” he asked as he tried once more to swallow the sweet, tangy glob. “It refuses to go away.”
“It’s not supposed to go away. It’s chewing gum. You chew it, and then you spit it out when you’re done with it.”
What a revolting thing to do, even if he did enjoy the flavor.
He continued to chew while he perused what was left on the desk. He picked up two white paper-covered sticks with the word “Tampax” printed in blue.
“What are these? Do they taste as good as - ”
They disappeared from his hand and back into the pouch before he even saw her move.
“Those are nothing,” she said, her cheeks rosy in the lamp light. “They’re just personal things. They don’t prove anything.”
He had a feeling they were much more interesting than a silver card with numbers, but he chose not to pursue the matter.
“Quite frankly, none of this proves anything. This is simply a collection of oddities with numbers that happen to be printed on them. True, none of it is familiar to me, but I don’t profess to be acquainted with every unusual item that exists in the world.”
She took a deep, angry breath and stuffed everything back into the pouch.
“Of course, you’re not familiar with these things, because they don’t exist yet.” She looked up at him, poised to speak, then she closed her mouth and dropped into the chair. “Oh, hell. What’s the use? I’ll be history before long anyway, and you’ll be married to Faith.” She raised an accusing brow at him. “You do remember Faith, don’t you?”
He felt the sting of Shaelyn’s pre-dawn slap as if she’d just delivered it. He also relived the sweet taste of her mouth, unresponsive though it had been, and felt the guilt that had plagued him once he’d finally conjured Faith’s image in his mind hours later.
“Yes, I remember Faith.” Though he had to admit his excitement over the prospect of marriage to her had dulled somewhat over the last several days. She was everything he remembered her to be...sweet, beautiful, serene. Why, then, did he find himself so often daydreaming about the impossible woman glaring up at him, dressed in boys’ britches and one of his best lawn shirts?
Saint’s blood, he envied that shirt.
“Would you stop staring at my breasts?”
He jerked his gaze upward. She continued to sit there with a look of defiance.
“I was merely contemplating how you’d managed to appropriate my costliest shirt.”
“Yeah, right.”
Suddenly the ship pitched with such violence it threw Shaelyn from the chair. Alec caught her before she hit the floor, but her book and the water glass went flying. As they scrambled to pick up papers and other careening flotsam and jetsam, another wave hit. Alec grabbed the pitcher and stowed it in the chest while Shaelyn grabbed Alec.
“What the heck did we hit?” she yelled over the groan of straining timbers.
“It’s what hit us,” he yelled back. “It’s the storm.” He extinguished all the lamps but one, then pushed her back into the chair. “I’m going on deck to see how bad it is. You stay here.” He turned on his heel and strode toward the door. Before he stepped into the companionway he turned back.
“I mean it, Shaelyn. Stay belowdecks.”
She sat in the thin, meager light of the single lamp and looked at him as if he were insane.
“Oh, yeah, like I plan to go up there and get washed overboard.”
She seemed sincere in her words, but one could never tell about her.
“Alec,” she called before he closed the door. “Be careful.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
If he wasn’t dead, she’d kill him.
Shaelyn had moved from the chair onto the bunk after being pitched to the floor for the third time. She wedged herself in the corner, propped pillows between herself and every hard surface, then tried to decide whether to shoot him through the heart or slit his throat.
He’d been gone for hours, and for all she knew he’d been swept over the side while everyone on deck thought he was nice and cozy in his plush cabin. She’d expected him to at least send someone to tell her to batten down the hatches or whatever sailors did in a storm. But no. She just got to sit there and wonder if he was shark food while her body thought it was on the most nauseating amusement park ride in the world.
Even as she thought it, another roller coaster wave sent her stomach back into her throat for the umpteenth time. Not for the first time, she sent up a prayer of thanks that she’d taken that last dose of Dramamine. She wondered how Alec was faring, if he was even still on board.
That thought, more than all the Big Dipper waves put together, sickened her in the pit of her stomach.
Should she go looking for him? She hadn’t lied when she told him she wouldn’t go on deck. She was no sailor. She had no idea what was going on up there other than a struggle to keep the ship upright under the barrage of waves. The extent of her sailing experience, besides the small boats on summer vacation, was the huge floating hotels they called cruise ships, where a storm could barely be felt, and then with only a gentle rocking.
But what if he’d gone overboard? Could they turn around and find him in a storm at night? Could she even make her way to someone to tell them about him?
“Oh, for Pete sake, Sumner.” She massaged her forehead with the heels of her hands. “You’ve got him floundering in the water miles away, when he’s probably up there doing man stuff and having the time of his life.”
The cabin door burst open and the object of her worries lurched in with the pitch of the ship.
Well, maybe not the time of his life.
He stayed on his feet only by using the heavy furniture to hold himself up, leaving huge puddles of water with every step. She scrambled from her corner, then flew from the bunk with the upward heave of the ship, landing on his dripping body with a loud, “Ooph!” They hit the rolling deck as one, Alec neatly cushioning her fall. Under different, drier circumstances, she thought the experience would be quite pleasurable.
Alec groaned.
“Saint’s blood, Shaelyn. Please remove your knee from my groin. You are far too close for comfort.”
It occurred to her that she wouldn’t have to slit his throat. That with just a little shift of her knee... But then she changed her mind and decided to be merciful. With only a token upward nudge, she rolled off him. He wasted no time in sitting up and removing the target from within her reach.
“I thought you’d been swept overboard.” She lifted herself off the now-soggy Persian carpet and slapped at the wet spots on her trousers. “Thanks for keeping me informed of what was going on. I would have hated to huddle in the corner of that bunk all night long, not knowing.”
“Overboard would have been preferable.” He ignored her sarcastic remarks. “Two sails ripped, and we nearly collided with Griffin’s ship.” He propped his elbows on his knees and scraped his dripping hair aw
ay from his forehead with a moan. “I was not meant to be a seaman.”
She turned up the flame of the lamp and saw the waxy, pale green tingeing his skin again. The guy really should stay on dry land.
“Here.” She unearthed her fanny pack from the depths of the bunk, then fished out the box of Dramamine. If they didn’t have smooth sailing soon or a quick end to this trip, her little yellow “pellets” would be history.
She popped two from their blisters, then pulled the water pitcher from the cabinet where Alec had stowed it hours earlier. She managed to slosh water all over the place before she got a glass filled and the pitcher safely put away.
“Thank you,” Alec sighed, then tossed the pills back like he’d been doing it all his life.
“You need to get out of those wet clothes.” She held out a hand to help him to his feet, but he looked at her like she’d grown a second head. He ignored her hand and staggered to his feet on his own.
“I need to get back up on deck. The storm is passing, but they still need - ”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re weak as a kitten. I bet you spent more time dry-heaving than you did helping.” She waited for his reaction. “Didn’t you?”
The clenching of his jaw told her all she needed to know. “Only after the medicine wore off.”
“Look. Get into some dry clothes and give the pills a little time to kick in. Then when you feel better you can go back up.”
She could tell he was going to be stubborn over this, so she did something she very rarely did. She got helpless.
“Okay. I’ll admit it.” She bowed her head and leaned into his arm. A chilly wetness seeped into her shirt. “I was terrified. I just want you to stay with me a little while. Just a little while. I’m so scared.” She looked up at him with her best helpless look.
He sighed and dropped his head to his chest. With an air of resignation he peeled off his sodden jacket and unbuttoned the white shirt plastered to his skin. Shaelyn could see that just that effort cost him. The man wouldn’t ask for help if he was dying.
Without thinking, she grasped the dripping shirt and helped peel it away from the muscular ridges of his stomach, across the expanse of chest and shoulders, then down the corded muscles of his arms. His wet skin glistened in the lamplight, a sculpture of light and shadow that begged for her touch.
He sucked in his breath when she ran her hands across his chest.
“You’re freezing,” she said, avoiding his gaze, feeling as if the heat of her hands would melt right into his icy skin. She fought the shiver that had nothing to do with a chill and reminded herself that he was cold and seasick and needed to be in bed.
She nearly groaned.
He insisted on staggering behind the small screen to remove the rest of his clothing. She rummaged through expensive chests of brass and leather until she found a towel and dry clothes, trying not to think about what he was doing back there. Not until he was completely dressed did he step from behind the screen. He hesitated at the sight of her.
She’d found a dry shirt for herself, and now sat in the middle of the bunk, buttoning the last buttons. Her fingers faltered as he stood there and stared at her.
“Well,” she said after a long pause interrupted only by the howl of the wind, “you look better already. Not that it would have taken much.”
She climbed from the bed and plopped into the leather chair before he had a chance to stagger there. She knew he wouldn’t even sit on the bunk if she was still in it.
“Why don’t you lie down and rest. You’ve been up all night.”
He towered over her.
“I thought you needed company.”
“Oh, I do. Just having someone here helps. It’s so scary being alone.”
“I can send Jimmy to - ”
“No. I just feel better when you’re here. Now why don’t you lie down. I promise not to ravish you.”
He rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn, somewhat insulting her suggestion about ravishing him. He dropped to the bunk and scrubbed his face again.
“I suppose I can rest a few moments.” He punched a pillow before falling into it. “Wake me if you need...comforting.”
The tone of his voice told her exactly how much he’d believed her act, which was not at all. She just smiled to herself and watched him relax into sleep.
The lamp swung on its hinges, casting his face into light and then shadow. She stared at that face that had become so precious to her, and a bittersweet warmth curled in her chest.
She’d had to travel a hundred and seventy years to find the man who could complete her life. The person who filled that empty space in her, that Alec-shaped void. Even when she wanted to choke him, she wanted to kiss him. Even when he patronized her, she wanted to cuddle into his arms and have him hold her.
She should never have told him the truth about where she was from. He thought she was insane, or hiding something even worse. He might have fallen in love with her if she had kept her mouth shut, feigned amnesia, told him anything but the truth.
But then again, there was Faith.
*******
Streams of early morning sunlight bounced around the cabin until they fell across Shaelyn’s eyes, nudging her awake. She pried one eye open to glare at the light, then snuggled deeper into the warm, solid nest of Alec’s arms.
Alec’s arms!
Both eyes flew open and she tried her best not to move. His deep, even breathing told her he still slept. If she tried really hard, maybe she could just slip right out -
His arms tightened and pulled her closer.
Damn. He’d have a fit if he woke up with her in bed with him. She’d never known nineteenth century men could be such prudes. But she’d been so tired, and she couldn’t get comfortable in that darned chair. He should just be glad she didn’t peel down to the buff, like she usually did.
Holding her breath and moving a fraction of an inch at a time, she lifted his arm that rested across her ribcage and slowly laid it along his side. He shifted and threw it right back over her ribs, then draped his leg over hers as well.
She wanted to scream.
Instead, she slowly moved his arm again, sat up, then slid her leg from beneath his. The second her leg was free she crept to the end of the bunk and dropped her feet to the floor. She yawned and stood, stretching until her knuckles scraped the low ceiling, patting herself on the back for pulling one over on him.
When she turned to admire him while he slept, golden brown eyes stared back at her.
Just exactly how long had he been awake?
The thunder of running footsteps on deck halted her question, then a pounding on the door had Alec leaping from the bed and pulling on his boots.
“Sir, the ship’s been sighted,” Jimmy’s muffled voice yelled through the thick panel.
Alec threw open the door and nearly ran over the cabin boy. He turned, shoving Jimmy out of the way, and stuck his head back in the cabin.
“Stay belowdecks, Shaelyn,” he ordered with a look that brooked no argument. Then he disappeared at a run, with Jimmy at his heels.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” she said to the empty room. “Not this time.” She scrambled for her boots, pulling one on, then searching for the other. She finally found it wedged under the desk, along with a few other victims of last night’s storm. She pulled the second boot on and didn’t even consider taking time to button the darn things.
She finger-combed her hair as she ran out the door. The pounding of feet and the shouts of the men got louder as she reached the top of the steps. She opened the door a crack, then decided to stay put at the sight of Alec giving orders. She wouldn’t put it past him to lock her in the cabin if he saw her.
But what in the world was this fuss all about, if he was meeting a ship like he did when he picked up Robert and Naomi? The men acted as if they were preparing for a fight.
Alec shouted one last order, then marched toward the door she hid behind. Had he seen her? Could she make it back
to the cabin before he got to the door?
She decided to stay and demand she be allowed on deck, but to her pleasant surprise he took the steps leading to the helm.
The minute he reached that deck she slipped through the door and dove for a stack of crates beneath the steps. No sense inviting an argument when she could avoid one. She crept to the other side of the steps and leaned over the rail.
The sight that unfolded before her was like something from an Errol Flynn movie.
Alec’s and Griffin’s ships bore down on a third, easily overtaking it within minutes and sandwiching the smaller vessel between them. Shaelyn jumped at a reverberating boom as a cannonball sailed over the bow of the hostage ship. Good grief! Was the captain of Griffin’s ship firing on it?
The sails on the middle ship dropped and a man at the helm yelled across the brief expanse of water.
“State your business.”
“We’ll have your cargo,” Alec boomed back.
Shaelyn gasped. Alec was going to steal this ship’s cargo? She thought he was picking up some seasick slaves.
They were close enough that Shaelyn could see the fat, bearded spokesman’s fists clench. The moment his hand went for his sword, another crashing boom sent a cannonball soaring over the stern.
“The next one hits the hull,” Alec bellowed. “Gather your men and lay down your arms.”
The captain on the third ship visibly quaked with fury, but after a moment’s hesitation he signaled the men to gather.
Grappling hooks flew across the water and bit into the deck and rail on both sides of the hostage vessel. Within moments the ships bumped together and planks dropped across the rails to form a bridge. At the sound of someone stomping down the steps, Shae ducked back into the shadows of the crates.
Alec marched across the deck and crossed to the middle ship first. Shaelyn jerked at the sight of him.
He wore a black silk mask over his eyes, much like the one he’d worn to the masquerade ball, but this one fell to cover the lower half of his face as well. With a startled glance she realized all the men had covered their faces.
