Dane cursed him.
Tess pleaded.
And King Triton's fury grew wilder, the sea's boiling swells propelling him closer.
Ramsey swam. He didn't look back, fearing he'd change his mind and be caught. Not til he reached the wall did he send them all a reassuring smile.
And so it begins, he thought, lifting his arm to wave.
A sudden tightness squeezed at Ramsey's chest, and he struggled for needed air. Misty arms wrapped round his torso, lifting him from the sea and pulling him backwards through the partition, his legs appearing severed til they passed fully through the black wall.
And then he was falling, fast.
Off the coast of the Caicos Islands 1989
Penny gripped the stern rail of the ship, frowning, swearing she heard someone scream, and for the length of a heartbeat the sun's warmth and radiance vanished, cooling her back. Tilting her head skyward, she blinked against the bright sunlight, then twisted slightly to look aft. There wasn't a cloud for miles. 'So what caused the quick darkness, she wondered, scanning the sky once more before facing stern.
Abruptly a sailor grabbed her shoulders, moving her bodily out of his way as he passed, the activity aboard the vessel suddenly frantic. A commanding voice warned her to hold on as the ship banked sharply to the right, retracing its path.
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Amy J. Fetzer
Then she saw the body floating in the sea.
And rapidly sinking.
A rubber pontoon dropped into the ocean, scuba divers and medical technicians jumping in the instant it blossomed with air. The outboard motor churned white foam as it heeled away from the ship and headed toward the body.
Oh, Jesus, please be alive.
Two divers immediately dropped backwards into the water just as the body sank below the surface. One diver remained submerged, pushing the victim towards the surface as a sailor aboard the pontoon reached out with a hooked pole, the end catching on clothing. Dragging the limp form back to the pontoon, several hands grasped the body, slipped on a preserver, then turned the victim over and felt for a pulse. A sailor instantly slid into the water and performed mouth to mouth, the rubber craft floating aimlessly as he forced air into unmoving lungs.
Penny watched, her entire body strung tight, her gaze frantically searching between the half dozen sailors for a glimpse. Then she heard it. First a cough, then a groaning gasp for air and the paramedic turned the dark head to the side as the half-dead survivor vomited into the sea. Tess?
She shook the rail, impatient to see something recognizable as the rescue team slid a back board into the water beneath the survivor. But there were just too many people. After securing the straps, a diver twisted toward the cutter, waving broadly, smiling. Bindar issued orders to come about. Penny's knees gave out, and the Bahamian captain lurched forward, but she caught herself, gripping the thin steel rail.
"God bless," Bindar murmured close to her side and Penny
nodded. "I admit I never expected to find her, ma'am, let alone
alive.'' *
' 'Neither did I, Lieutenant.'' Stepping away, Penny straightened her hat, discreetly wiping her eyes as the pontoon and ship merged. She started for the port side, but Bindar gasped her arm, his heart doing a quick flip-flop at the sight of those hopeful green eyes.
"She may be, ah, the weather and days in the water—"
"I understand, but she's my only family."
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TIMESWEPT ROGUE
Penny moved closer, yet stayed clear as they lifted a basket-type gurney onto the deck. The air rushed into her lungs and she stumbled back, her hand covering her mouth. Grief returned, pressing on her with an unforgiving force, threatening her breathing.
It wasn't Tess.
The sailors glanced between themselves and the man as she turned away, her sensitivity to his condition buried beneath her pain. Anger built, stirring new hurt and fresh guilt. Oh, God, the guilt. She'd needed to hope, for her own sanity, yet now the damning of even that fading light was gone. She lifted her gaze to find Bindar regarding her with open sympathy.
"I wished the hell you'd found nothing," she hissed softly and his eyes widened a fraction. "Do you know what this means?" She lashed an arm toward the survivor.
Bindar's gaze shifted briefly to the horizon. "Yes, ma'am, I do.'' He hesitated before asking,' 'Shall we call off the search?"
"No!" then softer, "No. There's still a chance." His expression said otherwise and Penny's heart shattered, bitter pain stinging through her chest. "A couple more days. I need answers, Lieutenant, and I'll pay for extra men, overtime, anything." Her voice softened to a whisper. "I need to know."
Bindar's shoulders sank and he nodded, then spoke into a hand radio as she tilted her face to the sky. Two search and rescue helicopters circled over head, rocking once before heading further out to sea. She cast a quick glance at the man, Hmp in the basket as a doctor worked over him. Hippie, she thought, with that long hair. Her outrage intensified, reality settling hard and before she said something else she'd regret, Penny strode toward the pilot house.
Sloane Rothmere. This was her fault. Whatever she planted in the package Tess stole for Penny ... got her pal killed.
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TIMESWEPT ROGUE Chapter 4
Her shoulder braced against the wall, Penny worried the handle of the china cup, gazing out the porthole as the sea raced past. Droplets splashed the thick glass, melting into the clear surface, vanishing. Like Tess. Hot tears burned the back of her eyes, and she swallowed her despair. Unanswered questions tore relentlessly through her brain, angering her, frustrating her. For if Tess were alive, she would have contacted Penny. And grasping the empty hope that Sloane Rothmere might have her sequestered somewhere was useless. Sloane was clever, devious, the viciousness she pulled in college proving she had the talent for covering her tracks, with money, and Tess was last seen diving off the Nassau Queen.
Abruptly the door opened, and she flinched, ye^didn't turn toward the visitor, gathering her frayed emotions under tight guard.
"The helicopters have returned to base, Miss Hamilton. The light, you know." She nodded, setting the cup on the small railed table before facing him. The lieutenant was half in, half out of the hatch.
"The man they found?" She felt obligated to ask, though in her present state she didn't want to hear details about hippie.
Bindar stepped inside, leaving the hatch open. "He's still unconscious, his condition guarded, I'm told. We'll make the best speed to shore, regardless."
"I see." She slid elegantly into a chair, ashamed of her insensitivity. Poor guy. It wasn't his fault. "Do you know who he is, at least?"
"That's the odd thing," he said, brows drawn as he settled into the opposite chair. "No identification a'tall, not even a label in his clothing."
"Is that so unusual?" Penny recalled when she wore what she'd found in someone else's garbage. "Not everyone can afford store bought clothes."
He flushed at her cutting tone. "That's not it, entirely," he soothed. "His are hand-stitched, every seam! No zippers, just buttons, rather crude wood buttons."
"I fail to see the importance, Lieutenant. Didn't he have any papers, a visa?"
Bindar shook his head. "But he has coins sewn into the lining of his coat."
Penny relaxed into the chair and crossed her legs. "Really?" she said archly, thinking the invasion of the man's privacy
unnecessary.
"And heavy chains around his neck, gold soft enough to twist, knives in his boots, sheathed at his waist and an antique gun! Loaded!" It was clear the skipper thought this all very fascinating.
Penny didn't. She wanted Tess back.
A deep wrenching howl rumbled down the companionway like black thunder, drawing the skin up on her arms. Penny turned wide eyes toward the open hatch, then back to Bindar, who was already on his feet and moving. A med-tech skidded to a halt in the corridor, nearly slamming into his skipper.
"He's out of con
trol, sir."
Ramsey woke with a jolt, his eyes snapping open, his chest expanding as he sucked air into his lungs. It tasted odd, he thought afore raked with a fit of coughing, a fire exploding
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Amy J. Fetzer
through his chest. Hands held him down, and instinctively he fought,
"Try to relax, sir. You'll be fine."
English, Ramsey recognized, a snarl twisting his lips as he let loose a growl, his open palm smacking a man's chest, sending him back against glass-faced cabinets. The silver closet rattled with the impact, bursting open and dumping little boxes and jars. Something covered bis nose and mouth, and Ram tore it off, flinging the clear mask aside as he sat up.
"Sir, please! Don't fight!" Two men in white uniforms pushed him back down.
"Bloody English bugger!" He took a deep breath and coughed. "I'll slit your friggin' gullet to your scrawny neck if you do not leave off!" Ramsey groped his boot for his knife, his fingers meeting the skin of his calf. Hell. No weapons. His instinct to survive brewed power, and a few well placed thrusts sent his assailants stumbling backwards.
He leapt from the high bed, glared at his opponents, then spit in his palms afore rubbing them together, broad fists primed to dress down a few English hides. 'Twas his favored pastime, he thought with a grin. One man stepped forward, and Ram sent him back with a sharp jab to the nose. He bled all over the white shirt, the poor sot.
"Now see here!" The skipper stepped into the infirmary.
Ramsey planted a hand on the man's chest and shoved, propelling him back over the raised threshold.
Penny looked down at the fallen skipper, then bent to help him to his feet. Bindar shrugged, adjusted his clothing and his dignity, then solemnly entered the infirmary.
"Dare you try again, runt?" Ramsey challenged, swaying slightly.
"Sir." Bindar held up his hands in surrender, "You've been injured. Pm sure it's been quite the shock, but please, we mean you no harm."
Ram scoffed. "Then give back me weapons."
"After this display?" He gestured to his battered men, "They've been locked in my safe."
"Does me no good, English pig!"
The skipper stiffened. "I am Bahaman," he told him, and Ramsey caught his nearly-imperceptible nod. His fist shot out to the right and the sailor dropped to the deck.
Ramsey grinned, cocky.
"Stop it this minute! These men saved your life, for God's
sake!"
Ramsey's gaze shifted past English, and he slowly lowered his arms, his attention on the red-haired woman stepping through the hatch. His gaze dropped immediately to the shapely display of long bare legs and thinly heeled white slippers. What a lovely bit of femininity this, he thought, bringing his gaze to hers. Cat-green eyes stared unflinchingly back and afore he could ponder overlong as to why such a comely lass wore so little afore so many men, something pricked his back. He swatted the burning sting, turning his head. An incredibly thin needle attached to a slim cylinder lay on the narrow bed, half-filled with amber liquid. Ram blinked, dizzy, his accusing gaze shifting to the crew, then to the woman. The room suddenly dropped, and he cursed them to hell as they eased him back onto the hard
bed.
"Ought to keel-haul you for that, English," Ramsey slurred, drunkenly shoving at gentle hands with no success. At the mercy of the enemy was the last place Ram wanted to be.
The skipper sagged against the wall, blotting his brow with his sleeve. The doctor checked his vital signs.
And Penny stared, a bit stunned. He'd looked like a pirate just then, bare-chested and bronze, spoiling for a fight and arrogant down to his bare toes. And that hair, chestnut dark, wild and waving beyond his shoulders. She moved closer, unwillingly drawn to the flash of helplessness she'd caught in
his cognac-brown eyes.
"Bloody unfair tactics," he mumbled, then turned his head, blinking her face into focus. "Ramsey O'Keefe, m'lady. At your service." His grin was sappy, liquid. "Mayhaps in a moment or two, I shall be—" He was out, his smile lingering a moment longer than his senses. '
Penny lifted confused eyes to the doctor.
He shrugged. "His injuries are not serious now, except for
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a nasty cut on his leg, from the knife lodged in his boot, I assume, and a bruise the length of his spine." The doctor refrained from discussing any more and ordered restraints.
"Is that necessary? He's docile."
The physician's gaze shifted meaningfully to the wounded sailors, and she sighed agreement.
"Was he hallucinating or something?" Her words came hesitantly. "The way he talks is so archaic."
"It's like his clothes and belongings," Bindar said, peering closer, keen on solving the mystery. "Nothing fits."
Penny felt sympathy for Mister Ramsey O'Keefe, and perhaps a little curiosity, but nothing more, yet she couldn't keep from just looking at him. He was handsome enough, rugged features, square jaw, his chest tight with ropey muscles; not the kind a guy gets from pumping iron, but sleek and sinewy from hard physical work. He was big, yet the snugness of his trousers, hemmed just below his knees, accentuated his lean hips and powerful broad thighs.
A beautiful man.
But drop-dead gorgeous flirts no longer affected her. The film industry overflowed with their share, and she'd been pursued by hundreds just as sexy and confident as this one.
Turning away, she informed the skipper that she'd wait in the wardroom til the Diana docked. Glancing over her shoulder before stepping out, Penny suddenly resented his presence.
Ramsey O'Keefe was here.
And Tess was gone.
Forever.
Chapter 5
The haze of drugs lifted, yet Ramsey remained still, waiting several minutes for it to dissipate completely. Opening his eyes slowly, he examined his surroundings. He was alone, aboard ship, and a glance out the porthole told him 'twas nearing evetide. His gaze moved around the room, his eyes slow to focus. The transparent mask lay discarded in a metal waste basket, the clear molded form cracked, but not shattered. 'Tis not made of glass, he realized, for 'twas light as goose down. He searched for the familiar, aught that would offer a bit of information, a clue. The cabin was crammed with trays of metal instruments—of which he recognized only one—boxes, basins, glass jars, and large metal cylinders with tubes and metal configurations attached to the top. A surgeon's quarters, he deduced, having found the cutter's necessary on occasion in
the past.
Past.
Or future, he wondered with the lift of his brow.
Beyond wanting to know the century he visited, whose vessel carried them so swiftly, with such God-awful noise? And how was the air chilled like a New England spring morn when he knew 'twas summer beyond the ... what hay? 'Tis a wall of
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iron! Itching to see for himself, Ram tried to sit up and found his wrists and legs shackled to the bed frame with wide leather straps. Ruddy English. 'Twas an indignity he supposed he deserved after dressing down thrice over. Ram strained against the straps, bending the metal bars, yet the thick leather refused to give.
Bloody hell, captive again, he thought, propping himself up on his elbows and examining the bed frame for a weak spot.
Afore he found it, one of the men he'd flattened stepped through the hatch, a cloth-covered tray in his hands.
"Release me."
The crooked-nosed young sailor briefly glanced down at his tray. "In a minute."
"Nay, now. And you'll not be sticking me with those again, lad, if you wish to see another morn."
Graves hesitated, then set the tray on a rack and methodically filled the syringe. "It's necessary, sir. That cut," he gestured to Ram's bandaged calf—"is already inflamed. The weapon was filthy."
"I never planned on usin' it on meself," Ram snarled, his implication clear.
> The lad raised the clear syringe, squirting liquid. "It's only an antibiotic."
Ram frowned skeptically, unwilling to voice his ignorance of such a drug.
"Are you afraid of needles, sir?"
"Watch yer mouth, puppy, and get on with it. Since I've no hands to thrash your impudent hide."
Graves smiled, poised near Ramsey's arm. "Ever had penicillin afore, Mister O'Keefe?" His words sounded stuffed and nasally and Ram regretted pounding such a young*'face.
"Nay." Ramsey watched him swab the area with a bit of pungent smelling fabric, the stroke leaving his skin cool as he inserted the needle into his skin. It burned the more the sailor depressed the plunger.
"Are you going to—ah—" Graves swallowed—"thrash my hide again, sir?"
"Will you give me cause?"
T1MESWEPT ROGUE
"No, sir." Graves discarded the syringe and pad, then unbuckled the straps, his eyes widening when he saw the bends
in the bar.
Ramsey rubbed his wrists, sliding off the table, grinning when the seaman flinched. "My belongings?"
Graves gestured to the neat stack of clothing and the large flat yellow parcel, and Ram snatched the lad's arm, examining the clock strapped round his wrist. 'Twas incredibly small without numbers and nay, 'twould not chime, he decided after putting the glass to his ear.
"Sir?" Graves drew his arm back, frowning questioningly, yet Ramsey ignored the look, realizing he'd misplayed his hand in front of the enemy.
"Where am I?" Ram asked, shrugging into his shirt,
"Aboard a Bahama Air Sea Rescue ship, sir."
Ram arched a brow at the boy, tucking in his shirt tail. "A rescue vessel? Solely for retrieval?"
"Yes, sir."
Ingenious, Ram thought, impressed. "Where bound?"
"We ought to be putting ashore any minute. Crooked Island, sir."
Ram recalled naught of the place, but 'twas no matter now. He'd traveled through time for certain, yet exactly to where and what century, he'd have to deduce on his own—without raising suspicion, or he'd no doubt find himself locked up in some asylum. Yet as he pulled on his jacket, the conveniences surrounding him were unmistakable; the refined simplicity of the medical instruments, the iron walls, and the lad's wrist clock his first solid indication, and he knew 'twas in the future he'd found port. But how far?
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