The Lost Knight of Arabia

by Barbara Baldwin

  She stilled as she caught her reflection in the mirror, and ever so slowly a smile crossed her lips and her eyes began to twinkle. She tilted her head to the side, studying the voluptuous image that stared back. The dress made her waist look incredibly small and the delicate lace of the camisole just barely covered her breasts.

  She reached up and gathered her hair on top of her head and the motion caused her breasts to quiver and lift even more. She pouted her lips. The mirror reflected a wanton, passionate, woman, not a half drowned waif in oversized men’s clothes. Her smile grew. In trousers and a shirt, she posed no threat. But in feminine attire, she was definitely a different kind of problem.

  Jake hadn’t been mad because she didn’t know how to dress. He was agitated because he suddenly didn’t know what to do with her.

  Chapter 6

  The archaeologist in me can’t believe the opportunity that has fallen into my lap, or rather that I have literally fallen into. I know I can’t move far from the Arabia, but I long to walk down the gangplank and into the thick of things. The chance to partake in history as it happens instead of trying to reconstruct it through decaying bones and pottery fragments is peaking my curiosity. Observing today as the present, instead of viewing it as part of a continuum of history over one hundred thirty years in the making, baffles my mind and overwhelms my senses. Everything I’ve seen these past few days is so … so real. The colors are brighter, the scenes unique and the sound….

  Brianna jerked as yet another gunshot echoed above the noise from the saloons that bracketed the waterfront of Rocheport. She laid a hand to her chest where her heart beat rapidly then slowed, and yet the rhythm was different. Everything she saw and smelled and sampled--even the worst of it when she had been accosted in the saloon--left an indelible impression on her scholarly mind. Perhaps it was the harsh day to day existence she observed, but everything was so…alive. Voices were louder and accents so thick at times she felt people spoke a foreign language. On any normal day in her life, she rarely noticed trees and flowers, buildings and people as she passed. Now, she lived for the chance to see, hear and record everything.

  A person certainly couldn’t go through life in 1856 with her eyes closed. She needed all her senses to understand. Every night she wrote in her journal, hoping that whatever happened, it would survive and someone would read a firsthand account of the times.

  Jake had left almost as soon as the steamboat had docked for the night, announcing that he hoped for a big game at one of the saloons because she was costing him a fortune in upkeep. She probably should feel guilty, but it wasn’t as if she had asked for anything. The one thing she desperately wanted – to get back to her own time – she could neither ask for nor could he grant, even if she could tell him. Which, of course, she knew she could never do.

  “Be careful,” she had told him as he shrugged into his coat to leave.

  He had stopped and turned to her, a flash of longing in his gaze gone so quickly she might have been mistaken.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because,” she began and stopped. Because you are my only touchstone in a reality I know nothing about? Because even though I don’t want to, I’ve begun to care about you? She couldn’t express those thoughts, so only repeated, “Just be careful.”

  He already thought she was a little on the crazy side because she didn’t appear to understand all the ways society worked in the 1800’s. Oh, she understood that women knew their place and were totally dependent on the men in their lives. She just continually defied that rule, as Jake kept reminding her, because it totally went against the grain.

  Why, just yesterday in town she found herself unable to stand by while that idiot man berated the woman with him, whom Bri assumed was his wife. It was not the woman’s fault that she couldn’t keep up with him while carrying a carpetbag so heavy it dragged on the ground.

  It shouldn’t have caused such a scene just because Bri had tried to make the man see the error of his ways. When he hadn’t listened to reason she had tried a sweep of her leg to bring him down. It would have been more effective if her skirts hadn’t gotten in the way. She had barely stepped back in time to keep his fist from plowing into her jaw.

  Now that the danger had passed, she could grin in remembrance. Jake had come to her rescue once again, although she hadn’t liked the way he excused her behavior by telling the man she was recently released from a mental hospital and didn’t know what she was doing. He grabbed her arm and hurriedly walked toward the boat. Not used to long skirts and petticoats, Bri had trouble keeping up. All the way back to the boat he had grumbled at her for causing trouble, then cursed to himself about how he didn’t want or need the responsibility.

  Now, Bri fingered the soft cotton of the ready-made dress she had gotten in Chamois. Jake made it very clear that he didn’t want her to be beholding to him; didn’t want anything to do with her actually, and yet he continued to look after her, and yes, even though she hated to admit it, he had gotten her out of trouble a time or two. He was a contradiction to be sure. Regardless of how much he drank and gambled, some innate sense of honor kept Jake from being a bad man. Was she attracted to him only because he was the one safe haven in this world into which she had been thrown?

  In Bri’s other life, as she was beginning to think of her life in 1988, she had always been attracted to the sophisticated, goal oriented men who were on the fast track with their companies. She had been focused on her career also, and dedicated to meeting her goals and aspiring to make a name for herself.

  Jake was the extreme opposite. He didn’t seem to care where he was or what might happen the next day. He wanted only to remain a nameless face in the crowd and drift through life. Bri wasn’t used to living that way, and yet, she felt safe in his care. No one in her acquaintance would have taken the time to do what Jake had done. Most would do no more than perhaps toss a couple of bills into a vagrant’s hat before hurrying to their next business meeting. In the modern world, most would not dare show a soft side for fear of being eaten alive by the competition.

  And that was how she had lived, once upon a time. She had been as competitive as the next person in seeking advancement, which was one reason she had taken an internship on the Arabia excavation crew. Although unpaid, she had known an association with that group would be her ticket to bigger things. Yet everything that was happening to her now would never see the light of day in the Archeological Digest.

  She looked down at the game of solitaire she had been playing. She scooped the cards up into a pile on the small table, having lost her place in the game while daydreaming. Standing, she stretched and walked toward the small window and peered out.

  The dock was very close to town and enough light came from various businesses that she could discern the outline of the buildings. Individual stores had been built with shared walls, yet each storefront was different. The wooden awnings varied in length as did the boardwalks in front of them. Lantern light flickered behind wavy glass windows, creating a dreamlike image in her mind instead of a sharp photograph.

  Swinging doors burst open and a man stumbled out onto the narrow street. A burly bartender caught the doors as they swung back, blocking the entrance to the saloon.

  “Don’t come back til ya can pay your bill,” he shouted loud enough that Bri could make out his words.

  The fallen man staggered to his feet then fell again, face first into the dirt. Two other men walking toward the saloon laughed loudly and the bartender joined in. Bri watched as the three of them turned and went inside, leaving the poor man just lying there. She turned and hurried to the door, only realizing what she intended as her hand touched the doorknob.

  Jake had warned her to stay put, she reminded herself, and she knew he had reason to say that. The towns on the river were built by rough men and inhabited by those even rougher at times. The gentling spirits of women – wives and mothers –had yet to make an impact here as in the larger cities back east.

  Still
, she argued to herself, it had to start somewhere. She turned the knob and pulled. When the door didn’t budge, she turned the knob the other way and yanked. He had locked her in.

  “Why that low down, conniving…” In the midst of her tirade, she burst out laughing. Jake could protest that he didn’t want the responsibility of her, but locking her in the stateroom while he was off gambling was taking care of her, whether he saw it that way or not.

  With nothing left to occupy her, she undressed for bed, bemoaning the fact the poor man in the street would have to fend for himself, unless perhaps, Jake found him. She smiled as she sat in front of the mirror, brushing her hair with Jake’s brush. For the first time since she had landed in this unknown century, she felt as though she could make it. At least if her guardian angel stuck around.

  * * *

  Jake’s eyes stung from the smoke of a dozen saloons and his head pounded from the amount of whiskey he had consumed. So why did he feel sober as a judge? He should be passed out in some alley instead of making his way back to the Arabia.

  He had caroused all night, as was his habit when the steamer docked in various towns along the river. Regardless of the size of town, there were always saloons, whiskey and women, and a card game or two. He had found a game with several serious players and the stakes had gradually risen throughout the night. Perhaps it was that he didn’t really care if he won or lost, but Jake played with a nonchalance the others found maddening. The less he appeared to care, the higher they raised the stakes, yet Lady Luck remained firmly attached to his shoulder.

  He carefully slid his hand into his pocket, the feel of the small derringer easing the prickles at the nape of his neck. The sun had just crested the horizon--the wee hours of the morning when drunks and losers headed home. It was also the time when a man who had won a considerable amount couldn’t be too careful as he crossed a dark alleyway.

  Jake paused at the edge of the last saloon from which any light spilled. From there to the dock lay in shadow. The boat’s night watch had yet to douse the lanterns, but their light didn’t even reach to the edge of the dock. The buildings blocked the rising sun on the path he walked before he could safely board the Arabia. A few days ago he wouldn’t have cared one way or the other; in fact on more than one occasion he had instigated a fight.

  He glanced over his shoulder before walking briskly toward the dock. He didn’t have to ask himself what was different; or rather, who had made the difference. Her angelic face was forever imprinted on his brain, and though he would like otherwise, he couldn’t negate the fact that he had once again taken responsibility for another human being.

  After Booneville, when she had insulted one man too many and Jake had two bruised fists from defending her, he realized there was something about Brianna that would not allow him to walk away. Her innocence in the ways of the west; her insatiable curiosity about the everyday world, had dragged him from his lethargy and made him curious about her.

  He damned her for making him care, something he had not done for another human being in over two years, and yet he felt drawn to her.

  “Good morning, Mr. Worth.”

  “Yes, hello.” His answer was distracted as he passed the night watch. He wearily climbed the stairs to the hurricane deck and walked the narrow outside promenade to his stateroom.

  She would be there, probably curled up in his bed, her gorgeous yellow-gold hair spread across his pillow, her pale skin in shadow. Would she be mad that he had locked her in? She appeared to have an aversion to being told what to do, even when it was for her own protection. Locking the door was a necessary precaution when he wasn’t around.

  He chuckled at what surely was an understatement when it came to Brianna. While she appeared at a loss concerning certain societal rules, she certainly was not at a loss when it came to telling him exactly what she thought.

  He opened the door to the sound of children’s laughter. A woman with a baby in her arms and Brianna were seated at the table, sipping coffee from fine porcelain cups. Two older children, one of whom he recognized as having helped him that first day, were bouncing on his bed. His bed. And neither woman appeared in the least concerned as they continued eating a leisurely breakfast.

  “What the hell?” His shout effectively quieted the children, who scooted off the bed and ran to their mother’s side.

  “Mr. Worth, watch your language.” The admonishment came from a scowling Brianna.

  “I’m sure they’ve heard worse, below stairs where they belong.” He was totally ignored by Brianna, who was taking apples and oranges from a silver bowl and putting them in a large cloth napkin, then bringing the corners up to make a knapsack.

  “We’d best go, Miss Brianna,” the woman whispered, nervously wrapping her shawl around her shoulders and the baby. “Thank you muchly for the grand breakfast.” She stood, shooing the children toward the door but not before Brianna had given the boy the napkin full of fruit.

  Jake kept his fists on his hips and didn’t remove the scowl he knew narrowed his eyes and made his mouth turn down.

  The boy—named Matthew, Jake thought—refused to be the least intimidated. “Got any errands needing done, sir?” he asked.

  Jake deepened his scowl.

  The mother hurried the children out the door and Jake slammed it behind her.

  “That was entirely rude and you know it.” Brianna planted her fists on her hips and returned his scowl with one of her own, which made Jake feel foolish and selfish, even though he had every right to claim the stateroom.

  He lashed out. “Why are you not married with children of your own instead of adopting all you see?”

  Instead of being intimidated, she fired back, “I have a career.”

  “Women don’t have careers. Unless you count those in the profession?” He raised an eyebrow in question.

  She squinted her eyes and sputtered. “Apparently some men don’t have careers either.”

  “I most certainly did. I was…” He wasn’t, he thought. Not a doctor anymore.

  She waved a hand. “Regardless, you had no need to chase Maggie and the children away. It’s not as though they were going to steal your belongings.” Her condescending sarcasm bothered Jake more than he wanted to admit.

  “I’m not a monster,” he said with a sigh, instead of arguing with her further.

  Brianna opened her mouth to speak but he held up a hand. He didn’t know if her look was condemnation or sympathy but at the moment he didn’t want either. He turned and stepped into the corridor, silently closing the door behind him.

  * * *

  Well, so much for an uneventful day, Bri thought later as she leaned back in the tepid water. She had only wanted to help Maggie and the children, knowing they had little to eat and it was extremely difficult for Maggie to go into town when they docked. She felt sure Jake could afford the few cents it cost for the extra breakfast.

  “Ouch.” She rubbed her banged knee then tried to rearrange her long limbs in the small copper tub. It was difficult getting used to a bath instead of the strong stream of pulsing hot water in her shower at home. She laughed out loud. A bathtub instead of a shower was the least of the many recent changes in her life.

  "Your laughter is music to a poor man's soul," the deep baritone sounded directly behind her head.

  Bri shrieked and jerked upright, hugging her knees to her chest. She hadn’t heard him enter the cabin.

  Jake moved to a bottle of whiskey that sat on a shelf above the clothes chest. As he lifted it, it clanked against the brass rail that kept it from sliding onto the floor when the boat dipped and swayed. He didn't gawk at her or try to ambush her into giving him a kiss. He just walked right past her without so much as a by your leave. Bri had heard a lady use that phrase and thought it sounded so urbane.

  He turned from pouring himself a drink. He looked tired, Bri thought. But then he had been up all night drinking and gambling and doing who knew what. She decided she wouldn’t feel sorry for him. Especial
ly when he disrupted her bath.

  “Good morning, Miss Blake.” He raised his glass in a salute. His lips tipped in a grin that was at once seductive and leering. Heat swirled in Bri’s belly. If she were indeed a lady of 1856, she would find him very handsome and would probably be more than willing to actively share his bed regardless of the standards of the day. But she had to remember that her goal was to find her way back to 1988, and perhaps in the process, stop the Arabia from sinking.

  “What are you doing in my cabin?”

  “You keep forgetting; it’s my cabin.” He looked at her intently and she scooted lower in the filmy water.

  She narrowed her gaze, hoping to intimidate him into acting the part of a gentleman. Instead, he slowly shook his head, his gaze never leaving her. She felt a heat suffuse her body.

  “If you recall the conversation, I said you could use my cabin.” He walked closer and she knew if he decided to press his advantage, she wouldn’t stop him. “I didn’t say that I would stop using it.”

  “Don’t you have some gambling or drinking to do?” She tried for haughty but her voice quivered.

  “You have told me that I should quit. Perhaps you can think of an alternative that will keep me away from the gaming table?”

  Bri knew she was sunk. He had been the one to save her and was somehow tied to this mystery. He was the only one who could possibly help her.

  She reached for a towel and tried to hide her nakedness as she stood and stepped out of the tub. His gaze was hot as he slowly perused her from head to toe. She shivered, and not from the cooler air against her wet skin. No sound could be heard in the tiny cabin except for harsh breathing that she was sure came only from her. Until she saw his chest rise and fall in tandem with her own.

  She tried to look away—anywhere but at his searing gaze and the sensuous curve of his lip. He took a step toward her; then another. She clutched the towel closer, and he trapped her hands against his chest when he pulled her against him.