Wherever You Are (12 page)

Above the men’s heads, Morgan saw his ship slowly pull away. Patrick had done what he’d been told. He’d taken Juliana away from harm. Morgan pushed her out of his mind. She was safe and that was all that mattered. The time had come for him to face his enemy and there could only be one outcome.

Death.

There was a large blast of cannon fire. The
Bhaya
pitched to port. The main mast creaked and groaned and slowly began to topple, bringing with it the hundreds of ropes holding the sails. Men ran, shouting to get out of the way. Morgan took the opportunity Patrick had given him and ran to the railing where he vaulted over the side. His arms windmilled as he sailed through the air. There was another roar of cannon fire.

Morgan grinned as he hit the water.

He pushed his cabin door open quietly even though every muscle screamed at him to rush in.

Patrick was crouched in the middle of the room, his hands locked together between his bent knees. He nodded toward the end of the bed. “Over there.”

Juliana huddled on the floor, her knees pulled up to her chin, eyes wide, staring out the bank of windows into the gray sea.

“Has she said anything?” Morgan asked.

Patrick shook his head.

Morgan watched her, unsure what to do. An ugly purple and blue bruise discolored one eye. She held her hand close to her as if protecting it. Most certainly the welts from the flogging had broken open. But what other injuries were there? Because he was certain there would be more.

He approached slowly and swept a sweaty strand of hair away from her temple. Patrick silently left the cabin.

What if she were seriously hurt? What if she had internal bleeding? X-rays and CAT scans were still a thing of the future and internal bleeding meant certain death in this time.

“Juliana?”
 

She began to rock.

“Where do you hurt, honey?” He balled his hands into fists, wanting desperately to plant them in Barun’s face. Morgan had spent plenty of time in Barun’s care and knew the mind games the man could play. Torture could be more than physical. Sometimes the mental was far worse.

She’d lost weight. Starvation was a favorite weapon of Barun’s—weaken the prey until they were willing to do anything for a crust of bread and a cup of water.

“I’d like…” Her voice was barely a whisper and Morgan had to strain to hear it.

“What would you like, Juliana?”

“To be alone.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Your injuries need tending.”

She shook her head and tears began to leak out of her eyes. Damn it. If he hadn’t already been sitting, her tears would have buckled his knees.

“Please. I need space.”

He remembered enough about her to know she wanted to break down in private, but he wasn’t going to give her privacy. Instead, he carefully gathered her in his arms and lifted her onto his lap. She curled into him and clung as if she wanted to crawl inside his skin. The tears were silent at first, a testament to her strength and the fact she was trying hard to hold it together.

She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand but more took their place. They came freely, one after the other, and soon her body began to shake so hard his trembled as well. She sobbed. Heart-wrenching sobs that tore through him and made him want to cry with her.

Careful of her injuries and mindful she may have more than he was aware of, he stroked her hair and held her close, not even bothering to utter words that held no meaning.

After a time the sobs faded, followed by a bout of hiccups. The hiccups gave way to sniffles then deep, ragged breaths. He held still, afraid to wake her, afraid to move even though she needed medical care and water at the very least. Slowly he let his head fall back to rest against the foot of the bed. One of her hands was fisted in his shirt.

Chapter Eleven

Juliana stood at the stern of the ship and watched the wake the vessel left behind. It’d been a week since Morgan rescued her from the
Bhaya
. He’d been kind and gentle, giving her the room she needed to heal. She was able to move her shoulder without pain, the black and blue around her eye had faded to yellow. Her hand, though still stiff, hardly hurt and her dehydration was gone.

She didn’t remember much after Patrick took her from Barun’s ship, but she remembered every horrible minute on the
Bhaya
.

The feel of Barun’s hands was still with her. His soft, musical voice rang in her ears.

Every day she stood in this same spot and searched the waters, waiting for the return of the
Bhaya
. She’d learned enough about Barun to know he wouldn’t give up easily.

Patrick stepped up beside her. He’d been hovering since her return, as had Morgan and Thomas. Her triumvirate of protectors.

He rolled a cigarette and stuck it in his mouth but didn’t light it.

“Do you ever actually smoke those things?” she asked.

“Against the rules. Fire.”

“Ah.”

He pretended he was puffing on the unlit cigarette while he stared off into space. “What’s your family name, lassie?”

“MacKenzie.” Juliana leaned her elbows on the railing.

He turned to her with a look of surprise. “It’s a Scottish lass you are, is it?”

“A long time ago. My family’s been in the…colonies…for a few generations.” Actually, her ancestors were probably somewhere in Scotland at this very moment. Interesting. Maybe she could look them up when she returned to dry land and tell them she traveled backwards through the centuries to find them. She chuckled, but it wasn’t all that funny.

“Once a Scotsman, always a Scotsman,” the little man said.

They stood together in companionable silence for a time.

“How long have you known Morgan?” she finally asked.

“Well, let’s see.” Patrick gazed off toward the horizon. “I think I’ve known the lad about fifteen years now.” He nodded. “Yes, sounds ’bout right. Met him and Jane when they boarded the
Megan Kelly
.” He looked at the tip of his cigarette and chuckled. “She would be Lady Isabelle now. She pirated under the name Lady Jane, and a fiercer lass you’ll never again meet.”

“Sounds like a good story.”

A stern, nostalgic look crossed his face. “That it is, lass, that it is. Jane and Morgan sailed these waters for years. Feared, they were.” He straightened and threw his unlit cigarette over the railing. It fell end over end until the waves swallowed it up. “That’s all in the past now. Isabelle, she married Reed and became respectable. Pulled us all along with her too, she did.” He shook his head as if he still couldn’t believe he was a respectable sailor. “Captain Morgan, he’s a good man.” He shot her a pointed look. “Had a hard life, he has. Deserves a good misses to warm his bed and give ’im bairns.”

Juliana laughed to cover her shock. Wed Morgan? No, she didn’t think so. She needed to get back to her time and Morgan wasn’t part of the twenty-first century. “You’re barking up the wrong tree there, Patrick.”

He gently patted her on the back. “I think not, lass. I think not.”

Morgan watched Patrick pat Juliana. She laughed at something he said and a wave of relief washed over Morgan. She was healing. He saw the physical side of it, but feared the mental may never happen. With that one laugh he’d been given hope. She still had her nightmares and he figured she would for a long time to come.

While he was happy to soothe her tortured soul, a part of him wanted her to call for Morgan when the nightmares became too much. Except it wasn’t Morgan she called. It was Zach and he found himself playing the role to quiet her nightmares.

The setting sun painted the sky lavenders and pinks. He inhaled the scent of saltwater and pushed the painful thoughts away. The whole world was stretched out before him, endless blue water that had healed his soul many a time. A seemingly never-ending sea that would be there long after he was gone.

“It’s a beautiful night.”

He looked down to find Juliana beside him. She stood so close the heat of her body warmed him and her scent drifted to him on the cool breeze. Her hair blew around her face, the last of the sun’s rays highlighting the blonde strands, making them appear silver.

Her gaze searched his before she rested her head against his upper arm.

They stood there for some time, silently communicating what they may never be able to put into words. After the light gave way to darkness, Juliana stood on her tiptoes and brushed his cheek with her lips. It was a quick kiss, a peck, but it stunned him nonetheless. For a moment he stood motionless, feeling the warmth of her lips against his cool cheek.

He pulled her closer, lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers.
This is not a good idea
. He blocked his mind from the thoughts. He didn’t care anymore. This was Juliana, the only woman he’d ever loved and damn it, he wanted to kiss her. He cupped her face, closed his eyes and tumbled back fifteen years to a time when the only troubles he had was a geometry test he hadn’t studied for.

Her breath caressed his neck. Her warmth surrounded him, drew him to her. She smelled of fresh sea air and woman. He was lost. Lost to a love he’d buried deep inside himself. To a love that had never gone away, never faded, never ebbed.

She was everything he remembered—warm and sweet, hot and demanding.

His hands slid down her face to her shoulders, her arms, and settled on her hips. He drew her closer until she rested between his thighs. Deep within he sighed, finally feeling complete. Juliana was here, she was his for now. She may not know it but he did and that was all that mattered in this moment. A memory to cherish, to take with him when she was gone.

Her arms wound around him. Her breasts pushed against his chest and he swallowed a groan of need. It could go no further than this, but for now he would cherish her as he hadn’t been able to for fifteen long years.

The shipped rocked, throwing them off balance, tearing her away from his arms. She stumbled back. He reached for her. Why did it seem as if everything conspired against them?

Her green eyes were wide and she covered her mouth with one hand. “Oh, wow.”

Morgan’s mind cleared and the full impact of his actions hit him.
Oh, shit.

She reached a hand out, then let it fall to her side. “Morgan…I’m… That was. I kissed you as a way to say thank you. But I didn’t think…”

He ran a hand through his hair and swore silently. His gaze landed on her swollen lips. Lips that turned his world upside down fifteen years ago and again a few minutes ago. He shouldn’t have kissed her. Keeping his distance was becoming harder and harder but it was something he had to do. She had to go. He had to find somewhere safe for her to live when they reached London. Somewhere far from him where Barun would never find her. To stay would certainly kill her now that Barun was after her as well as him. Kissing her just made everything worse.

Her body stiffened and he knew she’d seen the regret in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “And thank you. For saving me.”

She turned and walked away, her back straight, her hands balled into fists at her side, and Morgan knew a whole different kind of hell.

Chapter Twelve

“Juliana, wake up.”

“Go ’way.” She swatted at the hand shaking her shoulder and snuggled into the covers.

“I want to show you something.”

The pillow was pulled off her head and she blinked. It wasn’t daylight, but the middle of the night and Zach wasn’t in her bed as she’d been dreaming. She scooted up. The bedsheets tangled between her legs and hiked her shirt up to her waist.

“What are you doing in my bed?” She’d been dreaming about Zach. Again. Ever since her ordeal with Barun she’d dreamt of Zach. Sometimes she thought she was going nuts. A slow slide into insanity that scared the hell out of her because she couldn’t tell reality from her dreams. Heck, she was living in the eighteenth century, maybe she
was
going insane.

“I want to show you something,” Morgan said.

“In the middle of the night?”

He pulled on her hand. “Come on.”

The tender look in his eyes and the smile on his face reminded her of Zach when he discovered something interesting and couldn’t wait to show her.

Maybe that's what confused her. At times Morgan reminded her so much of Zach it was scary. She touched his bare arm, felt warm skin. Alive skin. Morgan’s skin. Not Zach’s.

She scooted off the bed, pulling her shirt down at the same time. Morgan stood, his gaze going to her bare legs. Something flared in his eyes, a fire he quickly extinguished.

After their kiss she saw the regret in his eyes. It hurt because she’d needed his touch, his understanding. She’d needed him. But as soon as the ship pulled them apart, he’d pulled away.

She grabbed a pair of pants and struggled into them while he didn’t even attempt to look away. When she finished fastening her pants—honestly, when would the zipper be invented?—he grabbed her hand, snagged the blankets off the bed and led her out the door toward the top deck—or the poop deck as she learned it was called.

He climbed into a tender, spread the blanket out and lay down, motioning for her to join him. She hesitated, but not for long. His regret may have hurt her feelings but he would never hurt her physically. She trusted him and he was all she had in this world. She lay beside him and stared up at the thousands of stars twinkling down on them.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” His soft voice drifted to her like silk caressing bare skin.

“Yes.” She breathed in the salty air and closed her eyes, letting her other senses take over.

“People living hundreds of years from now will look up and see the same stars we’re seeing now.”

She pictured herself on the porch of her apartment, looking at these stars. When she returned—if she returned—she’d never look at them the same again. Never see them without remembering Morgan. She felt a sudden, unexpected twinge of regret. She wanted to go home, but at the same time she didn’t want to leave Morgan behind. Yet it didn’t seem right bringing him to her time. This was where he belonged. He was born to this, knew only life in the eighteenth century and while she’d love to watch him experience the twenty-first century, it could never happened.