My Timeswept Heart Page 3

  "This ship will not sail itself, gentlemen, and I be­lieve she suffered enough damage last eve to warrant

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  that all of you have not a single moment to spare." Gazes dropped under his penetrating regard, and

  men dispersed, glancing almost fearfully over their

  shoulders toward the port side.

  "Captain," Duncan called from the rail, gesturing

  wildly. It was the horrified look on the old man's face

  that alerted him. Blackwell leaned over the salted

  wood.

  "Mother of God!" Immediately he shucked his boots and climbed to the rail. He dove, surfacing be­side the dolphin.

  The animal released the strap caught in its jaws and

  the survivor slithered into Blackwell's arms. Instantly

  he knew he held a woman. The soft curve of her

  breast molded to his palm as he flipped her face up

  and checked her breathing. j

  "Praise be!" he mumbled and, bracing her lolling i

  head against his chest, swam back to the ship. A rope

  ladder tumbled down, and with the experience and

  strength of long months at sea, he ascended, the

  woman hanging limply over his shoulder. Blackwell

  slung a leg over the rail and braced himself before he

  lifted her more comfortably in his arms and stepped

  fully onto the deck.

  "God save us! It's a woman!"

  "Astute observation, Mr. Potts," the captain

  quipped dryly, gently laying his catch on a blanket

  Duncan had ready, then kneeling beside her.

  "Throw her back, Captain," the boatswain

  pleaded. "Aye, 'Tis a sign. A bloody curse to have that

  aboard!" The captain ignored the superstitious pleas and

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  pulled back the clumps of hair from her face and bare shoulders. The grumbling gradually quieted as he re­vealed more and more of the woman to their eager

  eyes.

  "Lord in heaven! She's naked!"

  "It be a bloody mermaid!" A deck hand gawked. "Look at that skin!" He pointed a shaking finger at her shiny black covering.

  Captain Blackwell tossed the blanket over her bare limbs and slipped an arm beneath her back, lifting her upright. She coughed and water spilled from cracked lips.

  "Oohh," she moaned, lids fluttering upward for a breathless moment.

  Tess Renfrew stared into eyes of the palest green, thinly rimmed in dark jade. Her stinging gaze sketched the owner's face. What a hunk, she thought, before she slipped deep into unconsciousness.

  Capt. Dane Blackwell quickly gathered the woman in his arms and came to his feet, then strode to the passageway. Kicking open the door to his cabin, he carried her to his bed and gently laid her in the soft center, then settled down beside her. Cautiously he removed the satchel strap wrapped around her sun­burned shoulder and tossed the brightly colored case on a nearby chair. Smoothing the hair from her face, he tenderly pulled the ebony mass from beneath her, noticing that the area where her shoulder and arm met was swollen. How long had she been in the sea?

  "Sir?"

  Dane nodded acknowledgment, unable to re­lease his gaze from the woman as Duncan set a tray laden with cloths, pitcher, and bowl on the com-

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  mode beside him.

  "I am at a loss, Duncan." He spoke softly as if the admission shamed him. "If this were a man I would not think twice about stripping garments from such wounds, but a woman . . . Lord, look at this thing!" He plucked at the garment, feeling the fabric give be­neath his touch.

  Duncan smiled indulgently. Fierce and cold-na-tured as he appeared, Captain Blackwell was truly a gentleman.

  "Allow me, sir," Duncan said, solicitously unfold­ing a sheet and draping it over the woman. Gingerly he reached beneath the coverlet and with instructions to the captain, they carefully removed her clothing.

  Duncan stared in amazement at what remained in his hand. "It appears to have shrunk, sir." The shiny black garment was half the length it had been on the woman.

  Dane took it, pulling it this way and that. "Keep this to yourself," he said, tossing it with the satchel.

  Duncan nodded, coming around to his side of the bed and pouring water into the bowl, soaking a cloth, then wringing it out. He held it out to the captain.

  Dane shook his head. "You were the married man, McPete."

  "I believe twould be best, sir, if the lady suffered only one humiliation when she awoke. Both of us see­ing her unclothed would be too much of a shame for her to endure."

  Dane cast him a side glance. "You've deduced she's a lady, have you?"

  "Oh aye, Capt'n." He grinned. "Bones like that do not belong to some tavern wench."

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  Silently Dane agreed, accepting the cloth and gin­gerly cleansing her face and throat. "Lady or not, considering the horrible state she's in, I've no doubt she'll be most grateful."

  Duncan's lips twitched. "No doubt, sir." The young man had no idea he was holding the lass's hand, Duncan decided, moving to a cabinet and collecting creams and bandages. He glanced up when he heard the captain curse. "A problem, sir?"

  Dane tossed the sheet back to her knee, revealing a shapely calf with a swollen ankle. "The lady appears to have crossed an angry jellyfish. Have Higa-san pre­pare one of his compresses to ease the sting and swell­ing, and fill my bath, Duncan, with cool waters. Her body is too parched for this sponging nonsense."

  Duncan obeyed quickly, and within moments Dane lifted the woman, sheet and all, and entered his pri­vate bathing room, gently lowering her into a large hip bath. He forced cool water between her chapped lips, stroking her throat to make her swallow.

  "That will be all, Duncan. I can manage." Dane pulled a small stool beneath him as he drizzled water over her head.

  "Aye-aye, sir. Shall I see that the cook prepares a clear broth, perhaps, for the lady?"

  "Aye, but tell him not to rush," Dane murmured softly, if a bit sadly. "I fear this battered creature will not survive."

  "Let us pray you are incorrect in your judgment, sir." Duncan moved away from the bath's threshold, taking the few steps to the door.

  "Duncan?"

  "Sir?" he replied, his hand on the brass latch.

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  "How do you suppose she came to be floating in the sea?"

  Duncan blinked owlishly. "I cannot imagine, sir." The manservant knew the captain wasn't really asking him for a solution, he was simply thinking aloud; Captain Blackwell detested being ignorant of any sit­uation.

  "And what of that dolphin, holding her above the surface like that?"

  "Peculiar, sir. I'll have fresh water warmed if you need, sir."

  Dane didn't acknowledge the offer; he was wincing over her blistered and burned skin. "God's teeth, but she's a damned mess!" Dane muttered, lifting her arm and gently rinsing away the sheen of salt.

  "Aye, Capt'n." There was laughter in his voice. "And as we're both quite aware, sir, she's a beauty as well."

  Dane jerked around to comment on the man's brash assumptions, but the servant was gone, leaving Capt. Dane Alexander Blackwell alone with his mys­terious charge.

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  CHAPTER FOUR

  Duncan McPete hovered over the woman lying in the captain's bed, applying cool compresses to her face and throat. The door burst open, and he looked back over his shoulder to see Captain Blackwell's tall form filling the portal.

  "The fever's come, sir."

  Dane's gaze shot to the woman, "Why did you not send word?" he barked, storming across the room, unbuckling his sword and laying the sextant and charts aside as he moved.

  Duncan stepped back. "She showed no sign until now, sir."

  Dane froze at the side of the bed. Her loveliness seemed cast in rose porcelain, so still she lay. Her shoulders and arms exposed above the pristine sheet were bare, the blistered skin showing the signs of
healing. A thin mist of perspiration glistened on her complexion like a dusting of crystal powder, and yet with the aid of Higa-san's mysterious potions, the fi­ery redness was fading. Her lips were pasty white. Dane gingerly sat down on the bed, his fingers unwill-

  37

  ingly sifting the river of black that spilled over his pillow. It was lustrous, nearly blue but for the few coppery wisps that haloed her forehead and temples.

  Who are you, my lovely? he silently asked. Are you the witch my men claim you to be? What forces put you in the sea? And what of your big gray friend keeping vigil at my bow?

  Dane shook himself, drawing back his hand as if burned, suddenly aware he was being watched.

  "If you desire, Capt'n, you may return to the quar­ter deck. I will tend her." Duncan soaked a cloth, then moved to place it on the woman's forehead.

  "Nay!" An arm shot out to block his way. "Nay," he added in a softer tone. "I am not needed." He paused. "And I'm famished, Duncan."

  The servant took the hint, suppressing a smile. "Aye-aye, Capt'n."

  Dane snapped a look at the old man, yet saw noth­ing in his expression that spoke of the humor in his voice. Duncan, with his head bowed in an uncharac­teristic show of obedience, closed the door as Dane turned back to the woman, gently bathing her face and arms. His gaze traveled across her shrouded form, and he suddenly throbbed to know what sweet treasures lay beneath the cloth. Dane remembered all too well how the damp sheet clung to her when he'd removed her from the bath in the days before, yet the tantalizing memory only served to stir his mind into a lustful frenzy.

  She was long and sleek like a cat, tall for a woman, he assumed, not having the opportunity to come face-to-face with her on sure-footed ground. Her arm, shoulders, and calves were unusually sculp-

  38

  tured, hard muscles well-defined, yet she was light of form, less than nine stone, he deduced, resoaking the cloth and continuing with his task. Nay, 'twas not a task, but a pleasure. This lass would not allow him such liberties were she capable of speech, Dane con­sidered, longing to hear the sound of her voice, to see any expression on her face but the still blankness he'd witnessed for the past days.

  "What name goes with your beauty, little mer­maid?" he asked in hardly a whisper. She began to shake violently, and when his fingers grazed her skin, it was as if a blaze raged within her.

  Duncan spun away from the cabin door and strode jauntily toward the companionway, his bearings set on the galley. He wasn't fooled. For over a week now, the captain had come into his cabin thrice during the day, claiming he wished to dine in private. The food was always left untouched, and the woman seemed to be constantly between the bath and his bed, the stone-faced captain soothing her skin with creams. Hungry, my arse! Tis not food you be wanting, sir!

  Duncan was still grinning when he stuck his head into the galley and addressed the cook. Higa-san's head bobbed, the only indication that he'd heard, as he continued to wield a massive knife over a carrot, shredding it into slices as thin as hair. Duncan shook his head and waited for the little man to gesture that he could enter. No one ventured into the galley with­out Higa-san's permission. One crew member had disobeyed the order, and his index finger had been the price.

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  "Captain's hungry." Higa-san spared him a ques­tioning glance. "Aye, fever's got her."

  The small man stopped chopping, laid down the knife, and, with an -efficiency of movement that amazed Duncan, prepared a tray, then added a han-dleless cup to the meal. He gestured once to the deli­cate cup filled with brewed herbs, then picked up the knife and went back to work. Duncan lifted the tray and cautiously backed out of the galley, then headed toward the cabin.

  Shouldering his way inside, Duncan saw the captain lift the woman and stride toward the bath.

  "Never mind that. Cold water, Duncan! Now!"

  Duncan didn't remark that the captain was using up his personal rations on the woman and did as bade.

  For three days Dane labored continuously over the lady, bathing her, forcing a clear broth or a smelly tea down her throat.

  "You must eat, sir." Duncan stood off to the side, indicating the meal gone cold.

  "Take it away." Dane waved, his attention riveted to the woman.

  Duncan sighed resolutely, shaking his head. "You need rest also, sir. May I take over while you — ?"

  "Nay! No one touches her!" he roared, jumping to his feet and glowering down at the servant. "Is that clear?"

  "Aye-aye, Capt'n!"

  The old man's offended expression quickly brought Dane to his senses. His broad shoulders drooped be-

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  fore he said, "I ask your indulgence, my friend. That was uncalled for." He laid a hand on Duncan's shoul­der and squeezed, not understanding his own out­burst. "But I can manage." Wearily Dane sank into the stuffed chair.

  "My services are here if you should feel the need, Capt'n." Duncan spoke softly as the captain fought the heaviness of his lids and unwillingly closed his eyes. Duncan wasn't offended by the chastising; the crew's harsh talk was enough to warrant a bit of cau­tion. But somehow the lady had struck a tender chord in the sleeping man, and with Duncan's knowledge of Dane Blackwell, he knew it to be an extremely rare occurrence. Only Desiree had been able to bring out this degree of tenderness. God's bones, but the cap­tain had scarcely left the cabin at all, deeming his first mate capable of sailing the new courses. The ser­vant hadn't finished setting the lavish cabin to rights and replacing the water when Captain Blackwell woke with a start, bolting upright, looking childishly pan­icked before his gaze fell on the woman. He checked her breathing, her temperature, then with a disheart­ened sigh, continued his vigil.

  The tray of untouched food in his hand, Duncan was just closing the door when he heard him softly beg her to live.

  "You must try, little one. You've come too far."

  It was late one Thursday evening when the raging fever broke, and she fell into a safe, exhausted sleep. Duncan knew that only two people aboard the Sea Witch cared whether she lived, for most of the crew

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  were cursing her, wishing she'd perished in the storm.

  He quickly amended the count, for though he never voiced it, Higa-san had expressed to her more kind­ness than he'd bestowed on anyone, except the cap­tain.

  The stirring of life melted down her body like warm honey as Tess began to waken. She was safe. Sighing deeply with the pleasure of being alive, she nudged away the heaviness of a drug-induced sleep and cau­tiously tested her limbs, stretching slowly like a gently roused cat.

  This mattress is as soft as goose down, she thought sleepily, surprised to find her skin so supple. She ex­pected her arms and shoulders to feel like a freeze-dried apple. It took a considerable amount of time for her to open her eyes and even longer to adjust to her shadowed surroundings. She glanced around, startled fully awake. She'd expected a hospital.

  My God, what is this place? Suspended on a hook from the ceiling was a thin, white netting draping se­ductively to the four posts of the huge bed, the por­tion beside her drawn back with a silk cord. Very sexy, she thought, attempting to sit up. The effort cost her what little strength she had, and with a tired sigh, Tess fell back onto the billowy linens. Her gaze drifted around the room, the view hazy through the webbing. Off to her left, a worn oxblood leather chair rested behind a desk cluttered with papers, and be­yond that a massive pane window stretched the width of the room, heavily draped with burgundy velvet.

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  Beneath the thick glass was a cushioned bench of matching fabric, dusky light spilling over its faded richness. A polished Chippendale dresser was built into the opposite wall, tucked in a corner; next to that stood an old-fashioned wardrobe. A door, ornately carved and hinged in brass, was closed, a small pot­bellied stove a few feet to its right. She counted eight chairs surrounding a long glossy table adjacent to her and against the same polished wall as the bed was a tall, broad cabinet with beautifully etche
d glass doors in the top of the hutch. She frowned. She could spot an antique when she saw one, but these, they were in excellent condition. And why was everything bolted to the floor and walls? There were other things that made her uneasy, besides the spicy scent of cologne clinging to the pillows or the boots neatly placed be­side a trunk.

  The room was moving. Not moving, but rocking?

  Incredible. How can this be? she wondered, prop­ping herself up on one elbow, then stuffing the moun­tain of pillows comfortably around her. She adjusted the sheet and suddenly realized she was completely naked beneath it.

  It was this alluring picture that greeted the captain of the Sea Witch when he entered his cabin. He stood frozen, his hand on the latch, half in, half out, his gaze drifting over her sculptured body draped in white linen. The image of a feline came to mind again, seeing her reclining on her side, ribbons of black silk streaming over bare shoulders and pooling on the bed. She had a confused look about her, the sheet grasped tightly to her chest with one hand.

  Dane stepped inside and sealed them in.

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  Her head jerked up at the soft sound, and Tess ab­sorbed the sight of a man coming toward the bed. Broad-shouldered and tall, he moved across the room with a grace and sensuality Tess had never witnessed in a man. Lord, what a piratical getup! Long legs en­cased in tight-fitting black pants covered the space that separated them in seconds, cuffed boots that reached his knees clicked twice before they touched on the carpet. Sharply he brushed back the drape.

  Tess stared. He wasn't just a dream, she thought, reacquainting herself with that face. He's beautiful; black hair, shiny and curling beyond his collar, a square jaw, great nose, and all the skin she could see was bronzed like a rich wood. He was looking her over as well, and her gaze met the most dangerous pair of eyes she'd ever seen. They made her heart stop, then beat like a drum roll. He said a hundred things with those mint-frost eyes, yet revealed noth­ing.