My Timeswept Heart Read online

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  "Nay, nay, I am well," he said impatiently. "Are you certain you're unharmed?"

  "Yes," she gasped. "Although breathing easily is an entirely different matter. Good gravy, you weigh a ton, Blackwell."

  His lips quirked briefly as he eased himself off her and sat upright f

  Tess inhaled slowly before pushing herself off the deck, brushing the braid out of her face. She didn't do more than that when she heard him curse and was swept up into his arms. He straightened and headed for the passageway.

  "Put me down, Blackwell."

  "You're bleeding."

  She looked at the source of her pain. "Scraped el­bows, big deal. I've hit the ground with more speed than that before," His brow arched, puzzled, but he didn't stop moving. "I can walk by myself."

  " 'Tis likely so, Lady Renfrew, but I shall not chance it."

  Just a moment ago he wouldn't even open his mouth in her defense before his crew's ridiculous ac­cusations, and now he was playing Sir Galahad! "Lis­ten up, Captain Blackwell," she said lowly. "If you don't put me down this instant, you'll see exactly how much of a God-rotten street urchin I am!"

  Her wounded tone gave him pause, and he stopped, gently setting her on her feet. Her lips thinned, and she seemed about to say something, then decided against it and turned away, spine rigid as she walked toward the passageway.

  After a few paces she stopped. "Thank you for sav­ing me, Captain Blackwell," she murmured tightly

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  without looking at him, then continued on her way. Dane scowled at the hatch long after she'd closed it behind her. Somehow he'd hurt her feelings, deeply. He knew his temper- had bested him when she'd climbed the bowsprit and he'd lashed out, but when he'd seen that winch coming toward her heart, all his misgivings had vanished. Blast the troublesome wench, he thought as his first mate came up beside him.

  "Well, Mr. Thorpe?" His gaze never left the door. " Twas Mr. Potts's station, sir. He insists 'twas an accident."

  "Not bloody likely," Dane muttered, storming up to the quarter deck.

  Tess was fuming. Hurt, angry, and shaken by what happened, she paced the cabin, deep in her own tor­ment. Every member of this ship seems unwilling to bend from the fantasy, including its captain. No one would allow a twentieth-century thought to even enter his stupid head. What about that hook thing? Surely that was an accident. And were they so caught up they couldn't discern fantasy from reality? And where did that leave her? The only guest to this bizarre sce­nario? Days, possibly weeks, from civilization on a boatload of loonies? She'd have to wait this out, wait to be put ashore or for a rescue party, which meant she had to first be discovered missing. And only Penny could do that. Tess stopped pacing. God. She must be going crazy by now. A week on the cruise ship, forty-eight hours maybe, in the water, Tess cal­culated, not to mention however long to recover.

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  Yeah, Pen would be in a fine panic, feeling guilty about it, too. Tess prayed the actress didn't catch any backlash over the theft; the whole plan was to keep her name out of it. Jesus, what a mess!

  Conceding that now was not the time to ask the captain if he had a HAM radio aboard so she could contact Penny, Tess tried to remember her history les­sons and the beliefs of the eighteenth century. Infor­mation was power, she decided, mentally reciting what she knew from the American Revolution on­ward. 1782, England recognizes the independence of the U.S. Massachusetts Supreme Court outlaws slav­ery. Let's see, 1788, Continental Convention held in Philadelphia; 1789; Washington elected president.

  "What else, what else?" She thumped the heel of her hand against her forehead as if it would make the information surface. "Oh, crap! What's the use?" she mumbled. "Nothing I can remember will be any help. To them I'm a damn witch!"

  They once hanged suspected witches, she suddenly recalled, locked them in stocks or burned them at the stake. Would they take it that far, to actually physi­cally harm someone for simply answering the playful antics of a dolphin?

  It wasn't that Tess couldn't believe they thought her a witch—true witches existed, she herself knew of one white witch, a healer actually—but it was the manner the crew went about voicing their strong opinions. She shook her head, recognizing Dane's crew sin­cerely believed in the existence of the opposite, the black witch or warlock, fostered by legend, brewed in the frightened imagination. Black magic had nothing to do with true witchcraft, but everything to do with

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  Satanism. Obeah worship, Nazis, and demented crea­tures like Charles Manson were continuous testimony of the people who practiced such garbage. Truly of­fended they considered her to be of the latter quality, she plopped on the bed, deciding she knew nothing useful to ease their twisted fears.

  A howling cry brought her to her feet. Tess waited, breathlessly counting the passing seconds, certain it had been the wind. Then it came again, louder, and before it faded to a low wail, she gathered up her skirts and fled the cabin. Tess ran down the corridor with surprising speed. Racing onto the deck, what she saw was like a kick in the teeth. Bare from the waist up with his arms stretched above his head and lashed to the mast pole, a man was being whipped.

  Crewmen shielded her from a better look, but she could see the man's skin was already bleeding from the two previous strikes. Out of breath, she pushed her way between the smelly bodies, then froze, horri­fied as a sailor's arm drew back, then descended sharply, nine knotted tails slapping bare skin, curling around its victim's chest. The man screamed, his body going rigid, back arching, and Tess's knees wob­bled. Her gaze shot to where the captain stood, mo­tionless, fists clenched at his side, his expression impassive, carved in stone.

  Dane cringed inwardly as the whip cracked but forced himself to watch, no matter how much it ap­palled him. The boatswain had been careless. Whether it was intentional or not, he could never be certain, but the inexcusable neglect nearly caused the lady's demise. In that, Dane was unforgiving. The whip raised again.

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  "Nooooo!" Tess screamed as she lunged forward, putting herself between the prisoner and the whip. Her breath hissed out as the thin tarred hemp bit into her tender skin and she recognized the captain's curse above the surprised shouts floating around her.

  "Mother off God!" the second mate uttered, drop­ping the whip as if burned. He snapped a frightened look to his captain. "Beggin' the captain's forgive­ness, sir, I didn't see her! I swear—!"

  Dane lashed a hand through the air for silence, his gaze on the ugly welt rising on her shoulder. God curse this day, he thought.

  Gritting her teeth against the searing pain, Tess turned abruptly, arms thrown back to protect the vic­tim. "Blackwell, you bastard! What the hell are you doing?"

  "It is not your concern, woman. Get below." His voice was even.

  "The hell I will! This is barbaric!"

  Dane didn't take his gaze from hers. "Mr. Thorpe, escort Lady Renfrew to my cabin." The words rang as icy as the look in his eyes. Pale, furious, white frost.

  The first mate made a move toward her. "Touch me and you're dead meat, buster," she sneered at the blond, still shielding the young man.

  Duncan stepped forward, his gaze shifting between the lady and his captain. "Please, m'lady, do not in­terfere."

  "Put a sock in it, McPete," she barked, her eyes still on the captain. "I'm not budging until someone ex­plains!"

  Duncan looked to the captain, and Dane nodded curtly, his temper barely held in check. " 'Twas Mr.

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  Potts that allowed the winch to come unhitched," he said uneasily from her side. "He is the cause of your near death."

  "So you're beating the pulp out of him? Good God, Blackwell! It was an accident toward me, and I should be the one to bring charges, if—I—wish!"

  "Lady Renfrew," Dane began in a tone that formed icicles. "This is my ship — "

  "And of course, you're lord and master. How fool­ish of me to forget," she said, contemptuously look­ing him up and down.
"You disgust me, Blackwell. I thought you well beyond anything this—"she lashed a hand to the whip lying at his feet—"revolting."

  Her words sliced him to the bone. She couldn't know how much the punishment sickened him. Yet to be lenient would mean chaos, a crew who lacked re­spect for him, his decisions. And by God, it was not her place to question the matter! Couldn't she see they wanted her gone anyway they could!

  "Missy! Don't. I beg of you. "I will go worse for me." The plea came from behind her, and Tess twisted slightly, nose to nose with the seaman.

  "Did you really try to hurt me, Potts?"

  He turned his face away, ashamed.

  "My God, why?" Her voice cracked.

  "You be a witch—I thought you was goin' to hurt me captain," he finished lamely.

  Such mindless loyalty, Tess thought, shooting a dis­figuring glare toward Dane. "You're all sick, and you deserve whatever your warped imaginations can come up with," she sneered over her shoulder, trying to re­lease the man's bonds.

  She didn't see Dane tiredly plow his fingers through

  his hair, then nod to Mr. Thorpe before the man came to her aid. Ignoring the first mate's wary looks, Tess stormed purposefully down the deck to the bow, the captain hot on her heels as she withdrew a handled peg from the rail. She spun about and held it out to Dane.

  "Hit it against the side of the hull."

  He scowled. "Get below, Tess."

  "Now you call me Tess! Well, you lost that right, Captain. I dare you. Hit the rail, the deck, anything."

  "Is there a purpose to this insanity?" he ground out, hands on his hips.

  "I'm distraught. Humor me."

  "So help me, woman—"

  "Scared, Blackwell?"

  His nerves singing, Dane knew he was being goaded as he yanked the martin spike from her grasp, then knelt, pounding the deck, then the inner hull, taking out his rage on the frigate.

  "What in God's name is this supposed to accom­plish?" he gnashed up at her.

  "I know you lack intelligence, Blackwell, but try. I'm proving a point." A taut wire was strung between them, and she knew if something didn't happen to change it, it would snap and any friendship they'd formed would be destroyed.

  "Keep tapping," she told him as he straightened be­fore her.

  "You're mad," he growled, thumping the rail.

  Her laugh was ugly, tight. "Me? What do you call beating a man as if he were nothing more than an rug?"

  He ran his fingers through his already mussed hair,

  hating the disgust he saw in her eyes. "You do not

  understand—"

  "You're right, I don't understand," she cut in, her outrage overriding what his nearness did to her. Her gaze encompassed the entire ship in one sweep, irra­tional reasons for this fiasco struggling to congeal in her brain. "And I never will, Blackwell." She met his gaze. "Not in a hundred years."

  A piercing sound spiked the air, and she leaned over the rail, the crew gravitating with her. The white-bellied dolphin chittered happily on the port side,

  diving beneath the surface and coming up in one

  graceful arch. "By the saints, lass," Duncan asked from her side.

  "How did you call him?" "I didn't. Dolphins respond to sound vibration."

  She looked pointedly at Dane, lifting a gently tapered

  brow. "Now who's the witch, Blackwell?" she said

  softly, then turned away from him, pushing through

  the throng of men.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Dane stood outside the door to his cabin, his fist raised to knock. Why was he hesitating? Perchance he knew he wouldn't be greeted kindly when he en­tered. His mind's eye mirrored the rage on her face, the ugly words she'd spat at him over Mr. Potts's pun­ishment. Disgust, sick, barbarian—bastard. They were like knives to his heart.

  It was she he was trying to protect, her honor he strove to regain in the eyes of his crew. And it was only the Lady Renfrew, it seemed, who possessed the ability to wound him with naught but those smoky eyes. Damnation, what was it about the wench that stripped him of all logical thought? He lowered his arm and turned away, deciding he needed to think on the matter a while.

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  Duncan rapped softly; then, with no answer forth­coming, he opened the door a crack and peered in­side. His shoulders drooped as he spied the lady sitting on the window bench, gazing out onto the

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  ocean. She hadn't moved since this morn. Poor lass, he thought, stepping inside and quietly setting the dinner tray on the table.

  "You best be eatin" something, m'lady." He spoke softly so as not to disturb her more than was neces­sary. Her response was an almost imperceptible nod. "Aw, lassie," he said sympathetically, moving closer. "You shouldn't take it all so hard."

  "You don't understand, Duncan. What I saw goes against everything I believe in. And that the captain condoned such an act—"

  "He doesn't."

  Tess jerked around. "What do you mean?" she de­manded sharply. "He ordered it, didn't he?"

  Duncan's chest tightened at the tearstained cheeks, the disenchantment in her eyes. "The capt'n, miss, well, it troubles him sorely to order such harsh pun­ishment, but — " He held up a hand to stop her ques­tion. "He must. Whether you were harmed is not the soul of the matter."

  He gestured to the space beside her, and she nod­ded, pulling her skirts close as he seated himself. He sighed deeply before he spoke. "You see, miss, had Mr, Potts allowed the winch to be released, regardless if you had been in its path, he would have been pun­ished. If not, the crew would be believin' the capt'n didn't have pride in his vessel, nor in them. And when he issued an order 'twould be done lazily or perhaps not at all."

  Like being reprimanded for failing in your job, she reasoned. "But Mr. Potts said he did it because he thought / would harm the captain. How much more loyalty does Black well want?"

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  He shook his head. " Tis been loyalty well earned, that I can tell you truly. I'd give me life for the capt'n, as would any man aboard, and I can count one occa­sion more than I care to of when the boy's—eh, the capt'n's risked all to save just one of us." His eyes sparked with pride. "Aye. He's a fair man, lass. Fairer than any capt'n most of these men have served afore. Such a careless act as Mr. Potts is guilty of could pos­sibly be the cause of all our deaths. Harken to me." He shook a finger for emphasis, then caught himself, reddening. "The Sea Witch needs every able hand mannin' his station and doin' his job or 'tis no doubt she'd perish."

  Tess stared blankly at Duncan. Beam me up, Scotty, she thought dismally. "Duncan, this isn't real. It's a game, a play, and you're all—actors. It's sup­posed to be fun"

  The old man blinked, his brows raised high into his scalp. "I beg your pardon?"

  "Blackwell is simply a bored little rich boy with money to burn and time to waste, and you're all par­ticipants in his little fantasy." Her tone was flat, tired.

  He stood abruptly. "I don't know where you've gained such ridiculous information, but though Capt'n Blackwell be a wealthy sort, he's in these wa­ters for a purpose! And I assure you, Lady Renfrew, he is neither bored or wasteful."

  She latched onto that, for it was clear she wasn't going to get a confession to the masquerade. "And what is that purpose?"

  Duncan turned his face away. " Tis not me place to speak of it," he muttered, then moved across the room to the cabinet and withdrew two small jars and

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  a bottle. Without a word he went back to her, and whether she requested it or not, he tended the welt on her shoulder.

  "I want to see Mr. Potts."

  "The capt'n will not allow it."

  "I don't care what he'll allow"

  "The capt'n saw to the lad's wounds himself."

  Tess looked back over her shoulder. "Did he re­ally?"

  "I told you, miss. It sickened him as much as it did you." He paused, then added, " 'Twas the capt'n him­self that tended you, lass, neglecting all else to se
e you through a dangerous fever."

  For a full minute Tess allowed the thrill of those words wash over her. She rubbed her forehead. "I'm so confused, Duncan. He's been so kind to me and then to witness that behavior—I think you're all tak­ing this too far. Blackwell could go to prison for that."

  "Not likely. And be assured no one aboard believes 'twould come about." It was a quiet moment before he said softly, "It was your reputation he sought to clear."

  She looked up, eyes round. With a beating?

  "And whether it pleases you or nay, Lady Renfrew, here the capt'n is the law."

  The law. Obviously there were rules to this game she wasn't aware of but they were eager to adhere to. Tess recalled the boatswain's confession. He knew the punishment before he let the hook loose, admitting his guilt. Christ, what else were they prepared to do for this adventure?

  "How is Potts?" She couldn't help but be sympa-

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  thetic to such a demented soul.

  "At his duties."

  "What? You can't be serious! He was so hurt." She started to rise, but he gently held her down.

  "He considers himself fortunate to have received only two lashes to the ten ordered." He paused. "You're to be admired for your conviction, lass."

  "Fat lot of good it did," she hissed when he applied a stinging lotion to her wound. "Why do they all think I'm a witch, Duncan?" She had to grasp their reasons, if anything, to get a handle on this.

  He shrugged. "Tales are told, Davy Jones, sirens of the deep luring sailors to their death, and all they know of you is that you came from the sea."

  So, she thought with a touch of surprise, Blackwell kept what he knew to himself. "And because they thought I could talk to the dolphin?"

  "Aye." He finished the treatment and stepped back.

  Tess turned fully, hands folded on her lap. "I can't, you know. It was merely his response to me. He can communicate, in his own way—" Why am I explain­ing all this? He had to know that much about the animals. God, she was starting to think like them!

  Duncan saw her rising agitation and said, "A dol­phin is good luck if it follows a ship."