Wherever You Are (27 page)

With a cry of rage she lifted her weapon and rushed him. He raised his hand to deflect the blow. She swung again, using the leg like a baseball bat. Barun bent low and charged her, catching her around the waist and tackling her in a classic football move. She landed on the floor with a bone-jarring thud, Barun on top of her. Her weapon skittered away and she cried out in rage.

He rolled off her. She scrambled to her feet and bolted for the door but he grabbed the hem of her skirts and she was pulled up short.

No! It couldn’t end this way. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen!

Cold fingers dug into her skin and she cried out, struggling against him.

He pulled her through the cabin, opened the door and dragged her down the hall. She fought him as they descended the steps to the bowels of the ship, terror making her heart beat harder. She screamed and kicked and cried out for help but his men turned away.

They reached the lowest part of the ship where no light penetrated except for the lanterns along the wall. He pulled a key from his pocket, unlocked a door and shoved her inside. She stumbled and fell to her knees.

“When you can act the part of a lady you will be allowed back in the cabin. Until then you will remain here. If you want your slave so badly, you will be treated as a slave as well.”

The door closed with a loud click, dousing the room in darkness. She knelt there for the longest time, unmoving. What happened? What went so horribly wrong? Her body shook with the aftereffects of the adrenaline rush and still she didn’t move.

The door opened and she jumped. A man stepped in carrying a large bundle over his shoulders. He heaved his burden and it landed with a thud at her knees. The door closed and she was enveloped in darkness again.

The lump moaned and she gasped. Oh God, it was a person. Using her hands, going by feel alone, she touched it. Warm skin, sticky, matted hair. Her heart beat double time.

“Morgan?”

She moved her hands down his side, over his thighs and calves. It appeared nothing was broken but what the hell did she know? She was a reporter from the twenty-first century, not a damn doctor.

Morgan moved and muttered something incoherent.

She smoothed his hair from his face and her hand came away bloody. “Morgan? Wake up. Please.”

“J’liana.”

She gingerly touched his face, not knowing where or how much more he was hurt. “I’m here, Morgan.”

“S-sorry.”

She couldn’t stop herself from touching some part of him even though it seemed every inch was covered in blood. “Sorry for what?”

“This.”

She kissed his temple, closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. He was alive.

“B’run?” he asked.

“He’s not here right now.”

He coughed then moaned. “You ’kay?”

“I’m fine.” She needed water to clean his cuts. She needed bandages. She needed penicillin and sutures and while she was at it why didn’t she wish for a freaking surgeon and a well-equipped emergency room?

He grabbed her hand, his grip surprisingly strong. “I’m fine.”

“You look like hell.” Not that she could see him.
Oh, God, please don’t die on me. Please, God, don’t let him die.

“Did he…hurt you?”

“I got a few good punches in.”

He made a sound that sounded like a snort. “Very proud…of you.”

Her smile faded. “I thought you were dead.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I thought…”

From out of the darkness his hand reached up and found hers. “I’ll survive. I’ve suffered worse.”

She remembered the stories of his time as a slave, rowing the ship, locked in a prison cell. Would he survive this? He was badly hurt and she didn’t have the means to fix him.

“Tired,” he mumbled through cracked lips.

“I don’t know if you should sleep. I don’t know much about these things.”

He squeezed her hand. “I’ll be fine.”

His hand went slack in hers. “Morgan?” She fumbled in the darkness, feeling him, searching for his chest and pressing her palm to it. He was breathing shallowly, but evenly. She sighed and kept her hand there.

Juliana was fine. Barun hadn’t hurt her. To survive the beatings, Morgan had escaped to a place inside himself, a place where memories of Juliana lived.

Now he was with her. Now he was able to give up the fight, surrender to his body’s need to shut down.

The sound of children’s laughter filled his mind. He was taken back to a place long forgotten, to an afternoon that changed his life forever.

“Aaargh, ye’ll have to walk the plank, missy, if’n ye don’t tell me where you hid the treasure.” Twelve-year-old Zach pointed his stick at his sister Molly, pretending it was a gold-plated cutlass he’d taken off a pretend ship he’d pretend plundered.

They were in the neighbor’s field bordering their yard. A long time ago—at least a month ago—they found a patch of dirt where, for some reason, no crop grew. It was really cool, like a hidden fort or something.

Molly was wrapped up in her jump rope, her arms pinned to her side, the bright pink handles trailing in the dirt. She shimmied her shoulders and the rope slithered to the ground. She stepped out of the ring it made and put her hands on her hips.

“Why do I always have to walk the plank? Why can’t you walk the plank?” She crossed her arms and glared. “I’m tired of always having to walk the plank.”

Zach’s cutlass fell to his side, and he let out a patient sigh. “Because I’m the pirate and you’re my prisoner and pirates don’t walk the plank. Besides, girls can’t be pirates anyway.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Oh, yeah?”

Zach raised his stick and stabbed it into the air a few times. “Yeah.”

“Who says?”

He lunged forward, stopping inches from Molly’s nose. “The pirate book says, that’s who. Whoever heard of a girl pirate?” He scoffed at the very idea. How stupid. Girls weren’t pirates. He thrust his cutlass/stick at her. “So you gonna walk the plank or what?”

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. A bright patch of red hid behind a big green stalk. He took a step closer. A dirty white tennis shoe with a hole in the toe poked out. And then the last thing he expected to happen, happened. A girl stepped out of the flowers, her short blonde hair all messy, her red T-shirt faded and her jeans all holey.

“Hey, I know you. You’re the girl that lives down the road. Julie, right?”

“Juliana,” she said real quiet like. She looked kinda scared and for some reason Zach felt sorry for her.

“We’re playing pirates. Wanna play?”

“Yeah, you could walk the plank,” Molly said.

Zach scowled at her. Didn’t his dumb sister see this girl wasn’t the type to walk a plank? She was too…small. Or something.

“Sure,” Juliana said, still being real quiet. Zach wasn’t used to quiet people. In his family if you wanted to be heard, you yelled.

“Cool. I’m the pirate.” He pointed to himself with his cutlass/stick. “And Molly’s my prisoner. She knows where the buried treasure is and if she doesn’t tell me she has to walk the plank and die. Who do you wanna be?”

Juliana looked at him with wide green eyes, like she’d never played pirate or something. “I dunno. Whatever, I guess.”

Zach thought about what part Juliana could play. He stood on one leg while absently scratching a mosquito bite on the other.

“I know. You be the queen and I have to rescue you and then we get married.” His face got kinda hot thinking about marrying her. Juliana’s face was red, like she was sunburned. It hadn’t been red before.

Molly scoffed. “Pirates can’t marry queens, you dumb head.”

He swung around to his sister. “Why not?”

Ordinarily, he wouldn’t let Molly get away with calling him a dumb head. Normally he would tackle her to the ground and pin her there until she said she didn’t mean it. But he didn’t want to do that in front of Juliana.

Molly crossed her arms over her chest again and got that look that said he was such a…dumb head.

“Because queens have to marry kings. It’s the law.”

“Oh.” Molly was right. Queens didn’t marry pirates. What was he thinking? Because if queens married pirates then pirates would have to stop…pirating…and that was really dumb. Why would anyone stop pirating?

“Juliana!”

Juliana jumped and looked behind her. The voice that called her name was shrill and not very nice sounding. Zach remembered the kids at school said her mother was a drunk and mean. Zach felt sorry for her and he also had a strange feeling, like he should protect her from her mother. But that was dumb because kids didn’t need protecting from their parents. His own parents were pretty cool even though they made him do chores like make his bed and stuff.

“I gotta go,” she said, looking behind her again.

“Can’tcha ask her to stay?”

She shook her head. Her blonde curls got stuck on her eyelashes and her green eyes looked scared. She pushed the hair out of her face and before he knew it she disappeared into the flowers, as if she hadn’t even been there at all.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Juliana stroked Morgan’s hair. Her body ached and exhaustion weighed her down but she didn’t sleep. She was too afraid he’d die while she slept. By staying awake, he stayed alive. She knew she wasn’t thinking rationally but she was beyond rational thought.

Earlier she felt the
Bhaya
jump to the wind like a horse released from the starting gate. She tried to ignore her panic, fought not to give in to it. Yet the questions wouldn’t stop coming. Did anyone know where they were? How was she going to escape from a ship in the middle of the ocean with Morgan so hurt?

The hand buried in Morgan’s hair balled into a fist, clutching strands of the thick mane. Her head fell back and she closed her eyes on a sob.

The ship picked up speed. She could tell by the rise and fall of the hull. She listened as men moved above them. Occasionally, the sound of laughter floated through the boards above her head. Voices raised in anger grew, then faded.

The sound of approaching footsteps had her tensing. Carefully, so as not to disturb him, Juliana lifted Morgan’s head from her lap to stand. The blood rushed to her legs sending pinpricks of pain shooting through her lower extremities. The footsteps stopped at her door. A young boy, no more than twelve stepped in, placed a plate of food and a mug on the floor along with a lantern then retreated.

The light hit Morgan’s face. Blood caked his cuts and bruises. His face was so swollen she almost didn’t recognize him. His hair was loose and tangled and matted with dried blood.

“Morgan?” She shook him lightly and he groaned. “Morgan, wake up.”

He struggled to sit up, pressing his arm against his ribs and wincing with each tiny move. She tried to help him, but he waved her away.

She held up the plate of biscuits. “Food.”

She dunked a hard biscuit in the beer and held it out to him. He looked at their surroundings. The room was larger than she first thought and carefully cleaned out. There was nothing here. No straw, no forgotten barrels, no exit except for the door they’d been brought through. It was obvious Barun prepared this place to hold his captives.
 

“Where are we?” Morgan asked.

“On the
Bhaya
.”

He took the biscuit she kept shoving at him and bit down, watching her with a narrowed eye. “I know that,” he said, sounding more like the old Morgan. “I mean where are we headed?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

He finished his biscuit and scooted back slowly until he was resting against the wall. His eyes drifted closed. He jerked his head, but eventually he lost the fight and nodded off.

Juliana took his hand and squeezed, willing her strength into him. Time passed and the steady up-and-down motion of the ship lulled her to sleep. However, even in sleep she had to touch her husband, afraid if she let go for even a moment he would slip away forever.

Another set of footsteps outside their door had her jerking awake. She scrambled to her feet, placing herself in front of Morgan. The door opened, a crack at first, then wider until John slipped in. He studied Morgan slumped against the wall unconscious, and turned tortured eyes to Juliana.

“I didn’t know,” he whispered.

She didn’t feel sorry for him, not after what he’d done and not even for the reasons he did it.

“He wants t’ see you.” John’s gaze fell on his former captain.

Juliana clutched fistfuls of her skirt, willing herself to breath. “Who wants to see me?”

“Barun. I’m to take you to him.”

Her heart beat erratically and her stomach churned. As much as she didn’t want to leave Morgan alone, afraid of him slipping quietly away from her, she couldn’t ignore this summons.

She sank to her heels in front of Morgan, pushing his hair away from his face. “I love you.” She brushed a kiss across his lips and one across his forehead before pressing her cheek to his. Tears pricked the back of her eyes but she blinked them away.

“We have to hurry,” John said. “You don’t want to make him angry.”

Her anger flickered then died. They were on the ocean sailing to only God knew where. Right now they were at his mercy until she thought of a way to free them. She stood and with one last lingering look at Morgan, walked out of their prison.

John led her across the forecastle, up the quarterdeck and down a short flight of steps to the captain’s cabin. Surreptitiously, she looked around but saw only endless miles of churning, pewter gray sea. Land was long gone and not another ship in sight. Some part of her had hoped and prayed Isabelle would come after them in a daring rescue attempt. But she was alone, a twenty-first century woman fighting an eighteenth-century evil with no weapon and no means of escape.

Far too soon they reached the door to Barun’s cabin.

Before knocking, John turned to Juliana. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t know.”

“And that makes what you did acceptable? If you’re looking for forgiveness, you won’t find it here.”

His blue eyes flared with pain and she felt an unwanted glimmer of sympathy. She placed a hand on John’s arm. “Do you know for certain Andrew is alive? Did Barun provide proof he has your brother?”