Wherever You Are (7 page)

So lost in her own thoughts, she didn’t hear anyone approach and jerked when someone stopped beside her.

“I apologize,” Thomas said.

“For?”

“Flogging you.”

Seeing him this close without the veil of fear and pain, she noticed how young Thomas was, probably just past twenty. But his eyes, the gateway to his soul, spoke of a man who’d endured and witnessed what most men of her time would never experience. Probably never want to experience.

He looked worse than she did. His nose was red and swollen and both eyes were black. “I’m sorry for breaking your nose.”

He grimaced and gingerly touched the bridge of his nose, but the grimace turned into a smile. She was surprised to see dimples appear on both cheeks. “You did a good job, eh?”

She found herself smiling back. The action almost felt foreign.

“How is your back?”

“Better.”

He snorted. “You lie, but I thank you for it. My name is Thomas.”

“The quartermaster,” she said. “I remember.”

“If you ever need anything, I’m at your mercy.”

“You don’t owe me.”

“I do.”

“I broke your nose. We’re even.”

“Not even close.”

She wanted to argue but the guilt in his face and the horror of what he’d done mirrored her own and somehow, inexplicably, their combined horror forged a bond between them. “Thank you,” she said.

“Where will you go once we reach London? Mayhap I can help.”

Juliana bit her bottom lip. Mostly she thought of how to return to her own time and pushed away thoughts of what she’d do once they reached London. What if she couldn’t find a way back? What if she was stuck here forever?

“I haven’t thought that far ahead,” she admitted.

“Then allow me to help, my lady.”

She was profoundly relieved to have at least one ally in this strange journey and someone she could turn to once they reached London.

Thomas quickly straightened, his smile wiped clean by a frown. He nodded, turned on his heel and hurried off, leaving Juliana alone and confused, until she saw Morgan stalking toward her with a scowl that pulled his brows low.

“You should get some sleep,” he said gruffly.

She stared up at the sky, surprised to see it was nearly dark. Her body felt heavy, as if she had the weight of the world on her shoulders, and her back ached but she had no desire to return to the small, stuffy cabin.

“I’m fine.” She moved away from the railing. It was just her luck that she stumbled over some sailing paraphernalia. The damn stuff was strewn everywhere. Morgan’s hand shot out and grabbed her before she fell.

“You’re exhausted,” he nearly growled. “And your bandages need changing. You’re bloodying my shirt.”

He was right of course. She was being pigheaded when she should be grateful.

Morgan’s fierce expression softened. “Let’s go,
manasvinii
.”

He turned to leave and Juliana followed, suddenly so tired she couldn’t think straight. “What did you call me?” she asked his back.

“Proud woman,” he shot over his shoulder.

When they reached Morgan’s cabin, she sank wearily onto his bed. Her eyes closed of their own volition and she swayed with fatigue. Gentle hands cupped her shoulders and she opened her eyes to see Zach standing in front of her. She blinked. No, not Zach. Geez, she
was
exhausted. It was only Captain Morgan.

At his prompting, she lay on her stomach and tried not to feel his hair skim her arm. Tried not to feel those big hands as they raised her shirt. Who was this man who effortlessly commanded a ship of seamen? Who calmly spoke of pirates and yet handled her wounded back so gently.

“What’s your first name?” she asked, giving voice to her curiosity.

Warm hands touched her even warmer skin.

“Morgan.”

“That’s your first name?” She closed her eyes.

“First and last.” His voice drifted around her, through her.

“Morgan Morgan?”

He chuckled. “Just Morgan.”

“That’s my name, too.”

His hands stilled for a moment before resuming their tender ministrations. “Is it?”

“My middle.”

“Mmmm,” was his only reply.

He worked on releasing her bindings.

“Are you a pirate?”

“Not anymore.”

Her eyes shot open. “So, you were a pirate?”

“Yes.”

The bindings gave way and he cleaned her wounds. She wanted to see her back, wanted to know if it was as bad as she feared. She lifted her head and tried to twist around but Morgan gently forced her back down.

“You’ll reopen the wounds.”

“Is it bad?”

No answer, which in itself was answer enough. She closed her eyes against the tears.

Crying, Juliana?
Her mother’s voice taunted her.

No.
Her own voice answered, as it answered thousands of times before. But her mother’s drunken, slurred laughter still rang in her memory. The sound always managed to make her feel small and unwanted and unloved.

Morgan sat in the straight-backed chair and watched her sleep. She’d tucked a hand under her cheek and her other hand was curled into a loose fist on her pillow.

Needing to feel the warmth of her skin, he reached down to touch her brow, to smooth away a lock of hair that had fallen over her cheek. However, before he made contact, he tightened his hand into a fist and pulled back.

He grappled with his mixed emotions, still feeling the zing of jealousy when she’d smiled up at Thomas and the way Thomas smiled back. The two had no business smiling at each other. Thomas needed to concentrate on his duties, Juliana on healing. And Morgan on… Hell, he needed to concentrate on his duties as well, but a certain female stowaway grabbed his attention and refused to release it. He shouldn’t be angry at Thomas for doing the things he himself was doing. Yet he had been angry. Furious even.

He relaxed back in the chair, his body aching. His eyes grew heavy and he stopped fighting the inevitable. His mind drifted and he jerked his head in an effort to end the nightmare he knew was to come before it even began.

It overtook him as easily as sleep did.

Almost immediately he turned to crawl back through but the mirror wasn’t there. Only endless trees. Miles and miles of trees. A person could get lost in those trees and not be found for years, if ever. A small brook ran close to his feet. The sky was a bright blue. More birds than he ever saw in one place flew over his head and the air was sweet and free of any noxious smells. He turned in a circle, wondering where he was.

When he was.

For the first time in his life, he was scared. All those stunts he’d pulled growing up were nothing compared to this.

What had he done?

He frantically looked around, convinced that if he searched hard enough salvation would appear and he could return to his life. But there was nothing except a few deer who peered at him before ambling away to drink in the brook. He swallowed hard and tried to think, but surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly, his mind refused to work properly.

Morgan’s eyes flew open. He surged off the chair and stared at the woman sleeping peacefully in his bed.

When he first visited her in the hold, he saw only what he wanted to see—a young man sent by his enemy. Ever since learning her name, he’d turned a blind eye to the truth. No more. He couldn’t lie to himself anymore. But the truth was almost too painful to bear.

Juliana Morgan MacKenzie had found her Zach.

Chapter Six

Juliana.

Of course he’d known from the moment he undressed her that she was a time-traveler. Just like himself. That’s why he tied her clothes to a cannonball and threw them in the ocean. But Juliana? The girl he’d loved so much it’d become a physical ache? The girl he’d left behind in the twenty-first century because he’d been so stupid as to fall through the mirror when his mother told him not to go through it.

The girl who wasn’t a girl anymore but a woman before him. Here. In the eighteenth century.

Morgan squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them she was still there, sleeping the sleep of the exhausted.

How? How did she get here?

The answer was simple—the same way he’d arrived here. The other answers were more difficult.

What was he going to do with her?

Morgan hadn’t felt panic in a long time, but it hit him now like a fist to the gut, stealing his air, making him weak. He ran a hand down his face having no idea what to do.

I love you, Juliana. You know that, don’t you?

Those had been the last words he, as Zach, had spoken to her. The night before he traveled to a different century. She’d stood in the driveway of his parents’ home, looking up at him with those green eyes that always managed to weaken his knees and smiled. As always, her smile melted his heart. Not that a seventeen-year-old boy would admit to his heart melting.

I love you too, Zach.

Who would have known, who would have guessed, that was the end? Certainly not Zach.

Morgan wanted to shake her awake, to tell her who he was and ask her all the questions that had been plaguing him for fifteen years. Instead, he turned on his heel to walk out. Fresh air. He needed fresh air so he could think logically. Realistically. Don’t say anything rash. Think before you speak.

“Don’t go.”

He stopped but didn’t turn back.

“Stay with me,” she said.

“I—” He cleared his throat and reluctantly turned around. “I have things to do. Up top. Sailing. Things.” Did she know? Did she know he was Zach? He studied her expression, the eyes that were always a mirror to her soul, looking for some sign of recognition. Hoping?

Yeah, maybe even hoping. But there was nothing. Just the same expression he’d seen before—wariness and a knowledge that he was her protector no matter what he’d done to her.

Ah, God. He’d had Juliana flogged. How was he ever going to live with himself?

“Can I come with you?”

He was shaking his head before she even finished her question. “Not a good idea.” He needed to be away from her, to think. To figure out what to do, where to go from here. Tell her he was Zach? Should he?

“Please,” she whispered.

As it had that fateful night fifteen years ago, Morgan’s heart melted for this woman. How in the hell did he not recogniz her from the beginning? Now he saw the younger Juliana in the older version. The eyes gave her away—that green that would always remind him of her.

She was climbing out of his bed, pulling her shirt down and straightening the breeches still tied with the damn rope.

“Juliana—”

“I can’t…” Her hands fell to her sides. Her eyes were sad. Her shoulders drooped. She was at the end of her reserves, pulling on the last of her energy. “I don’t like the dark, Morgan. I don’t want to be alone.”

Of course. How could he have forgotten her fear of dark places? And he’d had her thrown in the hold for hours. What had that done to her?

“Come on.” He headed toward the door. What kind of fool was he to take her with him?

To give her credit, she remained quiet while he checked the sails and consulted with Thomas and John, the night watchman. John who kept shooting glances at Juliana as she stood on deck and looked out toward the dark waters. Almost unconsciously Morgan took a step closer to her. Ships in this day and age were not a safe place for a woman and whether he liked it or not, he was her protector. John understood the threat and turned away.

For a long time Morgan stood at the bow, staring into the blackness of the night. His mind was as muddied as the bottom of the ocean, his heart as dark as the sky. He thought of things he hadn’t let himself think about for years. Zach and Juliana. What he’d been and what he’d become. Zach had been everything Morgan was not. Good to his bad. Optimistic to his cynical. Hell, Zach had been downright holy compared to Morgan’s life of sin.

Even if Morgan told Juliana he was Zach she probably wouldn’t believe him. Even he didn’t believe it. It was almost as if Zach and Morgan were two separate people.

He turned to her. “We need to talk.”

By the light of the half moon, he watched her face grow paler. “Okay.” Her hands rested in her lap and she began twisting her fingers.

Talk about what? What was he going to ask her? He couldn’t exactly come out and say, “By the way, how are Zach’s parents and his sister, Molly?” Nor would he allow himself to say, “I’m Zach.” Two simple words that were much more complicated than that.

His dad would be nearing retirement by now and his sister… Christ, Molly was twenty-nine. His baby sister all grown up. Was she married with kids and a mortgage? And how was his mom? What was she doing these days?

He burned with the need to know. But how to ask without giving himself away?

Simple. He couldn’t. He fisted his hands at his side and ground his teeth together. He had no right to be disappointed. He’d turned his back on his old life and forced himself to banish the memories in order to live the life he’d been dealt. Yet he felt he’d been given a second chance, a reprieve from the constant guilt of leaving Juliana the way he had. Here was the chance he’d only dreamt about in his darkest hours. Except the chance had come at a high price. For years he told himself he’d done what he did in order to survive and he pushed his shame to the darkest corners of his soul, but now the shame came flooding out. His parents would be shocked at what their son had done. And Juliana? She would be horrified.

Yet he still burned to know and thought he might be able to discover something of his family and her life. He moved closer to the stack of sails, sat on the edge and turned to her.

“Do you have family, Juliana? Someone I can return you to?”

She looked down at her hands and didn’t say anything.

“Juliana?”

“I have no family.” She didn’t raise her head and her tone was flat.

Morgan sat back, intrigued. Of course a drunken mother and a father who turned a blind eye to his child’s abuse did not a family make. It was his greatest regret that he’d left her to deal with her family alone.

“There’s no one? No one you can turn to?” Like my family.