Immortal (The Trelawneys of Williamsburg Book 2)

by Meredith, Anne

  With a gasp, she looked around at the stunning view. The deep azure of the waters, the fresh cool ocean air, the sails taut with that same air filling her senses and—

  She ducked back inside and closed the door just in time to avoid being seen by an entire crew working in the rigging and the deck. Mortification struck her at the thought of dozens of men glimpsing her in the toilet.

  Curiosity drew her back to the maps, and she sat at the desk, studying the notations there. Dates and abbreviations whose meaning she didn’t know. Saltpt 10 ck 18 Oct 75. Several similar notes by the island of Bermuda, the Bahamas, and Boston. Still other dates around Norfolk and, far across the ocean, on London and Paris.

  The thunder of feet overhead told her the cabin lay just under a deck filled with busy sailors; yes, the quarterdeck. She quickly buttoned up the nightshirt, a man’s shirt that hit her mid-thigh.

  Something nagged at her from her glimpse of the men working in the rigging. Every last man there had been dressed in period costume, as if she were cruising in an authentic eighteenth century ship.

  Then, before she had a chance to do much else, the cabin door swung open. She stepped behind the captain’s chair, embarrassed at her attire and at the man who stood there with a tray.

  “Hey, you’re up. Mind if I come in? I’ve brought you some breakfast,” he said, glancing over his shoulder before closing the door behind him.

  She scarcely had time to react.

  The man was young, perhaps only a few years older than she. His long, curly black hair was woven into a club that hung down over his shoulder. He wore a shirt similar to her own, and breeches down to his knees, with stockings and shoes below. In one ear was a diamond stud earring. His skin in the morning light looked like raw mahogany that had been sanded and oil-rubbed to a subtle sheen, his eyes the same color.

  He, too, wore late eighteenth century dress.

  He crossed the distance between them, placing the tray on an empty corner of the table without fanfare. He lay a napkin alongside it, then adjusted and patted it with the awkward grace of a man unaccustomed to serving.

  “All right, ’tis not the finest fare, but it is bug-free. Mostly.” He shooed away a fly.

  She looked over the contents of the china plate. “Modest boasts from the chef, I see.”

  He laughed, his eyebrows lifting merrily. “Oh, you’re clever. No wonder he likes you.”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind.” Grim once more, he glanced around as if they were being spied upon. “I’ve said too much already.”

  A smile came to her lips. He was like an old childhood friend, familiar without threat.

  “Do you know where my grandmother is?”

  “Your grandmother? Were you with her?”

  “Yes.”

  He hesitated, then: “Maybe you’d better ask the captain about this. Oh, by the way, he asked for you to stay inside the cabin and away from the side windows. The men may spy you otherwise.”

  She hesitated, glad he’d brought it up, and yet still unable to ask him.

  He recognized her discomfort and began attempting to guess, as if she were mute or spoke no English or was perhaps a cocker spaniel. “Need something? More butter? Dear God, tell me ’tis not tea. Oh!” He thumped himself in the forehead as if to dislodge his own stupidity. “There’s a chamber pot in the closet.”

  She gave a deep sigh of relief and extended her hand. “Thank you. I’m Marley, by the way.”

  He smiled and accepted her handshake. “Raven.”

  She lit up in recognition, turning to point at the bird in the corner. “Oh, that’s you?”

  “Well, I guess so. Which would make that Hawk.”

  “Hawk?”

  “The captain.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Are you and he …” She wasn’t sure how to make the suggestion.

  He waited, absorbing her awkwardness then finally tilting his head and, with deep suspicion, drawing his chin in. “Are me and him what?”

  She laughed at his expression. “Okay, I’ve just never seen two men that close.”

  “Closer than brothers, best friends since we were about eight. He’s a year older than I am. Where are you from?”

  “Not far from Williamsburg, Virginia. Why?”

  “Yep. So’s my mother. You talk like her. She speaks like nobody else in the whole wide world. It’s messed me up. Everybody treats me like I’m a freak because I speak so differently. You know what a freak is?”

  “Sure. But …” Who didn’t? “Look, I’m really worried about my grandmother. Her name is Hannah Hastings. We went out on a day trip to Mayaguana and got caught in the storm.”

  For the first time, his joviality left him, replaced by suspicious confusion. “Mayaguana is in the West Indies. You were found not far from Bermuda. They’re a goodly distance apart.”

  “Where was I found? I mean, in the water, or what?”

  “Yes. In the water, in the process of drowning. The captain happened to notice you, and fished you out. Look, I’ve got to run. Captain’ll be down soon, and you two can figure it out. Just sit tight. Don’t mess with his maps.”

  With that, he disappeared, locking the door behind him. Marley rushed to the closet and located the chamber pot with deep relief. She found a small pitcher of water and knew from its size that it was for drinking, but she indulged the splurge, dampening the corner of her napkin and scrubbing her face and hands as best she could.

  A ravenous hunger descended on her, and she moved to the table, dubiously considering the biscuit. It was then that she began to contemplate the impossible reality before her. She had never dreamed of hunger, nor the smell of boiled coffee, or of sweet butter, or of thick bacon, still warm from the fire.

  She saw neither electronics nor evidence electricity.

  Marley, you’re a bright girl. What are those clever eyeballs of yours telling you?

  Perhaps it was a theme cruise, dedicated to the eighteenth century, reserved for the very wealthy. People paid well for grueling weight loss boot camps and river cruises. If she had even a small bit of money, this would be the sort of place where she would indulge. Maybe she’d been lost in the water so long she’d been separated from the first ship, and this ship had rescued her.

  Had she been lost in the water all the way from the Bahamas, she would have become fish food long before reaching Bermuda.

  She realized how hungry she was, distracted as she was by the oatmeal, bacon, and the biscuit—which looked a lot like an English muffin. She’d seen photographs of these before, and almost all of those images, recreated for the sake of education, did include bugs. Despite Raven’s assurance, she broke this one up in small pieces before spreading a dab of butter on a piece, then realized it must’ve only recently been baked.

  She tasted it—as if it were the first food she’d ever eaten. The butter was a white puddle of glistening, salty oil that brought to life a dense bread that otherwise would have been quite dull. The coffee—thank God for it, to clear her cluttered, aching brain—was hot and strong and sweet, and she smiled at the thought of Raven adding sugar for her. Already she had a soft spot for the jester of a man. Knowing little about him aside from his kindness and intelligence, she knew in her heart he was a good man.

  The oatmeal was thick and chewy; the bacon was the sort of bacon served in England, a meaty portion resembling ham. That she’d learned, also, from Nan.

  None of it made sense! Where was Nan?

  She looked around the table, now avoiding the verboten maps. A foot or so away, she noticed a stack of newspapers, all folded in sections as they’d been read and set aside, and joy filled her. She glanced over them, then went back and read more carefully.

  These were the stories her father had first taught her to love. Not warriors, but farmers and fishermen whose courage fueled their fight for freedom. The stories went backward from August to March 1775, summarizing a skirmish between two American schooners and a British sloop-of-war; Bunker Hill
; the battles at Concord and Lexington; Patrick Henry’s stirring “Give me liberty or give me death” speech; and Lord Dunmore’s craven theft of the gunpowder stores in Williamsburg.

  She set aside the stack of papers, her breakfast finished, then noticed one clipping, much older and weathered, slipped underneath the layer of glass that topped the table:

  “BOSTON. For some days bypast, there have been several affrays between the inhabitants, and the soldiers quartered in this town.

  “Last Monday about 9 o’clock at night a most unfortunate affair happened in King Street. The sentinel posted at the custom house, being surrounded by a number of people, called to the main guard, upon which Capt. Preston, who was captain of the day, with a party, went to his assistance; soon after which some of the party fired, by which the following persons were killed and wounded.

  “Mr. Samuel Gray, ropemaker, killed. A mulatto man named Johnson, killed. Mr. James Caldwell, mate of Capt. Morton’s vessel, killed. Mr. Samuel Maverick, wounded, and since dead. A lad named Christopher Monk, wounded. A lad named John Clark, wounded. Mr. Edward Payne, merchant, standing at his entry door, wounded in the arm. Mr. John Greene, tailor, wounded. Mr. Patrick Cole, wounded. David Parker, wounded.

  “Early next morning, Captain Preston was committed to gaol, and same day eight soldiers.

  “A meeting of the inhabitants was called at Faneuil Hall that forenoon and the lieutenant-governor and council met at the council chamber, where the Colonel Dalrymple and Carr were desired to attend, when it was concluded upon, that both regiments should go down to the barracks at Castle William, as soon as they were ready to receive them.

  “We decline all present, giving a more particular account of this unhappy affair, as we bear the trial of the unfortunate prisoners is to come on next week.”

  This story of the Boston Massacre had meant a great deal to the person who had placed it there. Likely the captain, since this was his cabin.

  Remembering her promise to Raven, she moved around the table, looking at everything but the maps. In a drawer, she found a ledger and opened it. A ship’s log.

  Thursday – October 19 – 1775 – Lat North 32.38, West 64.67 – Departed St. George’s. Winds westerly.

  The spidery handwriting was difficult to read, but—

  The click of a key in the lock alarmed her, and she closed the book, slipped it into the drawer, and spun away toward the window just as the door opened.

  She turned, meeting the gaze of the man who stood there. And she felt her face flood with heat.

  This man, she could not have imagined. This man was real and she knew him. He had saved her from the depths of the ocean and had pleasured her beyond her dreams—except for refusing her his kiss—in the most sexual dream she’d ever known.

  I’m a sea captain. I’ve been tying knots for twenty years. Requires a manual dexterity that means I’m quite good at untying them as well.

  Chapter Nine

  Marley thought she had imagined this man when the bitterly cold ocean had grown warm. But she was certain she had dreamed of him—but how, if she didn’t know him?

  Was this the captain?

  “Sleep well?”

  Her face flamed brighter—as if he knew her dreams.

  “I was just—looking at the view,” she explained, unnecessarily. “It’s quite beautiful out there, and the ship seems to be quite historic.”

  Stop talking.

  He didn’t reply.

  “Thank you for the breakfast. It was quite good. Much better than I expected on board a ship. And the coffee was delicious, even without milk.”

  Marley, for the love of Mike, please stop talking.

  His physical size made the spacious cabin seem tiny, especially when he closed and barred the door behind him.

  Her pulse went rapid at the sudden intimacy between them. Why had he locked the door? He stood a good twenty feet away, but the space felt like a tiny closet. She gulped.

  “I’ve read about biscuits served on historic ships, but in everything I’ve read, they talk about the bugs. Little worms, and larvae, and—” Stop talking! “But this was delicious! And the bacon, just like my English grandmother always talks about. Please, do you know where she is? Her name is Hannah.”

  He crossed the distance to the table before she could blink. He grabbed a chair, swung it around backward, and threw a leg over it, crossing his arms along the back. He sat perhaps four feet away, looking up at her with humor lurking at his mouth.

  “Go on.”

  “My Nan. Where is she? She was on the day trip with me, and there was a storm, and a wave washed me overboard.”

  “And this was where?”

  She ducked her head, remembering what Raven had said. “Just off Mayaguana. I’m told that’s a long way from where I was found. The last thing I remember is …”

  You. Pressing his mouth over hers, sharing life-saving oxygen with her as she passed out. She risked a glance at him.

  He bit his lip, a smile at one corner of his mouth. Even as she noticed the smile, he sobered.

  “Who are you?”

  The color returned to her cheeks at his voice, as deep and demanding with the question as when he had seduced her in her dream. She must have heard him speaking to someone else while she slept—that could explain how she knew what his voice would sound like, and the comfort it would carry.

  “My name is Marley,” she said. “I’m from Virginia.”

  He raised his head, considering her truthfulness.

  “What does your father do there?”

  “My father and mother died when I was young. My sisters were taken away. I only have my grandmother. Please, do you know where she is?”

  His face underwent a transformation as pity moved him, as quickly masked by indifference.

  “I do not. You were within thirty feet of my ship with a British warship on the other side of you. Can you explain that?”

  What was he accusing her of?

  “I—no, I—I don’t remember anything about it. I remember imagining things, while I was underwater. My parents were there, talking to me, telling me to hold on. And then I remember you grabbing me, and …”

  “And what?”

  “You saved my life. Thank—”

  He stood and turned away, visibly upset. He opened various doors and drawers, and at last she suspected he was checking to see if she’d stolen anything. She glanced down at the shirt she wore. Where would she have hidden any spoils she might have plundered?

  “Are you English?”

  “Do I sound English?”

  “Are you?” he asked again, taking her joke as evasion.

  “I’m from Virginia. Which I thought was obvious when I opened my Southern fried mouth.”

  He continued to pore through his belongings.

  “Can I ask you a question?” she asked, her voice no more than a whisper.

  “Certainly.”

  “What year is it?”

  He laughed, a hearty sound. “1775.”

  At last he abandoned his search, turning in time to see her shock.

  “I’ve traveled back into history,” she said.

  “Traveled where?”

  “Not where—when. I’ve traveled back in time.”

  His lips—so lovely when relaxed—went tight. “All right. I’ve known unrepentant liars before, but usually they’re much more beautiful.”

  His words stung in every way imaginable. That they came just after she’d admired his mouth made it worse.

  “I’m not lying. I was born in 1991. I grew up outside of Richmond, and I work at Colonial Williamsb—”

  “Desist.” His voice rose to a roar.

  She shrank away, bowing her head and closing her eyes. She heard him slowly exhale. “Any other questions?”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’re going nowhere. You’ll stay in this cabin for the duration of the journey—at least several weeks. Are you certain you don’t work for Kit?”
>
  “Kit?”

  He scrutinized her, then lifted a hand. She steeled herself against flinching, trembling as he touched her chin and lifted it. “Plain indeed, but Kit hires no hags. You must set a man afire when you smile. Reason enough to make you laugh.”

  His nearness made her breathless—whether with fear or anticipation, she wasn’t sure.

  He did not release her, holding her in place, her face uplifted to his. She could feel the warmth of his breath faint on her skin. Her eyes closed.

  “Open your eyes.”

  She obeyed. The same pale, blue eyes of her erotic dreams. The same hair. The same man. But—how?

  News flash, Marley—it wasn’t a dream!

  “Why do you shrink from me?”

  She gulped and ducked away, embarrassed at her thoughts.

  He let her.

  “You fear me. Why? Who lied to you about me?”

  She shook her head.

  “Look at me.”

  With the same roughened fingertip that had tilted up her face to his, he rubbed his lower lip. “I am no gentleman, but I can be gentle. As you know well by now. I will not hurt you. And as alluring as I find you, I’ll never force you.”

  He rose, his gaze still on her face, and walked around her to the maps. He rolled them up and locked them in a wall safe. “You are not to leave this cabin—unless you would prefer to bunk with the women in the cabin below.”

  “Yes. Yes, I’d rather stay with the women.”

  He laughed, and despite his mockery he grew even more attractive. “’Twas a joke. They’re whores, more dangerous to you than I ever could be. Kit, especially. She’ll recognize the spirit that lurks in you. A beautiful woman like Kit hates nothing more than a seemingly plain woman whose spirit makes her irresistible.”

  She had no idea where he’d gotten that idea. Just moments ago she had flinched from his slightest movement.

  “I am a coward without courage. Other children rightly called me Mousy Marley.”