Wherever You Are

by Sharon Cullen

  He’s in the fight of his life for a love that defies the centuries.

  The last thing Juliana MacKenzie remembers is sitting in a friend’s kitchen. In Kansas City. In the twenty-first century. How did she wind up on a burning ship in the middle of the ocean—in the eighteenth century?

  If that wasn’t enough to get her heart started, some dark corner of her memory responds to the ship’s enigmatic captain. A man whose touch ignites her senses even as he stubbornly holds her at arm’s length.

  It’s almost too late when Morgan realizes his stowaway is not only female, but a woman from a life and a time he’d almost forgotten. Desire resurges like an undeniable tide—but he is not the man Juliana would remember. She has been unwittingly thrust into a dangerous world, and now she, too, is a target for the pirate who once enslaved him, who still hunts him across the seven seas.

  Kidnapped by Morgan’s worst enemy, Juliana finds herself drawing on inner reserves she never knew she possessed. No way will she let anyone—not even the man she is growing to love—choose her path for her. And no way will she let him offer himself in trade for her freedom.

  Warning: This book contains hot pirates, a slightly confused modern day woman and an evil villain you’ll love to hate.

  eBooks are not transferable.

  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

  Macon GA 31201

  Wherever You Are

  Copyright © 2011 by Sharon Cullen

  ISBN: 978-1-60928-421-3

  Edited by Tera Kleinfelter

  Cover by Valerie Tibbs

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: April 2011

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  Wherever You Are

  Sharon Cullen

  Dedication

  To Megan, who read the “Mommy edited” version. And, as always, to John, who never gives up on my dream, who gently pushes and prods me when I need it and who cheers my victories alongside me. I love you.

  Chapter One

  Sizzling heat reached out to her. Retreated, teased, scorched.

  A horrible shrieking sound filled her head. She tried to cover her ears but her arms wouldn’t move.

  Her eyelids were heavy. Weighted down. Her cheek was plastered to the floor, straw clutched in her fingers. Her gaze traveled the length of her arm to the rough wooden planks beneath. The screams—the horrible, unbearable screams—continued until they clawed at her brain.

  Fire licked up wooden walls and rolled across a wooden ceiling, encircling her, trapping her.

  Her mind was fuzzy but the panic that leaped through her was sharp. She pushed against the floor until she was on her hands and knees. Smoke burnt her throat and she coughed.

  “Help.” Nothing escaped but a labored breath. Her arms gave out and she collapsed. “Please.”

  Burying her nose in the hay, she tried to breathe the air closer to the ground, but the ferocious fire ate it up faster than she could inhale it. The screaming stopped, leaving nothing but the roar of the fire and the agonizing heat.

  A large piece of the wooden ceiling fell. Sparks landed on her arms and singed the fabric of her shirt. Flames raced up the wood, greedily devouring it.

  She stumbled to her feet. Her legs buckled and she fell hard on one knee. Horrified she watched the fire engulf a dead chicken, sheep and the corpse of what might have been a cow. Smoke billowed in waves, clearing enough for her to catch a quick peek before obscuring everything. Bales of hay. A pitchfork. A water trough.

  Water. She lurched forward. The floor tilted at a crazy angle and she crashed against a barrel.

  She stretched her arm, reaching for a smoldering blanket draped over a swinging half door. Inside the pen lay what looked like a burned sow and her babies. Juliana turned her head from the sight and swallowed the bile rising in her throat. Quickly she dunked the blanket in the trough and threw it over her head, tying the ragged ends under her chin.

  She shuffled forward, her arms stretched in front of her. The roar of the fire was unbearable, the heat suffocating, her panic clawing. Abandoning caution, she rushed forward and immediately tripped, falling to her hands and knees. A sob tore through her. Tears blinded her vision. She could barely breathe. Suddenly a hand grabbed her upper arm and she was yanked to her feet.

  “What the hell are you doing down here?”

  She was spun around and shoved forward.

  “Get up top. Tenders are waiting.”

  Juliana dug her heels into the hay and reached for the deep voice, anxious to get out of there but terrified of being left alone again. “Wait—”

  A push between her shoulder blades had her staggering forward. She rammed her shin into what appeared to be the bottom step of a set of stairs. Juliana grabbed the banister and pulled herself up one step at a time. She felt like she was in one of those dreams where she was trying to run but not getting anywhere. The more she climbed the closer the fire came to her back. She glanced over her shoulder for her rescuer but there was no one behind her. Had she imagined him? She tripped on the last step and sprawled face-first into fairly fresh air.

  Rain pelted her skin like tiny arrows and hissed as it hit the fire. She heard people yelling and saw their silhouettes running through the gray smoke.

  “Somebody. Help me!” She tried to scream but only a thin wheeze escaped.

  The floor tilted again. Juliana staggered forward and grabbed onto a large pole. She looked behind her just as someone reached the top step of the hell she’d come from. Her rescuer. Oh, thank God. He was safe. She reached for him as an explosion rocked the floor. She lost her grip on the pole and fell backward.

  “She’s a blowin’!” someone yelled.

  The man yanked her up by her arm and placed her on her feet. She barely had time to glance at dark eyes glaring down at her, rain pouring over chiseled cheekbones and running in rivers over a solid chin before he lifted her off her feet and tossed her. She screamed as she somersaulted through the air, the sound of terror abruptly cut off when she landed in water.

  It surrounded her, hugged her. Its cold, wet arms entrapped her, turning her around and around until she didn’t know what was up and what was down. Her mouth filled with brine and burned her raw throat.

  She kicked her legs but the more she kicked the more the blanket wrapped around her.

  A hand tangled in her hair and yanked her up. She broke through the surface and gasped for air. Her rescuer, the same man who’d thrown her over, let go of her. She kicked to stay afloat but the damn blanket got in the way and she went under again. With a curse he dragged her back up and shot her a disgusted look. She opened her mouth to thank him when a different set of hands reached down, grabbed her arms and pulled her over the side of a small boat.

  She flopped on the floor, breathing deep, shivering. A booted foot jabbed her ribs. Pain bloomed in her side and she cried out.

  “Move yer arse,” a voice growled.

  She tried to stand, but the boat tilted and she stumbled into a man. The firelight flickered over his scarred face, casting it half in shadow, half in orange light, making him look like a ghoul. He pushed her off
him and she fell the other way. Gripping the sopping blanket with one hand, she crawled over legs. Two men moved apart and she slid into the vacant spot.

  Hands curled around the edge of the boat and her rescuer’s head popped up. His shoulders bunched and flexed in the bright firelight. Biceps rippled as he pulled himself over, water pouring off a shirt glued to his sculpted body. Men cleared the way for him to make his way to the bow. He spoke to a few he passed, quiet, clipped words. The men nodded, their expressions grim. His gaze skipped over her before he lowered himself to the bottom of the boat and ran his hands through his long hair, squeezing the excess water out. He pulled his knees up and rested his elbows on them, letting his hands dangle between and focusing his attention on the towering ball of fire floating on the water.

  “’Tis reachin’ the magazine,” the man beside her mumbled. A few men murmured their agreement.

  No sooner had he said the words than the ship exploded. Night turned to day as flames raced toward the sky. Juliana screamed and covered her head with her arms as bits of fiery debris rained down on them. The ones who’d been rowing began to row harder, their expressions ranging from shock to anger to blank trauma. They were wet and bedraggled and every one of them was armed with knives and pistols. Strange-looking pistols. Old-fashioned pistols. Not the Smith & Wessons, Glocks, and Berettas she was used to seeing in her work as an investigative journalist.

  Something inside Juliana turned cold. Colder than the seawater soaking her clothes. Colder than the wind whipping her hair into her eyes.

  Her gaze moved to the man who’d rescued her but his head was tilted back, his eyes closed. Lightning sizzled close by and she flinched.

  A trembling started deep within her and a small voice inside her said, You’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.

  So if not Kansas, where? And how? Everything took on a surreal quality, as if someone had taken the lens of a camera and turned it slightly out of focus. The men’s voices came to her from a tunnel—tinny and distorted. She couldn’t stop shivering and it had nothing to do with being cold.

  Where was Emily Langtree? Where was the sunny kitchen she’d been sitting in while she spoke to Zach’s mother? For that matter, where was Kansas? Because the last she remembered, she’d been speaking to Emily about Zach and eating sugar cookies.

  Last she’d checked there were no oceans in Kansas. Or…pirates.

  Pirates? Is that what these men were?

  Obviously they couldn’t be. Because pirates of the eighteenth century—pirates who carried antique-looking pistols and knives—didn’t live in the twenty-first century.

  And Juliana sure as hell didn’t live in the eighteenth.

  The bow of the boat bumped into something, causing it to rock even harder. Voices called out from the darkness. Thick heavy ropes dropped in front of her and the men grabbed for them. Juliana tilted her head up. And up. The dying fire hundreds of yards away illuminated rough wooden planks slick with green slime and scattered with barnacles.

  The men began to climb what she now saw was a rope ladder. Their bare toes dug into the ropes, arms strained as they lifted themselves higher.

  “Hand over fist, sailor. Let’s go.”

  Juliana swung around. She was alone except for her rescuer whose dark eyes were hard and uncompromising. Waves slapped at the side of the small boat, threatening to capsize it. Intermittent lightning sliced through the sky.

  Any minute now she expected to wake up from this nightmare, to find herself in her bed in Kansas City, her apartment bare except for the few boxes waiting to be shipped to her new apartment in Chicago.

  Except deep down she knew she wouldn’t be waking up.

  Something happened when she was visiting Zach’s mother. Juliana just wished she could remember what.

  With a curse, the man pushed past her and started up the rope ladder, his steps agile, his movements fast and sure, his muscles working beneath the still-soaking shirt. Before she knew it, he was halfway up and she was alone in the boat on a storm-tossed sea.

  “Wait!” She grabbed a rung in each hand and hauled herself up. The rope swung away from the side of the ship and for one terrifying moment she hung suspended over the churning sea before her rain-slicked hands slipped and she fell. Somehow she managed to land in the boat causing it to rock beneath her. She looked up but her rescuer had already disappeared over the side. She swallowed a lump of fear so large it choked her.

  She grabbed the ropes again and slowly dragged her body up. Her muscles strained but she grit her teeth and ignored the pain. Her bare toes gripped the rough rope. Halfway up, the pads of her fingers started to bleed and her toes burned. Somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered what happened to her shoes.

  Don’t look down. Don’t look down. It took all her willpower to keep from looking into the boiling waves below. She kept her eyes glued to the ropes and watched her hands reach for the next rung as her toes searched for purchase beneath her. One step at a time. That was all she concentrated on. Not where she was. Not when she was. Just one. Step. At a. Time.

  An eternity later she reached the top. The last bit seemed nearly insurmountable and for a wild moment she thought about letting go and falling into the water to let the ocean swallow her up. It seemed the better alternative than to climb the last remaining distance to find what was on the other side. Instead she took a deep breath and, arms straining, pulled herself over the railing. She landed on her face and her head cracked against the hard, rough floor. The clean air seared her burnt lungs. Slowly she pulled her elbows and knees beneath her and pushed herself up until she was standing. She braced her hand on a railing before her trembling legs crumbled.

  Lightning cracked, thunder rumbled and the rain came slashing down, but the weather made no difference to the dozens of men scurrying around the deck, pulling in sails and winding rope as thick as her wrist. They ignored the rain and the wind and the tossing of the ship.

  Ship. Sea.

  She turned to stare at the hulking form engulfed in flames, watched as the ship she’d come from wallowed in its death throes, fiery bits and pieces scattered across the ocean.

  Oh. My. God.

  That’s where she’d been. On that burning ship. How? How did she get there?

  The last of the ship slipped quietly beneath the waves.

  A hand clamped down on her wrist. A man glared at her through the rainwater dripping off his brow. Not the same man who’d saved her life and not one of the men on the small boat she’d come from. This man was well-groomed but no less frightening with thinned lips and anger snapping in his eyes. She tried to pull free but he only held on tighter.

  “Captain Morgan!” her jailor called out over the pounding rain and intermittent thunder, his hard gaze never leaving hers.

  The long-haired man who’d rescued her was halfway to a set of stairs leading below. He turned and scowled.

  “What do you want us to do about him?” The man’s grip tightened on her wrist, making her wince.

  The captain’s eyes narrowed. “Do what you will,” he said and walked away.

  “No.” She twisted her wrist but it was no use. His hold was too tight. “No. No, no, no, no.” She used her other hand to try to pry his fingers from her wrist.

  “To the hold then,” he said, ignoring her futile attempts.

  Juliana’s knees trembled. Her vision faded as black dots danced before her eyes. “No,” she whispered right before she sank to the deck, pulling the man with her.

  The strange world she found herself in went black.

  Chapter Two

  “That’s ridiculous,” Lady Isabelle Parker said with a barely suppressed snort.

  Morgan leaned a shoulder against the wall of the captain’s cabin and glared at the woman who’d swept away his worst nightmare with two words. She hadn’t listened to a damn thing he’d said, but why should that surprise him? Lady Isabelle Parker didn’t listen to anyone when she didn’t want to.

  He uncrossed his arms,
so damn tired he couldn’t see straight. Every time he closed his eyes he pictured his flaming ship sinking to the bottom of the Atlantic and heard the cries of the four men he hadn’t been able to save.

  “A ship with Parker and Parker Limited cargo sank.” Isabelle spoke slowly, as if speaking to a child, which shot his anger through the forecastle.

  “Isabelle, think on it, if it were your enemy, he would have sunk one of your ships. Yet my ship was sunk.” He pounded his fist against his chest for emphasis.

  Isabelle laid a hand on his arm, concern in her blue-green eyes. “You make too much of this, Morgan.”

  And she too little. “Do you have enemies willing to sink your ships?” he asked.

  A shadow passed across her face, gone before Morgan could decipher it. She turned to her husband, Reed, who was sitting at the captain’s desk, watching the exchange silently. Reed frowned and shook his head. Morgan wondered what silent communication passed between them that they weren’t willing to share.

  “Do you?” He directed his question to Isabelle, but included Reed with a flick of his gaze.

  “No,” Reed answered. “Parker and Parker has enemies, yes. Some are finding it difficult to deal with a woman at the helm of a ship, but no one would go so far as to torch one of our ships.”

  Morgan had worried about this from the beginning. Isabelle was a woman born before her time. Years ago, before Reed found her and made her respectable, she’d been the feared pirate Lady Jane. And Morgan had sailed beside her, just as feared. Now Isabelle wanted to make a name for herself in the shipping industry. An industry ruled by men who thought it scandalous a woman would enter their ranks.

  “And you, Morgan? Do you have enemies willing to sink your ship?” Isabelle asked.

  Automatically his left hand went to the puckered scar on his right forearm. Silence stretched between them, the creak of the ship loud and intrusive.

  “We can help,” she said softly. “Reed and I can fight with you if that is what you need. You have but to ask.”