Wherever You Are

by Sharon Cullen

  Tonight was a clear reminder that his life wasn’t about sunshine and laughter, but life and death. He was Morgan, an ex-pirate who’d plundered and killed, an ex-slave whose heart and soul had been taken from him.

  Even if Juliana were to learn he was Zach, she wouldn’t want him. Not after everything he’d done and what he’d become. If he did somehow find the courage to tell her, she would surely be disgusted and horrified. Better she think he was Morgan, a man with no conscience, a man who didn’t think twice about killing, than for her to know he’d once been honorable.

  The edge of the weather front approached the sloop. Unfortunately, the winds had yet to touch Morgan’s ship, the Adam, and it was obvious the other ship would reach them soon.

  She shivered and rubbed the goose bumps traveling up her arm. Earlier she tried to ask Morgan about the dagger and why someone would want him dead but he stymied all queries. Even her journalistic expertise couldn’t get him to open his mouth. If he thought ignoring her would stop her questions, he was wrong.

  Yet she wasn’t comfortable questioning his crew and after a quick but thorough search of Morgan’s quarters, hadn’t been able to find the dagger. Not that seeing it up close would mean anything because she didn’t know the weapons of this time, but she was an investigative journalist and she felt like she was making an attempt at least. Even if she was hitting brick walls.

  Morgan stepped up beside her and looked toward the sloop. His hair was tied at his neck and hung down his back. He’d shucked the white shirt in favor of a red vest. Golden skin stretched over taut muscles and for the first time Juliana noticed a considerable scar on the inside of his right arm that stretched from the bend of his elbow to his wrist.

  Who was this man? What was the story he guarded so possessively from her? And why were there times when he seemed familiar?

  “The wind is going to reach them first, isn’t it?” She tipped her head toward the sloop that seemed a lot closer than it had a few minutes ago.

  A gust of cold wind shook the Adam, lifting the ends of Morgan’s hair and sending a shiver of unease up Juliana’s spine. It was the first breeze they’d encountered in almost two days.

  “You need to do as I say,” he said. “When they get close enough to board, lock yourself in my cabin. Don’t come out until I come for you. I’ll send Patrick if I can’t make it myself.”

  Morgan gave her one last, searching look, turned and walked away. Juliana watched him go until he disappeared among the men crowding the deck. Oh, Lord. How much more could she take? When was this going to end? A strange urge to laugh bubbled up inside her but she pushed it down.

  Damn it! She wanted to go home. Was that too much to ask? Was it too much to want to be in her own century, among her own things? She had no desire to be dragged through a battle on the high seas. Daggers flying through the air. Danger around every corner, lives snuffed out instantly. This isn’t my life! she wanted to shout to these people. Didn’t they see? Didn’t they realize she didn’t belong here?

  Maybe she was crazy. After all, how many people honestly believed they’d traveled through time? But when she looked out over the decks, she knew it was very real. No one’s dreams could be as vivid as hearing the rigging clang and feeling the ship pitch, or smelling the salt of the ocean and feeling the slight breeze through their hair. No, this was very real. Her aching back was proof. If you were going to imagine something, you wouldn’t imagine being flogged.

  Juliana made her way to the port bow where she would be out of the way. She pushed away thoughts of her old life to concentrate on the here and now. Activity on the deck of the Adam grew more fevered the closer the storm and the ship drew. Tense expectation and excitement crackled in the air. Clearly the idea of a fight was something the crew looked forward to because the anticipation shone in their eyes. She kept a keen eye on Morgan. Her feelings for him were evolving into something else. Something she wasn’t sure she wanted to acknowledge. For the flogging alone she should hate him but she couldn’t make herself. There was something about him that drew her. And the thought of him injured or dying terrified her.

  It seemed to take hours to reach them, but when the storm hit it was still shocking. Cold rain sluiced down. The majestic sails billowed and the ship lurched forward. The Adam rode the choppy waves at a good clip, but the sloop was faster and the cargo the Adam carried slowed them down. A quick peek in the direction of Isabelle’s ship, the Eve, told Juliana that Isabelle and Reed were having the same problem.

  Off in the distance the storm was stronger, the winds faster. The flags on the unknown sloop whipped in the wind. Excitement raced through her and she turned her back to the sloop and scanned the deck for Morgan.

  She quickly made her way to him. He was talking to Thomas and Patrick and she tugged on his sleeve. He waved her away with an impatient gesture. She stepped back and waited. The rolling of the ship was worse in the heart of the storm and several times she stumbled away. When she tugged again, he turned to her with a look of irritation that quickly changed to concern.

  “What’s wrong?” He took her elbow and guided her away from the two men. She sensed the tension and barely restrained expectation curling through him. He looked different now, with the cutlass hanging at his hip and pistols secured in straps crisscrossing his chest. From the way he dressed to the cold look in his eyes he appeared every inch the pirate he said he’d been.

  “Look.” She pointed to the sloop. “Their flags, Morgan. They’re British. They’re not your enemies at all!”

  “Juliana, pirates fly the flags that best suit them. It’s called their colors. Just because the sloop’s flying a British flag doesn’t mean she’s from England.”

  Her excitement deflated. “Why fly any flags at all?”

  “Because sometimes merchant vessels fall for the trick. In all likelihood, when they get close enough, the British flag will come down and either a red flag will take its place or a black flag.”

  She contemplated the sloop, now closer than ever. “Meaning?”

  “The red flag means battle.”

  “And the black?”

  Morgan sighed. “Be prepared to go below deck when I voice the command.”

  He walked away, calling out battle stations to his crew as he strode to the stern. Men raced to the cannons, others pulled their swords and cutlasses. Pistols were drawn, flints and powder checked. Juliana took up her position on the prow and resumed her watch with the faint hope that maybe he was wrong. Maybe this was a social visit in the middle of the ocean. Yeah, right.

  The Adam rode the waves, rising and dipping, rising and dipping. She had to hold on tight and sometimes even two hands weren’t enough to keep her from sliding across the deck.

  With the winds came the rain, a steady downpour that soaked everything. Juliana was so cold she was shivering but she refused to move, nurturing the faint, foolish hope that if she stood watch, the sloop would sail on by.

  Instead, it kept advancing.

  The large ships were cumbersome, especially in the storm, but Juliana was still awed by the ability of the crew to maneuver such a huge monstrosity. They were coming at each other, bow to bow, managing the ferocious waves with a dexterity that amazed her. The other ship began to swing wide and with a cold chill Juliana understood why. Several large, menacing cannons were now facing them.

  The British flag was lowered, replaced with a black flag.

  Morgan approached, a grim look on his face and a cutlass gripped in his hand. “Juliana—”

  “It’s death, isn’t it? The flag? Red means battle and black means death.”

  Chapter Eight

  A pained look crossed Morgan’s face and Juliana wanted to cry out, Not like this. Please, God, don’t let us die like this.

  “It’s time for you to go to the cabin,” he said.

  She studied the name engraved in gold letters on the side of the other ship. Bhaya. Just looking at it sent chills through her. “What does Bhaya mean?”
/>   “Fear.”

  Of course. She wiped sweaty palms on the legs of her soaking pants and desperately tried to control her heartbeat. Morgan walked with her to the steps leading down to his cabin. Suddenly she was spun around. He gathered her into his arms and buried his face in her hair. Stunned, Juliana stood there with her arms at her sides and eyes wide. Before she could hug him back, which she desperately wanted to do—hold tight, never let go—he released her and stepped away. He looked into her eyes, his own flickering back and forth as if he were trying to read her thoughts. She stared back, too afraid to mask her fear, too worried for his safety to be coy.

  “Morgan.” She touched his face. The rain was now pelting them. The Bhaya sailed by vanquishing the little bit of sun pushing through the clouds. It was as if the massive ship had taken all of their light and warmth. The thought, almost like a premonition, made Juliana tremble.

  “Go,” Morgan said with a little push. “Don’t come out until—”

  The sudden roar of cannon fire drowned out his words. Juliana covered her head and screamed. The Adam rolled to port and Juliana had to plant her feet to keep from skidding sideways. Men, ropes, ammunition and other loose items slid past. For a heart-stopping moment she wasn’t sure the ship would right itself, but then it did with a large splash. Men were yelling, slipping and sliding to get back to their posts.

  Morgan pushed her again. “Go!” he shouted and sprinted away.

  Smoke billowed from the Bhaya and for a moment Juliana thought the Bhaya had taken a direct hit, but the smoke was from its cannons firing on Morgan’s ship and in fact Morgan’s ship had taken the hit.

  The Adam’s crew returned fire in another ear-splitting explosion. The other ship was close enough that she saw men twirling ropes over their heads and grappling hooks sailing through the air before landing on the deck of the Adam, their pointed ends digging long furrows into the hard wood. Dozens of pirates from the Bhaya swarmed onto the deck. She hadn’t seen them coming, had no idea where they even came from but their presence turned her blood cold. The Adam’s crew met them with fierce cries.

  Standing a few feet from her, one of Morgan’s men crossed cutlasses with someone from the Bhaya. Juliana jumped back to keep from getting sliced and almost fell down the steps. Neck muscles straining as they fought, they looked like they were on the set of a movie but their blood and their cries of pain were very real.

  A dark-haired, dark-skinned man ran up behind Morgan’s man. Juliana screamed a warning but it was too late. The enemy plunged his cutlass into the man’s back. He arched and dropped his broadsword. His mouth opened but no sound came out. His surprised and pain-filled gaze met hers for a horrifying moment before he fell to his knees and collapsed face-first onto the deck. The cutlass protruded from his back and blood poured from the fatal wound.

  Juliana covered her mouth in shock as the man thrashed, then went still. No! She’d seen him before, working on the deck, laughing with the others. He’d even smiled shyly at her once. He couldn’t be dead. Juliana dropped to her knees and reached for him.

  The sailor who’d dealt the deathblow put his boot on the dead man’s back and tugged his cutlass out. The body jerked and blood dripped from the tip of the weapon. The sailor swung around and smiled at her.

  Morgan knew the crew of the Bhaya had been surprised at the number of sailors on the Adam. Merchant vessels carried at the most fifty men. With the crew from Morgan’s sunken ship, combined with the crew from the Adam, that number was almost doubled. But their hesitation didn’t last long. The men of Isabelle’s crew were not fighters and ex-pirates as Morgan’s was. Together the two crews were ill-formed and they found themselves on the wrong end of a carefully planned and executed battle.

  A quick glance toward the Eve told Morgan that Isabelle was trying to maneuver her ship into a clear position to fire on the Bhaya, but it took time and expertise in such weather. Morgan gave up any hope of help from that quarter as he parried another blow. He tried hard to block the sound of their voices—a language that took him back to his nightmares. Instead, he thought of Juliana in his cabin, counting on him to keep her safe. And he concentrated on killing as many of Barun’s men as he could.

  As soon as he saw the name of the sloop coming toward them, he’d known it was Barun’s ship and a sense of inevitability descended on him. This confrontation had been in the making ever since Morgan escaped Barun’s clutches. In his heart, he’d known his time would come and some part of him had been prepared for it. He just hadn’t expected it now, at the one time he was preoccupied with other matters.

  If only Juliana weren’t on board—

  A shout above the noise drew his attention. It wasn’t overly loud and if his ears hadn’t been attuned to Juliana’s voice he may not have even heard it.

  Blood ran at his feet while smoke from the pistols curled around his head. The rain melted the smoke and like an angel coming out of the shadows, he saw her.

  A dark-skinned man with the light of battle in his eyes had his arm around her neck and a dagger at her throat. Morgan’s stomach curled. He lowered his cutlass until the point rested on the deck. Around him the battle raged, but the scents and sounds dissipated and it was only Morgan, Juliana and the man who held her.

  “Ah, Captain Morgan.” The man’s English was tinged with a Hindi accent. Rajiv Barun, brother to Morgan’s most hated enemy.

  He, Morgan, a pirate whom many feared, now experienced fear himself. A fear born of intimate knowledge of what Sanjit Barun had done and could do to him—and now he had Juliana. Morgan swallowed the slick knot of terror but it refused to go away.

  “Rajiv.” He’d always thought it ironic that Rajiv’s name meant lotus flower in Hindi while his brother’s, Sanjit, meant invincible. It was indicative of their relationship. Sanjit being the leader, the strong one, and Rajiv the pretty one, never living up to his brother’s reputation but desperately wanting to. The look on his face indicated he believed his time was here to change the course of his life.

  “I am here to collect a few of my brother’s possessions.”

  Morgan refused to look at Juliana, refused to let Rajiv know how much she meant to him. Damned if he’d give the man another weapon.

  Juliana struggled against Rajiv’s hold. Morgan had a powerful urge to put his cutlass through the man’s heart and end this now, but Juliana would be dead before he could move. Still his hand tightened on the hilt, a motion Rajiv didn’t miss.

  He smiled. “My brother wants his lance, daasa.”

  Daasa. Slave. The word threw Morgan back three years to the hole he’d lived in. To the dark prison cell. The hunger. The beatings and the demands of a man who was the definition of evil.

  “I don’t have the lance with me.” The fucking bloody lance. He should have known.

  “Where is it?”

  Against his will, Morgan looked at Juliana. Her eyes were wide, her face pale. She’d grabbed onto the arm Rajiv had around her throat but she was no match for the man’s strength.

  The fighting around them had ceased. Barun’s men held Morgan’s at knife point and pistol point.

  “The lance,” Morgan said, “is in London.”

  Rajiv’s arm tightened and Juliana gasped. “My brother requires the lance, daasa. I will give you two weeks to return it. And of course, my brother expects his slave returned as well. Meet us at Port Royal. I believe you know where to find us.”

  Morgan’s free hand clenched at his side. His already tense body dripped with sweat. Two weeks? There was no way in hell he could sail to London, retrieve the lance and make it to Port Royal in two weeks. And he damn well was not leaving Juliana in Barun’s care for two solid weeks.

  “That’s impossible and you know it.”

  Rajiv’s dark eyes narrowed and he drew the dagger across Juliana’s throat in a mime of what could happen if he wasn’t there at the appointed time.

  “Two weeks, Captain Morgan.”

  Rajiv’s men closed ranks on Rajiv a
nd Juliana, blocking his view of her. He lunged forward but was brought up short by a dagger to his throat. Rajiv’s man grinned, bloodlust clear in his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to stick that dagger through Morgan’s neck. Morgan’s chest heaved with the need to go after Juliana, to rescue her from Barun’s clutches. His gaze sought out his crew. They had been herded together like cattle and surrounded by more of Rajiv’s men. Their weapons had been stripped from them. They were as helpless as he.

  All he could do was watch as Juliana was handed over the side of the ship.

  Morgan’s crew, a bedraggled, filthy lot with oozing wounds, watched him, clearly as stunned as he they’d lost the fight. Absently, Morgan swiped dripping blood off a cut on his upper arm.

  Thomas was the only one brave enough to approach. He placed a hand on Morgan’s arm. The contact brought Morgan out of his stupor and with a cry of rage, he launched his cutlass. It somersaulted through the air, skittered and slid across the deck until coming to a stop alongside a coil of rope. Crewmen scattered in its wake.

  “Round up the men,” he said to Thomas. “Begin unloading the hold. Lower every one of the tenders and load them with the cargo.”

  “Where are we taking the cargo, sir?”

  “To the Eve. If they don’t have room, dump it. Where’s Patrick?”

  “Right here, Cap’n.” His boatswain appeared at his side, his usually twinkling blue eyes dimmed. “It’s sorry I am about the lass, sir.”

  Morgan ignored the fierce pain in his gut. “Take a scope up to the fore topgallant yard. Watch that ship. I want to know where it’s going. Don’t take your eyes off it.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.”

  Morgan turned to the closest crewman and snagged him by the collar as he tried to hurry away. “Find O’Callahan and get the wounded down below.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.”

  The Bhaya hadn’t been gone more than ten minutes when Isabelle came storming up the side of the Adam.