Wherever You Are

by Sharon Cullen

  “She’s gone.”

  A look of confusion crossed her face. “Who’s gone?”

  “Juliana.” He turned away from Isabelle, afraid of what she would see in his eyes. A murdering glimpse of rage. A shattered heart and soul.

  “Talk to me.” It was the voice of a captain and ex-pirate speaking to him, not his friend. It was exactly what Morgan needed at the moment.

  “It was Rajiv Barun, acting on Sanjit’s orders. He said he would exchange Juliana for the lance.” The sniveling, cowardly sonofabitch hadn’t had the courage to fight his own battle, but sent his brother in his stead. The raw fury inside Morgan formed a ball in his stomach until it was all that drove him, all he would think about. Fury. Sanjit Barun. And revenge.

  “Barun?” Isabelle asked in surprise. “Your enemy is Sanjit Barun? When the hell did you meet up with him and, for God’s sakes, why?”

  He searched the waters for the Bhaya, finding it a short distance away. Removing the cargo from the ship was taking too long, but lightening her load was a necessity if he had any chance of following. Damn the lance. No way in hell was he heading for London to retrieve it. “It’s a long story.”

  “Fine, let’s start with the lance then. What lance is he talking about?”

  Taking her arm, he propelled her away from the crewmen unloading the hold. “It’s called the Holy Lance.”

  Her eyes went wide.

  “I see you’ve heard of it.”

  “Who hasn’t heard of the Holy Lance? Bloody hell, Morgan, you have it?”

  He nodded, his gaze finding the Bhaya again.

  “Men would kill to get their hands on that lance.”

  He winced, the statement hitting too close to home. Most believed whoever held the lance could claim divine right as a ruler and was assured victory in war. Presumably, it was the sword that pierced Christ’s side to ensure his death. Some claimed it contained a piece of nail that held Jesus to the cross. When Morgan took it, he neither knew nor cared what it was. He merely saw it as a weapon and a tool to gain his freedom.

  “Talk to me,” Isabelle said. “How did you come by the lance?”

  “I don’t want the damn lance,” he yelled. Activity around him paused and he lowered his voice. “I just want Juliana back.”

  Isabelle’s gaze searched his. “We’ll get her back.”

  “There is no we. I’m going alone.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Isabelle, I can’t travel quickly with the cargo weighing me down. I have to load it onto your ship and you sure as hell can’t follow with nearly twice the cargo. Go to London and wait for me to return with Juliana.”

  She stared at him with narrowed eyes.

  “Please.” It was a word he rarely said.

  Juliana sat in a chair with her legs pulled to her chin and her mouth pressed against her knees.

  In front of her the man who’d taken her off Morgan’s ship was yelling at another, gesticulating wildly with his hands. The two would alternately stand toe-to-toe, screaming in each other’s faces and pacing away. She had no idea what they were saying. They were speaking in a foreign language. Hindi maybe, but she had no idea. All she knew was that a cold fear had wrapped around her. A terror that didn’t come close to what she felt when she woke up on the burning ship or took the long walk to be flogged.

  The one who grabbed her on the deck of the Adam was named Rajiv. He was short with black hair and black eyes and a scar running from the middle of his forehead to his left ear and bisecting his eye, causing it to droop. The other was tall with thick black hair, black eyes and a runner’s physique.

  Rajiv pointed at her and spoke rapidly, a staccato burst of words she didn’t understand. The other stood with arms crossed and a scowl, shaking his head. He interrupted Rajiv with a flick of his hand.

  He was the leader, she could tell from his posture and condescending attitude. And apparently he didn’t like her presence on his ship because he kept shooting her disgusted looks.

  Rajiv said something to him and the scowl dissolved into contemplation as he turned to stare at her. Juliana shivered when those dark, depthless eyes probed her. It was like looking into the eyes of a hawk who was about to pluck a defenseless robin from the sky.

  He took a step forward and smiled. The flash of white teeth against his dark complexion transformed his face into something almost beautiful.

  “What is your name, sundara?”

  With the back of his hand he pushed away a lock of black hair over his eyes. In the twenty-first century, he’d be a model on the cover of GQ until you looked into his eyes and saw the absence of a soul.

  “Maybe you didn’t understand.” He stepped closer, his voice like honey dripping over hot cornbread. “Your name, my lady. What is it?”

  He lifted her hand and bent her pinky finger back until it almost touched her wrist. The action was unexpected and the pain so intense, she opened her mouth to scream but only a wheezing sound came out because her breath was locked inside her. She bent forward in an attempt to release the intense pressure and slid off the chair to land on her knees.

  “Your name,” he said mildly.

  “J-J-J-Juliana M-M-MacKenzie.”

  He released her and she fell forward, catching herself with her good hand and cradling her throbbing hand close to her chest.

  Her head was jerked back by her hair and she was lifted off the floor and slammed back into the chair. An agony of pain sliced through her healing back. She was too stunned to make a sound.

  He gently picked up her injured hand, bowed over it and kissed it. “Sanjit Barun, at your service, my lady.”

  Juliana’s fear was intense. He was an enigma, violent one moment, strangely tender the next. The combination was explosive and more than likely deadly.

  He squeezed her hand and she saw stars. Through the fog of pain she had one terrifying, crystal-clear thought. She was going to die. She was going to die in the eighteenth century and no one would know or care.

  His black eyes were luminous. His smile slight but, oh, so arrogant. She concentrated on his mouth, not able to look into his eyes because his eyes held…nothing.

  “Put her in the hold,” he said to Rajiv.

  Another locked room with rats. With any luck, maybe he’d forget she was there and leave her to die a painful, but peaceful, death.

  Juliana didn’t even struggle when Rajiv took her elbow and helped her stand. She would much rather be alone in a dark room than bring more attention to herself by trying to run. She’d tried that once on Morgan’s ship and knew the impossibility of it.

  Her hand hurt and her back was bleeding but she walked beside Rajiv with her head held high as he led her through the maze of corridors, up stairs and down stairs. She kept her eyes open, looking for possibilities. She’d learned from the last time. This time her escape would have to be quiet, possibly at night when less people were around.

  The sailors on this ship were different from Morgan’s. Subdued, quiet. There was no laughter, no bawdy sea shanties as they went about their work. They were ghosts, shadows of themselves as they bent to their work, never lifting their eyes.

  The room in the hold was bare except for an empty barrel in the corner. Rajiv pushed her in and slammed the door closed. That was it. No conversation. Nothing.

  Juliana tried to move her finger but it was swollen to almost twice its size and pain shot up her arm. She leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes, the throbbing in her finger beating in time with her heart.

  Instead of giving in to the panic trying to push its way through her pores, she closed her eyes and committed to memory the layout of the ship. Funny how in a few short days she’d already grasped an understanding of eighteenth-century ships. She would escape. She just had to figure out how and instead of letting her panic overtake her, she’d devise a plan.

  She went over the conversation between Morgan and Rajiv. They’d spoken of something far more important than the lance. There had
been an underlying conversation between the two she hadn’t been able to decipher. For the first time since knowing him, Juliana sensed Morgan’s fear. Whoever this Sanjit Barun was, he scared Morgan and that terrified Juliana.

  A thin line of light invaded her darkness. She opened her eyes as the light grew wider and a dark, slim form slipped through. Then the light was gone, burning her retina so she couldn’t see anything in the inky blackness except its afterimage.

  Her heart accelerated. Her ears strained, listening for movement inside her prison.

  And then she knew. He’d come back.

  Fear leaped from her like a living thing and she slowed her breathing to better hear his movements. Minutes went by. Long, tense minutes in which Juliana was certain he heard the thudding of her heart.

  The sickening sweet odor of his cologne closed in on her. His breath tickled her neck. The whisper of his touch feathered over her arm and she jerked away. The slight touch grew into a caress, a bold stroke. His hand moved upward, over her elbow, pausing for long moments at her shoulder before venturing up to her neck then disappearing only to reappear at her breast. Juliana moved away but he caught her arm in a bruising hold, immobilizing her. His hand moved back up to her neck. He explored her face. His breath came fast and uneven. Her chin, her cheeks, her eyes.

  The feel of his skin against hers was hot, like the embers of the fire on Morgan’s sinking ship. It burned. She still couldn’t see much in the darkness but she knew where he stood. She could hit him like she did Thomas. Incapacitate him and lock him in here. She could escape. Jump over the side of the ship. Would Morgan be waiting for her? Had he followed?

  Barun sighed and his hand dropped away. He took a noisy step back. The light was there again and he slipped through it. Gone.

  Chapter Nine

  He came the next day. She was sitting on the barrel, her knees drawn to her chest, her injured hand cradled close. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten or drank. Her lips were cracked and her mouth was so dry her tongue felt swollen.

  “Are you thirsty, sanam?” He held a tin cup out to her.

  Juliana grabbed for the cup. Precious water sloshed over the side, soaking into her pants. She pressed the cup to her lips and drank deep. The water burned as it went down. She gagged and it came back up. Saltwater. She was dying of thirst and he gave her saltwater. Her anger came from nowhere, overpowering her fear, clouding her mind. She was dying. So thirsty she would have licked a puddle if she could find one and he knew it.

  With a cry of rage, she threw the cup. It hit his chest, splashed on his face and drenched his shirt. He took a step back and raised his hands out to his sides in surprise. Water dripped from his chin and slowly he raised his eyes until they met hers.

  He backhanded her. She toppled off the barrel. Pain shot up her neck and down to her throbbing pinky. The whip marks on her back broke open. The barrel rocked precariously then tipped over, landing on top of her, pinning her injured hand. She cried out. Her world tilted, swam and grew dim.

  Sanjit Barun stared down at her, looming over her like an avenging dark angel. Even though the small lantern dimly lit her prison, the burn of his gaze raked her. “You will regret that,” he said softly. Then he left the room and it was dark once again.

  Juliana leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, afraid to sleep, afraid she would wake to find Barun standing over her. The certain knowledge that he would return was like a living thing under her skin, an itch she couldn’t locate to scratch. Every noise made her heart thunder. Her prison was black as night. She felt as if she were sealed into an overly large coffin. When that thought came to her, as it did more often than not, she found it difficult to breathe. Like her lungs were collapsing, forcing the air out, and she had to stop her thoughts, block her mind. Sometimes the rolling of the ship was the only thing that convinced her she wasn’t buried alive.

  She slept, she woke, she existed in a vacuum with nothing for company but her terror and the rats.

  The rats didn’t bother her anymore and if that didn’t say something about her state of mind, nothing did.

  She was afraid of the dark.

  Mommy, let me out. I’ll be good, Mommy. I promise.

  It’d only been the one time and her father eventually found her but the damage had been done. He’d yelled at her mother. A huge screaming match with plates hurled at the wall and her father bellowing at the top of his lungs. In the end, he won the argument and Juliana had never again been locked in the barn.

  The fight hadn’t stopped the abuse though. It merely forced her mother to hide it and her father to turn a blind eye. As long as Juliana wasn’t locked in the barn where the neighbors heard her screams, he didn’t care.

  “I’ll be good, Mommy. I promise,” she whispered through cracked and swollen lips.

  Suddenly the scene in her mind changed and she was in the Langtree’s kitchen, eating the soft sugar cookies Emily was famous for.

  “Zach wouldn’t want to see you like this, Juliana. He’d want you to be happy,” Emily said as she clutched her coffee cup. “We won’t ever have the answers. Things happen. Sometimes…” She looked away. “Sometimes we don’t know people as well as we think we do. Asking yourself why will only make things worse. Accept that this is the way it is and move on.”

  Juliana took Emily’s advice. Graduated from high school, left home, worked her way through college, following the dreams she’d shared with Zach. Only she’d done it by herself. She’d met Daniel, got engaged, married, had a career, a life.

  Except she’d begun to wonder if maybe she hadn’t moved on.

  “I can’t do this anymore, Juliana. You have issues,” Daniel said on their last night together.

  She hid her fear of abandonment behind a bravado she didn’t feel. “What issues?”

  “Zach.” Daniel said it so softly she thought she misheard.

  She lifted her chin, pushing away the age-old pain of Zach’s disappearance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Daniel’s face flushed with anger. “Don’t give me that. You’re still in love with Zachary Langtree. I can’t hold a candle to a dead man, Juliana. I’ve tried. It doesn’t work.”

  “No.” It was the only denial she could form. No. Daniel was wrong. Okay, yes, she might still harbor a love for Zach, but it was old and worn and she’d moved past it. She loved Daniel now.

  “Admit it, Juliana, you love Zach more than you could ever love me.”

  “That’s not true,” she cried, terrified of the direction of the conversation, feeling her carefully built life slip away.

  Daniel’s anger faded, replaced with sadness and resignation. “I thought with time you’d forget him. I thought I could make you forget him.” He laughed, but it was a tense laugh. “I should have known better.”

  And then Daniel dropped the bombshell that shattered her nearly as bad as Zach’s leaving. “I’m moving out, Juliana. I met someone else.”

  “No.” The only denial she could feel.

  “I didn’t mean for it to happen. But she…she loves me, Juliana. Me. Not some dead guy.”

  She was too stunned to feel anger. The anger would come later. She’d only felt fear. And loss. A feeling she fought her way out of before and swore she’d never experience again.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  Had Daniel been right? Did it matter when she was surely going to die a horrific death at the hands of a madman?

  Think. Concentrate, Juliana. She rubbed her temples but her thoughts wouldn’t stay on one thing for long. She had to escape but she didn’t have the energy. Barun was slowly starving her except she’d die of dehydration long before she starved. Should have escaped when you had the chance.

  Listlessly she turned her head and stared blindly into the darkness. She was dying. It had been hours, possibly an entire day since Barun gave her the seawater to drink. Her heart beat unevenly, her breath came too fast, her muscles cramped and she had a fever. All signs
of dehydration. She closed her eyes wishing it would happen soon.

  The door creaked open and she stiffened. He stood no more than a few feet from her. She would forever associate the smell of his sandalwood cologne with terror. Of course she couldn’t see him because he’d slipped through the door and shut it tight, sealing them in a void of silence and darkness.

  His feet scraped across the floor and her eyes moved with the sound. He stood still for so long even the rats came out of hiding, their little feet scraping against the wooden floor. She pictured them sniffing his shoes, pawing his legs. Biting him.

  The wait became too excruciating, the silence too much to bear. “What do you want?” Her voice didn’t sound like her own and it was hard to push the words past her cracked lips.

  “Ah, my Juliana, I want you, sanam.”

  He touched her hair and she jerked back.

  “Your hair is beautiful. Like the sun.” He took a strand and stroked it.

  Juliana’s breath came fast, uneven. She remained still, afraid to move, afraid to anger him.

  “The women in my country are dark, with dark hair and eyes. You are…refreshing.”

  His fingers skimmed across her eyes. His breathing grew ragged.

  “Ah, my sweet, my sanam, your eyes are the purest green I have ever seen. There is no equal. I wish I had brought light so I may witness your tears. I am sure they are like the finest diamonds. Pure and clean.” He licked her cheek and she jumped, horrified. She tried to push him away but her arms were like dead weights. Her heartbeat was even more irregular and she was finding it hard to breathe. Dots danced before her eyes.

  “Heaven,” he breathed and patted her knee. “You will be mine, Juliana. In time.”

  As abruptly as he arrived, he turned and left.

  Juliana blew out a breath and dropped her head against the rough wall. He was gone. Gone, gone, gone. Until the next time.

  Her stomach cramped and she tightened her arms around herself. How much longer did she have to endure this torture? How long could he keep her in this hellhole before she either died or he dragged her out and did what they both knew he wanted to do to her?