Wherever You Are

by Sharon Cullen

  With a sigh he dropped his bare feet to the floor and pushed himself up. Bloody hell. He hadn’t meant to get so pissing drunk, not when he had to deal with Barun. But he’d been thinking of Juliana, of making love to her, their time together on the Adam, and before he knew it, he was too far in his cups to care. The genteel knocking turned to a pounding, beating at his alcohol-soaked brain.

  He uttered a curse as he swayed down the hall and yanked the door open. Isabelle swept in on a swirl of skirts with Reed close behind. Morgan closed the door behind the pair and eyed his best friend and her husband warily.

  “For God’s sake, put a shirt on. I can’t properly yell if you’re half-naked.”

  He didn’t comment as he followed them back to his study. He picked his shirt up from the floor, shook it out and put it on. Out of defiance, he didn’t fasten it.

  Isabelle paced like a caged lioness in her emerald-colored dress. Morgan wondered where the two had been because Isabelle rarely wore dresses, especially fancy dresses like the one she was wearing now. But then, they were in London and she’d been trying hard to fit in for Reed’s sake and the sake of their company.

  Reed casually leaned a formal-clad shoulder against the doorjamb. In case Morgan decided to escape? He found he didn’t like that thought too well and shifted his gaze back to Isabelle, who stopped pacing to stare at him with an angry expression.

  “Barun was at the ball tonight.”

  Morgan dropped into the chair, the strength in his legs giving out. “What ball?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Aunt Sylvia’s ball. You received an invitation, but declined to attend.”

  “I did?”

  “Yes. You did. You’re drunk.”

  Barun was at Aunt Sylvia’s ball. He tried to surge up from the chair but his feet got tangled and he fell back. “Juliana?”

  The anger in Isabelle’s eyes faded. “She’s shaken, but fine. She pulled Sophia away from Barun, then threatened him.” Isabelle walked to the desk and placed her hands on it, leaning over until they were almost nose to nose. “You. Are a fool.”

  Hell, he knew that. He’d been a fool fifteen years ago to leave Kansas and step through a mirror. He’d been a fool to think he could sail to the South China Sea unharmed. And he’d been a fool to give in to the temptation to make love to Juliana, knowing it could lead nowhere.

  Isabelle leaned forward even more until he had to cross his eyes to focus on her. “That woman is the best thing that’s ever happened to you. Why the hell are you avoiding her?”

  He pulled back and averted his gaze. “You don’t understand.”

  She pushed away from his desk to pace again. “I understand more than you think. I understand you’re afraid to love. I understand Barun took something from you. A part of you.”

  “I intend to get my revenge.”

  Isabelle sat in the closest chair and faced him. The anger seemed to leech out of her until her shoulders were almost drooping. “Let it go, Morgan. I know what it is to want revenge and I also know revenge won’t erase what Barun did to you.”

  He didn’t want to hear this. He needed revenge. He needed the burning conviction that facing his enemy and walking away victorious would somehow make things right again. If he didn’t have that, he had nothing.

  He managed to stand and walk to the fireplace without tripping. Isabelle was wrong. Revenge was everything. “You weren’t happy until you saw your father ruined,” he reminded her.

  “I wasn’t happy until I met Reed.”

  “It’s more than revenge, Isabelle, and you know it. Look what the man did tonight. He snuck into a ballroom full of people and confronted Sophia.” The thought that Juliana had been anywhere near turned his stomach. Oh, yes, this was much more than revenge. “Only seeing Barun dead will I be happy.”

  By the stir of her gown, he knew she’d stood and walked toward him. She placed a hand on his shoulder and he fought the urge to shake her off. “I understand he’s a threat, and I agree something must be done. But you must understand that what he took from you is gone for good. Let Juliana be the one to heal you.”

  He shook off Isabelle’s hand and walked away, terrified Isabelle was right. That the revenge he needed wouldn’t be enough.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The next day Juliana still couldn’t get the image of Sanjit Barun out of her mind. He’d touched Sophia, laughed with her, wove a spell that pulled the girl into his web of terror.

  Juliana shivered and rubbed her forearms. Morgan promised to protect her, had promised the man she feared most in this world would not get close. She’d believed in him and she’d been wrong. Her disappointment was acute, her anger smoldering. She trusted Morgan to help her but as she learned at a young age, never trust anyone but yourself. If she wanted Barun dead, then she’d have to be the one to see it happen. The idea made her twisting stomach turn even more. The thought of killing someone was alien to her. In her time she’d turn to the police, but these were violent times. Times when people had to watch out for themselves. By confronting Sophia, Barun had taken this to a new level.

  What should she do? What resources did she have?

  Isabelle.

  Between Patrick and Sophia, Juliana heard enough stories to know Isabelle liked to champion a good cause and was one person you wanted on your side.

  Juliana headed down the stairs and found Isabelle in the library. The day was overcast and threatened rain— what else was new?—and candles flickered in the corners, casting a warm, cozy, glow over everything.

  Isabelle looked up and smiled. “Tea?” She reached for the bell to signal the maid. “You look troubled.”

  Juliana walked around the room, touching a knickknack here, fiddling with a floral arrangement there. She stared out the window. The maid arrived with the tea. Isabelle poured, milk first, then the tea. There was a ritual and a reason for everything in this time. It was exhausting trying to learn it all.

  She walked over to the table, picked up the tiny cup and took a hearty swallow. She definitely needed the high-octane stuff right now. A Starbucks latte would do nicely. She replaced the cup in the saucer before turning her gaze to Isabelle. “What are you doing there?” She tipped her head to the papers strewn across the table Isabelle had been working at.

  “The manifest from the two ships. It’s been a nightmare. When Morgan unloaded the Adam’s cargo onto the Eve things became lost. On top of that the Eve was already carrying cargo from the Molly Victoria.” Isabelle shook her head. “It’s a mess trying to sort everything out. Tomorrow Reed and I are going to the warehouses to determine what exactly we have.”

  Juliana barely heard the rest of what Isabelle said. “The Molly Victoria?” She had to force the words from her tight throat.

  Isabelle nodded. “Morgan’s ship. The one that sank after catching fire.”

  The Molly Victoria.

  Molly Victoria Langtree was the full name of Zach’s sister.

  Memories slammed into her so fast they made her dizzy and she sank onto the settee. Isabelle said something to her but Juliana wasn’t paying attention. She took a deep breath, transported to the future, smelling fresh-baked sugar cookies and hearing the creak of the attic stairs as she ascended. Zach’s house. She’d been eating cookies with his mom, talking about Zach, talking about letting go and moving on.

  Never, ever go up in the attic, Mr. and Mrs. Langtree repeatedly said when Zach and Juliana were kids. In her mind, Juliana saw herself walking up those steps, her hand on the railing, hearing Mrs. Langtree’s voice as she answered the doorbell. And then she saw it in clarifying, horrifying detail.

  The mirror.

  Standing well over five feet tall, it probably weighed a good hundred pounds. Four dragons were carved into the smooth wood frame, each breathing fire, each clutching something close to its heart. She had leaned forward to see what they held, but it was apparent whatever the dragons held was long gone. A woman was carved in the top with long flowing hair wrapped around he
r body, staring into space with sad eyes.

  Curious, she’d circled the mirror, studying it from all angles. A shaft of sunlight spilled through the dirty window nestled into the eave of the house, illuminating what looked like writing on the back. She had to squint to make out the elegant scroll.

  The weight of true love is measured not in distance nor in time, but in deed. Look ye into this mirror and find what ye seek. Step through and discover yer heart’s desire. Stay, and live a lifetime.

  Juliana had stumbled back.

  The heavy glass shifted, became dull, then turned opaque. Her reflection began to swirl. The room tilted.

  Behind her the old wooden steps creaked and that childhood fear of being caught made her heart thud.

  “Juliana?” Mrs. Langtree’s voice echoed up the steps. “Are you up here?”

  Juliana shot a nervous glance at the stairs. The age-old feeling of being trapped immobilized her for a moment. The top of Mrs. Langtree’s head appeared above the floor and Juliana took a step back but her heel hit the corner of an old trunk and she started to fall. Crying out, she windmilled her arms, sure she was going to crash into the mirror and break it.

  But she didn’t.

  She kept falling and the last thing she heard was Mrs. Langtree’s horrified cry.

  Juliana’s eyes flew open. That’s it. That’s how she got here. She time-traveled through an antique mirror. She was suddenly dizzy, all her questions answered even as more bombarded her. Why? Why travel here? Why arrive on Morgan’s ship?

  She looked at Isabelle who was crouched in front of her, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “Juliana? Are you ill?”

  She had to blink several times. For a moment she thought she was going to pass out, but her eyes focused again. She opened her mouth to say something but no words came out.

  Zach.

  Had Zach traveled to this time and place and somehow befriended Morgan and told him about the mirror? How else would Morgan know to name his ship after Zach’s sister?

  It made sense and it answered all of her questions. Why Zach disappeared with no trace. Why Zach’s family insisted she give up the search and the hope that he would return. Why as children they weren’t allowed in the attic. They’d known. All along the Langtrees had known what happened to their son and that’s why they’d accepted the police’s explanation of Zach running away.

  Anger broadsided her like a five-masted schooner. Morgan knew about the mirror because Morgan knew Zach, knew she loved Zach, and not once had he said anything. Not one single damn word.

  Her breath came fast and furious.

  “Juliana. You’re frightening me. Should I call for a doctor?”

  She needed a plan. Confronting Morgan and demanding information on Zach seemed like a good idea, but probably not very prudent. Was Zach alive, here in this century? Her heart thudded with excitement. Was she really so close to finding Zach after all?

  “Juliana!”

  Or. Had she already found Zach?

  After the flogging she’d been delirious with fever, her mind playing tricks on her, making her think she was with Zach instead of Morgan but were those really the hallucinations of a high fever?

  Juliana grabbed Isabelle’s hand and leaned forward. “Tell me about Morgan. What do you know about his past?”

  Isabelle rose and sat on the settee next to Juliana. There were questions in her eyes but God bless her she didn’t ask them. “There isn’t much to tell. Morgan is very quiet about his past. We met when we were young. I was fifteen, I believe he was seventeen. We were on a ship bound to London from Boston.”

  Seventeen. The age Zach had been when he disappeared.

  “Does he have family?”

  Isabelle shook her head. “None, but he’s never said what happened to them. I’ve always imagined it was something horrific. He had that look in his eyes when I first met him. The one that says something bad happened but he would never talk about it. For the first few years after we met he had nightmares.”

  Juliana leaned forward and rubbed her forehead. Oh my God. “Tell me everything you can. Did he have a London accent? English?”

  Isabelle seemed to think for a moment before shaking her head. “No. ’Twas one I’d never heard before and he would say strange words occasionally. Words I’d never heard but they weren’t in a different language. They were English-sounding words.”

  Juliana’s skin tingled and she turned to Isabelle. “We have to find Morgan. Can you help me?”

  Morgan sat at a corner table at The Scabbard, a tankard of ale within easy reach and a willing woman on his knee.

  The ale he’d come in search of, the woman was an added bonus. Or so he thought, when all he wanted was to erase images of Juliana from his mind. Now, hours later, he wanted the whore gone, but couldn’t seem to remove her from his knee. That probably had a lot to do with his very advanced inebriated state.

  He took a swig of ale only to find the tankard empty and signaled the barmaid for another. The woman on his lap slipped and grabbed his neck for support. She giggled and placed a sloppy, wet kiss on his cheek. He pushed at her, but she was like a barnacle he feared his mates would need to scrape from his body.

  Blearily, through a thick haze of alcohol, he noted her once-red dress had faded to a dull orange. Her breasts were falling out of the tattered garment. Dirty, brown hair hung in her face. He didn’t even want to think what crawled in it.

  Disgusted, he looked away. The Scabbard was one of the most dangerous taverns on the docks. Dank and dark, a smoky haze hung over the occupants. Your feet stuck to the floorboards when you walked. More than one patron was plastered to the floor, full-bodied.

  It was the type of place that those without heart and soul congregated, a sort of hell on Earth, and Morgan felt right at home. He fingered the cutlass hanging at his side as his gaze swept the room, searching for trouble. Whether to get in to or out of, he didn’t know.

  Patrick entered and stopped inside the open doorway, his own gaze taking a lazy tour. He spotted Morgan, saluted with two fingers, glanced at the lady permanently attached and frowned. He made his way to the bar, disappearing into the crowd and out of Morgan’s sight.

  The barmaid arrived with his tankard, slopping some on the woman when she set it in front of him with a thunk.

  The woman—he wished he could remember her name—squealed and shoved her breasts in his face. “Lick it off, guv.”

  He pushed at her again.

  The woman hanging on him spoke to a whore the next table over. She—whoever she was—wiggled her boney butt into his groin. It did nothing for him. It had less to do with the alcohol in his bloodstream and more to do with his thoughts of Juliana.

  What was he going to do with her? He couldn’t drop her off on the Parkers’ doorstep and expect them to take care of her for the rest of her life. He had an obligation to protect her. After all, it was his family and that damn mirror that brought her here in the first place.

  So what should he do? Find her a widower willing to marry her? If Morgan gave her a generous-enough dowry he could surely find someone to marry her. Maybe Isabelle’s Aunt Sylvia would help her out. She loved to match-make and plan weddings.

  It was a good idea. A solid idea. Juliana would be taken care of. Morgan would make sure to find her someone with money so she would never have to worry. Someone who was quiet and stable.

  Someone the complete opposite of himself.

  All around him, conversations faltered then died. Pulled from his thoughts, Morgan looked around. The woman on his lap stiffened and tightened her hold on his neck. He grabbed for his cutlass and tensed.

  “Zachary Langtree!”

  He jumped, knocking his knee on the bottom of the rickety table and causing the ale in his tankard to slosh over the sides.

  Oh, shit.

  The crowd of dirty men parted and Juliana appeared, striding through the men, dressed in her breeches and a shirt, her hair falling in soft waves to her shoulders. Isabelle
marched along beside her and Reed, looking none too happy, trailed Isabelle, his hand on a brace of pistols tucked into his breeches.

  The woman on his lap mumbled something incoherent and slid off to disappear into the crowd.

  Juliana watched her go before turning her furious gaze to him. She placed both hands on the table and leaned over until they were nearly nose to nose. “You son of a bitch.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Juliana wrinkled her nose. Morgan gave a whole new meaning to the phrase “‘stinking drunk”. He reeked of alcohol, tobacco and sweat.

  “You’re drunk.”

  He shrugged. With the calculated movements of a man soused, he picked up his tankard of ale and took a long swallow, his gaze never leaving hers.

  She looked at him closely, trying to find some hint of the boy she’d loved in the man before her. How many nights had she prayed to God for one more day with Zach, one more hour? Even while with Daniel she prayed Zach would return to her.

  Instead, she found him.

  His brown eyes were weak with drink but the pirate inside him stared back at her defiantly. There was no getting any answers out of him tonight. She pushed away from the table. It wobbled and Zach—Morgan—grabbed onto it to steady it.

  She ran a hand through her hair in frustration. This was not the way she envisioned her reunion with Zach. She wanted to vent her anger, to scream her frustration, to question him relentlessly.

  Morgan swayed in his chair, his beer clenched in one fist, his other hand caressing the cutlass at his side as his eyes roved the room behind her. She knew that look from the Adam. He was searching for trouble and if the present clientele was any indication, he would get it soon.

  She turned to Reed and Isabelle and discovered Patrick had materialized from somewhere. “We need to get him out of here.”

  Reed and Patrick moved to each side of Morgan, took an arm and foisted him up. The tankard of beer tilted, then fell, spilling its sticky, yellow contents all over the table, the floor and Morgan.