Blackwell 2 - Timeswept Rogue

by Amy J. Fetzer

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  TIMESWEPT ROGUE

  mouth and all I can say is, the big Kahoona was watching out for me, girlfriend.

  I hadn 't scraped up what was left of my sanity when I realized the dolphin, [I named him Richmond] was pulling me AWAY from the ship. It hardly mattered, since Rothmere's gorillas stood on the deck, waving cheerfully, the bastards, and unfortunately over the deck festivities, no one noticed I'd jumped.

  I was alone in the Caribbean waters, very aware that it might be days before I was rescued. Bummer, eh?

  Now here comes the tough part.

  I saw this black wall of mist. Jesus, this thing was alive, pulsing and swirling. Black as sin. Lightning flashed across the wall, and I could hear a storm on the other side. I know it's hard to understand, let alone believe, but I've never lied to you, Penn. This curtain reached up into infinity and it sure as hell wasn 't there before I jumped. The dolphin dragged me toward it and no matter how much I pleaded or wiggled or fought, he and the current took me closer. I felt raunchy then, light­headed, my legs heavy, and I thought I'd lose my lunch any second. Then I was out cold, I guess. Hell, I don't know. I recall only bits and pieces of the next hours, but being tossed around in a storm and baking in the Caribbean sun did not make Tess a happy camper. Until I was rescued.

  Penny reread the paragraphs, uncertain and totally confused. Then she closed her eyes and thanked God. She'd been saved. Alive! Staring at the trunk, she frowned. But then—how could her things be inside a two hundred-year-old trunk? And if she was rescued why the hell hadn't she contacted her? Frantically, Penelgpe read on.

  / was saved from ending up as shark fodder by the captain of, get this, a twenty-four gun frigate. Honest. Just like in the old movies and the pictures in my Dad's office! I assumed the captain was just an eccentric playing

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  out a pirate fantasy in hix imaginary 1789. You know the type, money to burn and time to waste. So I played along. Nothing else I could do. Didn 't hurt that they were damn good at it either. And no amount of reference to modern inventions would sway these guys from the game. You know those reenactor types, sticklers for detail? Well, this ship was incredible, authentic all the way down to the one hundred eighty man crew. Did I mention these guys did not take kindly to their captain bringing a woman aboard? But I'm getting ahead of myself. It wasn't until they were preparing for a mock battle that I got a feeling there was more to the hand-stitched clothes and the pat­tern of speech than just a game.

  Because when it happened, the war was real. Christ Penn, a man chopped off another's hand right in front of me, then shoved a sword blade all the way through his chest! I puked my guts out. (I'll admit that only to you, bud] But the fire, the screams, the death, everything was terrifyingly real.

  1 pushed it out of my mind until the battle was over [survival was my biggest concern] and while I was help­ing the wounded, the crew talked of a black curtain of mist. Their description matched what I saw, except they saw a white ghost ship beyond the mist, sighted first in one direction, then seconds later in another.

  The white ship was the Nassau Queen. And the black wall was a rip in the fabric of time.

  Penny blinked and reread the lines again and again, then looked up, staring at nothing. Can't be true. A hole in the fabric of the universe that took you physically to another dimension, another century? That was only theory, nothing tangible ever proven, and a nervous laugh staggered in her throat.

  But it's Tess's writing, Tess's words, Tess's affectionate "bud."

  / know what you 're thinking. Good ole Tess has water on the brain or something. I'm no rocket scientist, but I

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  believe I was in that ocean, at that precise moment, because I hesitated in Rothmere's office and got caught. If I'd gotten away clean, I wouldn't have run and ended up in the water in the first place. Hell, I can't explain the unexplainable. But trust me, Penn, it did happen. I'm living in 1789. And I love it.

  Penny settled back against the trunk and read swiftly, flipping page after page, learning the events that unfolded after Tess made her discovery, her determination to prove to the captain that she'd traveled through time without using the contents of her duffle, which would have made it easy. Tess wanted him to believe in her before he believed her story. How like Tess to go the hard way, Penny thought, then learned Tess had fallen in love. And she married!

  Penny sat upright.

  Married Captain Dane Alexander Blackwell! Tess Renfrew Blackwell! Anxiously, Penny thumbed through the other books, briefly scanning the pages. Diaries of Tess's life. Her mind fogged with all the thoughts and images Tess created for her. The writings spanned nearly fifty years and she couldn't bring herself to read the last entries. Her heart thumped up to her throat. Swift air bellowed her lungs. Not possible, a logical side shouted. Not real. Yet as her gaze swept the debris, within the layers of papers she saw a water-stained photo. Cautiously she slipped it free, a tender smile curving her lips. The Sergeant Major and Lil. Tess's adoptive parents. Her fingers tightened, paper crackling. This is the same photo Tess took just before she left, Penny remembered, when Rothmere's men were just outside her apartment.

  Shaky fingers soothed her temples.

  Tess has done this for me. So I wouldn 't wonder, grieve ...hope.

  And it meant she was really gone.

  A convulsive scream boiled in the back of her throat and she swallowed it down. God, Penny thought. Time travel. Two hundred years. She didn't want to believe it, though the evidence said otherwise. The evidence is damned overwhelming, a voice

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  in her brain shouted and her gaze dropped to the diaries. One lay open to a page she hadn't read yet, and without touching the book, she read of the birth of Tess's first child. Her heart immediately swelled with joy. A baby.

  Childbirth is the pits, the pain indescribable, not to mention the inadequacies of this century. But I'd do it all over again after holding our precious son in my arms. He's beautiful and healthy, Penn. And Dane and I have named him for a dear friend. I suppose now that I'm confined to a bed [Dane's insistence] with nothing to do, 1 should tell you about our son's namesake, Ramsey.

  The blood froze in her veins and she snatched up the book. She swallowed; moistened her lips. Can't be him. It can't be. She straightened, reading quickly.

  The wall of time returned and wanted a soul, Tess wrote. The sick feeling came again, like a calling card. No one else experienced the sensations but me. And Ram-sey. An he let it take him.

  Because ofRamsey's sacrifice, I am here with the man I adore, enjoying a life I've dreamed of-—the kind we fantasized about when we were lonely kids, Penn. Ramsey gave up everything he knew and loved for me and to this day the memory of him being sucked through the wall, breaks my heart. I'll never know if he's alive, where he went, for he passed through to the unknown, so I could stay with Dane. Ramsey lives for the next adventure, a real playboy, but I don't think he was ready for whatever was on the other side of that wall. If there's a chance in hell you come across Ramsey Malachai Gamaliel O 'Keefe, be nice, and don't tease him about those ridicu­lous middle names.

  She lifted her gaze from the book, staring at nothing. The journal tumbled from her lax grip. He passed through a wall

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  over the ocean. It would certainly explain why they hadn't found Tess's body.

  And found Ramsey instead.

  Her thoughts pressed in on her with a crushing force, the day they rescued him replaying with amazing clarity; the sudden instantaneous loss of sunlight she thought she imagined, the way he was dressed, the weapons, his ignorance of anything remotely modern; how adored and comfortable he made her feel.

  And that he'd lied to her.

  His deep voice cut into her thoughts, sounding distant as he called her name, and she left the room running, tripping over the length of towel and nearly falling down the stairs.

  H
e passed through into the unknown.

  Heading toward the sound of voices, she felt dizzy and chilled, and bumped against the doorjamb leading to the kitchen, knocking over the trash can.

  Absently she bent to right it, stuffing the garbage back in. Her hand paused halfway to the can, her gaze glued to the wet newspaper, the headline of the entertainment section, stained brown and crumbled. She straightened slowly.

  Ice Queen of Hollywood melts for Captain Hook.

  Beneath it was a grainy photo of herself dragging Ramsey toward the rented car, a second photo of them inside the Jaguar, beside the first.

  Her blood thummed in her ears, her body going hot with outrage. Damn you, Max. The cut line read: ' 'Actress Penelope Hamilton whisks her mysterious beau from the paparazzi.'' The article began with: "While in search of her missing friend, gymnast Tess Renfrew, Oscar winning actress Penelope Hamil­ton aided a man's escape from a Bahama hospital last Tuesday. Authorities refused to release the man's identity, yet sources report that Miss Hamilton first encountered the man earlier that afternoon near Crooked Island. Is her self-enforced seclusion over? Is this the man to do it? Or is he connected to the disappearance of gymnast Tess Renfrew?"

  The article, a glorified gossip column, went on to speculate

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  further, then mentioned her recent interview and the upcoming premiere of her latest film.

  "Great Neptune's balls!"

  Penny's head snapped up, the color draining from her face. Ramsey didn't notice. He was too busy devouring the ripe curves scarcely concealed beneath tattered gold fabric.

  ' 'For the love of God, woman!" he choked, glancing toward the patio, then back to her as he stepped inside, pulling the glass door closed. "Put some bleedin' clothes on!" Crossing the room, he stripped off his shirt as he went, then draped it over her shoulders. Good God, she was trembling! He rubbed her arms, thinking so scant her attire, that she must be chilled. She wasn't.

  Penny stared, scarcely breathing. He'd lied to her. And kept lying. Even after making love, he'd kept on hiding the truth. Oh God, she thought, her body quaking. Was last night just another adventure for him?

  Suddenly she shrugged off his touch, tossing the garment at him.

  Frowning, he caught it. "What ails you, love?" Her cool look made Ramsey refrain from touching her again.

  She glanced at the newspaper, envisioning the unwanted notoriety that article would do to her life. Because of him. Because she let him in and allowed herself to be vulnerable to his chivalrous charm.

  "This is your fault." She offered the paper.

  Ramsey scarcely gave the article a glance. "I beg your par­don?" A chill crackled up his spine. Where was the warm woman he'd left this morn?"

  "If you hadn't come into my life, your face wouldn't be plastered all over the papers and connected with mine." If he hadn't, you wouldn't know what it was like to be a woman again, a voice countered, and Penny slapped another brick on the wall sealing in her twisted emotions.

  "What is—is, Penelope," he said with forced clam, not mentioning the invitation was hers. Anthony said she would be in a fit, but this was ridiculous. " Tis a matter that cannot be retracted now."

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  "True, but I can stop any more of this crap from being printed." She saw nothing beyond the danger he represented, and she wanted her privacy back, the warm blanket shielding her from feeling so much. Guilt and hurt raged through her, all she discovered pounding painfully in her brain; the trunk, Tess, Ramsey and his lies, the awful feeling of betrayal .. . she couldn't deal with the onslaught, not all at once and needed time to sort it out. Alone.

  "I want you out of this house, Ramsey. Today."

  Ram folded his arms over his chest, bare muscle flexing as he met her freezing stare and gave her a long slow study.

  He fell a wealth of emotions, not the least of which was embarrassment and shame. He'd never been so rude a guest as to be asked to leave.

  "Nay. I will not."

  "Then I'll call the police and have you bodily removed."

  "I don't believe I'm hearing this!" Neither pulled their gaze to the couple standing in the doorway. "Penelope! How can you do this?"

  Penny slanted Hank a hard look. "See that Mister O'Keefe is off this property by this evening."

  "Nay, thinks I," Ram said softly, though there was no ques­tion in his tone. " 'Twould force me to break my word."

  "To who?"

  "The Welshman. I have sworn to remain until he returns."

  "From where?"

  Ram shrugged insolently and her eyes narrowed to slits.

  "What did you promise Tony?"

  "My protection."

  "For me?" She scoffed meanly. "I don't need it."

  "You are certain?" He reached out, touching a finger to the cut left by her assailants. She jerked back, glaring at him with those devastating green eyes. Ramsey had never broken a bond promise afore and would not allow her or the ravings of some journalist to provoke him to such a dishonorable act. "By all manners then, call the constabulary. For I will remain—" his voice hardened—"at any cost."

  She took a step closer and hissed in a low tone, "I swear if

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  you do not leave I will tell the press, the cops, and the justice department, where you really came from."

  Bloody hell! She's opened the trunk, Ram realized, and Tess has mentioned me by name. "And where might that be, Penelope?" The corner of his mouth quirked cynically.

  "You know perfectly well where." Her composure trembled and he leaned down, nearly nose to nose.

  "Ahh, but do you?" He arched a deep russet brow, the menacing look daring her to speak her thoughts aloud.

  She was cornered. Not a soul on this planet would believe her. And what will you tell them? Tess traveled back in time and this man in front of you is her exchange student? They'd throw her in the nearest padded cell.

  "There's the old carriage house, Capt'n?" Hank suggested hastily, feeling the tension between the pair. Behind his back he clutched Margaret's hand.

  "It's not fancy," Margaret offered. "Needs a lot of cleaning, but—"

  "Fine. Good," Penny cut in, grasping straws. "Stay there, as long as it's away fr—"

  "Enough!" He exploded, posture stiff. "I cannot offer pro­tection from a league away!" His gaze, dark amber edged with tempered fury, stung like a slap. "Make no attempt to force my hand, Penelope," he warned in a threatening hush, his presence filling the room and her senses. "For I will gladly bind you to that frilly bed if need be."

  She choked on her indignation. "You just try and—what are you doing?"

  Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a wallet, the scent of new leather wafting to her as he pried it open and without taking his eyes from her, withdrew several crisp one hundred dollar bills, "Me lodgings are paid, Mistress Hamil­ton," came in a bitter rasp. He tossed the currency on the counter, his tone gone snide. "Satisfaction should your public inquire."

  The silence lengthened, the air conditioned breeze spreading the money across the tiled surface. A heaviness hung atween them, a hard unchangeable energy circling, drawing the focus

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  down to a single stare. Ramsey didn't know whether to shake her or hold her til it passed.

  Ask me, his eyes begged of her. Ask and I will gladly ease your confusion. Yet when she said naught, Ramsey felt the bridge atween them crumble, and he bowed, formal and mock­ing, then quit the room.

  Penny's gaze followed him. Ramsey gave up everything he knew and loved for me, Tess wrote. Because of his sacrifice I'm enjoying the life I've dreamed about.

  Suddenly she rushed from the kitchen, sliding across the mosaic foyer and rounding the staircase to see him pushing his arms into his shirt sleeves, his ascension determined and angry-loud.

  "Ramsey." She took the stairs two at a time. "Ramsey!"

  Ram halted beyond the landing, yet didn't turn to lo
ok at her. From her rooms to his left, the uncapped sea chest blared at him like Triton's trumpet and Penny approached slowly, the flex of his shoulders cautioning her.

  "No one out there—" she flicked her hand behind her— "has reason to hurt me." Implying he did.

  He spun about so fast she nearly fell back down the steps. "Sweet Jesus, woman," he said in a raw voice, catching her shoulders. "/ am not thy enemy!"

  "But you lied to me!" she cried and his features yanked taut.

  "Nay! Never have I spoken an untruth to you! You chose not to see!"

  God, he was right, but ... "what are you?"

  It was the wrong thing to say and his pained look struck her square in the chest. He straightened slowly, lowering his hands to his sides.

  "Oh God. I—I didn't mean it like that. I—"

  "What I am," he cut in savagely, "is a man. And after last eve, I do not believe 'tis under question." He gave her that arrogant half-lidded stare she loathed. " Tis the whence I've come you cannot abide."

  Her gaze searched his. "I don't want to believe this," came in a broken whisper.

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  His expression darkened as he grasped her wrist and yanked her into her room, forcing her to look at the open trunk.