My Timeswept Heart

by Amy J. Fetzer

  Washed and dressed, Tess decided she'd rather go barefoot and nudged the slippers under the bed. She pulled up the bedcovers, tucked and fluffed, realizing she wasn't ready to go above. After plumping the same pillow a third time, she grabbed up a hair brush and went to the window bench, sinking onto the velvet.

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  I'm here to stay, she thought, or at least until another wall shows up. Get real, Renfrew. The chances that it happened in the first place were one in a trillion. So what if another black wall did show up? she debated, dragging the brush through her hair. Who was to say she would pass back into her own time or into another? Would she go forward? And how far? The 60s? The 70s? The nineteenth or twentieth century? What if she did find the wall and was transported further back? Maybe to another location? Should she take the chance of finding herself in a worse situation?

  No, for now, she was here in 1789, the Caribbean. She'd make the best of it. A smile curved her lips when her gaze settled on the carpet. It seemed she'd already managed that.

  Tess still hadn't gathered her courage to go topside when a knock sounded.

  "Come in," she called, searching for something in her bag to pin up her hair.

  Duncan peered his head around the door, and she smiled brightly.

  "Good morning, Duncan."

  His hands occupied with a tray, he shouldered his way inside. "Be near half past four bells, mlady, but good mornin' to ye just the same."

  Tess spared a quick look at the sky as she twisted the braid into a bun. I must have slept over twelve hours, she thought, then looked back at the old man. "I guess it won't do me any good to insist that you call me less?"

  He set a tray on the table with a firm clink. "It cer­tainly would not."

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  "Didn't think so," she muttered as he drew back the cloth. "You know, Duncan, you don't have to wait on me like this." She waved at the tray, a lace cuff flutter­ing. "I've been taking care of myself for a very long time."

  'Then 'tis about time you're to be pampered," he said in a no-nonsense tone, snapping open the linen napkin and gesturing for her to sit.

  She did, and when he went to place the napkin on her lap, she snatched it. "I'm not a child," she reminded, then ordered him into a chair.

  He grinned, dutifully taking the seat across from her, thinking what a lovely sight she was for his tired eyes. Fresh and energetic. It was no wonder the captain—he frowned, suddenly lost in thought. The young buck had taken advantage of her, Duncan concluded, knowing the captain's way with a pretty wench. And Duncan would make certain it would not happen again, duly ap­pointing himself her guardian. At least till vows were spoken, he added silently. His brows crunched tighter. Duncan admitted that the lass didnt seem to be upset by anything that had happened the day before. Not like he'd witnessed in females of the past. One ripple in their delicate world, and it was a bloody week's worth of va­pors and swooning and whining—

  "Did you hear me, Duncan? Hello? Hello?" She waved a hand in front of his face. "Earth to McPete?"

  He blinked, flushing. "Beggin' yer pardon, miss. I—"

  She laid a hand over his. "You okay?" He looked puz­zled. "Forget it," she waved, offering an apple slice. "I asked about the men, the wounded."

  Duncan sighed, his features smoothing out as he al­lowed her to coax him into sharing her meal. " Tis fine

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  they are, lass. Don't you be fashin' yerself none. Most are mannin' their stations now."

  "Not Mr. Sikes?" she questioned, amazed at the forti­tude of Dane's crew.

  Duncan grinned. "Restin* in the sun, as ordered, miss." The burly sailor was likely telling the tale of her heroics for nigh on the tenth time this day. "Good. I want to see him later." Duncan was nibbling on a biscuit when Dane stepped onto the threshold, his gaze settling immediately on Tess. She stared. He offered her a lopsided grin, and her heart skipped a beat as she drank in the masculine sight of him, her imagination running amok with sizzling memories of fiery kisses, slick skin, and—pleasure.

  She licked her suddenly dry lips and in that instant knew where her priorities lay. She had to convince him that she wasn't insane, that she really was from the fu­ture. In a heartbeat she could prove her story, with what was in her bag and the bag itself, but for reasons Tess didn't want to examine too deeply, she needed Dane to take her at her word. To believe in her.

  And it wasn't going to be easy, she decided, recalling how angry he'd become at the mention of the subject before. Dane Blackwell would not accept the truth as gospel, and Tess knew she couldn't convince him in one sitting that she'd actually traveled from the future. Hell, she hardly believed it herself. What she had to do was put doubts in his mind, questions he would be forced to ask her. Only then could she tell him everything.

  "Good day, m'lady," broke the extended silence, his voice deep and rough.

  "Hello, Captain." For one ridiculous moment Tess wondered if she'd forgotten her shirt with the way he

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  was looking at her.

  "Evening, Duncan," Dane added, stepping inside and moving toward his desk.

  The chair scraped back as Duncan abruptly came to his feet. "Evenin', Captain Blackwell," he stressed, the sharp tone drawing Tess's attention.

  Dane paused in flipping the pages of a ledger. A brow arched. The servant looked like an armed guard, eyes hard, jaw set.

  "If yer finished, lass, I'll escort you topside," Duncan said while glaring at his captain.

  Dane scowled at the pilot rudder. "I wish to speak to Lady Renfrew, Duncan. You may leave," he said, then turned a page.

  Duncan didn't budge an inch.

  What the hell is going on? Tess wondered, rising slowly, her gaze shifting from one man to the other.

  "You are dismissed, Duncan," Dane repeated, seat­ing himself at the desk and dipping a quill into the ink­stand. He began making entries in his log.

  Tess could see it was an effort for Duncan to comply and not to speak whatever was on his mind. He picked up the tray, his knuckles turning white with their fierce

  grip.

  Tess laid a hand on his sleeve. "Pve never seen you like this, Duncan. Can you talk to me?"

  He sighed, his features softening." Tis fond of you I am, lass. An' I'd never forgive meself if I be doin' poorly by you."

  Tess frowned, even more confused as he reached out and touched her cheek, then quietly left them alone.

  She looked at Dane. "Any idea what all that was about?"

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  He set the quill in its holder, sprinkled his writing with sand, then relaxed back into the leather chair. His gaze made a lazy parade over her body as he spoke. "Aye. Duncan appears to be upset with me. For reasons I've yet to fathom,"

  Her heart skidded at the sultry look. "But you don't even care, do you?"

  "He has a tendency to mother," he explained, leaving his chair and coming around the side of the desk.

  I can't let him touch me, she thought, yet couldn't move a muscle as he neared. Before she could draw back, he grasped her arm, pulling her sharply into his embrace and kissing her hungrily. He plundered her mouth, pushing his tongue past the ivory barrier and sampling her sweet energy. He licked, nipped, then swallowed her low moans. God, I'm drowning, he thought, wild for the feel of her.

  Tess sagged against him, looping her arms around his neck and answering the demand of his lips. Why fight it now? She was melting, turning all butter soft inside as his hands molded over her curves, mashing her to his hard length. She was breathless and dizzy when he drew back.

  He pressed his forehead to hers. "God's teeth, I've been aching to do that since I left you this morn."

  "Gee. Could have fooled me," she panted.

  "I apologize if I've caused you any undue discom­fort."

  "Not really, but you certainly say a lot with those dimp—hey, what's the matter?" He was looking at her so strangely.

  He brushed a fingertip across her lips, his voice drop­ping to a whis
per. "Did I hurt you, lass?"

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  She frowned, leaning back, totally confused. "What do you mean?"

  Briefly he closed his eyes and sighed. The questions that had destroyed his concentration today must be an­swered, "Last night—there was a bit of blood, yet I felt no maidenhead when—"

  "Whoa, wait a minute, Blackwell." She pushed at his chest, not hard, but enough so he got the message and

  let her go.

  Tess turned away, gathering her composure, discover­ing it was difficult to locate when he was near. Why did he have to open this subject? Why? Damn it, her past was her secret to keep buried.

  "Christ, youVe got your nerve, buster," she said in a tight voice, her back to him as she stared out the win­dow.

  Dane felt her anger even from across the room, yet couldn't seem to stop the words, "Tess, I do not mean to pry-"

  "But you will," she cut in. "And I damn well resent

  it!"

  A muscle worked in his jaw. "I have the right to know the whole of it, woman."

  "Oho, no you don't, Blackwell." The words dared him to push her. "That's just your male ego talking." She paused. "I suppose you were expecting a virgin?"

  "Nay, and it did not matter."

  She scoffed. "At the time - "

  "And even now, Tess. I swear it!"

  "Then why are you doing this to me?" She rubbed her forehead. "Listen, Blackwell, you've had other women in your bed and I don't question you, so don't force the issue, okay?"

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  Dane reached for her, pulling at her arm until she turned toward him. She kept her head turned in the op­posite direction, refusing to look him in the eye. Ten­derly he cupped the curve of her jaw and forced her to meet his gaze. It was then that he saw the glistening of tears in her pewter eyes, the utter humiliation written on her face. *

  "Ah, Tess," he murmured softly, pulling her into his arms. "What in God's name did he do to you?"

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  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  "He used me," she whispered, so softly he almost didn't hear. "Used me like I had no feelings to hurt." She buried her face in the crook of his neck and cried, a quiet sound of shame and regret. His hands, warm and soothing, rubbed up and down her spine. His touch was hesitant, but gentle. So gentle.

  Tess wanted to be angry at this invasion of her pri­vacy, but she couldn't. The honest sympathy mark­ing his features had dissolved her resentment. He hadn't asked to be mean so he could watch her suf­fer; Dane had tried to spare her much of that lately. He'd been confused, and this eighteenth-century man needed answers, and for reasons she couldn't define, she needed to tell him.

  Dane pressed his lips to her scented hair. Sweet Christ, what vile thing had the man done to cause her this grief? He squeezed his eyes shut, disgusted that he'd opened such a wound, and worse, with no more tact than a schoolyard bully,

  "Shhh, my sweet," he murmured, sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her to the window bench.

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  He sat down, cradling her on his lap, her quiet tears cutting him in half.

  "It was my fault, really, for being so stupid. You see." She sniffled. "In college I was an athlete—" she gulped—"with a reputation of being a loner and, well, men thought of me as an odd sort of chal­lenge." *

  "Nay, Tess. Say no more. Tis your secret. Forgive me for intruding where I had no right."

  Tess lifted her head, swiping at the dampness trickling down her cheeks, continuing as if she hadn't heard. "Emile was handsome, seductive, and I let myself be seduced. I was in his bed, and he was inside me and—" Dane watched as the shame spread across her features —"he laughed at me, said he couldn't wait to tell his pals that I wasn't a cold bitch after all, just a scared little virgin." Her breath shud­dered raggedly with her effort to keep it together. "It was all a joke, Dane, a game. Taking me to bed was a bet between fraternity brothers; my virginity was the prize." She cringed at the memory, her voice turning colder than he'd ever heard. "I shoved him off me, grabbed my clothes, and was out in the street before I stopped to dress." Her gaze narrowed on some distant spot. "He never stopped laughing, and I never let a man get close enough to try that again." She closed her eyes tightly, calmer now; the telling had somehow lessened the humiliation of the whole disgusting mess. She was silent for a long mo­ment before she whispered, "That was five years ago."

  Rage swept through Dane like a hurricane. "The bloody bastards," he growled, and her eyes snapped

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  open. "I shall demand satisfaction for this!"

  Tess fought back a smile. Her finding humor in his archaic reaction wouldn't do his ego any good just now. "You can't do that, Dane." She slid from his lap to the space beside him.

  He gave her a side glance, a muscle working in his jaw. "Be assured, woman, I will."

  "Blackwell," she said patiently. "Emile won't be born for another hundred and seventy-five years."

  "Tess," he warned, not liking the conviction he saw in her eyes.

  She wouldn't push. "Never mind." She waved. "Let's just say he's not anywhere you can find him."

  "I will find him. And I'll-"

  "You'll what? Kill him?" The look on his face said he'd take pleasure in doing just that. "Why? It's over. I don't care, Dane. Not anymore." She reached out, her fingertips trailing across his cheek. "But it's re­ally sweet of you to want to defend my honor."

  His face was still creased in a deep frown. "Can you forgive me for putting you through this, Tess?"

  "Sure." She shrugged, her eyes dancing with mis­chief. "But will you now demand satisfaction for me seducing you?"

  Dane blinked, shocked, then his chiseled lips slowly stretched into a wide grin. "God's teeth, but you're a bold wench."

  "Yeah, and you love it," she quipped, struggling in the heavy skirts to rise. Instantly he gathered her in his arms, pulling her across his lap and kissing her, slowly, erotically, a lesson in pure torture to her senses.

  "Aye," he breathed against her lips. "I admit I do

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  enjoy your saucy ways, witch."

  She pressed her mouth to his, her tongue snaking out to slowly lick his lips, and his deep shudder steamed all around her like warm velvet. She met his ice mint gaze, and Dane was jolted to his boots with what he saw there. "Last night, Dane—" she smoothed the lines of his face, "I discovered what I've been missing out on for five very long years."

  Her fingers tunneled into his hair and she cap­tured his mouth once more, letting her emotions spill over onto him. God, she loved kissing him. He was so damn good at it. Dane Blackwell was a man she couldnt resist, lie to, or walk on and Tess was sud­denly thankful she'd been tossed into his world. A groan rumbled deep in his chest when her tongue darted between his lips, and he squeezed her tighter, a hand moving down her burgundy-covered hip. Then to his disappointment, she abruptly pushed out of his arms and stood.

  "We'll be missed, Captain," she said shakily, urg­ing him to his feet, reminding him they were not the only people on board, as much as he wished it to be so. Tess smiled softly when he mumbled a curse at the floor and rubbed the back of his neck. He was in a bit of pain, she could see, and it pleased her. She wasn't in such great shape either.

  She moved away before she was tempted and was almost to the door when a thought occurred to him. "Tess? You went to a university? A college?"

  "Yup. Graduated with honors." She opened the door.

  "How is this possible?"

  She paused, looking back over her shoulder. "You

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  know, Blackwell, you sure ask a lot of personal ques­tions for a man who hasn't shared one speck of his past." She held his gaze for a moment longer, her ex­pression telling him he had to give to get and that this one-sided relationship was beginning to bug the hell out of her. Then she stepped out, leaving him alone in the cabin.

  Dane stiffened, insulted by his own curiosity. Col­lege—bah, she was lying, he reasoned. No university allowed women t
o enter its halls. Damn and blast! He rubbed his nape, already second-guessing his ini­tial conclusions. He strode after her, not about to let the little witch give him such a set-down. Not when she was telling lies.

  The smell of food and the happy sound of a flute filtered to Tess as she made her way down the narrow corridor. She checked her appearance just before she opened the hatch that led topside and stepped out.

  "Evenin', miss." Duncan grinned at her captivated look, latching the door so it stayed open.

  Tess didn't take her eyes off the sight before her. The ship glowed, as if sprinkled with thousands of fireflies, yellow light radiating from the lanterns swaying with the dip of the vessel. Bare feet tapped while their owners listened to the cheery music, sip­ping drink from wooden cups and dining from meat-heavy platters that rested on crates and barrels. Two men danced a jig, one obviously playing the role of a female with a kerchief tied beneath his chin.

  "What's all this for, Duncan?"

  " *Tis a celebration, Tess," Dane said, stepping

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  onto the deck behind her. His eyes were narrow and wary as they met hers. "What have you got to celebrate?"

  "Why, a victory, of course," Duncan put in, lightly grasping her elbow and leading her toward the rail.

  She jerked her arm free, rounding on the old man. "You mean you're celebrating the sinking of that ship! That's disgusting," she hissed, glaring at Dane. "Dancing on the graves of all those poor men!"