"Nay, I believe if we strengthen our military it will only give the notion that we wish to fight," someone said loudly enough for her to hear. Her curiosity piqued.
"You wish the United States to be left vulnerable to the British?" Dane remarked.
"They would not dare to attack!"
They do, Tess thought, in 1812.
Dane smiled indulgently at the young officer, wiping his lips, then tossing the napkin on his plate. "We are a young country, Mr. Fleming, with a government that is but a babe, hardly knowing how to crawl."
"Yet on the subject of the militia, Captain, you wish us to run with the likes of England and France and-"
"We can," Ram put in. "Have we all not proven 'tis so?" Murmurs of agreement sounded around the
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table.
"I agree." All heads turned toward Tess, expressions of pure astonishment marking their faces.
"I beg your pardon, m'lady?" Fleming said, obviously annoyed at her intrusion.
Tess looked around at the poorly hidden lack of respect for her opinion. She leaned forward, ready to give them a small lesson in equal rights. "I agreed with Da—Captain Blackwell, If other world powers see us as easy to conquer, our ports unprotected, then we are vulnerable to attack. But if we strengthen our Navy and Marines to match or better them, then countries will understand that we mean business and will think again before they decide to invade."
There was a sudden silence, and at the far end of the table Dane looked at her through lowered lashes, admiring her tenacity to join in such a conversation she had no business entering. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table and resting his chin on folded hands.
"And what, pray tell, do you propose we do about the situation, Lady Renfrew?"
Tess ignored his condescending tone and took a deep breath, gearing her thinking back two hundred years. "Exactly as the Constitution states."
A raven black brow rose. "You've read the document?"
"Yeah, want me to recite the Preamble?" she shot back and Dane's lips twitched, realizing 'twas likely she could. "It says the government will provide and maintain a Navy." But they don't, she recalled suddenly, not for a few more years.
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"The Constitution allows Congress to raise and support armies, yet those monies shall be approved for no longer than two years," Dane countered, rising from his seat and moving to the hutch.
"I'm aware of that," she said, watching as he poured several brandies, then shaking her head when he offered her one. "But what happens if we need them for longer than that? I think we should finance an army and a fleet of ships on a full-time basis."
Dane whispered something to a sailor about to leave with a tray.
"Why not simply call for volunteers when the need arises?" someone interjected. "Our freedom from the Crown is proof that it works."
"True, Mr. Cambert, but if every able man leaves, then who is left to work the farms, produce food, clothing, gunpowder, and mine metals needed to outfit the men on the front lines?" There was a silent pause as the obvious sunk in. "We are not self-sufficient. Can we afford another Valley Forge?"
Men shook their heads gravely.
Dane dropped lazily into his chair, absently toying with the delicate stem of crystal, and said, "You cannot expect businessmen to give their goods freely. Where will the monies to pay for the forces come from?"
Heads shifted to see how she'd answer. "A small tax on the sale of goods in the United States and taxing goods entering our ports should boost the treasury." " Tis exactly as the British had done!" Cambert
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sneered.
"No." Tess leaned forward, unaware of the little man entering the cabin. "They tried to tax and starve us to death, to control us, and our troops proved they couldn't. Not flowery speeches and dumping some tea. We owe it to ourselves not let lack of funds'destroy what all those guys died for." She shook her head, thinking of how many wars would still come. "A government can't run on promises you know. Supporting our Congress and the President isn't enough. Taxing ourselves is the answer."
"You truly believe in a salaried militia?" Dane asked, thinking of the same discussion he'd had several months past.
"Sure. You wouldn't use say-a-a blacksmith's services without paying him, would you?" She didn't wait for a response. "Paying for the protection of that freedom means a professionally trained, well-outfitted military. Not to mention the advantage that readiness allows." That brought grudging nods. "I know I'd sleep better knowing the seas were patrolled, the shores protected." There was a strange look in Dane's eyes that Tess couldn't fathom just then.
"A point well made, Lady Renfrew," Ramsey commended, casting a quick conspiratorial glance at Dane.
Gaelen shook his head, properly stunned. "I admit 'tis the first occasion I've heard of a woman expressing such views, m'lady, especially such an interest in her country's defense."
"Have you ever bothered to ask a woman her
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opinion, Mr. Thorpe?"
He flushed. "Nay, m'lady."
"Try it sometime. You might be surprised."
"May I inquire, Lady Renfrew," Aaron Finch spoke, "how is it that you are so informed?"
Because it's history to me, she thought, but said, "My father was a military man, Mr. Finch, my mother a schoolteacher, and I've seen a lot of our country from a very different viewpoint." Jeez, what an understatement!
Dane couldn't deny the conviction of her words yet still didn't know what to think as he sat back and listened. She held the roomful of men in the palm of her hand, utterly captivated, as she described the land west of the Colonies. The details of mountains, plains, and timberlands she offered could not be fabrication, he decided when she first noticed the handle less cup steaming with green liquid.
"You say farmland is richer in the west, Lady Renfrew?" someone asked.
"Yes, east and south of Ohio—Territory," she added, lifting her gaze to the small silver-haired man garbed in a short black kimono jacket and baggy pants. She immediately noticed his distinctive features as he placed an airy confection on a tiny plate, then set it beside the cup. "Domo arigato" she said, taking a wild stab he was Japanese. His gaze shot to hers and Tess gasped, so intense was the look.
"EE-ehh. Doh-ee tan shee-mahsh-teh," he replied softly, bowing from the waist.
All sound ceased.
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Dane abruptly straightened, his eyes widening as Higa-san spoke rapidly to Tess in a language he'd never heard. She laughed softly, spoke to him again in the same choppy tongue, and he slowed his speech. Words, Dane reminded himself, he was not aware the man capable of until now.
"Tess?*
She looked up.
"What has he said to you, lass?" Dane asked softly, lowly.
Tess looked around her. It was as if she'd told them she'd traveled through time. Well, well, well. She addressed Higa-san, asking if he understood English.
He shook his head, then sighed and nodded, measuring the air between his fingers. They spoke a moment longer before she turned her attention to Dane.
"He speaks too fast, and I told him my handle on Japanese was rotten. He said it was sweet music to his ears."
"You understood that?" Gaelan said, astonished.
"A little. It's been a while. What's the big deal?" There was a community frown. "Why so shocked?" she clarified.
"This man is our cook, Lady Renfrew,'* Dane said. "And he has uttered but five words in the ten years he has served us."
It was her turn to be surprised. This kind-faced man was the finger stealer? "Do you even know his name?"
"That much we have managed to ascertain," Dane muttered tightly.
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Tess turned to Higa-san and spoke, thumping her forehead when a phrase wouldn't come quickly enough. He replied slowly, and she grinned, her reply leaving the man beaming as she looked down the table. "He is from Okinawa, the Ryukyu Islands sou
th of Japan, in the East China Sea. I had the pleasure of living there for three years.'
"I have heard of these islands." Dane looked to Ramsey. "Captain John Green spoke of them," he reminded.
Ramsey leaned back. "Aye, China, 'tis where the silks come from and the porcelain." He straightened. "Pardon the insinuation, Lady Renfrew, but I understood that these people allowed no one to enter their country, except the Dutch."
"Not China, Okinawa, big difference, guys. And that's very likely—" Tess looked directly at Dane— "In 1789."
She downed the tea and stood, bowing to Higa-san and thanking him again. He bowed, then collected the tray, placing the sweet cake on a napkin. He headed toward the door, his step jaunty as she snatched up the cake and followed.
"Tess!" Dane barked. "Where in God's name are you off to, woman?"
She smiled. "Higa-san offered to show me his galley." She bit into the delicate pastry, her smile cheek-bulging smug.
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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Every living soul around Tess, except the coxswain and crow, was asleep, passed out from a drunken night of partying. She smiled when someone snored and another called out a woman's name in his dreams as she braced her forearms on the rail, letting the salty breeze cool her skin. The heat had been oppressive below in the galley, and she needed relief. She and Higa-san had managed to communicate with two-word sentences and hand gestures for the past hour, and twice Dane had come below to check on her, a confused look on his face as he'd stood in the doorway; then, without so much as a hello, he'd turned away.
The moments with-the quiet Okinawan man were a sharp tug from home, her century, and a lump slowly formed in her throat. Well, there is something to be said about being thrown back in time, she decided. No pollution, ozone layers, nuclear wars, plane crashes, car accidents—AIDS. America was untamed and mostly uncharted. Indians roamed free with the buffalo. The list was endless, just as
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were its faults. Poor medical aid—she'd already experienced that—preventive medicine was practically nonexistent, children worked in factories, women were considered second-class citizens and denied the right to vote. In Tess's heart the worst abomination of all would exist for another seventy-three years. Slavery.
What would she do for a living? There certainly wasn't any need for a gymnastic coach in the eighteenth century. Her degree in physical education might come in handy. With what? she asked herself. A mean spike in volleyball was totally useless. It wasn't like exercise was a top priority in the education system in 1789. Tess tried not to feel sorry for herself, but a subtle depression shrouded her mood as she thought of her time and the wonders of the twentieth century. What had she actually left behind? Clothes and a '65 Mustang? No family, few friends. Was anyone looking for her? Did anyone, other than Penny, care enough to even bother? Tears blurred her vision and she squeezed her eyes shut. I'm just tired, I have the advantage here, she reminded herself. I know the future. And I have plenty of time to convince Dane that I do.
"Tess?"
Somehow she knew he was alone.
"This summer, Dane, French artisans storm the Bastille, and it will mark the revolution against the ruling class," she said softly, then turned, leaning back against the rail. Over Dane's shoulder she could see Triton's Will, her lanterns lit, the ship dipping with the swells of the ocean. It was quiet, too. "In 1812 we will go to war—again." His eyes
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widened a fraction. "With England."
"They have no reason to attack, Tess." His tone was snide.
"Jeez. Weren't you listening in there? They burn Washington. English ships fill Lake Erie." He looked Briefly away, then back to her. "Don't worry, Oliver Perry and his fleet become famous for his tactics in defeating the English."
"Your imagination is remarkable," he sneered. That there was a chance her words were truth angered him.
She shrugged. "Well. The French revolt is a couple of weeks away. We'll see, won't we?" Then she frowned thoughtfully. "How long does it take for word to come from Europe?"
"Three months, at the least,"
She groaned, disappointed. "Well, if I'm still around, that'll be proof, won't it?"
Dane refused to acknowledge the ache the words "if I'm still around" gave him and folded his arms over his chest. "Where do you plan on going, Tess? You have no coin, no home, no protector." He paused, his eyes mocking. "Other than myself."
She was suddenly up in his face. "Listen up, Blackwell, you aren't responsible for my welfare, and I managed alone in my century; I can certainly manage in yours." She brushed past him, heading for the passageway. He grabbed her arm. "Let go," she hissed, jerking against his hold,
"You must cease this talk, woman. What if another were to hear of it?"
Her lips thinned. "Stop calling me a liar, Black-well."
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"Nothing you have spoken since we've met has been the truth."
Her eyes were silver fire, challenging the insult. "Just because you don't know everything, just because it's not simple and clear, doesn't mean it isn't true. I can hardly believe what's happened myself, and I'm not sure I want to spend so much time convincing you. Can't you be willing to give me the benefit of the doubt?"
She held his gaze for a moment longer, and when she received nothing but that frosty glare, she looked away, fighting her emotions. I'll never convince him without material proof, she thought, and I'll never be happy here.
Her expression fell, hard, to a portrait of hopelessness that made his anger wane. "Woman," he growled, trying to ignore the impact of those sad liquid eyes. "You are too ruddy different from anyone I've ever met."
"Doesn't that tell you something?"
"Aye. Tis telling me you are mad," he said as if the words left a foul taste in his mouth.
Anger shot through her. "Then why don't you make me walk the plank—'*
"Tess."
"—Or feed me to the sharks — "
"Tess-"
"Or better yet, Captain Blackwell, dump me on a deserted island? There are plenty—"
"Tess?"
"What!"
He relaxed a little. "Can you not see what I am viewing, a woman who claims to be from—"his
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voice lowered—"the twentieth century. You make such outlandish claims, Tess, a steel vessel over four-hundred feet, a system that pulls a ship through water without benefit of wind, a way to cool food in the tropics, islands that are not charted, and now, predicting a damned revolution! What am I to believe?" *
"In me, Dane."
"I cannot."
She stiffened and started to pull away. "Well, then, I guess weVe come to an impasse."
"Nay."
"Yes." She yanked, her eyes sharp. "What we shared the other night, Dane, isn't enough to justify all these accusations and questions." Her expression brimmed with pain. "I'm beginning to regret ever mak—"
He swiftly gathered her into his arms, cutting her off. "Nay, my witch, 'twas not the act of an insane female." His expression was suddenly softer, full of hot memories and the promise of more.
'Then what was it?" Did he have to look at her like that—right now?
" 'Twas wild." His eyes sparkled in the moonlight, and he pulled her more firmly to him. "Aye, and you cannot deny 'twas so."
She toyed with his silk ascot. "No," she almost pouted. "I told you I don't lie." She lifted her gaze. "How can you do this to me, make me forget my anger? Nobody likes being called a liar."
"I know, lass," he said regretfully. "I shall make the effort to refrain in the future." The future. Dane tried desperately not to believe her; he didn't want
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to admit aloud the doubts assailing him now.
"Why are you here?"
"I came out for some fresh air. Bennett's scribble-"
"No, I mean in the Caribbean?" f
"Tis not your concern, Tess."
She stiffened in his
arms. "Thanks a heap for trusting me, Blackwell." She shoved at his chest, startling him enough to gain her freedom. "You've got to be the most arrogant man I've ever met," she said, then quickly moved out of his reach and to the passageway. "Besides Ramsey, that is."
"Come here, Tess."
She stepped over the threshold. "Doubt me, will you? Hah! This game is over, finished—"
"Tess!"
**—Finito! You expect me to prove who I am, where I come from, when you don't offer a single bit of yourself. You're a bloody pirate, for Chris-sake!" She stepped into the cabin, her words and presence bringing quick silence and startled looks. She didn't notice any of it. "The mighty Captain Blackwell," she raged on, "plundering on the high seas in the name of adventure and greed."
" Tis a lie!"
She whirled about, her gaze shifting rapidly to Dane, Ramsey, and the officers. They all looked stunned out of their knee pants. Duncan was cleaning up around them, failing miserably to hide his grin.
"Then what's the truth, Blackwell?" She strolled across the cabin, stopping a few inches in front of him. "Why are you here? What's so important about
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those pilot rudders?" She nodded to the ledgers lying on the table, surrounded by men and scratches of paper. "And don't tell me it's none of my concern because it is. I'm stuck on this tub, too, you know."
His eyes narrowed and his lips thinned. "The Witch is not a tub."
"Don't change the subject. Cut to the chase."
"If I may interrupt — "
"No," she said, glancing sharply to the side to glare at Ramsey.
"You have not told the lass, Dane?" he said anyway.
"Nay."
"He doesn't trust me, among other things," she gritted.
Dane and Tess waged a battle with their eyes as Ramsey gestured for the men to leave.
As the last man departed, Ramsey said, "She wears Desiree's clothing, Dane. I thought surely you would have explained this much."
Her expression went bleak. "No, Captain O'Keefe, he hasn't," she muttered, and before she looked away, Dane could have sworn he saw the gloss of tears. "Thanks, Dane, she whispered. "You've made me feel like a complete ass—again."
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