My Timeswept Heart

by Amy J. Fetzer

  Dane stirred, a soft humming filling his head, his lips curving in a smile. He'd recognize her voice anywhere. Cautiously he opened his eyes. He could see her through the open bathing-room door, her

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  arms curved above her, fingers scrubbing her hair. Her breasts, sheened with moisture, swayed above the lip of the tufa. His groin tightened at the luxuri­ous vision. She reached for a pitcher and sluiced water over her head, then set aside the urn and wrung her hair, twisting it up in a towel. She relaxed back, her sigh drifting to him on the perfumed air. He tried to sit up, but his wrenched muscles and throbbing skull wouldn't allow the simple task. She was safe and would be there when he woke again. The pleasing thought carried him back into sleep. Tess rose from the tub, patting herself dry, then investigated the little clay pots Higa-san had left. One contained spice-scented powder, with a tiny quilted puff; the other was brimming with a frothy cream, and she indulged, dusting and smoothing her body into girl heaven. With nothing else to wear, she donned the robe as she left the small room. Tess dropped onto the window bench, toweling her hair dry, realizing every time she took something off it magically disappeared, never to be seen again. Dun-can, she decided, picking at the tangles from her hair with a comb, then glanced at the clock perched atop the dresser when it softly chimed. Fifteen more minutes, then I'll have to wake Dane, she decided. There was a timid rap at the door, and she padded softly across the cabin and opened it, pressing a finger to her lips.

  Duncan smiled. "Enjoy your bath, m'lady?" he whispered.

  She nodded, leaning against the doorjamb. "It was wonderful. Thank the crew for me, will you?" He assured her he would. "I'll wake the captain in a

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  little while. Would it be too much trouble to have a dinner tray brought for him?"

  " Twill be a pleasure, lass." He started to move away, then paused. "Captain O'Keefe has returned to the Triton, but asked that I relay, if you should need anything, to merely send up a shot." There was displeasure in his tone.

  Tess looked at Dane. "I have all I need here, Dun-can," she murmured. His face creased with satisfac­tion before he pulled the door closed behind him.

  "Dane? Dane? Time to wake up."

  "Can a man not find peace in his own bed?" he groused, pulling the coverlet up and turning his back to her. Cannon fire exploded in his head every time he moved. His arms and chest burned, and she wanted him to come out of a painless sleep? For what? To chat? "Go away, woman."

  Tess fought a smile. What a grump. Every time she roused him, his disposition grew steadily worse. She couldn't let it affect her. Tess knew the minute her back was turned he'd be topside. She scooted closer, massaging the muscles in his neck. He moaned, and her hands worked down his shoulders. She tugged at his elbow, and he shifted his arm back but didn't face her. Tess manipulated his bicep be­tween her hands, the strength of her fingers sooth­ing the muscles she knew were sore.

  "Drink this." Dane twisted to see she held out a glass of water and two of those white pills. He snatched them from her, slapped them into his mouth, then drained the glass. "Again," she said,

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  pouring another glass of water and holding it out.

  He waved sharply. "Enough, woman!"

  Tess arched a brow, daring him to take it. Dane grabbed the glass, sloshing water over his fingers, but obediently drank while she plumped pillows, her smile sweet and kind. It annoyed him.

  "Lie back," she ordered, and when he didn't, she pushed him. Dane gnashed his teeth as she twisted toward the commode, then held out a small towel. He could see the steam rising from the cloth, yet in this foul mood he wanted naught but for her to leave.

  "Would you like me to bathe you?" she inquired sweetly.

  "Nay. Get you elsewhere, woman. I am capable of-"

  "The hell you are," she said with a grin, slapping the towel in his face. Dane dragged it away, glaring at her. She shot him an impish smile, smoothing the cloth over his chest and down one arm. She dipped it in the bowl, wrung it out, about to continue when he snatched it from her and pitched it in the bowl.

  "Enough, I say!"

  "All right," Tess said calmly. "Hungry yet?" He grunted. "Can I take that to mean yes?" Men, such babies! She stood and went to the table, bringing back a tray, the third one that Duncan had left for him, and setting it on the opposite side of the bed. He wouldn't look at her. She sat down and opened a napkin, placing it on his lap. His gaze shot to her, his expression sharp and mean.

  Tess ignored it, slicing some cheese and bread and little bits of warm sausage. She held out a portion.

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  "Come on, Dane. You need to eat."

  "I need naught but for you to cease this endless puttering and be gone!" With his last word he knocked the food from her hand, sending it across the room. Tess stared at the debris, clenching her fists, then turned her confused face to him.

  "Now that was real swift. What did that little tantrum accomplish?"

  "Leave, Tess."

  "For God's sake, why?"

  He turned his head slowly from where he had been staring out the window. "If you must know, I need to piss," he lied, "or would you rather do that for me, also?"

  She reddened. "My, my, aren't we witty today."

  "Tess," he warned. "Go before-"

  "Is there a problem, m'lady?" Duncan interrupted from the doorway.

  Tess twisted to look at the old man. "No. We're just being a grouch."

  "Tess. I swear by all that is holy, I will—"

  She looked back at Dane. "Eeek, I tremble. Oh, help Duncan. The nasty old pirate's going to make me walk the plank." Dramatically she pressed the back of her hand to her forehead and sighed.

  His brows rose in astonishment, and he blinked, his lips quivering with a smile as he sank onto one elbow, unable to remain sour after that bit of non­sense. "I have struck my colors, woman." He waved. "And beg for quarter."

  "Ahh, victory at last," she sighed, quite pleased with herself, then cast him a side glance. "You can be a mean little snot when you want, Blackwell."

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  "I should be soundly thrashed and hanged from the yard arm for my despicable behavior," he con­ceded gallantly.

  "Sounds good to me," she beamed. "When do we start?"

  "Heartless witch." He grinned.

  "Yeah, and you love it."

  She leaned over to check his temperature, her fra­grance filling his senses, and Dane caught her hand, placing a kiss to the palm.

  "Forgive me, love?"

  "Bringing out the big guns, eh, Captain?" she whispered, suddenly breathless.

  Raven curls tumbled over his brow, and a ghost of a smile played across chiseled lips. Tess's heart missed an entire beat. God, he's doing it to me again, she thought.

  "I know you don't like being confined, Dane, but wounded pride is no excuse for rudeness."

  "I stand thoroughly chastised," he said, his gaze dropping briefly to her lips.

  "You've got to stay in bed until tomorrow."

  He leaned closer, his breath teasing her mouth. "Understood, Lady Renfrew."

  "Your word," she said, and his head jerked back, his brows lifting. "You have a concussion, for God's sake. It's serious stuff!"

  He thought for a moment, then murmured, "Aye, I give you my bond."

  "Good. You can kiss me now."

  He chuckled, tugging at the collar of the robe, his mouth a mere fraction from hers. "Dare I sense that I am forgiven?"

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  "God, yes." It was a plea for his ears alone. Dane smiled, then kissed her, his lips, warm and soft, slanting over hers. He caught her lower lip between his teeth, sipping there, then pushed his tongue in­side, sweeping the dark haven. Tess melted against him, her hand smoothing over his bare chest.

  Duncan cleared his throat, and they slowly pulled apart.

  "Send me Mr. Thorpe and Finch, Duncan," Dane said without taking his eyes from her. "I want dam­age reports."

  "Aye-aye
, Capt'n!"

  Dane's pale gaze shifted beyond her to the ser­vant. The old man's expression was cold and damn­ing. Dane returned his attention to Tess. "You have your orders, man."

  Tess didn't have to ask what that was about. "Twenty minutes and that's it," she reminded, slip­ping off the bed, making Dane acutely aware of her clothing, or rather, the lack of it.

  She was picking up the tray when a knock sounded and Dane waved, still frowning at her at­tire.

  The first and second mate entered cautiously, and Tess faced them. "Exhaust him and I'll tan your hides—personally." They nodded politely, and she turned once more to Dane. "It's nearly dawn, Black-well. Give these men a break, huh?"

  Dane glanced to the window, then the clock. All three men watched her sweep out of the cabin.

  "I cannot believe I'm wishing 'twas me that smashed into the mast, sir." The first mate's eyes were on the empty doorway.

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  "I'll shoot you in the foot if you believe 'twill help, Gaelan," Aaron suggested cheekily.

  "Most amusing, Mr. Finch," Gaelan's tone was dry. "Any man would—"

  "Gentlemen!" Dane interrupted, annoyed at the turn of conversation, and they faced him. "I believe my ship is the order of discussion?" He gestured curtly for them to be seated, and within minutes they were well into a discussion of the frigate's dam­age, the length of time it would be to repair, and the new courses to be set.

  "How did you know 'twas a code, sir?" Aaron asked a while later as he made notes.

  "I did not, *twas the lady who deciphered this mess." Dane flipped through papers until he found the one he needed.

  Gaelan and Aaron exchanged stunned looks. "Truly a fine woman, if I may say so, sir?"

  "You have and you may, Mr. Finch." Dane didn't spare the man a glance.

  "Sir?" Gaelan said. "The rudders refer to an is­land three degrees south, but I don't recall one." "It must be incorrect," Dane waved, ignoring the nudging of his memory. "None that have sailed these waters has ever noted its existence. Get the map." Gaelan rose, searching the brass cans.

  "Even with the translation, Bennett's logs are a shambles," Aaron complained as Gaelan returned with the curling parchment and spread it out, the second mate peering over his shoulder, studying them.

  "Aye. Tis a wonder the man made it this far." Dane rubbed the back of his neck, reading the pa-

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  pers again.

  "Ah—sir?" Gaelan began hesitantly. "I beg your pardon, but you have already found it." Dane's head jerked up, his eyes narrowing. " Tis charted, sir." Looking confused, the first mate held it out. "And two others."

  Frowning, Dane grabbed the map, his features pulling taut as his gaze scanned the black markings. Tess. He recognized her handwriting and a memory surfaced. She'd said the maps were wrong when she'd first seen them. Before she deciphered the rud­ders! God, nay!

  "Lady Renfrew. Lady Renfrew! Blast you, woman! Get in here!"

  Tess popped around the doorframe. "You bel­lowed, sire?"

  Dane glared at his snickering officers, then at the woman leaning against the doorframe, a fresh tray in her hands. Gaelan and Aaron hesitantly followed the direction of his gaze.

  "Time's up, guys. Out," she said, nodding to the door as she moved to the unoccupied side of the bed and deposited the tray. She poured tea.

  Dane folded his arms over his chest, studying her. "You have been scribbling on my maps, lass."

  Tess glanced up. "Mad?"

  "I have good cause."

  "My cartography that lousy, huh?" She leaned against the bedpost, nibbling on a crust of bread.

  "How did you know of the islands' location?" Dane wanted to know.

  She glanced meaningfully at the officers. "You really want me to answer that?"

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  "That will be all for now, gentlemen. You may tend to your duties," Dane said in a dismissing tone,

  "Aye-aye, sir," the men said in unison, gathering up their ledgers and heading for the door. They both cast an envious glance at their captain, then slipped out.

  "You were about to explain?"

  "I've actually been on one of them," she said eas­ily.

  His brows rose, his disbelief clear. "Pray tell, when?"

  "If that's the attitude you're going to take, I'm not going to say another word." They stared, Tess glar­ing, Dane looking rather unaffected.

  But he wasn't. Her calculations were too accurate to be ignored.

  "When?"

  "A few days before I jumped off the Nassau Queen." Tess waited for him to call her a liar. He didn't. He was staring at the map resting on the mattress. Was he ready to believe her? "That scum­bag you're after is on one of those islands, isn't he?"

  He shifted his gaze to her. "Aye. What were you doing there?"

  "Hiding."

  "From the men who were trying to hurt you?"

  "Not hurt, Dane. Kill. They had a gun pointed at me just before I backflipped off the ship."

  "God's teeth!" he uttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Why?"

  "None of your business." He scowled. "At least not until you admit that my story is true." She plopped onto the bed, making little sandwiches, her

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  stomach growling at its emptiness. A thought sud­

  denly occurred to her, her breath jamming in her

  throat. "You believe me?" she said around a chunk

  of bread.

  "I will consider you may have been on this scrap of land."

  Her hopes soared. "How could I not if it hasn't already been charted or inhabited? In my time, Dane, it's populated with hotels and resorts."

  When he simply stared at her, she sighed, shaking her head, focusing her attention on the food. Shiny, blue-black hair draped over her arm as she selected a slice of fruit, then popped it in her mouth. She glanced up, grinned sheepishly, then continued to eat. She'd been waiting for him, he realized, picking up a chunk of pork and biting into it.

  She shifted, the robe gaping to reveal those gor­geous legs, and he allowed his gaze to travel up the muscled length. She was fit and happy and her mind sound except for the occasions when she—his gaze shot to the desk where he could see the black writing instrument. A cruel warning lanced through his heart, piercing his closed mind. He recalled every instance where she'd voiced her claim of traveling through time, and then there were the dates she'd quoted, the events to come, the amazing items she produced from the gaudy satchel, her knowl­edge of medicine she insisted was meager, the valu­able aid she'd given with her potions. Even his own pain had vanished with the taking of the white pills. Granted, she was an unusual woman, and her tales outlandish, but she was not stupid. And then there was the island. How can I ignore so much? But to

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  travel from the future?

  Her words from dinner the previous night haunted him; the commissioning of a permanent naval force. The President had discussed this possi­bility with him only a few months ago. 'Twas the reason Dane's ships were in Caribbean waters: to protect the Colonies from the British and French that had been attacking American crafts for the past several months. Twas an effort to keep a rein on the growing commerce, and Dane's orders were to seize any threatening vessel. He toyed with the fork, watching the lamplight twinkle off the silver. What else can she tell me? he wondered. Will I soon re­ceive orders to halt all French and British ships? And if they reach the Florida coast and should raise an army? Dane conceded the possibility; England still manned forts in the Colonies, and the French owned Louisiana and Florida. Was this the makings of the French revolt? Or the seeds of a war she says will not come for another three and twenty years? How had Tess known of this brewing trouble except if 'twere history to her? he reasoned. His mind floundered until he forced himself to ask her ques­tions.

  "Tell me more, Tess?"

  No answer. He glanced up to see her leaning back against the far bedpost, sound asleep, a crust of bread lying in relaxed fingers. He smiled tenderly,
removing the tray and easing her down onto the mattress. She curled in a ball with a sigh. He tossed the blanket over her, then brushed the hair from her face, touching his lips to her temple. Her scent was glorious. He'd given his word, but the call of nature

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  beckoned relief. Dane went slowly, cautiously shift­ing his legs over the side of the bed. His feet touched and, grasping the post, he stood. He felt no lightheadedness and took a step.

  His foot landed on something small and cold, and he looked down, then bent slowly and picked up the shiny silver object.

  He turned it over in his hand. "Sweet Christ!" he whispered, goose flesh racing up his spine, the icy fingers making the hair on his neck stand on end.

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  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Dane stared in shock, sweat beading on his upper lip, his body trembling so violently he could scarcely control it. Embossed on the bright metal was the sil­houette of his President and beneath that, a date— 1967. 1967! Nineteen. His fingers closed tightly over the coin, and he dropped his head forward. Nay. It couldn't be. He looked again, and it seemed to shout at him. Liberty! In God We Trust! United States of America! God's teeth. The future! Currency from the future!

  Was he going mad? Nay. Twas impossible for her to have minted the coin herself. He turned sharply, staring at the woman sleeping in his bed and the truth he'd just begun to consider hit him like a punch to his gut. Numbly he dropped onto the mattress, knowing in his palm he held positive proof.

  Tess Renfrew had traveled back two centuries.

  How in God's name had she accomplished such a feat?

  He remembered the night of the battle and how upset she had been, her cries of wanting to be re-

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  turned home—to her time. Had she just realized what had happened to her then? The thought was enough to send a shiver up over his spine and into his scalp. The dolphin brought her, she'd claimed, through the wall. Dane's head turned slowly to the window, his memory of the storm, the curtain of black mist, so clear it was like he was seeing it for the first time. And the eerie vessel, mountainous, white, shifting position so quickly he'd thought himself sud­denly losing his senses. Twas the Nassau Queen, he realized, and prayed to God she'd left her assassins behind.