My Timeswept Heart

by Amy J. Fetzer

  "Your talents are waning, O'Keefe," Dane quipped, his hands on his thighs, trying to catch his breath.

  " Twas three to one, if you failed to notice!"

  A man came from the side, and Dane took a hearty

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  chop to the gullet with a loud oof, folded over, lost his footing, and fell ungallantly to his rear. He was un­able to roll out of the way before Ramsey tumbled on top of him.

  "I've a meeting with some Englishman tomorrow," he answered with a bloody grin, then quickly rolled off.

  "If we should live that long," Dane muttered, leap­ing to his feet, fists primed.

  Clad in a very prim long-sleeved nightgown and robe, Tess worried the already-worn carpet to an early grave with her pacing. How could he just dump me here, then vanish? Leaving me alone? Well, I'm not really alone, she thought. Beyond the sitting-room door were three guards; below in the inn's common room were four or five more of the Sea Witch's crew; outside God only knew how many loitered through­out the yard and stables. It was a damned fortress, and Dane was out having some clandestine meeting with Ramsey. But before he'd left, Dane had rented the entire top floor of the inn, apologizing for the ac­commodations, assuring her a house would be at their disposal in the morning. Tess didn't see anything wrong with the place, other than a few fleas, and it could use a decent decorator. She padded into her bedroom and flopped back onto the mattress, penny­royal crunching beneath the sheets.

  She felt like a prisoner yet knew exactly what would happen to her without Dane's protection. When she'd first entered the common room, nearly every leering scuzzbag started toward her until Dane and his men

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  had stepped inside. Her speech and manners alerted more people to the differences in her, so Tess kept her mouth shut most times. She didn't try to develop speech like Dane's. All those 'tis, 'twas, and 'twere's? Jeez, it made her head hurt to have to think on how to start a sentence. She suddenly longed for the isolation of the frigate. I handled the crew's reservations and suspicions, she thought, but an entire island's?

  She stiffened when voices in the hall filtered be­neath the locked door: laughter, boots scraping, and a great deal of moaning. Then she heard keys jiggle in the locks and a door bang against a wall. She climbed from the bed and moved to the door leading to Dane's room.

  She knocked softly, then heard muffled chuckles, whispers, and shushes coming from beyond. Drunk, she decided, her lips pulling in a thin tight line as she quietly opened the door, folded her arms over her breasts, then leaned against the jamb. Over fifteen members of both crews glanced up, expressions freez­ing. Bleeding noses, purple eyes, torn clothes, cuts, scrapes, and blackening bruises marked each man in a variety of areas. Two men were in the midst of helping another toward the table, but upon seeing the woman in the doorway, unceremoniously tossed him in a chair. The man groaned, slumping back and hooking his arms over the chair back to keep upright. Mates chuckled and swayed.

  "O'Keefe. Well. I might have known. Can't stop making those grand entrances, huh?"

  "Evenin' to you, lass." He grinned, devouring the sight of her from behind swollen lids.

  "For your sake, I hope the other guy looks worse."

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  That brought a round of laughter, and she eyed the crew into silence. Grown men stared at the floor like regretful little boys. "Jeez, what a mess!" She stepped inside, moving to the nightstand and coming back with a bowl, pitcher, and washcloths.

  "We won, m'lady," Gaelan put in, swiping blood from his lip. There was a hearty rumble of agreement.

  "Aye, the first mate, here, milled a rascal twice his stone," a sailor admired.

  "What would you know of it, Cam, you were the admiral of the narrow seas when I saw you last." The room vibrated with laughter, and the young seaman flushed. Before she got a Marine's version of the bar­room brawl, Tess deduced that meant the poor boy retched in someone's lap.

  The door leading to the hall opened, and Duncan and Higa-san shuffled in, bandages and liniments fill­ing their arms. The men stepped aside, and her eyes widened. "Damn!" She set the bowl and pitcher on the table with an angry thump, then pushed bodies from her path. His jacket draped neatly over his arm, Dane stood still as she looked him up and down, then tilted his face to inspect the damage. His jaw was bruised, and his lower lip and knuckles were bleeding.

  He glanced at the roomful of men, then frowned down at her. " Tis late, Tess, why are you not abed?"

  "Look who's talking. Sit," she ordered, pointing to the chair. Several men backed out of her way when she maneuvered Dane toward the table, then pushed him down.

  "Get you to bed, woman, or clothe yourself." He made to put his jacket over her shoulders, but she shrugged it off, glaring at the chuckling Ramsey.

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  "You're an unselfish jackass, Ramsey O'Keefe! How could you involve him in this?"

  Dane fought a smile. "Tess, please, 'twas not solely his fault."

  "Don't give me that!" She shoved his hand off her arm. "He enjoys instigating trouble. Look at him! He can't decide whether to grin or bleed! Jeez!" She soaked the cloth, then wrung it out with a vengeance. "He makes a pass at a married woman and can't un­derstand why her husband wants to punch his lights out!"

  "Tess, truly. 'Twas not so bad."

  "And you!" She rounded on Dane. "You just had to bail him out!" Her gaze shot to Ramsey. "Did you forget he had a concussion?" Despite her anger, she gently blotted Dane's jaw and lips.

  Dane jerked his head back from her ministrations. "They are minor, woman, cease."

  "I, for one, have several wounds that could use your tender care, m'lady."

  less sent Ramsey a look meant to grind him into hamburger.

  "Careful, Ram," Gaelan said. "In the lady's present state, I daresay you may find your throat cut." The battered group laughed.

  "You all really think this is funny, don't you?" She slapped the rag into the bowl, splashing water over the table. "Don't you?"

  "Aye," Ram chuckled. "You're radiant when yer peeved, lass."

  "Peeved? Peeved is when you get the wrong dinner order! He had a brain concussion, for Chrissake!" She measured each man, her misty gaze ending on

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  Dane. "And another blow to your head would have

  killed you!" She spun away, lacy bedclothes fluttering

  as she raced out of the room, slamming doors behind

  her. t,

  The hollow sound echoed throughout the floor.

  Ramsey sighed, resting his elbows on the table, his aching head in his hands. The impact of her words had cut him in half. "God forgive me, Dane, I was un­aware of the risk." The chair creaked as he sagged back. "Sweet Christ, but I do not envy you this time."

  Dane left the chair and walked to the door. Sound­lessly he opened it, sealing it behind him.

  "She loves him, doesn't she?" Aaron said into the quiet.

  Though he was answering the first mate, Duncan looked pointedly at Captain O'Keefe. "And when did you come to that brilliant conclusion, eh, sir?"

  Ramsey felt a measure of guilt at the decadent meal he'd just consumed, the memory of his ride from the docks brimming in his head: hovels filled with bony dark-skinned children in ragged clothes, their hope­less expressions, and, worst, their parents' sneers of contempt when he'd alighted from the Englishman's carriage. His host was the ruling official on the is­land, by his own appointment, Ramsey gathered, not having a chance to verify the man's title. But the En­glishman had been waiting on the docks before the Triton weighed anchor.

  His body aching, he shifted uncomfortably in the small velvet chair and sipped the aged brandy, his eyes on the Englishman's daughter. Monica fanned her-

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  self, gold eyes peering at him from over the rim. Ram winked slowly, then winced when she giggled in a high-pitched shrill. 'Twas a duty, he thought, to have spent time with the woman, listening to her com­plaints about not being at court or the lack of accept­able sui
tors. Yet between her whining, she'd been a fountain of information during their turn around the elaborate gardens. Her father had been too cautious for Ramsey's allotment of time, though not with his daughter. Ram had already tasted those lips, felt the voluptuous curves, which were merely wads of molded cotton, he'd discovered with a bit of surprise. A spoiled selfish chit, he decided, having seen her or­der servants with a stinging hand and a superior air that rubbed the American in a most indecent manner. Suddenly his thoughts turned to Tess: her teasing, the truth she spoke so easily, and how the feisty lass could dice this brat to ribbons with her sharp tongue. 'Twas something he would enjoy watching, he thought, then remembered how she hadn't shown herself to anyone since last evening. With a disheartened sigh, he ig­nored the pain in his bruised jaw and directed his at­tention to what English was saying.

  "I'm certain we can find a suitable buyer for your goods, Captain O'Keefe," Whittingham said in his na­sal accent. "I will be delighted to look into it if you'd be so kind as to turn over a list of your cargo."

  Ramsey hid a smile. The man was practically sand­ing his hands together in anticipation. "I'd rather ini­tiate the bargain myself, if you don't mind. Tis a half-year's work that I've stored and have many wages to dole. Bothersome chore, that," Ram sighed dra­matically, his gaze shifting briefly to the woman, and

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  he flashed her a quick smile, "but then, 'tis why I've seen success of late."

  The Englishman bristled. Bloody arrogant Colo­nist. A rich one, if his attire was anything to measure, yet an ungrateful rebel just the same. Should have shot them all. God, he hated being banished to this is­land, longing for the dignity and coolness of London. Whittingham stood and adjusted his clothing, a sig­nal the meeting was over, and the captain quickly came to his feet.

  "As you wish, Captain. I will send a messenger to your ship on the morrow," the Englishman stated, willing to forgo the man's heritage to see his stores in his personal warehouse.

  "Do not bother, sir; you have done enough in my behalf, and I am pressed to see the deed done. I will return with my quartermaster, say around noon?"

  Whittingham stiffened. Someone should have fin­ished bashing the Colonist's face! How dare this man question his stipulations? "I'm afraid that will be ter­ribly inconvenient. I've business meetings—"

  "Oh, Papa, I've the perfect solution!" Monica gushed. "You have your meetings, and I will entertain the captain until you can join us." She rose with a flourish, then sashayed over to stand between the men. "You will join us for luncheon, won't you, Cap­tain O'Keefe?" She pouted prettily up at the Ameri­can, allowing her skirts to brush his calves and giving him a splendid view of her bosom.

  Lady, my arse, Ram thought. What sot was she try­ing to make the fool?

  "Again you offer your much-needed assistance, daughter," her father said and thought he saw the cap-

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  tain smirk. The girl could finally be of more use than adding bills to his purse. If O'Keefe was occupied here, his men could investigate his ship and cargo, he silently chuckled.

  Reminding himself to post extra guards on the Triton, Ramsey nodded agreement, catching Monica's pleased smile. He wouldn't dream of denying himself a tumble with a wench that was so willing to give it.

  Ramsey bid them good afternoon and departed quickly. When a servant appeared to inform the mas­ter that the guest had indeed left, Whittingham turned to his daughter.

  "Get you to bed, child, and think naught of the sea captain. The insolent braggart will likely be dead be­fore a sennight."

  Monica gasped in horror, and when she started to speak, he bellowed, "To bed, girl!" She fled the room with great haste.

  A figure slipped from the alcove near the stairs, startling the elderly man.

  "Good God, man!" he choked, a hand covering his heart. "Be chousin' bloody ten years off me friggin* arse!"

  Phillip strolled across the room to the bar. "Care­ful, Nigel, your background is showing." He poured himself a drink, tossed back the expensive liquor, then moved toward the door. "His stores, get them. And the jewels, well, you know, don't you, Nigh?"

  "Wait! Was it him?"

  "You do go on, Nigel, and — " Phillip looked back over his shoulder, his hand on the latch. "When I de­cide your pea brain can absorb that much, you'll be a corpse."

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  Ramsey leapt from the moving carriage, then slipped into the darkened alley way. He waited for the conveyance to round the corner before his gaze re­turned to the Englishman's house. The door abruptly opened, and he plastered his tall form back against the cracked wall as a figure stepped out. His eyes nar­rowed, and his body tensed when the man drew a horse from beneath the shade of a tree and made to mount. Ram moved soundlessly behind crates and rubbish piles to get a better look before the fellow de­parted. The figure reined around, and Ram caught a glimpse of his profile before he viciously clapped his bleeders to the beast's sides. The sea captain cursed softly, taking off in a run, vowing to discover where the bastard slept.

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  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  A golden ball of fire hovered above the horizon, its reflecting rays splashing pink, magenta, and cool lav­ender across the cloudless sky. Out of the open win­dow, Tess watched the tranquil sight for a few moments longer, then let her gaze drift to the streets below. She waved to the guards beneath her window, and they bowed shortly in response. Burros pulled carts filled with goods, their owners prodding them with crooked sticks. Children raced through the alleys, teasing each other. Goats and chickens skittered around the yards, no one paying them any mind. The smell made Tess ill. Women dressed in brightly colored skirts and gauzy blouses converged around the well in the center of the square, filling huge jars, gossiping, then staring occa­sionally up at her. Tess smiled, waved, and they re­sponded with a look of shock, then bobbed a curtsy. She wondered what they thought of her. The captain's lady or the ship's whore?

  She glanced around the room. It was sparsely fur­nished, yet neat and clean. What she wouldn't give for air conditioning or just an ice-cold Diet Coke or a

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  chance to take a swim in her bikini! Or watch one of Penny's movies, or—what would you give, a little voice asked, to let it all go? She stiffened. That little voice was damned annoying. "And Tess wasn't certain she liked the realization that Dane Alexander Blackwell, sea captain, Continental Marine, confidante to the President, had become her entire world. Jeez, he could have easily been killed in that fight! Hell, people in this time died of such minor things she could hardly begin to think of them all. And if she lost Dane?

  A sharp pain lanced her chest, threatening her breathing, and she returned her gaze to the street, try­ing to separate her emotions. What would happen if she got the chance to return to the future? When will it come? Next week? Next year? Never? And what would she go back to? They were the same questions she'd asked since she'd discovered herself in this century. She didn't want to depend on anyone, never had before. She'd managed alone since she was a kid, but in 1789, Tess realized, the opportunities for a woman were slim to none. Men were teachers, politicians, land owners; women were governesses, glorified baby-sitters, maids, and dependent on what men gave them, whether it was their fathers or their husbands. Men ran the show; women paid for it. And the fact that she needed protection from men, by men, rankled the hell out of her. But she could adapt if she wanted. She watched the people below. Living, surviving, loving. What are you going to do, Renfrew, hide for the next hundred years?

  "Speak with me, Tess," Dane said from the other side of the oaken door. "This silence will accomplish naught." He received no response to his plea. He'd no

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  doubt she was in there; a maid had deposited two meals and removed her bathwater already this day. He glanced briefly at Duncan, who was setting the table for the evening meal, then shrugged and walked to a chair, dropping into it with a heavy sigh.

  Her behavior unnerved Mm. 'Twas not like Tess t
o allow things to brew inside her. 'Twas one of the things he enjoyed most about her, that she hid naught of her feelings, said what she wanted, when she desired. Sud­denly he sat upright, a horrifying thought occurring to him. Had she received some signal or vision that would send her to her time? He left the chair and strode across the sitting room, pounding hard on the wood.

  "She's gone, sir."

  Dane spun about to see only Potts's head poking into the room. "Tell me I've heard wrong, mister."

  "Nay, sir." Potts stepped inside, scrunching his cap. "The lady said she was needin' some fresh air, sir."

  Dane took a couple steps, and Potts flinched. "And you simply allowed her to go!" His voice boomed. "Lady Renfrew can be very convincin', sir." Dane bolted out of the room and down the hall, tak­ing the stairs three at a time. "Mr. Sikes has his eye on the lass," he heard Potts holler down the staircase. He met Ramsey at the landing, and the Triton captain fol­lowed him out of the inn, crew men taking up the rear. Men spread out like a human net, and Dane didn't get but a few yards beyond the street when he saw her.

  He sighed with relief, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to calm his racing pulse. Through the palm trees he could see Tess walking on the beach, her slippers dangling from her fingertips, toes kicking at the sand.

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  Ramsey nearly slammed into him from behind.

  "God, what a vision." Her black hair was unbound, wild with the breeze.

  "Isn't she, though," bane replied wistfully, and Ram witnessed the raw emotion his friend kept hidden.

  "She is in love with you, you realize that." Regret heavily laced his voice.

  "Nay, I do not," he returned softly.

  "Then yer an ass, man," Ram scoffed. "And I can admit 'tis a grand bit of jealousy I feel for you."

  Dane arched a raven brow, glancing to his side. "You would fight me for her?"