My Timeswept Heart

by Amy J. Fetzer

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  Dane grabbed Tess about the waist, mashing her to his side. "Prepare to come about!" he shouted. Crewmen scurried, frantic to adjust sail and spar.

  Ramsey's gaze slid to Tess. Her fingertips were turning white from their grip on Dane's arm, her eyes wide., stark with horror. He'd never seen her so terrified. And Dane, Ramsey thought, the man was bloody desperate, shouting orders, yet refusing to release his wife.

  "Why do you fear this apparition, lass?" Ram asked, climbing onto the bowsprit for a better view. He frowned back over his shoulder, unaffected by the wild commotion on the Witch. "You know what this be?"

  She looked uncertainly up at her husband. "Tell him, love," Dane urged, his ears tuned to the creak of the rigging as it shifted to bring the frigate away from the wall.

  "It's a doorway, Ramsey. To the future." His brows rose a fraction. "I don't know exactly to where—but that," she glared at the curtain, "is a rip in time."

  Ramsey's gaze snapped between the wall, Tess, and Dane, an eagerness lighting his features even as he considered she must be jesting. The future? Then Dane briefly met his skeptical gaze and nodded curtly, and in those pale green eyes, Ramsey glimpsed the man's tortured fears.

  " 'Tis coming for us, Capt'n!" a seaman screamed.

  "Port hard to lee!" Dane shouted. "Now!" He yanked Tess from the path of scrambling sailors and swinging gaff sail.

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  " 'Tis followin'!" the boatswain bleated. Tess moaned, feeling the pull, the nausea, the heaviness of her limbs. "Oh, jeez! Dane! It wants me back! I can't—please! Not now!" She clung to her husband, fighting the violent tug that seemed to come from the marrow of her bones. No, she prayed, I'm happy now. "Don't let it take me, Dane, please." Tears wet her cheeks.

  "Never, love." Dane crushed her to him, twining rope around his free arm and praying it would keep them together. "If you depart, I shall be with you." Ramsey stared at the black curtain that reached up to infinity. The future? His head jerked around, and he studied Tess hard, trying to read beyond that horrified expression. He knew the moment he met her she was different, so spirited and intelligent, damned resourceful. Even compared to a man. His brain pounded with all he could remember since. Her speech, her manners, her views, her ability to decipher code, plan strategy: the list was endless. He returned his gaze to the wall. Was it possible? To step into another time?

  He looked back again at Tess, the sharp motion making his head feel light, drugged. Then an odd sensation gripped him, a sudden piercing of flesh, sinew, and muscle, sand-rough fingers clamping like a vice onto his bones, tugging.

  'Tis an invitation, Ram thought, hugging the ropes. Nay, a demand.

  "Your journey was long to find your heart mate, Tess," Ramsey said, his face bloodless with the clawing nausea. "Mayhaps I must take the same to discover if such exists for me."

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  Tess's eyes widened as he gave them a jaunty sa­lute. "Ramsey! Noooo!" she screamed as he dove into the water.

  The instant Ramsey surfaced, his powerful arms knifed through the ocean toward the ebony curtain.

  "Raamseeey!" Her cry ended in a dry shriek, her throat gone raw.

  Ram ignored her.

  "Damn you, O'Keefe! Come back!" Dane shouted over the railing.

  "Do something! We have to stop him!" she pleaded to Dane, her fingers twisted in the fabric of his shirt. "He won't survive!"

  Dane ordered a line tossed to him and a long boat lowered.

  The sea suddenly became wild, waves cresting high, smashing against the hull, pitching the frigate like a cork buoy bobbing against the swells.

  Ramsey swam.

  Frightened, her body still feeling the wrenching energy, Tess stumbled away from the rail, pulling Dane with her. "Dane, please!"

  He grasped her shoulders, forcing her to see be­yond her panic. "He's too far, Tess. And look at him, he wants to go." She did look.

  Near the curtain, Ramsey turned and raised an arm to wave, his smile broad, excited. Suddenly the tendrils of mist wrapped around his chest, lifting him out of the water and pulling him into the blackness. Then he and the wall vanished, and once again the sea calmed, the waters a pure aqua blue.

  Ramsey O'Keefe was gone.

  In the stunned silence of the crew, she turned into

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  Dane's embrace and cried, "Oh God, he doesn't re­alize—he won't survive."

  "You did." He gently rubbed her back, his gaze riveted to where he'd last seen his closest friend. Blood of God, if he had not laid witness to it, he would never have imagined such a sight!

  She sniffled, raising her head. "But I went back in time! It's possible he went forward!" No one would ever know where he'd end up exactly.

  "Do not underestimate Ramsey, my love," he said calmly. "He's resourceful. And mayhaps—?"

  "He'll find love? His heart mate?" It peeved her Dane wasn't more upset.

  He brushed a wisp of hair from her cheek, tuck­ing it behind her ear. "I've come to believe anything in our universe is possible." She smiled weakly; her presence was proof of

  that.

  Shudders trembled through her as she laid her cheek against his chest, studying the calm, blue ocean. Yeah, he'd wanted to go, no doubt about that. Tess couldn't fault him; he was the adventur­ous sort, anyway. Oh, Ramsey, she thought with a secret smile, are you in for one hell of a surprise!

  Dane tightened his embrace, then gave a nod of deep respect to the sea. Tess was his— forever. The chance that she'd be taken from him was gone, thanks to the Triton's master.

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  EPILOGUE

  A Few Months Later

  Grayson Blackwell smiled at the woman sleeping in his son's arms as the carriage rolled down the long drive to Coral Keys.

  "I still cannot believe she convinced me to free all

  the slaves." •

  Dane's head turned from the view out the car­riage window, and he smiled at his father. "They stayed on, did they not?"

  "But the cost-"

  "We can well afford to pay them, and 'tis only reaso—"

  Grayson put up a hand. "Spare me, son," he said with a grin. "She has won already."

  "She does have a way of getting what she wants." Dane plucked a drooping curl from her cheek. "In truth, Father, I never dreamed I could be this happy," he admitted, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

  "Nor I." The lass filled the emptiness in his heart,

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  Grayson thought, where it had been so brutally gouged. "Have I told you how much I admire your choice of a bride, Dane?"

  "Thanks, Papa," Tess said, sitting upright.

  Dane grinned. "You little sneak."

  "Playing possum has its merits."

  Grayson threw back his head and laughed, and Dane's smile widened. Everyone felt Tess's zest for living, and it showed even in his father. Gone was the stooped, disheartened gentleman; in his place was the strapping man Dane had known as a youth. Tess had done that. She'd taught him not to feel guilt over Desiree's death and bullied him into tak­ing charge of a life lost because of Phillip.

  "Ahh, home at last,'* Tess said, bounding out of the carriage the second it stopped.

  Grayson glanced at his son and shook his head. " Tis a wonder you are not drained of all energy attempting to keep up with that woman," he said, alighting from the carriage.

  Dane followed, smiling wickedly. Twas energy well spent.

  Feminine laughter tumbled into the foyer as Tess swept the velvet cape from her shoulders and tossed it to the waiting servant. Dane leaned against the doorframe, watching as she whirled around the room with an imaginary partner.

  "Oh, Dane. This has got to be the most exciting week of my life. Imagine, the honor of dancing and dining with the President!"

  " Twas he that should feel honored, my love. I fear George will never be as he was after meeting you."

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  She faced him. "I can't believe you call him George!"

 
"Bah!" Grayson snorted. "He is simply a man, my dear." *

  Tess grinned, coming over to them. She knew ex­actly what Dane would look like in thirty years; he was the image of his father, though a bit taller and less gray. She never had the heart to tell Dane that the Rothmeres would someday own this house; the pain was too new. But she was working on a plan, one that would take two hundred years to put it back in the hands of a Blackwell.

  "Just because you don't agree with some of his policies, Papa, doesn't mean they don't have poten­tial."

  Dane covered a chuckle.

  "What were the two of you discussing so intensely that evening?" Grayson wanted to know.

  "Land battle strategy."

  Grayson's eyes widened. "Surely he did not lis­ten-!"

  "And why wouldn't he?" Her hands were on her hips, lips pressed tightly, and Dane knew that stance too well.

  "I think I shall graciously retire now," Grayson said, chagrined, backing toward the stairs.

  "A wise choice, Father."

  Tess's features softened, and she caught Grayson's arm, walking up the staircase with him. She glanced back over her shoulder to Dane, and he nodded, his lips twitching.

  "I don't need tucking in bed, young lady," he gruffed.

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  "Humor me. I don't have a father, except you." His lips curved. "And I want to make sure you're comfortable and happy."

  "Then you'd do well to see that room filled." He gestured to the nursery.

  "It will certainly be my pleasure to try."

  He chuckled. Saucy wench, he thought, kissing her cheek, then disappearing into his bedchamber. "Only one brandy tonight, Grayson," he heard as he shut the door.

  Dane dropped into a stuffed chair, prying off his shoes and wiggling his toes. He was deliriously happy and feeling more fit than ever, the latter at­tributed to his wife's insistence that he dine on foods not swimming in cholesterol or cooked to death, as she chose to put it. Her two hundred years of knowledge certainly was an advantage.

  He sipped his brandy, watching the amber liquid swirl and coat the glass. She had conceded to more than anyone could imagine to be his wife. And Dane's heart swelled with love every time he thought of her sacrifice, thanking God every day she'd sailed into his century.

  "Hey, pirate."

  He looked up, his eyes widening as she sauntered across the room, slipping her arms out of her gown. He swallowed, his gaze absorbing her graceful moves as she revealed her slim, muscled body to his hungry eyes. His manhood reacted with amazing swiftness.

  "The door?" he managed.

  "Locked."

  "And Father?"

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  "Asleep."

  She paused before him, and Dane could do no more than stare as she shoved the midnight blue gown and petticoats down over her hips, then stepped out, kicking them aside. She loosened her hair, shaking out the inky mass before hooking her thumbs beneath the tiny ribbons at her hips and slowly tugging the panties down. She flung the silk scrap onto the pile, then took the drink from him, setting it aside as she climbed onto his lap. Sus­pended from a thin gold chain around her throat was a single marquis diamond. It was all she wore. "Your father wants grandchildren. Think we can accommodate him?"

  "Here?" His hands moved up the curve of her bare buttocks. "In the parlor?"

  "Yup." Her breasts swayed as she freed the but­tons to his breeches with agonizing slowness. "Too many people to wake up upstairs, you know." Her mouth hovered close to his. "The bed creaks, and with you and that great hip action — "

  "God's teeth, Tess," he breathed, "you never cease to shock me."

  "Yeah, pirate, and you love it." He crushed her to him, staring deep into eyes soft as smoke. "Ohh, aye, my witch, that I do." He claimed her mouth as she claimed his body. The voyage of the Sea Witch was over, harbored ten­derly in his loving arms. She was home—just in time. .

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  "Romance is everywhere. I'm surrounded by real-life heros and heroines with incredible tales of ad­venture, separation, and enduring love," says Amy J. Fetzer, in regards to her globe-trotting life with her Marine husband. "How could I not write about it?"

  At the sale of My Timeswept Heart, a 1992 Golden Heart finalist, Amy J. Fetzer lived in Okinawa, Japan, with her husband, Robert, and their sons, Nickolas and Zackary. She encourages readers to write to her, through Zebra Books of course, because she never knows where she'll be liv­ing next.

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