Pirate's Wraith, The (33 page)

The captain’s table had several maps on it. “Were you looking at these with    Sterford? His navigational skills are excellent.”

Vane handed her a glass of wine but he did not sit.
“So he told me, but he could not identify the island where you landed after the
Lyrical
sank.”

“
It wasn’t very big, but there were mussels and plums to eat. Also a stream with fresh water.”

“
No inhabitants?”

“
There was a pony--a pinto. I named her Sea Biscuit. I hope she’s okay.”

“
You ride?2013

“
Yes, at least I have ridden in the past ....”
Or, actually, in the future.
“I rode Sea Biscuit for a little while. Bareback.”

“
How unseemly ... for a woman.”

She fought to contain the anger firing up within her. After a deep breath, she spoke in a calm tone.
“Women can do anything men can do when they are not hampered by the rigid dictates of fashion.”

Her statem
ent caused more mirth for Vane. She hoped he would choke on his wine.

“
Are you Sterford’s mistress?” he asked when he could finally control his hilarity.

“
No.”

He held up the saber again and pressed it against her shoulder.
“Drink.”

“
Is it poisoned?”

Again he found her question terribly amusing.
“I like you, mademoiselle. You have proven to be far more entertaining than your lover.”

“
He is not my lover.” Her heart gave a dull thud at the lie. “We went through a series of misfortunes. He saved my life ... I saved his life ....”

“
You are small.” He frowned at her. However, the tip of the saber did not move.

“
Strength is not always needed.”

“
Indeed. Cleverness is an admirable trait. Sometimes it is far better to trick your opponent.”

“
He hit his head on a rock when we arrived at our little island. He would have drowned. I simply held his head above water.”

“
Such a tender scene.” He sighed. “I can envision it. The sweet young woman, braving the tempest, to save her lover.”

Her throat tightened. They had only made love once. Odds are, they would never get another chance. He lay deep in the hold and who knew what fate awaited her tonight. She struggled to hold in her despair. They were doomed.

“Drink, mademoiselle.” He cooed, “It will calm you.”

“
Do you want to get me drunk?”

He slashed at her jacket, slicing it from shoulder to elbow.
“You weary me with your questions. You are becoming as unamusing as Sterford.”

She lifted the glass to her lips and took the tiniest sip.
“Not bad. Madeira?”

“
The finest Madeira, taken from a Spanish galleon. I killed the captain with one blow on the neck.” With his sword, he lopped off the top of a graceful wooden finial on one of the chairs.

She choked back a gasp. The little horse in her waistband vibrated again. Maybe he wanted to run away. She wished she could escape this madman.

Vane swirled the wine in the glass, sniffed it, and smiled. “Most women are fond of Madeira. Drink up. I will make a toast.”

She held up her glass while he launched into a long diatribe about blood, wine, war, and the love of women. None of it made much sense, but she figured he must be as blasted as a college freshman ready for his first trip to the ER for alcohol poisoning. However, when he finished, he did not fall flat on his face as she had hoped. Instead, a knock came at the door and in walked Hooper.

Lesley’s wine glass tipped over and so did her chair as she jumped up.

“
A familiar face, mademoiselle?” Vane’s voice had a hard edge to it. “Isn’t this the quartermaster you and Sterford left for dead after Sterford attacked him?”

“
He attacked me. Sterford saved me from him.”

“
Sterford is a pirate!” Hooper boomed. “He forced his crew to go on the account.”

That wasn
’t the way she heard it, but if she said anything, he would call her a liar. Dizziness threatened as all her blood rushed to her feet. Her strange journey to the past could end right here, in this room with these two maniacs.

“
You are a harlot,” Hooper continued. “You came aboard and brought bad luck with you. We lost men and our ship due to you.” He drew his knife. "Now you will pay for it.”

Vane’s
saber knocked the knife to the floor. “You would do well to remember that I am the captain. If there is any discipline to be meted out, it is done on my order.”

Hooper did not say anything, but his face had a purple tinge to it. Nevertheless, he picked up his knife and sheathed it.

“Since she is a harlot, we ought to sample her wares before we hang her on the yardarm.” Vane grinned, sheathed his sword and reached for a length of coiled rope hanging on a peg. “Tie her so that we may have easy access to her charms.”

“
That’s rape, you creep.” With her heart pounding like the drum in a heavy metal  band, she flipped the table, turning it on its side, and threw a chair at the lamp. The lamp fell, the oil spilled out, ignited and spread. “Fire!” She yelled. “Fire! Fire!”

Hooper swore, grabbed a blanket and fought to smother the flames. 

“For that, mademoiselle, you die now.” Vane drew his sword again.

The door to the cabin burst open and Harlan stepped inside. He was drenched in black slime and smelled horrible, but she ran to him. He shoved her behind him and out into the corridor.

“Better help Hooper put out the fire, Vane.” He closed the door, shoved a    hatch cover in front of it, and angled a post against it, trapping the men inside.

“
Now what?” Lesley, weak with relief, could barely speak.

“
We escape. I disabled the watches and the helmsman. This ship is off course and headed toward a shoal.”

The boat they had arrived in still hung on the cathead. They clambered into it and Harlan set about lowering it into the water.
“I escaped the hold by crawling through the bilge. The captain intended to hang us.”

She let out a sob.
“I was wrong. You should have killed Hooper when you had the chance.”

“And
I should have taken your advice concerning Vane.” Harlan admitted.

The low rumble of thunder in the distance reminded her of the strange dream she had.

Now
w
ait for the thunder.
What had the widow meant by that?

As if in answer, the small horse in Lesley
’s waistband vibrated violently. She took it into her hand but it would not stop. She clutched it with both hands and held it against her chest, which made her entire body shake.

Meanwhile, the wind blew harder as the storm approached causing the ship to heel over to larboard. The boat dangled precariously under the lee of the ship.

The moment the boat hit the turbulent waves, savage shouts from Vane and Hooper could be heard. The ship’s bell rang for all hands.

“
We’re dead meat.” Lesley swallowed hard.

Harlan freed the boat from the ropes and the great ship quickly slid past them but it left a great whirlpool in its wake.

The small boat became trapped in the whirlpool. Around and around the boat spun as Harlan struggled to put up the sail. Lesley struggled with the oars, but she grew dizzy and disoriented with the rapid rotation. 

Gunfire sounded and bullets whizzed by.

The storm broke out above them. Lightning crackled overhead and great drops of rain splattered into the boat. Lesley screamed when Harlan collapsed. In the bright flashes of light, she saw the gaping hole in his shoulder.

“
No!” She cried. “No! You will not leave me here alone.” She ripped off her jacket and with the toy still in her hand, she pressed the cloth over the wound to staunch the flow of blood.

“
I ... love ... ” Harlan whispered. Then his body went limp.

“
Don’t go. Please don’t leave me.” She screamed. “No. No.” Her tears mingled with his blood. “I will die without you.”

The toy horse began to glow.

In the distance, she heard a horrendous crash as the ship ran aground. 

At once, the smell of ozone surrounded her. A great blast of white light surr
ounded her and she knew nothing more.

Chapter
Twenty-Two

A stream of cold air blowing across her bare skin woke Lesley, but she kept her eyes shut. In her last conscious moment, she knew she had been struck by lightning. She should be dead, but her mind reeled in confusion as she touched the soft carpet beneath her. She doubted that heaven had been paved with wall-to-wall plush pile.

The whiff of a familiar scent lingered in her nostrils, which was not the tang of the ocean’s brine or the musty mold of a ship’s hold. The sweet aroma of a vanilla spice reed diffuser wafted on the gentle breeze chilling her naked body.

Daylight played on her closed eyelids but weariness engulfed her. If she had a blanket to ward off her goose bumps, she would not move an inch. She opened one eye and saw the sky blue of the carpet. She opened her other eye to see the hearth
—her hearth, the one in her condo with the burnished brass frame around the glass fire doors. Moving her gaze slightly to the right, she saw the toy horse beside the antique cradle. The horse did not appear to have any bloodstains on it.

Her heart thudded dully as she stared at her hands. No blood there either. She had tried to stop the bleeding, but he had died. She closed her eyes as the memory flooded her with pain. She had lost him. She would never taste his kisses again, never make love with him or feel his touch. The hollow ache inside her grew.

Pushing herself up, she forced her eyes open and stared at her reflection in the glass fireplace doors. Yes, that looked like her though the dark circles under her eyes would need a ton of concealer. She appeared to be in good shape considering all that had happened. Or had it happened? Had she suffered a freakish psychotic fugue?

She rolled her ankle around. It did not hurt at all, but the agony of loss still hammered at her.  

Harlan could not possibly be a figment of her imagination. She loved him. She did not believe life would be worth living without him—even if she had pizza, beer, lattes, and indoor plumbing.

She let the tears flow though she knew nothing would help. Turning around to pull the afghan off the couch, she discovered it wasn
’t there. Blinking through her tears, she also noticed the front door stood open. Sunlight and noise poured into her living room. How long had it been like that?

Rather than risk anyone seeing her naked when she ran to close the door, she scurried down the hall to her bedroom to grab a robe from the closet. Everything else in the condo appeared to be in order
—exactly as she had left it. Although, her suitcase was also in the closet, unpacked. The clothes she had packed for the conference hung inside the bags from the cleaners.

Jim
’s clothes hung there, too. A spurt of anger ignited inside her.

Stepping out of the closet, she noticed her
cell phone on the night table beside the bed, charging. Her handbag, flopped on its side, took up the right side of the dresser.

On the left side of the dresser sat Jim
’s wallet, change, and keys. 

Fury bubbled up. No matter what had happened to her, she did not want him here any longer. She would get a restraining order.

She unplugged her cell phone. When she lifted it, it lit up and she peered at the date and the time.

August 8
th
. How could that be? She had left on her fateful trip on October 8th. How could she have returned two months before she left? Sudden hysteria threatened to consume her. Dizzy with confusion and uncertainty she sat down on the edge of the bed and fought for breath.

She must have lost her mind. Maybe the migraines had caused this horrible state of confusion. Maybe she had not traveled back in time but had spent some time in a mental ward. But then the date on her
cell phone should be after October 8th.

If it was August, she had not kicked Jim out of her life. Would she have to go through that again?

No. She would tell him to leave now. If he came at her, this time she would use her self-defense moves—and call the cops.

Trembling, she hurried back to the living room. She gasped when she saw Jim in the doorway. He wore only her afghan wrapped about his waist, which struck her as rather odd despite the turmoil in her mind, She steadied herself by holding onto the edge of the couch.

“I want you out of my life. Pack up your stuff and go. I have a restraining order and if you touch me you are going to jail.” Okay, she lied about the restraining order but if he touched her, he would regret it—this time. She shook as fear and fury short-circuited her nerve endings.