Through the Maelstrom (7 page)

A woman delivered platters of food to their table. Christophe had ordered the catch of the day and really didn't care what he ate so long as he could be near the siren who had called him to her time. If they were truly fated by the stars, two souls to form one whole, then she must be fighting extremely hard against her own desires, and they had to mirror his own. His craving for her put his body in complete turmoil. All the sweeter it would be when she gave in to him. Even now, her gaze sought the exits to the building. There were but two, both behind him on opposite walls. If her breath didn't catch when he touched her, lips parting when he moved close enough to take her mouth with his, then perhaps he would believe her fear of him was more than a nervous reaction.

Christophe had never been a big believer in love or fate. Sinking into a maelstrom and appearing on a ship a few hundred years later made it difficult to disbelieve in the
possibility
of either. His attraction to Serena was different, stronger, than any he'd felt toward other women. He'd scarcely given her friend a second glance, and
she'd
been behaving scandalously. A man with only one objective would have chosen the friend. While Christophe wouldn't oppose a tumble in the sheets with Serena, that wasn't the primary reason he'd followed her back to her room.

There had been something about her that soothed his turmoil when nothing made sense. She'd anchored him when confusion had overwhelmed him among the crowd of strange people that appeared all around him when he should have been gulping in seawater and suddenly wasn't.

Was he tethered to her now?

With or without Serena's assistance, he would find his way in this strange new world, but he really hoped it could be with her. Adaptation didn't have to be painful; it could be quite pleasurable along the way.

"Why are we here, Christophe?" Serena hadn't even picked up her utensils. A salad sprinkled with cooked chicken sat before her, untouched. She'd barely even looked at the glass of water she'd ordered. Fickle female. Perhaps she was skittish about eating in front of other people. He'd known others who suffered the same affliction. Give him time and she would feel at ease to be herself, to eat how she wished, and take from him all she desired.

He smiled. How did he explain things to her?
We are fated? You pulled me through time?
Instead, he said, "Do you believe in destiny?"

She paused in folding a napkin across her lap—an action far too distracting given the clothing she wore that covered her most intimate places yet left nothing to the imagination—and blinked. "Destiny? Are you here to Yoda me or something? That's pretty lame as far as pick-up lines go."

"Yoda?" Christophe frowned. He had no notion how one Yoda-ed and wasn't sure he was doing it. How long would it take to learn the strange phrases Serena and people of this time used? "I don't understand that phrase, love. The two of us are from
very
different worlds. You're going to have to explain things to me."

Serena snorted and sipped at her water. "I thought all men grew up on
Star Wars
and
G.I. Joe
? Is it different in England? Should I have referenced
Doctor Who
instead?"

Why would the stars war with one another? He assumed it had something to do with childhood by her words, and he smiled at the thought of his own. "My governess never allowed for much play time. We learned arithmetic, writing, and history. Astronomy, regretfully, was not part of our lessons."

She gave him a peculiar look. "Um, right... Governess?"

Did they not have them where she was from? "She cared for me and acted as an instructor while my parents hosted society gatherings and kept the accounts in order. She traveled with us when my father took a governor position in one of the colonies since she was employed to care for my younger sister."

"Colonies? You mean back in the States?" Her forehead furrowed as she considered his words. Mrs. Baker had explained some history to him, but he hadn't quite come to terms with most of the changes.

"The States," he agreed, frowning. If the buildings were as large and advanced as the ship they'd sailed on, then he supposed they were much more than colonies at that point. "Is that where you hail from?"

"Where I h—yes, I'm an American. Can't you tell by my accent? I mean, I don't think I have one, but I suppose I do to someone not from there..." She snapped her mouth shut, a rosy blush flared across her pale neck and cheeks. She cleared her throat and added, "So you were home-schooled by your nanny?"

Setting his fork down, Christophe regretted that she'd changed the subject back to him. He'd much rather listen to her talk in her strange
American
accent. "Your odd phrasing mixed with tone imply this is an unsatisfactory revelation." He leaned back in his chair. "I came from good stock. My circumstances over the past year or so were unwanted, but should you have come to me instead, you would have wanted for nothing."

If she'd have come to him, he would have been in a precarious situation in trying to return home without being apprehended by more pirates. Her life would have been in peril until they hit the mainland, away from ruffians of the high seas, and still would if she walked around dressed like she was... Christ, there would be rioting in the streets in an attempt to reach her, and not to court her. Shame struck him. They'd have assumed no different than he had last night. Women's fashion was
much
different in his time.

"Starting over—again—is unfortunate, but in time things shall sort themselves out." They had to.

She cocked her head to the side and studied him. "What are you talking about?"

"Serena, I—"

"He's from the past, sugar." Mrs. Baker leaned both hands on her cane beside the table. She was dressed in a long black dress with short sleeves, and a blue wavy pattern streaked from neck to hem in a thick, vertical band. He had been so engrossed with his thoughts and Serena that he'd not noticed her approach. She slid into a chair and waved at someone for service.

Serena glanced at her and then back to him. "What's going on?"

Mrs. Baker answered for him before he could come up with an explanation. "Christophe is a pirate from the eighteenth century. You're his soulmate, and something you did brought him through a vortex to be with you."

***

S
erena stared into the kindly, wrinkled face of the woman who'd joined them and couldn't decide if the lady truly believed what she said or if she was playing an elaborate joke. "Excuse me?"
What the heck is a vortex? Like a science fiction portal? And he didn't know who Yoda was? Please.

Christophe looked back and forth with wide eyes before sputtering, "Ah, Mrs. Baker. It's good of you to join us. Where is your son?" He tugged at the collar of his polo shirt and shifted in his seat. It should amuse her that he was uncomfortable for a change, but instead it irritated her more.

Mrs. Baker, it seemed her name was, waved him off. "Josiah will be along shortly. He's working on gaining your clearance back on the ship. You'll find it is much harder to board than disembark. He's adding you to the manifest and will report your passport and ID as stolen after."

Glancing back and forth between them, the words sank in. Serena laughed. "Are you implying he's a stowaway?" When neither of them joined her laughter—nervous or otherwise—she sobered fast. "Truly?" Did people still do that? And why were they telling her about it? She could be charged as their accomplice if the cruise line found out and pressed charges against him. No wonder he'd tried to seduce his way into her room.

Christophe shrugged. "Not by choice, love. The way I arrived aboard yon vessel will not be easily proven."

Heh. Yon vessel.
Inwardly, she rolled her eyes while fighting to keep her face blank. "Right. Because I summoned you here with my witch's grimoire and now you have three days for me to give you true love's kiss before you sprout a fish tail and poof back to whence you came?"

Mrs. Baker clucked her tongue. "Sarcasm is not becoming, dear. Do not joke about such things. He's here, but the legends never tell if the travelers remain. These things
do
work in sets of three, and we must pass through the vortex again on his third night during the trip home." She picked up a knife and started buttering a roll she'd swiped from the basket in the center of the table. "There's no telling what will happen when we do, or what would guarantee his stay."

"Vortex?" Serena hated that she was responding in all questions. It drove her crazy when people did that. "Don't tell me... The Bermuda Triangle is a time travel teleportation device for a mystical dating network. I suck at dating in my own century, so eTriangle threw a pirate at me. Do I look like the sort of girl that would want a thieving, dishonest, violent, probably-rapist, villain for a significant other?"

Christophe lifted his right hand over his heart; although he demonstrated the classic gesture for a wounded heart, his expression made her think she actually
had
offended him. "Christ, that was hurtful. I wasn't always a pirate. In fact, I was forced into it. Furthermore, I have never raped a woman in my life."

Good to know. "But you don't deny the rest of the accusations?"

He gave her a crooked grin. "Only did what I needed to do to survive, move up in ranks to decrease the amount of eyes upon my person at any given time, and waited for the opportune moment to escape."

She snorted. "I bet."

Mrs. Baker smiled knowingly, leaned forward, and patted the back of her hand. "I knew you'd have a hard time believing him, which is why I came along and decided to drop the information out there to let it settle." She took a bite of the buttered roll and waited until she'd swallowed before adding, "I've been accused of matchmaking back in my day. It's quite extraordinary that the very night he escaped his life of piracy he ends up on our ship, drawn to you. He needed rescuing, and you were just the one to help him."

Serena rolled her eyes for real this time. Either the kindly woman had been duped into believing this drivel, or the pair of them planned to con her into sleeping with him and then stealing her identity or something. "That's very romantic, Mrs. Baker, but I don't know how he has you fooled. He's obviously gotten too good as an impersonator, and has turned to taking advantage of people. Fiction is for books. Reality is never so fantastical."

What was with everyone trying to set her up with this man who was clearly a fraud? Before she knew it, he'd be hacking her bank accounts and running off with her credit cards. He'd probably end up with her car title and the deed to her parents' house before they even docked on the mainland. He hadn't even denied the accusation of being a thief, but then that went with the territory of piracy.

Mrs. Baker leaned forward. "Did you do anything particular last night before you ran into him? Longed for a man? Pray? Daydream?" The woman had completely ignored her concerns!

Christophe's left eyebrow rose into a high arch at Mrs. Baker's question. He leaned forward as if he, too, desired to hear the answer. Serena narrowed her eyes at him. It wasn't like she'd picked up a phone and dialed 1-800-PIRATES.

She gasped. She had done something last night, something silly and childish.
I wish I could fall in love with a man who's unlike any other I've known.
Serena covered her open mouth with both hands.
It's impossible.
She focused on Christophe, really looking at him.
Isn't it?
Could wishing on a shooting star over the Bermuda Triangle do something so absurd?

He brushed the loose lock of his blond hair that had been tempting her out of his eye and tucked it behind his ear. Already, it moved as though it would fall back into its former position within minutes. His blue gaze bore into her. Could this man truly be who she'd wished for?

"There's no such thing as time travel. This is a trick. A horrible one at that."

Christophe reached across the table and took one of her hands in both of his. "I would never intentionally cause you distress." He seemed so sincere. However, he'd have to be in order to pull off a scam of this magnitude and make someone believe it. How many weak-willed females had he fooled this way?

She pulled her hand away. "I'm not saying I believe you, but if you were forced into piracy, who were you before? And what time did you come from?"

"Yesterday, I was a pirate escaping a sinking ship in 1715. My real name isn't Jones, but Blackwood. My father is the governor of South Carolina, or was." Sadness washed over his features as though recalling the time lost if his story was true, and that his father couldn't be governor any longer since he was long dead.

He was good. She'd give him that.

"We were visiting Savannah when I was taken from a pub on the river. Jones is the name I adopted to protect my family." He placed both palms flat on the table. "You see, a common last name doesn't draw attention. I refused to force my family to pay any ransoms that could have been requested at my abduction. Instead, I was merely pressed for service. Escape is much more difficult than you'd think it would be."

Even if she wanted to believe him, how could she? Time travel? Wishing on stars? People did so because it was a relief to wish freely for all they didn't have in that moment. His story couldn't be true. Knowing it was a farce made it a flight of fancy and nothing more. If she could simply wish for someone extraordinary to love, people would be doing so all the time.

"You don't believe me." Christophe sat back in his chair with a frown. He seemed disappointed but resolute. "If our places were reversed, I don't think I would believe either. I'd have laughed at your boldness and creative mind, but I would have protected you from anyone who would do you harm." He sighed. "If there was a way to prove it... I'm afraid you'll have to take my word on the matter."

He regarded her with a smile. It didn't light up his face like some of his others. She couldn't fathom how he'd think she'd take it seriously.