Blackwells: My Timeswept Heart Part 2

CHAPTER THREE.

Propellers, like blades of a ma.s.sive Cuisinart, churned, drawing their tender meal closer. The engine hummed, its sound vibrating the water sealed over her helpless body. Bubbles, her own and those of the ships, swirled, grazed her skin like delicate fingers, teasing her with their valuable contents. Tess desperately fought the scream grinding in her constricted throat when the daggerlike fin pa.s.sed again. Her lungs begged for mercy as she swam frantically against the current. The shark b.u.mped her. And the scream erupted, silenced by a gush of water. She was drowning, arms flailing in a wild frenzy.

It nudged her again, her back, then again under her arm, and just as black spots cloaked her vision, she was catapulted to the surface. She choked and sputtered, struggling to tread water while vomiting up food and half the Atlantic. Exhausted, her eyes stinging, Tess inhaled a waterless breath and realized the ship was moving rapidly.

Away.

Panic shot through her like hot lead.

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"Come back! Oh G.o.d! COME BACK!" she screamed, but her throat was raw, and nothing emerged above the thump of the engines. Frantically she waved her arms, coughing on the backwash bubbling at her throat. No one had noticed her unusual departure. Except the two men looking down at her from the rail, grinning. And waving back. Then she realized she was moving also. She twisted sharply, her eyes rounding in horror at the sight of a fin slicing through the water beside her shoulder. The shark, she thought hopelessly, strangling on a new wave of terror. She fought, yet couldn't take her eyes off the fin as it suddenly dipped below the surface, instantly replaced with the slick, rounded snout of a dolphin. Treading, she blinked back salt water, gaping in disbelief. A dolphin! Her muscles relaxed and Tess laughed out loud, her incredulous relief blending quickly into hysterical sobs. It was useless, she knew, no one to hear, no one to care.

The dolphin chittered, its nose nudging her. She focused on her ... it? ... him?

"Well, I'll be d.a.m.ned," she said, her voice sandy-rough. The duffle, her cheap, yellow-plastic K-Mart special was buoyant, filled with air, and the strap still entwined around her was trapped in the dolphin's mouth. "Thank you, you beautiful creature," she sobbed, patting and hugging hard, wet skin.

"Thanks."

Clinging to the mammal, Tess dunked her head back, smoothed the hair from her face, then scanned the open seas for land. She waited for her fear to subside into something more rational. It didn't.

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No land, she thought matter-of-factly, adjusting her grip. She froze.

"No land!" she whispered, her head snapping in all directions. She went berserk, twisting and turning, her eyes wild as she searched the horizon. "Oh G.o.d, oh G.o.d, oh G.o.d! NO LAND!" She gripped the dolphin, wrapping her arms around its torso enough to crush it. It squeaked, shooting a mist out the hole on top of its head, then dipped beneath the surface. Tess came up sputtering. "Calm down, Renfrew," she told herself, gaining only marginal control after she'd located the cruise liner sailing away under clear skies. No help there, she thought, dismally watching any possible rescue within the hour rapidly fade. Those goons would never alert anyone to her predicament, She twisted a look in the direction the swells were taking her and sucked In her breath, choking on a mouthful of water. Tess stared in horror, alarming dread sapping what was left of her composure.

"Jesus H. Christ!" Where the h.e.l.l did that come from?

The blue horizon had vanished behind a jet black wall, not like a storm but nearly opaque swirls of dense fog climbing upward from the ocean into infinity. The surface wobbled eerily, a velvet drape scarcely catching the breeze, smoky mist curling and convulsing like a living thing. The rumbling echo of thunder reached her above the din of the sea. She recoiled.

"Take me that way!" she commanded the animal, wrapping an arm around its fin and trying to urge it back toward the cruiser. It squealed, its powerful flippers dragging her through the water-toward the ebony curtain.

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This is a hallucination, she reasoned wildly, a near death kind of vision, and she briefly considered releasing the dolphin. But it was her only lifeline. The current would take her 'in the same direction regardless.

The elements gave her no choice. Closer. Closer. Her stomach rolled with burning nausea. Closer Her head suddenly felt light, as if just waking from a dream. Lightning crackled violently across the murky blanket. A sickening, heavy sensation melted through her limbs, numbing them, and Tess strained to keep hold of the dolphin. Closer. Her heart drummed so hard she could feel it in her throat, hear its frantic thump in her ears. Never a religious person before now, she prayed for strength, for anything that would keep her alive. The dolphin carried her-closer. Sinking into unconsciousness, Tess never saw the undulating fingers of mist reach out, never felt the icy tentacles wrap around her and suck her past the barrier, swallowing her. Instantly the black wall vanished behind her, leaving no trace of woman or dolphin on calm seas beneath blue Bahama skies, 1789.

Tropic of Cancer West Indies The last of the seasoned deck hands raced to secure crates and barrels as the storm raged, bearing down upon them with a swiftness none had ever seen. They fled belowdecks to safety and to wait out the storm as

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the frigate pitched and rocked, towering walls of water crashing over its starboard side, washing anything poorly roped into its blackened depths.

The captain manned the helm, his tall form lashed to the wheel, relentlessly guiding his ship further beyond the scattered barrier islands. The Sea Witch was an armed vessel, heavily loaded with fresh stores and merchandise; therefore, her water line was already low. She plowed into the storm and like an angry parent, it slapped her back, her figure-headed bow dipping, taking on more water.

"Get below!" Blackwell shouted, his words carried away on the wind.

The few remaining above deck were only too pleased with the command, yet Mr. Thorpe shook his head. "You cant do this alone, with only one lookout!"

"That's an order, blast you!" Blackwell's eyes pierced the younger man and, even in the torrential downpour, Gaelan Thorpe recognized his fury. The first mate nodded sharply and using a hand spike, knifed a path to the pa.s.sageway. He allowed himself a last look at his captain. He was without an oil cloth, barefoot and barechested, his powerful arms struggling with the wheel. Normally they would have simply ridden out the storm, but the treacherous waters forbade such a luxury. Gaelan's eyes widened as a mountain of water welled up beyond the port side. His gaze shot to the captain. He was fearlessly waiting for the crush. It hit, and Gaelan Thorpe was washed below by the force.

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The woman clung to the dolphin, her head resting on top of the smooth slope just beyond the fin. She could hear his breath through the hole near her face. It was a comforting sound. He'd saved her life, kept her afloat, and she rewarded him the only way she could-with a name. Richmond-Mighty Protector. One arm was slung limply around his fin, the other dangled in the water. It was useless, the arm, having been wrenched badly during the storm; the pain of it throbbed up to her neck. Her left leg burned near the ankle. Her shoulders were scorched, and blisters had formed, burst, only to be replaced by more. The cycle was continuous since the storm had subsided and the sun had shown its angry face. Her skin felt tight, itchy, her lips dry and cracked. Her stomach roared at its emptiness, and she heaved. But there was nothing left to vomit. Her thirst was insatiable.

Tess was oblivious to her surroundings, to the clear azure waters, the schools of brightly colored fish skittering playfully around her legs, or the twenty-four-gun frigate sailing within a hundred yards of her.

Anch.o.r.ed in calm waters, repairs to the frigate were underway when the shout, "Man off port!" came down from the crow, the seaman pointing out the area.

Captain Blackwell frowned, scanning the crystal surface. "All are accounted for, Mr. Thorpe?" he asked, putting the spygla.s.s to his eye.

"Aye, sir. We lost no one," the first mate answered, his gaze dropping to the blistering rope burns about the captain's forearms. He had yet to see to his own wounds, more concerned with how his men and ship had fared.

30.

The captain perused the waters. "I see I must take the boy to task," he mused aloud, "for 'tis but a dolphin." Captain Blackwell lowered the gla.s.s, watching the animal draw closer.

Duncan McPete suddenly appeared with a tray bearing peculiar-colored drinks.

Blackwell arched a brow, his gaze shooting between the man and his tray. "Another one of your mysterious concoctions, Mr. McPete?"

Duncan lifted his chin-and the offerings. "I a.s.sure you, sir, 'tis naught but the juice of fruits from our stores."

Blackwell sighed, s.n.a.t.c.hing up the gla.s.s, unwilling to insult the man with a reminder of how ill Duncan's last formula had made him. He examined the contents in the sunlight. "Pink, Duncan?" he questioned skeptically, then took a sip. Both brows shot up, and the captain drained the gla.s.s without stopping, eliciting a huge grin from his manservant as he plunked the gla.s.s back on the tray. "Write that one down," he said softly, patting his stomach. His rare smile faded when he saw nearly half his crew scurry toward the rail.

"Captain! Come quick, sir!"

Blackwell was already striding across the deck, muscled legs easily adjusting to the dip of the vessel. He could hear the ear-piercing squeak of the dolphin as the crew stepped back to allow him pa.s.sage. His chiseled features spoke his annoyance as he folded his arms and addressed his crew, refusing to take the three paces to the rail.

"This ship will not sail itself, gentlemen, and I believe she suffered enough damage last eve to warrant

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that all of you have not a single moment to spare." Gazes dropped under his penetrating regard, and men dispersed, glancing almost fearfully over their shoulders toward the port side.

"Captain," Duncan called from the rail, gesturing wildly. It was the horrified look on the old man's face that alerted him. Blackwell leaned over the salted wood.

"Mother of G.o.d!" Immediately he shucked his boots and climbed to the rail. He dove, surfacing beside the dolphin.

The animal released the strap caught in its jaws and

the survivor slithered into Blackwell's arms. Instantly

he knew he held a woman. The soft curve of her

breast molded to his palm as he flipped her face up

and checked her breathing. j

"Praise be!" he mumbled and, bracing her lolling i

head against his chest, swam back to the ship. A rope

ladder tumbled down, and with the experience and

strength of long months at sea, he ascended, the

woman hanging limply over his shoulder. Blackwell