Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Time Travel Romance Collection
    Time Travel Romance Collection
    Time Travel Romance Collection
    Ebook899 pages16 hours

    Time Travel Romance Collection

    By Grace Brannigan

    5/5

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    Three full length time travel novels included in this collection. Once Upon a Remembrance, Soulmates Through Time and Treasure So Rare. Book 1. Once Upon a Remembrance: Modern day photographer Isabeau is pulled from the present time and thrust back into the year 1894 in Virginia. She must help save Hawk Morgan, a man threatened by a killer, a man endangered by his own erased memories. Hawk must survive in 1894 so his present day ancestor Pierce Morgan, will be alive in Isabeau's future. Isabeau begins to fall in love with Hawk Morgan but with both their future's uncertain and a killer on the loose, neither one of them may have a tomorrow to look forward to.

    Book 2. Soulmates Through Time: Thrust from her own time in 1822, Elise has been separated from the man she loves for 24 years. She has adjusted to modern times, raised a daughter, and become successful in her own right. When she stumbles upon the way back, she must make the decision to step back into that time. Will Darien still love her and will Elise be able to turn back the clock and regain the love they once shared? Does she want to turn back time? Will Elise love the man today that she knew back then?

    Book 3. Treasure So Rare: Captain Erik Remington has been haunted by a black haired sea witch. They spent seven glorious days and nights before she vanished as mysteriously as she appeared. In 1847, when his ship is pulled into a strange vortex, he and his crew are sucked into middle ages England. Forced to assume another identity by the sorcerer Mandrak, he travels to the home of the Lady Iliana. This world is nothing like the England of history books. Danger lurks everywhere; history is twisted and in the skies are dragons.

    When Erik meets the Lady Iliana he instantly recognizes her as the woman he's searched for, however she wants nothing to do with a man who threatens not only her mission but the very people she is trying to save. Iliana's unwavering quest is to find the perfect green emerald and restore its power so the land and people will once more flourish. The sorcerer Mandrak wants the gem for himself, and his manipulations risk the safety of everyone she holds dear, including her infant son. But all does not fall into place, for Erik is nothing as she expected, and seems a man who cares about her causes and begins to endear himself to her heart. He swears he is not out to harm her, but as sorcery invades the keep, threatening the lives of everyone under her care, Iliana knows time is running out. If the green gem is not found, evil will overtake all.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherGrace Brannigan
    Release dateSep 21, 2014
    ISBN9781939061416
    Time Travel Romance Collection
    Author

    Grace Brannigan

    I live in the scenic Catskill Mountains of New York and I have been writing in one format or another as long as I can remember. I write in various genres and love strong heroines, family minded characters and sexy heroes. I love writing and also creating art in various mediums. I write about strong women facing life altering issues. My first series are stand alone books, Women of Character contemporary romances: Echoes from the Past, Once and Always, Heartstealer and Wishing on a Rodeo Moon. My second series is Women of Strength time travel trilogy, Once Upon a Remembrance, Book 1, Soulmates Through Time, Book 2, and Treasure So Rare, Book 3. I also have a Faeries Lost series, Romantic Shorts, and new this year Young Adult Time Travel with a Twist. Thanks for stopping by. My young adult has its own page at http://www.GraceBranniganYoungAdult.com I hope you enjoy my stories as much as I enjoyed writing them. ENJOY.

    Read more from Grace Brannigan

    Related to Time Travel Romance Collection

    Titles in the series (4)

    View More
    View More

    Related ebooks

    Romance For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      The King’s passion

      Aug 11, 2021

      The King’s passion
      11 min read

    • Article

      The Library of Gromma

      Jul 10, 2023

      Zac was sweating and panting as he reached the top of the hill. The crooked beams of the library loomed over him. He dropped the buckets of water, swore at the few drops that spilled, and escaped the piercing morning sun in the shade of the library.

      22 min read

    • Article

      The Library Of Gromma

      Feb 10, 2021

      Zac was sweating and panting as he reached the top of the hill. The crooked beams of the library loomed over him. He dropped the buckets of water, swore at the few drops that spilt, and escaped the piercing morning sun in the shade of the library. He

      22 min read

    • Article

      A Hampstead MYSTERY

      Oct 19, 2022

      A Hampstead MYSTERY
      9 min read

    • Article

      The Good Servant

      Aug 8, 2022

      Windsor, March 1932 “Good evening, Miss Crawford.” A smart young man in uniform was waiting on the platform when she stepped off the train. She was startled. “Aye. That’s me. How did you know?” “Easy.” He smiled. “There aren’t that many young ladies

      6 min read

    • Article

      PARTING the Veil

      Oct 21, 2020

      PARTING the Veil
      3 min read

    • Article

      It Happened to Me…

      Sep 7, 2023

      It Happened to Me…
      8 min read

    • Article

      Writing Family History

      Dec 15, 2021

      Writing Family History
      5 min read

    • Article

      A Hampstead MYSTERY

      Oct 12, 2022

      A Hampstead MYSTERY
      9 min read

    • Article

      The Governess

      Dec 30, 2020

      The Governess
      10 min read

    • Article

      The Governess

      Dec 27, 2020

      The Governess
      10 min read

    • Article

      I Discover A Place I Already Knew

      Jan 8, 2020

      I felt cold chills down my arms when I realized that I recognized this book's setting: We had a home on the exact river the author was describing.

      3 min read

    • Article

      Summer Reading Guide

      Jan 2, 2022

      Summer Reading Guide
      6 min read

    • Article

      Stand And Deliver

      Jan 2, 2020

      OUR closest neighbours live in a house called Top Parts, up the hill through the woods. It’s about 500 yards as the crow flies, but quite steep and there’s no particular path. The lower part of the wood lies in the bowl of the hill, a tangle of ash s

      2 min read

    • Article

      The House That Grandpa Built

      May 29, 2017

      WORDS JENNIFER FRIEDMAN MY GRANDPARENTS LIVED IN THEIR HOUSE IN PHILIPPOLIS FOR 58 YEARS. I visited often and despite its National Monument status, it’ll forever be the happy place where I felt safe and loved and valued. Grandpa built his sandstone h

      3 min read

    • Article

      A Parsonage in New Hope

      Dec 4, 2023

      A Parsonage in New Hope
      12 min read

    • Article

      House And Home

      Feb 18, 2022

      INITIALLY, THE OBJECTIVE DISADVANTAGES of renovating the grand old lady of a house outweighed my personal preferences. Built in Johannesburg’s northern suburbs in 1953, it had flowing parquet flooring that added warm tones, and ceilings high enough t

      2 min read

    • Article

      His Lordship’s LAST GAME

      Jan 24, 2024

      His Lordship’s LAST GAME
      9 min read

    • Article

      The heartbeat OF PARIS

      Apr 10, 2024

      The heartbeat OF PARIS
      9 min read

    • Article

      Foreign Affairs

      Dec 1, 2022

      Foreign Affairs
      24 min read

    • Article

      The Way Things TURN OUT

      Jun 3, 2020

      The Way Things TURN OUT
      7 min read

    • Article

      The New Arrival

      Oct 1, 2020

      Maya had never visited the public library before, and at this rate it looked like she never would. She knew it was around here somewhere, but the fog was so thick she could barely see her sneakers. Putting off her homework had been a mistake, but get

      6 min read

    • Article

      Yohanca Delgado

      Mar 9, 2021

      The widow arrived at LaGuardia on a Sunday, but the rumors about the woman who had rented a big apartment, sight unseen, had taken an earlier flight. We had already reviewed, on many occasions and in hushed tones, in the quiet that comes after long h

      15 min read

    • Article

      The heartbeat OF PARIS

      Apr 3, 2024

      The heartbeat OF PARIS
      9 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Time Travel Romance Collection

    5/5

    4 ratings1 review

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

    • 5/5
      If only I could give 5 stars for each book...

    Book preview

    Time Travel Romance Collection - Grace Brannigan

    Prologue

    Hawks Den Plantation, Virginia

    In the half-light before dawn, Pierce Morgan drove toward Hawk's Den. He had driven all night to get here, hardly understanding the urgency that gripped him. Pierce stopped his truck and stared at the once-majestic plantation house, Hawk's Den. Forlornly, the old home he grew up in sat before him, paint faded and worn. The house was shuttered and still as light began to break, the wrap-around veranda partially concealed by a tangle of brilliant azaleas.

    He strode across the stone-lined path to the house, taking the shallow porch steps three at a time. The ornate entry door lay at a drunken angle, and he shoved it aside as if it weighed little. Stepping inside, he paused as the stench of stale air bore down upon him.

    Arrows of light peered through the closed shutters, but Pierce knew where to find the staircase to the second floor. Quickly, he climbed the stairs, his flashlight beam bouncing across the walls.

    On the second floor, numerous doors lined a wide, oak-beamed hallway. He walked to the last doorway and entered the chamber. Water-stained wainscoting and pieces of tin ceiling littered the floor. Furniture had been stacked willy-nilly in a corner, once prized oak and cherry pieces now stained by weather and neglect.

    Shoved against the far wall was an enormous oak bed. Pierce walked through strewn mattress feathers, then knelt beside a small bedside table. His fingertips tingled as he turned the table upside down. Immediately, he saw the book lodged in the drawer track. Feeling almost lightheaded, he pried it loose and slowly sank down against the wall.

    The book's leather cover was frayed and worn, held together by a gold mesh strap and clasp. Pierce undid the clasp and very carefully opened the journal.

    He flipped the pages to the first handwritten entry, the tightness in his chest almost unbearable. 1878, April 2, I fear I shall never live to see land again . . ..

    Sweat beaded on his forehead. The journal confirmed that three months lost had not been a wild dream. He had loved a woman back in time, 1894, and somehow he had to find her again.

    Isabeau.

    Chapter One

    Hawks Den Plantation, Five Years Later

    Isabeau Remington stared in awe at the tall oak trees lining either side of the narrow dirt road to Hawk's Den as she drove under their extended branches. The dark skies had followed her all the way from New York, the heavens erupting from time to time with thunder and incredible flashes of lightning.

    She shifted restlessly in her small compact car, her legs feeling cramped after the long drive. The serpentine drive took one last curve, and finally a house came into view just as raindrops began to fall. Her friend and boss Leif Ericsson pulled up in his van beside her as she parked. Fascinated, she stared at the beautiful, two-story house. She had read about some of the restored plantations near the James River, but she had never imagined the reality would be so breathtaking. The house had been painted a soft gray, and the wrap-around verandah made her think of lazy summer nights spent drinking tea and eating pecan pie, the scent of azaleas a delicious extra to any evening. Even from inside her car, Isabeau swore she could smell their scent.

    A tap at her window made her jump. Leif's blue eyes peered in at her. Rain was already starting to drip through his long blond hair and onto his gray T-shirt. Quickly, she let the window down a crack and immediately the rain spattered inside.

    I'm going in, he said. Hurry up.

    I'm coming. The house is just gorgeous, isn't it?

    Isabeau closed the window and exited her car, quickly opening the hatchback to retrieve her pull-along case. She hurried across the stone walk to the house. The rain pelted them in earnest. She had a brief glimpse of wisteria climbing along one side of the house, further adding to the old-world charm. White balconies on the second floor graced tall, multi-paned windows with indigo blue shutters fastened on either side.

    Flower gardens ran alongside the house, sculpted hedges and rows of tulips now bowing under the pressure of the rain. Time seemed suspended here, giving rise to Isabeau's fanciful notion she'd stepped into an earlier time.

    She felt almost breathless with anticipation. The house seemed at once unknown and yet somehow, dearly familiar -- how intriguing!

    Leif lifted the polished brass knocker on the massive, ornately carved door, the sound echoing as they huddled together under the small overhang. He shivered in his lightweight T-shirt, pulling her a bit closer as he tried to shelter her from the rain.

    The door opened almost immediately. A woman somewhere in her sixties greeted them with a pleasant smile and urged them in with a sweep of her arm. She wore a knee-length pale linen dress, and her graying blonde hair was short and fashionably styled. Isabeau noticed her eyes, so dark they appeared almost black.

    Hello, Leif said, you must be Mrs. Cummins. Leif Ericsson. We spoke on the phone last week. This is my assistant Isabeau Remington.

    The woman nodded and smiled, quickly closing the door behind them. Yes, hello, Mr. Ericsson -- Ms. Remington. How lovely to meet both of you. My, what a miserable day you've arrived on. Mrs. Cummins stepped back further as they entered the cool, marble-floored foyer. My husband John will see to your bags, so please leave them here in the hall.

    Isabeau shook the damp hair out of her face and positioned her case behind her. Thank you.

    Together, they moved into the entryway. Isabeau looked around the hallway's high decorative ceilings and deeply embossed wallpaper. A beautifully refinished grandfather clock chimed out the hour three times. The house is beautiful. The restoration must have taken some time.

    Almost three years, miss, and it's nearly the same as it was a century ago. Pierce is very proud of it. He did most of it himself.

    We appreciate him allowing us to photograph the house and grounds, Leif said. I know it's a wonderful honor that he's chosen our company.

    Yes, and we're anxious to meet him, Isabeau said. The renovation of this house has fascinated both of us, she added. I saw the before pictures.

    Mrs. Cummins closed the door and turned toward them with a smile. Yes, this is the first time he's allowed anyone to photograph it. Now if you'll come with me, I can show you to your rooms. From the large entryway with its decoratively carved and fixed columns, Mrs. Cummins led the way up a curved staircase with a gleaming wood rail to the second floor and down a wide, carpeted hallway. Mr. Pierce said you were to have free rein of the house while you're here.

    Although Isabeau knew she included both of them in the invitation, the older woman's gaze rested on her.

    Great. Leif looked well-satisfied. When he sees the article we're doing on him, he won't be sorry.

    Isabeau again experienced a surprising familiarity with her surroundings. Déjà vu.

    Mrs. Cummins gave her a curious glance.

    Don't mind me, Isabeau said, I'm feeling a bit silly and tired from the drive. We appreciate the extra work involved in having guests, so we'll be as unobtrusive as possible.

    Mrs. Cummins laughed softly, kindly. No trouble at all. We always have rooms ready for guests. Pierce enjoys entertaining, she added, pushing open a tall wooden door to their right. And he set aside some wonderful historic memorabilia for you to reference and work with if you choose. They're in the library in the roll-top desk.

    Really? Leif inquired. I'm intrigued.

    Yes, he's put out some family albums and historical papers in the library for you also to peruse at your leisure. I expect you'll also find the old shipping records and there are various shipping paraphernalia stored in the sheds out back. I expect him back sometime tonight or tomorrow.

    Mrs. Cummins stood back from the doorway. Isabeau, Pierce said this was to be your room.

    Isabeau stepped into the room, her feet sinking into the plush pale grey carpet. Her gaze roamed curiously over rich wood floors, antique furnishings and the bedroom's subtle blending of blue, rose and vintage white. Lightly varnished wainscoting ran halfway up the walls, and a faint swirling pattern of cream-colored flowers ran rampant on the walls to the ceiling. It takes my breath away -- it's very beautiful.

    And familiar, but she didn't say that. They were going to think she was off her rocker if she told them everything looked like memories from an old dream. She was even starting to creep herself out a bit.

    The bed was huge; old and upraised on a matching oak dais, a centerpiece for the entire room.

    If you'd like to get out of those damp clothes and take a hot bath, the bathroom with small dressing room is through that door. Mrs. Cummins indicated a second door. There is a warming rack and a thermostat control on the wall, and you will find towels, soaps and toiletries in the closet. Pierce had a nice selection of vegan soaps brought in, specifically lemongrass and lavender.

    Isabeau didn't hide her astonishment. I -- I love lemongrass.

    Yes, miss -- Mrs. Cummins smiled.

    But how would he know? She laughed and shook her head. Silly question, he must do that for each of his guests. I'm sure there is a selection for any taste.

    Of course.

    Nevertheless, Isabeau was touched by Pierce's thoughtful gesture. She found the room an absolute delight.

    The older woman turned. Mr. Ericsson --

    Please call me Leif. His easy grin encompassed the older woman and Isabeau.

    Mrs. Cummins nodded. Leif, your room is down the hall.

    Leif gave Isabeau a quick nod. I'll catch up with you later.

    The shutters outside Isabeau's window banged as a fresh gust of wind hit the house. The storm outside seemed to be whipping into a real fury.

    As Leif went with Mrs. Cummins, Isabeau closed the door and moved across the room to the one large window that looked out over the yard below. Getting her bearings, she knew it must face the renowned back gardens that in turn led to the river. However, with the lash of the rain across the glass, it was impossible to see much outside.

    She turned back to the room, lifting her arms to push the hair off her forehead. Heaving a contented sigh, she explored the room which was assigned to her for the next week or so. Someone had taken great care in creating a comfortable haven. Cherished antiques were polished to a high gloss, and the bric-a-brac figure of a man and a woman on the oak bureau also spoke of an earlier time.

    Fresh cut purple irises were arranged in a blue stenciled vase, residing on a small table with a rocking chair on one side and a low chaise on the other. Delicately embroidered pillows filled the seats, their colors in blue and gold.

    On the wall above the bed she admired a beautifully done painting of a flowering garden with the river beyond. She could only wonder if it was Hawk's Den's gardens. She moved closer to the painting and could see the initials PM had been signed in the corner. Could it be that Pierce Morgan had painted the lovely scene? Was he a talented artist as well as a much sought after attorney?

    #

    When Isabeau and Leif entered the library following dinner at Mrs. Cummins' suggestion, they gravitated toward the fireplace which crackled with a welcoming heat.

    Leif drew Isabeau's attention upwards. Did you look at the scrolled, white plastered ceiling?

    I know. It's a wonder in artistry. I can't wait to start photographing this place.

    She marveled at the charming collection of richly upholstered chairs and couches strategically placed around the room.

    This assignment could really put us on the map, he mused.

    Isabeau laughed. Come on, you're already on the map. How else do you think we got this assignment?

    There's lots of good photographers out there, but I'm not questioning it, he said with a laugh.

    Carved wood-paneled walls held a multitude of bookshelves. Despite the dark wood, the room had a warm, comfortable feeling. The pale yellow and orange Victorian lamps with their deep fringe emitted a mellow glow.

    I could almost think we've stepped back in time, Isabeau mused.

    Yeah, Leif agreed, it does look picture perfect, doesn't it? Some of this furniture is irreplaceable. I'm really excited to get started, to tell you the truth. If it wasn't so late --

    Isabeau laughed. Tomorrow. We start tomorrow. She ran a hand lightly over the indigo blue upholstered loveseat with its gold embossed threads. I wonder if Pierce spends a lot of time in this room? she mused. It has a well lived-in air. A large desk stood against one wall to the right of the fireplace. Several comfortable chairs, a couch, and a matching love seat had been placed to form a cozy half-circle in the center of the room. The massive fireplace had a deep, cherry wood mantle. The love seat was piled with pillows and looked very inviting, as if someone had just moved from its newly reupholstered seat. With a sigh, she settled herself among the cushions.

    What a great place to entertain.

    Leif, an open book in his hand, moved to sit on the loveseat across from her.

    Isabeau yawned, then gave a short laugh. Sorry. That long drive is catching up with me.

    You're due for a break, Leif said. You've been going non-stop since Christmas. When we get back, I'm giving you some time off.

    She laughed. Maybe you should do all the pre-shoot work for this job yourself and I'll just go sightsee, she joked. Really, you know me; I love to work. She leaned toward him. What's that book you're looking at?

    One of the family albums Pierce left out. There's a bunch of them over there on the table. Isn't this him -- Pierce? -- though I'd say it was a while ago?

    Isabeau leaned forward to grasp the heavy, cloth-covered album. Several pictures had been placed under protective plastic. The one that caught her attention showed a young man, perhaps in his late teens, astride a dark horse. He had swathe of unruly dark brown hair almost covering his left eye, a thin straight nose and dark, serious eyes. Dark blue eyes.

    Hmm, very handsome. She frowned, running her finger over the picture.  His mouth appeared compressed, the lips in a straight line.Though he kind of looks angry.

    Isabeau turned several pages but that seemed to be the only picture of the young man, although there were numerous shots of a woman who bore a resemblance to the young man. Perhaps his mother? She turned the pages, but the rest of the pictures appeared to be much older.

    No doubt the ancestors, she murmured. It almost feels like we're snooping. She snapped the album shut.

    No, they were left out for us, and there's some others with old newspaper clippings inside.

    The library door opened. Isabeau lost her grip on the heavy album and it landed on the floor with a thud. Mrs. Cummins entered the room with a tray and Leif moved forward to take it from her, placing it on the coffee table next to the love seat.

     Isabeau felt embarrassed by her clumsiness, and placed the heavy album on the end table. Several pieces of paper slipped from the book and fluttered to the floor.

    She reached for them and saw they were newspaper clippings. Curious, she picked up the largest yellowed paper. Once again the young man looked out at her, expression serious, eyes dark and somehow vulnerable. Isabeau cleared her throat and turned the paper to Mrs. Cummins. She had to know. Is this Pierce when he was younger?

    Mrs. Cummins gathered up the remainder of the clippings and slipped them back in the album. Yes, that's Pierce. He was in his late teens then. The housekeeper sighed. A troubling time with his father dying and the missus, Pierce's mother, remarrying. The older woman lowered her voice. For a time it was touch and go. The missus was worried about that one. So wild, so angry, but he straightened himself out.

    So I guess you've known the family some time?

    I've been with Mrs. Morgan since she was young, then I took care of her two boys.

    Well, everything must have come out fine, Leif said. He went on to achieve all this. Pierce Morgan is a self-made man, from everything I've heard.

    Pierce has a one-track mind when he sets it to something. The housekeeper paused by the door. It's done him well to get him where he is today. She looked at Leif. He called a little while ago to remind me there are also some antique cameras in the roll top desk. Pierce thought you might find them of interest.

    Thank you, Mrs. Cummins, Leif exclaimed happily. It's like a treasure trove here.

    The older woman smiled.Well, Pierce thought you might like to use some of these items in your photographs. If you need anything else, just let me know.

    Thank you, Isabeau said. You've really done enough, and dinner was wonderful.

    No trouble, Isabeau.

    The housekeeper left. Isabeau looked once more at the paper clipping, then almost reluctantly slid it back in the album.

    Look at this. Leif reached over the tray to pick up another large volume, but managed to sideswipe a coffee cup, tipping it. The dark liquid streamed across the tray, splattering the book.

    Leif! He quickly pulled his hand back and she grabbed several napkins from the tray, carefully blotting the leather cover. Did you get burned? she asked.

    No. Just clumsy. He grimaced.

    I think it should be okay, she ran her fingers along its worn, gilt-edged binding. It looks pretty old. Unable to resist, she opened the heavy tome.

    I'm intrigued by what's in the desk, Leif confessed. The large roll top desk sat at an angle from them.

    Isabeau stared at the book she held. The name Morgan was boldly inscribed in raised letters on the first page. The pages crackled as she carefully brushed her fingertips across the yellowed surface, her eyes scanning the crisp paper.

    It's the Morgan family Bible. The ink had faded to a dark brown. This is really old, she said reverently. The storm seemed to escalate outside. With a shiver, Isabeau took the book and settled once more into the loveseat pillows.

    Leif busied himself looking through the items in the desk. Look at this.

    Isabeau glanced up to see him holding two gleaming silver objects which were decoratively engraved with vines and leaves.

    He laughed, turning the pieces over. I'm not quite sure what they are. Almost looks like a mini dust pan. I'll have to find out from Mrs. Cummins.

    It's an antique crumber and blade, she said absently, staring at the items. It's for cleaning up the crumbs on the table between dinner courses. At his incredulous look, she laughed. You know my mom is obsessed with collecting antiques. We have a gold-plated one.

    He laughed. I knew there was a good reason I hired you. He held up a black box, carefully opening it to reveal the camera inside. This is turn-of-the-century.

    The original point and shoot camera. She looked back at the book in her lap. This family Bible is intriguing. She traced down the names with a fingertip. "Marriages, 1858. Catharine Hawk to Brendon Morgan. Issue of Marriage, Hawk Morgan, born 1863. Who would name their child Hawk?"

    Isabeau experienced a sharp jag of pain in her arm, then an unaccustomed weakness gripped her right hand. She shook her hand vigorously, trying to dispel the odd feeling. She turned another page, moving her finger down the parchment. Deaths. Hawk Morgan, May 19, 1894.

    Thunder boomed outside, making her jump. Isabeau looked up at Leif as he joined her.

    That storm is getting closer. He leaned in to read over her shoulder. Rain pelted the windows fiercely. Suddenly, a loud knocking erupted from the front entrance. Sounds like somebody's out in the storm. Leif stood. The knocking continued.

    I wonder where Mrs. Cummins is? He walked toward the library door. I'll be right back.

    Isabeau nodded absently, her focus on the book's entries. Hawk Morgan. She felt lightheaded, almost nauseous. Standing, she put the book down, then leaned against the side of the seat as weakness pervaded her body. Not feeling well at all, she grabbed the edge of the loveseat.

    Leif.

    A crystal paperweight carved in the shape of a ship winked with light on the small side table at her elbow, wavering in and out of her focus. Vaguely, Isabeau heard footsteps.

    Rushing winds echoed around and around her head. It hurt her ears. She put her hands over her ears but it didn't stop. The volume of cascading rain became deafening as she swayed.

    Isabeau felt frozen, dizzy, filled with the sensation of floating . . . a cushioned embryo in the womb. She was in a nothingness, yet strangely there was no fear. Vaguely she was aware of chanting, one voice and then more, soft and then louder.

    Power from light, power from heaven, power from thine own self, power of thine own worth. Bring the one who will cast chaos aside. Bring the one who will stay the turmoil. It is done. It is done, it is done.

    Something guided her through the rushing of air all around her and moved her into a deep, calming light.

    Chapter Two

    Isabeau groaned, the point of her left hip burning with pain. She lay curled in a fetal position, her head cushioned by her arms and a hard surface beneath her. She moved as the stench beneath her nose made her gag.

    Jerking upright, she gasped in fresh air. With a groan, she massaged the muscles of her thighs, then the area on either side of her hips. She felt like a pulsing mass of cramped muscle.

    Dark enveloped her. Was she blind? Memory was frighteningly fuzzy. She felt out of place. Groping with her hands, Isabeau felt a hard, uneven surface beneath her, then some type of coil. A rope? She drew her hands back hurriedly from a greasy surface.

    Disoriented, she knelt and then rose unsteadily to her feet, the pain in her temple settling to a dull throb. The air around her hung heavy and humid. Squinting, she could see a glimmer just ahead, a flickering light. She moved toward it.

    The floor seemed to tilt, then righted itself, an altogether unnerving sensation.

    Isabeau stared at the light, an antique lantern hung on a wooden peg, the metal cracked and tarnished black. She sat down and rubbed her fists across her eyes. Belatedly, she recalled the greasiness on her hands, which she could now feel on her face. She tried to wipe her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt, but her lids still felt sticky.

    A creaking moan caught her off guard and the floor shifted again beneath her feet. Frantically, Isabeau moved her palm along the wood floor beneath her, then pulled her hand back as something bit her. Not a bite. A splinter embedded in her flesh.

    Holding her palm up to the meager light, she pried it out and felt the warm trickle of blood. As it began to throb, she pressed it to her jean clad leg.

    She tried to remember something, anything, but all she could come up with was the sensation of floating. She had been at Hawk's Den for a photo assignment, but then nothing after that.

    The heavy air carried unusual odors as a brisk breeze swirled around her. Her brain churned sluggishly, unable to identify what her senses were picking up. It almost sounded like a ship on water.

    Where was she? Minutes passed, foreign sounds continued to invade her senses. Isabeau put out her hands to steady herself as everything swayed. Saliva gathered at the back of her throat. With dread, she feared she would be sick. She remained perfectly still.

    The floor continued to vibrate and then there came the sound of footsteps and men's voices. A heavy clunk, something rolled… a muttered curse.

    Isabeau backed up until she felt a hard surface at her back. As the lantern light swayed, she realized in front of her were a pile of crates. She began to see shadowy silhouettes as daylight played at the edge of the horizon.

    She sat down, thumping the back of her head against a crate. The crate tipped and landed with a soft thud beside her.

    Uh. Panic made her heart rate faster and her hands tremble as she attempted to absorb what she had seen. She was on a ship. A big ship with sails. Had she been kidnapped?

    Quietly, she moved to the edge of the crates. Men moved cargo boxes below her, hauling on ropes, climbing up into the sails. If she hadn't been feeling the bite of terror, she'd have been fascinated. She felt as if she'd been dropped into a period piece. The men she could see wore short coats of dull browns, gray, and black, brown and black shoes or high boots, and long, loose pants.

    She pulled back into the shadows as footsteps drew near.

    Thought I heard something, a surly voice muttered from the other side of the crates.

    Right, mate, a second voice jeered. Get back to work. We'll be in port soon. The voices receded.

    Huddling against the wall, Isabeau's confusion deepened. What was going on?

    Move your lazy arse, a voice growled. Malry'll string you up in the jib nettin' if he catches you diddling about again.

    Vigilant to every sound, Isabeau watched the sun rise fully into the sky. The ship activity increased. Now she could count at least twelve crew members. It wouldn't be long before someone discovered her. Her thinking still felt muddled. Who had put her here? Could she trust these men or was she in danger?

    Cautiously, she peeked up over her hiding space, edging forward so she could see more. Almost instantly, she felt another presence. Mumbling a hasty prayer, Isabeau stared, mesmerized, as booted feet and black trouser legs blocked her view. She shrank back into her hiding space, but there was nowhere to go. Looking up, she saw a black, jersey-clad barrel of a chest.

    What have we here? A voice boomed, and she jumped from the man's sheer volume.

    A big, hairy hand reached down and latched onto the front of her shirt, yanking her upright in one powerful sweep.

    Ouch.

    Dangling with her toes just touching the deck, Isabeau's cramped muscles came to immediate, screaming life. Mercilessly, pins and needles thrust barbed points into her skin.

    A grizzled giant held her aloft by one meaty fist, dangling her as if she weighed little or nothing.

    Here now, boy, stowing away, eh? the giant bellowed. I'll dump you in the ship's belly and clap ye in chains. Throwing back his shaggy black head, the man roared, Nate!

    Let me go, you pirate!

    The man had a knife and pistols tucked into a wide leather belt at his waist.

    His expression grew even fiercer. Insolent pup. I'm no plundering thief. He let out an incredulous laugh and then another. And you're no boy. She stared transfixed at the long puckered scar running from his left eye to the corner of his mouth. He sported a bright gold earring in one ear and his baggy pants and black jersey were none too clean. Struggling to get free, Isabeau gasped in air as she was lowered to the floor.

    Come, lass, you have explaining to do. Without giving her time to draw a full breath of air, she was pulled forward by the giant and out into the open.

    Isabeau tried to resist, setting her feet. Wildly, she looked for an escape. Sailors who had stopped to watch were returning to business and seemed less than interested in her. At best, they appeared a scruffy looking bunch. Let me go. I demand you call the police!

    Her captor ignored her and pulled her behind him. The man was huge and not altogether clean. She wrinkled her nose, her sense of smell too acute for comfort. He smelled of day-old fish.

    He turned and caught her grimace. You might well turn up that pretty nose, me lady. It be you what stinks. Isabeau opened her mouth, then looked down at herself, following the sweep his eyes had taken.

    Her mouth snapped shut. She was a filthy mess. Black pitch covered her hands and probably part of her face. The knees of her jeans were likewise filthy.

    One as scrawny as you is unlikely to be of help on board, her captor muttered. 'Tis a good thing we're about to dock. He cocked a dark brow at her. How the devil did you stay out of sight so long, that's what I'm wondering? His hand tightened on her wrist. We'll take care of you soon enough.

    Even in her continued confusion she understood the threat in his voice. With fear clogging her throat, Isabeau thrashed away from him, and managed a glancing blow on his whiskered cheek. The shock of impact jolted her arm from wrist to shoulder. His bellow sounded blood curdling to her. She pulled back when she saw his clenched fist.

    With a mutter, the man grabbed her close and in the next instant he quickly wound a cord around her wrists.

    Let me go --

    A warning. The seaman's voice dropped menacingly. Never do that again. You may be puny, but the sharks won't be minding a snack of you.

    Malry! a voice barked. What goes on there?

    Isabeau's captor gripped her wrist and half-turned his body away from her. A stowaway, Cap'n, that's what I got, stowed in yonder hole behind the cargo. The man holding her jerked his head to indicate the revealed hiding space and pulled her in front of him. It's a woman, he answered. A girl. He released her.

    A girl?

    Isabeau stiffened in fear. The Captain's voice put her in mind of the rasp of steel against stone. As Malry stepped aside, Isabeau could now see the man he'd addressed as Cap'n.

    As the newcomer approached, she managed only to draw a shallow breath as she was consumed by visions of outlaws and pirates. His hair just swept his shoulders, the breeze sweeping it back from a wide forehead.

    My God! she thought, those eyes! Dark, deep-set blue. Her palms grew damp and a wave of coldness swept over her. As the blood surged, her heart began to beat harder. Did she know him? Her brain still felt foggy. Was he to be a tormenter like the giant who'd pulled her from hiding?

    The man stood with his back braced against the ship's rail, long legs encased in dark pants that hinted at muscled legs and flowed into knee-high boots. The wind played through his partially unfastened grey shirt, revealing a strong, tanned neck and a hint of a chest liberally covered with hair. His shoulders were wide and he stood easily six feet and then some. He had a deep, strong jaw and a short cropped beard as dark as the hair on his head.

    Oh, my God. Pierce. The name came to her lips. She had seen his picture. It was the eyes. She'd never forget them, so intense and full of life, so…knowing? She could feel the life force radiating off him. He looked so -- so elemental, as if he fit perfectly with his surroundings; the ship, the rough sailors, the sea.

    She took a step toward him. Dark, thick brows met almost furiously over a strong, straight nose. His eyes narrowed, then indicated a growing impatience. You are mistaken, my lady.

    Here now, show some respect for the Cap'n, Malry warned, tightening his grip.

    Isabeau's confusion deepened. What is going on? Why are you calling him Captain? You look like Pierce Morgan. Older, but definitely --

    Her captor jerked her arm.

    Where are we? she tried to twist free of the thong binding her wrists. Free me right now!

    Calm yourself. The Captain approached them, staring at her hard, as if trying to see past the dirt and grease. She sensed a certain puzzlement in him.

    She attempted to swim up through her panic. Nothing is making sense.

    Dammit to hell, how do mothers turn out their young girls to fend for themselves? His head dipped in disgust. How old are you? he demanded.

    She stiffened her shoulders. Was he a threat to her? None of your business. Let me go this second.

    He sighed. You don't look like you'd last long on the streets, but that's where you'll end up when we dock.

    Wait a second. I've never lived on the street in my life. I'm a well respected --

    Hey, Cap'n, Malry growled, watching her closely. Maybe we should bring her with us and put her to work. It's better than the factories.

    She stared at him. You're not taking me anywhere.

    Malry has a sound idea. The Captain's voice gentled, showing none of the earlier impatience. What's your name? Do you have anywhere to go?

    Thrown by his sudden concern, Isabeau blurted, This is a mess. I was at Hawk's Den earlier today -- Both men wore a look of amazement.

    She pressed on. I'm telling you, I was there earlier. There was a terrible storm and --

    Ahem, Cap'n -- Malry loudly cleared his throat.

    Isabeau shifted her feet uneasily as they stared at her, clearly thinking she was out of her head. Nervously, she kneaded the flesh of her palms, well aware of a look passing between the two men.

    I need to get back to where I was, she said. This joke or whatever it is has gone on long enough. If you take me back now, I'll let this whole thing go.

    What'll we do with her, Cap'n? Malry acted as if she hadn't spoken. He looked at her. You're acting a mite familiar, talking about Hawk's Den and all. He turned to the Captain. And I think she's off her head. God knows we haven't seen land for near a week.

    Frustration rose in her. Don't you understand anything I've said? I was at Hawk's Den, and somehow I was kidnapped and brought here.

    The Captain flipped open a sheath fastened to the belt at his waist. With precise movements he pulled out a small bone-handle blade and stepped closer. Your hands, please?

    Quickly, she lifted her bound hands, watched numbly as he efficiently cut the cord binding her.

    She rubbed her wrists automatically, tossing a killing glare at Malry. Surprisingly, the man cracked a semblance of a smile and shrugged his shoulders.

    Malry, find out what you can, the Captain stated.

    Aye, Cap'n, I'll look into this -- and the girl? Malry jerked a thumb at her. What about her?

    Isabeau opened her mouth to retort that it wasn't up to any of them, but Malry spoke again. Maybe she's a spy.

    That's ridiculous. I'm the one who needs the help. Isabeau's frustration grew.

    Shrugging, the Captain said, The world is full of spies. His blue eyes once more bore into Isabeau. Before she could voice another protest, he turned away. Come along with Malry. Truth to tell, I can't leave you to fend for yourself; there are enough homeless waifs about. We'll sort this out when we get to Hawk's Den.

    For the first time since waking, Isabeau felt optimistic. Great. Hawk's Den. Then everything will get straightened out.

    The Captain looked at her with surprise. Well, if you've resigned yourself to coming with us, then can I trust you not to get into trouble until we dock?

    She glared at him. You can trust me.

    That's yet to be seen, Malry growled, jabbing her on the arm.

    Now that the moment of imminent danger seemed to have passed, Isabeau watched the Captain. He exuded confidence, a man secure in his world…the sea, the ship. He walked the deck as if he had been born on it. She knew he was a lawyer. There was no doubt he was the type of man who ran his own business and called his own hours, but what kind of game were they playing with her? When they got back to Hawk's Den, first thing she planned was to pack and get the hell out of there. She could take a joke as well as the next person, but this was really beyond the limit.

    The Captain looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties. She pondered Malry's obvious respect. She had heard it in his voice, seen it in his manner. A man like Malry didn't offer such regard, she reasoned, unless it had been earned. He struck her as someone who had seen a lot of life and couldn't be bothered with most of it.

    Isabeau wished she knew how she had arrived on this ship. That was the really frightening part. It was almost as if she had materialized out of thin air. On that thought, into her mind rushed her own mother's story of living in another time. She bit her lip with uncertainty, then discarded that crazy idea.

    She rubbed her forehead, frowning, and scrutinized her surroundings. Above her head, enormous sails flapped; half of them were pulled in. Barefooted men scurried in the rigging, as surefooted as if they were on the ground. She heard them call out to one another, each intent on their duties.

    The large vessel rode the water smoothly, and she was glad she didn't feel sick as she had earlier. Open water lay at their back, the harbor ahead of them. As they entered the harbor fully, she saw numerous piers lined with large, masted ships. Isabeau realized that even if she had tried to run, short of jumping into the water, escape would have been impossible.

    As the ship maneuvered into a wide berth Isabeau was reminded of the tall ship celebration she had attended only last summer in New York City.

    When they docked and the ropes were tied, Isabeau moved to the side rail to watch the Captain walk down a narrow plank to the dock below.

    #

    Hawk Morgan halted at the bottom of the plank as a certain discomfort nagged at him. He turned to look back at the ship and he caught sight of her leaning on the ship's rail, her tangle of blonde hair caught by the wind. The stowaway. She had not given her name as of yet.

    Times were hard. Men and women went hungry trying to feed their children. Sometimes the children were turned out into the streets. It grieved him that parents sent off their children, especially their daughters. No food, no place to live but a miserable space in an overcrowded room. The rough streets in these times were the only welcome place the orphans could roam freely. The apathy and lack of concern puzzled him. How does one turn out one's own family?

    He continued down the plank, but he did not forget her. He could afford to see she was fed and employed. If she decided to stay at Hawk's Den, so be it; otherwise she would move on as others had before her.

    He turned to find Malry at his side. Keep her safe, will you, old friend? She might be endangered on this dock or on the streets.

    I've already taken care of it, Cap'n, Malry confirmed. I've set Connors to keep an eye on her.

    Hawk halted in the midst of the milling crowds, his brow furrowed as he stared at Malry. How do you think she came upon the ship and managed to stay hidden?

    Malry rubbed the three day's growth of beard on his chin. That's a question that needs answering, but I surely can't come up with one. Could she have boarded at our last port of call? It's possible, but I had set guards to keep watch. How she slipped by them has me flummoxed.

    Do you notice anything familiar about her? Hawk asked. I have this notion I should know her.

    Nothing familiar in my mind, Malry stated, discarding that notion. Though I think she's got the look of a troublemaker. She bears watching.

    Hawk looked at Malry. You think everyone bears watching. He grinned, showing even white teeth. You see danger lurking in all corners.

    God's teeth, when we stumble around in the dark for want of an answer, yes -- I see danger in all corners. Malry paused a moment. I guess you could say 'tis the Scot in me.

    Rest easy, old friend. I think she will prove to be harmless.

    Can't say I've ever met a harmless female. Malry ducked his head, lowering his voice for Hawk's ears alone. Well, the damnable murderous attempts become more frequent. I think it's time we called in a professional detective to ferret out the cowardly murderer. You've put it off long enough and you know well I am speaking the truth. Will you be cold in your grave and tell me it will all come to light?

    Hawk sighed and looked around, likewise lowering his voice. Yes, yes, I know you are right, but bear with me a bit longer on this.

    Treat, Malry said quickly, angling his chin to the right.

    Casually, Hawk turned to find his half-brother Treat Sanderly almost at his back.

    Treat nodded at Malry, his shoulders stiff as he turned away and brought his attention to Hawk. Welcome back.

    Malry bit off a laugh, pulling a cigar out of a pocket and lighting it, all the while watching the dandy Treat talk with Hawk. Malry knew the man hated him and it was through no fault of his own. It was sheer snobbery that choked his hello whenever they met. For all his fancy clothes and fine manners, Malry knew the man's parentage was of no higher standing than his own humble beginnings.

    We are well met, it appears, Malry exclaimed, pulling his cigar from his mouth and staring at the glowing tip.

    Treat and Hawk halted their conversation and stared at him.

    Malry lifted his gaze from the cigar. It is not every day that you come to greet your brother when he docks, he added.

    Treat inclined his head stiffly, well used to Malry's taunts. True, but if my schedule warrants it, I would meet my brother to welcome him back. Now you must excuse us, Mr. Malry. We have urgent business to discuss.

    Of course. I'll see to what we earlier discussed, Malry said to Hawk, then turned on his heel and strode away, having no trouble making his way through the crowded throng as people quickly gave way. Mentally, he noted that brother of Hawk's was also one to watch.

    #

    Isabeau rapidly scanned the wharf, transfixed by the scene below. Men milled about loading cargo, talking, repairing fishing nets. Every square foot of the dock overflowed with humanity. It looked like a scene from a film with extras dressed for their parts. She was a person who reveled in the setting of scenes; after all it was a big part of what she did for a living, arranging the scene for the perfect photo shoot. But this looked to be a near-perfect set, and she could find no fault, even down to the clothing and footwear.

    She hurried down the somewhat wobbly plank after the Captain. Reaching the dock, she kept him in her sights.

    As she made her way through the crowd, she felt the stares of people around her. Yes, she was dirty and not dressed for the scene, but her attention was fixated on the man who had joined the Captain. The newcomer had short blond hair and the most classically handsome face she had ever seen. He was superbly dressed in a high-collared, pristine white shirt, fancy embroidered vest, and dark-striped jacket. He wore a perfectly tailored costume, yet appeared strangely out of place among the men working the docks.

    Here, girl. A gruff voice sounded behind her. Don't be in such a hurry. Malry told me to keep an eye on you, so don't be a wanderin' off. Isabeau turned to find another seaman at her side. The man stood no taller than she, but what he lacked in height he made up in girth. His grizzled face had not seen a washcloth in some time, and she didn't appreciate the slow head to toe glance he made no effort to conceal.

    I don't need a keeper. She turned, taking a step closer to the two men she had been watching. All I want is to get to Hawk's Den.

    She was yanked backwards. Isabeau pulled away from the hand on her elbow, almost losing her balance. Stop that. I'm tired of being yanked around.

    The sailor yanked her again. I gots me orders. You're staying with me.

    Isabeau didn't trust his small eyes or the way he licked his thick lips. He was playing his part too well. Looking past his shoulder, she saw the Captain was moving away.

    I have to go. Let me go now!

    The sailor tugged her in the opposite direction.

    Don't matter, he said. Fair means or foul, girl, I've a job waiting for ye. The man's repulsive breath washed across her face as he pinned her to his side. Now come with me and don't make a fuss.

    Twisting sideways, Isabeau saw the Captain was about to be swallowed into the crowd. There were now half a dozen people separating them. She pried at the thick fingers encircling her wrist, but to no avail.

    Desperately, barely giving herself time to consider, Isabeau turned toward him and kneed the man in the groin. Immediately, he howled and released her. She was mortified by her second act of violence. She'd never struck anyone before in her life, but she barely had a moment to be shocked by her actions -- the man's yelp of pain seemed to echo and cause the very air about them to stand still. Someone guffawed, men paused, conversation ceased as all eyes seemed to focus on her. Heat burned across her cheeks.

    Glancing across the sea of faces, Isabeau released a frightened breath. Briefly, her wide eyes met those of the Captain, then all chaos broke out around her. People moved back and away, forming a circle around her and the seaman. The man recovered enough to lunge at her but she ducked agilely and turned to flee. A hard chest stopped her. Malry. His hand on her arm steadied her.

    Running away, girl? he barked. Tut, tut. Nasty habit that, running and stowing. Look where it's landed you so far.

    She jerked back, but with a grin Malry shackled her to his side with one hand. Don't you know, 'tis not safe for a young, untutored lady to wander in a place such as this, especially with night soon to be upon us.

    Malry! A voice rasped. Has she been hurt? Isabeau knew it was the Captain -- her whole body knew it was him. Swallowing hard, she tried to see around Malry's bulk.

    Aye, Cap'n, you might wonder, Malry drawled. Trying to escape again, she was. I set Connors to keep an eye on her, but he couldna hold her.

    The sailor she had kneed, Connors, spit on the ground, his ugly face in a mean scowl. She's a regular she-devil, the man snarled. Damn near emasculated me. If she was mine I'd a whipped her. Wouldn't be surprised but what she's a pickpocket what's robbed me of the few coins I own.

    Connors stuffed his fists into his pockets, a sigh of relief escaping him at the jangle of coin.

    Malry laughed. With an enraged growl, Connors leapt forward, his fist slicing toward her.

    Instinctively she ducked, putting her arms up to protect her head.

    The blow never struck her.

    Looking up, she saw the Captain had stepped forward and interceded. Connors' fist was enclosed within the other man's larger hand.

    Connors didn't speak as sweat beaded his upper lip. Eyes rolling, he bent to one knee.

    Have you no duties, Mr. Connors? The Captain's voice was low and dangerous.

    Yes, Cap'n, the man gritted.

    Connors quickly regained his feet, his Adam's apple visibly bobbing. After throwing her a malevolent look, the seaman darted into the crowd.

    An uneasy foreboding touched Isabeau. The quicker she returned to Hawk's Den, got her belongings and left, the safer she would feel. The events that were unfolding around her had left her off balance.

    Warily, Isabeau looked at the Captain. Not a man to be taken lightly.

    I think we'd better get you to Hawk's Den before you stir up anything further, he remarked with a faint grin.

    We haven't finished our business, the blond man said, rushing up to the Captain's side. Isabeau noted the other man's agitation.

    Can it not wait for tomorrow, Treat? The Captain asked. It is some time since I've been home. I plan to ride there directly.

    It will take but a moment. Surely we can talk on the way to the office.

    Isabeau pondered the uncanny feeling that she was out of place, as if she had truly stepped back in time. Just the thought made the hair stand on the back of her neck. She knew such things were not impossible.

    This is the one of the best reenactments I've ever seen. She wanted to dislodge that idea from her mind. Malry tightened his hold in warning, eyes narrowing on her.

    The early evening air was warm, yet her uneasiness made her feel chilled and prone to shivering.

    An image flashed before Isabeau. An old book in a library. A family Bible. As she grappled with that memory, Malry urged her forward.

    They had almost reached the end of the pier when she heard a loud buzzing sound.

    Groaning, creaking, followed by a frightful whooshing noise, as if an airplane had just taken off beside her. Isabeau experienced a bright flash as an object plummeted to the ground, then everything was awash in crimson.

    No. She had not had a premonition in months -- why now? Shocked by the strength of what she'd seen, Isabeau halted and looked around quickly.

    The dockyard seemed unchanged, but that was the way it always started. Quickly, Isabeau scanned the scene, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. She looked upwards. A massive bundle of steel pilings was being hoisted by a manual crane.

    With horror, she watched as one of the pilings swung drunkenly askew from its binding, dangling like a missile preparatory to being launched. The bundle swung directly over the Captain and Treat.

    Knowing the outcome, Isabeau wrenched away from Malry and threw herself forward, her shoulder making jarring impact with the back of the Captain's knees as she propelled herself between him and Treat. Her momentum drove all of them forward.

    Before either man could react to her unexpected assault, a piece of steel hurtled to the spot where they had stood, hitting the pier with force, it buried itself in the wood, which shook and groaned. As the sound reverberated painfully loud, men scattered like ants.

    Dazed, Isabeau lay sprawled on top of the Captain, her legs tangled with his, glad to find the loud noise in her ears had abruptly stopped. The premonitions always came upon her without warning, but this was the first time in her life she was thankful for the gift. Her mother claimed it was a gift from her own childhood nurse, Mandine. For all of her life, Isabeau had thought of it as a nuisance. She no longer saw it in that light.

    Malry pulled her upright while the Captain regained his feet, followed more slowly by a very shaken-looking Treat.

    Isabeau stared at the large steel beam protruding grotesquely from the wooden pier. The Captain's attention was now focused sharply on her, his unfathomable expression quickly changing to a scowl.

    Treat's coat had ripped along the entire back seam and his finely creased pants were shredded at one knee.

    My God! Treat exclaimed, his face white and his lips bloodless. With an out flung hand he indicated the piece of steel. That could have killed us . . . both of us.

    Indeed. Features rigid, the Captain said, Malry, get my brother a carriage. He turned to Treat. We will continue our discussion tomorrow.

    Yes, yes. The other man's agreement was distracted. Isabeau noted his wild eyes. No doubt he was in shock at almost being killed. For some reason she was surprised to discover he was the Captain's brother.

    They could each have been killed. The Captain took the near-brush with death quite well. Did he have nerves of steel? Treat and Malry moved off.

    Now, the Captain's large hand closed gently around her arm. Perhaps you'll tell me how did you know what was about to happen, when not another man on this pier had an inkling?

    Isabeau didn't like the trace of accusation in his voice. I don't know -- I looked up and saw it. All I want to do is get back to Hawk's Den and some kind of normalcy. Since I found myself on your ship everything's been crazy. He simply continued to stare at her. There must have been someone else who saw it! she exclaimed. That terrible noise --

    Well, no one else called a warning, much less knocked the legs out from beneath me. Let's have the truth. He lowered his voice and put his face close to hers. Do you know of an attempt at murder?

    M-murder? Isabeau repeated, horrified. Her legs shook and a terrible ache began in her stomach. She stepped back. I saved your life.

    The Captain laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. Tell me what you know.

    I don't know anything and less with every minute that passes, she muttered.

    Malry, having returned, indicated his own disbelief with a snort.

    Isabeau looked around. Ask the guy operating the machinery!

    Gone, Malry said.

    Why did you spare our lives at the last moment? The Captain asked. A whim? Perhaps you've not the stomach for murder. Do you know who put this in motion?

    Isabeau envisioned in her mind what the grisly aftermath could have been. White lipped, she shook her head. I can't believe you're accusing me! I heard something, she said. She looked at him beseechingly, then at Malry. It was a loud noise. They wouldn't understand about her premonitions, that it had been the same her entire life, but never before had it been a life and death warning. Then I saw it.

    You saw it and no one else, the Captain murmured, taking in the stark whiteness of her face. I heard nothing. I'd hate to find out you've a hand in this plot. If it's the truth, I owe you.

    If ye do, Malry said softly, you will regret the day we met.

    Malry.

    What plot? she asked. "You sound as if someone is trying to --

    Murder me? Yes, it does sound that way, doesn't it?

    So you're threatening me and thanking me -- sort of -- in the same breath?

    I owe you, he repeated. She stared at the hand the Captain thrust toward her.

    Swallowing, Isabeau tentatively placed her hand within his, feeling the heat from his hard, calloused palm clear to her curling toes. Quickly, she let go. Surely she was losing her mind. How can you feel electricity by a simple touching of hands? Warily, she watched both men.

    Please tell me your name? the Captain inquired.

    Isabeau Remington.

    Isabeau. He frowned. And we have never met?

    That's a strange question. I know we've never met. Do you think you've met me before?

    She found it further unsettling to see him shrug, his face relaxing into a somewhat rueful smile. There is something familiar about you, but sadly, as is true of many faces these days I cannot always bring a name to the face.

    Are you saying you don't recall faces or that you have some kind of amnesia?

    He shrugged it off. An accident several months ago, but it is of little consequence. I am recalling more as time progresses.

    Isabeau was taken aback. I'm sorry -- you look perfectly healthy.

    Cap'n, Malry interrupted loudly, it's probably past time to get back. He dusted the back of the Captain's jacket. Are you all right? Mayhaps we should seek out the physician before the ride home.

    They exchanged a meaningful glance, but she had no idea what it was about.

    I am fine. Come. The Captain retrieved his hat from the ground and hit it against his knee. Let's go to Hawk's Den. I offer you a roof over your head, somewhere you can clean up. This has been a long day all around. I could use my bed.

    Isabeau followed, looking at the broad back, the long legs encased in dusty black boots. That momentary hint of his vulnerability when he'd talked about the amnesia had touched something inside her. To think he suffered lack of memory made her tender heart feel for him.

    He turned to her, his dark brows raised in inquiry. Had she said something of her thoughts out loud?

    Now you must tell me your name, she said abruptly, not caring how rude that sounded. She had to know. Surely he was Pierce Morgan. It was time the joke ended.

    I am Hawk Morgan. With a flourish, he executed a bow, a sardonic smile on his mouth.

    A wave of ice passed through Isabeau and settled in her chest. Memory reasserted itself with blazing clarity.

    Hawk Morgan. The man in the family Bible. The man who was to die.

    Chapter Three

    Malry rode in the carriage with Isabeau. At any other time she would have enjoyed the ride, but there were too many questions crowding her mind. The tiny interior lamps were lit but she could not see Malry very well as he reclined within the shadows. Isabeau was grimly amused. When Hawk had told Malry to ride in the carriage, the seaman had grumbled and fussed for a good fifteen minutes. The Captain -- Hawk Morgan she reminded herself, rode ahead of them on horseback.

    Isabeau sat near the window so she could watch him. He rode with his back straight, eyes unswervingly ahead, his aloofness like a cloak.

    Resting her head against the leather cushions, she mulled over the all-too-coincidental events. A man by the name of Hawk Morgan appears, suitably dressed in clothes very obviously from an earlier era. His name had been one of the last she had seen before -- before what? Had she fainted, was her body unconscious at Hawk's Den? What the hell was going on? Was she in some kind of time warp? Maybe someone was playing a trick on her. She wasn't appreciating any of it. And besides all that, this entire day was scaring the hell out of her. Her thoughts kept circling back to her mother's story. Her father's story.

    Isabeau looked at the man on the opposite seat. When she'd earlier climbed into the carriage she had seen Malry pull Hawk aside. Malry's urgency had

    Enjoying the preview?
    Page 1 of 1