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.