It was like something out of a movie.
A very old movie.
Ella opened just her eyes for fear of bringing attention to herself—or activating what felt like a nascent but powerful headache rampaging in her skull. She found herself lying on a narrow bed; the linens smelled male but not unpleasant. If not exactly clean, they were at least not malodorant. As she looked around the room, no bigger than a medium-sized walk-in closet from any tract housing development in Atlanta, she could see she was alone. This particular walk-in closet, however, was moving.
Her eyes flicked to the single porthole. She could see only gray sky and black clouds but it was clear the ship was underway.
Her anxiety ratcheted up at the thought of once more moving away from Rowan and she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her head protested with a loud throbbing accompanied by a clanging she was sure was audible only to her. She put a hand to her head and squeezed her eyes shut against the pain.
She’d been drugged, and in 1825 it was anybody’s guess with what.
“You are alive, I see.”
Ella snapped her head in the direction of the voice and gasped. He’d been sitting there all along, but with his dark clothes had blended in with the dark wood of the room’s walls. He sat with complete composure, one ankle resting on his knee, a hand dangling confidently from the armrest of the chair where he lounged. Even in the gloom of the lightless room, she could detect his certainty and poise.
And why not? This was his room, his ship. And she was his captive.
He smiled and she was astonished to discover he had a pleasant face, even handsome. His hair was jet-black and hung to his collar. He wore a deep burgundy silk headscarf that accentuated his black eyebrows and the afternoon beard that daily shaves clearly couldn’t keep up with.
When he smiled, his teeth were white and straight.
Unusual for this time.
“Who are you?” she croaked, her hand dropping from her head to her blouse. Someone had unbuttoned it, but it appeared to be more to make her comfortable than to explore her person.
“I am Captain Erik Sully of the Die Hard, Miss Morton,” the pirate said, continuing to grin. “At your service.”
This is Sully? This is the pirate who kidnapped Rowan? Without meaning to, Ella turned to scan the furniture in the room. That meant the lighter might be here somewhere! If she could only find it and get away…
“If that’s so,” she said, forcing herself to look back at the pirate, “then you can let me go at once and I’ll think about not reporting you to Commodore Porter.”
His eyebrows shot up as if she had something interesting and she watched him narrow his eyes at her. His smile never left his lips. “My fullest admiration for Commodore Porter not withstanding,” he said getting up from his chair, “I’m afraid that’s not possible. You see, I have a meeting later today with your father and it is rather important that you be in my custody until it is concluded.”
Ella scooted across the cot until her back was against the wooden slats of the cabin wall. “You’d better not do anything you’ll regret,” she said, her heart pounding in her throat as he loomed over her.
“You mean something which might get me hanged?” Sully laughed as he sat on the bed next to her. In one smooth motion he pulled her onto his lap, pinning her arms at her sides. Ella struggled and twisted her head away. When she did, the remaining buttons of her bodice popped open exposing her left breast.
“Why, Miss Morton,” Sully said, licking his lips lasciviously. “All you needed to do was ask.”
“You bastard!” Ella cried as he released one hand to take her breast and gently tuck it back inside her blouse. Shocked by the civil gesture, she wasn’t prepared when he suddenly leaned over and placed his mouth over hers, his tongue probing past her teeth but darting away before she could clamp down on it.
When he pulled back, he looked at her quizzically, his dark eyebrows pushed together to form a frown as if confused about something.
“I know you,” he said softly. For the span of those three words, Ella had an unassailable sense that all guile had dropped away. It was as if he had uttered the words involuntarily.
“I can’t imagine how,” she gasped, squirming out of his grasp and pulling her knees up to form a barrier between them. “I don’t hang out with pond scum as a general rule.”
He continued to look at her as if confused. His eyes dropped to her breasts, covered now but clearly defined by her thin blouse. “It’s the way you speak,” he said slowly. His eyes darted up to capture hers. “You’re a traveler.”
Oh, my God. Rowan was right. Sully is a time traveler too!
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, trying to sound scoffing. “I traveled to get to Key West like everybody else did.”
“Except ‘everybody else’ doesn’t know it as Key West.” He gave her an unreadable look and stood up. “Yet.”
Ella said nothing. She hadn’t meant to reveal so much. She wasn’t sure it was a good thing for him to know she was also a time traveler. It was clear he thought she was Adele for purposes of threatening or extorting the judge. What wasn’t clear was what he would do when he found out she wasn’t Adele. She imagined her worth to him would plummet significantly.
“My father won’t negotiate with you,” she said, bluffing with all her heart.
Sully walked to the door, obviously intent on leaving, but she could see he was still troubled. He turned to look at her. “He’s already agreed to it. You’re just the insurance to make sure he doesn’t change his mind.”
Without another word, he exited the cabin and she heard a bolt slam down from the outside. She hopped off the bed and ran to the porthole. Outside was nothing but water as far as she could see. She couldn’t tell if it was the Gulf side or the Atlantic, but one thing was certain…Key West was nowhere in sight. The rain had started and the wind had picked up too. She watched the large ominous clouds as they blew across the sky. A storm was coming. A bad one, by the looks of it.
She returned to the cot and tried to take stock. Who knew she was missing? Adele’s maid did, but there was every reason to believe she was in on the kidnapping. Rowan will have figured out by now that she hadn’t returned to the pub room. But will he know where to go to look for her? Now she wished she’d told him about Lawrence and the Mortons. Without that piece of the puzzle, he’ll have no way of knowing when or where she disappeared. Will he even think to come to the ship? Why would he?
She gnawed on a ragged cuticle and listened to the sounds of the sailors—pirates, she supposed—going about the business of sailing the ship. Her eyes glanced around the room. Then she went to the small built-in desk and yanked open the single drawer.
There, nestled among a handful of gold doubloons, snuffboxes and gambling dice was Rowan’s lighter.
Ella snatched it up and felt a rush of joy. Step one, Rowan! We’ve got your ticket out of here and that’s one step closer than we were.
She turned the lighter to reread the inscription she had engraved on it three years ago and felt her euphoria drain away. One step closer if you don’t count the fact I’m a prisoner on a pirate ship heading to God knows where.
Ella pocketed the lighter. When she thought of the arrogance, the self-absorbed conceit that made someone think they could take valuables from another person, it made her want to take a musket to the captain.
Ella sat back down on the bed and fingered the smooth, heavy shape of Rowan’s lighter in her pocket. Who in the world was this Captain Sully? If Rowan was right, he wasn’t from this time—even though he fit in perfectly. Was he evil, as Rowan said?
But he could have attacked her just now and didn’t. And what was all that about helping her cover herself? What sense did that make? He was almost…nice.
Why didn’t he take advantage of the situation? He clearly looked if not about to rape her to at least strongly seduce her—but in the end he didn’t.
Why not?
Once he concludes his business with the judge will he her let go?
Ella drew in a long breath. Clearly, she was trapped in this room with no chance of escape until someone came for her. Might as well stay calm and try to come up with a plan of some kind.
God knows what the next several hours might hold for her.
As she leaned back into the rough pillow on the bed, her eyes fell on the spine of a leather book standing by itself on Sully’s desk. At first when she saw it, the glittering gold of the graphic as it danced vertically down the narrow cover, she didn’t recognize what she was seeing. Suddenly, she bolted from the bed and grabbed up the book.
On the cover was the distinct insignia of two hearts joined with the large letter V intersecting them. Her hands began to shake. It was the unique marking that she had seen all her life on the tiny gold locket that she wore around her neck even at this moment.
***
Rowan held the hard, twisting lines of the tackle in his hands and looked out over the rail lines of the Die Hard. When they lifted anchor a few hours ago he was surprised, but he could hardly jump ship now. He hated making Ella worry but it couldn’t be helped. This was his one chance to get that damn lighter back.
They were only going as far as the Dry Tortugas, he reasoned. Toad assured the crew they’d be back whoring and drinking in Cayo Hueso within twenty-four hours.
As for the quartermaster himself, he had been shocked and not necessarily pleased to see Rowan again. But he’d taken him on. Whether for the exceptional strength that Rowan’s size brought to the crew or the prospect of future opportunities to maim and humiliate him was, at this point, unknowable.
Rowan shifted the pistol wedged in his belt. The rest of the crew didn’t work armed. All weapons were stored in a single place, to be snatched up at the ready when called for. Ansel had already raised an eyebrow at the sight of Rowan’s gun. Rowan was surprised at how well the man read him—and he, him. He had shaken his head in response. No he wasn’t going to kill Sully.
Not yet anyway.
As Rowan tossed the handful of ropes and pulleys back onto the shelf, he saw Sully exit his cabin and drop the exterior bolt to lock it from the outside.
So someone is inside. An unwillingly guest obviously, but special enough not to merit the comforts of the below decks brig. A woman, maybe?
Sully was not only leaving his cabin—he was clearly intending on leaving the ship, too, once they dropped anchor in the Dry Tortugas.
Very curious.
But all that mattered to Rowan was that Sully would be out of his cabin, giving Rowan the chance to search it. This time, he thought, touching the grip of his pistol, if Toad interrupted him there would be a different outcome to the encounter.
Sully stopped in front of Rowan and frowned. He swiveled slowly on his boot heel as if to glance back at his cabin and then again at Rowan.
“You signed on?” he said. “I thought you were indignant about being kidnapped.”
“Decided to let bygones,” Rowan said, pulling his hat down over his face to protect it from the rain that began to pelt him. The rain, mixed with sleet, peppered his face like tiny shards of flying glass.
“It’s a day for interesting events,” Sully said cryptically. “By the by, Mr. Toad has instructions to shoot anyone who tries to enter my cabin while I’m gone.”
Rowan said nothing and Sully turned and walked up to the quarterdeck to speak with the pilot.
Looking up at the masts, Rowan noticed they’d already taken down all sails but one. If Sully really was thinking of going ashore, he’d better hurry. This didn’t look to be an ordinary storm and there was little to no shelter on the island.
Maybe with any luck the bastard would get washed out to sea.
As Rowan turned back to his work, he noticed the cabin boy, Kip, was standing outside the captain’s cabin now, a musket in his hands. The boy’s eyes were focused skyward and his face was white with concern.
Rowan shrugged. He didn’t intend to hurt the boy when the time came.
But he did intend to get inside that cabin, whatever it took.
It was early afternoon by the time they moored in the cove at Garden Cay in the Dry Tortugas. Rowan was mildly surprised to see that no other ships were there. Then again, the cove didn’t provide much natural protection, and this storm was one where you might reasonably look for that. Likely the rest of the brotherhood was off the coast of Cuba or on the gulf side of the Florida straits.
Looks like Sully has the place all to himself, which suited Rowan fine. He’d already figured that if he came up empty in Sully’s cabin he’d go over the side and try to find the bastard’s treasure on the island.
It shouldn’t be too difficult. Sully was a prissy bastard. He wouldn’t have hidden it under the mangroves, in the swamps or anywhere near the saltwater crocs. Knowing Sully, the treasure would be somewhere dry and easily accessed.
Its name not withstanding, there weren’t too many places like that in the Dry Tortugas.
As Rowan watched two crewmen lower a dinghy into the water, it was all Rowan could do not to run to the bolted cabin door, knock poor Kip out of the way, and begin his search. He rethreaded the cords of a rat line that had shredded and watched as Sully, a small bag bulging with something bulky thrown over his shoulder and his jacket pulled up around his ears with his trademark ruby scarf plastered around his forehead, climbed down the side of the ship into the boat. The captain waved off the man who would row him to shore and took up the oar himself.
Right behind you, Captain, Rowan thought as he watched Sully row the short distance to the beach.
Turning back to Sully’s cabin, Rowan was intercepted by Ansel, who had run up from below decks and was panting from the exertion. His face was white. “Mkubwa!” he called, “we need ye, man!”
Rowan sidestepped him but Ansel grabbed his arm. “It’s Scabs,” he said. “He was showing us that move that Captain Jack Sparrow makes with his dirk? The one where he tosses it up and catches it behind his back, ye ken?”
With one last glance at the barred cabin door and poor shivering Kip standing outside it trying to relieve the weariness in his legs by hopping from one foot to the other, Rowan sighed and gestured for Ansel to lead the way.
He had time. Sully would be gone for hours.
***
The mangroves weren’t as thick once Sully broke through the perimeter of the island’s outer edges. He kept a careful eye out for snakes or anything else that might be lurking just below the shallow, murky swamp that was his footpath. A kayak—if one had been invented yet—might have made a better vehicle, but even that was likely to become stuck every few feet. Pulling his heavily booted foot out of the mire, he felt the tension in his shoulders ease as he stepped onto firmer ground.
He stopped and listened. He should be hearing seabirds, but they were likely smart enough to find a place to roost against the coming storm. The rain was steady now but the wind seemed to have died a bit. He peered into the rain wondering if the judge was waiting for him.
Sully was early. He typically felt, as a general rule, that was his best strategy no matter what his enterprise.
An image of the judge’s daughter laying helpless on his cot came unbidden to his mind. He hadn’t expected her to be so bold, so cool. He hadn’t expected her to be a time traveler either. Which was unusual given travelers typically needed to insert themselves in existing lives. How did that work when you were pretending to be somebody’s daughter?
But more importantly, he hadn’t expected to feel precisely nothing when he kissed her.
Had that ever happened? Had there ever been a beautiful woman he’d held defenseless in his arms he hadn’t felt ready to pierce with his staff?
A sound off to the left shook the thoughts from his head as it heralded the possible arrival of his mark.
Sully tightened his grip on the leather sack and took a step back into the swamp. The two men were approaching from the southern part of the island, which didn’t surprise Sully. If they’d seen the Die Hard moored on the northern beach, they’d understandably prefer not to moor near.
The two men—one obviously the judge, his stocky build easily identifiable in the hazy weather—approached the small clearing that was ringed by the mangroves. As they got closer, Sully saw the judge was wearing hip-high waders. His companion’s shoes and jacket were ruined, as he was clearly not dressed for the outing or the weather. Sully recognized him as the young clerk from the judge’s office.
He stepped into the clearing. “Your Honor! Over here, sir.”
The two men snapped their heads in unison in his direction. He saw the younger man’s hand go to his vest as if he might have a weapon there, but if so he thought better of it as he allowed his hand to fall to his side.
Sully pulled his collar up against the drizzle. It seemed to have diminished somewhat but it was still a miserable outing—more so for the judge, he thought with a smile.
“Sully,” the judge growled in greeting.
“Did you bring the certificate?”
The man only grunted, but Sully could see affirmative written all over the clerk’s face. Perhaps the certificate had been what he had been reaching for?
“What have you dragged me out to this godforsaken place to show me? And before you get any ideas, I’ve alerted the army that we are here. If we don’t return—”
“Not to worry, your Honor,” Sully said, hoping his voice was effectively conveying his sarcasm. “You’ll be home by midday sitting in front of your fire sipping your tea as if this day had never happened.”
Sully pulled his bag off his shoulder and was rewarded again by the young man’s starting as if it were full of adders. Sully laughed.
“Am I to understand you’ve never been to the Dry Tortugas, sir?” he asked.
The judge made a face. “A den of cutthroats and thieves? Why would any law-abiding man come to this hell hole?” He waved a hand to take in the swampy scene before them.
“Indeed,” Sully said, as he walked past the two to a large outcropping of rocks and overhanging mangrove, its branches twisted in an ancient contortion of wet wood. “And yet, like many things not immediately discerned upon initial—or even prolonged—inspection, this island has much wonder to reveal.”
“Get on with it, Sully.”
“For example, did you know that it is the end destination for most of North America’s raptors?” He looked at the two as if expecting an answer. The clerk shook his head.
“Well, it is. In fact, fall migration—which we are in the midst of right now—brings a southbound influx of thousands of birds. I know it’s hard to see because of the rain, but if you look closely, you’ll see they are here with us at this very moment.”
“What the hell are you pulling, Sully?”
“Water birds, to be sure, gulls and terns, but also kestrels and warblers, even the belted kingfisher. I apologize, Judge, I was under the impression you were interested in bird hunting. Was I wrong?”
The judge snorted, but he looked around as if to see the birds to which Sully referred.
“I’m reliably informed that the Sooty Tern finds its only regular nesting site in the entire United States right here in the Dry Tortugas,” Sully said. “In fact, just there!”
As the men crested a small incline, a clearing of nearly a mile square lay before them. The perimeter was lined with assorted bird nests tucked into the mangrove branches. The clearing itself was filled with easily a hundred birds perched on scattered pieces of driftwood jutting up from the boggy grasses.
“Let me ask you, Judge. How many birds do you think you can bag in, say, a thirty-second time span?”
“Don’t be mad. No one can shoot more than one, perhaps two if they fly in a pair, in thirty seconds.”
“Really?” In one swift movement, Sully pulled a semi-automatic pistol from the bag and aimed at the gigantic flock of birds. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the two men flinch and stagger away at the abrupt volume of the gun’s repetitive and booming report. The flock of birds erupted in a nuclear cloud of feathers and smoke as Sully sprayed them with the full sixteen rounds.
When he finally finished, the sandy clearing was littered with dozens of feathered bodies.
He turned to the judge. “Impressive, no?”
The judge was staring at the carnage, his mouth open. “How did you…how…?”
Sully held the gun up in front of the man’s face. “Ingenious weapon, isn’t it? Can you imagine one in the hands of every pirate within a hundred mile radius of Thompson Island?” Sully let the words sink in. “I am happy, however, to turn over to you, or Commodore Porter, every one of the one hundred semi-automatic pistols I have in my possession…for a simple slip of paper.”
He could see the judge was not taking his eyes off the beach area where the dead birds lay.
“I’ll give you the certificate when I have taken delivery of the guns.”
“Sorry, no. You’ll get the guns—as promised—after I get the certificate.”
“Why wouldn’t I simply go straight to the army when I get back?”
Sully dropped the gun onto the beach at the judge’s feet and reached back into his sack. This time, he pulled out the battered but distinctive brown silk of a lady’s bonnet. He shook the ribbons until they dangled obscenely from the hat.
“Recognize this?”
The judge gasped. “Where did you get that?”
“I got it from its owner,” Sully said. “And while she has indulged in a good deal of tears and prayers over her ordeal, your daughter is as yet untouched. Whether or not she remains so depends on my continued good health. So, I’ll ask you again. Do we have a deal?”
Without hesitation, the judge snapped his fingers at his clerk, who was visibly shaking. The young man opened his jacket and pulled out a slim leather envelope and handed it to Sully.
Sully opened the packet, careful not to get the letter inside wet and then sealed it back up. He tucked it into his own jacket and grinned.
“I can see now why everyone enjoys birding,” he said. “It really is quite satisfying.”
***
Ella wrapped the thick duvet from the bed around her shoulders but still she found herself shaking. She pulled her knees up to her chin as she sat on the bed, her back to the cabin wall, her eyes on the open journal on Sully’s desk.
Why is the emblem from her mother’s necklace on the book? While the design of two hearts intersecting might not be the most original of insignias, Ella knew, when combined with the dominant intersecting letter V, it becomes less and less likely to be found anywhere else.
V for Vogel, her mother’s original family name—the one that was forever tainted and so dropped in favor of Klaus, the family’s shame hidden by the moniker forevermore.
Was it a coincidence?
She shivered as the rain increased its assault against the single porthole in the cabin. Even though it was barely noon, she could see the skies darkening in advent of the coming storm.
She glanced at the lighter on the nightstand. She’d at least done that much. Now if she could just survive long enough to give it to Rowan.
Would the judge believe that Adele was a captive on a pirate’s ship? If not, would Sully’s resulting fury at being tricked come home to bear on her? Ella had tried the cabin door but it was solidly locked from the outside and the porthole was way too small to slip through.
Her only hope was to somehow trick or overcome whoever came to feed her.
How was she going to do that? Her eyes darted around the room. There was nothing in the cabin that wasn’t literally nailed down—obviously because everything on a boat moved and slid away if it wasn’t—except for the thunder jar, and that was wedged tightly behind the door.
Would someone come soon? How long had Sully been gone? How long would his meeting take?
Before she could imagine what horrors the anger-crazed pirate would likely dole out to her when he discovered she wasn’t Adele Morton, Ella heard the loud scrape outside the door of the bar being raised. She wrapped the duvet tightly around her.
She wasn’t ready! She had no clue as to how to use the opportunity—if indeed there was one in the offing.
The door swung open and the frame was quickly filled with the form of a man. He wasn’t tall, and as he stepped into the room and shut the door behind him she could see he held a tray in his hands. He set it down on the desk.
“Well, well, little ‘un,” he said, turning toward her. He had a headscarf wrapped around his head like Sully did, but his was black and shiny. As he approached, she saw that the shine was from the thick layer of grease his long hair appeared to be coated with. It hung in twisted dreadlocks to his shoulders.
Ella scooted as far away from the man as she could on the narrow bed. He smiled at her as if he were contemplating devouring a large meal. She even saw him lick his lips.
“Ye’ll be ‘aving your dinner, luv,” he said, standing over her, his hands flexing at his side as if having trouble controlling them. “As soon as I plant me pole in the cap’n’s turf, ye ken.”
Ella knew exactly what the man had in mind. Although there was a bolt on the inside of the cabin, he hadn’t bothered to throw it. That probably meant he was high enough up the food chain that her screaming wouldn’t bring help from anyone who valued their life.
“’At’s right, petal,” the man hissed as he lunged for. “They’ll be none to stop what’s coming, scream as ye might.” He grabbed her hands and jerked them apart so the duvet dropped from her shoulders as he drove her back onto the cot, his knee coming up sharply between her legs to pry them apart.