But there are wanderers o’er Eternity
Whose bark drives on and on,
and anchor’d ne’er shall be.
LORD BYRON
CHILDE HAROLD’S PILGRIMAGE: CANTO III
Kate sipped hot cocoa at the kitchen table, wishing she had someone to keep her company, but Evalena had spirited Casey off for an evening of fun and one of her midsummer slumber parties. Kate remembered them well—the food, the music, the dancing and games.
When she was lonely, she often remembered her first night with Evie, that summer in 1980 when, at the tender age of eight, the social worker had dropped her off at Evalena’s door. She’d already lived in five other foster homes, and the moment she saw the fat old lady in fuzzy slippers and a brightly colored muumuu, she decided there’d be at least one or two more. There was no way she was going to get stuck with a grandma type.
That afternoon they’d had a staring contest, Kate on one side of the drawing room, Evalena on the other. By evening Kate had relegated herself to one half of the crazy-looking loveseat, where she counted cupids while Evalena talked incessantly about her many husbands, her matchmaking abilities, and the absolutely luscious wedding cakes she made for all the people whose marriages she’d arranged.
At midnight, Evalena put a Perry Como record on the turntable, dragged a kicking kid into her roly-poly arms, and danced her around the room, hugging her tightly as she hummed with the music.
In the morning Evalena taught Kate how to make Mickey Mouse pancakes. By ten they were finger-painting on the kitchen floor. At noon they were making royal frosting roses to go on a four-tiered wedding cake, and by two Kate had decided Aunt Evie was worth her weight in gold, and that had to amount to close to a billion dollars.
Her worth had increased tenfold since then. She’d been Kate’s mother, her sister, and her friend, and Casey’s doting grandmother, and since Joe had died, Evie had easily recognized those moments when Kate needed time alone.
But she’d goofed tonight. Kate didn’t want to be alone—not with Casey’s pirate.
Directly above the kitchen, in the room where Morgan Farrell slept, the floorboards creaked and Kate heard the distinct sound of someone moving slowly across the floor. A moment later she heard water running down the pipes in the walls. It flowed for a good minute, then stopped. Again it rushed through the old copper tubing. And stopped.
After that, the toilet flushed. Not once, not twice, but three times.
She could hear the tub filling with water, the slippery sound of feet climbing into the ancient cast iron clawfoot, and the slosh of water.
Mentally she made a note to put more insulation in the walls and between the floors, then scratched it off her list. She couldn’t afford the extravagance. The house needed a fresh coat of paint more than she needed the quiet.
Taking another sip of cocoa, she listened to the sound of a slick body rubbing against the tub, and couldn’t help but imagine Morgan’s wet, thoroughly naked physique filling the clawfoot. She saw his muscular chest and shoulders rising above the water like the mighty god Poseidon, rivulets of bath water dripping from his hair, over his pecs, over his small, hard nipples, and into the water, sending ripples across the surface.
Through the miniscule waves she could see his belly, firm and flat, the gathering of dark hair at his groin, and…she imagined other things that she dared not think of. Things she’d tried not to look at when she’d removed his clothes, like the scar on his left hip, and—
“Good evening, madam.”
Kate jumped, startled by the sound of Morgan’s voice. Cocoa sloshed out of her cup and onto the table, and she twisted around to see him standing in the doorway, his body naked except for the white towel clinging to his hips. His long hair was wet and little streams of water trickled down his chest—just as she’d envisioned, only the real thing was so much better.
She swallowed hard, drawing her cup close to her face to hide her sudden embarrassment.
“Pardon me, madam, but I seem to have misplaced my clothes.”
“I…I washed and ironed them,” she stammered, feeling like a schoolgirl who’d never seen a half-naked man. She took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure, and went to the room just off the kitchen to retrieve the stack of folded laundry.
“You look like you’re feeling better,” she said nonchalantly, placing the clothes in his outstretched hands. “I imagine you’re hungry. It’s been days since you’ve had any real food.”
“Aye. It has been long since I had a woman for company, too.” He smiled, and the dimples at each side of his lips deepened. “You will keep me company, won’t you, Kate?”
Absently her gaze traveled the length of his body, resting much too long on the damp towel. She nodded, slowly turning her attention to his sparkling eyes. “Casey’s at Evalena’s for the night. I wouldn’t mind someone to talk to.” Again her gaze drifted momentarily to the towel. “You’ll get dressed first, won’t you?”
“Aye.” He grinned, and without another word, strolled from the kitchen.
Kate leaned against the doorjamb, watching the play of muscles across his back, the tightness of every inch of his body, and for just one moment, she wished the towel would slip away. But it stayed in place, and all too soon he disappeared up the stairs.
Grabbing a damp rag from the sink, she wiped up the chocolate she’d spilled on the table and thought about spending the evening with Morgan Farrell. It had been two and a half years since she’d spent any time at all with a man. What would they talk about? What would they do?
She laughed to herself. They definitely wouldn’t leave the house—not with him dressed as a pirate.
Pulling a plate of cold roast beef and a head of lettuce from the refrigerator, she stood at the kitchen counter fixing a thick sandwich. Her stomach growled, but at the moment she was too nervous to think about eating.
Nervous! Like a girl getting ready for her very first date, instead of a woman who’d been married and had a six-year-old daughter. Evalena would chuckle if she knew all the things going through her mind right now, like would he try to kiss her? Would he want more from her than polite conversation? Would he.…
Damn! This wasn’t a date.
She tossed the rag into the sink and wiped her hands on her cutoffs. Ripped cutoffs! Ones with a nearly threadbare bottom. And her white cotton blouse had a splotch of spaghetti sauce on it, a definite reminder of a toddler’s pudgy hand pressed close to her breast.
She couldn’t spend the evening like this.
Racing from the kitchen to her bedroom, she tossed clothes everywhere as she rapidly looked for something to wear in her meager wardrobe. At the back of the closet she found a green silk shift. It was plain and simple. A little too short, maybe, and possibly a little too low in the front. But it was summertime in Florida. It was hot, humid, and…hell! She didn’t need to make excuses.
She slid it over her head, shoved her feet into a pair of sandals, and hoped she could get back to the kitchen before Morgan did.
Throwing open her bedroom door, she rushed into the hall and collided with Casey’s pirate.
Strong fingers wrapped around her upper arms, and she tilted her head to meet his smile.
“You look lovely, Kate.”
A flash of heat rushed to her cheeks. “Thank you.”
He leisurely took in the length of her body, from her eyes to her pink polished toenails, all the way back to her face, and she couldn’t help but do the same to him.
His billowing white shirt laced only partially up his chest with the ruby cross and bright gold chain shining against a backdrop of curly dark hair. Freshly washed and pressed gray trousers hugged his hips and thighs. Boots that glistened from several coats of black leather wax she’d applied embraced his legs and knees.
His face was cleanly shaven, his thick dark brown hair had been tied back at the nape of his neck, and his lips curved into a smile that filled her insides with sensations she knew she shouldn’t be feeling—not with a near stranger.
A stranger who was the most handsome man she’d ever seen—and nothing at all like any man she’d ever desired.
She backed away from his hold and drew in a deep breath before nervously brushing past him. She had to get far away from her bedroom and back to the kitchen, which seemed a better place to hold a conversation with Morgan Farrell. He was too masculine for her own good.
“I made you a sandwich,” she said. “And my aunt brought over an apple pie.”
Again she felt his powerful hand seize her arm, and the squeeze of gentle fingers pulled her to a stop before she was halfway down the stairs. “Have I frightened you?” he asked, his voice, his touch, commanding her to turn around and look at him.
“No,” she said softly. “I’m just not used to having a man around—sick or healthy.”
“Your husband has been gone for some time, then?”
“Too long,” Kate admitted. “I’ve almost forgotten what to say or do when I keep a man company.”
“Be yourself, Kate. ’Tis your ability to say and do the first thing that comes into your head that I admire about you.”
She laughed. “I’ve always been a little impulsive. You could ask my aunt, even my sister-in-law, Nikki, and they’ll tell you I have a tendency to rush into things.”
“’Tis my good fortune, men. I imagine if you’d given my situation any thought, I wouldn’t be here now.”
“Probably not.” She smiled and continued down the stairs.
He followed her to the kitchen, ignoring the chair she pulled out for him. Instead, he lifted the sandwich from the plate and took a bite while walking around the room running his fingers over the glistening white refrigerator, the burners on the stove, and the blue tile countertop, as if he’d never seen such things before.
He turned the water on and off in the sink, and watched it slowly swirl down the drain. “There are many wondrous inventions in this home of yours,” he said. “I was particularly intrigued by the chamberpot that you call a toilet, and the levers on the walls that make light appear and disappear.”
“You aren’t going to tell me you don’t know about indoor plumbing or light fixtures, are you?”
“In my day we burned oil for light. Privies were usually outside, or in a small closet in the bedroom. I much prefer this toilet of yours.”
She turned away, quickly taking a glass from a cupboard so he couldn’t see her grin. Did he really believe he was from 1702?
“You must tell me more about the marvels of your century. I must know about the carriages that roll along the roads without horses to pull them, and the ships with wings I have seen flying through the sky.”
Flying ships? Carriages without horses? How long would he keep up this charade?
“What about TV?” she asked, setting down the empty glass. “I imagine that’s new to you, too.” She flipped on the small television that sat on the counter, then watched the way Morgan frowned, totally intrigued by the flickering screen and the way it brightened when two people appeared before him.
“Bloody hell!”
Setting his unfinished sandwich on the counter, he crossed the kitchen in two long strides and touched the glass on the front of the TV, jerking his hand away when static snapped at his fingers. Cautiously he again reached for the glass, tracing a finger over the image of the female newscaster on the screen.
“Miniature people,” he whispered, moving so close that his nose nearly touched the television. He swept a hand over the top of the TV, around the sides. He peeked at the back, running his fingers along the cords that trailed from the set to the antenna and electrical outlets on the wall.
How easy it would be to believe he’d never seen a television before, or a stove, or refrigerator, or running water.
Impossible, she told herself. Absolutely impossible.
Again he stood in front of the television, then he turned to Kate, his blue eyes filled with confusion. “Can they see me?”
“No. They’re miles away from here.”
“Then how do I see them? How do they get inside the box?”
“It’s a television,” she said, pushing the channel selector, watching the bewilderment in his face as the picture continually changed. “You must have seen one before.”
“We did not have such a thing in my time,” he said flatly. He nudged her hand aside, putting his finger where hers had been. “What is this?”
She laughed. “A button. That one changes the channels. The ones beside it raise and lower the volume.”
He tested them all, jerking back when the sudden loudness nearly blasted them both from the room. His expression changed from a smile to a grin, and to amazement as the pictures changed from bathing beauties running on the beach to a couple kissing passionately to a high-speed car chase up and down the hills of San Francisco.
“Explain this television to me.”
“It’s quite simple,” she lied. “A cameraman takes pictures of the actors, and then poof! They disintegrate into a zillion pieces that float through the sky and suddenly appear on the TV screen.”
His smile disappeared. She could see the flex of muscle in his jaw as he gritted his teeth in annoyance. “I am not a child, Kate. I am a grown man who is quite capable of understanding the concepts of your time were I to be given a civil answer. Do you think I would ridicule you if you’d been sent to the past and found yourself confused by all you saw?”
She wasn’t ridiculing him. Well, maybe a little, but how could he expect her to believe he’d never seen a television before? As for her going back in time, she didn’t see where that would be a problem.
“There’d be nothing odd if I went to the past,” she answered. “I’d know how everything works.”
“Would you know how to turn tallow into candles to light the rooms of your home?”
“No.”
“Of course you wouldn’t, because you have been spoiled by the inventions of your time. In the past you would not have had the luxury of hot bath water just by turning a knob. And, my dearest Kate, the chamberpot would not clean itself. If you did not have servants, you would have to carry it outside at least once a day. You could not light the rooms of your home simply by flipping a switch, and if you were far away from your loved ones, you could not speak with them on this marvelous telephone Casey has shown me.”
He leaned against the refrigerator and crossed his arms resolutely over his chest. “I wonder, Kate …would you want to scream when no one believed that you’d traveled through time?”
“Time travel’s impossible.”
“But what if it were not? How would you react?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“Then I will tell you. You would find yourself amazed that something so incredible could happen. You would marvel at the differences between your time and the one you find yourself in. And then you would long for the things familiar to you. You would want, with all of your heart, for someone to believe you were telling the truth.”
For the longest time she stared over his shoulder at one of Casey’s pictures stuck to the refrigerator, unable to meet his eyes. Her brain screamed at her not to believe in time travel, but her heart told her he was telling the truth. Finally she looked at him and tried to smile. “If I did believe you, what would you need from me?”
“I only wish to know more of your time. I need to know what happened between seventeen-oh-two and now. I need to know how I can go back.”
“Do you really want to leave?”
“My life is in the past, not here. If I can go back to my own time, I can teach others about the wondrous things here and now. Perhaps I could change what happened before.”
“And take the chance of altering the future?” she asked. “Not that I believe any of this is possible, but if you were to change things that happened three hundred years ago, today might end up being different.”
“Have you considered the possibility that me coming forward in time has already altered what was to be?”
“I haven’t thought about it at all. I don’t want to think about it, either.” She turned to the window and stared out at the cloudy early evening sky. “I’d rather believe that you’ve had the sense knocked out of you, and that pretty soon you’ll remember who you are.”
She heard his footsteps behind her. Felt him moving close. Could sense the heat of his body through the silk of her dress. “I am a pirate, Kate.” He moved to her side, and the ties at the front of his shirt brushed against her arm, sending an unexpected quiver through her stomach.
Tilting her head, she looked up into his intense blue eyes.
“I have taken lives,” he said. “I have burned villages, captured ships, and stolen precious gold and jewels.” He looked out the window, his gaze far away, as if he were seeing into the past. “At one time I was a gentleman. I was destined to be a landowner, a grower of sugar cane in the West Indies, but that life ended abruptly—and savagely.”
Again he looked at her. “I do not belong in your world, and I want to go back to mine. That is the truth, Kate, whether you choose to believe it or not.”
She sighed, concentrating on the intricate cross resting on his chest, on the laces of his shirt, on the silver buckle on his belt. All his possessions looked as if they belonged in a museum, and he himself looked and acted like no modern man. With every passing moment, she was finding his far-fetched tale a little easier to believe.
“Okay, what do you want to know about first?” she asked. “The Revolutionary War? The Civil War? World Wars I and E?”
“Wars are nothing new to me and are of little interest at the moment. ’Tis your vehicle and the others I have seen that interest me now.”
Kate looked nonchalantly out the window at the faded green ’57 Chevy parked in the garage. “It’s just a car.”
“I know nothing of these cars except that they have no sails to catch the wind or horses to pull them. I would know how they move along the roads.”
“It’s complicated, and I’m the last one on earth who could explain something so technical to you.”
“Then show me. Take me for a ride.” Morgan tugged on her hand, pulling her toward the kitchen door.
“You can’t go out in public,” Kate exclaimed, coming to a dead stop at the threshold.
“And why not?”
“You’re dressed like a pirate. People will stare.”
“’Tis no concern of mine what other people do.”
“Well, I care. I know too many people in this town, and if they see me with you, they’ll think I’ve lost my mind.”
His infectious laughter rumbled through the room. “Let them think what they will, Kate.” His hand tightened around hers as he pushed open the screen door.
“Wait a minute,” she said, tugging against his pull. “We can’t go anywhere without keys, and I need my driver’s license, and some money, and—”
He put a silencing finger to her lips, and a burning tingle raced through her insides. “You make too many excuses, Kate. Get your keys and the license you speak of, then meet me at the vehicle. There is much I want to see and do, and you are the only one I want to see and do these things with.”
His finger brushed lightly over her mouth, and just as abruptly as he’d stilled her words of protest, he drew his hand away and strolled from the house, letting the screen slam behind him.
Kate touched her lips, the place that still burned from his caress, and watched his resolute and powerful walk as he headed for the garage. She liked the movement of his long muscular legs, the power radiating from the wide set of his shoulders, and his hair, so thick and lustrous, hanging down his back.
A smile tugged at her mouth as she plucked her key ring from the rack mounted near the door. Being lonely was a far worse fate than spending the evening with a gorgeous, although possibly deranged, pirate.
Morgan was sitting behind the big green steering wheel, tracing the glass-fronted speedometer and the temperature and fuel gauges when Kate entered the garage. His eyes were bright with wonder, like a little boy with a brand new toy. “’Tis a beautiful vehicle,” he said. “I am most eager to drive it.”
“Oh, no. You’re not driving it anywhere.”
“I’ll have you know, madam, that I have captained the finest sailing vessels in the world, and until that blasted storm, I’d had nary a mishap. I have—”
“Move over,” she said adamantly. “This isn’t a ship and it isn’t a carriage. It’s a car. You’ve never driven one, you don’t have a license, and I’m not about to go anywhere with you behind the wheel.”
He raised an eyebrow, looking as if he was going to argue.
“Move!” she ordered.
His devilish laughter echoed through the garage. “Aye, madam. As you wish.”
He slid to the passenger seat and Kate took his place behind the wheel. Turning the key in the ignition, she watched the play of emotions on Morgan’s face when the souped-up engine roared. Worry lines formed between his eyes. His chest rose and fell heavily, and he gripped the edge of the seat as if the car was a ship bucking on a turbulent sea.
Unconsciously she reached across the empty space between them and put her hand over his. “There’s no reason to be afraid.”
“Afraid?” he said incredulously. “Nay, madam, you mistake my excitement for fear. I have ridden the fastest of horses, driven carriages over rutted English roads, but I have never been in a vehicle such as this. ’Tis fascinating…and daunting.”
She smiled softly, remembering her own fear-filled excitement the first time she’d driven a car. “When I was twelve, Joe—my husband—let me sit beside him and turn the steering wheel while he drove to the beach. I thought it was the most thrilling thing in the world. Would you like to try?”
“Aye.”
Morgan seemed to relax as he moved to the center of the seat, and without any instruction, he put his hands close to hers on the wheel, his arm brushing lightly against her breast. She sucked in a deep breath as a tingling sensation rippled through her chest and down to the center of her being. She’d nearly forgotten how good it felt to have a man touch her breast, even accidentally, and for one brief moment, she wondered how good it would feel if Morgan Farrell touched her on purpose.
Don’t think about it, she told herself. Concentrate on the fact that you’re giving him his first driving lesson, not getting swept up in foreplay.
“See where my right foot is?” she asked. He looked down, his gaze skimming the length of her body before it rested on her foot. “The brake’s on the left,” she told him, swallowing back the nervousness she felt with his powerful body pressing against her arm, her hip, her thigh. “The gas pedal—the one that makes the car go—is on the right. You have to touch them easily or else the car will jerk.”
He crossed one leg over the other and settled his right foot close to hers on the brake.
“Now what?” he asked, and when he tilted his head she could feel the warmth of his breath whispering over her cheek.
“You have to shift the car into reverse,” she said, and his strong, long-fingered hand followed hers, warmly closing over her knuckles as she touched the stick. She fought for control of her senses while she explained about park, reverse, neutral, drive, and low. Absently he drew lazy circles over the back of her hand, his callused thumb feeling more like velvet than sandpaper.
Hoping he couldn’t feel the trembling in her fingers, she finished her explanation, and then he squeezed her hand. “’Tis a simple concept,” he said, shifting nonchalantly into reverse, as if the emotion-packed interlude had meant nothing to him. “Now, do I put my foot on the gas pedal?”
She nodded, laughing inwardly at letting herself get caught up in the moment, and lifted her foot from the brake as he moved his boot to the gas. He touched the pedal lightly and the car rolled back an inch or two. A grin crossed his face. He drew in a deep breath, just like a first-time driver, and confidently pressed the pedal again.
The car shot backward, screeching out of the garage onto the crushed shell-and-gravel drive.
“Bloody hell!”
His foot flew off the pedal and Kate trounced on the brake, bringing them to an abrupt and jarring halt.
“I said you had to do it easily!”
“That was my intention, madam.”
“Well, you didn’t succeed! Now, try it again.”
She watched the hard set of his jaw as his teeth ground together in determination. Again he touched the gas pedal, his fingers tightened on the wheel, and he backed slowly and skillfully to the end of the driveway, moving his foot to the brake, and pressing it slowly when they neared the road.
Kate looked at him and smiled. “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”
“Never. What do I do now?”
“Look both ways, and if there are no other cars coming, or people or animals or anything else in the street, you back slowly onto the road, turning the wheel as you go.”
“Which way do I turn the wheel?”
“I’ll show you.”
He twisted, his hair brushing lightly over her bare arm as he looked into the darkened street. Again, she was conscious of every move he made, every touch of his body against hers, every breath he took. She was being silly. Morgan Farrell was more interested in her car than he was in her. She supposed that was the way it ought to remain, especially since he would be leaving soon.
Especially since she wasn’t interested in getting romantically involved with another man—even though Morgan Farrell was causing her to have second thoughts on the matter.
Pressing a foot on the gas, he backed onto the road, and Kate guided his hands as they turned the wheel.
“Now stop,” she instructed, and he braked the car gently.
“Put it in drive.”
He followed all her directions, and in a few moments they were moving along St. George, heading toward the center of town. They crawled at a speed of about five miles an hour, and Morgan’s eyes were in constant motion as he watched for other cars. He braked easily at stop signs, looked both ways, and crept like a tortoise across the intersections. She couldn’t help but smile. It was like teaching Casey how to ride a bicycle or thread a needle—things that were new, different, and simple, but always a thrill the very first time.
“Where would you like to go?” Kate asked, guiding the steering wheel a bit to the left when Morgan veered too close to a parked car.
“I saw much of your city that first day I was here. I walked past cathedrals, taverns, and many a shop in my search for you. ’Twas all new and different, yet I saw these things through my eyes only. ’Twould be good to see them through yours, to know what you feel when you look at places that are familiar.”
“I never get tired of this city,” she told him. “I’ve lived here all my life, and even though everything’s familiar, I have special memories about most every place.”
“Tell me about them,” he said, easing away from the steering wheel and letting Kate take over the driving. He leaned casually against the passenger door where the wind blew through the open window, ruffling his shirt and hair. Breathing came easier for Kate with him sitting further away.
She parked in front of Flagler College, pointing out the fountain, the stained glass windows, the places where she’d hidden when she and other children had played hide-and-seek. She told him how she’d wanted to go to school there, to someday be a teacher, but that she’d gotten married right out of high school instead.
“All I wanted to do was be around children,” she said. “Lots of them. Joe and I had always hoped to have more.”
“Perhaps you will have others one day.”
“I don’t think about it much anymore. What I wanted was all part of another life, and that ended.”
He nodded, understanding evident in his faraway smile.
As they wove through the narrow streets, she told him about her childhood, about being taken in by Evalena, finding it easy to tell him about the rejection she’d felt when her mother and father abandoned her. “I don’t think my parents realized that love was more important man money or material possessions.”
“Perhaps they wanted you to have both.”
“I got more love than anything else from Evalena. She didn’t have any children of her own, but she knew what I needed. I wanted to be just like her when I grew up, and I wanted to give that same kind of love and attention to a bunch of my own kids.”
“Is that why you take care of other people’s children?”
“They brighten my day. I need the money, too,” she admitted. “I don’t need a lot of material things, but I need to make a living, and taking care of children is what I do best.”
Kate pulled into the parking lot near Castillo de San Marcos and stopped so the car was facing the lighted fortress. “I used to come here for picnics with my aunt, or to play pirates with Joe and his sister. He was fascinated with pirates—good ones, bad ones, it didn’t really matter. I guess he found them romantic.”
“And you?” he asked, smiling his warm and dangerous smile.
Heat rushed to her cheeks as she contemplated his question. “I liked anything Joe liked, but I’d never really understood his fascination—until now.”
Morgan’s smile deepened, and without saying a word, he climbed from the car, then came around to the driver’s side, opened Kate’s door, and took hold of her hand. “Walk with me,” he said, his voice low, almost hypnotic.
She slid out of the car and strolled at his side across the sweeping lawn that surrounded the centuries-old fort. “St. Augustine was much different in my time,” he said, walking slowly, his hands folded behind his back. “There were houses, of course. Many lined the streets as they do now. I remember wandering around the city at night, staying out of sight of the Spanish soldiers, and looking through windows to see and hear families laughing together over the evening meal. ’Twas the life I longed for but could not have.”
“Why?”
“I was a wanted man. My mother, father, and sister had died, and my family in England had disowned me. ’Twas not surprising. My grandfather had raised honorable sons, and my uncle could not abide what I had become.”
“Why did you become a pirate?”
He laughed, taking hold of her hand and squeezing it tightly, even when she tried to pull away. “You believe me, then?”
“It’s hard not to.”
“Then believe me when I tell you I had good reason to become a pirate.”
“That’s all you’re going to tell me?”
“’Tis all you need to know.”
They stood near one of the swaying palms that lined the bank between the fortress and the bay. “The sea never changes,” Morgan said, as they looked at the moonlight shining on the waves lapping against the shore. “I sailed many times from Dover to Calais, but I was in my early twenties when I first crossed the Atlantic. I had never been at the helm of a ship before. I’d always been a passenger, but the first time I raised a sail and felt my hands around the wheel, I knew I’d found my home.”
His hand slid around her waist, and he pulled her close to his side, but his eyes didn’t leave the dark line of the ocean on the horizon. “I must find a way to go back, Kate. ’Tis where I belong.”