hands cupped her shoulders and she opened her eyes to see Zach standing in front of her. She blinked. No, not Zach. Geez, she was exhausted. It was only Captain Morgan.
At his prompting, she lay on her stomach and tried not to feel his hair skim her arm. Tried not to feel those big hands as they raised her shirt. Who was this man who effortlessly commanded a ship of seamen? Who calmly spoke of pirates and yet handled her wounded back so gently.
“What’s your first name?” she asked, giving voice to her curiosity.
Warm hands touched her even warmer skin.
“Morgan.”
“That’s your first name?” She closed her eyes.
“First and last.” His voice drifted around her, through her.
“Morgan Morgan?”
He chuckled. “Just Morgan.”
“That’s my name, too.”
His hands stilled for a moment before resuming their tender ministrations. “Is it?”
“My middle.”
“Mmmm,” was his only reply.
He worked on releasing her bindings.
“Are you a pirate?”
“Not anymore.”
Her eyes shot open. “So, you were a pirate?”
“Yes.”
The bindings gave way and he cleaned her wounds. She wanted to see her back, wanted to know if it was as bad as she feared. She lifted her head and tried to twist around but Morgan gently forced her back down.
“You’ll reopen the wounds.”
“Is it bad?”
No answer, which in itself was answer enough. She closed her eyes against the tears.
Crying, Juliana? Her mother’s voice taunted her.
No. Her own voice answered, as it answered thousands of times before. But her mother’s drunken, slurred laughter still rang in her memory. The sound always managed to make her feel small and unwanted and unloved.
Morgan sat in the straight-backed chair and watched her sleep. She’d tucked a hand under her cheek and her other hand was curled into a loose fist on her pillow.
Needing to feel the warmth of her skin, he reached down to touch her brow, to smooth away a lock of hair that had fallen over her cheek. However, before he made contact, he tightened his hand into a fist and pulled back.
He grappled with his mixed emotions, still feeling the zing of jealousy when she’d smiled up at Thomas and the way Thomas smiled back. The two had no business smiling at each other. Thomas needed to concentrate on his duties, Juliana on healing. And Morgan on… Hell, he needed to concentrate on his duties as well, but a certain female stowaway grabbed his attention and refused to release it. He shouldn’t be angry at Thomas for doing the things he himself was doing. Yet he had been angry. Furious even.
He relaxed back in the chair, his body aching. His eyes grew heavy and he stopped fighting the inevitable. His mind drifted and he jerked his head in an effort to end the nightmare he knew was to come before it even began.
It overtook him as easily as sleep did.
Almost immediately he turned to crawl back through but the mirror wasn’t there. Only endless trees. Miles and miles of trees. A person could get lost in those trees and not be found for years, if ever. A small brook ran close to his feet. The sky was a bright blue. More birds than he ever saw in one place flew over his head and the air was sweet and free of any noxious smells. He turned in a circle, wondering where he was.
When he was.
For the first time in his life, he was scared. All those stunts he’d pulled growing up were nothing compared to this.
What had he done?
He frantically looked around, convinced that if he searched hard enough salvation would appear and he could return to his life. But there was nothing except a few deer who peered at him before ambling away to drink in the brook. He swallowed hard and tried to think, but surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly, his mind refused to work properly.
Morgan’s eyes flew open. He surged off the chair and stared at the woman sleeping peacefully in his bed.
When he first visited her in the hold, he saw only what he wanted to see—a young man sent by
At his prompting, she lay on her stomach and tried not to feel his hair skim her arm. Tried not to feel those big hands as they raised her shirt. Who was this man who effortlessly commanded a ship of seamen? Who calmly spoke of pirates and yet handled her wounded back so gently.
“What’s your first name?” she asked, giving voice to her curiosity.
Warm hands touched her even warmer skin.
“Morgan.”
“That’s your first name?” She closed her eyes.
“First and last.” His voice drifted around her, through her.
“Morgan Morgan?”
He chuckled. “Just Morgan.”
“That’s my name, too.”
His hands stilled for a moment before resuming their tender ministrations. “Is it?”
“My middle.”
“Mmmm,” was his only reply.
He worked on releasing her bindings.
“Are you a pirate?”
“Not anymore.”
Her eyes shot open. “So, you were a pirate?”
“Yes.”
The bindings gave way and he cleaned her wounds. She wanted to see her back, wanted to know if it was as bad as she feared. She lifted her head and tried to twist around but Morgan gently forced her back down.
“You’ll reopen the wounds.”
“Is it bad?”
No answer, which in itself was answer enough. She closed her eyes against the tears.
Crying, Juliana? Her mother’s voice taunted her.
No. Her own voice answered, as it answered thousands of times before. But her mother’s drunken, slurred laughter still rang in her memory. The sound always managed to make her feel small and unwanted and unloved.
Morgan sat in the straight-backed chair and watched her sleep. She’d tucked a hand under her cheek and her other hand was curled into a loose fist on her pillow.
Needing to feel the warmth of her skin, he reached down to touch her brow, to smooth away a lock of hair that had fallen over her cheek. However, before he made contact, he tightened his hand into a fist and pulled back.
He grappled with his mixed emotions, still feeling the zing of jealousy when she’d smiled up at Thomas and the way Thomas smiled back. The two had no business smiling at each other. Thomas needed to concentrate on his duties, Juliana on healing. And Morgan on… Hell, he needed to concentrate on his duties as well, but a certain female stowaway grabbed his attention and refused to release it. He shouldn’t be angry at Thomas for doing the things he himself was doing. Yet he had been angry. Furious even.
He relaxed back in the chair, his body aching. His eyes grew heavy and he stopped fighting the inevitable. His mind drifted and he jerked his head in an effort to end the nightmare he knew was to come before it even began.
It overtook him as easily as sleep did.
Almost immediately he turned to crawl back through but the mirror wasn’t there. Only endless trees. Miles and miles of trees. A person could get lost in those trees and not be found for years, if ever. A small brook ran close to his feet. The sky was a bright blue. More birds than he ever saw in one place flew over his head and the air was sweet and free of any noxious smells. He turned in a circle, wondering where he was.
When he was.
For the first time in his life, he was scared. All those stunts he’d pulled growing up were nothing compared to this.
What had he done?
He frantically looked around, convinced that if he searched hard enough salvation would appear and he could return to his life. But there was nothing except a few deer who peered at him before ambling away to drink in the brook. He swallowed hard and tried to think, but surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly, his mind refused to work properly.
Morgan’s eyes flew open. He surged off the chair and stared at the woman sleeping peacefully in his bed.
When he first visited her in the hold, he saw only what he wanted to see—a young man sent by
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