Treasure So Rare (Women of Strength Time Travel Trilogy) Page 2

  "He tells the truth," Frances said quickly, "he means us no harm. He and his men have overtaken the ship. We are saved. We are saved," Frances repeated.

  "You have come to rescue us?" asked the young woman who had tried to punch him. Thin and dressed in a tattered white shirt that once sported ribbon trim and a skirt that now bore dark stains and a ragged edge, she appeared to be no more than eighteen years of age.

  Erik nodded at her. "Not so much rescue, Madam, as to liberate you," he answered softly, standing still as several more young ladies exited the room. They too looked sorely in need of a hot bath and clean clothes. "Come away from here. Let us go up on deck. We will all transfer to my vessel where food will be made available. I cannot promise you any kind of luxury, but we will make you as comfortable as possible."

  "Clean clothing?" asked a young girl, her dark hair lank and dirty, hanging in her face. She looked no more than fourteen.

  "Aye, we'll see what we can find."

  "Sir, there are many dresses on board this ship," came another voice, then louder, "and we should make no bones about taking what is rightfully ours. They have taken so much from us, we deserve surely to be repaid."

  "Then of course you must help yourself to whatever you find," Erik said. "Although I will admit I am not surprised. Devanesque has smuggled quite exquisite contraband in the past."

  Erik led the way back to the deck, then watched as each young lady stepped up into the sunlight, shading her eyes as best she could.

  "How long have they been below deck?" he asked Frances.

  "They have not seen the sun in a week," she responded.

  A young blonde lady stepped forward, her eyes narrowed suspiciously and her fists clenched tight. "I am the one who threw the hook at you, Sir."

  Erik bowed to her. "Then I thank you for not maiming me, Madam."

  "How do we know your promises aren't as false as the other one?" she demanded.

  Erik smiled. "A reasonable question." Carefully, he opened his jacket and pulled out a folded square of paper which he handed to the blonde woman. She unfolded it, but then handed it to Frances who read it. Frances looked up at him.

  "You work for the government?"

  "Aye, but let's keep it a secret between us, eh?" He retrieved the paper, refolded it and placed it once more in his breast pocket.

  "Frances, have the women gather what they will and then we will transfer all to my ship."

  "What of the rest of his crew?" she asked in a low voice, darting glances at the men where they sat bound hand and foot on the deck.

  "They will stay on this ship. My men will sail this vessel alongside as we head for land. Tomorrow should see us in Virginia. Be assured you will all be taken into a safe house. Following a trial, arrangements can be made for your return to New York, or for those of you that wish it, employment can be found in Virginia."

  Frances nodded, and a small smile relaxed her lips. "Thank you, Erik Remington. You have indeed saved us."

  ¤¤

  Erik drew the salty air into his lungs. The sea, like a contented wife, was calm today, her depths a translucent deep green.

  It had been a productive week, helping the young women get safely to shore, notifying the authorities and aiding them in obtaining gainful employment. Each of them would have to testify at trial to the treatment received at the hands of the crew of the Silver Siren. Erik just wished Devanesque had been brought to answer for his part in the molestation of those young women, and other women in the past. The man was a slaver, no way in getting around it. And by drowning he'd taken the easy way out. Erik ran his fingers over the scar on his neck. Aye, the man had gotten off way too easily.

  Squinting his eyes against the sun, Erik pondered the unrest he felt within. He had lived most of his life side by side with the many moods of the sea. He knew it as well as his own face, yet now, staring into her depths, he felt shadowed by an inexplicable uneasiness.

  With a wry grimace, Erik admitted the danger he faced daily would encourage many a man to seek a simpler livelihood, yet he’d been a seaman too many years to regret the happenstance which had landed him in this life.

  The sea was where he had always belonged, his own captain, away from the avarice and greed of men tied to the land. Could there be a more beautiful day? The air was fragrantly warm, the sky void of any clouds. Erik was not a man who welcomed restrictions. Life was of too short a duration to be wasted on such. He was wealthy beyond most men's dreams, possessed of many riches. There was neither man nor woman to bring him to port, although he admitted without conceit that many a woman had tried. As owner and captain of the Merry Maiden, he had free license to sail where he chose. His ship was well stocked with provisions, and if need be, he could remain at sea for an additional two years without a soul to mourn his absence.

  "Aye, not a soul." He was truly his father's son. Erik leaned both elbows on the smooth wood rail, eyes half closed as the afternoon sun played its brilliance across his face. He clenched his teeth around a slim black cigar and his own thoughts mocked him. The truth of the matter was he was hard pressed to find his usual verve for life with his brother gone this last year. He laughed aloud, knowing Darien would shake his head if he knew he'd reverted back to the name their philandering father had bestowed upon him. Because old history had come looking for him, his usual ports of call were becoming too dangerous for him. Hence, Rufus LaTour, his former moniker, no longer existed.

  The seas had served him well, aye, very well indeed, but a devil at his back was prodding him to move on. Erik narrowed his eyes on the empty horizon, then looked at the rolling swells of aquamarine waters. The Sargasso Sea lay south east, thought by some to be a death knell to ships that ventured too close. But Erik harbored no such superstition. An image intruded in his mind's eye, that of a black-haired witch with deep, blue eyes. Her lips drew him, he remembered them well, slim fingers beckoning, a woman with fire and promise in her eyes that could make even a sea captain give up the sea.

  The black-haired witch had come to him as they sailed into the Sargasso. His ship had been vulnerable after an attack, sustained damage, and he'd deliberately sailed into the Sargasso to evade the two ships intent on taking the Merry Maiden. He'd known, and was proven right, that the superstitious captains would not follow. They had virtually drifted for seven days in the calm waters, but it had allowed the crew to make repairs as best they could until they made their way back to the warm islands along the coast.

  Seven nights they had explored each other; the laughter, the gentle and fierce kisses, and when she'd vanished, he'd felt as if his soul had been ripped from him. At times he still felt her, imagined he tasted the sweet rose scent of her skin as they'd made love again and again. And she a woman with no name.

  Erik blinked to clear the vision that even after three years still played in his head, knowing full well there was no chance in hell of meeting that one again. He had seen thirty-eight years, yet the witchery of the sea sirens enthralled him as if he were a lad of eighteen and wet behind the ears. The dark-haired witch was the worst, and sometimes he had to remind himself that although haunting, she was not real, merely an apparition conjured of the Sargasso.

  The ship listed to starboard side and the sun disappeared. Erik felt the sharp drop in temperature as a chill mist settled on his bare shoulders.

  "Captain, look-ee off the starboard bow!"

  Erik saw what lay ahead as the excited shout came from the main masthead. A wide funnel of water shot up toward the sky.

  He tossed his cigar into the suddenly gusting wind, the expensive cylinder sucked into wildly churning water. "Jock!" he called out. "Man, do you see what lies ahead?"

  "Aye, Cap'n, I see it at that." Jock’s full reddish whiskers bristled with agitation, his blue eyes focused on the murky fog swirling ahead, a sphere-shaped phenomenon funneling into the water. It reached from the sea to the heavens. Even as they watched, a second spout of water leapt upwards.

  Erik strode across the de
ck to the binnacle. With narrowed eyes on the compasses, he saw the needles twirling in their cards to the right and then the left. The ship seemed on a direct course for the swirling water, the sea a sudden tremendous downward flow rushing them toward the mouth of an ever-widening hole.

  Erik jerked his head around to his chief mate. "Swing away from it, man!" he barked, then took a flying leap and slid over the bulwarks toward the man. Erik grabbed the man's arm and flung him backwards.

  "Are you deaf man? Steer clear." Erik gripped the ship's steering oar in his hand. Speechless, the chief mate turned an ashen face toward his Captain. In confusion, the man stuttered, "I-I cannot, Cap'n. The ship -- it's as if she has a course of her own. The sea, she will entangle us, surely we will all go mad." Indeed, they were being sucked voraciously toward swirling mists, pulled into the whirlpool's center. The wind bit at them ruthlessly. A great roaring fury of sound rose and the lash of water leapt hundreds of feet, striking the stunned crew and whipping across salt-bleached decks.

  His hands fell away from the stiffness of the steering oar. Erik stood fast, his mind working furiously. "Men, lash everything. The wind rises and she is no fair wind. Lash everything, I say." The crew scrambled to shorten sail, hanging precariously as the wind tore at them in the rigging. Something was determined to have them. The ship lurched beneath them, the erupting wind like breath from Lucifer himself. They pitched helplessly from side to side, mesmerized by the maelstrom they were surely about to be drawn into.

  "Mother of God! What beckons us nearer? Surely it is a freak of nature," Erik muttered. "Stand fast men!" he shouted. "Be brave, lads." Howling winds pulled his words away. Salt spray flailed them, burning eyes as they entered the heart of the funnel and were surrounded by a grey void, entombed within the storm's eye, the likes of which they had never before witnessed. Each man held fast to whatever would hold him as the bawling fury raged and screamed. Erik squinted his eyes against the sea's wrath, and of a sudden, all was deafeningly quiet. He shouted to the first mate, but could not hear his voice. Jock stood as if turned to stone, his eyes blank. Each of the crew seemed equally mesmerized, as if forever frozen to blocks of stone.

  Despite the complete absence of all sound, the wind continued to flay them, flinging wave after wave as they were hurled forward. Looking up, Erik could see the sails flapping wildly, yet still he was deaf. In that instant the main sail ripped apart and flew toward them like a great winged creature, surged upwards, only to dive again and be sucked into the hole opening up in the sea. Surely, Erik thought, they too would be torn asunder, flung aside like so much sea debris. Holding fast to anything nailed down, Erik was amazed to see blue skies behind them, the sea an emerald greenish blue from whence they had come -- then it was gone, as if a curtain were dropped, and their vessel was totally engulfed, drawn into the grey void where sky and seas were one. It was difficult to tell which was up and which was down as the dizzying apparition of reality twirled them like a top.

  In the next instant the ship stopped pitching, the sea calmed beneath them with the same suddenness the tempest had come upon them. Gently, the ship rocked like a baby's cradle, and Erik could hear once more as her boards creaked and they glided forward, as if an invisible crew charted a known course. The sky became blue, and what was even more incredible, an unfamiliar land mass lay directly north, dead ahead. He was a seaman well seasoned in his years at sea, but he was totally flummoxed by this play of Mother Nature. His reasoning told him there should have only been open sea around them for the next several days. His amazement was mirrored on the faces of his crew. Thankfully, as he looked around, he saw none had been washed overboard. Not a man was at his post, yet the ship glided smoothly, the sails billowing and flapping urgently, with a complete absence of even the slightest breeze.

  Jock spit upon his forefinger, then held it up before him.

  "What do you think, Jock?" Erik asked.

  "I have heard tales, admittedly wild ones, of holes a ship could fall into, never to be heard again." Cautiously, Jock lowered his voice, "'Tis the Devil's Sea of which I speak."

  "Aye," Erik admitted. "I gave the stories no credence, until now." He pivoted on his heel, jerked his head toward the land. "Do you recognize where we are?" Jock brusquely ordered the crew to man their stations. After the men were dispatched, Jock turned to his captain, eyes slitted with worry. "Captain, a word with you if I might. Needs be the charts must be consulted, for I know not what course we sail."

  "My sentiments also," Erik said grimly. "Come to my quarters." They went below stairs and once inside his quarters, Erik reached for several rolled charts.

  Anxiously, Jock perused the same. After the briefest moment, he looked askance at his captain. Looking upwards, Erik stared at the needle of the tell-tale as it swung from a beam in the ceiling. Flatly, he said, "we sail east-sou-east."

  "The devil we do!" There was a sudden pounding on the cabin door. "That canna be right."

  "Captain!" Erik yanked open the door. Larkin, their youngest seaman, stood there, his face a-fright. "Come aboveboard, sir."

  Erik and Jock bolted back up on deck.

  Larkin pointed urgently at the horizon. Slowly, Erik turned his head and looked directly at the landmass they were all the time drawing closer to. Pulling his eyeglass from its leather pouch, he looked through it.

  Wordlessly, Erik held out the eyeglass to Jock.

  "Holy Mother," Jock muttered, lowering the glass. "What place have we landed in?"

  Erik ran a hand over his jaw, eyes narrowed on the structure rising so majestically against the heavens, its turrets visible beyond jagged cliffs.

  "The sight of land is unsettling, to be sure," he muttered. "But that -- against the horizon I find very unsettling. A medieval castle in its first youth." Erik gripped the smoothly turned deck rail. "We're off shore of England, man, of that there is no doubt."

  Chapter Two

  Date: A.D. 1228, The British Coast

  "The queen seeks your land; indeed, fair one, she lusts after it. You are a prized jewel to be added to an already rich coffer. This fortnight past the queen sends one of her favorites to act in her stead." The old woman paused, a slight widening of withered lips showing black and broken teeth. "You have been betrothed upon edict of Queen Eleanor, Fair Maid of Brittany. All the necessary papers have been signed, you will be joined henceforth when the newly knighted lord arrives. It will be an important alliance to settle the dispute of lands and ensure the queen keeps what is surely hers."

  Iliana drew in her breath, turning away so none could see her face, which must surely be white. She remained perfectly still, fists clenched tightly within the folds of her gown lest anyone see them tremble. She would give them no pleasure in the telling of this news. Carefully, she arranged the gemstones upon her stone mantle. First by size, then by shape, then by color and clarity.

  "Is that all?" she asked coldly, her voice low and measured.

  A second old crone stepped forward, bringing with her the stench of unwashed flesh. In a voice laced with relish, she whispered, "'Tis not all. Do you not wish to know the name of your betrothed?"

  Iliana's insides tightened with dread, knowing the news to be dispatched would not bode well for her. This clutch of hens, the sorcerer Mandrak's witches, delivered only dire news. They seemed determined to undermine her confidence, her authority in her own keep, and there was nothing she could do about it.

  Calmly, Iliana lifted a lovely, clear sapphire, holding it up to the light. Finally, she said, "I see you cannot wait to impart this tender morsel, so be done with it." Her voice maintained its steadiness, as did her hands as she replaced the sapphire upon the rough material covering her mantel. Unwavering, she stared at the hills outside her window, keeping her back to the old crone. The woman hesitated and Iliana hoped her apparent indifference robbed the crone of her earlier zest.

  "You may do well to remain calm now, but were it my daughter --" the old woman’s voice trailed off.

  Ilian
a swung toward the woman. "Be hasty, I have work that awaits me."

  The old woman reared her head back at Iliana’s sudden fierceness, and the cowl resting upon matted white hair fell to her shoulders. "The queen sends Weinroof of Camdork, lately of Sturthwick, to wed ye."

  Iliana knew now the reason for the unknown dread which had dogged her steps this week past. Her most abhorrent fears were rising up and coming to pass. Bile rose to the back of her throat, threatening to gag her. Shaking, her flesh begin to crawl. It could not be so! Any man in Queen Eleanor's kingdom save that one! He was truly a beast, of nature and heritage, wheedling his way into the queen's circle with his deceit and ill-placed favors.

  Showing emotion for the first time, Iliana turned fierce eyes on the old woman and seized her arm. The old woman drew in a frightened breath and tried to back away. The entire group of vultures seemed to retreat as a whole, perched by the door as if ready to take flight. Iliana narrowed her eyes at their air of expectation. She could almost feel them wetting their lips. Surely they did not think she would physically harm the old woman? Did they think she would stoop to the level of Mandrak? It was rumored he ripped young girls apart for pleasure.

  Iliana pulled the old crone closer until their eyes were mere inches apart.

  "How come you by this knowledge?" she demanded.

  "I have seen it as I cast the runes. And yea, we know what goes on about, what is whispered. Needs be, it is he who comes, you may count upon it. He has come to claim ye. First Graziela, and now you."

  When Iliana released the old woman, the witch scuttled for the door.

  "It matters not what news you bring," Iliana said. "I shall wait to see if it is the truth or another falsehood." She turned back to her contemplation of the hills outside, unwilling to let anyone witness the utter devastation which engulfed her.