Wherever You Are by Sharon Cullen Read Free Book Online Page B

pushing away from the bed but keeping one hand on it as she raised herself. It took a few moments for the room to stop spinning. She realized she was clutching the dagger again. What possessed him to hand her a weapon?
    Because you’re no match against him. Of course. She’d known from the first moment she saw him on the deck of the burning ship with rainwater running down him that he was deadly with those dark, fathomless eyes and muscular body. Just because he tended her back and nursed her wounds didn’t mean she could trust him. She’d keep the weapon close at hand.
    She pushed away from the bed and took a deep breath, testing her strength and her ability to stand upright for more than a few seconds without passing out. The room didn’t tilt and she took a shaky step forward.
    She needed clothes.
    Her hand on the wall for balance, she made her way to the foot locker at the end of the bed and lifted the lid. The hinges creaked and for a moment she had a flash of déjà vu. She paused and thought hard but all she could bring to mind was a trunk in a cluttered room and a strange mixture of fear and sadness. Frustrated, she tucked the memory away with all the other snatches of memories and knelt down.
    From out of the trunk she withdrew a large white shirt with flowing sleeves and a tie at the neck. She put it on carefully, moving slowly so as not to reopen the healing wounds. Next she pulled out a pair of pants, but they weren’t like the pants she normally wore. These would only come to a man’s knees but for her they were more like capris. They buttoned at the bottom but she left them undone. They were crudely made and hand stitched, the fabric rough. What she’d give for Levi’s right now. She stood a little too fast. Her head swam but she yanked the pants on anyway. They were too big around the waist and she had to bunch them in her hand to keep them from falling around her ankles, but at this point she’d take what she could get.
    She noticed a book tucked into the bottom of the locker. She pulled it out and flipped through it.
    February 11th, 1727—Winds calm, SSW, course 71ºS-43ºW. Fresh water low. Spotted sail to the nor’west 3 pm.
    Juliana sat back on her heels. February 11, 1727. She fingered the thick pages. This wasn’t your everyday notebook paper but yellow and stiff. Like parchment.
    She leafed through the rest of the book but found more of the same written in what had to be a quill and ink. There were blotches here and there where the ink had been too thick, a few marks that looked as if someone had sprinkled water on it. Some food stains. She touched the dried ink.
    Someone had written this, someone who ate and drank and dipped quills into an inkpot to record the day’s activities. Someone who lived hundreds of years before she was born.
    Carefully she closed the book and replaced it, more troubled than she’d been before.
    She went to the small desk where a map lay open. The shape of Florida was huge in comparison to the rest of the United States and America dropped off into nothing past Ohio.
    As if it was still uncharted.
    She brushed her hand across the map. A strange-looking tool that looked to be the forerunner of the compass lay next to it and she touched it with the tip of her finger.
    She pressed her fist against her stomach. Too many things added up for this not to be true yet how could it be?
    How did she end up in the eighteenth century?

Chapter Five
    Patrick pointed toward the northeast. Morgan lifted his scope, searched the horizon and cursed silently. “How long has that sloop been following us?”
    “Just spotted ’im.”
    “Colors?”
    Patrick shrugged. “None we can make out, but she’s still too far away t’ tell.”
    “Best guess?”
    “Pirates.”
    That had been his guess as well. Damn. He looked up at the sails of his ship. “How long have we been becalmed?”
    “Half hour at most.”
    Morgan swiveled around and searched for the Eve , the ship Isabelle and