Time After Time (201 page)

“I believe a formal introduction is in order.” Tristan released the wheel to a slim man whose bald head gleamed in the sunlight and took her hand. “Miss McCreigh, Mrs. Beasley, this is Mr. Wyvern.”

The man nodded in greeting but his eyes never left the horizon and his hands remained steady on the wheel. “Me mates call me ‘Mad Dog,’ ma’am.”

Amused, Caralyn couldn’t help but comment, “That’s an interesting nickname. Why do they call you Mad Dog?”

A blush crept up his face, his ears, and covered his entire bald head. “I’d rather not say, ma’am.”

Tristan led her away and introduced her and Mrs. Beasley to the rest of the crew.

They met Aaron Willis, the cook, whose round stomach and apple cheeks gave testament to the fact that he sampled everything he prepared and enjoyed every morsel. He shook her hand with plump fingers and winked. “Call me Hash. Everyone does.”

To her delight, most everyone they met had a nickname. Thomas Milliron, the ship’s cooper who kept all their barrels and crates in shape, was naturally called “Coop.” Jared Singleton, the carpenter, went by “Woody,” and so it went. Even Doctor Trevelyan had another name. The crew called him “Stitch,” which made him flush.

“Ah, Miss Cara, ye’ve grown into a fine young woman.” A tall, lanky man grasped her hand and held it. “A far cry from the hoyden who ran around in hand-me-down trousers and insisted on climbing the rigging.” He grinned and revealed white teeth beneath the heavy beard covering the bottom half of his face. Caralyn tilted her head as she studied his features. His eyes, chocolate brown, twinkled as his smile widened. His voice lowered and he winked. “I’m disappointed ye don’t remember me. What did ye always want to learn?”

“Knots. I wanted to learn how to tie knots,” she whispered as recognition slowly dawned and pleasure swelled within her. Socrates Callahan had sailed with her father aboard the
Lady Elizabeth
and patiently taught her how to tie knots, among other things. He hadn’t changed much, though it had been a long time since she’d seen him. “Socrates?”

“One and the same.” He took off his hat to reveal a wealth of fire-red hair.

“Oh, it’s been too long, Socrates.” Caralyn giggled and threw herself into his arms. “I haven’t seen you since . . . since I got this scar on my forehead. Papa never forgave you for that, even though it was my fault.”

“And yer father was right.” He wagged a finger in the air and tilted his head as he cocked an eyebrow. “Ye had no place climbin’ under the bowsprit so ye could kiss the mermaid.”

Caralyn rubbed her fingers over the scar as memories assailed her. Vivid visions of clinging to the bowsprit’s ropes so she could press a lucky kiss upon the
Lady Elizabeth’s
figurehead flitted through her mind and caused a shiver to race up her spine. She hadn’t expected a rogue wave to nearly drown her.

If not for Socrates’s timely intervention, she’d have lost her life. Though in the process of his pulling her to safety, she’d nearly cracked her head open on the ship’s brass railing.

Daniel McCreigh had been livid and Socrates had left the ship. A wave of sadness washed over her for her part in the man’s misfortune. “Where did you go after you left the
Lady Elizabeth
?”

He shrugged but his grin remained in place. “I traveled here and there, signed on a couple different ships before I met Cap’n Trey. Been lookin’ for treasure ever since.”

“I see you two know each other,” Captain Trey stated in normal tones, yet Caralyn heard a tinge of something else. Jealousy, perhaps? She glanced in his direction and found her suspicions justified. The captain held himself rigid, his beautiful sherry eyes narrowed as he observed his crewmember.

Socrates bowed slightly. “Miss Cara and I are old friends. I sailed with her father for many years.”

“I still know how to tie knots.” She squeezed his hand one more time and moved on to meet the last member of the
Adventurer’s
crew.

“My second in command and navigator, Graham Alcott.”

“A pleasure, dear lady.” Mr. Alcott kissed her hand.

Though she’d never met the man before, she’d met many like him. Charming, good-natured, always with a smile, his eyes twinkled with merriment and humor. Those like him were fortunate to know the secret: Life is an adventure and should be lived to the fullest. He grinned as he released her hand and she knew, without a doubt, he’d never want for anything.

“Last, but not least, my son, Jeremiah.” Tristan’s hand squeezed the boy’s shoulder. Caralyn caught the gleam of undisguised love in Tristan’s eyes. The glow repeated in the boy’s eyes. “We call him Jemmy, isn’t that right, son?”

Taken by surprise the captain had a son, one who appeared to be about seven or eight years old, Caralyn’s eyes widened and her stomach tensed. A child usually meant a spouse. She recovered quickly by holding out her hand. “Very nice to meet you, Jemmy.”

Jemmy glanced at his father. After a slight nod from the man beside him, the lad extended his hand and shook, though his face turned the brightest pink, and a silly smile parted his lips. The wind ruffled his silky blond hair as well as the sleeves of the loose shirt he wore. Cornflower blue eyes twinkled—with mischief, if Caralyn wasn’t mistaken.

Charmed by the young boy, she grinned. “I have a nephew your age. You must call me Cara.”

Again, the boy looked to his father for reassurance.

“
Miss
Cara,” Tristan corrected as his gaze met hers over Jemmy’s head. He reached for the journal in her hand. “May I?” Their fingers touched and a surge of warmth tingled up her arm. Her heart pounded in her chest from the unexpected heat rushing through her limbs. She inhaled and raised her eyes to his only to exhale in a rush. Never had she met someone who exuded such raw energy, such restrained power, or had such unusual eyes and so dazzling a smile.

He held the leather-bound book high. “This is the journal of Alexander Pembrook. He sailed with Henry Morgan and took part in stealing Izzy’s Fortune from the
Santa Maria
.” He moved with feline grace as he paced before his men, his steps certain as his long legs ate up the distance from one side of the quarterdeck to the other. His deep, rich voice touched every nerve in Caralyn’s body until everyone else on deck blurred in her vision and there was only him.

“He recorded everything, even the fact he stole Izzy’s Fortune from beneath Morgan’s nose.” He paused for effect and eyed each of his crew in turn.

The men started whispering among themselves, the buzz of their voices becoming louder and more intense, their gestures more animated as their enthusiasm for treasure hunting intensified. The captain turned toward her and captured her in the warmth of his gaze. The world as she knew it ceased turning.

That’s when Mrs. Beasley pinched her on the arm. Caralyn jumped and stifled a yelp.

“Get that dreamy look out of your eyes, girl,” the woman demanded in a harsh whisper. “He is not the one for you. Might I remind you of your wedding in April?”

“I am well aware of what my future holds,” Caralyn snapped and rubbed her arm. “I need no reminders of my fate.”

She would have said more but her attention was drawn once more to Captain Trey as he continued to address the crew.

“According to this journal,” he said as he held the book high once more, “Izzy’s Fortune is buried on the Island of the Sleeping Man. Have any of you heard of this island—the name, a rumor, anything?”

The men glanced at each other, their voices raising as they all spoke at once, but no one, not a single soul, had heard of the Island of the Sleeping Man.

Disappointment rushed through Caralyn, made her stomach drop, and a sigh escape her through lips that seemed frozen into a fake smile. Sudden tears blurred her vision and a lump rose to her throat.
It was all for nothing. It doesn’t exist.

Captain Trey approached her and tilted his head. A slight smile curved his lips. “Have faith, Miss McCreigh. Just because the name doesn’t sound familiar doesn’t mean the island doesn’t exist. I believe. Do you?”

Her breath hitched in her chest. “Yes. I believe.”

His hand brushed hers when he gave her the journal. Shocked by the intense heat that singed her fingers, Caralyn jumped and dropped the book. It landed face down on the deck. The spine split and the leather cover cracked even more, tearing away from the rest of the book. Several pages came loose and scattered on the deck.

With a horrified cry, she dropped to her knees and picked up the book but not before a single sheaf of paper, caught by the wind, floated across the quarterdeck and out to sea. Several more would have taken the same course if Mrs. Beasley hadn’t had the foresight to step on them to keep them in place.

Captain Trey dropped to his knees as well and retrieved the pages from beneath Mrs. Beasley’s shoe. Caralyn studied his face, so close to hers. Those sherry-colored eyes bored into her and made her insides flutter.

He started to hand the papers to her then stopped and withdrew a folded piece of parchment from the pile in his hand. “Well, what have we here? This must have been hidden between the leather cover and the book itself.” He unfolded and stretched the parchment across his knee. “I believe we now know what this mysterious island looks like.”

The parchment contained a sketch of a small, idyllic cove, tall palm trees, and a rock formation above the cove that faintly resembled a man, flat on his back with his hands folded across his chest. His belly rose higher than his feet. It was the most beautiful thing Caralyn had ever seen. “Oh,” she breathed as she took the sketch from him with shaking fingers. “The Island of the Sleeping Man. It is real!”

Tristan rose to his feet then held out his hand to help her. Caralyn slipped her fingers between his as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She clutched Alexander Pembrook’s journal to her chest with her other hand and followed as he showed each man the sketch.

“Does this look familiar to anyone?”

Hector de la Vega peered at the drawing in the captain’s hand. “May I?” he asked as he took the sketch and inspected it closely. His features grew serious as he looked from the drawing to Captain Trey. “I know this place,
Capitan
.”

“Do you remember where?”

Caralyn held her breath and prayed.

“
Si
,
Capitan
. It’s one of the islands surrounding my home.” He released the drawing into Captain Trey’s hand and sighed. “But we cannot go there.
Isla de Caja de Muertos
is haunted.”

The captain scoffed. “I don’t believe in ghosts,” he stated, then turned to her and cocked an eyebrow. “Do you?”

Caralyn shook her head. “No, I don’t.”

Tristan grinned as his voice boomed over the quarterdeck. “Mr. Alcott, set a course for Puerto Rico.”

Chapter 6

“Puerto Rico!” Mrs. Beasley’s high-pitched wail broke the silence. Her face paled, except for the spots of color highlighting her cheeks. Caralyn thought the woman might faint.

She grabbed Caralyn’s arm and pulled her away from the captain. The book almost dropped to the ground again, but Caralyn clutched it against her chest.

Mrs. Beasley lowered her voice and hissed, “Have you taken leave of your senses? This is insanity. Utter madness.” Her eyes narrowed and a white ring formed around her mouth as her lips pressed together to form a thin line. “We must be in England by April twentieth. I promised your brother, who, in turn, I’m sure, promised your father.” She shook her head. “All this nonsense about finding a lost treasure is just that, Miss McCreigh. Nonsense. There is no such thing as Izzy’s treasure.”

“Izzy’s Fortune,” Caralyn corrected.

If possible, Mrs. Beasley’s lips clamped together tighter. Brown eyes glittered with displeasure and glared into her. Caralyn tried to take a step back, suddenly fearing the woman would strike her, but thin fingers dug into the soft flesh of her arm to hold her captive instead.

“I understand, Miss McCreigh. I was young once,” Mrs. Beasley admitted in a voice sharp with agitation. “I defied my parents to run away to be with the man I loved. Look what happened to me. Widowed at twenty-eight.” Her jaw jutted out. A muscle throbbed in her cheek and she pointed a finger as she continued her tirade. “Not a farthing to my name. Forced to seek employment. Dragged hither and yon at the whims of a silly girl.”

“I am not silly.” With a jerk, Caralyn freed herself from Mrs. Beasley’s iron grip. Anger simmered within her and made her eyes burn with unshed tears. “And the treasure does exist. It must. All I’m asking for is one more chance to find it. We will be in England by the appointed time whether we find Izzy’s Fortune or not. Captain Trey has given me his word.”

“And you believe him?” Mrs. Beasley’s scowl deepened, her body grew more rigid.

The urge to defend the captain and his honor swelled in Caralyn’s chest. “Yes, I do. We have a signed contract.”

“What do you suppose your future husband will say when he learns of your . . . ah . . . adventure aboard this ship with all these men?”

Caralyn’s stomach knotted. She hadn’t thought of that. What would he say? What would her future husband think of her if she couldn’t buy herself out of the betrothal contract and was forced to go through with the marriage?

Mrs. Beasley jumped on her hesitation. “You see, you haven’t thought that far ahead. You haven’t even considered what will happen once he learns what you’ve done. He may call the marriage off.” She rushed on, pausing only to draw breath. “The scandal could ruin your chances of ever finding a good match, not to mention what the shame and humiliation could do to your father and the rest of your family.”

We could live down the scandal. My parents did
. And yet, she couldn’t stop the little seed of doubt from worming into her brain.
What if I finally find the man who will sweep me off my feet? What if I can’t ever marry because of what I’ve done
?

Like a dog worrying a bone, Mrs. Beasley demanded more answers. Answers Caralyn couldn’t give her. “What about the danger, Miss McCreigh? This venture of yours could be fraught with peril.” A deep furrow formed between Mrs. Beasley’s eyes as her features pulled into an even deeper frown. “Your safety could be in jeopardy. What if you should not survive this endeavor? Have you thought of that? What will I be forced to tell your family then?”