Once Upon a Remembrance

  "Well, you wouldn't do that anyway," she retorted.

  "No," he said with a sigh, "I wouldn't. I’m trying to make you understand the times and consequences of certain actions. As it is, we'll have to muddle through as best we can for the remainder of the trip. After that, we'll have to find another solution."

  "How long will that be?"

  "Approximately two weeks, longer if we run into bad weather."

  "Two weeks!" she protested. "Just to get to New York?"

  "There's several stops along the coast -- not only to sell the cargo, but taking on new cargo." His eyes narrowed. "Perhaps you should have considered your options before stowing away again."

  Two weeks or more in Hawk's company. She would relish the time spent with him.

  "Is there another cabin I could use?" she asked.

  "No." He quirked an eyebrow. "Unless you'd consider bunking with my men."

  "Making it difficult for me isn't going to solve anything. I suggest we figure out a truce."

  They faced each other in the cabin, standing a safe distance from the bed, nearer the big desk where Hawk had placed all his charts and papers.

  He ran his gaze over her from head to toe. Jesus! What the hell had he gotten himself into? She was a whirlwind, hands on hips, her greenish eyes spitting temper. The skirt she wore cinched in at her delicate waist, the white blouse with a ruffled neck heaving over full breasts. Hawk could feel himself responding to her. Dammit, he had a notion to cross the few paces separating them to grab her and show her exactly what kind of truce he wanted. He wanted to kiss her until all that fire was directed toward him in a different way.

  "Isabeau." Her name rasped from his throat. Unbelievably, the challenge in her eyes softened and her lips parted in invitation.

  He took two steps closer, his hands closing on her shoulders. The touch was electric, unbearable and not enough. He felt her unsteady breathing, sensed her uncertainty. God, it felt so right to have her in his arms. Heat and desire and emotion became tangled in his mind, until feeling was the only thing between them.

  "You've been pulling at me from the first moment I looked into your green eyes," he said, holding her trembling body closer.

  He dropped his mouth upon full lips, breathing deeply of her. He could not have withdrawn in that moment if his life depended upon it.

  Hawk pressed her gently into the unyielding wood of the desk, letting her feel the uncontrolled response she aroused in him. Tenderly, he moved his fingers to the nape of her neck, immediately aware of how she leaned toward him as he stroked the delicate skin.

  When he finally drew back, Isabeau's first inclination was to follow him. She wondered at the groan he made, wanting so much for his mouth to play once more over her own. She had never felt so lightheaded and yet so certain that this was where she needed to be. What an incredible sensation to feel so connected to another human being.

  "Isabeau." Her name on his lips, Hawk lowered his head and gently nuzzled the soft skin of her neck. His face brushed her collarbone, then he kissed her ears, his breath warm and tantalizing.

  She shivered, loving this moment of being in his arms. They were playing with fire, a culmination of the pent-up desire that had been building over the last several weeks.

  He lifted his head, blue eyes darkened almost to black. "Amelia --" he gritted out, putting her away from him. "I must think of Amelia. What am I doing?"

  As if she'd been dropped in a vat of ice water, Isabeau jerked away from him. Of course, how did she forget? "Your fiancée, soon to be your wife."

  Angry color reached high on his cheekbones. Perhaps, she thought, he was angry with himself more than with her. Isabeau closed her eyes against him, all too aware of the way her body still trembled, the muscles clenched in her stomach. He had created that reaction in her. Now she felt as if she were spiraling down into a deep, dark tunnel.

  "I shouldn't have responded," she said, looking away, "so I share in the blame." Now she knew what it felt like to touch him. My God, what if they had taken it further? She wanted him, but not with another woman between them.

  Striving for a minimum of control, she twisted fully away from him. "You're right, Hawk -- there's Amelia." 

  "I know," he gritted. "I know."

  He wanted to make love to her. She felt it in every part of her body, but she also sensed she was out of her depth in this time with this man. Hawk shook himself as if releasing them from a spell, his hands tightened into fists.

  Contrarily, she wanted him to push aside all thought of Amelia and reach for her again. They could sink into that bed six feet away and discover everything about each other. Her hands shook just having those runaway thoughts.

  Hawk assumed a mask of control. "I am aware of my obligations, whether I fully remember the full circumstances or not, therefore I apologize for kissing you. I acted too impulsively." He seemed to have regained his control whereas hers remained shattered. "Please forgive me. I will say no more on the subject."

  Isabeau nodded in agreement; what else could she do? Stiffly, she walked away from him, smoothing a hand over her hair, a shiver working its way across her shoulders as she again felt his fingertips at the sensitive nape of her neck.

  Hawk cleared his throat, toying with the rolled charts on his desk. "I have your safety in mind when I say don't be lulled into a false sense of security where my men are concerned. You must still use common sense."

  These were not modern times, she reminded herself soberly. "Of course."

  "We'll share this cabin," he conceded grimly. "As you can see, the quarters are somewhat cramped."

  Isabeau nodded, pretending unconcern. She wasn't bringing up the sleeping arrangements. She could barely handle standing still right now. The back of her legs still trembled.

  "I have duties on deck. I will see you later tonight."

  With the close of the door she knew a part of her life had also closed before it really opened. She rubbed her eyes, angry at the tears that seeped out of them. She had rushed headlong into this; there was no one to blame but herself. The sooner she was able to leave this time, the quicker she could heal from this all-consuming attraction she felt for this man.

  #

  Hawk paused outside the cabin door, his hands clenched on an upright wood beam, wondering how the devil he was going to endure the next two weeks in her close company.

  Acknowledging the responsibility he had to Amelia, he still couldn't dredge up the feelings he knew should be there. From all Malry had told him, before the accident he'd been head over heels in love and eager to wed his fiancée. It would be simpler if he felt about Amelia the way he felt about Isabeau.

  Hitting his fist against his thigh, Hawk admitted life was never simple. He had certainly put himself into a bind, kissing Isabeau. But it had been everything he expected, and more.

  #

  Isabeau lay curled in the warmth of the small tub, enjoying the water as it caressed her skin. It was not very often she took a bath, preferring a quick shower with her busy schedule, but she decided she should do it more often. Since landing in this time she was enjoying  baths more and more. Hawk had personally brought her buckets of steaming water, and she'd found his thoughtfulness unexpectedly touching.

  With a grimace, Isabeau supposed she would have to hurry. She had been in here quite a while and he might return to the cabin at any time.

  Upon the heels of such thought came the unmistakable sound of the key grating in the lock.

  She jerked upright, sloshing water over the sides as the door swung inward. On second thought, she sank back down, arms holding her tightly to the side of the tub as he entered the room.

  "Well," he drawled, kicking the door closed. "Either I'm early or you're late."

  "I'm not finished."

  With a frown he turned from her, reaching for papers on his desk top.

  Looking around, Isabeau saw the shirt he had earlier discarded.

  Stretching her arm, she managed to pull the g
arment toward her and rising, wrapped herself in the fine lawn shirt.

  The material, redolent of his scent, clung to her. Isabeau closed her eyes a moment.

  Hawk cursed himself for not leaving the room. He crushed the chart he held in one hand, hearing the water as it slid from her skin, dripping into the tub. He could imagine the shirt adhering provocatively to each damp curve. He fidgeted, shifting his weight, moving the rest of the papers aside so he could find the one he needed.

  "I-I need a towel," she murmured.

  Hawk indicated the large trunk at the foot of the bed. He couldn't help but stare at her as a trickle of memory was released at the back of his mind. A fleeting image pressed upon him. He saw himself on a horse. Frustrated, it seemed to dissolve as fast as it appeared.

  Hawk thrust back the trunk lid and pulled out toweling. "Here."

  "Thank you." Isabeau grabbed the proffered towel and sat on the bed to dry her hair.

  He dropped to the desk chair, his back to her.

  Hurriedly, she went behind the small screen in the corner and began to dress. When she emerged once more, dressed in the blouse and skirt she had arrived in, his dark blue eyes narrowed. "That birthmark I saw, the one just under your shoulder blade -- it was you," he said slowly, mouth twisted. "The girl at the pool. It was you that day."

  "You must have eyes like a hawk," she said half-jokingly. "I ran because you startled me, and yes, I was scared while I was in such a vulnerable position. It could have been anyone. What else could I have done?"

  "It's dangerous to engage in such an activity. Don't you understand the risk?"

  "I know. My mother --" she hesitated, but recognized the interest in him, so she continued. "My mother caught me skinny dipping when I was younger. I got in a lot of trouble."

  "And your mother?" he asked. "Where is she now?"

  "Home, I guess. My mom never goes far from home."

  "And your father, is he alive?"

  Isabeau caught her breath, her chest tight. She looked down at her feet. "I think so," she said tightly. "I don't know."

  Hawk extended a hand and touched her arm. "I'm sorry," he said. "Please forgive me."

  Isabeau shook her head. "It's a long story. Maybe some time when you're ready to hear it, I'll tell you." She smiled, albeit sadly. "Believing the story requires a leap of faith."

  He sat back, extending his legs before him. "Perhaps I'm ready to hear the story, if you would like to tell it."

  She looked at him doubtfully, then shrugged. "I will tell you the short version. Ever since I was small and first became aware of a family unit, I asked my mother why I didn't have a father like other kids. She told me she and my father loved each other but she was sent away from him by someone she trusted. She never knew why. She found herself pregnant with me at fifteen. She had no family, no knowledge of the place she was brought to. She was utterly alone."

  "Couldn’t she go back and find your father?"

  "No. You see, my mom had been sent through time, but she didn't go back in time, she went to the future. My present time."

  "Are you saying your mother is in the present time while your father is back in time?"

  She could see she was stretching his belief. She nodded.

  "That is what I’m saying." She shook her hair back. "It's a story I've known for a long time, so being confronted with my own time travel dilemma, it wasn't that much of a stretch for me to believe all this. So there it is."

  "Indeed."

  His face gave nothing away.

  Isabeau walked to the door. "I would like to go up on deck," she said briskly. "I'm getting stir crazy down here by myself."

  "I will accompany you." He continued to write in his journal. "Please give me five minutes. And the crew is aware, you are onboard as my guest and using my cabin while I sleep elsewhere."

  She lifted her chin, appreciating his thoughtfulness. "Thank you."

  #

  When they stepped out on deck, the sky was almost charcoal dark except for a thin streak of pink on the far off horizon. There was nothing out there but miles and miles of ocean.

  Isabeau breathed deeply of the salty air, enjoying the chill as it swirled around her.

  A cape settled softly on her shoulders, and she burrowed into it. She looked up at Hawk. "Thank you." Meditatively, she traced the raised decorative braid on the cape with her fingertips.

  He walked to the waist-high rail and she followed, mesmerized by the frothing wake she could barely see in the meager light.

  The deck hands moved silently about the vessel, completing their tasks, unaware or uncaring of her presence at the rear of the ship. The wind flapping in the sails drew her eyes heavenward. The sensation of riding the sea, the constant swell of the ocean, gave rise to an unexpected exhilaration within her. "It's so beautiful," she said, turning to him. He stood silhouetted against the darkening sky, smoking a cigar, she surmised, seeing a faint red glow.

  The air carried a cool, welcome briskness, the sound of birds faintly heard, a calm feeling unlike anything she had ever experienced. Except for her short span of time initially aboard The Lady, she had never had an occasion to travel by sea. Under different circumstances, she knew she would have enjoyed the experience immensely. Now, she had to wonder where it would all end.

  How she wished it could be different. Instead of standing silently with her thoughts, she could be conversing with the devastatingly attractive man beside her. She thought of the earlier kiss, and a hot bite of desire snaked through her stomach. She reminded herself nothing could come of it. She hoped to leave, and Hawk would be here to marry his fiancée. She intended to have a long life in her own time, and she hoped Hawk regained all of his memory and had a happy life also. That's the way it was supposed to be. People from two different times could never live together.

  Isabeau turned into the breeze while thoughts of her mother and friends haunted her. Was she to be returned to her own time or would she remain here? Leaving Hawk created its own torment, and she found herself caught in the middle by her own desires.

  Unsettled, she concentrated on the ship's glide as they forged through grayish depths. She let the sound of the water lull her to a calmer state.

  Isabeau turned to Hawk, saddened that they were wary adversaries, even though he had become important to her. "I wish you could see I'm trying to help you," she whispered.

  "A war rages in me," he acknowledged. "I feel I can trust you, and yet there is so much unexplained."

  "I've told you everything I know." She gripped the wooden rail. "There's nothing else I can do except show you by example I am who I claim to be." She backed up to the rail and looked up at him. "It's a leap of faith, Hawk, believing what I've told you. If you can't trust me, trust your aunt."

  He turned aside, and the cigar stub went in an arc down toward the churning water. "My aunt," he muttered. "Yes, I have been regaled with stories of my childhood these last three months. Do you know she raised me from my teen years on? She has her disturbing moments, but she is a good woman. Why can I not feel inside all that she has been to me?"

  "Memory loss is tricky. Maybe you should speak with another doctor."

  "Malry suggested the same."

  "Do you trust your aunt?" she asked.

  "Yes, yes, I do."

  "Then maybe that, too, is a leap of faith, trusting that what she tells you about time traveling is the truth. What of Malry? You've known him a long time. Would he lead you astray? He must share some of the same history as you and your aunt."

  "Yes, he also has been in my life many years. All this I have told myself on many occasions. That blankness of memory, though, eats at me inside."

  It had grown dark enough she could no longer see his expression, though his voice sounded even more grim.

  "At times I wonder if I shall ever remember."

  She did not have the answers he needed, and just mouthing platitudes wasn't her way.

  He touched her shoulder. "Come back to the cabin, i
f you please. It grows late and the air cooler."

  Isabeau preceded him down the stairs and along the dimly lit corridor to the door of his cabin. Hawk reached around her and pushed open the door.

  "Thank you," she murmured.

  Carefully folding the cape, she draped it over the desk chair.

  "I am sorry if my being here adds to your burden," Isabeau stated. "It appears I'm one more responsibility on your shoulders."

  "I am used to taking care of others," he said lightly.

  She smiled, matching his lighter mood. "You do it well. Those at Hawk's Den have nothing but good things to say about you."

  He bowed his head. "Thank you. Now, you have a choice," he said. "You can have the floor and a blanket or share the bed with me."

  "But --"

  "My men have sought their own quarters. I am up early before first light. They will know what I tell them. I find I don't want to give up a soft bed."

  Chapter Ten

  Isabeau stared at the generous proportions of the bed, then skeptically at his large frame. The lustful images in her head were hard to block, but it was important for her emotional survival that she quell those riotous thoughts.

  He began to unbutton his shirt. "Gentleman's honor, I promise to remain on my side of the bed."

  Isabeau stared at the hair-roughened expanse of chest. On a scale of one to ten, she thought, his body was an eleven, no doubt about it -- and being a photographer, she'd seen many worthy chests.

  "I prefer not to sleep on the floor," she conceded.  "You can have it," she added blithely.

  His laugh let her know that wasn't an option.

   Drawing a steadying breath, Isabeau walked to the bed, drew off her blouse and skirt, placed them carefully at the bottom of the bed, then climbed under the warm covers in her underclothes, scooting over to the wall that anchored the bed. The bed was probably at least double size, and would be comfortable for one person -- or two people who loved each other, she thought soberly. She hoped she didn't get claustrophobic against the wall, or worse, swallow her pride and scoot over to his side. It was certainly not the first time she'd shared a bed with a man, but the circumstances were unique, to say the least.

  Hawk began to unbutton his breeches. She turned toward the wall, yet she followed his stages of undress with her hearing until the bedding dipped slightly, then she lay stiffly in the dark, wondering if he slept naked. She closed her eyes, telling herself to get a grip already.