Looking for a Hero by Patti Berg Page B

taken anotherturn. You would not believe the truth if I told you, for I scarce believe it myself.”
    â€œTry me.”
    â€œCome close, Katie. I fear you cannot hear me from such a distance.”
    â€œI have perfect hearing. What’s your story?”
    â€œI’ve come here from another time—long before you were born.” He took a deep breath; his eyes fluttered closed, then opened again. “There was a storm at sea. The waves were frightening, and my ship— Satan’s Revenge —was being ripped apart. Suddenly I was struck by lightning and tossed overboard. By the time I washed up on the island, nearly three hundred years had passed.”
    â€œYou mean to tell me you traveled through time?”
    â€œAye. As difficult as it is to believe.”
    â€œOh, it’s quite difficult to believe.”
    Again he gasped for breath, and through the sheet Kate could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest. He was feverish. He was ill. No wonder he was telling such tales.
    â€œWhy don’t you go back to sleep, Mr. Farrell? You’ll feel better when you wake up. Maybe then you’ll remember what really happened to you.”
    â€œI know quite well, Kate. I was born in the year of our Lord sixteen hundred and seventy-three. It was seventeen hundred and two when my ship and I were separated, and just today I was informed that it’s nearly the year two thousand.”
    â€œAnd I suppose you’re a real pirate, too?”
    â€œAye, madam, although I was once a gentleman.”
    His eyes closed, and she stood by the window, waiting, watching, hoping he’d go back to sleep. When his breathing had steadied and the set of his jaw had relaxed, she moved quietly toward him. She untied the unnecessary patch and tucked it into the pocket of her shorts, wrung out another cool washcloth, and replaced the warm one on his forehead.
    â€œI would have you believe me, Katie,” he whispered.
    She couldn’t help but smile, and on unconscious impulse, she caressed her palm over his cheek.
    â€œSleep, Mr. Farrell. Just sleep.”

Chapter 7
    Though thy slumber may be deep ,
    Yet thy spirit shall not sleep…
    L ORD B YRON , M ANFRED: A CT I
    F or long hours he tossed and turned, his body aching, shivering with a chill so deep in his bones he believed he was sailing on the godforsaken North Atlantic, and that he’d never know warmth again.
    Somewhere near, he heard the chirp of birds, the distinctive rustle of wind through the shaggy-headed palms, and the unmistakable bliss of children’s laughter.
    And then something teased his nose, a pleasant memory of a sweet-smelling woman with long and wild honey-colored hair and eyes that sparkled like the rarest of emeralds.
    Comforting hands spread over his chest, his stomach, pulling back the bed coverings beforedeft fingers loosened the buttons on his trousers, spreading a heat through his loins that he had not the strength to enjoy. Opening his eyes, he saw Kate hovering above him like a celestial spirit encircled in gold.
    â€œI didn’t mean to wake you, Mr. Farrell. I just want to make you more comfortable. Please. Go back to sleep.”
    He managed to smile, lifting a weak, almost useless hand to her cheek. So soft. So smooth. “Lie down with me, Katie. ’Tis cold I am. So very cold.”
    Gentle laughter rang through his ears. She stepped back, letting his hand fall heavily to his chest.
    â€œI’d rather run you through with your cutlass,” she stated flatly, tugging not too gently on the ends of his trousers. “Now, go back to sleep.”
    Ah, but the fire in her words soothed his pain and warmed his soul. He would sleep peacefully knowing she was near.
    But the peace he sought would not come so easily.
    â€œPlease, Morgan, please. Don’t let him hurt me.”
    He jerked at the chains, twisting and turning, but the bonds at his arms and legs were far too strong, and he could