Sea Panther (Crimson Storm) (22 page)

Port Royal Harbor, Jamaica, 1715

R
obert landed
hard, the wind knocked from his lungs. A haze engulfed him. Distorted voices
teased his mind.
Kimberly
. Where was Kimberly?

He shook off the numb fog. Sensation returned slowly. With
it, long forgotten memories. The touch of wet homespun against skin. The
comforting strength of the oak deck beneath his arse. And pain. Skull splitting
pain.

His head throbbed. His chest ached. His hands stung.

He inhaled, but found it difficult to breath. Rough hands
grasped his shoulders and dragged him into a sitting position. Seawater
splashed over his face, ran into his eyes. He choked and coughed and spit out
foul swill.

With effort, he cracked crusty lids. His eyes burned, as did
his palms. When his stinging vision cleared, he held up his hands to see why
they hurt. He stared in surprise at the unexpected cuts and rope burns. Slashes
across the palms oozed blood.

His blood? He reached deep within for the healing power of
the vampire. Nothing.
Satan be damned
. He was no longer vampire. He
searched his mind for the panther and found no beast within. The animal was
gone. He’d really traveled to the past, to a time before the curse.

A coughing spasm wracked his lungs. Through tears, he
glimpsed his grinning men. The quartermaster, Mr. Cox, held the wooden bucket
from which they had doused him. Robert shook his wet hair like a shaggy dog,
spraying those who didn’t scramble away with enough speed.

His hair? What the devil? Wet strands stuck to his face. No
longer clipped close to the scalp, his hair hung long, the way it had when he’d
been a young man.

“What happened?” Robert demanded. A strangled chuckle
escaped Cox. He reached out and Robert grabbed hold of the offered hand,
allowing the man to pull him to his feet.

“Ye were fixin’ the riggin’ and fell.”

“Where is Kimberly?”

The seamen glanced at each other uneasily.

“Kimberly?” Jamie Cox looked dubious.

“Aye. The woman with whom I traveled.”

“Captain, ye must have done damage to that hard head of yers
when ye fell if yer thinkin’ there is a woman aboard this ship.”

A tight band wrapped around Robert’s heart and squeezed.
Where in blazing hell was Kimberly?

“Kimberly!” The name tore from his throat and he shouted it
into the wind.

Fear crawled around in his gut, stealing his breath.
Panting, feeling frantic, Robert grabbed the nearest crewmember by the front of
the shirt and lifted him above the deck until his feet dangled. “You have not
seen my woman?”

The man’s eyes bugged, and he shook his head.

Strong arms seized Robert from behind and dragged him back.
Even though he no longer felt the panther within, a growl erupted from deep in
his chest and he dropped the mate to fight off the one who held him in a
powerful grip.

“What the hell has come over ye, Captain?” Cox spoke close
to his ear. Like a switch snapping on, sanity returned.

 “Release me,” Robert said, the tone a quiet demand.

Cox’s hold lessened. Robert shrugged off the man’s grasp,
inhaled a deep breath and looked at the wary men scrutinizing him as if he were
crazy. He spun and pinned the quartermaster with a fierce stare. “Where is my
cabin lad?”

The man shifted his feet, glanced at the gaping men, and
murmured softly, “Ye dinnae have a cabin lad, Captain.”

“Aye, I do.” Robert swept a glare over the men watching him.
“Dinnae you have work?”

The seamen scattered, mumbling under their breaths as they
went back to their duties. Bloody Hell. He acted a fool in front of the crew.
He had better come up with a plausible reason why he’d thought there were a
woman and a cabin lad aboard.

“Mr. Cox, precede me to my cabin and I will explain about my
missing stowaway.”

* * *

A couple of days passed yet Robert didn’t find Kimberly.
Fear clawed at his insides. She had better be safe somewhere or he would kill
anyone who dared harm her.

And if she didn’t make it through the time warp? Well, he
refused to even consider the consequences. His fingers curled into fists from
angry frustration as he followed Mr. Page along the quiet corridor to the
Governor’s private office.

“Your cabin lad is lost, you say?”

“Aye. Have there been any reports of a lad, a stranger to
these climes, wandering about?”

Mr. Page made a nasal sound, a snort of sorts. “Lads run
away all the time and disappear. Many take up with pirates.”

“My nephew did not run away.”

“That as it may be, we have heard nary a tale.” He stopped
in front of a small door. “Here we are.”

Robert rubbed the ache in his chest and clenched his jaw. No
one he’d spoken to admitted knowing anything about a strange lad roaming the
island. What had happened to Kimberly?

“Captain MacLachlan to meet with you, Your Excellency,” said
the somber little deputy secretary after he opened the door.

Robert ducked his head and entered sideways to fit through
the narrow threshold to the office.

His Excellency, Lord Archibald Hamilton, Governor of
Jamaica, stood and dipped into a quick bow. “Welcome.”

Even though much shorter than Robert, and slighter of build,
the man exuded his noble lineage by the arrogant way he held himself. His
tightly curled brown wig hung loose to the shoulders of a faultlessly tailored
long coat of the finest blue cloth. Dark judgmental eyes peered at Robert from
above a sharp nose and full lips.

“Thank you, Your Excellency.” Robert bent at the waist and
held the bow for a moment longer than the governor had as a sign of respect.

“Archibald. Please. Use my given name, and I shall address
you by yours. Nae need for formality between fellow Scots of a like mind. At
least, not here in my office. What brings you to our island, Robert?”

Robert tilted his head, indicating the deputy secretary.

“There is no need for you to remain, Mr. Page. Go about your
business.” Archibald followed the man to the door.

“May we speak freely?” Robert asked once Mr. Page’s
footsteps faded.

Archibald closed the heavy wooden door. He motioned to a
chair for Robert and sat behind the ornately carved desk. “Proceed.”

Robert undid the lower buttons of both his long coat and
waistcoat and, flipping the flaps out of the way, sat.
Damn bothersome
garments
. He brushed a piece of lint from his breeches and looked into the
expectant gaze of His Excellency.

“Campbell’s men dogged my steps in Glasgow, making it
impossible for me to further our cause,” Robert said. “Arrest was eminent. My
brother feared they’d make an example of me to discourage other would be
rebels.”

He inwardly cringed, never having liked to think of what
he’d risked, running arms from France to Scotland. A gruesome punishment
awaited a convicted rebel in the Britain of the early eighteenth century. Hung
by the neck until you passed out. Revived. Forced to watch as they ripped out
your entrails. Then to be sliced into pieces for public exhibition. Not a
romantic fate.

Though one faced by many a Scottish hero.

“My brother thought you might find a use for my ship and my
services.”

“How is Lachlan?”

“Ach, well, he plans to lead the MacLachlan men when James
lands in Britain.”

“Splendid. What do you ken of my plan to finance a wee
Scottish navy with His Majesty’s funds?”

Robert made an effort to appear surprised. He’d sailed
around the world, partaking of despicable activities after his turning, but
actually knew a great deal about Lord Hamilton’s Jacobite plotting, having had
nearly three hundred years to research and analyze every historical detail of
the failed rebellion. He wanted to tell his fellow compatriot that their
efforts would only cause heartache. However, Patrice’s notes provided a stern
warning not to change history.

He must only alter events directly related to the Voodoo
curse.

There had been a time, before he knew better, when he
believed participating in the secret plot to overthrow King George I of Britain
and replace him with James Stuart, the Old Chevalier, a noble duty. Now
Robert’s life was more complicated.

He would play his small role in history, find Kimberly, stop
the Voodoo priestess from performing the curse, and return Kimberly to her own
time. His gut tightened. He’d never explained his belief to her. But he felt
certain, once the curse was reversed, he would live the rest of his days in the
eighteenth century without the love of his life. Maybe he would even die for
the Jacobite cause.

Because of the curse, Robert’s name didn’t appear anywhere
within the written history of the time. He often wondered what role he was to
have played had LaRoux and Zola not interfered.

“Would it meet with your approval to serve as a privateer in
my fleet?” Archibald’s question jolted him from the morbid thoughts. He sat up
straight to listen.

“I see I’ve spurred your interest.” The governor smiled
broadly before continuing. “When the local merchants came to me, complaining of
the seizing of Jamaican vessels by Spanish armed pirates and demanded of me
armed protection,” his dark blue eyes gleamed with excitement, “it occurred to
me to replace the naval warships that have been called back to Britain with
privateers.”

The sound of footsteps from outside the closed door caused
both men to stare at the heavy wood panel.

“Perhaps we should continue our discussion in my library at
home this evening.”

“Aye.” Robert stood.

“Of course, you’ll join us for dinner afterward. My lovely
wife, Anne, has planned a soiree to introduce her new ward to our friends and
associates. The gathering will provide the opportunity to meet both our
supporters and our adversaries.”

Robert swept into a low bow. “I look forward to the
occasion.”

* * *

While attending the governor that evening at his great house,
fear festered within Robert’s soul. What had happened to Kimberly?

A humid waft of air rustled the sheer curtains at the open
window and twilight shadows played across the garden beyond. The alluring
floral perfume, heavy in the air, twisted Robert’s gut. He needed to find her.
Protect her. Make things right for her.

He’d made a bad decision. He never should have allowed her
to attempt passage to the past. She’d been a brave lass. He prayed to find
Kimberly soon, unharmed, and send her back to the future where she belonged.

Though the separation would break his heart.

Carefully handling the glass in his hand to avoid spilling
its contents, he turned from the tropical display of pristine white blooms and
dense foliage. Away from thoughts of his love. He needed to concentrate in
order to play his role tonight. Human wolves prowled the room.

Memories of his past—present—were faulty at best. The only
recourse for how to react to the emerging events was to rely on instinct.
Earlier, before the others had arrived, he’d agreed to accept the commission
offered by Lord Hamilton. Robert wasn’t sure where such an act would lead.

He prayed he’d know when and where it was the right time and
place to alter events that would keep Zola from performing the Voodoo curse. He
must stop her from unleashing Séaghdha on the unsuspecting world to rampage and
bring about destruction.

Robert eased his grip on the glass before he broke the damn
thing. Ivory lace draped his wrists, spilling from the turned back cuffs—heavy
with embroidery—of the knee-length green velvet long coat he wore. He’d
forgotten how much he despised the formal garments of his past. Especially the
silly stockings. He missed his black jeans, silk shirts, and sleek leather
jacket. Robert tapped a foot. He’d much prefer to be wearing heavy modern boots
rather than the ridiculous buckled shoes that pinched. He swallowed hard and
kept the grimace from showing on his face.

He had to keep a clear mind. On the morrow, he would join
the ranks of Captains Barnet, Jennings, and Fernando. Robert and his crew would
harass the Spaniards and hunt pirates and, if luck was with him, secure a
bounty to help finance Archibald’s navy. However, for the moment, he would
glean all he could from the proceedings.

Robert discreetly observed the political interplay from
where he leaned against the library wall, mastering a pose of boredom,
pretending a greater interest in the ruby liquid in the tumbler in his hand
than in the dozen well-dressed men attending His Excellency. It was amazing how
quickly the game of intrigue came back to him. He enjoyed another taste of
wine, savoring its rich flavor, something he couldn’t enjoy as a vampire
shifter without the wall of his stomach shredding to pieces. He drank the last
of it and deposited the empty glass on a passing server’s tray.

Dressed in pristine livery, the ebony-skinned man didn’t
flex a facial muscle as he moved on.

Robert’s gaze drifted to Mr. Heywood, a member of the
governing council, and Robert quickly decided the man wasn’t to be trusted. He
surveyed the others. Several of the men, merchants mostly, complained to the
governor, demanding immediate action to protect the trade of the island from
piratical design.

“The hostilities perpetrated by the Spanish backed pirates
continue unhindered. The seas are now more perilous than during the war.” The
rotund Mr. Proctor’s voice rose and his face mottled to a deep purple. “And
that barbarous Frenchman, Jacque LaRoux, terrorizes the waters off our coast.
Last month alone, I lost a large vessel richly laden with cargo to that
cutthroat.”

LaRoux
. A tremor ran along Robert’s spine and he
gnashed his molars. His fateful run-in with the notorious red-haired Frenchman
had set into action the events that changed Robert’s life for eternity. Several
years ago, prior to the time where he currently found himself, Robert had come
upon the corsair while running goods—tobacco mostly—between Virginia and
Glasgow.