Carried Away (The Swept Away Saga Book 2) Read online

  Sighing, I rolled out of bed, flipping the television on to some random show I didn’t really watch. Instead, I stared at the bag holding the vase from the Pit. The jar could very well have been the last thing Sam ever touched.

  Curiosity getting the better of me, I wandered over, settling into the armchair and pulling the container out of its cloak. Why would she have picked this up, out of all the other things she could have possibly seen? Had the lid been on it then?

  “What happened to you, Sammy?” I asked quietly, wrapping my fingers gently around the top of the vessel and opening it.

  There was nothing inside, which was both relieving and disappointing. Closing the jar, I placed it back in its carrying case and went to the window. It seemed that the walls were closing in around me, the air escaping from the room. Without another thought, I threw open the door and went outside, sucking in a deep breath.

  The wind had picked up, blowing forcefully through the open walkway I stood on. It felt refreshing. Closing my eyes, I allowed it to just whisk past me, carrying my stress and anxieties with it.

  After a few moments, my skin started to burn. Eyes flying open, I coughed as I inhaled a mouth full of dust; a massive wall of dirt, or a “haboob” as the locals called it, had blown in full force in the time I’d been outside. Surprised, I looked around, amazed that I hadn’t seen or heard any warning about the event.

  Sand clouded my vision, blocking out the entire hotel in an instant. Blinking furiously, I tried to wipe away the offending material, succeeding in only blinding myself further. Chocking, I covered my face, trying to block the tiny rocks and grains scratching ferociously at me. Fingers reaching out in desperation, I coughed, the dirt filling my lungs no matter where I turned. Panicked, I continued to feel for something that would anchor me back to the world and give me some sense of stability.

  I never found it.

  Samantha Greene O’Rourke, 1697

  “Sit up straight, my dear. Ye’re part of the family now and I expect ye to act like it.”

  Frowning, I did as the woman, my own seanmháthair—grandmother—by marriage, ordered. It wasn’t that I didn’t think she knew what she was talking about; she had been a queen, after all. I just didn’t think sitting up straight was as important as other things in the long run.

  “I swear, lettin’ ye run around as part of that pirate crew,” she continued, clicking her tongue at me. “What was the lad thinking?”

  “That I’m his equal? You didn’t have any problem with it when I was here last time.” I replied under my breath, smiling apologetically when she shot me a look that could’ve cut glass.

  “Equal or not, I’ll not have any granddaughter of mine dressed in breeches and gallivanting around the world. If we’d still been in Éire, ye’d have been a princess, and I intend for ye to act that way.”

  “Seanmháthair,” Tristan chuckled from the doorway, announcing his presence. I’d been married to him for a year now and he still took my breath away whenever I saw him. “Leave the lass be, aye?” he continued. “Ye’ll teach the roughness I love about her away; I didn’t marry a proper princess, and I intend for it to stay that way.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Smiling in a teasing manner, I rose, the skirt of my heavy dress brushing across the floor, and moved to kiss him in greeting.

  He was dressed for our official wedding—the one his grandmother insisted we have, just as he’d said she would. We’d been hand fasted a year earlier, which was more than good enough for me, but now we were to be married by a priest and have an official record of our union made. The gold pattern on his white coat suited him very well, seeming to bring out the dark color of his short hair even more than usual. Butterflies formed in my stomach as I looked over his handsome face, strong and tan from being outside so often. He looked like the prince he should have been.

  I had indeed married into royalty.

  Memories flashing back to the night he’d told me about his history, I could almost feel the tossing of the waves we’d endured, sea sickness claiming both of us as we sat in the tiny cabin. His face had been so pale and drawn, but his happy laugh still managed to permeate the gloom of an upset stomach while we spoke. The fact that he was a prince hadn’t really settled in until I met Gran for the first time, however.

  Her dinner party dress was still lodged firmly in my mind, the skirt swishing over the doorway, the look on her face that of pure glee as she saw her grandson standing before her. Throwing her arms around him, she’d clutched him to her as she shouted to the rest of the house that he’d finally arrived for another visit.

  Then her eyes found me, filled with confusion, some distaste, and definitely disapproving of my attire. Dressed as a man and stinking like a pirate, I couldn’t really blame her.

  That was the last time I’d been here, at her home in Southern Africa. After that, events had led to me becoming a member of the pirate crew Tristan commanded. Technically, I’d already been a part of the crew, but they’d all thought I was a man named Samuel. Only a select few really knew that I was Samantha.

  “I didn’t mean anything,” Tristan replied, smiling kindly. “Only that I adore ye just the way ye are.”

  Blushing, I ignored Gran’s snort of humor behind us. “You’re sweet,” I told him, grinning like a school girl.

  “Yer both lovesick,” Gran spoke up. “But we have a wedding to get to!”

  As Tristan and Gran talked about a few details beside me, I felt my mind going back over the past two years and everything I’d been through. The icy cold water of the Treasure Pit gushed over my skin, everything instantly becoming a blur as I found myself, once again, struggling for breath in the torrent of flood waters. The next day, my entire form had felt as though I’d been squeezed out of a toothpaste tube, squished and cut up, my head pounding. Everything was the same—except it wasn’t.

  Hauled onto a ship in the bay, I was quickly kidnapped by pirates, Tristan taking orders from his captain to bring me along. My heart still sputtered when I thought of how scared I’d been, how unbelieving that I wasn’t being pranked by a group of talented actors.

  Fear of being lost in another time quickly became fear of rape, the face of Captain Rodrigues still etched in my mind. His drunken laugh would sometimes echo through my dreams, his slackened face drooling toward me as Tristan continued to pour alcohol for him, not stopping until the man passed out. Whenever I was visited by those memories, the comfort of Tristan’s touch would push them away. He’d been my only ally then, and he was the best one I had now.

  Fate had separated us for a time, when I was put ashore in Spain, but it led me to another man, one who would help me facilitate my disguise as a male.

  Grinning, I thought of Father Torres and his excited spirit. He’d protected me when marauders took the ship we were on—the very crew that had kidnapped me across the ocean. Tristan had recognized me instantly and helped me join the crew as Samuel. Those months that we spent on the water, while terrifying, were some of my fondest memories. We’d fallen in love then, and he had confessed his feelings to me right here in his grandmother’s garden.

  Thinking of his words, of the way he’d so desperately and truthfully told me he loved me, I smiled to myself. Glancing up, I watched as he talked animatedly with Gran, his happiness filling the room. We were already married in my eyes; today was a formality for religion’s sake. We were already bound together, by both affection and blood.

  Captain Rodrigues’s face slammed back into my mind, his putrid breath washing over me, his fingers clawing at my clothes as I screamed for help. My disguise was busted; he knew who I was, that I’d been hiding under his nose for months. Fear wrapped around me, my breath catching, the memory so strong that I felt like passing out all over again.

  “Are ye alright, lass?” Tristan asked in alarm, immediately coming to my side. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I replied quickly, brushing the horrifying incident away. “I was just thinking about how
we got here.” Smiling tightly, I motioned for him to go back to his conversation.

  Hesitating, he watched me for a second longer, as if to make sure I was telling the truth, and then turned to his grandmother, picking up where they had left off.

  Sighing slightly, I mentally pushed the attempted rape further into the depths of my mind. Tristan had arrived in time, eyes blazing, a challenge on his lips.

  Captain Rodrigues had been dead within a half hour, beaten in a duel. It felt like there wasn’t a man alive who wasn’t grateful to see him gone, except for Thomas Randall.

  Thomas.

  Frowning, I easily brought the man’s image up in my mind, his dark, greasy hair, and the evil look in his eyes. He’d burned a whole village to the ground, etching his name into the bodies as a calling card, ransacked another settlement, burned our ship and sank her to the bottom of the ocean, kidnapped a member of the crew and tortured him, among many other things. Every time I thought of him, my skin grew cold and clammy. We would only be safe and worry free when he was dead.

  All of this had happened because my dad wanted to know what was at the bottom of the Treasure Pit. I didn’t blame him for looking. It was a mystery that deserved to be solved. However, it had taken both of our lives in return. While he’d been laid to rest, everything I knew was suddenly gone. I’d opened the vase in the bottom of the vault—which I would later learn was technically not a vase at all, but was the ancient artifact often referred to as Pandora’s Box—and, after almost drowning, I woke up on the beach surrounded by pirates.

  If only I’d known then the adventure I was about to set out on. I’d probably still have been as terrified. It would have been nice to know that I was embarking with more than pirates, though.

  Glancing back at the man I loved, I felt wonder at who he truly was, yet again. Never in my life did I think I would meet a member of The Order of the Knights Templar. Yet, here I was, married to one. His form practically exuded all of the regal and important titles he carried. Randall, on the other hand, had belonged to the same order and showed no such honor or peace.

  Power. That was what came to mind whenever I thought of our common enemy. Not because he possessed it, but because he wanted it so desperately. His eyes always seemed to be searching out the treasure the Order was hiding on Oak Isle, never able to discover how to get to it.

  His face glared at me now, the image backed by the men who had joined him, the group that called themselves Black Knights. They looked like villainous traitors to me, covered in the blood of their victims. They were the reason we’d returned to Oak Isle, to fight for our lives and the protection of the artifacts hidden there.

  The island was finally in the condition it would be when the Treasure Pit would be discovered, a little less than one hundred years from now. Thomas had gotten away with a few members of his crew, but the pit he’d dug was filled in and booby-trapped by Knights who stood on the side of good. I’d supplied them with all my knowledge of what it was like in my own time and they followed my instructions to the letter. It felt strange, to finally know exactly how everything worked.

  Sometimes, I wondered if Dad had been able to solve the riddle that had beaten every man for two hundred years because I was the one that set it up. Time had come in a full circle in that aspect.

  If only he’d been able to see what he’d been searching for before he died.

  “The lass is going to meet the King of France, Tristan,” Gran’s voice said, interrupting my thoughts. “She should be presented and act as who she is now.”

  “She’ll be fine,” he assured her. “We spoke about it much on the journey here. Ye forget, Gran, we’ve known we were going to France for over a month.”

  “Tristan has been educating me on how things work with the Order and what’s considered polite,” I added, wanting to help him as well as defend myself. “I may live and dress like a pirate, but I do know how to act like a lady.”

  Gran contemplated the two of us, Tristan’s arm around my waist, and then threw her hands up in the air. “Ye’re as stubborn as my grandson,” she said, shaking her head. “Lord help ye face the courts. Have ye even been to France?”

  “I haven’t,” I replied smoothly. “But I know what an important visit this is.”

  “The head of the Order!” She looked like she wasn’t ready to give up any time soon. “The Grandmaster is an advisor to the King! Everything you do will reflect back on our family, in the public eye and the society that we are all secretly tied to. Do you not understand how important it is for you to shine as brightly as possible?”

  “With all due respect, Gran, Sam has helped the Order in more ways than one. With her history, I’m sure meeting a King will be just another day for her.” Tristan chuckled, leaning over and kissing my forehead. “We leave tomorrow. Unless ye have more ye’d like to harp on her about?”

  Gran’s face softened, and she gave him a small smile. “I know ye picked well, lad. I can’t help the mothering nature I have. Go now, to the church. I’ll see the two of ye wed properly before ye take off to save the world again.” She turned to me, crossing the space and taking my hands. “Ye’ll do well, lass. I’m not used to having more than one grandchild to take care of. I apologize if I offended ye.”

  “You didn’t,” I replied warmly, laughing at her suddenly polite nature. “You want what’s best for Tristan. I’ll do whatever I can to help him, including wearing a horrid corset every day so I look proper.”

  She laughed, pulling me into a tight hug. “I know ye’ll take good care of him. Ye’ve been doing it for a year already.” Stepping away, she looked me over again, smiling at the gold fabric of my dress. “Ye look beautiful, lass. Now, off with ye! I want to have a word with my grandson.”

  Nodding, I stepped out of the room, pausing in the hall as she started speaking to him.

  “She’s a spitfire spirit, that much is certain,” she said to him, sighing. “But she loves ye. Any fool can see that.”

  “She’s a good soul, Gran,” Tristan agreed. “The Lord has put her through a lot.”

  “And ye’ll still not tell me what it is the Order knows about her? Brian would only say that it was surprising, but not to be shared. I’m the lass’s grandmother now. Surely, I can be trusted?” She sounded almost pleading, which I immediately recognized as a tactic to get information. Tristan also seemed to grasp it.

  “Gran.” He laughed, sighing happily. “I’ll say nothing. If Sam wants to tell ye in the future, that will be her choice. I’ll not take that from her.”

  “Don’t be keeping secrets from your seanmháthair now, lad,” she scolded. “Is she breeding? Ye’ve been married for a year and no babe to warm yer family with. She can conceive, can’t she?”

  “Aye, I’m sure she can. We don’t want a baby yet. Not while we’re on the hunt for Randall. Ye can understand that, can’t ye?”

  “Hmph.” She didn’t sound too happy about that, but there was no more argument from her. After a few moments silence, she cleared her throat and dismissed him, an excited sadness to her voice. “Go and be with yer wife. Heaven knows ye’ve met yer match in her.”

  The ship rocked gently on the small waves, lulling me into a kind of restfulness that I never wanted to end. Tristan lay beside me, one arm thrown over my waist, chin resting on the top of my head. The tiny area we’d been allotted was cozy and warm, the wood beams that sat around the makeshift pallet bed seeming to stretch up into forever. Various parcels sat around us, waiting to be delivered to the harbormaster when we arrived at our destination. I was grateful for the space, though, and the privacy it allowed us, cramped as it might be.

  “Sam?”

  “Hmm?” Snuggling deeper into his embrace, I kissed the fabric of his shirt, breathing in his scent. Though our trip had been short, I enjoyed the time spent with his family. Ever since leaving Oak Isle, Tristan had been absorbed in finding Thomas, talking with other members of the Order and questioning those who might have seen or heard from him
. During the month we’d spent on our current trip, he’d done the same. It would be worse in Paris; he didn’t have to tell me that. With the unlimited number of Knights there, and the intelligence they possessed, he was sure to be preoccupied with what he felt was his duty.

  I, on the other hand, would be expected to spend occasions with the other ladies, talking about dresses and raising children, or whatever it was the women talked about now. Tristan had sounded somewhat sorry when he told me. When it was just he and I, we lived by a system of trust and equality. The one instance he’d broken that vow had almost cost us our marriage. So, while he would tell me everything that was discussed in the secret, male-only society, I wasn’t allowed to be part of the group, even though a good number of the leaders now knew that I was from the future.

  Apparently, I was another special treasure to be kept away from the world. My history was addressed when they needed something from me, like the plans to booby trap the Treasure Pit. I didn’t mind helping, but I was miffed that I was still being treated as a “delicate woman,” as it had been put to me on our voyage to South Africa.

  “What are ye thinking?” Tristan mumbled into my hair, kissing it softly. “Ye’ve not spoken for a while.”

  “I was sleeping.” I yawned. “And then I was thinking about how things will be for the next little while.”

  “Aye. Don’t worry about it, savvy? We won’t be there very long, I’m sure. Of course, we’ll have to make the proper appearances, but I don’t intend to do much more. Randall needs found, everyone agrees on that.” Rolling away slightly, he glanced at me, smiling his handsome grin. “It will be nice to take ye away and let ye be yerself again. Every time I see ye in a dress, I want to laugh!”

  Playfully, I slapped him on the shoulder, chuckling. “What, I don’t look good in a dress?”

  “Not that,” he stated, grabbing my hand and holding it against his chest. “Ye’re downright gorgeous, lass. It’s the thought of ye wielding a sword in such a contraption that humors me. How would such a fierce, protective thing move about like ye do? Ye’re the first woman I ever met who I thought was more suited to pants.” Raising my captured fingers to his lips, he kissed them softly, his eyes burning.