Tumbling Through Time by Gwyn Cready

Author:Gwyn Cready [Cready, Gwyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Ship Captains, Adriatic Sea, Man-Woman Relationships, Pirates - 18th Century, Pirates, Divorced Women, Contemporary, General, Romance, Lawyers, Fiction, Time Travel, Love Stories
ISBN: 9781416541158
Google: vz1k2SXnlW8C
Amazon: 1416541152
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 2008-01-29T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

I groaned happily as my trans-century travel agent poured me into a gelatinous but upright mass against a wall. There was nothing like two orgasms in a row to really put the world in a happy place. I didn’t care if I was tied to the mast naked. Okay, I would in a minute. But for sixty wonderful seconds, I was tranquilly trouble-free.

The blood began returning to my brain, and I clutched my sides. No nausea, no turbulence, no water landing. And clothes—not the ones I’d left wearing, of course, but a crimson silk gown with black fringe that thrust my breasts so far up and out it looked like I was carrying a window box full of water balloons.

I was sitting on Drum’s bed; of that I was sure. I could smell the salt-laced sea air, feel the warm wind on my face and hear the ungodly noise of sailors scrubbing the deck above me.

The room was still, though. No Drum. I didn’t like that.

And the ship wasn’t moving. I didn’t like that either.

I opened my eyes.

Oh, shit.

Not Drum’s quarters. If the abundance of velvet and silver plate weren’t clear indications, the bulkheaded walls left me no doubt.

I made my way to the stern windows, grabbing chair backs and desktops to support my wobbly legs. We were in a teaming dockyard at the edge of a bustling town, a town completely overshadowed by the huge mountain towering over it like a slightly bent pyramid.

City on a rock? Oh, Lord, we were in Gibraltar!

Flinging open the stern balcony door, I let loose my best taxi whistle. A red-headed sailor on the dock below turned around.

“What day is it?” I called. “Day and month?”

“Twenty-third of April, ma’am.”

Holy crap! More than two weeks had elapsed! Had more than two weeks elapsed at home? Drum’s trial was on April 24. Barcelona was saved April 27.

The height of the stern balcony made it too far to jump, though from the way the sailor was admiring the cut of my gown, I suspect he would have offered me whatever assistance I needed. I opted to make a run for the ship’s main gangway, which was visible halfway down the length of the ship. I hurried back through the room and had just about reached the door when voices rose beyond it.

“The last of the cargo has been transferred,” one voice said. “What shall we do with the Neuf Ouest, sir?”

“Return it to its owner, and give me the inventory.”

The voice of Herman Aloysius Basehart, bastard at sea.

“The owner? Any idea who that might be?” the admiral’s companion asked.

“Not in the slightest.”

It was all I could do to keep from yelling, “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

Basehart opened the door, still issuing instructions. He spotted me and without missing a beat held the door tight to keep the other man from doing the same.

“On second thought, Jenkins,” he said, “let’s cover this later. I’ll be reviewing my log now. See that I’m not disturbed.” Basehart took a sheet from the man, folded it and tucked it into his jacket.

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