Page 93 of Stilettos & Secrets on the 7 Seas

A pistol cocked behind me, and cold steel pressed against my spine. “Dinnae move, witch.”

Uh, boy. Not again.

Max moved until he stood in front of me, leveling the pistol at my head. He looked surprised as if he couldn’t believe I wasn’t trying to regain my faculties like the rest of the crew.

“Captain Kirk. Ye were with Captain Vane. How did ye manage to be on my ship?” Max asked.

“I was turned around in the swim and ended up here.”

“’Twas a far swim from theLark.” Rowan’s tone told me he didn’t believe a word.

“Scab, vow your loyalty to me. If ’tis so…” Max stuttered, and his speech slurred. He shook his head as if clearing the dust from his brain. “Then I weel spare yer life and grant you admittance to the crew.”

I recognized the signs of posttraumatic stress that often accompanied an inexperienced time traveler, and sometimes an experienced one.

Rowan drew his pistol, opting for a better killing method than the sword in light of his captain’s sudden imbalance. But he kept the sword pointed in Caiyan’s direction.

“Why didn’t ye’s pass out like the others?” Max asked.

Rowan scowled at us before aiming his pistol toward Mortas, who had regained his feet but now leaned against the railing for support. “Why didn’t he?”

“Mayhaps, ye are a witch.” Max swayed with the pistol in his hand. I prayed the damn thing wouldn’t misfire. He wasn’t the innocent boy who’d confessed his longing for adventure. His face mirrored Rowan’s confused concern. Concern for his crew, concern for his ship, and concern for the secret he harbored, like the location of buried treasure. Max’s heavy-lidded, bloodshot eyes fought to stay sane but held a familiar weariness.

“I’m not a witch.” I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at the two men who claimed to be smugglers but acted like pirates.

The crew was regaining consciousness slowly, like they’d been on a long, drunken binge. “Then ye are all cursed as I?” Max’s expression softened slightly.

Mortas stumbled over to us, supporting his weight against the foremast. Blood soaked his coat sleeve. “Not cursed. We’re time travelers.”

Jeez, Louise, he just blurted it out. Talk about messing with the past. We had no choice now. I shot him my stop-screwing-things-up stink eye.

“And Max, I know your father.” He sounded like Darth Vader. Using the same monotonous tone as the infamous villain for emphasis.

I inadvertently rolled my eyes. Max’s expression went from confused concern to worried to angry. He glanced around at the crew members still struggling to consciousness but awake enough to eavesdrop. “My da is dead.”

“Your mother was from the future. She time-traveled here when she was with child. My father’s child. You. She arrived in a giant steel fish. Am I right?” Mortas took a step closer. Rowan cocked the gun, and Mortas stopped. “We’re family.”

Max’s eyebrows shot upward. “Family?”

“I’m looking for your mother because”—he placed a hand over his heart—“because I’m your brother.”

What a hunk of bologna. He just found that out five minutes ago, and now he’s using it to plot his path to the King’s key.

“My ma is dead.”

Mortas didn’t show any sign of surprise at discovering the woman he sought wasn’t alive. My gut told me he wasn’t looking for Max’s mom but something she had, like a map and a key.

Rowan’s blade moved from Caiyan to Mortas. “Take these liars to the brig.”

I expected a struggle or some sort of retaliation from Caiyan, but he gave none. Only a slight shake of his head signaled me to wait. For once, I agreed with him.

Crew members who had stronger constitutions moved in to assist their captain. Black Bard stood to Rowan’s left. “Me mum had the sight. I recover quickly from the curse.”

Shrug steadied his rifle at me. Damn. Someone rescued the creep. He smelled like a burnt spare rib, but I didn’t think this was the time to bring it up.

Rowan sheathed his sword but kept his pistol on Caiyan. “We’ll sort this oot later. Wait for the rest of the crew to get their legs.” Rowan grabbed Caiyan’s arm, ushering him below deck. Black Bard, pistol in hand, motioned for Mortas to follow suit.

“We need to talk, young captain,” Mortas called over his shoulder as they hauled him off.

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