Night Kiss Serial: Chapter Ten
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| CHAPTER TEN |
Chapter Ten
“You’re joking, aren’t you?”
Jack was dead serious. Claire
watched, ready for him to crack a smile. He didn’t.
“Joking?”
She stepped closer. “Yes, this
is all a damn joke, isn’t it? What is this, some kind of sadistic rendition of Candid Camera? Eighteenth century, huh? I
don’t think so.” But somehow she knew it wasn’t a joke. Little things—tidbits
of information—came flying back at her: his clothing, his speech, the
furniture, the cabin. She looked him straight in the eyes and shook her head
from side to side. “No, it’s impossible.” She backed away one step.
He moved forward. “Hannah…”
“No! Don’t call me that.” She
bolted.
“Hannah!” Jack followed. It
only took him three or four steps to reach her and pull her body into his,
halting her.
“No!” She screamed louder this
time, flailing her arms. “No! It can’t be true. It can’t be!”
He grabbed her arms and pinned
them between his body and hers.
“What, Hannah? What cannot be
true?”
Suddenly the fight went out of
her, and she leaned against him. Tears formed in her eyes. After several
minutes, she turned her face up. It was all too clear now. How she’d figured it
out, she didn’t know. But suddenly, she knew.
“You had a wife, didn’t you?”
His face pained. He nodded
slowly and whispered, “You are my wife, Hannah.”
Sighing, she closed her eyes,
shook her head wildly, and then opened them again. “My name is Claire. Hannah
was your wife. She died, didn’t she?”
Jack clutched her closer. She
watched his eyes clamp shut, the tears squeezing past the barrier like tiny
nodules. He nodded. “You are my Hannah. You look like her, you feel like her. I
have you back now. You are my Hannah.”
She barely heard him.
Fear lanced through her. He had
a wife. She died. Now he thought his beloved Hannah had returned to him.
And had she? Could it be?
She gazed into Jack’s now open
eyes. Okay, I’ll play along.
“What year did we marry?”
“Marry? Why, don’t you
remember, love? It was in June of last year, 1717.”
1717. Claire kept her
gaze fixed on his lips. 1717? But
how? How did I get here?
“When did I…when did your
wife…die?”
He loosened his grip and
stepped back. “About ten months later. Last spring.”
“How?”
“You know how, Hannah. I choose
not to discuss it with you.”
She felt him physically and
emotionally cut himself off from her. She stepped back. Too painful.
“So it’s now…1718?”
Jack nodded. Claire felt the
silence of the forest around her. Now it all made sense. Sort of. In 1717, Jack
married Hannah. She died ten months later, and now, somehow, Claire had
become his wife. Somehow, she’d crossed the barriers of time and landed here,
in 1718, as this man’s wife!
“How did this happen?”
His gaze pinned her. Her every nerve
ending shivered from her head to her toes as he spoke. “Why, it was the magic
in the stone, of course.”
She glanced away.
Oh, Lord. And I thought my existence was so mundane. Wait until I tell
Vicki about this.
Then terror stunned her as she
realized she might never see Vicki
again. Or Mama.
No, before she’d accept this,
she needed more.
Jerking her gaze back to him,
she ordered, “Prove it.”
“Prove what?”
“Prove to me that this is 1718.”
She needed that. Something, anything, to make sense of this entire situation. “Prove
to me that I’m your wife, Jack. Prove to me that everything you’re telling me
is the truth.” There. He would have to come clean. Have to tell her all of this
was nothing but a stinking lie. “Otherwise, I will not believe you.”
The startled look on his face
was nearly her undoing. She cared for this man. Truly, she did. Somehow. She
just wanted something—some semblance of truth and sanity to bop her on the head
and make her believe this story he portrayed was indeed the truth and all of
this was possible. No, not possible, but probable. She needed a dose of reality
about now. The problem was did she want it to be the truth, or did she want it
to be fantasy?
He held her gaze a moment
longer and then gently grasped her left hand. She watched as his thumb and
forefinger squeezed the band of gold around her third finger and pulled. Funny,
how all this time she couldn’t get the ring off but he pulled it off with such
ease. As it left her finger, her hand suddenly felt naked and empty, and there
was a definite tug at her heartstrings when it was gone. Jack held the ring
between his thumb and forefinger and thrust it between the two of them.
“I traveled to the mainland for
this. I wanted it to be special. When I placed it on your finger our wedding
day, I knew then that we’d sealed a bond that would last forever.”
He turned the ring in his
fingers and then handed it to Claire. “Look.” His gaze caught and held hers. Without
breaking the connection, she reached out and took the ring. “Go on, look at it.”
She held it in the palm of her
left hand. With her right hand she picked up the wide gold band and looked
closer, turning it so she could see the interior. It was inscribed.
With her heart tripping madly in
her chest, she read out loud the words she saw: “For Eternity, 15 June 1717.”
Stunned, she could not take her
eyes off the ring until Jack took it from her hand and returned it to her
shaking finger.
“This,” he began, “is where it
belongs. And this is where it will stay.”
Misty clouds enveloped her
brain, turning her vision fuzzy. The world spun white around her, and blood
galloped in her ears. She turned, lightheaded and nauseous all at once, as she
fell into a solid heap at Jack’s feet.
****
The next thing Claire realized
as she looked up at Jack through veiled eyes was that she ought to get up from
there and run. Run as fast and as far as her legs could carry her. But to
where? He cared for her. He loved her. She had felt it in his kisses last
night. She saw it in his eyes when he woke this morning. He’d saved her from
Rick. He’d protected her.
No, if everything Jack told her
was true, she couldn’t run. She had to stay right here. At least now she knew
he wasn’t crazy. Or a ghost. And as bizarre as it all seemed, it was a relief
to know that somehow, she was not in the hands of a lunatic, but simply in
another time. No, her best chance was to stay right here.
Simple. There was nothing simple
about this.
The pain in his eyes ran deep. As
he squatted before her, his still naked body twisted slightly away, his face
angled in thought, or perhaps memory, she felt drawn to him. Silently she
leaned closer, touched his cheek, and lifted his troubled face toward hers.
My God, the pain of her death must have been horrible.
He rotated toward her, and she
held out her arms to him. He fell into the embrace and quickly folded her into
him. They tumbled, bodies intertwined. With a sigh that nearly tore her heart
out, she listened as he whispered Hannah’s name into her hair. His embrace
tightened, and there they stayed for several minutes. She cooed words of
reassurance into his ear, and he finally quieted and just held her.
At length, he broke free, wiped
near non-existent tears from his face with the heels of his hands—she was sure
letting her see any semblance of tears was not manly to him—and looked deep
into Claire’s face. His hands settled on her shoulders.
“I’m telling you the truth, I
swear it. I’ll tell you everything I know, and I’d like you to do the same with
me. I don’t understand it, I probably never will, but maybe we can figure it
out together.”
He brushed away a stray lock of
hair and then threaded his fingers through the length. He continued, his voice
choking with emotion. “It’s just that…it’s just that I nearly died myself when
you left me. It’s a miracle from the Heavens I’m sure. I just give thanks that
I have you back.” He leaned forward, his lips brushed hers in the sweetest and
most emotion-filled kiss she thought she’d ever experienced.
She knew instantly this man was
probably the most sincere person she’d ever encountered in her life and she had
no choice but to trust him. “We have a lot of talking to do,” she said quietly.
“That we do.”
She smiled and angled her face
at him. “How about if we first go back to the cabin and get dressed?”
“Yes,” he agreed.
She slipped her arms around his
waist. The shock of her existence here had not quite settled in her brain. It
would come, she was certain. The shock. But after it wore off, would she be
content here? Would she be able to stay forever?
Could she ever get back to the
twenty-first century if she wanted? If she tried?
And were Jack’s kisses and
passionate lovemaking enough? Were they really intended for her? Claire? Or was
he just making love to Hannah in his mind?
Did he even know the difference?
****
“So you are telling me you
remember none of it?”
She nodded. After a short nap,
she had insisted they talk. They lay tangled, wrapped in each other’s arms. She
wanted every detail, every minute particle of Hannah’s life, suddenly realizing
she had to know her intimately, to try to make some sense of this whole
situation. And Jack, after a moment, had agreed to discuss it, even though it
would be painful. Somehow, she had to make him understand she wasn’t really
Hannah. At least she didn’t think she
was Hannah.
“Jack, it’s difficult for you
to understand, I know, but I’m not Hannah. I can’t remember.”
He shook his head quickly. “You
are Hannah. Whatever your name now, I know you are my Hannah.” He peered into
her eyes. “I could never forget that shade of green in all my days. Nor the
softness of your lips. Your beautiful white breasts. Or how you smell when I
make love to you. I could never forget that, Hannah.”
She swallowed the emotion that
pooled in her throat. “Oh,” she whispered softly. “So maybe I am…Hannah?”
“You are.”
And at that moment, she
resigned herself to the fact that perhaps it could be true. That maybe she was
Hannah Porter. Somehow. She might as well consider it, nothing else made sense
so far. Looking into his eyes, she continued, “I need to know everything, Jack.
Tell me everything.”
He did, starting with their
courtship and marriage and the blissful ten months prior to Hannah’s death. He
spoke of her meekness, her genteel ways, her soft-spoken manner. Claire
wondered if Jack had noticed the subtle, and maybe the obvious, differences. Or
if he was in denial of all that. It wasn’t that Claire was hard and crude by
any stretch of the imagination, but she would never have thought of herself as
genteel. Perhaps a little naive at times, and not very aggressive unless
provoked, but definitely assertive.
Maybe that’s what the twenty-first century does to you, Claire.
“The day of the kidnapping was
the worst of my life.” Jack’s voice grew softer and his arms tightened around
her.
Kidnapping?
For several minutes, he didn’t
continue as he gathered his wits about him. And when he did speak, it was like
he was talking to Hannah. “It was a beautiful day, I remember. We rode into the
village of Ocracoke
Claire let him speak. She dared
not interrupt, afraid he would stop and she would never know the truth.
“I didn’t like the way some of
them stared at you. I kept you close by my side, your arm in mine the whole
time, until you saw Abigail Miller near the wharf and waved to her and she
motioned for you to come closer.
“I glanced around and the
crowds were thinning. There’s no danger here, I thought. So I told you to go
see to her, and I stepped into the fishmonger’s to see what he had to offer. We
talked and laughed, and it wasn’t until I heard your scream that I turned and
saw the filthy bastards carrying you away.
“‘Twas like the picture froze
in my mind and I couldn’t move at first—then I ran. By the time I reached the
edge of the wharf, they’d tossed you in a small boat and were oaring toward the
ship. Your screams pierced my soul. When I tried to follow, to get someone to
help me go after you, they all looked at me and shook their heads. I didn’t
understand why until one man simply pointed to the large sloop and I saw the
Jolly Roger unfurl.
“It was the ship of Blackbeard.”
“Blackbeard? You mean
the pirate Blackbeard?”
Jack nodded. “Yes, one and the
same.”
Claire shivered with dread
then, the blood in her veins turning icy cold. She burrowed into Jack. It was
almost as though she felt Hannah’s fear. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear
the rest. From her knowledge of history, she knew Blackbeard had wreaked havoc
over the East Coast for several years, and she knew he frequented the barrier
islands. Ocracoke was his home. Until this moment, she’d not thought about the
historical ramifications and the danger here. And she didn’t want to think of
what probably had happened to poor Hannah.
A flash of memory of the man in
the village shop broke into her thoughts and she shivered. Was that just yesterday?
Or the day before?
“I curse that day like no
other. I, of all people, should know the ship of Blackbeard, but he’d captured
a different sloop. He’d not yet cut down the gunwales and fashioned her to his
needs. I didn’t know. Truly, Hannah, I didn’t know.”
“I know that, Jack.” She was
afraid to look at him, afraid he was upset. It was as if he was apologizing to
her, and then, she thought, he probably was. “Hannah knew that. You would never
intentionally put Hannah in danger.”
As if to reassure himself she
was actually lying in his arms, he rubbed his hands over her body and cradled
her tight against him. It was difficult to breathe. The warmth of his breath
blew moist against her cheek.
“I’m here, Jack. I’m not going
anywhere.”
He loosened his grip. “I know. ‘Tis
just so painful, at times.”
She pulled back slightly to
look into his eyes. “I know,” she whispered. “But we need to do this.”
He nodded and then continued. “He
kept you for three days out to sea before I saw his ship passing through the
inlet late the third night. I knew he would come. I knew where he liked to
stay. Teach’s Hole, it is called, just on the sound side of the island, where
escape is easiest.
“I waited until the night took
over and the rum had taken hold of his crew. I prayed that the pirate had taken
enough laudanum to black himself out, for he likes the drug, you know, even
traded prisoners for it a week or two earlier, I’d heard. So I hoped it was
this night that he’d indulge himself. The thing was he had forced it on you.”
She gasped.
Jack spoke quickly as if to get
it all out and over with as soon as possible, glazing over the pain as much as
he could. “I found you in his quarters, but I had to slice into his…his male
parts before I could get to you. You were in a deep sleep, so I carried you and
jumped off the ship before Blackbeard’s wails woke the entire crew. I put you
in my boat and oared into the mist before they could get to us and then I
brought you back here.
“You died two weeks later in my
arms. You never woke up.”
Claire squeezed her eyes tight,
the pain in his voice forced her to sob softly and clutch to him.
“You curled into me,” he
continued softly. “Your breath fanned warm and soft against my chest. I thought
I felt the pressure of your hand grasp at me. And then, quickly, you were gone.”
His voice was a hushed whisper.
“I loved you so, my Hannah. When I lost you, it broke my heart into a thousand
pieces.”
For a flash of time, she
thought she was there. That she remembered it. That she felt the sensation of
Hannah dying. She trembled in his arms.
Jack tucked the fingers of his
right hand under her chin and pried her face away from his chest. “Hannah,” he
whispered. “Let me look at you.”
Her tear-stained face rose to
meet his.
“I love you, Hannah Porter. You.
The woman in my arms right now. You are Hannah Porter. Help me put the
pieces back together.”
She reached to cup his face and
felt the stubble of beard growth under her fingertips. Gently, she pulled him
closer. Her own heart swelled and thumped wildly within. “Yes. Yes, Jack. I’ll
help you put the pieces back together,” she whispered and then briefly touched
her lips to his. “I care for you more than any man I’ve ever known.”
And she knew she did. Always
had. But it worried the hell out of her.
“Let me love you,” he whispered
into her hair. “Let me love you for all those days and nights we were apart.”
Claire looked deeply into Jack
Porter’s eyes. “No, this time, let me love you.”
Her hands fell to his chest,
and she gently rolled him over and pushed him back into the tick. She rose over
him and straddled him, whisking her gown away from her body. She started at his
shoulders, kneading slowly with her hands, moving downward over his chest, then
down lower to his belly until she grasped him as he lay hard and ready between
her legs.
She stroked and fondled him,
watching his face. His head lay back and his breathing deepened. He glanced
lower, watching her hands slide over him. She could feel the tip of his shaft
grow damp, slid her fingers over it, and spread his silky fluid downward.
“Hannah…”
Scooting backward, she leaned
to his chest and let her lips follow the trail left by her hands, lower and
lower she moved until he threaded his hands into her hair and grasped her head
tightly.
“Hannah…” he rasped.
She moved lower. Licking,
sucking at the juncture of his thigh and pelvis, slowly nipping as she centered
her mouth closer to the base of his shaft and curled her tongue around him.
“Hannah…” he croaked a warning.
Her tongue flicked out and
grazed the length of him.
Involuntarily, he clasped his
hands into her hair and jerked her head up and away from his cock to look into
his eyes. Claire registered the frantic, almost tortured look on his face.
“Jack?”
“What are you doing to me?”
Then she knew she was doing
something to Jack that Hannah never had. Somehow the simplicity and the
decadence of that pleased her.
Very much.
“Loving you, my Jack. My way,”
she whispered. “Let me.”
He released his grasp on her
hair then and fell back against the pillow. She reached up and pulled his hands
into hers, threading her fingers into his, and clasped them down hard against
the tick, on either side of his hips.
Lowering herself again, she
grazed her lips softly against his shaft and felt his silken cock move against
her cheek. She tongued him, laved him, repeatedly, and she reveled in his
groans and the tight grip he had on her palms.
When she took him fully into
her mouth, she enjoyed only a few solid strokes, loving the feel of him inside
her cheeks, before he exploded, holding her to him, and curled up off the bed
with a howl that rivaled a hurricane wind.
****
“Come. I want to show you the
stone.”
Jack rose from the bed and
stepped across the cabin toward the hooks on the wall and retrieved some of his
clothing. As he pulled on a pair of baggy breeches, Claire sat up in the bed,
smiled, and watched. Next, he fastened a shirt around him, letting the top hang
open at his chest, loose and carefree. He raked his fingers through his long
hair and then tied it back with a thin piece of leather. Looking at her, he
smiled back.
“You know you are very pretty
sitting there like that, but don’t you think you should get up and get dressed.
You’ve worn your angel’s gown for two days now. I want to show you the stone.”
Claire glanced around her, the
smile fading from her lips. “I haven’t any clothes, Jack.”
His smile faded as well and his
eyes closed briefly, as if he’d momentarily forgotten how she’d gotten there.
“Oh. But you do.”
He turned and lifted the lid on
the heavy carved chest across the room. He carefully lifted several articles of
clothing, turned and thrust them to her. “Here you go, m’ love. I stored them
all away after you…after—”
She rose and walked across the
room. “Never mind. I know.” He dumped the layers of clothing into her arms and then
started to close the lid of the chest. “Wait.”
The motion stopped in mid-air. Smiling,
she peeked over his shoulder and peered into the chest. “You don’t have any tennis
shoes or jeans in there do you?” She saw his puzzled look, realizing she was
confusing the hell out of him with her joke.
“Didn’t think so,” she muttered
and crossed the room, laying the clothing on the bed.
She picked up the articles and
laid them aside. For the life of her, she didn’t know what to put on first. She
glanced back over her shoulder. “Um, Jack?”
“M’ love?”
“I, uh…I think I need some help
here.”
He crossed the room and smiled
wickedly. “Gladly, m’ love.”
His hands settled on her waist
and he bent to nibble at her ear. Then one hand lowered, slapped her on her
backside lightly, and he growled. “Plenty of time for that later, though. Now
get dressed. We’re going to see the stone.”
She whirled, but he was gone. The
door to the cabin stood open, and she heard him shout from outside. “I’ll get
the horse and wait for you.”
Turning back to the pile of
fabric, she decided she’d give it her best shot. After all, she couldn’t run
around in her nightgown, no matter what the century.
Of course, she had no choice.
Surveying the articles one by
one, she muttered, “All right. Let’s see what we’ve got here.”
The first article looked
somewhat like a corset with shoulder straps. The next article looked like her
grandmother’s nightgown with ruffles at the top and long full sleeves. Then the
skirt, she did recognize that, an apron, and some type of bonnet. Obviously,
Hannah never heard of underwear.
“Oh, for an extra pair or two
of plain old cotton panties,” she said under her breath. “Well, here goes.” Figuring
that the corset was like a bra, she put it on first, struggling with the front
lacing, then the nightgown thing, the skirt went on top. She chucked the apron
and bonnet figuring she had enough clothes on to keep any of her body parts
from showing. And it was hot. He didn’t give her any shoes, so she didn’t
bother trying to find any. After all, he didn’t wear them either, so maybe they
went barefoot most of the time. It was a beach, wasn’t it?
Well, it’s now or never.
She walked to the front door,
feeling a bit ridiculous, wondering if she looked like she’d swiped somebody’s
Halloween costume, and stepped out onto the small covered porch.
“Jack?” Silence answered her. “Jack?”
She wandered a few steps away from the porch and glanced both right and left. “Jack?”
“Right here.”
She jumped.
Turning, Jack came around the
side of the cabin leading a horse. He stopped and stared. “Really, Hannah, go
get yourself dressed.”
She glanced down and then back
at him. “I am dressed.”
He snorted. “Halfway.” He dropped
the horse’s reins and stepped closer to her. He pulled down the shoulder of the
gown-thing revealing the corset and stared at her chest. “Why did you put your
corset under your chemise, Hannah?”
She stared at him. “That’s
where it goes, isn’t it?”
“Surely you jest?”
She bristled at his frankness. “No,
Jack. I do not jest. I asked you for help but you just walked out.”
“But you know how to get
dressed, don’t you?”
“Not in these clothes.”
“Did you forget everything,
Hannah?”
I never knew it in the first place, Jack! “Okay. Tell me how to get dressed so I don’t feel like an
imbecile.”
“Imbecile?”
“Idiot. Fool. Stupid person.” She
shook her head. “Just tell me what to do.” To say the least, she was irritated.
“You just put them on, Hannah. Just
like every other woman. You know I don’t know about womanly things.”
“I’ll bet you know how to take
them off!”
Jack stared at her, his eyes
widening. “That, I do,” he said with a twinkle.
“Then tell me how to put them
on. Look, I’m telling you I don’t know how. So are you going to help me or not?
Either tell me or I’ll wear them any way I damn well please!”
He cocked his head to one side
and placed his hands on his hips. “You surely are feisty, woman. You never
crossed me before, Hannah.”
Claire bit her lip before she
shouted, “But I’m not Hannah!”
Sighing, she spoke softly. “Sorry,
Jack. This is all rather new to me, too. Please, tell me how to put the clothes
on and I’ll do it. Then we can go.”
Without flinching, he began, “The
chemise goes on first,” he reached out and touched the gown-thing. “That’s
this. Then the skirt and the apron, then the corset on top. You need your
bonnet, too.”
“I’m not wearing that stupid
bonnet.”
“You will…”
She shot him a look that could
kill.
“All right.” He turned to walk
away.
“Do I have to wear the apron?” He
stopped in mid-stride. She could tell it was taking everything he had in him
not to yell at her.
“I’ll wear the apron.” Today.
He returned to the horse. Claire
stepped to the porch. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
“A jiffy?” he mumbled. “What
article of clothing is a jiffy?”
Claire stopped for a second
upon entering the doorway and grinned.
###
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