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palms from her eyes and gazed out at the deceptively calm ocean, recalling her struggle to stay afloat. She had swum until every muscle in her arms and legs burned with the pain of exhaustion. Her body rode the crest of mountainous waves only to plunge into deep troughs the next instant. Swamped by the salt water again and again, she had continuously fought her way to the surface, numbed by terror, driven on by her stubborn will to live. Somehow, some way, she had succeeded.
    Now what do I do? she wondered uneasily, pushing herself into a sitting position. Her gaze traveled over her damp period clothing to the clumsy shoes on her feet. Another shiver shook her, as much from fear as from cold. Rubbing her arms with her hands to stimulate warmth, she shoved the heel of her foot into the moist sand, digging a furrow as she anxiously contemplated her fate. She had not been on the brig more than a couple of minutes when she’d found herself up to her neck in trouble, then tossed into the sea.
    She wrapped her arms around her upraised knees and dropped her head forward, allowing the heat of the early-morning sun to seep into her spine. Mentally beseeching divine guidance, she murmured, “Where do I go from here?”
    “You will be coming with me.”
    Her head popped up at the sound of the gruff masculine order. She had expected an inner prompting, a gut feeling that would guide her toward her next step. She hadn’t expected the baritone message of the man kneeling next to her.
    It was the man from the ship—her ally against the captain.
    “You!” As she pushed herself halfway to her feet, her vision blurred, then nausea hit. She had swallowed too much saltwater. A firm hand on her upper arm gently lowered her to the beach.
    Sitting on the sand, she stared at him, trying to bring his face into focus. Thick black hair framed his tanned skin, bringing back the memory of the moment when she had first seen him on the ship. He had spotted her coming out of the captain’s quarters, yet he had not betrayed her. Instead, he had lied for her, protecting her from the commanding officer. This man with the firm set to his jaw had stepped in the way, taking the full blow of the flogging rope that had been meant for her.
    Why?
    Cara saw something disturbingly intimate in his deep-blue eyes. Unnerved, she looked away. Then she realized her jacket was missing. She didn’t remember losing it, but she’d probably discarded it to keep its weight from pulling her under. The damp, red-checked shirt clung to her curves, revealing the outline of her small breasts. Her gaze snapped back to his.
    “Yes, I know,” he said, acknowledging her gender.
    A split second of panic swept over her, urging her to take off at a dead run, to get as far away from him as she could. But her exhaustion would make escape across the sand impossible.
    While her wary gaze lingered on him, he gently draped a damp peacoat over her shoulders. She didn’t question whether it was his. She didn’t care. At least it warmed her from the bone-chilling breeze on her damp skin.
    “I knew you were a woman when I saw you on the ship.”
    “But the captain—”
    “—was an imbecile and a fool. If he had an empty bucket for a brain he would have more sense than he displayed last night. And perhaps he would still be alive— though I have to admit the seas are safer today due to his demise.”
    “The captain’s dead?”
    “Yes, and all but two of the crew. The Mystic lies aground by the cliffs to the north.” He tilted his head toward the rocky bluffs, a good half mile away.
    Panic tightened her chest like a vise. She asked in an unsteady voice, “Is the ship salvageable?”
    “Not without timber and tools.”
    How would she find her way back to the future if the time portal had been destroyed? “I need to see it for myself.”
    “No, the rocks are too slippery. Considering the harrowing ordeal you have been through, I doubt you are steady enough to keep your