Whispers from the Shadows Read Online Free PDF Page A

could pluck no single word. Hands touched, urged, but when she felt the prickly tick of the bed under her, she choked on a scream, lunged away, and fell yet again to the floor.
    Tomorrow . The whisper came from within her but made little sense. She tried to focus on the promise of reaching port, as if that would make the nightmares cease. As if that would make sleep come peacefully. As if land would steady the roiling of her world.
    But it wouldn’t. She knew that. Seasickness was not her malady. Could one die of heartsickness? Of fear? Of insomnia?
    Tomorrow.
    The shouting changed in timbre, and thunder split the world in two. A scream rent the air. Fog overtook her vision; cursing blistered her ears. Papa would be furious if he heard such words uttered in her presence. He would…
    He would do nothing. Because he was gone.
    The door crashed open, and its collision with the wall made her vision snap back into alignment and the echoes cease. When two unfamiliar men charged into the room, Gwyneth pushed herself to her feet, though she had to put a hand upon the surface of the desk to keep herself steady.
    Mrs. Wesley slid an arm around her waist. Mr. Wesley stood in the center of the cabin, a pistol leveled at the intruders.
    One of them smirked. “Put that away, old man. The captain has surrendered.”
    â€œNo.” Voice quavering, Mr. Wesley lifted the gun another inch.
    Gwyneth took a step forward, though her knees wobbled. “Mr. Wesley, please. Do nothing foolish.”
    The pirate’s eyes softened. “You’ve nothing to worry about, sir. We are Americans, not monsters. Our interest is in the ship. We will deliver everyone safely to Barbados, and you can write home or arrange new transport.”
    Write. Her brow furrowed, her thoughts pounded against one another. Papa . The letter! Where had she put the letter, the one he had given her just before…the one she was to present if taken by American privateers? It was…no, she had put it in her reticule. It must be still in her reticule. Which was…
    She turned, slowly lest the dizziness strike again, her gaze moving about the cabin in search of the small bag. Mrs. Wesley said something, but she could not spare the attention to discern what. All her concentration was needed to stagger over to the trunk wedged between the bed and the wall.
    She lifted the lid, her ears buzzing at a sudden loud noise. There, right on top, lay her reticule. She grabbed it and turned back too quickly, and then wished she hadn’t when the world kept spinning after her feet had come to a stop. When her eyes refocused, she saw the muzzle of a gun inches from her face.
    Her throat went tight, paralysis seized her limbs. All she could do was clutch the bag to her chest and stare at the man before her.
    Oddly, he looked more exasperated than angry. “What in blazes are you doing, miss? I told you to stop.”
    â€œI did not hear you.”
    Frustration twisted his countenance, but Mrs. Wesley slid to her side again. “Please, sir. She has scarcely slept since we left England due to seasickness. Her perception has been…dubious.”
    Dubious. Her whole life, it seemed, was dubious. Her fingers tightened around her reticule, her gaze going to the doorway when another unfamiliar figure filled it. This one strode in with the confidence that bespoke authority and tossed out a casual, “What is going on here?”
    The man before her lowered his gun and stepped away. “A misunderstanding, Captain. The girl went for her trunk, and I…”
    â€œHmm.” The captain halted in the middle of the room and regarded her steadily. “Are you unwell, miss?”
    No doubt she looked like something left for dead. She hardlycared, though even her sleep-deprived eyes had no trouble seeing this captain was handsome enough to set female hearts pounding. The way his hair curled brought Sir Arthur to mind, though he was dark where Sir