The first time they had met, she and her sisters had all swum together. Each full moon after that, Faith had come to the river alone. It was better this way. Aidan and Faith did far less splashing than her sisters. Rarely in the water, they preferred lengthy talks opposed to swims. Two years ago, she stopped meeting him all together. He had searched the area, trying to find her, but had never found any trace of her or her family. Very few families made their home on the ridge and low lying areas. With everyone within a day's walk, he thought he knew all residents. No one had heard of Faith or her family.
Aidan had bought the property near the river and built his home there in hopes of seeing her again. She had reappeared four months ago, looking beautiful, yet extremely sad. He had not asked where she had been, allowing her to tell him in her own time. She was slow to share anything about her absence with him, keeping details of their time apart to herself. Each night, they would meet at the water's edge, walk along the shoreline, or sit for hours on the bank and talk in the moonlight. A favorite place to meet was on the flat topped boulder that protruded into the stream.
Aidan leaned against the outside of the straw cart, and smiled reflexively, remembering one night in particular. Well past midnight, they had sat together on the boulder. More tired than he realized, he had unintentionally fallen into the river. Cold water shocked him awake. He broke the surface, wide eyed and embarrassed. Concern fell from Faith's face, and a slow smile spread across her lips. A slight chuckle bubbled up from her, sparking to life a laugh he never tired of hearing. He would love to hear it now.
The jubilant notes had peeled like a brass bell. Risking the loss of her lightheartedness, he had taken a chance, grabbed her by the extended hand she offered, and yanked her off of the rock. The disbelieving look on her face was well worth his embarrassing fall. Her head bobbed to the surface. She sputtered and gasped for air. Aidan was certain her unrelenting giggles would drown her. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to him. Water dripped from her eyelashes, and he wiped them away with his thumb. Taking advantage of her closed eyelids, he lowered his mouth to hers and covered her lips with his. She pressed into him. Encouraged by her heated response, he pulled her closer and deepened his kiss. They should not be out here alone, but he would kill anyone who tried to interrupt them. When he released her, his marriage proposal had flowed from his mouth and into the open without thought, surprising both of them. To his astonishment, not only had she accepted, but she had insisted they marry immediately.
He liked to think he had calmed what ailed her. Perhaps, he could share credit with their late night swims. They had been married less than a week, and last night, instead of making peace with her woes, she had run away from him. He had slept in the barn for the remainder of the night and skipped breakfast this morning. He still didn't know what could have happened to upset her so drastically.
The gelding shied and jostled the wagon at that moment, pulling Aidan out of his stupor. Trying to maintain his balance, Aidan stumbled to the side, tripping over a tobacco stalk. He lifted his foot and checked the bottom of his boot, making sure the sole had not been cut. The tread was thin on his footgear, but he had promised himself a new pair as soon as the season's crop was sold. New shoes for him and a ring for Faith, other than those two items, she could have anything she wanted. Aidan glared at the reason for his fall. Hank snorted and pawed the ground. Perhaps a new horse should be part of his list of new purchases.
Aidan had purposely harnessed Hank for throwing Faith the morning of their picnic. A day in the fields should be enough to settle the horse's wild streak. As though aware of Aidan's plan, Hank had resisted the bit and reins. He now stood smugly in front of the cart. Aidan may have forced the tack on him, but it seemed that Hank planned to be as little help with the field preparation as possible. Who would have thought the horse capable of revenge? Aidan looked over at him from underneath the brim of his hat. Even if the horse was capable of logical thought, he shouldn't still be irritated by his punishment.
Hank pranced again, nervously moving back and forth. The way he stirred, he would break his harness. His movements seemed motivated by something more than an annoyed disposition. Aidan walked next to the horse, running his hand along his flank. He spoke soothingly while he glanced around the field. Even though the horse could be difficult, there was no need for him to be spooked.
Trees boxed in the field on two sides with a meadow bordering the others. Nothing moved in the surrounding area except for the tree tops. Hank must be more sensitive than Aidan. From where he stood, nothing posed a danger to either of them. He patted Hanks neck, and the horse turned wild eyes to him. Apparently, he wasn't as easily convinced about their safety as Aidan.
Aidan glanced up at the sky. If he hurried, he would be able to spread the last of the straw and return home before whatever was brewing manifested itself. The pitchfork handle poked out through the wheel spokes. The cart would be stuck in the field if he couldn't get the tool unwedged. Aidan moved to the back of the cart, grabbed the metal, and tugged. The wood held firm against the axel. Hank snorted and shifted, wedging the implement further into the spokes. Cursing his luck, Aidan drew his hat from his head, tossed it in the back of the cart, and cast a lethal glare to the horse.
Putting a two fisted grip around the base of the handle, Aidan tugged the pitchfork. Hank stepped backward, shifting the angle of the tool. Apparently this confrontation was now a physical battle between man and beast. Aidan braced his foot against the back of the cart, and pulled harder. He was sure to get splinters in his hands, but it was a small price to pay if he could get the chore finished.
Turning his attention to the task at hand, he jerked the handle up and down. A little slack played around the axel, and Aidan pulled harder. Hank must have felt the lax. He shook himself and stepped forward. The pitchfork shot out of the back of the cart. Knocked to the ground, Aidan blinked up at the sky, dazed and unresponsive. The sound of wagon wheels rattling over uneven ground distanced itself from him.
Laying flat on his back, Aidan gasped for air, hoping to refill his lungs. His body shook uncontrollably, and his hands instinctively grabbed his leg, reaching for a pain that seemed distant, yet demanding. He worked the trouser fabric, careful to not look past the tool handle swaying upright in his line of vision. Sweat poured over him and the image blurred white. He shook his head, forcing himself to remain conscious. He would have to remain alert if he hoped to survive. He inched his fingers downward from his hip toward his thigh, contacting wet steel. The pitchfork pierced his leg. One of the metal prongs protruded dead center of his thigh. Bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed to keep from choking.
When hunting, he had set many steel-jawed traps. Other than the compressed hinge, he was as vulnerable to an agonizing death as any game he had caught. Not ready to surrender his life, he worked his hand up the tine, needing to know how deeply embedded the spike was in his leg. Several inches of metal was free of his leg. Most likely, the tip was buried one to two inches, and should not have hit bone. Still, his leg hurt like it had been severed from his body. He moaned and blinked back tears. While relying on arm strength alone, he would have to pull the tool straight up. He scoffed, remembering how difficult it had been to free the tool from the axel. With any luck, this would be easier.
His teeth chattered uncontrollably, and his arms had the strength of biscuit dough. He would have to hurry before he lost consciousness. Wrapping both hands vertically on the irons, he readied himself. Daylight ebbed and dimmed. He would only get one chance to free his leg. He doubted he would have the strength or courage to make a second attempt. He needed to focus on something pleasant to keep himself awake, and something to give him the courage to endure the pain. Faith's face smiled down at him in memory. Her eyes warmed the way they did on their wedding night.
"Faith," he gasped. Her face faded and he reached his hand toward her. Her image disappeared like a disrupted reflection in a pond.
His breathi
ng deepened as he built the strength he would need to free himself. A breeze blew across his face and Faith's image flickered a smile at him. She nodded, and Aidan screamed. He yanked the pitchfork vertically, throwing it over his head. Blood shot upward, and he grabbed his leg with both hands. He squeezed his leg tight, pressing his fingers over the wound.
Nauseated, he twisted to his side and waited for his stomach to settle. Wet and sticky, he felt his pant leg, hoping he had been right and the bone remained intact. His leg shook and the sky swirled above him. He blinked and tried to bring his surroundings into focus. He may have avoided a broken bone, but from the way his leg bled, he wasn't sure he would live long enough to return home. Hank had bolted when freed, and Aidan didn't have the strength to track him down. He blinked sweat out of his eyes and looked toward the road. He would have to find another way to the cabin. Blood seeped out from under his fingers and trailed a path down the side of his leg. Hopefully, he wouldn't bleed out first.
Chapter 13
Faith crouched on her hands and knees and pulled an oak tub across the floor. Soapy water splashed over the rim, soaking the main room of the cabin. She sat back on her haunches, doused a rag in the pail, and then slapped it on the floor. Bending over, she gripped the cloth in a tight fist and ground the material into the grain. Shifting her weight forward, she pushed harder. Her knuckles, already burning from the abuse she put on them, would be rubbed raw by the end of the day.
What had she been thinking by telling Aidan she loved him and then running away from him? No wonder he hadn't come to their bedroom last night. Why should he? She had made it clear that she didn't want to be with him. Loved him, indeed. She scoffed and plunged the cloth back into the pail. Gray rivulets dripped back into the bucket as she twisted the cloth until the fibers strained in her hand. Dirty mop water trickled from her wrists to her elbows.
Aidan had been so patient and caring yesterday, giving her time to explain her sour disposition. She huffed her breath and shook her head. How could she explain she was a time traveler who was married to a man who had quite possibly killed her? Now that was an attractive quality no bride should be without. What man wouldn't move mountains to bed a woman like that? She shook her rag out and threw it to the floor, pouncing on it like a lion on a gazelle.
"Honestly, Faith. How clean does something underfoot need to be before you are content with your work?" A familiar voice spoke to her from the doorway.
Faith glanced up from under her sweat-drenched forehead. Perspiration beaded on her eyebrows, ready to drip into her eyes and burn sensitive tissue. She wiped her hand upward, pushing the moisture into her hair. Her sister, Hope stood in front of her, leaning against the open door with her arms crossed over her chest. Her smile was filled with more sarcasm than concern. She entered the room and closed the door behind her.
Hope studied the floor as though she looked for a dry spot to stand in. Moving to the far wall, she said, "I haven't seen you this angry in a long time."
Faith tossed the dirty cloth into the bucket and stood to her feet. A small, airy hump bubbled in the center of the rag and then slowly sank out of sight. "Who says I'm angry," she snapped. She held her one hand in the other and rubbed her thumb across the tips. Bright red skin peered up at her. It might do her fingers, not to mention her knees and back, some good to take a break from her housework.
Hope leaned her hip against a worktable. "Why do you think Grace, Honor, and I used to irritate you so much when we were growing up? You do your best cleaning when you are riled. You could have the entire house scrubbed from top to bottom by mid-day without us lifting a finger." She ran her gloved hand down the curve of her hip, smoothing the fabric, and then stepped to her side. She leaned forward and peeked into Faith's bedroom.
"So, sister," she said, turning her attention back to Faith. Disappointment pulled down the corners of her mouth. "Where is that handsome groom of yours, and why isn't he here redirecting your frustration from the floor to the bedroom? Although," she said, smirking. "The floor has served me well on many occasions."
Faith rolled her eyes. Her sister had made it no secret that she enjoyed the company of men. At least, as far as Faith knew, she was somewhat particular with whom she spent her time. The man who caught Hope's fascination had to be well above average in appearance and means. These qualities had to be balanced with position and power. Being an upstanding member of society wasn't always a prerequisite for her sister's immense criteria. No amount of warning or pleading from her family had persuaded Hope to live a more subdued lifestyle.
"Aidan is working," Faith guessed. There was no need to let Hope know differently. And for all she knew, he was most likely in the fields. Even though the crops had been harvested, he wouldn't let the grounds rest without preparing them for next season's planting.
"He is well?" Hope asked.
"I suppose he is in fine condition."
Hope raised her eyebrows into softly arched peaks. "You suppose?"
She adjusted the bottom of her jacket, shifting her shoulders as though she tried to position her form into a tighter fit of the material. It didn't take a tailor with a staunch thread and a provocative imagination to show the ample blessing Hope had received from her creator. All of the women in their family had been blessed with a womanly figure that caused male mouths to drop open.
"And, my sweet sister," Hope said. Her tone combined a preacher's haughtiness with a harlot's charm. "Fine is not the word I would use to describe a man like yours." Her delicately boned hand traveled over her breast and down to her waist. "Worn hard and hung out to dry. That is the condition I would expect my groom to be in so soon after our wedding."
From the way Hope's upper lip lifted on one side, a stray thought must have crossed her mind. Faith lifted her brows as she read her sister's expression. Not sure what Hope was thinking, she looked as though she had been asked to walk barefoot through the chicken coop. Faith nearly laughed aloud when Hope shuddered and closed her eyes.
"I should be cursed with ugliness before being forced to the drudgery of housework," Hope said.
She lifted her chin in the air and walked to the window. Peering through the glass, she most likely counted her blessings that she lived an unencumbered life and was no longer tied to a farming existence. She stood with her back to Faith, shaking her head as though she vehemently rejected a thought. The perfume she wore softly filled the room. At least she had chosen a light, fruity scent instead of the heavy, floral fragrance she was fond of wearing. Something must have sparked in her mind. She spun around, lowered her chin, and looked down the bridge of her nose at Faith.
"I certainly wouldn't concern myself with a clean house while a man of his quality fades to ruin in the fields," Hope said. "From what I saw when I arrived, his crop is in the barn. Why isn't he here getting himself, and you, thoroughly spent?"
Faith picked up the bucket of dirty water and stepped outside the front door. She dumped the contents of her container over a cluster of mums. The small, orange nuggets innocently bobbed and dodged her torment. It was too bad she didn't have the nerve to do the same thing to Hope. She moved back inside the house and glared over at her sister.
"Good gracious, Hope. Is nothing sacred to you?"
Faith slammed the pail under the worktable and then returned to a standing position. She placed her hands on her hips, and drew back her shoulders. When she had dressed this morning, she had left several buttons on her blouse unfastened, anticipating the sweat she would endure from the rigorous cleaning she had planned. What she had not foreseen was her need of an exhibitionist display. Of all of her sisters, Hope was the most obstinate. There would be only one way to quiet her on the subject.
Faith feigned an itch and watched to see if her attempt to scratch her chest would draw Hope's gaze. She waited, her hand lingering at her breast. Her sister's blue eyes lowered and then widened. Faith smiled evilly. Just as she hoped, the proof of her amorous night with Aidan was still evident. She fanned herself
and walked to a chair on the far side of the table.
"If you must know, Hope. Aidan is preparing the fields for the winter. But I have not been neglected, and neither has he." She cursed herself for declaring something she didn't fully believe.
"Preparing?" Hope moved her gaze to the window and mumbled as though to herself. "He has the richest fields on the mountain. I saw to..." She closed her mouth and then thought for a long, silent moment. Turning her head toward Faith, she stepped opposite of her, splayed her hands on the table, and leaned forward. "Those fields could go fallow for two seasons and still produce beyond capacity. Come, come, sister, dear. You turned the man out on his ear. Why?"
Faith drew her attention out from under Hope's demanding scowl and moved to the fire. She snatched up a cloth and pulled the kettle toward her. Aidan would be home for the noon meal soon, and she wanted it to be ready for him when he arrived. She cast a side glance over her shoulder to Hope.
"Some things should remain between married couples, Hope. Now if you would like to discuss your latest adventure...I would love to listen."
"I didn't come to burden you with my woes," Hope said.
Faith tapped her spoon on the rim of the pot. While Hope was the most willful of her sisters, she was also the one who was the most open to ideas and thoughts that were outside the realm of logical explanation. This broadminded attitude could be what led to Hope's disreputable choices. Trista had given Faith limited information concerning time travel. Perhaps Hope had experienced something similar to Faith. She laid the utensil on the hearth, pulled a chair away from the table, and sat down.
Hope followed Faith's movements, curiosity covered her face.
Faith flicked a glance to the window. From where she sat, she should be able to see Aidan ride in from the fields. Her leg bounced uncontrollably, and she pressed her hands together. What if Hope thought she was simple minded? Would she ridicule her openly, distance herself from her permanently? She took a deep breath and glanced over at her sister. A nervous smile flickered on her lips. "Do you mind if I share something with you?" she finally asked.
Faithfully Yours (The Forever Time Travel Romance Series, Book 1) Page 9