"As a gentleman, you should have turned away," she scolded.
He raised her hand to his lips, his kiss warm and melting. "As a man in love, I would stand on that bank until every drop of water evaporated from around you before I let you leave my sight." He ran his hand over her thigh. "I have often wondered how long you would have stayed on the boulder, if I hadn't swum out there to you."
She had not returned to the shore. He had met her on the boulder.
"I have loved you since we first met," he admitted. "I was going to keep you stranded in the river until you agreed to marry me."
She sniffled, her eyes filling with tears. "I'm glad I married you," she said. Her words were true even if she didn't remember the ceremony. She dabbed a cloth to her nose, grateful that the gaps of her memory were being filled in. She bent and kissed him lightly on the lips. "And you weren't concerned that I would refuse you?"
"Not after talking with Trista."
Faith jerked upright. "Trista?" she asked. She dropped her cloth to the floor. Why was that woman so meddlesome?
"Trista knew I had been searching for you. Since she owned the property where we first met, she thought I would like to buy it." He shrugged. "It made sense for me to start a farm in hopes I would see you again."
Faith looked down at him. "The old woman's mad. You are aware of that, aren't you?"
"I wouldn't trust her with any children we may have, but there was merit to her tactic."
"Or merely a selling ploy." Faith picked up the cloth and folded it into a neat square.
"I would have bought the entire mountain to find you," he said.
She pulled her hands into her lap, and stared down at them. He had openly shared a most intimate time in their lives. She needed to do the same with him. While his tale had been filled with charm, she hoped he didn't think she had deceived him.
"Aidan," she began, her voice timid. "I need to tell you about my life away from you."
"Do you mean, before me?"
Faith shook her head. "No. Away."
He left his hand on her thigh, but she prepared herself for him to never want to touch her again.
"Faith, do you regret marrying me?" he asked, his voice now barely more than a raspy whisper. He leaned against his pillow, stoically waiting for her to answer. When she didn't, he continued. "I am not a rich man. I do not have a noble name." He released his hold on her leg and held his hands in front of her. I have two strong hands, a back I'm willing to break in order to provide for you, and a love so strong, it unsettles me."
His emotions were so vividly exposed and raw, Faith shuddered, fearful that anything she said would wound him further. She opened and closed her mouth, hoping that soothing words would form as she breathed. How could she regret marrying him when she had no memory of their courtship? He was right about all of the things he had mentioned. He had shown her nothing but love and devotion in between hours of hard and demanding work. She caught his hand with hers and looked up at him. She may not know what had brought them together, but she knew there was no other man she would want to share her life with.
"I do love you," she breathed, finally able to offer some type of solace. "God, help me. I know I shouldn't, but I do."
"How can you say you shouldn't?" he asked, his voice shaking.
She didn't move. Although the tingling sensation she had felt days ago in the garden was unnoticeable, it no longer mattered to her. In Aidan's present condition, she would risk anything to remove the pain, which was so sharply pronounced on his face.
"You told me once that you wanted nothing more than for me to be with you," she said, her words soft and vulnerable.
"Yes, I said that," he acknowledged, "and those thoughts are still true."
She squeezed her eyes closed, and a throbbing tenderness constricted around her head, knotting itself like a ribbon between her eyes. Although she didn't want to add to his pain, there was no simple way to tell him about her life with Hank. She shivered inwardly and hoped her hands didn't tremble. Aidan had professed an unfaltering love for her, but no amount of adoration could sustain what she had to share.
She ran a quick thought over her other cowardly options. Lies and deception would work for a while, but the end result would be far worse than if he learned the truth now. He deserved to at least know the reason for her distant and odd behavior. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. What she would give to never see the vanquished look in his pupils again. She steeled herself for the unforgiving hatred that would end her life with him. And to add to her punishment, she would remain in this time without Aidan to share her life with.
"Once, I wanted to live my life with you, to grow old with you..." She nodded her head, hoping to add assurance to her words. "I thought ours was a future that could never be fulfilled."
His grip tightened on her fingers as though he held to a truth he refused to release. A fresh ember smoldered in his eyes. He pulled her closer to him and pressed her hand flat on his chest. "I am real, Faith. Flesh and blood. Feel my heart? It beats because of you."
"Aidan." She lowered her gaze but left her hand on his chest. "You don't understand. I am a time traveler."
He didn't speak, but he didn't push her away, either. Surely he didn't want a demonstration with her announcement. "Aidan?" she said. "Did you hear me? Aidan?"
"I heard you, Faith. But based on the delusions I've experienced since injuring my leg, I'm trying to decide if you drank some of the tea you made for me."
She lowered her gaze to the cup on the floor. Turned on its side, the floral pattern appeared to be in full bloom. If Faith were completely honest with herself, there were times when she wished Honor had a remedy for the family trait.
Chapter 18
Faith lifted the ceramic pitcher and poured water into a glass. From where he sat, Aidan watched to see if she added anything, other than water, to the container. He didn't want to take any more of Honor's herbs, even if it meant reopening the wound and losing his leg. Surely he had misunderstood Faith's last statement, and if he hadn't, she would need to clarify what she said. At the very least, he had to remain alert for her explanation. She stood in front of him, looking more nervous than she had on their wedding day. Dressed in a simple frock, she sat the jar down and turned toward him, reaching the drink in his direction.
He stared over at her, his eyes never leaving hers. Leaning up on one elbow, he gulped down the contents she handed him. From her wide-eyed and expressionless face, she seemed anxious to unburden herself further. Her statement was difficult to accept, but his thoughts concerning it were irrelevant. She believed what she said, and that should be enough to satisfy his concerns. He had faith in her, and he would try to understand why she thought as she did.
Her attention, while aimed in his general direction, darted to various points around him. She seemed to gather and organize her thoughts while awaiting permission to continue her confession. He sat the glass on the floor next to the bed. As far as he knew, she had never lied to him. Being vague and deceitful weren't exactly the same thing. One action would imply malicious contempt, while the other could be considered a way to spare a person's feelings. He wasn't comfortable with either tactic, but there seemed to be only one way to relieve her of the weight she carried.
"Would you prefer to rest, Aidan?" she asked. "We can talk later if you like."
"No. I would like to hear more of what you have to say."
Her face twitched. He wasn't sure if she tried to smile or if she fought a severe nervous tick.
"Would you be more comfortable if you sat?" he asked.
This time, her sigh was clear and distinct. "I prefer to stand," she answered.
She shrugged, but smiled. He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and hold her, to reassure her that nothing would change the way he felt toward her. She had set the boundaries, choosing to keep herself out of his reach. She would face the next several minutes alone, and the resulting consequences.
B
reathing deeply, she pointed to the mole beneath the outside corner of her eye, tapping it lightly with her finger as though she wanted to be sure it was still in place, and explained the importance of the family trait. Aidan listened carefully. He couldn't help but be consumed with her passion. He knew she would expect him to believe everything she said. She was his wife. For that reason alone, he wanted to believe her.
"The mole is what enables you to time travel?" he asked, trying to remain respectful.
From the way she huffed her breath, she had not appreciated the tone in which he had asked his question. It was difficult to not sound condescending when asking about a common blemish.
"No, the mark identifies the people in my family who are capable of time traveling," she clarified.
He shifted himself on the bed, and looked to the window at the side of the room. She had said nothing to convince him of her story. Perhaps this was a childhood tale that had entertained her siblings when they recovered from various illnesses.
She spoke of time travel and her inability to control it. She walked into his line of vision, her silhouette outlined in an appropriately gauzy outline. "You believe me, don't you?" she asked. Her voice quivered with uncertainty.
Unconcerned for his wound, he moved the blankets to his side and pushed himself to the edge of the bed. He concentrated on anything that would prevent direct eye contact with her. Since the moment she began speaking, he had hoped she wouldn't ask that one, particular question.
"I've been in bed long enough," he said, instead of answering. "I need to move around a bit."
He pushed himself to his feet, and she hurried to his side. Her arm snaked around his waist, and he closed his eyes the way he did each time she reached for him. Did she have any idea how vulnerable he became simply by the touch of her hand? He would give her anything she asked for, but to believe she had time traveled fought against all logic and reason.
The smell of rose scented soap wafted up to him, and he sniffed her hair. It didn't matter what she said or did, he would never stop loving her. Using her shoulder as a crutch, he hobbled to the window and peered out. At the side of the barn, stood the cart he had last seen hitched to Hank. Nothing appeared broken. Faith must have found the beast and returned him to his stall. Aidan braced his hands on both sides of the frame, and took the weight off of his sore leg. He now scanned the yard, looking at nothing in particular.
"Aidan," Faith said next to him. He could now concentrate fully on what she said, and she seemed determined that he do so. "I'm sixty years old."
He turned sharply toward her. Her bold statement was not one that could be ignored. She didn't flinch or pull back into the shadows as he expected her to do, but stepped fully into the light. From where he stood, he could see every curve and line of her body. She lifted her chin and tilted her face from one side to the other. Sunlight bathed her in a warm glow, washing over her skin like milk being poured over sliced peaches.
He had studied her features on numerous occasions. Generally during those times, the light was dim, and she had a radiant glow about her. Today was not one of those times. There was not one niche anywhere on her face that belied her age. He wanted to believe her, more for her than for himself, but her features were taut and supple, with a healthy pink complexion, not wrinkled or gray as he would expect to find on an older woman.
He shook his head in denial. "No, you aren't. You are twenty years old. Three years younger than me."
She looked around her as though searching for something important and lifted her hands. "It is impossible for me to give you anything other than my word. If I told you things I had experienced, you would think I knew of such things from being told about them. What can I say to convince you that I am being truthful?"
"Faith, cease, please. I know that you believe what you are saying is true, but I don't need to be told a fantasy to help me recover."
Her mouth dropped open and she blinked up at him. "Fantasy?" She turned away and whispered, "You don't believe me. I should never have told you."
"Why are you telling me now?" Aidan snapped. No one had to tell him he was being harsh. Maybe he had been bedridden too long to be civil, but he had heard enough. He could only imagine that the next thing she would tell him, and would expect him to believe, was that she could defy death and live forever.
"You are my husband," she reminded him. "I thought you should know." Her voice barely rose above a whisper. She lifted her gaze from the floor, her confidence building. "And I foolishly thought you would want to know."
He limped back to the bed. He didn't know which was harder to accept, her tale or her insistence in it being factual. Regardless of what he thought, she clung to the details of her story like grim death on a cold corpse. He yanked the blanket down, dust particles swirled through the sunbeam striking the floor. Still too agitated to sit, he paced the area from the bed to the window. Faith stood to the side of the room, watching him. She slowly crossed her arms over her chest. According to her, she thought he would want to know about her time traveling because he was her husband. Her husband. He turned sharply in her direction.
"Are we married?" he asked. His voice, rigid and cold, shook the warmth from the room.
"Don't be ridiculous. Of course we are," she snapped. She threw her arms to her sides and stepped forward like she prepared for battle. "Don't you remember?" she asked, jutting her chin forward.
"When I proposed to you," he said, "you told me that you had been married once before. I assumed you were a widow." He stepped toward her. The pain in his leg no longer ached. "Were you?"
Faith's eyes rolled upward, and she shook her head. She turned toward the door. Aidan grabbed her by the upper arm. Her muscle flexed beneath his grasp, and she pulled against him. She glared up at him, her eyes round with fear.
He released her, his hands shaking. What had he thought to prove by grabbing her? She had come to him, wanting to unburden herself of a secret that should be shared between a husband and wife. Instead of listening to her entire story, he had refused to accept what she said. Whenever he shared his memories with her, she never questioned his details, even when her eyes flickered with amusement. Stepping backward, he sat on the edge of the bed. He had seen fear in her eyes. He hoped to never be the cause of that look again.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I should never have touched you so roughly."
The mattress sank next to him, and Faith leaned her cheek against his shoulder. "I forgive you."
He wrapped his arms around her back and held her close. It didn't matter what she said, or that he found her story too difficult to believe. He would not do anything to jeopardize this moment of oneness with her from never happening again.
"I have always suspected that there was something different about you," he said. She glanced up at him, and he held her tighter. "You were very forgetful. I thought you were merely absentminded."
She chuckled against his chest. "I'm glad to know you didn't mind that I was a simpleton."
"I never thought that." He hooked his finger under her chin and tipped her face up to him. "Tell me everything. I will do my best to believe every word."
"And not get distracted?" she asked.
He chuckled. "And not get distracted."
She sighed as though he had removed every weight she had been buried under.
"Our marriage is real," she assured him before launching into a lengthy account of the life she had led before him.
Hours passed and the sunlight that had once streamed strongly through the window faded to a soft glow. Faith had told him of a forced marriage to protect her younger sister. Aidan had been proud of her decision, even when her husband had become violent. His muscles had tensed with his inability to help her during a horrific time in her life. As painful as it was to hear of the beatings she had endured, he could only count them as a blessing. According to what Faith had learned from Trista, it was this passionate, albeit negative act that had sent her into the future and to Aidan.
He took her hand in his, and waited for her to meet his gaze. "Faith," he said, tentative in his approach.
Her face softened, and she smiled up at him.
"Do you want to return to your old life?" he asked, hating himself for speaking the words.
She blinked, but didn't withdraw. "I can never go back to my previous life."
He looked down at her, and drew his brows together. "You sound very certain."
"More than you realize. Forty years ago, I died."
Chapter 19
Faith stretched her arms in front of her body and glided through the current. It had been days since she felt relaxed enough to leave Aidan alone and indulge in such a tranquil luxury. She cupped her hand and pulled against the river. The boulder was just around the bend. It had been years since she had sat on the bulging rock. In the past, she had generally swum to her favorite spot in hopes that Aidan would join her. It didn't seem likely that he felt fit enough to engage in a vigorous swim after his recovery.
She drew her arm over her head adding an additional stroke to her glide. For a reason that she couldn't understand, she was compelled to reach the safety of the stone as quickly as possible. She kicked her feet and swam in the direction to her right. To her surprise, Aidan sat atop the rock, looking like he and the stone had been carved from the same piece of granite. His left leg hung languidly over the curve and his foot dipped into the water.
Faith pulled her legs beneath her and tread water several feet from where he sat. If not for the buoyancy of the water, she would have gone weak-kneed at his presence. His right leg bent at the knee, and he leaned his chin on the top of it. His arms wrapped around his shin, and he drummed his fingers against his elbows. If she had known he was up to a vigorous endeavor, she would have offered him something warm and cuddly to embrace.
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