Something ominous brewed behind the scowl he wore. After the way he had listened to her earlier today, she hoped he would allow her the opportunity to do the same for him. She swirled her hands at her side in lazy figure eights and slowly moved closer to Aidan's exposed leg.
"I don't remember Honor saying you could swim," Faith scolded playfully.
Aidan lifted his gaze but nothing more. "I don't need to be smothered by a healer or by my wife."
Faith glanced down at the water. Maybe she had hoped for too much from him. From the expression on his face and the sound of his voice, he might not want company of any kind. That could be the reason he went for a late night swim without inviting her to join him. When she saw him step from the house earlier tonight and move toward the river, she had never considered that he would want to be alone. She bobbed in the water, drawing closer to the rock. His choice for solitude was no longer a practical option. Regardless of her intrusion, his tone of voice was unacceptable.
"Is that what you think I'm doing?" she asked.
"Why else would you be out here during the night?" He looked down at her and didn't offer to help lift her out of the water.
She grabbed hold of his ankle, pulled herself up onto the rock, and sat down next to him. He seemed indifferent to her presence. The breeze blew against her skin, and she shivered. Running her hands down her arms and legs, she brushed the beaded droplets from her body, and glanced over her shoulder to the shore. Her white nightgown glowed in the moonlight. Why had she removed her clothing before swimming? She would still be wet and cool if she had worn her clothes, but she would at least be covered. She scooted closer to Aidan, hoping to steal warmth from his body.
He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her. Pulling her tight, he kissed her forehead. "Do you feel better?"
"Yes," she said, her teeth chattering. Huddled next to him, she peered down at his leg. He might accuse her of smothering him, but she didn't want his wound to reopen. She had to admit that it did look better than it had when she first started treating it. Other than a small speck, the mark was barely noticeable. Perhaps a hearty swim would be what he needed to work the soreness from his limb.
She nudged him in the ribs with her fingertips. "Since you don't need someone smothering you," she said, "swim with me."
She should have paid more attention to the wicked glint in his eye instead of the lopsided scrunch on his face. He lifted her from her perch and tossed her away from him. Her arms and legs flailed the air. Airborne, she braced for the chilly landing. There was nothing to grab hold to in order to break her fall. She hit the water bottom first, and made a quick jab for her nose. She didn't know how, but there would be retribution.
Holding her breath, she sank deep beneath the surface. She unfolded at the waist, and clawed her way to the surface. Laughing and sputtering, she splashed water over at him. This was only the beginning of what he could expect in way of reprisal. She would extract revenge, but until then, what a relief it was to interact with each other the way they had when they were younger.
As though reading her mind, Aidan stood to his feet, and jumped into the air. Faith squealed and ducked away from him. She kicked toward the surface and stretched to swim away. Aidan was a large man and very strong. Even without using his legs to swim, he would catch up to her within a few strokes. She would never move fast enough to flee from him.
Four strokes into her escape, two powerful hands clamped down on her waist. She gulped air and disappeared under the water. She tried to keep from laughing as her back slammed against his chest. Giggling, she held to his arms as their heads broke the surface.
She lifted her body and leaned her back against Aidan's chest. Using him as a pillow, she kicked her legs upward. The moonlight rippled on the water in front of her. There was no other place, or time for that matter, that she would prefer to be. Shifting in his arms, she looked up at him. From this angle, he looked as though he had been carved from silver.
"When I saw you from the bank," she said. She lifted her leg, pointing her toes at the moon. Water trickled down her calf, striking the water like a musical instrument. "You looked as though you were deep in thought."
"Um hmm," he said. His chest rumbled beneath her, and she snuggled closer to him.
From the currents rippling around them and the direction that they flowed, she could tell he moved them closer to shore. Aidan's legs no longer kicked beneath hers, and his body straightened. She stretched her foot, reaching her toe for soft sand. An endless void of water, fluttered between her calves. This move on his part was so typical of his sense of fair play. He had deliberately kept her in water deep enough that she would remain dependent on him. He readjusted his hold, locking his hand around his wrist. The way the tops of her breasts pushed up out of the water, this action was as deliberate as where he chose to stand.
"Would you like to tell me what you were thinking about when I came upon you?" she asked.
He bounced her low, and she caught her breath. Water surged over her chest. "I was thinking about you," he said.
Her heart sped up. She had been content to lie in his arms, feeling his breath on her hair, but to know she occupied his thoughts was enough to make her lose control. She turned to face him and wrapped her arms around his neck, hanging from him like a banner.
"You were thinking of me?" she asked. She wished there was more of a moon to enable her to see the details of his features.
He held her away from him and lifted her torso out of the water. His gaze lowered slowly, as though refreshing his memory of what he had seen. Faith closed her eyes in a slow blink and bit on her lower lip.
"You need to have more memories about us," he said.
She nodded, curious as to what he meant to do. "I agree."
Aidan's hands slid behind her. He grabbed her buttocks and squeezed. "Since passion is what sent you backward in time, I want to be certain of something before we… create new memories," he said.
She touched her fingers to his chest and then slipped them downward over his ribs. Keeping contact with Aidan, her hands disappeared under the surface and past his hips. His breath caught, and she smiled. She leaned in and pressed her lips to his neck. She would never grow tired of the taste of him.
"I am certain," she said, trailing kisses up his cheek, "that I will not time travel anymore. I am destined to be here with you."
He pulled her to him and tilted his head to the side giving her more access to his face. "Faith," his voice rasped. "I cannot live my life without you in it."
His hands moved from behind her and up to her breasts. Faith gasped, savoring the smell and heat of his body. She had been given a small taste. Now, she salivated for more. He had shared his fear with her, even shaking in her arms. She had to set his fears to rest.
"I'll never leave you, Aidan," she said. "Trista assured me that when a time traveler dies in one life, they can never return to that time. I died forty years ago. I can never go back to my earlier life."
That promise seemed to be all he needed to hear. His mouth came down hard on hers. Clutching his back, she held him tighter, not wanting the moment to end. Aidan must have felt the same way. He grabbed her around the waist, lifted her off of her feet, and then carried her to the bank.
"Your leg," Faith said, not wanting to influence a change in his direction.
"Madam, now that you have satisfied my concern, a completely severed leg will not stop me from my intent."
She ran her hand behind his head, locking her fingers in his hair. "If that happens," she said. "I will patch you up...later."
****
Aidan grabbed Faith around her waist, lifted her off of her feet, and laid her on their clothes. There was no turning back. She had assured him that this was what she wanted. If these were to be her last moments of life, this was how she wanted to spend them.
Careful of Aidan's leg, Faith pushed him to his back and leaned over him. Aidan's eyes widened as he looked up at her. He rubbed his hand dow
n her bare back and over her behind. Faith tingled from his touch. She didn't have experience to draw from, and hoped she did this correctly.
Her hair fell in front of her shoulders. Aidan gathered the locks in his hands, and pulled her down to him. His lips were warm and intoxicating. He held to her hips, guiding her over him.
The heat of him slowly melted her fears. Never had she known there could be so much strength in tenderness. Her breasts rubbed against his chest hairs igniting new passion inside of her. Aidan pulled her to him, holding her as though he feared she would vanish.
This was not her first time being with a man, but this was the first man she had ever loved. Each tantalizing moment spent in Aidan's arms was more intense than the last. His touch melded her to him, blending their bodies into one.
He rolled her to her back and buried himself deep within her. Faith's breath caught, and she held him tighter, trying to give him every part of her. He groaned with each thrust, and Faith screamed into his shoulder. Both of their bodies were slick and wet. Tears rolled down the sides of her face, and she grabbed hold of his back, not wanting to release the moment.
Thoroughly spent, she lay still, listening to their uneven breaths, slowly return to normal. Neither of them made any effort to move from the bank. They lay thoroughly content where they were.
Chapter 20
Faith lay on her side. Her body pressed, vice-like, against a warm, solid form. Other than stiff joints and tight muscles, she had never felt so relaxed and euphoric. With Aidan's arms wrapped around her, she could lay here forever. She had made a conscious decision during the night to show him how much he meant to her. If all she had to live on was the remembrance of that night, then she would commit to memory every second of their time together and think about it often.
She snuggled closer to her bed warmer, and nestled her face into the thick folds. Course hair scratched her cheek, and an odd, unrecognizable odor filled her nose. She brushed her hand over her face, and pulled back. Even after Aidan's injury, caked in dirt, blood, and sweat, he had not smelled this gamey. She pushed her face forward, burying her nose against the hairy surface, and sniffed again. Other than a heady, musk scent, there was nothing distinctive to identify what she smelled, but it was not Aidan.
She opened her eyes and blinked into the darkness. The space surrounding her was empty of shadows and moonbeams, which normally sliced through the window. Images of her and Aidan flashed through her mind, filling the void. They had spent hours on the riverbank, exploring and enjoying each other's bodies. While there had not been a full moon illuminating their night of passion, there had been moonlight. According to how rested she felt, daylight should be breaking over the ridge. She glanced around once more. Why was it still so dark?
Trying to roll to her back, she pushed against the body next to her. Her forearm sank into the mass, and her arm jerked instinctively away from the hairy thickness. Aidan's body was broad shouldered, with a tapered waist. What lay next to her was not the shape she remembered from last night. She reached her hand toward the lump, and a soft thickness compressed under her fingertips. She stiffened, and her eyes flew open. Who or what had she snuggled up against?
The door on the opposite wall opened, and light spilled in. Faith turned her head away from the harsh beam. She squinted against the light and tried to recognize the person entering the room. Not saying a word, a woman's silhouette filled the frame.
"I thought I might have to fetch a prince to bestow a magical kiss on your lips in order to rouse you from your slumber," the familiar voice taunted.
"What?" Faith asked, still not sure whom she spoke with.
"Fairy tales," the woman explained and moved into the room. She left the door open behind her. Light surrounded the female form like a haze, casting her features in a dark shadow.
"I understand your reference. I don't know why the riddle," Faith snapped. Her head started to throb. She massaged her forehead, and spoke from behind her hand. "Where am I, and where is my husband?" She had enough confusion surrounding her. She didn't need this woman, no matter how accommodating, to add to her conundrum.
Led by her abrupt demeanor, the tall woman moved deeper into the room. Light footsteps clicked against the wood floor. Faith didn't remember hearing the steps while she had slept; perhaps she hadn't been here that long. Her hostess stepped around obstacles in the room as though familiar with their placement.
"You always were unpleasant in the morning," the soft voice said.
Faith bristled under her remarks. She shot a glance in front of her as the woman passed by, the hem of her dress brushed against Faith's legs as she made her way to the window. Faith sniffed the air. The smell of hazelnut followed the woman from one side of the room to the other. She stopped in front of the window, lifted her arms, and pulled apart the curtain. With the ends tucked away from the sill, she turned around.
The woman's gray hair fell in front of her shoulders. The length of her mane twisted into soft curls, resembling the youthful bounce of a young girl's tresses. Faith moved her gaze to the blue-gray eyes, and then down the bridge of her nose, landing on the sideways smirk, which sat comfortably on the sallow face.
"Trista!" Faith gasped.
She glanced around the room, not certain what she was looking for. From the few times she had visited the old woman, she had never gone inside her home. Heavy furniture anchored the perimeter of the room, and clutter, the amount of which could only come from years of collecting, filled every niche of space. Faith swept another gaze from left to right, ending on Trista. None of her belongings signified personal objects or persuasions. Everything about the room seemed to be in keeping with the old woman's character. Faith felt no more at ease now than when she first awoke.
She flicked a quick glance to the opening. The house had not seemed very large from the outside. The door leading to her freedom couldn't be far away. She could make it to the porch within a few steps and then...and then, back down the hill and across the river.
"If you're looking for your prince, he isn't here," Trista said, her mind-reading skills still sharp. She propped her elbow on the dresser top next to the window and leaned into her palm.
Faith tuned and searched the bundle behind her. A large animal fur lay crumpled on the bed. She turned sharply. "Where is Aidan?"
Trista looked down at her fingernails. She rubbed the end of one nail against the other. "If I were to guess, I would say that Mr. Valentine isn't alive."
Faith's heart sank in her chest. "Aidan's dead?"
"I warned you to stay away from him."
Faith didn't believe Trista now any more than she had earlier in the week. An honest word was incapable of forming on the woman's lips. The very thought of speaking truth must nauseate the woman, leaving her incapacitated. Whatever Trista's reason for bringing her here, Faith would have no part of it. She jumped to her feet. Aidan was surely searching for her.
She shuffled her feet, and tried to move toward the door. Lightheaded, the floor shifted off center, and the walls seemed to swirl around her. She held her hand to her head and braced herself for what was quickly becoming an inevitable fall. Reaching behind her, she grabbed for the mattress and sank back down onto the bed. Her body hadn't felt this tortured since she had fought with Hank.
"What have you done, Trista?"
The sound of liquid gurgling into a tin cup was her only answer. Trista held the water in front of Faith and waited for her to accept it. Taking it in her hands, she sipped slowly. The world around her slid back into a more settling position.
"I brought you to my home and nursed you back to health." Surprisingly gentle, Trista pulled Faith's hair away from her face and inspected a place at her hairline. "You took quite a blow to your head. The bruising is almost gone."
Blow to my head...Bruising...Aidan's not alive. Faith concentrated on each syllable of her last thought. Trista had been clear in her choice of words. She had not said Aidan was dead. Faith had been the one to draw that co
nclusion. 'Not alive'. That was the phrase she had used. Faith's shoulders slumped. Those words could mean only one thing.
A cold chill surrounded Faith, and shivering only drew the deathly ghost closer to her heart. "I'm back in 1787, aren't I?" Faith asked, her life defeated.
"Yes, you are," Trista answered. Wood creaked behind her as Trista leaned her backside against a vanity dresser. She crossed her arms over her chest and balanced the pose by resting her dainty ankle on the top of her other foot. "And I warned you to not return here."
Faith glared over at her. She stared through scraggly wads of dirty hair, unconcerned that one side of her face was covered. "My sister told me that it is impossible for me to return to this time if I was dead."
"She was right." Trista pushed with her toe a pail of water in Faith's direction. "But you didn't die."
Faith ignored the unspoken offer. She was certain that soap and a washcloth would be tossed in her direction shortly. "It certainly felt as if I had died," Faith snarled.
"A fall from a cliff of that height should have killed you. I'll grant you that," Trista agreed.
Water swayed inside the bucket, lapping against one side and then the other. Faith looked up from the pail to Trista. "But obviously, it didn't."
How could something as treacherous as a fall from that cliff have spared her life? The crags along the side of the drop were spiked with stone edges that were as sharp as any knife. Local tanners were known to scavenge the bay for shards to use when scraping their hides. Faith pulled the sleeves of her nightdress up to her elbow. Scrapes and cuts did scar her skin, but nothing looked as though it wouldn't mend.
The height of the drop varied as much as eighty feet. Hank was certain to have dragged her to the highest point. The ground beneath the drop might be soft enough to cushion her fall, but the protruding stones that spotted the ground would easily break more than a few bones. Other than a lightheaded feeling that could come from excessive sleep, she didn't seem to suffer from any impairment. While the end result might be acceptable, that didn't answer the reason for it.
Faithfully Yours (The Forever Time Travel Romance Series, Book 1) Page 14