Hank stood with his back to her. She wasn't sure what he worked on, but from the way he grunted and slammed tools on the worktable, he was not having much success. A twig snapped under her foot, and he stiffened in place. Sweat beaded on her upper lip, and she swallowed hard, removing the thick ball at the back of her throat. He turned sharply to face her, a hammer held tightly in his raised fist. Maybe she would return to Aidan sooner than she had planned.
"Faith," Hank said. Blood drained from his features, and Faith's fingers tingled with her own loss of flow. He tilted his head, a thoroughly perplexed look on his face.
Faith worked her hands, pumping blood back into her body. She cheered inwardly, congratulating herself on her small victory over Hank. It was too bad that her advantage faded with the diming light. Although similar, there were only two ways to return to her future. Her death or Hank's would send her back to Aidan, and she wasn't sure which she preferred. If she waited the forty years it would take to meet him, she would be useless to help him. She steeled herself for what was to come and fought against every urge to flee.
Hank's expression darkened as she moved toward him and away from the door. She needed her limbs to deny their desire to run, and bring her closer to destruction. Although Hank looked as though he had seen her ghost, he also seemed to chastise himself for not completing the job he had started up on the cliff. She would give him his chance to finish what he started now.
"You seem a little surprised to see me, Hank," Faith said. She lifted her chin, and walked with slow, exact movements. Her gaze flicked to the hammer in his hand, and her stomach rolled, her decision no longer hers. Although the tool would be more than adequate to end her life, it seemed to be a most painful method of death.
He lowered his hand, the implement hung at his side. "So you've decided to come back to me, have you?" he asked. His voice hitched as though he tried to sound concerned.
Faith didn't bother looking around for something she could defend herself with. She hoped he would complete the act in an expedient manner. Make him kill you, good and proper, Trista had said. It was too bad he hadn't been more thorough the first time. If he had, she would still be with Aidan, and Hank would never have to know she had survived.
"Returning to you wasn't something I chose to do," she said. "If I had been given a choice, I would have stayed where I was."
"He demanded you leave, did he?" Hank asked with a laugh. He turned back to the table, and Faith jumped as the hammer fell from his hand and onto the workplace. He whirled around. His arm drew upward, and his fist tightened into a ball.
Faith flinched, but the full stroke of the blow caught her across the cheek. She reeled backward, falling against a branding iron. Keeping the tool within easy reach, she righted herself. Her heart pumped faster, giving her the added strength she needed to run. She gulped short, shallow breaths, trying to convince her body that she was responding correctly to its demand. In her mind, she raced from disaster, but in actuality, she would have to confront the beast in order to slay it.
Her future stood in front of her, dressed in suspenders and old clothes. He wore a dirty, white shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. Starting at her feet, his eyes slowly rose to the top of her head. He seemed to inspect every inch of her frame. Faith shivered, feeling as though she had been skinned alive.
"I don't know how I survived that fall," she said. "I'm sorry to disappoint you."
He placed his hand on his hip, his gaze resting on her eyes. Although he looked straight at her, he stared as though he looked through her. His tongue licked across his lips, and he wiped the back of his hand across his chin. A sickening smile pulled at each side of his mouth. She swallowed and hoped her heart would fail to pump. Could death by natural causes create the same results she needed?
Aidan's face flashed to the front of her thoughts. Even when frustrated by her aloof behavior, compassion had never left his eyes. She had spent several days in their home as his wife. The time had passed by as quickly as a breeze through the trees. She could only imagine what a lifetime spent with Aidan would be like. To be cherished and cared for was a type of love she would sacrifice anything to keep.
Hank grabbed her by the upper arm and shoved her against the stall. Faith winced, wondering if her return to Aidan would be quick and painless or slow and excruciating. From the pressure Hank applied to her torso, he was as uncertain as she was. She wondered what it would take to anger him to the point of madness. All the while she had known him, it took next to nothing to spark his temper. Now she needed it to explode.
He leaned in, his breath, hot and wet on her skin, smelling as though he had eaten radishes. Faith turned her face away and tried to breath into her blouse. Hank laid the flat of his hand against her cheek and pushed her head into the wood, grinding her skull into the post. She closed her eyes, impulsively protecting her vision from possible splinters. Cower, she told herself. Like most bullies, Hank was no different. The more she begged and pleaded for her life to be spared, the more violent he would become. Exerting his strength over her seemed to give him an enjoyment that she had failed to provide in any other manner.
Faith pushed against him and kicked at his shin. She needed to be convincing. He laughed at her efforts, and grabbed her by the arms, pinning her limbs to her side. No longer fearful, she squirmed against him, hoping to give a believable performance. She breathed hard. It was almost as exhausting to encourage his wrath as it was to fight him off. Over his shoulder, lay several large heavy tools. She wasn't sure what most of them were used for, but any number of them could be used as a blunt object.
He lowered his head, and his mouth pressed down on hers. Caught off guard, Faith fought nausea and pushed against him. Hank had better not reach for her waistband, or he would confront a vicious battle. Her struggle was becoming more real than she had imagined it would need to be. She had expected pain and abuse, but rape had never entered her thoughts. She may return to Aidan with bruises and cuts, but she refused to carry that added pain back with her.
Hank's legs spread as he positioned himself for possible leverage. She didn't want to leave him rolling on the floor, writhing in pain. It was her hope that a well placed knee to a sensitive area would be enough to discourage him from his original intent. After a blow of that nature, he would certainly entertain a more lethal thought. She would have to hurry, his hand had moved to his waist.
Faith's palms sweat and her throat went dry. She positioned her foot between both of his and jerked her knee upward. Hank's body wrenched backward, and his mouth left hers. His forehead slammed into her collarbone. Pale faced, his mouth dropped open, and he backed away in sketchy movements. Faith assessed his pain level, and gauged how quickly he should recover. He stood hunched forward and breathing hard. He should recuperate within seconds. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and turned as if to leave.
Two steps were all she managed. He caught her by the hair of the head, and yanked her backward. The pain on her scalp brought tears to her eyes. She twisted in his arms and fell to the ground. Stars danced above her vision as she gasped for breath. Just as she thought, Hank wasted no time. He straddled her waist, and fit his hands snuggly around her throat.
Faith lifted her chin, giving him ample room to complete the job. Tiny puffs of air squeaked down her throat and into her lungs. Elated, she would be with Aidan within a few minutes. Her arms grew limp and fell to her sides. She waited for her worlds to change, anxious to hear his voice and see his face. Never would she fear leaving his arms again.
The dark clouds at the edge of her vision lightened and warm air surged down her throat. Faith gasped and coughed. Her throat burned and her neck ached. She turned onto her hip and coughed into the strewn hay on the floor. She opened her eyes and tried to bring everything into focus. There wasn't time to recognize any of her surroundings. Instead of gentle arms pulling her into an embrace, rough hands jerked her shoulders and flipped her from her back to her stomach. Her wrists wer
e pulled tight behind her and held together.
Faith opened her eyes, blinking against the debris on the floor. Instead of Aidan's handsome face peering down at her, Hank's craggy image loomed in front of her. He stretched to reach a nearby length of twine. Faith stared, confused at what had happened. Hank's knee pressed into her spine, and her hands were yanked back and forth. Rope burned into her skin.
Hank leaned over her. There was no mistaking his radish infused breath. "That's for hiding from me," he said. He jerked her to her feet, and whirled her around. He tied a longer piece of rope around her waist, leaving enough room for a lead. "I would kill you now, but I'm not that gracious." He yanked her forward as though he lead a cow to the fields.
She stumbled, not wanting to follow. Tears ran down Faith's cheeks as thoughts of Aidan slipped further away from her. She looked to see where exactly Hank planned to leave her, not that it mattered. If she was forced to stay here as Hank's prisoner, she had no reason to hope of a life with Aidan.
Chapter 25
Aidan's upper thigh tightened, and he rolled to his back. All of his movements moved with slow and lethargic ease, but at the moment, his stiff, leg muscle mattered little to him. If he didn't know better, he would have guessed he had worked from daylight to dark at the back end of a cantankerous mule, while pulling stumps from a withered cherry orchard. He smiled scandalously. Instead of sweating under back breaking labor, he had exhausted every minute of the previous night wrapped in Faith's arms. The time spent with her was a better option, by far.
He jutted his tongue across his lips, remembering the many looks and sounds she had made during their evening together. Each expression of her pleasure and pain were burned into his memory. He could never choose a favorite face or noise, but he planned to be the man responsible for her replicating the actions on a frequent basis. It didn't matter if it cost him his last breath, he would keep a smile on her face.
His knee pulled free of the sheet covering him from the waist down. It was good that no one lived nearby. From the way she had screamed into his shoulder, neighbors would surely know more than either of them would want to share. Aidan snapped his fingers next to his ear, fearful for his own loss of hearing. He smirked. Although his test concluded that his sense was still sound, he knew he would gladly go deaf in return for her gratification.
Euphoric, he stretched his arms over his head. His knuckles banged against the wall behind him, and he grinned at his recklessness. Memories of his night with Faith flooded back to him. She had thoroughly satisfied each of his desires even before he had asked. Her actions had left him feeling as relaxed as a newborn baby with a full tummy. Never would he have thought it possible to love a woman as deeply as he did Faith. If he was to gauge her response from last night, she felt the same way as he did. Blood surged throughout his body, preparing him for a repeat of their night together. He didn't know how she did it, but she affected every part of him.
He touched his fingers to his throat, and rubbed his pads along the divots on his skin. Her small teeth had nibbled his neck as though she savored an ear of fresh corn. He hoped he had adequately conveyed similar expressions of affection to her. If he had failed, he looked forward to a second opportunity to convince her of his devotion. He reached his arm toward her side of the bed, ready to begin his persuasion. Empty and cold, her place next to him was bare. His body cooled, allowing blood to return to his head. He pushed up on his elbow and considered where she could be.
He hadn't heard her leave the house earlier this morning. She did tend to walk light on her feet. Still, he would rest more comfortably when he knew she was nearby. He climbed out of bed, grabbed his breeches from the back of a chair, and made his way around the foot of the mattress. If she had gone to the privy, she should be back soon, but there had been no warmth in her part of the blankets to indicate she had recently left their bed.
The wood floor felt cool under his feet, and he hurried to the window. Last night, he had left his clothes scattered about the room while making his way to the river. He stood on his shirt, buffering his skin from the cold, and scanned the yard. The sun was nearly straight above the barn, making it later in the day than he first thought. He flexed his back and made no apologies for their lazy morning. When Faith returned from wherever she had gone, they would waste even more hours of daylight. He glanced from one side of the property to the other. Not even her shadow neared the house.
"Faith," he called through the glass.
He slipped his right leg into his breeches. Balanced on one foot, a dreaded thought gripped his mind as tight as a bear trap, and he fell against the wall. A cold sweat washed over him, and his stomach plummeted to the floor, along with the possible reason she wouldn't answer his call. Blood no longer pumped through his body, and he struggled to remain on his feet. She had promised him she would not leave, and from the way she had clawed his back last night, she intended to stay with him.
His heart sped up, and he tugged at the drawstrings on the front of his pants. If these ties knotted on him now, he would cut them off and search for her while buck naked. Hoping beyond hope that she was somewhere on the premises, he cinched the waist with the frayed threads, and reached for his shirt. His pulse pounded in his ears. There was only one sound that would penetrate his thoughts at present. He needed to hear her voice.
"Faith," he called again, stepping over his shoes and racing into the main room. There wasn't time for footwear. He needed to find his wife. He flung the front door open and raced outside. "Faith!" he screamed once more, his voice getting louder. He ran to the river, scanning the banks. There was nothing at the water's edge except for the memories that now threatened his future. Shaking, he dragged his hand through his hair. Where was she?
A breeze blew across the water, and his body temperature dropped along with his hopes of finding her. His knees buckled, and he slumped to the ground. Sitting hunched forward, he propped his elbows on his knees, and cradled his head in his hands. He sucked in air, forcing his lungs to accept each breath.
He shouldn't have risked her time traveling. Trista had been right about everything she had told them. There was no reason for her to mislead them about this, too. He turned his head and dry heaved. His stomach spasmed a second time, clearly trying to remove the bitterness he faced.
Only moments ago, his body had craved her touch. He had nearly killed himself when refusing to satisfy its demand. No matter how much he tried to convince himself that he and Faith could share a life together without intimacy, he knew that option was not a possibility for them. He could as easily live without food as much as he could live with Faith and never touch her. His body responded to the tiniest thoughts about her.
Rose scent wafted through the air, and he turned toward it. Leaves on overhead branches swayed in front of him, but at the corner of the house, red, velvety blooms dipped and bobbed amongst the greenery. He would never be able to go on the north side of the house anymore. The large, rose bush would need to be removed unless he planned to drive himself insane with constant reminders of her.
He was certain she wasn't in his time any more as a twenty year old woman. Yesterday, she had told him that if she had aged naturally, she would be sixty years old in this time. Would she still be willing to accept him as her husband, if their age difference was so great? His thigh throbbed, and he massaged the muscle. His leg was the least of his concerns. It made no difference to him if she was young or old. He wanted Faith in his life.
Many families lived in the area, and he mentally bounced from one house to the other, thinking of their names. Of all the residents, he couldn't remember anyone named Faith. His heart pounded heavier in his chest, and he hung his head. Where are you, Faith?
Weak and desperate for ideas of where to find her, he glanced up from under scruffy hair. To his right, the barn door swayed closed. Fresh optimism surged through him, rejuvenated his hope of finding her, and he raced toward the building. Still barefoot, he stubbed his toe on an exposed tree ro
ot. Not willing to look down, he hopped to the door and yanked it open.
He stepped onto the hard-packed dirt and blinked, forcing his eyes to focus. A shadow moved to the back of the barn, and Aidan's hopes dwindled. The silhouette was too large to be Faith. Aidan moved forward, feeling as though he had lost a war without entering into battle. What if Faith was still in this time, but had been injured? He almost considered this option as a hopeful chance.
The figure in front of him developed features and prominent lines. Seeming to snoop around the tack, the stranger never touched anything but appeared to look for something specific. There was nothing in the barn of value, but with Faith missing...It seemed to be more than coincidental that she vanished on the same day this man arrived. Fueled with renewed anger, Aidan raced to where the stranger stood, caught him by the back of the shirt, and slammed him forward, pressing him against a worktable.
"Where's my wife," he demanded, his lips close to the man's ears. Aidan wanted to be certain the intruder knew the reason for the assault.
"What?" the stranger asked. He gasped and blinked wide eyed up at Aidan. It was hard to decide if the man was confused by the question, or by Aidan's inhospitable greeting.
"I don't know anything about your wife," he answered. "Mr. Valentine, you told me to come to your home on Thursday to discuss my tobacco crop. Do I have the wrong day?" The man's voice stuttered as though he hoped his memory was mistaken.
Aidan's strength faded. He straightened the elderly man to an upright position. Ashamed of the rough treatment he had inflicted on someone of the man's years, he removed his hands from him and stepped backward.
Faithfully Yours (The Forever Time Travel Romance Series, Book 1) Page 17