by M. S. Parker
I didn't even have to think about it. Not with his arms around me. “Not a chance.”
He kissed the top of my head. “Good.”
Chapter 4
Gracen looked pensive as he dressed the following morning, and it unnerved me.
“What's wrong?” I asked as I pulled on a plain cotton dress over my shift. I'd done the whole stays and uncomfortable shit the first day we came back. After that, I made sure Gracen knew that me wearing all of it would be a rare occurrence. I needed to be able to move around. And breathe. Breathing was good.
“My father is supposed to return today,” he said. “Titus mentioned it to me yesterday evening.”
“And?” I prompted, even though I had a feeling I wouldn’t like what he had to say.
“We need to talk to him about the future.”
I sighed and shook my head. “No, Gracen. We can't do that.”
He shot me a confused look. “What do you mean, we can’t? I thought we needed to convince him to support the colonists.”
“He won't believe us.” I stood and crossed the room to stand next to him. “Not when he's so angry right now. He'll think it's all my influence.”
I didn't add that if Gracen slipped and said why I believed what I did, that Roston might try to accuse me of witchcraft. I couldn't remember just how that sort of thing would go at this particular point in history, but I doubted it'd be anything good.
Gracen sighed. “That is what my father would think.”
I brushed back some hair from his face. “Besides, with the way he's treated you, why do you even want to try to convince him of what's to come?”
His hand went to the back of his neck, eyes sliding away from me. “I suppose I don't like being thought of as a traitor.”
I put my hand on his cheek until he looked at me. “You're not a traitor.”
“Not enlisting with the British makes my father think that I am. I want him to understand my reasons for not enlisting. Can you understand that?”
I shook my head even as I wrapped my arms around his waist. “I'm sorry, but I don't.”
He was quiet for a moment before saying, “You said that you love your father and that he's the best man you know. You wouldn't wish to shatter his good opinion of you, would you? You wouldn't want to remain at odds with him forever.” His voice softened. “He's all the family I have. We have.”
He was right, I realized suddenly. I couldn't simply tell him that my family would accept us, and him. My family wasn't here. Hell, I was pretty sure that most of my ancestors at this time weren't even in this country.
I looked up and saw the sadness in his eyes. In that moment, I knew that I would do whatever I could to erase it. It didn't matter that I thought we could make it on our own, or that Roston would never believe – or probably even care – what we told him. It wasn't about me. It was about Gracen and the importance of family.
“I'm with you, whatever you decide.” I tightened my grip on his waist.
I meant it, but I hoped we weren't making a huge mistake.
I tried to be as quiet as possible as I slowly opened the front door, wincing when the hinges creaked. I was hoping I could slip upstairs without running into my dad or my brother. Ennis would pepper me with questions that were simply annoying, and Dad, well, he'd have quite a bit more to say. And he'd give me that look. I didn't want that look.
Slipping off my shoes, I padded toward the stairs in stocking feet, clenching the collection of key chains hanging on the zipper of my backpack in one fist to keep them from jangling. Even the best sneaking, however, wasn't a match for a man with ex-army hearing.
“Honor, come here please.”
Shit.
I froze. My father's voice came from his study, and I knew it was no use pretending I hadn't heard him. I'd been caught. I released my key chains, dropped the backpack noisily on the hardwood floor, and then made my way to the doorway of the study.
His laptop was open in front of him, but he looked up when I appeared at the threshold. “Where were you tonight?”
“I told you,” I said, tugging the sleeves of my sweatshirt down on my arms so that they almost covered my hands completely. I fidgeted when I was nervous. “I was with Bruce. We went out to dinner, then to a movie.”
Dad raised his eyebrows, skepticism clearly written on his face. “It's almost one in the morning.”
“The movie started at ten-thirty and lasted two hours. I came straight home afterward. Mom knew how late I'd be.”
I almost grimaced at bringing my mom into it, but I really had told her my plans. I reminded myself that I hadn't done anything wrong. Bruce and I hadn't slept together. Hell, we'd barely kissed. True, Bruce had tried to get a little more hands-on, but he hadn't argued when I shut him down. Though it was probably still more than my parents would be happy with, we hadn't done anything wrong. I knew that we hadn't gone too far, even if Dad believed otherwise.
“Can I go to bed?” I knew better than to just say I was going.
“I don't like this, Honor.”
Of course he didn't.
I could have tried to explain, but I didn't. Dad was never going to approve of Bruce, and that was a fact. I needed to stop trying to defend my relationship. Nothing was going to change. Not with Bruce and certainly not with my dad. I respected my father's opinion, but my mind was made up, and nothing was going to change it.
The memory had come through clearer than it ever had before, and it stayed with me as our dinner with Roston approached. I knew he'd gotten back at some point today, but between the two of us working to avoid each other, I hadn't seen him yet. While I was glad of that, it did little to ease my anxiety.
“I don't know what to say to him, not after what happened.” I smoothed down the skirt of my new dress. It'd been a surprise from Gracen, but I couldn't help thinking that he'd chosen it to make me look more like the proper wife I was supposed to be. However, even the rich mahogany color and the fine material supplied little confidence when I thought about sitting in the same room with Gracen's father, pretending to be civil when all I really wanted to do was slap my father-in-law senseless.
I didn't even want to think about how we could ever convince Roston to change sides in a war that hadn't even been officially declared. A war that no one would believe a bunch of ragged colonists would win, not until it was almost over.
“I need to try to make things right.” Gracen glanced over at me, a slight smile forming on his lips. “Also, it will give us an opportunity to show him what an intelligent, amazing daughter-in-law he has.”
I knew Gracen meant to be encouraging, but it only made me more uneasy. I knew Gracen loved me, but I was no Clara. I was an army medic, not a socialite. I could triage and fire weapons no one in this century could imagine. But I couldn't smile and flirt to charm a room. I didn't know how to run a household. I’d never be what Roston Lightwood wanted for his son.
“Just follow my lead.” Gracen kissed my forehead, then took my hand.
I focused on slowing my breathing and trying to calm my pulse as we made our way to the dining room, but I was still on edge when we arrived. Roston was already seated, a newspaper on the table in front of him. He didn’t stand when we entered. In fact, he didn't even look up.
“Good evening, Father.”
Gracen managed a much more cordial tone than I could've in his position. His expression stayed carefully blank as his father raised his head. Roston's cold gaze moved from Gracen to me, and I endured his scrutiny without looking away until Gracen pulled out my chair, giving me an excuse to break eye contact. Sitting in these damn dresses was a real pain in the ass.
“How was your trip?” Gracen asked once we were all seated.
Roston’s smile was anything but kind. “I don't see why it matters to you, seeing what scant regard you have for the Lightwood name.”
My hands curled into fists, but I did as Gracen had instructed and let him take the lead. His father, his place.
&nbs
p; “Actually, Father, that is an issue I wanted to address this evening.”
“Oh, is it?” Roston raised his eyebrows, his expression as mocking as his tone. “Pray tell, what could you have to say that would undo the irrevocable havoc you’ve brought upon our good name with your impulsive decision?”
“I don’t intend to undo anything,” Gracen answered easily. “I know that breaking off my engagement to Clara was handled indelicately and that you don't approve of the choice I made regarding not taking a commission, but I have something that may...help. I only ask that you hear me out.”
“Hear you out,” Roston scoffed. He didn't even look at the servant who set his dinner in front of him.
“Yes. First, I would like to apologize for what happened with Clara.”
My stomach clenched, and I set my fork down. He hadn't told me he planned to talk about her. I would've preferred not to give Roston more of an excuse to discuss all the ways Clara was a better match than I was.
Roston made a scornful noise. “Is that so?”
“Yes. Not for marrying Honor, but for how I went about ending the engagement. It was a business deal, not a matter of love, but I should have faced it head-on.”
My father would have praised Gracen for being man enough to admit that he'd handled something wrong, but Roston simply looked bored with the whole thing. It didn't stop Gracen from continuing though.
“Second, the army.”
The expression on Gracen's face told me that he was trying to choose his words carefully. I understood the difficulty. When I tried to warn Gracen without telling him who I was or when I was from, I'd simply blurted out the truth about the British losing. I had a feeling that wouldn't work very well with someone like Roston. Hell, it hadn't really worked with Gracen.
“A decision to join the British forces would have destroyed everything. Even if I survived the war, as a commissioned officer, I could be tried as a traitor. If I managed to avoid that, we would most likely have to return to England as we'd never have peace here.”
The atmosphere in the room thickened as Roston leaned forward. “And why, Son, do you think that would be the only possible outcome?”
“The British lose the war.”
Shit.
The second the words left Gracen's mouth, I knew Roston wouldn't believe him. Color crept up the elder Lightwood's cheeks, and his mouth twisted like he'd tasted something sour.
“This isn't some unorganized group of rebels trying to get attention,” Gracen softened his tone, but still persisted. “They believe what they're fighting for, and you know as well as I do that the Crown will not give them what they want.”
“The Crown will crush this rebellion,” Roston said. “And the soldiers who fought for the King will be recognized for their loyalty.”
He sounded so sure of himself, and I knew that was one of the biggest mistakes the British had made. Not that they'd been without reason. They'd crushed every native population they'd fought against so far. The Scottish rebellions had always been quashed, and the Brits had so thoroughly destroyed them only thirty years or so ago that most Scots would fight for the British in this war to avoid being on the losing side again.
The American Revolution was the first time a group of rebels had managed to overthrow tyranny in modern history – or at least as far as I remembered from my history classes – and it would be this rebellion that would give other countries the courage to do the same. France, most notably as their revolution wasn't too far off.
“No, Father, they won't.”
Gracen reached over and took my hand, bringing me back from the future to the past...or rather the present. I tried to give him an encouraging smile.
“The colonists will not give up,” he continued. “They are fighting for their freedom, and it is not a war the Crown will win.”
“That’s preposterous. Absurd!” Roston tossed his napkin onto his half-eaten dinner. “The British army is the greatest army in the world. No rabble with pitchforks and sticks will stand against them.”
“I'm sorry, Sir,” I said with a small voice. Then clearing my throat, I added, “but they aren't without a leader. Washington has their allegiance and their respect.”
Roston made a sound of contempt. “Washington is a fool, and if he hangs as a traitor, it will be too good for him.” He pointed his finger at Gracen. “I don't care where you have heard this nonsense, but it stops. Now,” he said, glancing at me briefly before looking back at Gracen. “You will enlist in the British army, and you will set aside this...girl so I may attempt to fix the mess you have made.”
“No.” Gracen shook his head, his jaw set. “I will not fight for a cause I do not believe in, and I will not set Honor aside. She is my wife, and I made a vow before God and man. It is done.” He paused for a moment, and then added, “I love her the way you loved my mother. Would you have given her up?”
Roston pushed back from the table hard enough that I thought the chair would tip over. The expression on his face was nothing short of pure fury.
“Don't speak to me about your mother.” His voice shook angrily. “She would be ashamed of you, of the person you've become.” He glared at me and then turned his anger back toward his son. “I am only grateful that she died before she could see you make a mockery of everything we worked so hard to build.”
He stormed out, nearly knocking over one of the servants as he left. Gracen and I watched in silence, neither of us speaking even as servants scurried around to pick up the things that'd been knocked over before anything was ruined. Only after the last of the dishes had been cleared away did I dare to speak.
“That could have gone better.”
Gracen glanced over at me, his eyes filled with dejection. “I had to try.”
I mentally cursed Roston for the pain he caused his son, but I couldn't truly blame him for not believing that the British would lose. It was at its height of power, with colonies all over the world. This was the time period when the sun never set on the British empire...and my history buff of a brother had told me that it hadn't just been a saying.
In the eyes of the current world, Britain was unbeatable.
It was ludicrous to assume a war that hadn't even been declared would be won by a country that didn't yet exist. Gracen was taking a leap of faith believing me, and I wasn't about to show Roston my tattoo in the hopes that it would sway him to believe us. All Gracen and I could do now was hope that Roston would come to see the truth before it was too late.
Chapter 5
“You shoulda listened to me.”
I jumped, startled, and quickly turned from the library window to find Dye standing only a few feet away. I’d been so deep in thought I didn’t hear her enter. I'd been so wrapped up with learning how to run a household that I'd barely seen her and hadn't talked to her outside of the basic instructions I'd given to the whole staff. Technically, Roston was in charge, but Gracen had told me that it'd be a good idea to show an interest in how things were done. I didn't see it hurting anything so I'd agreed.
“Should have listened to you about what?” I asked the question even though I had a fairly good idea what she meant. She wasn't the type of person who kept her opinion to herself, and she'd had a strong one about my relationship with Gracen from the very start.
“You know what,” she responded with a nod at me. “Warmin' Master Gracen's bed has caused you nothin’ but trouble.”
“That's not what's happening. I'm his wife.” I held up my hand to show my ring. “And being married to the man I love seems a small price to pay for a little bit of trouble.”
Dye shook her head again, her dark eyes gleaming. “But it ain't just a little bit, an' I think you know it. It ain't gonna be pretty when it ends badly.”
I didn't like the shiver her words sent down my spine, but I lifted my chin, refusing to let her sense the doubts coming alive inside me. I was determined not to let them take hold.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about. Grac
en loves me.”
She ran her hand over her short black hair and shook her head. “I'm sure he do, but Master Roston ain't ever gonna forgive you for marryin' his son.”
I wanted to argue with her, was even tempted to pull rank for a moment, but I knew she was right. No matter how much I wanted to hope that Roston would accept me and the rift between father and son could be healed, a deeper part of me knew Roston would never forgive me, and that he'd continue to blame me for everything that was wrong between father and son.
Scenes flashed in front of my eyes. My first meeting with Gracen. Our escape from the captivity of the British. Coming here. The first night we spent together. Me telling him the truth. Our wedding.
Each memory was more precious to me than the last. Each one reminding me that, no matter what we had given up, it was worth it because we were together.
“It doesn't matter,” I finally said. “Gracen may want to make things right with his father, but he won't give me up to do it.”
Dye gave me a hard look. “I ain't never been involved with no man, but I seen how men treat women, and they always choose themselves first. When Master Roston tells his son to go marry that Stiles girl or lose everything, you can bet Master Gracen won't be thinking 'bout that ring on your finger or any pretty promises he made.”
Before I could think of a response, she was gone.
When I'd talked to her before I left, I'd hoped her cryptic speech had meant she had some sort of mystical knowledge about what had happened to me. Now, I was hoping it was simply the way she spoke because I really didn't want to consider that she had any sort of prophetic powers. If she did, then the future I thought my marriage to Gracen had prevented might have only delayed it. He might end up with Clara after all.
And I'd be stuck in the past...alone.
The future was something that soldiers either didn't talk about at all or talked about too much. Some saw it as bad luck to talk about the future when the next day could be their last. Some saw it as a way to laugh in the face of the odds. My friends and I, we only talked about it when the end of a tour approached.