Faithfully Yours (The Forever Time Travel Romance Series, Book 1)

Dedicated to

Steve and Lorraine Richardson

You have seen me at my worst, and you still count me as a friend.  What more could anyone ask for?  Your friendship means the world to me.  Thank you so much for being part of my life.

Acknowledgments

Peggy Henderson:  You encourage me to stretch my writing skills further than I would ever do on my own.  I'm glad you are always there to give me the added push I need when I am overwhelmed. 

Lorraine Richardson:  I am so grateful for your willingness to read each of my stories.  You catch all of the little things I overlook.

Ramona Lockwood: You took my cover beyond all my expectations.  You are able to convey my thoughts into a beautiful picture.

FAITHFULLY YOURS

by

Carol A. Spradling

1787, North Carolina

Chapter 1

Candlelight flickered on the walls, lighting the bedroom in a soft glow.  On the far side of the room, the fireplace logs had burned down in the early part of the evening, leaving charred embers sputtering the last of their existence.  A white, taffeta dress lay draped over a chair in the corner with a man's brown, cotton jacket and pants hanging from the armrest.  Satin slippers and leather boots trailed a path to the bed. 

Faith Valentine turned on her side, and the ropes under the mattress squeaked beneath her.  The high pitch reminded her of the church bells that had pealed earlier in the day.  She snuggled her head on her new husband's shoulder and trailed her fingers through his chest hair, down his torso, and onto his leg.  Resting her palm on the inside of his thigh, she smiled.  Warmth radiate from under her hand, matching the heat she felt inside.  If she could hold time still, she would choose this moment.  Beneath her cheek, his chest rose as he breathed deeply.  He stroked her hair but left her hand where it lay. 

"Madame," he said, his voice heavy with passion.  "Do you plan to be a bride and a widow on the same day?"

Faith giggled and shifted her weight, nudging her knee in between his.  If he was to be the cause of her elation, she could at least treat him in kind.  "Aidan Valentine, you're twenty-three years old," she reminded him.  "I doubt a woman of twenty will be your undoing."

He squeezed her shoulders, holding her tighter.  "You can undo anything you want."

He lifted her hand and kissed her bent fingers.  Pulling her wrist in the air, he ran his thumb over the plain, silver band that encircled her slender digit.  Narrow and worn, it no longer shone with the polished luster it was sure to have had before leaving the craftsman.  Aidan's brows drew together, and he shook his head as though unhappy with the obvious.

"I wish I could have given you a ring," he said as though chastising himself.

Faith pulled her hand away from him and tucked it beneath his shoulder.  There was no need to keep the annoyance where he could see it.  "You're all I need," she assured him.  She cupped his cheek in her hand and turned his face to hers.  Her lips lightly touched his.  "I would be fine with no ring."

"But without a ring, Pastor Lawson wouldn't marry us, now would he?"

"Which is exactly why we used this one."  She lowered her chin on his chest and stared up at him.  "Aidan, believe me.  You're all I want or need."

Had she failed to convey that thought to him earlier today?  While at the church, it was all she could do to remain mindful of protocol.  Even the pastor's stern glare had done little to calm her excitement.  With Aidan standing next to her, his scent had penetrated every breath she took.  The aroma of soap on his skin was intoxicating.  In bed with him now, the heated muskiness of his body mingled with the earlier fragrance, undoing every ounce of her inhibition.  She had not been coy or shy, nearly ravishing him as soon as they were alone.  He had not suffered from her attack.

He bent forward and kissed the top of her head.  "When I go to Charlotte at the end of harvest season, I'll get you one of your own.  Who did you borrow this one from, anyway?"

Faith glanced down to her left hand.  Except for a small reflective glare, her ring was completely buried beneath a wad of wool and cotton.  Her dishware held more luster.  Tilting her head to the side, she grimaced.  Where had the band come from?  Surely she knew its origin.  Although it was certainly not new, it hadn't just appeared.  It was clearly on her finger.  If it belonged to someone else, they would have claimed it, even from a nervous bride.  Her cheek twitched involuntarily, and she tried to remember where she had found it.  

She had been in the kitchen when Aidan proposed.  His marriage proposal wasn't nearly as much of a surprise as the date he chose.  Two days was barely enough time to make picnic arrangements, much less plan a wedding.  She glanced to the chair near the fireplace.  Her mother's dress lay as she had left it.  Only worn long enough to exchange vows, accept congratulations from a few neighboring families, and eat a celebratory meal, she had left it in good condition. 

Her sisters were unmarried.  At least one of them might want to wed in the same dress.  Other than their names and temperament, the garment was all her parents had left them when they died of diphtheria four years ago.  Faith would not be selfish and chance spoiling the heirloom.  She had been determined to leave the gown in the best condition possible after becoming Aidan's wife.  Her groom had not understood her insistence that her clothes be removed from her body with care. 

She smiled down at her sleepy husband.  His eyes remained closed but his uneven breathing told her he was still awake, possibly awaiting her answer.  He had not suffered from the wait, and she had more than apologized for her part in delaying their private celebration.  Never had she known such enjoyment from something she had been repeatedly told was sinful.  She would see that her younger sister was better prepared. 

She smothered a yawn, and a man's voice burst into her thoughts, jolting her.  Aidan's arms tightened around her waist, and she lowered her head on his chest.  Her eyelids closed in a lazy blink.

"I didn't borrow it," she said, yawning openly.  "I found it in the pocket of my dress."

"Your wedding dress?" Aidan asked.

Faith shook her head and closed her eyes.  A brown wool dress entered her thoughts.  "No.  It was a different dress.  I'm not certain where it came from.  It might have belonged to my mother."

Aidan rolled to his side, and Faith nuzzled closer.  "Regardless," he said.  "I'll get you one of your own in the near future."

Faith. 
A deep voice called to her from the back of her mind.  Faith jerked at the sound of it.  The strange man's voice seemed eerily recognizable, but not one she hoped to hear again.  She dragged her eyes open, not wanting to slip off into sleep.

"Aidan," she said, focusing on her husband.  "What else do you see in our future?"  She licked her lips and snuggled into his secure embrace.  There was peace and safety within his arms.

He kissed her forehead, and Faith's eyelids sealed shut.  "Nothing but happiness, Mrs. Valentine.  Nothing, but happiness."  He stretched his body alongside hers, his breath warming her skin.  "Let me show you what you can expect."

****

A frosty breeze blew into the room, and Faith stretched her arm, trying to find Aidan, hoping to steal his body heat.  Cold and empty, the mattress seemed huge without him lying next to her.  From the chill in the air, he most likely went for additional logs to restart the fire.  She pulled the blanket up over her shoulder and snuggled into the thickness of the quilts.  Her body's heat would keep her side of the bed warm until he returned.  She would happily share her half of the space with him once he crawled back beneath the blankets with her.  She giggled.  It was the least she could do, since he had sacrificed his comfort for hers. 

"Are you getting up?" a deep voice asked from the doorway.

Faith's eyelids flew wide open, and she shot upright in the bed.  Her head swam with dizziness.  In front of her, a husky man with dark blond hair stood in the doorway.  His shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows and a button was missing from his shirt.  The man stared down his nose at her as though she had killed his prize hog.  This man was not Aidan.

The barrel-chested man moved into the room as though it was something he had done on many occasions.  "I hope you don't plan to make a habit of sleeping late," he said. 

A chill unrelated to the temperature of the room settled in around Faith, and she knew there was only one answer to his question.  Instead of responding, she waited.  Fear seemed a welcome friend.  Why could she not move?  She looked toward the door and hoped Aidan was nearby.

The man moved to the foot of the bed and stared at her as though she had lost her senses.  "We have a field full of tobacco that needs harvesting.  I won't do it all myself.  Get yourself out of that bed.  It will be daylight soon enough, and I want my breakfast."

Faith glanced around the room.  Nothing was as she remembered.  Where was her wedding dress and Aidan's clothes?  Where were the empty plates they had brought from the kitchen, filled with meat and bread, to replenish their strength?  There was no evidence of Aidan anywhere in the room.  Faith rubbed her hand through her hair, hoping to push the confusion away from her brain.

"Well?" the man barked at her.

That voice.  It was the same one she had heard when she had drifted off to sleep last night.  But that was several hours ago when she was with Aidan, on their wedding night.  Her eyes widened and she jerked the blankets to her chin.

Last night with Aidan, she had worn nothing to bed.  She glanced down, hoping she was clothed.  She closed her eyes, and released a sigh.  Although her gown was tattered and loose fitting, at least she didn't sit in front of this demanding man without some form of coverage.