Faithfully Yours (The Forever Time Travel Romance Series, Book 1) (12 page)

The cold swim, and even icier reception he had received from Faith last night, left him as off balance as if he had dived into the river and then not found the shore.  He rubbed his thumb across his forehead.  Everything about that day had not made sense.  Their morning had started out as ordinary as possible, but when she had returned that afternoon, she was noticeably upset.  Although she gave no indication as to what had caused her irritation, he was certain that a lack of mushrooms couldn't have disturbed her that desperately.  While a caring woman, Faith was not prone to irrational emotions. 

All through mealtime, he had remained silent.  Nothing would have pleased him more than to take her by the shoulders and shake the words from her.  Force and intimidation was not the means to win a person's trust.  He should have taken her in his arms and kissed her until she was no longer able to stand on her own.  This tactic had worked well for him on their wedding night, but she had been less than interested in passion last night.  Instead of doing something he would regret, he had left her alone and gone to their bedroom.  He was certain she would talk with him before retiring for the night.  He had been wrong.  How could he help her if she wouldn't share even sensitive areas of her life with him?  It wasn't until she was at the river that he thought to follow her and coax her to talk with him.

He tossed the pitchfork to the floor of the cart.  The handle wedged between the spoke and the axel wheel, and the tines protruded over the edge of the opening.  He hopped down from the back of the wagon.  The fork would be fine until he got the straw spread evenly over the field. 

He kicked his foot at a small mound, wishing he could care as easily for his wife.  What had caused the change in Faith from yesterday morning?  The talk they had had at the river may have created more of a problem between them than a solution.  One thing was certain; the closeness they had enjoyed up until now was no longer there, and he wondered if it was lost to them forever.

She had seemed relaxed in the water last night, stretching and gliding her body through the glistening currents.  He shook his head, remembering how he had tried to look away, wanting to give her privacy.  No matter how noble his intent, he could not keep his attention away from her.  Her youthful figure was more developed and womanly than it had been when they had first met.  She had curves that entered his dreams and nudged him awake, demanding that he touch and enjoy every part of her.  Even now in a tobacco field, his blood pulsed, heating areas of his body that would not easily cool.  He cast a glance toward the river and considered a strongly needed diversion.  He breathed deep.  It would take more than icy water to keep his manhood from responding to wayward thoughts of his wife. 

He swiped a rake across another clump of straw, frustrated with where his thoughts kept going.  Even immersed in his work, he couldn't prevent himself from thinking of her.  Last night, her long lines had cut across the surface of the river.  She turned in the water and floated on her back.  Aidan's hips pushed forward with the memory.  Did she have any idea what she did to him and what he was willing do for her?  All she had to do was ask, and he would give her anything.  Everything about her filled him with desire, even when she refused to share her troubles with him.  It didn't matter how much she denied him, he would always want her. 

She had been warm and responsive each time he held her in his arms.  He wasn't sure which was more difficult to face, her refusal to ask him for his help, or her thinking she had to shoulder her burden alone.  Something unresolved festered in her mind.  Her moonlit swim must have been her attempt at a resolution.  Aidan's heart sped up just as it had last night.  He had peered at her from the shore, remindful of their many nights along the bank. 

The first time they had met, she and her sisters had all swum together.  Each full moon after that, Faith had come to the river alone.  It was better this way.  Aidan and Faith did far less splashing than her sisters.  Rarely in the water, they preferred lengthy talks opposed to swims.  Two years ago, she stopped meeting him all together.  He had searched the area, trying to find her, but had never found any trace of her or her family.  Very few families made their home on the ridge and low lying areas.  With everyone within a day's walk, he thought he knew all residents.  No one had heard of Faith or her family. 

Aidan had bought the property near the river and built his home there in hopes of seeing her again.  She had reappeared four months ago, looking beautiful, yet extremely sad.  He had not asked where she had been, allowing her to tell him in her own time.  She was slow to share anything about her absence with him, keeping details of their time apart to herself.  Each night, they would meet at the water's edge, walk along the shoreline, or sit for hours on the bank and talk in the moonlight.  A favorite place to meet was on the flat topped boulder that protruded into the stream. 

Aidan leaned against the outside of the straw cart, and smiled reflexively, remembering one night in particular.  Well past midnight, they had sat together on the boulder.  More tired than he realized, he had unintentionally fallen into the river.  Cold water shocked him awake.  He broke the surface, wide eyed and embarrassed.  Concern fell from Faith's face, and a slow smile spread across her lips.  A slight chuckle bubbled up from her, sparking to life a laugh he never tired of hearing.  He would love to hear it now.

The jubilant notes had peeled like a brass bell.  Risking the loss of her lightheartedness, he had taken a chance, grabbed her by the extended hand she offered, and yanked her off of the rock.  The disbelieving look on her face was well worth his embarrassing fall.  Her head bobbed to the surface.  She sputtered and gasped for air.  Aidan was certain her unrelenting giggles would drown her.  He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to him.  Water dripped from her eyelashes, and he wiped them away with his thumb.  Taking advantage of her closed eyelids, he lowered his mouth to hers and covered her lips with his.  She pressed into him.  Encouraged by her heated response, he pulled her closer and deepened his kiss.  They should not be out here alone, but he would kill anyone who tried to interrupt them.  When he released her, his marriage proposal had flowed from his mouth and into the open without thought, surprising both of them.  To his astonishment, not only had she accepted, but she had insisted they marry immediately. 

He liked to think he had calmed what ailed her.  Perhaps, he could share credit with their late night swims.  They had been married less than a week, and last night, instead of making peace with her woes, she had run away from him.  He had slept in the barn for the remainder of the night and skipped breakfast this morning.  He still didn't know what could have happened to upset her so drastically. 

The gelding shied and jostled the wagon at that moment, pulling Aidan out of his stupor.  Trying to maintain his balance, Aidan stumbled to the side, tripping over a tobacco stalk.  He lifted his foot and checked the bottom of his boot, making sure the sole had not been cut.  The tread was thin on his footgear, but he had promised himself a new pair as soon as the season's crop was sold.  New shoes for him and a ring for Faith, other than those two items, she could have anything she wanted.  Aidan glared at the reason for his fall.  Hank snorted and pawed the ground.  Perhaps a new horse should be part of his list of new purchases.

Aidan had purposely harnessed Hank for throwing Faith the morning of their picnic.  A day in the fields should be enough to settle the horse's wild streak.  As though aware of Aidan's plan, Hank had resisted the bit and reins.  He now stood smugly in front of the cart.  Aidan may have forced the tack on him, but it seemed that Hank planned to be as little help with the field preparation as possible.  Who would have thought the horse capable of revenge?  Aidan looked over at him from underneath the brim of his hat.  Even if the horse was capable of logical thought, he shouldn't still be irritated by his punishment. 

Hank pranced again, nervously moving back and forth.  The way he stirred, he would break his harness.  His movements seemed motivated by something more than an annoyed disposition.  Aidan walked next to the horse, running his hand along his flank.  He spoke soothingly while he glanced around the field.  Even though the horse could be difficult, there was no need for him to be spooked.

Trees boxed in the field on two sides with a meadow bordering the others.  Nothing moved in the surrounding area except for the tree tops.  Hank must be more sensitive than Aidan.  From where he stood, nothing posed a danger to either of them.  He patted Hanks neck, and the horse turned wild eyes to him.  Apparently, he wasn't as easily convinced about their safety as Aidan. 

Aidan glanced up at the sky.  If he hurried, he would be able to spread the last of the straw and return home before whatever was brewing manifested itself.  The pitchfork handle poked out through the wheel spokes.  The cart would be stuck in the field if he couldn't get the tool unwedged.  Aidan moved to the back of the cart, grabbed the metal, and tugged.  The wood held firm against the axel.  Hank snorted and shifted, wedging the implement further into the spokes.  Cursing his luck, Aidan drew his hat from his head, tossed it in the back of the cart, and cast a lethal glare to the horse. 

Putting a two fisted grip around the base of the handle, Aidan tugged the pitchfork.  Hank stepped backward, shifting the angle of the tool.  Apparently this confrontation was now a physical battle between man and beast.  Aidan braced his foot against the back of the cart, and pulled harder.  He was sure to get splinters in his hands, but it was a small price to pay if he could get the chore finished. 

Turning his attention to the task at hand, he jerked the handle up and down.  A little slack played around the axel, and Aidan pulled harder.  Hank must have felt the lax.  He shook himself and stepped forward.  The pitchfork shot out of the back of the cart.  Knocked to the ground, Aidan blinked up at the sky, dazed and unresponsive.  The sound of wagon wheels rattling over uneven ground distanced itself from him. 

Laying flat on his back, Aidan gasped for air, hoping to refill his lungs.  His body shook uncontrollably, and his hands instinctively grabbed his leg, reaching for a pain that seemed distant, yet demanding.  He worked the trouser fabric, careful to not look past the tool handle swaying upright in his line of vision.  Sweat poured over him and the image blurred white.  He shook his head, forcing himself to remain conscious.  He would have to remain alert if he hoped to survive.  He inched his fingers downward from his hip toward his thigh, contacting wet steel.  The pitchfork pierced his leg.  One of the metal prongs protruded dead center of his thigh.  Bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed to keep from choking. 

When hunting, he had set many steel-jawed traps.  Other than the compressed hinge, he was as vulnerable to an agonizing death as any game he had caught.  Not ready to surrender his life, he worked his hand up the tine, needing to know how deeply embedded the spike was in his leg.  Several inches of metal was free of his leg.  Most likely, the tip was buried one to two inches, and should not have hit bone.  Still, his leg hurt like it had been severed from his body.  He moaned and blinked back tears.  While relying on arm strength alone, he would have to pull the tool straight up.  He scoffed, remembering how difficult it had been to free the tool from the axel.  With any luck, this would be easier.

His teeth chattered uncontrollably, and his arms had the strength of biscuit dough.  He would have to hurry before he lost consciousness.  Wrapping both hands vertically on the irons, he readied himself.  Daylight ebbed and dimmed.  He would only get one chance to free his leg.  He doubted he would have the strength or courage to make a second attempt.  He needed to focus on something pleasant to keep himself awake, and something to give him the courage to endure the pain.  Faith's face smiled down at him in memory.  Her eyes warmed the way they did on their wedding night. 

"Faith," he gasped.  Her face faded and he reached his hand toward her.  Her image disappeared like a disrupted reflection in a pond.

His breathing deepened as he built the strength he would need to free himself.  A breeze blew across his face and Faith's image flickered a smile at him.  She nodded, and Aidan screamed.  He yanked the pitchfork vertically, throwing it over his head.  Blood shot upward, and he grabbed his leg with both hands.  He squeezed his leg tight, pressing his fingers over the wound.

Nauseated, he twisted to his side and waited for his stomach to settle.  Wet and sticky, he felt his pant leg, hoping he had been right and the bone remained intact.  His leg shook and the sky swirled above him.  He blinked and tried to bring his surroundings into focus.  He may have avoided a broken bone, but from the way his leg bled, he wasn't sure he would live long enough to return home.  Hank had bolted when freed, and Aidan didn't have the strength to track him down.  He blinked sweat out of his eyes and looked toward the road.  He would have to find another way to the cabin.  Blood seeped out from under his fingers and trailed a path down the side of his leg.  Hopefully, he wouldn't bleed out first.

Chapter 13

Faith crouched on her hands and knees and pulled an oak tub across the floor.  Soapy water splashed over the rim, soaking the main room of the cabin.  She sat back on her haunches, doused a rag in the pail, and then slapped it on the floor.  Bending over, she gripped the cloth in a tight fist and ground the material into the grain.  Shifting her weight forward, she pushed harder.  Her knuckles, already burning from the abuse she put on them, would be rubbed raw by the end of the day.