Faithfully Yours (The Forever Time Travel Romance Series, Book 1) (26 page)

She knocked loose bits of dirt from her skirt, throwing the larger clumps against the wall.  She didn't care if the entire cistern fell in on her.  This was not what she had planned.  She should be back in her bedroom, with Aidan holding her in his arms.  He would stroke her hair, kiss her often, and assure her that they would have a long, loving marriage.  Her body shook, and she allowed her tears to flow freely down her cheeks.  Along with her anguish, her fingers and palms burned.  She covered her face with her battered hands and slumped against the stones.  Despair would not free her from her cell any more than the brittle walls, but the release would give her a few moments to contend with her helplessness. 

Sniffling, she held her hands in her lap and touched her fingertips to the heels of her palms.  Scraped and raw, her skin felt as though it was on fire, but at least it didn't bleed.  She kicked her foot against the collection of fragmented rubble that sat across from her.  She blew over the raw skin and looked upward.  Halfway to the top, large chucks of gray lay vacant.  The brown earth gave the illusion of missing teeth in the stonework.  She jutted her lip out and sank into herself.  She didn't dare make a second attempt. 

Trista had been certain that a natural death would not benefit Faith's situation.  Since the woman had been right about everything associated with time travel, Faith saw no reason to doubt her now.  If the cistern toppled in on itself, her prison would become her grave.  She thought for a second, wondering if this was a disagreeable option.

How long did Hank plan to keep her at the bottom of this abandoned well?  She thought back to the day they married.  He had made his demands for wealth and property, along with her part in his success, very clear.  His intent seemed to be the same now as it had been then.  A sudden shadow from the top of the opening dimmed her sitting area.  She tilted her head back and shaded her eyes.  Hovering above the floating dust and silt, Hank's head and shoulders stared down at her.

"Did you not sleep well?" he asked from ground level. 

He grabbed the pulley, hanging above the center of the opening, and sat on the top of the wall.  Fresh gravel rained down on Faith.  She tucked her head against the wall and shielded her face.  Once the pebbles bounced from her back to the ground, she glared up at him.  His bumptious laughter echoed off the cobbles, increasing her hatred of him.

"Does that look mean you are ready to do what I want?" 

The pulley squeaked in his hand.  It was as irritated by his touch as Faith was.  How long could that rotted wood hold his weight?

He shrugged.  "I'll take your silence as agreement."  He swung his legs over the ledge and dangled them playfully over her.  "Did you know that I moved to this valley with the assumption that the entire mountain was available for sale?"

Across from Faith, dirt pinched between two stones.  The growth of a small seedling in the corner was more captivating than listening to Hank whine about his missed opportunity.

"Trista, the witch," Hank said from above her.  "She bought it out from under me.  Every bit of it, gone before I could counter her offer."

"You have your land," Faith reminded him, more bored than interested.  "If you wanted more, why didn't you ask her to sell it to you?"

Hank screwed his mouth to the side and stared off into the distance.  "She and I aren't the best of friends.  For some reason, she doesn't like me."

Faith rolled her eyes, doubting he could count anyone as his friend.

"Can't you be satisfied with what you have?" Faith asked, already confident of the answer.

He leaned forward, and Faith was certain he would unseat himself with his anger.  "I will not have that woman dictate to me what I can and cannot have, do you hear me?" Hank shrieked his question.  Hopefully, he would lose his voice all together.

Faith winced and pressed her ear onto her shoulder.  The acoustics in the well amplified his voice to harsh levels of volume.  Having spent time with Trista, there was no doubt in Faith's mind that the old woman had a vindictive side.  Having seen the commotion that brewed in Trista's eyes when various names were mentioned, Faith hoped to never have that storm directed at her. 

Still, she couldn't help but grin at the satisfaction she got from knowing Hank had not won a single battle against the woman.  She would have to seek Trista out once she freed herself of Hank.  Trista may have won every battle, but Faith was certain none of their skirmishes compared to being forced into a well.  Although everyone in the valley feared Trista, peace swept over Faith.  Perhaps she and Trista might become friends.

"What do you want me to do, Hank?" Faith asked.  "Ask Trista to sell you more property?  Pull me up.  I can do that now."

Hank laughed, and drew his legs up.  "You are going to do more than that.  While it is true, I want the property by the river, and I will have it, I want more than that."

Faith shifted her seat and slouched against the wall.  Was this how the genies in the stories felt?  Anxious to leave their confinement, but forced to wait for their greedy rescuer to make his list of demands known.  She had listened to many of these tales throughout her childhood.  They always ended the same way.  The recipient was disappointed and the genie was re-imprisoned.  She thoroughly intended for Hank to be disappointed, but she would not be left without a way to return to Aidan.

"What are your other wishes?" Faith shouted up to him.  She stopped short of reminding him that he only had two more to ask.  There was no need to give him ideas he had not considered.

"From what I've been told," Hank said.  "Trista was a beautiful woman in her youth, silky hair, bright eyes, skin like honey.  You'd never believe it now."  He stood with his arms braced on the ridge and leaned forward.  "The story goes that she used her
womanly wiles
in exchange for the mountain.  Apparently, she had a certain appeal."

Faith shook her head.  Hearing about another woman's scandalous past was not something she cared to know.

"When I petitioned the county clerk," Hank said.  "He told me I could only homestead where property is considered public domain.  Public domain," he sneered.  "The witch tried to evict me off my land.  If it hadn't been for me allowing your family to sharecrop, she would have done it, too."

Faith jerked her head upward.  Is this why Hank had insisted she and her sisters remain on the property after her parents' died?  He knew Trista would reclaim his farm and force him to leave.

"There's nothing I can do about that, Hank."

He tossed a pebble against the far wall.  It trickled down the side, landing next to Faith's foot.  "It appears you have developed a friendship with her," he said.  "If you want to leave this well, you will convince her to deed this mountain over to me, every speck of it.  Once that is done, I won't need you anymore and you will be free to go to whomever you like." 

Hank's solution seemed simple enough, but Faith wasn't sure it would work as he thought.  For whatever reason, her time traveling ability seemed to be tied to him.  She doubted his word would be enough to free her of the connection. 

"Why do you want this land so badly, Hank?  You have more than enough fields for tobacco."

He threw his head back and laughed.  "Tobacco.  Do you think I'm interested in crops?  I farm to keep spectators away."

"Spectators?  There's no gold here."

"You're right, there isn't.  But there is silver down river from here, and I plan to mine all of it."

Down river?  That was Aidan's farm.  Faith remembered the interest Trista had shown when she learned that Faith had met Aidan.  Was that why Trista sold that piece of property to him, to infuriate Hank?  Sourness filled Faith's stomach.  If Hank possessed all of the property on the mountain, Aidan would not buy his farm from Trista in the future.  Faith and Aidan would never marry.

Faith leaned her shoulder against the wall, and rubbed her chin in thought.  Time traveling due to intense emotion must have been designed as an emergency escape.  That advantage would certainly come in handy if the traveler needed to leave a hostile situation.  With Hank on the surface, and Faith twenty feet below, there was no chance of any type of passion passing between them to trigger her exit.  Faith put her hands on her hips and paced the small space.  She had not thought of anything but returning to Aidan.  If she were with him, she would never want to time travel again. 

Hope had said their mother had taught Honor and Hope how to time travel.  She could picture her mother sitting opposite of the twin girls.  Their eyes were most likely opened wide with curiosity.  They would lean in, absorbing as many details as they could.  This would be information that would need to be held deep in their memory, nothing to be written down, only shared from one member of the family to the other. 

From what Faith remembered of her mother, her gestures would be exaggerated.  This had been her custom when emphasizing an important message.  Always kind and gentle in her approach, she would have been diligent in seeing that her daughters were well versed in how to use their gifts.  Although sad to have missed out on the lesson, Faith knew that if she had been older, she would have sat next to her sisters, learning, while at their mother's knee. 

Blood drained from Faith's head.  Her knees grew weak, and she fell to the ground.  Trista.  She knew everything about time travel.  She had taken care of Faith when she had nearly died.  Was it possible?  Was Trista her mother?  If she were, why would she hide her identity? 

A shadow blocked sunlight from falling into the bottom of the well.  Hank held his fist over the opening, a small pouch dangling from his hand.  The bundle fell toward her, and Faith scrambled to her feet.  She stepped to the side of the pit as it hit the ground.  She glanced up at him, not certain she wanted to open his gift.

"It won't bite you," he sneered from above.  "Go ahead and open it.  You have to be hungry by now."

The idea of putting something in her stomach was more than enough motivation.  She pounced on the dirty wad of fabric and worked the knot loose.  Inside the cloth, bread, a slice of ham, and a red apple looked like a feast.  She bit into the meat, savoring the bite. 

"Enjoy your meal because it will be the last one you get unless you help me."

Faith bit off a chunk of bread.  She closed her eyes as she chewed and tried to think of something other than her food.

She wouldn't do what Hank asked.  She would not help him gain control of the mountain.  She would return to Aidan, and she would find out if Trista was her mother.  She looked over to the apple.  A shiny spot winked over at her.  Every crooked-dealing man loved to deal with honest people.  No matter what the agreement, an honest person would always keep their bond.  Hank counted on her to be true to her word.  Faith picked up the apple and sank her teeth deep into the polished flesh.  

A thick rope fell in front of her face.  It hung from the top of the well like a long braid down a little girl's back.

"Well, Faith," Hank said, peering over the ledge.  "What's your answer?"

Faith swallowed and wiped her finger under her lip.  The tone in which he spoke chilled her blood colder than a freshly thawed stream.  Faith gathered the cloth and pushed it from her lap.  He would be wrong to trust her, but she would convince him of nothing but genuine sincerity.

Chapter 27

Aidan swung up into the saddle, and a strong, rose scent surrounded him.  The reminder of Faith overpowered the normal hay and horse odors that generally accompanied his trips to the barn.  Even with her missing, she filled his thoughts and senses.  Only a few hours ago, he had held her in his arms.  Skin to skin, they had lain entwined in each other's arms, and he drowned himself in every part of her.  His throat tightened at the memories of their lovemaking, nearly choking him.  Trying to remember how to breathe, he glanced around, his vision blurry.  She was nowhere to be seen, but her scent lingered.  He shook his head, and blinked back tears, hoping the fragrance was an indication that she was nearby. 

His muscles tightened, and he kicked his heels into his horse's ribs.  His thigh knotted reflexively, reminding him of the wound in his leg.  He glanced down to see if there was any blood, not sure why he looked.  Even if the limb bled profusely, it didn't matter.  Nothing would stop him from searching for Faith. 

Aidan remembered every blinding pain that had taken place during the accident.  The memory was as fresh now as when it had occurred.  He rubbed his hand over his dry pant leg.  The events of his mishap were always at the forefront of his thoughts, but as painful as his misfortune had been, nothing would compare to the possible loss of Faith. 

He yanked the reins to his right, pointing his horse toward the door.  The beast needn't think this was to be a leisurely ride.  Normally, Aidan would let the animal take the lead and walk the distance to the road before urging him into a run.  Nothing about today had happened as it should.  Aidan looked to the tree line.  The path along the river would be the easiest to travel, but he wanted to ride through the woods.  The horse would need to cover a lot of ground over rough terrain if Aidan hoped to arrive at the neighboring farm before Mr. Rhodes returned home.