Faithfully Yours (The Forever Time Travel Romance Series, Book 1) (29 page)

Holding him closer, she pressed her face into his shirt, and breathed in the strong scent of hay and soap.  She had been abandoned at the bottom of the well.  This smell, and these arms around her was what pulled her away from despair and filled her with the courage she needed.  She had used every ounce of strength she had to realize this moment.

Aidan reluctantly eased away from her, but didn't let go of her completely, their foreheads nearly touched.  His eyes moved over her face as though he took careful inventory of what he searched for.  Faith thought to speak, but changed her mind.  She wanted nothing more than to know his gaze was on her.  The look of desperation in his eyes ebbed and in its place, a deep love and longing pulled at her in a way she couldn't deny. 

Grateful to remove the pain and anger from his features, she could think of nothing better to see in his expression.  His mouth came down hard on hers, halting her air flow.  Fervent, his kiss consumed her, filling her with life.  She could think of no better place to be than in Aidan's arms.  As long as she held him near, she wanted nothing more.  For the past day and a half, her memory of him had been all she needed to survive.  He broke the kiss like a drowning man reaching the surface. Clinging to her, he pressed his cheek next to hers.  His whiskers scratched her face.  He could shave tomorrow.  Right now, her burning skin reassured her that she was alive and that Aidan was with her. 

"I thought it was you," he whispered in her ear, his voice raspy as though he strained to speak.  "I'm so glad it wasn't."

Wasn't?  What did he mean?
 "I'm here, Aidan.  It's me."  She stroked his head, trying to calm his fears.

He held her at arm's length, and cool air rushed between them.  Anxiety returned to his rumpled appearance.  Faith was certain that the hair at his temples was now peppered with gray strands.  If he didn't hold her upper arms so tightly, she would rub her fingers over the color and try to restore the original, dark hue. 

"When I saw that skeleton in the well," he said.  "I was so afraid it was you."

"Skeleton?" Faith asked.

Aidan dipped his head, and pointed to an area behind them.  Faith clung to his arms, but turned her head in the direction he indicated.  The stone walls were too familiar, and a strange sensation encircled her that she couldn't break free of.  She stepped closer to Aidan and held her breath until his arm wrapped around the back of her waist.  Secured in his hold, she fit her shoulder into him. 

If anyone had been in the well before she had been placed there, she would have found evidence of it.  There had been no one in the hole while she had been imprisoned in it forty years ago.  Faith froze in place.  She had not thought of another possibility.  She and Hank had fallen in together.  It had to be him.  She glanced around the yard.  That would explain why she had not seen him during her time with Aidan.

She walked past Aidan to the rock wall, took a deep breath, and peered over the edge.  Her stomach fell with the distance of her gaze.  At the bottom of the dry hole, pieces of bones poked out among the leaves and debris.

"Is it possible to know who that is?" Faith asked.  Her mouth was as dry as cotton, and she tried desperately to wet her lips.  Although she was fairly certain the bones belonged to Hank, she would rest more comfortably if there was a way to confirm her suspicions.

"I don't know," Aidan answered.  "I'm just glad it isn't you."

Faith closed her eyes.  "It almost was."

"What do you want?" a gruff voice asked from behind her.  "I said I would bring my crop to you.  Why are you here?" 

Faith's heart leaped to her throat.  The timber of his words sounded slightly different, deeper, rougher, than she remembered, but there was no mistaking the statement as Hank's.

Faith and Aidan both swung around.  Hank walked toward them, a puzzled look on his weathered face.  His wide eyes lowered to her feet and slowly rose to the top of her head.  She shivered and grabbed Aidan's arm, pulling him in front of her like a shield.  Although fully clothed, she felt completely naked under Hank's stare.

Faith peered to the side of Aidan's sleeve and tried to blend the image of the man she had just left with the man in front of her.  While he looked as worn as the crags that surrounded them, his appearance seemed as though life had delivered him more than a generous dose of justice.  

He appeared smaller now than he had moments ago.  His shoulders slumped and his head bowed forward.  His frame seemed self deprecating, but appropriately so.  He slowed his steps and shifted his weight.  From the way he moved, it seemed as though he tried to create an impressive stance. 

For a quick second, Faith felt sorry for him.  His appearance was not as significant as the one he tried to present.  His voice, however, had a gravel tone to it that could only come from age.  The rocky rumble that punctuated his threat still sparked with more intimidation than she was comfortable hearing.  She sidled closer to Aidan, the heat of his body giving her strength. 

"Is this your wife?" Hank asked.  He tilted his head to the side as though trying to get a better look at Faith.  "I told you she would turn up."

Faith dug her nails into Aidan's arm.  She was sure to draw blood.  His bicep flexed under her hand, and he looked down at her.

Faith swallowed and loosened her hold.  Hank knew nothing about her ability to time travel.  What would he think when he got a good look at her face?  The last time she had seen him was only moments ago, but it had been forty years for him.

Aidan wrapped his arm around Faith's shoulders.  "It seems you were right after all, Mr. Rhodes.  My wife went to visit a neighbor."  Aidan glanced over his shoulder to the well.  "We're sorry to have bothered you.  We'll be on our way now."

"Faith?" Hank asked.  All color left his leathery face.

Faith's heart jumped to her throat and nearly strangled her.

"How is it possible?  You look the same now as you did the day you..."  He shifted his gaze to the well and then back to her.  Stepping closer, his gaze bounced off of each of her features.  "When I awoke at the bottom of the well, you were gone.  But that was a long time ago.  How do you look the same?"

"Don't answer him, Faith," Aidan said, his eyes flashing in anger.  His arm tightened around her, holding her closer.  She clung to his shirt, hoping to hold him to her side.

Hank shook his head and pointed his finger to a spot behind her.  "Don't blame me for what's down there.  You meant it to be me."

"I will kill your sister," Hank had threatened.
 

Faith's knees weakened, and she pulled free of Aidan.  Screaming as she ran, she raced to the stone walls.  The cobbles caught her across the hips, preventing her from falling into the well.  Nauseated with the grim possibility that she stood at Grace's gravesite, Faith peered over the barrier. 

Footsteps neared her.  "I told you what I would do if I didn't get the property I wanted.  That old witch held onto that ground for forty years and then sold it without a word.  It had to be for one of those four girls.  It should have been mine." 

His words sat heavy on Faith's shoulders.  He had blamed her for her sister's death, but he mentioned four girls.  He also implied Trista had an ulterior motive for selling the property to Aidan.  Once again, she wondered about the connection she might possibly have to the old woman on the ridge.

Faith turned, and Aidan charged forward.  He lowered his shoulder, looking as though he aimed for Hank's midsection.  A man of Aidan's size would have no trouble lifting Hank off of his feet.  Faith wasn't sure what Aidan planned to do once he knocked Hank to the ground.  Not evenly matched, a fistfight would end within a few blows.  Hank didn't deserve such mercy.

Hank had apparently planned for the confrontation.  His hand fumbled at his waist as Aidan ran toward him.  Sunlight glinted off of ten inches of steel, and Faith screamed.  Aidan dove to the side, and Hank slashed the air in his direction.

Rolling to his feet, Aidan crouched low.  Hank wagged the knife, slicing figure eights in front of him.  Faith wished she had warned Aidan about Hank.  He would have only his wits to unarm him.  As far a she was concerned, Aidan still had the advantage, but she didn't like the idea of Hank wielding a weapon.  He would not fight fair even when confronting an unarmed man.

Movement stirred in the bushes behind them, temporarily diverting Faith's attention.  She was certain a gray headed woman moved throughout the brush.  Trista.  The woman's calm movements indicated her ease with what happened near the river bank.  She must know the outcome of the fight.  Faith sidled closer, hoping to call out to her. 

"Faith, no," Trista screamed over at her.

Trista's words sounded muffled, and Faith stood still.  Her shoulder burned as though lightning had shot through her body.  The image of Aidan running toward her swayed like a rope swing, and her legs fell from beneath her.  Faith blinked, trying to keep Aidan's image in front of her.  He crouched over her.  His face was white, and he looked frantic.  Moving his hands in the air over her chest, he looked as though he tried to touch her but didn't know where to begin. 

Coldness enveloped her.  Her teeth chattered and numbness deadened her pain.  Glancing down, tears filled her eyes.  Covered in blood, Hank's knife handle protruded below her collarbone.  She should have stayed focused on the fight, instead of following Trista.  If she had kept her attention where it needed to be, she would have seen Hank throw the blade.  Aidan's face had never looked so helpless.  His pained expression was her fault.  Her eyes rolled back, and he shook her alert.

"Don't leave me, Faith.  I'll never find you if you go.  Stay focused on me.  Faith!" 

Aidan took her hand in his and bent over her.  His lips were soft and tender, but there was no mistaking the nervous twitch beneath his forced smile.

Rain clouds darkened above Aidan's bowed back.  Sunlight burst around the edges of one large mass.  She widened her eyes and pushed against Aidan.  "Hank," she rasped.

Aidan's arms flexed, and he slid his hand up Faith's side.  "I'm sorry," he whispered.  He yanked the knife from her shoulder, and Faith screamed.  Ignoring her cry, Aidan turned and thrust his arm upward.  Hank's eyes bulged and he gasped for breath.  His body hovered above her, pinned on his own knife.  Aidan's fist was covered in blood, centered in the middle of Hank's chest.  Gurgling noises gasped from his throat.  His eyes closed, and his body grew limp.  Aidan heaved the lifeless form to the side.  Without another second's regard to the old man, he turned his attention back to Faith.

His hand pressed deep against her shoulder, pinning her on the ground.  Blood bloomed across her chest, and spilled down the side of her arm.  The warmth in her body quickly cooled, and a metallic smell filled the air.  Aidan's face filled with a mix of concern and anger.  He refused to look at her face, but kept his eyes focused on her wound.  The way he studied her, she didn't know whether to be hopeful for a recovery or if she should prepare to tell him goodbye.  She waited to make her decision, concentrating fully on his movements. 

He worked speedily and with precision.  She could almost imagine him on a battle field, bringing hope to a dying man.  Without meeting her gaze, he ripped off his shirt, fumbling with one hand to draw it over his head.  Once free of the cloth, he wadded it into a ball, and pressed it into the wound.  Faith gasped and started to cough.

"Get her to her feet," a woman instructed from behind him.  Trista stepped over Hank's lifeless body, lifting her skirts away from the blood.

"She'll bleed out if I move her," Aidan argued.

"She'll die if you don't.  Do it now!"

Faith lifted her head, trying to do as she had been told.  She didn't know why, but she felt compelled to follow the woman's instructions.  Aidan's arm moved behind her, and she held to his chest.  Her feet touched the ground and she waited for her surroundings to hold steady.  It didn't matter what happened next, she would never feel more content than at this moment.  Trista pulled the shirt away from the wound and then dug into her pouch.  Faith stared at her, her vision going in and out of focus.

"Mama?" Faith asked.

Trista snorted, and pressed a vial to Faith's lips.  "No, I'm not your mother.  But drink this just the same.  You'll know who I am soon enough." 

Faith opened her mouth, not sure she believed her. 

"Have her drink a swallow of this every two hours," Trista said, emptying the contents in Faith's mouth.  She handed Aidan a larger bottle with a leather cover tied at the top.

Faith swallowed, and her body shuddered involuntarily.  She wasn't confident she would be able to stomach a repeated dose.  Aidan caught Faith under her knees and lifted her in his arms.  She snuggled close, wanting to sleep.  A light hand touched her cheek, and Faith opened her eyes.  Trista rubbed her thumb below Faith's eye.  A slight smile pulled at the corners of her mouth.

"No more traveling for you, Dear One."  She turned her back, not waiting to clarify her statement and hurried into the brush.

"Aidan," Faith said against his bare chest.  The force of his heart beat against her own.  His forward movement mixed with the concoction she had swallowed, making her forget anything else she wanted to say. 

"I'm taking you home, Faith."