Faithfully Yours (The Forever Time Travel Romance Series, Book 1) (17 page)

Earlier today, Hope had explained that Honor no longer time traveled.  If her appearance was any indication, she had aged naturally into a mature woman.  It seemed odd to see a sister in an advanced stage of life, when she was only three years older than Faith.  Honor seemed to have handled the transition well.  Gray hair and wrinkles suited her, seeming to earn her an esteemed respect and a softness to her direct approach.

Honor sipped from a nearby cup on the table.  "I have a patient that will keep me busy for several weeks.  I will check on Aidan when I return." 

Faith looked over at Honor, her words late in registering.  Had she said that she would be gone for several weeks?  Faith wasn't sure she would be able to help Aidan recover on her own.

Honor dug into her leather pouch.  Sorting through different vials and packets, she lifted one pouch free of the others and studied it more closely.  She pursed her lips the way she always did when trying to tally figures in her head.  It was comforting to see these traits from her youth.

She handed the container across the table to Faith.  "Give him a teaspoon of this every two hours.  Put it in a tea, if you like.  It will be easier for him to swallow if you do."

Faith looked up, fearfully understanding what she heard.  "Honor, you can't leave him.  I can follow your directions, but he needs you to be here." 

Honor snapped the bag closed.  "I would never leave if I thought there was any chance of Aidan dying.  I assure you, Faith.  Do as I tell you, and he will be fine."

There was an insistent assurance about Honor's voice, but instead of bringing the peace she meant to offer, Faith thought of several unrelated questions.  

"Honor, how are you so certain Aidan will recuperate?  I have seen other people with similar wounds."  Faith lowered her voice, not wanting Aidan to hear her concern.  "They didn't always recover."

Her sister's features changed, and curiosity covered her face.  "And who was this?" Honor asked.  She leaned in, looking as though she tried to hook her question to a series of answers.

Faith drew back, and tried to sort through her confusion.  "It doesn't matter."

"In that case --"  Honor stood to her feet and collected her things.  The pouch she had removed from her bag earlier tonight lay on the center of the table.  She picked it up and placed it in Faith's hand.  "One teaspoon every two hours," she repeated and winked at her uncharacteristically.

Faith walked Honor to the door.  Honor hugged her goodbye and pointed to the tub filled with water.  "And the bath is for you.  You need a long soak to think over all that has happened."  She squeezed Faith's arms and smiled brightly.

Honor's lamp swung back and forth, lighting her path near the river.  Faith waved one last good bye, and closed the door.  She would dump another kettle full of hot water into the tub, and then do as her sister instructed, but first, she wanted to see Aidan. 

Chapter 17

Aidan lay on the flat of his back, his arms and legs weighing him heavily in place.  He flexed his muscles, trying to bend his knees and elbows.  Either he was dead, or he no longer had feeling throughout his body.  How long had it been since he had moved his limbs?  He sniffed the air.  A sharp odor engulfed him.  The stench didn't have the pungent aroma of decayed flesh as he expected, but that didn't mean he had escaped an amputation or a direct route to the hereafter. 

He raised his brows in an attempt to open his eyes and inspect his surroundings.  The way his lids refused to separate, they seemed sealed together.  He rested, exhausted from his attempts to rouse himself alert.  Allowing for a chance to rest, he concentrated on his last conscious thoughts.  Faith's face leaned over him in memory, and fatigue drained from him as he thought of her. 

Worry and panic had marked her expression, adding years to her delicate features.  No one her age should have to concern themselves with the possibility of losing a husband.  Had he been selfish to want to see her before he died?  He couldn't bear the thought of her finding his body in the field.  The way the rabid wolf had followed him along the river, Aidan's body would have left an unpleasant looking corpse. 

Aidan inhaled strongly through his nose, and waited for the next stage of death to occur.  So far, his passing wasn't exactly how he had imagined it would be.  Where were the people to welcome him on that day?  A harsh noise interrupted his wait for the inevitable, and he strained to identify the source of the clatter.  A disturbing thought entered his mind, and his body heated.  He hoped he would not witness his own burial preparation. 

He struggled to move his limbs, and willed his body to respond.  The material around him fit snug to his form.  Whoever had sewn his shroud excelled with their stitching skills.  No matter how much he demanded his muscles to respond, they refused to comply.  A metallic clatter sounded closer to him than before.  His body jerked, and he sat bolt upright.  His left leg burned hotter than any fire he had ever felt.  Sweat poured over him, and he shouted. 

"Faith!  Faith!"  His throat burned raw, and his body flushed. 

Something fell to the floor in the other room, and the bedroom door flew open.  The heavy wood bounced off of the wall opposite him.  Footsteps pounded to a stop next to his bed. 

"Aidan.  I'm here.  Are you in pain?"  Faith's voice sounded next to him, and her hands stroked his arms. 

His breathing slowed, and he finally opened his eyes.  "Faith?  You're here?" he asked, breathing hard.  Sweat dripped off of his face and down his neck.

She looked at him, and touched her hand to his cheek.  "Of course I am."

He clutched her hand and squeezed her fingers tight.  He couldn't find her in his delirium.  He wouldn't chance her leaving him now.

Her other hand was strong, yet comforting as she pushed his shoulders backward to the bed.

"I'm not going any farther away from you than what it takes for me to look at your leg."  The resonance of her voice sounded assuring.  She pulled the blankets away from his thigh and lifted the bandage.  "There's no need to worry.  The pitchfork tip didn't break.  The wound is healing."

He raised himself up on his elbows and looked toward the foot of the bed.  "I didn't lose my leg?" he asked, and waited for her to confirm what she said.  She smiled up at him and shook her head.  Finally convinced, he sighed, and lowered his head back onto the pillow. 

"Your worry wasn't for nothing," she said. 

She reached for a box on the dresser top, and then set it next to his calf.  Lifting a glass jar out of the container, she looked over at him, uncapped the bottle, and poured a small amount of liquid onto the cloths.  He wrinkled his nose and wagged his hand in front of his face.  This was the unfamiliar smell.  No wonder it was so strong.  Faith had been dousing him in it.

She looked over at him, her eyes filled with concern.  "I was afraid I would lose you."

His body shook with nervous laughter.  After the numerous times, she had disappeared without any goodbyes spoken between them, he wondered if he would awake to find she had remained true to form and vanished again.  He took her hand and removed the offensive cloth from her grasp.  "I was terrified that you would leave me," he said, holding to her, forbidding her to go.

****

Faith froze, clutching a wad of linen in her hand.  After her discussion with Hope, she wondered if it was possible that Aidan knew about time travel.  "Why would you think I would leave you?" she asked.

Aidan closed his eyes.  It was the first time he had looked relaxed since the night he had nearly died in her arms.  He shrugged.  "This is a small valley.  When you disappeared several years ago, I looked for you and couldn't find you anywhere."

Faith dabbed the cloth in the ointment and spread it over his cut, surprised to hear he had looked for her.  She had thought her time with him had been nothing more than a dream, except that when she was awake, it seemed impossible to remove Aidan's face from her mind. 

"What are you putting on my leg?" he asked, breaking through her thoughts.

She looked at the cloth in her hand.  "A salve Honor gave me to use on your wound.  It's working very well.  That, along with the powder I've put in your tea."

He looked past her shoulder to the dresser top and lifted a brow, looking as though he didn't want to know what specifically he had been drinking.  Faith glanced over at him while she spread another dose of balm over the cut.  It might be wise to draw his attention elsewhere.  Perhaps she could entice him to share some fond memories with her.  She laid the box of supplies to the side and sat down next to him.

"Your wound is healing, I am going nowhere," she assured him.  She ran her hand over his chest.  He gripped her fingers and squeezed.  "Aidan," she said.  "Tell me how you proposed to me."

His brows bunched together.  Other than the confused expression he wore, he seemed to welcome her suggestion.  "You don't remember?" he asked. 

"I thought it would be a pleasant story to share.  I know you proposed and I answered, but were you confident I would agree, afraid I would say, no?"

He shifted in the bed and drew her closer.  His overall appearance had vastly improved in the few hours since he had called out for her this morning.  Now that the skin color around his wound was a healthy pink and the hole was almost nonexistent, Faith had allowed herself a chance to relax.  She had slept on a pallet on the floor for the past five days, but looking at Aidan now, all she wanted to do was curl up next to him and feel his arms around her.  Regardless of how near she was to him, she felt distanced.  Even when touching his hand, it wasn't enough.  Was this how love was supposed to feel?  No wonder older women grieved the passing of their husbands after many years of marriage.  She hoped she never had to go through the pain and grief of losing him.

"That's two different questions," he said.  "Which one do you want answered first?" 

"Both," she answered, smiling innocently at him.

His chuckle turned into a short spasm of coughs, and he eyed her accusingly.  "That isn't the expression you had on your face the night I proposed."

She pulled back, her eyes wide.  She had always guessed that he had merely asked for her hand, and she had politely accepted.  From the jovial look on his face, she was certain that she was mistaken.  Perhaps she should reconsider her request.  Perhaps it would be better if she remained blissfully ignorant of what had occurred the night she had agreed to become his bride. 

"You were at the river, sitting on the boulder," he began.  His hand held to hers, and she felt confident for him to continue.  "In your undergarments," he finished.

Faith's eyes widened further, and she pulled away from him.  "My what?"  Did each of their encounters consist of her being undressed?  She settled back in place beside him, but jutted out her chin.  "If I had known I wasn't alone, I wouldn't have been so daring," she quipped. 

"Perhaps," he said as though he doubted her statement.  "But your clothes were on the shore, and there was only one method for you to retrieve them."  He laughed.  "The threats you hurled at me.  If I had believed any of them, I would have left in a hurry."

"As a gentleman, you should have turned away," she scolded.

He raised her hand to his lips, his kiss warm and melting.  "As a man in love, I would stand on that bank until every drop of water evaporated from around you before I let you leave my sight."  He ran his hand over her thigh.  "I have often wondered how long you would have stayed on the boulder, if I hadn't swum out there to you."

She had not returned to the shore.  He had met her on the boulder. 

"I have loved you since we first met," he admitted.  "I was going to keep you stranded in the river until you agreed to marry me."

She sniffled, her eyes filling with tears.  "I'm glad I married you," she said.  Her words were true even if she didn't remember the ceremony.  She dabbed a cloth to her nose, grateful that the gaps of her memory were being filled in.  She bent and kissed him lightly on the lips.  "And you weren't concerned that I would refuse you?"

"Not after talking with Trista."

Faith jerked upright.  "Trista?" she asked.  She dropped her cloth to the floor.  Why was that woman so meddlesome?

"Trista knew I had been searching for you.  Since she owned the property where we first met, she thought I would like to buy it."  He shrugged.  "It made sense for me to start a farm in hopes I would see you again."

Faith looked down at him.  "The old woman's mad.  You are aware of that, aren't you?" 

"I wouldn't trust her with any children we may have, but there was merit to her tactic."

"Or merely a selling ploy."  Faith picked up the cloth and folded it into a neat square.

"I would have bought the entire mountain to find you," he said.

She pulled her hands into her lap, and stared down at them.  He had openly shared a most intimate time in their lives.  She needed to do the same with him.  While his tale had been filled with charm, she hoped he didn't think she had deceived him.