Faithfully Yours (The Forever Time Travel Romance Series, Book 1) (28 page)

She swung forward, her eyes focused on the small hole in front of her.  The idea that she had swore tickled her insides as much as the flying sensation.  She didn't know what Hank would think of her colorful choice of words, but she was certain Aidan would have been proud of her.  Not a man to use vulgarity, this word had passed his lips when she had pulled a dried bandage from his open wound.  In his defense, he had been fighting a fever at the time of his outburst.  Still, the verbiage seemed as appropriate now as it had then. 

Her shoe wedged into the small shelf, and Faith pressed downward.  She had no intention of losing the edge she had gained.  Before starting her climb, she had ripped bands of material from her slip, and wrapped her hands.  At the time, she had meant to prevent blisters from forming.  Her palms and fingers burned.  Pain was no longer a consideration.  She readjusted the strips and tightened her hold on the rope. 

Faith took a breath.  She would only allow herself a quick second to rest.  Her arms shuddered, angry from the forced clench she demanded they keep.  Tears burned her eyes, and her chest hurt.  Her hatred for Hank grew with each stone she climbed.  She cocked her head and glanced upward.  From where she dangled, she tried to gauge the distance that remained until she reached the top.  Hank seemed to think that tossing one end of a rope into the bottom of the well was sufficient enough to help her climb the twenty feet to freedom.  She hoped he didn't loosen the line as she reached the surface.  She would hate to make it to the top of the well, only to fall back into the pit. 

She worked her arms, and walked her legs up the last few feet of the wall.  Hooking her heels over the top of the stones, she locked her knees in a solid hold.  She breathed a slow, even breath and pulled herself on up.  Somewhere in the distance, Hank spoke in mumbled tones.  An occasional word of greed and plotting drifted over to her.  Leveraging herself onto the ledge, she rested her hands in her lap.  Her upper arms twitched sporadically.  She had no strength left.  Relieved that she was still in one piece, she exhaled a deep breath and looked across the yard.  There was no need to draw attention to herself until she could stop herself from shaking. 

Fresh air revitalized her senses.  She closed her eyes and lifted her face into the breeze.  Her finger picked at the cloth wrapped around her hand.  Summoning the last of her effort, she unwound the fabric, and dropped the soiled rags into the opening behind her.  She turned her wrists back and forth, getting a close look at the damage she had inflicted.  She pressed gently.  Raw and sore, the tender flesh on her palms and fingers were no longer soft and pliable.  Even a healthy slathering of witch hazel would not be able to smooth the ripped calluses and torn flesh.

 Regardless of how long it took for her hands to heal, one thing was certain.  She had no intention of doing what Hank wanted.  Her fingernail dug into a raw spot on her balled fist, and she winced.  A thought went through her mind that was as sensitive as her wound.  Hope had told her to give herself lots of space before speaking her rhyme.  Now that she was out of the well, even if she had to mumble, she would be able to return to Aidan without the passionate act Trista had said she needed.  Faith rubbed the pad of her finger over a raised callus.  If Hank suspected her deception, he would see to it that she never returned to Aidan. 

She lifted her skirt from her legs and shook the fabric.  No amount of shaking would remove all of the dirt and filth that covered her.  The rest of her must look as repulsive as her hands and clothing.

"You are a revolting sight," a voice said from in front of her, confirming her suspicion.

Her body tensed as though struck by lightning.  She could almost hear the crackle of thunder heralding the blow.  She shuddered, certain that the vibrations rebounded off of every bone in her body.  In order to return to Aidan, she didn't have time for distractions.  She pushed herself away from the wall, and looked in front of her.  Hank walked closer to the well.  His lip snarled upward, and his gaze raked over her. 

"Go into the house and change your clothes," he ordered.  "I want you to make a good impression on Trista.  I can't have her thinking you've been mistreated." 

Faith blinked and then looked in the direction of the house.  Her heart fluttered at the thought of racing toward the front steps.  She had hoped to create a ruse that would allow her away from him.  Instead of using her wiles, Hank had ordered her to go to the very place she wanted to go.  In case her plan failed, she would find a way to leave a message for Aidan while she was inside. 

Faith stepped inside the house and closed the door behind her.  Her heart raced, and her pulse pounded in her ears.  She would only have one chance to set things in place, but first, she needed water.  Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.  Hank had not given her anything to drink since last night, and the climb out of the well had left her completely parched. 

She glanced around the room.  The water bucket remained where it always was at the end of the work table.  She hoped it was filled enough to quench her thirst and wash her body.  She dipped a cup into the bucket and guzzled the contents.  Downing a second cupful, she hugged the half-filled pail to her chest and carried it to the bedroom.  Water droplets clung to her upper lip. 

Leaving the bucket on the dresser, she wiped her mouth with her fingers and peeked out the window.  Hank pulled a large box to the middle of the yard and then placed a small stool next to it.  Faith scrunched her face to the side and pulled back.  Did he mean this to be her coffin if she refused him?  She rolled her eyes and hurried to the chest at the foot of the bed.  She would do nothing he had asked, but Hank needed to think she followed his instructions verbatim. 

She flipped the lid of the chest open, pulled a dress from the box, and hurried to the dresser.  The ragged looking image of the woman in the mirror blinked back at her.  Tears blurred Faith's eyes as she stepped closer.  She touched her hand to her cheek, barely recognizing the woman staring back at her.  Dark circles under her eyes deepened the hollows.  Her hand dropped to her shoulder, and she ran her fingers over the bodice of her dress.  Sadness weighed heavy on her touch.  She had saved this dress as a surprise for Aidan and now, he would see it but not as she had hoped. 

Determination shoved her remorse to the side, and she yanked the ruined frock from her body.  She would make herself presentable, but not for Hank.  She didn't want Aidan to see her as she looked now.  Tears welled in her eyes, and she let the drops flow freely down her face.  She would allow herself this wave of emotion before she barred herself from any distractions.  She sniffed and wiped her eyes, returning her attention to Aidan. 

Wadding a cloth, she doused the scrunched material in the bucket.  The water burned her raw flesh, shooting pain up her arm.  She sucked in air through her clenched teeth.  Whimpering, she forced her hand to remain under the water until her skin became numb.  The stinging sensation wouldn't last long.  She wiggled her fingers and glanced at her hand.  Her wedding ring sank deep below her knuckle.  The cold water would make it easier to remove the band. 

She removed her hand from the pail, and water dripped to the floor.  Clutching the ring between her fingers, she closed her eyes and twisted the band.  She drew her brows together as the pain increased.  Tugging, she wiggled the metal.  Her finger felt as though she tried to remove the digit from her hand.  Finally, it slipped over the knuckle and pulled free. 

Lifting the discarded dress from the floor, she wadded it in a ball, and tucked the ring into the folds of the fabric.  Not sure her idea would work, it was the only thing she could think to do.  She didn't have time to write a note and hide it somewhere.  She could only hope Aidan would think to look for her here.  Bending down, she tucked the dress under the bed. 

"If you aren't out here in one minute," Hank screamed from outside the house.  "I'll drag you out of the house by the hair of your head."

Faith wiped the washcloth over her face and arms, and then hurried into her clean clothes.  She didn't need an audience while she dressed.  Her head poked through the opening of her neckline, and she glanced once more at the fabric beneath the bed. 
I hope there is no need for you to find this, Aidan.  Hopefully, we will retrieve my ring together.
 Tears stung the backs of her eyes again.

An invigorating sensation flooded through her, and she pushed up on her toes, feeling as though she had grown three feet in the transformation.  Hank had won every confrontation between them in the past, but nothing he could do would quell her now. 

"Think of a name, place, and time." 
That was easy enough.  Now for a rhyme. 
"The longer it is, the better." 
Faith gritted her teeth.  She wouldn't have time for that.  Hank came across the yard and headed for the front door.

Faith stared over at him, trying to slow his steps.  "Aidan Valentine.  Our home.  This moment."  Her cheek twitched at the corner of her mouth, and a glimmer of levity sparked in her eyes.  She closed her eyelids and spoke quickly.  "Taken by force by a man most unkind, return me now to the man who is mine."

In the main room of the house, the front door banged opened, and Faith jumped.  She wasn't sure what to expect from her chant, but nothing seemed different.  She hurriedly repeated her rhyme.  Scrunching her face, she peeked out from beneath her cracked eyelids.  Everything was still the same. 

The door to the bedroom burst open.  Hank grabbed her by the upper arms and shook her.  Her head bobbed back and forth, and her breath caught in her throat, choking her.  She stumbled backward to keep from falling.  Her rhyme hadn't worked.  What had she done wrong?  Her sister had said it would take practice, but Faith had hoped that the instructions, mixed with her fear, might have been the right combination to return her to Aidan. 

She focused her attention on an area outside of the house, and pushed past Hank.  Scooting past him, she raced into the yard.  In the open air, she turned toward him, positioned her feet a shoulders width apart, and prepared for battle.  Rage filled his face, as he came at her full steam.  He shoved her backward, and the stone wall caught Faith across the hips.  She cried out and pushed her arms against Hank's chest. 

"Stop it," Faith shouted.  She tried to work her arms free of his grip.  "You're hurting me."

"I should have killed you long ago," Hank said. 

"Then do it," Faith yelled into his face. 

Hank bent Faith over the opening of the well.  The earthy smell wafted up to her mingling with his sweat and body odor.  "Maybe you need more incentive," he said.  "If you do not do as I ask, I will kill your younger sister, Grace." 

A shudder went through Faith, similar to what she had felt in the garden with Aidan. 
Concentrate on a time, a place, and a name.

Hank's beefy palm caught Faith under the chin, and her feet left the ground.  Teetering on the well, she wrapped her arms behind his back, and lifted her legs over her head.  The rope brushed her head as they fell, and Hank shrieked in her ear. 

"AIDAN," Faith screamed into the abyss.

Chapter 29

Faith swayed as the world around her slowed its spin.  She had never felt so dizzy in all of her life.  With nothing to grab hold of to balance herself, she spread her arms to her side and moved her hands as though she tried to harness wind currents.  The few times she had unknowingly time traveled, she had been asleep.  The process had to be different now from then.  She would certainly remember reciting phrases and making hand gestures.   

She still wasn't sure if her rhyme had worked or if she had died in the fall.  She glanced around, anxious to see where she was
. 
Aidan stood in front of her.  Her heart beat so loudly she was sure he would hear it.  She thought to run to him and throw herself in his arms, but there was something about the way he stood that stopped her. 

Although he turned to face her, there was something feral looking about his stance.  She kept her attention on him and waited for him to recognize her.  His expression was stern, and his eyes penetrated deadly holes into her body like a shotgun blast.  The attack was as painful as though each blow hit her head and chest with lethal accuracy.  Faith had never seen such anger and hatred blazing over at her, especially from the man she loved. 

Her shoulders pulled back, but she stayed her ground.  From the way he puffed his chest and flexed his hands, he looked capable of murder.  Surely, she wasn't the intended target of his wrath.  Her heart speed up, and she flicked a glance to her side.  There was no one nearby that could have provoked such rage.  She remained still, not sure what she should do.  Had her appearance changed that drastically since she had last seen him?  He looked exactly as she remembered, except for the ferocious glare that shot from him.

Aidan's rigid stance finally relaxed, and his mouth formed her name.  "Faith," he said with the same tenderness she remembered from their night of passion.  His face softened, and he hurried toward her, reaching her within three, wide steps.  Faith's nose bounced off of his sternum as he enveloped her in his arms.  The intensity in which he held her, made her certain she would be crushed in his embrace.  She didn't bother listening for ribs to crack.  He could break every bone in her body and she would not stop him.  The entire time she had been away from him, she had longed to feel his hands on her body, to feel the touch of his arms holding her tight.  She would not be denied now.