Faithfully Yours (The Forever Time Travel Romance Series, Book 1) (6 page)

The door behind her pushed open, and Hank stormed into the room.  A warm breeze blew across the living area, bringing with it the suffocating smell of dirt and sweat.  He offered no greeting, but pulled his hat from his head and slapped it against his thigh.  Stomping his feet, dust and dried mud fell to the normally tidy floor.  Faith jumped, pulling away from the commotion.  

"I brought in another cartload of tobacco leaves," he said, and moved to the fireplace.  He propped his foot on the hearth and stared over at her.  "I don't know why.  You haven't put up the ones I brought in earlier."  He bent at the waist and peered into the cast iron kettle.  "There's nothing prepared?"

Sighing, Faith leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest.  "No," she answered.

His boots bit into the wood floor as he took two steps.  Stopping next to her, he snatched up the bread.  Chunks of the loaf crumbled between his curled fingers and plummeted to the table.  The doughy bits bounced onto her lap. 

Faith lifted her gaze, peering up at him from under drawn brows.  His temper was primed and loaded.  What could he do to her that would threaten her?  Apparently her gesture to protect her sisters wasn't necessary.  Although they had a place to live, Hope and Honor would be able to care for themselves and Grace.  What exactly they would do, she wasn't sure, but both women were more than resourceful and old enough to earn an income. 

"What have you done all day?" he snapped, reminding her of how dismal her future was in comparison to that of her sisters'.  "How could it take all day to make this small loaf?"

"I didn't make it.  Grace did," she answered.

"Grace," he repeated.  Darkness seemed to cloud over the well lit room.

Her sister's name hissed through his teeth, and Faith cringed.  She glanced over at him.  She knew this tone all too well.  Slow and torturous, her punishment would linger.  There was nothing she could do to prevent it or expedite it.

He squatted next to her and leaned in close.  His moist breath warmed her cheek.  Picking up the cloth, he swung the cradled bread in front of her face.  Faith turned away from him and tried to stand.  He grabbed her by the elbow and shook her arm, slamming her shoulder into her chin until she focused on the crumbs. 

He stood and yanked her to her feet.  Numbness filled the lower half of her arm.  She was certain he would wrench her limb from her torso.  What he would do with the bloody appendage, she wasn't sure.  But from the way he shoved her to the front door, he had a suitable punishment in store for her inattention to her chores.

Faith's head and shoulder pounded into the wall.  She drew her arm up to block the door from hitting her face.  "What are you doing?" she asked from behind her open hand.  Her wrist snapped as he pulled her after him.

"Putting and end to your lies."

****

Faith struggled to maintain her footing behind Hank.  He climbed the hill at the back of their house with wide, open strides, setting a pace that was impossible for her to match.  She moved her legs twice as fast as his, hoping to remain upright.  From the speed in which he walked, he would most likely drag her to his destination rather than slow his steps. 

Briars and thorns tore at her dress, cutting the fabric like small daggers slicing through summer fruit.  Blood soaked through the material, and a crisscross pattern lined her sleeves.  She yanked her captured arm, trying to break away from his tight grip.  Instead of releasing her like she wanted, he repositioned his hand in a tighter hold and jerked her along after him. 

The toe of her shoe caught under an exposed branch, and she pitched forward.  Crying out as she fell to the ground, Hank dragged her for several feet over the rough terrain, his hold unyielding.  He refused to stop but did slow his pace long enough for her to regain her footing. 

There was no mistaking where he led.  She had made the same trek earlier this morning.  The uneven ground leveled to a flat plateau, and a hawk soared above them in the clearing.  Hank paused.  Ignoring the raptor, he looked from the right side of the property and then to the left.  Faith wasn't sure if he decided where to take her or if he looked for the old woman.  With the possible chance that the crone would be home, Faith screamed as Hank dragged her across the yard.  The woman's scraggly face appeared in the window, but she made no move toward the door.  Faith stared over her shoulder as she stumbled behind Hank. 

Her heartbeat simultaneously sped up and sank in her chest.  The cliff edge drew nearer and her ideas ran short.  How could anyone listen to a woman scream in terror and not respond?  Faith didn't expect an aged woman to wrestle with Hank, but she could at least shout at him and give him a good chase back down the hill.  A well placed broom handle could slow him down.  Faith screamed again, hoping the old woman merely needed a little encouragement to come to her aid. 

Apparently Hank wanted Faith's demise to be accepted in a quieter manner.  He spun around and faced her.  Hatred blazed in his eyes.  The black scowl on his features darkened, and the back of his hand hurled up and across her cheek.  Faith staggered sideways, the breath knocked from her lungs.  Her cheek burned as hot as his temper.  He made no apologies, but dragged her past the pasture toward the cliff. 

Faith twisted her hand, trying to work her wrist free.  She had expected a volatile life with Hank.  Bruises had adorned various parts of her body since her wedding night.  She looked once more behind her, hoping the old woman had experienced a change of heart.  No one seemed interested in helping her escape an inevitable end.  She clawed at Hank's fingers.  With any luck, she would cause him as much pain as he planned for her. 

She dug her heels into the ground, pulled back, and swung her arm.  She would not be tossed over the side of a cliff without fighting back. Aiming for his head, her hand swung wild, striking a hard object on her thigh instead of his skin.  Her eyes widened as she remembered the knife she had placed in her pocket earlier this morning.  The cliff edge was less than a pasture-length away.  She doubted he planned to scare her into submission.  He would not only end her lies, but would end her life.  Her weapon was her only option.  She had to free it from its hiding place.  Stalling for time, she tried to reason with him. 

"Hank, don't do this," she begged.  She pulled at the fabric near her waistband, grasping for her pocket.  She wiggled her free hand downward into the opening.  Hank yanked her forward, and her hand slipped free of her skirt, and away from her weapon. 

"Don't do what?" he bellowed, his voice echoing across the open field.  "Stop your deceptions.  I provided a place for you and your sisters when you had no one to take you in.  All I asked in return for my generosity was for you to help me make this farm a success."

"At what cost?" she shouted at him.  Her fingers slipped around the wooden handle, and she took a firm hold on her last chance for freedom.

"You ungrateful witch."  He grabbed her by the hair on her head and shoved her toward the cliff's edge. 

Tufts of grass ended in a jagged line, dropping away from the face of the earth.  She pushed back against him.  Her feet braced against any rock or dry patch of ground she encountered.  A dust screen floated in front of her, hovering above the abyss.  She kicked her feet, shooting pebbles and dirt clumps into the veiled partition.  The solid pieces of soil and gravel arced briefly and then fell out of sight.  No sound accompanied their landing.

She adjusted the handle of her knife.  Not bothering to pull it free of the fabric, she swung her weapon backward, not stopping until the blade sank deeply into something, anything, solid. 

Hank's breath gasped in her ear and he slumped forward, his added weight tossing her off center.  Drenched in a cold sweat, she shifted her body and tried to break away from him.  Inches separated her from solid ground and a long fall.  He had one last chance to redeem his heinous intent.  A raspy grunt sounded behind her.  Instead of Hank pulling her to safety as she hoped he would do, a heavy weight lodged in the middle of her back. 

She fell forward and her stomach rose in her throat.  Air rushed up to her and soared past in a horrifying whoosh.  Flailing her arms, she searched for something solid to grab hold off.  The ground rose up faster than she expected.  She closed her eyes, not wanting to see the end of her life.  A man's voice whispered in her ear.

"Aidan," she whispered and followed where he led.

Chapter 7

"Don't move, Faith."  A deep voice called to her, calming her instantly. 

Her body ached, and she struggled to draw breath.  Her head, although throbbing, was no longer being slammed into a hard object.  Someone touched her body, but she was not solidly pinned in place.  She shifted her hips to verify her freedom.

"Oh, good," the familiar voice said.  "You can move.  Still, rest a little longer before you try to sit up."

Obeying his command, she eased her eyes open and looked out through cracked eyelids.  A dark haired man bent over her.  Shirtless, suspenders rode over his sweaty shoulders.  His hair fell in front of his face, hiding his features.  Seeming to know what he looked for, he ran his hands over her limbs, squeezing lightly.  He released her, sat back on his haunches, and turned his face toward the sky.  Smiling, he looked over at her.  

"You scared the life from me when you fell."  His brown eyes were filled with concern.  He seemed to wait to see if she had a pain he had overlooked.

Fell? 
She turned her head from side to side, searching for the reason for her fall.  Hank had to be nearby.  He would undoubtedly not be happy that she had survived the plunge from the top of the cliff.  He probably made his way down the hillside now.  He would surely finish what he had started as soon as he convinced this man that he would care for her.

"Calm yourself, Love," Aidan said.  "You'll be fine.  Nothing seems to be broken.  You just got the wind knocked from you.  Maybe we should cancel our picnic so you can go home and rest."

His voice sounded familiar and his face held the same compassioned look she had seen last night in her dream.  She blinked several times and reached for his hand.  "Aidan?"

Faith remained flat on the ground, unable to take her eyes off of him.  All morning she had thought of nothing but a dreamlike memory, remembering scarce glimmers of the tenderness he had shown when holding her.  Every nuance of their night together rushed back to her, reminding her of the painful pleasure they had shared.  She had matched his passion without embarrassment, crying out when he had taken her to heights Hank had never come close to achieving. 

A few hours ago, she had thought Aidan Valentine was a figment of her imagination.  He now knelt beside her, sweating, breathing, and searching her face.  His own features were etched like a pencil drawing, heavily marked with fear and concern.  She forced her eyelids to remain open, and refused to give him even the smallest of opportunities to disappear into thin air.  Reaching her hand to his, she wanted tangible proof of his existence even more than she craved her next breath.

He answered her touch and cupped her arm to his chest, caressing her limb with warm, tender strokes.  If he didn't stop staring at her with the same smoldering gaze she remembered from last night, she would no longer care if she ever breathed again.

"You're real," she said, her words raspy, but no longer in need of convincing.  Her memories from her night with Aidan filled in the gaps of her sketchy memory with amazing clarity.

"Yes, and so was your fall," he said, and looked toward the horse standing to the side of a leafy, oak tree. 

The broad-chested palomino snorted and pawed the ground.  Bigger than other geldings, his pale-colored coat was deceptive of a gentle spirit.  He stared down at Faith as though blaming her for her accident.

"If anything had happened to you," Aidan said, running his hand through his dark hair.  "I would have fed that nag's bludgeoned remains to the pigs."

Faith pulled against Aidan's grip and tried to lift her back off of the ground.

"Do you need more time to rest?" he asked.  "Our plans can wait until later today or even until tomorrow."

She braced one arm behind her back and glanced up at him, curious as to what else awaited them.  Whatever his agenda, she would take things at a slow pace and with a watchful eye on her mount.  She blew out her breath, reassured that her lungs were functioning properly.  Not certain how she had managed to leave Hank and her ultimate death, she had landed at Aidan's feet, and with life still flowing through her veins.  None of it made sense, but he talked to her as though she had been with him all morning.  Clearly, she had not.  It might be best for her to blame her rattled thoughts on her fall while she tried to understand what was happening to her.

"What have you planned?" she asked. 

He cringed and tilted his head downward, resembling a boy whose first crush had been exposed.  Faith's heart leapt in her chest.  She might not know the reason she was with him, but she was certain that Aidan Valentine was worth the pain she endured to get here. 

His tongue jutted out from between his teeth, wetting his lips.  What would it have been like to share this man's virginal kiss?  Her lips tingled at the thought of pressing her mouth to his.  They weren't chaperoned-aged youths who had to sneak affectionate displays and longing glances.  Some other girl may have enjoyed Aidan's transition into manhood, but Faith hoped she would be the woman who would taste his mouth last.