Somewhere in Time (The Crosse Harbor Time Travel Trilogy) (23 page)

#

"I love you...." The voice came toward him from a great distance. "More than you'll ever know."

Zane woke up, completely alert to his surroundings. The nightstand to his left. The window open wide to the night air.

Emilie asleep in the copper tub.

He rose from the bed and walked toward her.

"Wake up, Em. You're dreaming."

She murmured something he couldn't understand and sank more deeply into the tub.

"C'mon. That water's getting cold."

Her breathing was slow and regular. Waking her up seemed cruel. He leaned forward and scooped her into his arms. His movements, hampered by the splint on his right arm, were clumsy. She barely noticed.

Zane, however, couldn't say the same.

Her naked body was warm and supple as he held her against his bare chest. He barely noticed the water dripping from her hair and skin onto his, except to register a deep sensual thrill that stirred his blood.

Slowly he carried her to the bed, laying her down gently on the horsehair mattress. He wanted to light a candle against the dark so he could see the splendor of her naked form, but the truth was he knew exactly how she looked, every spectacular inch of her.

She shivered slightly and he remembered that she was wet from her bath. Two towels rested on the seat of the rocking chair and he brought them back to the bed. Kneeling down, he took her right foot in his hands and pressed a towel to the instep and arch, the elegant toes. Her ankle was narrow, delicately made. The muscles of her calf were strong and firm, yet still extremely feminine.

He shifted position, aware of the way his blood was pounding inside his head. She managed to combine delicacy with strength, the most beguiling combination imaginable. He drew the towel over her knee, then slowly dried his way up the length of her thigh. He performed the same actions on the other leg.

She moaned low in her throat.

He waited.

She sank again into sleep.

The curls between her thighs were damp, fragrant with roses and the smell of a woman. Her smell. He leaned forward and pressed his mouth against her for an instant, branding her.

Branding himself.

It would be easy to lose himself in her, to take her before she awakened enough to protest and prove that whatever problems they'd had, this powerful physical desire wasn't one of them. This was the best thing life had to offer, the one chance human beings got to walk with the gods.

But, damn it, there were some things you didn't do no matter how much you wanted her.

She shivered again, despite the warm summer air drifting through the open window. He took a deep, steadying breath and drew the cloth over her hips and rounded belly. He relished the female softness of her flesh.

Her waist was narrow and he could feel the flare of her ribcage. He sensed the fullness and warmth of her breasts before he touched them. He cupped them in his palms, savoring their weight.

He was enjoying this too much.

Swiftly he dried her chest and throat. He tried to gather her hair together in a makeshift ponytail but failed.

The coverlet was folded at the foot of the bed. He opened it then placed it over her body.

"I love you...." Her voice was low, that faraway voice of someone deep in a dream.

"Who do you love, Emilie?" he asked as he lay down on the bed next to her and gathered her gently into his arms. He was almost glad when she didn't answer.

Chapter Eleven

When Emilie awoke the next morning she was alone in the second floor bedroom.

She was also naked.

She sat up, holding the coverlet to her breasts, then glanced around. Everything looked normal. The tub was pushed against the far wall, same as it had been last night. She smelled like roses so she must have finished her bath, but she didn't remember anything beyond settling into the warm water and closing her eyes.

Either she was the world's only sleepwalking bather or Zane had plucked her from the tub and deposited her beneath the covers.

A long slow heat slid along the insides of her thighs. Surely she'd know if something had happened. But she remembered nothing save an odd series of dreams that had left her feeling sad and hopeful and everything in between.

Last night she'd given birth to a baby. At least she had in her dreams. If she closed her eyes she could still feel the crushing pain that was followed by a wave of pure joy that made all that had come before it seem meaningless.

And he'd been there with her, holding her hand, whispering encouragement. Sharing that miraculous moment when the visible proof of their love entered the world.

She felt empty now. Her arms ached for her child.

Her heart yearned for the man who had helped create that child.

If only she had seen his face.

#

The next few days passed in a blur of activity. The embroidery method of transmitting messages was a rousing success and Andrew grew more daring. Zane, watching from the sidelines, found himself growing even more restless. His life was at an impasse and he knew the time was approaching when he would have to make some difficult decisions.

As for Emilie, her confusion manifested itself in a fatigue that seemed to sap the energy from her very bones. She'd fall asleep instantly at night, and then awaken in the morning feeling as if she'd barely slept at all. She'd never mustered up the nerve to ask Zane what had happened the night he'd lifted her from the bath. In truth, she didn't really want to know. Either way she had the feeling she would lose.

Why couldn't life be as simple and clear-cut as one of those TV dating games that she'd left behind?

Two men.

Two choices.

They were as different as night and day. Choosing between them shouldn't be difficult.

But then, who said they both wanted her? She knew in her heart that Andrew cared and she had little doubt he would welcome a chance to build a life with her. She wasn't vain enough to believe it was her beauty that held his interest; she brought with her the secrets of the future and that had to be a potent attraction.

And then there was Zane. He'd been so distant lately, so preoccupied, that some nights he hadn't bothered to come to bed. She tried not to imagine where he might be spending his time, but heated visions of him making love to some tavern wench from town made her stomach knot in jealousy.

It occurred to her that he no longer needed her the way he had when they'd first discovered themselves in this strange new world. He might not like 18th century living, but he was a survivor and he'd adapted to it better, in some ways, than Emilie had.

Now that he had traded the gold from his watchband for usable currency, he didn't need her to help him find his way. He was fully capable of charting a course for himself. After all, she had made it clear that she refused to allow circumstance to dictate her future.

Who'd expected him to suddenly take her at her word?

Things were changing quickly and Emilie only wished she had the energy to change along with them.

#

For the first time in days, everyone was gathered at the Blakelees' pine trestle table for the main meal. Andrew and Isaac were caught up on the work in the fields and, for a change, they came in to join everyone else. Even Zane, who had taken to keeping himself distant from the others, took his chair opposite Emilie.

The house was beginning to take on a festive air as the final preparations for Charity's wedding were being completed. The simple dark pine furniture gleamed after being rubbed with oil and polished to a high sheen. The curtains were freshly washed and hung smartly at the windows. Rebekah was putting the finishing touches on her daughter's wedding dress while Emilie worked on the soldiers' uniforms in the morning and work for the spy ring in the afternoon.

The only thing missing was Josiah Blakelee himself and, unfortunately, hope was fading quickly that he would be home in time for the wedding. Each day brought a different rumor as to his whereabouts. The most ridiculous was that he had joined the Tory cause; the most frightening, that he was imprisoned aboard the
Jersey
in New York Harbor.

Rebekah, however, was determined that their daughter's marriage not be postponed. Life was short and the sooner you embraced the future, the better. It was a lesson not lost on anyone at the table that August afternoon.

Indeed, the air in the room was charged, the way same way it was before a storm.

Andrew thought it was his own dissatisfactions making themselves evident.

Zane was sure it was the power he'd gained with the acquisition of money.

Emilie was positive it was her own state of confusion.

None of the Blakelees noticed a thing amiss. They were too busy running a house, tending a farm, and planning a wedding.

"The sugar loaf!" Charity exclaimed, leaping from her chair. "We must have a sugarloaf or Timothy's parents will think we're poor as church mice."

"Would I forget such an important item?" said Rebekah with a laugh.

"And the sugar-scissors?" the bride-to-be asked.

"Do not worry," her mother said. "Things are well in hand. Why don't you--"

Her words were interrupted by the sound of horses' hooves in the distance.

The four adults at the table looked at one another. "Are you expecting visitors?" Andrew asked Rebekah.

Rebekah shook her head.

Andrew pushed back his chair and stood up. "Behave naturally. I will wait in the pantry." He collected his plate, utensils, and cup, then disappeared.

Emilie's heart lodged in her throat and she found it difficult to draw a full breath into her lungs. Rebekah's face went pale and the children grew ominously silent. It was Zane who took charge of the situation.

"Do as McVie said," he ordered, resuming his meal. The fricassee of chicken tasted like straw but Emilie forced down a bite. The others at the table did the same. The hoofbeats drew closer and the drinking glass at Emilie's place trembled with the vibrations.

"I can't stand it," Emilie mumbled.

"Quiet," Zane snapped.

Emilie's cheeks flamed. Rebekah had heard every word. Moments later someone pounded on the door.

Rebekah rose to her feet to answer it.

The dining room was cloaked in silence.

"Talk," Zane said.

"What about?" asked Isaac.

"It doesn't matter. Just do it."

Small conversations broke out like random brushfires. Nobody paid any attention to the words because everyone's attention was focused on the front door and the unexpected guest.

Rebekah returned to the room with a stocky red-haired man dressed in the uniform of a Continental soldier. He introduced himself as Benjamin Fellowes. His manner was affable but Emilie saw the way he seemed to notice every inconsequential detail in the room.

Rebekah's face was composed but she fingered the ties on her apron with a nervous gesture. "You will see for yourself, Lieutenant Fellowes, that we are a simple family eating a simple meal."

"So it would seem," said Fellowes. His glance swept the table. "And you are certain you have not seen Andrew McVie?"

Rebekah did not so much as blink. "As I told you, Lieutenant, I have not seen the man since my beloved Josiah disappeared and if this Andrew McVie were to show his face I would give him a piece of my mind for leading my poor husband--" She stopped abruptly, tears welling in her soft brown eyes.

Charity leaped to her feet and faced the soldier. "Go away! Isn't it enough that my pa won't be here for my own wedding?"

"'Twasn't my wish to upset the lot of you, folks. We just need to talk to the man."

"You won't find him here," said Zane, rising to his feet.

The shorter man looked up at Zane. "Lieutenant Benjamin Fellowes, sir."

Zane paused a moment. "Captain Rutledge."

The wonder was that nobody at the table fell over in shock.