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

by Spradling, Carol A.

  Unwilling to wait any longer, Faith had grabbed Honor's leather bag, promised her a hearty bowl of stew after she attended Aidan, and then pushed her out the door. She had answered Honor's basic questions as they made their way back to Faith's cabin.

  Between the two of them, they had managed to walk Aidan to the bedroom. He had not complained too loudly before collapsing face down in the bed. Rolling him to his back was much easier than pulling him to his feet. At least now, he shouldn't curse with each bump or jarred movement.

  Honor had sent Faith to the well, asking for her to fill a large basin. She didn't give the reason for needing such a large quantity of water, but she had been clear on the amount she needed and that it was to be heated. While Faith did as she was instructed, Honor went into the bedroom to check on Aidan.

  Faith flicked her fingers in the kettle. The water was barely warm. She would need to let the liquid heat a lot longer before it could be considered hot. Behind the closed, bedroom door, a deep voice moaned. A woman's voice spoke above the deep tones. Faith left the kettle to complete the job without her and then stepped to the bedroom. She pushed open the door and stood under the frame.

  Aidan lay on the flat of his back, the blanket pulled to his waist. The bedding was pulled away from his leg, similar to how he had looked only hours ago. His shirt remained on, but was unbuttoned and loosened at the collar. His hands were folded over his chest, dried blood lined his nails. Honor continued to wipe a cloth over his wound. From the way Aidan winced, the treatment for his injury was as painful as the wound itself.

  Faith's hands shook, and she clasped them together to still them. The hardest thing she had ever been asked to do was to stand back and await the outcome of the man she loved. Honor poked and prodded Aidan's leg. His jaw clenched, and his throat muscle's tightened. His head and chest were soaked with sweat. With each jolt and jerk his body made, Faith flinched with him. Her arms tensed, and her nails dug into her palms. Concentrating on Aidan's face and chest, Faith forgot about the woman irritating his wound.

  "Is the basin filled with hot water?" Honor asked, without interrupting her routine.

  "No," Faith answered. She shook her head, but kept her eyes focused on the bed. She would no doubt have to duplicate the treatment once Honor returned home. She needed to make sure she did it properly.

  "What is that you put on his leg?" Faith asked.

  "Something to keep it clean." Honor twisted the top of a tiny pot and scooped out a minute amount of the cream. A small dollop of colorless ointment sat on her upturned pad. She slathered the glob over the open hole, pressing the salve into the wound. Aidan's eyes remained closed, but he winced and pulled his leg away from her care.

  "The ointment stings a little, but will help him heal." Honor wiped the excess medicine into her palm, and then adjusted the blanket over Aidan's body, leaving his leg exposed. She stood up, and surveyed her work. Seemingly content with her efforts, she collected her things, and motioned Faith to the main part of the house. She followed after her and pulled the door closed behind them.

  "When did this happen?" Honor asked.

  "Sometime today," Faith answered, not wanting to step too far away from the bedroom in case Aidan called out. "He went to the field this morning and was late returning home. It must have happened early because he never came home for the noon meal."

  Honor nodded and sat her bag on the table. "Where's the pitch fork he used?"

  Faith drew her brows together, curious why she was interested in a farm implement. "Aidan's pitch fork?" she asked. "I don't know. Why do you need it?"

  "I want to see if any part of the tip broke off in his leg. I didn't find any evidence of breakage, but it could still be there. If it is, I need to remove it while there is still time to save his leg."

  Faith's world fell away from her. She couldn't imagine a man as strong as Aidan hobbling around on one leg. She grabbed hold of the back of the chair to steady herself, and tried to swallow. "He told you he was pierced with a pitch fork? I haven't been able to make sense of much of anything he has said."

  "I have a good ear," Honor said. "Old, but good." She pulled a chair away from the table and sat down. "Since my dinner was interrupted, I'll take a bowl of the stew you promised."

  Faith stared over at her elder sister. Honor had always spoken in a blunt manner and with a matter-of-fact rudeness that could chafe a person rawer than burlap. These callous traits most likely served her well in her trade as a healer. But while emotions could not guide her scalpel, a certain amount of care and concern needed to be included in her medical supplies. Her stoic sister stood in front of her, lifting her long hair off of the nape of her neck and shook out the wavy locks. Aidan's mishap was no more vital to her than a missed meal. At least his life wasn't less important to her.

  Faith blinked and returned her attention to Honor's hair. Her gray locks should have been a deep auburn as vivid as a hot fire. How had she not noticed this when she had burst into her home? Faith moved her gaze to her sister's face and studied it closely. Lines and wrinkles cut into her skin like veins in a maple leaf. If Faith were to guess, Honor looked to be sixty years old.

  As if reading Faith's mind, Honor said, "We'll talk about your man over a bit of food, and then we'll catch up."

  Faith moved to the fireplace and scooped a few spoonfuls of stew into a bowl, remembering how she had threatened Aidan with a cold meal. After interrupting Honor's dinner by dragging her out of her house in the dead of night, she hoped the stew still held some of its warmth. Faith glanced over her shoulder toward her sister. "I can't promise how hot the meal will be." She held the bowl to her side and stuck her finger into the sauce. She breathed a sigh of relief. Barely above tepid, it should still be palatable.

  "I'm used to eating cold soups and warm eggs," Honor assured her. "Anything you serve will be fine."

  Faith sat the dish in front of her sister and then handed her a spoon. She had no appetite to indulge in anything herself, regardless of the temperature.

  Honor hefted a spoonful of vegetables to her mouth, and ate as though she enjoyed a holiday banquet. "Do you think you can find the pitch fork?" she asked in between bites.

  "Yes. I can look for it now, if you like," Faith offered, and placed a plate of biscuits on the table.

  "It can wait until we finish here, but before I leave, I want to see how clean the tine is." She broke off a piece of bread and popped it in her mouth. "Depending on what the tip contacted before striking his leg, could create a variety of problems."

  Faith shuddered, thinking about the versatility of Aidan's pitch fork. There wasn't a farm related substance he hadn't dragged that tool through. "How bad is he?" Faith asked, not certain she welcomed the answer, but anything else was better than what she envisioned in her mind.

  Honor placed the remainder of her biscuit on the table next to her bowl. "If the tines are clean, and still in one piece, his fever should break soon. He will be sore for several days to follow. I would tell you to keep him in bed..." She looked over at Faith, and they shared a knowing look. At least Honor's mannerisms were still recognizable.

  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 cl
oser. 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."