Forever Ashley

by Lori Copeland

  “Does the job pay well?”

  Absently tearing off another hunk of bread, he studied her. She had an innocence about her that disconcerted him. One moment he was sure she was daft, then, in the next instant, she appeared to be quite sane. “Frequently a turnspit boy is working out a debt, either his father’s or his own,” he said.

  He resumed eating, and it wasn’t hard for Ashley to see that he was more interested in his meal than in conversation with her.

  Ashley sat back to observe the boy, mentally comparing the youth of today with the small lad patiently cranking the spit. Would a youngster of the twenty-first century accept such a subservient job to repay his parents’ debt? “Do all inns employ such young children?”

  “Some inns have jacks.”

  “Jacks? What are they?”

  “Dogs that are trained to walk on a treadmill to turn the spit. A few of the larger establishments use them.”

  Ashley was amazed. “Dogs?”

  “You would do well to cease your prattle and eat,” he warned.

  Ashley picked up her fork again. “You would do well to bug off.”

  He glanced up again. “Bug off?”

  “Bug off.”

  He nodded graciously. “As you say.”

  Ashley ate what she could of the meal. The piecrust was thick, the potatoes overcooked, and the meat tough as shoe leather, but it eased the hollow pang in her stomach. “What do you plan to do with me?”

  “It has not been decided.”

  “When will it be decided?”

  “When it is decided.”

  “Dr. Kenneman!” A man staggered toward the table, his leering gaze sweeping Ashley disrespectfully. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of seeing this lovely little doxy before.” He lurched again, obviously in his cups. “She is most fair of face.”

  His fetid breath made Ashley draw back. She glanced anxiously at Aaron for help. Though she didn’t particularly like the doctor, she realized that, for the time being, she was dependent on him.

  “She is not a Bostonian,” Aaron said quietly.

  “I am too!”

  “She isn’t,” he said again matter-of-factly.

  “Aye,” the man conceded. “One could see that. Her dress is very fine. She is obviously”—the man grinned— “well paid for her wares.” He reached out to finger the ruffle adorning the neckline of her dress, then trailed downward to feel the texture of a strand of hair that had escaped the chignon into which Ashley had rolled her hair before putting on the wig that evening.

  The wig!

  Her hand flew to her head. She’d lost it! She groaned. The museum would insist she pay for a replacement.

  Swaying closer, the man boldly let his finger trail lower, brushing the front of her bodice.

  Ashley sprang to her feet. The sound of her hand cracking against the bare flesh of his cheek echoed throughout the room.

  “Now see here,” Aaron warned, shooting Ashley a don’t-cause-a-scene look. The last thing he needed was for her to draw attention to herself.

  The noise in the room died away as eyes swung toward the table.

  “Keep your hands to yourself,’’ Ashley told the man coldly.

  The drunken man rocked back, his hand coming up to cover his reddened cheek. “Why, no woman slaps Jack Milletson!” he blustered.

  “She will if Jack Milletson doesn’t keep his hands off her!”

  “Now see here,” Aaron warned again.

  Jack reared back to knock Ashley senseless, but she slapped him again first. The sound of flesh meeting flesh ricocheted around the room.

  After flinging a bench aside, Jack and Ashley went after each other as the room burst into cheers.

  “Now, see here!” Aaron roared for the last time.

  Fists and scratching nails obediently froze in midair as his thunderous order bounced around the room.

  After getting to his feet, Aaron calmly stepped between Jack and Ashley. “The lady is with me, Jack.”

  Rubbing his glowing cheek, Jack stared at Ashley with hate. “’Tis a stroke of luck in her behalf, to be sure.”

  Aaron surveyed Ashley aloofly. “That it is.”

  Ashley reached out and started to slap Aaron’s face, but he caught her arm, smiling. “Here now!” he said loudly. “We’ll have none of that, my pretty! Save that lusty spirit for the bed.”

  Ashley’s eyes narrowed. “You—” Her other hand shot up to belt him a good one. She hadn’t been raised with four brothers and not learned a thing or two about defending herself. Aaron caught her up, swinging her over his shoulder as if she were nothing more than a sack of grain.

  “Ah, yes, my lovely. I think it’s time we retired!” He winked at the other men. “Excuse us, gentlemen, she pleads exhaustion.”

  “Put me down!” Ashley demanded through gritted teeth as he turned and strode toward the stairway.

  Throwing back his head, Aaron laughed merrily as if she had just said something delightfully witty. “Ah—eager, my love? Of course I can walk faster!”

  “Pig!” She whacked him across the back, hard.

  “Worrisome wench!” he muttered, whacking her back.

  “Help!” she shouted, thinking surely one of the drunken goons sitting around watching this outrage would come to a woman’s rescue. “Someone help me!”

  But the men only laughed uproariously as Aaron began to take the stairs two at a time with the woman screaming in protest.

  “‘Tame the cat, Kenneman,” one man shouted.

  Ashley’s cheeks flamed. He was deliberately making those louts think that she was his prostitute, bought for a night’s pleasure.

  Well, he’d see how much “pleasure” he got tonight, she vowed as he reached the top of the landing and turned to stride down the dimly lit hallway.

  Before the night was over, Ashley Wheeler would make Aaron Kenneman think he had died and gone straight to hell

  Chapter Four

  Ashley remained calm as Aaron hauled her through the narrow hallway. Let him think she was a helpless little ninny, she thought, seething. He’d find out different. She ducked, barely avoiding hitting her head on a wooden beam as he turned the corner, carrying her over his shoulder like a prize turkey.

  Without breaking stride, Aaron kicked open the door of a room where he unceremoniously deposited her onto the sagging bed.

  Ashley caught herself before she rolled off the other side. “You jerk!”

  “Must I bind your mouth shut?” Aaron kicked the door shut, then slipped the lock.

  “You just try it, mister!”

  By the look he sent her, she knew that he didn’t feel the least bit threatened.

  After lighting the betty lamp, he strode to the narrow window and pulled the dirty curtain aside to assess the darkened street below.

  Everything appeared to be in order. No one lingered outside; no one was leaving the tavern in haste. Perhaps the ruse had worked. The men believed the woman was a punk hired for his pleasure. Relieved, he let the curtain drop back into place. He would keep the wench here until morning, then send word to Revere where he was. By then, a decision would have been made on what to do with the woman. Since time was of the essence, she would have to be disposed of before Gage realized she had been discovered.

  “Everyone down there thinks I’m a prostitute,” Ashley accused as she rolled to the side of the bed and sat up. She felt as if she had been dragged through a knothole.

  “Precisely as I intended.” Turning from the window, Aaron surveyed the room disdainfully. “And if you have any sense about you, you’ll not bother to inform them otherwise.”

  Closing her eyes, Ashley grabbed a piece of flesh on her arm and squeezed it tightly.

  Aaron watched as she repeatedly pinched herself.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Pinching myself.”

  “I can see that. Dare I ask why?” he returned pleasantly.

  “Because I want to wake up!” Meeti
ng his eyes, she pinched herself again, hard.

  Leaving her to amuse herself in her eccentric manner, he crossed the room and sat down on the side of the bed to remove his boots.

  Dropping back onto the lumpy pillow, Ashley stared at the ceiling bleakly. “I want to go home.”

  She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud until Aaron answered quietly. “I cannot release you.”

  She sat up, pulling the pins from her hair. Aaron frowned, finding himself disturbed by the sight of the crimson cloud that invited a man’s distraction. “If I could only wake up,” she murmured, more to herself than him.

  Aaron’s gaze suddenly softened. The wench was lovely, stupid perhaps, but lovely. “You waste time with such prattle. It would serve you better if you told me who has sent you.”

  “I wish I knew.”

  ‘“You insist you are caught up in a dream?” he asked.

  “I know I am…or a time warp.”

  He sighed. She was speaking nonsense again. “Would that we both were dreaming, but it is not so.”

  Drawing a deep breath, Ashley slid off the bed. She winced when she caught sight of herself in the small looking glass hanging above the washbowl. Her hair was standing on end, her makeup was smeared, and dirt smudged her face and hands. Why, she looked worse than the wench who had served them earlier.

  She sighed. Listen to her. Wench. Now she was even beginning to think like him.

  He returned to the window.

  “Are you worried someone has followed us?” she asked.

  “The thought has crossed my mind.”

  “They haven’t.”

  He looked up. “You know this?”

  “Well, I nearly know it.” If this was three nights before Paul Revere was to make his famous ride, then she knew history confirmed that all had gone well. Of course, she’d read nothing about a doctor standing guard over a woman from the twenty-first century, but then historians couldn’t know everything that happened that night…if this really was happening and was not a dream.

  “You nearly know it.” He went back to looking out the window. “Why does that fail to comfort me?”

  “I don’t know. It should. What happens now?”

  “We wait.”

  “Wait for what?”

  “Morning.”

  Ashley frowned. “Just…morning?”

  “You ask too many questions, Mistress Wheeler.”

  “I hope you’re a good doctor because your bedside manner could do with some improvement,” she complained as she turned back to the mirror. She surveyed her dress in disgust. The museum director would kill her for doing this to one of their costumes.

  “We are not here to talk.”

  “What are we here for?”

  The look on Aaron’s face was clear. He wasn’t there to answer her questions, that was plain to see. “I am going to rest. I was up all night with a patient, and I grow increasingly weary.”

  Ashley watched as he shrugged off his coat and tossed it across the foot of the bed. A moment later he stretched out on the bed, heaving a deep sigh.

  “Don’t think of attempting an escape,” he warned. “Without my protection, you will be in even worse danger.”

  Ashley shuddered as she recalled the motley group of men gathered below, and how their hungry eyes had raked over her. If she tried to escape, it wouldn’t be through the tavern. She went to the window and gazed at the thirty-foot drop. It was too high to climb down, even if she had a place to go. Think, Ashley, think. This has to be a dream. But if it isn’t, what should she do? If, by some wild stretch of the imagination, this is real, then what should be her next step?

  She glanced at Aaron, who seemed to have dropped off to sleep. She studied him for a long moment. He appeared to have more than looks. He was a man fully dedicated to a cause. Though he was a doctor, sworn to preserving life, there was no doubt in her mind that his only reason for saving her from being branded a spy and perhaps killed was to prevent exposing the others. If keeping her alive threatened him or his group, Dr. Aaron Kenneman would not hesitate to do away with her, she was certain.

  A shiver of apprehension rippled down her spine. He might be handsome, but she had the sense to realize that he could also be very dangerous.

  She walked to the washstand. The pitcher was full of clean water. Glancing toward the bed, she assured herself again that he was sleeping soundly now.

  After pouring water into the bowl, she unbuttoned the front of her bodice and removed the scrap of lace that acted as a modesty piece. She tossed the fabric onto the dresser, loosened the lacings, and drew the first comfortable breath she’d had all day.

  Glancing toward the bed again, she quickly gathered her skirt around her waist, untied her petticoats, and let them drop to the floor. She caught the rim with her toe and tossed it onto the chair. Much better, she decided, pushing up her sleeves. Now for the farthingale.

  She hitched up her skirt again, then twisted around until she could find the fastening. It was knotted by now, and she had to pick at it blindly to get it to release. When it finally gave, she jerked the nuisance off and tossed it on top of the hoops. Without all the stiff layers, the cotton skirt was much more comfortable. She brushed some of the dirt and debris from the fabric.

  Aaron watched her measures through slitted eyelids. He was prepared for her to attempt an escape. If she tried, it would settle the question of whether she was a Tory or patriot. Instead, she had decided to remove all of her undergarments. It didn’t matter that she thought him asleep, this woman had no modesty!

  Without her hoops, the soft fabric of her skirt did little to hide her curves and the shape of her limbs beneath. His eyes cracked open a bit more. As she shook out the skirt, he caught a glimpse of her slender calves and quickly rolled onto his side.

  After dampening a rough square cloth, Ashley began to scrub at the smudges on her face and arms. She dipped the cloth into the bowl again, then leaned forward, peering into the looking glass. Gads, she was beautiful, Aaron thought in agony. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he continued to feign sleep. If she was a spy, it would take a strong man to resist her charms; that was precisely why she has been chosen to infiltrate the group, he realized. Gage was a sly fox.

  Ashley suddenly tensed as she saw Aaron move out of the corner of her eye. “You’re not sleeping,” she accused.

  “Nay, I sleep very soundly,” he lied.

  Ashley’s cheeks flamed. “You’ve been watching me!”

  His eyes opened slowly, allowing his gaze to meander over her with tantalizing care.

  Following the direction of his gaze, Ashley looked down. The gaping blouse seemed to hold him spellbound.

  She tugged the strings and tightened the neckline, shooting him a frown. “You could have looked the other way,” she snapped.

  “It is my duty to watch you,” he reminded.

  She turned her back to him, pretending to study herself in the mirror. Her cheeks resembled strawberry Pop Tarts as he continued to gaze at her in the muted candlelight. Ashley was appalled to find herself responding to his disconcerting pewter-gray eyes traveling over her. She wasn’t sure what this man was willing to do to protect his country, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

  She finished restoring her top to decency, determined to ignore his penetrating gaze.

  But his interest had been piqued. “Are you accustomed to undressing in front of a man?” Aaron found the thought that she was frequently this immodest in the company of a man annoying. What were these eighteenth-century women coming to?

  “I thought you were asleep.”

  “That was not the question.”

  “No, I’m not accustomed to undressing in front of men.” Returning to the mirror, Ashley studied her reflection, suddenly wishing that she were prettier. It would take a woman of considerable beauty to attract a man, an obvious rake, like Aaron Kenneman. Oh, she would be considered passable, but she didn’t come close to being beautiful. A wave of homesickn
ess washed over her as she thought about Joel and how he had always contended that she was pretty, though she knew she really wasn’t.

  “Come now,” Aaron chided. “A woman with your beauty…mayhap there is someone you have favored?”

  “Well…only one man, Joel Harrison, my fiancé,” she admitted.

  He scowled. “You have been in such…disarray in front of him?”

  She looked at the yards of fabric swathing her form and suppressed a giggle. “He’s seen me in a lot less clothes than these. We were engaged.”

  “And being ‘engaged’ in the—what century do you claim to be from?”

  “The twenty-first century.”

  “Women in the twenty-first century—they allow men such liberties?”

  “Well…some do, I guess.”

  “When will you marry?” His gaze moved over her slowly.

  “We won’t now,” she confessed, determined to ignore the heat that was suddenly building inside her at his intimate and softly provocative words. “I broke the engagement. Just before I…landed on your table.”

  Her wide-eyed, innocent expression was so sincere, so straightforward that for the briefest moment Aaron was tempted to be swayed by her performance. Was it possible she actually believed this absurd story that she told? No, Cage had chosen well. The wench was not only clever, she was convincing “Is this man a Tory also?”

  “Joel? Of course not!”

  “Why did you break the engagement?”

  “None of your business why.”

  “’Tis a pity,” he said softly.

  “That I broke the engagement?”

  “No, that twenty-first-century women allow men such freedom.” His eyes moved over her very slowly again. “If I were the second man, I would feel defrauded.”

  “Because he’s seen me in jeans and a halter top?”Ashley finished buttoning her bodice and tucked it back into the skirt of her costume. “Well, things are different now than they were in your day.”

  She was speaking gibberish again. After rolling out of bed, Aaron walked to the window to look out.

  “You might as well relax,” Ashley told him. “We’re safe for the time being.”

  Stooping down, she gathered up the discarded petticoats and farthingale from the chair, then laid them across the dresser.