A World Apart (The Hands of Time: Book 3)

by Irina Shapiro

  “Kit, it’s not your fault. It never was. I was just hysterical and mad with fear. Please forgive me,” she pleaded. Kit turned around slowly, looking at her as if seeing her for the first time.

  “Forgive you?” he asked, confused. Louisa just nodded, suddenly afraid. Would he never forgive her for her outburst? How could he not understand how terrified she’d been? He’d forgiven her for not telling him about her past. Surely, that had been worse than an accusation blurted out in a moment of panic.

  “Louisa, there’s nothing to forgive. It’s myself I can’t forgive. You’re right. It’s all my fault. My behavior was unforgivable the night you told me about the time travel. I was so angry; I didn’t give any thought to you or your health. I only wanted to hold you and lay my claim on you. Well, I’ve done that, haven’t I? I nearly killed our child. I don’t deserve either of you.” He looked so miserable that Louisa just wanted to hold him like a child and rock him until he felt better.

  “Kit, plenty of women nurse their babies while pregnant. The milk doesn’t normally dry up. It wasn’t anything you did. I was just scared and needed someone to blame. Everything will be all right once we get to England and can find a wet nurse for Evie. She is strong, like her father. She will survive. Now, Kit, please hold me. I feel utterly lost when you’re not there to support me. Your love means everything to me. You know that, don’t you?”

  Kit wrapped his arms around Louisa, holding her tight. His heartbeat was steady and strong against her chest, making her feel secure. “Kit, let’s go back to the cabin,” Louisa said, lifting her face to receive his kiss.

  Evie slept peacefully in her hammock, rocking gently from side to side as they walked in. She was tightly swaddled in her blanket to keep out the cold of the cabin, but her cheeks were a lovely pink, not the bluish white they’d been only two days ago. Bridget was curled up on Louisa’s berth, looking exhausted. She immediately excused herself, having assessed the situation correctly. Louisa barely waited for the door to close behind Bridget before throwing off her wet cloak and pulling off her mob cap. Her golden hair cascaded down her back, framing her face. Kit had already pulled off his doublet and was fumbling with the laces of his breeches, his eyes never leaving her face. They were burning with desire, making Louisa feel feverish with need. She pushed aside his hands, untying the laces of his breeches. She couldn’t get them undone fast enough, needing to feel him inside her.

  There was no way to lie down together on the narrow berth, so Kit lifted her up, pushing her up against the door of the cabin. Louisa wrapped her legs around him as he took her, crying out with exquisite pain as his cock pounded her womb with every thrust. She slumped against him as her body finally reached its climax, their bodies still joined. She never wanted to let him go, not ever.

  “You are with child,” he whispered, kissing her face. “It might be too soon to tell, but I just know it.”

  Chapter 50

  Finn threw another log on the fire, settling in for the night. The sounds of the forest were all around him, reminding him of the times he went hunting with his father and they spent the night sleeping rough. He complained then, but he would have given anything to have his father here now. Being alone was the next best thing. He had to admit that after sharing a room with Jonah for the past few weeks, it was nice to have a bit of quiet for a few nights. Jonah talked until he literally fell asleep mid-sentence, finally leaving Finn alone with his own thoughts.

  Finn untied his bedroll, spreading it as close to the fire as he could without setting himself aflame. The crackling of the twigs was soothing, the leaping flames casting eerie shadows on the world around him. Finn closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The night smelled of rotting leaves, pine, and wood smoke. He loved that smell. It reminded him of home and the woods by the house, but he wouldn’t think of home tonight. Finn linked his fingers behind his head, staring at the stars. It was a beautiful clear night; the countless stars scattered around the half moon like shards of diamonds. It was cold, but the warmth of the fire was enough to make him comfortable and drowsy.

  Finn closed his eyes, thinking of Abbie. Leaving her after what happened had been hard, but he had no choice. His breath caught in his throat as he remembered her willing body under his, warm and inviting. He thought he’d wanted her before, but now that he knew exactly what he was missing, the hunger he felt was overwhelming, gnawing at him every hour of the day. He had to admit that it would have been wonderful to have her there with him, but he was on a mission, and Abbie was safer at home.

  Once Finn agreed to undertake the assignment, Mr. Mallory explained to him what the Committee did and what part he would play. They needed someone inconspicuous to deliver a few coded messages and then pick up a message from Sam. It seemed that Sam was supplying his father with information about troop movements and battle plans. Most of the men and boys living close to Williamsburg could be easily identified since they’d lived there all their lives, but Finn was new to the area, with no family and no special ties to anyone but the Mallorys. It reminded him just how alone he was when presented with that fact.

  Finn huddled deeper into his blanket, knowing that he would get cold once the fire burned out. He had to get some sleep. He would be meeting his first contact tomorrow morning and he was a little nervous. He had to admit that he was also excited. The notion that he was doing something to help the Revolution made his heart swell with pride. He’d heard enough talk over the past few weeks about the injustice of the British and he had to admit that he was definitely on the side of the rebels. The look of admiration on Abbie’s face was an added bonus. She was proud of him, thinking him courageous and loyal. Finn was still smiling as he finally fell asleep.

  Chapter 51

  “Martha, are you asleep?” Abbie whispered, fearful of waking her parents. “Martha?” She nudged Martha in the ribs, hoping to wake her. They’d shared a bed since they were little, always talking and giggling until they fell asleep, but lately Abbie found herself wanting to lie quietly, and think her own thoughts rather than whispering with Martha. Martha would be gone soon anyway. She’d be a married woman and Sarah would most likely take her place. She was getting too old to sleep in the same room as their parents and Annie.

  “I was until you started hissing at me. What’s the matter?” Martha was always grumpy when woken up. She turned on her side, eying her little sister from under the flounces of her nightcap, which was the only thing visible in the darkness.

  “Martha, do you love Gil?” Abbie asked quietly.

  “I’m marrying him, aren’t I?”

  “That’s not the same thing as loving him. Do you love him, Martha?” Abbie asked again, sounding more urgent this time.

  “What’s this all about, Abbie?” Martha was wide-awake now, obviously curious.

  “I just wanted to know what it feels like to be in love,” Abbie replied dreamily.

  “I wouldn’t know,” answered Martha gruffly. “Gil is a good man. He is loyal, hardworking, and more importantly, he loves me. I don’t believe in these romantic notions. What’s the point? There aren’t that many young men for me to choose from, so I chose Gil.”

  “Do you think you’ll be happy?” asked Abbie wistfully.

  “You are relentless, Abbie. Of course, we’ll be happy, especially if this war ever ends, and we can build a home of our own. Living with his family until then will have its difficulties to be sure.” Martha sat up in bed, propping her pillows. “Are you finished interviewing me, sis?”

  “Not yet. I was wondering, have you and Gil ever, you know?” Abbie whispered urgently, afraid to be overheard.

  “Of course not. What kind of trollop do you take me for? He’d never even dare try it. That’s what wedding nights are for. To tell you the truth, I can’t say I’m looking forward to that part. It sounds rather appalling.” Martha rolled her eyes, making Abbie giggle.

  “I think it’s probably very nice,” said Abbie, smiling.

  “And how would you know? Yo
u’ve never even been kissed.” Martha suddenly gave her a suspicious look. “Abbie, who are we talking about, me or you? Come now, we’ve never had secrets from each other.” Martha’s eyes bore into Abbie, waiting for an answer.

  “I think I’m in love with Finn.” Abbie’s voice shook with emotion as she said it. This was the first time she’d articulated her feelings, other than telling Finn that night in the barn. It felt strange sharing her precious love with her sister, despite their close bond. Abbie felt as if she were betraying Finn somehow by confiding in Martha.

  “Well, you better get over it, and soon. Finn’s just a temporary worker. He doesn’t have a pot to piss in. Pa would never let you marry him. Besides, his origins are questionable. No one seems to know anything about him. The sooner he goes the better, I say. Now, stop mooning over hired help and go to sleep.” With that, Martha turned away from Abbie, ending the conversation.

  Abbie stuck her tongue out at Martha’s back, then turned toward the wall herself. She didn’t care if Finn had nothing. He had her. For the first time in her life, she felt sorry for Martha. She’d always admired her big sister, and had to admit that she was a little scared and jealous when Martha accepted Gil’s proposal. She would be a married woman, and worst of all, she would leave. They would no longer share their tiny room, or gossip late into the night, sharing their dreams with each other, not that Martha was sharing much lately. She’d changed since her betrothal, becoming more distant with each passing day. Abbie thought that if she were engaged, she would be over the moon with joy, wanting everyone to share in her happiness, unlike Martha, who only seemed concerned with what she would bring to her new family.

  Abbie said a heartfelt prayer, asking God to protect Finn on his mission and bring him back safely. She knew that Martha was right about Finn’s prospects, but she didn’t care. Finn wasn’t afraid of hard work, and more importantly, he was cunning and smart. He wouldn’t have nothing for long.

  Chapter 52

  Valerie gasped as she looked at her reflection in the small mirror above the washstand. If she didn’t know with one hundred percent certainty that she was looking at herself, she might have thought some other woman was gazing back. Her eye was a purplish blue, swollen almost completely shut, and the left side of her face was scraped raw and covered with dirt from her efforts in the shed. Her bottom lip was puffy and covered with dried blood where it had been split. Clumps of dirt and bits of wood were trapped in her wild hair, and her left sleeve was completely torn, which was a good thing since her arm was swollen to nearly double its normal size. And to make matters worse, she’d just gotten her period.

  “Let’s get you to bed,” Alec said, holding his hand to his middle. He was visibly in pain, barely able to straighten up.

  “God, we look like we’ve been in a war,” Valerie said. “I can’t go to bed like this. I’m filthy.”

  “I would gladly help you bathe if I could.” Alec sat down heavily on a chair, attempting to pull off his boots, but giving up as soon as he bent down, his face turning a sickly shade of green. “I think we need help. I’ll go down and ask Bessie to come up.”

  “Ask her to bring up some hot water.” Valerie gingerly pulled the torn fabric away from her arm in an effort to remove her filthy gown. Her arm was turning the same color as her eye and was hot to the touch. Valerie waited until Alec left the room before sinking onto the bed, hot tears running down her face. How did this happen to them? All they wanted to do was find Finn, and instead they ended up fighting for their lives.

  Valerie wiped her face with Alec’s handkerchief as Bessie knocked on the door and entered the room carrying a pitcher of hot water and two clean towels.

  “Oh, my. What happened to you, Mrs. Whitfield? You look an absolute fright,” the girl gushed as she set down the pitcher, eyeing Valerie with undisguised curiosity. Bessie wasn’t one for subtlety.

  “You just let me help you. Now, let’s get that gown off and I’ll help you wash your hair.” Valerie sat still as Bessie unlaced the gown and peeled it off carefully, removing the left sleeve last, so as not to move Valerie’s arm. The chemise under the gown wasn’t as dirty or torn, so Valerie kept it on as she bent her head over a basin, holding her arm against her side. Bessie poured warm water over her head before soaping her hair thoroughly, and washing it out. She was gentle and efficient, her hands soothing on Valerie’s scalp. She carefully washed Valerie’s face, wiping away the blood and dirt with a clean rag. Her face was terribly sore, but it was nice to be clean.

  Valerie didn’t protest as Bessie picked up the brush and began to brush out her wet hair, humming a tune under her breath. The girl would have made an excellent nurse, had she grown up in another time. Valerie began to relax, exhaustion overtaking her. She hardly noticed as Bessie pulled off her chemise and helped her into a clean nightdress before tucking her into bed.

  “You just rest, Mrs. Whitfield. I’ll take your gown downstairs and mend it, shall I? My Ma says I’m good with a needle. It’ll be as good as new, just you wait and see.” Bessie scooped up the torn gown off the floor and picked up the empty pitcher. Valerie was asleep by the time the door closed behind the girl.

  **

  Valerie forced herself to open her eyes as someone touched her arm, sending waves of pain crashing over her. She thought it was Alec, but the man bent over her wasn't her husband. He was elderly, with a bald pate surrounded by long, shaggy gray hair, which matched his bushy eyebrows. He wore a pair of half-moon spectacles and looked remarkably like Benjamin Franklin. Valerie suddenly realized that Benjamin Franklin was actually alive in 1775, and wondered if he had somehow wound up in her room, or if she was suffering from delirium.

  “Valerie, this is Dr. Ferris.” Alec appeared behind the man, looking at Valerie with concern. “I thought your arm needed seeing to. Is it broken, doctor?”

  The doctor didn’t answer right away. He probed every inch of Valerie’s arm, then tried to move it, before listening to her chest with a wooden tube and taking her pulse. Modern medicine at its best, Valerie thought as she watched the doctor’s face. He didn’t bother to speak to her, but addressed his comments to Alec as if she were a child.

  “Your wife’s arm doesn’t appear to be broken, but the wrist is fractured and the upper arm is very badly bruised indeed. The best I can do is bind the wrist and advise strict bed rest for at least a week. Now, let’s have a look at you, young man. You seem in need of medical attention just as much as your wife.” The doctor turned to Alec, giving him a quizzical stare. “What happened to you, if I might ask?” He motioned for Alec to lie down next to Valerie, coming around the bed to examine him.

  “Ah, our coach overturned and rolled into a ravine. Seems the axle broke clean in half, isn’t that right, my dear?” Alec squeezed Valerie’s hand, urging her to back up his story.

  “Yes. It was dreadful, doctor,” Valerie piped in. “I was thrown clear across the ravine. Thank God I landed on a grassy bank.”

  “That is dreadful, indeed. One sees these kinds of accidents all the time. I blame poor craftsmanship. No one takes pride in their work anymore.” The doctor appeared to be warming up to this theme when he became distracted by Alec’s injuries. He looked awfully serious as he ran his fingers over Alec’s bruised middle.

  “You have two broken ribs, Mr. Whitfield. You are very fortunate that they haven’t pierced your lung or you would be in very bad shape indeed. Now, I’ll bind your ribs for you and you must be on bed rest along with your wife. I will inform Mr. Clements that meals should be sent up for the next week. You are not to go up and down the stairs. Is that clear? I’ll also fashion a sling for Mrs. Whitfield. It should take some of the discomfort away while her arm heals. Would you like some laudanum for the pain?” He looked from Alec to Valerie, his glasses sliding down his nose. Valerie was sorely tempted to ask for the laudanum, but shook her head. It was too easy to get addicted or overdose altogether since there was no way to measure out the dosage. She wouldn’t have said no to
some Aspirin though.

  “No thank you, doctor. I think I can do without,” she answered, watching his bushy eyebrows rise in astonishment. She gathered people didn’t often say no to laudanum these days.

  “What about you, Mr. Whitfield?” Alec was focusing on the ceiling as the doctor went about binding his ribs. He was obviously in considerable pain, his face pale and covered in cold sweat.

  “No,” he grunted. “I’ll forgo as well.”

  “Suit yourself. I will check on you in a week’s time. If you need anything, ask Mr. Clements to send one of his stable boys to fetch me. Good day to you both.” The doctor gave them a curt bow before putting on his hat and departing.

  “Next time we buy a coach, we should look for better craftsmanship, dear,” Valerie intoned, giving Alec an impish smile.

  Alec started to chuckle, but his laugh quickly turned into a grimace of pain. His ribs had gotten noticeably worse over the past twenty-four hours, most likely breaking under the strain of galloping for hours in search of the farm. Dr. Ferris had been right in his suggestion that they might have pierced Alec’s lungs, and with no way to reinflate the lung, Alec might have died. Valerie felt a wave of panic as the realization of what might have happened washed over her.

  If Alec hadn’t found her, she would most likely have been raped and beaten to death, ending up in some unmarked grave, or dumped in the woods to be eaten by animals until there was nothing left but shards of bone gleaming among the colorful fall leaves. Alec might have died as well, but his death would have been slower and more agonizing as he suffocated from lack of oxygen somewhere on the side of the road, hurt and alone. Valerie began to shake, the shock finally wearing off and leaving her open to the emotions that devoured her from the inside. She turned away from Alec, not wanting him to see her grief.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m not getting up from this bed for at least three days,” Alec said, grunting with pain as he tried to move, “and neither are you.”