by M. S. Parker
Of all the ways for him to react to the truth, I'd never thought he'd blame himself for any of it. I remembered Wilkins telling me once that I carried the weight of the world on my shoulders. I was beginning to see that I had nothing on Gracen.
Twenty-Seven
I leaned in to kiss him, to reassure him that I didn't blame him. He needed to know that none of this was anyone's fault. Before my lips could touch his, he took a step back, turning his face from mine.
The sickening realization hit me as I dropped my hands. My biggest fear was coming true right in front of me. Telling him who I really was had changed how he felt about me. It'd just taken him a couple minutes to realize it.
My stomach lurched, and I could feel the pain already starting to bubble up. I moved farther away so he could have the space he so clearly wanted. It would kill me to leave, but at least now I knew for certain that I had nothing to stay for. I wouldn't marry Bruce – I couldn't now that I knew what real love felt like – but I would at least have my family.
“Sorry,” I whispered. “I understand if, after everything you’ve just heard, you don’t want me anymore.” My voice faltered on the last word. I couldn’t believe I'd been so stupid. Whether he believed me or not, it was a lot for anyone to handle. Too much apparently. After being honest about everything, I'd lost him anyway.
As I started to turn away, Gracen moved. Except he didn't move away from me. Instead, he closed the distance between us with two long strides and grabbed the tops of my arms, forcing me to face him. His hands rose to my face, and he used his thumbs to brush away the tears that had begun to fall.
“Look at me, Honor.” His voice was earnest, and I raised my eyes. “It does not matter where or what time you are from. I want you, and I love you. Nothing will change that. I swear it on everything I hold dear.”
He kissed me then, pouring more love and passion into it than I'd felt from Bruce in all the years I'd known him. I slid my arms around Gracen's neck, ran my fingers through his hair. His touch was gentle, but I felt the strength in him, the restraint he used not to be rough with me. I leaned closer to him, wanting him to lose control, but he pulled away instead and brushed back a loose strand of hair.
He kissed my forehead, and I took the opportunity to get the air my lungs demanded. I'd experienced fear in various forms in my life, but nothing as intense as what I felt when I finally told Gracen everything. The risk had been worth it, even though I knew there was one more thing I had to say about it.
“Can you forgive me for lying to you?” I asked. He'd asked for my forgiveness, but I needed his as well.
“There is nothing to forgive,” he whispered, resting his forehead against mine. We stood like that for a moment and then he straightened. His expression was tight when he looked down at me. “Do you still want to go back?” he asked. “Back to your own time?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it when I realized I didn't have an answer ready. What did I want?
I felt a twinge of sadness as I thought about my father and the guidance that he gave me, whether I wanted it or not. I considered my loving mother who'd supported me going into the army when she knew the risks. My older brother who'd been equal parts friend and nemesis. I was used to not seeing them for extended periods of time, but the thought of never seeing them again was different.
And it wasn't only my own feelings I had to take into consideration. I didn’t know if I could leave them without answers. Without a goodbye. They were probably worried sick. If time was moving the same here as there, I'd been gone for almost a month. I didn't know what answers they had, but I knew they wouldn't be enough.
The honest answer was that I didn’t know whether I wanted to go home or not, but I did know that I didn't want to lose Gracen. Could I choose him over my parents and brother? Over my military friends Wilkins and Rogers?
“If you wish it,” he said quietly, “I will do everything in my power to see you safely home.”
I could hear the effort it took to speak those words, see the pain in his eyes, and I knew in that moment that he loved me more than Bruce ever had. What I wanted, what I needed, was more important to Gracen than anything else.
“We will explore all possible sources of information,” he continued, clearly taking my hesitation as an answer. The only hint at the inner turmoil he was feeling was how tightly his hands were clenched. “Some of the servants may have mystical knowledge.”
“I spoke to Dye before I left,” I said almost absently, “and she said she didn’t know anything.”
I couldn't waver. Not now. This was the moment where my life would take one path or another. I couldn't say how I knew it, only that I did know, deep in my bones. I could no longer leave it all on chance. I had to decide whether or not to actively pursue finding a way to get back to my time. And I knew that no matter what I chose, I would lose people I loved.
I knew what I truly wanted, even if I hadn't wanted to accept it until now.
“I love my family, and I miss them–” I started.
“Then we will search for a way home for you,” he cut me off. He was all business now, unable to look at me, unwilling to show his pain.
“Let me finish,” I said gently. He nodded, the muscles in his jaw clenching. “I love my family, and I miss them...but I can live without them.” He inhaled sharply but didn't interrupt. “I can't live without you. I don't want to. I don’t understand what happened to me, and I don’t know if it is permanent or temporary, but whatever control I have, I choose you.”
The relief I felt was immense but not enough to completely overshadow my sadness at the loss of those I loved in my own time. I could survive that grief though. I didn't think I could survive leaving Gracen behind. And I knew that my family would understand. They would want me to be happy. And Gracen made me happy.
I apparently made him happy too because the moment the last word left my mouth, he picked me up, swinging me around. His lips were on mine almost instantly, hard and desperate, telling me without words just how badly the thought of losing me had scared him. I met his kiss with equal fervor, determined to make him understand that my need for him was as strong as his for me.
As he set me on my feet, his hands moved to the small of my back, pulling me closer, pressing our bodies together until I could feel him hard against my hip. His fingers moved up my back, over the outline of my tattoo under my shirt, reminding me that there were no more secrets between us. Whatever obstacles remained between now and our happy ending, we would face them together.
He pulled away, and although he was breathing heavily, he was clearly stopping us from going any further. My body was protesting, but my brain knew it was probably a good idea. Getting caught up in things might have felt really good, but we did have some other plans we needed to discuss before things got any more heated.
“What do we do now?” I asked as I clung to him, not trusting my legs to hold me.
“I have an idea.”
“What's that?”
I frowned as he stepped away from me and then gasped when he went down to one knee.
He had to be joking...right?
He took my hand between his and squeezed. “Honor Daviot, would you do me the great honor of agreeing to become my wife?”
Shit. He wasn't kidding.
Twenty-Eight
This was what it was supposed to feel like. Palms sweating. Heart racing. Chest tightening until it was difficult to breathe. Complete adoration in the eyes staring at me. Electricity racing through my body from the point where our hands touched.
Not the casual, half-assed, “so I suppose we should get engaged for real this time” that I'd gotten from Bruce. Even his impulsive proposal after we'd slept together had been more romantic than the one that had actually gotten a ring on my finger.
Both times with him, I'd said yes, but I'd never felt the butterflies in my stomach, the tears welling up in my eyes. I'd said what was expected of me, what I thought I was supposed to say.
> This time, I had no doubts, no questions about whether or not this was a good idea. I simply threw my arms around Gracen and squeezed a whisper past the lump in my throat.
“Yes! Of course, yes!”
His embrace was solid, comforting, making me wonder how I'd survived without it, how I'd survived without him. I didn't belong in this time, but I belonged with him. I had no doubt of that. I didn't care where or when I lived, as long as I was with him.
A gunshot in the distance snapped us both back to reality. It wasn't close enough for us to panic, but it was closer than I was comfortable with.
“We should go.” Gracen sighed. “Better to keep moving.”
“Moving where?” I asked.
“Away from Boston for now.” He looked down at me and frowned. “Did you bring additional clothing?”
I raised an eyebrow and gave him a pointed look. “You do realize that your clothes look as bad as mine, right?”
He chuckled, an easier sound than I'd ever heard from him. He held out his hand to me and pulled me back to him again. “I would like to be able to walk with you and have people know that you are my fiancée, not my steward.”
For another few seconds, I didn't realize what he meant...and then it hit me. I was trying to pass as a man. While not exactly commonplace in my time, any hint of impropriety between two men during this time period was a punishable offense. All it would take would be one wrong look or touch, and we'd be in serious trouble.
“I have a dress.” I reluctantly stepped away from him and reached for the pillowcase I brought with me.
I reached for the hem of my shirt again and chuckled when he turned around. Such a gentleman. I swapped my uniform for the dress, frowning as I pulled it on. While I'd miss running water and some technology, the biggest thing from my time that I'd miss – aside from my family and friends – would be the clothes. Army uniforms weren't always the most comfortable things in the world, but they were a hell of a lot better than the shit women had to wear now.
When I turned back around and saw Gracen watching me, however, I knew that being with him more than made up for the things I would no longer have.
I held out my hand to him, smiling at the look of warm surprise that crossed his face. He took my hand, and I threaded my fingers between his.
“Lead the way.”
We walked for a few minutes before he spoke. “May I ask a question?”
“Of course.” I had a feeling he'd want to know things about the future. I would have if I'd been in his place.
“That was your uniform?”
I nodded.
“Do all women in your time dress as men, or only ones in the military?”
I laughed and squeezed his hand as I tried to explain modern fashion, or at least my limited knowledge of it. I was always the kind of person who went by what I liked, both for comfort and style, rather than designer name or popular trends.
From there, we went around to other topics, prompted both by questions from me and ones from him. We spoke of our families and how we'd grown up. He told me more about Silva, and I told him about Bruce, though his answers were far more complimentary than mine. We talked about things to come, though my basic knowledge of history wasn't even close to enough to answer all of his questions.
We'd been walking for most of the afternoon when we found a small town. Well, in my time it would've been small. Here, it was a thriving community. Houses, a church, an inn, some small shops. I knew the city of Boston, as well as many others, would end the war with physical scars. This town appeared to be untouched, and I didn't know if it would stay that way.
A group of about half a dozen young children ran by, and I hoped that things here would stay as calm and innocent as they appeared right now.
“I want to marry you today.”
The announcement, understandably, caught me by surprise. He turned toward me, his eyes blazing.
“Today?” I stared at him. I didn't know the usual procedure for wedding planning in the eighteenth century, but I assumed some things remained the same. Like who would normally be a part of such a day. “Don’t you want your family there?”
My heart twisted at the question. No matter how long we waited, my family would never be there for my wedding.
“I only need you.” He brushed the back of his hand across my cheek. “Why should we wait another minute? I want to make you my wife today, before anyone tries to stop us.”
He was right, I realized. If we waited, things would come between us. His father. Clara. This war. Whatever it was that had brought me here. There were so many things that could stop us from being together. And no reason to put it off. Whether it be today or thirty years from now, I couldn’t imagine loving anyone more, or having anyone love me more. I'd already decided to stay for him. This was only making it official.
“Okay, let’s do it.”
His entire face lit up at my words, and his eyes shone. I could get used to gazing into them. Losing myself in his eyes. He gave me a quick, breathless kiss.
“Wait here a moment,” he instructed as he headed toward the building I'd already identified as the church, though what kind, I couldn't say. Considering when and where we were, I felt comfortable assuming it was some sort of Protestant denomination.
I'd seen similar things in Iraq. In the middle of a desert where houses were covered in dirt or sand, worn down, the places of worship were always gleaming, looking essentially brand new. The people cared for the temples with a respectful reverence I'd rarely seen in my own country. I pushed aside the thoughts before they could take hold. I didn’t want to think about Iraq now, not on my wedding day.
My wedding. Even after years of being engaged to Bruce, it still sounded weird to think those words. I'd never been the kind of girl who spent hours daydreaming about her wedding, not even after Bruce and I had gotten engaged. My mom would occasionally ask me questions about if we'd set a date or thought about venues, and I'd seen her confusion every time I said we hadn't.
I pushed those thoughts aside too. If I thought about my mom, I would cry, and I didn't want to do that. Fortunately, Gracen was coming toward me, and that was enough to distract me. He wore a fierce, proud expression, and every step he took in my direction was a commanding one. Walking a few paces behind him was a man, and as they drew closer, I realized he was carrying a Bible. The minister. Who didn't look entirely too happy about being there.
As they got closer, Gracen started pulling at his clothes and hair, dusting off the dirt and trying to pull his hair back. It was such a stark difference from the coat and blue cravat he'd worn when his engagement with Clara had been announced.
I suddenly felt self-conscious as I realized that I was about to get married in a dusty, wrinkled blue dress. Without time to do something with my hair, it just hung down to my shoulders, as plain as always. I bent down and plucked a couple of flowers, as much to keep my hands busy as anything else.
Gracen smiled at me, an understanding look on his face. It occurred to me that while I'd never been married before, he had.
“I love you, Honor, and I wish to marry you today, but I understand if you don't want to. We can wait for something a little more…well, more.” His tone was soft as he cupped my chin.
It took me a moment to realize that he thought I was regretting my decision because I wanted a big wedding. The truth was, I wasn’t hesitant to marry him this way at all, just nervous. Marrying him just made everything more real. Made me acutely aware that I wasn't going back to my time. That I'd left it all so I could be with this man.
“I want to.” I returned his smile. It didn't matter to me where we got married. Hell, I would've followed him to the ends of the earth if I had to.
He dropped his hand from my face to link my fingers with his, and we both turned to face the minister. The entire ceremony went by in a blur, and before I knew it, I had a beautiful silver ring on my ring finger and a new last name.
We'd gone straight to the inn to order
some food and get a room for the night, and now we were sitting at a back table with two bowls of fairly suspicious-looking soup and some excellent bread. It was strangely awkward to be sitting at a table with my husband.
Hell, it was awkward to realize that I now had a husband.
Things were moving so fast that my head was spinning.
“Honor?” Gracen questioned, clearly concerned. “Are you well?”
“Yes, sorry, I was just thinking about things,” I smiled at him, but I knew it didn’t reach my eyes. I changed the subject before he could ask about it. “How did you get the minister to agree to marry us on such short notice? I don't know about now, but in my time, it usually takes some time to get a marriage license.”
Except in Vegas, I thought. But I wasn't about to go there.
“Money can do wonders.” He looked slightly embarrassed.
“You bribed a minister?” I put down my spoon.
I'd been taught from an early age the importance of fair play, of how people should be treated equally regardless of where they came from or who they were. I'd always despised stories of rich kids getting away with things when poor ones wouldn't have had the chance, and now I was married to someone who'd used his position and wealth to do exactly what I loathed.
“That’s just the type of thing your father would do. Use money to get what he wanted.” The words came out more harshly than I intended, and I regretted them as soon as he looked up at me, hurt in his eyes. I softened my tone. “I’m sorry. I just feel strongly about people not using their influence to get special treatment.” I reached over and lightly touched his hand. “Even if it is done with the best of intentions.”
“I only wanted to take care of you,” he protested.
“I know.” I tried to keep the frustration from my voice. “But I can take care of myself.”
“I am aware of that.” He lowered his voice, the admiration clear. “You've proven it a hundred times over.” He paused for a moment, and then continued, “But you are my wife, and I want to take care of you, which is exactly what I will do. Because I can't lose you. I need you as much as you need me.”
