The Enchanted Inn

by Pam Champagne

  Gina looked up from admiring the candles hardening in molds and smiled at John. “Yes. Doesn’t the bayberry smell good?”

  John nuzzled her neck. “Not as good as you. ’Tis a shame you went to all the trouble of preparing the evening meal. A storm is brewing in the east. Not many will be traveling in such conditions.”

  Gina’s mood lightened. “So we have the entire inn to ourselves?”

  “More than likely.”

  Gina leaned into John’s solid warmth, her breath hitching when his hands moved to her breasts. His lips brushed her neck and heightened her need. “Your room or the stable?”

  She giggled. “How about right here on the floor?”

  Instead of surprise or a reprimand, he actually chuckled. “I prefer somewhere softer.”

  Gina broke away. “Last one there is a rotten egg.” She raced to the stairs with John on her heels.

  She was panting by the time she entered the room. John wasn’t even breathing hard. Hands on her hips, she stared him down. “You let me win.”

  “Ladies should always precede a gentleman.”

  Gina caressed his face. “You’re so damn sweet, John.”

  He maneuvered her to the bed. “You seem so sad today. What burr is scratching you?”

  “You mean what is wrong other than I don’t belong in this time and place? Neither do you.”

  They sat side by side on the bed, and John curled his arm around her shoulders. “You know I put no faith in your belief that you and I are from the future. But even it were true, you are here now. You must accept it.”

  With a sigh, Gina fondled his growing erection through the rough fabric of his pants. “The only time I’m happy is when you’re buried deep inside of me. Then all’s right with my world.”

  Gina’s heart lurched at the sadness in his smile. “Then get out of your clothes, and we will make it right.”

  “I’m thinking you should do a bit of bodice ripping,” she joked.

  “Since you own only two sets of clothes, I do not think it a good idea.”

  She punched his arm. “Always so practical. Help me undress?”

  While he busied himself with her dress, Gina unbuttoned his pants and tugged the material over his hips. She sank to her knees on the floor and took his hardness into her mouth.

  John’s knees almost buckled before he found his balance. Tangling his fingers in her curls, he held her head as she worked her lips and tongue.

  “Ah, Rachel, you will be the death of me. Never have I imagined the intense pleasure I find in your arms. I no longer care that you are so brazen.”

  She held his cock and lapped it like as if it were an ice cream cone. “You think I’m brazen? Where we come from I’m considered a bit on the prudish side since I refuse to sleep with men I don’t care about.” Gina sat back on her heels and gazed into John’s face. “Shall I stop?”

  “No,” he croaked. He cleared his throat and said in a louder voice, “Don’t stop.”

  After a bit more mouth action, she rose, frantic to divest herself of her undergarments. She’d discovered the slit in the crotch of the linen drawers which enabled a woman to relieve herself without taking off her undergarments. Now she understood how Rachel and John managed to have sex with their clothes on. Not a very titillating thought.

  John grappled to get between her legs. “Not yet,” she whispered. “Be patient, my love. Lay on your side. We can pleasure each other that way.” Gina positioned her body so that she faced his feet and took him in her mouth. She was about to give him instructions when she felt a tentative lick between her labia. Callused hands gripped her thighs, opening her wider. She almost climaxed at the first thrust of his tongue. She sucked, he lapped. The way Luke once had. They reached a simultaneous mind-blowing orgasm.

  “Come here,” John rasped, dragging her upwards. “Let me hold you.”

  Gina scrambled on her knees and snuggled close. “I love you,” she murmured with a groan and buried her face in his neck. She hadn’t meant to say that. Yet, the words had left her mouth as naturally as breathing. In the midst of pondering her blunder, her body heated to a sizzle when John spoke.

  “Words to describe how much I love you escape me. I am worried, though. The back of my neck tingles. It warns me something will tear us apart.”

  Gina wanted to reassure him, but she, too, was uncertain what the future held. “Let’s not worry about it this night. Instead we’ll love the night away.”

  His mouth swooped in a rough, demanding kiss. Gone was the gentle lover she’d first known. He kneaded her buttocks, pulled her close against his hard cock. Gina lost control of their lovemaking. She floundered. John played her like a harp, his fingers bringing her to a crescendo. The same way Luke had once done.

  When his mouth suckled her turgid nipples, she hung onto his shoulders. And squeaked a protest when he flipped her on her belly and wedged her legs apart with his knee. “John, what are—”

  “Be quiet,” he growled.

  Bracing herself on her elbows, she glanced over her shoulder to see him kneeling between her spread thighs. He entered her moistness from behind, and she could no more stop the guttural sound of pleasure than she could have stopped her beating heart.

  “Does this bring you enjoyment?”

  “Yes, yes!”

  John pulled her up to her knees. She leaned forward when he withdrew and thrust back when he entered her. Too quickly, she came, but found joy when John came.

  Breathing like they’d run a marathon, John cradled her body spoon style, his arm tight around her ribcage. “What will happen to us?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. ’Tis time to make plans for our future.”

  Sweet words. Gina drifted on a cloud, half asleep until John spoke.

  “You could be with child. I have not been withdrawing as you once insisted.”

  “What?”

  “I said—”

  “I heard what you said.” She disentangled herself from his arms and legs and sat upright. Back in 2006 she’d taken birth control pills. Was chronology consistent for a time traveler? Did every day of the here-and-now count as a day in 2006? Perhaps real time stopped for a person trapped in the past.

  She swung her legs off the bed, sat on the edge of the mattress and counted on her fingers the days she’d been here. Good God, could she be pregnant?

  Chapter Seven

  Gina tested the meat cooking over the fire, the same as she did every other day. After spending several weeks in this new world, she still struggled to accept her fate. Outside, the wind-whipped trees swayed as if participating in a wild dance. Inside, a plume of black smoke poured out of the fireplace. The choking fumes, coupled with loud conversation from the other room, put her in the foulest of moods. Enough is enough. Screw this. She slipped out the backdoor for some fresh air, only to walk into a wall of stagnant humidity. Perspiration stained the underarms of her dress, and she wanted nothing more than to take off the damn thing.

  She giggled at the thought of everyone’s expression if she served the meal in her underwear. Her mood ratcheted a notch when she re-entered the inn just as John hurried into the kitchen with two empty pitchers. “What are you smiling about?”

  She rushed to his side and nibbled on his earlobe. “Nothing important.”

  A grin spread across his face. “’Tis good to see you happy.”

  “I was thinking that tonight can’t come soon enough.”

  His voice turned gravelly. “I agree. Mayhap we should meet in the stable. The attic will be stifling.”

  Gina trailed her finger down his arm. “You read my mind.” Leaning closer, she nipped his neck, lowering her hand to fondle his crotch. Her navel tightened when his breath hitched.

  He grabbed her wandering hand. “Enough, Rachel. The guests need more ale.”

  “And I need you.”

  An angry voice called from the dining room entrance. “The guests are demanding ale. What is taking—”

  John dr
opped the empty pitchers he held in one hand. The sound echoed in the silent room. “George. I was about to refill the pitchers.”

  Gina hated the deference in John’s voice. George’s cunning expression soured her stomach.

  “Seems to me you have your hands full.”

  “I can explain—”

  George’s fat hand slapped the wall. “I have no time for your excuses. You think I am unaware of what is going on between the two of you? I suggest, John, that you count your money, or your blessings, if you do not have enough coin. I have a mind to sell Rachel to the first man who offers me the right amount of gold. Getting rid of the tart might be the wisest decision I have made in years.”

  Gina pressed closer to John’s chest. She had no doubts that this evil man would get great satisfaction at parting her and John.

  John straightened. “I would beg an audience with you this evening, George.”

  George waved his hand in abrupt dismissal. “Bring the ale, John. We will discuss this matter another time.” He shot a calculating look at Gina.

  Once George ambled from the room, John gave her a hug. Breath whooshed from Gina’s lungs. “Do not worry. I will protect you.”

  “If you don’t kill me first, John. I can’t breathe.”

  “Sorry.”

  Her toes tingled when his mouth grazed her lips. Suddenly, the night seemed too far away and George’s threats a mere memory.

  “I am serious. We need to talk—about the future.”

  Talk of the future made her laugh. She kissed his cheek. “Lighten up. You’re way too serious.”

  John released a shaky breath. “’Tis a serious matter. The man meant what he said. He will sell you.” He nodded toward the dining room. “Perhaps to one of those men at the table.”

  Gina’s heart pounded like a herd of elephants stampeding down the road, but she refused to buckle to anxiety. “He wouldn’t dare. He’d lose his chief cook and bottle washer.”

  John flashed one of his “I have no idea what you’re talking about” looks. “I mean it,” he warned.

  “John!”

  Gina flinched at George’s bellow from the common room.

  She squeezed John’s hand. “Never mind. Bring out the ale before there’s a revolution at the table.” She smiled at her own joke and pretended not to see the concern in John’s eyes.

  Her nerves danced a jig as John filled the pitchers. Once he’d left, she chewed a dry piece of bread, hoping it would settle her upset stomach. The mental strain of the past weeks had cranked her stress level to an all-time high. Gina forced herself to think that her sickness this morning was just nerves, nothing more. Dealing with a pregnancy in 1778 was beyond contemplation.

  Every morning she woke optimistic she’d return to the present that day. Every night she crawled into bed in a pessimistic mood until John arrived and soothed her fears. George finally had returned yesterday with another woman in tow. Perhaps he wasn’t a spy after all. He went out of town to find a woman to bed, probably because no woman in this neck of the woods would have anything to do with him.

  * * *

  As the days flew by Gina became familiar with the routine. This morning there were five travelers waiting for breakfast. She picked up a platter and entered the common room. A stout man at the head of the table swallowed a swig of ale and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “I hear Washington has appointed Arnold to the post of Military Governor of Philadelphia. I wonder what disaster will befall the bloke this time.”

  Gina almost dropped the platter of ham. Benedict Arnold, the hero turned traitor. Evidently, he hadn’t betrayed the country yet.

  An elderly gentleman jumped into the conversation. “Arnold’s a good man. Has more courage than most.”

  “He’s a traitor to his country.” Gina spoke matter-of-factly as she placed the ham in the center of the table. A deafening silence consumed the room. Five sets of eyes pinned her to the floor as surely as if they’d been nails.

  A young man pushed back his chair and jumped to his feet. “What blaspheme is this? Arnold is a good man. One of the best. He is loyal to the colonies.”

  Seemingly out of nowhere, John appeared at her side. “Rachel has not been well since she hit her head. She spouts nonsense.” He grasped her arm. The sharp edge in his voice gave her the shivers. Yet, it was nothing compared to the anger smoldering in his eyes.

  “I, for one, would like to hear what the chit has to say. Never liked the man myself.”

  Gina turned her attention to a handsome man about thirty years old. She didn’t remember seeing him before. The intensity burning in his eyes seared her skin. She tried to shake the premonition that he could read her mind. Her heartbeat increased to a rapid pace. How had she forgotten her tenuous position? She lowered her gaze to the floor. “John speaks the truth.”

  The men grumbled for a few moments, then sat down and tore into their food with an eager enthusiasm that astounded Gina. You’d have thought it was their last meal. She walked to the kitchen with John dogging her heels. A quick glance at the table confirmed her suspicions. The stranger with the twinkling eyes continued to watch her with what she interpreted as amusement.

  “Are you crazy?” John hissed. “What were you thinking?”

  Gina kneaded her temples. “It just slipped out. I’m sorry.”

  “Where do you get such notions? How do you know Benedict Arnold?”

  “John, I’ve tried to tell you many times that I’m from the future. I learned about Benedict Arnold and George Washington from history books. George Washington will become the first president of the United States of America.”

  * * *

  Fear for Rachel drove all thoughts of work from John’s head. This was more serious than he had imagined. Was it possible for a bump on the head to so completely change a person? Travelers had spoken of such things. One man said his wife fell down some stairs and never was right in the head thereafter.

  “Rachel, we need to talk. Tonight. I have saved enough gold coin to buy your indenture. ’Tis time for us to leave here.”

  Rachel’s jaw dropped. She wobbled backwards and braced herself against the wall. “No! The inn is my only link to home. My only chance of returning.”

  Her hurt became his. “Come here,” he soothed, drawing her against his chest. “How can you talk about leaving? Do you not feel that we belong together?”

  She rested her hands on his chest, pushed back and gazed into his face. “You are my love in my other life, John. For some reason, you don’t remember. We’ll return together.”

  John smoothed stray tendrils of hair from her face. “I belong here. So do you. Your memory will return. I promise. We will leave this place, get married and move to my parents’ farm in Massachusetts.”

  Gina grasped the hands cradling her face. “In my world, my name is Gina and yours is Luke.”

  “You still refuse to consider that perhaps ’twas only a dream you had? Think about it. You will see I am right.” He kissed her nose. “I have work outside. We can make plans tonight.”

  With a troubled mind, John left Rachel. She must forget this notion that she was from the future. Perhaps Reverend Grisham could help.

  A voice halted John just as he reached for the door latch. “Either the lady has inside information or quite an imagination, calling Benedict Arnold a traitor to his country.”

  Alert to possible danger, John shifted his stance and leaned against the doorjamb. “Rachel has been ill.”

  The man raised his brows. “That’s odd. She appears to be as fit as a fiddle.”

  Jealousy seized John by the throat. He recognized the gleam of desire in the stranger’s eyes. He wanted Rachel. If George followed through with his threat, he might sell her before John could make an offer. And possibly to the man standing in front of him. He straightened his shoulders. “Soon she will be my wife.”

  The man’s mouth twitched. “Is that right? Congratulations. By the way,” he added, “name’s William Barrett. Have a go
od day.” Barrett saluted and walked away with a lazy swagger that only served to heighten John’s anxiety.

  Like a buck in rut, his mind stayed full of thoughts of Rachel. She had always been shy and timid around strangers. This new bold Rachel looked into a man’s eyes and found his soul. As much as he had come to love their romps in the hay, at times he wished for the calmer days before her illness.

  On his way to the stable he came face-to-face with Amy. “Good morning. How are you?”

  He smiled at how her cheeks turned pink and she kept her gaze on the ground. The way Rachel once had.

  “I came to see if Rachel wants to make butter today.” She ventured a timid glance in his general direction.

  “You can, of course, ask her yourself, but she is having a difficult day, so perhaps the morrow would be better.”

  “I am worried about her, John. She barely resembles the friend I once knew.”

  John rubbed his forehead. “I know. We must pray that one day our Rachel will come back to us.”

  Footsteps sounded from the other side of the barn. “Why, Miss Amy,” George said. “What brings you by the inn on such a hot day?”

  John frowned when Amy stepped closer to him. The realization that she was afraid of George gave him pause. Did the innkeeper force himself on young maidens? “Amy came by to see Rachel. I have informed her that Rachel is busy this morning, so she was just leaving.” He gave Amy a slight nudge. Gratitude shone in her eyes when she said goodbye and fled.

  “Nitwit chit,” George muttered, his gaze glued to the retreating woman. “She should know better than to run in this heat.”

  Before George could walk away, John asked, “Are you serious about selling Rachel’s indenture? I have the coin to purchase her.”

  A crafty expression spread over George’s countenance. Why had he not seen this man’s slyness? “You are willing to spend your hard earned coin on a tramp such as Rachel?”

  The inside of John’s lip throbbed from biting it. How he would love to punch the bastard. “I am too old for a lecture about the wicked ways of women.”

  George shrugged. “Suit yourself. I have to leave for a few days. We will talk when I get back.”