Dream Weaver (23 page)

"I intend to stay here," she said, aware of the quiver in here voice.

"For the rest of our lives?"

"I mean to remain with you for the rest of our lives, no matter where our lives take us." He frowned. "What kind of an answer is that?"

"I won't leave you, ever. So let it go at that, for now at least." She slid her hands up his hard chest and wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him close again. "Like you said, we're wasting our time."

"But I have one more question."

"What is it?" What more could he possibly--?

"Will you marry me?" he asked in a voice deep with emotion.

"Yes! Absolutely!"

"Ah, darling!" Gentle hands cupped her cheeks, his lips claiming hers, kissing her again and again, as though he could never get enough. His kiss deepened, his hands roaming her back, drawing her ever more tightly to him. He tore her muslin cap off and dropped it on the desk, then ran his hand through her hair, loosening the pins. The pins fell to the floor, her hair cascading down her back.

"I can't take much more of this," Christian said, "needing you with me every day, wanting you night after night."

"How do you think it's been for me?" She could give herself to him right now, here in this room. If they had the house to themselves, there'd be no stopping them.

She feathered kisses on his face. "We could marry tomorrow."

He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, the hollow of her throat. "How can we?" he whispered between kisses. "We must first fetch the minister. Don't know when we'll see him again. Then the banns! And thirty days after that! How can we wait that long? I can't wait thirty minutes." Christian kissed her on the mouth, deeply and passionately. "I could make love to you now, sweetheart," he whispered. "I could take off all your clothes, aye, and mine, too, and show you how much I love you."

 
"Does my frank speech shock you?" he murmured in her ear.

She brushed her body against his, delighting in his sharp intake of breath. "Do you see me blushing?"

"But, Gwen, we--"

Someone rattled the doorknob.

Muttering an oath, Christian released her and sank onto the chair. "Answer the door," he whispered fiercely. "'Tis best I remain seated."

With feverish haste, Gwen retrieved her cap and stuffed her hair under it. She straightened the bodice of her dress and--

The doorknob rattled again.

"Yes, I'm coming!" With one last check at her appearance, she drew the bolt back and stepped aside. Daniel entered, his inquiring glance shifting from her to Christian.

"Sorry to interrupt. Didn't know both of you were here. Only wanted to get a book to lend Edward." Daniel grabbed a book from the desk, then turned to leave. "My apologies again," he said as he left the room.

After the door closed, Christian groaned, rubbing his hand across his forehead. He looked up at her, agony written on his face. He blew out a long breath. "Just as well we had the interruption."

Standing between his legs, she placed her hands on his shoulders. His body heat penetrated to her fingertips, reigniting the passion she was trying to dampen. Someone had to use some sense here, but neither of them was having much luck. She longed to sit on his lap
 
and kiss him again, ached to hold him close to her breasts, never let him go.

"Then what are we going to do?" Aware she'd better set her hair to rights again before she left the room, she pulled her cap off, then knelt down to retrieve the pins.

Christian sighed. "One thing I'll tell you--even the winter snows can't keep me away from you."

Despite her happiness, nagging problems persisted. Could she adjust to marriage in the eighteenth century, when a woman's place was truly in the home?

Would Christian ever believe she'd come from the future? Most important, how could she save his life and hers?

Her mind spun with another dilemma. What if some power wrenched her back to the twenty-first century--without Christian?

* * *

Winter came with a howling wind and heavy gusts of snow that blocked the forest path. All this snow made it impossible for the kids to make it to school, forcing her to end her classes until the weather cleared, months away. Too bad; she missed those kids, but preparations for Christmas kept her busy.

But did these setters celebrate the birth of Christ? she wondered.

"Oh, to be sure," Rebecca told her one cold morning as they kneaded dough in the kitchen while Molly swept and cleaned the house, "we celebrate Christmas as the day Jesus was born, and we exchange presents. Do you know, when I was a little girl, we remembered Christmas only as a holy day." She reached into the flour crock and spread a bit more flour on the long kitchen table, then continued to knead and pound the dough. "But we didn't exchange presents or indulge in merrymaking." The brick oven next to the hearth gave off a comfortable warmth, and that, combined with the heat from their exertions, made it easy to ignore the howling wind outside.

Gwen paused, her hand above another lump of dough. "Not even a Christmas tree?"

"A Christmas tree?" Rebecca crinkled her forehead. "I never heard of that. A special tree for Christmas?"

"Well, yes," Gwen said, recognizing her mistake. "Some kind of pine tree that you cut down and bring inside, then decorate with whatever decorations you want, such as ribbons or pine cones."

"Where did you hear of this? Did they have a special Christmas tree where you came from?"

"Sure. We had a tree like that in my other, uh, where I came from."

"And where did you come from, Gwen?" Rebecca stopped for a moment, running the back of her hand across her shiny forehead. "I've wondered about this for a long time, aye, and Daniel has, too. I never questioned you before because I assumed you were grieving for your family."

"You're right there," Gwen said. "I do miss my family."

 
"Then forgive my questions," Rebecca said with a glance her way, "but your speech is so different from ours, and you use many expressions that, frankly, puzzle me. If it bothers you to talk about it, tell me, and I'll say no more. But I do think I have a right to know something about your background."

Gwen licked her lips, a prepared explanation ready. "You and Daniel both have a right to know. I came from another place altogether unlike this one, where people do things differently and yes, speak a little differently than people here. It's really not too far from here" --the truth, certainly--"and--"

"Mama!" The front door slammed, and Bryony came running into the kitchen, Robert toddling behind her. Both of them looked like little teddy bears in their heavy, ice-encrusted clothing, their cheeks pink from the cold. "Me and Robert made a snowman and--"

"Robert and I," Gwen automatically corrected.

"Robert and me," Bryony said with an indignant look at Gwen, "not you, Gwen."

Laughing, Rebecca wiped her floury hands on her apron. "Come now, you two. Let us take your wet things off and set them in front of the fireplace to dry." Crouching down, she untied Robert's woolen cape. "How about playing quietly in your room now and don't bother your father, because he's working on accounts."

After the children trotted from the kitchen, Rebecca turned back to Gwen. "Let's get these loaves in the oven now, then we can make gingerbread men for the children."

"Sure," Gwen said, careful to hide her relief. One more narrow escape in explaining her origins, but how much longer would her luck hold out?

* * *

Gwen crawled into bed that night, pulling heavy woolen blankets up to her chin, lying on her side and drawing her legs up close to her body to conserve heat. So many thoughts and memories chased themselves in her mind, Christian's proposal most of all. She imagined marriage to him, and as much as that prospect brought a smile to her face and waves of warmth to her body, still cold reality hit her like a ton of icicles. She would live here in the eighteenth century for the rest of her life.

But she'd been sent back for a purpose, she reminded herself as she tightened the blankets around her shoulders. She couldn't evade that mission. Nor did she want to.

When she married Christian, she could never expect peace and quiet, something she'd been hoping for these past several years. Marriage to Christian was surely worth any complications, and by now she should have learned that everything in life--all the wonderful things she dreamed of--has a price.

Her eyelids drooped, and she gradually fell into a deep sleep. Visions flashed through her head, of Indian arrows, blood...and death. Through it all, a voice persisted--second chance, second chance...

The fates, or providence, had given her a second chance.

She must make the most of it.

Chapter Fifteen

Wow! Look at that snow! Outside her bedroom window, Gwen viewed the skeletal tree branches that dotted the distant white-topped hills, twisting their branches in a fierce wind. Snow everywhere! Her head pressed against the windowpane, she wondered if Christian would be able to make it past the heavy drifts that blanketed the forest paths. Most likely, the trails would be impassable, she fretted. Missing him so much, it was a constant ache to be near him, to touch him and kiss him. But hadn't he said the winter snows wouldn't keep him from her? Could miracles still happen?

She stifled her shivers and dressed quickly, anxious to get downstairs to the warm hearth. She slipped her feet into her fur-lined moccasins, reminding herself of all she had to do. Christmas would be here in just a few days....

"There! That looks pretty, doesn't it?" Rebecca stepped back to admire the creation, a wreath she and Gwen had made from pine branches and cones. Rebecca threw her a pleased smile. "That red ribbon truly brightens the wreath."

"Prettiest wreath I ever saw." Gwen returned the smile, trying to hide her disappointment that they wouldn't have a Christmas tree, since Daniel had been much too busy to go in the woods to cut down a tree. It wasn't the end of the world, but on this first Christmas away from her friends in her own time, she'd looked forward to some of the traditional touches of the holiday. Naturally, Christian was invited for Christmas dinner, but she still worried that the snowdrifts might keep him away. As if in answer to her wish, the weather turned warm a couple of days before the holiday, melting the snow, leaving slush in its wake.

* * *

"Who knows when I'll have the opportunity to visit here again." Including everyone in his glance around the table, Christian sent a special smile Gwen's way, a smile that made all the days away from him worth the wait. He squeezed her hand under the table, making her forget about the cold and snow, aware only of his nearness.

With the passage of time, an overcast sky darkened the room, and, Gwen feared, threatened an extra onslaught of snow. She wondered if Christian would spend the night here, a distinct possibility that made her heart beat faster.

 
"Surely have missed everyone," Christian said, his look full of love for her.

"'Tis a miracle you could make the journey today," Rebecca replied. "It's been so long since we've seen you."

Christian brushed his leg against hers, a teasing gesture that stretched her willpower to the limit. She sighed and dug her spoon into a dish of apple pudding, trying to ignore the rush of warmth in her stomach.

"If the snow continues as it's been this winter," Christian continued, "'twill be a long time before you see me again."

Gwen didn't want to consider that possibility. A day away from him was one day too many.

Rebecca sipped her bohea tea. "How in the world do you make your rounds?" she asked as she set her cup on the table. "In truth, some days I can scarcely walk beyond the front yard."

"Oftimes it's easier to travel without my horse. I've visited a few Indian villages, by the way, even your old
village
of
Amigaki
," he said to Rebecca. "I tend to their wounds, and they give me much advice on medicinal herbs. Then only this week, I called at the Beam place. Walked five miles in the snow to get there."

Gwen gasped. "Five miles in this snow!"

"Not much choice," Christian said. "At any rate, Isaac's rheumatism seems worse with the cold weather, but 'tis his three-year old son I'm concerned about."

"His eye, you mean?" Daniel asked.

"Yes." Christian rubbed his hand across his forehead, frowning in thought. "I've noticed for some time the little boy's right eye turns inward, and frankly, I don't know what I can do about it." He sighed. "I fear many maladies exist that simply defy solution."