Dream Weaver (9 page)

Shaking his head, Christian returned plates and utensils to the basket. "'Tis nonsense you speak of," he said, his fingers poised above a mug.

“I'm just telling you how things are in my time, the twenty-first century." She blew out a long breath.

"So we are back to the twenty-first century."

"Yes! Back to the future! I don't know why you find it so hard to believe me." She would not let his teasing expression rile her. "George Washington," she stated. "Does that name ring a bell?"

"Does it what?"

"Does the name 'George Washington' sound familiar?"

"Aye. He fought with Braddock back in '55 against the French and Indians, then again in '58. Everyone's heard of
Washington
."

"He's our first president," Gwen declared.

"President?" Christian spoke clearly and distinctly. "Gwen, we have no president. Our sovereign is King George III."

She wagged her finger at him. "Well, just you wait.
Washington
will be our first president."

The utensils forgotten, he folded his arms across his chest and stared at her. "And how does that event come about?"

Was he weakening? Did he believe her now? "The British colonies--all thirteen of them--will defeat
England
in a war and then declare their independence." She brushed the crumbs from her hands and stretched her legs out. "Good thing, too, what with the taxes
England
imposed on this country, taking advantage of us. 'Taxation without representation,' as the saying goes."

"Explain yourself, madam," he said with a hard look.

"Well,
England
treated this country like dirt, not giving us any say in our own affairs, taxing everything we used...stamps, tea, you name it." She nodded. "Lucky for us
France
came to our aid, helped us break away from
England
."

He scowled. "So you consider France a friend?"

"Sure, our first ally, with a good, capable army and navy."

"Treason!"

A shiver raced down her arms and legs. For this short while, she'd forgotten his suspicions of her. She opened her arms wide. "I'm only telling you things as they happened. Why shouldn't we have taken aid from
France
, if they were willing to help us?"

"Just as you're willing to help
France
?"

"Honestly, Christian, I assure you I'm not a spy. Just because--"

"Just because you praise
France
, speak of the frogs as friends, talk about their capable army and navy. You want to see
France
defeat
England
, and you'll do anything possible to help that God-forsaken country."

Determined not to give in to her fear, she rallied, speaking with renewed confidence. "Let's get one thing straight. I'm looking at this from the viewpoint of the twenty-first century, my time, don't forget." She leveled a gaze at him. "Which is where this discussion started." Rather than argue further, she tried a different tack. "Please try to remember that it's difficult for me to realize I'm in the year 1762. I'm speaking of events that happen in your future, and mine, too, I guess."

"You speak nonsense."

"I'm speaking the truth!" She drummed her fingers on the ground. "What can I say to make you believe me?"

"Frankly, I find your story difficult to accept." He aimed another harsh look at her. "Pray don't think I shall forget this conversation."

She tried to inject resolution in her voice, but fear still gripped her. What if he turned her over to the British? "You're a stubborn man, Dr. Norgard."

"So they tell me." He withdrew his watch from the pouch and clicked it open. "Time to return. Only remember, I do not give up easily."

Chapter Six

Golden firelight cast distorted shadows on the wall and revealed the laughing faces of the dancers. Swishing the skirt of her new calico dress, Gwen thought she could easily get used to eighteenth-century dresses with their full skirts and ruffled elbow-length sleeves. A pretty lace kerchief Rebecca had lent her formed a shawl around her shoulders, secured at the bodice by a rose-colored ribbon. She knew she looked her best tonight--fetching, did they say?--soft and feminine, unlike her casual twenty-first century faded jeans and T-shirt. If this was the way these men liked to see their women, well then, too bad Christian wasn't here to see her.

So what if Christian hadn't come to the frolic? She clapped her hands to the music of the flute and fiddle, resolved to enjoy herself even if he stayed away. Lots of other men had asked her to dance, so many she'd forgotten some of the names. As she backed away from the circle to adjust a ribbon in her hair, she saw Leah Conway in a far corner talking to Edward Horton, a man Gwen had met earlier this evening. Every so often, Leah's eyes strayed to the open doorway. Aha! She's waiting for Christian, too. Well, don't hold your breath, sweetie, 'cause he obviously isn't--

Wow! Gwen's heart gave a little jump. Christian stepped into the room, greeting friends and neighbors, his eyes settling on Leah, darn it! A stab of disappointment twisted inside her Here she was in the same room with Christian, but he couldn't see her since so many people crowded in front of her. Now, if only he were looking at her...

He stood as tall and handsome as ever, with his high-collared white linen shirt and black fustian leggings. Even in the dim light, Gwen saw the cleft of his chin, those dark eyes she liked to consider mysterious, his sexy eyelashes that any woman would die for. She'd die if he didn't talk to her this evening. That was the least he could do. The very least.

A tall farmer with bear-greased hair stood next to Gwen, clapping his hands, stamping his feet to the music. Gwen had met Noah Enfield when he'd come to the house to see Daniel about business. He seemed a nice enough guy. Definitely not in the same league as Christian, but not a jerk, either.

The farmer bent low so she could hear him above the noise. "Would you like to dance, Miss Emrys?"

Her smile widened. "Sure!"

He swung her into the circle while the dancers clapped their hands and sang:

Oh, Sister Phoebe, how merry were we

The night we sat under the juniper tree

The juniper tree, I, oh...

Her feet flew from the floor, her calico skirt swaying. Smugly satisfied, she caught Christian's eyes on her. Laughing, she landed on the floor again and smoothed the lace at her bodice. She could manage very well without Christian. Sure she could.

From then on, so many men vied for her attention, she didn't have time to think of anyone or anything else. She stepped back, tapping her feet and trying to sing with the others, even though she'd never heard the words before:

 
If I had as many lives

 
As Solomon had wives

 
I'd be as old as Adam

 
So rise to your feet

 
And kiss the first you meet

 
Your humble servant, madam

After a while, the music and dancing stopped for a few minutes. Men and women laughed and joked, dabbing at their perspiring foreheads. Voices reverberated from wall to wall, as if hundreds of people crowded the room, instead of thirty or so.

About to go to the refreshment table for cider, Gwen saw Christian approach, his gaze on her. She pasted a careless smile on her face, not for the world wanting him to see how her heart fluttered and her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. He walked in that confident way of his, tall and straight, a look of casual assurance on his face.

What do you know, he stopped beside her! "Would you care for something to drink?" Oh, that sexy voice of his, with its deep, resonant intonation. His dark, bedroom eyes could tempt her any day, and she didn't dare consider where his look might lead her.

"Gwen?"

"Oh!" She brought her mind back to his question as she tucked an unruly lock of hair behind her ear and tried to keep her voice steady. "I'd love a drink." How about a pina colada?

Christian made a small bow. "Won't take me but a few minutes." He strode over to the refreshment table, greeting other friends and neighbors along the way. If she lived to be one-hundred, she'd always remember this picture of him--his broad shoulders and slim hips, his dark hair glistening by the firelight.

He spoke with a farmer for a few minutes, prompting her to wonder what they were talking about. Crops, no doubt. She smiled to herself. No matter what Christian discussed--the dullest subject or the most profound--she liked the sound of his voice with its deep timbre, the way he looked straight at you when he talked, as though you were the most important person in the world. She could listen to him for the rest of her life and never tire of hearing him.

A mug in each hand, Christian made his way back, weaving his way through the crowd. He handed her the mug. "I see you're quite the belle of the ball."

 
"I'm having a good time, if that's what you mean."

"Aye. Didn't mean to sound sarcastic. I'm glad you're enjoying yourself." His candid look sent a fresh rush of warmth from her head to her toes, making her wonder how she'd last for the remainder of the evening. She knew darn well if they were alone, she'd be in his arms before the night had ended--that is, if he wanted her.

Desperately needing support, she leaned against an end table. She sipped the tart cider, one of her favorite drinks and another reminder of the life she'd left behind. "Well, you know what they say--'Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow you may die.'"

Christian took a long swallow of cider, then gave her a level look. "I never heard that expression before, but 'tis oftimes true, I fear."

Damn, why had she quoted The Rubaiyat? If he didn't believe she'd come from another time, she shouldn't use expressions he wouldn't know. Just the same, she had to convince him she'd come from another time. But how?

An awkward silence ensued, prompting her to wrack her brain for something to say, anything to keep him with her.

"Been busy lately?" She wanted to slap her forehead. Was that the best she could do?

"Aye, just delivered a baby late this afternoon, and 'twas a most difficult labor. The poor woman already has three children under seven. 'Tis difficult for women to have one baby after another. There should be an effective way..." He stopped and shook his head, throwing Gwen an apologetic look--for his frank speech, she guessed.

Birth control pills. What if she told him about them? He'd never believe her, but just the same, she filed that idea at the back of her mind, to be pulled out and presented at a better time.

The fiddle and flute resumed playing, a four-handed reel this time. A young man approached Leah, asking her to dance. Christian, eat your heart out, Gwen wanted to say as she watched the dancers but kept her eye on him at the same time. Soon, the floor of the room creaked and groaned with the scraping of feet, the noise and vibration so loud Gwen expected the brass chandelier to crash to the floor any minute. How can the children sleep through this? she wondered, thankful that a young girl from the the area had charge of all the children upstairs. "There you are." Noah's friendly grin covered her and Christian, an expression Christian returned with a frown. Did Christian resent Noah's interference, or was she hoping for too much? She gave a mental shrug, tired of thinking about him.

With a slight bow, Christian excused himself and made his way over to Rebecca and Daniel at a far corner next to the oak cupboard. Edward Horton stood with them, his gaze on Leah. What a pickle this frolic has turned out to be, Gwen mused, with everyone wanting someone else.

She gave the farmer her best smile. Since Christian had left, he'd taken all the warmth from the room. But why should he want to spend all his time with her? And why should she want him to, anyway? Plenty of other single guys here.

Noah's attentions snatched her back to reality. "Miss Emrys, pray come outside with me. 'Tis hot and crowded in here and too noisy to talk, I fear."

She fingered her neck kerchief. "Oh, I don't know...."

"Please, Miss Emrys, only for a short while."

"All right, then, but only for a few minutes."

Noah took her hand, easing his way through the crowd. Gwen kept her balance as best she could, hoping the man had honorable intentions. Damned if she didn't sound like a Victorian, or maybe Puritan would be a better description.

Outside, a lavender glow lit the western horizon, the first faint stars twinkling in the heavens. The heady scent of spring flowers filled the air and brought back poignant memories of her own garden--wherever it was now. A cool breeze caressed her face, lifting a few stray hairs from the nape of her neck.