Somewhere in Time (The Crosse Harbor Time Travel Trilogy) (29 page)

He looked at her, his blue eyes twinkling with a wicked light. "Are you suggesting we live in sin?"

Emilie traced the line of his muscular calf with her bare toe. "I'm suggesting we use some discretion."

"You mean no Elvis impersonator officiating?"

She laughed out loud at the memory. "I haven't thought about that in years." She shook her head in amazement. "I can't believe we were married by the King."

"Bet nobody around today can make that statement."

"Unless it's King George," she said dryly.

"You haven't given me an answer."

"I haven't heard a real proposal."

"You'll marry me."

"That's not a question."

"Damn right," said Zane, rolling her onto her back and straddling her hips. "There's only one answer I'll accept."

"I love it when you go all alpha male."

He moved against her and her back arched in response. "I also love it when you do that."

He leaned forward and drew one nipple into his mouth and sucked deeply.

Her eyes closed as a slow wet heat suffused her body. He shifted position, parting her thighs and positioning himself between her legs. He cupped her with his hand and she moved against him as the need built inside her.

"You're ready for me." He brought his hand to her lips, letting her taste herself on his skin. "Hot and sweet."

"Oh God...Zane--" She wrapped her legs around his waist and fiercely drew him into her body, demanding all that he had to give and more.

And neither was disappointed.

#

The sounds of laughter and music reached them as they crested the hill near the Blakelee farm a few hours later.

"The wedding!" said Emilie. "It must be today."

The events of the last few days were all jumbled together in a crazy quilt of fear and joy and it came as a surprise to see that the regular patterns of life were exactly as they'd left them.

"There must be a hundred people down there," Zane said, whistling low. "I guess big weddings were always in style."

It was something out of a dream, Emilie thought, as they made their way down the gentle slope then headed toward the revelers milling about. The harshness of their life and the realities of war were not visible today as friends and family gathered together to celebrate the marriage of Charity Blakelee and her Timothy. A fiddler sat atop the porch railing, his spirited music perfectly capturing the mood of the crowd. Long tables had been set up in the front yard and they groaned with the weight of smoked hams and hearth-roasted chickens and bowls of salads and fresh vegetables.

She gestured toward the scene below them of family and friends, little children and tiny babies. The whole spectrum of life in all of its aspects and all of its beauty.

A life without the walk-on-the-highwire intensity he thrived on.

"Look, Zane," she said softly. "That's all there is. Will that be enough for you?"

"I have you," he said, ruffling her hair with a gentle hand. "And one day we'll find our way back where we belong."

"That's not going to happen."

"I think it will."

"And in the meantime?"

"Hell," said Zane, looking young and filled with hope, "there's a whole world out there for us to discover."

"There's a war going on," she reminded him.

"That's the best part," he said. "We've helped save George Washington's life. Who knows what else is in store for us before we leave."

"We haven't exactly saved George's life," Emilie corrected him. "That's Andrew's job."

"We made it possible," said Zane with a snap of his fingers. "We'll clear up the confusion in the history books when we get back where we belong."

Why argue the point? If he needed to believe they'd return to the future one day, it was no worse than believing in Santa Claus or that calories really didn't count.

So what if they had no home, no family, and no steady source of income. She had to believe things would work out for the best. After all, this was everything she'd ever wanted. The man she'd always loved had become part of the world she'd always longed for. The puzzle pieces that had been her life had finally joined into a beautiful whole.

So why did she have the feeling that one piece of that beautiful puzzle was still missing--and that that one piece might change everything.

Zane took her hand and they walked across the meadow to mingle with the wedding guests.

"Look over there," Emilie said, gesturing toward Charity who was dancing with a handsome young man. "The bridal couple."

"They look awfully young," Zane said after a moment. "Do you think he's old enough to shave yet?"

"It's a different world," Emilie said. "Real life starts a lot earlier. Let's go over and wish them well."

"Emilie!" Rebekah's sweet voice rang out across the yard. "Zane!" The woman, dressed in a pretty pink muslin gown with flowered trim, hurried toward them. She embraced Emilie warmly then brown eyes widened as she noticed the bruise near Emilie's hairline. "What on earth--?"

"I am fine," said Emilie, returning her hug. "Truly."

 
"You cannot know how worried I was for your safety. When you did not return the next morning I feared the worst." Rebekah glanced about. "Andrew--?"

"He is well," Emilie said quickly, "but he has been called away."

"And--and Josiah?"

"We discovered nothing," said Emilie. "I am sorry."

Rebekah whispered a quick prayer for her husband's safety and Andrew's, then her narrow face lit up with a smile. She linked one arm through Emilie's and the other through Zane's. "Come and join the merriment," she said, leading them toward the tables groaning with food and drink. "We are here to celebrate!" She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Rumor has it we are to be honored with a most welcome guest."

"Anybody we know?" asked Zane.

"Of that I'm certain," said Rebekah.

Emilie gestured toward her wrinkled dress. "I must change into something more presentable."

"Hurry," said Rebekah, "for the dancing is about to begin!"

Zane followed Emilie into the farmhouse and upstairs to the second floor bedroom.

"Oh, no, you don't," Emilie said, laughing as she eluded Zane's embrace. "Rebekah's waiting for us downstairs."

"She won't mind if we take our time."

"Patience, Mr. Rutledge," she said, reaching for her favorite mint green dress. "We have the rest of our lives ahead of us."

She changed quickly then drew the comb through her tangled hair in an attempt to tame the fiery waves. She then gathered up the mane and twisted it into a loose Gibson-Girl knot atop her head, securing it with a pair of ivory pins. She loosened a few tendrils around her hairline to hide the bruise and hoped for the best.

Turning around she saw that Zane had changed from the uniform and was dressed in black breeches and a black shirt.

"Very piratical," she said with an approving nod. "A nice blend of centuries."

"Everything else has to go to the cleaners."

"Remind me to explain the 18th century to you later on."

She pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly. "Remind me to explain a few other things to you after that."

"Don't worry, Mr. Rutledge," she said. "You have my word."

#

Zane helped himself to several slices of ham and chicken but Emilie found the mixture of smells off-putting and she instead accepted a pewter cup of sangaree. The sun blazed overhead and the cool blend of wine and fruit provided welcome refreshment.

"What's going on over there?" Zane asked, gesturing toward a crowd over near the barn.

"Maybe Rebekah's special guest has arrived. Is it me or did you think she was being awfully secretive about it?" She tilted her head as a thought struck her. "You don't suppose Josiah has returned?"

"Who knows," said Zane. "Let's check it out."

Zane put down his empty plate and Emilie was looking for a place to leave her cup of sangaree when Charity and her new husband Timothy approached.

Charity, looking lovely in a white silk dress with embroidered roses along the curve of the bodice, smiled up at Zane. "'Tis our custom that each married man dance with the bride before the cake is cut."

Zane winked at Emilie then cut a dashing bow. "And who am I to break with tradition. May I have the honor, mistress?"

Smiling, Charity stepped into his arms.

Her husband, a pleasant-looking fellow with dark auburn hair, bowed toward Emilie. "It would please me greatly, mistress, if you would honor me with a dance."

"I would very much enjoy that--" She paused. "Timothy, isn't it?"

His smile was as sunny as the day. "Timothy Crosse," he said, offering his hand.

She gasped, feeling as if the breath had been knocked from her body. "What did you say?"

"Timothy Crosse," he repeated, looking at her curiously.

She couldn't breathe. The heat of the day seemed to press upon her chest, making it impossible for her to draw breath into her lungs.

"Mistress Emilie..." Timothy's voice seemed to come toward her through an airless tunnel. "You look unwell. Let me see you to a chair...."

She sank onto the porch step and closed her eyes against a wave of dizziness. "Please," she managed as the young man--her ancestor?!--peered at her worriedly. "I--I am fine. It's only the heat."

He waved his arm in the air, motioning for Zane and Charity to stop dancing and join them.

"I do not know what happened," Timothy said to Zane when he approached. "One moment she was fine and the next--" He shrugged his shoulders.

"I could use some water," she said. "If you would--"

Timothy and his bride went off to fetch a cup.

Zane helped her to a chair inside the cool darkness of the house. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I did," she said, a wild laugh breaking free. "His name is Timothy Crosse."

Zane stared at her. "You've got to be kidding."

She shook her head. "That's why I've been so comfortable here, so at ease." She gestured broadly. "In a way, they're family."

"We're getting into weird territory here. How can you meet your own ancestors?"

"I don't know," she said. "How can you travel back in time?"

"Don't look at me," he said. "You're the one with all the answers."

She thought of the other wedding guests for the first time. The laughing woman in the yellow brocade dress...the portly gentleman in the snuff-colored waistcoat...that beautiful tow-haired baby who sat playing in the grass. She was related to half of these people by blood and to the other half by marriage.

A lifetime of familial history rushed in on her, making her dizzy. She heard her mother's voice and her grandmother's, each story forging a link in the chain that wound through the centuries.

Sweat broke out on her brow. "I can't think." She struggled to find the words but they eluded her. "There's something...something but I can't seem to remember what."

"Don't worry about it," he said, his gaze drawn to the bruise near her temple. "Whatever it is, it can't be too important."

"I know it sounds crazy," she said, shaking her head, "but I can't stop thinking about George Washington."

"Okay," he said carefully, "that's not too hard to figure out." McVie was on his way to Long Island to warn the General of the assassination plot. It had to be on her mind. "You're concerned."

"It's more than concern." She looked up at him, green eyes wide and puzzled. "I'm afraid something terrible is about to happen."

"Even if that's true, there's nothing you can do about it," Zane said with one of those displays of logic men pride themselves on. "You're in New Jersey. General Washington is in New York."