DREAM WEAVER

by

S. A. Martin

© copyright March 2004, Shirley Martin
Cover art by Eliza Black, © copyright March 2004
New Concepts Publishing
5202 Humphreys Rd.
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com

Prologue

Southwestern Pennsylvania

Gwen Emrys maneuvered her turquoise Saturn through the heavy early morning traffic, headed for her teaching job at a local high school. She drove with her window down, grateful for the light spring breeze that bathed her face and kept her alert. Groggy after another night of troubling dreams, she pressed her hand to her aching head, trying to concentrate on her driving. She wondered why these senseless dreams plagued her sleep, night after night.

A sudden wave of dizziness rattled her. Goose bumps raced along her arms and legs. Without warning, the asphalt road disappeared, and a narrow dirt path through a dense forest replaced it. Hemmed in on both sides by thick clusters of maples and oaks, the car hugged the road. Fighting for breath, Gwen clenched her hands on the steering wheel. Ahead of her, at the end of the path, loomed a desolate cabin.

From nowhere, fiery arrows rained down on the cabin. Flames leaped from the outside walls, soon engulfing the log house.

Gwen slammed her foot on the brake.

On the edge of her consciousness, she heard a honk, honk, honk, like a loud blaring of horns. Or geese?

She gasped.

Frantic honking jerked her back to reality.

"Hey, lady, where'd you get your license--Walmart?" His window down, the driver shook his fist at her. "You trying to have an accident?"

Heart pounding, Gwen gazed around her.

She eased into the outside lane then parked her car near a gas station, waiting for her frantic heartbeat to subside. Her head throbbed, one of her headaches coming on.

Every detail of her dreams returned to haunt her--a lone cabin in the woods and a young man dressed like a colonist.

Other images disturbed her sleep every night, visions of a vast fort and wounded soldiers lying across a battlefield.

She saw destruction ... and death.

Chapter One

"What's the matter, Gwen? A headache?"

Gwen dropped her hand from her forehead, aware she needed to perk up before classes began. "I keep thinking about these crazy dreams I have night after night." In the teachers' lounge of the local high school, she tried to relax with a colleague, making the most of the few spare minutes before she headed for her classroom. "Do you ever have recurring dreams?"

"Sure, don't we all? So what are yours?"

Gwen shifted in her chair. "Promise you won't laugh. But I often dream about a lonely cabin in the woods. There's a man--"

"The man of your dreams!"

"Well, he's certainly in just about every one," Gwen said, smiling. "But wait 'til you hear this," she said, reaching for her purse on a nearby table. Digging through her cell phone, compact, lipstick, keys, and all her other paraphernalia, she found what she was looking for. "You know how I enjoy history--well, I teach it--so I sent away for this pamphlet of a restored village several miles east of here. The pamphlet was advertised in a magazine." She handed her the booklet across the table. "Sarah, look at the house on page two. It looks just like the one in my dreams, as crazy as that sounds. I'll tell you something--nothing's going to stop me from visiting the village this Saturday. It's all I've been able to think about. Who knows? Maybe it is the same house."

"You really think so? Well, stranger things have happened."

After Sarah glanced at the pamphlet and handed it back, Gwen returned it to her purse. "So if you don't see me next Monday," she said, "you'll know the man of my dreams swept me off my feet."

* * * *

This is it. Recently arrived at the restored village, Gwen drew a deep breath, her befuddled brain confusing dreams and reality. She stared at a log cabin, one of many quaint buildings in this tourist attraction near her hometown. Was this the same cabin that had haunted her for months? Every beat of her heart, every breath, every instinct, told her so.

Gwen carried a page from another pamphlet in her pocket, one that showed a diagram of Fort Pitt. Aware now that her visions lent an urgency to glean as much historical information as possible about this area, she intended to drive to the Fort Pitt Museum, a few miles to the west, after she finished here.

She saw a spreading oak tree a few yards away, and an eerie feeling overtook her. Curious despite her foreboding, she headed in that direction across the dry grass, her steps hesitant. Reaching the tree, she saw the initials CN carved into the bark. She traced the initials with her finger, and visions flooded her mind.

Her face turned hot, then cold. Tremors shook her body. She ran sweaty palms down her long rayon skirt, wondering if her mind was playing tricks.

Chills raced across her arms and legs. Wave after wave of dizziness washed over her. She slipped her bag from her shoulder and dropped it on the ground, happy to be relieved of that encumbrance.

Tingling erupted over every part of her body. Her dizziness swept over her in gigantic waves. A buzzing sounded in her ears. The ground tilted crazily. An uncontrollable force was dragging her down, down, down, and she couldn't fight it.

She sank into total darkness.

* * * *

Gradually returned to consciousness, Gwen considered her dilemma ... and gasped. A glance around revealed nothing but wilderness and the cabin in a clearing. Where was the village? What about her purse, with her car keys and wallet?

She gazed around, unsure what to do, where to go for help. Struggling to her feet, she brushed off her skirt then cautiously approached the house. She peered through the open window, standing to the side so no one would see her while she visually cased the place. A girl couldn't be too careful these days.

A man sitting at a long wooden table read a book, his brow creased in concentration as he turned the pages. The very same man, only this time he was real! What was happening to her? Was she losing her mind?

She guessed he was in his late twenties but couldn't imagine where he'd come from. And why was he dressed in such an old style, with his long white shirt and dark tan pants? Like in her dreams.

By the bright sunlight through the open window, she studied the man's features. The light glinted on his dark, wavy hair, making it appear deep brown one moment, and the next, jet black. He wore his hair long, tied in back. A straight nose, high cheekbones, and a square jaw with a cleft in his chin reminded her of Sir Lawrence Olivier, an English actor she'd seen in a late-night movie on TV.

The man scraped his chair back and stood, heading for a bookcase to return the book, slipping it between several other volumes. At least six feet tall, he was well-built, his muscular thighs encased by leggings that disappeared inside calf-high leather boots. Exuding strength and energy, he reminded Gwen of a tiger. Sleek. Powerful. Sinewy. She wondered how a man who appeared so strong and well-muscled could move with such easy masculine grace.

Gathering her courage, she walked to the open front door, her sandaled feet padding along the rough wooden planks. She needed help. After knocking on the door frame, she waited.

* * * *

His medical rounds completed, his fields neglected this one day, Christian sat at his table to study the Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society, reading an account of smallpox inoculation. He tapped his fingers on the table, his mind on his dream of inoculating the settlers against this dread disease. Just think of his own family....

He gazed off into space, his thoughts going beyond smallpox prevention. If he could be the best doctor in western Pennsylvania, if he could minister to all those who needed medical help, then he could put the past behind him and know he was accomplishing something worthwhile in life.

Suppressing painful memories of his family's deaths, he returned to his reading. After underlining several sentences, he closed the pamphlet and scraped his chair back to return it to his bookcase, tucking it between other medical publications.

"May I come in?"

Christian spun around. What in God's name? Who was this woman who stood at his doorstep, shifting from one foot to the other? Speechless, he stared at her. Why, just look at her gown--surely the most shocking attire he'd ever seen. Long and silky, it skimmed her ankles and clung to every curve of her body, making it obvious she wore no petticoat beneath. And her hair! Flowing, tawny tresses hung wantonly down her back, with not even a cap on her head.

What ailed the lady?

"Sir?" she murmured.

He found his voice, uttering the only question that came to mind. "Madam, are you in need of assistance?"

The young lady stepped across the threshold, hugging her arms. "I ... uh, looks like I'm lost."

"Where did you come from?"

"May I come in?" she repeated. At his answering nod, she slowly approached him, a look of bewilderment on her face. "I ... uh, I'll tell you about it in a few minutes, as soon as I get my bearings." She clenched her hands at her sides, her gaze covering the common room.

Who in the world was she? A hundred questions collided in his head while he studied this extraordinary woman making her hesitant way across the floor.

He stared at her long brown hair, tresses that glowed golden by the firelight. She was pretty, aye, but where had she found such odd apparel?

He tried to act nonchalant, as if there was nothing unusual about her visit. Why, yes, strange ladies like this one appeared at his doorstep every day.

"Won't you sit down, madam," he said, holding a chair for her. Her scent, sweet as the forest flowers with a hint of spice, drifted his way and aroused his senses, emotions he'd stifled far too long.

"Now, pray explain how you came to be lost." He folded his arms across his chest. "And I don't believe you spoke your name."

She cleared her throat, an uneasy look in her eyes. "Gwendolyn Emrys," she said in a voice slightly above a whisper. "My friends call me Gwen."

He made a slight bow. "Christian Norgard, at your service."

Though she spoke with an unusual accent, he found her voice pleasing, low and soft with a trace of huskiness. His glance ran over her, from the crown of her lustrous hair, to a well-rounded bosom that thrust against her silky bodice.

Her gaze covered the room. "I've never seen a house like this before ... at least, not while I was awake," she said under her breath.

What? Christian drew up a chair across from her and sat down, leaning forward on the table. "Are you from Philadelphia, madam? Frankly, I don't understand how you came to be lost. You're not from around these parts--that much I know."

"Not from Philadelphia ... but I...." She opened her mouth then shut it again, giving another perplexed glance around the cabin. "Your wife--"

"No wife. I live alone." Nor was he ready to marry. His profession gave him but little time for courting the ladies. Despite his shock, he remembered his manners. "May I offer you tea, Miss Emrys?" Where was this lady's family or husband? And when would she explain how she had gone astray? In his medical practice, Christian had learned patience long ago. He knew better than to rush her, assuming she'd explain her dilemma betimes.

She threw him a hopeful look. "How about a Coke?"

Christian blinked his eyes. "I beg your pardon?"

"Never mind, tea sounds good." She fidgeted in her chair, speaking in a strained voice. "Looks as if I've interrupted your meal."

He made a negligent gesture and rose to take two earthenware mugs from the mantel then set them on the table. "I'm happy to share with you." He lifted an iron kettle from the fireplace and poured the steaming brew.

"Bohea tea." He eased the mug toward her. "'Twill help you feel better, I doubt not." He reclaimed his chair and gave her a thoughtful look, still wondering where she hailed from. After slicing the loaf of bread with his barlow knife, he placed a piece on the pewter plate.

"Injun bread, madam? 'Tis very good, made from rye and corn meal."

She reached for the tea. "No thanks, I'm not hungry." Her hand shook, the tea spilling down the side. She set the mug on the table with a soft thud. "You want to know where I'm from."

"An understatement, Miss Emrys." Aware of his tense muscles, he stretched his legs out under the table. He raised the mug to his mouth and took a cautious sip of the piping hot brew.

"I--I don't know how to explain. I don't even understand how I came to be here." She pressed her hand to her head, her face pinched with anguish. "I honestly don't know!"

Christian raised his eyebrows and sipped his tea, more confused than before. Memory loss. In the early days of his practice, he'd known a woman with this very problem. Might this young lady be suffering from such an affliction? Poor lady! If only he could help her.

"Madam, have you had a bad fall recently?"

"As a matter of fact, no." The lady twisted her fingers together. "You'll never believe me, but I want to tell you...." She paused, her glance shifting to the stone fireplace, then back to him. "I want to tell you...."

"And I'm eager to hear. Enlighten me, pray." He drummed his fingers on the table a few times then stopped, reminding himself he must project a calm demeanor for the woman's sake, if not for his own. A dying ember in the fireplace hissed and sparked, sounding like thunder in the quiet of the room. He toyed with his pewter mug and gave her a long, level look, determined not to let her seductive charms distract him. "You were saying, madam?"

"Well, I...." She ran a hand through her thick mass of hair. "It's no use. You'll never believe me."

"You already said that, Miss Emrys."

"Yes, well...." The young lady looked down at her hands then raised troubled eyes to his. "I ... I was visiting a restored village and--"

"Pardon me, madam, the nearest village is Fort Pitt, miles to the west."

"Well, I was at a restored village, and somehow," she said in a shaky voice, "somehow I ended up here, in the middle of a forest." She leaned forward, her hands resting on the table. Such pretty, well-groomed hands she had, the fingers slender, her skin smooth. This lady was definitely not a servant.

"Just tell me one thing," she said. "What's today's date?"

"The date is the third of May, Miss Emrys."

"And the year?" she asked with a wary look.

"The year? Madam, this is 1762." Why didn't she know that?

"Seventeen sixty-two?" She jerked in her chair, a fearful look on her face. "Oh, no, it can't be," she whispered.

Christian strove for patience, increasingly convinced the lady had maggots in her head. "Nor am I jesting. I assure you it is 1762."

"Uh-uh. Don't expect me to believe that." She spoke with bravado, but her face held a look of doubt.

"'Tis true, madam." He looked into her eyes, unable to discern if they were blue or green in the shifting light, but clearly the prettiest he'd ever seen. Disregarding her charms, he persisted. "Pray tell me your purpose for being in these parts, since it's obvious you don't belong here." She must be a lunatic, Christian thought as he wondered how she'd escaped her keepers. More than anything, he wanted to help her, but oftimes this malady defied a cure.

"You've got that right! I don't belong here!" She took a deep breath. "And I don't know why I'm here, Mr. Norgard. Like I said, I was with a group of tourists, visiting a restored village, and--"

"Miss Emrys, you are speaking nonsense."

"I'm speaking the truth, damn it!"

"Madam, please!" Despite her unladylike language, Christian struggled against an attraction for this strange woman who'd appeared out of nowhere. 'Struth, she was lovely, but he needed all his faculties to deal with her. What an odd manner of speech she employed, like nothing he'd ever heard. No matter, he liked the fresh, clean look of her pretty face, with its dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks, her flashing eyes, as if he should dare question her.

"Tell me something," he said. "How did you arrive at my doorstep?"

"I told you, I was at a restored village in the year two-thousand and three--"

"Two-thousand and three!"

"Right! The twenty-first century."

His eyes raked her with cool appraisal. "Don't play me for a fool. You appear at my house in strange circumstances, certainly. You give me some outlandish story about a restored village--whatever that means--in 2003. And you expect me to believe your tale?"

"I don't care what you believe. I'm telling the truth!" She reached into her pocket

and drew out a handkerchief. A paper fell to the floor.

Christian bent to retrieve the paper, stunned to see it revealed a diagram of Fort Pitt, every angle, every bastion of the six-sided fort. My God, now it all made sense! On his most recent trip to the fort, he'd heard talk of a spy, someone passing information to the French. Several important papers were missing from the commandant's desk.

He slapped the paper on the table. "How did you come by this diagram of Fort Pitt?"

She fluttered her fingers. "Oh, that! I was reading about the fort, and I intended to visit the place, if I can ever find my way out of this forest."

"Madam, you are either a skilled liar or--"

"I'm not lying!"

"--or you have a fanciful imagination."

"Wrong on both counts." She blew out a long breath. "Listen--I was visiting a restored village, and since I had an interest in the fort, also, I wanted to go there and study it, too." She reached for the diagram and returned it to her pocket. "So you see--a perfectly innocent explanation. I don't know why you don't believe me."

"Because what you say defies logic." He sighed. "We shall dismiss the question for now."

"Good idea."

"For now," he repeated. "Those are the operative words." She must be the spy, he fretted, wanting to deny the truth that stared him in the face. Could a lovely lady such as she betray her country? he wondered, willing to give her the benefit of the doubt but finding scant reason to believe her. If found guilty of treason, she would suffer a horrible fate. A vision of her writhing at the stake sent chills over his body, and he shook inwardly, as if he could feel the flames.

The lady rose from her chair to pace the floor, arms folded across her chest as she threw puzzled looks about the room. With her gaze on him, she tapped her fingers on her arms then stared at the fireplace, her eyes drifting upward to study the dried vegetables that hung from the ceiling. She glanced his way again, looking more bewildered than ever.

Christian observed her shapely figure, too well aware there were limits to how much self-imposed loneliness a man could bear.

Several silent moments passed then she smiled, a slow, satisfied smile, like a fox who's just discovered the hen house. "Would you mind if I stay here?"

"What?"

"Just for tonight?" she asked, her gaze straying to the stairs that led to the loft.

"You can't be serious, madam. I am a bachelor. Surely you can see such an arrangement would be unacceptable." His mind raced. He must end this stalemate. He came to a decision--one he hoped would prove satisfactory for everyone. "I know a family you can stay with--the Chamberlains, a few miles from here."

She ran her hands down her hips, apprehension seeping into her voice. "No, I can't risk leaving this area. I need to stay here, Mr. Norgard," she said, rapping her knuckles on the table, "even if I sleep on the floor."

"Although the notion is not without its appeal, I cannot allow it." A lady wouldn't dream of such a thing. "Far better for you to stay with my friends. Best we start soon. 'Twill take a while to reach their house. And we can discuss your, uh, disorientation along the way. I'll do whatever I can to help you. As a doctor--"

Her jaw dropped. "You're a doctor?"

"Aye, and--"

"Look, Mr., uh, Dr. Norgard, I have to stay right here. Don't you see? That way, I'll be in the exact place I was before I ... uh, ended up in your cabin."

"Your suggestion is scandalous, Miss Emrys. Only think of your reputation." Could she be one of the many doxies who plied their wares at Fort Pitt? Might she, indeed, be the traitor? His stomach roiled with anxiety as he sought to deny his suspicions.

She placed her hands on her hips, a look of challenge in her eyes. "Like I said, just for this one night."

"Miss Emrys, no properly reared young lady would even suggest such a thing. Besides, people oftimes visit me unexpectedly. You must stay elsewhere."

"Uh-uh. I'm not moving from this area, I'll tell you that right now. If you want me out of your house, I'll stay outside."

Christian spoke with patience, more convinced with each minute that this lady was the world's most imaginative liar. Logic ruled his mind, always had. And now, she insisted she came from the future. Had her wits gone wanting? More likely, she had devised this weird tale to mask her real reason for her presence in this area--espionage.

"Miss Emrys, I do see you need assistance, and I want to help you. 'Tis why I suggested you stay with my friends, at least for this night. Certainly, 'twould be better than sleeping outside, which I wouldn't permit. You'd surely catch a chill." Besides, if anyone could handle this lady, it was Daniel Chamberlain, a most capable fellow. "The best answer, I believe, is for you to lodge with another family."

"You don't understand! I have to get back home. And I don't need your permission to sleep outside," she cried, turning and rushing for the door.

"Just you wait!" With quick strides, Christian blocked the doorway, speaking slowly and distinctly. "Miss Emrys, I already said I want to help you. Now, pray permit me to take you to my friends. I assure you, I won't be far away."

She glared at him. What was going through her mind? Mayhap devising some scheme to obstruct him? Madam, don't even try it. God, he prayed, please don't let this woman be a traitor to her country.

Excitement warred with Christian's sense of reason as he looked into her eyes, such vibrant eyes that now appeared blue by the light streaming through the open door. Up close, her scent tantalized him, and he had to control himself not to draw her even closer. How easy it would be to lose himself in those expressive eyes, to forget his responsibility in the alluring curves of her body, to let her soft voice and provocative smile sway him from his course. What kind of a doctor would he be, if he could not even remember his professional duty when confronted with the tempting charms of this lovely woman?

He must think clearly. "Can I trust you to wait here whilst I fetch my horse and--"

"No! If you'd rather, just give me a blanket, and I can sleep on the floor." She nodded toward the open door. "Or I can go outside, as long as I'm next to your cabin. But please, don't make me leave your place."

"But you can't--"

"Please!"

Aware she was fast losing control, he fought for composure. "Very well, I don't want to argue anymore. You may use my bed, and I'll sleep on the floor." He pointed his finger at her. "But tomorrow, we leave for the Chamberlains."

A slow smile spread across her face. "Thanks a lot, Dr. Norgard, but I can sleep on the floor. You don't have to--"

"Miss Emrys, pray don't try my patience."

* * * *

Unable to see a thing in the black loft, Gwen shivered from the frosty night air, trying to convince herself she'd be back in her own neighborhood tomorrow. Night sounds reverberated through the forest. Crickets chirped and frogs croaked. A wolf howled in the distance, sending a chill along her spine.

No way would she put her fate in Christian Norgard's hands, even if he was a doctor. She'd relied on herself long enough, and she could do it now, too.

After all that had happened within the last few years, this was too much. She still hadn't recovered from her parents' murder a couple of years before. Then her sister Melissa's husband had died of cancer. Only a few months ago, her boyfriend, Matt, had ditched her for another woman. Now this!

A little serenity in her life--was that asking too much? For someone who'd always enjoyed excitement and a good time, now she wanted nothing but peace and quiet, no complications. But she was afraid she wouldn't get her wish.

Besides, other people depended on her. She'd always considered herself a responsible person, able to handle her own problems and willing to help others.

Take her teaching job, for instance. Although those kids could be hell raisers at times, she enjoyed her position at the local high school, teaching American history. She had to get back to those kids, back to her job!

As sponsor for the History Club, she got a big kick out of mingling with young people, and she liked to think those students needed her. Gwen thought of Elaine, a shy, friendless girl whose mother was an alcoholic. Poor kid, who always took her troubles to her--Gwen--because no one else cared. And what about Joey, whose two older brothers were honor roll students? That was a tough act for Joey to follow, this teenager who barely made passing grades.

Most important, she had to return to her widowed younger sister, Melissa, and Melissa's three-year old, Zachary. Her closest relatives, she missed them already. She missed holding Zachary on her lap, reading him stories. She remembered his sweet smile and quick laugh, his talkativeness when he got excited. How could she bear being away from him?

This is all some crazy quirk in time, she fretted as she pulled the woolen blanket up to her chin. She turned onto her side and closed her eyes, willing sleep to come, although one question after another kept her awake.

Could this really be 1762? she wondered, desperate to deny the fix she was in. The whole idea was too weird to even think about, and this trip just one more thing to prevent her from getting her life back on an even keel.

But if it was 1762, what then?

Chapter Two

The following morning, Gwen rode behind Christian, absorbing the warmth of his skin, her arms wrapped around his waist, her breasts cushioned against his back. His masculine scent, a blend of pine soap and the outdoors, mingled with the fresh, woodsy aromas of the forest, an intriguing combination.

The awkward position on the bay did little for her peace of mind. Still confused about where and when she was, she shifted her hips, attempting to distance herself from the hard, muscular body she clasped. She watched the horse's head as it plodded along, its long mane flowing in the breeze. She felt the ripple of its muscles as it strained up a hill.

It had taken the longest time for her eyes to adjust to the thick green gloom of the woods, where a tangle of vines stretched across the treetops and blocked the sunlight. Now accustomed to the dark, she could see more clearly. But where were the stores, the office buildings, the modern roads?

If only she could see a way out of her predicament, her jumbled thoughts persisted. She had to get back to her friends, her job, her life! She'd slept restlessly all night, convinced that when she awoke this morning, she'd be back in her own neighborhood again. But no, it hadn't worked out that way.

Her position on the horse made conversation difficult, but she didn't see how she could sit like a dummy for the rest of their journey. So, after riding in silence for long minutes with her rioting thoughts for companionship, Gwen searched for something to say. "Your family, Dr. Norgard?" Gwen regretted the question immediately. Since he lived alone, it was obvious his family was--

"Dead, Miss Emrys," Christian said after a brief pause. "Smallpox ... years ago, my parents, two brothers, and a sister."

"I'm so sorry!" What an inadequate response. Such a tragedy as he'd suffered was beyond comprehension.

"And yet you were spared," she said after another uncomfortable silence.

"Aye. It happened while I stayed with a family in Carlisle, learning carpentry. I was away from home when they died!" he said in a choking voice. "By the time I received word and made my way back home, they were buried, the house burned to the ground."

"Oh, no!"

"No one else could live there." He paused, pushing a low-hanging branch out of the way. "That's when I decided to become a doctor and save others from smallpox. After selling the land--all of it cultivated, mind you--I finished my apprenticeship and journeyed to Philadelphia to study medicine."

"You went to medical school in Philadelphia?"

"Nay, Miss Emrys, there are no medical schools there, but I studied medicine under Dr. John Bond at the hospital in Philadelphia."

"Hard to believe you're a doctor." She bit her lower lip. "What I mean is--"

"I assure you I am a doctor. That's why I want to help you."

"I don't want your help. I don't need anyone's help, Mr., uh, Dr. Norgard. I'll be all right once I find my home again."

"Look, Miss Emrys, it's obvious you have a problem. So I'm merely offering my professional assistance."

"I already told you I can take care of myself. Just because I'm lost...."

He threw a glance behind him. "Righto!"

"Listen, I've learned not to depend on other people, not even a doctor. This 'problem', as you call it, is bound to straighten itself out soon."

"So how do you propose to find your way back to your home, if indeed, you are lost?"

"I'll find a way, or try, at any rate."

"Miss Emrys, 'tis apparent this discussion will avail us naught. And 'tis not necessary for you to address me as Dr. Norgard. I'd much prefer you call me Christian," he suggested in an easy manner.

"Yeah, sure. And you can call me Gwen."

A long period of silence stretched between them as the mare plodded up a steep hill, causing Gwen to slip back from the saddle, forcing her to clutch Christian more tightly. As he pushed another branch out of the way, she observed his hands, the fingers dexterous yet strong, as if he could perform the most delicate surgery or plant a fence post.

Determined to put Christian from her mind, Gwen concentrated on the dark forest, where deep green moss decorated the tops of flat rocks, and blue phlox flourished among the under story. Springtime smells drifted her way, borne on a light, cool breeze.

"Smallpox," Christian mused aloud, reverting to their earlier discussion. "I was inoculated while I was in Philadelphia. Now I'd like to do the same for everyone within miles, but 'tis not so easy. Distance is a problem, and there is much antagonism against inoculation."

"How come?"

"'Tis the way people are ... superstitious."

"Geez!"

"What did you say?"

"Just an expression."

"Umm."

Gwen shifted her position again, the only sound the clop, clop of the horse's hooves along the rocky dirt trail. A bird's warble as it flitted from tree to tree broke the forest silence. A garter snake rustled out from the bracken and slithered across their path.

"My parents are dead, also," she said when the path leveled again. "I have only one sister, but we were a happy family. My parents owned an antique store and after ... after they died, I bought a house with my share of the inheritance."

"Inheritance?"

"Well, they had ... investments," she improvised. No point in trying to explain stocks and mutual funds. "Anyway, that's where I live ... uh, lived."

"Where is your house?" he asked as the horse followed the twists and turns of the narrow, rock strewn path. "How far from here? You gave me the impression you were lost...."

A sick feeling came over her. Too late to back out now. "Don't you remember? I told you I live near here, but the house has disappeared." She waited for him to say something, but his silence told her enough.

After a long moment, he released a heavy sigh. "Houses don't disappear. Miss Emrys, why don't you admit you've lost direction and--"

"Damn right I've lost direction!" Aware of her rising voice, Gwen made herself speak calmly. "I'm going to explore the countryside tomorrow, first chance I get. Maybe some way I'll be able to find my way back to my home, my neighborhood. I don't know how, but I intend to find my house if it's the last thing I do."

Another period of uneasy silence ensued. When they came to a meadow, Christian pulled on the reins. He eased his leg over the horse's back and dismounted, booted feet thudding onto the hard ground. "Let us rest here for a few minutes," he said as he reached for her. "Rest the horse, too. As a matter of fact, I'll walk much of the rest of the way, so he doesn't have to carry such a load."

She ached all over from riding, in her lower spine, hips and thighs, bones and muscles she didn't know she had, but she concealed her discomfort.

Christian's strong hands grasped her around the waist, her body brushing his as he set her on the ground. With his hands still warm against her hips, he looked down at her for an intense moment. She met his gaze as she tried to act casual, to present an image of independent feminism, but his nearness had the most tantalizing effect on her. Her breath caught in her throat, and she scolded herself for letting him rile her like this. What in the world was the matter with her? She'd met him only yesterday, and after today, she hoped to be out of his life forever.

Wary of where her sensual thoughts might lead, Gwen glanced around the grassy field. It was so peaceful and still, with the sunlight streaming down, garbing the meadow with a brilliant glow. Thousands of violets sprinkled the clearing, their purple heads dancing in the cool breeze. A rushing stream dodged rocks and boulders. Gwen's gaze lit on the stream, her mouth dry with thirst.

Countless seconds later, Christian released her and let his arms fall to his side, then motioned toward the stream. "I'll wager you're thirsty, Miss Emrys ... Gwen."

"You got it!" Gwen walked with him to the stream, the grass moist and springy beneath her sandals.

Side by side, they knelt on the grass to scoop up handful after handful of the cool, rushing water. How good the water tasted, she thought as it dripped through her fingers and ran down her chin. The hard, rocky ground cut into her knees, but she dismissed the minor discomfort, happy to have a rest period, wanting to forget her worries and enjoy this peaceful interlude. Her back and bottom ached from riding for so long. She wished they could stay here for the remainder of the day, just lie down and rest for hours.

After she drank her fill, Christian reached to help her rise, his hand enclosing hers much longer than necessary. His gaze held hers for a long moment, as though he could see into her soul, discern all her secrets, solve all her problems.

He released her hand. "You mentioned something about exploring the woods tomorrow. Best keep an eye out for snakes, not to mention bears and wolves, if you leave early in the morning. There are many rattlesnakes and copperheads around here, so don't sit on any rocks or lift them up." He ran his fingers through his dark hair. "Look, why don't you let me accompany you. I--"

"No need for that."

"--I hope to stay at the Chamberlains overnight, but I intend to depart for my place early on the morrow. So we can both start out in the morning as soon as it's light and look for your house."

"I can manage on my own," she said with a steady look.

"I doubt not you can, but mayhap I know the woods better than you."

"What did I just say?" She didn't want him with her. If she was going to make a fool of herself, she'd rather do it alone. "I'm used to relying on myself."

An inspiration came to her. She wondered why she hadn't thought of it sooner, but quickly figured her dazed condition and the unbelievable situation she'd landed in had prevented rational thought. Why not retrace her steps tomorrow, back to Christian's place, to the tree where all her trouble had started? It just might work, if only she didn't get lost.

"I can manage, believe me." But could she? A hundred questions churned in her mind, a ceaseless, nagging worry that she was stuck in this wilderness for the rest of her life.

"Very well, then," Christian said with a doubtful frown. "Shall we say we lack agreement as to your origins?" He held his hand out to her. "A truce, Miss Emrys?"

She took his hand, his calloused fingers warm and strong around hers. "Call me Gwen, remember?"

"Ah, yes. Gwen, a pretty name."

As Christian turned to whistle for his horse, she massaged her bottom and dreaded mounting the animal again. Apprehension stirred inside her, worries of what the Chamberlains would think when they saw her strange dress, or how she could explain her origins.

They continued on their way in shaky amiability while Gwen stared around her, entranced by the forest's stunning beauty. She took a deep breath to catch the sweet scent of the trailing arbutus then exhaled in a long, slow sigh. The path widened, and the woods became more open, where beams of sunlight brightened new leaves of maples and oaks.

The horse topped a steep hill, a place where Gwen could view the countryside for miles. Here and there lonely cabins were scattered about, lost in an ocean of trees.

"How much farther do we have to go?" Gwen asked after Christian had mounted the horse again. "Just asking."

"Not much farther, mayhap a mile or so. Let me tell you about the Chamberlains, and that should help pass the time. A few years ago, the British granted Daniel a large tract of land as payment for his army service. It was deep in winter when he first visited his land, so he named it Winiaken."

"Named it what?"

"Winiaken. It means 'snowy country' in the Lenape language. Daniel Chamberlain was a fur trader for several years, spent much time with the Indians. Traded with them, knows their language."

"I'm looking forward to meeting them." What a lie! Her mind worked furiously to come up with an explanation for her presence in the wilderness. And what would they think when they heard her speak? she wondered, too well aware how much her speech differed from Christian's. What story could she concoct?

Cresting another hill, Gwen looked at the view spread out before her, a vast panorama of hills, bushy trees, and a rich, green valley.

"Here we are," Christian said with a sweeping motion.

Nestled in the valley stood a large two-story house, its sandstone a mellow variegated gray in the late afternoon sunshine. Smoke drifted lazily from two brick chimneys topping its slate, gabled roof. Two multi-paned windows that reflected the sunlight presided over the front of the house, the second floor following the same pattern.

As the horse made his way gingerly down the rock-strewn hill, Gwen got a better look at the house and the enveloping fields where new corn sprouted in the rich, brown soil and grew to within a few yards of the house.

Weeping willows, a vegetable patch, and a flower garden happily shared the space closest to the house. The sweet, pungent fragrance of lilacs enchanted her, wafting on the springtime breeze. White fencing that seemed to stretch for miles enclosed this pleasant wilderness oasis. Despite her anxiety and fear of becoming more firmly entrenched in the past, Gwen thought the scene so lovely, it took her breath away.

Her worries returned to taunt her. What would the Chamberlains think when they saw her? More important, how could she explain her origins?

* * * *

"We don't see many strangers in these parts," Rebecca Chamberlain said after Christian made the introductions. Gwen saw the shocked looks Rebecca and Daniel threw her way and how their gazes assessed her apparel, but of course, they were too polite to make any comments. What kind of explanation could she give? Well, you see, I was at a restored village because I was having strange dreams about a cabin.

A collie padded into the large room, its sharp claws clicking on the wooden floor. After surveying all the company, the dog sniffed and licked Christian's hand. Gwen knelt to pet him while he beamed in ecstasy, gazing at her with its dark, soulful eyes.

"What's his name?" she asked as she smoothed her hand across his warm back and twisted her fingers in his glossy fur.

"Lumi," Rebecca answered. "Daniel gave him to me for Christmas several years ago." Suddenly, the dog jumped up against Gwen, pawing her bodice.

"Down!" Rebecca ordered. "Go lie down." Lumi promptly curled up by the fireplace, resting his head on his paws, then closed his eyes.

Wiping her hands on her dress, Gwen appraised her hosts while Rebecca and Daniel exchanged news with Christian. She figured Rebecca to be in her mid-twenties--not much older than she. Gwen admired the woman's clear, ivory skin and golden hair peeking out from under a white lace cap. Caught staring as Rebecca turned back to her, Gwen tried to focus on the woman's words.

"Are you from the east, Miss Emrys? Philadelphia, perhaps?" Rebecca asked.

"Call me Gwen," she replied, her mind running in a dozen different directions. How could she explain her circumstance?

"Uncle Christian!" A little girl of about five pounded down the stairs to the right of the entrance and wrapped her arms around Christian's legs. Another girl of two or three gripped the banister and toddled down behind her, sucking her thumb.

"Well, hello there, Bryony. How's my favorite little girl?" Christian picked the child up and ruffled her hair. "And the best little boy in the world!" he said while he set Bryony down and knelt beside the youngest Chamberlain.

Did Christian say "boy"? The kid was wearing a dress! But of course, that's how they dressed little boys long ago.

"Both of them as lively as ever," Daniel said with a warm look at the children. "Or Bryony, at least. Robert's a little quieter."

Thankful for the interruption, Gwen glanced around the first floor. She viewed the long hallway that led to another room at the back of the house--the kitchen, she supposed--and the spacious room to her left, just beyond the stairs. Two large rooms to her right spun off from the hall, but she could give them only a glance. How strange everything appeared, how quaint. No TV, no electric lights, no glossy magazines on a coffee table. No coffee table.

Everyone spoke much differently than she, Gwen noted with alarm, and "quaint" was the only word she could think of to describe their speech. What must they think of the way she talked?

Unable to believe her eyes, she stared around the rooms again. Conscious of appearing nosy, she returned her attention to the others.

Daniel stood as tall as Christian and was quite handsome, with his chestnut-colored hair and deep tan. His white linen shirt and dark blue breeches gave him a dignified air, making him seem more like a merchant than a farmer. She wouldn't be surprised if he held an important position around here.

Daniel turned to her. "Now, Miss Emrys, where did you say you hail from?"

"I didn't say," she declared, too well aware she could no longer postpone an explanation for her presence. Either tell the truth or tell a lie. Maybe she could compromise. "Well, you see, my parents are dead, and I lost all of my possessions in an ... uh, accident. I don't have any near relatives--"

"Oh, you poor dear!" Rebecca hugged her waist, leading her into the large room to their left where a wooden bench sat close to the fireplace. "Where are my manners! Pray sit down. You must be fatigued after your tedious journey from Christian's place." She looked around at the others. "I don't know why we're all standing. Let us sit and talk for a while until Molly has dinner ready. And that should be very soon," Rebecca added as a young girl appeared from the back room to set pewter plates on a long oaken table.

Trying to find a comfortable position on the hard-backed wooden bench, Gwen gave Rebecca an apologetic smile. "Here I am, interrupting someone's meal again."

"We're always happy to have guests. You must be hungry, if you've come from any great distance," Rebecca said, "so pray eat as much as you desire. And by the way, if you have no family or relatives in these parts, would you like to stay with us?--for as long as you like, of course."

"Thanks." Gwen let out a slow sigh of relief. "I think I'll accept your offer, and I do appreciate it."

Despite Rebecca's warm friendliness, Gwen realized her presence perplexed Rebecca, and yes, Daniel, too. Sooner or later--probably sooner--she'd have to give them an explanation for her appearance in this area. Just the same, she felt grateful for a place to stay.

Still, she dreaded the approaching meal with all these strange people, when there were bound to be questions about her background. Questions she couldn't answer.

* * * *

She needn't have worried, Gwen found later as everyone sat at a long oaken table, engaging in a spirited discussion of British indifference to the settlers' plight in the western part of the colony.

Bryony perched at the table, next to Rebecca. Robert sat in a wooden high chair--one Daniel had made, Rebecca proudly informed her--both of them eating small portions, adding an occasional giggle or comment. Robert banged his spoon on his tray, his mouth and cheeks plastered with food.

Rebecca wagged her finger at the children. "You are both much too noisy. Pray finish your meal so the grownups can talk amongst themselves. After you've cleaned your plates, you can go outside to play."

"Yes, mama," they said in unison.

Sipping her drink--a blend of whiskey, milk, and maple sugar--Gwen wondered what it was called. She studied Christian across the table, observing the grim set to his mouth, his sober countenance while he and Daniel talked of possible trouble with the Indians.

"'Struth, the British policy is short-sighted." Daniel set his fork down. "You'd think the British forces in North America would understand the importance of maintaining good relations with the Indians." He reached for a biscuit from a plate and broke it in half, then began to butter it. "I see trouble ahead."

"You have the right of it," Christian said. "I've heard the French are inciting the Indians, employing all their tricks to have the tribes overthrow the English so les francais can regain their forts. Let us hope we can keep the Lenapes and all the other tribes on our side, but we're not receiving much help from the provincial government."

Rebecca turned to Gwen. "Mayhap I should explain my own situation to our guest, and why we are concerned about the Indians, aside from safety, that is." She paused. "You see, Gwen, I was captured by the Indians--"

"No!"

Rebecca nodded. "'Tis true, captured when I was nine, my parents and younger brother killed." She drew a deep breath, her eyes clouding. "Captured again by another tribe several years later which treated me like one of their own. That's how I met my husband," she said, tossing an affectionate smile his way. "He bought me from the Indians and later we married."

Gwen looked from Rebecca to Daniel. "Just like a romance novel!"

"A romance novel?" The young mother frowned. "But you must understand why we are so worried about the tribes, especially the Lenape. I have many friends amongst the Lenapes. We pray there will be no more trouble between the Indians and the white people, as there has been in the past."

Well-versed in this period of American history, Gwen couldn't think about colonial politics now, not with all her other worries. Or maybe she didn't want to think about it, her only consideration to get back to her own time. While the men talked, her gaze swept the room. The walls were painted a deep red, a hue that gave the room a homey appearance. Her gaze shifted to a gleaming rifle--what a long barrel!--that hung from pegs above the stone fireplace.

"This must be a dull discussion for the ladies," Daniel said with a quick smile her way. "I heard of a new family that just built a house a few miles from here ... Byerly, I believe is the name. By chance, do you know 'em, Miss Emrys?"

"No, sir, I don't." Gwen took the last bite of her mashed turnips, stifling a grimace at its bitter taste. They must all think I live near here, she reflected. Well, I suppose I do, but in another dimension. Or at least, I didn't live in their time, but I do now. She gave a mental shake of her head, so confused about all that had happened to her yesterday and today. Maybe when I wake up tomorrow, I'll be back in my own time, she thought with more false optimism than hope of realization. On the edge of her consciousness, she heard the buzz of conversation around the table and the scrape of cutlery on pewter.

The room dimmed with the setting sun, and taper in hand, Molly slipped into the room and stood on a stepladder to light the candles of the brass candelabrum. After she completed her task, the candlelight cast a pale glow on the room, softening the harsh lines of oaken tables and chests and relieving the wooden floor's drab simplicity

. After lifting Robert from the high chair, Rebecca wiped his face off and gestured to Molly. "Please take the children outside to play. Be sure to bring them in before it becomes dark."

"Aye, ma'am."

Gwen closed her eyes and pressed her hand to her forehead. God, she prayed, please help me get through this night.

"You must be tired." Her brow wrinkled, Rebecca studied Gwen. "As soon as I put the children to bed later, I'll show you to your room and help you get settled."

Caught off guard, Gwen glanced up to see Rebecca's sympathetic look while she dimly heard the men talking, this time something about the market price for whiskey.

Gwen waved her hand. "Don't worry about me. I've found the discussion quite interesting." Even if she couldn't always follow the conversation.

"Oh, you know how men like to talk," Rebecca said with a fond look Daniel's way. He returned her expression with a warm smile, prompting Gwen to reflect that marriage now must be quite different from connubial bliss in her own time. And here she was, still a virgin at twenty-three and so disillusioned about men--were any good ones left?--she'd probably remain as pure as snow until she died.

Well, you can never tell what might hap--Gwen reached for her earthen mug as a sudden, eerie feeling drove every other thought from her mind. Shivers raced across her arms and legs. Gripping her cup handle, she stared around the table as the conversation went on about her, everyone else seemingly oblivious to her plight.

The French had an apt phrase for this sensation. Deja vu. Somehow, she knew she had sat at this same table and talked with these same people sometime in the past. Her gaze took in each person as she noted facial expressions, dress, and every gesture of her companions. Yes, she'd known all these people before. But why was she here now? Why? Why?

This couldn't be. There went her overactive imagination again. If she gave the feeling any thought she'd go crazy. God knew she had enough to deal with now. She would get back to her own people, Gwen vowed, determined to retrace her steps tomorrow and return to Christian's place, way before he even got up.

Why did she have these recollections from another time? She assumed a casual expression, not wanting anyone to catch her disorientation. She pushed her remaining food around on her plate, trying hard to act as if everything was normal.

Daniel drained his mug and set it on the table. "You'll stay here tonight, will you not?" he asked Christian. "You know you're always welcome."

Christian rested his fork on his plate and leaned back in his chair. "Thank you. I believe 'twould be best."

And I'll get up before anyone else, Gwen resolved. And find my way back home.

Chapter Three

After a restless night of troubling dreams, Gwen sluggishly awoke to silence and the smell of frying bacon. Staring around the room, she tried to get her bearings. She'd overslept--the very thing she'd resolved not to do--and she wanted to get an early start to look for her own house. With renewed determination, she slid out of bed, her bare feet touching the cold wooden floor. Better get a move on.

She slipped her borrowed nightgown off, then scrambled into a linsey dress--also borrowed--all the while struggling with her dilemma. How much longer would she have to stay in this wilderness? That question unanswered, she left the room and quietly closed the door behind her, so everyone would think she still slept.

She felt her way in the dark as she tiptoed down the stairs, running her hand along the smooth finish of the oaken handrail, then reached the first floor where the flickering candles in iron wall sconces provided a dim light down the hallway. Cautiously, she looked around, intending to leave the house unnoticed and head back to Christian's place, back to the oak tree where all her troubles had started. Never mind that Christian's house was miles away. She was in excellent physical shape, a long distance runner, had even climbed the Appalachian Trail.

Voices reached her from the room closest to the outside door. A glance into this room yesterday revealed it was Daniel's study, with a wide desk and book shelves. The sound of Christian's deep voice drew her closer, and she stopped short of the slightly open door.

"I don't know!" Christian boomed. "She came from out of nowhere. This strange lady appeared at my door ... no horse, no cart, no belongings. I tell you, Daniel, it's as if she dropped from the sky."

"Maybe she did," Daniel said with a laugh. "Your guardian angel."

"I need her for a guardian angel like I need a rattlesnake bite."

Well! Gwen curled her fingers into tight fists. How she wished she could tell Dr. Norgard she didn't need him, either. She leaned closer to the door, afraid she might miss something.

"She had no documents with her?" Daniel asked.

"Documents? She had naught with her. Anyway, how many people carry documents with 'em wherever they go?"

"Aye, that is so, but possibly she's an escaped indentured servant. If she were recently freed, she'd have proof of having served her indenture."

"Daniel! Does she look or sound like a servant?"

"Can't always tell," Daniel said. "You've met Edward Horton, haven't you? He was an aristocrat who came here as an indentured servant to escape his gaming debts in England."

"Still...." Christian paused. "Have you considered she might be a French spy?"

"A spy for the frogs? I'll admit her speech is peculiar, but she has no French accent. What makes you think she's a spy?"

"She had a diagram of Fort Pitt on her person, and--"

"A diagram! Surely that is damning evidence, but she doesn't sound French."

"She doesn't have to be French," Christian said. "Look at all the Englishmen--and women--who'd sell their souls for a few pounds."

"Then you must turn her over to the authorities at Fort Pitt," Daniel said. "They'll know how to deal with her."

"I'm willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, for now, at least," Christian said. "Like you, I loathe treason, but you know what her fate will be if she's found guilty ... hanged, drawn, and quartered, or burned at the stake."

Gwen drew a deep breath, running shaky fingers down her thighs. How could she prove her innocence? She pressed her fist to her dry mouth. God, how?

"Aye, you have a point there," Daniel said. "The British do employ dire punishments for traitors. But let's not forget--the French will do anything to reclaim their holdings in America. I wouldn't put it past 'em to use a woman to gain information."

"Let us wait and see," Christian said. "There may be a perfectly innocent explanation for her possession of the diagram. I'll admit I'm having trouble understanding her interest in the fort. Believe me, I'll not wait forever to find out. 'Tis difficult to realize she may be serving the French."

"Women have oftimes served as spies," Daniel said. "I'll keep a close watch on her. You, too. Now, if I'm not mistaken, breakfast is about ready. We'll talk on this again soon."

Gwen spun away from the door and scooted back up the stairs, then slowly descended, as if she'd just risen. She'd have to leave for her search after breakfast and make sure no one followed her. So the good doctor thought she was a French spy. After today, he wouldn't have to think about her at all, because she'd be out of his life forever ... if she were lucky.

And luck had better be with her. Otherwise ... she refused to consider the consequences.

* * * *

"The little 'uns is sick, too," Simon Fletcher told Christian several hours later, "and my wife," he added.

Christian glanced across the cramped room of Simon's log house. In the corner, a woman lay on the floor with three young children on a worn, dirty blanket. His gaze swung back to the settler, noting the dark blotches on the man's bony frame, the rotting teeth, all the while trying to ignore the man's fetid breath.

The smell of rancid bacon clung to the walls. The place reeked of rotten food and spoiled milk. Rats must be a problem, too, Christian thought as he observed a crudely-printed note in a corner telling the rats to leave the house and go bother the Beams.

"Didn't I tell you on my last visit you should feed your family green vegetables?" Christian asked.

"Vegetables! We eat potatoes and turnips, and that's all the vegetables I have room to grow."

"I said green vegetables. That's what you need to cure your scurvy. Strawberries do well in this soil, too. Why don't you grow 'em?"

"Now you're talkin' silly, Doctor. Ain't got no room on my land for such foolish things as strawberries. I need all the space for crops that make money, like rye. Soon's I get the chance, I'm gonna turn my rye crop into whiskey, and look at the money I'll get on the market for that." He snorted. "Strawberries!"

"You and your family will never get better unless you eat a proper diet. You need--"

"Meat! We gets meat from all the animals in the woods." Simon swayed on his feet and slumped against the wall as he grabbed a chair back for balance.

"Meat won't cure the affliction you and your family suffer from," Christian said, keeping a careful eye on the farmer, afraid he'd fall. "If you won't help yourself, won't you at least think of your wife and children? I can't perform miracles."

"This sickness has somethin' ta do with what we eat?"

"What have I been saying!" Christian retreated a few paces to escape the man's spittle. He threw another sympathetic glance at the wife and children who moaned listlessly on the blanket. "I can bring you kale from my own garden on my next visit here. Mayhap I can get you lemons or oranges whenever I go to the trading post, although they are oftimes difficult to come by."

"Ain't got no money for such foolishness."

Christian slammed his fist on the table, rattling a week's accumulation of dirty dishes. "This so-called foolishness will cure you and your family. I never saw such pig-headed obstinance or willful ignorance in my life. Good God, man, what does it take to make you understand?"

He pointed a finger at him. "If you don't care about your own health, that's your business. But I'll be damned if I'll see your wife and children suffer. When I return in a few days, I want to see an improvement in your family's diet." He paused, turning to leave. "And if you decide to follow my advice for your own sake, so much the better."

He strode toward the door and flung it open, then stepped outside, blinking his eyes in the bright sunshine. The weather had turned warmer within the past few hours, the trees and fields rich with springtime growth. Wasting no time, Christian mounted his horse and headed along the narrow forest path.

After a ride of several miles through the dark trees and undergrowth, he came to another log house, larger and more substantial than most, the surrounding acres well-cultivated with a large variety of newly-planted crops. He tied the reins to an oak branch, then strode toward the front door.

A pretty girl of about eighteen with golden skin and raven hair greeted him. "Christian! This is a pleasant surprise. What brings you here today? Come in, come in!"

Stepping inside, Christian smiled at Leah in her trim gray dress. "A man likes to visit a pretty lady now and then." A lady who has remained unmarried, his confused thoughts continued, asking himself why some fortunate man hadn't claimed her. His glance took in the neat common room, the well-ordered fireplace, the handsome oaken table and chairs. The aroma of baking bread rose from the oven, blending with the rich scent of roasting turkey.

Blushing, Leah swept a lock of hair back from her forehead. "Would you like tea?" She indicated for him to sit at a long trestle table while she spoke in a rush. "Pa went to the woods to shoot game, and Ma took a loaf of fresh bread to Agnes Morrell. Poor woman. She needs help since her husband died, and suffering from the ague, too."

"I shall be sure to see her on my way back." He rested his elbow on the table, then stretched his booted feet out, thankful to sit in a chair after hours in the saddle. "Possibly I can help cure her ague. And that reminds me. The Fletchers all suffer from the scurvy. Do you suppose you could spare your servant girl to help them clean up and such? Only for a day or two."

"Yes, of course." Leah brushed her hand across her apron. "Did you say you'd like tea?"

"I didn't say, but yes, I would, Leah." He took a long look at the young woman, wondering why she didn't hold the same attraction for him she once did. Why did a young lady with tawny hair and blue-green eyes intrude on his thoughts? Gwen Emrys meant nothing to him. He didn't even know where she came from. And he wondered if she knew where she came from.

"Here we are." Leah set two earthenware cups of hot tea on the table and took a chair opposite him. Fingering a lappet of her mobcap, she gave him a hesitant look. "Heard you had a visitor t'other day," she said in a low voice.

"Well, well. How news gets around. What, exactly, did you hear, and from whom did you hear it?"

"Rachel Beam saw you when she was gathering herbs near the meadow. Said you had a strange lady on a horse. Who is she, Christian, and where is she from?"

Christian took a slow sip of tea. He and Leah had been friends since childhood, so he forgave her inquisitiveness. "You want to know the truth, Leah? I don't know where she's from. Says her name is Gwendolyn Emrys, but her speech is foreign--"

"Foreign? You mean French?"

"Nay, that's the strange thing about her. I cannot place her speech. She gave me a fanciful story about being in a restored village, whatever that means. So where is she from?" Christian lifted his hands in a futile gesture. "I don't know."

Leah raised the cup to her mouth. "She sounds truly odd."

"Aye, but more than that. I think there's something she's hiding, something suspicious, and I intend to find out." Christian set his cup down and grinned in warm companionability. "Why are we discussing strange ladies? Pray tell me, you'll attend the frolic at the Chamberlains, won't you? 'Tis only a few weeks away."

Leah's face broke into a smile. "I'm looking forward to it. Are you going?"

"But of course." Christian gave her a steady look, his words full of promise. "And I want to dance all night with the prettiest lady there."

* * * *

She should have known this was a stupid idea. Ignoring Christian's admonition about snakes, Gwen sat on a large rock in a meadow that bordered the Youghiogheny River. She said the syllables to herself. Yock-a-gan-y: "stream that runs a roundabout course." Covered with scratches, her feet tired and sore, she stared across the river where budding oaks and hickories clustered on the far bank. The tree-dotted hills stretched back as far as she could see, crowned by low-lying cumulus clouds. Gwen watched the twists and turns of the river as the foaming waters rushed over rocks and boulders.

Wearing the moccasins Rebecca had lent her, since her sandals were too flimsy for a walk in the woods, she'd hiked for miles back to Christian's, wasting two hours when she'd lost the trail. Finally reaching her destination, a desperate touch to the oak tree had yielded no results. Nichts, zilch, nada.

If she followed the river, would it lead her home? Suddenly aware the gushing water muted every other sound, she turned her head in all directions, afraid a wolf or bear might attack from behind.

Now, Christian and Daniel would think she'd gone to Fort Pitt to glean military information for the French. A sick feeling settled in her stomach, thoughts of the English punishments for treason a constant worry. She ran trembling fingers through her hair, her stomach churning with fear. How could she prove her innocence?

She swatted at a mosquito that had been pestering her for the past fifteen minutes ... and missed. After removing her shoes, she left the dubious comfort of the rock and hiked her dress up to splash across the river's shallow edge, heading for a boulder where she could sit and let the cool water bubble over her aching feet. She winced at the rock-strewn river bottom but found the ice-cold water refreshing, just the same. The cool breeze bathed her face and lifted her hair from her shoulders, giving her a brief respite from her troubles.

So what am I going to do now? she fretted as she splashed her feet in the water. Where else shall I look?

The sun rose higher in a brilliant blue sky, reflecting on the river in silvery flashes. Sighing with exhaustion, she decided she'd better return, although she hurt in every muscle. She wasn't looking forward to walking the remainder of the way. She was a little out of shape, she realized now, reminding herself to go running more often.

Determined to forget her soreness, she struggled to rise and splashed back across the river, her hem dripping with water.

Fears mounting, she wrung her hands. Would she ever get back home?

Chapter Four

Twisting and turning her head, Gwen glanced around the meadow at all the people who'd gathered for the church service. Hard to believe that only last week, she'd been a schoolteacher in the twenty-first century, a time when cars, dryers, and dishwashers were taken for granted.

Along with the Chamberlains and Molly, she had joined the other settlers in this large sunlit clearing, a peaceful place where everyone made themselves as comfortable as possible on sawed-off logs serving as pews. Worn patches on the grass gave evidence of constant trampling by faithful, steady churchgoers.

After one more glance at all the settlers, she turned to Molly. "Every woman here is dressed in blue," she said in surprise.

"We all wear blue on Sunday," Molly said with a why-didn't-you-know-that expression.

"How come?"

Molly shrugged. "Don't know. It's just the color for Sunday."

"Oh."

She craned her neck and saw Christian on a log several rows ahead of her, to her right. He looked drop-dead gorgeous in his white shirt and black breeches, his burnished skin glowing in the bright sunshine. Those twenty-first century men with their tight jeans had nothing on him. As if aware of her scrutiny, he looked behind him and smiled at her.

For some inexplicable reason, her heart beat a little faster.

Perched on one of the hard, backless logs, Gwen twisted her fingers in her lap. How would she ever manage if she had to live in this time for the rest of her life, a time without modern dentistry or indoor plumbing, or even a blow dryer? One way or another, she'd escape this time and place. So she'd struck out on her first attempt to return to her own time. She'd try and try again.

How could women spend their time sewing, cleaning, baking, washing clothes and all the other jobs that demanded every spare minute of their time? Only yesterday, she and Rebecca had spent hours mending clothes and hemming dresses for the children, a time-consuming, monotonous job. But it was her way of repaying Rebecca and Daniel for all they'd done for her, even though she wished she could do more.

This Sunday morning, she'd dressed simply in her borrowed blue calico dress and plain leather shoes. A simple straw hat--also borrowed--topped her head. No frills or fripperies allowed on this solemn day.

Gwen tried hard to forget her worries, tried to convince herself that Christian wouldn't seriously consider her a spy. No, all she had to do was prove she'd come from the future. Would he believe her? Not a chance!

All talk ceased when the minister's voice boomed over the meadow. He doesn't even need a microphone, Gwen thought. In his black suit and pristine white shirt, he looked as she'd imagined an eighteenth-century preacher would look, stern and uncompromising.

"My sermon today is from the Book of Joel," he intoned, his steely glance moving from one congregant to another. Long gray hair and dark piercing eyes reminded Gwen of a painting she'd seen of Moses coming down from the mount.

"'Alas for the day! For the day of the Lord is at hand, and as a destruction from the Almighty shall it come.'"

Babies whimpered in their mothers' arms and young children grew restless while the Reverend Endicott preached on the penalty for sin. Here and there mothers, their bodices unlaced, breast-fed their babies, then set them on their shoulders to burp them. Men got up from the log pews to pace and ease their aching backs, talking quietly among themselves.

"'Blow ye the trumpet in Zion, and sound an alarm in my holy mountain....'"

Her bottom numb from sitting on the hard log, Gwen changed her position. How much longer would this sermon last? She glanced at her wrist, then remembered her watch languished at a jewelry store for repair, back in her own time. Damn!

She sneaked a look at Christian and saw an expression of stoic endurance on his face. Same here, Christian!

"Papa!" Robert cried as he jumped up and down on Daniel's knees. "Let us go home, Papa."

"Shh, Robert." With Robert in his arms, Daniel got up from his seat and walked back and forth between rows, speaking quiet words to the fidgety child. Gwen rose slightly and gave Daniel a questioning look, willing to hold Robert if Daniel wanted her to, but he merely smiled and shook his head. No doubt he's used to this, she realized as she settled back down on the log. The sermon ended, and the minister closed the Bible to lead the congregation in prayer.

Thank goodness that's over, Gwen mused, a bit ashamed of her irreverence. Boy, was she hungry after that long sermon. Now they could all eat and return to Winiaken. Grabbing the picnic basket, she followed the Chamberlains to a grassy spot where they'd rest and have lunch. Everyone else got up from the logs to stretch sore muscles and chat with their neighbors.

Byrony reached for her hand, a sweet smile on her face. "Come with me, Gwen. You'll sit with us, won't you?"

She bent low to hug the little girl. "Of course! I wouldn't want to sit with anyone else." Robert traipsed on ahead, clutching his father's hand. Neighbors greeted them along the way, a questioning look on their faces when they observed Gwen.

"We have a friend staying with us." After introductions, Rebecca offered the same explanation to everyone, and it seemed to satisfy even the most curious.

Kneeling on the cold, dewy grass, Gwen helped Rebecca unpack the basket while Daniel took the children by the hand and walked them over to the stream. All around her, others unpacked baskets, giving her hesitant smiles as they caught her gaze on them.

Rebecca drew wooden bowls from the basket and set them on the ground. "Christian looks nice today, does he not?" she remarked with a watchful glance at Gwen. "Quite the proper gentleman, I should say."

"Definitely." 'Quite the proper gentleman' was not how Gwen would describe him. Sexy was more like it.

Well, guess who! Gwen looked up and saw Christian approach, making her wonder if he could read her mind. Too bad if he could, because day after day, he dominated her thoughts, more than she wanted to admit.

He crouched down beside them, flashing them both a friendly smile. "'Tisn't every day that a man has the opportunity to see two of the prettiest ladies around at the same time."

Relief flooded her. Christian didn't appear angry or suspicious with her, so maybe he'd forgotten his doubts. She could hope, anyway.

"And 'tisn't every day we get compliments from such a fine gentleman," Rebecca said while Gwen kept silent, aware she was behaving like an awkward schoolgirl. "You will ride home with us and join us for the evening meal, will you not?" Rebecca asked. "You know how we enjoy your company."

"If you're sure 'tis no trouble," he said with a cautious look in Gwen's direction. Even in the sunlight, his eyes appeared dark and unreadable. She tried to guess what was going through his mind. Was he thinking of her? In your dreams! Like a magnet, his long sexy eyelashes drew her gaze. Odd how something that might be considered an admirable feminine trait could look so sensual on a man.

"We will see you then after the service," Rebecca said to Christian, snapping Gwen out of her reverie.

"Indeed." Christian stood. "I thank you for the invitation and the kind words. It seems I am much in demand today, because the Conways asked me to join them, so if you will excuse me?" he said with a small bow.

"'Bye," Gwen managed to say to his retreating back.

Christian turned around and gave her a slight wave, then walked on in his easy stride. Chagrined at her gaucherie, she felt the blood rise in her cheeks, her hands trembling as she set the knives and forks on the ground.

Rebecca motioned Daniel and the children over, which gave Gwen a chance to consider her adolescent behavior. It's not as if I'm a teenager on my first date, she mused as she forked a slice of paper-thin ham and set it on her plate. Biting into the ham, she spotted Christian on the ground about twenty yards away, talking to a slender, pretty woman with hair as dark as his. He must have said something funny because she threw back her head and laughed, the sound low and musical.

A stab of jealousy twisted inside her, but she scolded herself for such a foolish reaction. Why should she care whom he spent his time with? The man meant nothing to her, and if ever she escaped this crazy time and place, she'd never see him again. She paused, fork in hand. Why should that prospect bother her? Daniel's and Rebecca's low-voiced comments and the children's chatter became background noises she scarcely noticed. Tired of speculation about Christian, she could hardly wait to finish the meal and get back to Winiaken.

With her last bite of corn pone, Gwen stood and brushed the crumbs from her dress. About to call the children's attention to a squirrel scrambling up a tree, she looked around at the other settlers, her mouth falling open in astonishment. Everyone was returning to their seats!

"I don't understand," she whispered to Rebecca in a hurried aside as they walked to the stream to rinse off their dishes. "I thought we went home now."

Bowls in hand, Rebecca stared at her. "But surely you knew. The minister always gives another sermon after lunch."

"Oh." Grin and bear it, Gwen thought, swishing the pewter dishes in the stream.

Quiet had descended on the congregation again, the people settled on the logs once more to hear the minister preach further on the wages of sin.

In no time, the men had resumed their pacing, hands pressed to their sore backs. Babies whimpered and cried, sternly hushed by their long-suffering mothers. A few rows ahead of her, Rachel Beam tried to pacify a cranky baby while her two older children sat on the ground, clinging to Rachel's skirt. Her husband--the jerk!--had fallen asleep on the log, his head bent forward until it looked as if he'd topple to the ground.

Sympathy welled up inside Gwen. Why should Rachel have to manage the baby and her two other children while her scumbag husband slept through the endless sermon? Without a second thought, she sprang from her seat and headed down the rows, ignoring the startled looks and whispered comments.

Arms outstretched, Gwen approached the beleaguered woman. "Let me take the baby," she whispered.

Rachel stared open-mouthed at her.

Absolute silence fell over the assembly, all eyes on Gwen.

"Madam, is something amiss?"

Gwen spun around to face the minister. "No, reverend, just trying to help." Mouthing a "thank you", Rachel handed her the baby. Gwen hustled back to her seat, the baby held close to her chest. She passed Christian along the way, who threw her a hasty smile of approval.

The minister continued with his sermon. "Word has reached me that there is one amongst you who wants to inoculate these innocent, God-fearing people against the smallpox." His penetrating stare covered the congregation, and his gaze drifted from one person to the next, as if accusing every one of them.

Alarm bells rang inside Gwen's head while she patted the slobbering baby on her shoulder. Christian. Who else would the minister be talking about?

"--one who would commit this dastardly act. Sinful!" He pounded on the Bible. "Wicked! To interfere with God's wondrous plan for mankind...."

Gwen exchanged a look with Daniel, who shrugged and rolled his eyes. She looked over to see Christian with his arms folded across his chest, a defiant expression on his face.

The shoulder of her dress became soaking wet from the baby's slobbering, and she shifted the baby to her other shoulder while she considered the minister's senseless remarks. Now Christian would probably never attend another service. As it was, she respected him for sticking it out. Anyone else would have gotten up and left.

* * * *

"What thought you on the sermon?" Daniel asked Christian during the evening meal. "I mean about smallpox inoculation."

Christian set his fork down and took a swallow of beer before answering. "I'm used to this kind of thinking. 'Tis how people are. However, the sermon will make it that much more difficult when I attempt to inoculate these innocent, God-fearing people," he said with a mocking smile.

That issue settled, they discussed neighbors and politics, attempting to draw Gwen into the conversation.

"Will you excuse me, please," Gwen said, needing time alone. Besides, she had to escape Christian's disturbing presence. She headed outside, telling herself she'd be better off if she kept her distance from him. No entanglements for her when she left this life in the eighteenth century to go back to her world in the twenty-first ... if she got back to her own world.

The sun was sinking below the horizon, tinting the sky with a lavender glow, the air crisp and dry. Gwen strolled among the fragrant lilacs and the wide oak tree, reminders of home. She watched the flight of a hawk, recalling Christian's reaction to the sermon during supper. Well, Christian certainly had a mature attitude, but he's got his work cut out if he--

"Did you find it?"

Gwen swung around and saw Christian approach, his face a shadowy enigma in the evening twilight. Her hands stiffly held at her sides, she gave him a steady look, not wanting him to see the heart-stopping effect he had on her.

"Find what?"

"Your house." Christian stepped closer, only a couple of yards separating them. He stopped to lean against the wide oak tree, tossing her a questioning glance. "You said you intended to look for it." Arms folded across his chest, booted feet spread apart, he had the look of a conquering hero.

"Obviously, I didn't find it, or I wouldn't still be here."

"The day after you first met the Chamberlains, you left this house without a word," Christian said. "They were very worried about you, to say the least. So where did you go?" The wind had picked up, rippling his linen shirt and ruffling his hair. His eyes seemed to pierce her with suspicion, as if she were on trial. "You must have gone somewhere."

"Shall I tell you in one sentence, or do you want a minute-by-minute account of my activities?"

"Let's dismiss the sarcasm, shall we? Listen, Miss Emrys--"

"Gwen," she corrected. She would stay calm, even though she was seething. It was none of his business where she went.

"Miss Emrys, you are walking on thin ice, you know. Best you not strain my credulity any more than you already have. You have yet to tell us where you're from--"

"I told you about the restored village!"

He nodded in scornful acquiescence. "Ah, yes, the restored village, whatever that means. You speak in riddles."

A gradual darkness settled over the valley, a quarter moon and millions of stars glittering in a sapphire sky. Stars! She couldn't remember seeing so many.

She drew a deep breath. "You'll just have to believe me."

"I choose not to." Christian paused. "Fort Pitt," he stated, catching her by surprise. "Does that name mean anything to you?"

"Yeah, Pittsburgh. You asked me the same question the first time we met."

"Fort Pitt." He stepped closer. "A British fort. Did you go there the day you disappeared?"

"What do I care about Fort Pitt?"

He took another step closer, his dark gaze meeting hers. "A British fort."

"I don't care if it's a British fort or a Belgian fort or even a Nigerian one. I don't know what I can say or do to convince you, but I am not a spy for France."

"Spy?" He stared at her. "Where did you get that idea?"

She licked her lips. "I heard you and Daniel talking about me the morning after my arrival at the Chamberlains."

"Ah, eavesdropping." He frowned. "Then what are you? Who are you?"

She opened her arms wide in a helpless gesture. "I'm a woman who got sent back to another time. I don't know why!"

"And you expect me to believe that?"

"I don't care what you believe. It's the truth!"

* * * *

Deadly arrows whizzed across the stone ramparts of the fort. Red-coated soldiers

fired from the earthen parapet, their muskets booming. War whoops and blood-chilling screams rang from the woods while women and children inside the fort cowered in terror. A wounded soldier convulsed on the ground, moaning in agony as a doctor knelt beside him to tend to his bleeding stomach. A young woman stood helpless, paralyzed with fear. Too late, she saw the arrow headed her way. Motionless with shock, she stared unbelieving and--

Gwen bolted upright in bed. Her heart pounded, every breath an effort. Perspiration dampened her nightgown as she agonized over the meaning of her dream. Now everything became clear. Now she knew why she'd traveled back to 1762. A short time in the future, the Indians would unite under a single chief in an attempt to overthrow the British and drive them from the North American continent. Spreading terror throughout the land, they'd capture many forts, killing the white inhabitants or taking them prisoner.

Another truth exploded in her mind. She would lose her life in the rebellion.

Christian, too.

Chapter Five

She would die within the year.

Wide awake, Gwen stared at the ceiling, agonizing over her fate. Why had she been sent back if it were just to be killed? No, there had to be another reason for her trip through time. She tightened her jaw with resolve. She would not let herself get killed! No way! She hadn't made the trip to the eighteenth century to lose her life or to see Christian killed. She'd never retreated from a challenge before, and she didn't intend to now.

No more attempts to return to her own time, no more denying her destiny. There went all her plans for a little peace and serenity in her life, because this is where and when she must stay. She must learn to live in the eighteenth century, think and act like a settler in the wilderness, and never, ever, look back. You don't have much choice, she fretted as she turned onto her side and pulled the covers up to her chin.

In the nighttime stillness, she squeezed her eyes shut, and for the first time since her journey to the eighteenth century, tears slid down her cheeks.

Sighing, she opened her eyes again and turned onto her back, her gaze covering every object in her bedroom--the small chest of drawers, her bedside table with the oil lamp, the washstand with the basin atop it. A light breeze blew through the open window, fluttering the lace curtains. Thankful she had a room of her own, she realized things could be a lot worse. What if she'd returned as an indentured servant or a homeless person?

Impossible desires and firm resolutions warred inside her, preventing further sleep. She drew her knees up and stared out the window as she waited for the dawn.

* * * *

"You'll need material for dresses," Rebecca said after breakfast while she sat in the Windsor chair and read the Pennsylvania Gazette. The sunlight streamed through the open window to light the room with an amber glow, bringing all the quaint furnishings into focus. "Christian is going to the trading post at Fort Pitt to collect sundry supplies he ordered, and he always stops by here first. Would you like to go with him?"

"Oh!" Mending a tear in one of Bryony's dresses, Gwen looked up in surprise, wondering if she'd have to spend the rest of her life performing these tiresome tasks. She gathered her thoughts in the common room where Lumi lay at her feet, paws twitching in his sleep.

Groggy from her sleepless night, she brought her mind back to the present and took a careful stitch in the linsey. "I don't have any money. How can I pay for anything? I sure would enjoy the trip, though," she quickly added as she glanced up from her sewing. Just she and Christian, alone for most of the day.

Rebecca folded the newspaper and set it on the table. "Pray don't worry about payment for now. We have good credit at the trading post, and besides, Daniel has performed many services for the proprietors." Rebecca smiled. "Oh, and don't forget the frolic we're having next week." She nodded at the tan linsey dress Gwen wore. "You'll want to wear something pretty when you meet all of your neighbors, I doubt not."

After one wry look at her drab dress with its mended and worn spots, its frayed hem, she exchanged a smile of mutual understanding with Rebecca. The only other one she owned was the blue calico dress she'd worn to the church service, and of course, the slinky rayon one from her own time. A new ensemble or two would be nice, especially since this one was so itchy, she thought as she resisted the urge to scratch. She cut the thread from Bryony's frock and set it on the table, then stood and picked the lint from her dress.

Rebecca rose from her chair, holding the lace curtains back to look out the front window. "I believe I hear the children. Now that Molly has returned, she can pack a repast for you and Christian. 'Twill take several hours to ride to Fort Pitt and back," she explained with a glance at the lantern shelf clock. "Christian should be by soon, so best you get ready."

"Okay--all right," Gwen corrected herself, "but let me say one thing before I go to my room. You and your husband have been very kind to me, Mistress Chamberlain. I don't know how I'll ever repay you--"

"Please call me Rebecca. And we're happy to have you, Gwen. Truly we are."

"I appreciate that, but I'd like to repay you some way. I--no, let me finish. I know how busy you are, so maybe you don't have time to teach Bryony to read. I'd be happy to teach her to read and write and any other children around here who'd like to learn."

Rebecca gave her a grateful smile. "Why, how nice of you to consider that. Most of the other children live far away, so distance may be a problem. Their parents might not have the spare time to bring 'em." She tapped her fingers on the oak table. "We shall see what we can do."

"Something to think about, anyway," Gwen said before she headed for the stairs to get ready for the trip to Fort Pitt. Now, if she only had her MasterCard.

* * * *

Christian twisted around in his saddle as they crossed a drawbridge and entered the town. "How d'you like it?"

Gwen forced a smile. "Well, it's different." What an ugly place, she mused, riding past the most humongous fort she could imagine. She'd ridden sidesaddle, an awkward way to ride, but she'd have to get used to it. A babble of voices filled the air, soldiers, traders, women, and children all talking in a variety of dialects, gossiping and calling to friends. Everywhere she looked, hawkers and farmers' wives sold their wares. Fruits, vegetables, and plucked chickens dangled from their hands as they shouted above the din. She and Christian made their way carefully among the crowd, easing their horses past the many villagers.

Gwen slanted a look at Christian, admiring the way he rode his horse, tall and upright, his breeches stretched taut across his muscular thighs.

"Let us stop here. 'Tis too crowded to ride." Christian slid from his horse, then reached for her, his strong hands lingering at her waist. An intense expression came over his face as he set her down, as if he wanted to kiss her.

Imperceptibly, she leaned toward him, wondering what his kiss would be like. They gazed into each other's eyes for countless seconds, their surroundings forgotten. Christian raised a tentative hand and brushed a lock of hair from her face, his fingers caressing her cheek.

His mount neighed, ending the special moment between them. With a sigh, he turned away to secure the horses to a hitching post.

The delicious aroma of baking bread from the fort ovens drifted in the air, an uncomfortable reminder to Gwen that it would be hours before they'd eat. Her stomach grumbled. Christian must be used to these long trips, she thought, but she sure wasn't.

An eerie feeling swept over her as she observed the fort. Her dream of the attack on this fortress returned to haunt her--the deadly arrows, the hideous screams from the woods. She suppressed a shudder. The siege will happen later, that much she knew. Rather than worry about the coming attack, it would cheer her more if she remembered what the area looked like in her own time, with its busy streets, cars, and glistening skyscrapers.

But she couldn't erase the troubling visions. She'd always hated violence. Even the sight of blood made her feel faint. The memory of her parents' terrible death still tormented her, often keeping her awake at night. Now to think what she'd have to endure here when the Indian troubles started, well, she didn't want to think about it.

She stared all around her, turning her head from side to side, her gaze absorbing the ramshackle houses on the outskirts of the fort, the trading posts, the taverns, and the blacksmith's shop. A high masonry wall blocked the view of the beautiful Allegheny River, leaving her with an ugly spectacle of dirty streets and primitive structures. She'd give anything to get back to her own city, her own time.

Christian made a wide sweep of his arm. "They call this town Pittsburgh now. It's under martial law."

"Martial law?"

"True." He indicated a tavern about ten yards to their right. "You can't open a trading post or a tavern or even build a house without permission of the fort's commandant." Gwen took another look at the stone ramparts of the fort, her weird sensation returning full blast. A shiver raced down her back.

"Is something amiss?" he asked with a thoughtful frown.

"Oh!" She smiled with false cheerfulness. "I'm just so impressed with all that I see here ... the fort and everything."

She removed the bonnet Rebecca had lent her, a lovely confection of white straw, pink flowers, and a wide blue ribbon on the crown. She shook the dust from the crown, then set it on her head again, adjusting the angle. More dirt had settled in the folds of her dress, and she brushed the sleeves and skirt, sending up a cloud that made her sneeze.

"When is this place going to get paved streets?" Gwen asked with a final sneeze.

"Paved streets?" Christian looked baffled. "Not for a long time, I shouldn't think."

Just as she'd figured.

"We have several trading posts here." He gestured toward the wooden huts along the Monongahela waterfront. "I doubt not it will take but a short while to see about the medicaments I ordered, but you might as well look around as long as you wish. I'll come back for you later, since I have business at the fort." He withdrew a watch from a small pouch at his waist to check the time. "That should give you ample time to make whatever purchases you need."

"What a nice watch." She bent closer for a look, their fingers touching. She spoke quickly. "You must be proud of it."

"My timepiece? Indeed, I am proud of it. A doctor on the staff in Philadelphia gave it to me when I completed my training there. Will one o'clock be agreeable to meet me again?"

Without thinking, she checked her wrist, then remembered once more her watch still languished somewhere in the twenty-first century. It was a Christmas gift from her parents years ago, and she'd never see it again. "I don't have a watch," she said, swallowing hard.

"The proprietor will know the time, I doubt not." He clicked his watch shut and tucked it back in the pouch, then ushered her toward the open door. "Shall we go in?"

She gave the trading post a disappointing glance. "Are there any other stores besides this one?"

"Other trading posts, as you can see," he said with an expansive gesture, "but Daniel and I always buy our supplies from this one. It has a wide variety of goods, I assure you."

Christian was on target about one thing, Gwen mused as they entered Levy and Franks. Maybe the trading post wasn't very fancy, but it did have a variety of goods that crowded the shelves and spilled from the counters. Everything appeared quite crude, except for a few adornments such as beads that peeked out from the shelves, along with mirrors--looking glasses, she mentally corrected--and buttons, buttons, buttons, hundreds of them. It sure wasn't Saks Fifth Avenue, but it would have to do.

Observing several bolts of cloth on the shelves, she considered that a good place to start, as Christian had suggested. Rebecca had given her a list of items to buy--needles and thread, a cake of lavender soap, tobacco for Daniel, among other things--plenty to keep her busy for a while.

"Ah, Dr. Norgard." The proprietor greeted them from behind the counter, smiling at Gwen. "You've captured another customer for me, I see."

Christian grinned. "You know how ladies love to shop."

Gwen silently fumed. Male chauvinist!

After making the introductions, Christian leaned against the counter. "About those medicaments I ordered...."

"Indeed, sir. I have the opium, aye, and the henbane, too. Also, the other medicaments."

"Very good, Mr. Davenport." Christian tapped his knuckles on the counter, his gaze covering the room. "I'll be back in an hour to collect my things, and that should give Miss Emrys ample time to select her purchases." With a brief smile in her direction, he left for the fort.

"Take as long as you want, Miss Emrys," Mr. Davenport said as he hurried to help another customer, "and you may examine anything on the counters or the shelves."

She headed for the fabrics. "Right, thanks."

Now that's pretty material, she mused, fingering a bolt of white calico printed with tiny red rosebuds and green vines, the fabric tucked between a length of blue linen and striped muslin. She ran her hand over the smooth cloth, imagining a dress made from the fabric, with lace around the neck, if possible. Colorful glass beads sparkled from one of the shelves, and glittering brooches nestled beside them.

She paused, her hand lingering on a pair of blue glass earrings. Christian had said he had business to tend to at the fort. Might that "business" have something to do with her? Checking up on her "spying", no doubt? She shuddered, afraid to dwell on his suspicions.

* * * *

Surrounded by budding apple trees in the King's Garden--a grassy park north of Fort Pitt--Gwen enjoyed her midday meal with Christian. A light breeze blew across the Allegheny, while sunlight played on the rippling waters of the river. In the midst of such a beautiful ambience, Gwen resolved to act pleasant and not disagree or argue with Christian. She'd benefit more if she gained his confidence. Possibly then she could convince him she really had come from the twenty-first century, that she really could see things that would happen in his future. Her future, too, come to think of it.

Absently plucking the grass, she gave him a sidelong glance. "Are you going to the frolic at the Chamberlains?"

After a long swallow of cider, he set the mug on the ground. "I intend to, if nothing interferes. 'Twould be nice if we could have frolics more often. They're always gay affairs."

"Gay?"

He tore off a piece of rye and Injun bread. "Of course. You know, music and dancing. Everyone has a good time." Biting into the bread, he looked at her as if she had a room temperature I.Q.

"Oh. Gay. Yes, I see." She munched on a piece of cheese, keeping a close eye on him. She liked to watch his hand movements--those strong, expressive fingers--and dared to imagine those hands touching her, caressing her. Fanciful visions warmed her face, and fearing he'd sense her feelings, she returned to her meal. A few moments of silence stretched between them while Christian opened and closed his mouth, looking agitated.

He nodded toward the fort. "You were alone for an hour. That gave you much time to look around Fort Pitt, I should think."

She paused, a slice of oat bread halfway to her mouth. "Look around Fort Pitt? Why would I want to do that?"

"'Tis what I should like to know, that, and your purpose in coming to this part of the province when 'tis obvious you're accustomed to a more refined way of life."

She tapped her fingers on the ground, giving herself time to frame a plausible answer. What in the world could she ever say or do to convince him she'd really come from his future? After giving the matter careful thought, she came up with a better idea. Like all men, Christian no doubt loved to talk about himself.

"Christian, let's forget about me for now. I'd rather hear about you. So tell me about your work as a doctor, the sort of things you do."

Christian raised his eyebrows, as if he suspected her ploy. "Sometimes it seems as if the only time I see my neighbors is when one suffers from a physical ailment." He paused, a thoughtful frown on his face. "I can think of so many things I would like to do for the people, starting with smallpox inoculations."

"Preventive medicine!" Christian was way ahead of his time.

"Aye, you could call it that."

She leaned forward, hands pressed to the ground. "Envision a world where smallpox is eliminated, where so many other diseases such as scarlet fever are a thing of the past."

He nodded. "It could happen here in the British colonies, I suppose, but not in my lifetime. Maybe not for one-hundred years. And as for other diseases...." Christian shook his head. "Not for a long, long time, I should say."

She grasped his warm hand but found his touch a distraction she couldn't deal with now. "It has happened ... or will happen," she said, confused about the time but determined to make her point.

"You are speaking nonsense. 'Has happened'? 'Will happen'? Which do you mean?"

"I'm trying to explain about my time, the twenty-first century." At his incredulous expression, she went on in a rush of words. "No, let me finish. In my time we don't need to worry about the diseases that used to kill and maim so many people." Her long skirt fluttered in the breeze, and she absently tucked the hem between her ankles while she kept a sure gaze on him. "In the time I come from, diseases such as smallpox and scarlet fever will all have been conquered."

Christian remained silent for so long, she felt sure she'd convinced him. Then: "Tell me, what else do you see in your crystal ball?"

She gave an exasperated sigh. "I don't need a crystal ball. I know these things will happen--correction--have happened." She paused, collecting her thoughts. "But even after smallpox and so many other diseases are gone, new diseases appear, like the Ebola virus and AIDS."

He set his fork down and pushed the plate aside. "Aides? I do not believe one word of what you are telling me, but only for the sake of argument, please explain."

"A-I-D-S," she replied. "It stands for Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome. At present, there's no cure."

"What is the nature of this malady?"

She chose her words with care. "I suppose you'd call it a venereal disease, but we don't use that term anymore. We--"

"'Tis not a fit subject for a lady," Christian said with a reproving look.

She waved her hand airily. "Oh, everyone talks about it, or did, or will. Whatever."

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.

"Miss Emrys." Noah paused. "May I call you Gwen?"

"Sure."

He opened and closed his mouth, staring at her for a long moment. "Miss Emrys, uh, Gwen, I wanted to ask you...."

He took a deep breath, leaving her to wonder what he wanted.

"Will you marry me?" Noah continued in a rush of words, "Oh, I know I'm bein' hasty and all that, but a man needs a wife in these parts, and you sure are the prettiest lady I've seen in a long time, or ever, I guess." He grinned. "Even if you do talk funny." Noah shifted from one foot to another, an expectant gleam in his eyes. "So will you marry me?"

She stared at him. "But we hardly know each other."

"Don't matter. We can get to know each other after we marry," Noah replied.

Gwen's mind raced, wondering how to answer him in a tactful manner, one suited for this time period. "Sir, you do me a great honor, but we've known each other for such a short time, and I feel that perhaps we are not well-suited. Oh, you're a nice man, and I'm sure you're a hard-working farmer. But I don't believe I'm the one for you." Seeing the stricken expression on his face, Gwen tried to soften her words. "You deserve a better woman than I, one who can tend your house, cook your meals. I'm not very good at cooking and cleaning and--"

"Wouldn't matter to me. You'd learn housewifery soon enough, I vow."

"Noah, I'm not the only--" She cleared her throat. "Lots of other women around. Another woman could make you happier, I just know it." Like Leah Conway. Why don't you ask her? "So hey, let's leave it at that, shall we? You really are a good man, Noah." Gwen flashed him a friendly smile. "But don't you think it's time we went back inside?"

She returned to the frolic with Noah, still overcome by the farmer's proposal. A jarring thought slowed her steps. Suppose Christian showed her a little more interest, what would happen then? Would he propose? She smiled at her crazy imagination. Why, she didn't even love him.

* * * *

After the set ended, the dancers headed for the refreshment table again. Where was Gwen? Christian wondered. Of course, she meant nothing to him, save that he missed the verbal bouts that kept him on his toes. And another thing--would he ever discover the reason for her presence in the western part of the province?

"Excuse me, gentlemen." Rebecca rose from her chair to help with serving, leaving the men to their conversation. A glass of whiskey in his hand, Christian joined Edward and Daniel in a discussion about a possible conflict with the Indians. Now and then, his eyes strayed toward the doorway.

There! Gwen stepped into the room with Noah Enfield, their faces unreadable. Strange, he hadn't realized how much he enjoyed her company until she'd left him. But Noah Enfield? Christian frowned in thought. Could it be--? Had Noah asked her to--? Well, he's welcome to her, but she may prove more than he can handle. A sick feeling settled in his stomach. He shrugged. So she was attracted to another man. Why should he care?

What if Gwen were his wife? Foolish speculation! He still hadn't learned where she hailed from, or what had brought her to this part of the province. Either she was a French spy or--heaven help her--she was crazy as a Bedlamite. She was trouble, no matter what.

For now, he dismissed the problem. Tonight was not a good time to glean any information. Just the same, he wished he could help her if she truly were crazed, but he feared becoming entangled by her charms. And that would never do.

* * * *

On his rounds in the wilderness days later, Christian stopped by Jeb Randall's place, finding the farmer at work in the field. He slid off his horse and left the bay to nibble on the grass that edged the furrowed fields. After removing his hat, he ran his hand across his perspiring forehead and bent over to brush the trail dust from his leggings. He tied the reins to a low tree branch and approached the farmer.

"Jeb," he called as he angled his way through the rows of corn, stirring up dust along the way. "Haven't seen you for quite a while. How do you fare?" Acres and acres of flax, corn, and vegetables surrounded them, the fresh, clean aroma of newly-hoed earth scenting the air. Beyond the fields, the vast, dark forest stretched for miles.

Tall and gaunt, Jeb stopped to rest his hands on the hoe handle, sorrowfully shaking his head. "First the cow died, then my wife."

"Jeb, I'm so sorry! I had no idea she was sick. How did it happen?"

Jeb turned and spat, then fixed his gaze on Christian. "Well, first she stopped giving milk, then I found her on the barn floor--"

"No, no. I mean your wife."

"Oh, her. It started with a fever, and--

"Jeb! Why didn't you come get me?"

"Kept thinkin' she'd get better. She kinda went outta her mind at the end. By then there weren't nothin' I could do." He gestured toward a hill about a half-mile distant. "See that hill yonder with the cross atop it? Buried her there a coupla days ago. But the cow--" He shook his head again. "Don't know what I'm gonna do."

Christian's jaw tightened. "So you're upset about a damn animal."

"Yep, sure miss that cow."

"But your wife!"

"Well, 'tis easy enough to get another wife. 'Taint so easy to get another cow."

"Unfortunate fellow!" Christian turned and stalked away, his booted feet kicking loose rocks in his path. About to mount his horse, he paused, a shaft of fear making his heart pound. What if Jeb's wife had died from something contagious?

* * * *

With memories of the frolic still vivid in her mind, Gwen held Bryony close on the settle while Lumi napped next to the hearth. Was it just her imagination, or did the little girl seem extra warm this afternoon?

"When will Papa be back from Phil--Phil--"

"Philadelphia," Gwen finished. "Your mother said the trip from here to Philadelphia takes a long time, and your father has a lot to do there, I understand." Gwen hugged her in reassurance. "Your father can take care of himself, and before you know it, he'll be back home."

The little girl nodded, a worried look on her face. "Is Mama sick?"

"Your mother is resting." She bit her lower lip. How could she tell the child that Rebecca had suffered a miscarriage yesterday? "It's nothing serious, honestly, sweetheart. Your mama has been so busy lately I suggested she rest for a few days while I look after you and Robert. Molly can cook and take care of the house."

Bryony scoffed. "Robert's a baby. He takes a nap every day."

"Oh, and I suppose you never took naps?" Gwen asked with a teasing grin.

"Only when I was a little, little, little baby," she said, holding her hands about a foot apart, "like this."

Gwen shifted her position on the hard-backed settle and smoothed her hand over the child's forehead. "You seem a little warm, sweetie. You don't feel sick, do you?"

Bryony shook her head. "I'm not sick."

"Well, let's take advantage of the quiet," Gwen said, "and I'll tell you a poem about a bear."

Bryony drew back. "Bears are scary."

"They won't hurt you if you don't bother them." She cleared her throat.

There once was a bear who had fuzzy hair

He was quite clean and not at all mean

Except when he took a scare

Well, then, you should see that bear

Bryony raised her hand to her forehead. "My head hurts, Gwen."

"I thought you felt sick, and besides, you and Robert played so hard this morning." Touching the little girl's forehead, Gwen wished she had a thermometer. "How about a nap after I finish the poem?"

"I'm not a baby. Go on with the poem, Gwen."

Noting the little girl's drooping eyelids, Gwen hurried through the poem, omitting some of the middle.

He fussed and he fought

He became quite distraught

The meanest bear you've ever seen

Bryony pressed against Gwen, fast asleep. Gwen eased away from her then rose to her feet, bending over to pick her up. Bryony winced and whimpered at her touch, scaring her witless. Smoothing the little girl's wet hair plastered to her forehead, Gwen observed her flushed face and checked her pulse, going fast, so fast!

She sank back on the settle, running her fingers through her hair. What should she do? You couldn't just drive down to the corner drugstore to buy Tylenol. She rubbed her forehead, realizing there wasn't much she could do, except enlist Molly's help. Then she'd ride to Christian's place.

Her mind made up, she hurried to the kitchen where Molly kneaded dough at the long table.

"Molly, Bryony appears to have a fever--"

Molly pressed a floury hand to her chest, a frightened look on her face. "Oh, no, miss!"

"Nothing to worry about, Molly." She hoped so. "I'm going to ride over to Dr. Norgard's. He should know what to do. For now, I'll sponge Bryony with cold water, and you can take care of Robert when he wakes up." She gave Molly a frank look. "You don't mind taking care of Robert?"

"Of course not, miss."

"Well, then, be sure to keep him away from his sister. No need for you to take a chance, either. Bryony will be my responsibility." She thought hard. "I'm not going to tell Mistress Chamberlain about it now. She's got enough on her mind. Tomorrow ... we'll see."

* * * *

As Christian's house came into view, Gwen breathed a long sigh of relief. Now, she could get him and they'd be on their way....

Except that he wasn't home. Gwen lifted the iron door latch and stepped inside, squinting in the dim light that barely penetrated the room's lone window. God, she prayed, please have him return soon.

She waited a few minutes for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, then wandered around the room, noting the utensils at the hearth, the pewter mug, the wooden bowl on the table. His things. The pale beam of light through the window caught the dust motes that floated in the air, the nicks and scratches on his table, the scuff marks on the wooden floor.

Although she'd been in his house before when she'd had her harrowing time travel experience, she'd been too upset then to notice much of anything. This time, she studied the oak bookcase in a far corner next to a clothes chest. On a shelf above the bookcase huddled a mortar and pestle, along with a multitude of jars, each neatly labeled. Fascinated in spite of her anxiety, she moved closer to get a better look.

She bent low to scan the labels, flummoxed by so many odd concoctions, such as calomel, ipecac, and all the other medicines she'd never heard of. No doubt they all served their intended purpose, but she wondered if they were as effective as antibiotics and other modern medicines. Not likely.

Her gaze drifted down to the oaken bookcase, where she ran her finger along the leather-bound books to study the titles. William Harvey's An Anatomical Treatise on the Motion of The Heart and Blood in Animals rested between other medical texts whose authors were unfamiliar to her. A couple of books by Fielding caught her interest. Maybe she could borrow them later. Why, Christian had a fortune in books here. She knew of a bookseller in Pittsburgh--

Damn! She pounded her fist on the bookcase and resumed her pacing. When would she ever realize she could never go back?

Just when she'd given up hope, the door creaked open and Christian stepped inside. The brilliant sunlight behind him caught his deerskin shirt and leggings in an amber glow, as if they were on fire. His dark green tri-corn gave him a look of solemn distinction. With a guilty pang, Gwen stopped her pacing, as though caught in some crime.

As Christian stepped inside, he saw her worried look. "Gwen, what's amiss?"

"Bryony's sick ... fever, aching muscles...."

"My God!" Influenza. He'd heard of a recent epidemic at Fort Pitt, and then Jeb's wife had apparently died from it. Even though these settlers lived in comparative isolation, diseases could spread from one family to another.

He drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. He held the door open for her. "Let us leave now. No time to lose!"

* * * *

Beside Bryony's bed, Gwen watched Christian open his wooden instrument case to withdraw a scary, sharp-looking instrument.

She sucked in a breath. "What's that for?"

Frowning, he glanced her way. "A lancet."

"But what is it for?" She had the worst feeling that...

"For drawing blood." Christian threw her a look of surprise. "Surely you've seen a lancet before?"

"No, I haven't, thank God. You eighteenth-century doctors sure do love to bleed your patients, don't you? And I've heard the cure was often worse than the illness."

He gave her a strange look, part puzzlement, part indignation. "In all my years of practice, I've found that blood-letting is an effective means of reducing fever. I've always had satisfactory results."

Gwen stared at him. "You're serious! You're really going to use that thing."

"Of course I'm serious. My dear Miss Emrys, pray don't tell me how to practice medicine." He gave her a steady look. "And in case you're worried about infection from the lancet, I soaked it in vinegar. Very few doctors do that."

"Well, can't you try something else? Like an ice-water bath?"

"Ice-water, at this time of the year? Besides, you already sponged her, didn't you? And sponging is an effective remedy we must continue."

"And no Tylenol," she muttered.

"No what?"

"Never mind." She sprang from the chair. "Well, I never could stand the sight of blood, so I'm leaving."

"No one asked you to stay," Christian replied before she had a chance to disappear from the room.

Later in the night, Christian entered Byrony's room and set a cup on the table next to the bed. In a bedside chair, Gwen looked up at him, catching his worried look by the dim candlelight.

"Here," he said, "willow bark tea. When it cools a little, get her to drink as much as possible. We'll take turns sponging her and giving her the tea. I intend to see Rebecca now, see how she is and let her know how Byrony fares." He turned to head for the door.

"Christian--" Gwen called before he stepped out of the room. "How soon do you think Bryony will recover?"

He leaned against the doorway, pressing his hand to the opposite doorframe. "I fear it may be a while. Gwen, I'm doing everything I can ... with your help," he said with a tired smile. "The important thing is to reduce her fever. Despite your doubts, I think the bleeding accomplished that. After her temperature returns to normal, recovery should be only a matter of time. Still, it will be more than a week or two before she's better."

For fear of contagion, Christian decided Robert would share Rebecca's bed, since Daniel remained away, and this simplified sleeping arrangements. One less worry, Gwen thought, praying that Robert hadn't already caught the bug.

She dipped a cloth in a basin of cold water and wrung it out, then sponged the sleeping child's forehead, neck, and arms, Bryony's body still hot and dry. She looked about the small, neat room with its one small window, tall clothes chest, and double bed. Her gaze drifted to a large toy chest in a corner, filled to overflowing with dolls, blocks, balls, and other toys. Would Bryony ever be well enough to play again? What if she never--? She shook her head. Don't even think about it.

On a warm afternoon of the following week, Christian looked up from the kitchen table as Gwen entered the room. His mouth went dry while a myriad of thoughts and emotions rampaged through his brain, every one centered on this lovely woman. For a brief moment, he turned away, lest she see his inner turmoil.

Collecting his composure, he rose and held a chair for her. "You notice how quiet the house is? Molly took Robert for a walk." He rubbed at the stubble on his cheek, aware of his unkempt appearance. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

Gwen motioned for him to sit. "Don't bother. I can get it myself."

"Oh, but--"

"Come on, you've been working hard enough." She sent a smile his way, a smile that only increased his tumult. "I'm not helpless, you know."

"Very well." He observed her slim figure, noting the brisk, graceful movements of her hands as she lifted the tea kettle from the trammel above the wide fireplace and poured the brew into an earthen mug.

Despite her contrariness and oftimes flippant talk, she had an inner grace, a calm self-assurance, as if she could handle any challenge that came her way. He liked that quality, rare in a woman. She wore a dress of tan linsey, which would've looked drab on any other woman, but on Gwen, its soft folds and neat tucks, its gentle sweep from waist to ankles, made it appear as sensuous as the grandest ball gown. The supple material followed the swell of her breasts, revealing the outline of her nipples. Wild fantasies, too long stifled, taunted him. She wore her hair in a soft roll, a laced white gauze cap perched modestly atop her head, but he missed seeing those tawny locks that tumbled down her back and glimmered like fire in the sunlight. His fantasies soaring, he was seized by a sudden desire to tear the pins from her hair and let the locks fall like water through his hands. Aware he'd been staring, he turned away to absently study the barrel of apples in a far corner.

But if she were a spy? He swallowed past the lump in his throat. God, he prayed, don't let it be so. He couldn't bear to see her punished. So far, he hadn't gleaned any evidence from the officers at Fort Pitt, but he intended to keep trying.

Gwen returned to her chair with the mug of steaming tea. "I've been so worried about Bryony." She frowned. "If only she would get better...."

"Her fever has gone down," he said, "and I don't need to tell you that keeping it lowered is a matter of constant care. I believe we're succeeding in this, don't you?"

"So far."

He raised the mug to his mouth and sipped. "She seemed a bit cooler this morning, and her pulse has slowed. In truth, she appears to be on the mend." He gave her a frank look across the table. "'Twas not Bryony I wanted to speak about."

"Oh?"

"This Noah Enfield...," he began.

"A casual acquaintance. I've talked to him a few times since he came to see Daniel about legal business."

"I believe he cares for you. I saw him with you at the frolic--"

She smiled. "He needs a wife. I just happen to be handy."

"More than that, I think."

"Has he said anything to you?" She sipped her tea, looking at him over the rim of the mug.

"He's said naught to me. Anyway, I'd not betray a confidence." He set his elbows on the table and gave her a level look. "He's not the man for you."

"What's it to you?" she asked, a trace of annoyance in her voice. "Why should you care whom I marry?"

"Don't misunderstand me. Noah is a fine man, a good farmer. I'm not denigrating him. But you are so--so--different, I should say, for lack of a better word. 'Twould be a terrible waste if you married a man who couldn't make you happy."

She leaned forward, palms flat on the table. "You didn't answer my question. Why should you care?"

Yes, why? Because I'd miss your smile, your laughter, he wanted to say, that make every minute with you fresh and different, something to look forward to. I'd miss seeing those pretty freckles that dot your face, the sparkle in your eyes, your soft, warm body that tempts me to take you in my arms and make love to you. He kept his thoughts to himself. "I want only your happiness."

* * * *

Thank God Bryony has recovered, Gwen mused. She couldn't go through that worry again. From her upstairs window, she watched Bryony one bright morning a week later as the child ran among the rows of corn, playing hide and seek with Robert. Tears slid down Gwen's cheeks. God, it was good to see her well again.

She turned away from the window and headed for the doorway, thinking of all the things she wanted to do. She should definitely make plans for teaching the neighborhood children.

And Christian? Now that Bryony was her normal playful self again, she guessed she wouldn't see him again for a long time. Pausing at the entrance, she gripped the doorknob. She wouldn't even think about him.

Chapter Seven

Darned if I don't look like Cinderella, Gwen thought, brushing a leaf from her faded tan linsey dress with its mended spots and frayed hem. Kneeling on the warm earth, she worked in Rebecca's flower garden, her agile fingers tugging at weeds while she checked the leaves for insects. The garden was a rich tapestry of color, where the towering red spikes of the lupines, the fragrant carnations, the dainty white petunias and so many other flowers blossomed in companiable profusion. She drew in a deep breath, sniffing the heliotrope with its unique scent of vanilla.

When she got back to her own time ... she lowered her head, swallowing a lump in her throat. Quickly straightening back up, she finished her thought. If she ever got back to her own time, she wanted a garden just like this one.

A slight headache nagged her, prompting her to think of other things, her usual remedy for curing her rare headaches.

"Gwen--"

She looked up to see Rebecca approach along the path.

"You've been working in the garden for a long time, and I do appreciate it," Rebecca said, stopping beside her. "But 'tis about time for the midday meal."

"Already?" Gwen asked in surprise. She stood and brushed off the front and back of her dress. She wasn't hungry, and her stomach felt a little woozy, too.

"Did I tell you Daniel brought back a goodly amount of hornbooks and primers from Philadelphia, along with sundry writing materials?" Rebecca smiled. "So you'll have all the necessaries whenever you begin teaching the children."

"Good, I can't wait to get started." She closed her eyes for a moment, her head throbbing. She opened them again, the sun a painful shaft of light that prompted her to shade her eyes. "I hope to visit as many families as possible this afternoon, see how many parents want their children to attend school."

"Most of them will want that, I should imagine." Rebecca tapped her arm. "But first come and eat, or you won't feel much like visiting."

Gwen placed her hand on her stomach. I don't even feel much like eating now, she wanted to say.

* * * *

After a light lunch of rye bread and applesauce, Gwen headed for her room and sank onto the bed. Lying back, she closed her eyes, a long time passing before she forced herself to sit up and step into her moccasins. Wow! How could just slipping shoes on wear her out? Maybe she'd lie down and rest, visit the families another day. Her head pounded, thirst plaguing her dry, achy throat. If she could only rise, she'd scoop up some water from the basin....

She tried to get up, but the effort only worsened her condition, dizziness now added to her list of ailments. Her arms and legs ached--all she wanted was to stay in bed.

She started to doze, but a ringing in her ears awoke her. Straining, she turned onto her side, and sleepiness dragged her down.

She slowly turned onto her back. Christian stood in the doorway! Arms folded across his chest, he lounged against the doorframe, one booted foot in front of the other. She lifted her hand in greeting, pleasantly surprised her fever was gone.

Raising herself on her elbow, she tried to speak nonchalantly. "Christian, what are you doing in my room?"

He approached the bed, a warm smile on his tanned face. "I had to see you. Couldn't stay away. Don't you realize how much you mean to me?"

He weighted the mattress down as he sat and drew her close to his chest. "I had to see you alone," he whispered against her hair. His gaze covered her, a look of desire in his eyes. "We have the room to ourselves, and here we are in bed together. This is what I've always wanted, darling, ever since I first met you. I want to make love to you here and now, as no man has ever loved you. Please tell me you want the same." He gave her shoulder a little shake. "Gwen? Gwen!"

"Gwen!"

She forced her eyes open, the bright sunlight from the open window making her squint. She raised her arm to cover her eyes, her head still pounding. On the edge of her vision, she saw Rebecca beside her.

"You've been in bed for hours," Rebecca said. "You must have slept poorly last night. Did you not want to see the other families about schooling for the children?"

"I ... I...," Gwen moaned, pressing her hand to her pounding head. Her body was on fire, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. "I feel sick," she whispered.

Rebecca clenched her hands together, a look of absolute fear on her face. "Oh, my God, no!" She headed for the door, calling behind her, "I'll send Daniel to get Christian."

Christian's already been here, Gwen wanted to say, but fell asleep again before she could open her mouth.

* * * *

Semi-darkness covered the room, a stillness in the air. Caressing fingers brushed wet hair from Gwen's damp forehead as strong yet gentle hands sponged her face and neck. A man spoke soothingly, as one would speak to a child, then held a cup to her mouth. In feverish recognition, she looked up to see Christian in her room. She gave him a grateful glance, so happy to see him, to have him with her.

"I made you willow bark tea, the same brew that helped make Bryony well. Try to drink it, if only a small amount."

Christian sat on the bed and eased a strong arm behind her to raise her head. Her temples throbbed more than ever, a relentless pounding that forced her to stop and catch her breath while she rested against his arm.

"We'll go slowly," Christian said, "so take as long as you need. But I do want you to have some tea."

"Can't," she croaked. "Throat hurts."

"This will make your throat feel better, I promise. You must drink something, and this tea will help bring your fever down."

She took a few sips, then sank back against his arm. "That's all I can take," she whispered, wishing she could keep him with her.

After easing her back on the bed, he set the cup on the bedside table and rose to his feet. "'Tis a start, anyway," he said with an encouraging smile. "I shall leave you alone now to sleep, which will do you much good." He tapped the cup. "I want you to drink as much as you're able. Tomorrow, when the light is better, I intend to draw a few ounces of blood to reduce your fever."

She frowned. "But--"

He spoke quickly. "Gwen, I don't understand your objection to bloodletting, but we shall wait until tomorrow. I hope I can convince you then that it will bring your fever down." He smiled. "Be back later."

She heard his quiet footsteps on the wooden floor, then a feverish sleep claimed her again....

Hours later, when Gwen awoke, complete darkness shrouded the bedroom. Straining to change position, she heard voices from downstairs. Within a few minutes, Christian entered the room, carrying a tray.

He set the tray on her bedside table. She heard the strike of flint on iron, and her lamp came to life, giving off a dull glow that cast shadows on the opposite wall. A chair scraped, and he sat down beside her, a bowl and spoon in his hand.

"Rebecca made you broth," he said. "I'd like you to take at least a few spoonfuls, then drink another cup of tea which I brought. Both will help you feel better."

"Don't know if I can," she whispered, swallowing past the congestion in her throat. A fit of coughing shook her, leaving her weak.

"Aye, you can," he murmured after her coughing had subsided. "Here, permit me to sit on the bed. 'Twill make it easier for both of us, I doubt not." He settled onto the bed, his weight pressing the mattress down. Just like in my dream, she thought through a feverish haze. Or had it been a dream?

* * * *

After raising her slightly, Christian spoon-fed Gwen the broth and coaxed her to take a few sips of tea. She swallowed the brew, and her furrowed brow, her gasping breath, revealed the extent of her suffering. How he wished he could alleviate her distress and bring back the woman he remembered, with her quick smile and easy laugh, the woman he could never drive from his thoughts.

He gently lowered her onto the bed, her pained grimace knotting his stomach with worry. Afraid to question the depth of his feeling, he suffered with her. He thought of all his other patients, more than he could count. Why should this one woman affect him like this, so that he wanted to hold her close and banish her sickness, and with his kisses make her well again? As she closed her eyes, he studied her still form under the sheet. She turned onto her side, lips parted, her long, silky hair flowing past her shoulders. An overpowering longing seized him, an intense need to stay by her side throughout the night and for all the nights and days to come.

Don't become involved with this lady, his common sense told him. He must remember his profession. Besides, he knew so little about her, and what he did know raised too many doubts in his mind. Any woman who claimed to be from the future was either a Bedlamite or a liar. Equally unfortunate, the possibility remained she might be a spy.

But fierce yearning overruled common sense. Countless long moments passed before he forced himself to leave her and go downstairs.

* * * *

Wracked by chills, Gwen awoke during the night. Her teeth chattering, she forced herself to reach to the foot of the bed and pull a quilt up over her. She lay back down, panting with exhaustion.

Hours later, she awoke again, her nightgown damp with cold perspiration. She tried to rise, but fell back on the bed, breathing heavily. Using her elbow for leverage, she finally forced herself to her feet and stumbled over to the dresser drawer for a clean nightgown. She wished she could change and get it over with, but her arms felt as if they weighed a ton.

After several tries, she drew her damp nightgown over her head and shoved it aside. She reached into the drawer for a clean nightgown, then--

"Gwen?"

Christian strode into the room, his face and body clear by the light of a full moon.

She leaned against the dresser, her face hot with embarrassment. Unable to move or say a word, she remained still, her back to him.

"Here," he said in a soft voice, "let me help you with your gown."

Silently, she nodded and turned around, then handed him the gown.

A world of emotions blazed in his dark eyes. His gaze raked her body, but he quickly lifted his eyes to her again. His hand trembled, the gown quivering in his grip as he eased the gown over her head, his fingers warm and easy against her skin.

"Now raise your arms," he murmured as an expression of tenderness defined his face. Or did she only imagine his look, a fabrication spawned by wishful thinking?

She did as asked, and he slipped her arms through the sleeves, his hands lingering on her shoulders. Her earlier embarrassment banished, she wanted to lean against him, absorb his warmth and strength. She remained still, too sick to move.

"There." He wrapped his arm around her waist. "Let's get you back to bed."

Scads of sensations rattled her as she trudged over to the bed and sank onto the mattress, then stretched her body out on the bed. With gentle hands, he drew her linen sheet over her.

"Christian, I...."

"Yes?"

She shook her head. "Nothing." She wanted to tell him all the thoughts that haunted her mind, but the words got stuck in her throat. If only she could ask him to stay the night, to hold her close and tell her she'd soon get well, to whisper how much she meant to him. She tossed her wayward thoughts aside, recognizing she meant nothing to him, no more than any other patient.

Christian came to her several times during the night, speaking in his low, quiet voice as he sponged her and coaxed her to drink tea. Through a feverish haze, she wondered how hands could be strong and yet so gentle. His fingers traced a path from her cheek to her throat, his touch light and tender.

"You're going to get well," he murmured. "You-are-going-to-get-well."

The following morning, she awoke to the sound of footsteps and looked up to see Christian enter the room. He held the lancet in his hand, a questioning look on his face.

She unbuttoned her long sleeve and pushed it past her elbow. "Go ahead. I'm too sick to argue."

"I won't draw blood without your permission, but I assure you, 'twill make you better." He smiled. "I soaked the lancet in vinegar, too."

"You're the doctor." She gave him a weak smile.

He sat next to her on the bed and eased her arm across his muscular thigh. "The doctor who wants to see you well again."

* * * *

Christian stayed at the Chamberlains, visiting her several times every day. Once Gwen improved, he returned to his own house, his visits less frequent, and then, he came every other day. Still weak but with a normal temperature again, she lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling. She didn't dare admit how much she missed his deep voice, his gentle hands, his sympathetic yet assured manner.

On a warm morning of the third week, he strode into her room. Dressed in deerskin leggings and a dark green shirt with a wide collar open past his throat, a black ribbon securing his hair, he appeared more distinguished than ever. Gwen looked into his dark eyes that seemed to see through her yet held a million secrets.

Raising up in bed and adjusting the pillow behind her, she wondered if he would always affect her like this. As he neared her bed, she broke into a smile, lifting her hand to him.

"Hi, Christian."

"High?"

When would she learn to watch her language? "Just a greeting."

"Oh."

He lowered his tall frame onto the chair beside her bed, taking her hand and wrapping his fingers around hers. Leaning forward, he studied her for a long moment. "You had me worried for a while."

"Worried? You're not the only one." She fingered a lock of hair that brushed against her bodice, pleased with herself for changing into a clean, white cotton nightgown with white ribbons at the throat--dainty and feminine, the way these eighteenth-century men liked their women. What a difference from the men of the twenty-first century.

She managed a light laugh, so happy to be well again, but especially to have Christian by her side.

Christian smiled then, a slow smile that spread across his face and reached his eyes, those dark eyes whose secrets she could never unravel. "But you're better now. You'll be up and about in no time."

"Thanks to you."

Another smile. "I'll think of some payment you can make." His face flushed, and he stared down at his boots. "I mean...."

Gwen squeezed his hand. "Why, Dr. Norgard, I do believe you're embarrassed."

Christian looked up from his boots and chuckled, a rich, throaty sound that drove every logical thought from her mind. Then a gradual change came over his face, an expression of such intensity she wished she could interpret its meaning. He smoothed his forefinger over her palm, his touch centering on the soft, fleshy part at the base of her thumb.

On a pretext of adjusting her pillow, she drew her hand back, afraid he'd sense her passion. She fiddled with the ribbons on her nightgown, trying so hard to maintain a nonchalant attitude, to pretend her heart wasn't beating triple time because of his nearness.

"Well...." Christian stood, prompting her to stare up at him. "I'll leave you to rest now," he said, heading for the door. There, he stopped and turned her way, his hand on the knob. "Be back soon," he promised with a mock salute, then left the room.

She followed him with her gaze. She wished she could call him back to talk about everything and nothing, to listen to his voice that still echoed in her mind. Wild, crazy notions flitted through her head, passionate fantasies of Christian that would never be satisfied.

* * * *

A few days after her recovery from the flu, Gwen sat on the front porch, basking in the light breeze that caressed her face, the glorious colors and scents of the flower garden surrounding her. Dazzling white clouds floated by in a sky so intensely blue it took her breath away. How good it was to be alive, to breathe in the fresh, clean aroma of the grass, to hear the robins chirp in the trees. She'd never take these things for granted again, never take her life for granted. Besides, she enjoyed her solitude on this pleasant day.

Ice cream. The wish came from out of nowhere, like an echo from the past. How she'd love a big dish of ice cream. She pictured two large scoops of her two favorite kinds--rocky road and mint chocolate chip, closing her eyes in dreamy contemplation.

About to rise from the chair and get a dress of Bryony's to hem, Gwen saw a rider approach from the east. His horse made its way cautiously down the steep, rocky slope that edged the Chamberlain property. Squinting in the bright sunlight, she saw a green tri-corn, tan shirt, and leggings. Christian. Happiness swelled inside her, as if they'd been separated for years, as though she hadn't seen him night after night during her illness. Her heart began a wild drumbeat, a rush of warmth spreading from her head to her toes.

She fixed a casual expression on her face, her hands held loosely in her lap.

Upright in the saddle, the rider neared the house, his hand raised in greeting.

First tying the reins to a tree branch, Christian approached and stood on the bottom step with his other foot on the step above him, his tri-corn held loosely at his side. She tried not to stare at the way the wind rippled his hair and lifted locks from his forehead.

He made a slight bow. "You appear to be completely recovered, I'm pleased to see."

"Back to normal."

He glanced around. "Where is everyone?"

She cleared her throat. "They all went on a picnic in the meadow."

"But not you."

"As you see."

He laughed, a husky chuckle that had the craziest effect on her pulse. "That was a stupid remark, was it not? I just wondered why...."

"I felt they should have some time to themselves, as a family. They haven't had much of that recently. Besides, I have some things to do, and I thought this might be a good time to do them." She bit her lip, mad at herself for saying that. It sounded as if she wanted him to leave. "They'll be gone for hours," she added, "and I don't have that much to do." Now, she'd made herself too obvious. Damn, damn, damn! What had happened to her resolve to act casually around him?

Stiff from her rigid position on the hard-backed chair, she started to cross her legs, then caught Christian's disapproving frown. "Oops, sorry. Forgot myself." When would she remember to act like an eighteenth-century lady and behave with perfect decorum?

Christian traced the brim of his hat with his forefinger. "My main reason for coming here was to see how you fared." He slipped his booted foot from the top step and made another small bow. "Since you appear well again, I'll leave you to your duties."

Her mind worked furiously, searching for something, anything, to keep him with her. "Healthwise, I feel pretty good, just a little weak. And don't think you have to hurry and leave. I have a lot--much time before the Chamberlains return, and I was about to eat--" a little white lie-- "so would you like to join me?" She smiled. "We can have our own picnic."

"If you're sure 'tis no trouble. Don't want you to tire yourself so soon after your recent illness."

"Christian, I'm talking about getting things together for a simple meal. I'm not going to swim the English Channel."

He flashed her a grin that sent her heart thumping again. "Why not, if you're one of the rare ladies who can swim? Might be good exercise."

"I'd have to get to England first," Gwen said as she rose from her chair. Why, yes, just fly to New York and take a 747 to London. "Wait here. I'll be right back."

"I'll come inside with you, if you don't mind." Christian held the heavy oak door for her, and they stepped into the cool entrance hall that seemed as dark as night after the bright sunshine. Molly had gone to visit a neighbor a while ago, so a peaceful quiet lay over the house.

After getting a reed basket from a shelf in the kitchen, she packed a loaf of Injun bread--rye and corn bread, still warm from the oven--a hunk of cheese, and turnips, which she'd found the settlers ate as a substitute for apples. With a spurt of daring, she added a bottle of wine and two glasses, all the while making light talk as Christian sat at the wide table and stretched his legs out.

Gwen's gaze covered the spacious kitchen. "That's it. I guess I have everything."

He came to stand beside her, so close their bodies touched. Her arm brushed his, and she could feel his body heat, the hard corded muscles of his arm. "Here, let me carry the basket for you," he said, taking it from her.

It was only a simple offer, yet his voice had a caressing note, as if he were making love. What would his voice sound like if he really were making love? She trembled, her imagination running in all directions.

"Are you cold?"

"Not really," she said with a nervous laugh. "Guess the kitchen just seems cool after the warm sunshine."

"Well, shall we go, then?"

They dined under the shade of a wide oak tree, the sun high above them, the clean, fresh scent of the fields and forest carried by a light breeze. Munching on a turnip, Gwen watched a daddy-long-legs make its slow trek across the grass and then disappear among a mass of weeds.

She and Christian talked about trivial things, as though to avoid any serious discussion that might lead to an argument, making her wonder how long the truce would last. Raising her glass to take a sip of wine, the movement reminded her of one of her favorite pieces of literature. Funny how so many big and small memories of her other life came back to taunt her for no apparent reason. Assuming a dramatic pose, she held her glass in front of her and recited:

Here with a loaf of bread beneath the bough

A flask of wine, a book of verse--and Thou!

Beside me singing in the wilderness

And wilderness were paradise enow.

Christian blinked his eyes. "Who said that?"

"I did, just now."

"No," he said, laughing, "I mean originally."

Gwen thought for a moment. "Some Persian poet, I think."

"Persian poet? How do you know these things?"

"College," she said. "English literature."

He scoffed. "Ladies don't go to college."

"Well, this lady did, and plenty of other ladies in my time. Christian, we've been through this before, and--"

"Yes, yes, I know. The twenty-first century, your time ... supposedly." Christian chewed his bread and sipped his wine, the silence stretching between them. "Gwen, pretending that you came from another time--and mind you, I don't say I believe you--how did you get here, and how will you get back?"

She shook her head. "I don't think I'm going back. Something tells me--correction--I know I was sent here for a special purpose, so I'll stay here. Now, as to your first question, Christian, you have to believe me. I was at a restored village, visiting quaint old buildings. But something went wrong, big time!"

"Big time?"

"Went really, really bad."

Christian rolled his eyes. "Gwen, sometimes your language...." The sentence remained unfinished, his meaning clear. "What do you mean by a restored village? Never heard of such a thing."

She let out a long sigh. How could she make him understand about historical villages, like Williamsburg and Sturbridge? "Well, in my time, there are a number of restored villages, where you can discover how people lived in this time, the eighteenth-century. I decided to visit one of these places, because ... oh, I can't explain why," she said, refusing to divulge her dreams. He'd never believe her.

"Sounds like an insane endeavor," he said. "Why should people want to visit restored villages, when we already have Fort Pitt?"

"Well, I had an odd feeling about this time."

"Odd feeling? In what way?"

"Well...." Gwen stared across the rich fields of corn.

"Well?"

How much should she tell him? Would he ever understand, much less believe her? "I think the Indians will cause trouble." She took a sip of wine, giving him a cautious look from under her lashes while she waited for his reaction.

"Indians? What's that got to do with anything? Anyway, you mustn't worry about them. The British have a formidable army and many strong forts, which they didn't have in previous years."

"But suppose all the Indian tribes would unite under a single leader, Pontiac--"

"'Twill never happen. The Indians fight too much amongst themselves, one tribe against another. They've never united before." He looked puzzled. "Besides, I've never heard of this Pontiac."

"Well, let me tell you something. I looked in my crystal ball last night, and that's what I saw."

He grinned. "Crystal ball now, is it?"

She shrugged. "Just repeating your words from our visit to Fort Pitt, remember? We were having our meal in the King's Garden, and you made a sarcastic remark about my crystal ball."

He frowned for a moment, then his face gradually cleared. "Ah, yes, I remember."

She smiled. "So you see? Crystal balls never lie."

"Oh, I'll not deny the Indians can cause much difficulty for the white man," Christian said, "but they'll never unite. 'Tis not their nature."

She shrugged. "Don't believe me, then."

"Let us forget about the Indians for the moment. Why are you here? What is your purpose in coming back to 1762?"

Hah! Try telling him she'd been sent to save his life and hers, so that neither of them would perish in the Indian rebellion. He'd die laughing.

"I can't say." Her hand smoothed over the grass.

"Can't? Or won't?"

"Can't you accept anything on faith?" she asked. "You've never seen God, but you believe in Him, don't you?"

"Aye, but this is different. There is much I accept on faith, but I must have a good foundation for my acceptance."

She pulled up several blades of grass and twisted them between her fingers. "Let's wait and see what happens, shall we?"

"Good idea. I always have an open mind."

She gave him a teasing smile. "An open mind, did you say? Well, that's a surprise."

Christian stretched out on the grass, his hands behind his head, and stared up at the sky. "'Tis true, difficult as it may be for you to believe. 'Tis only that I like to examine every aspect of a discussion." He flashed her a smile. "Logic, you understand."

"Sure, I understand logic." She stretched out on the ground beside him, careful to keep a few feet separating them. She wished she could move closer.

Christian raised up on one elbow, peering down at her. "Gwen, I--"

Voices from the forest stopped him, Daniel and Rebecca returning with the children.

He sank back down. "Ah, no!"

A tremendous wave of regret washed over her as she exchanged meaningful looks with Christian, and she wondered what would have transpired had they not had the interruption.

* * * *

An arrow pierced her side. Despite the pain, she crawled across the open ground to the fallen doctor. She forced herself to put her head to his heart ... and found no heartbeat. Her fault! If she hadn't hidden herself like a coward, she might have been able to save him ... somehow. She could have shielded him, protected him. Done something....

He lay still, his eyes staring heavenward. Pain ripped through her stomach and tore her apart. Would she soon join him in death? Destruction surrounded them, the injured and dead lying on the open field. The screams of the wounded drove her out of her mind. She wanted to cover her ears, shut out the sound. Weakness paralyzed her as life slowly ebbed from her.

"Christian," she whispered, "I love you."

Darkness enclosed her.

Gwen moaned, turning onto her back. Gasping, she jerked upright, her nightgown wet with perspiration. She wiped tears from her eyes and waited for her heartbeat to subside. The light of a full moon slanted through her open window. She brushed locks of hair from her face, the dream a constant torment that kept her awake while she agonized over its meaning.

The answer hit her like a megaton of TNT. In the life she'd lived before, she had failed Christian, causing his death. If she hadn't acted like a coward, she could have saved his life ... and hers.

And now? She tossed and turned in bed, time slipping past. Somehow, she must save herself from death, but more important, save Christian. How in the world could she accomplish this? She'd have to accompany him to Fort Pitt, live with him when the Indians attacked.

She had no choice, so ... she must marry him. Simple, she mused, making light of her dilemma, even though the task loomed harder than climbing Mount Everest. Marry Christian. Yeah, sure. Easiest thing in the world.

Just one small problem--she'd have to get him to propose.

Chapter Eight

Fat chance! She'd never get Christian to propose, not when he cared for Leah Conway.

The morning after her terrifying dream, Gwen stood by her bedroom window, desperate to solve her dilemma. Of course, she could use the old trick of getting him to take her to bed, but she quickly discarded that option. If she ever lured him into making love, he'd feel obliged to marry her. No, she'd go about this in an honest way. If she couldn't get him to fall in love with her--a one-in-a-million chance--then she'd hope that Leah would find someone else. Then maybe she could make herself so amenable, so indispensable, so lovable that Christian would want her as a wife. And, if she were lucky, he'd eventually come to love her. Right! And palm trees grow in Antarctica.

My gosh, she was close to falling in love with him!

About to turn away from the window, she paused, a hundred images cramming her brain. Christian was an easy man to love. She recalled his consideration of others, his tender care of her during her illness. His roguish grin and ready laugh came to mind, and she liked the way he could give any subject a new dimension, how he could make you so happy just to be with him.

But how could she get him to propose? She laughed without humor. How could she climb Mt. Everest?

But wait, what if she proposed to him? Wouldn't he be shocked! She imagined herself now, speaking like an eighteenth-century lady.

Christian, I must tell you that my feeling for you has grown since we first met, and what I thought was friendly affection is now love. Would you do me the honor of becoming my husband? Well, so what if she proposed? Women did it all the time in the twenty-first century. But not in this time, her conscience reminded her.

* * * *

"There's a musical at Fort Pitt this Saturday night," Rebecca told Gwen later in the day. "They usually have a ball on Saturday night, but a musical sounds like a pleasant change. Would you like to come along as our guest?"

"A musical!" Exciting! To see all the uniformed officers, dress up--"I don't have anything to wear." Gwen gave a helpless shake of her head. In her case, that age-old response was literally true.

"You can wear a silk gown I bought in Philadelphia a few years after my marriage. It's too small for me now," Rebecca said, contentedly patting her waist. "But it should fit you just fine."

"Rebecca, I couldn't wear a nice silk dress of yours."

"Why not? You might as well avail yourself of it. Daniel brought me a new gown on his most recent trip to Philadelphia, the most beautiful dress you can imagine--pale green silk with peach rosebuds. I must show it to you later."

Christian intruded on her thoughts again. Why couldn't she forget him? "Does anyone else from around here attend these events, like musicals and balls?"

"Only Daniel and I. You must realize we're far more fortunate than any other family for miles around. With Molly to help me, I have much more leisure time than most women around here. Other women barely have enough time to tend to the house and their children."

"I see," Gwen replied, properly chastened.

Rebecca clapped her hands. "Now then, let's see about my gown and what we must do to make it fit you properly. Oh, and a fan. I have one you can use."

"A fan." Gwen thought for a moment. "I don't think I'd know how to use one."

"'Twill take some practice. I'll show you. And by the way, you'll be obliged to wear stays. I have an extra one of those, too."

"Stays?" Gwen made a face. "Bet they're uncomfortable."

"I don't like them much, either. Truth to tell, I wear them very loosely at home and tighten them only for these balls. Daniel tells me the fashionable ladies of Philadelphia wear them very tightly all the time. Aye, even little girls."

"You're kidding!"

"Pardon me?"

"I mean, I find it difficult to believe." Gwen reminded herself to watch her language--again.

"'Tis true. But I don't think it's good for someone to wear them all the time, especially little girls. Enough talk. Let's see about your gown."

* * * *

Outside the commandant's house, Gwen stood between Daniel and Rebecca, getting a good look at the spacious brick residence. On the grounds of Fort Pitt next to the Flag Bastion, it sure was a lot bigger than her own house in the twenty-first century, she thought with a pang of nostalgia....

Inside the drawing room, scents and sounds became magnified, with so many red-coated officers and Pennsylvania belles gathered for the evening's entertainment. Dozens of beeswax candles flickered from brass chandeliers, revealing colorful silks and satins, sparkling jewels, and handsome officers in their red uniform coats.

Introductions and light talk followed, then they took their seats, Gwen between Daniel and Rebecca. She watched in fascination as two soldiers carried the oddest-looking instrument into the grand room, a third soldier following.

"They call this instrument an armonica," Daniel whispered to her. "I've never heard one played before."

"Neither have I," Gwen said in amazement, studying the strange contraption. Composed of a series of glass tumblers in graduated sizes, an iron rod spanning the center holes, it was attached to a wheel turned by a foot pedal, like a spinning wheel. The instrument reminded her of the times she'd made music on a wine glass as a kid. As if it were only yesterday, she remembered running her wet finger along the rim of a half-full wine glass. The memory brought a smile to her face.

She leaned back as the officer began to play, forgetting everything in the sweet tones of the music, its unusual, heavenly sound. She sighed, her hands folded in her lap.

During applause for the first composition--one she didn't recognize--Gwen looked around the room, her gaze absorbing the heavy draperies and brocade-covered chairs, the occasional table. Was this really happening? Was she really here in the eighteenth century, with all these distinguished-looking officers? And listening to music from another time?

"A remarkable contrivance," Rebecca said from her other side. "The music is so...." She pressed her finger to her cheek, frowning in thought.

"Ethereal," Gwen said. She smiled at her fancy language, yet that seemed as good as any word to describe the sweet sound of the music.

"Ethereal?" Rebecca smiled. "If you mean beautiful, I agree."

"One of Benjamin Franklin's inventions, I understand," Daniel said about a half-hour later as the last bit of applause faded away.

"Benjamin Franklin?" she asked in surprise.

Daniel nodded. "Surely you've heard of Franklin--a distinguished statesman and inventor, from this very province." He looked around as everyone rose from their chairs. "We shall have a brief respite now, then more music later." He smiled at her. "I've noticed all the men looking at you. I fear more than a few hearts may be broken tonight."

She smiled, rising from her chair and thinking she'd never enjoyed an evening such as this. Okay, so it wasn't a dance or a musical play, still its very dissimilarity made it that much more fun.

In a moment of reflection, she inhaled the faint scent of lavender that wafted from her clothes, but she missed her Escada. She smoothed her hand across the skirt of her luxurious silk gown, admiring how the pale blue material fell in graceful folds from her corseted waist, a hoop skirt underneath giving the gown added fullness. It was the most beautiful dress she'd ever worn, a serenade of whisper-soft silk with a layer of diaphanous gauze draped around her shoulders and gathered at the bosom with a silver brooch. Surreptitiously, she made extra swishing motions so she could hear the rustle of the silk.

But her stays were killing her. Aware the torture device would constrict her stomach, she'd eaten like a bird before leaving for Fort Pitt. A lot of good that did her. The stays made no allowance for her breasts but pressed against her chest until she thought her boobs would pop out of the gown. She took a deep breath, reminding herself--as if she needed reminding--never to wear the Iron Maiden again.

Richard Shelbourne, a tall red-haired officer with pale skin whom she'd met earlier, approached her from across the room. She fidgeted with her ivory fan, not sure what to expect when she saw his solemn expression.

He stopped beside her and made a slight bow. "Pray come with me, Miss Emrys, so we may have more privacy to talk."

"Okay by me."

He shot her a puzzled look. "I beg your pardon?"

Oops! There she went again. "Just my funny way of talking."

"I see."

Richard led her to a spot away from the other guests. She fanned herself, thankful for the breeze that fluttered the brocade curtains and cooled her face.

As they stopped beside a window, she nodded toward an officer across the room. "I'm afraid I missed the name of your commandant. How silly of me, but I was introduced to so many men...."

"Simeon Ecuyer," the lieutenant said. "Captain Ecuyer."

Gwen raised her eyebrows. "Ecuyer? The name sounds French."

"Nay, madam ... Swiss. He and Colonel Bouquet are both fine soldiers who have served the colonies well, and both are from Switzerland."

"Well, that explains their names." Resolved to act like a lady in colonial times, she collapsed her ivory fan and tapped it on his arm. "And you, sir? How do you like our fair province of Pennsylvania?"

"I'm liking it more and more," Richard said with a warm smile her way. "And if all the ladies are as pretty as you, I vow I'll stay and make my home in this province."

Gwen opened her fan to spread it in front of her face. "Sir, you flatter me so," she said, hoping she'd made a suitable reply. How did singles react to each other in this time period? "How kind you are to say such things."

Richard's look became serious. "I mean it, Miss Emrys, every word."

"Well, thank--" She stopped talking, chills racing down her back, faintness washing over her.

"Miss Emrys--"

Screams fractured the evening, Indian howls from the woods and cries of the wounded within the fort. Muskets roared from the parapets, punctuated by the cannons' booming. An attack!

Gwen pressed her hand to her pounding heart, looking around for a means of escape.

"I say, Miss Emrys, is something amiss?" Richard peered down at her, his brow wrinkled in concern.

"Oh!" Gwen glanced at all the people in the room and found everything and everyone the same, officers and their ladies talking and gossiping during this interlude. She laughed nervously. "Must be the heat. For a minute I thought--well, never mind."

"You must be thirsty on this warm night. How remiss of me." Richard placed his hand under her elbow and led her to a brocade-covered chair that stood against the wall. "Pray sit down and allow me to fetch you a glass of punch." After bestowing a slight bow, he headed for a lace-topped table that held a crystal punch bowl and cups. Men and women gathered around there, conversing and sipping with self-assured gentility.

Sitting in a hoop skirt was definitely awkward, but after several shifts of her position, she managed. Her heart still pounded, but she tried to push her emotions aside so she could return to her former enjoyment of the evening.

With a deep breath and a faint smile, she aimed to present a picture of calm sophistication. A lot of other single women graced the ballroom tonight, and if she wasn't mistaken, a few engagements might result from this evening.

"Here we are." Richard handed her a glass of punch, then pulled up a chair next to her. "Are you from Pittsburgh, madam?"

"No--nay, sir. Farther east, close to Fort Ligonier." Gwen smiled and sipped her lukewarm, overly sweet punch. "I miss city life," she said in dreamy recollection. The theaters, the opera and ballet, watching the Steelers play on a cold Sunday afternoon.

"City life? Then you're originally from Philadelphia, Miss Emrys?"

"I meant that I miss being able to visit the trading post where they have so many different things to buy." Gwen bit her lower lip to stifle a giggle, whether from nerves or her harmless joking, she wasn't sure. One thing she knew--it would be a long time before she forgot her recent vision.

"You really like to visit there?" Richard asked with a disparaging frown. "Then, madam, you would truly enjoy Philadelphia, with its many fine shops, not to mention its grand assemblies and other social activities."

"Sounds like fun." As a matter of fact, she'd never visited Philadelphia.

"Mayhap we have strayed from my original question," Richard said. "I meant to say that I should like to call on you, with your father's permission, of course. Pray give me your direction so that I may visit you at the earliest opportunity, that is, if you are agreeable."

My address? Sure. Just drive east on Route 30--that's the Lincoln Highway, you know, named for our sixteenth president.... She fanned herself vigorously. "La, sir, I'm quite ignorant with directions. But if you'd ask that gentleman over there," she said, nodding toward Daniel, "he's my uh, guardian, since my parents are dead. I'm sure he could tell you how to get--uh, I mean he could give you my direction."

Richard beamed. "Then I shall certainly speak to him." He looked across the room as the officer prepared to play again. "Now, Miss Emrys, will you do me the honor of sitting next to me while we listen to the armonica once more?"

* * * *

"What if I go with you on your medical rounds?" Gwen asked Christian a few days later, when he'd stopped by the Chamberlains. Ready to leave, he stood by the front door, his hand on the knob, his tri-corn in his other hand.

He dropped his hand from the doorknob. "You wish to accompany me on my rounds?"

"If it's no trouble."

"No trouble, I assure you, but I fear 'twill bore you."

She smiled. "Bore? Not me. Might be a learning experience."

"Very well, then. Let me know when you're prepared to depart."

"I'm ready now."

A ride of several miles led them to a weathered cabin set among acres of rye and flax, the crops planted in uneven rows filled with weeds. Heaps of garbage nestled against the house. A broken table and remnants of benches littered the scraggly yard. A short distance from the cabin, Christian dismounted by a sprawling oak, then reached for her and set her on the ground. They exchanged glances, and as always, her heart pounded at his touch. She dropped her gaze, reluctant for him to see his effect on her.

After tying the reins of both horses to a tree branch, he placed his hand under her elbow, both of them heading for the door.

"Isaac Beam and his family live here," he said as they approached. "You remember them from the church services, don't you?"

"Yes, I remember." Three little kids and a scumbag husband who falls asleep during the sermon.

Christian knocked on the door.

"Come on in," they heard from behind the closed door. "I can't get up."

Moaning reached them as they stepped inside, and it took several moments for Gwen to see in the dim room.

She stood by the entrance, her gaze absorbing the room's decrepit furnishings as Christian strode toward a lumpy mattress in a far corner where the farmer lay. Christian crouched down beside the man.

The farmer raised a pudgy hand, pointing to Gwen. "What's she doin' here?"

Christian looked up at Gwen and smiled, then returned his attention to Isaac Beam. "She's my assistant for today. Now, Isaac, pray tell me what ails you."

"My back, doctor. It's killin' me."

While Christian dealt with the farmer, Gwen busied herself straightening up the cabin. She found a broom in a corner and began sweeping. After a few minutes, she opened the door and swept a week's accumulation of dirt and dust outside. She looked around to see how else she could help, all the while listening to Christian's low-voiced comments to the farmer.

Gently, Christian touched the man's shoulder. "Isaac Beam, if I could give you a magic pill to make you free of pain, I'd gladly do so. But since I can't perform magic, I'll try to alleviate your discomfort as best I can. Now tell me exactly where you hurt."

Turned on his side, Isaac pressed his hand to his lower back and moaned. "Here, doctor."

Christian ran his fingers along the man's spine, concentrating on the lower lumbar region. "D'you know how this happened? Did you have a bad fall, or did you wake up one morning with a sore back?"

"Bent over the wrong way a few days ago. Couldn't hardly straighten up afterwards. Can't do no work, as ya can see. Wife and older childern work in the fields while the baby sleeps," he said, nodding toward the crib. "What am I gonna do? How can I do any work when I hurt so bad?" He groaned again. "I drank some cow's pee, thinkin' that might help, but it didn't do no good."

"Plague take it, man! Cow's urine will avail you naught." Old wives' tales! Christian blew out a heavy sigh. "Well, I think I can make you feel better, but 'twill take some time and effort on your part."

"Effort? Whadda you mean?"

"I'm going to give you something that should help relieve the pain, then I want you up and walking day after tomorrow. No excuses."

"Up and walkin'?" Isaac raised his head, then winced in agony. "How can I get up and walk around when I hurt so bad?"

"You can and you shall." Christian pushed himself to his feet and strode toward the fireplace where a pot of boiling water hung from a trammel, with socks and shirts draped across a rope that stretched from the hearth to a near wall. He grabbed a shirt and dipped it into the boiling water, waiting a few seconds to let the excess water drain into the pot.

After tossing the broom against a wall, Gwen gathered up dirty dishes and set them in a wooden tub that commanded one corner. With her gaze on Christian, she hefted the heavy pan of hot water and dumped the water on the dishes, leaving them to soak. No point in trying to wash the food-encrusted dishes now.

Christian squeezed the steaming wet shirt, then returned to Isaac. "Heat should help, so we'll apply that first," he said, laying the warm shirt on the man's lower back. "Now, doesn't that feel good? In the absence of anything pathological, there's no reason for you to lie down all the time. Indeed, 'twill hinder your recovery."

"You're usin' a lotta fancy words, doctor."

"Then maybe you can understand this, Isaac Beam. You'll only get worse if you stay in bed. I'll leave a jar of healing tea for you, and I want your wife to apply heat to your back, say, every two hours."

"I have a suggestion."

At her voice, both men stared at Gwen.

Gwen approached them, wondering if Christian would resent her interference. "Stretching is good for the back," she began, "so--"

"Stretching?" the two men echoed.

"Sure." Gwen sat on a stool to demonstrate. "Sit on the stool like I'm doing and bend over to touch your toes. You can rest your head on your knees," she said, her voice muffled as she showed them how, "then raise up after about a minute." She sat back up. "Does wonders for your back."

Christian frowned. "I never heard of such a thing."

She lifted her chin. "Well, I got this advice from a doctor when I had a back problem. Believe me, it worked." She thought quickly. "Other exercises you can do, too, like raising both knees together to your chin while you're lying down."

Christian's frown deepened. "Mayhap these exercises will only make his back worse."

"No, Christian, I swear they'll help. What have you got to lose?"

"'Tis worth a try." Christian looked from Gwen to Isaac.

"Humph!"

"Try the lady's exercises, Isaac," Christian said, tapping him on the shoulder. "Mayhap they'll help." He rose, straightening his deerskin leggings. "I fear I can't stay any longer since I have other calls to make."

He walked with Gwen toward the door, then turned to wag his finger at the man. "I'm going to check on you in a couple of days, and I don't want to find you in bed."

"You see what I have to contend with," Christian said outside the house as they headed for the horses. "'Tis not easy to deal with some of these people." He snorted. "Cow's urine!"

Gwen shaded her eyes against the bright sunlight. "I don't think I could do it--minister to all these settlers like you do."

He reached the horses and smiled. "Mayhap I don't know any better."

Hours later, after visiting several more families, they stopped to rest in the meadow, their gazes immediately drawn to the stream.

Next to Christian, Gwen knelt and cupped water in her hands, drinking until she'd satisfied her thirst. She brushed her hand across her mouth and sat on the grass, her legs drawn back at her side. A light breeze ruffled a few stray hairs while she absently picked violets blossoming by the stream, her mind continually on Christian, wondering what was on his mind, and if he would kiss her....

One booted foot resting on a rock, Christian gazed down at her. "Prettiest sight I've seen all day. If I were a painter, I'd paint you as you are now, here by the stream."

Gwen dropped the violets in her lap. "I'd like to have my portrait painted some day."

"Mayhap if you ever visit Philadelphia. Many portrait painters there."

She looked up at him and smiled. "I'd like that." She reached for a violet in her lap and studied it. "Haven't seen Leah Conway since the frolic," she said, her heart thumping. "How is she doing these days?"

Christian sat down beside her, one knee drawn up to his chest. He plucked a blade of grass and smoothed it between his fingers. "That's a question you should ask Edward Horton. He might know the answer better than I." He spoke in a low voice, his look somber.

"Edward Horton?" she asked. "I remember meeting him at the frolic, too. What's he got to do with Leah?"

"Courting her. I believe they care for each other."

And you? she wanted to ask. Do you still care for Leah? Remembering the time he'd spent with her at the frolic and again at the church service, she risked a sidelong glance at him and saw his solemn look had intensified.

After a long period of silence, Christian stood and held his hand out to her. "Time to go back, I'm afraid. I still have much to do, as I'm sure you do, also."

She put her hand in his and rose, brushing off the back of her dress. She stood so close to him, she could see every line in his face, every fleck in his dark eyes.

He drew her ever closer. "Gwen, I...."

"Yes?"

He bent to kiss her forehead. "There's much about you I don't know," he murmured. "Perhaps we need time to learn more of each other."

She nodded. "I'll go along with that."

But did they have enough time, she agonized, before the Indians attacked and threatened both their lives?

* * * *

Later that same week, Gwen opened the door to a visitor. "I say, Miss Emrys, 'twasn't easy to find this place through that dense forest." At her greeting, Richard stepped inside the entranceway. "But I must tell you the difficulties I encountered were well worth it when I find such a lovely lady at the end of my quest."

"You're right, lieutenant," Gwen agreed, "at least about the location. We sure are in the middle of nowhere. Let's hope someday there'll be a better road from Fort Pitt to this part of the sta--uh, province." She indicated a chair. "Sit down, why don't you? Can I get you something to drink, tea or maybe something stronger?"

"Tea sounds fine, Miss Emrys."

She waited while Richard got settled in the Windsor chair and watched him glance around the room, a thoughtful frown on his face. He probably lives in a Georgian mansion back in England, she mused. She wouldn't be surprised if his family owned several other houses scattered throughout the country. So what did he think she was--a country bumpkin? She shrugged, trying not to care but knowing Richard's opinion mattered to her.

She folded her hands at her waist. "I'll go tell Molly to bring the tea."

First giving instructions to Molly, Gwen headed back to the common room. Her brain worked furiously, Richard's visit on her mind. Possibly, she shouldn't have encouraged him to come here in the first place, not when she cared for Christian. But it would have been rude and ungracious to rebuff the lieutenant.

A few minutes later, Rebecca joined them.

"I'm sorry my husband isn't here to welcome you, lieutenant," Rebecca said after greetings, "but he had to call on one of the neighbors. Don't know when he'll be back." She looked up as Molly brought the tea things into the room and set them on a small end table.

Gwen reached for the teapot. "Cream and sugar, lieutenant?"

"Neither, thank you."

First handing Richard his cup, she poured for Rebecca and herself then passed a plate of ginger cakes around.

Richard sipped his tea and smiled. "I've never tasted this kind of tea before."

"Sassafras," Gwen said from the settle. "We have it often."

"I must remember to take the brew back to England with me." He turned toward Rebecca. "As you know, Mistress Chamberlain, your husband is a frequent visitor at Fort Pitt. I fear he disapproves of our policy toward the Indians. I rather think he feels we should coddle them."

Rebecca stirred her tea. "Not coddle, sir, just treat them more fairly. Sell them ammunition and--"

A knock at the door interrupted her. Exchanging a puzzled glance with Rebecca, Gwen rose to answer the door....

"Christian! How nice to see you!" But why now, when Richard was already here? Oh, oh, complications.

"Gwen."

With that smile of his that warmed her all over, Christian removed his tri-corn and strode into the entrance hall. He smelled of pine soap and the outdoors, his face the most pleasant sight she'd seen in a long time. He moved with an easy grace, as if he could feel at home in the humblest log cabin or the grandest Georgian drawing room.

"Come join us," Gwen said with false brightness as she led the way into the common room.

Christian's smile faded when he saw the other man, but he quickly recovered, giving Richard a casual nod.

Maybe Richard and Christian should collaborate on their schedules, Gwen thought as she made the introductions, aware the men were sizing each other up. She returned to the settle, where Christian sat beside her, his nearness rattling her.

After an exchange of neighborhood news, Rebecca rose and set her cup on the table. "Pray excuse me. I must check on the children." She smiled at the others. "When the little ones are quiet, 'tis time to be concerned."

Gwen reached for a ginger cake, her glance sliding from one man to the other. "We were just discussing the Indian situation at Fort Pitt," she said, hoping the subject wouldn't cause an argument. "Apparently the British government and the colonists don't look at the situation the same way."

"Indeed," Christian said. "The Indian can be a most formidable enemy, sir. I think 'tis best to treat him fairly and keep him on your side."

"Stuff!" Richard snorted. "The Indian's no match for the British soldier, sir. Why, only look at the military power at Fort Pitt, not to mention the vast army in Philadelphia under Colonel Bouquet."

Christian shook his head. "I beg leave to disagree. I can recall many times when the Indian has been more than a match for the British army. And 'tis the settlers who must suffer the consequences of British mismanagement."

Richard half-rose from his chair, then sank back down. "Are you saying the British government doesn't know how to handle these savages? I believe, sir, that statement borders on treason."

"No treason intended, sir," Christian stated. "I'm a loyal British subject. I'm saying only it wouldn't hurt for the British government to be understanding and broad-minded in respect to the Indians. Look at the situation from their viewpoint, learn from the French--"

"The French!"

"Aye, just so. The French know how to handle the Indians, something the British apparently haven't learned yet. Might I suggest that you don't wait for a problem to arise? Rather work to prevent any problems."

"Sir, are you lecturing me on my duty as a soldier?" His face grim, Richard clenched his hands on the armrests of his chair. "I'm telling you, the British government has enough military might to handle these savages. We don't have to understand them."

Gwen threw a frantic glance from one man to the other. "Let's all hope the question of British military might is never put to the test. Lieutenant, I can't remember if you told me where you're from. London, maybe?"

"Surrey," Richard replied, his face still creased with irritation. "My family owns an extensive estate there." He released his hold on the armrests and eased back in his chair. "But you've been to London?" she asked. "I've heard it's a real fun--uh, a pleasant city." Definitely. Harrods, the theaters, jazz clubs. She directed a wistful look in Richard's direction. "I should so love to see London some time." She'd spent two weeks there last summer, having flown round-trip on a 747.

"Indeed, I've been to London many times," Richard answered. "And much of it is pleasant, the better parts of the city, that is. I should like to show you London one day. I vow there is much to see and do--dances and routs, the parks, Vauxhall Gardens."

Gwen clapped her hands. "Sounds great! Maybe someday I'll be able to go there, providing you take me to all these places, lieutenant."

"Madam, that would give me the greatest pleasure."

Assuming a mask of casual indifference, Christian studied the officer and decided he might bear observation. He studied Gwen out of the corner of his eye, resolved to pay her more attention, even if he still couldn't figure her out.

A thought flashed through his mind. Might she be using Richard's courtship for ulterior purposes? Gleaning military information from the lieutenant? If so, how was she getting this information to the French?

Yes, indeed, he'd pay her more attention.

Chapter Nine

"My nose, Dr. Norgard! He cut off my nose!"

While Simon Fletcher squirmed in a chair, Christian bent over to examine the fellow's bloody nose, grateful for the sunlight that streamed through the open door. Placing a restraining hand on the farmer's shoulder, he gently sponged his face with soap and warm water.

Simon looked up, an expression of hopeless misery on his face as Christian pondered this medical dilemma. Much of Simon's nose remained, and his breathing didn't appear to be affected. So whatever Christian did would be solely for cosmetic reasons. Who'd want to go through life with a truncated nose?

"How did this happen?" Christian asked as he straightened up, playing for time.

"Got into a fight with Isaac Beam, the son of a bitch! All I did was give 'im a little push, and before I knew it, he whipped his knife out and cut off my nose."

Surely these settlers had better things to do than get into fights. Apparently Isaac Beam's back was improved, Christian thought, trying to find a happy note in this situation. He sighed.

"Very well. You may not believe this, but 'tis not as bad as you may think. And I can do something about it, but I'll need your cooperation. First thing--"

Simon sprang from his chair. "What are you gonna do, doctor?"

"I'm going to give you a new nose. It may not look exactly the same as your old one, but 'twill be a damn sight better than what you have now." He leaned back against the slab table and folded his arms across his chest. "Let me explain the procedure to you. I'll take a bit of skin from your arm and make a new nose from that. You won't feel a thing," he said hurriedly, "because I'll give you something to put you to sleep."

"A hit on the head?" the farmer asked with a fearful look as he gingerly returned to his seat. His face had gone white.

"Nay. I have a decoction called an anesthetic. It will put you to sleep so you won't feel any pain. You'll wake up after the surgery is completed." Christian hoped he'd injected enough confidence in his voice. God help him! He'd never done this surgery, had seen it performed only once. He'd read about it in his medical textbooks, of course, and knew every step of the procedure.

He washed his hands with hot water and lye soap, aware few doctors took that precaution of cleanliness. He'd read of fastidious Arab doctors in centuries past who'd practiced cleanliness, and with medically worthwhile results. At least, it had kept the rate of infection down.

The farmer threw him a suspicious look. "I'm gonna bleed a lot, ain't I?"

"Not excessively, and rest assured, I'll sew up your skin when I'm done." He took Simon's arm. "Here, let me help you get settled."

"Don't know if I wanna do this," Simon mumbled, drawing back.

Filled with countless anxieties, Christian released him. "Very well, then, you may go home." He gestured toward his open door. "Go on, no hard feelings."

Simon sighed heavily, raising his hand to his mutilated nose. "No, you got it right, doctor. I need a new nose," he said in a trembling voice.

Christian patted him on the shoulder. "You made the correct decision, Simon. We shall proceed." He indicated the table. "Lie down here. 'Tis the best place for the operation."

He set a wooden box with metal hinges on the chair and retrieved a jar and sponge from the box--a soporific sponge, the ancients had called it. Too bad the procedure had disappeared with antiquity, for precious few doctors used anesthetics in these times, most unfortunately for their patients.

His mind returning to the task, he kept up a steady stream of conversation as he kept a level gaze on Simon. "I've made a decoction of opium, henbane, and mandragora bark. 'Twill put you to sleep, so you don't feel any pain." Christian dipped the sponge into the decoction. "Now I'm going to hold this to your nose, and I want you to breathe in deeply." Christian held the sponge to the man's nose, counting to himself. Within seconds, Simon fell asleep, his head lolling to the side.

After he poured vinegar over the instruments and set them on the chair, Christian selected a sharp knife and began to cut a piece of skin from Simon's arm. Minutes later, he completed that step of the procedure, then closed the cut on the man's arm, using flax thread and a curved needle. With adhesive plaster, he attached the skin to the nose and bandaged it firmly to hold the skin in place.

Tomorrow, he'd check Simon's nose to convince himself the transplanted skin had attached itself properly to the nose. Blowing out a long breath, Christian moved away from the table and sank onto the bottom step. He buried his face in his hands, knees jerking, his stomach churning. Staring at nothing, he sat there for the longest time, clasping and unclasping his hands while he waited for his exhaustion to pass, for his heartbeat to return to normal.

Countless minutes went by, and images of Gwen gradually replaced his anxieties. Only thinking about her made him feel so much better.

* * * *

"Now, children, let's sing the alphabet song I taught you." Gwen led the singing, "A-B-C-D-E-F-G," happy to see she'd made some progress with her twelve students by the second day of school. The older children seemed eager to learn, but it was a big job to keep the attention of the fidgety younger ones. What was she doing here, conducting a class or managing a day-care center? Two of the children were under five, escorted to school by their older siblings. She figured their mothers wanted to get the kids off their hands, and that was okay by her, but she had to use all her tricks to keep them quiet and attentive.

A few days before starting the class, she and Rebecca had cleaned out an empty cabin on the Chamberlain property, first sweeping it out and checking for snakes. Now, flower-printed muslin curtains brightened the room, and woven straw mats Rebecca had made gave the kids comfortable seats. With hornbooks, primers, and games she remembered, Gwen thought she'd managed the children rather well so far. At least there hadn't been any fights or discipline problems, unlike her former high school classes. Why, she might even get used to teaching these boys and girls.

"Hey, that's good," Gwen said after they finished singing. "I think you've all mastered the alphabet. So how about a game now?" Smiles, oohs, and ahs greeted her suggestion. "You like that idea? Okay, here goes. Who can give me a word that starts with an A? Remember to raise your hand," she said quickly, "so everyone doesn't speak at the same time."

"Yes, Jimmy?" she said as a hand shot up.

"Aunt," the ten-year old volunteered.

"You mean the little insect that crawls on the ground and eats your food?"

"Nay, Miss Emrys," he said with a befuddled look, "I have an Aunt Edith in Bedford."

"Oh! That kind of aunt. Very good, Jimmy." She brushed her hand across her perspiring forehead, wishing the room had air conditioning. It seemed as hot as an oven in the little cabin, but since Rebecca had warned her that snakes might slip inside, she kept the door closed.

"Now B," she prompted.

Her mind drifted while the boys and girls raised their hands, her thoughts focused on the upcoming Saturday night ball at Fort Pitt ... music, dancing, red-coated soldiers hungry for feminine companionship. If only Christian could attend....

* * * *

"Shall I give you a tour of the fort?" Richard Shelbourne asked Gwen as they stood outside the commandant's brick house. They'd left the confines of Captain Ecuyer's dwelling to get a breath of fresh air on this humid, sizzling night. The summer sun still beamed brightly enough to expose every stone and brick of the fort and all the buildings that encircled the vast parade ground. "That is, if you want to have a tour?" he said, good-looking in his grenadier's uniform.

"Yeah, sure, uh, I mean yes, thank you." Gwen tucked her arm through his. "I find this quite fascinating, really." And weird, she wanted to add as that eerie I've-been-here-in-the-past feeling sent goose bumps traveling along her arms. To think she had to save Christian's life here! The screams of the wounded echoed in her ears, the vivid image of blood a painful reminder of the dangers she must face. She took a deep breath, determined she would not show her fear in front of Richard. She would not spoil his evening or hers. Lifting the hem of her silk gown, she strolled with Richard as he pointed to the earth embankments and the high brick walls. Soldiers, their muskets clasped in their hands, patrolled from the earthen parapets.

"We won't tour the whole fort, since it covers seventeen acres," Richard said. "'Tis much bigger than the French fort that stood near here." He made a wide sweep of his arm. "The fort has a bastion at each of its five sides."

"A pentagon," Gwen said, her gaze covering the grounds of Fort Pitt.

"Aye, you have the right of it." He frowned. "How'd you know that word--pentagon?"

"I ... I must have heard it somewhere. Maybe Mr. Chamberlain mentioned it."

"Could be." He gave her an indulgent smile. "Mayhap I'm boring you."

"Hey, I'm taking all this in."

"You are what?"

"Uh, I mean I find this all quite informative." Anyway, she'd keep a picture of the fort in her mind, to remember every detail. Who could tell? This information might be a true lifesaver when the Indian troubles started. She gazed around her, gray shadows now draping across the grounds and buildings. "Look, it's beginning to get dark, so shall we go back inside...?"

Within the commandant's house, beeswax candles blazed from the brass chandelier, revealing the other guests as they laughed and talked between dances. Thankful Rebecca had taught her the minuet and a few other old-fashioned dances, Gwen tapped her feet to the music. As sets formed for a quadrille, she threw Richard a hopeful look.

He bowed. "Dance, Miss Emrys?"

"You read my mind," she replied, smiling to the others in the group. As the string quartet began to play, she moved sedately, her silk gown swaying about her feet. I've never had so much fun in my life, she thought with a smile in Richard's direction--the music, the dances, meeting the soldiers and their girlfriends. If only Christian--

Something drew her gaze to the room's entrance. Christian! She missed a step but caught herself in time. Any other time, she'd love this quadrille, but now, would it ever end? She stole another glance at the doorway to see Christian's eyes on her, a look of pleased surprise on his face. A few minutes later, his face held an expression of studied nonchalance, and she scolded herself for making her pleasure so obvious. Christian, you don't fool me, she wanted to say as she moved to the slow tempo of the music.

The music stopped and everyone smiled, their faces flushed with the heat. Richard led her from the dance floor, his hand wrapped around hers, her elbow by his side. "Would you like a glass of punch, Miss Emrys?" he asked with his lips close to her ear.

"You got it!" Frowning at her slip of the tongue, she spoke more demurely. "Yes, thank you, lieutenant. That sounds like a splendid idea."

"I shall return shortly." As Richard headed for the punch table, Gwen fanned herself vigorously and glanced around the room. Holding the fan close to her face, she peeked above it to see Christian by a far wall, talking to an officer whose name she couldn't remember. A thrill of satisfaction made her heart jump as Christian's gaze strayed in her direction before he focused his attention on the officer again.

A glimpse at the punch table showed Richard with a fellow officer, both of them deep in conversation. Now, if only Christian would break away from his companion to come to her.... She turned her back to him and languidly fanned herself, trying to look calm and collected, as if this evening was like any other, as if her stomach wasn't tied in knots.

Drink in hand, Christian came to stand beside her, startling her. "Gwen, how nice to see you here tonight," he said in his deep voice, making her heart beat faster than a castanet. "You seem to be enjoying yourself." He ran an appreciative glance over her, from the top of her head to the hem of her silk gown, his look warm and sensual.

"Yes," she said, swallowing hard.

Why couldn't she say something smart or flippant? Why did he always have this incredible effect on her? How handsome he looked in his dark blue breeches and navy blue coat with brass buttons, and a dark green vest--or waistcoat, did they call it? A faint trace of tobacco added to his charm, as if it had been woven into the fine woolen texture of his suit.

She smiled. "I'm enjoying myself, but what a surprise to see you here."

"So you consider me too rustic for these sophisticated pleasures?" he asked with a teasing grin.

Her face warmed. When would she ever learn to curb her smart mouth? "Hey, I didn't mean it that way. Rebecca once said that no one else from the settlement comes here, so naturally I thought...." She shrugged, at a loss for words.

"Normally that is so, but the military surgeon extended an invitation to me, which I gratefully accepted. As they say, 'All work and no play...,'" he said with an engaging grin. "'Tis pleasant to escape the confines of the wilderness now and then, don't you agree?" He sipped his drink but kept his eyes steady on her.

"Wilderness ... yeah, you can say that again. And another thing--you do seem to be a busy man. I'm not sure I thanked you enough for taking such good care of me during my illness. If it hadn't been for you ... well, I'd hate to think what might have happened." Vaguely, she heard the quartet playing a country dance, heard the murmur of voices as red-coated officers and elegantly-gowned women formed sets, but she wouldn't trade Christian's company for all the dances in the world.

"'Tis a doctor's responsibility to take care of his patients. But then, 'tis not every day I have the opportunity to care for such a lovely lady." He flashed her a roguish grin. "Sometimes the rewards make my endeavors truly worthwhile."

She bit her lower lip, looking up at him with no pretense or guile. "I like to hear you say those things."

"And I like to say them."

Passionate fantasies spiraled dizzily in her mind--Christian kissing her, their bodies entwined. She let her hand drop to her side, wondering how much longer she could maintain her poise.

"That light blue becomes you." Christian nodded toward her gown. "Brings out the color of your eyes." He looked at her closely. "I can't decide if your eyes are blue or green, or maybe blue-green."

"They're whatever color you want them to be." What a dumb answer. She gave him a warm smile, immensely pleased she'd managed to speak in a calm voice.

"In any event, you look quite lovely tonight." Christian's gaze ran over her again, drifting from the gown's low neckline to her face, a moment of awed wonder passing between them. Music and voices faded to nothing, as if the world had stopped spinning, as if she and Christian were the only people left on the planet. All her thoughts and dreams, everything she'd ever wanted in life, centered on this man.

She saw desire in his eyes, but did he care for her, or did she see only lust in his look? He sure knew how to turn on the charm, just like any hot-blooded American male in her own time.

And yes, he'd taken good care of her during her illness, but that didn't mean a thing. He would have done the same for any other patient. His hands appeared so strong and capable, yet she remembered their gentle touch. If only he were touching her now....

He spoke, jerking her back to reality. "Do you come here often?"

She ran her tongue along her lower lip. "Once before, at a musical."

"Ah, then I see I must inveigle more invitations." He raised his glass to his mouth,

his gaze fixed on her, tempting her, taunting her, spawning a hundred brazen fantasies.

So many memories flashed through her mind--his every mood, every facial expression, his lighthearted and more serious moments. Despite the hours he spent in the saddle, Christian stood as tall and erect as any soldier here and was more handsome than any of them.

Gwen knew now what she'd waited for all her life, realized Christian was the only person who gave her present life any meaning. She'd give anything to hear him say the same to her. Hold me in your arms, she wished she could tell him. Drive me out of my mind with your kisses and never let me go. She knew why she'd remained untouched, knew Christian was the only man who could awaken the passion that even now threatened to overwhelm her.

"Gwen, I...," Christian reached out to brush his fingers along her cheek, then drew his hand back.

Richard returned, handing her a glass of punch. "I apologize for my extended absence. One of my commanding officers wished to discuss arrangements for the defense of the fort, and I could hardly break away." He swept a possessive glance over her, then gave Christian a curt nod. "'Evening, Norgard. Surprised to see you here."

Christian chuckled. "You're not the only one. I must be the eighth wonder of the world." He leaned closer to the officer and spoke in low tones. "Actually, my guards at the insane asylum let me loose this one night to see if it would cure me of my melancholia."

Richard gave him a look of barely-concealed contempt. "In other words, you didn't receive an invitation."

Christian drew back in mock surprise. "Oh, did I need an invitation? I thought these balls were open to everyone." He smacked his forehead in theatrical despair. "Don't tell me I dressed up for nothing! Well then, I must depart." With a wink for Gwen, he turned away, making as if to leave.

Giggling, Gwen drew him back, absorbing his body heat through his frock coat. "Oh, I think you can stay just this one time." She thought Christian had handled the situation very smoothly, and yes, she had to admit that Richard often got carried away with his own importance. But she'd keep her feelings to herself.

It wouldn't hurt to keep Christian guessing.

Chapter Ten

"I like weddings, don't you?" Gwen smiled at Mary Fletcher, wondering how old she was. Rebecca had told her Mary's children were quite young, but the woman looked close to fifty, with gray hairs sprinkled among the brown, and sunburned, wrinkled skin.

Mary cackled. "Better 'n funerals, I always say."

"You got it there." Gwen turned her attention to the men, women, and children who crowded the spacious common room of the Conway house to attend Leah's wedding to Edward Horton. Voices filled the room, men and women talking and laughing, now and then glancing toward the front door, waiting for the minister. One young mother sat on a chair in a far corner, her bodice open while she nursed her baby.

Gwen resisted the temptation to scan the room. Had Christian come today? Her heart raced with the thought.

Oh, there he was! Christian stood by the wide fireplace, apart from the others, broodingly handsome in his white linen shirt, dark blue fustian breeches, and deep green waistcoat. How serious he looked. She wished she could go to him, say something to erase the worry lines from his face.

He must love Leah, she fretted, recalling the times Christian had spent with the other woman during the church services. Why did that reality hurt so much? Resolved to distract herself, she studied the room, admiring the oak table and chairs, the brass chandelier and iron wall sconces, the colorful printed curtains at the front windows.

Leah stood between her parents, looking quite pretty and radiantly happy. No wonder Christian cared for her. A spurt of jealousy stabbed Gwen, as painful as a migraine. At least, Leah was marrying another man. What would she do if Leah were marrying Christian? she wondered, determined to stop pining over the man.

The Reverend Ebenezer Endicott stepped through the open doorway, the guests breathing a collective sigh of relief.

"Sorry I'm late, good people. Just finished with a funeral far to the east, so I've had a long ride." He drew a small book from a pocket of his black frock coat and fussed with his spectacles, polishing them and holding them up to the light, then he carefully slipped them on.

His look settled on Leah and Edward. "Will the bride and groom please step forward?" All conversation stopped, all eyes shifting to Edward and Leah at the front of the room as the minister found his place in the Book of Common Prayer.

While the bride and groom exchanged vows, Gwen sneaked a look at Christian, alarmed that his sober expression had deepened. As if aware of her scrutiny, he looked her way and smiled, a quick bright smile that made her heart beat faster.

Like a flash of light in a dark room, a sudden comprehension jolted her. She loved him, a fact she could no longer deny. All those hours they'd shared--at the frolic, during Bryony's sickness and hers, too, all the occasions in between--each minute together had strengthened her feeling for him. What had begun as admiration was now total, overwhelming love. She didn't know how she could live without him. You might have to live without him, a voice inside her head reminded her.

She would love him until she died, no question about it. He was her soul mate, and even if she lived a thousand more lives, Christian was the man she wanted to accompany her throughout eternity. Why hadn't this occurred to her before? And what was she going to do about it?

After the ceremony, the dancing began with the screech of the fiddle and the trilling of the flute. While several guests danced, others headed for the buffet table to help themselves to platters of sliced ham and turkey, potato and pumpkin pudding, corn bread, and cherry tarts. Gwen moved through the line with the other guests, her appetite gone, even though she'd eaten breakfast hours ago. Resolved to present an image of careless enjoyment, she laughed at something Daniel said behind her, while her mind wandered in a hundred different directions.

Tempted to look for Christian, she caught herself in time, reluctant to make herself obvious. Well, where was he--off by himself, fretting over Leah?

Finished with the buffet line, she stood between Rebecca and Daniel, listlessly nibbling on a slice of corn bread. Tired of the pretense, she excused herself and headed for the table to set her plate down. None of the others would notice if she left, and she didn't give a darn if they did. A girl needs some time to herself, she silently declared, pasting a smile on her face, nodding to neighbors. As she eased through the crowd, a flood of poignant memories surfaced, vibrant traces of people and places she'd never see again. She missed her family, her friends, her students more than she'd ever thought possible. But if she hadn't made this trip back in time, she'd never have met Christian.

Outside, she found a cozy area at the side of the house where a long wooden bench

sat in the midst of a sprawling oak and a weeping willow. Breezy and cool, the area provided shade and relief from the heat, a place where she could have a little solitude, although she realized it would be rude to stay out here too long. Fifteen minutes, then.

Raising her face to the early afternoon sky, she breathed in the sweet fragrance of strawberries, borne on a light breeze. She drew her hat off and dropped it on the bench, then removed all the pins from her hair and let the long locks cascade past her shoulders, the way she wanted to wear her hair all the time but didn't dare. Ah, eighteenth century convention. Now, if she had her jeans and a T-shirt....

She rested her head against the trunk of a spreading oak, her wayward thoughts drifting.

A rustle of branches startled her, bringing a frown to her face. Was it too much to expect she might have a few minutes to herself? She swung around and saw Christian approach, the shade of the trees accentuating his solemn expression. She clutched the folds of her dress, then quickly let go, fixing a calm expression on her face.

He stood beside her. "Why did you desert us?"

"I didn't think anyone would notice my absence."

"I noticed it."

She smiled and shrugged, not knowing what to say. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. One thing she resolved--she would not let Christian see the unsettling effect he had on her, how even the sound of his voice made her want to rush into his arms and cover his face with kisses.

"You haven't answered my question," Christian said. Sunlight filtered through the trees, dappling his face, making it difficult to see his expression.

"Why do you ask?"

"I'm your doctor," he said with a teasing grin. "I wondered if you were sick."

Yes, sick of thinking about you all the time, wondering if you still care for Leah.

The breeze picked up, a strand of hair blowing across her cheek, and she brushed the lock aside. "Not sick. Just like to be by myself sometimes. Besides, it was rather hot in there."

"True." He gave her a long, thoughtful look. "I still don't understand you. Why did you come to this part of the country? What is your purpose here?" Christian shook his head, a hint of a frown on his face. "You're a puzzlement, to be sure."

She rolled her eyes. "Why do you bring this up again, after all this time? I thought we'd worked this out before."

"You thought we'd worked it out, but you've never fully explained your reason for being here."

"It's all a Papist plot."

Christian nodded in mock solemnity. "Mayhap so."

One idea after another flitted through her head, each quickly discarded, until she settled on a compromise.

"I believe everyone has a purpose in life," she said.

"What is your purpose, then?"

"Umm." She thought about all the things she wanted to tell him--the coming Indian attacks, her trip back in time to save his life. Would he believe her? Not a chance. "How much time do you have to listen?"

He inclined his head. "As much time as you need."

Tree branches tossed in the wind, and clouds drifted in front of the sun, the air becoming cooler. She suppressed a shiver, not for anything wanting to distract him from their discussion.

She forced herself to speak in an even voice. "I believe my presence here is closely connected with the Indian rebellion, which I already told you about and which you don't accept."

"Correct on both counts."

After a pause, she went on. "I think I may be able to save a few lives in this struggle with the Indians."

"Oh, really?" Christian folded his arms across his chest. "How will you do that?"

"By warning people, for one thing, as I've tried to warn you. I might even talk to Captain Ecuyer at Fort Pitt."

"You do that. I'm sure he'll appreciate your advice. But why stop there? Why not go all the way to Colonel Bouquet or even Sir Jeffrey Amherst?"

Gwen lifted her chin. "It's certainly worth a try to talk to Captain Ecuyer."

"Let's change the subject," Christian said. "I--"

"Good idea."

"--I wondered if Richard Shelbourne has called on you lately."

Her mind swirled with all the implications of his question. Did he care for her, or was his question prompted by idle curiosity? "You're very inquisitive today," she said, finding refuge in banter.

"He's not the man for you."

"You said the same about Noah Enfield, and in any case, it's no business of yours whom I see. Richard Shelbourne is a fine gentleman, an interesting person to be with." She tilted her head. "Why do you pry into my affairs?"

Christian ran his fingers through his hair. For as long as Gwen had known him, he'd always been a picture of absolute self-confidence, never at a loss for words. But now....

"Your happiness is my business, or maybe I should say I've made it my business," Christian said. "I've come to think much of you--"

"More than of Leah Conway?" Her hand flew to her mouth. She'd give a million dollars to take back those words, but there they were, hanging in the air between them.

"Leah." Christian sighed. "We grew up together. Our families knew each other well. At one time, I thought I cared for her. But now ... now I hope she and Edward will find happiness together."

"Then you don't mind that she married Edward?"

"Mind? No, of course not."

Wow! This changed everything. She wanted to sing, dance, and shout her happiness to the world. All this time she'd assumed Christian wanted Leah. But wait, his words still didn't mean he cared for her.

Christian stepped closer, a look of tenderness in his eyes. "You haven't answered my question."

"No," she murmured, "he hasn't visited me, not since the time when you came to visit, too."

"Good." Christian brushed a stray curl from her forehead. His fingers traced the lines of her cheekbone, his touch light and caressing. "I love your hair down like this, instead of hidden under that mobcap you wear around the house. Unfortunate for me that you can't wear it like this all the time." He lifted the long tresses, letting them slide through his fingers like silken threads, then released his hand, her hair rippling down her back. "I've wanted to do that for the longest time," he said, "even when you first appeared at my house. And I've wanted to hold you in my arms. Gwen...."

"Christian...." Before she knew how it had happened, she found herself in his embrace. He whispered her name again and again as he feathered kisses from her forehead, down her cheek, and on to the hollow of her throat, his breath warm on her skin, like a kitten's fur. She returned kiss for kiss and ran her hand across his back, feeling every ridge and contour.

He changed his position to hold her ever tighter, his hands roaming down her back, pressing her hips against him. She was floating, floating, floating somewhere in the stratosphere, and she never wanted to come back down to earth.

Just when she thought she couldn't take anymore, Christian drew back slightly to caress her breast, his fingers warm through the thin material of her cotton dress. His hand made a circling motion, moving ever closer to her nipple. When he smoothed his finger across the hard peak, she cried out in shameless ecstasy.

"Christian, please!"

He drew away to gaze down at her, warm desire in his eyes. "Shall I stop?"

"No, oh, no!"

He cradled her head against his shoulder, whispering in her ear, "I think it best that I stop or heaven only knows where this will end. I'm only a man, one who wants you very much. If I had my way--"

Voices reached them from the other side of the trees. Christian raised his head, releasing a deep sigh. He smiled at her tenderly, a look she'd remember for the rest of her life. "'Tis just as well we're not alone anymore."

Chapter Eleven

Awakened by the chirping of robins, Gwen shaded her eyes against the bright sunlight that slanted across her bed and flooded the room. Morning already? She moaned and turned over, wishing she could go back to sleep, but she'd already overslept after another restless night of broken dreams about Christian. The day of Leah's wedding a week ago came back to haunt her, Christian's kisses and caresses fresh in her mind, as if he were holding her now. A rush of warmth made her catch her breath as wild images sent her hopes skyrocketing.

She closed her eyes and tried to think of other things, an exercise in futility. When would she ever realize she meant nothing to him? What normal, red-blooded American male stuck out in the middle of nowhere wouldn't be lonely for a woman? She just happened to be convenient.

But he's my soul mate, she silently declared. They were destined to be together, so that she could save his life. What could she say or do to make him understand?

She pushed her bedspread aside and slid out of bed. Enough daydreaming. She had a class today, and the children would arrive soon.

Despite her best intentions, her mind swung back to Christian. What was he doing now?

* * * *

Christian studied the lady who sat across the table in his common room. He guessed she was in her late twenties, and judging from her speech and dress, she appeared to be a woman of means. He smiled to put her at ease, his hands resting on the table, a hundred questions churning through his brain. But he'd let her speak first, hoping she'd explain her ailment betimes.

"I've come all the way from Bedford, Dr. Norgard. 'Twas a most uncomfortable journey on my horse, aye, and painful, too, in my condition. Fortunately, Mr. Chamberlain gave me good directions on his last visit to Bedford, else I should never have found your place."

"Thank God for Daniel Chamberlain," Christian said. "If anyone knows western Pennsylvania, it is he."

She nodded. "'Tis said you're a skilled doctor, so I pray my troubles have been worth it." Her hand shook as she raised it to her forehead, tucking a wisp of hair under her hat.

"And no one accompanied you on your trip, Mistress Baker?" he asked in surprise.

She hesitated. "My husband left for Philadelphia a few weeks ago and hasn't returned yet." She sighed. "My maid is so easily frightened, so I decided to go by myself," she said with a rueful smile. "My husband will be furious, both with the maid and me, but I could no longer bear my infirmity." Pressing her hand to her swollen abdomen, she spoke in an anguished voice. "But pray tell me, why should my condition cause pain? I have three other children, and how well I know that giving birth is not without discomfort. But the condition itself shouldn't cause such pain. Why is that, doctor?" Tears brimmed her eyes and her voice rose. "Dr. Norgard, what's amiss?"

"I hope to ascertain that shortly," Christian answered in a low voice, aiming to calm the lady. "First, I must do a physical examination. Then we'll see what to do."

"A physical examination?" She clenched her hands on the table, her knuckles white. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I'll have to examine you to see whether or not you're with child. If not--"

"Whether or not I'm with child? What else could it be?"

"That, madam, is what I hope to ascertain." Christian spoke in measured tones, well aware he must proceed cautiously, must do everything to put her at ease. "If you agree to an examination--and madam, I assure you 'tis absolutely necessary--let us do it now. Afterwards, we'll see."

Christian observed her flushed face, her clenched hands, wishing he could alleviate her distress. He twisted his fingers in his lap, concealing his own anxiety. What if he had to operate?

"Pray let us proceed. My bed is the best place for it--more room, you see, and, I believe, more comfortable for you. And madam, I understand your delicacy in this matter. Indeed, such modesty does you credit. But an examination is absolutely necessary."

Her glance darted around the room. "Very well," she whispered.

He gestured toward her head. "Your hat, madam...."

"Oh, yes, of course." With shaking hands, she reached behind her to unpin the hat, then set it on the table.

In his loft, the examination confirmed his worst fears. Christian straightened up from the bed. "Mistress Baker, as I suspected, you aren't pregnant. But you do have a diseased ovary." How he wished he could spare her this agony.

"A what, doctor?" Bracing her elbow against the bed, she rose to a sitting position, pushing her dress down. Worry lines creased her face, and her hand trembled as she shoved a lock of hair back from her forehead. Perspiration glistened on her forehead.

"A malignant growth has attached itself to an ovary--one of the reproductive organs, necessary for childbirth. Now, listen carefully whilst I tell you what I must do. I must operate, madam--"

She drew a quick breath. "No!"

"--and I shall tell you quite frankly, an ovarian cyst is quite serious, besides which this operation entails some risk." He winced inwardly at her shocked expression, yet he knew he should give her all the facts. "If I don't perform this surgery, I fear your condition will prove fatal. 'Tis a chance we have to take, Mistress Baker. You simply cannot continue as you are now. The ovary must be removed."

"I see." She gripped the edge of the bed, her face as white as the sheet. "This surgery ... 'twill be painful, will it not?"

"I have a decoction that will put you to sleep." He thought for a moment. "Immediately after the operation, I'll fetch another woman to stay with you, tend to your needs. You'll need a period of recuperation, say, at least a month. I'll send a message to your home, so don't be concerned about that. If you awake to find me gone, you mustn't worry." He cupped his chin in his hands. "When do you expect your husband back from Philadelphia?"

"Within a week or so, I should think."

"Very well. I shall let him know when you have recovered sufficiently, and mayhap he can come for you." He looked around the room. "The table--" He forced a smile. "'Twould be the best place for the operation...."

Much later, the surgery successfully completed, Christian released a long sigh. He moved away from the table and sank onto a chair, raising a shaky hand to remove a sweat-soaked linen cloth from his forehead. His glance covered the room. Sighing, he saw blood everywhere, on his apron, the sheet, the floor. He couldn't take the time to clean the room now. His patient came first.

Even though the operation had gone well, Christian knew his troubles had only begun. What if she didn't recover? Had he given her too much anesthetic? He rose to his feet to take her pulse, finding it greatly reduced. That, too, was a normal reaction to an operation. Her breathing appeared normal, another positive sign. He stood to slip his apron off and leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths as he recalled all the things he must do.

Dear God, he was tired. Feeling as if he'd aged twenty years, he wanted only to lie down and sleep for hours. But no, he'd have to see about someone to stay here, he thought as he hurried outside to saddle his horse. His patient would need constant care, and Gwen came to mind. He hoped she'd be willing to spend time with the woman, if only for a day or two.

* * * *

Afternoon sunlight brightened the schoolroom, the school day almost over. Gwen dabbed a handkerchief across her forehead while she sat on a mat and faced the children.

"Would you like to hear about Cinderella?" she asked after the children had finished with their hornbooks.

Everyone spoke at once. "Cinderella? Who's she?"

"Well, just listen and you'll find out...."

"When Cinderella ran from the palace," she said toward the end of the story, "she lost her glass slipper. But when the prince found the slipper, he knew--"

Someone knocked at the door. With a little jump, Gwen pushed herself from the floor, straightening her skirt as she headed in that direction....

"Christian, what a surprise!" Blinking her eyes in the bright sunshine, she strove to keep her voice steady. Wild fantasies teased her mind, but when she saw his somber expression, a trace of worry chased her pleasure away. Had something happened to Rebecca or Daniel? Stepping back, she opened the door wider. "Come on in."

Tri-corn in hand, Christian spoke in a low voice as he stepped inside the schoolroom. "Gwen, I hate to interrupt your class, but something important has arisen, and I fear I must ask a favor of you."

"Okay, shoot."

"What?"

"I mean, tell me what you want me to do." Damn it, another verbal faux pas.

In terse sentences, Christian explained about his patient. "I know I have no right to ask this of you, but can you stay with her until she wakes up from the surgery? Just for today," he quickly added. "She'll need assistance, someone to comfort her. 'Twill take a month or so for her recovery, so I'll have to make further arrangements."

"Sure, I'll be happy to stay with her. I'd better discuss this with Rebecca, see if she has any other suggestions. Possibly she can spare Molly for a month." She turned to address the children, surprised they'd remained quiet. No doubt they sensed the importance of a doctor's visit to the schoolteacher.

"Children, class is dismissed early today." Their groans of disappointment made her feel she was making progress. "I'll finish the story of Cinderella the day after tomorrow. Leave your hornbooks and primers here, like you always do. Remember, the younger ones must wait outside the big house for your older brothers or sisters to come for you. I don't want you going home alone."

While the children traipsed from the room, she turned back to Christian. "Let me talk to Rebecca and get a few of my things together. Then we can be on our way."

Hours later, on a chair close to the bed, Gwen dabbed a wet cloth across the woman's shiny forehead.

After Christian had checked on his patient, he'd ridden to the Chamberlains to stay the night--a lot of riding in one day. Obviously, he stayed at the Chamberlains for the sake of her reputation, but she didn't give a damn what anyone thought.

"'Tis best for your sake," Christian had said. "I don't want anyone to speak ill of you."

Gwen wrenched her mind back to the present. "Don't try to raise yourself, Mistress Baker. Might hurt you. Chr--Dr. Norgard asked me to stay with you, but he'll return to check on you tomorrow. He sent a message to your house, he wanted me to be sure to tell you. Besides that, he came here just a while ago to see how you were doing, but you were sound asleep."

"Ruth," the woman whispered. "You may call me Ruth. I--oohh!" She moaned with pain and gripped the sheet, writhing on the bed.

"Just wait, I have a sedative for you." Quickly, Gwen reached for a bottle of laudanum from the table to measure the required amount into a cup as Christian had instructed her, holding the bottle close to the oil lamp so she could see better. The woman's moans and thrashing on the sheet rattled her, making her spill a few drops onto the table, but she finally had the necessary amount.

"Please hurry!" Ruth cried. "Oh, my God, I can't bear the pain!"

"I've got it now." Gwen slipped her arm behind Ruth to help her sit up. After the patient swallowed the sedative, Gwen lowered her back onto the mattress. Ruth fell asleep within seconds.

Gwen leaned back in the chair, heaving a deep sigh, hoping the poor woman didn't have to go through that again. Semi-darkness and silence enclosed the small loft, with only a dim light from the lamp on the bedside table casting wavy shadows on the wall. Must be sometime in the early hours of the morning, Gwen guessed, and no breeze to bring relief from the stifling heat.

As always, she thought of Christian, hoping she'd see him again tomorrow.

* * * *

Gwen looked up from the table as Christian opened the door to his house. A shaft of

sun lit the room, then he closed the door behind him, dimming the house again.

He gave her a grateful smile. "Can't tell you how much I appreciate what you're doing for me." He held up a hand as he headed for the loft. "I'll return shortly. Have to check on my patient."

Within a few minutes, he hustled down the steps to the common room, where Gwen sat reading his copy of Fielding's Tom Jones ... or trying to read. How could she concentrate with Christian so close?

Lines of exhaustion etched Christian's face as he pulled out a chair to sit down, stretching his long legs out. He rested his elbows on the table and leaned toward her. "First, I want to say how much I appreciate your help, especially cleaning up the blood. I was going to do that myself, but more urgent matters demanded my time, as you can well imagine." He shifted position in his chair. "Also, talked to Rebecca earlier today. She's enlisted the aid of a young girl who lives a few miles from the Chamberlains, so Molly can come here."

Gwen set her book on the table, never telling him how cleaning up the blood nearly made her sick. "If Molly stays with Ruth Baker, are you going to stay here, too?"

He drew back. "Are you daft? No, I'll stay at the Chamberlains."

Poor man, she thought, he's under such a strain. She'd never heard him speak like that before. "How long will you stay there?" She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

"As long as Mistress Baker needs to recover, probably a month."

Christian at the Chamberlains' for a whole month? Her thoughts spun out of control.

* * * *

"How does your patient fare?" Daniel asked Christian two days later during the evening meal.

"Progressing quite well, I should say." Christian dipped his fork into the potato pudding. I see no difficulties in her recuperation."

While Rebecca and Daniel discussed private business, Gwen caught Christian's gaze on her, those bedroom eyes she swore could see right through her. She had to put up with this for a whole month, had to be always on guard, afraid she'd do or say something to give herself away. Could she last that long, with him in the same house, while she tried to act as if he hadn't turned her world upside down?

She bit into a flaky biscuit, staring down at her plate, counting the hours until she could go to bed ... and dream about Christian.

Luckily for her peace of mind, Christian spent much of the time away while he checked on the other settlers and the lady from Bedford. Gwen often wondered if he purposely kept his distance, or if his days were usually so busy. She tried to pretend it didn't matter to her either way, because she had better things to do than sit around and pine for him all day. Her classes and other diversions occupied her time, and she even had an occasional visitor....

Gwen opened the door onto a warm, sunny day, the air fresh and clean with the heady aroma of late summer flowers from the garden. "Lieutenant Shelbourne, how nice to see you."

Richard made a slight bow and stepped inside, sweeping off his tri-corn.

She led him to the Windsor chair by the window where he set his hat on the table. Outside, robins chirped in the trees and flew from branch to branch, their antics visible from the open front door.

Closing the door, Gwen shifted her gaze to the officer. "How about cherry punch, lieutenant?"

"Aye, punch, I would appreciate that, madam. Sounds like a capital idea after a hot ride through the woods."

"I don't like being so far away from everything, either," Gwen said after she poured his drink and handed him the glass. "Things can get boring in the boon--er, out in the country."

Richard sipped his drink. "Miss Emrys, pray forgive me if I appear too inquisitive. But I've oftimes noticed that your speech is indeed strange, far different from anything I've ever heard."

Gwen framed her thoughts. "You see, I come from a strange place you've never heard of, and this is how everyone there talks. Can I get you any other refreshment, lieutenant--gingerbread cakes or corn bread?"

"Nay, but I thank you. Now, I wanted to ask you--"

The front door opened and closed, then Christian stepped into the room. His eyes lit on Richard, a frown creasing his forehead.

Gwen fixed a casual expression on her face, never wanting Christian to see the heart-stopping effect he had on her.

Richard looked up. "Norgard, what are you doing here?"

"I might ask the same of you."

"That's obvious, is it not?" Richard said. "I came to call on Miss Emrys."

"What a coincidence. So did I."

His face set in studied nonchalance, Christian joined Gwen on the settle, just like on Richard's last visit. While the lieutenant drained his glass, Gwen observed Christian out of the corner of her eye, noting his strong hands that rested on his thighs, the trim fit of his breeches. She drew a deep breath and stared around the room, an uncomfortable silence settling over the room like a thick fog.

"I thought you told me you had to make a few entries in your medical journal," she said in Christian's direction.

Christian waved his hand. "Plenty of time for that. A man needs to rest now and then, don't you know."

What was Christian up to? On second thought, she didn't want to know.

Chapter Twelve

The sultry days of summer segued into the cooler days of autumn, a strong wind blowing from the north, birds heading south for the winter.

From her bedroom window, Gwen looked across the fields to the forest beyond to see a brilliant medley of color, a myriad of oranges and browns and reds, glowing golden under the October sun. She'd heard that winters at this time could be mighty fierce, much worse than in her own time, when global warming broke all temperature records.

Enjoy these days while you can, she reminded herself, either because of or in spite of Christian's temporary residence at the Chamberlains. He'd made it plain that whenever his patient from Bedford recovered, he'd move back to his own house. She didn't want to admit, even to herself, how much she'd miss him.

A noisy fluttering drew her gaze upward, where thousands of birds flew overhead, darkening the sky. Passenger pigeons, she guessed, extinct in her own time. She waited a few minutes for the sky to clear, but it looked as if it would take hours for the birds to complete their journey. Millions of passenger pigeons! She'd never seen anything like it.

* * * *

"I visited Agnes Morrell yesterday," Christian said at the table that evening. "She seems much improved from the ague, and I hope her condition will not recur." A puzzled look crossed his face. "'Tis passing strange that fewer cases of the ague appear now that cooler and drier weather has arrived. Mayhap this malady has something to do with rainfall."

"A miasma," Daniel said. "Mayhap a poisonous vapor arises from swampy areas. Could it be there is more of this condition when it rains, thus causing more frequent cases of this illness during wet weather?"

Gwen listened quietly, a slow realization dawning on her. What they called the ague must really be malaria, apparently common at this time. Well, you learn something new every day.

"Miasma from the swamps," Christian mused aloud. "Could be. Or--"

Gwen swallowed a bite of green beans. "Mosquitoes!"

"What?"

"Mosquitoes, did you say?"

"Mayhap I didn't hear you correctly."

"Sure." Gwen nodded. "Get rid of the mosquitoes, and you'll eliminate this disease ... the ague, I think you called it."

Daniel frowned. "Pray pardon me if I seem rude, but I've never heard anything so preposterous in my life."

"Nor I." Christian looked skeptical.

"I haven't, either," Rebecca said with an apologetic smile. "Where did you hear this?"

"Oh, I don't know." She should have kept quiet, Gwen realized. Now Christian would really think she was nuts. "Must have read it somewhere." She reminded herself to be careful about flaunting her medical facts. Just the same, it occurred to her that if she could pair Christian's medical skill with her twenty-first century knowledge, they'd be a winning combination.

Christian sat back in his chair, a pensive expression on his face. "Apparently you have medical information the rest of us are not privy to."

Gwen shrugged. "Like I said, I read it somewhere."

Affecting a look of calm detachment, she raised a mug to her mouth and took a tentative sip of her drink, a brew Rebecca told her had been made a few months ago. Wow! She blinked tears from her eyes as the fiery liquid slipped down her throat.

Christian shot her a troubled look. "Gwen, what's amiss?"

She swallowed again, her eyes misting. "What do you call this drink?"

"Cherry bounce," Rebecca said.

She wiped her eyes. "No wonder!"

"At any rate," Christian went on, returning his attention to the others, "I intend to visit several patients on the morrow, but the day after that I'm going to Fort Pitt to collect more supplies and medicaments. So if anyone needs any items from the trading post, pray let me know."

"I'll ride with you." Gwen set her mug down. "It's been months since my last visit to Fort Pitt, and Rebecca and I were discussing a few things we need."

"You have your class," Christian said, as if she didn't know. "And besides, I can procure any supplies for you."

"I'll give the children the day off. If you don't want me to go with you, I'm perfectly capable of getting to Fort Pitt on my own." Gwen smiled with confidence.

"I didn't say--"

"If 'tis as well with you, Christian, I'd just as soon have Gwen go to Fort Pitt," Rebecca said, "because I need a few items, too." She looked at Daniel. "What about you, sweetheart?"

"Sounds like a good idea." Daniel directed a look Gwen's way. "I could use more tobacco, ink, and paper, among other things--I'll make up a list. Aye, and I'll give you enough money to pay for those and the balance, also."

"Then it's settled." Gwen resisted the urge to throw a smug glance in Christian's direction. Funny, he should be upset that she was going with him. Why did he look so pleased?

* * * *

While everyone else slept, Christian paced the grounds outside, looking forward to the time he could move back to his own house, away from the vexing temptations of his temporary residence. Gwen--a sweet distraction that dominated his mind throughout the day and tormented his sleep at night. An owl hooted from the woods, breaking the silence of the night. Frogs croaked with their rumpet, rumpet, rumpet. A cool breeze tossed the branches of oak trees and fluttered the leaves of lilac bushes.

Christian wished he could go inside and sleep, but too many thoughts kept him awake, all centered on one certain lady, Gwen. Images of this strange woman paraded through his mind, and a rich tapestry of memories emerged, recollections of her long, tawny hair and blue-green eyes, every gesture, every facial expression, and oh, so many other images.

Even now, he could hear her voice, that soft yet husky voice, each intonation revealing her every mood. He'd tried so hard to forget Miss Gwen-Who-Came-From-Nowhere. Easier said than done.

Where had she come from, and what if she soon returned to her home? How could he live without her? He still questioned her purpose here, asking himself again why Daniel and Rebecca had never pressed her for any answers. He suspected they felt sorry for her and didn't want to probe. She had assured him the French didn't employ her as a spy. The officers at Fort Pitt had concurred, adding that one of their "trusted" fur traders had been passing information to the French, a quite recent discovery that erased months of worry from Christian's mind.

Then why had Gwen come to this desolate place, when obviously she'd been used to the pleasant civilities of city life?

A lady from the future! Was she truly insane, or was that a story she'd concocted to cover her real reason for her presence here? From the future, he scoffed. If he believed that, then maybe he was insane. Surely, though, his love for her and his skill as a doctor could help her overcome her mental troubles. He was willing to take a chance.

And what about Shelbourne? Christian's tumultuous thoughts continued. The lieutenant had made it obvious he harbored a certain affection for Gwen, too. What if Shelbourne took her to wife? I won't let that happen, Christian vowed. He'd come to care for her too much to walk away, pretend he'd never known her. She'd worked her way into his heart, and he'd been too blind to realize how much she meant to him until now. He'd ask her to marry him tomorrow if he thought she'd remain with him for the rest of their lives. But what if she returned to wherever she came from?

He flexed his fingers, wanting to run his hands through the silky locks as he'd done on Leah's wedding day.

Christian stared up at the vast canopy of stars, as though they held the answer to his plight. If she were his wife, how he'd love to take her to Philadelphia, buy her the finest clothes, take her to musicals and the theater. She could have her portrait painted, a picture he'd cherish for the rest of his life.

If she were his wife, he'd make love to her every night and never tire of her. Something told Christian her passion would match his, that she could give him undreamed of pleasures in the marriage bed. Living with her would never be dull, in or out of bed. Any life they shared would never be calm and peaceful, but did he really want such serene monotony day after day? Once he'd thought so, but now he knew better.

But where had she come from, and who was she? He wished he knew.

* * * *

Gwen and Christian entered the town of Pittsburgh, halting about a quarter mile from the trading post. The dirt swirled about in a cool wind, dusting her clothing, layering on her wide-brimmed hat. Traders and townspeople crowded the streets, the Indians and derelicts as numerous as ever. A buxom farmer's wife with baskets of fruit and vegetables plied her products as she walked the streets, her large bare feet tanned and dirty.

Christian shaded his eyes in the bright morning sunlight and looked her way. "It won't take me long to make my purchases at the post, then I want to visit the surgeon at Fort Pitt for an hour or so. How do you intend to spend your time?"

"I'm sure I'll find something constructive to keep me occupied." The breeze fluttered the ribbon of her hat, blowing it across her face. She pushed the ribbon back while she clutched the billowing skirt of her printed calico dress. "There are lots--there is much I can do while I'm here. I assure you I won't be bored."

"That wasn't my concern," Christian said. "I thought only that you must be careful where you go. Many rough people here."

"Believe me, I can take care of myself." She had a black belt in karate, but she wouldn't attempt to explain that. "I'm a big girl now, you know."

He stared at her, his gaze drifting to her full breasts before returning to her face. "Um, yes," he murmured. He narrowed his eyes. "You don't intend to call on the commandant of Fort Pitt, do you?"

"I might do that," she said. "In fact, I can definitely say I intend to warn him of the Indian danger."

"Oh, come now, Gwen. Don't you think Captain Ecuyer is aware of any possible Indian trouble? And don't you think Fort Pitt can handle any danger? 'Tis a well-defended fort."

"Well, it won't hurt to warn the good captain."

"Very well, then, but don't say I didn't warn you." With that caveat, Christian placed his hand under her elbow, heading for the trading post in his quick, easy stride.

Rebecca had lent her a detachable pocket that tied around her waist, sort of like a fanny pack and very convenient, a place where she kept her list and money, along with a comb and handkerchief. As they neared the trading post, she fished for the list.

"After I call on the surgeon, we can meet back at the post, say, at twelve o'clock," Christian said. "Does that suit you?"

"Fine with me...."

"I shall meet you at the agreed time," Christian said several minutes later, after he'd made his purchases.

"Right." Not looking his way, she nodded, her attention drawn to a white linen doily embroidered with flowers and vines, edged with the most exquisite lace crocheting. Women don't do this sort of thing anymore, she thought, reluctant to touch the doily with her dirty hands. She sighed, wishing she had her own money.

Since she had a long list of things to buy, Gwen left the trading post some time after Christian, leaving her purchases behind to pick up later. Reminding herself she was a Georgian lady now, she walked in slow, measured steps, making her way toward the commandant's house on the grounds of Fort Pitt, past the parade ground where the soldiers marched. Look at all those redcoats! She assumed it must be the whole British garrison here as she edged the open ground and heard the sergeant call cadence. She mentally rehearsed what she'd say to Captain Ecuyer but worried that he'd refuse to see her. Well, then, she might have to be a bit forceful, because she considered the defense of the fort literally a matter of life and death. If the captain didn't want to see her, too bad. She'd barge right into his office.

No need to worry, Gwen found. Within a few minutes of her arrival, she was ushered into a large room with a wide mahogany desk and several Windsor chairs. A portrait of King George III hung on the wall, a few stray papers covering the desk, along with a pen, inkstand, and a pewter tankard.

Handsome in his red uniform coat and white spotless breeches, Simeon Ecuyer rose at her entrance and made a slight bow. "What a pleasure to see you again, Miss Emrys." He held a chair for her, an agreeable smile on his face. "Pray sit down, won't you."

She dropped a graceful curtsy she'd learned a few months ago, then sat down, careful to arrange her skirt around her ankles. "Thank you for consenting to see me, Captain." She hoped she sounded like an eighteenth-century woman.

"A pleasure, as I say, Miss Emrys." Ecuyer frowned as he walked around his desk and returned to his seat. "Gwendolyn Emrys," he mused aloud, fiddling with a paper. "A Welsh name. But you don't have a Welsh accent."

"So others have told me. I've lived in this country a long time, sir." A very long time.

"I see," the captain said, looking skeptical. He settled back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, his high black boots gleaming. "Pray tell me how I can help you, madam."

After a brief hesitation, she plunged ahead. "Sir, I'm a lit--uh, a trifle concerned about the Indian danger at Fort Pitt."

"A young lady like you should not concern yourself with such matters. And you mustn't worry, madam. The Indians are no threat to us, I assure you."

"They have rifles."

"But no ammunition. We won't permit them to have bullets, Miss Emrys, so how can they fire their rifles?" He fingered a pewter mug, his gaze on her.

"But suppose others give them ammunition? And what if many Indian tribes on this continent unite under a single leader to overthrow the British?"

He smiled with condescension. "'Twill never happen, madam. The Indians fight too much amongst themselves. You must not worry about these people. And in case you think I've been negligent in my duties--"

"I never thought that, sir. I'm sure you're quite conscientious."

"In any event, we remain well-prepared." He shifted the pewter tankard to the other side of his desk. "If such an attack should occur--very unlikely--we shall repel them."

"Much can happen between now and next spring," said Gwen. "The tribes may be stronger then."

The captain rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Then, for your peace of mind, I shall do this. I'll double the guard and have my troops on the alert every day. Does that ease your mind, madam?"

She rose from her chair. "Very much so, captain. And thank you for your time."

Ecuyer rose, too, heading for the door to open it for her. "I must thank you, Miss Emrys, for the pleasure of your visit. Pray feel free to come here anytime. 'Tis quite enjoyable to spend time with such a charming lady."

* * * *

"I could have told you Captain Ecuyer wouldn't believe you," Christian said as he and Gwen lunched in the King's Garden. "Oh, 'tis true the Indians can commit isolated attacks, as they have in the past, but not any concerted attack."

Christian sat Indian style, as Gwen was tempted to. Wouldn't that shock him?

They had this choice spot to themselves, where scads of trees provided shade and hid them from view, away from the hurly-burly of the bustling town. Cumulous clouds shone brightly in the sunshine, sailing past in a brilliant blue sky, while robins and wrens flitted from tree to tree. She wished she could enjoy the scenery and sunshine and not let Christian rattle her as he always did.

She swung her mind back to his comment. "It's not a case of Captain Ecuyer believing or disbelieving." She stretched her legs out, trying to get a comfortable position on the hard ground. "I dealt in generalities only," she said. "Just gave him a hypothetical situation. The captain said he'd double the guard in the spring, so I gained that much."

"I wish you wouldn't worry about an imaginary Indian attack," Christian said. "No one else seems concerned. As for the captain telling you he'd double the guard, he probably said that only to make you feel better."

Gwen brushed a fly from the food. "Let's talk about something else, shall we? So tell me about your visit with the doctor at Fort Pitt."

Biting into a slice of pumpkin bread, she kept her gaze on him, observing every facet of his face--the cleft in his chin, the laughter lines around his eyes, the play of sunlight on his dark hair. She snatched herself back to the discussion, something about his visit with the doctor.

"Enjoyable and informative." Christian munched on a turnip, his gaze on her. "Something I've wanted to ask you about for a long time. Surely others have noticed your odd manner of speech. For instance, you've said 'okay' more than once. I never heard that expression before."

She looked into his eyes, not so dark now in the bright sunlight but as unreadable as ever. An inquisitive look defined his face, combined with another expression she couldn't quite discern. She wanted to consider it a look of tenderness, but she knew she hoped for too much.

"Gwen?"

"Okay," she explained. "Everyone says it in the time I come from. It means 'all right'. But you don't believe me about that--about my time--so no point in discussing it." She threw him a hopeful look. "Don't you think I speak more like you and the Chamberlains now?"

"Um, you're making progress."

She removed her hat, then lay back on the warm grass. "It's too nice a day to discuss my, uh, linguistic idiosyncrasies," she murmured as she closed her eyes. "I could sleep here all afternoon."

Christian stretched out on his side next to her. "Why waste time sleeping? I can think of better things to do," he said, easing closer to her. Bracing his elbow on the ground, he raised himself and looked down at her. He swept a stray lock of hair from her cheek, then bent low to kiss her there.

"Christian...." She slid her arms across his back, drawing him nearer, loving the warmth of his hard body, feeling the muscles in his back and arms. She sighed. If only she could stay with Christian forever, forget her worries about returning to her own time. But above all else, saving Christian's life and her own.

He left a trail of kisses from her ear to her breast. He lay partway across her, kissing her deeply, moving his lips against hers with a tantalizing pressure that left her wanting more than just his kisses.

Deep sighs and moans echoed in her ears, and she realized they were her sighs and moans.

"Gwen!" His body pressing on hers, he caressed her, his hand warm on her breast, his sighs mingling with hers. His quickened breathing excited her like the most passionate kiss. Alarm bells rang in her head.

They had to stop, or soon they'd reach the point of no return. But she didn't want Christian's lovemaking to end. She wanted his kisses and caresses to go on and on. She didn't care where it led them. Or tried not to care.

"Christian, I--"

"Shh, don't talk." His hand roamed across her body, his fingers insistent. Despite the cool air, warmth radiated from his body, his passion evident in his touch, his kisses.

Was this what she wanted, to let him have his way with her when he wouldn't even commit himself? He hadn't said a word about love, not once. And she wanted more than just a fling. She wanted a commitment. She loved him, and never more than at this moment. Yet how could she get him to marry her if he didn't love her?

"Christian," she said, easing away from him. "We have to stop."

"Yes, I know," he said, his voice muffled against the hollow of her throat. He raised himself to study her face. "If you hadn't stopped me ... surely you know how much I want you, but not like this, never like this."

Like what, then? Gwen wanted to ask but didn't dare risk the question.

Chapter Thirteen

Shivering, Gwen stared out the window in the common room, seeing bare trees that dotted the hills and valleys, a precursor of winter. The glass pane rattled in the wind,

and cold air seeped into the room, fluttering the curtains. Christmas would arrive before she knew it, but did people celebrate Thanksgiving in the eighteenth century? She'd ask Rebecca, but in the meantime, now might be a good time to make Christmas gifts for all the Chamberlains. She fingered the lace curtains, wondering if she should make a gift for Christian. With a mental shrug, she turned away from the window. She'd deal with that problem later.

Christian had moved back to his own house several weeks ago, and that was just fine with her. Now she didn't have to act so nonchalantly every minute, fearing she'd reveal her love for him. She didn't have to hear his sexy voice all the time, or see his easygoing smile or watch his tall figure as he moved about the house. She didn't have to see the many moods that chased themselves across his face. Now she could miss him.

She indulged in the Sunday afternoon quiet while the rest of the family visited a neighbor and Molly stayed for the day with her married brother. Settled in the kitchen, she swallowed a bite of corn bread and raised a cup of sassafras tea to her mouth, unable to keep thoughts and images of Christian from her mind. Logs burned in the wide fireplace, crackling and sending off sparks, filling the room with a comfortable warmth.

Lumi napped close to the hearth, his soft snores audible in the silence of the room.

A knock on the door caught her by surprise, making her hand shake, spilling her tea.

"Lieutenant Shelbourne," she said moments later. "It's always so nice to see you. Come on in."

"Miss Emrys." Richard removed his tri-corn and bowed, then stepped inside, looking around cautiously.

"I'm alone today," she said, leading him to the Windsor chair in the common room.

Flashing her a smile, Richard took a seat, placing his tri-corn on the oaken table. "Miss Emrys," he said without preamble, "I wanted to talk to you. I intend to sell my

commission soon, return to England."

"I'll miss you." And she would, too. "How soon will you leave for England?"

He squirmed in his chair, his gaze darting around the room, prompting Gwen to wonder what bothered him. "I'll leave within a matter of weeks, but not alone, I hope. I ... I would have you come with me--"

Gwen caught her breath.

"--as my wife. The chaplain at the fort can marry us," Richard continued in a rush of words, "with thirty days to post the banns. You'd not lack for anything, Miss Emrys--may I call you Gwen?--and please rest assured that I'd take care of you and honor you as my wife. I ... I have come to think much of you, so would you do me the honor of marrying me?"

"Lieutenant, I--"

"You don't need to give me a reply now. But I pray you, at least consider it."

"Well, I...." A thought flashed through her mind that in only a few months in this crazy wilderness, she'd already received two proposals of marriage. Yet she feared the one man she desired would never want her as a wife. How that hurt.

"Lieutenant, it wouldn't be fair to give you the impression that I'd consider your proposal. You know I think a lot of you," she said, wincing at his stricken face. "You're a good man, one I'm pleased to call my friend. And I just know one day you'll make some lucky lady a fine husband. But you've got to realize everyone I know is here in Pennsylvania."

"You would come to know many people in England." He gave her a hopeful look. "We have many friends, much socializing."

"Not the same." She twisted her fingers in her lap, trying to be as tactful as possible, so sorry she had to hurt his feelings. "And Richard, you know I admire you so much. I've enjoyed your company more than I can say. But that's not the same as love."

He scowled. "It's Norgard, isn't it?"

"Nothing could be further from the truth," Gwen said with a smile. "Dr. Norgard and I have little in common, and a lot separates us, not just distance." More than two-hundred years. "He's a dedicated doctor, and I...." She made a fluttering gesture, not knowing what more she could say.

"You're a lovely lady, Gwen, one any man would be proud to call his wife."

The intense look on his face told her he meant every word. She hated herself for disappointing him, but she knew she had no choice.

"Thanks for the compliment, Lieutenant. There are some who might not agree with you."

"Then they are fools."

After a few minutes of desultory conversation, Richard Shelbourne walked out of the house, leaving Gwen with a sad and empty feeling, as if she had lost a dear friend. And come to think of it, she had lost a very good friend. Still, with her refusal, she knew she'd made the right decision.

* * * *

On a cold, sunny morning while Rebecca and Molly worked in the kitchen, Gwen sat at the long table in the common room, cutting a length of linen to make a detachable pocket for Rebecca. Gwen recalled losing a couple of coins from the pocket Rebecca had lent her on her last trip to Fort Pitt, so a new pocket sounded like a worthwhile Christmas gift for Rebecca. She'd decorate it with crewel embroidery, one of the few hobbies she'd always enjoyed and something she did rather well.

Bright sunlight flooded the room, but the air remained cool. She pulled the woolen shawl closer around her shoulders and tied it in front. Warmer now, she began cutting the linen when a knock on the door stopped her. Setting the linen and scissors aside, she rose to answer the door. Who could it be this time? Her heart beat fast. It might be....

"Christian!" The brilliant sunlight blasted in her eyes as she opened the door wide, a cold wind whipping her dress around her legs. Christian stepped into the hallway in his self-assured manner, his lips curved into a smile. Is he happy to see me? she wondered, or did he just win the lottery? The scent of tobacco and the cold outdoors clung to him, as much a part of him as his dark eyes or his deep, sexy voice.

"Sit anywhere you like. How about a cup of tea or a glass of brandy?"

"Nothing, thank you." In his tan linsey hunting shirt, he sat down on the settle and stretched his long legs out, giving her a quick smile from across the room.

She headed for the Windsor chair, deciding to keep her distance from him, for her own peace of mind.

The aroma of baking bread drifted from the kitchen, and flames crackled in the hearth, imbuing the common room with a cozy warmth. Lumi lay stretched out by the hearth, an occasional twitch telling her he was dreaming. The children's laughter reached them from the backyard swings, all these familiar attributes she'd come to accept without thinking.

Everything was so pleasant and homey. A wish flashed through her mind, that this was her home and Christian her husband, the children theirs. Looking over at Christian, she caught his gaze on her. She'd give anything to know what went through his mind. Was he thinking the same as she? Now, she must be dreaming.

Rebecca left the kitchen to join them a few minutes later. "Sorry Daniel isn't here," she said, wiping damp hands on her woolen apron. "He departed for Fort Pitt but a short while ago."

"Strange." Christian's glance swung from Gwen to Rebecca. "That is my destination also. As a matter of fact, I stopped by to see if you needed anything from the trading post. However, 'tis always pleasant to visit my neighbors." His gaze settled on Gwen. "No school today?

She met his gaze with her own and dared to imagine he was recalling their last trip to Fort Pitt and their kisses, their caresses....

She jerked her mind back to his question. "Saturday. I let the children have two days off. They work hard enough the rest of the week."

"Oh, aye. One day seems much the same as another, except Sunday, of course." He paused, tapping his fingers on the arm of the settle. "My patient from Bedford paid me quite generously--ten pounds, as a matter of fact--so I intend to order more medical supplies, gauze and such. But I've been wondering ... surely there must be other things I could do with the money, for the people around here, that is." Christian tossed both women a hopeful glance. "Have you ladies any suggestions?"

"A hospital," Gwen said on the spur of the moment.

"A hospital?" Rebecca and Christian echoed.

Gwen spread her arms wide. "You know what I mean--a central place where you can keep your medical supplies, where people can come to you for help, where women can give birth--"

"Give birth in a hospital?" Christian asked with a disapproving frown. "I've heard about a hospital like that in Paris where women give birth. They must share a bed with other patients, four or five people to a bed, each suffering from a different malady." He shook his head. "And don't forget, Gwen, this isn't Philadelphia. I can't quite envision a hospital in the wilderness."

"Well, I think it's a good idea," Gwen said. "You could train young men and women to apply bandages and help look after those who are sick, maybe pay them a certain amount for their services. And then, if someone has an illness, like pneumonia, he could rest and receive treatment in the hospital." She threw them both a satisfied smile.

"How would a person get to the hospital," Rebecca asked, "if he's sick? 'Tis difficult to ride a horse when you have a fever."

Gwen folded her arms across her chest. "How much rest and care does a person get at home, when there may be several children and a crying baby besides?"

Christian nodded. "Aye, you may have a point there. 'Tis something to consider. And I shall think on it." He rose and made a slight bow to both of them, but his look switched to Gwen, his gaze warm and steady. "'Twas a pleasant visit with two charming ladies. But now, best I go on to Fort Pitt." He walked out of the room in his confident stride, leaving a lot of ideas for her to ponder in his wake.

Rebecca returned to the kitchen, and Gwen resumed her sewing, with Christian dominating her mind. She thought again of his kisses, the touch of his skin, his hard, taut body. Letting her hands fall into her lap, she remembered the last time he held her close and what might have happened if she hadn't stopped him. And why had she stopped him, darn it! If she had him with her now, the two of them alone.... Closing her eyes, she let her mind wander.

She shook her head. Thinking about him wouldn't get her anywhere. Better to focus her mind in a more profitable direction, the hospital, for instance, with Christian in charge and she at his side. If she couldn't return to the twenty-first century, she'd do everything possible to help Christian here, to enrich his life ... their lives.

If only she'd get the chance. If only Christian would marry her.

Chapter Fourteen

"What about Thanksgiving?" Gwen asked Rebecca one frosty morning after breakfast. A brisk wind rattled the windows, and a bone-chilling cold hung over the common room, telltale reminders of the coming winter. A fire blazed in the fireplace, but unless she sat next to it, she froze like an iceberg. With a torn dress of Bryony's and a threaded needle in her lap, she eased her chair closer to the hearth. "The holiday is coming up soon."

"Thanksgiving?" Rebecca paused in her mending, a thoughtful frown on her face. "The Puritans celebrated it for the first time, I believe, but we normally don't. What about you? Did you celebrate Thanksgiving where you come from?"

"Well, sure, in late November. We made a lot--much of it, with a big turkey dinner and pumpkin pie, lots of other goodies--uh, good things to eat."

Another puzzled look from Rebecca reminded her--again--to watch her language and talk more like a Georgian lady.

"That sounds agreeable," Rebecca said. "I'll mention the turkey to Daniel, see if he can fetch a big one. Mayhap invite Edward and Leah, and Christian, of course."

Thanksgiving--one little touch of my twenty-first century life, Gwen thought as she finished her mending. And another chance to see Christian.

Days later, Gwen inhaled the delicious aromas that wafted from platters of turkey and venison, dishes of potato pudding, corn, and green beans that graced the long lace-topped table in the Chamberlains' common room. Thanksgiving, 1762. Christian sat next to her at the table, a fact she tried to accept with studied casualness, even though his proximity made her heart beat a little faster.

And Christian? What was going through his mind? Did his pulse race too, just sitting next to her? Did his mind stray to images of kisses and warm embraces, like those they'd shared on their last trip to Fort Pitt?

"Best dinner I've had in a long time." Christian set his fork on his plate, his gaze covering everyone.

"I believe we should credit Molly for much of the cooking." Rebecca directed a smile at Gwen. "And certainly we should thank Gwen for the suggestion of a Thanksgiving dinner." She returned to the task of cutting up pieces of turkey for Robert, who sat in his high chair, happily banging his spoon on the tray. Bryony sat on Rebecca's other side, very much the sedate little lady, as if trying to put her younger brother to shame.

Edward glanced at Gwen. "So this was your idea, and a splendid one, to be sure. I understand you're teaching some of the young people in these parts. How go your classes, Gwen?"

She tucked a stray lock of hair under her mobcap. "Coming along fine. I really enjoy teaching those kids--uh, children. They can all read short sentences and do simple mathematics. Maybe after awhile, I'll teach the older ones rudimentary algebra."

"Only the boys, of course." Edward looked to her for confirmation.

"What do you mean, 'only the boys'?" She blew out an exasperated breath. "Why shouldn't the girls learn algebra, too?"

"'Tis fine for boys to learn that branch of mathematics--although I know not how such a subject will benefit them in this wilderness--but I fear 'tis too difficult for young girls. The study may prove harmful to the delicate female brain."

"Delicate female brain! Well, well, Mr. Horton, where'd you get that idea? It sure didn't hurt me to learn algebra." Was the whole world crazy, or was she the only one? She cut off a bite of turkey and chewed, hoping to conceal her frustration with the mindset of the times.

Christian cleared his throat. "Another good idea Gwen had concerns a hospital for this area," he said, conveniently forgetting his earlier opposition to her idea.

"A hospital sounds good," Leah said, expressing an opinion for the first time. "Christian, didn't you once tell me you practiced medicine at a hospital in Philadelphia?"

Amid discussions of hospitals and illnesses in the wilderness, the meal ended with spicy pumpkin pie and bohea tea. With contented smiles and occasional comments, everyone pushed their chairs back from the table, some gathering by the hearth. If only we had central heating, Gwen mused, drawing her shawl closer about her shoulders.

In her quiet way, Molly came to collect the plates and cutlery and took them out to the kitchen. Gwen helped her clear the table, a welcome chance to cool down after Edward's narrow-minded remarks. She piled several plates on top of each other, topping the load with a serving platter.

On her return from the kitchen, Christian stood in the hallway outside Daniel's study, his look intense. She halted in her steps, then continued on in her normal stride, her face set in studied nonchalance.

He blocked her way. "A few minutes of your time, please." With a slight bow, he opened the door for her. "Pray come inside with me. I want to talk to you."

Although aching to be alone with him, she wouldn't make her feelings obvious.

"Oh, I don't know," she said with a cautious glance toward the common room. "They'll--"

"--not miss us at all. I already excused myself by telling Daniel I wanted to look at a few books in his room. He and Edward are discussing the rotation of crops, and I doubt not Rebecca and Leah are exchanging recipes."

"Spoken like a true chauvinist!"

"A true what? Never mind. Tempus fugit." With a flourish, Christian motioned her inside. "You know you want to talk to me." He grinned. "So admit it, why don't you?"

"Sure of yourself, aren't you, Christian Norgard?"

"But of course!"

"Well!" Shivering from the chill in the hall, Gwen stepped into the room. Strange, she'd never been in this room before. Now she examined it closely to mask her excitement at Christian's nearness, her gaze roaming over every corner of the room. A fire smoldered in the brick fireplace, enfolding the small, closed room in a satisfying warmth.

He bolted the door, surprising her.

"Don't tell me," she said, "let me guess. You're going to hold me for ransom."

Christian chuckled. "Nothing quite so dramatic. I wanted only to speak with you in private. 'Tis bad the weather has been lately, with much sickness, giving me but little opportunity to see you. And when the snow arrives, the path may be impassable, so you may not see me again for a long time."

She wanted to say something flippant but remained silent, afraid of giving herself away. How could she tell him she'd miss him as she'd miss her every breath, every heartbeat?

An unfathomable expression touched his face as he drew away from the door, each step bringing him closer, until he stood before her and rested his hands on her shoulders. Unable to stop herself, she absorbed his every facial feature, his dark and sexy eyes. The men of her own time had nothing on him, she thought, her gaze covering over six feet of tempting masculinity.

She wondered what he was thinking about now, what made his shoulders tense and caused the anxious look to cross his face. Her heartbeat picked up, scads of speculations darting through her mind, each one beginning and ending with Christian.

"I must confess you've been much on my mind lately." Christian shook his head. "No, let me say that another way. You are all I can think about." He sighed. "I still don't understand where you came from, and we'll let that go for now," he said as she opened her mouth to respond.

He held up a hand. "Nay, let me finish. I want to know if you intend to stay with Daniel and Rebecca here in the valley, or if you're going to leave us as mysteriously as you arrived. So pray tell me your plans and forgive this interrogation, but I think I have a right to know."

"A right?" She tilted her head back. "Why do you want to know my plans?"

"I'll tell you why," he said, his face gentling. He reached up to tuck an unruly lock under her mobcap, then let his hand fall to his side. "You've come to mean much to me. I said the same the day of Leah's wedding, or don't you remember?"

"I remember," she murmured. So what's the reason for your questions? she wanted to ask, her resistance wearing down, her heart thumping like a hundred bass drums. One more minute and she'd throw herself into his arms and beg for a kiss.

Christian eased her closer, his voice low and soft. "I love you so much I don't know how I can live without you. So pray tell me your plans."

This was what she wanted, what she'd dreamed of all these months. Nothing could be more wonderful than this--to have his strong, hard body so close to hers that she caught his body heat, his heartbeat next to her ear. Lost in the miracle of his love, she had to search for the right words to answer him.

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

Gwen thought quickly. Strabismus. She remembered one of her friend's children from the twenty-first century....

"Christian, have you thought of putting a patch over his normal eye? The patch will force the child to use the cross eye and strengthen it. Of course, he'd have to wear it every moment he's awake."

"What a good, common sense idea!" Christian said with an appreciative glance her way.

"Let us pray the suggestion works." Daniel's gaze scanned the table. "It appears that everyone has finished the meal, so why don't we open our presents now? The children have already opened their gifts from us. Can't expect young children to wait...."

"Such nice rosewater!" Gwen said minutes later as she removed the bottle stopper and smelled the sweet fragrance. "How did you guess this would please me as much as anything?" She and Christian sat together on the settle, while Daniel and Rebecca sat across the room with Bryony and Robert, watching in fascination as Robert spun his new top.

"And what a pretty shawl," she said as she lovingly fingered the deep blue shawl made of the finest wool, then draped the shawl around her shoulders and tied it in front.

"Blue's my favorite color, you know."

"You look good in any color," Christian said in his bedroom voice.

She hugged his waist. "You say the nicest things."

Serious now, she sat back to scrutinize his vest, smoothing her fingers across his chest, checking it from all angles. "Your vest fits okay?"

"Fits me--perfectly, darling, but I wonder--where did you find it?"

"I made it," she said with a trace of self-righteous satisfaction.

"All by yourself?"

"All by my lonesome." Every spare minute of every day, with Christian on her mind all the time.

"'All by my lonesome'," he repeated, grinning. He traced the crewel embroidery design with his fingers. "Well, thank you for the gift. You're a lady of many talents." He leaned closer to whisper, "I can think of other things you can give me, but we'll talk on that later. D'you know," he said in his low voice, "I haven't seen you for a whole month. You've been on my mind night and day, even when I'm caring for my patients. The sooner we're married, the better. Can't wait much longer."

"You're not the only one." She moved closer, their hips touching, catching his body heat. Placing her hand on his arm--she could do that much--she looked into his eyes. "When do you think the minister will return here?"

He covered her hand, his fingers caressing her skin, sending a fresh rush of heat to the center of her passion. "In the spring, I should hope. Can't be too soon for me." His expression left no doubt of his meaning.

"Do you know what you do to me?" she whispered in his ear.

"I know what I'd like to do to you." He tightened his hand around hers, his fingers caressing hers.

She drew her hand away. They had to stop this now, or soon they'd arouse Rebecca's and Daniel's suspicions. If they were alone, she and Christian would be headed for the bedroom this very minute. In no time they'd toss off their clothes and cuddle under the covers, making mad, passionate love as she'd dreamed of for so long. Too long.

"Let's talk about something else," she said. "Won't do us any good to talk about marriage now, to wish for something we can't have yet." She adjusted her new shawl around her shoulders. "Have you thought any more about a hospital?"

"Indeed. I've thought much on it. Daniel offered a piece of land on the eastern edge of his property, so I hope to start on the hospital in the spring. Enough men around here will help build it, I doubt not. But of course, I'll need beds and clean linens, medicaments, all the things you need in a hospital." He rubbed his jaw. "Procuring those things may take more time."

"You'll need people to help take care of the sick," Gwen added. "That's where I come in. I can help you."

He stiffened, a frown of annoyance on his face. "Now wait a minute, darling. When you become my wife, you'll stay home to tend my house and cook my meals. Have my children in time, too. 'Tis much too busy you'll be to help in a hospital. Others can do that--"

"Now just you wait," Gwen said, prompting an anxious look from Rebecca and Daniel. She lowered her voice. "Do you think I'm going to be some dutiful wife who stays home all the time to answer her husband's every beck and call? No way, Jose!" She ignored his startled expression. "I don't have to stand around the house all day, stirring pots over a hot fireplace. I'll still have plenty of time to--"

"Gwen! I want you to stay at home."

"So that's all I'll be, just a glorified housekeeper?" she snapped, drawing away.

"No, of course not. But as my wife, your place is in the home."

"'Your place is in the home,'" she mimicked. She slid back on the settle. "Let's skip it for now, shall we?" But she could see trouble ahead.

* * * *

The icy wind blew hard and fast, piercing Christian's clothes and stinging his eyes. After checking on Simon Fletcher's nose to satisfy himself the graft was still taking, he'd left the Fletcher cabin and headed for home. With his fur-lined leather gloves, he patted the bottle of whiskey Simon had given him as payment for the nose operation. A shot of whiskey sounded pretty good now, he thought as he turned the collar of his woolen cloak up, tucking it closely around his neck. The horse plodded along the frozen dirt trail, where bare trees whipped their branches in the arctic wind as a darkening sky threatened more snow.

What a busy day--up since dawn--and now all he wanted was a drink and a warm meal. And Gwen. Especially Gwen. Images of her raged through his mind, her every facial expression, those endearing smiles and laughter. More than that, he recalled her consideration for others, her tenderness and care for the children of the settlement. No one had asked her to teach these young ones, but it was something she'd decided on her own, a task that benefited children and parents alike.

Sliding back on the saddle as the horse climbed a steep hill, Christian struggled to maintain his perch while he thrust sharp frozen branches out of his way. Despite the twists and turns of the path, the abrupt climbs and sharp drops, he urged his horse on. He was anxious to reach home before darkness hid the path. Angry gray clouds gathered overhead, the wind increasing, sending the trees thrashing, and icy branches snapping across his face. While one hand gripped the reins, the other shoved branches back as the fierce wind flayed his face and made his eyes water.

His thoughts swung back to Gwen. He wondered for the hundredth time where she came from. Some day, some way, they'd have to settle that question between them. She'd told him her parents were dead, but if she had any family at all, surely she'd want them to attend the wedding, wouldn't she?

Was she right about the danger from the Indians? More important, how would she know? Christian wondered how long the peace would last or whether the Indians would go on the warpath again with the coming of spring. And who could blame the Indians if they did? Look how the white man continually chased the Indians from their homes.

At any rate, the British had a good, well-trained army, capable of repelling any Indian attack. No worry there, he felt sure.

Christian smiled to himself as his house appeared in the frozen emptiness of the forest, the log structure tight and secure, smoke drifting from its chimney. In only a few months, Gwen would be his wife, and this house their home.

And certainly, the Indians posed no danger.

* * * *

In the arctic chill of deepest winter, Pontiac stood before the Indian braves who huddled in a circle on the frozen ground.

Disdainful of the fierce howling wind, the Ottawa chief addressed the braves. "You have lost your old ways." He looked from one man to the next, his voice heavy with sorrow. "You have come to depend too much on the white man. And as for these English--these dogs dressed in red, which have to come to rob you of your hunting grounds and drive away the game--you must lift the hatchet against them. Wipe them from the face of the earth! Burn their houses, destroy their villages! Let us begin by capturing the English forts."

He raised a red tomahawk aloft, then smashed it to the ground. "Kill the white man!" He brandished a wampum belt. "Carry the black wampum belt from tribe to tribe. Let every Indian nation know we will strike back at the white man!"

Chapter Sixteen

"'Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God and in the face of this congregation, to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony, which is an honorable estate, instituted of God....'"

Gwen stood next to Christian in the Chamberlains' common room and repeated her vows. "I, Gwendolyn Ellen, take thee, Christian, to be my lawfully wedded husband...."

Was she actually marrying this man from the eighteenth century? But yes, all this was real--the vases of springtime flowers, the white ribbons tied in bows hanging from the brass candelabrum, the dozens of guests who crowded the room. Christian was her husband now, this man from another time. They'd live in this period for the rest of their lives, if they didn't lose their lives in the coming Indian Rebellion. She tried not to dwell on that possibility, refusing to let such a worry spoil her wedding day.

Their vows completed, she glanced sideways at her husband, realizing once more how much she loved him, loved him so fiercely she couldn't imagine life without him. She wondered how she'd ever lived without him, she, the modern liberated woman who had a job and owned a house in the twenty-first century.

She clasped Christian's hand and mingled with all these kind neighbors who filled the common room, where talk and laughter bounced from wall to wall.

After an eternity, they got away by themselves, in a corner next to the china cupboard. The bright noontime sunlight poured through the open window and added a cheerful glow to the room. A vase of blue hyacinths and yellow freesia adorned an oaken table, scenting the room with a sweet, fresh aroma. She considered having the wedding in this room almost as nice as being married in a church and in some ways better because it seemed cozier, more intimate.

"Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are, Mistress Norgard?" Christian said, his gaze sweeping over the pale green silk gown she and Rebecca had spent hours sewing and hemming. "And your hat," he said, gesturing toward a confection of white straw and pink dahlias. "You're so lovely, sweetheart." He squeezed her hand, his look somber. "My wife."

Noisy laughter swelled around them, but Gwen ignored the sounds--seeing, hearing, wanting only her new husband, nothing and no one else.

With wifely solicitude, she stepped back to adjust his lace-edged cravat. "You're not so bad-looking yourself."

Her fingers itched to unbutton his vest, loosen his white linen shirt so she could touch his bare chest, feel his warm skin. Tempted to untie the ribbon that bound his hair and run her fingers through the thick locks, she contented herself with a quick caress, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

"Be mindful, darling," he whispered, "or I might forget we're not alone."

"Come on, you two lovebirds. Let's start the music and dancin'." Simon Fletcher staggered through the crowd, a mug of beer in his hand, the smell of alcohol on his breath. His face was as homely as ever, but his reconstructed nose looked as good as new. "Ye'll have enough time by yourselves tanight," he said with a wink and a crude gesture. Laughing uproariously, Simon looked around to catch the giggles and knowing nods of the others. "And besides," Simon drawled, "you two have to start the dancin'."

Gwen exchanged a wry smile with Christian as a country dance began with the screech of the fiddle and the trilling of the flute. Her thoughts wandered while she performed the steps, tonight uppermost on her mind, when she and Christian would be alone. Did she really know this man? And did he really love her? She knew he wanted her in his bed--he'd made that plain enough. Love and sex aren't the same, she realized, but his look, his kisses, his caresses told her he cared for her very much.

Trust your husband and your heart, she told herself, and never doubt his love. He was her lover, her soul mate, the man she would live with throughout this life and for many lives to come.

Serious thoughts tossed aside, she laughed as the dance ended, and Christian's hand remained in hers. "There, we've done our part. Now can we be by ourselves for awhile?"

He gave her a teasing glance. "Pray don't tell me you want to be alone with me?"

She brushed her arm against his. "What do you think?" As they moved away, she gestured toward Isaac Beam's three year old, who clutched his mother's skirt, his plain brown linsey frock hanging to his bare feet. "I see Billy Beam is wearing his eye patch."

Christian nodded. "With much cajoling and bribery from me. 'Tis not easy to convince his parents the eye patch will do him good. So I must bring the child small treats to persuade him to wear the patch.

"Enough of medical matters. One other matter you must understand, Mistress Norgard," Christian went on, "I love you very much." He held her close, her wide-brimmed hat scraping his cheek. "Dear God, I love you so."

Her eyes filled with tears. "I love you, too," she whispered. "Never doubt it."

Despite her happiness, endless regrets taunted her while she stared up her husband, taking in her fill of his features. No matter how lovely this room and its decorations, she couldn't help wishing she were getting married in her other time, where all her contemporary friends could see her. She pictured the guests in the pews of the spacious Presbyterian church back home, wherever her former home was now. She imagined the organ music, the expansive nave decorated with flowers, the reception afterwards at the country club. And Christian! If they could only meet her husband, they'd know why she was so proud of him, why he was the only man she could ever love.

Gwen opened her mouth to say something, then sudden goosebumps skimmed her arms and legs. A feeling of dread turned her stomach cold. She had the fearful sensation that something strange was about to happen.

Afraid of what she might see, she looked out the open window--and saw a car whiz past, its engine rumbling. She averted her gaze, wanting to deny the reality of her vision. Her hand pressed to her chest, she stared out the window again, seeing nothing now but trees and bushes.

"Gwen, what's amiss?"

What was happening to her? she agonized, Christian's voice only an echo in the background. Was she going crazy? She sneaked another glance outside, trying to convince herself the vision had been only because of her overactive imagination. Of course, she hadn't really seen a car.

"Gwen!"

Frantically, she looked around at the guests, hoping no one had seen her shock.

Christian wrapped his arm around her shoulder, frowning with worry. "Darling, didn't you hear me? What's wrong?"

Not daring to reveal her vision, she forced a laugh. "Oh, it's nothing. It's funny, I always considered myself the picture of health, but with the preparation for the wedding and all..." She gave him a tremulous smile. "This is the most important day of my life. Can't blame a lady if she gets carried away with the excitement."

"Poor dear." Christian became all tenderness as he held her as close as her wide-brimmed hat would allow. "Pray sit down for a while. You've been on your feet too long."

She waved her hand. "Oh, I'm all right, Christian, really I am."

"Come now. I'm your doctor. You must do as I say."

No sense in protesting, Gwen figured. Come to think of it, it might be nice to sit down for a few minutes, especially since her new wedding shoes with their high instep and wobbly heels pinched her feet and made her legs ache. Christian led her to an empty bench--borrowed for the wedding--at a far corner of the room, and gently eased her into it. Crouched low on the balls of his feet, he took her hands in his and gazed up at her, looking so worried.

"Rest for a while," he said. "Don't want to lose my wife on our wedding day." He bit his bottom lip, then spoke quickly. "'Twas a beautiful ceremony, was it not?"

"Right." Wanting to deflect his anxiety, Gwen decided it would be better to tell him a lie than say what had actually happened. Besides, he'd never in a million years believe her. Her heart still pounded, forcing her to take a deep breath before she spoke.

"I was thinking about tonight and...." She feigned embarrassment, tossing him a sidelong helpless glance from under her lashes.

He squeezed her hand, his look warmly caring. "Don't worry about tonight. We love each other, and the rest will take care of itself."

* * * *

After tossing his clothes onto a chair, Christian crawled into bed beside Gwen. He reached for her in the darkness, drawing her close to his body.

Nuzzling her neck, he kissed the hollow of her throat, his fingers skimming along her arm. "Not still worried, are you, darling?"

"I was never worried, just apprehensive. Do you know, most of my friends were liberated and--"

He raised his head. "Liberated?"

Gwen laughed softly as she cuddled closer. "I mean they didn't let old-fashioned morals stand in the way of their enjoyment of life. To put it bluntly, they weren't virgins when they married."

"Well, 'tis not too unusual to find engaged couples who anticipate their wedding day. Happens often, as a matter of fact."

"Yeah, but my friends scr--uh, lay with a lot of other men, too."

"Indeed!" His eyes had adjusted to the dark, and he observed her closely, admiring the silky strands of hair that tumbled past her shoulders, the swell of tempting breasts under her thin muslin nightshift. His gaze traveled along her body to the outline of her hips and long, slender legs under the counterpane.

"What about you?" he whispered, his fingers tracing her erect nipples.

"A virgin. Does that surprise you?"

"Doesn't surprise me, but there's something I want you to know." He leaned over to kiss her on the forehead. "I'd love you, no matter how many men you'd lain with." He reached under the shift to run his hand up her leg, his fingers lingering on her satiny smooth skin. "I love you so much," he whispered, "wanted you for so long. 'Tis not easy to wait." He eased the nightshift up and drew it over her head, while she raised herself to make it easier for him.

After tossing the shift onto the floor, he kissed her lightly on her shoulder. "Sweetheart, my sweetheart." His lips claimed hers in a deep, passionate kiss as his hand strayed to her breast, caressing it. Burning for her, he trailed light kisses from her lips down to her belly.

"My darling!" His hands continued to play their magic, his fingers finding her most sensitive places.

"I want you, too," she whispered. She wanted him, oh, how she wanted him, her body desperate to have him inside her.

As gently as possible, he entered her. Hearing her gasp of pain, he tried to go slowly for her sake.

How had she ever lived without him? Gwen wondered as she felt his warm breath against her ear, heard his quickened breathing. This was what she'd waited for all her life and Christian the only man who could give her such happiness. He could drive her crazy with longing, this man of hers, the one she'd wanted for so long. A slow ache began to build inside her, a desire to give and receive this ecstasy that only love can bring.

"Sweetheart!" Her release came as a dazzling rainbow of sensations erupted inside her, a beautiful symphony, the explosion of a thousand giant stars.

Hours later, as the last faint stars disappeared from the heavens, she turned her head to watch her husband while he slept. A slight smile touched his lips, a lock of dark hair falling across his forehead.

Love swelled inside her. She kissed him lightly on the cheek, hoping he'd wake soon to make love again. She didn't know what the future held, but she realized how fiercely she loved him, so much that she wanted him with her every minute of every day, for the rest of their lives.

A painful reminder jerked her from her passionate thoughts--a vision of the car whizzing past. Just some crazy hallucination, she told herself. Only her imagination.

* * * *

A week later, Gwen stood at the wide stone hearth, stirring the turkey and vegetable soup bubbling in the large cast iron kettle. Afraid her dress would catch fire, she'd tucked it inside her woolen apron, something she'd learned the hard way the day after the wedding. Waving her hand across her flushed face to cool it, she stepped away from the hearth, wondering how these colonial women managed cooking under such backward conditions, day after day. How would she manage? she fretted, when nothing in her life had prepared her for this arduous domesticity. She flopped down on a chair and rested her arm on the table, determined not to dwell on present difficulties.

But how about the microwave, the blender, the Cuisinart? Why, of course, she'd buy them next time she went to the trading post. Maybe check over the refrigerators at Circuit City while she was at it.

The aroma of freshly-baked rye and Injun bread drifted from the table, where she'd placed the bread to cool. So what if it was flat and overbaked? She'd finally baked a loaf of bread.

She examined her hands, red and work-roughened already, crisscrossed with tiny cuts from being continually in hot water on cool days. What she'd give for hand lotion or better yet, latex gloves.

The room darkened with the setting sun, giving the house a somber cast and accentuating its drab simplicity. After returning the large spoon to its proper place beside the hearth, she moved about the room, lighting candles in the wall sconces. Well, the room was brighter now, but it still looked as dull as a closet full of dirty clothes. She decided to fix it up a bit first chance she got, maybe with a printed calico curtain at the lone window and pewter candlesticks like those she'd seen at the trading post.

The prospect of Christian's imminent return home cheered her as she reached for the wooden bowls from the mantel to set the table. A faintness overtook her as she turned away, the room shimmering, the scene changing. Goose bumps raced across her arms, and she pressed her hands to her eyes, so afraid of what she'd see. Oh, no! Please, no!

People moved about in an office--men and women talking, laughing.

"Who was the last person to use the copy machine? We're out of paper."

"Are you helpless? Get the paper yourself."

Gwen dropped the bowls to the hard floor with a clatter. She bent her head low to keep from fainting. This couldn't be happening again. Just like before! What if she got sent back to her previous time--without Christian? A fresh wave of dizziness washed over her, and she wobbled over to a chair, slumping down to rest her head on the table. She took deep breaths. She couldn't let Christian see her like this. He'd think she was nuts, if he didn't think so already.

Afraid to open her eyes, she finally raised her head to give a cautious glance around the room, finding everything normal again. She hadn't really seen people in an office, hadn't really heard office chatter. It's just your imagination, just your imagination, she repeated like a mantra. With a jolt of alarm, she heard Christian at the door and struggled to her feet, pasting a smile on her face.

The door opened and Christian stepped into the room. A warm smile on his face, he rushed to close the distance between them. He reached her, his smile fading.

Clasping her by the shoulders, he searched her eyes. "Sweetheart, what's amiss? Are you unwell?"

What had made her think she could fool him? She touched her forehead. "Just had a slight headache, but seeing you has made me feel better already. Did you have a busy day?" she asked in a rush of words. "I guess you did because you've been gone for so long, but of course, I understand that's your job. You're a doctor, after all, so...." She shrugged.

He frowned. "Are you sure you're not ill?" He held his hand to her forehead, then let his hand slip down to the back of her neck. "You don't appear to have a fever. Mayhap you should lie down to rest." He slid his arm around her waist, heading for the loft. "Come now, darling. Lie down for a while."

She wiped her hands on her apron, her mind in confusion. She didn't know how she could tell him of her recent vision, but what choice did she have? What if it happened again, when Christian was with her? Or--unthinkable--what if she got sent back to her own time, without Christian?

She licked her lips. "Christian, sometimes I see things that aren't really there. I--"

"Not really there?" His frown deepened. "Explain yourself."

"I mean, I see people ... other people, here, in our house. They talk to each other and move around the room...."

He didn't believe her. She could tell by the incredulous look on his face.

He spoke slowly, his voice low and even. "Mayhap you've been working too hard, thus imagining things. Or possibly you do have a fever. Oftimes feverish people see things that aren't really present." He raised his hand to her forehead again. "But you don't feel warm."

She shook her head. "No fever. It was the same on our wedding day. Remember when I looked out the window and seemed so frightened?" At his answering nod, she went on. "I ... I saw something that wasn't ... wasn't really there."

"What did you see?" He folded his arms across his chest, a look of cautious challenge on his face.

"Something ... something from my time. I can't explain it. You'd never believe me, anyway. But sometimes I feel as if ... as if ... I'm in this time and my own, too--the twenty-first century. Sometimes I feel--" With shaky fingers, she stuffed loose locks of hair under her cap--"that I don't know where I belong."

"You belong with me," he said, releasing a deep sigh. "Gwen, I don't know what malady you suffer from, but--"

"Please, you must take this seriously!"

"But it's obvious you have a very fanciful imagination."

"Imagination? No, Christian, try to understand what I'm going through."

"I understand this much--you're my wife now. You must learn to live in the wilderness with me, whether you like it or not, and--"

"Am I complaining?"

"'Tis still a mystery where you came from."

"I told you I came from the future!"

He smiled without humor. "Ah, yes, the future. Well, you're here now in the year of Our Lord, 1763. Best you learn to live with that. "

* * * *

Days later, the brilliant late afternoon sunlight shone through the open window, enclosing the small room in a stifling heat.

As Gwen sipped her tea across the table from him, Christian reached for his clay pipe from a nearby shelf, wondering how to tell his wife of his concerns. Immersed in countless anxieties, he poured a measure of tobacco from a pouch at his belt and pressed the tobacco down, then scraped his chair back, heading for the tongs by the hearth. Silent, unmoving, he stood by the hearth for countless moments, staring into the fire. After lighting his pipe, he sighed and sauntered back to his chair.

"What's the matter, darling?" Gwen asked. "Was my cooking that bad?" A troubled frown crossed her face. "Me and my big mouth. Looks like something is bothering you. You want to talk about it?"

"Umm." He puffed on his pipe for a few quiet moments, the rich scent of tobacco filling the air. "Heard about Indian attacks east of here, over Carlisle way."

She pressed her hand to her mouth. "Oh, no!"

His gaze covered the room, as if the small space held an answer to his worries. He turned to her again. "Indians burned several houses and killed many settlers ... committed such horrible atrocities that decency forbids the telling. 'Tis '55 and '56 all over again! I said naught to you earlier because I didn't want to worry you, but I realize now 'tis best to face facts."

She shook her head. "This is what I've feared for so long. Remember I told you of these attacks, that I knew they would happen."

Crossing his legs, he continued puffing on his pipe. "Well, Indian raids oftimes occur in these parts. The red man is angry at the way the white man has treated him--"

"Can you blame him? We've taken his land, destroyed his culture, always pushing him farther west."

"Well, somehow, some way, the Indian problem will have to be resolved." Christian stared around the room and sighed.

"This problem will never be resolved, at least not to the satisfaction of the Indians. But Christian, you're skirting the issue. We're going to have real trouble very soon--raids, more killings." Hands clenched on the table, she looked so troubled, he'd give anything to ease her mind, to tell her there was nothing to be concerned about. If only it were true!

Frowning, she remained silent for a moment, then spoke quickly. "And I told you the Indian leader's name--Pontiac!"

"Pontiac?" He shook his head. "Never heard of him."

"Well, I'm sure you will, and very soon."

He puffed his pipe as worries and questions churned in his brain. How could she have known the name of the Indian leader, or had she only recently heard it? He tried a different approach, still striving for acceptance of her fantastic story. Had she really come from the future? How could that be?

"Let's drop the matter of the Indians for now," Christian said. "And let's both accept the fact that Indian raids are not uncommon in these parts. The fact that you knew these raids would happen doesn't prove a thing--"

"But Christian--"

He held up a hand. "Pray let me finish. It's past time for us to deal with the question of what time you came from."

"So do you believe me now?" she asked.

"Shall we say I'm getting there ... or trying to."

Pushing his plate aside, Christian stretched his long legs out. How could he believe she came from the future? "I have known you for over a year. Surely you know how much I love you, and yes, trust you, too. So I shall listen with an open mind. Tell me about this world of yours." A cold lump settled in his stomach, as if his world had turned upside down. As indeed, it had.

She spread her hands wide. "How can I begin? People travel differently, for one thing. Not by horse or carriage." She paused, then plunged ahead to relate so many changes that had taken place between his century and hers it made his head spin to hear about it. Occasionally she stopped, directing a hesitant look his way, and each time he nodded for her to proceed.

"You mentioned once that doctors use many machines," Christian said. "Don't people do anything themselves?"

"Yes, of course, but machines make things a lot easier for people." Gwen rose to lift a kettle of boiling water at the hearth and poured the water into a large tub in a corner. After returning the kettle to the hearth, she threw him a glance. "Would you believe we even have dishwashers in my time?"

"Dishwashers?"

"Sure, machines that wash dishes."

Christian shook his head, scarcely believing. He observed her quick, lithe steps from the table to the tub, thinking she must surely resent all the housework she must do in his time. Dishwashers!

The setting sun darkened the room. The bookcase stood in shadow, the books and medicine bottles appearing as vague shapes. Gwen looked so lovely in her tan linsey frock, with the muslin cap that crowned her lustrous head of hair, her kissable lips pursed in thought. The supple dress material molded itself to her body, accentuating her full breasts, the curve of her hips. How empty his life had been before he met her! He changed his position to follow her movements, his elbow on the table, his other arm draped over the back of the chair, forcing himself to concentrate on the subject ... the twenty-first century.

Christian leaned forward. "And what about medicine?"

"Medicine! How can I ever tell you!" she said, her voice rising. "Immunization shots for so many diseases, special medicines for other illnesses, and a lot of new treatments. It'd take hours, days, to tell you all about the practice of medicine."

She rested her chin in her hands, giving him an expression of deep concentration. "Practicing medicine is a lot different in my other time. Very few doctors make house calls. Instead, they have their own offices where their patients come to them."

He shook his head. "'Tis passing strange." He looked around the room, his gaze resting on the fireplace, the bookcase with all his precious medical texts and instruments. He swung his gaze back to his wife. How primitive all this must seem to her. "I'll wager you miss your own world, don't you?"

"I have you now, sweetheart." She smiled then, but the faraway look in her eyes belied her words.

* * * *

The next day, Christian rested his horse by a stream where he and the bay could both get a cool, refreshing drink. Gaunt trees covered hills and valleys, here and there maples blossoming with spring. With Gwen on his mind, as always, he crouched low to scoop up some water and drink his fill. 'Struth, she'd occupied his mind continually since her revelations about her own time.

His thirst satisfied, he hunkered down on the cold ground with one leg drawn up, his gaze roving the meadow. Had his wife really come from the future? He'd told her he believed her, but the very concept strained his credulity, his sense of logic. And if he believed she was from another time, maybe he was a Bedlamite.

Yet, it must be true. How else could she know of all the inventions she spoke of? Mayhap she'd dreamed these things, but no, such things as she'd spoken of went beyond the wildest dreams.

Suppose Gwen asked him to go with her, back to her own time, if indeed, such a trip was possible. From what she'd said about medicine in the twenty-first century, he feared he'd never be allowed to practice. What would his life be worth if he couldn't use his medical experience?

How she must miss her world with its many inventions and discoveries he could scarcely visualize. How unhappy she must be here in the eighteenth century. Oh, she loved him--he never doubted that. But what if a strange power drew her back to her own time--without him?

My God! She might already be gone! He sprang to his feet and mounted his horse, counting the minutes until he saw her again.

Chapter Seventeen

Several days after her revelations to Christian, Gwen pushed past the thick tangle of bushes and tree branches as she made her way homeward through the forest. She and Christian had left their house before dawn, Christian to get necessary supplies from Fort Pitt. Recalling that she needed to borrow salt from Rebecca, Gwen had accompanied Christian as far as the Chamberlains, then both had left after a short visit. Each of them had gone their separate ways.

Now she could make some biscuits for supper tonight, she thought as she skirted a blackberry bush and shoved an overhanging hickory branch from her face.

The dark forest closed around her, with scarcely any sunlight penetrating the deep gloom of the chestnuts and hickories. Pleasant aromas wafted through the air, the sweet scent of the blackberries and sassafras, the fresh forest smell. Nearly tripping over a thick tree root, she squinted in the verdant blackness as she tried to follow the forest path.

She inhaled deeply of the mid-morning air--and caught the smell of smoke!

Heedless of the scratches on her hands, she shouldered aside low-hanging branches as she raced along the narrow rocky trail. She struggled up a steep incline, then descended into a deep hollow. Shoving the hindrances out of the way, she ran as fast as the tortuous path would allow. A long, thin branch caught at her mobcap, and she jerked the cap off, tucking it into her bodice. Closer to her house now, she saw thick smoke drifting skyward, ashes blowing in her direction.

Coughing, she fought past the dense thickets of trees whose branches clung to her skirt, tearing the material. She tore the fabric loose, not caring if it ripped. God, she prayed, please don't have our house be on fire. Their own home, Christian's books and medical supplies, their clothes and all their precious possessions!

My God, no! The house came in sight, flames crackling and leaping from the outside walls. Drenched with perspiration, Gwen pressed her hand to her heart, too frightened to move as she stared at their burning home. Don't stop now! Keep going!

There, she made it! She screamed as her hand touched the sizzling-hot door latch. Ignoring the pain, she stepped back to double the material of her dress around the latch, then opened the door. Hot air blasted her face. She plunged into their house and choked in the thick cloud of smoke engulfing the room. She had to rescue Christian's books and medical supplies.

For one frantic moment, she focused her eyes in the small space. Tears streamed down her face, damp locks of hair straggling from her forehead. Damn it, she couldn't see a thing! How could she save Christian's books and supplies when the whole place was dark as night?

She choked and groped through the smoke, touching familiar objects along the way, the bookcase in sight. After a trek that seemed like miles, she reached the bookcase and grasped Christian's medical case. She grabbed a couple of flasks, nearly dropping the hot glass containers. Bracing herself against the pain, she topped the pile with as many jars of medicine as she could tuck under her chin, then rushed outside.

She dashed back inside, agonizing over what to save next. A wave of dizziness gripped her, forcing her to stop. No time to lose! The crackling sound increased, the heat more intense. Smoke scratched her throat, and her lungs ached with a raw, near-to-bursting pain.

The smoke thickened. The flames reached the inside walls, the heat penetrating the puncheon floor. A fit of coughing doubled her, but she had to move! The heat from the floor tortured her feet. Perspiration streamed down her forehead and stung her eyes. Ashes swirled in the swift onrush of air, getting in her eyes and throat, layering her clothes.

Remembering that heat rises, she dropped to the floor and crawled along on her hands and knees, choking the entire way. The scalding hot floor tormented her bare hands. She nearly cried with pain.

An overhead beam crashed to the floor behind her, missing her by inches. Blinded by the smoke, she felt in the darkness for the bookcase. After grabbing Christian's medical records and texts, she made herself stand. Sizzling hot books scorched her hands, and flames singed her hair, burning her clothes.

The top volume slipped and fell to the floor. Screaming with frustration, she bent to seize the book and raced outside. Each breath was a struggle as she dropped the books on the ground and clutched her stomach, wanting to vomit. Overcome by smoke, she collapsed on the ground, taking deep breaths. Ashes blanketed her hair and clothes. Every inch of skin throbbed with pain.

Their money! She remembered the payment the lady from Bedford had given Christian for the operation, the coins kept in a wooden box on the mantle. Drawing on her last bit of strength, she dashed back inside and grabbed the blistering hot box. She cried with pain, wrapping her skirt around the box, finally reaching outside again.

There by the fiery cabin, where the large oak tree guarded the vegetable field and thick forest growth, she vowed she would not give in. She still had more things to save! She wobbled to her feet, aching all over. Nausea churned in her stomach. Her face turned hot, then cold. The earth tilted and the ground came up to meet her.

* * * *

Enclosed in pain, Gwen lay in blackness, forcing her eyes open after several attempts. She felt the cold ground beneath her, saw the wide oak tree, its bare branches stretching above her. Everything slammed through her head--the fire, saving Christian's books--like a nightmare that has no end.

With infinite care, Christian smoothed a foul-smelling ointment from her upper arm all the way to the tips of her fingers. He wrapped gauze around her injured arm, speaking calmly as he worked. The smell of wood smoke still hung in the air, a light breeze blowing fumes their way.

"Why did you do it, darling? My books and medicaments are not worth your life. You could have died...." Christian choked, his voice trembling. "If anything had happened to you...." Sighing, he shook his head.

"Pray don't ever again risk your life for any possessions of mine. I couldn't bear to lose you," he said in his low, husky voice. "How could I live without you?" He bent low to kiss her forehead, all the while murmuring words meant to comfort.

There was so much she wanted to say, but the words got stuck in her throat. Despite Christian's gentleness, she winced with pain.

"Sorry if I'm hurting you," he murmured as he wrapped gauze around her other arm. "Can't be helped."

"I know," Gwen whispered, tasting ashes in her mouth. Turning her head, she saw the smoky ruins of their house. Tears brimmed her eyes, and she swallowed hard.

"Darling," Christian whispered. He sat on the ground beside her, his thigh supporting her right arm. Finished winding the gauze, he cut and tied the fabric ends.

Raw pain tortured her throat. After several attempts, she opened her mouth to speak, every word an effort. "I can't understand how the fire started. I was so careful."

"Not your fault." Christian shook his head, worry lines etching his face. "Indians. More houses burnt east of here ... heard about these atrocities while I visited Fort Pitt this morning. Whole families killed, prisoners taken...."

"Oh, my God!" Gwen turned away, swallowing past the ache in her throat. Is this the beginning of the Rebellion? she agonized, thinking past her torment. She raised her hand to her cheeks and realized for the first time that Christian had put salve on her face, too. I'll probably be scarred for life, she worried, recalling a college classmate whose face had been furrowed with ugly purple burn scars. But what about the captives Christian spoke of? They might be roasted at the stake!

"The burns are not as bad as they may seem," Christian said. "This salve will help them heal nicely. You should recover within a few weeks, I doubt not." He stretched out on the ground next to her and placed a light kiss on her lips. "Pray don't ever frighten me like that again. When I arrived home and found you lying on the ground...." He rested his head between her breasts, his breath warm on her chest.

"I had to save your things." Despite her agony, she lifted her bandaged hand to smooth across his hair, so happy to be alive, to have Christian with her.

He braced himself on his elbow, rising up to look at her. "'Tis easy enough to procure more medicines and buy more books, aye, and to build another house, too. 'Tis not that easy to get another wife, and I find that you please me very much," he said with another light kiss on her forehead.

Gwen tried to smile, her eyelids drooping. Images haunted her, pictures she knew would taunt her for the rest of her life--the flames licking the wood, the harsh smell of smoke, ashes flying through the air. She drifted on a tide of weariness and turned her head toward her husband, when blackness engulfed her again.

* * * *

"Almost as roomy as our other house," Christian said as he set a brand new oak chair next to the table, "not that our first house was so spacious. Still, I consider us fortunate that Daniel and several of the other men were able to spare the days to help us build and at such a busy time, too."

With his foot, he shoved a couple stray books out of the way. He wiped his glistening forehead with a handkerchief, then tucked the handkerchief in his waistcoat pocket. Looking around the room, his gaze covered the hearth, the table, two chairs, and their oak bedstead in the corner.

"Maybe we can acquire more things a little at a time," Gwen said.

"Aye, that we can."

In the early morning light, while shadows still clung to the walls, Gwen followed Christian's gaze to his books and supplies stacked forlornly in a far corner. "You need a bookcase as much as anything." She picked up another stray book from the floor and set it with the others.

"That's the least of it, and I'll never forget how you risked your life to rescue my books and medicaments." He drew her close and kissed her tenderly on the top of her head, running his hand across the ridges of her back. "I'll say it again, my possessions are not worth your life."

She eased back to stare up at him, thinking she'd never loved him as much as she did now, fully aware she could have died in the fire, forever parted from him.

"But Christian, those books are priceless. William Harvey, Chippendale ... I couldn't let anything happen to them."

"Easy to come by," Christian said with a careless shrug. "Daniel could procure them for me in Philadelphia, or mayhap Mr. Davenport could obtain the books here at the trading post."

"You're right. I didn't think...." She leaned her head against his hard chest, absorbing the heat of his skin, feeling his heartbeat close to her ear. She told herself for the hundredth time she had to remember what time she lived in now. Of course, these books weren't so valuable now. With the exception of William Harvey, they'd been written by contemporaries.

"Speaking of supplies," Christian said, stepping back, "I intend to stop by Fort Pitt after I visit several patients east of here. Shall I procure anything for you?"

"Umm, let me think."

Why, sure. How about a few new dresses, not to mention panties and bras? All their clothes gone, except what they wore! Would she ever have the time to replace his waistcoat of black wool, embellished with crewel embroidery she'd labored over for hours? Darn it, she'd take the time!

He reached for the money box on the mantle, counting out a few coins. "I still have much of the money the lady from Bedford gave me," he said with his back to her, "so be sure to tell me if you need anything." He turned and gave her a wry smile. "Most of my patients pay me with produce, so we must watch our expenses."

"Can't think of anything now. May think of something later."

"Very well." Enclosing her in his arms, he gave her a long kiss. "No doubt it will be hours before I return."

After he closed the door behind him, Gwen busied herself cutting up vegetables for a stew. How she hated preparing meals from scratch. Well, she'd have to get used to it. Cook, cook, cook.

What culinary delight have you planned for the evening meal, honey?

Oh, Christian. I thought I'd be lazy and order pizza.

Great, I love pizza. Be sure to get extra pepperoni and sausage.

Yeah, right.

Some time later, a vegetable stew simmered over the fire, its heady aroma mingling with the scent of freshly-hewn wood. A breeze through the open door cooled the room and brought a little relief from the fireplace heat. Perched on a chair next to the table, Gwen sewed the last stitch of a shirt she'd made for Christian, having already cut the material while they'd lived temporarily with Rebecca and Daniel.

I'll head for the shopping mall tomorrow, she thought on a note of wry humor, considering all the things she'd love to buy jeans, T-shirts, and dresses. And how about

a new pair of sandals, now that spring was in the air?

Without warning, a swell of vertigo gripped her. No, not that again! Her hands shook as she dropped the material on the table, her gaze covering every corner. There, where a blank wall should be, a woman sat at a desk, typing at a computer! Gwen squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to cry. This couldn't be happening, not again!

Slowly opening her eyes, she dared another look. A man leaned against the desk, an impatient look on his face. Who were these people? She'd never seen them in her life. Was there an office building in the same location as this house--in the twenty-first century? What other explanation could there be?

"Almost done with the report," the woman said. "Give me a few more minutes, okay?"

Gwen jerked away, the room spinning around her. She clutched her stomach, wanting to scream, run outside, escape these visions. This can't be happening. The voices faded and died. The room returned to normal, but her head pounded as nausea roiled inside her.

She gripped the edge of the table, as if it would anchor her to the house, this settlement in the wilderness, this world that had become hers. A world she would never leave ... not without Christian.

* * * *

One week later, finally settled in their new home, Gwen tried to convince herself she hadn't really seen that office or those people. She chalked the experience up to the loss of their former house in the fire and the strain of moving. Sure, that's all it was.

No, she must face the facts. The future and the past were blending, a phenomenon that frightened her witless. What could she do to prevent these crazy visions? More important--what if she got sent back to her other time without Christian?

If her visions didn't stop soon, she was afraid she'd become a real loony. That was probably what Christian thought anyway, although he never indicated, by word or action, that he considered her crazy.

Awake one hot and steamy night while Christian slept beside her, she closed her eyes and tried to sleep as another problem nagged her. She wanted Christian's child badly, but until she felt certain of what time--the present or the future--she'd live in, she didn't dare become pregnant. She practiced birth control with a sponge soaked in vinegar, a method she'd read about in a twenty-first century historical novel. Too bad she couldn't get birth control pills.

* * * *

On a balmy afternoon in late spring, Gwen finished sweeping and cleaning the house. That's enough for today, she thought, flipping the feather broom over to a corner. First checking the turkey roasting over the hearth, she decided she'd visit a few of the trading posts in the low town, on the outskirts of Fort Pitt. After the weeks spent in their new house, she realized how many things she needed--more linen and thread, soap, and vegetables she could buy from any one of the farmers' wives.

She glanced at herself in a hand mirror Christian had bought her, noting that her scars had almost completely healed. That was one worry out of the way. She clamped a straw bonnet on her head and scooped a few shillings from the box on the mantle. Dropping the coins into her detachable pocket, she stepped outside.

At the foot of the hill, she viewed the other log houses closer to Fort Pitt, ugly houses, she mused with a mental scold for her unkind thoughts. But it was true. Each house resembled the next in drab simplicity, all looking like derelict shacks, ready to cave in.

Covered with dust, she plodded along the dirt trail until she reached Fort Pitt, wondering if she and Christian would ever have a nice home of their own.

The whole town was a real dump. Pretend! she told herself as she skirted a pile of animal waste. Why, just look at all the gleaming skyscrapers, the colorful tulips neatly planted outside the office buildings, the well-dressed businessmen rushing past on the sidewalk. In her own time....

More drunks and derelicts than even the previous year roamed the streets, the Indians as sad-looking as ever, their clothes ragged and dirty. Here and there redcoats strolled along. Surely they must be hot as hell in their skintight woolen uniforms. She scanned their faces, looking for a familiar one, recalling all the soldiers she'd met at the Saturday night balls. One of them looked familiar, but she must be mistaken.

"Miss Emrys! Gwen!"

It couldn't be! She gave him her widest smile. "Lieutenant Shelbourne, what a surprise! I thought you'd left for England long ago, but it's so nice to see you again." She clutched her dress fluttering in the cool breeze, tempted to rush up to Richard, throw her arms around him and kiss him. She self-consciously adjusted the angle of her bonnet, thinking his friendly face sure did help chase her blues away.

"'Twas certainly my intention to sell my commission, but Captain Ecuyer persuaded me from my planned course. He fears the Indians may endanger the population at Fort Pitt." Richard scoffed. "What a foolish prospect. As if those people could cause trouble."

He ran an admiring gaze over her. "But why are we discussing such melancholy topics? I must say you've brightened my day with your presence, madam. 'Tis indeed my good fortune to find you unaccompanied."

"Well, you see, my husband--"

"Your husband?" He frowned.

"I married Christian Norgard a couple of months ago," she said with a gentle smile. "We lived farther east, but our house burned down."

"Good heavens! What a tragedy. Miss Emrys, er, Mistress Norgard, I see we have much catching up to do. I'd consider it a pleasure and an honor if you'd accompany me to the King's Gardens. We can sit on the grass to exchange news. I must pull officer-of-the-guard duty tonight, but I have much time before I need to report." He raised his eyebrows. "That is, if you can spare the time."

"Suits me fine, lieutenant." So happy to see Richard, she tried not to think about all the jobs that awaited her at home and all the things she should buy at the trading post.

She linked her arm through his, placing her hand on his forearm. "Shall we go?"

In the King's Gardens, a cool breeze blowing off the river bathed her face. The scent of apple and pear trees drifted her way, helping her forget her dull days. Besides, Richard was such fun to be with.

She rested on the grass under the shade of a wide oak tree, her legs drawn close to her body. Aware of the proprieties, she arranged the skirt of her dress around her ankles.

"So you think the Indians were responsible for burning your house?" Richard asked after Gwen related the episode.

She twisted her fingers in the grass. "That's what Christian says. There've been other burnings farther east, people killed and captured. I'm afraid the Indian Rebellion has started," she said, then silently scolded herself for yet another slip of the tongue. Richard would wonder....

"Indian rebellion?" Richard said with a look of pure scorn. "I hardly think so. Isolated incidents, horrible as it must have been for you to lose your house in such a sad way. Indeed, I think Captain Ecuyer worries needlessly. But please, dear Mistress Norgard, I didn't bring you here to discuss an Indian rebellion that will never happen."

He gave her a look of frank admiration. "I want to know how you've been, Gwen, if I am permitted to address you by your first name. Pray tell me how things have been with you. Are you happy with Norgard? Nay, don't let my bold question shock you. Your happiness means much to me," he said in a low voice as he leaned closer, so that only inches separated them. "And if you're unhappy with Norgard, he'll have to answer to me."

"Christian and I are very happy together," she said with a kind smile. "But sometimes I miss...." She hesitated, staring around the grassy area, sorry for her last remark. Your big mouth is going to get you into trouble one of these days, her conscience chided her.

"Yes?" Richard asked with an eager expression. "What do you miss?"

Gwen stared across the rippling waters of the Allegheny. "Oh, forget I said anything, Richard. It's just that everything is so different here."

"Different from what?"

"From everything I've known." She pushed herself to her feet, then brushed off the back of her dress. "Please forget I said anything," she repeated. "I have to learn to adjust. That's my problem."

Tucking unruly curls under her bonnet, she noted the position of the sun as it inched westward across the sky. Surely Christian would be back soon. "I'd better go now," she said, retying the ribbons of her bonnet. More than anything, she wished she could stay here on this wonderful spring day and forget about her housework, all the things she must do.

"Pray permit me to walk you home...."

Outside her front door a short while later, Richard stood only a few feet from her, his gaze steady on her face.

Reluctant to watch Richard leave, she talked with him for several minutes as time flew past, reminding her that Christian would arrive any minute now. And he'd better not see her with Richard.

"Richard," she said after a pause, "I really have to go inside. This day has meant a lot to me, seeing you again, talking to you. And I'm glad you've stayed, even though I'm sure you miss your home in England. Still, your loss is my gain, as they say."

"My gain, especially." Richard gave her a long, intense look, then leaned closer to kiss her. Aware of his purpose, Gwen started to pull away. Not fast enough!

"Well, well, am I interrupting something?"

They both spun around, Gwen's face hot with embarrassment.

"Christian!"

Chapter Eighteen

"It wasn't what it looked like, Christian," Gwen said after Richard had given a long-winded apology, then left.

"Oh, no?" Christian said with a hard stare. "Then what was it?" He stood not two feet from her, so close Gwen could see the rise and fall of his chest and such a hurt look in his eyes, she'd do anything to take back those last few minutes with Richard.

"I told Richard, er, Lieutenant Shelbourne about the destruction of our house and ... and everything, and he was just showing me how sorry he felt for me."

"Right-ho! The man has a peculiar way of expressing sympathy."

"What I mean is--" She paused, licking her bottom lip. "I mean he was so happy to see me."

"Indeed. I'd never have guessed it."

"Well, it was a real surprise to see Lieutenant Shelbourne again. When I saw him several months ago, he told me he was selling his commission. Now--"

"Now the two lovers have reunited. What a happy ending!"

"Hey, you got it all wrong!" Before he could say anymore, Gwen decided the best defense was a good offense. "I didn't even hear you arrive at the house."

"Obviously."

"Well, where's your horse?"

"Not that I owe you an explanation, but I left him with the blacksmith to be shod. The man seemed quite busy, so I told him I'd come back later."

"Oh." Sorrier than she could say for the the pain she saw in his eyes, Gwen studied his face--every line, every feature, as though seeing them for the first time. She loved him so much. How could she convince him of her devotion?

She touched his arm but winced when he drew back. "Honestly, I'm sorry for--"

"No doubt!"

"It was nothing," she said, aware that was a lame answer.

He smirked. "Another man tries to kiss you, and you call it nothing?"

"But I didn't return his kiss. Didn't you see me draw away?"

"Only because you saw me."

"You know that's not true." She raised her hand to him again, then let it drop to her side. "Let's not have any arguments between us." She moved closer. "I love you so much," she whispered.

"Do you? You'd do anything to be back in your own world now, wouldn't you? You can't wait to get out of this time, back to the twenty-first century."

"Come on, you're changing the subject." She edged closer to him, catching his masculine scent of tobacco and the outdoors.

Desperation tinged her voice. "You're the only man I love, don't you know that? You're my life, all I ever wanted. Please don't draw away from me." She splayed her hands across his muscular chest and felt his steady heartbeat, his body heat. Easing her fingers under his shirt, she touched the matted hairs on his chest.

"Let me show you how much I love you," she said in a throaty whisper. His expression softening, she rested her head on his chest and absorbed his scent, the warmth of his skin. She moved against him in sensuous persuasion, her breasts molded to his chest.

"Ah, Gwen!"

She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a long, slow kiss, then

opened her mouth for him to explore. Closing her eyes, she drifted in a dream world of sensual images and sensations. She'd never wanted him as much as she wanted him now, this very minute.

He smiled lazily, hot desire in his eyes. "Let's go to bed. I don't care if it's morning, noon, or night. How can a man resist you? But first, I'd better give us privacy, don't you think?" Quickly, Christian left her to close the door, then returned to lead her to their bed in the corner.

Gwen helped him undress, unbuttoning his shirt with tantalizing slowness.

"Gwen, please! I want you now. Can't wait any longer."

"That goes for me, too, sweetheart." After tossing off their clothes, they pushed the counterpane back and slid into bed.

"Let me make love to you," she murmured. Wanting to set the pace, she leaned over him to kiss him on the mouth, moving her body tantalizingly against his chest. Taunting him with her breasts, she offered them for his enjoyment.

She covered his face with kisses, caught in the lure of his sighs, his gasps of pleasure, the desire she saw in his eyes. She stroked and teased, caressing him where it gave him such pleasure, driving them both to greater joy than she'd ever imagined, even in her wildest yearnings.

"Christian!" she cried as their bodies joined. "You see how much I love you."

* * * *

Much later, after they both drifted from their sensual bliss into a contented doze

and awakened to darkening shadows, Christian joined Gwen for the evening meal of leftover roast turkey and biscuits. Their lovemaking had kept her from fixing anything else, but who was she to complain? And Christian didn't seem to mind. Is this what people meant when they spoke of living on love?

Christian swallowed a bite of turkey, his eyes only for her. "Something I wanted to tell you--Captain Ecuyer has invited us to dinner Friday of next week. Others will attend, also," he added, cutting another bite. "Does that appeal to you?"

Gwen met his look, his kisses and caresses still fresh in her mind, her body warmly satisfied. "Hey, sounds like a pleasant change. Um, yes. Definitely." She enjoyed things like that--dinners with friends, stimulating conversation, meeting other people. In her own time, most people considered TV the ultimate entertainment. That time seemed so far away, and in many ways, this time seemed better.

* * * *

Besides Captain Ecuyer, several other distinguished men and women sat at the lace-covered table, Gwen at the captain's right. Here in the commandant's house at Fort Pitt, she admired the setting, every bit as beautiful as any she'd seen from her own time. A vase of deep pink phlox presided over the center, the table sparkling with sterling silver and fine china in a pattern of pink rosebuds with a gold rim.

She loved to hear the rustle of her whisper-soft silk gown, one a local dressmaker had skillfully made with only a few days notice. So glad Christian had discovered the

seamstress, she smoothed her fingers across the luxurious fabric. Its soft rose shade complemented her own coloring very well, she thought, after noticing in her mirror how it brought out the glow of her skin. A froth of lace edged the low neckline, adding a touch of elegance to the gown's simple cut.

Her hair was arranged in soft curls with a bow of rose ribbon in front and loose tresses that caressed her shoulders, a casual style she'd decided long ago suited her best. Christian likes it too, she observed, catching his appreciative look across the table.

Raising her crystal wine glass to her lips, it appeared to her that the captain managed quite well with entertaining, although he was stuck on the edge of civilization. And that's a pretty good description of Fort Pitt, Gwen mused as she forked a bite of tasty trout.

Intrepid as ever, George Croghan was there, sporting a black eye. Christian had once told her that Croghan was a wealthy and influential fur trader who'd dealt with the Indians for years. He was married to an Indian, even knew a few native languages. As for the black eye, he'd gotten it in a fight with an Indian chief.

Amid low-voiced conversation, Croghan spoke up. "Heard about Indian atrocities east of here. Cabins burned to the ground, whole families murdered."

Ecuyer dabbed a linen napkin to his mouth, then took a sip of wine. "Isolated incidents, I doubt not, melancholy as they must have been for the poor victims." His gaze covered the table, and he caught Gwen's worried look. "But I fear we are distressing the ladies, so shall we discuss something pleasant? Have any of you heard of this young musician in Salzburg? Mozart, I believe. Making quite a name for himself."

"Oh, yes!" Gwen replied, eager to join the conversation. "I just love his music, everything he does--sonatas, operas. Such a great pianist and composer, too. I especially like Don Giovanni."

A look of surprise came over Ecuyer, along with a few gasps around the table. "Madam, I fear you endow the child with a most prodigious number of achievements. The lad is only seven, I understand. Mayhap you're thinking of someone else," he said with a kind smile.

"I ... I suppose so," Gwen answered, her face warming. "Yes, I'm sure you're right, captain." She glanced across the table, observing Christian's sympathetic look. "I must have been thinking of someone else."

"In any event, that brings me to an announcement. It appears that everyone is finished with dinner," Ecuyer said as he glanced around the table and nodded toward an officer. "We are honored to have Lieutenant Edwards with us tonight, who, I assure you, is a most excellent violinist. He has kindly consented to play for us, so shall we retire to the parlor?" Ecuyer scraped his chair back and stood, everyone else following suit.

Ecuyer stopped to address Gwen along the way, speaking in a low voice. "Mistress Norgard, it seems you are either prescient or else privy to inside information. At any rate, Colonel Bouquet shares your concern about the Indian menace. The colonel has instructed me to increase the fortifications at Fort Pitt. I didn't want to say anything in front of the others." He frowned. "I do hope the colonel is wrong."

She hoped so, too, but she knew better.

* * * *

"I hear someone on Wood Street has started a discussion group," Christian said the following morning as he dressed to make his rounds farther east. Early morning darkness still hung over the room, his face appearing in shadow. "Political discussions and the like, I doubt not. Should prove interesting, and it's something I miss from my days in Philadelphia." He flashed her a grin. "Of course, conversation with you is often an intellectual challenge. But 'tis not the same as being amongst other men to engage in more spirited talk."

"You're s-o-o-o right, darling." Gwen took a sip of her second mug of tea while she thought of all the jobs that awaited her. She didn't want to do anything but read and go for a long walk on this pleasant spring day, but what choice did she have? Forget about the housework, that's what she'd do. She brought her mind back to the present. "A discussion group. Um, that sounds like a good idea. When do they meet, do you know?"

"I'm not sure, but I think Thursday evening." Christian tossed slices of jerky and an apple into a pouch and slipped his belt through the pouch, then fastened the belt in back. "I believe we dine together, too, so I'll let you know ahead of time. Then you won't wonder at my absence."

Gwen paused with the mug halfway to her mouth. "Wait a minute, honey. I'd like to go with you."

Bullet bag in hand, he stared at her. "Mayhap you didn't understand me. The membership is open only to men."

"Only to men?" She slapped the mug down on the table, slopping the tea. "Why can't a woman attend?" she asked, wiping her apron across the spill.

"It just isn't done. Can't you accept things as they are?" Reaching for his powder horn from a peg on the wall, he paused. "Tell you what. No doubt you miss feminine companionship. Why don't you get together with some of the ladies from around here and have a sewing bee now and then?"

"A sewing bee! What the hell do you--"

"Hold your tongue, wife!"

"Well, come on, Christian! You've known me for a year. Do you think I'm some stupid hausfrau who can't carry on an intelligent conversation?"

"I never said that," he replied, looking contrite. "But in truth, we have so few enlightening opportunities for women." A thoughtful expression came over his face. "Why don't you start something?"

"I may do just that." Taking a deep breath, she tapped her fingers on her thigh. Were all these eighteenth-century men so narrow-minded?

Glancing her way, he grabbed his tri-corn from another peg. "Let us not argue. I'll be gone all day, so you won't see me until this evening. Think on how much you'll miss me," he said with a teasing grin. He bent low to give her a long kiss and brushed his hand across her breast, then strode out of the cabin.

So the discussion group was just for men. Well, well. Gwen looked around the drab, cramped one-room home, as if seeing it for the first time. I'll load up the dishwasher now, she mused with an attempt at humor. Then I'll run the vacuum cleaner and throw the clothes in the washing machine. Slumped in her chair, Gwen silently repeated for the hundredth time she must accept things as they were. But it wasn't easy.

She shoved her chair back and sprang to her feet, then grabbed the dishes to stack in a large tub of soapy water. Damn, she'd be mad as hell if she didn't get to attend this discussion group.

She paused, her hand on a pewter mug. Here was her chance to warn others of the coming Indian uprising! Why hadn't she thought of that sooner? She nodded, dropping the mug into the tub. Right, if she could only show them of the approaching danger, it would be worth the risk of crashing an all-male discussion group. She gathered the remaining dishes, her mind awhirl with complications. She doubted if Christian would approve of her decision, no matter the reason.

Suppose she just showed up. Christian might be a little upset at first, but eventually he'd see the injustice of excluding women from these all male get-togethers. And if he stayed angry, too bad.

She smiled with sly anticipation, planning to discover the location in a roundabout way.

* * * *

"...and so, gentlemen, do we need England more than the mother country needs the colonies? I'd like to state for the record that the colonies can manage perfectly well on their own. Gentlemen, I should like to hear your opinions." The moderator sat down amid a hubbub of noise in the expansive parlor, everyone eager to express an opinion.

"Gentlemen," he said, casting an admonishing glance around the room. "Let us not all talk at once. I see Dr. Norgard has something to say, and since he is recently arrived amongst us, let him speak first."

Christian rose and bowed. "Thank you, Mr. Gordon. Thank you, gentlemen. Let us never forget that we are all Englishmen, and that our relationship with the mother country is mutually advantageous--" He paused as a commotion erupted at the door, all eyes turning in that direction.

Gwen! Claiming his seat again, he heaved a deep sigh and rested his chin in his hand. She swept into the room with head held high and a rustle of silk, like a ship under full sail. Hesitantly, all of the men--except Christian--stood to make a slight bow, as if unsure of the matter of etiquette when a lady interrupted an all-male function. His face set in icy composure, Christian stared at a painting on a far wall, arms folded across his chest.

A servant girl hurried behind Gwen, wringing her hands. "Sir, I tried to tell her this was only for gentlemen, but she wouldn't listen. Just kept on walkin'."

"'Tis all right, Betsy. Not your fault. We shall deal with the matter betimes." Mr. Gordon offered Gwen a smile. "Madam, I don't believe I got your name...?"

"Gwendolyn Emrys," Gwen replied. Having thought all this out beforehand, she didn't want to embarrass Christian by giving her married name. "Sir, I heard about this discussion group and realized how much I'd enjoy it. Besides, I think a woman's opinion is every bit as meaningful as a man's. I'm sure you'll agree."

Mr. Gordon frowned. "Madam, I fear there has been a misunderstanding. While we all enjoy feminine company at times," he said amid low chuckles from the others, "nevertheless, there are times when we prefer the companionship of other men. And madam, er, Mistress Emrys, this is one of those times. This discussion group is only for men."

Gwen's heart pounded against her chest, her palms wet and clammy, but she wouldn't back out now. "Sir, I'm aware of the purpose of this group and its membership qualifications, too. But it occurred to me that a woman's opinion would be welcome."

He inclined his head. "Indeed, madam, we welcome a woman's opinion on household matters. But my dear lady, we are having a political discussion and--"

"--and you don't think women know anything about politics. That's what you're saying, right?" She licked her lips. "But sir, I had another, more urgent reason for coming this evening. As I'm sure you're aware, the Indians can cause a lot--much trouble in this st-er, province, and I--"

Clearing his throat, Christian rose from his chair. "Sir, I believe my wife has many notions which may seem far-fetched to us. So--"

"Your wife, sir?"

Christian nodded. "Just so. I assume she gave her maiden name in the belief--unfounded as you can see--that her presence might prove distressful to me. She has this notion that women have the right to express their opinions, political or otherwise, at a male gathering. In this belief, she is either wrong or ahead of her time, or possibly both."

"But Christian, I wanted to make them understand about the danger from the Indians, so--"

"So now is not the time for that," Christian said. "Some other time, mayhap."

Gwen sighed, knowing that further argument was useless.

Christian made another slight bow. "And now, I want to tell you how greatly I've enjoyed meeting all you fine gentlemen and how much I look forward to the next meeting. But I think 'twould be best for all concerned if I escort my wife home." He bent to retrieve his tri-corn on an empty chair beside him. "Good evening, gentlemen."

His face was a mask of control as he approached Gwen and offered his arm. "Shall we leave now, my dear?"

Once outside the room, Christian dropped her arm and hurried past the entranceway and on outside, not bothering to see if she followed him. He walked in his quick stride, the skirt of his frock coat flapping. He clamped his tri-corn on his head and finally turned around.

"Let us return home," Christian snapped over his shoulder. "You shamed me, madam." She struggled to keep up with him along the dusty street while a few passersby threw puzzled expressions their way.

He glowered at her. "What d'you mean by barging in on a group of men as if you belonged there?"

"Listen to that, would you?" Skirts held high, she increased her pace, walking in a very unladylike manner and nearly losing her balance in her wobbly high heels. "Yeah, and what do you mean by talking to me like this? Why shouldn't a woman speak her mind about politics or economics or whatever? Do you think we're all some empty-headed idiots?"

"Yes, judging from your example tonight! First you're willing to let another man kiss you--"

"So you're bringing that up again? Anyway, I didn't let Richard kiss me. Didn't you see--"

"--then you think nothing of embarrassing me in front of my peers."

"Honestly, Christian, I just wanted to warn them of the danger that's staring them in the face, if only anyone would listen."

"Those men need no warning of the Indian danger. But don't expect anyone to accept the idea of a concerted Indian uprising, a fear which exists only in your mind." He pointed a finger at her. "And for your own good, you had better learn to adjust to our way of life. Remember that things are done differently than in your time. When will you ever learn?"

"When hell freezes over, that's when I'll learn!"

Chapter Nineteen

Several days had passed since the meeting of the discussion group, a fiasco Gwen would just as soon forget. Catching Christian's dark looks, she tried to act pleasant. Of course, she could stick up for her beliefs--she was right in trying to warn the men, after all--but she'd much rather have a contented husband than an angry one. Anyway, it was a moot point. The discussion group had disbanded as more Indian attacks occurred to the east.

On this clear morning in mid May, the cabin remained shrouded in darkness, the hour early, the sun still below the horizon. Christian drained his earthenware mug and set it down, giving Gwen a frank look across the table.

"Now that we're both finished with breakfast, I want to show you how to fire a musket."

Gwen shook her head. "Uh-uh, not me. I don't want to have anything to do with a musket."

He scowled. "You'd be better off learning how to defend yourself, instead of kissing British soldiers or inviting yourself to a men's discussion group."

"I still say I had a right to attend your discussion group. And I already explained what happened about the other incident. I did not kiss Lieutenant Shelbourne. He tried to kiss me."

"Useless semantics," he muttered. "But again, we digress, so let us forget about the lieutenant or the group."

"I'm trying to forget."

"Then shall we return to the subject? Your life may depend on learning how to use a musket. I've heard of more trouble to the east." He lowered his head, then looked up at her again. "The Indians are killing people, taking them captive. Didn't want to worry you before, but now...." He sighed. "You must learn to defend yourself."

"Oh, no!" More killings. Gwen dropped her spoon in her wooden bowl and turned to stare at the fire smoldering in the fireplace. Conflicting emotions jabbed her from all directions--sorrow, anger, but especially a sense that she was failing Christian by her refusal to fire a musket. A sultry breeze blew through the open window, but the house felt like a stifling prison.

How would she ever get used to this life? Would she ever get used to it? Images of the hardy frontier woman taunted her, the wife and mother who could handle a musket as well as a man to defend her home and children. And here she was--a woman who didn't even want to hold a musket, let alone learn to fire the weapon. But what could she do? Ever since her parents' murder, violence had made her physically ill. Lord, how she wanted peace and quiet, a return to normal life, whenever and wherever that was.

"Christian, I'd rather not. I don't want to use a musket, ever."

Both elbows on the table, he leaned forward. "What if my life depended on it?"

She pressed a hand to her head, one of her rare headaches coming on. "Yes." She let out a slow breath. "I'd do anything to save your life, even learn to use a musket."

"That's the kind of talk I like to hear," he said, giving her his first smile in days. "I intend to buy a rifle at the trading post as soon as I have the opportunity. So I can leave my musket with you. From then on, I'll carry the rifle with me and hope to God I never have to use it. I've ever been friends with the Indians, but these aren't normal times...."

Not normal times, Gwen thought as they arrived home again hours later. She hoped and prayed she'd never have to use the darn musket, but at least she was prepared. And yes, she'd do anything to save Christian's life.

Christian gathered his things together, packing his medical supplies in his leather bag. He gave her a long kiss, then held her away to look long and fully into her eyes. "After I leave, I want you to bolt the door behind me. I doubt any Indians will come this close, certainly not in broad daylight, but other people may take advantage of the unrest to cause mischief. And darling, I want to be sure you'll be safe."

* * * *

As daylight faded from the sky, Gwen lit a few candles from the tinder box on top of the fireplace mantel. Worried out of her mind about Christian, she continually glanced toward the door. What was taking him so long? He'd never been this late before.

Just when she'd given up hope and was on the verge of rushing to Fort Pitt to request a search party, she heard Christian's knock at the door. Some time ago, they'd agreed on a special knock for either of them--three sharp knocks and two soft ones.

Her hands shook as she drew the bolt back, her knees wobbling while she opened the door. Seeing his dear face, Gwen fell into his arms.

Christian held her in his strong arms and lightly kissed the top of her head. "Sorry I'm late, my love, and sorrier still if I made you worry. Several people east of here were badly wounded in Indian attacks."

"God, no!"

For one moment, Christian closed his eyes, trying to blot out the memory of the recent horrors. Gwen must never learn of the butchered bodies, the mangled women and children, the poor unfortunates taken captive, or the pigs and wild animals that feasted on the dead.

But he had other bad news, and he looked at her closely, wondering how best to tell her. How he loved this woman, loved her so fiercely he'd give his life for her. Still, there were many things he couldn't keep to himself. She'd learn about them, sooner or later. Taking her by the arm, Christian led her to the table and helped her sit down, then sat across from her.

"Something else, darling--the Indians murdered a family near here, the Claphams. You remember them, don't you?"

Speechless, Gwen pressed her hands to her cheeks. She swallowed again and again, her face turning white.

"I was at Fort Pitt earlier today," Christian continued in a low voice. "Daniel, too.

Captain Ecuyer has received news of other Indian attacks west and north of here--Fort Detroit, Sandusky, Venango. The attacks appear to be concerted and widespread." He nodded with grim assurance. "As you predicted." Worried beyond belief, Christian rubbed his forehead. "The British need a messenger, someone they can trust to take the news to George Croghan, who lives near Carlisle now, much farther east. Croghan is the one person best able to understand the news, see what must be done. I volunteered to take the message--"

"Oh, no!"

"Captain Ecuyer said the same thing, not quite in those words. In any event, Ecuyer wishes me to remain here to give medical assistance in case the Lenapes and Shawnees attack Fort Pitt."

"Thank God you're staying here!" She lowered her gaze to her lap. "If my attitude sounds selfish, I'm sorry, but I want you here with me, for both our sakes."

"Indeed, I think Ecuyer has the right of it, especially since the fort's military surgeon died last year. I could better serve England by remaining at the fort. And Daniel knows the province as well as anyone--"

"Daniel? He could be killed!" She stared at the fireplace, the rise and fall of her chest showing her agony.

"He's willing to chance it, and I am confident he can succeed. He's traversed the trails through the province many times." Christian spoke with assurance. "The British couldn't have a better man."

Gwen's lips trembled. "If anything should happen to him...."

"Nothing will. He can take care of himself," Christian said, reluctant to reveal his own doubts. If Daniel couldn't complete his mission, if he were captured by the Indians--Christian tried to dismiss the tormenting thought.

Enclosing her hand in his, as he always did to give her comfort, he forced himself to speak in calm tones. "Other bad news, sweetheart--the Indians burned the hospital I was building--no, darling, let me finish," he said in response to her shocked expression. "I fear I have even worse news than that. Pray just accept it, for we have no choice. Ecuyer has given orders to have all the houses in this vicinity torn down--"

"Torn down!" She pressed her hand to her chest. "Why in the world...?"

"The captain fears the Indians may use these houses to launch attacks from. Indeed, I concur with his assessment. Everyone around here must move to the fort after the houses are destroyed. That's how it must be, and best we accept the facts."

"But Christian, our house...." Gwen cast a frantic glance around the tiny place that had become their home since the fire destroyed the previous one. Resting her elbows on the table, she gave him a pleading look. "...all our things."

"Most of our possessions, I believe, we can take with us. Certainly my books and medical supplies, our clothes. Try to understand we're much more fortunate than the other poor souls around here. We've been assigned the officers' barracks, but most of the people will have to live in lean-tos on the parade ground. A few more fortunate ones may live in the soldiers' barracks. Either way, they'll have precious little privacy, I fear."

"Of course," Gwen replied, looking contrite.

Deepening shadows told him of the passing time. "Shall we have our evening meal now? Aside from breakfast, it'll be the last one in this house. Tomorrow, we move."

* * * *

Turned on his side, Christian lay awake, his gaze on Gwen while she slept with her lips slightly parted, her long hair falling across her shoulders and down her back. He thought about their move to Fort Pitt on the morrow. Above all, his thoughts centered on his dear wife, fearing he might awaken the next day to find her gone to a time he couldn't fathom.

Flopping onto to his back, he rested his hands on his chest and stared up at the ceiling. How she must hate this life with all its dangers and hardships, compared to her former life in the twenty-first century. What would stop her from leaving him to return to her own time? If she could journey from the future to the past, then mayhap she could travel from the past to the future.

Only his love could stop her, but was that enough?

Chapter Twenty

Sir Jeffrey Amherst brooded at his headquarters in a pleasant country house just south of Greenwich Village, reading the reports from the many British forts in North America--Fort Detroit, Venango, Presqu'Isle. So many forts under attack! Fort Sandusky destroyed!

My God, to think the savages would dare rebel against British rule. Well, he'd teach them a lesson they'd never forget. Amherst dipped a quill pen into the inkwell to compose a letter to Colonel Bouquet in Philadelphia. If anyone understood Indian warfare and could defeat the Indians at their own game, it was Henri Bouquet.

"I wish to hear of no prisoners," Amherst wrote, first telling Bouquet of the uprising. He had one further suggestion for Bouquet. "Could it not be contrived to send the smallpox among the disaffected tribes of Indians?"

* * * *

"At least the Indians haven't attacked Fort Pitt," Gwen remarked to Christian as they settled into their stifling hot, cramped quarters inside the fort, a room so dark it had taken her eyes several minutes to adjust.

"Not yet. Let us pray they don't." Christian knelt, setting a stack of books down in a corner of their small room, then rose to hang shirts and breeches on a peg. "Fort Pitt has been fortunate so far." Dusting off his hands, he looked around the room. "This suits us well, don't you agree?"

"All the comforts of home," she replied with a smile, thinking the two of them had scarcely had a home for long since their marriage.

Later that evening, Gwen and Christian prepared for bed after supper in the officers' mess, both of them tired from settling into their new quarters.

Gwen slipped her moccasins off and shoved them aside. "Since so many families live at the fort now," she said, "we have many children with nothing to do. I thought I might organize some classes, even if without any formal educational materials or books. I can still teach them the alphabet and elementary math and games they might enjoy." She pulled her mobcap off. "I think I can keep the children busy."

"Good idea. The children need something to occupy their time." Christian drew his shirt over his head, revealing his muscled forearms and the swirl of dark chest hairs. His physique reminded her of one of the hunks she'd seen in a fireman's calendar in her

own time. Wild thoughts flitted through her mind, every idea focused on Christian.

With her hands at her bodice, Gwen stood, letting her gaze roam from his bare chest to his slim waist and on to his muscled thighs, his breeches fitting him like Calvin Klein jeans. As he hung his shirt on a wall peg, she admired his quick, lithe movements.

Dreamy with thoughts of seduction, Gwen tried to finish unlacing her bodice, her fingers clumsy with impatience. Desire flooded her, making her weak. She watched as Christian sat on the edge of the bed to draw his shoes off, his dark hair glistening by the lamplight. Looking up, he caught her gaze on him and grinned, as if he could read her mind.

She opened her mouth but halted with her fingers on her dress as a wave of dizziness overcame her. Icy bumps rippled along her arms, her mouth going dry. A feeling of dread weakened her, and faintness washed over her in gigantic waves, all these symptoms precursors of one of her weird spells.

She pressed her hand to her head and moaned.

"Gwen?"

"Gwen!"

She turned in Christian's direction--and saw a bus! Paralyzed with shock, she stared straight ahead, seeing the number 61C on the bus, as plain as if--

"No!"

"Gwen, what's amiss?"

"Oh, no!" Ohmygod, it was right in the room, heading straight for her. She jumped out of the way and fell back on the bed, missing Christian by inches.

"Gwen! What is it? What happened?" Christian drew her close to his chest, his

hands strong yet gentle. "Darling, what in the world...?"

"I--" She breathed hard. "I just had another vision. I saw a ... a bus."

He looked puzzled. "What's a bus?"

She ran her fingers through her hair, her heart thumping. "Something from my other time. It was coming right at me!" She peered at him, her eyes filling with tears. "You don't believe me!"

Christian swallowed hard. "I find your visions difficult to accept. Gwen, mayhap all the moving we've done and all that's happened has, er, affected your brain."

"You think I'm crazy, don't you?" she challenged, wiping her hand across her eyes. "You think I'm loony."

"Loony?" He shook his head. "Never mind. Best you go to bed now. By the morrow--"

"Oh, yeah, by tomorrow everything we'll be back to normal, right? And we'll both forget anything happened to me. But, oh, God," she said, her voice rising, "what if something takes me back to my own time?"

"Nay, don't say it!"

"And Christian, I'll never see you again!"

* * * *

The following morning, Christian checked on several infirm soldiers, his mind churning with worries about his wife. After all this time he'd known her--for above a

year--he still couldn't understand her or what malady she suffered from, whether it was mental or physical. Of course, a trip through time would be an unimaginably traumatic experience, but he sensed her difficulties went beyond that. Why was she having these hallucinations?

Could an unseen force draw her back to her own time? On his return to their room to write in his medical journal, Christian clenched his hands. No! He wouldn't let her leave him. She'd be here at the fort with him, night and day. He would not let anything happen to her.

* * * *

Determined to forget her vision, Gwen organized her class the following morning. She went from one family to the next, to the lean-tos scattered all over the parade ground and to the families who lived in the soldiers' barracks, hoping to interest enough children in attending school. By early afternoon she'd enrolled enough children to start a class, gathering them in an unoccupied corner next to the Flag Bastion.

Perched on an upside-down crate, she held her calico dress down so it wouldn't flutter in the light breeze. Dark, heavy clouds hid the sun and gave an added dimension to the drab dreariness of the fort. The children sat on the ground, their lips parted, eyes wide with rapt attention. "...and so when the prince kissed Sleeping Beauty, she awoke and looked all around...."

As her gaze roamed from one child to another, Gwen noted one little girl who sat at the edge of the group, her head drooping. Hurriedly, she finished the story, then dismissed the boys and girls, encouraged by their friendly good-byes and promises to come again the next day.

Gwen walked over to the little girl and crouched down beside her. Tapping her on the knee, she spoke in a low voice. "Barbara, dear, don't tell me my story was so bad it put you to sleep."

Barbara roused and shifted her position, her hand pressed to her forehead. "Nay, Mistress Norgard. I liked your story well enough, but my head and my back hurt, and I feel so warm."

A stab of alarm sliced through Gwen. Not another flu epidemic! The poor little girl struggled to rise but fell back, prompting Gwen to put her arms around the child to help her stand. Barbara was burning up! Observing her flushed face, Gwen became more frightened by the minute, until she could hardly wait to find Christian.

After she returned the child to her parents and searched for Christian from one end of the fort to the other, she finally found him leaving the commandant's house. Relief flooded her at the sight of him. "Christian, one of the little girls is sick and--"

"I know," Christian replied, grim-faced. "Smallpox."

Chapter Twenty-one

The smallpox epidemic raged at Fort Pitt. A newly-constructed underground hospital treated all the sufferers, too many, Gwen agonized. Tired and discouraged, she walked from one patient to another, checking on them, speaking words meant to comfort. She swept the room with her gaze, looking for Christian in the dim light. After a few moments, she saw him on the other side of the room.

So relieved she'd taken part in a smallpox vaccination program before her trip back in time, she didn't worry about catching the disease. Christian was inoculated, too, thank God. But she wanted to cry when she saw all these people who'd had no protection, who now endured pain and misery.

After her class this morning, Gwen worked alongside Christian in the hospital. Bending low at Barbara's bedside, she dipped a cloth in vinegar water to bathe the child's head. She wrung out the cloth, then gently dabbed it across the little girl's cheeks and forehead. Struggling to keep her eyes open, Gwen tried to ignore the heat, nearly choking on the stench. Wanting to present a cheerful face, she found it wasn't easy.

She squeezed Barbara's hand. "Hang in there, sweetheart. You're gonna make it."

In another bed next to the child, an older woman with damp, stringy hair groaned and leaned over, vomiting on the floor. All the first-aid training Gwen had experienced in her twenty-first century life had never prepared her for any of this.

Barbara pressed a hand to her forehead. "It hurts," she whimpered. "My back, too. And my skin, as if I'm on fire!"

Gwen patted the child's cheek. So many oozing pustules covered the child's face it was difficult to see her skin. "I know, dear, I understand. And I just know you'll get better soon." But would she? Or would she die, as many already had? Gwen steeled herself not to cry as she set the basin of water aside and gently smoothed a healing salve over the child's face and arms.

His face haggard with fatigue, Christian wove his way from one cot to another until he reached her. "I wish I could do more for these unfortunate people," he said in an undertone. "I can only make them as comfortable as possible--with your help, dear--and hope they'll survive."

A fierce rush of love for him burst inside her. She loved him more now, this minute, than she'd ever considered possible. To think he'd often wondered how much good he accomplished as a doctor. Just look at all the lives he'd saved here in the smallpox hospital! Whenever they both had time to themselves, she intended to tell him so.

After she cleaned up the woman's mess, Gwen headed for their room in the officers' barracks, where she slipped off her shoes and shoved them under the bed. Her eyelids drooping, she stepped out of her dress, then hung it on a peg. Clad only in her chemise, she flopped down on the bed. Despite the stuffy heat in the small enclosed room, she fell asleep as soon as she closed her eyes.

Christian's feet dragged as he entered their room about an hour later. Directing a tender look at his wife, he sat on the edge of the bed and undressed. He cast his clothes aside, then lay back and fell asleep immediately.

He tossed and turned in his sleep. Images flashed through his brain, of trees and cabins and red-coated British soldiers, of Indians, tomahawks, and rifles. A scene materialized. He stood with Gwen on a mountain cliff, wooded valleys spread out below them.

An eerie foreboding made his heart pound. Afraid she'd fall from the cliff, he inched closer to save her. She reached for him, but before he could grab her, the stones gave way, sending her plunging to the ground, thousands of feet below.

"Christian!" she cried as she fell from sight. "I don't want to leave you."

"No," he groaned, "no!"

"Christian, wake up!"

Heart thudding, he jerked awake and stared wide-eyed at his wife. She bent over him, her hand warm on his shoulder, a worried look on her face. Even in the dark room, he saw the gleam of her long, flowing hair that fell to her breasts and brushed across her nipples. Agonizing over the dream's meaning, he ached to touch the silky strands, caress those breasts, erase the nightmare from his mind.

His dear wife lay on her side, propped up on her elbow. "Darling, you've been tossing and moaning in your sleep. You must've had a bad dream. Want to tell me about it?"

Christian's heart hammered against his ribs. He clasped her warm hand to his chest as relief swelled inside him. Through sleepy eyes, he saw his wife's lovely face, and he wondered how he could ever live without her or if he'd ever have to.

He directed a tender look her way. "I ... I dreamed you left me, that you were drawn back to your previous time."

"God, no!" She pressed his hand to her heart. "You know all I want is to stay with you, for the rest of our lives." She laid her head on his chest, his heart pounding against her ears. "I don't want to leave you!" She rose up, speaking with determination. "I won't leave you!"

* * * *

One evening after everyone had gone to bed and quiet had settled over the fort, Gwen persuaded Christian to accompany him past the lean-tos to an unoccupied spot by the Flag Bastion. There, they could sit and talk in private. God knew they'd had little enough time to themselves for the past week. Time alone with Christian, away from the sights, sounds, and smells of the patients--was that expecting too much?

Christian sat on the ground with his legs drawn up, hands clasped between his knees, looking so comfortable. She'd give anything to be wearing her jeans, instead of sitting with her legs pulled close to her body, the hem of her dress stretched demurely over her ankles.

Pipe clamped in his mouth, Christian looked out across the grounds of the fort, at

all those ugly shacks dotting the parade ground. Clothes draped across makeshift clotheslines, boxes and crates scattered all over. He slipped the pipe from his mouth and turned back to her, the gathering twilight casting his face in shadow. She observed his features, where the fading sunlight accentuated the stubble on his cheeks but lessened the lines of fatigue etched around his mouth and eyes.

Christian sucked on his pipe for a few silent moments, the rich fragrance of tobacco scenting the air. "Help me divert my mind from smallpox," he suggested. "Tell me about medicine in your time."

Darkness crept over the fort as the last of daylight slipped from the sky, and the first faint stars decorated the heavens.

She thought a moment. "So you'd like to hear about medical miracles?"

"Medical miracles? Indeed!"

"Well, here goes. We have machines that can take a picture of the bones inside your body," she said with a cautious glance in his direction. "We call it an X-ray machine."

Christian scoffed. "Do not expect me to believe that. 'Tis impossible."

She leaned back against the brick wall. "I was afraid you'd say that. But maybe--mayhap--I've at least convinced you that we've done away with many diseases. Oh! that reminds me--just yesterday I saw two men on the grounds of the fort, each missing an eye. Is there some eye disease going around?"

Christian shifted his position on the ground, a look of chagrin on his face. "Many of these men don't have enough to keep them busy, and here they are stuck within the confines of the fort where they get into fights and gouge each other's eyes out."

"You're kidding!"

"Pardon me?"

"I mean, I can't believe it."

He nodded. "Sad, but true. A couple of days ago I tried to break up a fight and got a punch on the jaw for my efforts," he said, rubbing his chin. "And my interference availed me naught."

She leaned over and gently touched his jaw, tracing the cleft in his chin. "You didn't tell me about that."

He shrugged, taking her hand in his and kissing the palm. "'Twas a minor thing."

"No more talk," he murmured, setting his pipe on the ground. "Everyone else should be asleep by now. This night was made for love." With infinite tenderness, he reached over to draw her muslin cap off. Whispering love words, he slipped the pins from her hair, then carefully dropped the pins into the cap. He eased her back onto the grass and spread her hair out around her, all the while gazing down at her. Twisting his fingers through the silky locks, he bent low to give her a long, hard kiss. The kiss deepened, his fingers caressing her body while he eased her dress up.

He nuzzled her neck. "It's been so long," he said, feathering kisses to her throat. "Too long."

Neither of them spoke. Neither needed words as they reached for each other. It seemed as if they'd been separated for weeks, months, years!

Gwen held him close, running her hands across his hard back, her fingers kneading the warm skin. She took in his aroma of tobacco, his very masculine scent, the enticing scrape of stubble next to her cheek. The taunting pressure of his body told her of his need, a need that matched her own. How had she ever existed before she'd met him, before she'd known how wonderful love can be?

Christian trailed kisses from her mouth to her breasts, sighing, murmuring endearments. His kisses, his caresses, became more insistent as he held her ever closer, her heart beating in time with his. She couldn't get enough of him. Her worries forgotten, she surrendered to this wonderful reality, of the here and now. Nothing else mattered but their love for each other.

Later, as night sounds drifted around them, they lay in each other's arms and stared up at the stars while lightning bugs darted about, flickering in the darkness. The night was hot and still with not even the slightest of breezes. Even then, Gwen wished she could stay in Christian's arms forever.

* * * *

After she dismissed her class the following day, Gwen strolled in the sizzling heat past all the lean-tos, where breeches, dresses, and shirts on clotheslines fluttered in a light breeze. Christian would be as busy as ever in the hospital, but Gwen first wanted to visit Judith, a young mother with a new baby.

Babies cried and children played tag among the wooden shacks, knocking over boxes and crates in their youthful enthusiasm. Squawking chickens and barking dogs added to the confusion. Cats prowled among the shanties or climbed to the top of a settler's shack to survey their domain. Cooking smells wafted in the air, not all of them pleasant.

Sunlight glinted off the fort's brick walls, forcing her to shield her eyes against the glare. Her calico frock clung to her skin, and she grabbed a handkerchief from her pocket to dab across her forehead. Minutes later, she stopped by Judith's ramshackle lean-to where the eighteen-year old stood outside, draping diapers over a clothesline. What in the world was she doing out here now, hanging up diapers after giving birth only last week? Where was her husband? Not getting into a fight with another settler, she hoped.

She squinted in the bright sunlight as she stopped to greet the young mother. "Judith, how's the baby?" She looked around. "Must be asleep because I don't hear him."

"Aye, ma'am, the baby's sleepin'." Judith wiped her hand across her shiny forehead and tucked strands of long hair behind her ears. The young mother looked so pretty, with her clear skin, auburn hair, and green eyes. Gwen wondered how long she'd keep her looks, stuck out here in the frontier, working from dawn to dusk, with none of the modern conveniences and a new baby besides.

"Here, let me help you," she said, reaching for the remaining diapers the young mother held, then draping them across the clothesline, one by one.

"Would you like to see the baby?" Judith asked with an eager smile.

Gwen smoothed her damp hands along her hips. "Wouldn't want to trouble you, but I'd love to see the baby."

"No bother, ma'am. Pray come with me." They both ducked under the clothesline, and Judith pushed a blanket aside at the entrance to the shack. Gwen's gaze covered the tiny space, crammed with boxes. It took several seconds for her eyes to adjust to the dark, but finally her gaze settled on a tiny baby who slept inside a large wooden crate, lying on his stomach.

"Why did you place him on his stomach?" Gwen whispered.

Judith looked puzzled. "Your husband told me to set him on his stomach when he's sleeping. Said it's better for his di-di--"

"Digestion?"

"Aye, that's it. Dr. Norgard told me 'tis better for his stomach, said the baby won't have so much gas."

Reluctant to interfere with her own husband, still Gwen thought the baby's life the most important consideration. "That position can be dangerous--no, I don't mean to alarm you, but a baby can die ... suffocate if he sleeps in that position. Happens only once in a blue moon," she hastened to assure the mother, "but it can happen."

Frowning, Judith glanced at the baby, then at her, and back to the baby. "But the doctor said...."

"In this case, I must disagree. Honestly, I don't mean to frighten you, but babies have been known to die when they sleep on their stomach."

"Oh!" The young mother wrung her hands, her worried frown deepening. "Do you think I should wake him up to turn him over now?"

"I'd let him sleep for now. Next time you put him to bed, place him on his back or on his side with something braced behind him to support him."

"Yes, ma'am."

After several minutes of small talk, Gwen said goodbye, sorry for such a short visit but anxious about Christian working alone in the hospital.

In the blistering heat, she headed for the hospital again, praying they wouldn't lose any patients this day.

* * * *

The next day was as busy as all the other days. Gwen stood in the stuffy smallpox hospital, wiping her hand across her sweaty forehead. While she applied a mustard poultice to a young boy's foot, she looked across the room and saw Christian holding a little girl's hand. A sickening feeling settled in her stomach as she noted the lines of fatigue around his mouth and eyes, the way he continually pushed the hair back from his forehead. Weaving her way between all the beds, she reached him as he closed the child's eyes.

"Nothing more I can do for her," he said in a voice heavy with sorrow. He pulled a blanket over the child's face. "If only I could save them."

She touched his arm, trying to give him what little comfort she could, aware her consolations didn't help much. "But, sweetheart, you've done so much good here. Look at the lives you have saved. And remember when we first met, you told me you often wondered how much good you were doing. Honey, you've made all the difference in the world here."

He sighed. "Wish I could believe that."

"You have! But for now, why don't you call it a day--"

"Why don't I what?"

She licked her cracked lips and brushed a wet strand of hair from her face. "Why don't you stop for today. God knows, you've done more than most men would be willing or able to do." She observed--not for the first time--the dark shadows that circled his eyes. "Might be better for you to rest now and then, rather than keep on to the point of exhaustion. Besides," she said as she forced a smile, "soon it will be time for the evening meal, and you know we missed that yesterday."

Wiping his hands on his breeches, he nodded tiredly, his gaze covering the crowded room where the sick and dying moaned. "Aye, you have the right of it. Only let me visit a few of the villagers on the grounds of the fort. Then I'll go to our room to change for the meal." He laughed without humor, looking down at his stained shirt and breeches. "When did I last change my clothes? I can't remember."

* * * *

Clad only in her chemise, Gwen dipped a wash linen into the basin of lukewarm water, giving herself a sponge bath as best she could. Oh, would she love a nice, cold shower, or better still, a long soak in a bubble bath with perfumed bath water, talcum powder, and all the works. She closed her eyes in dreamy delight.

Just the same, a sense of pride filled her. She'd learned to manage quite well in the eighteenth century, doing without so many luxuries she'd taken for granted in her own time. Why, if she weren't careful, she might even get used to life at this time. As long as she could be with Christian, that was all--

The door banged back and Christian strode into the room, looking mad as a pit bull with PMS. "What do you mean by countermanding my instructions to Judith Halloway?"

"Counter--?" She thought hard, at a loss to know what he was talking about. After so many days and nights with little sleep, she could hardly think. "Oh--you mean about the baby."

"Aye, the baby." Christian closed the door and leaned against it, breathing heavily. Arms folded across his chest, he tapped his fingers against his arm. "I'm waiting."

She dropped the cloth in the water and reached for a towel, trying to calm her thudding heart. Oh, oh, now she'd done it, made him angrier than she'd ever seen him. At the same time, Gwen caught his gaze on her and became aware of how her full breasts thrust against the thin material of the cotton chemise. It occurred to her that it would be a simple matter to divert him from his anger, but she decided not to practice her feminine wiles on him now. That wasn't her style. Far better to meet him on his own ground--calm logic.

"Any day now, Gwen."

"Yes, yes, I'm thinking." She dried her arms and legs, glancing over at him. "How can I begin?" she mused aloud. "Well, doctors nowadays--"

"Nowadays?"

"In my time, I mean. Doctors have discovered it's safer for the baby to sleep on his back or his side. He's less likely to die from sudden infant death syndrome."

"From what?" Christian snapped. Pushing himself away from the door, he strode toward the bed. He perched on the edge, his face pinched with anger and exhaustion. His unshaven cheeks appeared even darker in the oil lamp's dull glow, his long hair falling past his shoulders, instead of secured in back.

"Sudden infant death syndrome," Gwen repeated. "SIDS for short." Gwen tossed the towel aside and grabbed a cotton dress from a peg, the only clean dress she had left. Somehow, she'd have to find time to-- She brought her mind back to the discussion. "Doctors have discovered that newborn babies are more likely to die when they lie on their stomachs. They can smother to death." She eased the dress past her hips and began to lace the bodice. "Haven't you ever heard of babies dying in their sleep?" She stopped with her hand midway down the bodice, waiting for his answer.

"Once in Philadelphia I dealt with such a case," he said as he closed his eyes for a moment. He opened his eyes and peered up at her. "But who's to say why the baby died? Another doctor and I examined the baby, and we found no apparent cause of death."

"That's it, Christian! That's just it! Doctors in your time don't have the sophisticated methods of examination and don't keep such careful records--"

"I keep a record of all the cases I treat, as did the doctor in Philadelphia." He rose and drew his shirt over his head. He hung the shirt on a peg and wrung the washcloth out, then sponged his face, his voice muffled through the cloth. "I'd say I'm as conscientious as any doctor."

She watched the play of muscles along his broad back and arms and wished they could postpone the evening meal for more sensual pursuits. Besides, she didn't like any kind of conflict.

"I'm sure you are conscientious," she said, "but it's so much different in the twenty-first century. Doctors can gather da--information from all over the country and feed the facts into a computer and--"

"I don't understand this 'feed the facts into a computer'. Gwen, I oftimes feel as if we're speaking two different languages. Will you speak the king's English, damn it!"

"I'm trying to." Finished lacing her dress, Gwen thought hard. "Remember the other day I told you about computers? Well, doctors and researchers can study all the records from all over the country and--and--oh, I can't explain about a computer, but it's a machine that--"

"Right-ho! Another machine." He toweled himself and jerked a clean shirt off a peg. "I fear we have strayed from the subject. We began by having a disagreement--shall we say?--about Mistress Halloway's baby."

Gwen slipped into her moccasins, balancing herself against the wall. "And that's what I've been trying to tell you. Doctors have found it's safer for a baby to sleep on his side or on his back, but not on his stomach." Could she ever make him see what life was like in the twenty-first century, how details that no one thought about in his time could mean a matter of life or death?

Looking thoughtful, Christian checked his watch, then returned it to the pouch at his waist. "We'd better hurry or we'll miss the evening meal again. We'll talk more on this later."

Just when Gwen started to relax, he waved a finger at her. "Don't ever countermand my advice again. I have enough worries with the smallpox sufferers--sick and dying--without having to worry about my wife giving contradictory advice behind my back."

"But, Christian--"

"Have done with it, wife!" he said, slashing his hand through the air. "No more talk and from now on, let me give the medical instructions. You can continue to help in the hospital if you wish, but after this, pray check with me first before you give any medical advice."

She stifled her irritation--she was right, after all! She had to admit, though, that only exhaustion would make Christian talk to her like this. Hadn't he always acted the perfect gentleman around her, never scolding, never criticizing? Well, usually he acted the gentleman. But these weren't usual times. Forget it for now, she told herself. No point in making things harder for him.

* * * *

"Christian," Gwen said on the way back to their room after the evening meal, "remember what the officers were saying about Indian attacks on the other forts?"

He nodded grimly. "All they talked about during the meal, and no wonder!" He made a wide gesture. "Only look at all the refugees pouring into Fort Pitt from the other forts, Presqu'Isle and Le Boeuf--"

"Venango!"

"True. Now we must feed these people, take care of them." Christian sighed. "As if Fort Pitt weren't already overburdened! But who can blame these unfortunates for seeking refuge here, when their forts are under attack or destroyed? They have nowhere else to go."

"But who can blame the Indians?" Gwen countered. "We are driving them from their land!"

"I fear there are no easy answers to this dilemma," he said. "Only warfare will settle the problem." As they reached their room, he wrapped an arm around her waist. "Dearest, pray don't concern yourself about Fort Pitt. Captain Ecuyer is quite capable. He knows what he's doing. Fort Pitt will hold out." He kissed the top of her head. "Come now, 'tis late. Another busy day tomorrow, I doubt not."

Gwen leaned into his embrace, desperately wanting to believe things would work out. But she knew better, knew danger was approaching fast. How long before she had to save Christian's life ... and her own?

Or must she watch him die?

Chapter Twenty-two

Gwen stood with Christian at the edge of a crowd, watching the Indian leaders parley with Captain Ecuyer. Men and women jostled each other for a better look, their heads moving from side to side. She felt like a helpless bystander, a witness to historical events that must enfold to their inevitable tragic conclusion. A cold lump settled in the pit of her stomach. She couldn't do a darn thing to change history.

Behind her, Christian held her lightly by her upper arms, his chest warm and solid against her back. "That's Turtle's Heart on the left and Mamaltee on the right," he murmured in her ear, "both of them Lenni Lenapes, or Delawares, I believe some call them."

He tapped her shoulder. "I wish I could stay, but I must leave to work on my records. You can tell me about the discussion later." He gave her a hasty kiss on the neck. "I'll be in our room."

Gwen watched him ease his way through the crowd, then she swung back as Turtle's Heart began to speak. Alexander McKee, one of the settlers, interpreted for Ecuyer.

"My brothers," Turtle's Heart said to Ecuyer, "we wish to hold fast the chain of friendship, that ancient chain which our forefathers held with their brethren the English. My brothers, you have let go of the chain. We have told you time and again this land is our land. We are here to give you this last warning."

Ecuyer fixed him with a stern look as he spoke through the interpreter. "My friend, you can't force us from this land. We have as much right to it as you do. Besides, we are too strong for you. I have warriors, provisions, and ammunition to defend the fort for three years against all the Indians in the woods, and we shall never abandon it as long as a white man lives in these colonies."

Three years? More like three months! Gwen recalled the officers' continual complaints of their lack of supplies, how they always needed ammunition and other material. Ecuyer was bluffing, but would the Indians believe him?

Mamaltee spoke. "You speak bold words, my friend, but you'll soon find your soldiers are no match for the Lenni Lenape. Look what we and other tribes have done to many of your stronghouses to the north and west. We have destroyed them!"

His gaze covered the fort, his arm moving in a wide arc. "We will destroy this place, too, and kill every man, woman, and child if you don't follow our advice. My brother, leave this stronghouse or you will have their blood on your hands."

"My friend," Ecuyer said, "I have listened to your warnings, but I tell you the English are here to stay. But my brothers, let us not part with hatred in our hearts. We have ever been your friend, and as a token of our friendship," he said with a nod toward a soldier who held several blankets, "we want to give you these blankets. So take this gift, my brothers, as proof of our friendship," he said as the soldier handed the blankets to the Indians.

Gwen watched in amazement. How could Turtle's Heart accept the gift and even give a speech of thanks? He must be seething inside. Besides, what a strange gift ... Why not give them food for their starving people?

The parley soon broke up. Gwen returned to their room and found Christian on the edge of the bed writing in his journal, an overturned crate in front of him with an inkwell on top. Even at this time of day, he needed a lamp burning so he could see in the dim light.

As the door creaked shut, he blotted the paper and glanced up. "Now pray tell me about the parley." He pushed the journal aside, a look of interest on his face.

Gwen shut the door and moved closer to the bed, then gave him a general idea of the discussion. "But Christian, something I don't understand--Ecuyer gave them blankets as gifts. Can you imagine? Blankets--in this heat!"

"God, no!" He slammed his hand down on the crate, nearly knocking over the inkwell. "Oh, no! Blankets from the smallpox hospital!" He shook his head, looking so distressed she hoped to God he was wrong. "I can't believe Captain Ecuyer would do such a thing."

She came to sit on the bed next to him, their thighs touching. "How can you be sure? They could be any blankets."

Christian rested his elbows on his knees and spoke barely above a whisper, forcing her to lean closer to hear him. "Only last night, I threw the infectious things away, giving orders to have them burned. Later, I noticed the orderlies hadn't followed my instructions and assumed they'd tend to the matter this morning. I should have destroyed them myself." Christian raked his fingers through his tousled hair. "How could I have been so careless?"

"But, honey, you've been real busy." Gwen eased her arm around his waist, pressing ever closer. "Anyway, are you sure of this?"

"How can there be any doubt? I counted the blankets last night, and there were no spare blankets, only the infected ones." He looked sick, as sick as she felt. Her stomach churned, her face heating. She swallowed convulsively, so afraid she'd spit up.

"Darling, you are not to blame," she said, smoothing her hand down his arm. "You've been doing the work of five men, tending to the smallpox patients night and day and getting so little sleep." She nodded toward the journal that lay open on the crate. "You've even managed to keep your records up to date. Besides, how could you have foreseen--?"

"I should have burned the damn things myself." He shoved the crate aside, then stood, shaking his head. By the dim light, she noted his frown, the fatigue lines that made him look far older than his years. "No point in chastising the orderlies," Christian said. "They were only following Ecuyer's instructions. But I can never forgive myself."

She sprang to her feet and rushed to him. "Please stop this! No one should blame you. No one will blame you. It is not your fault."

Christian sighed heavily. "I suppose you're right. I'll try to convince myself of that, anyway."

For a moment, Gwen forget her husband's agony as the full meaning of Ecuyer's wicked deed sank in. Blankets from the smallpox hospital--hundreds of innocent people might die, thousands!

Germ warfare in the eighteenth century.

* * * *

At his desk, Ecuyer held a conference with his officers. "Gentlemen, I believe we've made all necessary arrangements for the protection of the garrison and the civilians inside the fort. I've even had beaver traps set along the banks of the Allegheny. Should the Indians dare to attack, they'll receive a rude setback. Still, they may present difficulties for our people. What think you on this? Have any of you further ideas for the protection of the fort?" He silently canvassed the others, looking from one man to the next.

Lieutenant Shelbourne spoke up. "Sir, I believe--"

A scratching on the door interrupted the discussion, then a messenger entered with a letter for Captain Ecuyer. Quiet descended on the room, the only sound the crackling of paper as Ecuyer broke the seal and unfolded the missive.

After he scanned the message, the captain looked up with a satisfied smile. "Gentlemen, if the Indians do attack, 'tis good to know help is coming. General Amherst has ordered Colonel Bouquet west from Philadelphia, with two Highland regiments. Not to worry, gentlemen. Colonel Bouquet is on the move."

* * * *

On a hot, sultry evening, Gwen stood in their Spartan bedroom, changing her clothes before supper while Christian worked in the hospital. He'd promised her he'd join her soon, and he'd better hurry, or they'd miss their meal, as they had on previous occasions.

From out of nowhere, memories returned, thoughts of friends and family in her other time. She wondered what everyone was doing now.

A too familiar, strange feeling crept over her. Goose bumps traveled along her arms and legs. The skin at her nape crawled with dread. She tried to ignore this sensation, to act normal and pretend everything was as it should be.

As she looked in the mirror, she tucked a few stray hairs under her cap and saw--her hair hanging loose about her shoulders, brushing her T-shirt! Her gaze scanned the length of her body, seeing herself in jeans, with loafers on her feet.

"No!" She dropped the mirror to the floor. It cracked, the glass falling loose, breaking into pieces. She pressed her fingers to her cheeks. "No, please!"

Christian opened the door and strode into the room, a frown on his face. "Gwen, what's amiss?"

She made a downward motion with her hands. "Look at me, Christian, just look at me!"

His gaze ran over her. "Well," he said, "I know you need new frocks--"

"Frock! That's just it. Look at me!" Her gaze covered her body again--and she saw her linsey dress with all its stains and mendings, moccasins on her feet. "Oh!" She stared up at him. "I thought...." She swallowed hard. "I thought...."

"Yes?" He held her by the shoulders, looking into her eyes. "What did you think, darling?"

"I thought I was back in my own time again. I saw myself dressed like I used to before ... before I came to this time."

Christian's eyes filled of sympathy. "You've been working so hard and--"

"I know what I saw! Don't try to tell me differently." She flopped down on the bed, clasping her hands. She paused, looking up at him. "Honey, if we could go back to my time--"

"'Tis an impossibility you speak of. I have my medical practice here. I flatter myself that these people need me, not only at Fort Pitt, but throughout the settlements." He shook his head. "I can't think of some hypothetical trip through time." He sighed. "Nor would I want to make the trip."

"But I'm so afraid, so afraid...."

"Of what, darling?" Christian crouched beside her and took her hands in his. "I'm with you now, and I love you very much." He raised one hand and kissed each knuckle. "I'll do everything possible to see no harm comes to you, ever." He looked into her eyes and smiled. "We're together, you and I. That's all that matters."

Tears filled her eyes. "But that's the problem! I'm so afraid I'll go back to my time, without you."

"No! I won't let it happen!"

She cupped his cheeks. "Sweetheart, how can you prevent it?" She brushed her hand across her eyes. "I couldn't live without you."

He sat down beside her, holding her close around the waist. "Nor I, you. I need you with me, for all time." He drew her closer to him. "I will not let you go back!"

* * * *

Days later, a new worry tormented Gwen. Busy from morning to night, forgetting to apply her protective sponges, she'd missed last month's period. This month's was late, too, and now a tell-tale nausea sickened her, not to mention an overwhelming sleepiness that made her want to lie down and sleep for the rest of the day.

After her class this morning, she flopped down on the bed, telling herself she should hurry to join Christian at the hospital. She raised her hand to her swollen breasts, the nipples tingling. She swallowed convulsively, determined to fight her sickness.

Torn between telling Christian of her pregnancy or keeping it a secret until the Indian danger was past--if they survived the Indian menace--she decided to keep the news from him for now. He had enough on his mind without worrying about her condition, while the Indians threatened them from outside.

Another fear jolted her, making her catch her breath. What if she got sent back to her own time, without Christian and pregnant with his child? She gripped the edge of the bed. No! She wouldn't let that happen. She must stay with her husband, in the here and now.

But it's not up to you, her panic-stricken brain screamed.

* * * *

The next morning, the smell of smoke jarred Gwen from a sound sleep. She jerked up, her breath coming in gasps. Oh, God, where was the smoke coming from?

She shook Christian's shoulder. "Christian! I smell smoke!"

Mumbling in his sleep, Christian turned onto his back, then opened his eyes, the sheet twisted around his naked body. "What's amiss?" he asked in a raspy voice.

"Smoke!" She jumped out of bed. "What shall we do if the Indians burn the fort? Where can we go?"

Heavy-eyed, Christian raised up on his elbows and sniffed the air. "There are still many houses within the fort's environs, George Croghan's, for one." He sighed, sinking back onto the bed. "Poor Mr. Croghan. 'Tis hard he worked to build that house, but he probably isn't living there now. He owns another one near Carlisle."

"But don't you understand? We've got to leave! If the fort is on fire--"

"The fort is not on fire." He spoke slowly and distinctly. "Believe me, the British won't let the Indians get close enough to even attempt it." He reached for her wrist, drawing her back to bed. "Pray don't worry about the Indians. They can do us but little harm while we remain inside the fort."

She sat down on the bed next to him, pushing her hair back from her face. "You seem quite calm," she said in a shaky voice.

"Calm? I suppose so. I'm not going to worry about something beyond my control, especially when I know Ecuyer and the entire garrison can handle any Indian threat." He drew her closer, easing her down on the bed. "Please, darling," he whispered, "I don't want you to be concerned. Now, if I'm not mistaken, we must arise soon. But we still have time to ourselves, so let's not waste it."

Christian leaned over her, feathering kisses on her face and neck. He kissed her mouth, hard and long, his hand moving along the curves of her body.

She responded to his kisses, his caresses, loving him so, wondering how much longer they would have together, to make love. To live.

Chapter Twenty-three

Christian sat down beside Gwen in the soldier's mess hall, speaking without preamble. "I always admit it when I'm wrong."

Gwen peered at him as she buttered a slice of bread. "Wrong about what?"

"I've come to see the wisdom of your advice to Judith Holloway," he said, cutting a slice of pork. "I realize having a baby lie on his stomach entails a certain amount of risk. 'Tis wise to have the baby sleep on his back or his side, a fact I'll remember in future."

"So, Dr. Norgard, could I share your medical practice? And the fees, of course." She paused, the bread halfway to her mouth. "Good idea, don't you think?"

"I believe you're doing as well as any doctor, with all the help you've given me in the smallpox hospital." Frowning, Christian rubbed his hand across his forehead. "I wish there were some miracle that could help me save every one of my patients. Another one died last night, you know."

Gwen nodded, as dejected as Christian. "You're doing as much as any man could do. And, honey, while we're speaking of medical advice, I have some for you. I wish you wouldn't work so hard and would eat better, too." As she spoke, she ran a worried glance over him, observing the dark circles under his eyes, the lines of exhaustion etched around his mouth. "And another thing--try to get more sleep at night."

"We still have our smallpox patients. I must take care of them."

"Well, try to get more rest, okay?"

"Aye, doctor, whatever you say." As if attempting to throw off his despair, Christian grinned at her, his look warm and tender.

Something told Gwen he wouldn't follow her advice. Within a few minutes, she heard talk and the clatter of boots on the puncheon floor as others gathered at the long table. After greeting the officers, Gwen returned to her breakfast, anxious to get to the hospital, well aware she didn't follow her own advice. She and Christian would both fare better if they could learn to relax more.

He gave her a sidelong glance. "Mayhap you should follow your advice about resting, especially in your condition."

She stared at him, nearly choking on her tea. "My condition?" He knows! her conscience told her. What had made her think she could keep this secret from him?

"Dear love," he said, "you think I don't recognize the symptoms? As a doctor, I

have seen these signs many times." He clasped her hand in his. "But with my wife, they have a special meaning."

Gwen squeezed his hand, happy to have her news out in the open, tired of trying to keep it to herself.

By now, every place in the mess hall was taken. Talk and laughter filled the vast room, combined with the scrape of cutlery on pewter platters. Gwen tried to shut out the background noise, concentrating on Christian and the others at her table.

Richard took a seat across from them with a warm smile for Gwen and a curt nod in Christian's direction. "Gw--" He coughed. "Mistress Norgard. Pray don't be concerned about these few isolated Indian attacks at the fort. The savages can cause us but little harm." He dipped his fork into his scrambled eggs, his gaze on her face.

"The Indians? I don't give them a thought," Gwen lied. "We've been much too busy in the smallpox hospital to leave time for worry."

"The smallpox hospital," Richard mused aloud. "'Tis a rough life for such a pretty young lady." He gave Christian a hard look before turning back to Gwen, all other talk ceasing at their table. "A lady such as you should be gracing the ballrooms of London."

"I haven't heard my wife complain," Christian said in an even voice, but Gwen could tell from a tightening of his facial muscles and the curled fist in his lap that he was one step away from losing his temper. Usually calm and cool, Christian was beginning to show the stress he'd been under for the past several weeks. Lack of sleep didn't help, either. She wondered how much longer he could continue to work under such a strain, this tremendous pressure of caring for the smallpox patients--sick and dying--that was

wearing him down, both physically and mentally.

She switched her attention to Richard. "The ballrooms of London. Don't know if I could maintain those late hours. Anyway, I like to keep busy. Stay out of trouble that way," she said with a smile, trying to take the sting from her words.

Lieutenant Caldwell spoke up, obviously to ease the tension. "How d'you fare in the smallpox hospital, Dr. Norgard? Have you fewer cases now?"

Christian exchanged an anxious glance with her. "If anything, our responsibilities have increased. If only we could inoculate people, we might rid ourselves of this dread disease."

Caldwell raised his mug to his mouth, taking a cautious sip of the steaming brew. "I fear you have a task ahead of you."

"Aye, but 'tis something to strive for." Christian chewed and swallowed, his mouth tight with worry. She wished they were alone so she could hold him close to her heart and tell him he was doing more than anyone could ever be expected to do. He was the most wonderful man in the world, her husband. Full of love for him, she watched from the corner of her eye as he nursed his tea.

Despite all the hardships, all the privations of her life now, she realized she was gradually getting used to this time. In many respects she considered life better now than in the twenty-first century. There was more courtesy and civility, more thinking of others. And another thing she knew, as if she needed a reminder--she could never live without Christian. She wanted only to be with him for the rest of her life.

* * * *

That same afternoon, Gwen worked alongside Christian in the hot, smelly hospital. She shuddered as a burst of gunfire erupted outside the fort. "Christian, did you hear that?" Her hands shaking, she set a flask onto a stand, nearly spilling the vitriol.

Three cots away, Christian looked up from spreading a salve on a young boy's arm. "Aye, rifle shots from across the Ohio. Pray do not worry." He set the salve aside and dabbed a cloth across the child's forehead. "Our men are more than a match for the Indians."

"But this firing has been going on all day!" Fear and desperation roiled inside her.

"So what would you have us do?" He moved away from the patient, weaving his way among the cots until he reached her. He gestured toward the stairs. "Shall we leave the fort? And if we depart, where shall we go?"

"Well, I--"

"We are as safe here as anywhere else, safer, I should say. Captain Ecuyer can handle the Indian menace, I do assure you." His face gentling, he cupped her cheeks. "My dear love, try to dismiss your concerns."

"Okay, I'll try." Might as well take a rocket ship to Mars, she thought, knowing her worries would nag her during the day and keep her awake at night.

She was right, too, she found that evening.

"Did you hear several soldiers were killed this morning when they went to pick apples outside the fort?" she asked Christian as they prepared for bed.

He nodded, his eyelids heavy from lack of sleep. He turned away to hang his shirt on a peg. "Aye, it pays to stay inside the fort. Here, we can feel safe."

Oh, no we can't! A knot of fear twisted inside her stomach as she grabbed the top of the washstand for support. Glad that Christian had his back to her, she wondered how she could ever convince him of the danger from Indians. When he saw the threat, it might be too late.

* * * *

The Indian attacks on the fort increased with such ferocity Christian agonized how much longer the fort could hold out. Mayhap Gwen had the right of it, he fretted, trying to appear optimistic for her sake. Yet worry about his wife kept him awake at night. What if the Indians took her prisoner? Oh, God, it didn't bear thinking about.

* * * *

Richard stood on the battlements, directing the grenadiers as they lit the fuses of hand grenades and hurled them into a nearby ditch, where several Indians lurked. Seconds later, he heard the answering explosion and hoped the grenades had hit their mark. The Indians had proved more ferociously cunning than he'd ever imagined.

What had happened to Bouquet? With no word from the outside world for weeks, Richard had no idea if Bouquet's army could still come to their rescue...or if the Indians had defeated him.

* * * *

Unable to sleep, Gwen tossed and turned in bed, crazed out of her mind about saving Christian's life ... and her own. If they both died in the Indian siege, then why had she made her trip back in time? To know Christian's love again, she answered herself, because even death could not take his love from her.

She pressed her fist to her mouth, vowing she would save Christian's life. God, she prayed in nighttime silence, please take care of my husband. She'd do her part by ensuring he never left the hospital, except for meals and at bedtime. She'd keep him by her side day and night, even if she had to throw herself in front of him.

* * * *

"Hear those screams!" Gwen's breath came hard and fast, her body trembling. In the steamy August heat, she and Christian worked side-by-side, tending to patients in the smallpox hospital while the Indian attacks raged outside. The British wounded moaned on the open ground, adding to her fears. If only she could cover her ears and run, do anything to escape the heartrending cries.

"Soldiers must be suffering terribly," Christian said as he set his lancet down. "I can't stay here to tend to the smallpox patients when those men need me more." He grabbed his medicine chest from a stand. "I'm going out to the field."

"No!" Gwen clutched his arm. "Please don't go out there! Don't you know how dangerous it is? You might get hurt or-or k-k-killed!" She had to keep him with her, must keep him safe.

"What kind of doctor do you think I am?" he snapped, breaking free. "What kind of a man?" He threw her a look of exasperation, then strode on.

Gwen caught up with him, grabbing his arm again. "Don't go! Stay here!"

He jerked his arm back. "Gwen, for God's sake, can't you see those soldiers need me?" Grimly silent, he spun around, striding toward the stairs.

God, please help me, Gwen prayed.

Swallowing convulsively, she pounded up the stairs and emerged onto the grounds of the fort, several feet behind Christian.

Her gaze covered the open ground, and she saw--her worst nightmare! Arrows from the banks of the Allegheny zipped through the air, hitting soldiers at the ramparts. Howitzers banged out shells that arced across the river and exploded on the other side. Blood-curdling shrieks from the Indians told her they'd found their target. And God! The women and children in their crowded barracks cried, their heartrending screams blasting her eardrums.

Fear and horror engulfed every cell of her body. Tears filled her eyes. She covered her ears, hoping to block out the sound of gunfire, the screams! Fear paralyzed her. How could she endanger herself? Trembling uncontrollably, she knew she had no choice. She repeated those words again and again. No choice. She had to save Christian's life and her own. Her mind made up, she started across the field, then stopped as an arrow zipped close by her.

"No!" She pressed her hands to her head. She couldn't do it ... could not go out to the open field. You must, her conscience reminded her. You must go.

Countless minutes later, she dashed for the open field. Her heart thudded every step of the way.

Captain Ecuyer grimaced on the ground, an arrow piercing his left leg. His squire--tall, husky Salathiel Albine--knelt beside him, easing him to his feet. An arm braced around Ecuyer's waist, Albine led the limping captain away.

Several yards from her, a young soldier writhed on the ground, moaning with pain, an arrow gouged in his stomach. Blood pulsed from his wound and soaked the earth. Gwen stopped and pressed her hand to her mouth. Faint and dizzy, she bent over double and took deep breaths.

"Gwen, come help me!" Christian rushed to kneel beside the soldier, setting his medicine chest on the ground. "Where are the orderlies?" he shouted. "This man should be taken to the hospital!" As Gwen neared him, he spoke in quiet tones. "I'll have to cut the arrow out and stop the bleeding. An abdominal wound...."

In her haste to join Christian, Gwen tripped on the soldier's leg. She stumbled against her husband as an arrow whizzed their way.

"Ahh!" Christian fell to the ground, the missile stabbing his shoulder.

"Christian!"

Another shaft zinged into the dirt beside him. In her nightmares, she'd always seen Christian with an arrow through his heart. Now, he'd suffered only a puncture wound, the arrow lodged above the collarbone.

She sank to the ground, taking deep breaths. Christian was saved--either by luck or divine salvation. No matter what, her stumble had saved his life! If their luck held, they'd both survive this Godawful day.

Silently thanking God, Gwen turned to say something to her husband. She saw his unmoving form, his eyes closed, as if ... as if....

"No!" Gwen knelt beside him to examine the injury--only a flesh wound with soft tissue damage. The arrowhead had torn all the way through his shoulder and gone partway out the other side, surely no mortal injury. Then what was the matter with Christian?

"Christian, say something!"

Silence.

"Oh, God, please!" Nausea roiled in her stomach. She swallowed convulsively. Her hands shaking, she reached into his medicine chest to retrieve the clippers, then cut the arrow as close to the back of his shoulder as possible. After tugging the arrow out from the front, she tore off a piece of her petticoat to staunch the bleeding. One quick breath followed another. She wadded the dressing into a bandage and pressed it against his wound. Then she tore off more material and wrapped it around his shoulder to hold the dressing in place. A simple wound and an easy remedy. Then why did Christian lie so still, his face chalk white? Why, why?

"Christian!" Gwen bent over to listen to his heart ... and found no heartbeat. She grabbed his wrist and felt ... panic. No pulse! He'd suffered only a flesh wound. Why wasn't he up and moving about by now?

Memories from her twenty-first century life flashed through her mind. She remembered a seemingly healthy basketball player, dead of a heart attack. She recalled soldiers who'd died from physical stress during basic training. And don't forget the Russian ice skater, dead of a heart attack during practice, she reminded herself.

"No! Please, no!" Dear God, she had failed! Gwen rocked back and forth, tears streaming down her face. Never again would Christian hold her close and whisper love words in her ear. Never again would she hear his dear voice, see that wonderful smile that made her so happy to be alive, to know he loved only her.

Christian was dead.

Chapter Twenty-four

Free of earthly limitations, Christian rose above the ground, higher, higher, higher. He looked down and saw Gwen kneeling over his body, mourning his death! Even from a distance, he heard her anguished cries, saw tears streaming down her face. Unspeakable sorrow clutched at his heart, the realization that he must leave her, never to see her again. Gwen, my dearest darling, my only love.

Whisking through a long tunnel, he traveled faster than he'd ever imagined possible, a journey outside normal dimensions of time or space. At the end of the tunnel, a brilliant light bathed him. Its ethereal quality imbued the radiance with a soothing effect, as if to say, your worries are over.

His heavenly journey ended, and he found himself in a vast meadow blanketed with flowers of unbelievably beautiful colors, where a celestial chorus welcomed him. The exquisite music surrounded him, enclosing him in a cocoon of loving warmth.

A man in a white robe greeted him, linking his arm with Christian's. Gleaming light emanated from this person, as if he were drenched in sunlight. "I'm your Spirit Guide, Matthew," the blonde man said with an engaging smile. "Let me show you around."

Christian looked in all directions. "But wh--where am I?"

Another warm smile. "You'll see."

Arm-in-arm, they walked a short distance through the meadow, until a shining white building appeared. Countless marble steps, grandiose statuary, and fountains graced the magnificent building's entrance. Majestically imposing, the structure reminded him of drawings he'd seen of Greek and Roman temples, but this building overshadowed any other structure, real or imagined.

Sweet-smelling flowers in a myriad of colors embellished the meadow, a rich medley of color and scent, an experience far beyond anything he'd ever known.

It will take forever to climb these steps, Christian thought, but soon they arrived at the entrance. A gleaming white door swung open at their approach. He and his guide stepped inside the building, their footsteps echoing on the marble floor. As they approached a room--one of many--another door silently opened, and Christian looked around in surprise. Doors that open by themselves?

"The Hall of Wisdom," the guide explained.

The spacious room appeared empty, every wall a luminous white, and surrounded by pillars, with marble benches lining each wall.

"Come with me." Matthew led him to a far wall, a brilliant gold curtain stretching from the ceiling to the floor. The guide pulled a cord, and the curtain opened with a soft swishing sound. Beyond the curtain, Christian saw ... nothing.

The guide tapped Christian's shoulder. "Look down. What do you see?"

He looked down--and gasped. There below him revolved a large sphere in a clear blue sky. Some portions of the sphere appeared green, but most of it was a bright blue.

He turned a bewildered gaze to Matthew. "Wh--what is it?"

"Don't you recognize it? That's your planet, Earth."

He remained motionless, unable to remove his gaze from the planet. "I had no idea it looked like that," he said, swinging back to Matthew.

"A heavenly learning experience." Matthew grinned, taking him by the arm. "Come, I have other things to show you." Within a heartbeat, he found himself in another room, this one filled with a row of large paintings on a far wall, one painting after another, scarcely leaving a bare space on the wall. The guide led him closer, moving along until they reached the first picture. Matthew spoke. "Look well," he said. "What do you see?"

"I can't believe it!" Not a painting, but what was it? His gaze covering every inch of the picture, Christian considered it finer than any rendering he'd ever seen, as real as the room where he stood. The picture showed a weak, emaciated man who lay in bed, blood running from his mouth. Beyond him stretched a row of similar beds, each one occupied by a fellow sufferer.

He turned to his guide. "I've heard of this malady, although I've never encountered any sufferers in my practice." And why are you showing me these images? he wanted to ask.

"Tuberculosis," Matthew said. "A lung disease."

He nodded. "Ah, yes, I understand, but I've never heard that term before." A world of emotions clashed inside him, joy and sorrow, hope and fear. If there were some way he could help these people, ease their suffering ... but no, that wasn't possible when he was destined to remain here for eternity, away from all the people he'd known and loved.

The guide showed him several more pictures, each one revealing a multitude of people who suffered from various diseases. Two words dominated the collection--cancer and AIDS.

"I never realized so many people suffered from these sundry illnesses," Christian said, overwhelmed by all he'd seen so far, and not only the pictures. His earthly existence paled in comparison to all he'd experienced these past moments, to everything that had happened to him from the time of his entrance into this strange but miraculous place. Too fascinated to speak, he turned back to study the last picture. This one revealed a teenage girl in a wheelchair who suffered from muscular dystrophy, or so Matthew informed him.

Christian's gaze returned to his Spirit Guide. "Difficult to believe so many maladies exist, and we can't alleviate the patient's distress."

"It's true," the guide responded. "And there's a greater need than ever for doctors to heal the suffering. But come," he said before Christian could reply. "Let me show you other scenes."

After walking across the marble floor, he discovered an abundance of images adorning another wall. These more nearly resembled paintings but were of such beauty and clarity they left him staring in silence, searching for words.

The guide gestured toward the first picture. "Look at these images. I believe they will have a special meaning for you."

"Ah!" Christian jerked, his breath catching in his throat. He saw himself clad in a primitive fur robe, wearing an expression of grim forbearance. He stood outside a cave, a woman holding his hand.

"Gwen!" he whispered. "My wife!" Despite the difference in their looks, he could tell Gwen anywhere. Mayhap it was her eyes, but it was the same woman, the only one he could ever love. Reluctant to turn from the picture, he stared at each line of her face, his gaze absorbing every feature.

The guide placed a gentle hand under his elbow and drew him away. "Now look here." Peering at the second image, Christian saw himself in a plain brown tunic, a rope tied around his waist. Cross-legged on an earthen floor, he shifted a lump of wet clay in his hands, fashioning it into a vase. A woman sat beside him, her face set in concentration while she sifted through another glob of clay and plucked the stones out.

"My dear one!" He reached out to touch the painting, tracing every line of Gwen's lovely face. A rush of love welled up inside him and tears filled his eyes.

Matthew gave him a kind smile. "Yes--Gwen, with a hundred, a thousand lifetimes between the lifetime in this picture and the first one you saw."

Fresh despair erupted inside him, tears trickling down his cheeks. "Gwen," he whispered. "I miss her very much."

Matthew placed his hand on Christian's shoulder. "Your soul mate, from one lifetime to the next."

"But now ... now, I'll never see her again," Christian said in a trembling voice, "not in this lifetime. Gwen ... I love her so much. You don't know how I want to be with her again."

Uncontrollable sobs shook his body, prompting him to turn away, ashamed of his weakness.

The guide embraced him, and Christian felt the warmth of his touch, the strength of his arms. A weight lifted from him, all his cares and worries melting away. "You will see her again, Christian, very soon. You still have so much to accomplish, either in your time or in Gwen's twenty-first century." He smiled. "'To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven'. It is not your time to die...."

In a flash, the guide, the room, everything disappeared. And then ... nothing.

* * * *

"Oh, God, no!" Only seconds had elapsed since Christian had fallen, yet it seemed like hours. Frantic thoughts raced through Gwen's head as she strained to recall every step of the CPR training in First Aid. Christian couldn't be dead. She would not let him die.

Tilting Christian's head back, she blew into his mouth several times, each time a little stronger than the last. She waited a few seconds. Still no breathing. She bit her lower lip, trying to restrain the tears. With renewed purpose, she gave him a pericardial thump--a hard hit to the center of his chest. Still nothing happened, but she couldn't stop now. Even while the resolution formed in her mind, her eyes filled with tears, hindering her vision.

Moving astride him, she pressed both hands on his sternum. Pressed and released. Pressed and released. Again and again, she applied the pressure, then released.

She worked alone on the parade ground with only the wounded to witness her agony, their groans a poignant backdrop to her efforts. She labored against time, fearing a fresh onslaught of arrows. Each minute was crucial. How long before the Indians resumed their attack? Would they renew their attack?

Worst of all, Christian couldn't go much longer without oxygen.

"Help me!" a young soldier cried, writhing on the ground, blood pouring from a head wound. "Someone please help me!" He screamed, "Mama, papa!"

Any minute now, the Indians would resume their attack, loosening more deadly arrows. Soon, the howitzers would answer with their deadly fire.

Afraid to hope but desperately needing to believe, Gwen thought she saw a slight rise and fall of Christian's chest, a faint color returning to his cheeks. But she had to keep up the pressure. Please, please, she silently prayed. God, please let him live.

He coughed then, the most beautiful sound in the world. He blinked his eyes open and looked around, a dazed expression on his face.

Convinced the danger had passed, Gwen slid from his chest and sat on the ground next to him, knees drawn up to her chest, her skirt draped across her ankles. She reached for his hand, consumed with the need to touch his skin.

"Wh--what happened?" Frowning, Christian tried to brace himself on his elbow but slowly sank back down. His gaze covered the fort, where women and children tended to wounded fathers and husbands, where cackling chickens and barking dogs added a horrible dimension to the turmoil, where the wounded moaned in misery.

Gwen bowed her head to thank God for Christian's miraculous restoration. Her husband. He looked so wonderful, so alive, she caught her breath at the sight of him, at the color returning to his face, the steady rise and fall of his chest. His face revealing his exhaustion, caution hampered her happiness. She might lose him yet!

Afraid to tell him he'd actually been dead for a few minutes, Gwen groped for words. "Darling, it...." She swallowed and started again. "It seems you fainted. You were unconscious for a short while."

"Fainted?" With love-filled eyes, Christian gave her a long, steady look. "More than that, I think ... much more." He lifted a hand to touch her face, then let it drop again, resting it on his chest. "Later, I shall tell you," he said in a voice barely above a whisper.

Tell me what? she wanted to ask, but wrenched her thoughts back to the present crisis, concern for him overriding every other consideration. Fearing the arrow wound might yet cause trouble, she resolved to hide her worries, to smile and act normal for his sake. As soon as they got back to their room, she'd wash the injury thoroughly and apply French brandy as a disinfectant. And when would they get back? she agonized, frantically looking around for the orderlies.

Now given the luxury of introspection, she wondered if fate had preordained her actions when she'd fallen against Christian, thus saving him from an arrow through the heart. She'd never know, but it was enough to have her lover, her soul mate, breathing beside her, his face the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen.

"Can't stay here all day." Christian started to rise, but she placed a gentle restraining hand on his chest.

"Darling, you'd better take it easy. To tell the truth, you had me worried. Please lie back down, just rest." She blinked her eyes, trying to stop the tears. Her body shook with relief. She felt drained of all energy, as if she'd just recovered from a long illness.

"Rest?" He chuckled as he struggled to push himself to his feet. With a groan, he sank back down and briefly closed his eyes, then opened them again. "It looks as if you're right, Dr. Norgard."

"Where are the orderlies?" she cried, her head turning in all directions. Christian should be in his room now, not lying out here in the open, vulnerable to more attacks.

"The orderlies?" He squeezed her hand. "Busy with the wounded, I doubt not."

"You're right," she said, sighing. "My mom always told me I should learn to be patient." She stretched her legs out, trying to find a comfortable position, mindful that talk would help pass the time. She brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. "Did I ever tell you how much I love you?" she said.

Christian smiled, looking up at her. "You may have mentioned it now and then. And I love you. I can never tell you how much." Stretched out flat, he lay with one hand on his chest, the other wrapped around hers, his head tipped toward her.

How wonderful to see him like this, the same Christian, her dear husband. Fresh tears rolled down her face, blurring her vision.

"Please don't cry," he said, cupping her face in his strong hands. Easing her down against his hard chest, he enfolded her in his arms and raised a hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks, his fingers as light as air on her skin. She stayed in his embrace for countless seconds while his heart beat strong and steady next to hers.

"But now...." Christian held her slightly away from him, his expression sober. "The wounded--where are they?"

"In the hospital."

"And Captain Ecuyer?"

"I suppose he's there, too. His squire accompanied him. I'll see about the wounded as soon as we get you to bed."

"'Tis not a task for a lady!"

She raised her head, looking down at him. "But I've been working in the smallpox hospital."

"Aye, but this is different. There may be ... amputations."

"Don't worry about me," she said, surprised she could accept that reality, she, who'd always feared violence.

Wanting to divert Christian from his anxieties and her own, she asked, "After this siege is over, do you have any plans for inoculating the settlers?"

Christian sighed. "Indeed, I have a plentiful supply of pus from the smallpox sufferers in the hospital." His mouth tightened. "'Tis sad those unfortunate people had to bear that ordeal--and look how many died--but 'twould be more unfortunate if the suffering and dying did not serve a higher purpose."

Gwen squeezed his hand. "You're right, sweetheart. And I think they would have wanted it that way, also."

He nodded. "So, yes, after I have recovered and after Bouquet saves the fort, I want nothing more than to minister to the people in every way. That includes preventing smallpox."

"But now we have to concentrate on getting you well," she said, "your usual wonderful, competent self again."

"And the sooner, the better ... at least, as far as getting well again." He smiled. "Don't know about the 'wonderful' part." He started to rise. "I've lain here long enough."

She placed her hand on his chest again. "No, darling, please listen to me. You can't just get up and go about your duties now. Take my word for it. You have to rest for at least a week. I'll check on the patients, instruct the orderlies in what they should do, although I suppose they're managing okay by themselves."

She raised the hem of her dress to dab it across his shining forehead. "Jeez, it's hot," she murmured, glancing up at the sun as it made its westward trek across a clear blue sky.

He quirked a wry smile. "Rest at least a week you say, doctor? I shall go mad if I have to stay in bed that long."

"But, honey, there's still a lot you can do, like reading your medical books and other literature. And doesn't Lieutenant Caldwell have a chess set? It's not as if you have to languish in bed with nothing to do."

"Very well," Christian said with a tired sigh. "I fear you have the right of it."

Gwen caught sight of two orderlies and motioned them over. "Dr. Norgard needs your help."

Stretcher held between them, the orderlies rushed over. "We're sorry we couldn't get to you sooner, doctor. One of the officers was bleeding badly, and we feared we'd lose him."

"How does he fare?" Christian asked, frowning. "And the soldier with the stomach wound?"

"The officer is recovered, doctor," an orderly said. "The soldier wounded in the

stomach--we must wait and see. We removed the arrow." Both helpers lifted Christian onto the stretcher, then proceeded across the field.

"Good," Christian breathed. "I'm glad to hear about the officer. And I hope the other one recovers."

Gwen walked alongside him, holding his hand. "Now you can rest in your own room."

"Indeed, rest sounds like a splendid idea." He gave her an endearing smile. "Later, I have such a wonderful story to tell you...."

Chapter Twenty-five

Several days after Christian's heart attack, Gwen perched on the edge of their bed and took his hand in hers, glorying in his warmth, the touch of his skin. How she loved this man. To think she'd almost lost him!

"Things have been quiet at the fort," she said, not daring to hope. "Haven't heard any firing for days."

Gazing up at her, Christian managed a grim smile. "Dear wife, have you forgotten so soon? We've had quiet periods before, but the Indians always renewed their attacks." He sighed. "I fear 'tis the case now, too."

"But no one has seen the Indians for days. It's as if they disappeared."

"God, no!" Christian bolted upright in bed, his face taut with terror. "Gone to meet Bouquet's army, that's why we haven't seen them!" Sinking back down, he raked his hand through his hair. "Let us hope--"

"Dear God, Christian! What if the Indians defeat Bouquet? Then Fort Pitt...." She turned away, fear turning her stomach to ice.

Christian reached over to caress her cheek, as if ashamed of his outburst. "Colonel Bouquet is a capable officer, and we must pray that he vanquishes the Indians. Otherwise...."

"Otherwise, Fort Pitt will be wide open," Gwen finished for him, "ready for the taking!"

* * * *

Working against time, frustrated by the dense woods, Daniel Chamberlain rode eastward across the province to join Bouquet's ragtag army. Weary and discouraged, he arrived at the Carlisle encampment in the center of the state weeks later.

Astride his bay, Daniel rode with the officers the next day as the army plunged through the forest, the soldiers marching behind them. He agonized over Christian and Gwen. What if Bouquet didn't reach Fort Pitt in time to prevent the Indians from destroying the fort? What if Christian and Gwen were taken prisoner? God, he prayed, please keep my dear friends safe.

The thick green gloom of the silent woods closed around them, dark and fraught with menace. Towering trees and dense foliage concealed innumerable hiding places, ample opportunities for ambush.

* * * *

By the blazing August sun, Bouquet's army pushed through the shadowy foliage, nearing Bushy Run, a small settlement in the western part of the province. Daniel assumed a calm demeanor, never wanting to reveal his fear, not only for himself and Bouquet's army, but for the settlers at Fort Pitt who depended on them. If the Indians defeated Bouquet ... Daniel shook his head. He wouldn't think about the possibility of defeat. By tomorrow--

Hideous war whoops from the woods mingled with the sharp rattle of rifle fire.

Indians!

Soldiers jerked in terror, their faces blanched with fear. Perfectly disciplined, they quickly recovered and prepared to fire their muskets.

After sliding off his horse and sending the mare to the rear, Daniel braced himself behind a tree in a thicket of dark foliage. Working with feverish haste, he loaded his rifle, then took aim. As his eyes searched the thick woods, he observed a dark figure amongst the far trees. He released the trigger. Had he hit his target? He didn't know! A sickening memory flashed through his mind--Braddock's defeat in '55, when a motley army of French and Indians had hidden behind the trees and defeated the much more powerful British army.

Recollections of his loving wife, Rebecca, and his dear, sweet children, spurred him on. He couldn't leave them. He must return home. With renewed determination, he reloaded his rifle, looking for another target.

The battle raged throughout the sizzling hot day. Soaked with perspiration, Daniel looked all around him, never knowing where the Indians would attack from. Bone-tired weariness dragged him down, but fear kept him alert.

The Indians lurked everywhere, firing their deadly rifles at the British soldiers, each time popping up from unexpected positions. Smoke clouded the air, spiraling upwards from the dense cluster of trees. The chatter of rifle fire continued throughout the endless day. Naked forms painted red and black, with grotesque white or green circles about their eyes and mouth, the warriors reminded Daniel of demons.

Soon the Indians surrounded the soldiers, fire and death halloos coming from the front and rear. Daniel raised a shaky hand and wiped it across his damp forehead. How in God's name could the soldiers escape this trap?

The dead littered the field. The wounded moaned with pain and thirst. Screaming horses rampaged through the melee, trampling the wounded.

The Indians remained in the woods but slackened their fire with approaching night. Daniel rested with the other soldiers, suffering from the heat and thirst, tortured by visions of what the morrow would bring. A premonition of doom settled over him. This time tomorrow, they might all be tied to the stake, forced to endure a slow death.

Every muscle aching, Daniel stretched out on the hard ground, his hands locked behind his head as he stared up at the vast canopy of stars. He wanted to close his eyes in sleep, but fear kept him awake. The wounded cried with pain and begged for water, but no one could reach the nearby stream to bring relief. Throughout the long night, hideous howls and taunts erupted from the dark trees, sending tremors of fright along his arms and legs.

His eyes burning from sleeplessness, Daniel saw Bouquet a short distance away. What was going through the Swiss soldier's mind...?

Sick at heart, Bouquet wrote a letter to Sir Jeffrey Amherst that night, preparing him for the worst. It looked like defeat for the British army.

* * * *

On a hot day in early August, Richard climbed to the top of the Flag Bastion rampart and focused his telescope to the east. Squinting in the bright sunlight, sweating in the heat, he made a slow sweep of the tree-covered hills. Off in the distance--could it really be? Richard lowered the telescope and wiped the sweat from his forehead, then raised the instrument again. Aye, there they were! The army moved ever closer, the officers on horseback, the kilted Highlanders marching. Within a heartbeat, he heard the beating of drums and the wailing of bagpipes, the most welcome sound in the world.

"Bouquet!" Richard shouted from the rampart. "Bouquet is coming!"

Screaming with joy, the inhabitants ran to greet the British soldiers as they crossed the drawbridge and entered Fort Pitt. Bouquet's army had ended the siege.

* * * *

"Bouquet's a clever one, don't you think, darling?" Christian asked Gwen as she prepared for bed that same evening. "While you worked in the hospital, Lieutenant Caldwell stopped by to tell me about the battle at Bushy Run. Did you hear how Bouquet outfoxed the Indians?"

"Not all the details." Overcome with relief that Bouquet had defeated the Indians and lifted the siege of the fort, the complexities of the battle mattered little to her. Still, she didn't want to dampen Christian's enthusiasm. "How did he do it?" Gwen queried as she unhooked her dress.

"Ah, I was hoping you'd ask me." Christian changed his position in bed, stretching his legs out. "It's an old strategy, but it fooled the Indians. Bouquet made it look as if the army was retreating. Then he withdrew a couple of units, sending them to hide behind the trees. The Indians fell for the trick and rushed in, ready for the kill. Then--and here's the shrewd part--the units in reserve swept in to surround the Indians." He paused. "'Twas close fighting, I understand ... bayonets."

Gwen nodded, scarcely hearing a word. She could only take in the sight of him, loving his body, every part of him, but more than that, his basic goodness and decency, his bravery during the siege. His shoulder wound looked clean, with only pink, puckered skin to show his injury a few days ago, and no sign of infection. To have him beside her, alive and well....

Gwen leaned against the wall and studied his every feature, so overwhelmed with happiness her eyes filled with tears. Acting on impulse and needing to touch him, she rushed over to the bed and sank down beside him.

"Christian, I love you so much!" Tears streamed down her face. Seeing his look of surprise, she laughed self-consciously. "Didn't mean to startle you. But I just had to say it, if I haven't told you often enough. I couldn't live without you."

"Nor I, you. My wife!" He reached for her, drawing her down to his chest.

"But are you willing to stay here with me for the rest of your life?" He threw her a questioning look.

Tears rushed to her eyes. "All I want, all I've ever wanted since I realized how much I love you, is to be with you." She plucked at the folds of her dress. "No, I'm not being entirely honest. I'll admit at first I wanted to return to my own time, but these last few weeks have taught me much," she said, "especially how much I love you. Ah, darling, I need you so much!"

Christian gave her a questioning look. "So you don't mind staying in the past?"

"Do you hear me complaining?"

"Well, no." He smiled, his gaze on her. "But it was not always thus, was it? I mean, didn't it take time for you to become accustomed to our ways?" His smile widened. "Here you are, away from computers, all the luxuries you are used to...."

"And here I am with you, Christian, happier than I've ever been."

A look of alarm crossed his face. "But what about those visions of your life in the twenty-first century? What if you get sent back to your previous life?"

"Won't happen, of that I'm certain. I haven't had any visions of that other life for a long time." She took his hand. "Believe me, Christian, this is where and when I want to stay." She paused, looking off into space. "I had those images before because sometimes ... sometimes, especially when things got rough, I'd think of my other life and the people I knew then. But I love you so much, sweetheart, and I like my life in this time. Besides, you're worth any sacrifice I have to make."

"Ah." He caressed her hand, his fingers warm and gentle. "Then we can spend the rest of our lives telling each other of our love."

She feathered his cheek and forehead with kisses. "Starting now."

Only yesterday, he'd told her of his near death experience, and she believed every word. To think he'd gone to heaven and returned to her, the same wonderful husband, the man she'd always loved--and would always love, throughout time.

THE END