Dream Weaver (21 page)

"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 repulse 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?"

"'O.K'," 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 tricorne 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 tricorne 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.