The Enchanted Inn Page 6

  George ambled away, his gut swaying back and forth. George’s acquiescence did not ease John’s intuition that he was a danger to Rachel. Although he had hidden his concern, he, too, had wondered what George did on his frequent trips. He usually returned with a lady and remained in his room for a few days. The women he brought either left at night or very early in the morning, because he had yet to see one actually depart.

  Chapter Eight

  Gina breathed deep. The strong herbal scent filled the early morning air. Better Homes and Gardens would pay a bundle for pictures of this herb garden to grace the pages of their magazine. And right outside the kitchen door, where an herb garden should be. A dirt path ran through the garden’s middle.

  “Could I have a word with you, Mistress Rachel?”

  The hairs on Gina’s arms stood up. She’d hoped the stranger’s curiosity about her blunder would vanish. Instead of leaving, he’d stayed on at the inn, showing no inclination of ever moving on to wherever he’d been headed.

  On her knees, she picked oregano and basil, tossing the sprigs into her basket. “I’m busy. Can’t it wait?”

  The man stepped amongst the herbs, releasing stronger aromas. Once he stood in front of her, he squatted down so they were face-to-face. “The matter could wait, except I believe that, left to your discretion, there would never be an appropriate time for us to converse.”

  She held his gaze in silence, not giving him the satisfaction of confirming or denying his statement.

  “Name’s William Barrett. I’m a journalist for a small press in Boston. At the moment, I’m on my way to New York to discover how the revolution is faring in that area.”

  Gina groaned. Great. She had to make her Benedict Arnold remark in front of a freaking journalist. If he was anything like the media of the future, she didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of evading his questions.

  She moved on to harvest thyme and rosemary. “I’m sure John explained about my head injury.”

  William reached out and covered her hand. “He said you have been ill. It so happens I do not believe a word of it. An aura of mystery surrounds you. I sensed it even before your Arnold remark.”

  Gina sat back on her heels and shielded the sun with her hand. “I assure you, William, there is no mystery here, other than one of your own making. Plain and simple, I’m an indentured servant who’s in love with the stable boy.” Chew on that one for a while.

  “I still do not believe you.”

  “Well, that’s your problem.”

  “You spoke about Arnold with such conviction. I want to know why.”

  Gina’s hands trembled. “My head is often muddled these days.”

  William sighed. “I know when to relent, although I do wish you would trust me not to divulge your secrets.”

  Gina jumped to her feet and jabbed her finger at his chest. “You want the truth? I’d sooner trust a rattlesnake than a journalist.”

  Instead of the anger she’d expected, William leaned his head back and laughed. “Your manner of speech is quite provocative. Tell me again. What part of the colonies do you call home?”

  “Nice try, but no go.” Gina flashed a smile over her shoulder and carried her basket inside.

  While she chopped vegetables and cut chunks of meat, she thought about George. He’d come home from one of his secret missions yesterday. And just a short while ago, he took off again, saying he’d return in a few days. The idea to search his room struck Gina out of nowhere. She hurried to add herbs and water to the stew, then hung the Dutch oven over the slow-burning fire in the hearth.

  Her knees wobbled a bit as she climbed the stairs. Last time she’d walked into George’s room he’d been getting it on with one of his women. What if he’d come back and she hadn’t seen him? She paused at the door, ear against the wood, listening for any sounds.

  Satisfied the room was empty, she turned the doorknob. He’d locked the damn door. She fished in her apron for the skeleton key that opened all the other bedrooms. She inserted the key and with a flick of her wrist the door popped open. George had shit for brains. She hurried inside and closed the door behind her. After a quick scan of the biggest mess she’d seen since she’d caught a glimpse of her friend’s teenage daughter’s room, Gina rushed to the bureau.

  She struggled not to gag at the strong smell of sweat and sour sex in the air. Pulling open the first drawer, she found nothing but George’s clothes. Same with drawers number two and three.

  The last drawer yielded better treasure. She gaped at the various items—women’s items—a brooch, pantaloons, hair pins, and a cheap necklace. What the hell? An expensive jacket caught her eye. The most recent woman she’d seen arrive had worn that over a matching dress.

  Were the women he brought here in such a rush to escape the lecher that they simply forgot their things? Shaking her head, she closed the drawer and made her escape.

  She couldn’t wait to tell John about this. “Shit.” Halfway down the stairs, she remembered that the water was low and she had to fetch more.

  She sprinted the rest of the way and ran outside to harness the pony, then attached him to the wagon. Soon she was on her way to the spring hole.

  “Damn these fucking bugs to hell.” Gina slapped a hand over her mouth and scanned the area. Why worry about her verbal blunder? Deer and rabbits were the only living creatures to hear her curse. John’s warning about Indians brought a shudder down her back.

  Forever vigilant, she walked to the spring hole several times a day and hadn’t seen an Indian. Of course, that didn’t mean they weren’t standing behind a tree less than twenty-five feet away. Nervous now, Gina put more effort into hoisting the wooden pail full of water and dumping it into the barrel.

  She stopped for a moment to watch the pony’s tail swishing back and forth in an attempt to rid its backside of insects. Almost made her wish she had a tail herself.

  With no warning, the pony sidestepped to the right with a nervous whinny, almost upsetting the wagon. “Whoa, boy! Don’t you dare dump that water or you’ll find yourself roasting over the fire for tonight’s supper.” She ran her hand over his rump, worked her way forward and stroked his velvet nose, murmuring reassurances as much for herself as for the horse.

  A guttural grunt from behind turned her legs to rubber. Before she could turn, a hand curled around her neck. She whirled around and confirmed her worse fear. The most frightening man she’d ever seen stood not six inches away. From pictures in history books, she guessed he was a Mohican warrior. The haircut, the nose rings steered her thinking.

  Legs shoulder width apart, he glared, a short-handled hatchet in one hand, the other still around her neck. The scowl on his face didn’t increase her optimism. Her heart raced so fast, she feared she might faint.

  He smiled, leered, actually, and she opened her mouth to scream. He grabbed her hair with the hand holding the ax and covered her mouth with the other. He spoke gibberish, or at least that’s what it sounded like. Transfixed, her gaze locked with his.

  Another voice spoke from behind her in the same language as the warrior used. Oh God. Were there more of them? No. The savage was not pleased. It must be John. The Mohican grunted and stepped away. Gina skittered backwards and bumped against a warm body. “Thank God you came, John.”

  “I am sorry to disappoint you.”

  Gina stepped away. “You! Are you following me?”

  “Yes, and, this time, it seems you are one lucky lady that I did,” William said.

  The Mohican spoke again, laughed then silently slipped away into the woods.

  “What did you say to him?”

  “That you were my woman.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “And his response?”

  “Told me I was a fortunate man to be able to lay claim to a woman such as you. One with hair the color of a sunset and a temper that needs to be tamed.”

  “Yeah, right. Now that you’re here, you can help me fill the barrels.” She stood by the pony and watch
ed William hoist pail after pail of water from the well. Something didn’t gel. “That Indian wasn’t an enemy,” she stated flatly.

  His eyes twinkled. “I’ve met him a time or two. So far, he seems harmless.”

  “Bastard!”

  * * *

  Gina yawned. Too much playing in the hay with John last night. He’d been so demanding, she didn’t get a chance to tell him about the women’s belongings in George’s room or meeting the Indian. Tonight she’d make sure they talked. With a light heart, she skipped up the stairs to clean the rooms. Her good mood dimmed somewhat as she stepped into the room that Ruth McPherson had led her to on Christmas Eve. Every time she cleaned, she wondered if perhaps the key to returning home might be staring her in the face. She leaned against the wall and visually swept the room. Other than the framed picture that hung over the bed, nothing looked the same.

  She wiped her sweating palms on her dress and quickly walked to the bed to study the painting. Five minutes later she accepted that she saw nothing on the canvas giving any clues as to how to time travel. The painting was what it was. A bucolic scene in someone’s perennial garden. If it were an herb garden, she might get excited.

  With a sigh, she dusted the bedposts. Actually, there was very little to do. The guest had even made the bed. Gina bent to straighten the spread and groaned at the sharp pull in her upper back. Damn. Just what she needed. More than likely a repercussion from her gymnastics with John this morning.

  The sun had yet to make its way around the house to warm the room to an unbearable temperature. The cool air was a godsend. Gina yawned, her gaze lingering on the four-poster bed. What could it hurt? She sank onto the mattress and closed her eyes, promising herself she’d rest for only five minutes.

  * * *

  Gina woke to a pesky fly tickling her nose. She flicked it away and rolled to her side, coming full awake when her body came to rest against something warm. “Decided to steal a nap, too?”

  “I could not resist. You look so tempting, snuggled in my bed.”

  That was not John’s voice. Her eyelids flew open. “William! What are you doing here?”

  The tantalizing smile transformed his handsome face to that of a rogue. “This is my room.”

  His hands slid around to cup her butt cheeks. One tug brought her hard against his crotch. No doubt about it. This cowboy was ready to ride. She pushed away. “Whoa, Silver.”

  His eyes sparkled. “What?”

  She froze at a muffled sound of pain from across the room. She glanced over her shoulder and scrambled off the bed, tripping on her dress. “It’s not the way it looks, John. Nothing happened here.”

  The stunned expression on John’s face hit Gina like a kick to the belly. The hurt she’d seen in his eyes quickly turned to anger. Enough anger to run a nuclear power plant. His hands remained balled at his sides. “I trusted you, Rachel.”

  She rushed forward. Whether in the future or in the present, this man was her soul mate. John stumbled backwards, avoiding her touch. “You played me for a fool.”

  “No! That’s not true.”

  “Do not touch me,” he warned as she reached forward. “I shall be leaving on Wednesday morn—alone.”

  “John, no—” It was too late. He’d disappeared down the stairs.

  “Looks like you have yourself in quite a situation.”

  Gina sprang forward at her tormenter, her hands ready to go for his throat. “This is all your fault.”

  He scooted across the bed. “You fell asleep in my bed. How is that my fault?”

  “You should have woken me. Thrown me out.”

  Gina hated the amusement in his gray eyes. “You think I’m daft? No man in his right mind would toss a willing lady out of his bed.”

  Gina picked up a pillow on the floor and heaved it, hitting him square in the head. “I wasn’t willing, you…you jerk. I was tired.”

  “Be reasonable. How was I to know that?”

  “I’ve got to find, John. Make him understand.”

  “Perhaps ’tis best to leave him alone for a few hours. He may be more willing to listen once the sun goes down.”

  Gina stared at the man leaning casually against the headboard as if he didn’t have a care in the world. When the meaning of his words registered, her face grew hot. “Bastard.” She swung around and started toward the door.

  “Rachel, wait.”

  She almost kept walking. Instead, she stopped. “What?”

  “Please. Let me apologize. I see that you are truly troubled over this misunderstanding.”

  She turned in time to see him roll off the bed and pull on his boots. “I will talk to John myself. If the man refuses to believe the truth, then he doesn’t deserve you. You are better off without him.”

  Refuse to believe the truth? Better off without him? William’s words circled inside her head like a carousel. Suddenly, life became crystal clear. She found herself in the same position that Luke had been in all those years ago. John had reacted the same way she had, refusing to listen. The misery she’d experienced for the past seven years was all of her making. Years she could have been happily married to Luke—if only she’d listened.

  Payback time, Gina. On stilted legs, she climbed the stairs to the attic and collapsed on her small bed. She stared at the wall and accepted she’d wronged Luke. She’d barged into his room and discovered a woman sharing his bed. Why hadn’t she listened when he protested that it wasn’t the way it looked? Despite the sharp burn of tears behind her eyelids, Gina refused to cry. If Ruth had sent her here to learn a lesson, perhaps now she’d be brought home. Then she’d beg Luke’s forgiveness. Perhaps they could start over.

  Chapter Nine

  Gina woke from a sound sleep when the mattress sagged. She bolted upright and swung her fist, connecting with flesh. “You bastard, Barrett, what part of no don’t you understand?”

  Hands grabbed her wrists. “Stop it. ’Tis me.”

  The sound of John’s voice wiped away all remnants of drowsiness.

  She scrambled to her knees. “Do you forgive me? I didn’t mean to fall asleep in William’s bed. I was so damn tired that I—”

  John’s hand covered her mouth. “I know. Barrett explained it all.”

  The frantic beat of her heart made her dizzy. “And you believe me?”

  “And why would I not believe you? ’Tis I who need to apologize for assuming the worst. Jealousy made me forget how much you love me.”

  Gina’s heart sank. She didn’t deserve this. Not after the way she’d behaved seven years ago, or was it two-hundred twenty-nine years into the future? “I’m so sorry that I didn’t have your faith when I found you in bed with another woman on the morning of our wedding.”

  He pulled her into his arms and sank into the mattress. “Shh. You are spouting nonsense again. We will soon be gone from this place. George will return in a day or two. I plan to buy your indenture, and our life together will begin.”

  Gina had no desire to argue. Perhaps it was for the best. Tonight she wanted to be held and cuddled. To cling to the man who was her future, no matter what era they happened to find themselves.

  John’s hands curved under her ribcage. His thumbs strayed to her nipples. The familiar ache of wanting throbbed in her womb. Then again, perhaps the time for snuggling could wait. With a moan, she rubbed his cock and sought his open mouth.

  * * *

  A brilliant red sun peeking over the treetops greeted Gina when she opened her eyes. She stretched then lay to watch it rise through the open door of the barn. A week had passed since the night she and John had made their peace and still George had not returned. Travelers were sparse. Yet William stayed on. The man was like a dog with a bone. She felt his eyes always on her trying to ferret her secret.

  She rolled to her side in the hay and watched John sleep. Although they’d exhausted each other last night, Gina was certain if she touched him, he’d be raring to go.

  She picked up a piece of straw and ti
ckled his nose. Smiled when he frowned and knocked it away. She trailed her fingers down his cheek until he woke, and drew a sharp breath at the love shining in his eyes.

  “You have captured my heart.” The tenderness in his voice brought tears to her eyes. A lifetime ago, Luke had murmured those same words.

  She curved her hand around his stubbled cheek. “As you have mine.”

  His lips met hers. His tongue darted in and out of her mouth. Just as lust shot through her, John rolled to his feet and smacked her rear. “We have no time for romantic nonsense. Get your arse out of the hay. I heard George arrive last night, and I must ready myself to negotiate when he arises.”

  Gina groaned and curled into a fetal position. “It’s barely dawn.”

  “You have plenty to do. Supper must be prepared and I am sure our one guest will expect a meal this morn.”

  “Let him cook his own.”

  John laughed. “He is not so bad once you get to know him.”

  So says you. “I’ll get up in a moment. Promise.”

  Gina lay in the straw, trying to quell her hot needs. She frowned. Since being transported back in time, her libido had gone wild. What the hell was that all about?

  Voices carried from the yard outside the stable. John greeting Amy. Gina tried to remember if she’d made plans to make soap or butter or candles. They’d done all that last week, so that couldn’t be why Amy was here.

  She forced herself to get up and brush the straw from her clothes and hair. The moment she stepped out of the stable, Amy ran toward her. “I am picking mushrooms today. Do you want to join me?”

  Gina stifled a groan. Didn’t anyone ever just take a day off to rest? “Well, I’m not sure. I have things to do here.”

  John put his arm around her shoulder. “A mushroom stew might be nice for a change.” He leaned close and whispered, “’Tis not a good idea for Amy to be alone in the forest.”

  “I have to prepare the morning meal, and…” She caved to the plea in John’s eyes. Forcing a smile, she said, “Sure, Amy. Just let me freshen up.”