I hadn't realized how much I'd missed this part of our relationship until now. His fingers brushed against the insides of my thighs, and he grabbed my hips and lifted me up so that I could wrap my legs around him.
“Fuck,” I moaned as he buried himself inside me with one thrust, pain and pleasure ripping through me. “I missed this.”
He pressed his face against my neck, his words muffled. “I have too.”
There wasn't time for tender love-making, and the urgency I felt with every stroke told me that what we were doing had less to do with love and more to do with life. After all we'd been through, after the news we'd gotten and the future we knew was coming, we needed a reminder that we were both alive. That everything we were doing was to ensure that we had a future together. The pleasure that raced along my nerves held a desperate edge, and I dug my nails into his shoulders, wishing I could feel his skin against mine as I chased after my climax.
The release would be a momentary distraction, but a necessary one, an affirmation of what Gracen said the first night we'd arrived. That I was here for a reason, and that reason was him, us.
Everything else would take care of itself.
Chapter 21
Most people don't realize how much routine and monotony are involved in serving in the military. During my six years in the army, I'd seen people who'd enlisted for dozens of different reasons, but the soldiers who always had the most difficult time adjusting to military life were the ones who joined because they thought it'd be like the movies. Big, exciting battles with lots of heroics. Not that those didn't exist, but what movies rarely showed were the long stretches of time spent following a strict schedule while nothing out of the ordinary occurred.
As September gave way to October, despite the skirmishes, things had more or less settled in the Continental camp. Washington had Gracen reviewing reports, talking with other commanders, and going through drills with the other soldiers, which meant that despite things not being chaotic, my husband and I barely had time to talk about things in general, much less continue our discussion about what to do with the knowledge I had of the future.
By the time the second week in October was nearing its end, however, I knew I had to say something. We'd been in a lull between events I knew, but the coming months would be crucial, and I couldn't risk our presence here disrupting how things originally took place.
So when Gracen came into our tent, instead of us making small talk about the events of the day, I gave him his supper, took my own, and sat down next to him.
“We need to talk about what's coming–”
Gracen shook his head, cutting me off. “I do not want to do this.”
“We have to,” I insisted. “If something happens to me, you need to make sure that history stays on track. We can't have you accidentally giving advice to Washington that could change his original choices.”
“What if I said I would prefer not to know what will happen? Nothing beyond what I know now. For you, it is history, but for me, it is the future. A future that has already been written.”
I took his hands in my own, running my thumbs over his knuckles. “I’m sorry. I hadn't thought about how me knowing all of this would make you feel.” Another few moments of silence passed before I spoke again, “You know things will turn out alright, right?”
“I believe everything you have told me,” he said. “And therein lies the problem. I cannot discount your knowledge, which makes me feel as if the choices I have made were not of my own free will, but rather something that has already been determined for me.”
I'd never been a religious person, but I knew that a lot of Christian theology dealt with the issue of free will and destiny. Personally, the idea of predetermined choices had always freaked me out, so I understood why this was bothering Gracen. I'd just never realized that my past being his future would look that way to him.
“But it is more than that,” he continued. “Planning for a future where you are not a part of it...I cannot help but wonder if there is something you know but will not tell me.”
He pulled me close, and I could hear his heartbeat where my head lay on his chest.
“My personal future is just as blank to me as yours. As far as I know, neither one of us ever make the history books.” I put as much confidence into my words as I could muster. “And I plan on leading a long, unremarkable life with you, Gracen Lightwood.”
“Good.” He kissed the top of my head, his arms tightening around me.
I stayed in his embrace for a while, wishing we didn't have to return to the conversation. But, I knew, we had to do it. I couldn't allow the future of the world to become unraveled just because I didn't want to force the issue.
Especially since something significant was only four days away.
“On October sixteenth, a battle will begin.”
Gracen sighed and released me. I straightened, resisting the temptation to lose myself in him. This was too important.
“You truly believe we need to record all of this,” he said.
“I do.”
After a moment, he nodded. “I need ink and paper.”
I took the time he needed to gather things together to collect my thoughts and sort out what points were the most important. By the time he sat back down, I was ready.
“The British will take back New York City,” I said, blowing out a deep breath. “It'll start in a few days, and by the twenty-first, we'll all be heading to White Plains. Washington will split the army into separate divisions to try to keep Manhattan, but it won't work.” I paused to let Gracen write down what I said before continuing, “Things will get bad for Washington. He'll have soldiers deserting their posts, officers complaining.”
Gracen looked up at me. “And I should not warn Washington of this?”
I shook my head. “We can't have him changing commanders or trying a different approach. History is too fragile. If Washington replaces an incompetent officer with someone like Alexander Hamilton, and Hamilton is killed, there's a ripple effect that will change everything.”
“Ripple effect?”
“Think of what happens when you throw a pebble into water.” I pulled pins out of my hair so that it tumbled down around my shoulders. “At first, it makes a very small change in the surface of the water, but it doesn't stop with the place where the pebble when in. The ripples spread out across the water, affecting bigger and bigger areas.”
“So if Hamilton is killed...?”
“The structure of the government set down in the Constitution would most likely change because Hamilton won't be there to write the majority of the Federalist Papers defending the Constitution against those who wanted to throw it out and write something new.” My stomach churned at the thought of how one simple change could have the potential to destroy everything. “The country's financial system wouldn't be the same because Hamilton established it. And Aaron Burr might become the third President instead of Thomas Jefferson because Hamilton's support of Jefferson went a long way in helping Jefferson win the election.”
My husband looked stunned, but I wasn't done yet.
“And that's just the first ripple. Who knows what any of that would change about the future. It could mean the weakening of the country to the point where Britain takes it back. Or maybe the French take over. The line of presidents could change so that Abraham Lincoln doesn't get elected and slavery is never outlawed. Or the South seceded from the Union without a fight. And that's still all before the twentieth century where America plays a huge role in taking down dictators and stopping genocides. We're not perfect, but we do a lot of good.”
Gracen touched my arm. “You have made your point. I will write down what you tell me, and if need be, advise Washington only in ways that will follow the original history.”
Relief flooded through me. I wasn't planning on going anywhere, and I'd do my best to avoid getting killed, but even if Gracen didn't want to admit it, we both knew that we had only so much control. If I was kil
led, or returned to my own time, he needed to know what to do or not do so that the timeline would be preserved.
“What happens next?”
“The British take back New York before the end of the month,” I said. “General Cornwallis chases the Continental Army across the Delaware where they wait for reinforcements. It will be cold and miserable, but far from the worst winter of the war.”
Gracen wrote all of it down, then looked at me, waiting for what came next.
Chapter 22
The war was giving me a firsthand account of the difference between knowing that something occurred and actually experiencing it. Even with the role we'd played so far as spies, it had still felt more like a dream than reality.
Until the Battle of White Plains began.
Telling Gracen all of the important dates and details I could remember had taken a good portion of the time we'd had before Washington ordered the army to move. We finished up with what I remembered about the end of the war and the first few years of the country establishing itself in bits and pieces as the army retreated from Manhattan.
To my relief, Washington hadn't sent Gracen away to fight with the divisions that were supposed to try to hold on to the island but had instead kept the two of us close. I helped out in the medical tent, doing my best with the tools available, while Gracen did whatever Washington assigned. It was exhausting work, stretching us both to our limits as we traveled across the river, finally setting up camp to the west of where we'd been before.
Just because we weren't still on the move, however, didn't mean we weren't still busy. As events unfolded the way I predicted they would, Gracen and I could only watch Washington fume over every loss, every inch given back to the British. When talking about keeping history intact, I'd seen things only in generalities, the big picture. Even when thinking about the people who died, I always focused on the people who had originally lived. Now, though, I was seeing the actual people my foreknowledge could have saved.
The thirty-year-old farmer with a wife and four children back home who died in agony from a stomach shot.
The teenager whose voice had barely changed, and thanks to a Redcoat bayonet, would never get any older.
The young man who'd begged me to return his wedding ring to his wife after an infection from an amputated leg spread into his blood.
Their faces haunted me even though I knew they had died in my original history. Hell, I probably couldn't have saved any of them in my own time period. There were those I could save, however, ones who probably would have died if I hadn't been there. Knowing that was the only thing that kept me from spiraling down into a depression over what I couldn't change.
Needless to say, the Christmas spirit wasn't at the front of anyone's minds even though it was almost that time of the year. It didn't help that I knew this was the year of the infamous crossing of the Delaware for a Christmas attack.
The Battle of Trenton was the result.
On Christmas Eve, Washington shared his plan with Gracen who then came back to me to confirm it. The boats had been brought down from Malta Island, and Washington had everything all planned out.
He also sent Gracen back with an invitation to dine with the other officers and advisors the next day, but Gracen declined without me needing to tell him that I didn't want to go. With everything coming, we doubted we'd have much alone time together for a while. Washington smiled and said that he understood. We wouldn't need to report to him until late afternoon. We would cross as soon as it was dark enough to conceal our actions.
Neither one of us spoke about our previous Christmas together. It had only been a year, but so much had happened during those twelve months it felt like a lifetime. We'd been in France, in a beautiful mansion with every comfort available...and I'd just found out that I was pregnant. Now, we were outside in a cold, drafty tent, sleeping on a bedroll, knowing that tomorrow would be even colder...and more dangerous.
And I definitely wasn't pregnant.
But we didn't talk about any of that.
We ate a dinner of venison stew, seasoned with the last of the dried vegetables from our stores, and then split an orange that one of the officers had sold to Gracen. The silence between us was full of all the things we weren't saying, but it wasn't awkward. We didn't try to force small talk, but just let it all be. We both knew the reasons behind the emotions, and they weren't anything we needed to discuss with each other.
As we stretched out on our bedroll, Gracen raised himself up on his elbow, looking down at me. He traced the outline of my lips with the tip of his finger, sending warmth racing across my skin. I could see the hunger in his eyes, and it matched my own. It had been too long since we'd managed to find any time alone, and it'd always been a quick, frantic fumble, a desperate connection that didn't give us nearly enough time together.
While our tent didn't have the heat or privacy I needed before I'd feel comfortable getting undressed, we could take things a little slower at least. The men had already been in to gather the supplies Washington ordered. Now, while they waited, Gracen and I could have this short time to ourselves.
I slid my hands under his shirt, and he hissed when my cold fingers came in contact with his skin. He didn't, however, pull away. If anything, he leaned into my touch. Without breaking our eye contact, he eased my dress up my legs. His hand was as cold as mine, but it felt good against my fevered flesh.
My eyelids fluttered as his fingers brushed against the curls between my legs. His thumb slipped over slick folds to press against my clit. I moaned, rocking against his hand. I wanted more.
“Look at me.” His voice was low, rough. “Open your eyes, my love.”
I did as he asked, my stomach fluttering at the need and love written on his face. My back arched as he slid two fingers into me, and I clutched at his arms. His mouth covered mine as he curled his fingers, finding that spot inside me. I moaned, my tongue sliding across his as he used his hand to coax me into a climax.
He murmured soft words against my lips as he stroked me through the after effects of my orgasm, and then he moved over me, his hands making short work of the ties holding his breeches closed. I ran my fingers through his hair, smiling up at him as I parted my legs to let him settle more easily.
When he slid into me, we both sighed.
Home.
I rested my heels against the backs of his knees, my fingers laced together behind his neck. While I couldn't wait for us to be at a place where I could feel his skin against mine, where I could see every delicious inch of him, I wasn't going to deny that there was something hot about feeling him moving inside me, above me, all without seeing where we were joined.
The two of us moved slowly against each other, knowing that this would be our last time together for a while. Gracen wanted to draw it out as much as I did, but our bodies could only delay the inevitable so long. He moved harder, faster, and I rose to meet him, needing him to reach deep. Our breathing mingled in gasps and moans that came more quickly as we drew closer to orgasm.
When I finally exploded, Gracen was only moments behind me, my name on his lips. I closed my eyes, wrapping my arms around him as he slumped down on me. I ran my hand over his head, concentrated on the feel of him still inside me, the racing pulse I could feel thudding against my chest. We would soon be in the thick of things again, but right now, I wanted to enjoy this moment of peace with the man I loved. Who knew how long it would be until we'd have another like it.
Chapter 23
My brother had loved to tell the story of how George Washington, in a desperate move, decided to surprise the enemy at Trenton...and it had paid off. While other contingents had been unable to cross, Washington had still scored a huge victory for the colonies and had likely secured himself the presidency along with it.
Of course, Washington knew none of this. He only knew that supplies were low and many of the men's enlistments were up. We'd also had our fair share of deserters even before their time was done, leaving the army not o
nly smaller than we needed it to be, but demoralized. Ennis had told me more than once that one of the reasons this event was so important was that it bolstered the hopes of all the colonists, made them believe that they could do what no other nation had ever done before.
The majority of American students who'd attended a decent school could recognize the famous painting of Washington crossing the Delaware. In it, he's standing at the front of a boat, a determined expression on his face. The artist had depicted Washington with ultimate confidence, but when I saw him, I wondered how much artistic license the artist had taken.
The future President of the United States looked...nervous.
Not that I blamed him. The temperature was dropping, turning the rain that had been falling into sleet, soaking us all no matter how many layers we had wrapped around us. It would snow soon, I knew, and the crossing would be dangerous. I managed, however, to keep my own anxiety under wraps as I approached Washington. Gracen was a few minutes behind me, double-checking to make sure we hadn't left anything important behind, so for the moment, it was just me and the general.
“You can remain here if you wish,” Washington said without looking at me. “No one will think less of you for it.”
“You'll need as many people with medical experience as you can get,” I replied. “Once you get to Trenton, you'll have a fight ahead of you.”
This time, Washington did look at me. “You do not think this endeavor foolish?”
I shook my head. “Not at all. A surprise attack is a good idea. Catching them off guard gives you an advantage.”
“Some of my men believe that it is not an honorable thing to sneak in under cover of darkness.”