Over time, Bruce had gotten better – or I'd gotten used to his technique – and I'd filed my childhood dream of a perfect first kiss alongside things that I'd learned were just fantasies. Like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.
I'd also put time travel on that list, and now that I'd experienced both time travel and an amazing kiss, I was beginning to think that anything was possible.
Maybe Dye had been right after all. Maybe I was here for a reason.
Maybe staying was what I was meant to do all along.
I spent the rest of the day in a bit of a daze, my mind constantly wanting to return to that kiss, to remember the way Gracen's lips had felt against mine. I was next to useless, taking longer than usual to finish my tasks, often earning dirty looks from the other servants, or insults from Titus, but I didn't take any of it to heart. I was too busy thinking about what this all meant. If it meant anything at all.
After lunch, Dye found me in the dining room, cleaning up by myself. I was so busy daydreaming that I didn’t notice her until she was standing right next to me, a frown on her face.
“You be a fool,” she said, her voice low, but her words sharp.
“Pardon me?”
“You want Master Roston to send you away?” she asked, an eyebrow raised.
It was on the tip of my tongue to say that I actually did want Roston to send me away, but only if it meant I could go home...or that Gracen was going with me.
“You been workin' slower than molasses today.”
“I didn't sleep much last night,” I said. That was, at least, true.
Dye, however, didn't seem to believe that fatigue was my only reasoning. She watched me work for a few seconds before clicking her tongue and shaking her head.
“You better get what’s on yo’ mind off it, and soon,” Dye said. “Titus ain’t happy, and you can be sure he'll tell Master Roston.”
I turned toward her, giving her one of my own frowns. “Since when have you become my keeper?”
She clicked her tongue again. “You ain’t from here, Honor,” she reminded me. “You’s a long ways from home, and this place ain't so kind to strangers nowadays. Master Roston wants you out, you gonna be in a spot o' danger.”
I stiffened. “I can handle myself.”
“Maybe,” she nodded, “but when they find out who you really be, they ain’t gonna be friendly.”
“I’m not a rebel,” I murmured.
She gave me a hard look before speaking. “I know. You’s so much more. I can see that, and you betcha they will too.”
Dye reached down to take the plates I'd collected and walked out of the dining room as I tried to make sense of what she had just said.
By the time evening rolled in, I managed to get myself back on track, picking up my pace while simultaneously trying my best to keep a low profile. It hadn't only been Dye's warning either. I'd bumped into Titus a couple times, and by the second time, I'd gotten a sinking feeling that he was keeping a closer eye on me than usual. Definitely motivation.
I left the study for last, knowing that Roston usually spent most of the day in there, and I was in no mood to interact with the man in any way, let alone hear more Loyalist rhetoric. Besides, if Titus had talked to Roston as Dye had warned me he would, then avoiding him was the better choice.
I opened the study door, then stopped when I saw Roston's back. In front of him sat Gracen, a scowl on his face. His eyes met mine for a split second before they quickly returned to his father. Despite how quick it was, Roston noticed and glared at me for a moment before dismissing me completely.
Apparently, I'd interrupted something important.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll come back later.”
Roston turned away as if he hadn't heard me, and I backed out of the study, closing the door behind me. I was already starting to walk away when Roston's booming voice came through the thick oak.
“You are being fool hearty!”
I stopped, curiosity getting the best of me. I moved closer to the door but kept my eyes facing forward. I wasn't stupid enough to eavesdrop without keeping an eye out, but I also wasn't about to walk away.
“On the contrary, Father,” Gracen's voice was clipped, tight, “I believe I am being quite reasonable.”
“You are an Englishman,” Roston bellowed. “You cannot have conflicting loyalties. I won’t allow it!”
“I do not have conflicting loyalties,” Gracen countered. “And you do not need to remind me of my heritage.”
“It seems that I do,” Roston snapped. “I cannot believe we are having this conversation.”
“Then why bore yourself?”
“Because you are too stubborn to listen to reason!”
“How is anything you say reasonable?” Gracen raised his voice. “You want me to enlist!”
My heart dropped as a chill ran down my spine. That couldn't happen. Gracen couldn't enlist. Even if he survived the war, he'd go back to England. Thanks to a historical fiction series I'd read a couple years back, I knew how badly the loss had hit England.
“You are a Lightwood!” Roston bellowed, loud enough that I flinched. “We have always been loyal to the Crown and having a son of military age who hasn't enlisted is calling that into question. I will not allow our family name to be besmirched!”
For the first time since I had arrived at the Lightwood estate, I felt like Gracen could be in grave danger, and it took all of my self-control not to burst in and tell Roston that his demands would destroy his family.
Roston’s friends had often discussed with him what they all believed was a harmless uprising that would be quelled within weeks, or at the most, months. They had no idea what the colonists would achieve, especially in Boston, and that most of them would be fleeing to Nova Scotia to escape the war. The ones who didn't would most likely return to England with nothing. For now, however, everyone was looking for an opportunity to bring honor to their family’s name, fight a few battles and return with heroic stories to tell their grandchildren.
Those discussions had obviously gotten to Roston, and now he was willing to risk the life of his only son for glory and honor. I scowled. Bastard.
“I am sorry, Father, but this is one thing I cannot blindly do,” Gracen said. “I have agreed to most everything since my birth. This is different, Father. It’s a matter of what I believe in, and I do not know how I truly feel about all this.”
“What you believe is of no concern to me,” Roston shouted, and I winced at the sound of his fist slamming against something hard. The desk, I assumed. “It is a matter of what is right.”
“And how is any of this right?” Gracen asked. “How can you stand there and honestly tell me that this battle is right?”
“It is that damn girl that you brought with you, is it not?” Roston’s voice suddenly changed, and my heart skipped a beat, wondering just how dangerous it was for me to be standing here. “Since the moment she arrived, you have changed. I never should have let you convince me into hiring that damn colonist!”
“Honor has nothing to do with this,” Gracen said.
“She has a name, does she?” Roston sneered. “Don't think I haven't seen how you look at her.”
“I am engaged!” Gracen shouted. “Which, I may remind you, is also something I gave into despite my beliefs. And it will be the last time I shall do so.”
There was a sudden silence in the study, and I imagined both men staring each other down, neither of them willing to give in. I could only pray that Gracen would continue to stand his ground. The thought of him in a redcoat uniform made me sick.
I needed to find some way to tell him that he was making the right decision, that he needed to stay as far away from the war as humanly possible. I couldn't let him give in to his father's demands. Not about this. I could survive the engagement, but I wasn't sure I could survive it if he died.
Which was ironic, considering a part of me was still trying to figure out how to return to a time when he was al
ready dead.
My mind began to race with all the possible ways I could support his personal rebellion and keep him safe. Somewhere in the middle of it all, a small voice in the back of my head began asking why I'd taken such an interest in his well-being. Deep down, I knew the answer to that, but I still wasn’t ready to admit it to myself, as if acknowledging how deeply I felt about Gracen would solidify the wrong I was doing. He was an engaged man. I was an engaged woman. Even if that wasn’t the case, there was no future in this, no matter how I felt.
“I need you to make up your mind quickly,” Roston Lightwood’s voice was unusually soft and composed. “These skirmishes won’t last for long.”
“I certainly hope not,” came Gracen’s reply, and with that, I knew the discussion had ended.
I heard footsteps, and then...shit! I was standing too close to the door. As quietly as I could, I raced down the hall and turned towards the staircase, making for the second floor where I was sure I could busy myself with one mundane task or another.
Halfway up, I heard the study door open and close. I couldn't resist peeking over the banister to watch Gracen storm down the hall and out of my sight.
Chapter Seventeen
I dreamed that night.
I was standing in a run-down house of sorts with Gracen by my side. I couldn't make out enough of the interior to tell where we were or even when we were. We were dressed differently, and the air was cold against my skin despite the fact we were inside and I was wearing a coat.
In front of us were a man and a woman standing behind a counter, and I knew instinctively that they were the owners of the establishment. The looks on their faces were disturbing, even a little threatening, especially the scowl that the man had directed at me. Now I didn’t know if the chill under my skin was from the look or the cold, but I was extremely uncomfortable.
The woman was talking to Gracen in broken English with what I figured out was a French accent. They were arguing about something I couldn’t quite make out, but that was probably because I couldn't take my eyes off the man who was scowling at me. I felt like I should know him from somewhere, but no matter how hard I tried, I wasn't able to place him.
Suddenly, the woman started yelling in French, waving us away. I looked at Gracen, and for the first time, I realized how worn he appeared, a man who had seen and been through more in one lifetime than anyone should. With his hair tied back and dyed, he looked very different from the Gracen I knew, barely recognizable.
Still, I knew him, and I knew then that I'd recognize him anywhere. It had little to do with how he looked and everything to do with the way I felt. In that moment, a small burst of inspiration made me wonder if it might have been Gracen who pulled me through time, if this inexplicable connection we had, whatever this was, had been so strong, so powerful, that it broke through space and time itself.
Then the woman's voice rose, joined by the gruff voice of the man next to her, both bellowing in incomprehensible French, and the moment was gone. Despite the tension filling the air, Gracen kept his cool. His eyes briefly shifted to me, as if making sure I was still there, before returning to the couple in front of us.
After another minute, he started talking, and no matter what I did, I couldn’t say a word. Now, it was as if I was watching the whole thing through the eyes of a stranger, unable to take part in what was happening. I clenched my fists, fought against my inability to speak, but none of it did any good.
As the shouting faded away, Gracen grabbed my arm, pulling me away as we walked toward the establishment’s door. I could see the snow through the windows now, the quick shapes of pedestrians outside as they fought through the cold on their way to their destinations. Wherever and whenever we were, it was winter.
The man shouted something else behind us, and then Gracen's hand was gone. I turned to see him running back toward the man. Before I could understand what he was planning to do, his fist connected with the man's jaw. I tried to scream as Gracen followed the man to the ground, throwing punch after punch, but no sound came out. I tried to run to where they were, but my legs were like lead, my movement forced as if I were trudging through quicksand. All I could do was watch...
I woke with a start, sweat pouring off me, my breath coming in gasps. The room was dark, the night moonless. Instinctively, I reached to the left where my lamp should be, but nothing was there. Mind still muddled with sleep, I reached up to touch the underside of the top bunk. Again, nothing was there.
It came rushing back all at once. The car wreck. Waking up in the past with a stranger watching me.
Gracen.
I closed my eyes again and tried to focus on slowing my breathing. Gradually, my heart resumed its normal rhythm even as quick and sporadic images of my dream flashed through my mind. My entire body shuddered, and as I closed my eyes, I prayed for a dreamless sleep. Just a few hours of uninterrupted, dreamless sleep. That's all I wanted.
“Clara! My dear!” Roston's voice boomed through the house as he greeted his future daughter-in-law. “How wonderful to see you again.”
I'd been sent to fetch water, but lingered near the door instead. I'd never considered myself a masochist until now. I knew, despite my daydreaming, that nothing would happen between Gracen and I. I'd given in to my weakness and stayed, but now, knowing that Gracen's beautiful – and appropriate – fiancée was one room over, I had to admit to myself that our kiss was a mistake.
No matter how much it hurt.
“Mr. Lightwood, I thank you so much for inviting me over.”
I hadn't heard Clara speak until now, and the sound of it grated on my nerves. I told myself that my dislike was unfounded, that it was the result of jealousy, not of any real reasoning. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that, should she wish it, Clara could succeed where Roston had failed. And I couldn't let that happen.
Even as Clara and Roston continued their small talk, I forced myself out into the scorching summer heat to do as I'd been told. If I wanted to keep Gracen on the right side of this war, I needed to stay, and to do that, I couldn't shirk my duties.
A small voice in the back of my mind asked when I was going to start worrying about getting home, but I reminded myself that I didn't have any control over what happened. Technically, I didn't even know what had happened. It wasn't like the time travel stories I'd read or watched where there was a specific place or person or technology that could be pinpointed as the method of travel, even if it wasn't understood. I'd been in a car accident on a highway outside of Boston. I highly doubted I was the first person to fit that criteria.
I was still thinking about statistics and probabilities when I came back into the kitchen with my water.
“Careful, Honor. Titus, he’s got his eyes on you,” Dye said as I set the buckets of water in a corner. “You best be keepin’ to yourself today.”
“He’d best be staying out of my way,” I replied, surprising myself with how sharp my words were.
Dye raised an eyebrow and shook her head. I caught a hint of a smile on her face as she leaned closer to me.
“I knows where your loyalty is,” she whispered. “It'd be best for you if you found yourself a place with the rebels.”
“Believe me, they don’t need me,” I answered, keeping my voice low.
“I seen you outside the Master’s study last night,” she continued.
Shit.
She knew I was, at the very least, a sympathizer, and now she knew I'd been eavesdropping. If she put those two together, Roston could have me arrested as a spy.
Hell, there was no could about it. If Roston had the slightest idea that I wasn't who I said I was, he'd have me turned over to the British in a heartbeat.
“I was waiting for them to finish so I could clean the study,” I explained, slowly turning to look at her. The expression on her face said she didn’t believe a word I said.
“You be careful,” she said, acting like she had heard nothing of the nonsensical explanation I’d just given her.
“Titus be a snake of a man. He think you spyin' on folks, he make your life hell.”
I smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
She gave me a sideways look and shook her head. “You do that. Now, you supposed to ask if Master Gracen and his lady friend want somethin' to drink.”
I frowned at the assignment but didn't argue. Dye already suspected that I wasn't who I said I was. If she figured out that I had feelings for Gracen, I knew she wouldn't approve.
I found Gracen and Clara outside on the porch that overlooked the garden. Clara sat on the flowered bench, looking like a porcelain doll in her filmy blue dress, while Gracen stood at the railing, looking out across the carefully manicured paths and blooming flowers.
I paused in the doorway, making myself see the scene objectively, to see Clara as she was and not as I wanted her to be. She was a little older than I knew most unmarried women were, though not quite my age. I was pretty sure that I rated close to being an old maid in the eyes of eighteenth-century society.
She was watching him, and I saw it clearly then, that she wanted him. I couldn't tell if it was love for him, or for his position, but it didn't matter. He'd made her a promise, and when he kissed me, he violated that promise. I violated that promise. I didn't know if it was because I hadn't had more than a quick glance at her, or if I was just that awful of a person, but I hadn't truly thought about the hurt that kiss would cause.
I was a horrible person.
I knew how much it'd hurt me in the past when Bruce had been with other women, even though it was before things were official between us. I suspected he hadn't been faithful afterward either. Now, I was that other woman, and even if all Gracen and I had shared was a kiss, it was wrong.
Guilt washed over me, and I turned around to leave the two of them undisturbed.
“He doesn’t understand, Clara.” Gracen's words stopped me before I'd gone more than a few steps.