Free Now and Forever by Barbara Bretton

beggars couldn't be choosers.
    "We'll learn to adapt," she said, wishing she had a basket to carry her bounty. "We can--" She gasped as the food went flying and she found herself pinned face first against the damp stone wall of the cellar.
    "State your business fast, lass," a man hissed as he held her against the wall, "or I'll slit your pretty throat from ear to ear." He was around her height but triple her strength and she wondered if she'd survived a lightning trip through the centuries only to meet her Maker in a musty root cellar.
    She considered her options, her situation, the incredible happenings of the past twenty-four hours, then she did exactly what a proper 18th century woman would have done in her position: she fainted dead away.

    #

    Andrew McVie was many things but a fool was not among them.
    Ofttimes the enemy appeared in a comely package, designed to cloud a man's vision and lead him astray from the road he was sworn to travel.
    These were dangerous times in which they lived. A wise man withheld his trust until a reason for that trust was offered.
      But when the beautiful lass with the flaming red hair swooned at his feet, caution took second place to gentlemanly concern and he dropped his blade to the ground and sprang to her aid.
    "Aye, you're a tall one," he said as he placed her on the stone bench near the door. Her shoulders were broad, her breasts rounded and full. She was a strapping woman, one a man could easily imagine warming his bed on a cold winter's night but he started in surprise as he realized she wore not the usual maidenly array of skirts, but a pair of black breeches much like his own.
    If he'd seen a donkey walk like a man, he would not have been more surprised.
    What manner of female was this? The cellar was bathed in shadows and he bent down to look more closely at her. No demure mobcap held back her fiery tresses; they cascaded freely about her face.
    His eye was drawn to the hand at her throat and to the king's ransom he found there. On the middle finger of her right hand she wore a heavy ring of braided silver and gold while at her neck, suspended from a fine golden chain, was a most amazing glass globe that seemed to have captured all the colors of the rainbow within its depths. His gaze moved from the rise and fall of her breasts to the amazing display of wealth she carried on her person. He was uncertain which intrigued him more. He frowned as he followed the line of her limbs with his gaze. The black breeches were an affront to her womanliness. Surely she could afford to garb herself in clothing more pleasing to the eye.
    He wondered if the lass might be part of the spy ring but the notion was so absurd he laughed aloud. Who would believe such nonsense? No, she was probably the wife of one of the local fishermen, who had rowed across the inlet looking to steal a few potatoes for her children's supper. Times were difficult and the good woman could not be held accountable for doing what was necessary to keep their bellies filled.
    And yet, this woman looked as if she'd ne'er known hard times.
    He remembered the early days of his marriage to Elspeth when he was struggling with his commitments to family and to his law practice in Boston and how, time after time, Elspeth and their son had suffered for his ambition. He had wanted so many things for them: a fine house and servants so Elspeth could sit by the leaded glass windows and dream away the hours, a farm filled with produce instead of problems, a library stacked with the books necessary for the classical education he was determined his only son would enjoy.
    Cinders now, all of it. Gone in the instant it took an ember from the hearth to ignite the blaze that had destroyed everything Andrew held dear while he pursued the almighty shilling.
    Strange that the sight of this strapping woman should call to mind memories of his wife. Elspeth had been as delicate as a budding rose, but that fragile beauty had hidden a strength he had