Free Somewhere in Time (The Crosse Harbor Time Travel Trilogy) by Barbara Bretton Page B

flat New England.
    Would you believe a big red balloon? Withholding that particular nugget of information seemed the better part of valor. "Begging your pardon, sir, but I--I find myself in most difficult circumstances." She was horrified to find legitimate tears welling up in her eyes.
    And elated to see the effect those tears had on this rugged-looking man.
    "Aye, now none of that," he said, his voice gruff.
    "Begging your pardon, sir," she said, dabbing at her eyes. He handed her a rough square of cambric with the initial A in the corner. "Thanks."
    Instantly she wished she had chosen her words with more care.
    He looked at her, his thick, bushy eyebrows rising. "Thanks," he repeated. "What manner of speech is that?"
    "It's our family way," she said, stumbling badly over her white lie. "I give thanks to you."
    He nodded, outwardly accepting her explanation, but she had the feeling the warning bells were going off inside his head. Watch yourself, Crosse! This isn't a man easily tricked. She blessed her lifelong interest in the methods and mores of colonial America and prayed they'd be sufficient to see her through.
    "Your most difficult circumstances--?" he prodded.
    I knew you'd come back to that. "My...my companion and I were partaking of a leisurely boating ride when a most unexpected storm swept us decidedly off-course and onto your shores."
    That flinty look reappeared in his hazel eyes. "And when did this aberration of nature occur?"
    His word choice belied his rough-hewn appearance. The man was educated. This would be even more challenging than she had feared. "Before the noon hour," she said, praying her own word choices wouldn't give her away.
    "I see no evidence of a companion," he said, reminding himself that beauty and veracity did not always walk hand-in-hand.
    "He is inside the lighthouse," she said. "I fear he has a broken arm among other injuries."
    He looked more closely at her. "Have you taken a full accounting of your own?"
    She waved her hand and she noted the way his gaze followed the glitter of gold and silver. "They do not matter."
    "Would this man be your husband then?"
    "My friend," she said simply. "He has lost a great deal of blood, sir, and I--" Her voice caught and she lowered her gaze but not before he saw the shimmer of tears.
    "Take me to your friend, lass. I have not the skills of a doctor, but I can offer some assistance." He smiled and his raw-boned face was transformed. "'Twould be useful if I knew your Christian name."
    "Emilie," she said, returning his smile. "Emilie Crosse." The name meant nothing to him but it would be a few years yet before her family helped to build the town that would one day bear their name.
    "'Tis odd circumstances under which we meet, Mistress Emilie."
    "You have me at a disadvantage, sir." This is fun, she thought, like dancing a minuet with words instead of steps.
    "Andrew," he said. "Andrew McVie." He reached for her. "Mistress Emilie, are you feeling faint?"
    Mistress Emilie was just plain blown away.
    Andrew McVie!
    The man whose name had been on the lips of every Crosse Harbor school kid for the past two hundred years--the most wanted rebel of them all--was standing right there in front of her! Was it only last night that she had recounted McVie's story to Zane, glorying in the tale of courage and patriotism?
    "It has been a long and difficult morning," she said at last, accepting McVie's hand as she rose to her feet. "I pray you will disregard my momentary weakness."
    "Weakness in the fair sex is a most agreeable trait."
    "Strength is more agreeable, no matter the sex," she returned. How disappointing it would be to discover her childhood hero was a male chauvinist pig. "Don't you agree?"
    "Take me to your companion," he said, ushering her toward the stairs that led out from the root cellar. "A broken arm left untended can rob a man of his ability to earn a living."
    You don't know the half of it, thought Emilie as she climbed the steps, wincing at the