III
"Oh, my!"
He had been discovered. That was what all the exclaiming was about.
"Who are you? How did you get in here?"
Two of the largest blue eyes he had ever seen peered down at him, and for a moment Jason forgot how to breathe.
"Well? Who are you? What business do you have here?"
It was Elizabeth.
Plain and simple, it was Elizabeth. She was wearing a thin, pale blue dress and had her dark hair pinned up under a white bonnet, and she was staring down at him and asking him the same questions he should have been asking her.
"Elizabeth?"
Great, now he knew this had to be a joke. Oh, he had to hand it to Spinelli, this was a good one. Damn kid actually had him going – he'd actually thought that he had traveled back in time to revolutionary times. Maybe next time he wouldn't hassle the kid so much about his goofy inventions.
What was he saying? Of course he would.
"Elizabeth, what are you doing here?"
She drew back in horror. "How do you know my name?"
"You can stop now," he told her gruffly. "I know you're upset with me and I deserve it, but you can stop now. Spinelli? Spinelli, get out here, it's over."
She looked around nervously. "Who are you talking to? Who are you?"
He gaped up at her. "Elizabeth, it's me – Jason."
Her brows furrowed, and the next thing he knew one of her small, ice-cold hands shot out and clamped over his forehead. He yelped at the freezing contact, prompting her to quickly draw it back. Thinking better of it, she gently grasped his shoulders and leaned down to rest her cheek on his forehead.
"My, you're feverish," she murmured, troubling her lower lip. "And…oh! You're hurt!"
He groaned when he felt her ice cold fingers pull up the fabric of his shirt. "Yeah, Spinelli's damn machine. Part of it must have broken off and sliced my side or something. Damn kid. I should never have let him get his welder's license."
"Yes, yes, it's all Spinelli's fault," she soothed, trying to get a better look at the wound while encouraging him to keep talking. Jason suspected she was humoring him. "Horrid little rascal that he is."
"Why are you talking like that?" He grunted, his hips bucking off the hay, when she probed the sensitive flesh around the wound. "Stop, stop."
She gasped when he reached out and grabbed her hands, holding them between his. "What are you doing? Unhand me, sir!"
"Shut up," he grumbled. "And stop talking like that. Your hands are freezing."
Her lips thinned. "It's the middle of winter, in case you hadn't noticed."
"What are you talking about? It's spring."
"Jason." The word sounded strange on her tongue as she tried to get used to it. She'd never called a man by his given name before, unless he was younger than she. "It is wintertime. I only wish it were spring, and that this war were over, but we're still suffering through winter."
"No one talks like that," he continued to grumble, refusing to let go of her hands as he warmed them between his. "Get that kid out here. This is all his damn fault."
"Jason, there's no one else here," she replied softly, gently pulling one of her hands free and using it to brush his hair back from his forehead. "It's only us."
"At least you're here," he murmured as his eyes started to close. "You know how to take care of me."
"I-I'm afraid I've never treated a wound like this."
"Yeah, you have. You took care of me when I was shot."
Her eyes widened. "You were shot?"
"Yeah," he replied with just a touch of irritation. "I got shot, you found me in the snow, and you took care of me."
"I-I can try to take care of you now," Elizabeth replied. "But Jason, I must explain, we've never met before. I don't know you. I don't know who you think I am, but I'm not her."
His eyes drifted closed. "I know you're mad at me and you have every right to be. But don't tell me that I messed everything up that bad that you don't know me. Elizabeth, I…"
She sighed and pressed her finger to his lips. This man was delirious and wouldn't understand another word she said. "It's all right. I'm just going to clean you off, all right?"
He nodded. "Then tell Spinelli I'm going to kill him."
Elizabeth started to smile, but then something awful occurred to her. "Are you a Tory?"
"Don't want a story," he grumbled. "Just going to sleep."
"No, no." She gripped his shirt, forcing him to open his eyes and look at her. "Are you a Tory? A Redcoat? Are you loyal to King George?"
"Don't have a red coat," Jason sighed. "Only black."
Elizabeth groaned in frustration, and her gaze fell to the cotton shirt he wore. "Oh! It's blue!"
He cracked an eye open. "What's blue?"
"Your shirt," she explained excitedly. "Your shirt is a faded blue. Don't you see? You're a patriot – you can't possibly be a Redcoat. Good thing for me, too. If you were a Redcoat, you'd most likely have killed me after I saved your life."
It was a morbid little joke of hers, but Jason still gaped at her in horror. "Elizabeth…I would never hurt you."
Her lips parted in surprise. "I didn't mean-"
He was actually beginning to tremble, from anger, conviction or the cold, she didn't know. "And I would never let anyone else hurt you, no matter what happened between us."
"Of course," she soothed immediately. "I don't know what I was saying. Just lay back, all right? Just lay back and don't make a sound lest someone hears you. I'll run back to the house and fetch a pail of water and some laudanum for your pain and be right back."
"And tell Spinelli I'm going to kill him."
She gave him a small smile. "…I will."
----------------------
"Fair One, I don't think this is such a good idea."
Elizabeth sighed and dusted off her hands, slowly picking herself up from the floor. The two of them had been tinkering with the machine for the past two hours, and they were just about there. "Look, Spinelli, you sent Jason back to some unknown time period, and someone's gotta try to bring him back. You have to stay here so that you can operate this thing, so it has to be me. Now give me the armband."
He handed over the Velcro armband that would enable him to keep track of where she was through the machine. In retrospect, he probably should have made Jason snap it on before he accidentally dropped his wrench on the control panel.
"Are you sure about this?"
"It's the only thing we can do," she replied simply, stepping into the machine. "Someone's gotta bring him back, Spinelli. He could be hurt or in danger or worse. I need to find him and bring him back. So go ahead, do what you have to."
"Okay, I made a mark where all the dials were so that I wouldn't forget," he replied. "I'll just turn them all back to that spot and…there. Is it working?"
"I don't know," Elizabeth said, looking around when the lights began to flash. "It's doing something. Is it supposed to – oh, my gosh, is that smoke?"
Spinelli coughed as heavy white smoke began to once again fill the penthouse. "Yes, it's – working. Best of luck, Fair One. Uh, Fair One?"
He stared dejectedly at the empty time machine. "…Best of luck."