Several hours passed by before the carriage came to a halt.  Sara and Grissom were both jolted awake, jumping from the abruptness —the accident still fresh in their minds.

            Grissom quickly checked on the injured woman still asleep on the seat across from him and Sara.  Swiftly furrowing into a frown, his normal mask of detachment disappeared upon his touching her forehead.  At Grissom's reaction, worry etched Sara's face.  Fever was a largely mitigating factor of deaths in this time period due to infection.  She herself was not feeling all that great.

            The door was roughly opened by the driver and the gentleman, both moving a little too quickly for Grissom's liking. He gave them a warning look and directed, "Take her carefully.  She's feverish."

            Upon her removal, Grissom jumped down and offered his hand to Sara to help her out of the carriage.  Her steps were faulty and she tripped while trying to exit, tumbling into Grissom's waiting arms.  Her gaunt appearance was not lost on him.  Bending down swiftly, he picked her up, cradling her to his chest protectively.  Her strength completely vanishing, all she could do was to pull her arm to her own chest, and snuggled as close as she could to him.

            With the help of a footman, he was ushered into the house and up the stairs to a second level.  He surmised that instructions had already been given to their care as they were shown to a guest bedroom.  If he hadn't been so concerned for Sara, he may have realized how lavish and magnificent the room appeared.

            By the time he was able to lay her down on top of the duvet, she was completely out.  His worry increased painfully, like a vise wound tightly around his heart.  He'd assumed that Sara was okay at the accident site and so took care of the other woman.  He hadn't been overly concerned about Sara's condition, until now.

            After arranging her carefully, he began to check systematically for her injuries.  First he felt her extremities for any possible wounds then he moved on to check her pulse and breathing.  Finally, he turned her head and saw the three-inch gash on the back of it —the blood having already dried.  All but the gash seemed fine.

            He'd heard some quiet directions being given from outside the doorway.  A doctor was sent for as well as some refreshments.  His relief drained him to exhaustion.  Even though they were one hundred years in the past, he knew the upper class had access to higher level of medical care.

            Settling on the bed, he glanced over Sara's face as the serenity of sleep masked her pain.  He exhaled on a sigh, running a hand through his curls and down the back of his neck.  The fact she was sleeping lent him a confidence he didn't normally feel around her and he allowed himself some freedom from it.  His left hand grasped hers while he reached up with his other to trail a finger down her cheek then to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear only to return to her cheek.  Cupping it gently, he felt her warmth seep into his palm.

            He had a perfect view of her face, his frown of worry now fading into a small smile.  For once he could allow himself the pleasure of studying it, memorizing its every feature.  His hand trailed down her slender neck.

            The quiet entry of the doctor broke his spell of enchantment. Grissom reluctantly rose and stepped away from the bed as the doctor came closer, setting his bag on the night stand.

            The conversation between them was direct and to the point.  He watched attentively while the doctor examined her, quite like he had done earlier.  The doctor's quiet but efficient manner gave Grissom assurance of his competency.

            After a few moments, the doctor motioned with a nod toward the door and they stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind them.  The doctor's deep voice broke into the silence of the hallway, "Your wife is just sleeping, although deeply —exhaustion the major factor.  The injury on her head has caused a concussion, but with rest for several days, she should be fine.  There will be some aches and pains from the wound and from the bruising; therefore I left a vial of laudanum to help her rest."

            "Thank you.  I'm grateful for your attention to her.  Is the other woman all right?"

            The doctor frowned for a moment.  "If you hadn't stopped her bleeding, she'd be dead now.  You took appropriate action that I would say led to her life being saved.  I'm sure Lord Wentworth is grateful to you for your help.  The Countess Wentworth will do fine with extended rest, as long as the bandaging is kept dry and clean.  But I'm sure you already you know this.  I'll stop in again tomorrow to check on them both."  With that, he nodded and left.

            Grissom stared after the quiet mannered man then turned to stare at the bedroom door.  He wasn't sure about the etiquette in this situation.  Hell, he wasn't sure about anything in this time.  If he understood the doctor correctly, then the gentleman was titled, Lord Wentworth and his mother, the Countess.

            Should he remain with Sara or seek out their… what should he call him?  Host?  Benefactor?  He sighed.  What he really wanted was to just go back to Sara but something nagged inside his mind that he should probably find this Lord Wentworth and speak with him.  He couldn't fail to notice that the one more knowledgeable in this area was the one person lying quietly, sleeping not more than ten feet away.  With a heavy sigh, he turned on his heel and headed for the stairs.

            He was led into the Study by whom he considered to be the butler.  The Lord, who'd been sitting behind the desk at the far end of the room, stood hastily and walked around it to greet Grissom.  It had been a long day and Lord Wentworth had divested himself of his jacket and tie —the dishevelment lending him a very grief-stricken appearance.  "Are you quite all right, Dr. Grissom?"

            They each grasped the other's hands, giving a brisk shake before Lord Wentworth motioned for Grissom to take a seat in the wingback chair.  "I believe I am all right. Just a bit tired.  I wanted to check with you on arrangements for myself and my… wife.  Is there perhaps an establishment nearby we would be able to rent a room?"

            "Oh, no, Dr. Grissom, please be assured.  You are welcome to stay here as long as necessary.  Out of gratitude for your help and attention to my mother, I would be honored if you were to stay here as my guests and allow me to return the kindness to you and your wife.  And in this case, I must insist."

            Again, not sure of what was expected of him, Grissom nodded in agreement.  The two gentlemen shook hands then Lord Wentworth asked, "Is there anything you or your wife need?  I understand that neither you nor your wife had any baggage on the carriage."

            Grissom sat back in his chair, prepared to tell him the story that he and Sara concocted.  He didn't like lying to his benefactor and although the circumstances warranted it, he hesitated in the retelling.  "We were accosted on our way to London.  Our baggage and monies were taken.  The only thing left was one case which was overlooked.  Thankfully, since it contained all of my wife's jewels.  We had exchanged a few of them to obtain a room for the night and then the carriage.  I was advised to exchange the others upon arrival in London."

            "It would seem that the two of you weren't shown the best of English hospitality.  I will have to redeem my country's reputation then.  You've set me a challenge."  Lord Wentworth smiled.

            Grissom smiled in kind then asked, "When Sara, my wife, has recovered a bit, I would like to get her some other items of clothing to wear, and of course, some for myself as well.  Would you mind pointing us in the right direction?"

            "It would be my privilege to do so.  If you wouldn't mind, I would also like to pick your brain about a few experiments I have been performing."  Lord Wentworth spoke as he poured an amber colored liquid into a couple of snifters.  Grissom guessed the liquid to be brandy.  He handed one to Grissom before taking his seat again.  "I dabble a bit in science.  My obsession since I was a boy has been in insects.  Do you have much knowledge with the species?"

            Grissom nearly choked on the swig of brandy he'd been taking.  What luck for he and Sara to be holed up with a man of science.  But he'd have to remember not to say too much.  They were after all in the past, over one hundred years in the past.  "I know a little."

            "Good, good.  Perhaps with your help, we two can figure out what I'm doing wrong," his voice fading slightly as his attention seemed to be drawn to the door.  "Yes, Billings.  What is it?"

            "M'lord, Dr. Grissom's wife has awakened and was looking for him," Billings explained.

            Grissom stood hurriedly.  Thrilled to hear that Sara was awake, he forgot in his haste to thank Lord Wentworth for the brandy as he left the room.  If he'd turned back to look at the man, he'd have seen a knowing smile on his face.

            Blinking slowly, Sara turned to look at the time on her alarm clock.  It was dark outside and she began to think she was late for work.  Her eyes weren't focusing well and she winced from the pain in her head… and her shoulder and her hip and her chest.  She felt like she'd gotten hit by a Mac truck.  She tried again to see the time but soon realized that her alarm clock wasn't on her night stand.  And the night stand wasn't hers either.  She turned again to take in the room, and once again winced at the pain the movement caused.  A fire was blazing in the fireplace and the bed was huge.  The curtains were closed but no light seeped in through the cracks.

            Remembering the last few days, she sighed then tried to sit up, groaning audibly with pain.  Her eyes darted around the room in search of Grissom but he was nowhere to be seen.  She tentatively placed her feet on the floor, unsteadily standing on them.  Holding onto one of the posts of the bed, she let her mind find its equilibrium before taking a shaky step to the door.  When she opened it, a soft gasp greeted her.  A woman was sitting across the hallway, facing her room.  She'd looked up at Sara then dropped the item she'd been holding in her lap to the floor as she stood.

            The woman approached and put her arm under Sara's to steady her.  "You really shouldn't be up, Mrs. Grissom.  You've had a very bad accident and you're hurt."

            If Sara's head hadn't hurt so much she would have snapped it up in reaction to what the woman had called her.  It was strange hearing it on another person's lips, as if it were true.

            "Now, let's just get you back into bed and I'll go find your husband for you."  The woman was only being kind, but Sara wanted so badly to stuff a sock in her mouth.  The sweetness of her tone was too nauseating.  She wasn't helpless yet the woman acted as if she were.  What did she think?  That she couldn't move without her husband's help?  The realization of where she was and who was talking dawned on her.  She bit her tongue and settled back into the bed, this time under the covers that the woman had pulled down for her.

            After she was settled, the woman left, promising to fetch Dr. Grissom for her.  She'd never imagined what it would be like to be called Mrs. Grissom but she knew now that she could get used to it.  The pain in her head became a steady throbbing and she wished for more than anything to have a couple of ibuprofen or even just plain aspirin to stop it.  She reached up to feel the area where the center of the pain came from.  When she touched it, she could also feel the encrusted blood on her hair around he wound.  She began then to wonder what she must look like.   Her appearance, not normally important to her, was now a concern.  Maybe that's why the woman seemed to think I wasn't capable of walking.  Do I really look that bad?

            She had no more time to consider that thought as the door opened and an out-of-breath Grissom spilled into the room.  She wondered what the urgency was.

            "You're… awake," he rasped between breaths.  Sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand clasped hers while his eyes roamed over her face.  "How are you feeling?"

            "A little shaky and my head hurts.  Why are you breathing so hard?  Were you in a hurry?"  She couldn't help but be confused and it grew in intensity when she saw the concern in Grissom's face turn into a smile.

            "Yes, I was in a hurry.  You passed out in my arms.  I was a little worried about you."  Grissom's voice held an edge of exasperation in it.

            "Oh.  You were worried, about me?"  Sara was astonished.

            "Of course I was worried.  You were pale, there was blood on my hand from the back of your head and you passed out.  Why don't you think I'd be worried?" he asked.  It wasn't a rhetorical question but Sara didn't know how to answer it.  She just shrugged and dropped her head, not meeting his gaze.

            "Sara?"  She felt his finger under her chin. "I've never been that worried for anyone before.  You frightened me."  His voice was low, almost a whisper.  She looked up to see his eyes shining with brilliancy, glinting with the flickering light from the fireplace.

            "I'm okay, Grissom.  Really."  She reached up a hand to his cheek, cradling it tenderly.  His free hand covered hers and held it to his face then turned and placed a kiss into her palm.  Shivers coursed through her body and she trembled from the sensation.  He pulled her forward, hugging her gently.  At first the sensation was overwhelming her but she soon found the warmth of his embrace soothing.  They held each other for a moment then he released her gently, laying her back against the pillows.

            Grissom cleared his throat then asked, "Your head is hurting?  Is it bad, do you want something for it?"

            Her eyes grew large.  "You wouldn't happen to have some ibuprofen on you?"

            He shook his head with a grimace.  "No, sorry, I don't.  The doctor who examined you earlier left some laudanum for you to take.  It should take the edge off so that you can sleep through the night."

            "No, I don't want to take that.  I feel fuzzy enough as it is."  She could deal with the pain.  She had to keep her wits about her though, especially with Grissom so near all the time now.

            "Are you sure?  You wouldn't have to take very much."  He'd asked her with such care in his voice.  She began to wonder if she wasn't already in some drug induced state.

            "No, it's all right.  But if you're worried about me going to sleep, I would sleep better if you'd lie down with me."  Yep, that's it.  I'm in some kind of drug induced state.  Where did I come up with that?  She mentally shook herself for her lack of control.  She was drawn out of her haze when Grissom's lips turned up into a smile.

            He gave her hand a quick squeeze before he stood.  He hesitated a moment as his gaze wavered on the fireplace, the only light in the room.  Striding toward it, he stooped over for one of the stokers then started to work on the embers.  The flames shot up with urgency, licking up to the ceiling of the cavern that held it contained.  She watched him, her eyes droopy with fatigue and he must have sensed her weariness for he glanced at her quickly before putting the stoker in its place by the grate.    Shuffling to the other side of the bed, he kicked off his shoes then turned back the covers while Sara slid further under them.  She waited while he finished undressing down to his boxers and t-shirt.  When he climbed into bed, she turned on her side and curled up next to him.  He gathered her close, melding her body to his side.

            She hadn't lied.  Falling asleep in his arms was easy.  A few heartbeats and breaths away, she drifted off into a deep slumber, her mind swirling with dreams of romantic rendez-vous, of horse-drawn carriages and candle-lit interludes.