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  “Amy, please,” he said. “I am safe. I think your dream is just that, a dream and nothing more. It is something you think could happen, certainly not what will happen.”

  She couldn’t tell him that she’d read of his death in a book in the twenty-first century. All it said was that Tristan had been stabbed to death by an unknown assailant in 1797. There were no details. When Amy wished to return to the past she’d said she wanted to go back “three weeks before Tristan was killed.” She’d thought that would give her time to find out who wanted him dead. But so far, she’d found no one who even disliked him.

  She drank more of the wine. That and the warm day, the bees buzzing about them, the beautiful lake before them, and most of all, Tristan near her, were making her relax.

  “Come to me,” he said, and held out his arms to her.

  Amy did the best she could to stiffen her back. She had made it this far in turning down his advances; she couldn’t let fear and exhaustion weaken her.

  “I will not make advances toward you,” he said. “But put your head on my lap and close your eyes. In your dream, you did not see yourself with me, did you? No? Then I am safe when I am with you. Perhaps you should stay with me every second.”

  She couldn’t help smiling, and when he kept his arms extended, she went to him. She put her head on his lap and closed her eyes. Within minutes she was asleep.

  When she awoke, she was lying on the blanket with another one over her. It was near sunset and Tristan was nowhere to be seen. Immediately she sat up, fear in her throat.

  “Ssssh,” he said as he came into view. “I am here.”

  She rubbed her eyes. “How long have I been asleep?”

  “Hours. You needed it. Amy, if you’d—”

  She gave him a hard look that made him laugh.

  “I was about to say that if you stayed in your bed at night you would not need so much sleep in the daytime.”

  “When I know you are safe, then I will sleep.”

  “And when will that be, Amy?” He sat down by her.

  “I don’t know,” she said, but even to her ears, she sounded as though she were lying. When he was safe she’d be taken away from here, away from him.

  “I do not understand any of this,” he said.

  It was warm outside and his coat lay on the edge of the blanket. He had on tight black trousers and a big white shirt. Amy was afraid to look at him. Between the setting and the beauty of the man, she was having trouble concentrating on her being in this time for a reason. The smell of flowers, the setting sun on a blue lake, and warm breezes, did not help her to remember another time and place, another man.

  “Your friends are enjoying themselves,” Tristan said in his deep, beautiful voice. “They have lives here. Your friend Faith has set up an apothecary shop in the old orangery. She tends to a dozen people a day and they have nothing but good to say about her. And Beth has started to spend part of each day with her.”

  He looked at the lake. “And your Zoë…”

  “Don’t tell me,” Amy said. “I hear the whispers in the kitchen. Two of the youngest women want to pull Zoë’s hair out. They wanted Russell for themselves.”

  “Your friend and my painter work together,” Tristan said in a faraway voice. “How I envy them. He was to work on Beth’s portrait, but he has set it aside. I do not have the heart to tell him to get back to work.” He leaned back on his arm, just a few feet from where Amy was sitting upright.

  “Do you know what I did?”

  “What?” she asked, turning toward him, then was intrigued by his half smile.

  “I sneaked into his room to see what he has been doing.”

  “And what did you find out?”

  Tristan drank some wine, then lay back on the blanket, his arms behind his head. “He has been drawing the workmen.”

  “He’s always done that,” Amy said. “I’ve seen him when he thinks no one’s looking.”

  “Ah, but there was something else.”

  “Will you stop teasing me and tell me what you saw?”

  “I think not. It would shock you too much.”

  “Shock me?” Amy said. “Tristan, if you know something bad about Russell, I think you should tell me. Zoë is just a girl and she’s been through some really bad things in her life. I need to protect her.”

  “From Russell?” he asked. “He is a good man.”

  She bent toward him. “You don’t know about these things like I do. I watch Law & Order SVU all the time and people—”

  He was looking at her with curiosity. “You say the most unusual things. Why don’t you tell me what you have seen?”

  “I’m not going to indulge your prurient interests. Now tell me what you know that Russell is doing to Zoë.”

  “What the man is doing to her?”

  “Tristan!” she said.

  “Look in my coat pocket and you will see.”

  She picked up his coat and looked in the two outside pockets but found nothing. In the inside pocket was what felt like a piece of single-ply cardboard. She pulled it out and looked at it. It was a sketch of a muscular man, bending slightly, one leg forward. It was Russell and he was nude and smiling at the artist in a way that left no doubt as to what was in his mind.

  After a moment’s shock, Amy laughed. When Tristan reached for the card, she pulled back. “Oh no you don’t. This is mine!” She set the card on the far side of the blanket, then stretched out beside him, two feet of space between them. “And here I’ve been worried about her.”

  “There were other pictures in his room.”

  “Let me guess. Pictures of Zoë. Starkers.”

  “If you mean nude, yes. She certainly is an attractive young woman.”

  Amy looked up at the sky that was fading in light. “So Faith has William, and Zoë has Russell.”

  “I do hope your Faith does not think she has my uncle. He has always had a wandering eye. He could have had any of many women for a wife, but he could not bear to think that he would have to stay with just one woman.”

  “Like you,” Amy said.

  “Me? I—!”

  “I didn’t mean to imply that you’re not faithful. I meant that you could have any number of women for a wife.”

  He moved his hand out to take hers. “Amy, I do not want other women. I want—”

  “Tristan, I can’t,” she said, turning her head toward him, but she didn’t move her body closer.

  His hand went up to her wrist.

  “Please don’t,” she said, her eyes beseeching. “There are things about me that you don’t know.”

  “Then tell me!” he said as he sat up abruptly. “Tell me and I will listen to everything you have to say.”

  Amy didn’t sit up, nor did she let his anger upset her. “You wouldn’t believe me. You couldn’t believe me.”

  “Try me.”

  Amy lifted up on her elbows. She was very tired. She couldn’t help it but she felt as though she were alone. Faith and Zoë had come with her, true, but it was as though they had abandoned her. She’d wanted them to help her guard Tristan, but they hadn’t. Faith had moved out of the house after only one night. It was true that Tristan’s uncle would probably have died without Faith’s interference, but there was a part of Amy that wanted to scream that they’d been returned to the past to save Tristan. They hadn’t been sent back in time to help an affable, philandering uncle who would probably never marry, never leave any mark on the world. Amy felt sure that Tristan’s life would mean something to her family, especially to Stephen, and maybe even to the world.

  But Amy was absolutely alone in trying to save Tristan. Zoë spent every day with her clothes off, drawing nude pictures of her boyfriend, and Faith was the local healer.

  “Tell me what secrets are eating at you,” Tristan said as he sat down by her and took her hand in his.

  “I can’t—”

  “Yes!” he said. “Amy, you cannot keep this up.” He put his hands on her shoulders and