"Is it safe?" I had asked Claire, during the wedding supper, and before John and I had sliced into our wedding cake.

"Is what safe?"

I looked around, relieved that John was playing the good host, and that our guests were, momentarily, distracted. To a mere outsider looking in, it could merely be a conversation of a newly-married woman asking a long-term married woman about the ins-and-outs of her wedding night. Of course, given that William, Ian, Jocasta, Rachel, Denzell, and the rest of the household staff, were not aware of my condition, that was a good thing.

"For me to share a bed...with John," I replied, stepping closer to Claire and deliberately lowering my voice; I may have been Lady John Grey now, but I certainly did not wish to discover that one of the household servants was prone to gossip in this matter.

Claire raised her eyebrows. "It is, but... You have discussed this with him?"

I nodded. "We have," I replied.

"And?"

"And..." I felt myself flushing. "When John presented me with my ring three days previously, he and I shared a kiss... It got rather passionate," I admitted, and Claire looked shocked. "He cares for me, as I do for him, and he wants me..."

Claire nodded. "While all of those things are good, do you want him, Alexandra?"

I turned and looked over at John, who was stood with an arm wrapped around William's shoulders, and had thrown back his head in laughter at something Jamie had said, while Denzell chortled along, Tobias looked amused, and Ian looked mightily pleased. Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Jocasta was speaking to Lydia and Rachel, liking them both very much, while we had had the good sense to keep Phaedre out of sight, who had taken charge of putting Eliza to bed, as she was exhausted and a bit unwell. "I do," I said at last, and I could sense Claire tensing within my peripheral vision. "I do want him, Claire. He is... He is everything I could ever want in a husband, although I do wish..."

"Yes?" Claire asked.

I turned back to face Claire, and I could see from her expression that she believed my wish was that John did not prefer men to women. "I do wish that I was going to his bed a virgin," I admitted, and Claire nodded, seemingly understanding. "I wish that this child could truly be his, and that the stigma I know is coming will eventually come."

"Will you explain it to William?" she asked.

I sighed; that was another conversation, one I would have to have with John, and, given societal pressures, would have to go along with him accordingly. "Perhaps, if he asks us directly... He is a very bright young man, likely afforded to him by his excellent education," I responded, looking over at him, and feeling relieved that he was still distracted by the gentlemen's conversation. "He will have been taught mathematics at university, as well as having some knowledge of how babies are made, and how long it takes them to become ready to be born. I can only hope that the child resembles me, more so that Christoph, and that no questions will be asked. I know I will never be above suspicion, and, quite frequently, wives are put aside, at the minimum, in this day and age for adultery, as well as bearing a child that is not their husbands..."

"Sent to a nunnery, or exiled from polite society," Claire said, condemnation in her voice, so it was plain to see how she felt about the matter, although I wondered if it merely extended to situations like mine. "Of course, for poor souls like Anne Boleyn and Kathryn Howard, they were sent to the chopping block."

I shuddered; in this day and age, I would likely be hung, if convicted. Blood typing was available in my former timeline, but I was aware that new developments and innovations were created every day, so it was conceivable that, one day, in the distant future, tests would be created to ascertain if fathers were truly that when it came to children considered suspicious. I could see myself on some hastily-constructed gallows, a rope tied around my neck, before the trap door was opened— "Or, like in this time, Bathsheba Spooner," I recalled, for she had just been hung in Massachusetts the previous July for the murder of her husband, alongside her lover, whose child she was carrying.

"Although she was not convicted of adultery, but murder," Claire said, shaking her head. "They should have, at the very least, delayed her execution, as the pregnancy was viable, although her husband was considered to be a brute."

I shook my head. "I doubt we can change much, given what you and Jamie went through," I said softly, turning as Mrs. Figg brought in the cake, and John searched for me throughout the room, his eyes filling with a rare light when they settled on me.

After the cake, which I assured Mrs. Figg was delicious, I was sent upstairs with Claire, Jocasta, and Lydia, as they were the only other married women present, and it would be seen as unfitting if Rachel joined us, for she was not yet married to Ian. While Jocasta explained her past wedding nights, Claire and Lydia made quick work of changing me into my wedding nightgown, robe, and slippers, and I was taken across the room towards the vanity, where they painstakingly took down my hair and brushed it out, our shadows dancing along the walls, which were illuminated by candlelight. "That feels like heaven," I admitted.

"What do ye look like, my dear sweet girl?" Jocasta asked me quietly.

I swiveled around upon the stool, once Claire and Lydia had set my hair to rights, and tilted my head upwards. "Claire, Lydia, would you mind giving Jocasta a hand?"

Jocasta smiled as they both took her respective arms and led her over to me, whereupon she raised her hands and placed them gently upon my cheeks. "High cheekbones, the envy of many a lass," she said fondly. "A high forehead, modest brow... Straight, delicate nose, full lips... What color are yer eyes and hair, dear?"

"I have green eyes, and red hair, Auntie Jocasta," I responded, for that was what she wished me to call her when we were introduced.

"Aye, a true Scot, like yer Auntie Eliza," she said with approval. "She tells me that ye looked as she once did, when we were young..." Jocasta got a faraway look on her face, as if she was remembering what it was like to see through her own eyes, before she leaned down and pressed a kiss upon my forehead. "Ye are a kind, dear sweet girl. I ken ye shall make Lord John a very happy man."

Lydia, who had dashed across the room to fold back the dark green duvet on the large bed, stood beside it. "Shall I help you to your bedchamber, Auntie Jocasta?" she asked.

"Aye, I would appreciate that, lass," Jocasta responded, squeezing my hands, before turning at the sound of Lydia's voice.

Lydia stepped forward and kissed me on the cheek. "Auntie Jocasta and I shall see you in the morning, Alexandra," she said, and led Jocasta out of the room, and into the blue room, the one I had woken up in, three days before.

Claire put an arm around my shoulders and walked with me towards the bed. "How are you feeling about tonight?" she asked.

I sighed. "A bit nervous," I said quietly, "but John has assured me that he will stop if I ask him to do so, or to slow down."

Claire appeared pleased by this. "I know Jamie encouraged him to have some whiskey..."

"Scots cannae turn down a wee dram," I replied, leading Claire and me to share a grin, "but John told me he wouldn't get drunk, thank goodness."

Claire looked around for a moment. "I didn't want to tell you, for fear it would upset you, but Jamie had a long discussion with John last night."

I blinked. "As they are the other's closest friend, I see nothing out of the ordinary about that," I told her.

Claire sighed. "Jamie came late to bed last evening," she said, lowering her voice, "and informed me that he asked John if he intended to give you fidelity."

I felt my cheeks flushing at that. "Oh," I said softly.

"I will be honest with you and say that I hope he will be," Claire admitted, "but I also explained to Jamie that yours and John's marriage was none of our business."

I lowered my eyes. "He... He offered me fidelity," I said quietly, looking down at the ring he had given me, the only piece of jewelry I still wore, "and I accepted, before I offered it to him as well, leading him to accept it, too."

Claire nodded. "I see. And the bed?" she asked, nodding at it.

I looked up at her again. "It is not to simply be a wedding night tradition," I replied. "He and I will be sharing a bed throughout the duration of our marriage. It has been decided."

Claire raised her eyebrows. "So, you will have more children, then?"

"I have expressed an interest in having more children, and John was receptive to it," I said. "I am relieved on that front. I always wanted a great many children..."

Claire gave me a small smile. "As did I, before..."

I took Claire by the hand. "I would be honored if you and Jamie would be their grandparents," I told her quietly, and her eyes widened.

"Alexandra..."

"I realize you have Brianna and Roger's, as well as Fergus and Marsali's, children, but if the pair of you could find it in your heart to accept John's and my children as well—"

Claire stepped forward and pulled me into her arms. "I would like nothing more than that, and I know Jamie will agree with me," she said quietly. "You have been such a comfort to us, in the short amount of time you have been here, that it has softened the wound of Brianna, Roger, Jemmy, and Mandy's absence. No one could replace her, of course, but it has been wonderful to have you with us, Alexandra."

I felt so safe, so loved, as Claire Fraser held me in that moment. "You have been more of a mother to me in these three weeks than my own mother was for nearly thirty years," I told her, my voice barely above a whisper. "I can never thank you enough for that."

Claire pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. "And you are a daughter to us both," she informed me, her voice firm, making me realize that there was no reason to doubt it. She turned then as we both heard two sets of heavy footsteps upon the stairs, and gave a soft smile. "That will be John and Jamie," she said, gently turning me around. "Into bed you go. I'll let them know you're ready, and then Jamie and I will turn in for the night ourselves."

I gave Claire a smile. "Thank you," I answered, slipping off my slippers and leaving them just beside the bed, before I pulled the duvet up so that it draped around my breasts, my robe covering everything else. I watched as Claire gave me one final smile and left my marital bedchamber, shutting the door behind her, while I sat upon my side of the bed, illuminated by the bedside candle.

The door opened less than a minute later, my breath catching in my throat as John stood there, still garbed in his uniform, which he had worn for our wedding. He seemed mesmerized as he stared so openly at me, before he seemed to temporarily come to his senses and leave the doorway, thus enabling the door to be shut behind him. He strode slowly towards me, his hands reaching upwards to undo his cravat, never taking his eyes off me.

"Dear God in heaven, you are simply exquisite," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion in the semi-darkness, as he did his best to gracefully step out of his fine leather boots. "I don't believe I shall ever see a woman as beautiful as you, Alexandra Conradina Grey."

I slowly withdrew one of my hands from beneath the duvet, which, I realized for the very first time, not only matched my wedding gown, but my eyes as well. "Please," I whispered, never feeling more desired in all my life as his eyes continued to rove over my form, "come to bed, husband."

John's eyes seemed to darken at how I'd addressed him, and he promptly removed his uniform jacket, which he draped upon one of the chairs from the table on the other side of the room. It was his shirt which came next, followed by his breeches, stockings, and garters, until he stood there in his undershirt and drawers. He slowly came towards me, as if I was a wild animal he wished to tame, before he sat upon the edge of the bed, lifted his hand, and gently cupped my cheek, his hand and gaze filled with tenderness. "What did you speak to William about after our marriage ceremony, wife?" he asked, the title oozing with warmth.

"Our feelings for one another," I responded, wanting to be completely honest.

John looked shocked. "And, what did you tell him?"

"That love would come," I whispered, trembling as he dragged the pad of his thumb along my bottom lip, which I'd proceeded to bite at, due to my nervousness.

John's eyes remained locked with mine. "And do you believe that?"

"Yes," I said softly, wanting to stay in this moment for as long as we could, "I do."

John appeared stunned. "You... You believe that, one day, you could love me?"

"Do you doubt it?" I asked him directly, feeling utterly confused as to why he seemed to doubt it himself. "I know that I... That I could have never been your first choice, John, for a partner but you did say you wanted me, and did seem pleased when I informed you that that feeling was mutual—"

John leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine. "You are my only choice, Alexandra."

I blinked. "What, you...? You truly mean that?"

"I do," John confirmed. "I shall always mean it, Alexandra."

I slowly lifted my hand, taking ahold of the one which was not cupping my cheek, and eased it closer towards the ribbons at my robe. I kept my eyes locked onto his, letting him know that I was completely serious about my actions, and John inhaled a bit sharply then, but nevertheless pulled the strings of silk, thus enabling the robe to expose more of my neck. I nodded at him, which let him know that he was perfectly within his rights to continue, and he did so, his other hand leaving my cheek to draw my robe down my bare arms.

John's eyes widened at the notion that I wore a nightgown with short sleeves as he took in my first bit of unknown naked flesh for the first time. As he drew the robe off and away from me, tossing it expertly onto the chaise longue beside the window, he simply gazed at me, his expression one of engulfed flames, which seemed to dance just behind his eyes. He then lowered his hands slightly, barely touching the sides of the white cotton nightgown, and looked up at me again, as if silently asking the age-old question.

"May I, Alexandra?" he whispered.

I nodded. "You may, John."

John smiled softly then, and I automatically lifted my arms without being told to do so, but kept my eyes lowered, knowing that he would see my swelling belly for the first time, swollen with the child I'd never intended to want, and he appeared awestruck. As he threw my nightgown in the same direction as he'd done my robe, he reached towards my belly for a moment, hesitating just before making contact with my skin. "I... I would like to..."

I swallowed, before nodding my head. "Greet our child, John," I said softly back.

John gently placed his hand upon my belly, before he leaned forward with his ear pressed against it as well. "Hello, little one," he uttered softly, "I'm your papa."

I slowly lifted my own hand and threaded my fingers through his hair, which directly seemed to make John relax against me. I smiled at the picture he painted, his fingertips lightly tracing the expanse of my swollen belly, although my heart hurt that it couldn't be his child inside me. I was relieved that John seemed so willing to marry me, provide me with a future, and give my first child his name. However, I felt cowardice, given that I hadn't told him my entire backstory, of how I came to be in the eighteenth century, and, surely, then he would not wish to be with me in any fashion—

"Alexandra," John said softly, and I blinked, seeing that he had left his inspection of my belly and was staring at me, his eyes wide. "You're crying," he whispered, cupping my cheek again and catching my tears. "Are you all right?"

"I..." I whispered, shaking my head. "Just hold me..."

John reached forward and slowly put his arms around me, in an effort not to frighten me. His underclothes were soft upon my breasts, and I found myself suddenly hungering to feel his bare skin against mine. When he felt me shift within his embrace, he pulled back, his eyes widening as I reached forward and began to undo the laces of his shirt. "Alexandra, we don't..."

I shook my head at him. "I want to," I said, peeking up at him.

John nodded. "Very well."

I hesitated, though my fingers were still placed upon the laces. "Do you not want to?"

John shook his head. "No, I do, Alexandra," he said quietly.

I bit my lip, the small table where there was some red wine was carefully stationed in the corner by Claire, who had selected the bottle herself, informing me that it was the closest shade to blood she could find. In the morning, when we awoke, the bed linens would be changed, while John and I would pour a bit of the wine onto them, to showcase my apparent virginity to those in the household who still believed in it. Of course, the child coming in four and a half months' time still would prove to be tricky, but I trusted John implicitly, knowing that he would come up with a worthy explanation—

"Are you with me?"

I felt his gentle hands upon my shoulders, and, when I turned to look over at him, found that I had unlaced his shirt, which now billowed around his shoulders like some kind of medieval god come to life. I felt my breath hitch, but nevertheless lifted my arms upwards and gently pushed the article of clothing from his shoulders. "I'm with you," I assured him.

John tossed his undershirt towards the chaise, where my robe and nightgown still lay. "Is there anything you don't want?" he asked.

I sighed. "I need to see your face," I admitted, wrapping my arms around myself. "After what happened...in the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, I... I cannot..."

John nodded his head at me. "Of course. That will not be an imposition, Alexandra."

I breathed a small sigh of relief, peeking over at him as he got to his feet again, the appendages bare upon the highly-polished wooden floor, and drew down his drawers. I felt my eyes widen at the sight of him for the first time—he was the perfect amount of thickness, as well as length, and was an utterly surprising specimen indeed. I felt my jaw drop just a moment later when I saw in the faint candlelight that John was—

"You're shaved!" I breathed.

John awkwardly cleared his throat. "Well, yes, I... I find it keeps things cleaner."

I nodded my head. "I see."

"Do you... I know that many women do not—"

"I do," I confirmed, relieved that Claire had made a mixture for me that was safe, as many of them in this time period were made of arsenic or quicklime, both of which were not substances that had any business interfering with one's skin. I had come with my pink shell razor, however, it was on the verge of becoming dull, so Claire had stepped in, and had ensured that I was hair-free for my wedding night in all areas, much to my shock, relief, and slight mortification. "You will find my only hair is on my face," I said, giving him a small smile, "and my head."

John smiled, taking in my hair, my eyebrows and eyelashes, before his smile dropped and his eyes widened. "You mean that you..." He looked in the direction of where my legs were still covered by the duvet.

"Yes," I responded. "Claire and Jamie lived in France sometime ago, and she experienced it there for the first time. She was comfortable with helping me, and made me a mixture to keep the hair at bay for the future."

John took a step forward but hesitated. "May I..." He cleared his throat again. "May I join you in our marital bed, Alexandra?"

I gently lifted the duvet, and scooted over to the other side of the bed. "You may."

John stepped forward completely and got into bed beside me, his bare legs brushing slightly at mine; his leg hairs were soft, and they tickled me ever so slightly. His hand came towards my leg underneath the duvet, and his fingers brushed at my thigh; I gasped, but grabbed ahold of his arm when he meant to pull away. "Alexandra? I apologize, I should have asked you—"

"It's all right," I assured him. "I will let you know if I am uncomfortable."

John's hand, once I'd released his arm, moved slowly towards my inner thigh, before he brushed at my folds. "I... I would like to..."

I wetted my lips and slowly parted my legs for him. "All right."

John's fingers slipped between my legs, his fingers kneading my inner thigh for a moment, before they reached their intended destination. He stiffened ever so slightly, as I gasped at the sensation of his fingers upon me for the first time, his eyes catching mine. He waited for a sign that I was all right, and when I nodded at him, he carried on. He caressed me then, there, in the semi-darkness, in a way that no one had, as Christoph had only cared for his own pleasure, not for mine, and certainly not for my consent.

I broadened my legs, leaning back against the comfortable feather pillows, swallowing slightly as I realized what was happening—that I was not only allowing John, my husband, to do this, but that I was enjoying it. Although I had fleeting images in my mind of what Christoph had done, I knew that John was not Christoph, and would never treat me that way. I was fortunate enough to have found a husband that was good, kind, and considerate enough to ensure that I was fine at every turn, at every moment...

I felt the gasp leave my throat before I could call it back, as John put pressure on that little nub of nerves between my legs, just testing the waters. I felt my eyes rolling back in my head as my entire body felt as if it was on fire. The flames licked at me, burning me, in the most delightful fashion, while my limbs proceeded to tremble as John's finger went faster and faster. I moaned as the intensity greatened, as I gripped ahold of his wrist, anchoring him there, never wanting him to stop—

"Oh, God, John!" I cried out, my eyes flying open as I turned towards him, making a grab for him, bringing him towards me, and kissed him. I pulled back then, as we stared into each other's eyes, before I grabbed ahold of his shoulders and moved him so that he lay over me, his dark eyes wide.

"Alexandra..."

"Please," I whispered, my heart pounding so loudly, I was wondering if he heard it. "Please, I want you, John..."

John nodded, leaning down to kiss me again, while I made sure to keep my legs widened so that he could fit between them. Pulling back, he slipped a hand underneath the blankets, anchoring himself, while he groaned at the sensation, as I gasped aloud again. "Dear God in heaven, Alexandra, you feel incredible," he whispered.

I felt the laugh escaping me, a short one, a breathy one. "I like the way you feel, too, John," I told him, and I did, I truly did.

John reached underneath me, wrapping his arm around me, so that I was closer to him, before he used his other hand to lift my leg, thus creating a new sensation entirely. "Please... Tell me if I do anything you don't like..."

I shook my head at him. "No complaints so far."

John managed to make the pair of us comfortable, despite my pregnant belly literally between us the entire time, and, when he deemed me "close", he found that bundle of nerves again, flicking it oh so deliciously, thus permitting me to spasm beneath him, as well as come apart. He gazed at me, as if in wonderment, as the pair of us came down from our highs, before he shook his head in a moment of amazement. "You are truly wonderful, Alexandra..."

I beamed up at him, feeling a sense of calm, which was temporarily ripped away from me as he left the bed, only to discover that he brought back a piece of linen, which he used to clean me, and, I presumed, himself, beforehand. I was pleased when he returned my nightgown to me, and fetched a nightshirt for himself, before climbing back into bed beside me. Slowly, I moved towards him, and he lifted his arm as he stretched, only to stare at me, shocked, as I cuddled into him, my head on his shoulder.

"Alexandra..."

I felt myself flush. "Oh, sorry," I replied, and moved to back away from him.

"No, no," he said quickly, wrapping his arm around my torso. "It was merely surprise. I didn't know if you'd want me to touch you again."

I looked up at him. "You are my husband..."

"Yes," John agreed, "but I shall never touch you without your permission."

My heart warmed at his words. "Thank you," I whispered. "I promise you the same."

I fell asleep like that, wrapped in John's arms, and had never felt so safe. We talked of everything and nothing, our preferences and whatnot, but never broached the topic of the war itself, or too much pertaining to my past. When morning arrived, I slipped from the bed, put on my robe, and ventured over to the small secretary desk in the corner. Opening it, I found quills, ink, and parchment, so I decided to write my husband a letter—three letters, I soon realized—to get him on my side about all this.

Dear John,

This is written just half a day after you and I said our vows and became man and wife. I cannot tell you how much I care for you, as well as the notion that you have sworn not only to protect me, but my unborn child as well, and give them your name. I shall be forever in your debt, and will do my best to be worthy of the title Lady John Grey.

I am sure you have noticed that I dislike speaking of my past; while that is true, there are many reasons for why that is. Of course, much of it has to do with what was done to me, because of Christoph, as well as my mother, but that is not all. You see, where I was living before I came here, there was another war going on, one where eleven million people will be killed, six million of them of the Jewish faith, in one of the most tragic cases of genocide in history.

Why am I telling you this?

I am telling you this, John, because I cannot live a lie any longer. I was born on the twenty-first of May, in the year 1917. I was born in England, whereupon my twin brother, Tobias, and I were separated at birth, with Tobias being sent somewhere known as a baby farm, which will not reach popularity until around a hundred years from now, and I was left in the care of a family friend. I was educated in England at a wonderful girls' school, where I was taught many languages, mathematics, some sciences, and did teacher training there as well. Upon my commencement from the school, I was ordered back to my parents' side, where they were working in Eastern Europe, and forced to teach German children, sons and daughters of powerful families, while numerous atrocities were committed around me.

This battle of the Second World War, as it is named in history, will begin in 1939, when a man named Adolf Hitler sends his troops from Germany (the Holy Roman Empire, notably Prussia) to Poland (the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth). There, he will imprison them in a place called the Warsaw Ghetto, before sending them to mass extermination camps known as concentration camps, the second-most deadly one being where my own parents were guards, and ordered several thousand Jewish people to be executed in something called a gas chamber, which is as deadly, and frightening, as it sounds.

In the aftermath of what happened between Christoph and myself, as well as the beating sustained by my own mother, I knew I had to flee Germany. I took forged documents, which I still have hidden in my initial belongings, as well as clothing, and other personal items, before I took a train to Denmark (the Danish State, which will, one day, be divided into two separate countries known as Denmark and Norway, as well as two duchies, Schleswig-Holstein, which will one day be a part of Germany). Upon arrival in Denmark, I boarded a ship to Pennsylvania, unknowing what I was going to do, and, upon arrival, took something called a streetcar to an area called Bangor, which will not be incorporated until the 1870s, although it is now a settlement, and has been, since 1760.

I decided to find a shop that catered to ladies, and found a milliner, but everyone was out to lunch, so I took a walk. I found an area called a park, sort of comparable to parkland on old English estates, and walked along a trail there, into the woods just beyond it. Once in the woods, I felt a calling to one area in particular, where I came upon a stone circle. There were sounds coming from the stones, which frightened me, but I plucked up my courage and ventured for them, ultimately traveling back in time from 1944 to 1778.

The war going on at the moment is the Revolutionary War and, as a show of good faith, I shall inform you of key upcoming dates, and will not permit you to open the letter itself until these dates, and events, transpire. Perhaps, as I am showing some good faith, you will believe me, no matter how mad it sounds.

The first date is the twelfth of May, 1780. On this day, British troops will capture Charleston, South Carolina, which is a major setback for American troops.

Please, believe me John. If you do not, two letters will follow.

Signed, your wife,

Lady John Grey

I looked over my shoulder to see if John was still sleeping and, because he was, I got out another piece of parchment and began writing the second letter.

Dear John,

By the time you read this letter, we will have had our first child, and, perhaps, another one will be on the way.

The second date I am going to tell you about is the nineteenth of October, 1781. On this day, the British troops will surrender at Yorktown, Virginia. This will, officially, mark a turning point in the war.

As I am writing all these letters on the same day, I cannot know what the future will hold for us, but, with this war, events like these are already set in stone.

Signed, your wife,

Lady John Grey

Turning around, John was still asleep, so, greatly daring, I took out another piece of parchment and began writing again.

Dear John,

This will be my final letter of this nature toward you. At the moment of this writing, I am still your wife, although you may have locked me away somewhere far away to keep me and my supposed "mad thoughts" away from you.

The third and final date I am going to tell you about is the third of September, 1783. On this day, the Treaty of Paris will be signed, which marks the ending of the Revolutionary War. This marks the final failure for the British Redcoats, as American independence is assured.

You will know by this time that I am a rebel, but historians prefer the term Patriot. I may be English by birth, but I know that America led me to finding you, and that is not something I would ever take back.

Signed, your wife,

Lady John Grey

I quickly sealed each letter, writing the dates of the open date in bold strokes, before fetching a linen and cleaning my hands, which was when my husband awoke. "Good morning, husband," I said softly, getting to my feet. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

John blinked, sitting up in the great bed. "No, you didn't," he assured me, looking past me and towards the desk. "Were you writing?"

"I was," I confirmed, feeling a bit unsure. Turning, I collected the letters I'd written, and brought them over to him. "They're for you, actually."

John cocked his head to one side. "They're all dated," he mused, taking them from me. "Is there a rhyme or reason to the dates?"

"Yes, they're found in the letters, but you can't open them until those dates," I told him quietly, feeling nervous. "I need you to trust me here, John, please."

"Alexandra..."

"You mentioned that you wished to know more of my life, of my past," I told him, and John nodded at my words.

"I did say that," he agreed.

I pointed to the first letter. "I realize that two years may seem quite a long time, but you'll have plenty to occupy your time, once the baby comes... I mean, I realize that the father doesn't normally do any hands-on care with their children, but I'm sure you'll want to see—"

John took my hand in his. "Of course I will be there for our child, Alexandra; you don't need to worry about any of that."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you." I hesitated for a moment. "Do you have somewhere, perhaps a box of some kind, that locks, that no one else has access to, where you can put these letters?"

John lowered his eyes to them. "You don't wish to keep them for me?"

"No," I replied, shaking my head. "I don't want to be accused of alternating anything."

John's eyes snapped to mine. "Alexandra, you are beginning to frighten me," he said. "Are you a witch, or, perhaps, a Seer?"

"No," I told him firmly, and John seemed to visibly relax, "nothing of that nature, I assure you. I am still the same woman you married."

John rubbed the pad of his thumb across my knuckles. "Very well, Alexandra. I will hold the letters for you, never fear."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "I also can't have you showing them to anyone—"

John raised his eyebrows. "Ah, they are a private affair, then?"

I hesitated. "For the most part... On second thought," I said, thinking it over, "if we are still in close proximity to Claire, Jamie, and Ian, when the time comes for you to read those letters, you may show or tell them about them."

John looked shocked. "They know the contents of these letters?"

"As do Brianna and Roger," I confirmed.

John hesitated. "I was not aware you had met them yet..."

"I haven't," I told him, "but I know very well that they are aware of the information. Please," I said, stepping forward and cupping at his cheek, "have faith in me. I will never lie to you, John, I swear, but some things, for the moment, must be kept under wraps. Please trust me..."

John, searching my eyes for several moments, finally nodded his head. "I trust you, Alexandra, no matter how foolhardy it may turn out to be."

I found myself smiling, despite the ominous nature of his comment, before leaning forward and pressing my lips to his.