Falling in Time Read Free Page A

about a man named Lore who, like as not,
was as non-existent as his dream vixen.
    Even so, he had to know.
    “I saw Snorri trotting towards the
kitchens as I was leaving Maili’s pallet." Gavin’s words stopped him.
    “Ah, well” – Rogan forced himself
not to continue down the stairs – “I’ll be returning to my bed then.”
    He tried not to frown.
    He should have known his cousin
would somehow twist any excuse he used, making it impossible for him to
complete his intended mission.
    Proving it, Gavin nodded and folded
his arms. He clearly intended to stay where he was until Rogan turned and
tromped back up the way he’d come. Damn his cousin for being such a long-nosed
bugger of a kinsman.
    Rogan felt the loon’s stare boring
into his back even when he knew the tightly-coiled stairs hid his retreat from
the other man’s view.
    He still felt eyes on him when,
moments later, he let himself back into his bedchamber. But the gaze he sensed
now wasn’t his cousin’s.
    The eyes he knew were watching him
were amber.
    And they belonged to her.
    The dream vixen who now, damn her
luscious hide, was apparently no longer content to merely haunt his sleeping
hours, but his waking ones as well.
    Rogan could feel her everywhere.
    In his room’s darkened corners –
the night candles had gutted hours ago and only a few cold embers glimmered in
the hearth – and even right before him, tempting and beckoning, although he
couldn’t see her.
    Her presence shimmered in the air.
    Rogan stopped where he was, just a
few paces from his bed, and tore off his plaid, letting it drop to the
rush-strewn floor. He half hoped his nakedness might call her. So he stood
still, waiting, challenging the silence. But the only thing that came to him
was the smell of rain on the cold breeze slipping in through the shutter slats.
    Until the wind seemed to shift,
turning even colder. Then, beneath the night’s chill, her scent slid into the
room, teasing him. Light and provocative, it was only a tantalizing promise. But
just that one slight hint of her was enough to fire his need and set him like
granite.
    She was near.
    He knew it in the depths of his
soul.
    “Damnation." Rogan sank onto
the edge of his bed and put his head in his hands.
    Don’t leave me.
    Stay … I beg you!
    The words – her words – came to him
from a distant place. But although the beloved voice was hers, one so engrained
on his heart that he’d recognize it anywhere, she spoke in soft lilting tones
very different from the speech she used when she talked to him in his dreams.
    You will be killed….
    Rogan jerked, looking up. This time
the words were close. No longer faraway, her voice was as clear as if she’d
spoken at his ear, pleading. And the words, so ominous and dire, had broken on
a sob.
    “Lass!" Rogan shot to his feet,
glancing around, his heart thundering wildly.
    How cruel that he didn’t even know
her name.
    But – he could scarce believe it –
he could see her!
    She stood in the far corner, limned
by moonlight. And unlike in his dreams, when she usually wore naught but a
smile, this time she clutched a deep red cloak about her, holding fast to its
voluminous folds as if a great gusting wind blew, chilling her.
    Even more surprising, her lovely
amber eyes were now deepest blue, glistening tears making them shine and
sparkle like sapphires.
    And her hair – Rogan stared,
disbelieving – was no longer the deep, gleaming russet he knew and loved, but
palest flaxen. She wore it in a single heavy braid that swung low, reaching to
her shapely hips.
    Ragnar…. She looked right at
him, calling him a strange name as she reached a hand towards him.
    Rogan stared at her. How odd that
she looked so different. And that she called him Ragnar and not Lore.
    Frowning, he took a step forward. But
then his blood chilled, stopping him.
    He could see the window shutter
through her outstretched hand!
    Indeed, now that he’d blinked a
time or two, he noted that he could