Charity never wanted this dream to end. Or dream trailing or whatever it was. She’d never heard of such a thing, but it was wonderful being in a mist-shrouded more, just the two of them. Toren had drawn her down to sit upon a mossy log where the mist ebbed and swirled around their hips and legs as though they were within clouds. It was all so romantic and surreal, even with the bleak reality that Toren was lying cold and broken inside a dungeon somewhere.
He kept touching her as though he needed the contact of another human being, a touch to her hair, the clasping of her knee, and then her hand. He succinctly evaded all her questions about the dungeon and the spelled bands keeping him prisoner, claiming there was nothing she could do anyway.
Well they’d see about that.
Not so easily put off, Charity tried another tactic, asking him about his brothers and sister, his life in Scotland, hoping he might reveal any hints about where the village of Crunfathy was and thus figure out where the witch’s dungeon lay in relevance. It couldn’t be too far away, could it?
As he spoke of his family and clan, Charity fell deeper for him. Sure she’d already been tangled up inside his emotions during the healing, but being with him, her hand resting on his knee covered by his larger palm, and seeing the way his eyes lit when he spoke of his youngest sibling Col’s antics, and the love for them all, well…guys like him were few and far between. Her heart was tumbling after him hard.
She’d never felt like this before. So completely connected to another.
He ran his knuckles gently down her cheek. “Tell me of another of the con…ven…ien…ces of your time.” She’d already explained how plumbing worked when he asked about her tub. He couldn’t believe it wasn’t wrought by magic and sat rapt as she explained about toasters and television and cell phones.
Uh, what next? They could stay here forever and barely graze the conveniences of the modern world that she had always taken for granted. “Well, there’s pizza delivery. Just call a pizza joint…” The tiny hairs on the back of her neck lifted. She jerked her gaze to the left, peering across the rolling mist.
The muscle beneath her hand tensed as Toren’s gaze chased after hers. “What is it?”
“I don’t know. It just feels as though someone is watching.” She looked back at him. “Is that possible here in our dreams?”
Toren’s lips thinned, his eyes had gone cool, alert, an eagle narrowing in on potential prey. “It should not be, but…” He released her hand to rub at his wrist.
“Her magic holds you captive. Could she have followed you here?”
Devastation drew his brows downward. “I…” He shook his head in denial of the possibility. “She is very powerful. She could have—” He was suddenly drawing her to her feet, clasping her shoulders hard. “You must awaken. Now. Flee this dream and never attempt to come back. She must not learn of you.”
A tremor of fear rolled through Charity, heightened by the urgency in Toren’s expression. If he was afraid for her… She grabbed onto his sleeves. “What about you? What will she do to you?”
His features lightened with bafflement as though the idea that she’d be worried about him when she was in danger caught him off guard. “She can do no worse to me than what she has done.”
“Oh that makes it so much better.”
He smiled at that. “Go Lady Charity. With haste.”
She folded her arms. “Tell me how to free you. What are those glowing symbols on the bands?”
Now he scowled. “You are in danger. Awaken and flee.”
“Tell me what you know.”
“Ye ken naught the danger.” His brogue seemed to intensify with his mounting frustration.
She jabbed him in the chest. “You ken naught my determination.”
His shoulders sagged deflated. “If there was a way, I would tell you. Truly. But there is none.” He lifted his fingers to her brow and her skin there suddenly tingled. A gentle wave of exhaustion pulled her under, her last thought as she was swept away was damn sorcerers and their magic.