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Chapter 18
"I know I'm dreaming," Chloe announced conversationally the next morning as she descended the stairs to the great hall. She slipped into a chair, joining Silvan, Dageus, and a woman she'd not yet met—er, dreamed about—for breakfast.
Three pairs of eyes regarded her expectantly and, heartened by the attention, she continued.
"I know I didn't just use the equivalent of a little outhouse upstairs in a closet." With straw for toilet paper, no less. "And I know I'm not really wearing a gown, and I'm certainly not wearing"—she peered down at her toes—"beribboned little satin slippers." Straightening in her chair, she scooped a spoon of jam from a dish. "And I know this strawberry jam is just a figment of—eww—what is this?" Her lips puckered.
"Tomato preserves, m'dear," the man who'd been identified to her earlier in the dream as Silvan replied mildly, with a smile he tried to hide.
Not good, Chloe thought. In a dream, the dreamer controlled how things tasted. She'd been thinking sweet strawberry jam and gotten a nasty, unsweetened vegetable. More proof, she thought dismally, as if she'd needed it. She glanced about the table for something to drink.
Dageus slid a mug of creamy milk across the table to her.
She drank deeply, peeking at him over the rim. She'd had erotic dreams about him all night. Frighteningly intense dreams in which he took her in every way it was possible for a man to take a woman. And she'd loved every minute of it, had awakened feeling all soft and kittenish, nearly purring. His black hair was pulled back from his sculpted face in a loose braid. He wore an unlaced linen shirt that revealed a sinful expanse of golden, muscled chest. Big, beautiful man. Sexy, scary man.
Chloe wasn't stupid. She knew she wasn't dreaming. A part of her had acknowledged it last night or she wouldn't have fainted. That, in a strange way, seemed proof itself: a dreaming mind fainting from the "reality" of its own dream? An already unconscious mind slipping into unconsciousness? She could get tangled up in that thought if she pondered it too long.
Upon awakening this morning, she'd wandered the upper floor, scurrying down corridors, peeking into chambers and out windows, piecing together bits of information. She'd touched, peered, shaken, even broken a few minor things that she'd deemed replaceable as part of her examination.
All of it, the textures and scents and tastes were simply too tangible to be a figment of her unconscious mind. Furthermore, dreams had narrow focuses; they didn't come complete with periphery guards and servants going about duties she'd never conceived of, beyond the windows.
She was in Maggie MacKeltar's castle… but not quite that castle. There were additions missing, an entire wing not yet constructed. Furniture that hadn't been there yesterday, more furniture that was missing today, to say nothing of all the new people! To all appearances—impossible though it was to fathom—it was Maggie's castle nearly five centuries ago.
"Aren't you going to introduce me?" She slid Dageus's mug back and glanced curiously at the older, fortyish woman. She couldn't be his mother, she mused, unless she'd had him incredibly young, even for medieval times. Dressed in a lapis gown similar to her own, the lovely woman had a gently faded but timeless beauty. Her ash-blond hair was swept up in an intricate plait, with fringy bangs wisping about her face, rather like Gwen's, Chloe thought.
" 'Tis your dream, lass. Make up her name yourself," Dageus said, watching her with a mocking expression.
He knew she knew. Damn the man.
"Oh, Dageus," Chloe sighed, slumping in her chair, " what did you do to me? I thought you were just a wealthy, eccentric womanizer. Well, I also thought you were a thief for a while," she muttered, "and a kidnapper, but I didn't think—"
"Would you like to see the library, lass?" he offered, his dark eyes glittering.
Chloe narrowed her eyes. "You think it's going to be that easy? Show the girl a few impressive books and she'll think it's all right that you somehow yanked her back in time?" Sadly, she mused, he might be onto something, because the instant he'd said "library" her heart rate had quickened. A zillion questions perched on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't yet bring herself to talk about reality as if it were real.
"All right, then. Let's go to the stones. I'll send you back this very moment." He pushed himself to his feet and she got her first look at him from the waist down. Snug black leather trews encased his powerful hips and thighs. Holy cow. Her mouth went dry. There was an impossible-to-ignore bulge in them.
"Wait just a—" Silvan began, but stopped abruptly at Dageus's warning look.