«I cooked. You get the dishes.»
She bit her lip against her protest. The mountain of dishes in the sink, the four pans on the stove, and the still-full army of offerings on the counter was not what she preferred to face in the morning. Drawing in a deep breath, she kept back her words. She did not want to start this partnership arguing over dishes. They’d work out their patterns soon enough. At this point she didn’t know if this was his preference after a night watching over her, or an offering to her, like a gift for a hostess.
He went to the door and bent to pull on his battered hiking shoes. He now had wool socks on. She tried not to look, but couldn’t help glancing at his ass as he presented it so. His jeans were old and outlined the hard globes nicely. Pulling open the door, he said, «Around seven?»
That would give them an hour before sunset. It would be enough if they were merely facing a normal dreamtime foray, but for what Markos had in that letter…
«Just a minute.»
She went and got the letter from the top of the TV. Handing it to him, she said, «Read this today. Come earlier if you can.»
He turned it over, his thumb brushing over Markos’s emblem. «You haven’t opened it.»
Crossing her arms, she shrugged. «I know what’s in it, mostly.»
He stared at her, but she couldn’t hold that black gaze.
«Your dream was mine.»
«Pardon?»
«Last night. In the currach. ’Twas Meg’s death.»
Xia blinked at him, her throat swelling shut as her body utterly froze. Her heart gave one hard thump, her brain reverberating with his words, understanding them, but stupidly denying it. «What is a currach?»
His face looked as frozen as she felt. «The little ox-hide boat you were in is a currach, at least as they were then. Meg. My first wife. She was a sprite. She drowned in Loch Mhòrair in a sudden storm. I wasn’t there, you see.»
Xia felt her heart thump again. I don’t know what to say. «What does it mean, that I dreamed her memory?»
«That nightmare wasn’t yours. ’Twas mine. It means naught but that we will work well together.»
She stared at him for another heartbeat. He tucked Markos’s letter into his back pocket and went out into the morning mist, closing the door. Xia blinked at it. They’d work well together? Her own nightmares weren’t enough, now she was having his? His Rover revved, and he turned on the lawn and went away. She’d have to tell him not to always turn on the lawn or he’d ruin it. Long after he’d gone, she was able to move again, stiffly.
Revolving, she stared at the decadent food spread before her, stomach churning and the taste of anguish in her mouth.