Once upon a Dream by Nora Roberts Page B

each pan and lid to examine, than she’d shown for the jewels he’d given her.
    Because they were hers. Something that belonged to her. Something from her world.
    And his heart grew heavy.
    â€œThis is going to be good.” She stacked the cookwareneatly, selected the proper pot. “I know it must seem a waste of time and effort to you,” she said as she transferred the sauce. “But cooking’s a kind of art. It’s certainly an occupation. I’m used to being busy. A few days of leisure is wonderful, but I’d go crazy after a while with nothing to do. Now I can cook.”
    While the sauce simmered in the twenty-first-century pot, she carried the ancient kettle to the sink to wash it. “And dazzle you with my brilliance,” she added with a quick, laughing glance over her shoulder.
    â€œYou already dazzle me.”
    â€œWell, just wait. I was thinking, as I was putting all this together, that I could spend weeks, months, really, organizing around here. Not having a pattern is one thing, but having no order at all is another. You could use a catalogue system for your books. And some of the rooms are just piled with things. I don’t imagine you even know what there is. You could use a listing of your art, and the antiques, your music. You have the most extensive collection of antique toys I’ve ever seen. When we have children…”
    She trailed off, her hands fumbling in the soapy water. Children. Could they have children? What were the rules? Might she even now be pregnant? They’d done nothing to prevent conception. Or she hadn’t, she thought, pressing her lips together.
    How could she know what he might have done?
    â€œListen to me.” She shook her hair back, briskly rinsed the pot. “Old habits. Lists and plans and procedures. The only plan we need right now is what sort of dressing I should make for the salad.”
    â€œKayleen.”
    â€œNo, no, this is my performance here. You’ll just have to find something to do until curtain time.” She heard the sorrow in his voice, the regret. And had her answers. “Everything should be ready in an hour. So, out.”
    She turned, smiling, shooing at him. But her voice was too thick.
    â€œI’ll go and tend to Dilis, then.”
    â€œGood, that’s fine.”
    He left the room, waited. When the tear fell from her eye he brought it from her cheek into his palm. And watched it turn to ashes.

9
    H E BROUGHT HER flowers for the table, and they ate her meal with the candles glowing.
    He touched her often, just a brush of fingers on the back of her hand. A dozen sensory memories stored for a endless time of longing.
    He made her laugh, to hear the sound of it and store that as well. He asked her questions only to hear her voice, the rise and fall of it.
    When the meal was done, he walked with her, to see how the moonlight shone in her hair.
    Late into the night, he made love with her, as tenderly as he knew how. And knew it was for the last time.
    When she slept, when he sent her deep into easy dreams, he was resolved, and he was content with what needed to be done.
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    She dreamed, but the dreams weren’t easy ones. She was lost in the forest, swallowed by the mists that veiled the trees and smothered the path. Light shimmered through it,so drops of moisture glittered like jewels. Jewels that melted away at the touch of her hand, and left her nothing.
    She could hear sounds—footsteps, voices, even music—but they seemed to come from underwater. Drowning sounds that never took substance. No matter how hard she tried to find the source, she could come no closer.
    The shapes of trees were blurred, the color of the flowers deadened. When she tried to call out, her voice seemed to carry no farther than her own ears.
    She began to run, afraid of being lost and being alone. She only had to find the way out. There was always a way out. And her way back to him. As panic