He caught my eye. He was taller than I'd dreamed. Sounds silly when I put it into words. Three years earlier The Macpherson and I met in a dream. Most every night we were together. I directed my steps toward him, afraid to blink. Would he be there when I made the trek to the opposite side of the ballroom? Maybe he just resembled ...no, that really was him. He looked around, searching for someone. Then he saw me. A throng of ceilidh celebrators separated us. I pressed my way through as his scrutiny burned across the distance. I knew why he'd crossed through the rift in time to meet me. I could help keep the plague from killing the children and elderly in his realm. But I had to wonder, more than 300 years separate us, what about the dreams? Did we share them or were they a figment of my vivid imagination?
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