Charon's Crossing

His plans were collapsing like a house of cards. And Catherine... Catherine was not as he remembered her.

The woman he remembered had flirted and teased; she had worn costumes meant to make a man's heart beat faster. Everything about her had spoken of allurement and enticement.

The woman he held in his arms didn't know how to tease, or to flirt. She wore clothing that was a puzzlement. These things she had on tonight, for instance. A man's shirt and a man's trousers, so far as he could see, shapeless and oversized... not that they truly hid her femininity.

Nothing could do that, not even the way she wore her hair. His Catherine had favored a style meant to look natural even though he had known it took a maid an hour to arrange it.

This Catherine wore her hair loose. Or pulled back at the neck, the way he wore his. She didn't bother staining her lips, either, or her cheeks.

She was different in other ways, too. She lacked a certain coyness, a feminine trait Matthew disliked but had come to accept as inescapable. But she possessed everything else in abundance. She had an independent spirit and a fiery temper. A smile twisted across his lips. By God, this afternoon she had kneed him, right in the balls! He could not imagine another woman doing such a thing.

Another woman? Hell. He could not imagine his Catherine doing such a thing...

What in hell was wrong with him? His Catherine? As opposed to what? The woman in his arms was his Catherine.

Who else could she possibly be?

"Matthew?"

The word was the softest of sighs in the deep silence.

He looked down. Catherine's eyes were open, and fixed on his. He could see a thousand questions reflected in their blue depths, and then their sudden widening as she remembered.

He drew her closer as she began to tremble.

"It's all right. I've got you."

"Oh God," she whispered. "What was it?"

"A dream," he said. "Only a dream."

"No. It was real. And it was—it was horrible. A creature. A hideous creature..."

He lay his finger gently over her mouth and stroked it over the silken curve of her lip.

"Hush. It's over now, Catherine. Close your eyes and rest."

She sighed, and he

r dark lashes feathered against her cheeks.

"Matthew." Her hand rose, lay light as the petal of a flower against his chest. "Don't leave me."

His heart constricted. He covered her hand with his. "I won't. Not as long as you need me."

Her eyes closed. She would be asleep soon. All at once, he knew that there was one question he had to ask.

"Tell me quickly," he said, his voice low and urgent, "what is your name?"

But he was too late. Her slow, steady breathing told him she was asleep.

The hours pass.

The storm subsides.

The candles sizzle and go out.

Night gives way to morning, and the shutters and windows open soundlessly, admitting a soft, fragrant dawn breeze.