Charon's Crossing

Kathryn linked her hands behind his neck

"Let's see... well, I suppose I was obedient. And quiet."

"Mmm. That's certainly difficult to picture."

She laughed. "You seem to have brought out another side of me, Captain."

Matthew smiled. "And you didn't like history."

"No." She tugged his hair, pulled his face to hers and kissed his mouth. "But that was before I met a bit of history, in the flesh."

"Aye," he said. He moved over her, so that his warm, bare chest brushed against her. "Very much in the flesh, if you'd like some proof."

Kathryn's breath caught. "You're trying to change the subject."

"Nay, why would I? The subject interests me greatly. Tell me more."

Smiling, she stroked his hair back from his face. "You tell me. What do you think I was like, when I was little?"

"Well, I can't envision you locked away in a schoolroom with that pretty nose tucked inside a book."

"What do you see me doing, then?"

"Picking flowers in a meadow, perhaps. Gazing at the stars. Reading poetry. Listening to old tales." He smiled. "And dreaming about princes and princesses, and dragons and knights and damsels in distress."

Kathryn blinked. For the second time in one afternoon, forgotten memories were surfacing. It was like looking into a kaleidoscope and seeing old, familiar shapes become brand new.

"You know, you're right," she said, her voice soft with surprise. "I loved stories like that, until my father went away."

"And then?"

"And then, I decided that I'd be better off trusting math and science texts instead of..." She fell silent and turned her face away, but not quickly enough to keep Matthew from seeing the glint of tears that suddenly appeared on her lashes.

"Sweetheart?"

"It's nothing," she choked, "just that—that all of a sudden I find myself wanting to believe in princes and princesses and forever after all over again."

Gently, he turned her face to his and looked down at her. He knew that it made no sense to let her hope—but to know something with your intellect, and to believe it with your heart, were not the same. He whispered her name and gathered her into his arms. He kissed her, again and again, until her lips were soft and clinging to his and their heartbeats mingled.

"Love," he said softly, "you must know that you were right to give up believing in children's tales."

"No." She caught her hands in his hair and drew his face down to hers. "Don't say that, please."

"The time of princesses and princes, of dragons vanquished, is long gone, sweetheart. There are no 'happily ever afters,' not in your world or in mine."

Her smile was sweet and tremulous, and it shot straight as an arrow into his heart.

"My dream was a fairy tale," she said, "that you were my lover, that we were together, like this, here at Charon's Crossing."

"Aye. And we will live that dream, for a while."

"No. Not just for a while, Matthew. I lo-..."

His fingers fell across her lips. "You don't," he said roughly, and rose to his feet. He stood staring out to sea, ramrod straight, eyes dark. "It is a happy infatuation, nothing more."

Kathryn stood up and laid her hand lightly on Iris arm.

"Is that what you feel for me?" she asked. "Infatuation?"