He took a step forward, anxious but desperate to be close to her. He couldn’t fathom where this rush of emotion came from, but he did not push it away. She seemed to need him gravely, and there was something that lived inside of him that had to protect her at any cost.
Onward he walked until he was only an arm’s length away from her. Seeing her up close made it even harder not to rush forward and embrace her. He studied her expression, her face. No, he was certain they’d never met before… but why couldn’t she hear him?
"Who are ye?" he asked, his voice nearly pleading. "Please, lass, just tell me somethin', anythin' that will help me tae learn who ye are!”
She said nothing; she simply looked up at him with that fragile expression on her beautiful face. It seemed that at any moment, she would fall away into tears. If she did, Iain knew he would not be able to resist scooping her up into his arms. Even if he had never seen her before, she certainly knew him and seemed to need him so much.
Iain called to her again but knew that the effort was futile.
He was about to give up, letting his arms drop in defeat, when her expression suddenly changed. He watched her every move like a hawk, his brown eyes locked to her form.
She lifted her head, running her eyes over him. Her expression changed to a smile, soft and grateful, and she opened her mouth to laugh breathlessly. She looked relieved to see him, as though they were familiar with each other. Her eyes roamed over him as she looked him up and down; it seemed as though at any moment, she would throw herself into his arms.
Warmth filled him where before there was longing. Her eyes met his, and Iain felt like the sun was shining on him after a hard, relentless winter. He didn’t want to tear himself from her gaze, wanting only to take another step forward and pull her towards him and never let go.
"Iain," she said, her blue eyes bright. "Yer here, yer safe! Oh, thank th' stars."
At the sound of his name through her voice, a smile on her lips, he felt his heart soar and dip in joy like an osprey in the sky.
She lifted her hand, and for a moment, her fingertips were close enough that they could push his dark brown hair from his eyes. Iain didn't dare to move; for a brief moment, he wondered if he would feel her touch or if she would pass right through him like a phantom. The woman hesitated for a moment, though, and then looked beyond him.
Her sky-blue eyes widened, fearful, and she opened her mouth to scream.
* * *
Iain sat up straight in his bed, the quilts tangled around him. His shoulders heaved for breath as though he had been sprinting through the moors. He looked around his bedchamber, confused and frustrated and with a longing that he could physically feel. He could not quell it, no matter how he tried.
That damned dream again.
The woman had come to him yet again, and he had fallen into her captivating spell. Each time the dream took hold of him, she would be the only thing his thoughts would settle on, the only image he could visualize. Only when he finally awoke would he realize that he had been pulled once again into the same dream, tricked by his own mind.
Those feelings that she sparked in him even lingered upon awakening, however. Even now, when he pulled up her face in his mind, he could feel the desperate need to protect her lighting up in his heart. It was almost as if he could feel her beside him, as though he could reach out and touch her even at this moment. In truth, no woman of the waking world had even held his interest since the death of his wife. The fact that the only one who would interest him came from his own imagination embarrassed him to admit.
He sighed and shook his head, his thumbs circling at his temples as he attempted to shake the afterthoughts of the dream away. Mooning after some dream woman… He really needed a drink. Somehow though, he couldn’t shake the desire to fall back into sleep and see her again.
He rubbed his face, cold sweat clinging to his hands. His breath came heavy, and his shoulders sagged with the mental exertion the dream always put him through. Iain rubbed his eyes, seeing colors for a moment, and then stood uneasily. He had to get out of this room; it seemed all of a sudden too confining. He felt as though he could burst out of it.
Seeing the raven-haired woman again had taken a toll on him. He felt so tired, so restless. He’d experienced this same dream for two long years now, over and over, and still had no answer for who she could be or why she needed his help. Her voice was so full of desperation and pain that he couldn’t help but want to ease it.
It was eerie, but he had no fear of her, only that strange compassion that glowed in his heart when he thought of her. It felt like something blooming in his chest, something sunny, warm, and pure. He thought of how her familiar smile towards the end of the dream and let out a breath.
But what had she seen that had caused her face to fold in so much fear?
Iain could make no sense of it. He strode towards his chamber door, feeling how the handle cooled his sweating palms. He could be sure that this was real, at least. He longed for a dram to cool his parched throat and to soothe the thoughts that were churning around in his head. He made his way towards the larder, his steps slow and thoughtful. Every time he blinked, he saw the woman's face over and over again.
If she would have touched him, would he have felt it?
She was so enthralling and otherworldly. Was she some sort of spirit of the moors? But she had known his name and had spoken it aloud nearly every night for two years.
Iain shook his head, wondering, as he made his way down the stone steps.
"YerYer out wanderin' round late," an amused voice said. Iain nearly jumped but got a handle on himself before he turned around.
"Mother," he said, a wry smile playing at his lips. "Yer no' exactly slumberin' sweetly in yer own bed."
"Yer well aware tha' I enjoy my nightly garden walks," she laughed. Her voice was like the motherly sound of a hen clucking over her chicks; he had always loved that about her. Her face turned serious as the smile faded away, though, and he knew what she was going to say. "An' what are you doin' up so late, my lad? Is it the dream come again?"
Though she wanted to seem easy and relaxed, Iain could see the pull of concern on his mother's face. She knew the toll the dream took on him.
