The click of rosary beads, the gentle rustle of cloth. He sucked in a breath, and the scent of lavender overlaying some medicinal tang seared his lungs. It hurt just to breathe, to move at all. How long had he been like this? An eternity? Was this the afterlife, then? It was nothing like he had expected. He had not often contemplated Providence in his earthly life, but he did have some vague thoughts that the Vikings had the right of it. A mead hall, with endless streams of alcohol and beautiful Rhine maidens to fulfill his every wish. Beautiful, raven-haired maidens, with skin like Devonshire cream and swanlike necks. With soft laughter, and a voice like a Renaissance princess. That would be paradise. Not this aura of medicine, this feel of cold bed linens under his hands. He could see the woman in his mind, see her so very clearly. She was very young, but her dark eyes held such depths of wisdom, such pools of knowingness and delicate humor.
