Her mind and heart numbed by grief, too weary even to remove the dark grey woolen gown she had worn for Aglise’s funeral, she picked up a warm shawl from atop her clothing chest and sank onto the bed she had once shared with her sister. “I’ll undress later,” she murmured to herself, pulling the shawl around her shoulders. “After I’ve rested a little, I’ll think about packing.” A moment later she was asleep. How long she slept she wasn’t sure, though the sky outside her narrow window was dark with night when she was awakened from a dream of Desmond embracing her tenderly and kissing her, his mouth a fiery brand on her lips. At first she simply stayed where she was, clutching at the last, shimmering fragments of the dream and uncertain what had torn her from such delicious sweetness. How lovely her life would be if she were free to think only of him and of the emotions he evoked in her. She had learned to control her emotions during her childhood with a kind but very busy, often absent father and a mother who detested her daughters because they were not boys, who saw the girls as rivals.
