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of the night and flowed back on an invisible breeze, framing the perfection of his high cheekbones, the sculpted, straight, nose-- his eyes the most intense shade of silver-blue. 
    Chills races up and down my spine as his eyes turned to mine, my heart thrilled within me, my breath caught in my throat.  He was exquisite, perfect, glorious as an angel, and he turned his hand in mine and twined his fingers through my own imperfect, nail-chewed ones.
    Suddenly I was no longer in the water, but we were standing side by side, under the trees, knee-deep in grass, the moonlight pouring down on us like a waterfall. 
    The perfect being stared deeply at me, feasting his eyes on me as if he had never before seen anyone like me.  I, myself, could not tear my gaze away.  I had no desire to.  I wanted to melt into those incredible eyes and swim in them.  I felt my finger-tips reach out to brush the too-perfect skin of his face.
     
    I woke with a start and it was daylight.

 
     
     
    Chapter Four
     
     
     
     
    I lay on top of my borrowed bed, my heart pounding, my hands shaking.  I did not know where I was.  I couldn’t breathe.  I trembled with shock, completely unnerved by the vividness of my dreams.  It had seemed so real—I had felt the water as I swam, I had actually smelled the scent of wild roses rising off of the strange, beautiful man’s body.  It still lingered in my nostrils, intoxicating and exotic.
    I blushed to remember how my body had responded to that man.
    Morning sunlight came through the window at a slant.  The window was propped half-way open.  I could smell the spicy salt of the sea.  I tilted my head back, enjoying the exotic taste of the salt in the air.  A cool breeze wound its way through the old-fashioned lace curtains and curled against my cheeks, chilling my skin.
    I stumbled groggily to my feet, staring down at the homemade quilt, still trying to find my bearings.  I shook my head, feeling muffled and dizzy.
    I died, I remembered. 
    No, I didn’t die.  I’m in Trinity.
    A bird, somewhere near, started trilling and in response I heard a whistle from the direction of the kitchen.  The whistle was light-hearted and merry. 
    I smiled to myself, crossing my make-shift room to meander through the hallway to the main rooms of the cottage.  I glanced into the living room, noting a grand fire place and various pieces of crafting equipment before spotting Maura in one corner.
    Maura sat, her dark hair loose around her shoulder, the strange white-streaked lock falling into her eyes.  She faced the sturdy fireplace, whistling to herself.  I stepped closer, my eyes adjusting to the relative dim of the room.  My heart began to race, as I recognized the object in her hands.
    “Good morning,” she said cheerfully, looking up.  Her hands never halted, but kept busily winding the object before her.
    “Good morning,” I answered, automatically.  “What… what is that?”
    Maura laughed.  “It’s called a drop spindle.”  Her intense blue eyes sparkled with laughter.  “I’m afraid I’m a little old fashioned, dear.  I like to spin my own wool to weave.  This little beauty is a little less cumbersome than my spinning wheel, on days like today when I don’t want to get pinned down.  I was about to head outside.  My apple tree is in bloom, and it smells like Heaven.  Care to join me?”
    “May I?” I smiled shyly at her, feeling honored that she would like my company.
    “There are muffins on the table.  You grab the plate and we’ll have a little spring picnic.”  She hefted a basket onto her hip.  It was over-flowing with many colors of wool and several skeins of finished yarn.  I fought the sudden urge to dive in and tangle with it like a kitten.  Instead, I stroked one ball of yarn with the tip of my finger as Maura passed.  The fibers of the homespun were soft and silky against my skin.  I had never felt anything quite like it.
    “It’s so lovely,” I