IN THE DAYS that followed the discovery of Fiona’s Dear John letter, Evander barely spoke to Rachel, and spent most of the day hunting. At night he either chopped wood for the fire or worked in the barn on a new saddle he was making. The hollow tree he used to smoke game smoldered around the clock. The woodpile had gone from substantial to mountainous.

Rachel couldn’t fall asleep at night until she heard him come in and stretch out by the fire. The cot he had made from the wood frame of Fiona’s loom didn’t look particularly comfortable, but when she offered to take turns with him sleeping on it, he flatly refused.

Then there were the long nights when she couldn’t drift off even after he came in, when he began dreaming. The memories of battles should have been the worst, and in some ways they were, but he was an amazing fighter. Watching through his eyes as he relived countless skirmishes with the clan’s enemies, Rachel discovered he could hurl a spear hundreds of yards and hit any target, even one he could barely see.

He often dreamt of a strange, primitive tribe that at first seemed like prehistoric people. But then she began to pick up on the subtle sophistication of their society and tools. Among the tribe he was always a young boy, and never treated especially well. An older man worked him like a slave, and never offered him a kind word no matter what he did. Evander received terrible beatings for even the smallest mistake, and had to fight with older brothers for food, battles he often lost until he grew bigger.

Rachel tried everything she could to block out his dreams, but there came a night when she was so tired she just closed her eyes and let him take over her mind. He took her to a little village of cottages, where he slipped into one and walked up behind a dark-haired woman at a loom. When she turned around Rachel expected her to be Fiona, and was shocked to see her own face smiling up at Evander. She nearly fell out of bed, and then felt the sensations coming from him that made her nipples bead and her clit throb between her legs.

In his dream Evander sat down with her on his lap, and fondled her as he watched her face. His long fingers soothed her puckered peaks with circling caresses, and then teased them with little pinching tugs. Rachel wriggled on his lap, impatient for more, but then he turned her over his knee and yanked up her skirts.

She felt the hard, stinging slaps on her bottom as he spanked her in his dream, and while it didn’t arouse her it made his chest heave and his penis swell. He loved the domination, the dominion over her, and thought she wanted it as much. He dragged her hand to the confined ridge of his member and pressed her palm against it before he scooped her up and carried her to the bed. He flung her onto it face-first before he stood behind her and hauled up her skirts again.

Rachel’s back arched off the bed as in the dream he penetrated her with hard, jabbing strokes. It felt so good she had to pull her pillow over her face to muffle her moans. From the dream she felt what he did, and it was exciting her so much in reality she was ready to come. As her body tightened with need, she slipped her hand between her thighs and quickly stroked her clit. When he ejaculated in the dream it triggered her own climax, and she shook so hard the bed bounced against the wall.

The images and sensations came to a sudden stop, and Rachel heard footsteps approaching from the front room. She closed her eyes and didn’t move as she felt Evander bending over her.

Oh, God. She still had her hand between her thighs. What if he could see that she’d been touching herself? What would he think of her?

Evander drew the old tartan over her, covering her body with it from toes to neck. He placed one hand on her belly, and then moved it to rest on the hand she had used to stroke herself. He didn’t move her hand or touch her himself, but he knew exactly what she’d been doing. He was thinking about it.

No, he was fantasizing about it.

Rachel held perfectly still as Evander started dreaming again, this time fully awake. He imagined pulling aside the coverlet, and twining his fingers with hers to help her rub her hard little pearl. With the other hand he wanted to tug down the loose collar of her night shirt, baring her breasts to his mouth. He wondered how she would taste, and if sucking her breasts and rubbing her clit would make her come in her sleep.

Oh, please, do it.

Just before she opened her eyes and spoke, Evander drew back from the bed, and the fantasy in his thoughts evaporated. Instead of seeing her, he saw an open grave. Shame and self-disgust filled him as he backed out of the room and hurried out of the cottage.

Rachel felt like weeping as his thoughts grew distant and cold. He hadn’t done anything wrong. She had. She felt one last blast of emotion from him—relief, as he dove into the icy loch fully-clothed—and then nothing.

She rolled over, her body aching with need, and cried herself to sleep.