***

He woke once with a splitting headache and blurred vision. There was firelight, or a first-class simulation. He could smell the woodsmoke . . . and rain, he thought. He had a misty memory of having stumbled through the rain. The most he could concentrate on was the fact that he was alive. And warm. He remembered being cold and wet and disoriented, afraid at first that he had crashed into an ocean. There had been . . . someone. A woman. Low, quiet voice . . . soft, gentle hands . . . He tried to think, but the drumming in his head made the effort too painful.

He saw her sitting in an old chair with a colorful blanket over her lap. A hallucination? Maybe, but it was certainly a pleasant one. Her hair was dark, and the firelight was glinting off it. It appeared to be chin-length and very full and was now tousled appealingly around her face. She was sleeping. He could see the quiet rise and fall of her breasts. In this light her skin seemed to glow gold. Her features were sharp, almost exotic, set off by a wide mouth that was soft and relaxed in sleep.

As hallucinations went, you couldn’t do much better.

Closing his eyes again, he slept until sunrise.

She was gone when he surfaced the second time. The fire was still crackling, and the dim light coming through the window was watery. The pain in his head hadn’t dulled, but it was bearable. With cautious fingertips he probed the bandage on his forehead. He realized he might have been unconscious for hours or for days. Even as he tried to struggle upright, he discovered that his body was weak and rubbery.

So was his mind, obviously, he decided as he used what strength he had to take in his surroundings. The small, dimly lit room appeared to be fashioned out of stone and wood. He’d seen some carefully preserved relics that had been built of such primitive materials. His family had once taken a vacation west that had included tours of parks and monuments. He turned his head enough so that he could watch the flames eat at the logs. The heat was dry, and the scent was smoke. But it was hardly likely that he would have been given shelter and care in a museum or a historical park.

The worst part was that he didn’t have a clue where he was.

“Oh, you’re awake.” Libby paused in the doorway with a cup of tea in her hand. When her patient just stared at her, she smiled reassuringly and crossed to the couch. He looked so helpless that the shyness she had battled all her life was easily overcome. “I’ve been worried about you.” She sat on the edge of the couch and took his pulse.

He could see her more clearly now. Her hair was no longer tousled, but was combed sleekly from a side part. It was a warm shade of brown. Exotic was exactly the right word to describe her, he decided, with her long-lidded eyes, slender nose and full mouth. In profile she reminded him of a drawing he’d once seen of the ancient Egyptian queen Cleopatra. The fingers that lay lightly on his wrist were cool.