Chapter 3

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By dint of sheer willpower, Rhys jerked himself free of the dream and back into the present. Small wonder he’d dreamed of death and danger after the horrific night they’d spent guarding the mangled corpse and the crime scene until law enforcement personnel arrived about three o’clock. The miasma was enough to mess with anyone’s mind, but why did he dream of a totally different place and time, a dream that seemed too vivid to be less than a memory? He could still feel the coarse fabric of his robe and the smooth wood of his crutch. He smelled the musty smoke of smoldering peat fires and the odors of sweat, fear and blood hanging in damp air, air touched with the perfume of the sea. Nothing was at all like the high desert he’d known his whole life, yet, uncannily, it all seemed familiar.