Full moonlight woke her. She cracked one eyelid. The light had an unearthly quality, somewhere between the edge of awareness and bright day. She opened her eyes further and decided the odd effect of the moonlight was simply due to the way it streamed in between the thin linen of the elderly curtain over the front window.

Sleep and the soothing quality of the moon's radiance had eliminated her nervy response to Eilidh McTaggert's erie warnings. Her nap had left her wide awake. Jenny wasn't too surprised. She was prone to a snooze after supper and a second wind in the late evening.

She pulled her shawl about her shoulders, pulled back the curtain near the front door and stared out over the wind-whipped loch. There were bits of froth on the glass where the gusts had sent glistening drops from the loch dashing against the cot.

A Halloween orb hung full and orange over the hills that circled the water. Looking out at the clear, silver, luminescence that shown from the loch, with a refreshing nap behind her to give her a second wind, it was easier to accept that the older woman's story about spirits and other worlds, was nothing more than Highland hype.

She pressed her nose against the cool glass and watched the silver-tipped waves and white foam spray up against the path and occasionally fly on the other side of her face.

She'd watched waves beneath a shimmering moon over Lake Michigan more times than she could count, but there was something different about this moon and this lake. Something she couldn't place.

She became aware of a sound just above the noise of the wind's gusts. It was almost like a man singing in the larch trees that grew at the loch's edge. Like the moon the song had an unusual quality, she couldn't quite put her finger on.

For a musician the lure of another music maker is impossible to resist. In a moment Jenny had plucked her violin from its case, thrown back the doors locks, headed out onto the wooden porch, and began to answer the song with one of her own.

She didn't care that the wind pulled at the woolen shawl around her shoulders or what the unknown singer, if indeed she wasn't imagining his voice, would think seeing a crazy American woman, dressed only in a thin nightgown and shawl, playing wild violin chords in the middle of the night.

She wasn't sure what she played when she first arrived on the porch, only that it was a response to the enchanted song she heard faintly through the trees. She called and he answered.

The song came louder and louder and she was sure he would be with her on the porch soon. Then the wind began to die down and Jenny was alone, sweating with the effort of her bowing.

Though in her heart she was sure she had heard him, her rational self told there was no singer in the trees. Eilidh McTaggart had said there was no one living between here and the castle and the chances of someone driving so far off the main road to stand in the woods and sing, even on All Hallows Eve, were slim. She had simply answered the highlands call in the way closest to her heart.

No doubt she was responding to nothing more than the rush of the wind, lake shine, and the magic of Scottish moon dust. She grinned to herself. Well, what better reason to be out here? After all, how often would she have the chance to play beside the very loch where Mary Taggert had once walked?

Calmer now Jenny began to draw her bow across the strings in the familiar tune of 'Blue Bonnets Across the Border' and followed up with the probably hack, but still delightful tune, of 'Loch Lommand'.

She went on to play all her favorites: 'Annie Laurie' 'Jock o' Hazledean', 'Yellow Haired Laddie', 'Down Amang the Heather', 'Birks of Aberfeldie' and every camp tune she could think of until her wrists and finger tips were sore.

Her second wind was a thing of the past. She was refreshed and truly tired now. Jenny turned off the porch and into the cottage, locked the door and slipped her instrument back into its case. She made sure to bank the fire and then trailed up the stairs to dream of highland mists amid the roses and thistles that bedecked her linen sheets and pillows.

Jenny pulled back the curtains for one last glance at the loch before she settled in for the night. A warm room, a soft bed, and a quiet house. Sleep was not going to be a problem.

Something rustled on the porch. She sat up with at start and her head banged against the window. All was suddenly quiet below. She laid back down. Of course it was the wind kicking up again, blowing some and then settling.

Jenny was accustomed enough to living by water to understand the vagaries of lakeside winds. It could blow off and on all night. She closed her eyes and pulled the blankets up to her chin. She was just on the edge of sleep when she thought she heard a metallic click below stairs.

But once again everything was silent. Probably nothing. She drifted back towards sleep. Surely that wasn't the sound of softly booted feet coming slowly up the stairs, hesitating at every step. She was too dazed with sleep to believe it. The tiny house was probably settling.

Jenny was already asleep and dreaming that she was Fiona, when the door opened quietly for Charlie MacDonald. He stood for a moment and stared at his prize. Since he'd first seen the lass on the house steps he'd had the strange feeling that another presence was helping him.

The door's latch had turned without resistance, no stairs creaked beneath his feet and the woman was already sound asleep. Surely he was lucky for she was not only young and strong looking but a beauty as well.

The unseen presence seemed to push him forward. He tiptoed over to the bed and peered down at her. He meant to simply wake her gently and tell her she was his captive, but somehow, without meaning to, he found himself sliding one hand behind her unresisting head, bending over her bow shaped mouth and kissing her full and deep.

The kiss came at just the right moment in Jenny's dream sequence. She was standing knee deep in a field of white heather. Charlie-the-hero was running his hands up the slit in her flowing skirt and bending her back over his free arm with his strong, manly torso in preparation for The Cover Kiss.

The kiss was more real than any dream kiss she could remember. First the hero's lips met her own gently, then become firmer and more assured as she responded to his light touch.

When the woman gasped for air, Charlie shut his eyes, gave her a chance to take a big breath and waited to see if she was going to scream.

When there was no sound he opened his eyes to seeing her still laying there with a smile on her lips and her eyes still closed. It was hard to believe but the lass didn't seem at all vexed with her captor. Her lips were slightly parted.

Charlie skimmed back down over her body and took up where they'd left off. This time he slid his tongue gently between her lips and was met with an answering tongue. The woman probed his mouth deeply and he began to sweat.

Charlie hadn't meant to take advantage of the lasses situation. He'd planned to woo her well before he did more than kiss her. After all he wanted no unwilling wife.

Still she didn't seem to be at all unwilling as his body was letting him know in no uncertain terms. No McDonald ever passed up an opportunity. Charlie pulled back the sheets and slid in beside his soft and inviting bride-to-be.

This was definitely one of her better dreams. Jenny could really feel the warmth of the hero's hands beneath the hem and neck of her shift. And he seemed to have all the skills that qualified him for hero-hood: powerful thighs that pressed around her own, strong - yet gentle- hands running up and down her body and a well-muscled torso that was warm and responsive beneath her probing fingers.

Jenny turned slightly in the bed and began to run one hand through his curly shoulder length hair and the other beneath the material of his loose shirt.

Charlie practically purred with delight. He slid his hand deeper beneath the neck of her gown until he located one large warm breast.

She gasped with pleasure and he set himself to the task of coaxing more of those appealing noises out of her throat. He'd never thought wooing a bride away from her people could be so easy or so pleasant!

Keeping one hand moving around an erect nipple, Charlie lowered his mouth and began to run his tongue around the thin material covering the other breast. The woman's breathing came faster than ever now and she began to slowly spread her legs beneath his now aching need.

His groin was throbbing and Charlie wrapped his legs tighter around the woman's voluptuous hips to heighten the sensation and felt his toenails scraping her thigh. "Sorry," he breathed.

Jenny jerked suddenly awaked. This wasn't the voice of Fiona's dream lover. She opened her eyes. In fact it wasn't a dream at all. She- not Fiona- was making love with an unknown and uninvited man in the bedroom of her highland vacation cottage.

One of his hands was still caressing her left breast and his mouth was doing strange and wonderful things on the other side. She pulled her legs together and rolled away.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?"

The man pulled dreamily away from her breasts and sat up. After one look at her face he unwrapped his strong legs from around her waist and sat up to face her.

Jenny tried to ignore an inner wave of protest when he removed his body. She also had to ignore a sharp intake of breath when she saw how good looking the man was.

Though his hair was burnished golden brown instead of black, his clothes more mundane and his skin lightly freckled, still he had the rugged good looks which could have easily placed him on the cover of Highland Heroine.

Charlie tried to looked sheepish but he was afraid he was still smiling. Obviously the woman had no idea that her shift was open to her waist giving him a delicious view of erect, rosy nipples in the moonlight.

"As to me name, it's Charlie MacDonald. And as to what I'm doin' here, I'm thought it was as clear to ye as it is to me. I'm makin' ye me bride."