woman's arms.A grandchild ,Navarre thought, and wondered if the babe was boy or girl.
Tears stung his eyes as his gaze rested on Katlaina's face.Do you ever think of me ? he wondered.Do you know how much I miss you? How much I love you ?
He drew deeper into the shadows as Katlaina's head jerked up and she glanced toward the copse of trees where he stood. Had she seen him?
"What is it, Mother?" the young woman asked.
"I don't know." Katlaina shook her head. "I... thought..."
"Thought what?"
Katlaina smiled up at her son. "I thought I heard your father's voice."
The young man frowned. "My father? Here?" He looked around, his gaze searching the road.
"Just an old woman's fantasies," Katlaina said with a self-conscious smile. Placing the bowl of shelled peas under her arm, she stood up. "Supper will be ready soon."
"I'll help you," the young woman said, but Katlaina shook her head.
"No, daughter, I'd rather be alone, just now. Enjoy the quiet of the evening with your husband and child. I'll call you when it's time to set the table."
Oblivious to the tears that dampened his cheeks,Navarre watched her disappear into the house and close the door behind her.
For a moment, he thought of following her, of pulling her into his arms, of crushing her body to his. The memories of the nights they had shared crowded his mind, vividly reminding him of the sweetness of her lips, the supple feminine flesh that had teased and tantalized him with every touch, every caress. He longed to inhale the fragrance of her hair, speak her name, tell her that he had never forgotten her, that he loved her, would always love her.
But she had a husband now. The thought knifed through him. And how would he explain his presence to his son? How would he explain the fact that he had not aged in the last five-and-twenty years, that he looked like his son's younger brother, not his father?
When Katlaina called them in to dinner, he crept around the side of the house and peered through the window. They sat at a small round table, talking quietly as they shared a simple meal. The scent of candles and fresh-baked bread filled the room.
He imprinted the image on his heart and mind and then, unable to watch any longer, he disappeared into the shadows.
Painful as it was, he went back to the village in the mountains every year. Young Navarre fathered eight healthy children - five sons and three daughters. He built a new house close to Katlaina's cottage so he could care for his aging mother.
Time and again,Navarre was tempted to reveal himself to his son, and yet something, some instinct, warned him that it would be folly to do so.
In the dark of night, when his son's family lay peacefully sleeping, he walked through the house on silent feet, gazing down at his grandchildren, feeling a sense of pride as he saw his likeness in their faces. Dark of hair and skin, they all bore the unmistakable stamp of his lineage.
And always, he lingered in Katlaina's room. Her husband had died long since, and now she lived in the cottage alone, with only a mangy yellow cat for company.
His grandchildren were all grown, his son showing his age, the nightNavarre heard Katlaina weeping. Silent as a drifting shadow, he listened to her cries and then, as if a heavy weight had suddenly descended on him, he knew she was dying, knew that it was a secret she had kept to herself. Knew, deep in his soul, that she would be gone before the morning's light.
Katlaina.
He heard the gasp of her indrawn breath as she sat up, her face wet with tears. "Navarre, are you there?"
And because he loved her, because he could not bear the thought of her dying alone, he went to her.
"Are you real?" she whispered, "or only a ghost conjured from my imagination?"
"Real enough," he replied softly. "If you want me to be."
She stared up at him, trying to see his face in the darkness.
"Light a candle," she said. "I want to see you."
Reluctantly, he did as she asked. He saw the wonder in her eyes, the trepidation, the curiosity.
"How is it possible?" she murmured.
She stared at her hands, the skin wrinkled with age, yet he had not changed at all. More than fifty years had passed since she sent him away, and yet he was as tall as she remembered. His shoulders were still broad, his back unbowed