I knew with a sudden chilling burst of intuition that I could wander through this strange town without once losing my way. I knew this place, deep in my bones. Glenna MacDougall was sure that the dawn of the twentieth century would find her still at her librarian's desk at Atwater, Massachusetts. How could she know that an unknown uncle in Scotland would leave her a fortune, but would insist that she live in Scotland for a year before the money would be hers? At first, the trip seemed like a grand adventure, a lark. Then the nightmares began. The dream was always the same: A menacing figure stalked the ramparts of the ancient castle, coming closer to Glenna, always closer. Glenna was a practical woman. She could deal with a few bad dreams. But when she arrived at Dungariff Castle and met brooding, mysterious Lorne MacDougall, she was sure that she hand known him before, had felt his touch. And she knew that his touch could only mean mortal danger.
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