When she leaned forward to take her latte and scone, he pressed against her from behind, deliberately brushing his hard arousal against her bottom, letting her know exactly how much she was always on his mind.

He smiled when she nearly dropped her coffee.

“I’d have bought you another,” he said with a shrug, when she glanced sharply over her shoulder at him, blushing as furiously as she was scowling. Like as not, he’d buy her the café if she indicated the slightest desire for it.

“You’re incorrigible,” she hissed. “Just so you know, what happened on the plane is not going to happen again,” she informed him, before turning and stalking off toward the rental car.

His eyes flared dangerously. Did the lass think to share such intimacies with him and then rescind them?

Och, nay, Dageus MacKeltar didn’t go backward. She would find that out soon enough.

As they neared their destination, Dageus grew increasingly subdued. After lengthy deliberation, he’d decided it best to simply appear on Drustan’s doorstep unannounced, hope Gwen answered the door, then hope for the best.

He glanced over at Chloe, acknowledging that he’d not have made this trip today alone. Even with her beside him, he’d considered turning around half a dozen times. Alone, he’d have tried the museums first, have put it off indefinitely, telling himself all manner of lies when the simple truth was that he didn’t want to face Drustan. But somehow, with her at his side, it didn’t seem nigh as impossible.

Her earlier irritation seemed to have passed or, as wee as she was, there simply wasn’t enough room in her to contain irritation and excited curiosity. She was sipping her coffee, staring out the window, pointing, and asking endless questions. What was that ruin? When did summer begin? When did the heather bloom? Were there really pine martens, and could she see one? Could they be petted? Did they bite? Could they go to the museums while they were there? How about Glengarry? How much farther?

He’d been answering absently, but she was so enamored by the vista that she hadn’t seemed to notice his inattention. He had no doubt that she would fall in love with his country. Her enthusiasm made him remember a time—what seemed a lifetime ago—when he, too, had viewed the world with wonder.

He forced his gaze away from her, and his thoughts back to the upcoming confrontation.

He hadn’t seen Drustan—awake, that was—in four years, one month and twelve days. Since the eve that Drustan had been placed in an enchanted sleep, to slumber for five centuries. They’d spent that final day together, trying to wedge a lifetime into it.