“Hey.” She pinched him. “That’s not nice.”

She could sense his smile as he sat on the edge of the bed and lifted her on his lap. “My pardon, once more, fair lady.”

Gwen sat quietly for a moment. The way he spoke to her—it was like she was his lady and he, her knight. She sighed, then asked again the question he hadn’t answered. “Why did you say those things to me?”

“I’ve said a lot tonight. Which things do you refer to?”

“You know, those things—about us.” She couldn’t repeat them herself, and maybe she hadn’t heard him correctly. Maybe she had imagined it all, because he said nothing and instead, began to kiss her, gently brushing his lips against hers. She pulled away. “Dreaming or drugs? Was it all in my head?”

“Nay, love.” He nudged her lips again. “I said your bandages would be removed in the morn.” He nuzzled her again as if he enjoyed the feel of her skin against his own. “I said we’ll be wed.” Another kiss. “I said you’re going to carry my name and have my children.” Kiss. “And I said you’ll remain here”—kiss—“with me”—kiss—“forever.”

Gwen pushed away as he tried to kiss her again. She couldn’t think when he touched her like that. Nuzzling was as good as kissing, especially the way he rubbed his nose and lips against her. “Why, Greylen? You don’t even know me.”

“’Tis no simple answer, Gwen.”

“Tell me, please.”

Greylen let out a long sigh, then he shifted his body and took her with him as he settled back. “There was a prophecy, an enchantment, I’ve been aware of for years. Its writings told of two souls who’d been born apart.” He paused as if trying to gauge her reaction, but she was busy tracing circles upon his chest while she listened. Before he could continue, she asked a question.

“Like, you were born in Scotland, and I was born in the States?”

“Mayhap,” he offered. “The prophecy foretold these souls would find each other one day. And once they touched, they’d be joined forever, soothing the male’s lonely heart—”

“Do you have a lonely heart?”

“Nay, love.” He placed his hand over hers. “No more.”

She smiled. “I’m sorry. Will you finish now?”

Greylen continued as Gwen went back to tracing upon his chest. “’Twas written the prophecy’s culmination would occur during the midst of a terrible storm—a storm on the eve of their shared birthdays.”

“Greylen,” Gwen whispered.

“Aye, Gwendolyn?”

“Was yesterday your birthday?”

“Aye, and yours as well.”

Gwen couldn’t answer, her throat had closed and her eyes filled with tears again. Could what he said possibly be true? A prophecy? About them?

“Gwendolyn?” She’d stopped tracing, and he obviously could tell she was troubled.

“Is this some sort of trick you’re playing on me? I’m still on drugs, you know.”

“I’d not trick you…ever.”

“You really think this prophecy was about us?”

“I know it to be.”

“And you’re going to marry me, just because you found me in the storm and we have the same birthday?”