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And when he was buried in her completely, she tightened around him automatically, and he groaned.

“I love ye,” he said. “I love ye, lass. I desire ye like ye’re my last breath of air. Ye’re everything.”

She blinked slowly as the meaning of his words seeped into her lust-filled brain. The man a Highland faerie had said was destined for her loved her… He loved her! And she…

“I love you, too,” she whispered.

There wasn’t anything else she could say, really. Despite the centuries separating their births, despite the fact that they could never be together, despite the fact that she couldn’t possibly stay, she loved him.

Happiness flashed through his eyes and he took her mouth like he wanted her to be the last thing he remembered before he died. He started moving within her, slowly, rousing bliss within every cell of her being.

She hid her face in the crease of his neck as he intensified the rhythm and was pounding into her. His thrusts grew faster, harder. He breathed erratically, echoing the beats of her heart.

She whimpered, taking him all in, the pleasure so intense she was falling apart, unraveling, opening up her heart.

And then he was there with her, over the edge. He stiffened, cried out, bucked, and pounded into her with wild, mindless thrusts, losing himself in her body. She came violently with a gasp, and Angus cried out her name.

They sagged against each other, like one tired, satisfied being. Without pulling out of her, he covered them both with her cloak and took her into his big arms. They breathed one breath in unison, wrapped in each other, and Rogene refused to think of anything that lay beyond the here and now.

It was as though they were lost in time and space, in a capsule of happiness, and she wanted this to last for eternity.

Because it was more than just love and more than just sex. For the first time, she understood what the word “soul mate” meant. It was what she felt now. The absolute and full completeness. The satisfaction that went into every fiber of her being. The feeling that she was home and everything was right with the world. Every. Single. Thing.

She breathed, inhaling his masculine scent. Yes. Everything was right with the world.

Except one thing that kept nagging at her somewhere deep within. She had to come clean. They had to talk about what would happen next for them. They’d just said they loved each other. In her time, it meant they were very serious.

But no matter how right they were for each other, they had an expiration date. She knew that.

Did he?

She leaned back and looked at him.

“I need to tell you something,” she said.

He frowned. Oh damn. She hated herself. She was about to destroy everything. How she wished this wasn’t true. She sat up, put on her breeches, and pulled her tunic back down over her breasts. He rose on one elbow.

“What is it, lass?” he asked.

She swallowed hard. “I’m a historian, right? So I know a lot of things that happened in the past…well, that happen now.”

“Aye.”

She fiddled with the edge of her tunic. “One of those things is about you and Euphemia.”

He rose and sat up straight. “What about me and Euphemia?”

Wringing her hands, she sighed out sharply. “I wish this wasn’t true. But there is a real, historical document that proves that you married her.”

Angus went completely still, his jaw ticked under his beard.

“And more than that, you and she will have a son.” Every word tore at her throat as she said them. “Paul Mackenzie. One day, in 1346, at the battle of Neville’s Cross, your son will save the life of Robert Stuart, the grandson of Robert the Bruce. That will have dramatic consequences for the history of Scotland because when he becomes King of Scotland in 1371, he will start a whole dynasty of Stuart Kings and Queens of Scotland. Your and Euphemia’s son will save a future king’s life.”

Angus closed his eyes as though she’d just slapped him. “Nae.”

She felt as though a knife stabbed her in the heart. “I’m sorry, Angus.”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “So if I dinna marry her and she doesna have my son”—he met her gaze, and there was so much pain in his eyes—“Scotland will lose its future king.”