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“Ye came back to me. I never thought ye would. But now, ye’re giving me a bairn, and ye became my wife… Ye and the bairn are everything I’ve ever desired.”
Epilogue
Eilean Donan
Two weeks later…
Angus’s large, warm palm rubbed Rogene’s back, soothing her. She was leaning over an empty bucket, her breakfast of porridge threatening to spill out.
“Get pregnant, they said,” she muttered. “It will be great, they said.”
“They said what, love?” Angus asked.
“Nothing. Just wondering why any woman would choose to get pregnant.” Her stomach was aching with a need to vomit, but she couldn’t. It wouldn’t come. That was how she’d lived for the past two weeks. She supposed it was a good sign that the baby was fine and growing and just taking what it needed from her.
What he needed from her.
Rogene sat back down in the large chair by the fireplace in the lord’s hall and wiped her misty forehead. Angus, who took a seat in another big chair by her side took her hand and pressed it against his lips, his short beard sending tingles all over her body. His dark-gray eyes sparkled as they met hers, his mouth curving in a chuckle.
They’d been so blindly happy for the past two weeks. Earth disappeared under her feet when Angus was near her. There was a slight tug at her heart every time he entered the room even when she didn’t hear or see him.
Her husband… The love of her life… The father of her child…
She could trust him with her life. The thought was so simple and so natural, she couldn’t believe there was ever a time she couldn’t get herself to trust people.
They’d stayed in Eilean Donan for a while after the wedding, to prepare and pack for the journey to Ault a’chruinn. Then this terrible nausea had hit Rogene, and she’d begged Angus to stay until it would pass. Spending several hours in a boat, adding seasickness to morning sickness, sounded to her like a death wish.
Besides, there was still the question of David…
The lord’s hall was lit in golden sunlight from two slit windows, dust floating in the sunrays. Catrìona glanced at Rogene with sympathy, the stone weights on her loom clanking as she moved the handle up to form a row in the fabric.
“Doesna ginger help, Rogene?” she asked.
“Nothing helps,” Rogene replied. “Only your brother’s presence.”
“In that case, I wilna take a single step away from ye. Dinna fash, wife.”
Rogene beamed, already feeling like her nausea was subsiding. Maybe there was truth to the whole endorphins making pain go away thing. Or maybe her love for Angus could heal anything.
“You better not,” she said, intertwining her hand with his.
David groaned softly at their almost constant display of affection, glancing up from carving the handle of a dagger. He sat in a chair by the table, his elbows on his knees. In the two weeks since he’d arrived, he hadn’t shaved because the medieval razor—which looked like a mix between a miniature scythe and a tiny ax—“gave him the creeps.” The short beard added ten years. Physical labor, which included working at the smithy, helping with the horses, and even starting sword training, had grown his muscles. That, too, aged him.
“What?” Rogene said.
“Could you guys be less happy, please? Just consider those of us mere mortals who have not found love across the ages and are not even necessarily eager to be here in the first place.”
Rogene sighed. David missed home and was understandably worried about his future. They’d tried to send him forward in time almost every day.
Nothing worked.
And the more time that passed, the grouchier he became. The only times he seemed to be truly enjoying himself were during physical activities and when he was being useful—that was why he was always trying to find something to do, she suspected.
What he loved most was horse riding. It was like driving a car, he’d told Rogene, only better. Like partnering up with a living being. His eyes sparkled whenever he was near a horse, and horses seemed to like him, too. Angus had told her that he was planning to give him a horse of his own soon, to lift his spirits.
They haven’t told anyone about time travel, keeping the pretense of being distant cousins of James Douglas; although, deep down, Rogene knew her new family thought she and David were odd at times. No doubt, they suspected there was something else going on with them, but no one questioned them.
Yet.
