“Not married yet?” The bartender’s wife glanced at Jordan before turning all her attention to maneuvering through the parking lot.

“Me? No.”

She laughed. “I meant the two of ye. Surely, ye don’t mean to let that laddie get away? If ye can help it, that is.”

“I wish.”

“Don’t tell me he’s already taken.”

“I...” The truth dawned on her. “Actually, I don’t know. I never asked.”

“Ye never— Well, I’d best keep m’ gob shut, then.”

Jordan tried to laugh it off. “I’m a photographer. He was just modeling for me. I really don’t know much about him.”

“Modeling for ye?” Christine gave a very unladylike snort. “Preenin’ for ye’s more like. But ye’d be wise to ask some questions before ye feed him too much...breakfast.”

“I think you’re right.”

~ ~ ~

Kerry was invited to pass the night at the home of Marion Moss, a widower who lived only two blocks from the bar and therefore didn’t need anyone to take his keys from him if he became overly drunk. Three blocks in heavy rain, however, sobered the man enough to find his front door. He showed Kerry the cupboard where he would find bedding, then disappeared into the bedchamber to leave him in peace.

Stretched out upon the floor, Kerry was surprised at how grateful he was for a bit of mortal rest and fell asleep appreciating the softness of a twenty-first century pillow, ignoring the twenty-first century argument that a beautiful woman was just across town, wishing he would come knock upon her window. Deep down, he was just too much of an eighteenth-century gentleman to take advantage of the situation.

His sleep was haunted, no doubt as penance, by the image of her sitting at the edge of a playing field, waiting patiently for him to win a trophy and take her home. No matter how hard he tried, or how fast he ran, he never seemed to get the rules right.

Undaunted, he kept trying until he was finally declared the winner. To his horror, he was awarded a large iron pan and a ball ping hammer, then turned to face the Hanoverian army across Drumossie Moor.

Jordan stood in their midst wearing a pea coat of red, setting up a tri-pod and a camera to film the battle. The first shots were fired, but once again, he forgot to protect his heart.

“Kerry!” Jordan shook his shoulder as he lay bleeding into the mud. “I need to shoot you again from a different angle.”

Dawn breaking through Marion Moss’s sheer curtains brought him fully awake and saved him from the madness of his dream. But for a moment, he wondered if he was simply rising from his grave all over again. One look around the room brought him back to the moment and he sat still to listen. Moss’s snoring lent a peace to the place—a lonely place without a woman to fill it.

The sun would be up in an hour… and so would a certain American photographer.

Kerry wished he had something to leave the widower as thanks for his hospitality, but the only things he had on him were his tam and his skean duh. He folded the blanket and set it on the couch, topped it with the pillow, and left the wee blade in the center. The man might get a chuckle out of showing it to his fellows at the bar.

Kerry also left the shorts and hoped Moss would see them rightfully home again.

All the way up the rise and around the square, Kerry hoped Jordan wouldn’t be too cross with him for waking her early. But it was his last day, after all. Their last day together. And he wanted to fit a lifetime into it.

The statue of The Blacksmith drew him. The likeness could have easily been his father, but he acknowledged it looked just as much like himself. He said a quick prayer, then, and asked God to bless the souls of Brechin who had honored him so. If they were looking down upon him from Heaven, they might be pleased he hadn’t dishonored his name during his brief second mortality.

Carried the name of Brechin into battle? Aye, he had. Little did they ken it was a battle with the devil he’d fought the night before. And won.

He was now well and truly ashamed he’d hidden from his father and forefathers for so long. On the bright side, he would welcome seeing them again…if not for a certain lass he dreaded leaving behind.

“Not yet, Soncerae. I’ve half a day, still. I beg ye not to come for me until ye must.”

The rising sun winked at him over a distant rooftop, reminding Kerry that no matter what Soni could do for him, time and daylight waited upon no man. So he hurried off to beat upon a certain lass’s door.

The door was unlocked, and Kerry immediately worried for Jordan’s safety. When he stepped inside, however, he smelled the freshly cooked back bacon and realized the lass had already been up.

The table was set with care and three covered plates sat in the center. He touched one. It was cold. The glass of orange juice was tepid. The bowl of beans, chilly.

He reckoned she’d cooked and gone back to sleep, and though he knew it was a dangerous move, he went to the bedroom door and peeked inside. The bed had been straightened, however, so he strode immediately to the lavatory door. It was ajar and the lights off.

She couldn’t have been so angry with him she’d left him! Surely!

He looked again at the table so lovingly set with napkins folded and the potted plant set in the center.

Facing the living room, he found the couch was empty, but the fire was lit, and Jordan lay before it tucked inside a blanket like a sausage roll. His heart fell over itself jumping for joy, like an old man riding a horse for the first time. Had he ever known such happiness before? How could he have wasted his own life not knowing this bliss bubbling in his chest?

The sight of her was joy itself. Mattered not if she were coming or going, if it were their last moment, or the start of a very long life together. He was content to have her with him. And for each minute they had left he would be grateful.

Kerry didn’t have the heart to wake her. If she’d been up cooking already, she hadn’t had much sleep, if any. A few hours, no more. It was the excuse he gave himself to lie down behind her and keep still.

Her breathing lulled him, calmed his over-excited heart, and allowed him to imagine what it would have been like had they met and married long ago. After a time, their hearts would have fallen into a rhythm together. Their love would have been that ardent, he was sure.

The sun was well up when Jordan finally stirred, then started. She rolled away from him, then smiled. “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to fall in love with ye all over again, I fear.”

Her brow puckered together. Tears filled her eyes and leaked down salty trails left from tears already cried. “I think I caught the same bug.”

He scooted closer and promised himself it was only for a moment. Then he leaned over her as she rolled onto her back. “Permission to break your heart, Jordan Lennox?”

She nodded instantly. “Permission granted.”