“Aye, oh, aye,” Gwen sighed dreamily.
And this time when they made love it was tender and slow and sweeter than e’er before.
“Where will we live?” she asked finally, combing her fingers through his silky hair. She simply couldn’t stop touching him. Couldn’t believe he was here. Couldn’t believe the sacrifice he’d made to be with her.
He grinned. “I took care of that. The estate was divided into thirds in 1518. My third is to the south. Dageus oversaw the construction of our home. It awaits us even now. Maggie and Christopher assured me they opened it and all is in readiness.”
Dageus, Gwen thought. She needed to tell him about Dageus vanishing, but there would time for that later. She didn’t want anything to spoil the moment.
“You doona mind living in Scotland, do you, lass?” he teased lightly, but she sensed a hint of vulnerability in his question. It would be hard for him to adjust to a new century. It would be even more difficult if she dragged him off to America. In time, she suspected he would like to travel, for he was a curious man, but Scotland would always be his home. Which was fine, she had no desire to go back to the States.
The enormity of what he’d done, how much he’d given up for her, overwhelmed her.
“Drustan,” she breathed, “you gave it all up—”
He pulled her onto his chest and brushed his lips against hers. “And I would do it all over again, sweet Gwen.”
“But your family, your century, your home—”
“Och, lass, doona you know? Your heart is my home.”