“A battle with Grey? Wh-when?” she whispered.

Michael turned and lifted her onto his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around her, bringing her eyes level with his. “I was born in the year 1171, Libby. I’m more than eight hundred years old.”

She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her.

He continued his tale. “During this battle, I caught sight of an old man standing on a bluff above us, his arms outstretched and a long staff held high in his hand. A great storm broke over us, darkening the sky to night, filling the air with a powerful wind and sizzling bolts of lightning. And suddenly, I was falling, tumbling through what I can only describe as blinding white energy. I felt as if I did not exist for that brief moment of time, merely consumed.”

The woman on his lap had gone deathly still, her eyes wide and her complexion pale.

Still Michael continued, determined to make her understand exactly who he was.

“My next conscious thought was that I hadn’t died, after all. I was lying in a field of tall grass and could hear the moans of my men, broken only by the screams of our frightened horses.” He tightened his hands on her arms, more to keep them from trembling than to hold her.

“Greylen MacKeage was lying beside me. Five of my own warriors were there, and Callum and Morgan and Ian MacKeage. Our horses struggled to their feet and stood quivering, breathing hard and snorting in terror, not knowing which way to run to safety. We knew not what had happened or where the threat lay.”

Libby lifted one tiny gloved hand to his face and ran a finger down his taut cheek.

“Where were you?” she whispered.

“In modern-day Scotland.” He captured her hand and held it against his chest, over his pounding heart. “That was twelve years ago, Libby. The five MacBains who were with me are dead now. Only the MacKeages remain from that day. And Daar. His real name is Pendaär, and he is adrùidh .”

She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. She simply turned her gaze to her hand held against his chest.

Michael lifted her chin and smiled. “Your secret is not so terrible, lass, when compared with mine. That ya have this gift to heal people is a wondrous thing, Libby. And that I can understand your powers is my gift to you.”

She was frowning now, staring at his chest again. “You’re saying that you traveled eight hundred years through time? That you were born in medieval Scotland, and a wizard cast a spell and brought you here?” she finished softly, raising turbulent, misting brown eyes back up at him.

“Aye, Libby. That is what happened. As God is my witness, I don’t know how or why, just that it is. And for the last twelve years, I have been learning to live with the fact.”

She threw herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him fiercely, her lips touching his ear as she whispered, “Oh, Michael, I’m so sorry for what happened to you.”

He took hold of her shoulders and held her away, staring into her tear-soaked eyes.

“Don’t ya dare be sorry,” he growled. “I have accepted my fate, and it is you who must do the same now.”

She blinked, clearly surprised by his anger. “But—”

“You are born of a time whendrùidhs and magic and miracles are considered suspect, Libby,” he continued with gentle force. “Ya cannot comprehend what ya cannot touch or see. But I am from a time where magic was almost a religion and very much a part of everyday life. It is through me that you can come to accept your abilities and embrace them instead of fearing them. It may very well be the reason I’m here, lass.” He suddenly smiled. “And Robbie. He was needing to be born, I think, from a wonderful woman who was very special herself. Robbie’s destiny is yet to be revealed, but I do know that it’s my destiny to be here with him. And with you.

“Which is also why,” he continued before she could respond, keeping the steel in his voice, “we’re getting married tomorrow.”

“Married! Tomorrow!” she sputtered, her own voice cracking with surprise.

Michael nodded curtly.

“But you don’t want to get married!” she hissed, scrambling off his lap. She pointed her finger at him. “I will not live with a man who can’t love me.”

He leaned back against the ledge, crossing his feet at the ankles and his arms over his chest. “But I do love you,” he softly declared.

She suddenly looked as if she might explode. “You do not! You can’t. You said you have nothing left to give a woman.”

“I was wrong.”

“I’m an aberration. A freak of nature.”

“Then we will be freaks together.” He stood up until he towered over her and smiled.

“But we will be married freaks, Libby. You belong to me. And we will spend the rest of our unnatural lives as man and wife, embracing our destinies together.”

Michael reached for Libby the moment he realized she was about to crumble in a mess of overwhelmed confusion and quickly sat down again, cradling her against his chest.

“Ah, lass. For as much as you’ve been needing an anchor, so have I. We can ground each other, Libby. Our combined strengths can keep us sane, and together we can help Robbie grow into a fine man as he sets out to find his own destiny.”

He lifted a hand and fingered the white lock of hair on her forehead. “And maybe we can have one or two more bairns. Girls if ya want, with cute little locks of white hair and six toes on each foot.”

She slapped her hand over his and gave him a horrified look. “My children will be normal,” she sputtered.

He tugged on her white curl. “But what’s the fun in that? Anyone can be normal.”

She had to think about that, and from the look on her face, it was difficult for her to embrace such a concept. So Michael figured he’d help her along by kissing her cute, pouting lips.

“Marry me, Libby,” he whispered into her mouth.

“Tomorrow at noon, make me the happiest man in the world.”

She pulled back with a gasp. “Robbie knows!” she squeaked. “He said those same words this morning.” She poked him in the shoulder. “He knew before I did!”

Michael quickly captured her hands and nodded. “So does Kate. And Grace. And John.

We’ve been planning the ceremony for almost a week.”

He’d have gotten poked again if she could have freed her hands. “And just when were you going to tell me?”

“I had originally thought to wait until morning,” he admitted, feeling heat creep into his face. This was one time he was certainly glad that Grace had interfered. “I have your ring wrapped in a small box, hidden in our Christmas tree. I—er—I was going to surprise you.”

“With a ring,” she repeated softly, her eyes searching his. She suddenly sighed, all the fight draining out of her. She shook her head. “Every woman dreams of that kind of surprise.” She glared at him. “But she usually has a few months before the ceremony to get used to the idea.”

“Why wait?”

“Why not wait?”

Michael cupped her face with his hands and rubbed his thumbs over her cheeks as she looked up at him. “Because I want you in my bed at night, lass. When two people decide to spend the rest of their lives together, a long engagement is wasted.”

She went back to thinking, and Michael decided that Libby’s thinking too long and too hard might very well be a dangerous thing. So he went back to kissing her.

She was hesitant at first, more distracted than responsive, until he was able to wiggle his hand under her coat and find her firm little breast. He also found that she wasn’t wearing a bra.

How nice. And how convenient.

Her skin was toasty warm under several layers of clothes and the down jacket. His much cooler hand sent shivers coursing through her body and beaded her soft, silky nipple into a pebble. He ran his thumb over it, captured her gasp in his mouth, and rolled them both over until he had nestled himself comfortably between her legs.