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“Dinna ye berate me about duty,” he spat. “And I dinna run around kissing lasses.” He picked up his wet clothes. “One lass. Ye.”

With that he walked past her, leaving a whiff of lake water and something woody, and earthy, and so masculine her insides began sizzling and begging for him to stay.

She forced herself to turn back towards the water, not watching as he walked away. The best thing for her to do now would be to go down into the basement and just get the hell out. David must be going crazy back in her own time, and she was clearly stirring up things here that she wasn’t supposed to.

But her dissertation… She had to prove her mother’s theory right. She missed her mom so much, and if she could prove that the Bruce had almost given himself up to the enemies, she’d be able to defend her dissertation and publish her results—and show everyone that Mom had been right. If she could find something that would help her prove her hypothesis, she’d leave right away. She just needed to dig a bit more. She should ask around…and see if she could sneak into the lord’s hall when it was empty.

Then she’d leave this time, where she wasn’t supposed to be, anyway.

She just needed to become more proactive, see if she could find some records or letters.

And avoid Angus like the plague, because, clearly, her self-control took a vacation anytime he was near. And if she wasn’t careful, he would not just steal her breath.

He would also steal her heart.

* * *

When the door to his bedchamber closed with a low thump behind Angus, he knew he wasn’t alone. With the fireplace dead, his bedchamber was dark. The sun had set, and little light came from the slit window. A shadow moved to his right, and he sensed a sweet breath. His hand shot to his belt only to brush against empty air.

Something sharp and cold pierced into the flesh under his chin. A knife.

“Dinna move, Lord Angus,” a woman said.

Euphemia.

“Kindly remove yer blade from my neck, Lady Euphemia,” he said through gritted teeth.

She didn’t. Still holding it to his throat, she moved to stand before him. She was gray in the dim twilight, her hair ashen, her skin silver. She stared at him with her eyes narrowed, like she wanted to dig under his skin and find what made his heart beat faster.

A corner of her mouth crawled up. “Ah, a wee bit of excitement ’tis all, Lord. Ye just had a bit of that of yer own, didna ye?”

Angus’s skin chilled. By God’s blood—had she seen him kiss Lady Rogene?

What a goddamn idiot he was. Even though it had felt so good—like touching the sun—and Rogene had clearly enjoyed it, he knew he was putting her and himself in danger. Euphemia wasn’t a woman to be jesting with.

“Whatever do ye mean?” he asked, hoping it was something else.

“I mean, ’tis a shame yer fun didna include me.”

The edge of the knife dug deeper into his skin. Something was seriously wrong with this woman.

“Ye told me ye’d be faithful,” she said. “Ye told me ye’re a man of yer word.”

Aye, he had. And, although he’d fully intended to keep his word, it was so hard to do that with Rogene.

“Whatever ye saw”—he grasped her hand and pressed it harder into his throat. His skin broke under the blade and a warm drop of liquid crawled down his neck. Euphemia’s eyes widened in excitement and seemed to sparkle—“it doesna matter. It wilna be repeated.”

She arched one elegant eyebrow.

“Kill me now if ye wish,” he said, his fingers tightening around her wrist. “But I wilna betray my clan. I will stay true to my duty. I will stay true to ye.”

She raised her head, and a small, satisfied smile spread on her lips. “Oh? Prove it.”

“How?”

She removed the knife and took a step towards him, so close she pressed herself against him. Angus tensed, his stomach squeezing in revulsion. She leaned forward and licked the drop of blood from his neck. Her flowery, almost sickening scent reached him. That must be what rose water smelled like, he realized. The expensive rose water imported from the south.

“Ye ken how, Lord. Make me yers. Right now.”