She peered coquettishly at the black-haired man from the corner of her eye, then turned her head to savor him fully. “My, my, and just who might you be?” She fluttered her long lashes admiringly.

Balder’s ice-blue eyes crinkled with pleasure as he beheld the voluptuous woman who was obviously delighted to see him. “The man who’s been waiting for you all his life, lass,” he said huskily.

The wedding celebration began the moment the vows had been exchanged. Jillian longed to slip off with her husband the instant the ceremony ended. With Balder and Ronin strictly monitoring her time with Gavrael for the past two weeks, they’d been able to spend no time alone at all. But she didn’t wish to hurt Adrienne’s feelings when she had obviously taken great care to ensure Jillian’s wedding day was the stuff of dreams, so she dutifully lingered and greeted and smiled. The moment she and Gavrael had sealed their union with a kiss, she’d been snatched from his lips, tugged in one direction by the joyous crowd and able to do nothing but watch helplessly as her husband was dragged in the other.

They were married, the older and wiser had counseled, and they would have plenty of time to spend with each other. Jillian had rolled her eyes and pasted a smile on her face, accepting congratulations.

Finally, the flatbread was broken and the feasting commenced, drawing attention away from the newlyweds. Adrienne helped Jillian slip out of the hall, but instead of showing her to their chambers as she’d expected, the stunning, unusual woman had led her to Dalkeith’s study. The light from oil globes and dozens of candles coupled with a cheery fire made the room a welcoming and warm haven despite the banks of fluffy white snow drifting outside the windows.

“It looks like we may get a real doozy.” Adrienne eyed the drifts as she bustled about, poking up the fire.

Jillian blinked. “A what?”

“Doozy. Oh …” Adrienne paused, then laughed. “A big storm. You know, we might get snowed in for a time.”

“You’re not from this part of the country, are you?” Jillian frowned, trying to place her strange accent.

Again her hostess laughed. “Not quite.” She beckoned Jillian to join her before the fire. “Just tell me, are those two of the hunkiest men you’ve ever laid eyes on?” Adrienne eyed a picture above the hewn-oak mantel and sighed dreamily.

Jillian followed her hostess’s gaze upward to a beautifully rendered portrait of Gavrael and the Hawk. “Oh my. I don’t know what ‘hunkiest’ means, but they certainly are the most handsome men I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s it,” Adrienne agreed. “Do you know they complained the entire time this was being painted? Men.” She rolled her eyes and gestured at the painting. “How could they blame a woman for wanting to immortalize such raw masculine splendor?”

The women spoke quietly for a time, unaware Hawk and Gavrael had entered the study behind them. Gavrael’s eyes lingered on his wife and he started to move forward, determined to claim her before someone else dragged him off.

“Relax.” Hawk placed a restraining hand on his sleeve. Enough distance separated the men from their wives that the women hadn’t heard them yet, but Adrienne’s voice carried clearly:

“It was all that fairy’s fault. He dragged me back through time—not that I’m complaining a bit, mind you. I love it here and I adore my husband, but I’m originally from the twentieth century.”

Both men grinned when Jillian did a double take. “Five hundred years from now?” she exclaimed.

Adrienne nodded, her eyes dancing. Jillian studied her intently, then leaned closer. “My husband’s a Berserker,” she confided.

“I know. He told us right before he left for Caithness, but I didn’t get a chance to ask him any questions. Can he change shapes?” Adrienne looked as if she were about to reach for paper and ink and start scribbling notes. “In the twentieth century there’s a great deal of dispute over just what they were and what they were capable of.” Adrienne paused as she became aware of the two men standing in the doorway. Her eyes twinkled mischievously, and she winked at her husband. “However, there was a general consensus on one thing, Jillian.” She smiled impishly. “It was commonly held that Berserkers were known for their legendary stamina—both in battle and in the b—”

“We get the point, Adrienne.” Hawk cut her off, his black eyes sparkling with amusement. “Now, perhaps we should let Gavrael show her the rest himself.”

Gavrael and Jillian’s chambers were on the third floor of Dalkeith. Adrienne and Hawk escorted them, dropping not-so-subtle hints that the newlyweds could make as much noise as they wished; with the intervening floors, the revelers below would be none the wiser.