Heat warmed her breasts and she crossed her legs against the growing ache between them, making her feel like a pervert as she sat in the silent, comfortable confines of the Bodotria Library.

She could still feel his hands on her, when she closed her eyes, could even feel where his hands might have traveled if she hadn’t pulled away from him. Connecting the dots from disparate information was essential to being a good researcher, and she could only come to one conclusion: Tav knew what he was doing. Her body wouldn’t let her forget that.

Maybe it was because he was a little older—her hookups had tended toward young, dumb, and full of . . . imprecise applications of moves they’d picked up from watching too much porn. Or maybe it was because he was her first kiss in recent memory, and the first kiss in longer memory that hadn’t tasted of booze.

“Portia, you say that alcohol helps you to relax and be open with people. Can you tell me how being open without alcohol makes you feel?”

Portia had never given much weight to her drunken escapades—that had kind of been the point. The alcohol had been its own kind of armor, protecting her from caring too much about anything. Most of the notches in her bedpost were slightly out of focus, but the memory of Tav’s kiss was sharp as the blade they had forged and could cut her just as deeply if she let it.

She cleared her throat, and the librarian at the information desk raised her head from the pile of books she was sorting. For a moment, Portia was sure the dark-haired young woman knew she was having lascivious thoughts in the reference section.

“Need help with the microfiche, love?” the librarian asked. “Or a Ricola?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Portia responded guiltily, and turned back to the machine. She was totally fine. That kiss was an isolated incident, and since it would never happen again, there was no need to think about it again. She could throw all this excess energy into her research. Totally the same thing.

She was more accustomed to searching digital archives, but after a morning spent going through old newspapers, she’d gotten the hang of things. There were products to be packed and shipped—she was proud of the modest increase in sales that was resulting from her work—but Jamie had signed off on her research trip, knowing how much she wanted to get the site finished. She hadn’t asked Tav; he’d been up in his office, and the risk of being alone with him had frightened her. No, that wasn’t right—it had thrilled her.

She concentrated on the screen, scrolling through old copies of the Bodotrian, a local newspaper long since lost to the annals of time—outside of the Bodotria Library microfiche.

She was an old hand at research, but years spent on social media had prepared her for this tedious task. She scrolled by picture after picture, headlines that talked of boys going off to war and coming back, of new boats being unveiled that used increasingly complex methods of steering, of trade deals and shipping courses, and then of boys going off to war again.

She fell into a rhythm, gaze sliding over photos and words.

Giant ship with sails. Giant ship without sails. Bunch of white dudes. White dudes in front of a ship. Tavish and some fancy people. Another gia—

The hairs on the back of Portia’s neck raised as she scrolled back and the picture came into view. It was grainy and black and white, but that was definitely Tavish. Or a very Tavish-like person. Talking to a woman, while holding the hand of a young boy. Their backdrop? The armory.

“Holy shit,” she yelped.

“Do you need help, love?” There was menace in the librarian’s voice now.

“No! I’m sorry. I just . . . get really excited about history, you know?”

“Ah. Well, that’s fine then.” The librarian smiled indulgently and nodded before returning to her work.

Portia turned and stared at the photo, then pulled out her phone and snapped a pic.

[International Friend Emporium]

Portia: <photo attachment> GUYS. I AM APPRENTICED TO AN IMMORTAL.

Ledi: Um, is that photoshopped? Do you need me to FedEx some holy water? Holy pepper spray?

Portia: Wut is happening. I can’t

Nya: Wait. WAIT.

Nya: “THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE!”

Ledi: . . .

Nya: It all makes sense! Remember the film we watched to gain knowledge of Scottish culture before Portia left? There were Scotsmen with large swords, and beheadings, and immortals!

Ledi: You think #swordbae is . . . a Highlander?

Nya: Do you have a better explanation?

Ledi: I love you. Truly.

Portia: I’m apprenticed to The Highlander. Fuck.

She put the phone down, ignoring the texts flying by on the screen, and examined the article more closely.

ROYAL VISIT

While spending her yearly week at Holyrood, the Queen graced the waterways of Bodotria with a visit. While here, she consecrated a new ship named in her honor. In this photo, Edinburgh’s Royal Duke, Douglas Dudgeon, shows her the hospital for addled soldiers he recently opened at his property, Dudgeon House. He is continuing the work of his great aunt, who opened Firth Hospital for the poor many years ago.

Portia’s heart was racing as everything coalesced in her head. It could be a coincidence that the father he’d never known had bequeathed him the property. It could be a coincidence that this man who was old enough to be his grandfather looked exactly like him. It could not be a coincidence that the man looked like Tavish, owned the same property, and had a son young enough to be Tavish’s father. She didn’t even need to ask Ledi to crunch the numbers on the probability of that, because it was clear as fuck: the chances of them being related was significant.