Page 97 of Blood of the Thistle

“To seek your vengeance?” she inquired.

Bram nodded and somehow refrained from asking if she would worry about him.

“It’s strange,” she mused. “Not that you want revenge—that part I understand. It’s... weird that you can just saddle a horse and go get it.”

“Do people nae seek revenge in your time?”

“Oh, they do,” she was quick to assure him, “but mostly we let the courts handle the serious stuff. For smaller offenses, there’s social media, nasty online reviews, public shaming. My mother is more old-school. She favors strongly worded emails and has been known to demand a manager when the situation calls for it.”

He grinned before he thought to tamp it down.

“You didn’t understand half of that, did you?” she asked, possibly having read his mind.

“Nae, lass.”

“I won’t ask you if you’re nervous, because I know by now you don’t suffer with anxiety of any sort.”

“ʼTis a broad claim, lass,” he charged lightly.

Anastasia tipped her head back a bit more and narrowed her eyes at him, pretending to read him. “It is, but I’m pretty sure I’m not far off the mark. You aren’t the worrying kind.”

He thought of all the plans and arrangements he’d made today. “Ye ken, lass, ye can worry less if ye plan more.”

She laughed outright at this, seeming beautifully at ease with him. “I’ll keep that in mind next time I’m hurled through the centuries.” She seemed to catch herself, and covered her mouth guiltily, glancing around toward Etta and Margaret.

Bram lifted his hand and pulled hers away from her mouth. “They dinna hear.”

Her hand remained in his after he’d lowered it, and for several moments Bram was more conscious of that than anything else. Her fingers rested loosely against his palm, neither gripping nor retreating, and when Anastasia continued speaking, she made no move to reclaim her hand.

“I’m just starting to get comfortable,” she admitted, her voice lower so that Bram had to lean into her to hear properly, “and I’d rather not give them reasons to distrust me.”

Which begged the question, “Did ye nae ever fret about me distrusting ye?”

She gave it some thought, her brow wrinkling, before she answered. “Well, I know you don’t necessarily believe me about you-know-what, but you did see me, er, arrive, so to speak—and you saw how confused and terrified I was—so that I guess I never imagined that you... didn’t... trust me.”

The last of her words slowed dramatically, her expression changing as some recollection evidently intruded upon the answer she’d been giving him.

“Oh, I forgot... you said you didn’t trust me in the beginning. You said—”

The hurt that entered her face struck Bram hard enough that he answered before she could finish.

“I trust ye, Anastasia.”

“Do you though?”

Bram frowned. “Aye.”

Her eyes dropped briefly to their joined hands before returning to his face. “Even about where I came from?”

“I believe something happened to ye that I cannae explain.”

Anastasia’s expression remained guarded. “That’s not the same thing.”

“Nae.”

“So you don’t believe me.”

“I dinna say that.”