Page 45 of The Highlander Is All That

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Anne stared at Ranald, her heart pounding in her chest. His expression was so raw, so sincere, it hurt her to look at it.

He wanted her to know love.

She nearly laughed because on the one hand, she knew love was a foolish dream, but on the other hand, she ached for it. She ached to feel what he’d felt for Glenna, that lucky, lucky woman. She ached to be held and stroked and revered, as he had held her earlier.

She laid awake at night wanting it, yet afraid of it and rejecting it all at the same time.

It was illogical for her to want it with him.

It was insanity.

For one thing, he was a feckless Scot, and her mind told her a relationship with a man like that would end in heartbreak.

Her heart disagreed. Deep in her soul, she knew him, this man, her friend. She knew he was not feckless in the least. He would not betray her or mock her or toss her aside if she gave him her affection.

On the other hand, he was a Scot. His home was miles away. Any lasting relationship with him would take her away from her family, probably forever, which she could not abide.

How ironic was it that she’d finally found a man she wanted to be with, but would have to give up everything she loved to make it happen?

No. She could not.

So she took his hands in hers and squeezed. She fixed a friendly look on her face and smiled. “I am so glad to have you as my friend,” she repeated, and then she quickly quit the room before she did something utterly foolish.

Like kiss him.

Chapter Ten

Hamish was the first one ready for the evening and down in the parlor, though it surely wasn’t his eagerness to see Elizabeth again. It had horrified him earlier, seeing her on that couch, motionless and weak.

She was not weak. It did not become her.

He’d been swamped with worry all afternoon. He headed across the drawing room for the whisky decanter and poured himself a draught. It would be a long night, and he needed the sustenance.

“Are you really going to wear that?” an amused voice wafted to him. He stilled. His heart thudded. He turned, slowly.

How could he not have seen her? Smelled her? Sensed her?

She sat in the chair on the other side of the room, in the shadows, with a glass in her hand.

Hamish threw out his arms and twirled for her. His kilt belled about his knees. “Do you like it?”

“Well, I do, of course, but the ton does not approve.”

“Lady Jersey approves, apparently, and where goes Lady Jersey, goes the ton.” He winked.

“You shall either start a riot or a trend.”

“May we hope and pray for the latter.” He grinned and strolled toward her. “It would do me well to see the ton in kilts.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Not I.”

“Nae?”

He was close enough now that she could lean forward and whisper conspiratorially, “They have knobby knees.”

“Do they?” He glanced at her glass. It was empty. But there was whisky on her breath. “You seem to be feeling better.”