The Highlander Is All That (Untamed Highlanders #4)(63)

“Esmeralda?” Hamish asked.

His friend shot him a puzzled glance. Then his expression cleared. “Nae. Anne. She’ll be devastated. She’s been so worried about her sister.” His tone was ragged and through the words, his adoration for Anne was clear.

“Ah.” Hamish said nothing more. Though he longed to scold Ranald for his indiscretion, he had no room to talk after what had transpired between himself and Elizabeth.

At the thought of her, a pain shot through his chest and he swallowed heavily.

She would be married by now.

Lady Twiggenberry.

What a horrible notion. It made his stomach churn. His heart ache. His head throb.

He tried to push her from his mind—she’d made her decision, and he would respect it—but it was difficult.

Ranald dragged his feet all the way back to the inn, but when they stepped into the common rooms, they heard a sound that made them both perk up. It was a trill of laughter—Anne’s laughter, to be precise—which was surprising in itself. Anne was somber and serious on a good day, and lately she’d been bordering on morose . . . when she wasn’t staring into Ranald’s eyes and mooning.

Bower shot Hamish a curious glance, and they both bolted for the common rooms . . . where they stopped short and stared.

At Anne and Mary, sitting at a rough-hewn table in the wilds of Scotland . . . having tea.

Anne spotted them and leaped to her feet. “Oh, look, Ranald! I’ve found her.”

Ranald? Hamish nibbled his lip.

“Can you imagine? They are staying at this very inn!”

“That is wonderful,” Ranald said, opening his arms to Anne and twirling her around.

Mary boggled at the sight of her sister in the baron’s arms, but had better manners—or better sense—than to remark upon this. Hamish followed her lead.

Of course, once the celebration ended—which it did quickly—Ranald turned to Mary and frowned. “Young lady,” he said, and apparently those two words were intended to say it all.

Mary, utterly unchastened, grinned. “You know I had to,” she said.

“I know nothing of the sort.”

She batted her lashes. “I did it for Elizabeth.”

Anne took Mary’s hand. “Never say it. Elizabeth was crushed with guilt.”

“Oh, all right.” Mary huffed an unrepentant sigh. “I did it for myself. I love Jamison. With all my heart and I always will.”

Anne blanched. “But Mary, darling. How will you live?”

Mary shook her head. Her curls—so like Elizabeth’s—bobbled. “He’s more than just a footman. He has skills. His father used to manage a farm in Surrey. Jamison is wonderful with horses. We shall make our way. Somehow.” She smiled again and, somehow, glowed.

If this was what love was—blind, hopeful folly—Hamish wanted no part of it.

“Speaking of Jamison,” Ranald said in a gruff tone. “Where is he?”

Mary batted her lashes. “Hiding from you.”

“Ach,” Hamish grumbled. “You’ve married a winner.”

“Nonsense.” Mary sniffed. “I told him to hide until I could explain everything to you. I knew you would be rash.”

“I am no’ rash,” Ranald barked.

Anne frowned. “Is it too late to annul?” she asked.

Mary answered with a laugh. “Far too late for that.” She set her hand on her stomach and Anne seemed to go green again. She hurriedly took a sip of tea, presumably to calm herself.

They did that a lot with tea, these St. Claires. And yet they dared complain about his whisky.

“What I want to know,” Ranald said, taking a seat by Anne’s side, “is how we missed you on the King’s Road. No one saw you, the entire way.”

Mary’s grin was impish. “Because we weren’t on the King’s Road. We took a packet from London to Solway.” Mary sighed. “It was so romantic.”

“I can imagine,” Anne said in a sarcastic tone.

“I don’t get seasick like you.” Mary patted her hand. “I loved every moment.”

“Well,” Ranald said on a huff. “What do we do now?”

“Return to London, I suppose,” Anne said. “We have Victoria and Elizabeth to think about.”

“And Esmeralda,” Ranald reminded her, and they shared a smile.

“Elizabeth is married by now,” Hamish muttered. He glanced around for the innkeeper to see if there was any whisky or ale in the offing.

“Oh, she’s not,” Mary said cheerily.

He stilled. He turned his head slowly and pinned Mary with a tight look. “What?”

“There was a message waiting,” Anne said.

“How on earth the messenger passed you, I have no clue,” Mary said, almost accusingly.

Hamish cleared his throat. “We, ah, went slowly.”

“We stopped at every inn, looking for you, young lady.” Ranald’s glower had no effect.

Because, again, the youngest St. Claire was completely unaffected by the censure. “At any rate, Elizabeth is not married.”

“Why not?” Well, that did not come out the way Hamish intended. “I mean, what happened?”

Mary’s grin was toothy. “Twiggenberry tried to force her so she ran away. No one knows where she is,” she said brightly.