Page 43 of The Highlander Is All That

“Do you have a moment?” Ranald stilled as Anne’s voice wafted to him as he sat in the study, composing a letter to his daughter.

He looked up with a friendly smile that cost him. Though her animosity towards him had waned—they were definitely friendly—somehow, that simply wasn’t enough. He wanted more.

But he knew better than to press her. This was still so fragile, any pressure might shatter what they had. So, as hard as it was to remain warm but distant, he did it.

“Of course.” He set his pen aside. “What is it?”

She took a seat on the other side of the desk and he joined her there because he wanted to be closer. Her perfume rose to him as he sat.

“I’m worried.”

“Are you?” Was it friendly to touch her hand? Probably. “About what?”

She did not pull away. “It’s Elizabeth.”

“Ah, yes. How is she feeling?”

“Better, I imagine. But it’s not that. It’s . . . something else.”

Ranald cocked his head to the side and waited for her to elaborate. To his chagrin, she rose and began pacing the room. “I don’t know how to explain it. There’s just something . . . different about her.”

“Different, how?”

“I don’t know. She seems . . . sad.”

“Have you spoken to her?”

“I’ve tried. But how do you ask a question when you don’t even know what you want to know?”

“That is a conundrum. Maybe she is just overset by the excitement of the season.”

Anne nodded. “Perhaps. This is a stressful time for all of us. The events. The suitors. The changes that are coming . . .”

“Aye. It is.”

She whirled and poleaxed him with the despair in her eyes.

“Anne?” He knew her well enough to feel her pain. “What is really bothering you?”

“Things are changing so fast.”

“Aye.”

“When my sisters marry, they may move away. We won’t be close anymore. What if we never see one another again?”

The tears in her eyes devastated him. He stood and opened his arms. To his shock and delight, she came to him and wrapped herself around him. “You will. You all love one another. You will find a way to visit.”

“Will we?”

“It’s what families do.” He rubbed her back and she sighed into his chest. It was wonderful, holding her, but he knew it was a precious thing and he refused to ruin it. Though he wanted to kiss her, and he wanted to very badly, he did not.

After a minute or two, she pulled back and dabbed at her tears. “I’m sorry, blubbering all over you like that.”

“I am happy to be blubbered on,” he said with a smile and was pleased when she smiled back. “It’s what friends are for.”

She caught his gaze and held it for a long while. “Is it? Then I am very glad to have your friendship, Ranald Gunn.”

Words escaped him, but he was able, at great cost, to murmur, “And I am glad to have yours, Anne St. Claire.”