Page 95 of The Highlander Is All That

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“Hello there.”

Hamish whipped around, nearly dropping the pile of clothes he was packing. He hadn’t been expecting visitors. Especially in his private room. Especially Mary.

“Ah, Lady Mary.” Really, what else could he say?

“I need to talk to you.”

Hamish nodded to his bags. “I’m busy.”

“This is important.”

Honestly. Nothing was more important than getting packed and getting the hell out of this house. His soul couldn’t take much more. That one conversation with Elizabeth had nearly destroyed him. She’d looked nearly as miserable as he was.

Yet there was nothing he could do to save either of them. And that was the worst part about this whole catastrophe.

“I have an idea.”

Hamish sighed. Obviously she was not going to go away. He dropped onto his bed and massaged the bridge of his nose. “All right.”

“I know Elizabeth is sacrificing herself for us—”

“How on earth do you know that?”

“She told me.”

To his consternation, Mary sat on the bed beside him. Absolutely inappropriate, but he didn’t have it in him to protest. “She told you?”

“She didn’t mean to, of course. It just slipped out, don’t you know.”

“I see.”

“I don’t want her to marry Twiggenberry if it will make her unhappy. And it does seem to.”

“I can imagine.”

Her button nose wrinkled. “He does . . . smell.” This last bit she whispered conspiratorially.

“I had noticed.”

“Anne doesn’t want to marry.”

“Aye?” His brow quirked, not sure how this signified.

“Victoria is in love with Peter Ross.”

Hamish nodded. He’d noticed the mutual interest the two seemed to have for each other, and after a conversation with Duncan, Peter’s new brother-in-law and guardian, all Hamish’s concerns about the boy’s previous wildness had been laid to rest. “And?” he prompted when Mary did not seem inclined to continue.

“And . . .” She grinned. “That leaves me.”

Suddenly, he understood.

What a sweet, sweet lass. She was talking about the barriers keeping Elizabeth locked into a betrothal she did not want. What a pity her clever plotting would be for naught.

“What about you?” he had to ask.

“I couldn’t care less about a society wedding,” she said. “In fact, I have much . . . simpler tastes.”