Page 111 of The Highlander Is All That

Not for the first time, he thanked the Gods that he could sleep through a cannon barrage.

Still, he was anxious to be going. Mary had been exceedingly difficult to find. Along the way, they had stopped at each posting station—many of the ostlers remembered them from last time, and how annoying was it to make this journey again?—but no one had any information whatsoever, which led Hamish to suspect they’d missed something critical.

Anne was anxious to find her sister and determined they do so before it was too late, but the journey was clearly taking its toll on her. It was obvious she didn’t care for extended travel.

Yet when she came down the stairs that morning—at long last—she had a smile on her face and a glow about her.

“Good morning,” she chirped.

Hamish stared at her. Was this Anne? Somber, cautious, sometimes gloomy Anne? “I . . . ah . . . did you sleep well?” he asked.

She responded with a wide smile. “Not a wink,” she said as she sipped the tea the server brought.

“Ach. Well. You can sleep in the coach.”

“Of course.”

Silence swelled between them, but she didn’t seem to mind. Her attention was elsewhere entirely. On Mary, he assumed.

“We should reach the border in a day or two,” he offered.

She smiled at him again. “Mmm.”

He had the suspicion she hadn’t heard a word he’d said, but there was no time to think on that because just then Ranald came bounding down the stairs.

“Finally,” Hamish said, leaping to his feet. “The carriage has been ready for hours.”

“Ach, my apologies,” he said, shooting a grin at Anne.

Curiously, she grinned back.

“Did you have trouble sleeping?” Hamish asked.

“Mmm.” Hardly an answer, and oddly reminiscent of Anne’s. Indeed, the two were still staring at each other. And smiling.

The little hairs on Hamish’s neck rose as realization dawned. He leaned closer and studied his friend. And yes. It was clear.

Ranald had had a bath.

And that meant only one thing.

Bluidy hell.

No doubt it was childish of him to be annoyed that his friend seemed to have no problem seducing one of the duke’s cousins, when for Hamish it had been a transgression. But he was annoyed. And more.

His logical mind reminded him that Bower’s situation was far different from his, but his heart told that irritating voice to shut up.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t right.

He tried not to glare at them both as they boarded the coach but failed.

Fortunately, neither of them paid him any mind in the least, so they weren’t even aware of his pique.

Ranald was in a jovial mood all day—he and Anne chattered away like magpies—which was annoying when Hamish tried to nap. But his friend’s mood deflated to something sullen when they arrived at the next inn to discover that there were only two rooms available and that he and Hamish had to share.

Hamish didn’t even pretend sympathy.