Page 88 of The Highlander Is All That

Hamish gestured to his rumpled person. “Do I look as though I have any ideas?”

“Now that you mention it, you do no’.”

Henley scratched on the door just then. He entered without waiting for a response and with little ado, he set a tray of sandwiches on the table.

“What the hell is this?” Hamish bellowed.

But then Jamison appeared, carrying a bottle of amber liquid. “From the duke’s special collection,” the butler intoned. With aplomb he opened the bottle and poured three glasses, one of which he lifted in salute. “My sympathies,” he said and tossed it back.

It occurred to Hamish that Henley might actually have a soul after all.

Because when he withdrew, he left the bottle.

* * *

Elizabeth was desolate. Her life had gone from perfect to debacle in the course of a minute. A mere minute in the arms of a man she intensely disliked.

It was so terribly unfair, she couldn’t stand it.

Naturally, she wouldn’t be able to sleep on account of all the weeping, so she went downstairs with the thought of drowning her sorrows in either whisky or cakes. Or maybe both. It hardly mattered now if she became round. Maybe if she could make herself as hideous as possible, Twiggenberry would cry off. Perhaps she could develop the winds or manage to grow hair on her chin.

As she padded down the hall she heard voices in the library and she slowed.

Hamish and Ranald were talking and she could hear the clink of glasses.

So she wasn’t the only one with that thought.

She was desperate to see him, to speak to him, but she was afraid of what he would say. He had to be crushed and confused as well. She didn’t think she could bear to face his disenchantment with her.

With a sigh, she continued on to the kitchen but heard something that made her freeze. Horror snaked up her spine.

“Perhaps you should return to Scotland.” Bower’s tone made clear they’d been discussing it for a while.

Her heart clenched and her skin went hot and cold.

Hamish huffed a laugh. “Aye,” he slurred. Apparently he’d been drinking for a while as well. “It would probably be for the best.”

For the best?

“It’s not as though you canna find another woman.”

“I doona want another woman. I want her.”

Ranald blew out a breath. “What has happened to you? Is this the man who once won a wager to kiss a hundred lasses?”

“I dinna win. I lost.” Hamish huffed out a bitter laugh. “By one.”

“So there are at least ninety-nine women to choose from. I know the widow Dunn would welcome you back to her bed with open arms.”

“Ah, Moyra.”

“She’s a lovely thing.”

“Aye. And sooo accommodating.”

Both men laughed and Elizabeth’s stomach lurched. Her hurt quickly turned to anger. He had a widow. He’d been in her bed. She had open arms.

Oh, how had she not guessed such a thing?