over the words even though it was true—to an extent. He missed Anna like he’d left a limb in Highland. Phantom pains woke him from dreams of her or hit him when he stood on the cliffs and looked out at the endlessness of the ocean separating them.
Now she was here and he wasn’t sure how he was going to keep himself from falling to his knees and begging her for … what exactly? Forgiveness? The last night with Anna had been intense and heartbreaking. He’d had to leave her.
But perhaps he shouldn’t have snuck out before dawn. He’d thought there was nothing else to say, but he found himself wanting to talk to her as soon as he woke and before he went to sleep and all the minutes in between.
“I met the American lass earlier. Pretty little thing.”
Iain stilled, his breath shuddering out. He could feel his da’s eyes on him, and he tried to assemble a sense of normalcy from his frayed emotions. “Anna is indeed lovely, but she’s so much more than that.”
“Aye. She’s a spitfire. A doer, my old man would say. She whisked little Annie away and sent Isabel for a nap before the ceremony. It’s not often Isabel gets bossed around.” Was that admiration in his da’s slight laugh?
His da wasn’t keen on ladies in general, probably because of his history, but also because he wasn’t one for making polite conversation. Only Mrs. Mac and Isabel had worked their way into his da’s heart since his wife’s desertion thirty odd years ago.
“I suppose we’d better get on to the big house, eh?” Iain didn’t wait for his da to answer, but slipped on a tweed jacket that strained across his shoulders but was his only option and led the way to the door.
Autumn had crept closer to Cairndow, but a warm breeze rose from the south as if Annie Blackmoor was bringing life to the old stones and mortar. Iain took a deep breath. He fought both anticipation and dread at his first sight of Anna.
Following on his da’s heels, he entered the house through the kitchens out of habit and convenience. Mrs. Mac was stirring a soup over the burner on a new gas stovetop and directing a young girl who was buttering the top of scones ready to go in the AGA.
“Ta-ta, Mrs. Mac.” His da whipped off his hat and ran a hand through his still-thick, more-salt-than-pepper hair.
“They’re in the drawing room. I’ll be up in a tick with tea.” Mrs. Mac had her best dress on under her apron.
They ascended the narrow stone staircase meant for servants to the wide second-floor hallway. The door to the drawing room was open, and the hum of conversation and laughter echoed off the stone walls.
His da sidled into the room but remained along the edge like a hare avoiding a snare. He’d always be more comfortable in the gardens or on the moor than in the big stone castle, even after all the years he’d worked at Cairndow.
Iain hesitated in the doorway, his gaze bouncing around the room until it landed on Anna. Her tartan wool skirt was a feminine version of a kilt. Paired with dark brown riding boots, tights, and a thin, emerald-green jumper, she could have graced the pages of Town and Country and looked right at home at Cairndow.
She was holding Annie and pretending to eat one of her chubby fists much to the delight of the baby, who squirmed with laughter.
Why was Iain at all surprised that Anna had charmed a baby when she had so easily put a spell on him? How was he to bear this? He rocked back a step, but it was too late, Isabel had spotted him.
“There you are.” Isabel tucked her arm in his and drew him toward the baby.
Anna’s brilliant smile trembled, but she was made of stern stuff, as well he knew, and her voice was steady. “Hello, Iain. Good to see you.”
“Hello, Anna.” He savored her name on his tongue. While her name had been on repeat in his head and heart, he had done his best to avoid speaking of her, lest his da or Isabel guess at the depth and breadth of his feelings.
Their gazes caught and held. He had no idea what she was thinking. Did she want to punch him in the gut? Or lower? Did she want to yell at him? Did she want to kiss him as much as he wanted to