Page 29 of Highlander's Wild Lass
“Sure, just a wee lump.” Anthony lighted his fingers gently across the bairn’s forehead. He had the red hair of the Gordon’s, but the beginnings of the green eyes that were his family’s. “He’s a bonnie lad, El. Ye did well.”
“Thank ye, he is very bonnie if I can say so myself,” Eleanor said, taking a seat.
He took a seat in the armchair opposite of her, bairn still in his arms. “I still cannae believe ye named him after me.” He looked at his sister, her dark brown hair loose and cascading down her back.
“Anthony George Gordon is a strong name. And he’ll be needin’ it if he’s going to be heir to this troublesome clan.” She brought the fine China teacup to her lips and took a long sip.
Anthony only smiled. The Gordons were known for their bloody feuds and changing allegiances during the times of Robert the Bruce and William Wallace. Just two centuries ago, one Gordon chief had been beheaded by none other than Queen Mary in the very hallways of Huntly Castle for refusing her entry to his home. However, Eleanor’s husband thankfully seemed to be far milder than his ancestors.
The bairn started crying then, and Anthony passed him over to Eleanor. She turned slightly away from him and adjusted the little one at her now exposed breast. Anthony stood once more and headed to the window again, taking his teacup with him to give Eleanor privacy.
“Any worthy lasses to fit into your perfectly organized life?”
Just Celestia.
“Ah, nay.”
“Ye are a terrible liar.”
“I am nae, ye are just too wicked that ye see right through me.”
“I am nae wicked!” she exclaimed, sounding only a little offended. “I just ken ye well. Now, tell me about the lass?”
Anthony took a long, exaggerated sip to delay his answer. He did not want to admit that he had asked Celestia to marry him twice now and both proposals had been rejected. Nor did he want to admit that he felt something, even if it was the smallest inkling of something, for the lass.
Celestia was not of nobility. And while many would not consider her a gentlewoman, he would. But none of that mattered to him. As frustrating as she was, he found her entirely captivating.
“Do ye remember Celestia McLean?”
“Of course…”
“I have been courtin’ her.”
“Lies again.”
Anthony sighed and sat down on the window seat.
“Tell me everythin’.”
Anthony did.
Amid his retelling, the housekeeper had come and taken the bairn to the nursery, and when he finished telling Eleanor everything, it was just them alone in the large sitting room.
Eleanor busied herself with making another cup of tea. “Well,” she said finally. “That is quite the story. But I do nae blame her for wantin’ a love match either, I once longed for one myself.”
Anthony stood from his seat and made his way to stand in front of the fireplace. He looked at his sister, put his arms on his hips, and then dropped them. He paced back and forth, turning to try to say something to her, and then began pacing once more.
“Ye are very out of sorts,” Eleanor noted.
Anthony pressed the palm of his hand to his forehead and slid it roughly upward. “What if itisa love match? Rather, what if it can turn into a love match?”
“Ye just said it wasnae.” She settled herself deeper into the plush couch, eyeing him warily. “Wait—are ye sayin’ yer in love with her?”
“Nay!”
“Then,” Eleanor started, “ye… care for the lass?”
Anthony gave his temples a weary rub. “I guess ye can say that.”
