Page 10 of Claimed By the Heartless Highlander
He contented himself with patting her hand and giving her another of those looks that seemed to make her blush so often. “Dinnae fret, I’ll teach ye everythin’ ye need to know.”
He drew his arm from beneath her hand and offered her more wine, then took a long sip of the mead in his own tankard. With an effort, he willed away the tightness in his loins.
She’s nae the only one who can play a game of courtship. Ailis Anderson, ye’re a bonny, intelligent lass, but ye’ve misjudged what sort of man I am—and I dinnae have any intention of correctin’ yer error. ‘Tis far more amusin’ to see how long ye’ll try to bend me to yer will, and how ye’ll react when ye realize it isnae goin’ to happen.
* * *
Following the dinner, tables were moved, and the main part of the room was cleared for dancing. Duncan watched with the first sense of trepidation he’d had all evening.
Clan Muir didn’t celebrate much. He tried to make the major holidays like Midwinter special for Lily, but they celebrated little else. And then it was more a matter of feasting and story-telling and extra desserts.
Sometimes, on long winter nights, the servants would gather to play instruments and sing, and sometimes there was a bit of informal dancing, but he hadn’t attended a cèilidh in many years.
Nonetheless, when the musicians signaled for the first song, he stood up and offered his hand to Ailis. “Shall we dance, Me Lady?”
She blinked up at him with soft, doe-like eyes. “I… I like to dance. But I cannae say I’m very good at it.”
“I’m a bit out of practice meself, but I’m thinkin’ we can manage together.” He bent closer and offered her a small, challenging grin. “We wouldnae disappoint the folk who’ve gathered here to celebrate with us.”
She nodded and put her hand in his, and together they moved into place for the start of the dance. Duncan tried not to think too hard about the softness of her hand in his, or the gentle, yielding firmness of her frame as he drew her into the opening steps.
Then, as he’d half expected, she stepped on his foot. She promptly blushed at him with mortification that he wasn’t sure was entirely feigned.
“Och, I’m sorry, Duncan. I’m just nae used to dancin’ with someone so tall.”
“’Tis all right. Ye’ll be fine. Just relax and move with me.” He almost bit his lip at his coaxing tone.
When had he become the sort of man who flirted so casually? What was the girl doing to him?
She stepped on his foot again. “Apologies. I’m fairly out of practice…”
“Ye dinnae dance often, then?” That surprised him.
For once, her face was clear of any guile as she replied, “I used to when I was younger. And I still dance sometimes, in the group reels. But since I came of age and Faither started pressuring me to wed, I’ve nae danced like this, save a very few times.”
“Why nae?”
She wrinkled her nose at him. He found the gesture charming, whether she’d intended it that way or not. “Because if I did, it would be taken as a sign of interest by any unmarried laird or laird’s son I danced with. And even if they didnae press it, me faither would. ‘Twas best to just refuse, unless I’m visitin’ a friend and ‘tis a dance offered by her husband as a courtesy.”
They separated for the next few measures, as the dance demanded, and Duncan watched her as she moved through the steps. She was graceful enough, and it was clear, as she moved through the ladies’ steps with her sisters, that she enjoyed dancing. Her eyes sparkled, and her face was flushed with enjoyment, and perhaps slightly with wine.
The sight of her and the feel of her in his arms as they came together once again were as heady as a draught of mead. Her soft floral scent seemed to fill his lungs, and the heat of her lithe frame against his was nearly intoxicating.
Duncan swallowed hard and pushed the feeling away, determined not to allow himself to be entranced. He couldn’t afford it.
When the dance came to an end, he bowed to her and then went to the table, after bidding her to stay on the dance floor if she wanted. Laird Clyde was there, talking to one of the older guests. Likely a village leader or someone of similar authority, judging by his grizzled hair and neat clothes.
He wasn’t surprised to find Laird Clyde wasn’t much for dancing. He was, however, surprised to find the red-haired lass, Freya, sitting alone. She was watching her sister with sad eyes.
On a whim, he moved to sit next to her. “Is this seat taken?”
She looked up at him and blushed, then looked away. “Nay.”
He sat down. “Ye dinnae like dancin’?”
“Och, I like it fine, when it’s just me and Ailis and Grace, and mayhap some of the other residents of the castle. But I’m far too shy to dance when there are so many people.”
He took a chance to test one of his theories. “Is yer sister a good dancer, then?”
