Page 27 of Bride of the Beastly Laird

“Clear the floor and tell the musicians tae make ready for the dancing.”

Craig rushed off to do Bairre’s bidding and within a short time the rushes and debris from the meal had been swept away and the musicians – with their fiddles, bodhrans, and bagpipes – were striking up a tune.

Bairre seized Dahlia’s hand, assisting her to her feet, and guided her onto the floor. They were joined there by a happy throng of Mackinnon clansmen and their wives. Within seconds, she was whirled away from Bairre, into a succession of wild reels, jigs, and strathspeys. Amid the cheering and laughter, she managed to avoid him, pleased to be removed from his presence, if only for a brief respite.

More and more folk joined the dancing, skirts, kilts and hair flying, the céilidh becoming even noisier and more boisterous as the night wore on. All at once Dahlia’s attention was ensnared by a tall figure at the furthest end of a row. Her heart bounced. It was Arran. He did not approach directly, but after the next reel he came closer. They joined arms and circled each other but there was no opportunity to talk among the melee of dancers.

Conscious of Bairre’s eyes on her, she barely glanced at Arran. But as he twirled her alongside him for the briefest moment, he whispered a few words that only she could hear.

“Tonight. I’ll come tae yer chamber.”

His words caused a rush of molten heat through her veins and set her pulse pounding. She turned away, her limbs reduced to liquid, so that to steady herself she had to clutch the hand of the new partner who stepped into Arran’s place. Then she was whirled into a circle of smiling dancers and Arran moved on to take the hand of another lassie.

She risked a glance at Bairre but he was caught up in the melee of dancers and, for once, his watchful gaze was not on her.

When the dancing finally brought her face-to-face with Bairre, he smiled as he took her hand and joined the circle, no doubt pleased with his earlier display of blatant power.

At the end of the reel, the musicians took a break from playing and Bairre escorted her back to the high table, where they were served with platters of sweetmeats and a refreshing rosewater.

“The dancing was held in yer honour, Lady Dahlia. I trust ye enjoyed it.”

She smiled, looking up at him demurely through her long dark lashes. “Indeed. It was a great pleasure. I thank ye fer creating such amusement on me behalf.” She sipped at the fragrant drink, marveling at her own pretense at submissiveness. “But I trust ye’ll excuse me. It has been a long day fer me and I confess I am exhausted. What I wish is tae return tae me chamber tae rest.”

It seemed the dancing had mellowed him, for he acquiesced to her request without demurring. He signaled to Craig Donald who raced to his side.

“Find one of the chamber maids and have her accompany melady tae her chamber. She is tired from the day and wishes tae retire.”

Dahlia was escorted back to her rooms by a rather stout maid who could well have been one of the two she’d encountered at the broom cupboard earlier. She glanced at the woman’s ruddy face but she showed no sign of recognition. Dahlia could only pray that she and Arran had not been observed, whether by gossiping servants or by Craig Donald. Their safety and that of Arran’s mother depended on it

Once inside her room, Dahlia kicked off her shoes, unlaced her dress and, in her petticoat and stays, lay back, luxuriating on the pile of fur and pillows on her bed.

Even though the risks were great, she longed to see Arran again.

Despite her fast-beating heart, she failed to keep her eyes from closing as the night wore on. A soft scratching at the door of her chamber jolted her back to wakefulness. She grabbed her robe and flung it on before scampering to the door, already smiling.

The door creaked as she opened it just enough to allow Arran into the room. To her searing disappointment, he held her at arm’s length.

Her heart plummeted at the look of anguish on his face. Her first thought was that he no longer cared for her. But then her mind cleared and she realized he’d not be here if that was the case. Something must have happened since their fleeting moment together at the céilidh.

“What is it? I can see from the look in yer eyes there is something badly wrong?”

She took his hand and led him across to the fireplace. “Sit” she commanded, “And tell me what has brought this change of heart in ye.”

He sat, a rueful smile quirking his lips.

Dahlia sucked in a breath at the sight of his face in the flickering firelight. He was so handsome in the golden glow, his frown giving him the appearance of a fierce lion even more than ever.

He seated himself on the armchair and pulled her onto his knee, holding her tight. For a brief, joyous moment Dahlia fancied he would kiss her, but then he turned his head away, leaving her bereft. Distracted he stared into the flames.

“I shouldnae be here with ye now, lass.”

She curled her arms about his neck and laid her head on his shoulder. “Aye. I ken it is dangerous. Should we be found out, Bairre will deal with us without mercy.”

“He is suspicious. I ken he doesnae believe there was naught between us during the time we spent on our way here.”

Dahlia gave a bitter chuckle. “He is right tae be suspicious, but he can never know whatever there is between ye and me. Mayhap he was watching us during the céilidh and saw ye bend yer head tae mine tae whisper in me ear.”

“What we did together in the darkness earlier was wrong. A mistake we should never have made. It is nae only our own lives at risk, but that of me maither as long as she remains a prisoner of the laird.”

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