Page 60 of Wild Scottish Beauty

“Meeting in ten minutes.” I indicated the chairs by the fire and went to make a pot of tea. Sophie had dropped the bomb on me that MacAlpine Castle had decided to host a cèilidh in a month as a Spring Fling of sorts. They’d asked if I could have some extra kilts available. Apparently, both Willow and Sophie were having a hard time understanding the bespoke nature of my work, and Sophie had steamrolled me into stocking any ready-to-wear kilts that we had on hand, as well as a few accessories for those wanting to liven up their wardrobes for the dance.

“Sashes,” I grumbled, returning to the fire with tea and biscuits for Willow. I’d noticed she’d been partial to the Tunnock’s tea cakes I’d supplied yesterday and had made sure to add two to the plate. Not that I cared what she ate, I was just being a good boss, was all.

“Sashes?” Willow perked up, notebook in hand, and crossed her legs. She’d already sat in a chair by the fire, and I’d positioned the cat tree in perfect view of where we sat so we could keep an eye on Calvin.

“For the cèilidh.”

Willow nodded vigorously, her eyes wide. “I have no idea what you’re saying to me.”

My lips quirked as I sat, my calendar in hand, and I stretched out my legs. “A cèilidh is a traditional Scottish dance. Sophie has informed me the castle has decided to throw one in a month. To get rid of winter blues and welcome spring she said.”

“A dance?” Willow heaved in a breath, her eyes going wider.

“Aye, you’ve heard of them?”

“I have.” Her face dropped, something flitting behind her eyes that I didn’t like, a vulnerability that made me want to protect her, and I looked away, trying to stay focused on work.

Don’t ask her about dancing, Ramsay. Don’t.

“Everyone in the town, and likely surrounding villages, will attend. It’s grand fun, if that’s your thing.”

Again, that flash of sadness in her eyes, and I bit back a sigh.

Damn it.

I didn’t care whether Willow liked dances or not. I cared about making sure we had enough stock in the shop for said dance. That was it.

“Sophie would like us to have some accessories, kilts even, on hand for anyone looking to perk up—her words—their wardrobe. Completely ignoring the fact that we largely custom-make everything.”

“And yet you’ll do it, won’t you?” Willow’s lips curled in a hint of a smile.

“It’s not my preferred way of working, you ken? But she’s a force of nature that one. Sashes she says. Sashes forthe women. Not as difficult to make and can be fixed with a pretty brooch around any dress you wear.”

“Oh, I was looking at some examples of a penannular brooch the other day. There are some really beautiful ones made by a shop not too far from here. Hold on.” Willow dipped into her bag and pulled up her iPad, flipping through the screen until she found what she was looking for. “Here. See? The thistles are nice, as are the ones with the dragon’s head. Maybe we could stock them? Sell them on commission for the artist?”

“Not a bad idea. Would provide some more options for people.”

“Great, I’ll reach out to them today. I also had some ideas…” Willow trailed off and looked up, wincing. “Sorry, I’m just so excited to start our designs. But I know we need to work on other stuff before we get to our collaboration.”

She looked so crestfallen.But I want to see her smiling again.

“Let’s make a list of what we can feasibly stock in time for the cèilidh, and then we’ll take a look at your ideas for the castle.”

“Oh great. Tell me more about the…dance.”

“Kay-lee,” I said, pronouncing it for her slowly and she followed suit. “A cèilidh usually has a series of well-known dances, and there’s a caller who’ll instruct the moves.”

“Like line dancing?” Willow asked.

“Somewhat, yes. It’s fun. Everyone tries it…all ages. You don’t need experience to give it a go.” Again, Willow shuttered her eyes.

“Don’t like dances?” I finally asked, despite my promise to myself to keep the topic justto business.

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been asked to one.” Willow scribbled something on her notebook, avoiding my eyes.

“Do you need to be asked to one to go?” I asked, genuinely curious. Anyone could attend a cèilidh, and most people went with groups of friends or their families.

“Most of the ones in high school you did. Prom, that kind of thing, all needed a date.”

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