Page 3 of The Laird's Dangerous Prize
And then?—
Is he walking toward me?
Yes. Yes, he was.
Laird Ciaran MacCraith was moving toward her, cutting through the crowd with purpose, his eyes never leaving hers.
Panic surged through Isolde's veins. She wasn't prepared for this—not for him to notice her, certainly not for him to approach.
Run. I must run.
She turned sharply, skirts swirling around her ankles, but her foot caught on the edge of a tapestry. The world tilted. She threw out her hands as she stumbled forward?—
Strong hands captured her waist, steadying her with impossible gentleness despite their firm grip. Heat blazed through the fabric of her gown where his fingers pressed. The scent of leather and rare Florentine ambergris enveloped her, dizzyingly close.
Isolde's body arched backward into the curve of his hold, her spine making a perfect bow. She lifted her gaze and was immediately sucked into eyes so dark, they seemed to drink the torchlight around them rather than reflect it—eyes that studied her face with surprising intensity.
"Careful, lass," he murmured, his voice lower and smoother than in her memories. It wrapped around her like velvet. "These floors have been kent to claim even the most delicate of dancers."
His face hovered mere inches from hers. She could see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, the slight shadow of evening stubble beneath his mask, the way his lips curved—not quite a smile but just as ruthless in its charm.
Heat crept up her neck. This close, she could feel the power in his frame, the controlled strength as he effortlessly held her suspended between falling and standing.
"I—I wasnae... I didnae—" Words stumbled over her tongue, her usually quick wit deserting her entirely.
His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth before returning to her eyes, the gesture so quick she might have imagined it, yet it left her lips tingling for his touch.
"Dance with me." Not a question. He expected Isolde to obey without protest.
Her fingers flexed against his forearms, not certain when she'd placed her hands there. She should retreat, make her excuses?—
"Unless ye fear being seen with me?" he challenged, something flashing in his eyes. "Perhaps ye prefer tae remain in the shadows, watching rather than experiencing?"
Pride surged through her confusion. She straightened her spine, chin lifting. "I fear naething, me laird." She infused her voice with all the noble bearing her father had instilled in her. "Certainly nae a dance."
His smile, a true smile that transformed his severe features, nearly buckled her knees. His eyes crinkled at the edges, revealing a warmth she hadn't expected from a man rumored to be tough, strong.
Isolde felt like the sun had just broke through the night, unexpected, and all the more stunning for its rarity.
He took her gloved hand in his, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a caress that seemed to scorch through the fabric.
"Then prove it to me," he said, leading her toward the center of the hall, where the musicians had begun a new melody. "Let us see if ye can keep pace with more than just yer sharp tongue."
The musicians struck up a new melody as he led her to the center of the hall. Other dancers parted, their eyes following them with curious glances. Lasses who'd spent the evening seeking the laird's favor now watched with silent dismay as he guided a mysterious masked woman across the floor, having ignored several eligible daughters, each of which had hoped to have the next dance.
"Strange," His hand settled at the small of her back. Isolde felt it like a flame burning through her gown, "I cannae recall seeing ye at any gathering before tonight. I'm certain I would remember."
She arched an eyebrow beneath her mask. "The whispers say ye have enough women in yer company. How dae ye keep a tally of them all?"
God, why did I just say that?
His laugh was low and rich, sending a shiver down her spine as he guided her through the first turn. "It's easy with the captivating ones." His fingers tightened slightly at her waist, drawing her closer than the dance required. "Especially when they cannae seem tae take their eyes off me."
The music quickened, and so did Isolde's heart as he spun her outward, only to pull her back against his chest with controlled strength. He continued speaking without giving her enough time to answer.
"Ye've been watching me all evening, lass." His voice dropped lower still. "From behind yer pillar. Did ye think I wouldnae notice?"
Isolde's breath caught. "I-I wasnae... I wasnae watching ye," she managed, the slight tremor in her voice betraying her.
