Page 53 of The Rogue's Bride
MacNichol didn’t heed it. Instead, he walked away, leaving Alasdair and Caitrin facing each other in the center of the dance floor, men and women circling around them.
Heat rose to Caitrin’s cheeks. “What are ye doing?” she demanded between gritted teeth.
Alasdair flashed her a hard smile. “Dancing with the bonniest lass on Skye of course.” He took her hand then and pulled her after him so that they fell in line with the other dancers. The feel of his fingers clasped through hers was a brand against her skin. She’d held the hands of all three of her suitors, but none had affected her like this. Alasdair’s touch, the firmness of his grip as they halted, turned, and began to dance, made her pulse race like a bolting horse.
Caitrin knew that everyone upon the dais, her father included, would be watching them. They’d be wondering why MacDonald had interrupted one of her suitors—why he was dancing with Caitrin at all.
“What’s the point of this?” Caitrin growled.
He gave a soft laugh. “I already told ye.”
Alasdair let go of her hand then, his fingers trailing across her palm. Heat shivered up her arm, and Caitrin clenched her jaw. Picking up her skirts, she took mincing steps forward with the other women, bobbing with each stride.
When she completed the steps and made her way back to her partner, Caitrin was fuming. Her feet and back ached, and her heart was sore. She didn’t have the patience for whatever game MacDonald was playing.
“Ye will anger my father,” she hissed. “None but my suitors should be dancing with me.”
Alasdair smirked. “Ye aren’t wed yet, milady.”
“They might object to yer insolence.”
He laughed. “Which one? MacNichol has just bowed out, Campbell couldn’t care less who ye dance with, and MacKay has drunk so much he can barely stand.”
“Swine.” Caitrin circled around him, doing slow turns as the music changed tempo. “All ye have done of late is torment me … I shall be glad to see the back of ye.”
“Aye, I can see ye are eager to find yerself a husband now we are in Dunvegan. All yer talk of remaining a widow was empty, wasn’t it?”
Caitrin sucked in a breath. “I don’twantto wed again.”
He barked a laugh, moving around her as the music changed once again. “Liar. I’ve seen yer smiles, the looks ye give them. Which one will it be?”
Incensed, Caitrin rounded on him. “Bastard! How dare ye?”
Alasdair turned to face her. His mouth curved. His dark eyes blazed. “Don’t be coy, Caitrin. We all know ye are no longer the blushing maid. The truth is ye can’t wait to warm another man’s bed.”
The crack of Caitrin’s hand colliding with Alasdair’s cheek echoed across the hall.
The music stopped, and the dancers halted, swiveling to where Caitrin and Alasdair faced each other in the center of the floor.
Breathing hard and not caring that every eye in the Great Hall was now riveted upon her, Caitrin glared up at Alasdair. “Ye have a forked tongue, MacDonald,” she snarled. “If it were up to me, I’d have it ripped out.”
Alasdair took his seat once more upon the dais, aware that the atmosphere there had changed. The expressions around him weren’t friendly.
MacLeod was glowering, and Caitrin’s three suitors stared him down. MacNichol’s usually affable face was hard, Campbell’s eyes had narrowed, and the furrows on MacKay’s brow looked deep enough to split open his forehead. Farther down the table, Rhona and Taran MacKinnon were glaring at him.
Alasdair ignored them all, although it was harder to ignore his stinging cheek.
Caitrin had struck him hard.
Her act had brought the festivities to an abrupt halt. However, as Alasdair picked up his goblet of wine and raised it to his lips, the music restarted. He glanced over his shoulder to see that the dancing had resumed as if nothing had happened.
Caitrin had returned to her seat next to him. She’d turned her back to him again, cradling a goblet of wine in her hands as she watched the dancing. Her shoulders were tense, her spine rigid.
The dancing continued for a short while longer, before MacNichol rose to his feet and approached Caitrin. He favored her with a smile, ignoring Alasdair. “Shall we finish that dance?”
Caitrin nodded, rising to her feet and following him onto the floor.
Alasdair took another gulp of wine. A squeal of laughter reached him from the far end of the table. Boyd had just pulled a serving maid onto his lap, but the lass didn’t seem to mind the attention. Her giggle rang out across the dais once more while Boyd nuzzled her neck, his hands reaching up to grope her breasts.
