Page 79 of Some Like It Scot
“It’s a secret. He likes to be mysterious.” Lachlan nodded as if repeating something he’d heard before. “But you must see the sword dance first.”
“My sisters are ’bout to compete.” This from Jamie, who trailed behind. “They’ve been taking Highland dance in a club after school for years.” He lengthened the last word as if his sisters were about a thousand years old.
“Ah, Katie-girl.” Mirren greeted me and ushered me forward near a set of tents where an upraised platform stood. “With your love of stories, I thought for certain you needed to see a bit of traditional Scottish dance.”
She linked her arm through mine, as if I belonged right there with her, and drew me closer to the platform near another small group, one of which looked familiar. Lori, another of the knitters—the sweetest of them, besides Mirren—said, “Oh, Katie, good to see you, dear. Isn’t this lovely?”
And again, I was embraced into this community as if I fit. As if... they wanted me here.
Me! With all my troublesome... ness.
“I’m telling her about the history of the sword dance, Lori.” Mirren gestured with her chin toward the platform.
“Oh, aye.” Lori nodded. “It has stories back to Macbeth even.”
“Macbeth?” I laughed.
“And is a long held dance done before battles,” Mirren continued. “Battle swords would be laid on the ground, and the warriors would dance around the sword, trying not to step on it as they danced. If the warrior’s feet touched the sword, it was considered an ill omen for the upcoming battle.”
I lifted my gaze to the platform where two young girls in colorful dresses and ballerina-like slippers took their positions. Sure enough, large swords were laid at their feet. I whipped out my phone to video a little.
“Uncle Graeme says it all started when Scot warriors took the swords of the opponents they’d defeated, placed their own sword at their opponent’s sword in the sign of the cross, and danced around them in victory,” Lachlan added. “See there.”
Lachlan pointed, and Jamie added, “Mum can’t watch them perform. She gets too nervous they’re going to fall, and I’ve tried to remind her that they’ve danced it dozens of times without dying, but she doesnae listen.”
Mirren and I exchanged smiles, stifling our laughter. Gah! I loved kids.
I spent over an hour of the four-hour-long festivities with Mirren, Lori, the boys, and Wedge, watching everything from Highland fling dancing to hammer throws and bagpipe competitions. I’d always expected the bagpipes to grate on my nerves, but instead, they grew on me, creating a background of sound ingrained in the life and culture of this world. Fresh air, laughter, accents, and bagpipes.
“And how are you liking your first Highland games, Miss Campbell?”
I turned from my first bite of a jammy cream doughnut to find Graeme approaching in full and glorious... Scottishness. Kilt, tight T-shirt, wind-tossed hair. I don’t think I’d ever thought knees could be sexy, until now. Heaven help me.
Needless to say, as I bit down on my doughnut, the massive amount of cream inside squirted around the edge of my mouth in perfect middle school embarrassment fashion—basically giving me twin trails of cream down the sides of my chin.
I was an accident-prone, redheaded, cream-toothed walrus.
Excellent way to impress a guy.
It’s a real wonder I’m still single.
I attempted to catch the dripping cream with my hand as Graeme rushed forward, pulling a handkerchief from the top of his kilt and... laughing? More like a rumbly sort of sound, like the percolation of a coffee machine, but it still almost made me smile.
Which would have been a very bad idea because... cream.
“First jammy cream?”
There was no way I was taking the bait and answering him withmy mouth as full as it was. I narrowed my eyes, only to have his percolating chuckle take on more volume. “Did no one warn you about the size of these things?”
“I can nearly cram a whole one in my mouth if I try,” Lachlan said, wrinkling his nose and looking from Graeme to me.
Graeme caught some of the cream dripping off my chin that my palm missed.
Stellar romantic moment, Katie. The stuff to relive for decades to come with sweltering embarrassment and the desperate desire for the ground to swallow me whole. The humored expression on his face had me snatching the handkerchief from his hand and taking care of the mess myself.
“She’s just enjoying it as she ought!” came Mirren’s encouraging response as she placed a hand on my back. “Jammy creams, cream buns, and the like aren’t meant to be eaten without a mess. It makes them taste better.”
I smeared some cream across my face with the handkerchief to prove her point. It was tasty, but the mess I made didn’t improve its flavor. It only increased my humiliation.
