Page 5 of A Virgin for the Icy Highlander
The girl turned, staring at Grace’s hand, hesitating.
“BecauseIwould very much like to dance, but I have no partner,” Grace said, hoping to put her at ease. “Would you be my partner? If not, I might have to dance alone, and that would beterriblyembarrassing for my friends here.”
The tiniest giggle escaped the little girl’s lips just before she clamped her hand over her mouth as if she wasn’t supposed to laugh. But, with one last look at Grace’s hand, she seemed to decide to seize her fearless moment too, cautiously reaching out.
A moment later, hand in hand, Grace and the little girl found an open spot on the chaotic dance floor and attempted to join in.
The dance was nothing like anything Grace had seen before, but there was something about the shyness of the girl that gave her more confidence than she had any right to have. So, flashing a grin at her, Grace twirled. She raised her arms above her head and spun around as she had seen the other women do.
Eyes wide, the girl mirrored the spin, her face splitting into a beaming smile as she came back around.
“Perfect!” Grace cheered. “I think everyone will be echoingusin no time at all!”
The girl giggled, and as Grace took both of her hands, they made up a jaunty little dance of their own. They whirled and twirled and hopped and leaped, mimicking the steps of the other dancers, spinning around and around until both were dizzy and laughing.
But Grace didn’t stop there. Delighting in the girl’s excitement, reflecting her own, she picked the girl up and swung her around as the music quickened, becoming a wild and liberating force, everything around the pair a glorious blur.
“More! More!” the girl cried out, her shrieks of laughter just as wondrous as the lively music. “Again! Swing me faster!”
Grace obliged, bringing the girl into a tight hold to perform a few more sprightly hops and leaps and twirls, before spinning her around again.
The little girl relished every second, her eyes bright, her smile stretching from ear to ear, her cheeks pink, her shyness forgotten as she squeaked and shrieked her happiness.
“More! Hop again!” she pleaded. “Sword dance!”
Grace had no idea what a ‘sword dance’ was, but before she had the opportunity to make something up to please the little girl, the music suddenly died with the screech of a fiddle bow and a sharp, discordant note from the flutes. The dancers around the pair had stopped, looking anywhere but at the little girl and Grace as a figure marched across the room.
The man from earlier, his blue eyes dark with anger, pulled the little girl out of Grace’s arms and set her on the floor. A moment later, his hand closed around Grace’s wrist, his grip like a vise, wrenching her away from the dance floor.
“Dinnae hurt her, Faither!” the little girl pleaded. “We were just dancin’! She’s me partner!”
But the man had his arm around Grace’s back, all but shoving her toward the other end of the room, where another door gaped wide open. And as he marched her toward it, he growled, “Ye’re comin’ with me.”
3
Hunter Barr knew one thing with all certainty:cèilidhswere a breeding ground for surprises. Good or bad, something unexpected was bound to happen.
“What are you going to do to me?” the shapely young woman asked, her voice wavering despite the furious expression on her face.
He took her further up into the watch house, where he had posted his brother and his best guards for the past four years to keep watch over the borders. During the war, his castle had been no safe place for his kin to remain permanently, but that was about to change.
“Sir, I beg you,” the young lady urged. “I meant no harm. The little girl just… looked like she wanted to dance, as I did, so I asked her to join me. Isn’t that better than letting her hide under a table?”
He kicked open the last door on the topmost floor of the Lockton watch house and ushered her into the guard room: a sparse, square tower that offered an uninterrupted view of the distant border, so that any movement from the English could be noted.
Hunter’s enemy had English allies, though—in typical fashion—theSassenachshadn’t come to old Laird MacRannock’s aid.
He released his grip on the woman and closed the door, his purpose momentarily thrown off course by the bronzed sunset streaming through the windows, casting her in the most remarkable silhouette. Her impossible curves swelled outward and undulated inward in all the right places, creating the most sumptuous hourglass he’d ever seen.
Her soft, plump bosom heaved with the exertion of climbing up the stairs and the fear of being hauled away from thecèilidh. Her hands rested on the dip of her waist as she struggled to catch her breath. The lass’s hips were full and inviting. His hands craved a touch, a grasp. He itched to dig his fingertips into that ripe flesh, all while pulling her against him.
He turned his gaze away, shaking off the thought.
This is what four years at war do to a man.
It was the same reason that his soldiers were dancing wildly with the lasses downstairs, savoring the novelty of female company after so long without it.
“Sir, please,” the woman begged, rousing those instincts afresh.
