Page 43 of Tendu: Dancing in the Castle

Justin expressed loud delight at the presence of so many men in kilts and rushed off to mingle among them.

“You are breathtaking.” Aleks’s voice was quiet behind me.

I turned to make sure he was actually speaking to me. “Really,” I said, doubting his sincerity.

“Of course, really.”

I studied his face. He frowned.

Paul announced dinner and beckoned everyone over to the tables which were looking much fancier than they had earlier, with high-backed chairs and beautiful white tablecloths. My mood sank lower as I saw that the seating was pre-designated. Being stuck between two kilted strangers could be a nightmare, but luck was mine in this one thing.

“Malph, you’re by me,” called Will. “Looking super-hot by the way.”

“You look nice too,” I told him, sitting down in the chair next to him.

He grimaced as I straightened his bow tie.

“Feel a right idiot in this get up,” he said. “Tried to get out of it, but it’s in our contract. Can you believe that? The wearing of formal attire at events is mandatory.”

“Hi, A-malp...” The kilted man on my left struggled to read the name on the place card.

“Phi is easier,” I advised.

His name was Ross, and he was young with dark hair, thick eyebrows and smiling eyes that frequently slid down to my chest as we spoke. His accent was strongly Scottish but much easier to understand than Holly’s. I liked his black lace-up shirt, finding it evocative of ancient Highlanders and clansmen. It was much less formal than Ruaridh’s gold-buttoned jacket, though I liked that too.

“So, you’re a ballerina?” Ross asked.

“Not quite.”

“She will be,” said Aleks from across the table where he sat between Simone and Holly.

“I’ll get to see you dance later,” said Ross. “I’m a fiddler.”

“What?”

“I play the fiddle in a folk band. We’re doing the music tonight.”

Paul tapped his wine glass for attention. “Before the celebratory meal of haggis, neeps and tatties, please fill your glasses! There’s a range of single malts and blended whiskies on the table. Help yourselves and enjoy.”

“Which would you like?” Ross asked me.

“I don’t drink.” It made me chatty which was misleading, and then people were disappointed when they met me sober.

“You have to,” stated Michelle from further up the table, wearing some sort of sparkly red ball gown. “You’re under contract. We have your standard brain patterns now, and we’re interested to see the inebriated ones. It’ll just be this once,” she added less harshly.

“We’re being paid to get pissed?” said Will. “Bring it on.” And he proceeded to help himself from the nearest bottle, and offered to fill my glass too.

“Ah, no,” intervened Ross from the left, pushing the proffered whisky away with a fingertip. “Try this one. It’s smooth and smokey, made just up the road with grain from my farm.”

Determining that I would try not to talk too much, I lifted the dark golden drink, took a sip and spluttered.

“Put cola in it, babe,” advised Will. “It’s better.” Liquid was poured from the right. At least it was sweet.

“Is there diet cola?” asked Simone, causing me to splutter in a different way.

“This is how it’s done,” announced Ross, knocking back a glass of neat whisky in one go. “Such skill only comes with years of practice,” he informed me. “Much like your dancing, I would imagine.”

I smiled over at Aleks, thinking he would find the comment funny, but he was busy refilling his own glass. Drinking standard set, male competition was in the air. Even Justin was sucked in. I heard him telling Ruaridh the whisky tasted like spicy juice.

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