‘It’s easy. Look me in the eyes, stay in my arms, and let me lead you,’ he said, low and sure, as the circle began to move in unison.
And she found he was right. Itwaseasy: easy to hold his gaze as he led her in sweeping turns around the room, the caller telling her when to click her heels on the floor. It was easy to let him push her into the middle of the floor so all the women were back to back in a smaller circle before being pulled towards him again to the outer edge of the dancefloor and swept almost off her feet in a sudden waltz of dizzying spins. All the while their bodies stayed connected as though magnetised.
When the waltzing chorus ended and the verse returned along with a repeat of the slow promenading steps she felt she’d already mastered, she said, ‘This is quite a gentle dance. I thought I’d be horribly lost and thrown around.’
Atholl’s eyes stayed locked on her own and his grin spread making his eyes crinkle and shine. ‘Oh aye, there’ll be plenty of that, this is just the beginning.’
‘Well, I like it.’
‘Me too.’
He danced her backwards towards the centre of the floor again.
‘And I must say you look very handsome,’ she added, shyly.
Atholl smiled as he expertly steered her back out to the edge of the circle. ‘Thank you. I think we look braw together.’
‘Braw,’ Beatrice said with a smile. ‘I didn’t know I liked a man in a kilt, but I don’t think I’ll ever want to see a bloke in jeans and a t-shirt again.’ Her imagination threw out an image of Atholl in blue Levis and white cotton, soft and tight in all the right places, and she found herself stumbling over Atholl’s feet. ‘Oops, sorry!’
He steadied her again, and they kept spinning to the music.
‘Umm,’ she fought for something sensible to say. ‘What kind of tartan are you wearing?’
‘Fergusson, of course. Do you like it?’ He slid his arms further around her waist, pulling her closer so their hips touched before waltzing her again.
When the slower steps came around she scanned his body, loving the heavy swishing tartan folds and the leather sporran with silver buckles. ‘I certainly do. And what’s that?’ She directed her eyes to the gleaming pewter clasp at his chest which held his sash in place over his shoulder. ‘It says something on it?’
‘It’s the clan motto.Dulcius Ex Asperis.’
She enjoyed the sound of his tongue and teeth rounding out the words so much she asked him to say it again. This time he leant his face close enough for her to feel his breath on her cheek and she was sure he slowly nuzzled the few loose wisps of her hair aside with the tip of his nose, putting his lips to her ear and whispering the words, all the while guiding her in a slow spin.
She gulped and looked into his eyes just as the music culminated in a loud flourish and Atholl slowed her to a stop.
‘What does it mean?’
‘It means Sweeter After Difficulties. That’s the literal translation. It tells us that rewards come to us after our hardships, and they’re all the sweeter for it.’
The dancers froze in their circle and the men bowed simultaneously to their partners. As Atholl took his own slow bow in front of Beatrice his eyes stayed fixed on her astonished gaze and he smiled knowingly.
‘A good motto, is it no’?’ he said as he straightened up, taking Beatrice’s hand in his own again so she could curtsey.
It felt curiously old-fashioned and her movements clumsy and yet she found herself wanting to do it well, to thank him, to show how much she appreciated his sweetness. So she bobbed down before him, crossing one leg shakily behind her other, letting her eyes fall to the ground, and when she raised them she thought how she never wanted this man to be out of her sight again.
‘Stay on the floor for a Galliard,’ the caller announced, and Beatrice was relieved to find Atholl adjusting his hold on her shoulders, turning her body so she was in the correct position, his strong hands shifting her waist, and everything about that feeling right and natural.
The noise in the room grew and Beatrice noticed people were spilling out onto the twilit street to drink and talk and dance but the bar room still jostled with people and Mrs Mair was doing a roaring trade in beer and drams. The singing and laughter from the street outside suggested to Beatrice that it was just as crowded along the waterfront as it was in the bar.
Beatrice was relieved to watch Seth make his way over to Kitty and take the ladle from her hands with unheard words. Kitty let him lead her onto the dancefloor with tears sparkling in her eyes. How kind he was and how gentle. He really was the all-seeing Seth, just as Kitty had said, and right now he saw nothing but a sorry young woman with a broken heart pining for a man whose affection she couldn’t rely on for sure; a man who wasn’t even here to see her looking so beautiful in her white dress and dancing shoes even redder than her hair.
The music struck up with a cheerful accordion and pipes and the room moved again. Even Cheryl and Jillian were joining in, having taken their pick from the handsome farm lads and rugged fishermen lining up to dance with them. There was much stumbling over the steps as the caller spoke over the music telling everyone what to do, and peals of laughter rang out.
Occasionally Atholl took over at the bar and Beatrice, being one of the few women vastly outnumbered by men, was required to dance all night.
She found herself in the tweedy arms of Seth dancing a simple waltz. The frenetic energy of the evening seemed to have calmed a little when the doors burst open and men and women poured inside from their tables out on the street all shaking great plashes of rain from their jackets.
Seth looked sagely at them, shrugging off the cold draught they’d brought in with them and said, ‘There’s an ill wind blowing in. We’re in for a wild night.’ And Beatrice had smiled and let him lead her around the floor.
The dances began to blur into one another; dances for groups of fours and for sixes, dances that required the men to take their partners in their arms and lift them off the floor, waltzes that called for heart to heart closeness, and wild spinning reels that Beatrice could barely comprehend the rules of. But she laughed and she danced and passed underneath the clasped hands held up for her, and she found that if someone offered her a hand it probably meant they intended to spin her, and everyone pointed her and the other novices in the right direction when they were lost. The entire thing felt joyful and exhilarating and hilarious.
