“Nay,” he replied. “Though I wonder if ye’ll be so eager to face me when ye’re stumbling after yer third goblet of mead.”
“We’ll see who’s the one stumbling after the mead,” she shot back.
The absurdity of the situation struck him suddenly. Here he was, heir to the Matheson Clan, arguing with a woman in hunting leathers about who could drink more mead while running through the night. Yet instead of feeling insulted, he felt strangely invigorated by her challenge.
“Then we have an agreement,” Rory said, extending his hand toward her in the formal manner of sealing a pact between equals. “Ye and yer women against me and my men.”
Lillith looked momentarily surprised before she recovered her composure and clasped his hand with her small, dainty one. “Agreed. Prepare to lose, Matheson.”
The warmth of her hand lingered on his skin long after she’d withdrawn it, a sensation he found himself reluctant to dismiss.
The rest of the meal went by with Rory listening to more rambling about clouds until Lenora finally paused. Just as Rory was inhaling a relieved breath, she said, “Look! The dancing is beginning! I love to dance. Do ye?”
He looked to the great hall and, to his dismay, found that the tables were indeed being pushed back for dancing, and themusicians were already warming up. He felt he had no choice but to ask Lenora to dance, though his ears still rang from her incessant chatter, and his mind felt numb from the nonsense of her topic. “Would ye care to dance?”
She was out of her seat before he could blink. A few moments later, Rory was guiding Lenora through the steps of a traditional reel. The lass seemed determined to find his toes at every turn. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured for the fourth time as her slipper connected painfully with his foot. “I seldom dance, ye see.”
“’Tis all right,” he replied automatically, though he was beginning to wonder if his toes would survive the evening. Lenora had been talking about the history of knitting patterns in the Highlands for the entirety of the dance in a voice so low that he had to keep asking her to repeat herself, though he did not care in the least to hear what she was saying.
His gaze drifted across the Great Hall to where Lillith was dancing with one of the younger MacLeod warriors. Unlike her twin, Lillith moved with natural grace, her steps light and sure as she whirled through the complicated patterns of the dance. She had changed out of her hunting leathers—likely at her da’s insistence—and now wore a gown of deep green that complemented her golden hair and fair skin. The color reminded him of the Highland forests in summer, deep and vibrant with life.
“The technique originated in the Lowlands, of course,” Lenora was saying, her words barely penetrating his awareness, “but the Highland weavers adapted it to create a more durable thread that could withstand our harsher weather.”
Rory nodded absently, his attention fixed on Lillith. Her face was transformed when she smiled—a genuine smile, not the mocking one she typically aimed in his direction. Her partner said something that made her throw back her head and laugh, and his gaze was stuck on the long, very kissable appearingcolumn of her neck. Something hot and uncomfortable twisted in Rory’s gut.
As the dance ended, the warrior bowed to Lillith, who curtseyed in return before immediately accepting the hand of yet another MacLeod man who had been waiting his turn. This one was older, perhaps one of her da’s close advisors, but the way Lillith smiled up at him as they began the next dance seemed unnecessarily warm to Rory.
“Which is why I prefer the smaller needles for detailed work,” Lenora concluded, apparently unaware that Rory had not heard a word of her knitting monologue.
The dance mercifully came to an end, and Rory bowed to Lenora, who curtseyed awkwardly, nearly losing her balance in the process. “Thank ye for the dance,” he said politely.
“Oh, it was my pleasure entirely,” Lenora replied, her cheeks flushed either from the exertion or embarrassment at her clumsy performance—perhaps both. “I do hope yer feet aren’t too badly bruised.”
“They’ll recover,” he assured her, offering his arm to escort her from the dance floor.
As they made their way toward the tables where refreshments were laid out, Rory found his gaze drawn once more to Lillith. She was now dancing with a third partner, whose hand rested unnecessarily low on her back. The sight made that uncomfortable twist in his gut tighten further.
“Your attention seems caught,” a voice observed beside him. Rory turned to find Marion MacLeod standing there. She studied Rory with a shrewd gaze that seemed to see more than he was comfortable revealing.
There was no point denying that he’d been watching Lillith. It was obvious. “I was admiring what an accomplished dancer Lillith appears to be,” Rory replied neutrally, though he suspected his tone betrayed more than his words.
Marion’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Perhaps you should ask her for the next dance. You are supposed to be getting to know both of my granddaughters, are you not?”
Rory hesitated. The prospect of dancing with Lillith made all his muscles tighten in a strange way, and his blood heat. Was that in preparation for a battle of wits, desire, or both? He frowned, unsure. “I suppose that would be appropriate,” he conceded.
“Excellent,” Marion said, her smile widening. “The dance is ending now. You should make your move before someone else claims her for the next dance.”
Rory nodded and made his way across the hall toward Lillith, who was indeed finishing her dance. Her latest partner released her hand with obvious reluctance, bowing deeply before stepping back. Rory arrived at her side just as the man departed.
“Lady Lillith,” he said, inclining his head slightly. “Would ye do me the honor of the next dance?”
Lillith turned to him, something he could not name flashing across her face before her expression settled into one of polite regret. “I thank ye for the offer, but I find myself quite fatigued. Three dances in succession have left me in need of rest.”
Something about her tone rang false to Rory’s ears, but he nodded in acceptance. “Perhaps another time, then.”
“Perhaps,” she agreed, though her tone suggested otherwise.
Rory had barely taken two steps away when he heard another voice behind him.
