‘I doubt it.’ She’d been asking herself that too, but the far more likely explanation was that he knew her. They had a shared history, however brief.
‘I thought he was selling the place?’
‘He is.’
‘So why are you getting into bed with the enemy?’
I wish!she nearly said out loud.
Izzy continued, ‘Are you hoping you can persuade him to change his mind?’
‘He won’t.’
‘Shame. I can just picture him in a kilt, acting all lord-like.’
So could Giselle. ‘I’ll be seeing lots of men in kilts today,’ she said, changing the subject. ‘I’m off to the Highland Games.’
‘Och, now I’m feeling homesick. I can’t remember the last time I went to the games.’
‘You must be due a visit soon,’ Giselle pleaded. She missed her sister so badly.
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
Giselle had to be content with that, because there was no way she could afford to visit Izzy. They chatted for a while longer, Giselle studiously avoiding any further mention of Rocco, then she realised the time. ‘Gotta run; I need to get ready. Love you, Izzy.’
‘Love you too, Zelle.’
A fizzing excitement partly eclipsed the familiar ache in Giselle’s chest from missing Izzy this morning, brought on by the thought of spending the day with Rocco. When he’d told her he was delaying his return home in order to go to the games, her heart had soared. Her fragile, treacherous heart, which was going to get itself broken if she wasn’t careful.
A recklessness filled her, despite the certainty that her growing feelings for him would end in tragedy. She’d take whatever she could get, however small, however fleeting, and if she regretted it afterwards, so be it.
The rolling of the drums swiftly followed the call of the pipe majoras he brought the band to arms, then the first swelling, uplifting notesof the bagpipes soared into the air. The sound made the hairs on theback of Giselle’s neck rise. She loved the bagpipes, and the sight of somany blue-kilted marchers with their pipes and drums filled her withpatriotic pride. The band would march from the square in the centre ofPortree to the field on the headland above the town, where the gameswould take place, officially opening the ceremony.
Crowds lined the streets, falling in behind the procession, and Giselle grabbed Rocco’s hand to avoid them being separated. The excitement was palpable, and she was thoroughly caught up in it; and when she looked at Rocco’s face, he was also wearing a great big smile.
‘I can hardly hear myself think!’ he shouted, his breath warm on her ear, and she shivered in response.
He was still holding her hand when they reached the tree-lined open space overlooking Loch Portree, and didn’t seem in any hurry to let go.
A large central area was cordoned off for the participants, and people were already gathering around it. From experience, Giselle knew that the best place to watch the games was the elevated ground to one side, and she led him towards it to stake a claim. Kilts and tartan abounded (she was wearing a tartan skirt herself), and everywhere was a riot of colour. Vans and stalls selling food and drink were dotted around, and the smell of frying onions and doughnuts hung in the air. A hot dog or a burger wouldn’t go amiss later, but for now a coffee and a doughnut would suffice while they watched the marching bands battle it out, followed by the dancing competitions, which would take place on a stage set up to one side.
Giselle, like most Scottish children, had learnt traditional dance in school, and she couldn’t help tapping her feet and pointing her toes when the Highland Fling was performed. Her favourite, though, was the Ghillie Callum – known in English as the Sword Dance.
‘It originated as a dance of war,’ she told Rocco. They were drinking their coffee sitting on a tartan blanket that Giselle had brought with her for this very purpose, and were watching four tartan-skirted girls in long white socks and soft black pumps dance around four swords placed in a cross on the ground. Every time they jumped and spun, Giselle could feel herself wanting to jump and spin with them.
‘Can you dance like that?’ Rocco asked, as her body swayed next to his.
‘I can, but not half as well as these girls.’
‘I’d like to see you dance.’ His eyes were full of mischief.
‘You will later, at the ceilidh. I’m expecting you to dance as well, mind.’
‘Me? No chance. I’ve got two left feet. Anyway, I don’t know the steps.’
‘Och, it’s easy. I’ll teach you.’
He pulled a face, and she laughed at his expression. ‘You wanted the full Skye experience, so don’t complain if that’s what you get.’
