‘Good,’ he replied. Then he kissed her.
Rocco had assumed the ceilidh would be held in a pub, but when Giselle took him to what looked like an old chapel hidden away behind the colourfully painted houses lining Portree’s harbour, he was surprised.
‘This is the Gathering Hall,’ she said. ‘I love the name; it makes me think of the gathering of the clans in olden times, when they’d get together for things like the Highland Games. This building is only 150 years old, though.’
‘That’s olden times, isn’t it?’
Giselle presented a pair of tickets at the door. ‘Och no. Scottish history, as you well ken, goes back an awful lot further than that. The way we see it, olden times is, like,hundredsof years ago.’
The elderly man on the door chuckled. ‘It’s nice to see a lassie with a genuine sense of history. Local, are you?’
‘Skye born and bred,’ she replied proudly. ‘This guy here—’ she jerked her chin at Rocco ‘—is a redcoat.’
Rocco felt the need to explain. ‘She’s been teaching me about the Jacobite Uprising.’
‘Aye, there’s a lot of history on Skye. Enjoy your evening.’
Rocco couldn’t help glancing at Giselle as he said, ‘Thanks, we will.’ He felt giddy with the promise of what the night might hold. Was the kiss just now only the start of it? He hoped so. Rocco had wanted to say, ‘Sod the fish supper,’ and take her to bed, but he hadn’t dared. He hadn’t wanted to spoil such a perfect day, and he wasn’t entirely sure whether she’d welcome it. Her kiss had tasted of sunshine and sea, and she’d melted into his arms for the briefest of seconds before someone had stood on their blanket and brought him back to the present. However, kissing him didn’t mean she’d want to make love to him, especially since he’d love her and leave her. They’d been lovers before, one wonderful night together, after which they’d gone their separate ways, but they’d been young, and possibly foolish. This older and wiser Giselle mightn’t want a one-night stand. Neither did he. Rocco wanted more, but more was impossible. So he’d settle for what he could get, and if that meant a few stolen kisses and the rest of the evening by her side, he’d take it and be grateful.
The hall was a rectangular space with a wooden floor and a vaulted, black-beamed ceiling. A stage was at the far end, where a group of musicians sat, and tables with benches were arranged around the edges of the room, leaving the centre clear for dancing. Fairy lights were strung across the beams, giving it a festive air.
Most of the tables were occupied, but Giselle found one with a couple of chairs free and she commandeered them. A guy on the stage introduced the band, and immediately the dance area began to fill as people got to their feet.
When the music started, Rocco found himself tapping his toes. The tune was upbeat and catchy, and he was mesmerised by people linking arms and twirling around with one arm in the air. The dance didn’t seem particularly difficult, and although he felt self-conscious, the urge to hold Giselle in his arms was greater than any embarrassment he suspected he might feel. Which was why he stood up and offered her his hand.
‘Would you like to dance?’
The dazzling smile she bestowed on him lit up the room and turned his heart to mush.
She leapt to her feet. ‘I’ll be gentle with you,’ she promised.
His breath hitched. ‘I don’t mind it rough,’ he said, and led her onto the floor.
When he turned around, it was to find her studying him. She offered him an elbow. ‘Rough, eh?’
He linked his arm through it. ‘Not too rough,’ he amended, hoping he wasn’t coming on too strong.
She spun him around, and he stumbled for a moment until he found his feet. ‘Too rough for you?’ she teased. Her smile was wry, her eyes full of laughter.
‘This is fine.’
She released him and kind of hopped on the spot. Others were doing the same, their partners clapping. Rocco clapped, too. Then she was gone, dancing over to someone else, leaving him wondering what to do, before a middle-aged woman offered him an elbow. He took it, spun around, and she let go, and he was left alone once more to clap and wait for Giselle to rotate back to him.
When he’d asked her to dance, this wasn’t what he’d had in mind. He’d imagined a kind of waltz thing, with a hand on her waist and their palms clasped together – not sharing her with all and sundry.
She was back, her arm in his for another spin, before disengaging and grabbing his hand.
This is more like it, he thought, until his other hand was grabbed by someone on his right, and a circle was formed. Rocco had no idea what he was supposed to be doing, but with a resigned laugh he threw himself into the moment. And ended up thoroughly enjoying himself.
Several dances later, he begged to be allowed to sit down. ‘I’m parched,’ he said. ‘Fancy a top-up?’
He was on soft drinks because he was driving. Giselle had suggested he might like to leave the car in Portree so he could have a drink, and Cal could bring him into town early tomorrow morning to collect it. He’d been tempted because a glass of something alcoholic might have given him Dutch courage in the dancing department. He hadn’t needed it, though. Wanting to dance with Giselle had been courage enough. But as the evening drew to a close and it was time to make the journey back to Duncoorie, Rocco wondered whether he’d have the courage to kiss her again.
It had been a long and busy day, exciting too, but Giselle wasn’t tired. She was too nervous to be tired. She was going to invite Rocco in when he dropped her off. And she was pretty sure what that would lead to. The issue was, she both feared he might turn her down and feared hemightnot.
The journey was undertaken in silence, and the atmosphere felt strained. Or was that her imagination? Could she be reading too much into it? Was it only her who thought it strained?
The car bumped up the rough road to the bothy, the headlights piercing the dark. As soon as it drew to a stop, she turned to him and the question she’d been about to ask died on her lips.
