“I’m no one’s game,” Quinn answered, even as the muscles in Collin’s arm bunched beneath her hold. “But if I were, my blood runs green.”
“’Tis tradition the Menzies dance with the McDougalls.” Ian jumped down from the platform and held out his hand.
“I’m sure the lady you were sitting with would like to dance.”
Ian glanced over his shoulder and turned back with a smile. “My mom hates to dance.”
“Come on, Quinn. It’s tradition.”
“That’s a stupid tradition,” Quinn grumbled.
“Aye, but it keeps incest out of the equation, and I know you want to set a good example for the others.”
He gestured toward a table, where Quinn spotted Abigail sitting in a green dress, watching.
She ignored Ian’s hand and stood on her tiptoes, planting a kiss on Collin’s lips, leaving no doubt as to whose bed she’d be sleeping in later.
“I’ll make sure to step on his toes.” She winked, making Collin smile before she let Ian drag her to the dance floor.
Ian rested his hands on her waist as they slow danced. She watched asMargarete was quick to fill her void. Her dress was impressive. It was sleek, hugged her curves and was the color of Collin’s house. The sight had Quinn seeing red.
“Ne’er mind her, Quinn. She disnae hold a candle to you.”
Collin held Quinn’s gaze, and it was in that minute that she hoped Ian was right. Quinn stopped dancing and turned to Ian. “Who are you, and what did you do with Ian McDougall.”
His laughter rang out, even as he started moving them both in the dance. “’Tis a shame you prefer green, Quinn Thatcher. I’d have been nicer to persuade you to my side.”
“You don’t know how to be nice.” Quinn glanced over at Margarete, who had her arm wrapped around Collin’s bicep as he read something in his hands. The man from breakfast the first morning stood next to Collin and was pointing at the paper. Had that guy been the one to inform Collin of her past? “Remind me again who’s talking with Collin.”
She turned to give Ian her full attention.
“My sister, Margarete, and Ramsey, Collin’s financial advisor.”
Quinn stopped dancing. “Margarete is a McDougall?”
“Aye.”
“Why is she wearing green?” Quinn’s voice rose, as did her temper.
Before he could answer, Abigail appeared by Quinn’s side. “Excuse me, Quinn, but Mavis asked to see you in the kitchen.”
“Thanks, Abby.” Quinn turned back to Ian. “Ian, meet Abby. You two dance.” Ian’s brows dipped at her suggestion, making Quinn smile. “Set a good example.” She patted him on the back as she left.
Abby blushed, even as Ian pulled her into his arms, quickly replacing Quinn. She made her way through the crowd toward the side entrance near the kitchen. Stepping out into the hallway, she inhaled a deep breath debating whether, if she tossed Margarete out by her hair, her actions would start another clan war.
“What the hell is wrong with me? I’m a strong, independent woman,” Quinn mumbled as she entered the kitchen. The familiar smell of tomato sauce, herbs and spices drifted to her nose.
She spotted the pizza sitting on the counter. Her eyes widened in surprise. “You didn’t.”
“Aye, I did,” Mavis smiled while slipping a slice onto a plate and handing it to Quinn.
“How did you have time to whip this together? I just mentioned it today.”
“I saw it months ago in my visions. I had plenty of time to perfect it. It wasnae done in time, or I would have sent it to the library and you could have had it for lunch.”
“The library was a bust. I expected old books, but they were mostly new. The one I was looking for has a black spine with white symbols on it, like in one of the portraits,” Quinn said, as she took her first bite of the gooey goodness, a string of cheese hitting her in the chin as it broke free. She used her tongue to gather it without missing a beat.
“You should try the old library.”
