After witnessing the sword dance last week, she tended to agree with him, but if the girls were going to go to court, they needed to learn to dance appropriately. Thus she’d gathered a piper, Gilly, Mary, and Murdoch for dance lessons. Mary needed some cheering up, and right now she was stifling a giggle watching her sister spar with Murdoch.
Though Flora had told herself not to get involved while at Drimnin, the temptation had proved too much. She could hardly sit idly by while so many things cried out for her attention. In addition to dance, she’d begun instructing the girls in reading and writing Scots and a little Latin. The most challenging aspect of her project thus far had proved to be the woefully inadequate handful of folios scattered about the keep. As there was no library per se, she’d taken over the laird’s private solar located behind the great hall for her purposes. Her friends at court would be so amused to hear of the Holyrood hellion acting as tutor, but Flora had never felt so useful.
Mary and Gilly weren’t the sole focus of her attentions. She’d also had a few delicate conversations with Morag about improvements around the keep and, despite being banished from the kitchens, about the preparations of the food.
“Warrior. Ha!” Gilly muttered with a snort, just loudly enough for Murdoch to hear.
He took an intimidating step toward her, looking as if he’d like nothing more than to throttle her. Though he was young, Flora saw a shadow of the formidable man he could become. But right now he was still too full of youthful pride, and Gilly had just trampled all over it.
“Nonsense, Murdoch, you are doing very well.” Flora stepped between them, trying to smooth things over. “It was Gilly who got in your way.” She gave her a reproachful stare. “Wasn’t it, Gilly?”
Although she clearly wanted to disagree, Gilly seemed to realize that she was about to lose her partner—and they were horribly shorthanded as it was in that department. Conscripting men to help with Gilly’s and Mary’s dance lessons had proved next to impossible. Flora had never heard so many excuses. The only reason Murdoch was here at all was because Alasdair had volunteered him to avoid coming himself, grumbling that he’d rather clean the garderobe than prance around like a Lowland peacock.
Murdoch looked as though he felt the same way, but they weren’t finished with him yet. They’d already been through some of the popular court dances, including the lively galliard, a modified lavolta—without the scandalous lift—and the coranto. Now she was trying to teach the girls a reel, and they had to have at least four people, though eight would have been better.
“Yes, I’m sorry, Murdoch, it was my fault,” Gilly said sweetly, though her eyes sparked with mutiny. Flora had a feeling she was only biding her time before unleashing a wicked sting of barbs on the poor lad. It’s what she’d have done in Gilly’s place.
“I still don’t see why you’re going to all the trouble, my lady. It’s hardly likely that this one will ever go to court—” He motioned to Gilly. “And it will take more than dancing to make a man forget about a sharp tongue—although I suppose they are Lowlanders,” he said disparagingly.
Flora’s mouth quirked. Apparently, she need not have felt sorry for him. Murdoch could take care of himself.
Gilly’s face flamed, and she looked ready to explode in a tirade, but Flora shot her a staying glance.
“As sisters of a laird, the girls should go to court,” Flora said. “So when the opportunity arises, I want them to be prepared. Shall we try again?” She motioned to Duncan, the piper, who was doing his best to hide his laughter. “Mary?” The girl had drifted off again. Flora walked over to gently turn Mary away from the window, giving her an encouraging squeeze when she saw the look of anguish on her face. The situation with Mary gave her pause. How could the laird do this to his sister? He was wrong. Mary would not outgrow her feelings for Allan. Flora would have to convince Lach—the laird—of it. “Come,” she said to Mary. “Don’t give up,” she urged, not referring simply to the dance. Mary met her gaze and nodded. Flora smiled. “This time you will partner with Gilly.”
As she took them through the steps of the dance again, Flora knew she was treading on dangerous ground. She was becoming too attached. To the girls. To the dreadful old keep. And, to be truthful, to the enigmatic man who was its laird.
She was no less confused today than she had been a week ago. Whatdidshe want from him? She no longer knew. He evoked a thousand different emotions in her, none of which she wanted to analyze too closely. And never far from her consciousness was the memory of that kiss. Of his mouth. His tongue. His big hands on her body. He’d cupped her breast, and heat had poured through her. She’d come apart in his arms, yielding to him without hesitation.
How could she have reacted like that? She didn’t understand what had come over her. She’d felt his passion and her own. It made her anxious. On edge. For something. Something that made her skin prickle whenever he was in the room with her. Indeed, she found it difficult to concentrate when he was around. He was big and strong and smelled incredible. She wanted to curl up against his chest and never leave. She’d never had such strong urges. But then again, she’d never met a man who made her feel so protected simply by his solid presence and his confident command of everything around him. His strength was strangely soothing. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when she’d felt so…content. And given the circumstances of her presence at Drimnin, that was strange indeed.
Though her attraction to him was undeniable, she couldn’t forget that she was his prisoner. Her thoughts should be of escape. That day at the beach, she’d noticed a small boat moored close to the shore. The Isle of Mull was tantalizingly close. At night, she could probably get to it without being seen. But something held her back, something other than the obvious danger. She’d never liked boats, with good reason. Though Morvern was part of the mainland of Scotland, stealing a horse would be near impossible; the stables were too well guarded.
She told herself she was waiting for Hector, but the longer it took, the more she knew it for a lie. As the days went by with no word from her brother, she realized she’d been right: Hector wouldn’t exchange her for Breacachadh Castle. She barely knew him. It shouldn’t matter. But “should” didn’t prevent the kernel of disappointment and hurt.
The laird must realize that his plan hadn’t worked. The past week had made her even more confident that he was ever so subtly wooing her. And she was forced to admit, it was not without effect. Though it was an unusual wooing, devoid of compliments and heartfelt declarations. None of the social niceties she’d grown accustomed to. Accustomed to and bored with, she realized. Lachlan Maclean was not just rough around the edges; he was rough through and through and every ounce the proud Highland chief.
All her life she’d been brought up to never trust a Highlander and to despise their way of life. But he was different. Watching him with his clan, she admired his leadership, his strength, and his protectiveness toward his men and his sisters. Especially given what she now knew about his past. Of how he’d had to fight and struggle to provide for his clan. They looked at him as nothing less than a hero.
She wanted to trust him, but how could she when he held her prisoner? She still couldn’t reconcile the man who’d abducted her—and prevented his own sister from marrying the man she loved—with the chief she’d grown to admire and the man who’d kissed her at first tenderly and then with such passion.
At times, she felt as if she could be happy here. Mary and Gilly were wonderful, and the laird…for all his rough ways, he held a strange appeal. She could almost believe he might make a good husband.
Husband.Could she really consider such a thing? Marrying a Highlander, forsaking all she knew to live in this harsh, remote landscape? Drimnin didn’t have the luxuries she was used to, but never had she been more comfortable—even, she thought with a wry smile, without silk bed linens, silver candelabra, and gold-encrusted plates. She would miss the pageantry of court, but it wasn’t as if she were being banished—she could always return. And her tocher would go a long way toward helping to update the dilapidated old keep. She would miss her former life, but the prospect of living in the Highlands didn’t appall her as it should. And she knew the reason why: Lachlan Maclean.
But why had he brought her here? He’d sworn he would not force her into marriage, and desperately, she wanted to believe him.
They stumbled through another attempt at the reel before Gilly collapsed, exhausted, on a chair. Murdoch was actually quite a good dancer—when not partnered with Gilly.
“I don’t know why we’re bothering,” Gilly said woefully. “As much as I hate to say it, Murdoch is right. Lachlan will never let us go.”
“He can hardly object if you are my guests. When I return to Edinburgh, you will come and stay with me in my cousin’s lodgings. I will take care of everything.” For once, she was grateful for her wealth.
“You are being so kind and generous….” A shadow crossed Mary’s face. A shadow that looked like guilt. “But it won’t matter. Lachlan despises court. He says it’s a place of intrigue and deception. And corruption.”
Flora thought about it for a moment. There was truth to Mary’s words, but court was also the center of power and a place of excitement and energy, with all the modern conveniences and advantages of society. “There is some truth to what your brother says. But it is not all bad.” She gave Gilly a sidelong glance. “There are balls, dancing, masques…and plenty of handsome young men to partner with.”
Gilly practically jumped out of her chair, her energy suddenly renewed. “I think we should have another go at it.”
