“Who holds your attention so?” He scans the crowd, and I see the exact moment his expression sharpens. He’s spotted Callum. “These coarse lads, are they to your liking?”
My spine shoots straight as a pike. “What?”
Hamish’s gaze consumes me, dragging from my eyes, to my lips, along my cheeks, and back again.
I feel exposed. Vulnerable.
And it’s just myface.
He rephrases. “You like your lads rough, is it?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I sound absurdly prim, but at the moment, I feel absurdly prim.
I need to tread carefully. I can’t forget his dad keeps aliteral pit in their dining room. But I also need to hold onto the upper hand. I didn’t cower the last time we spoke, and he didn’t seem too bothered. If anything, he kind of liked it.
The thought makes my skin crawl.
But I have to ignore my disgust. Be cordial, but aloof. “I’m not here for the lads. Can’t a girl just sit and enjoy akey-kayl…”
“A cèilidh?”
“Yes. That.”
“Indeed. I can tell by the way you move that you’re enjoying it.”
I swear, if he doesn’t stop watching me, I’ll be forced to put an eye out. And—crap—is he scooting closer?
“I sense passion in your blood.”
Oh gross.Hehasscooted closer.
“Nope.” I grit my teeth into a smile. “Just trying to get comfortable.”
I scuff my toes in the dirt, unearthing a stone buried there, and suddenly, it’s the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen. I use the movement to edge an inch to the left.
Unfortunately, that lands my butt on a damp, freezing patch of bench.
“Cold?”
I must’ve shivered. I make my smile wider, plastering it on like a brittle mask. “Nope. I’m fine.”
“The weather’s turning. ’Twill get much colder than this.” He raises his arm like he’s about to wrap it around my shoulders. “Allow me.”
Oh, hell no.
“Oh!” I practically fold in half to pick up the stone, using the excuse to get away from him. “Hey, look.”
The rock is flat and round, the size of a half-dollar, andalmost completely smooth. I smudge away the dirt and hold it up to the firelight. “It has a hole through the middle.”
Hamish flinches. Like, an actual full-body recoil. I bite back a laugh.
His eyes harden, flicking from me to the rock. “Gloine nan Druidh,” he mutters.
“What?”
“’Tis a hag stone.”
“A what?”
