“I had nay idea he had made such a… firm decision,” she said carefully. “What made him decide that?”
Helena pursed her lips, obviously hovering between the wisdom of staying silent and speaking.
Like Nora, she chose to speak.
“I should nae have said that,” she sighed, shaking her head. “I have too big a mouth. I cannae keep secrets. But this one is really nae mine to give. If ye wish to ken why Creighton is so dead set against marriage—or dead set against his own marriage, at the very least—then ye will have to ask him yerself. Ye never ken, he might tell ye.”
“Nay, I ken,” Nora sighed. “He’ll nae tell me.”
“He’s nae changed, then. He keeps his cards close to his chest. I suppose a laird must learn that, one way or another. Poor Hunter learned a few nasty lessons in his early years. He had the trust knocked out of him. I wish I could have helped him more. But he’s learned now, and the less said about all that, the better.”
Nora would have liked to hear more, but now didn’t seem to be the right time to ask. Besides, there were plenty of things that Creighton had chosen not to tell her. She’d be a fool to believe otherwise.
Before she could follow up with another question, Laird MacCrimmon approached, alongside his cousin. Creighton’s eyes immediately sought out Nora, but once their gazes met, he looked away.
“What do ye think of our ceilidh, Lady Nora?” Laird MacCrimmon asked. “Some folks find the idea of an outdoor ceilidh unsettlin’.”
“I think it’s wonderful,” she confessed. “Me only concern is if it rains. And here in the Highlands, it’s usually rainin’.”
He chuckled, his face splitting into what she thought must be a rare smile. Hunter MacCrimmon was a handsome man, just like his cousin, but he was far too serious.
“We try our best to pick sunny days,” he answered, still smiling.
At that moment, the musicians struck up their instruments, a brisk melody filling the air. There was a general ripple of delight, and people started finding partners, heading toward the dance floor in pairs.
Helena gave a happy sigh, pressing her hands together.
“Oh, when I was younger, I did so love a dance,” she sighed. “Alas, nay more. Nae with this leg of mine. Hunter, do ye intend to dance today?”
“It’s nae seemly,” Hunter responded at once, looking away. “A laird should only dance with his betrothed, his wife, or his sister.”
Helena did not bother to argue. Instead, she turned to Nora and Creighton. Nora knew immediately what was coming.
“Ye two will dance, though?” she asked hopefully. “Young people ought to dance. Wee Laurie is already on the dance floor, although I am not sure that she is dancing with anybody. Fromwhat I see, she’s spinning around all by herself, the sweet wee lassie.”
Nora cast a quick glance up at Creighton. A muscle twitched in his jaw. He did not immediately speak, and she took it upon herself to answer for him.
“I… I daenae think so, Helena,” she murmured regretfully. “We’re tired from the journey, and honestly, I am nae sure I feel like dancin’.”
“Daenae feel like dancin’? Oh, lass, surely nae!”
She laughed awkwardly, glancing up at Creighton. Apparently he read her silent plea for help, and took a step toward his aunt.
“Everybody is lookin’ at me, aunt. I’m Laird MacColl here. I’m nae sure that caperin’ around the dance floor, bumpin’ into folks and missin’ steps, will do me reputation any good. And Nora has been ill lately.”
“Ye could dance slowly,” she suggested, a mischievous glow in her eyes. “Nobody will be lookin’ at ye, I promise it.”
Creighton opened his mouth to respond, his lips already set in a firmno. Nora let her gaze drift to the dance floor. It was already crowded with couples laughing and stumbling over each other. It wasn’t at all like the formal, serious dances she’d seen at Bryden Keep, where the old laird’s influence and his love of slower dances and more traditional English styles persisted. No,this was a true Scottish jig, a ceilidh—fast, haphazard, and a little dangerous. As she watched, two couples collided, all four of them tumbling off the dance floor onto the grass, laughing breathlessly.
It looks like fun,she thought, with a twinge of something that was almost certainly regret.
But they weren’t here for fun, were they? This was business, and at best a family visit.
“Ach, come on, Creighton,” Hunter spoke up abruptly. Both Nora and Creighton threw him a quick, startled glance.
Hunter smiled widely at them both. “Me mother is nae getting’ any younger, and her health…” he trailed off, wincing theatrically. “Me point is, Creighton, surely ye will nae deny a sweet lady like me mother—yer aunt—the pleasure of seein’ ye dance, would ye?”
His words hung in the air like a bad joke. Perhaps it was all a bad joke, a light, throwaway comment that nonetheless had teeth to it.
