“Excuse me, Miss,” he greeted her, his cheeks flushed with nervousness. “May I have yer hand for the next dance?”
Isla looked past him to where Laird McLeod was sitting. He was still watching her with great interest, perhaps taking her in to see how she would respond to another suitor. Isla was not above playing a little dirty to make sure she got what she wanted, and what better way to do that now than by acceptingthe attentions of someone else? She had no intention of doing anything other than dancing with this man, but it would prove to McLeod that she would not offer herself up on a silver platter for him. No, if he wanted her, then he would have to come and claim her himself.
And she could hardly wait to see if he would take her up on such a challenge.
“Of course,” she replied, fluttering her lashes at the man demonstratively as she took his arm and allowed him to steer her towards the floor.
The music was bright and cheerful, and soon, she found her feet flying to match the pace of the dancers around her. The man before her struggled to keep up, but she did not let it bother her, laughing as she swung underneath his arm and around his back to meet him in a waltz hold once again. He hovered his arm around her waist, fearful of what touching her might mean, but she drew him close. She knew it was likely unfair of her to play with him in such a fashion, given that she had no intention of doing anything more than sharing a dance with him. But she wanted to show Laird McLeod that she could move, that she could play, that she was willing to meet him at whatever point he was ready for her.
And, besides, the longer she danced with someone else, the more jealous he would become, surely. If he had looked at her the way he had when he had only just set eyes on her, she could not imagine what he might do seeing another man taking her for a spin on the dancefloor…
As the music faded into silence, she turned her attention to the man before her. He was struggling to catch his breath, and he drew back from her at once. He looked a little shocked, perhaps he had not expected a woman to dance so wildly at a feast where most were searching for marriage. But she was not the staid kind, never had been, never would be. And just because therewere plenty around her searching for something serious didn’t mean that she couldn’t let her hair down and enjoy herself.
But before she could ponder too long on the matter, a voice quieted her thoughts, low, strong, and commanding.
“I’ll be cutting in now, Kieran.”
Laird McLeod planted his hand on the shoulder of the young hopeful who had just swung her around the floor, or at least tried to keep up with her while she did. Kieran stepped away at once, perhaps sensing that he was standing in the middle of something far greater than he could hope to challenge.
Isla curtsied slightly, dipping a few inches as she met the Laird’s gaze. Up close, he was even more striking, his blue eyes sparkling with silver flecks, his jaw sharp, and his lips curled up into a half-smile. His gaze swept up and down her body, drinking her in as though he intended to commit every part of her to memory.
By the time she straightened up again, he had moved even closer, and she caught the scent of him in the air. Distinct, dark, earthy, and masculine, she found herself drawn closer than she knew she should have been, at least when they were so surrounded at every turn by other people. It was like an inexplicable force drew them together.
“Laird McLeod,” she greeted him, glad that she already knew his name.
He lifted his chin, observing her for a moment, apparently not wrong-footed by the fact that he did not have to so much as introduce himself to her.
"And ye are?”
“Yer next dance partner,” she replied, cocking her eyebrow. “Or did ye intend to drag me away from poor Kieran with no intention of keeping me company?”
He grinned, his smile flashing mischief in his eyes, and he took her hand and pulled her into him. He did not restrainhimself like Kierna had done, no. His hand rested firmly and possessively on her waist, and she could already feel the strength of him against her. He wore a handsome kilt and a shirt with leather ties only done up an inch or two. She could have sworn she saw the pulse of his heart beneath his chest for a moment before he drew her out onto the floor.
The music filled the air once more, and soon, the two of them had fallen into practiced lockstep with one another. He certainly knew how to move, she could give him that much. He held her close to him, his hand tight against the curve of her waist, and the way he looked at her, it was like he had forgotten there was anyone else in the room at all. He commanded her attention while, normally, she would have glanced around to see who else was keeping an eye on her. But now, there was no way she would dare such a thing with him so close to her. He wouldn’t have missed her distraction, and there was something about him that told her she should not risk bringing his wrath down on her head, at least not before she knew if she could handle it.
Her heart pulsed in time to the music as they danced together, other couples coming and going at either side of them. Every beat of the bodhrán seemed to match with the movement of their feet against the flagstone floor, the scent of whiskey on his lips surrounded her as he brushed them close to her. She kept waiting for him to say something, but he didn’t. As though he had nothing to say to her that he could not better communicate with the matching movement of their bodies.
By the time the music stopped and the band drew back to restock their ale, she went to pull away from him. Yes, he was a fine dancer, and she could not imagine she’d find a man more intriguing than this one to spend the rest of the evening with, but that didn’t mean that she was in any hurry to give up so quickly.
But, before she could draw back, his hand clamped down on the small of her back, giving her no choice but to come even closer.
“Not so fast, wife,” he murmured, his eyes darkening.
She stared at him for a moment, sure she must have misheard.
“What did ye just call me?”
“Ye’re here to find a husband, are ye not?” he replied, as though it should have been apparent to her already.
Her eyes widened.
“Ye’re mad,” she countered sharply, wrenching herself away from him and earning a deviant smirk from his full lips.
His sudden possessiveness spooked her and yet it lit a fire deep in her belly—one she’d never dare confess. She had never done well with men who seemed to think that she owed them something, and the way this man was looking at her, she got the feeling that he would be all too willing to exercise his power to make sure she saw it through.
“That’s no way to speak to yer future husband, lass,” he murmured, and, though his voice was soft, it was laced with a warning.
A warning that if she dared to make a fool of him here by telling him that she would never be his wife, he would find some way to make her pay for it.
