“I want you there.” His gaze was steady and very serious. “I planned the dance for you.”
William stiffened, watching them intently.
“This dance is in my honor?” She lifted her eyebrows. “Truly?”
Arran did not move from his place near the door. “When I was new to St. Mary’s Isle, Lord and Lady Selkirk held a dance in my honor to meet their friends and neighbors. ’Tis the least I could do for you.”
“What if no one comes?”
He smiled and his brown eyes sparkled. “They’ve already started to fill up the hall, lass.” He extended his hand. “Will you come, then?”
Eleanor stood, turning her attention to William. “Are you certain you won’t join us?”
He shook his head, as he regarded her. “You go and have fun.”
She nodded at him and then said to Arran, “I will need to change before I go.”
“You look bonnie in what you’re wearing.” He smiled. “I wouldna change a thing.”
“I can’t go to a dance in this.” She lifted the hem of her brown dress. “It isn’t meant for a party.”
The light in Arran’s eyes dimmed and he shook his head. “Your second-best dress is better than anything the other ladies wear, lass. If you walk into the hall in a party dress, you’ll only distance yourself more.”
Remorse and embarrassment at her thoughtlessness filled her throat and she had to swallow it down. “You’re right, of course.”
She had brought several gowns with her, including a stunning ball gown, not knowing when she might have the chance to acquire another. But now that she’d come to the Red River Valley, she realized how frivolous it had been to waste the space in her trunk.
Arran motioned to the door, taking her shawl and bonnet off the hooks. “Shall we go?”
He helped her to put them on, and with a farewell to William, the two of them slipped out of the house.
Lights shone from the windows of the main hall and music spilled out into the muddy yard. Overhead, the stars sparkled in all their brilliance without a moon to dull their shine. Though it was October, the air had cooled, but it was still much warmer than it had been when they traveled to Pembina.
Arran was strong and steady as he walked beside her, causing her heart to beat an irregular rhythm. Would he always elicit these feelings inside her? He had made it clear he didn’t want her to stay, but she could not convince her traitorous heart to stop responding to him.
Chapter Seven
The room was warm and bright as the Highlanders filled the space with laughter and music. One of the company men had brought his bagpipes, while another had produced a flute. A fiddle was added by one of the colonists and the trio played together as if they’d been doing it their whole life.
A fire crackled in the large hearth and the tables had been pushed back against the walls to leave the middle of the room open for dancing.
“A bonnie night for a dance,” one of the men called out to Arran as he led Eleanor into the hall.
The crowd was in the middle of a lively Scottish country dance, one Arran hadn’t heard since he was a boy. About three dozen people stood in four long lines, their partners standing across from them. Two by two, they danced down the lines until they came to the end, laughing and jigging the whole way. Then they began to weave in and out, bouncing on their toes in a Highland step. Several of the men wore their kilts while others were dressed in deerskin trousers.
Eleanor stood close to Arran’s side, her warm hand nestled firmly in the crook of his elbow. He set his musket against the wall where all the others had been laid, and he stood for a minute watching the dancers move.
“Do you ken this dance?” he asked Eleanor.
She shook her head, her face already glowing, though she hadn’t yet danced.
“I remember my maither and faither dancing to this tune when I was a wee lad.” Just thinking about his mother made him flex his hands. The scars were tight from the dry winter air. He looked down at them, recalling the day his life had changed forever.
“Do you think you could teach me?” she asked—and then noticed he was studying his hands. She looked down at his scars for a moment before lifting her questioning eyes to his.
She had asked him once, many years ago, how he’d gotten his scars. He hadn’t answered her then, and he wasn’t sure he could answer her if she asked him now. They were a constant reminder of his weakness and inability, and they were the last thing he wanted to share with anyone. Especially Eleanor.
Instead of asking him, she lifted her free hand and set it on top of his, covering his scars with her soft, gentle touch. The look in her eyes told him she understood his pain, even if she didn’t know how it had happened.
