He raised his hand almost in a way that told her to relax. “That is the thing. I cannae think of anyone who would do that.”
Ciaran nodded. “Then it might well have been an accident.”
“Aye.” MacKenna took a drink. “A stupid one, perhaps.”
Isobel drew a breath.
Ava’s hand tightened briefly on the stem of her glass. “At least nay one died.”
MacKenna looked at her for a second, then gave a short nod. “Aye. That alone deserves gratitude.”
“It deservesmorethan gratitude,” Isobel said, seizing the opening with the speed of a woman determined not to let grief dominate an evening. “It deserves music. Or dancing. We used to do worse for far less when we were younger.”
MacKenna’s mouth twitched. “We did, indeed. Though I am too tired to make a fool of meself tonight.”
“That is a disappointment,” Isobel tutted.
“I leave foolishness to stronger legs.” He turned his head toward Ciaran. “Ye, however, have nay excuse. Daenae sit there glowering and ruin yer wife’s mood with it.”
The line came sweetly, but it was also a push. Ava knew it. Ciaran saw that in the quick look she gave her father. He could have refused. He could have claimed he had something to do or was simply tired. Instead, he rose.
The room fell quieter as he crossed to Ava and held out his hand. “Me Lady.”
She looked down at his hand and back at his face. The flush in it was clearer than anything now.
“We daenae want to keep these folks waiting now, do we?”
For one beat, she only looked at his hand. Then, almost reluctantly, she placed her fingers in his palm. The contact sent a jolt through him at once.
He pulled her to her feet and led her into the small open space near the fireplace where Isobel had already begun a low, teasing tune under her breath. MacKenna leaned back in his chair to watch with the expression of a man who had arranged exactly what he wanted and meant to enjoy the result.
Ciaran put his hand on Ava’s waist, and she rested hers on his shoulder. The first steps were proper enough. Measured. Easy to explain. The kind of dancing one might do to satisfy family andpass a few minutes warmly. Then Ava looked up at him, and her face tilted toward his in candlelight with all their private history still alive beneath the surface.
“Ye might try smiling,” she said softly.
“Iamdancing. Is that nae effort enough?”
A faint smile touched her mouth. “Me father thinks ye can do better.”
“Yer father thinks many dangerous things.”
“He thinks ye brood too much.”
“He iscorrect.”
“That is the first sensible thing ye have admitted all day.”
He almost smiled and checked it too late. Ava noticed, and her fingers shifted against his shoulder just enough to make him aware of every place they touched.
Around them, the room had gone still in that quiet way where people stopped speaking because they had found something more interesting to watch. Isobel continued humming, and Laird MacKenna watched over the rim of his cup.
Ciaran should have released Ava at the first turn that allowed it.
He did not.
The dance went on. Her body moved easily with his, familiar now in the ways that mattered most to him and least to anyone else in the room. He knew the shape of her waist under his hand and the scent at the side of her neck when he stood this close.
He knew how quickly memory could turn simple contact into desire, and that was the last thing he wanted.
