John Erly tucked his cursed flute into his belt and spanned Fia’s waist with his hands, grinning at her as he lifted her off the horse. She smiled sweetly, her white hands butterflies on John’s dark sleeves, her eyes on his. And John smiled back, damn him, held her an instant too long and far too close in Dair’s opinion. He wanted to shove John’s hands off of her, punch the grin off his face, crush him into the dust.
Then Fia’s head turned, and her eyes locked with Dair’s. Her sudden blush stole the breath from his body. He was transfixed, trapped like a fly in honey, as randy and restless as the cat.
She stepped away from John, untucked her skirts from her belt, and walked toward him, and he watched her come, his body buzzing with desire. He fought to keep his hands at his sides. “There’s something I wanted to ask you, Alasdair Og,” she said, and bit her lip. He watched her teeth sink into the plump pink flesh and stifled a groan. “It’s Midsummer’s Eve tomorrow, and we—Meggie and I—would like to have a bonfire the way we do at Glen Iolair. It seems some of your folk would like to join us. As acting chief, will you allow it?”
He would give her anything in this moment, he thought, the way she looked, standing before him, her eyes on his, her hair adorned with flowers, her gown clinging to her slender curves. Sweat trickled down his back. The heat of the day made her glow, shimmer, made his mouth water. She tilted her head and smiled at him, sweet and beguiling, and waited for a reply.
“I’d say the party has already started, Mistress MacLeod.”
It wasn’t an answer, but Fia reached out and touched his arm in her delight, a light squeeze that sent tingles through his veins and made his desire for her rise higher still, ready and eager. Such a small touch, but it rendered him witless as well as speechless.
“Tapadhleibh,” she said. “Thank you.” Then she turned and was gone, leaving the scent of flowers in her wake.
“Roses,” Ruari said beside him, sniffing the air. “It will be fun, don’t ye think, to have a bonfire in the old way?”
“That’s not what Father Alphonse will say,” Jock grunted.
“What does it matter what he says? Och, I’ll do extra penance the next morning if I must,” Niall said, and hurried forward to join the merriment.
Dair frowned. She hadn’t waited for him to say aye or nay. Nor had she asked him if he would attend.
He most certainly would not. Not even to see Fia MacLeod by moonlight, with flowers in her hair.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“Your summons sounded quite serious,” John said as he entered the library.
Dair set his quill down and closed the book in front of him. “Yes. It’s about Fia MacLeod.”
John chuckled. “Ah, so it is serious indeed. And I thought you were avoiding her.”
“Why would you think that?” Dair asked, though it was perfectly true.
John took the chair before the desk and crossed his legs. “Well, you didn’t come to supper last night, or breakfast this morning. You’re not hungover or ill, by the looks of you, so that’s not what kept you away. What are you doing?”
He was translating a poem. He remembered the pleasure in Fia’s eyes when she spoke of the verses in the book of Italian poetry—he couldn’t sleep for thinking of those eyes, her mouth, so here he sat, as he had all night, turning Italian into English for her. Dair could hardly admit that to John, so he changed the subject. “I want you to escort her to the midsummer fire tonight, keep an eye on her.”
John’s brows shot upward. “Me? Why don’t you do it?”
“I won’t be there. This isn’t her home. There are dangers here she isn’t familiar with.” He pictured one of his clansmen—Niall or Andrew, perhaps—grinning at her in the firelight. He’d take her hand, lead her away from the fire into the privacy of the dark.
“What dangers? You’re the most menacing thing here,” John quipped.
Was John forgetting how innocent Fia was? She had no idea what men could do, would want to do, if she looked at them the way she’d looked at him in the night, leaning over his bed . . .
“I mean dangers like the sea. The cliff is treacherous, and she is unsteady on her feet. She might fall,” he snapped.
“She might,” John said. “But she’s remarkably resourceful. Have you not noticed that?”
“It will be dark,” Dair said. “It’s my duty to ensure she’s safe, and since I won’t be at the bonfire, I’m appointing you to see to her.”
“Appointing me? You’re taking your role as chief very seriously.”
“I’m being a careful host—what would I tell her kin if something happened to her? She’s clumsy.”
“Only when she’s nervous,” John said. “Otherwise, she’s as graceful as a swan. She rides well. Moire usually doesn’t trust another living soul, but she likes Fia. So do I, which rather surprises me.”
Dair felt a hot ball of jealousy form in his belly. “You stay away from her!”
