Caroline was melting. Sophie and Lottie were now talking about what they would wear, if riding habits or walking gowns would be more suitable. Alec’s toes were as persuasive as his fingers, teasing her, demanding a response. It was almost impossible to breathe. She licked her lips. Whenever she turned her attention to William, began a conversation, Alec would wiggle his toes. Who knew a man could do such a thing with his feet? She did her best to listen to what William was saying, to respond to the remarks others made to her, but she was in truth aware of no one but Alec, and what he was doing to her. It was the longest meal of her life.
In the gallery Angus watched as Devorguilla leaned forward to whisper to Brodie. She pressed something into his hand. He excused himself, and left the room. “What’s he up to?” Angus said. “Something’s not right.” He watched Devorguilla turn and give Alec a smug, slit-eyed look of pure hatred, but Alec was too busy watching Caroline to notice. The lass was uncommonly flushed, and Alec’s eyes were heavy-lidded. Angus turned to watch for Brodie’s return.
Caroline could barely think, let alone carry on a conversation. Alec kept up the slow, gentle torment throughout the meal. Despite her dismay, sweet, hot desire flowed through her veins. She nipples hardened, rubbed against the linen of her shift. She twisted her napkin in her lap, strangling it tighter with every little movement of his toes against her sex. Her cheeks burned. Her whole body burned. She couldn’t look at him, didn’t dare, knowing that if she did, she’d explode. She twisted the linen napkin harder to keep from sobbing.
Finally the last plates were removed, and she gave thanks that the meal—and surely the slow, sensual torment—was over. Surely they would now rise from the table and retire, and she would be out of his wicked reach at last. She was exhausted, her nerves frayed as taut as a bowstring.
Hamish carried in a tray of glasses and a decanter of golden whisky and set it on the sideboard. Muira snuffed half the candles out.
“What’s this?” Sophie asked.
Devorguilla smiled. “A special treat. Wait and see.”
Hamish and Leith opened the kitchen doors and took their places on either side of the portal, dressed in their plaids.
“Do you like a man in Scottish dress, Caroline?” William asked her. “I can’t decide if I do or not. It’s very different from what English gentlemen wear. I cannot help but feel a little frightened by it. Living in the north of England, I grew up on terrible tales of the ’45 rebellion. My nurse used to tell me that if I didn’t go to sleep, Bonnie Prince Charlie himself would come down from the hills and drag me across the border and eat me. For the longest time, I imagined a nation of baby-eating men in skirts lurking right next door to Halliwell Hall.”
Alec’s foot tensed indignantly, pausing at last. He would surely withdraw it now the conversation had taken a serious turn, she thought, and she would be free.
But he didn’t. Instead, his toes curled and flexed and played, and she swallowed a sob of misery.
She heard the low moan of bagpipes as they drew breath to sing, rising to the heart-stopping skirl of bright sound that filled the room as the pipers came out of the kitchen.
Megan, Lottie, and Alanna cried out in delight as the pipers appeared, and slowly marched down the length of the table, playing a merry tune. Sophie flinched at every note.
Caroline drew a sharp breath—not because of the magnificence of the ancient music that filled the hall, but because Alec’s toes were on the move again. She could not bear it. Surely she would die of the torment. She let her eyes drift shut, and her breath came in short gasps she couldn’t control. She gripped the edge of the table. How dare he make her feel this, bring her to the edge, threaten to push her over. Heat rose from the tender, inflamed bud his toes teased, and she felt it rise over her belly and breasts, until she was sure she’d burst into flames.
Behind the pipers came Muira, carrying a pudding on a huge platter, decorated with the clan symbols of heath, pine, and crowberry.
And behind her, Brodie carried in the laird’s cup.
Alec’s foot caught the rhythm of the music, throbbing, thrusting, toying, rubbing faster and faster, dancing a mad reel.
Muira touched a lighted taper to the pudding and it burst into flames. Everyone at the table cried out, Caroline loudest of all, as the sensation carried her over the edge. Alec gripped her hand under the table, squeezed it.
She stared at him in horror, mortified. Fortunately, all eyes were on the pudding, and not on her.
He had the audacity to smile, giving her a grin of pure male pride.
Caroline slipped her fork under the tablecloth and stabbed him in the leg, her smile rising as his faded. This time, it was his cry the skirl of the pipes hid.
“Why would Brodie be carrying the cup?” Angus asked. “It goes against tradition.”
“What?” Georgiana was watching the blue flames flicker over the pudding.
“It should be Jock, Alec’s seneschal.” Angus stared at Brodie, saw him flick a glance at Devorguilla, who smiled like the vixen she was. There was no pride or joy in her smile, just pure malice. It rose from her like grave rot. She nodded, and Brodie moved forward, carrying the cup down the length of the table toward Alec. Angus looked into the cup as it passed under his perch, felt the prickle of warning and fear.
“No,” he hissed. “She wouldna!”
“Whatever is the matter?” Georgiana asked. “Look at Caroline—she’s positively radiant tonight.”
“Gràdhach, she’s going to poison him.”
Georgiana’s brow furrowed. “Why would Caroline poison Brodie?”
“Not Caroline, Devorguilla, and not Brodie—she’s going to poison Alec!”
Angus looked at the assembled company desperately. Megan’s eyes were shining with pride as Brodie passed her. Sophie was regarding the pipers as if she wished them to the depths of Hades. Somerson looked bored. Alec, the fool, had eyes only for Caroline. So, apparently did the young viscount seated beside her. “Alec!” Angus cried out. “Alec, don’t drink it, lad!” But he couldn’t hear.
