Page 65 of The Highlander’s Dangerous Desire

Ewan was still watching her with concern, so Grace reached across and patted his hand. “’Tis nothing, Ewan. Only nerves, for the announcement we shall soon be making. I suppose I am still afraid I will embarrass you.”

“Never likely tae happen.” Ewan smiled encouragingly.

The musicians were finished preparing, and Ewan offered her his hand for the first dance. Grace felt her nerves intensify. She was yet unfamiliar with Highland dances, though Niamh had shown her some of the Lowland styles. Moreover, it was a frequent trick that both she and Niamh had employed, to pretend to be unforgivably clumsy on the dance floor.

Ewan smiled and pulled her close. “Just relax. Nae one expects ye tae get the steps o’ a Highland jig or a reel right, so I had Malcolm plan fer a dance where ye’d need tae dae naught but follow me lead.”

That was a relief, though not a complete one. “I might step on your toes.”

“Then ye’ll step on my toes, and I’ll ignore it, an’ we’ll continue dancin’.” Ewan shrugged. “Me braither danced the whole o’ his wedding dance with his bride standin’ on his feet.”

Grace couldn’t help giggling at the image of Niamh, perched on Alistair MacDuff’s boots as they went around the floor. “I shall aim tae perform somewhat better than that, I think.”

“Ye’ll be fine.” Ewan smiled, and Grace basked in the smile and allowed herself to relax.

She did step on Ewan’s toes a few times, in the first measures of the dance, but as the steps repeated, she found herself growing more sure-footed, and more confident in his lead, and by the end of the dance, she thought she might be doing tolerably well.

By the end of the second dance, as Ewan led her back to the High Table for some refreshment and a chance to catch her breath, she could even admit she had enjoyed it, unfamiliar steps and all. Highland dancing was less constrained than English balls, and she rather liked the difference.

As she settled into her seat with a fresh cup of wine, she spotted Elspeth MacTavish dancing with her husband. He looked stiff shouldered and commanding, rather than relaxed, and she looked both uncertain and miserable, though she tried valiantly to hide it behind a strained smile.

Grace felt a pang of sympathy for the woman, and for the child sitting perched on a stool to one side of the hall. She might know little about either of them, but either they were both terrified to be in MacTavish Keep for some reason, or Gael MacTavish was a difficult man to live with. For her part, Grace suspected it was both - unfamiliar circumstances and a master of the house who was both arrogant and perhaps unkind.

The sweets were served - soft scones and sweet pastries, with the choice of honey, fruit preserves, or cream as a topping. Grace took two, one with honey and one with fruit, then sent the maid serving her to bring Gael’s son a plate with two honey cakes and a fruit-topped one. The boy looked startled and far too grateful.

Perhaps MacTavish’s holdings were too small to permit such treats. It was possible. Even so, Grace could not shake the feeling the child had seen too little kindness in his life.

Ewan had watched the whole interaction, and the smile he offered her made her feel warm to her core. “Tha’ was well done.”

“It seemed right.” Grace smiled back, but her happiness was momentary. All too soon, the sense of unease came back, sinking in like stones in her belly, and making her head ache with the force of it.

On another night, she might have begged to be excused, but she held her silence, unwilling to embarrass Ewan by departing early. Instead, she sipped her wine and tried to ignore the feeling to the best of her ability.

Finally, the feast began to wind down. Guests began to trickle away in ones and twos. Warriors returned to the barracks, or left to attend to their duties. Villagers returned to their homes, to prepare for the tasks that would await them the following day. Servants began to clear away the platters and plates and pitchers.

Ewan touched her arm. “I’ve tae stay until the Council disperses, in case there’s business they wish tae talk about. But ye should go. Get some rest. ‘Tis clear ye’re tired from the ride and the events o’ the day.”

Grace nodded, grateful for the dismissal and the excuse. It was hard to believe that just this morning, she’d been preparing to sit down to break her fast with Niamh. So much had happened, she could scarcely remember when she’d experienced such a tumultuous day.

Even so, she felt reluctant to be parted from Ewan. “Will I see you later?”

Ewan smiled. “As soon as duty an’ honor can spare me, Grace. I’ll come tae see ye afore I retire.”

“Then I shall depart, and wish you good evening.” Grace rose, kissed her betrothed on the cheek, then hurried from the room, glad to be away from the Great Hall and Gael MacTavish’s ominous and oppressive presence.

Back in her rooms, Anne helped her undress and put on a warm robe. “Is there aught else I can dae fer ye, m’lady?” The maid frowned in concern. “Ye look fair peaky, as if ye dinnae feel well.”

Grace nodded. “A headache potion, if Megan has such, would be a great benefit. The air in the Hall was too close for comfort tonight, but I did not wish to leave.”

Anne nodded sympathetically. “Aye. It can be tha’ way. But I ken well that Megan will have plenty o’ headache remedy laid in. She always daes, an’ she’ll have brewed more in anticipation o’ a feast.” The maid smiled cajolingly. “She’ll be pleased tae ken that one o’ her potions is goin’ tae a worthy cause, rather than treatin’ some fool’s ale head.”

Grace laughed, then went to the window in her bedroom and opened it, breathing in the night air. It helped somewhat, and the cool breeze soothed some of her fears. She leaned against the stone of the keep and let the cool air calm her, until a knock on the door of her chambers roused her.

“Come in.”

There was no sound of the door creaking open, and Grace frowned. Perhaps whoever it was - Anne or Ewan - hadn’t heard her answer. They might think she had fallen asleep, though that didn’t explain why Anne wouldn’t enter to leave the headache potion for her. But perhaps it was Ewan, reluctant to disturb her rest. Or Devlin or Malcolm, with a message from Ewan instead.

With a sigh, she went to the door and opened it. “You know you are welcome…” Her words died on her lips.