Page 43 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

"What?" she asked.

"Ye're covered in flour," he said. "And in yer hair."

Alba's hand flew to her braid self-consciously. "Oh. I must look a mess."

"Ye look happy." His voice was quiet, nearly lost in the noise around them.

Before she could respond, the fiddle player struck up a lively tune. The piper joined in, and suddenly the music filled the square, bright and joyful and impossible to ignore.

Several people immediately stood and moved to the cleared space that served as a dance floor, pulling partners with them.

The music was infectious—a traditional reel that had feet tapping and hands clapping even before the first couples began to dance.

The fiddle's voice soared high and sweet while the pipes provided a steady, droning undercurrent. Someone had a bodhrán and was keeping time, the drum's heartbeat rhythm making it impossible to sit still.

"Oh no," Lachlann muttered.

"What?"

"Once the dancin' starts, they'll expect—" He didn't get to finish before Eilidh appeared at Alba's elbow, her face flushed with ale and happiness.

"Will ye dance, me lady? It's tradition after the work's done."

Alba glanced at Lachlann, who was very deliberately studying his ale. "I dinnae want tae impose on anyone's partner⁠—"

"Oh, ye'll have nay shortage of partners," Moira said with a laugh, appearing on Alba's other side. "Look, young Finn there is already workin' up the courage tae ask ye."

Sure enough, a gangly youth of perhaps sixteen was hovering nearby, his face bright red and his hands twisting nervously in his shirt.

Alba bit back a smile. The boy looked terrified.

"Actually," she said, turning to Lachlann with sudden boldness, "I was hopin' the laird might dance with me first."

Lachlann's head went up sharply, surprise flashing across his face. Around them, several conversations stopped as people turned to listen.

"I dinnae dance," Lachlann said flatly.

"Ye danced with me at the ball," Alba pointed out.

"That was different. That was—" He seemed to realize that everyone was watching them now. "I dinnae dance at village celebrations."

"Why nae?"

"Because I'm the laird. It's nae... appropriate."

"But if I'm here, and I'm askin'..." Alba let the question hang.

Lachlann's jaw tightened. "Alba⁠—"

"Fine." She stood abruptly, her chin lifting. "Then I'll find another partner. Finn looks like he'd be willin'."

She turned toward the dance floor with more confidence than she felt, her heart pounding.

It was a gamble—pushing him like that, publicly, where refusing would look churlish. But something in her needed to know. Needed to see if that moment they'd shared at the ball had meant anything, or if it had just been duty and obligation.

She'd taken perhaps three steps when a hand closed around her arm, firm but gentle.

Alba stopped and turned back. Lachlann stood there, his expression unreadable but his eyes intense.