When the music sped up, so did he. Faces became streaks of color, candlelight stretching into golden trails. Isolda blinked,focusing her eyes on his shoulder as his knee pressed between her thighs. He spun her out, their joined hands the only tether, and for one dizzying heartbeat she was flying—weightless, nothing but momentum. Then he pulled her back and she collided with his chest hard enough to feel the thud of his heartbeat through layers of fabric.
“Good lass,” he said against her ear, and the rumble of his voice went straight through her.
She tried to keep up but the steps were fast and required coordination she didn’t have.
“Ye—” she started, but he spun her again and the thought shattered.
One final turn sharp enough to steal what little breath she had left, and then he caught her against him. They stood there, chests heaving in unison, his arm still locked around her like he’d forgotten to let go.
“Och, nowthatwas a sight fer sore eyes!” a man appeared at their elbow, swaying, his grin shameless. “I havenae seen dancin’ like that since… well, I cannae remember!” he cackled loudly, knocking his cup against his skull. “Ye’re atàisbean, me lady!”
The muscle in Ragnar’s jaw jumped.
“Thank ye,” Isolda said, still catching her breath. “Ye’re very kind.”
He leaned closer, breath reeking of ale. “If I were twenty years younger and nae so battered by life, I’d be beggin’ fer a dance meself.”
“Only twenty, Alf?” Ragnar observed, his voice hard.
“More’s the pity!” Alf seemed oblivious to the sudden tension radiating from his jarl. “Tell me, me lady—dae all Highland lasses have such fire in them? Because if so, I might need tae take meself down south and see fer me self?—”
“Alf.” Ragnar’s voice dropped. “Walk away. Now.”
“Och, I’m just talkin wi’ the lady?—”
“Husband,” Isolda said sweetly, unable to hide her amusement. “Are ye… jealous?”
His eyes snapped to hers. “Nay.”
“Och, I think ye are!” something fierce and unsteady sparked behind her ribs. “Of innocent ol’Alf.”
“I amnaejealous of some drunken old fool.”
“Hmm. He called me avision.”
“He’s nae wrong, but he’s also drunk enough tae see three of ye, so I’m nae considerin’ it a compliment.”
“Still nay tolerance fer drunkards, I see.” Freyr’s voice cut through from somewhere behind them, dry as summer dust. “Glad tae see some things havenae changed.”
Ragnar’s hand flexed. “He was bein’ inappropriate?—”
“He was bein’Alf.” Freyr stepped forward with a cup of ale and an expression that suggested he was enjoying himself far too much. “Besides, ye’ve tolerated worse from him.”
“That was before—” Ragnar stopped himself.
“Before what?” Freyr’s mouth twitched. “Go on, finish that thought.”
The muscle in Ragnar’s jaw ticked, and he let out a deep, low, guttural growl that slid down Isolda’s spine.
It seemed to be answer enough, because Freyr’s amusement deepened. “Aye, well.” He raised his cup in salute. “Just… dinnae break any jaws, aye?”
He disappeared back into the crowd before either one of them could respond.
“Ye’re really bothered by that, arenae ye?” she said quietly.
“He shouldnae have?—”
“He’s harmless.”
