The loud conversations that had filled the hall moments ago had faded to dead silence, but then Leo snapped his fingers, and music erupted over the crowd.
He extended a hand toward her, a practiced smile on his face. “We should dance now, Beatrice. It will help people forget yer father’s behavior.”
Beatrice took his hand, and they stepped together in a unified swirl, feet and limbs moving as if they belonged to one creature.His hands found her waist the way they always seemed to, and she let him hold her as close as possible.
Leo spun her, letting her drift away from him, then drew her back. Each time, she pressed harder against his body, touching the muscles under his clothes, feeling the rigid evidence of his desire against her belly.
I daenae think we’re pretendin' anymore. I think this might be real.
Leo spun her out and pulled her back one last time. Their bodies collided, sparking heat and sending shivers through her. The crowd pounded the tables and cheered as the music came to a quivering end.
“Me Lady.”
“Me Laird.”
He released her hand and stepped back. His jaw was set as he sketched a formal bow.
Beatrice's feet didn’t want to stop. They wanted to keep dancing, and the rest of her wanted to cling to him until they were the only two left at the end of the night.
I need some air.
Leo bowed stiffly to Beatrice and then beat a hasty retreat to the terrace off the Great Hall.
I need a moment.
He tried to ignore her scent on his hands, the way her body had felt in his arms. The din of the celebration, although muffled, shook the windows. Outside was mercifully quiet, the air a flatus of cool tranquility.
He didn’t dare look back into the hall, knowing that Beatrice was still where he had left her. The raucous crowd around her might overlook her in their revelry, but the sight of her peering out at him was too much for him to bear.
What have ye done to me, lass? Why have ye brought this to me doorstep?
“There ye are, Leo,” came Allistair’s slippery voice. He crept out of the shadows, walking carefully as if treading on needles and glass. “Sneakin’ out of yer own cèilidh, are ye?”
“Leave me be, Allistair. I am nae in the mood.”
“Yer mood is the least of me worries, Cousin. All ready for after the ceilidh celebration are ye? Ready to get yer heir? If ye daenae get one, the elders will be stepping in.”
“I’ll be ready enough to get an heir when we take our vows, Allistair. Until then, mind yer own business.”
“Ye daenae really want to wed the Whitmore lass though, do ye?” stated his cousin in what seemed deliberate provocation. "It’s only that the elders forced yer hand. Why nae just let them name an heir for ye and forget all this?”
“Shut yer face, Allistair MacSween before I shut it for ye,” Leo retorted, running out of patience and very close to carrying out his threat.
For some reason, his cousin persisted in spite of Leo’s threats. Was the man drunker than he seemed?
“Admit it, Leo,” he goaded. “Ye daenae really want to marry the poor wench and ye daenae have to. Ye could bed her easily enough without, if ye wanted.”
“Everyone kens I never wanted to marry. Nae Beatrice and nae anyone!” Leo stormed, taking a step towards his cousin with clenched fists.
Only the sound of rapidly moving feet crunching on gravel saved Allistair, Leo’s attention drawn towards the terrace doors where Beatrice stood watching them with a hurt expression. She hadbeen close enough to hear every word but too far for him to easily catch if he ran to her. Damn Allistair!
I didnae want to hurt ye, Beatrice. I didnae expect it to go like this.
With a smirk and a bow Allistair disappeared from sight stepping silently over the stray rocks and gravel, his tread light. Leo wished he could pummel the man but instead went to Beatrice’s side. .
“I suppose I am a fool for believin’ too much,” she said, shivering, despite the shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Its color highlighted the green in her eyes.
A present from whom, I wonder? I saw it on the table with the others, still half wrapped in paper and marked only for the bride.
