Mari cleared her throat. “How do you know about the waltz? It has just been introduced in London.”
Fiona giggled. “Jillian showed me the steps and told me Ian had to learn how to do it. It sounds so romantic.”
Jamie reached for his wine to wash down the bread. “Dinnae fill yer head with such ideas.”
“Why not? Jillian said it felt verra good to dance with Ian. I would verra much like to try it one day.”
“Ye are too young to be thinking such.”
Fiona’s eyes widened suddenly, and then she smiled mischievously. “Did ye learn as well, Jamie?”
Mari hid a smile as the tips of Jamie’s ears turned pink—a rather endearing quality she had not noticed before.
“’Tis naught for ye to ken,” he answered and took a large spoonful of stew. “Now eat or be excused.”
For once, Mari did not take issue with Jamie’s orders for she could understand how a fearsome warrior used to yielding a claymore might not want his family to know he was actually a good dancer. It would be their little secret for now.
Just like the pink ears.
Perhaps she should give Jamie a chance, just as Jillian had requested—and maybe they would waltz again.
“Mayhap I should resume my place at the evening table,” Ian said the next morning as he and Jamie were going over the accounts in the library. “’Tis a burden I am putting on ye to handle our uncle and his brother.”
Jamie had told him of following Duncan yesterday afternoon and that their uncle had met with men known for their discontent with Sutherland. Now Jamie scowled. “I can handle Duncan and Broc. Yer wife needs ye with her right now.”
“Truth be told, I think she may be getting tired of my hovering over her. Yesterday she said she was feeling much better and wanted to go downstairs. I would nae let her. She had some rather sharp words about that.”
“’Tis Mari’s influence. The lass is nae shy on using sharp words, nor does she understand the need for silence when told to be still.”
“If yetoldthe lass to hold her tongue, ’tis a wonder yer head is still attached to yer shoulders.” Ian grinned. “The Barclay women do nae take well to orders.”
“So I have noticed.” Jamie leaned back in his chair and rubbed his forehead, feeling the start of another Mari-induced headache. “The lass has tried me more often than a whole squadron of untrained men.”
Ian grin widened. “I ne’r thought to hear ye say a lass gave ye troubles. What happened to the charm ye claimed to have?”
Jamie glowered at his brother. “I vowed to protect the lass. I have nae tried to charm her.” Not that he hadn’t thought about it. He remembered all too well how her lips had yielded to his kiss, and how her soft curves melded to his body. That was part of what gave him these headaches.
“Mayhap ye should.”
“Are ye daft? If Mari daesna remove my head, yer wife certainly would. Ye ken I canna take advantage of the lass.”
“I dinnae say to take advantage.” Ian studied him for a moment. “Jillie claims Mari is besotted with ye—”
“Besotted? The lass can barely give me the time of day without a sharp tongue.”
“A sharp tongue often ceases beneath soft kisses.”
Sheer heat seared through Jamie’s veins at those words, and Ian raised a brow.
“Mayhap ye have discovered such?”
Jamie looked at the ceiling. “’Tis nae yer business, brother.”
Ian slapped the flat of his hand on the desk to draw Jamie’s attention back and leaned forward. “Aye. ’Tis my business if ye are trifling with the lass.”
“I am nae trifling!”
“Good.” Ian tapped his fingertips together thoughtfully. “Would it be so verra bad if ye took her to wife?”
