“I’m a terrible dancer,” I warned him.
“I know. I’ve seen you at the pub’s ceilidh nights.”
“Then why are you making me dance?”
“Because I nearly died, again, and I want to dance with my fiancée. Is that so much to ask?”
“When you put it that way, no.”
We swayed together, not really moving, not really dancing, just holding each other while the celebration swirled around us. Willow and Ramsay had joined us on the dance floor. Lia was to the side, teaching Munroe how to make a proper bloody mary…with relish and a beer chaser. Even Owen had pulled in Shona, the two of them moving with surprising grace.
“Agnes!” Lachlan’s voice cut through the music. “Agnes, you’re up!”
I looked up to find him pointing at one of the tables—where Gnorman was standing…on the table…with a microphone.
“No,” I said.
“Yes,” Graham said gleefully. Too gleefully.
“Where did he even get a microphone?”
“Brice found it in a closet. Apparently, the castle used to host karaoke nights.”
Gnorman swung the microphone, producing a screech of feedback that made everyone wince. Then he cleared his throat—a surprisingly loud sound for someone roughly the size of a garden ornament—and began to sing.
It was, naturally, “I Will Survive.”
His voice was deep and gravelly and absolutely, horrifyinglysincere. Gnora had joined him on the table, providing backup vocals that consisted mostly of enthusiastic hip swivels that kept distracting Gnorman to the point he would just trail off mid-lyric and gape at her.
“This is the strangest morning of my life,” Graham said.
“This is the strangest morning of everyone’s life.”
“I love it.”
“Goddess, help me, but so do I.”
The song ended to thunderous applause and Gnorman took a bow so deep he nearly toppled off the table. Gnora caught him at the last moment and took the microphone.
“Who’s next?” she demanded, her voice surprisingly high and sweet. “Come on, don’t be shy. We’ve broken a curse tonight. That calls for karaoke.”
“Lachlan,” someone shouted from the back. “Make Lachlan sing.”
“Absolutely not,” Lachlan said.
“Yes, absolutely,” Sophie said, shoving him toward the table. “Consider it payback for all the times you’ve made me deal with village politics.”
“But I put on a kilt and modeled in your marketing campaign to make up for it.”
“That barely scratches the surface.” Sophie winked at him. “But I’ll let you put your kilt on for me later, if you’d like.”
“I wouldn’t mind it either,” Matthew called across the room.
Lachlan was pushed, cajoled, and eventually manhandled onto the table by a coalition of Finlay, Ramsay, and an unexpectedly strong Brice.
The opening notes of “Total Eclipse of the Heart” filled the hall.
“I’m going to kill all of you,” Lachlan announced. He looked frustrated and flustered, but also, nobody really cared.
