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Alisdair couldn’t take his eyes off Isla as she smiled at her dance partner. His chest heaved, and his jaw tightened. Then he saw red, for the man had lowered both hands to the small of her back.

He threw his cup on the ground and stood up.

“Goin’ somewhere, Alisdair?” Duncan called.

Alisdair ignored him and stomped toward the fire, walking tall through the dancing couples until he stood directly behind the man holding his wife.

He felt as if a vise had tightened around his heart. He could have called it protectiveness, could have called it upholding his name. But he knew it was jealousy, plain and simple. He didn’t like seeing another man’s hands on her.

“I will dance with me wife now,” he growled.

Isla glanced up at him, her eyes wide. He kept his attention on her, not even sparing her dance partner a glance.

She let her hands drop from the man’s shoulders, and some of the tension eased from the air.

“Of course, me Laird,” the man said, before scurrying away.

Alisdair stepped into the empty space before her, and she craned her neck to hold his gaze. He put his hands on her waist to erase the other man’s touch and pulled her closer.

“What are ye doin’?” she demanded.

“I am dancin’ with me wife.”

“And why are ye holdin’ me so tightly?”

“I am makin’ sure ye daenae fall.”

“Was I in danger of fallin’?” Isla challenged, her eyes flashing.

Alisdair held her gaze, something dark stirring in him.“Daenae, worry, wife,” he said, leaning closer. “I willnae let ye fall.”

She raised her eyebrow. “I was dancin’ just fine before yer intervention, husband.”

His jaw tightened, his anger flaring higher. “Careful, wife,” he warned.

“Of what?”

“Of provokin’ me.” He pulled her closer as he spun her, one arm snaking around her waist

“I believe we had a rule,” she breathed.

“We had many rules,” he growled.

Their gazes locked, and the intimacy of the dance made their breath quicken. She looked almost ethereal in the firelight, her eyes glinting like jewels in the dark.

“Ye said no touchin’, husband,” she whispered.

“I did,” he said, whirling her slowly.

“And yet ye are touching me.”

“Glad ye noticed.”

“Hard nae to.” She smiled.

He gripped her tighter, as if wanting her to remember his touch and forget anyone else’s. Even if it were her uncle’s cruel touch. Even if it were some random warrior’s.

“Now, ye cannae be jealous, husband, can ye?”