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“Call me McKenzie, please. A rum and Coke would be nice.”
He shook his head. “That’s no good.” He turned to the bartender. “We’ll have two Glenfinnans. Neat.”
The little twerp. His self-important assurance that he could override my choice was irritating. I swallowed my pique. I might as well get this over with. When we had our drinks, I allowed him to steer me once again, this time toward a corner of the room where the air was marginally cooler. Clearly, this entertainment space was not outfitted with air conditioning. Someone had started opening the large windows and letting in the late evening breeze. Even so, the press of bodies kept the temperature warm.
“So are you a native of Skye, Tom?”
“Born and raised here,” he said proudly. “My lineage goes all the way back to before Culloden and the uprising. We’re a mix of McDonalds and another clan that died out. I’ve had several papers published on the subject. I’m sure you would find them edifying. I’ll make you copies and bring them to you. Where did you say you were staying?”
My spine tingled as my sleazeball-o-meter went off. “I didn’t say,” I muttered. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to find the ladies room.”
I abandoned the miniature Scotsman so fast, he never knew what happened. Standing on my tiptoes, I was able to spot Finley, only because he was head and shoulders over most of the partygoers. The music had started in earnest. The dance floor was getting crowded.
In a snit, I walked up to my American host and poked him in the chest with a finger. “You did that on purpose.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You said you wanted to meet interesting natives.”
“Not funny, Mr. Craig. Not at all.”
Before I could finish my tirade, another of Finley’s friends stopped by, clearly angling for an introduction. This one was taller than me, but he was on the far end of the age range.
Finley shook hands with the man. “McKenzie, meet Jordan Darvon. Jordan, this is McKenzie Taylor from the States.”
Jordan pumped my hand. He had the grip of a dead codfish. And Finley, darn him, had already disappeared, leaving me to my fate.
My new admirer gazed at me with soulful eyes. “I’m delighted to meet ye, young lady. My wife died of the cancer two years ago, and this is the first time I’ve been out to dance. I don’t suppose you’d like to take a turn on the floor? You remind me a little bit of her, though she was smaller and had blue eyes, not brown. How long do you think a man should be on his own before he thinks of marrying again?”
I didn’t even try to interrupt the monologue. When I found Finley this time, I was going to kill him. So help me God.
Jordan managed to talk nonstop about his dead wife for a solid half hour. I was a compassionate person. I even admired a man who still loved his wife so much. Still, listening to a stranger hit on me out of sheer loneliness was where I drew the line.
At long last, I managed to extricate myself from the forlorn widower. Unfortunately, Finley had shown the good sense to hide where I couldn’t find him. I sat in a folding chair near the window and tapped my toe to the music. Most of the numbers were fast. I recognized the occasional upbeat American pop tune. For the most part, the band played traditional pieces. It wasn’t a bad way to spend an evening.
I watched the crowd interact and had to smile. There seemed to be no age limit to “cutting a rug” at a ceilidh. I saw a couple who had to be in their eighties kicking up their heels in a dizzying reel. Then of course, there were all the adolescents mingling awkwardly and casting longing glances at the objects of their affections.
It was fun. I might have had more fun were Hayley and Willow with me, but maybe not. We probably would have chosen to take a walk in the dark instead of inserting ourselves in something that was so uniquely local and authentic. As a group of three, we would definitely have felt like outsiders.
Even if Finley was being a pain in the butt, I had to appreciate the fact that he had brought me here. As if my thoughts conjured him up, he appeared at my elbow. “I assumed you’d have a promise ring on your finger by now,” he smirked.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re a sick and twisted man?”
He kissed my cheek, catching me totally off guard. “All the time. Now will you dance with me, McKenzie Taylor? I’d like to take a turn around the room with the prettiest girl here.”
His flattery was suspect. It made me smile. “I don’t know the dances,” I said.
“All you have to do is follow me.”
“You make it sound so simple.” I had my doubts. I’d been known to trip over my own two feet. Yoga classes notwithstanding, I was more stork than flamingo.
“C’mon, lass. Live a little.”
I had watched groups of couples doing fairly complicated formations on the floor. This next song, however, was more of a freestyle reel. Finley put one hand at my waist and linked the fingers of his other hand with mine.
“I don’t know about this,” I muttered.
“Whatever you do, don’t stop. ’Twould cause a terrible collision.”
The band launched into the song, and we were off. The room spun past me as Finley and I whirled and dipped and moved across the floor. The song was a jig or a reel; I’m not sure I knew the difference. Either way, it was fast. At least a dozen other couples danced with us. I had eyes only for my partner. Flushed and dizzy, I tried to breathe…in between bouts of laughter.
Finley was very popular. Even in the midst of the dance, men shouted out greetings to him. Women gave him the eye. I wondered how many of the local single females had tried to lasso the laconic American. His hand was warm at my waist. I could smell the pleasant tang of his aftershave.
All too soon, it was over. “I loved it,” I said impulsively. “How could anyone dance like that and not say goodbye to all their worries?”
Finley tucked a stray hair behind my ear. “Aye. It’s wild and sweet and good for the soul. It wasn’t really my thing when I first arrived from the States. As I made friends, they bludgeoned me into coming to the ceilidhs. Now, I rarely miss one. Besides, it’s intense aerobic training.”
I didn’t care so much about the physical benefits. All I could think about was how much I had enjoyed being held in Finley’s arms. The last hour encompassed everything I hoped I would find in the Scottish Highlands. Tradition. Culture. Art and beauty.
There was only one thing missing.
A proper Scotsman to steal my heart.
