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Fifteen minutes before liftoff, I shoo Thane away. "Go, get dressed. You can't wear jeans and a T-shirt to a formal ball. Go, please, shoo."
He grins. "I love it when you're bossy and frantic at the same time. It's endearing."
"Do I have to kick you in the shin? Go, Thane."
Finally, he trots off to get ready. I already know pretty much what he's wearing tonight---his formal kilt ensemble---but he hasn't seen my outfit. Once I'm dressed, I hustle up the spiral staircase in the vestibule, holding my gown up a touch so I won't trip over it. I'm carrying my spiffy heels, otherwise I'd trip and break my ankle, possibly my neck too. I breeze past the great hall, then burst into the long gallery, aka the ballroom for tonight.
As I slip my shoes on, I survey the room---and for a moment, I can't move. Seeing the decorations in the daytime hadn't given me the full picture. Here, after dark in a medieval castle, I realize just how incredible this ball will be. Gauzy fabric streamers of red and pale pink festoon the periphery, with heart-shaped white clips holding them in place at strategic positions. The tables each feature red tablecloths, pink napkins, and white plates with a simple pink and yellow rose pattern. And of course, red, pink, and white balloons hover near the ceiling. As the final touch, a sparkly crystalline ball hangs from the center of the ballroom.
Soft music plays right now, but once this event really gets going, we'll crank up the volume.
"Feasgar math, mo chridhe."
I spin around---and my heart skips a beat. "Wow, Thane, you look even more incredible than I expected. Did you add more stuff to your outfit? I thought I'd seen the whole thing."
"How could I not save the best for tonight?" He eyes me up and down. "You are a vision of classical beauty and grace, Rebecca."
I can't focus on what he said. All my attention remains glued to his body and the formal kilt outfit he's wearing. Thane had told me that most Scotsmen don't wear the old-fashioned kind of kilt anymore, known as a great kilt, though he loves the tradition of wrapping a long piece of Buchanan plaid around himself and sometimes does that during family events. Tonight, he's wearing a knee-length kilt with a length of plaid slung over his shoulder, held in place with a fancy silver brooch. A black leather belt holds the kilt in position.
Thane went all in for this ball. Not content to simply wear a kilt, he also has a formal black jacket, waist length, with silver buttons and a crisp white shirt underneath as well as a black bow tie. Since he's a traditionalist in many ways, Thane also chose to wear a sporran, which looks like a small, furry pouch. It hangs over his groin, held up by a silver chain. He even has a pair of silver brooches holding the cuffs of his shirt together.
But damn, the sexiest part of all is the dagger in a leather scabbard that hangs from his hip. I've grown to love the sgian dubh, especially when Thane wears it. And I love that he wore fancy leather boots that his father made specially for him. His mother made the tartan socks he wears. They're in the Buchanan clan tartan, of course. His dirty blond hair matches the lighter colors in his kilt as well.
Thane strides up to me, and the sparkling ball above our heads makes his eyes shimmer with blue fire. "Rebecca, you are the queen of the ball and the owner of my heart and soul. No other woman could match you."
My throat tightens. How could I not get choked up when he tells me such sweet things? I will love him for the rest of my life and whatever comes after that.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Thane
I have never seen anything as beautiful as Rebecca Taylor in a Valentine's Day gown. Aye, the dress is lovely. But she turns a posh frock into a masterpiece simply by wearing it. I am one hundred percent biased in this matter, but that doesn't change the facts. She is a vision, and no other woman could match her beauty.
Rebecca wears a strapless red gown fashioned from a silky material that might be genuine silk. The American Wives Club had helped the lass find the perfect dress, and I have no doubts they insisted she buy an expensive outfit for tonight. The fabric hugs her torso and hips, then gradually fans out into a flowing skirt that swishes around her calves.
Mhac na galla. I used a woman's word---"swish."
As I move even closer to Rebecca, I notice her sparkling red earrings and red painted fingernails. But none of that registers in my mind as more than a passing interest. It's the woman herself who captivates me. The way her long, coppery brown hair falls over her bare shoulders makes me want to push her against the wall and shag her in this empty ballroom. The guests haven't come upstairs yet, but I'd love for Rebecca to come here in the long gallery. Her ruby red lipstick makes my slat wake up.
Before I can say another word to the lass, the guests begin to pour into the long gallery, which for tonight has become a ballroom.
I claim Rebecca's hand, leading her to the periphery of the room. The guests, our mates and family, begin to gather in small groups. A lucky group of strangers had won a contest and now joins us for the ball. The contest had been Rebecca's idea, and she announced it on every advertising channel she could find. How better to introduce more people to the Thane Buchanan Distillery? Rebecca is a marketing genius.
As the volume of the music intensifies, couples begin to take the floor.
I draw Rebecca out into the center of the room, slide an arm round her waist, and clasp her hand in the usual ballroom posture, though I dinnae claim to be an expert on that. We gaze into each other's eyes while we glide across the floor. Other people greet us along the way, but we're too engrossed in each other to care about making small talk. The depths of her honey brown eyes draw me in and transfix me. For several minutes, or maybe it's hours, I guide Rebecca round and round the floor until I can tell she needs a wee rest.
We sit down on one of the plush velvet benches set up beneath the windows of the long gallery. I lay an arm across her shoulders. "How do you feel? It's been a whirlwind for the past five weeks, but now the excitement will wind down."
"I thought I might experience a bit of a letdown after everything that's happened, but I don't." She rests her head on my shoulder. "I've loved every minute of my life since the day I met you."
"The same for me." I kiss the top of her head. "You are luaidh mo chèile, Rebecca. That means you are the love of my life."
"Do you believe in soul mates?"
"If you'd asked me five weeks ago, I would have said categorically no. But now, I do believe you and I were meant to find each other."
"So do I." She lifts her head to aim those beautiful eyes at me. "Thank you for teaching me how to enjoy life again. I was bummed out and stressed out, but those feelings vanished when I met you."
