Chapter Ten #2
“No problem,” Jean assured him. “We’re just having a wee dram. Would you like some?”
He held out his glass, placing his arm on Lyssa’s shoulder. “Take just a sip,” he murmured in her ear. “Otherwise it is an insult.”
Lyssa held out her glass and discovered her idea of a “wee dram” and Jean’s were decidedly different. The older woman didn’t hesitate to fill a glass half full.
There was nothing to be done. Jean held her glass in the air. “To James!” she chirped and Lyssa had no choice but to drink with the others surrounding them, who quickly seconded the toast.
She took a sip—and was caught off guard by the whiskey’s burn. She choked as the fire of the liquor went down her throat and hit her stomach. Tears sprang to her eyes though she’d barely drunk more than a few drops.
“Is something the matter?” Jean asked.
Ian rubbed Lyssa’s back. “My sister’s never had whiskey before.”
“But I thought she was Scottish?” Jean wondered.
“She is now,” Ian said and silently toasted Lyssa before downing his own glass.
Lyssa watched the amber liquid go down his throat and wondered how he did it. Then Jean, laughing, did the same—and although she had close to forty years on Lyssa, she suffered no ill effects. In fact, she poured more for herself and Ian. Lyssa had no choice. She had to take a second timid sip.
This time, there was no burn, just a smooth, mellowy, not-too-sweet taste. She wasn’t certain if she liked it or not, but let Jean pour some more in her glass and the third swallow was even better.
The sun was setting. The evening air was turning velvety, and a full, yellow moon, the kind Lyssa liked best, made its appearance in the sky.
The band finished its first selection and now started the dancing in earnest with a merry reel. Couples quickly took their places while others flowed into the house for food.
“So you paid your respects to the miller?” Ian asked, his voice close to her ear. Jean had moved on to greet other friends.
Lyssa looked up at him. “I was shocked to discover him sitting straight up in bed. I’ve never seen such a thing. Nor have I seen such a crowded wake for a person no one liked, or at least, I haven’t attended one. Did you pay your respects?”
“I managed to avoid it so far.”
“Oh,” Lyssa said, “so you haven’t met the widow yet?” She made a great pretense of looking around him for the blonde neighbor and other Anderson female relatives. “And where is your entourage? I can’t believe they are leaving you alone.”
He held a finger up to his lips for silence. “I’ve steered them toward lads more their own age.”
“That was thoughtful of you.”
“That was smart of me. Did you see the jealous look on the lads’ faces when I arrived?
A wise man doesn’t bait the pack. Let’s go get something to eat.
” He placed his hand on the small of her back, directing her toward the house.
The gesture felt good and—perhaps it was the whiskey—she liked being beside him.
However, before they could get far, Mr. Anderson came charging up with the Widow Mary Potter. “Campion,” he said good-naturedly. “The widow says she has not had the opportunity to meet you yet.”
Lyssa murmured, “Uh-oh,” under her breath. Apparently, Jean’s prediction was about to come true.
Mary Potter stepped in front of Lyssa as if she didn’t exist and pushed her fantastical breasts at Ian. “I am so glad you could come. It is always a pleasure to welcome strangers.”
Especially handsome ones, Lyssa wanted to add. She caught Ian’s eye and waggled her eyebrows but then, suddenly, she had her own problem. “Let’s dance,” Mr. Anderson said. He didn’t wait for an answer but pulled her toward the dancing.
Lyssa attempted to beg off. “I don’t know the steps.”
“You don’t need to know the steps, lass,” Mr. Anderson told her. “You just move.” And he was right.
She danced once with Mr. Anderson, conscious that he attempted to swing her close to him every chance he could, but quickly escaped him.
However, to her surprise, another young man asked her to dance, and when he finished there was another—although, as always, there were more women than men who wanted to dance.
In fact, for the first time, she was having a grand time at a dance.
Some of the reels she recognized, but most of the dances were regional or seemed to be created right there on the spot. There was stomping and whooping and clapping and all sorts of behavior that would never have been allowed on a London dance floor—and she reveled in it.
Even the whiskey tasted good, and was it her imagination, or was she dancing better than she ever had before?
The one person she didn’t dance with was Ian.
He was being monopolized by the “Merry Widow” Potter.
And when she didn’t have him, the girls of the shire clamored for the next dance with him.
Lyssa could understand why. Ian was the best dancer there, and unlike the majority of men who danced when they were forced to and drank when they weren’t, he seemed to be enjoying the music.
But then, what man wouldn’t like so much feminine attention? Other than when they’d had their earlier conversation, he’d barely glanced at Lyssa. He’d been too occupied with other women—not that she cared. After all, she was pretending to be his sister, and what brother asked his sister to dance?
Still…it would have been nice if he looked over to her once in a while, as if concerned about what she was doing.
Especially when she found herself without a dance partner a time or two…
as she did at this moment. Of course, she could have found herself a partner if she’d been willing to throw herself at men the way the other women threw themselves at Ian.
Jean and Maggie wandered over to her side. “Your brother is making quite a stir,” Jean observed.
“It’s disgraceful the way Mary Potter is behaving,” Maggie added. “You’d think she’d never been married, the way she is rubbing that bosom of hers against Ian, and every other man, every chance she gets.”
“Did you expect her to change just because her husband is in the house waiting for his burial?” Jean wondered. “Here, Lyssa, you look thirsty.”
Lyssa covered her glass with her hand. “No more whiskey or I won’t make it home.
” Already far too many people had imbibed too much and the wake was growing raucous.
Only a short while ago, she’d seen a young man cover his mouth and lurch off into the surrounding woods beyond the torchlights set up in a circle around the yard.
A few minutes later, the man marched back to the wake to drink some more.
Another two lads were proudly wrestling over in a dark corner while other men took bets.
Here and there a few couples slipped off into the night.
If Maggie and Jean noticed these things, they didn’t say, and Lyssa didn’t doubt they weren’t as pleasantly dulled by the whiskey as everyone else. In fact, she and Ian appeared to be the two most sober people in the crowd, and she wasn’t certain he was all that clear-headed.
Just then, one of the musicians, an open-faced redhead named James, grabbed Lyssa’s arm and pulled her toward where the dancers were forming two circles—an inner circle of women and an outer circle of men. “We need more for the circle dance.”
“I don’t know any circle dance,” Lyssa protested.
“You don’t need to,” James answered and drew her forward.
“What do I do?”
He stopped. “You women take your place and the men take theirs. The circles move in opposite directions until the music stops and then you dance with whoever you are standing in front of. The game is only fun if everyone is a part of it.”
Before Lyssa could ask another question or offer protest, he was off, heading toward the wrestling boys, who’d finished their match.
“Beg pardon,” a portly girl with pink cheeks said, squeezing in between Lyssa and the woman next to her in the circle.
As Lyssa stepped aside to make room, she discovered what the girl was after.
Ian was several people down from her in the men’s circle.
All the women had their eye on him for the dance and were maneuvering for a position close to him, even to the point of poking elbows in ribs to gain their chosen place.
Meanwhile, the men noticed the attention Ian was receiving.
Nor were they as good-natured about it as she had assumed.
Out of the corner of her eye, Lyssa caught James talking to the wrestlers.
They glanced at Ian with undisguised resentment and she knew none of the gentlemen at the wake appreciated how easily the Irishman had swept their women off their feet.
And the fact that James had little problem at all persuading the other men to dance made Lyssa suspect something was up.
Everyone took their places and the music started.
Lyssa’s suspicions were confirmed. The women all tried to place themselves in front of Ian and the men seemed to have another purpose in mind.
Ian noticed them jostling him but he took it all in stride.
His gaze met Lyssa’s and he shrugged as if to say he didn’t know what was going on.
Round and round the two circles went, the women lingering in front of Ian, the men pushing him on.
Lyssa tried not to pay attention to any of the games. After all, what did she care who danced with whom?
The music stopped. She found herself in front of a thin man with legs like walking sticks that made him appear comical in his kilt.
Then, suddenly, one man bumped another, and Ian was shoved to stand in front of her.
The men looked at each other in triumph. “Sad news,” one of them said to Ian. “Looks like you’ll be dancing with your sister.”
His announcement met exultant shouts from the men and miffed mews from the women. The plump girl next to Lyssa walked off in a pique of temper rather than dance with the man in front of her.
But the music didn’t wait for anyone. Immediately the music of a Scottish reel filled the air and everyone’s feet started moving…save for Lyssa’s and Ian’s.