Chapter Six #3
There was no point denying that he’d been watching Lillith. It was obvious. “I was admiring what an accomplished dancer Lillith appears to be,” Rory replied neutrally, though he suspected his tone betrayed more than his words.
Marion’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Perhaps you should ask her for the next dance. You are supposed to be getting to know both of my granddaughters, are you not?”
Rory hesitated. The prospect of dancing with Lillith made all his muscles tighten in a strange way, and his blood heat. Was that in preparation for a battle of wits, desire, or both? He frowned, unsure. “I suppose that would be appropriate,” he conceded.
“Excellent,” Marion said, her smile widening. “The dance is ending now. You should make your move before someone else claims her for the next dance.”
Rory nodded and made his way across the hall toward Lillith, who was indeed finishing her dance. Her latest partner released her hand with obvious reluctance, bowing deeply before stepping back. Rory arrived at her side just as the man departed.
“Lady Lillith,” he said, inclining his head slightly. “Would ye do me the honor of the next dance?”
Lillith turned to him, something he could not name flashing across her face before her expression settled into one of polite regret. “I thank ye for the offer, but I find myself quite fatigued. Three dances in succession have left me in need of rest.”
Something about her tone rang false to Rory’s ears, but he nodded in acceptance. “Perhaps another time, then.”
“Perhaps,” she agreed, though her tone suggested otherwise.
Rory had barely taken two steps away when he heard another voice behind him.
“My lady, might I have this dance?” It was one of his own men, Fergus.
“I would be delighted,” Lillith replied, her voice suddenly bright with enthusiasm.
Rory froze mid-step, then turned slowly to see Lillith placing her hand in Fergus’s and allowing him to lead her back onto the dance floor. Her gaze met Rory’s over her shoulder, and the brief, triumphant smirk that crossed her face told him everything he needed to know.
The realization struck him with the force of a physical blow.
She was deliberately trying to offend him.
First, the hunting leathers at supper, then the challenge about the torchlight procession, and now this blatant insult—accepting another partner immediately after claiming exhaustion to refuse him.
A curious mixture of amusement and admiration rose in him, surprising him. The lass was clever. He’d give her that. She wanted him to choose Lenora—or better yet, neither twin. She wanted him to find her so objectionable that he would abandon the king’s decree altogether.
As he watched her whirl around the floor with Fergus, her golden hair catching the light with each turn, Rory found himself smiling.
Did she truly believe such transparent tactics would drive him away?
If anything, her schemes only made her more intriguing.
A woman with enough wit and determination to orchestrate her own rejection would indeed make a formidable partner.
That thought shocked him. Was he now truly considering Lillith as well as Lenora?
He shoved a hand through his hair. He could not let desire make him forget why he had initially decided upon Lenora.
He wanted peace, and there would be no peace to be had with a woman like Lillith.
She would challenge him at every turn. It wasn’t that the idea of being challenged repelled him.
In fact, he found himself eager for it and intrigued by her.
It was that the challenges would lead to constant quarrels and no peace in his home for himself or the children they would have one day, if the gods were so inclined.
How many times had he said to himself or his da had said to him to wed a biddable woman?
How many times had he listened to his parents’ quarrel or watched them sit through supper in the great hall in stony silence?
Rory wanted a lass he could share a life with, who he was reluctant to leave and eager to return home to.
His da was glad to leave Rory’s mama and would often make excuses to remain away from the stronghold longer than he had to.
Rory did not want that sort of union for himself.
And yet, when he thought of being wed to Lenora, who would surely bring peace, he did not feel any heat in his blood, any intrigue—only the dread that accompanied the knowledge that he’d be facing day after day and year after year of boring conversation and no attraction.
Was that the price he had to pay for peace?
He blinked his musings away and found his gaze colliding with Lillith’s.
She stood across the dance floor by Fergus, who was talking animatedly by her side.
Rory could well imagine what sort of tale Fergus was conveying.
He was a boaster of the incredible feats his mind made up about himself.
To Rory’s amusement, and if he were being truthful with himself, satisfaction—Lillith appeared to be paying no heed at all to Fergus.
She slowly raised her goblet to Rory, and he understood instinctually it was a toast of sorts—to the battle of wills they had both decided to engage in with each other.
He found himself smiling and wishing he had a goblet to meet her challenging toast. Instead, he inclined his head in acknowledgement, and his gesture, to his pleasure, made her smile widen.
She finally looked toward Fergus, breaking her contact with Rory.
He should turn away from her, but he did not.
Instead, he leaned against a pillar, content for now to study her.
There was a spark of life that seemed to emanate from her like heat from a flame.
She was nothing like the docile, biddable wife he wanted, and yet, he could not draw his gaze from her.
She was fire—unpredictable, dangerous, and utterly captivating—where her sister was anything but those things.
Was he wrong about what he wanted and needed?
He thought once more of his parents, and he knew he could not simply cast those memories away.
But still, he found himself eagerly anticipating tomorrow’s torchlight procession, wondering what new facet of Lillith MacLeod he might discover in the competition to come.