Chapter 18 #2
Wordlessly, Creighton led Nora over to the dance floor.
“Stay close to me,” he called, over the din of chatter, laughter, and roaring music. “I’ll nae let ye get jostled.”
Nora said nothing. Hands entwined, he pulled her toward him until she could feel the heat coming off his body. Drawing in a deep breath each, they plunged into the chaos.
At once, they were swept up by the dance.
The couples already on the floor spun round and round.
The precise steps of the dance didn’t matter as much as keeping up with the rhythm and movement of the other dancers.
Nora held onto Creighton’s broad shoulders, and any hesitation she might have felt was replaced by necessity—she needed to cling to him to avoid being knocked off her feet.
“MacCrimmon ceilidhs are always like this, I’m afraid,” he said, leaning close to her ear to avoid being overheard. “Wild, terrifying, but plenty of fun.”
“So I see,” she responded, and found that she was laughing.
“I suggest ye lift yer hem a wee bit, or somebody’ll tread on it.”
She freed one hand from his shoulders, bunching it in the fabric of her dress—which still did not match Laurie’s, as there hadn’t been time—and hauled it up a few inches. Cool air swirled around her ankles.
“Where is Laurie?” she asked.
“Gone to bed. A few minutes here was all she needed after the excitement of travelin’ today. She’s exhausted.”
Nora allowed herself a quick smile. Behind her, somebody knocked hard against her back, pushing her bodily against Creighton. The blow even made him stagger back a step or two. He shot a glare over the top of her head, growling low in his throat.
The man and woman behind them paled, mumbling apologies, and staggered back.
“Drunk already,” he muttered disapprovingly. Almost as an afterthought, he curled an arm protectively around Nora’s waist, pulling her close to him. She swallowed, letting her eyes flutter shut. This close, he smelled of horse sweat, leather, and the sweet tang of ale. The smell dizzied her.
“So, tell me,” he continued, sweeping her around in a tight circle when all the other dancers did so. “What did me aunt say to ye?”
The question took Nora by surprise. She had been focused on staying balanced, holding tight to her skirts and Creighton’s shoulders, and on avoiding tilting her head back to look up at him. Somehow, that felt very risky.
“She talked about ye,” she said at last. “She said that ye daenae plan to marry.”
Creighton’s jaw tightened. “I love me aunt, but the concept of family loyalty certainly eludes her.”
“Well, I am family now, am I nae? Sort of, at least.”
He grunted, and she could not tell whether it was in agreement or not.
“She’s right, though,” he answered at last. “I daenae plan to marry.”
Nora’s gaze moved upward on its own. Creighton was already looking down at her, his eyes focused. That muscle in his jaw still twitched, and a frown line formed between his brows. Nora felt a sudden, strong urge to reach up and press her finger against that line, smoothing it away.
“Why nae?” she asked simply.
He pursed his lips, and for a moment she thought he might not answer at all.
“It’s a distraction,” he said at last. “Ordinary men can marry if they like. In fact, I encourage it. But in me case, distraction will only endanger those around me.”
“But daenae ye need an heir?”
“An heir? That’s the last thing I need,” he snorted. “Can ye imagine it, Laurie thinkin’ she’s goin’ to be replaced? I could never allow that.”
“Does Laurie want to be laird? And would the people accept a female laird?”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Daenae ye think they should accept a female laird? Do ye think that women are less competent than men?”
Nora gave him a look. “Nobody with sense thinks that. I daenae mean that a woman shouldnae be laird, I only ask if she’ll be accepted. Nae everybody thinks the same. Why, in England, women do nae inherit titles or estates.”
“Well, that seems like a good way to make sure Laurie does inherit—by reminding the people that we are not like the English, and that we do not care to follow their example.”
Nora opened her mouth, fully intending to ask another question. There was more to this story, she was sure of it. Before she could speak, Creighton interjected hastily.
“There’s goin’ to be a part here where I lift ye up, just for a moment. Be ready for it, aye?”
Flustered, Nora’s question faded from her mind. As promised, the dancers swirled together again, then Creighton grabbed her around the waist, effortlessly lifting her off her feet as if she weighed nothing more than a bag of feathers.
The music ended with a flourish. The dance was finished.
The dancers staggered to a stop, laughing breathlessly.
Nora and Creighton stood still, their eyes locked.
She felt as if she could not look away. She could almost feel the warmth of his shoulders beneath her palms, even though they no longer touched.
Chest heaving from the exertion, Creighton took a single step forward. This brought him almost chest to chest with Nora. If she had leaned forward just an inch or two, she could have pressed her nose against his sweat-drenched shoulder.
“I may nae plan to marry, lass,” he said, slowly but carefully, catching her gaze to be sure that every word of his was understood. “But for the duration of our betrothal, ye are mine. Do ye understand that? Mine.”
A shiver rolled down her spine. Heat drenched her, head to foot, and the ache he seemed to inspire so often started up in her gut, threatening to begin its breathless pulsing between her thighs.
Stop it, Nora tried to order her body. I daenae want to feel like this.
Aye, ye do, her body responded, almost amused.
Clearing her throat, she tilted up her chin, refusing to glance away from him even for a moment.
“I see. Thank ye for makin’ that clear, Laird MacColl. If ye will excuse me, though, I am tired, and I’d like to go to bed. Daenae worry about escortin’ me; I’ll find somebody to show me the way. Please make me apologies to Helena and Laird MacCrimmon.”
He gave a tight nod and remained still as Nora pushed past him and left the dance floor. She thought she could feel eyes on her as she walked away, likely Hunter and Helena’s. Turning around seemed risky, so she kept walking, heading toward the castle.
Nobody came after her, not even Creighton.
That was a relief, wasn’t it?