Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Lachlan had no intention of seeking her out.
He had parted ways with Marian as soon as he could to put some distance between them, and yet his gaze drifted toward her again.
This was the third time since they arrived at the cèilidh.
It means nothin’.
A muscle ticked in his jaw as he forced his attention away from her, downing whatever was left of his ale in one single gulp.
He slammed his tankard down on the table with a dull thud, his gaze flicking toward her once more.
She stood at the edge of the hall, just beyond the reach of the dancers, engaging in a conversation with Lady Murray. Her posture was confident as she gave a little laugh, and his lips pressed into a thin line.
Lady Murray handed her a glass of ale, and she took it, its sharpness hitting her at the first sip in a way that made her eyes narrow.
Inexperienced Sassenach.
Still, she took another sip of it, as though determined to overcome the taste.
As stubborn as ever.
Lachlan’s lips curved slightly, and he shook his head, returning his attention to the conversation around him.
“What do ye think, Laird MacLeod?” someone asked.
The men stared at him, clearly expecting an answer, even as he tried to recall what they’d been discussing.
Damn… Mairi.
“Aye,” he said cautiously, and the group broke into approving murmurs.
His eyebrows flew up at their enthusiasm.
I suppose I answered correctly.
Whatever they were discussing, it was barely sufficient to hold his interest. His gaze drifted to Marian again as a few of the men tapped his back, and his eyebrows drew together.
What has happened to her?
The shift in her expression was subtle, but she was no longer smiling. Instead, there seemed to be something bothering her. She nodded as Lady Murray said something to her, and then she turned slightly, her gaze nearly meeting his.
Lachlan looked away at once. He turned to face the men, only to find Laird Murray watching him with a wide smile.
“I’m honored that ye agreed,” Laird Murray said.
Lachlan’s brow furrowed.
What have I agreed to?
“If ye need help hostin’ the next cèilidh in Glen Carrick, I am more than willin’ to oblige.”
“Hostin’ the next cèilidh?” Lachlan repeated, his tone incredulous. “Why would I…” he trailed off when Laird Murray’s smile faltered, and the realization slowly kicked in.
I agreed to host a cèilidh.
His jaw tightened.
’Tis Mairi’s fault.
Laird Murray started to give an awkward explanation, and Lachlan’s gaze swept across the crowd again to find Marian. She was nowhere to be seen.
His fingers curled slightly.
Could she have left?
“Aye,” he told Laird Murray, unintentionally cutting him off.
He excused himself quickly, tapping Laird Murray on the back before stepping away from the group to keep the conversation from spiraling further. Although he noted, in passing, how easily the group had taken to him.
Perhaps it is the ale.
He returned his attention to finding Marian, his eyes scanning the crowd until he found her seated at the table with Lady Murray. The knot in his chest loosened slightly, though he did not care to admit it.
He moved across the hall toward her, his expression softening slightly once he noticed the long look on her face.
Has something happened to her?
A quick glance around her told him otherwise, though he noticed that a few of the Murray clansmen lingered nearby, their attention fixed on her far too openly.
Hungry bastards.
Lachlan closed the distance between them without another thought. She started, her eyes darting from the dance floor to him. Her expression smoothed once she recognized him, and she gave a polite smile.
“Ye look like someone who’s studyin’ a battle plan rather than a dance,” he remarked.
“I was observing,” she replied coolly.
Ye clearly werenae.
“Aye,” he said, glancing toward the twirling dancers. “Although one could argue that ye are lost.”
Marian’s eyebrow rose. “I beg your pardon?”
A crooked smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he offered his hand. “Come along, Sassenach.”
It made no sense to him that he was offering. He had no desire to dance, least of all at a cèilidh he had not planned to attend. But he did anyway.
“If ye’re goin’ to stand in a cèilidh, someone ought to teach ye how to dance.”
Is this his way of asking me to dance?
Marian blinked, staring at his hand with skepticism. Her eyebrow arched slightly as she waited for him to withdraw it, but he did not.
I suppose it is.
“Go on, Marian,” Anna whispered beside her. “You should not keep the Laird waiting for too long.” Her lips curled into a smile.
Marian stood up at last, placing her hand in his. A sudden shyness crept over her at the contact, and Anna’s smile widened as she gave her a small nudge.
Marian breathed deeply. Before she could gather herself, Lachlan had already led her to the dance floor, his hand settling firmly on her lower back. The contact sent a small shiver through her, and she stilled for a moment, her eyes looking everywhere but at his face.
“Ye seem nervous,” he muttered, and her cheeks flushed at once. “Who could have imagined an English lady nervous about dancin’?”
Marian pressed her lips together as the music began, trying to fight back the nerves. The music was slow at first, so she shifted slightly, leading the opening steps.
“I have yet to learn the rhythm,” she admitted, her words quieter than they sounded in her head.
He nodded, pulling her slightly closer. “Then ye’ll have to follow me lead, me Lady,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “At least this one time.”
Marian huffed softly, though she did as he said, matching her steps to his as the other couples joined in the dance.
The rhythm built quickly, and soon, the hall came alive again.
A soft laugh escaped her as her foot faltered against the rhythm, and Lachlan’s grip tightened on her at once, steadying her before she could stumble into the couple next to them.
“Watch me,” he murmured near her ear.
She drew in a breath, far more aware of him than the steps he was trying to show her. His scent enveloped her—the same scent that had filled her senses on the horse, in the library, and by the well.
The room blurred for a moment as he released her into the next step, and she whirled, stopping in front of Anna once her hand caught hers. She let out a small, surprised yelp.
“You seem to be having fun,” Anna called over the loud music.
Marian nodded.
“Yes, thanks to your wonderful ball.”
Anna grinned. She nodded her head toward Lachlan as they moved closer and said in a much lower voice, “You do not appear unwanted to me.”
The words struck deeper than Marian had expected. She did not have the chance to dwell on them, but she felt them all the same.
Her breath caught slightly as she returned to Lachlan. Her gaze lifted to meet his, and she blushed hard, Anna’s words still echoing in her head.
“Well,” he murmured. “Ye and Lady Murray certainly seem to have a lot to talk about.”
A hint of jealousy flickered across his face, and Marian’s lips twitched in excitement.
Men are not privy to ladies’ gossip.
“I agree,” she said, leaning into him as the next step of the dance brought them close again. “The Murrays are fine people.”
Lachlan’s hand remained on her lower back as the dance carried them onward, step after step, and she fell into rhythm with him. She caught herself laughing more than once, and he smiled, though his lips twitched as he tried to force it back.
Soon, the tension between them started to dissipate.
Marian forgot about the arguments, the inheritance, and the danger they both represented to one another. And by the time the music began to slow, she found herself closer to him than before.
Her breath softened as her head came to rest lightly against his chest, though his hand remained on her back.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The music played on around them, but she heard none of it. Only his heartbeat.
Lachlan’s fingers flexed slightly against her back. He did not pull her closer, but neither did he let go. Not until someone jostled past them, breaking the spell.
Marian stepped back quickly, her cheeks flushed, and Lachlan cleared his throat, his hand falling away. The music had stopped playing, and half the hall had already emptied, although she only realized it now.
“That’ll do for a first lesson,” Lachlan said gruffly.
Marian gave a slight nod. “Yes,” she muttered, turning away before he could see how red her face had turned. “Thank you, my Laird.”