Chapter Eleven #2
Then he hurried past, head bowed.
Beitris released the breath she had trapped in her lungs. The strange, unexpected sensation of victory settled over her. The bully was avoiding her now, and that meant Liam’s warning had not been given in vain.
“Miss Beitris,” a deep voice called behind her. “How fare ye?”
She turned to find Gowan standing behind his tall display of utensils and finely worked kitchen wares. Each month he came with new things that made the housewives’ eyes light with want. She stepped closer, drawn by the gleam of polished metal.
“I am well,” she said. “And yer burn?”
His dark eyes warmed as they lingered over her. “Much better.” He shifted his weight, then cleared his throat. “Will ye attend the dance this eve?”
The question stole the air from her chest. It had been a long time since any man had openly shown interest in her. Today, she’d not expected it at all.
Instinct urged her to refuse. The memory of Cormac’s attack still coiled too close to her spine, and she had only planned to attend if Keir accompanied her. Yet after seeing the cowardice with which he now moved, she might go.
And the thought of seeing Gowan there stirred a faint curiosity she had not expected.
But even as the notion formed, she knew the truth.
Her heart belonged elsewhere. To a man who did not feel the same toward her.
“I…” She faltered, then lifted her chin. “Aye. Perhaps I will see ye there.”
“I will ensure it,” Gowan said with a hopeful grin, dimples deepening in his cheeks.
He was handsome. Kind. Steady. If only that were enough.
Beitris gathered her basket closer and turned toward home beneath the heavy grey sky, carrying with her all the things she could not set down.
Despite the turmoil of the last few days, with Liam’s departure, her own sleepless nights, and the ache that had refused to loosen its grip, Beitris found herself in good spirits.
The festive feel of final evening of the Spring Fête had wrapped the entire village in a haze of warmth and celebration.
Lanterns swung from ropes strung high between the cottages, their soft glow chasing away shadows as dusk settled.
The air shimmered with the scents of honeyed sweets, roasted nuts, and meat turning slowly over open flames.
Laughter rippled through the crowd, lifted even higher by the lively notes of fiddles and pipes.
For the first time in what felt like ages, her heart felt light.
She joined a group of village women, slipping easily into the circle dance.
Skirts flared, braids bounced, and giggles erupted through the group as several young men attempted, poorly, to seize a partner.
The women darted away like bright birds, shrieking with laughter, leaving the rejected men scratching their heads or bowing playfully in defeat.
Beitris laughed until her sides ached, letting the music shake loose the last remnants of sadness.
After several dances, breathless and warm, she made her way toward where her parents sat enjoying the festivities.
Her mother waved her over, but Beitris first accepted a cool cup of ale from a vendor.
Joining her parents, she fanned her flushed face with her free hand, trying to settle her racing pulse.
The night air brushed her cheeks, carrying with it the sweet notes of spring blossoms and the faint tang of wood smoke.
For a moment, she closed her eyes and simply let herself feel alive.
A new lively tune struck up, and her feet tapped of their own accord.
When she opened her eyes, Gowan stood before her, a mountain of a man with a shy smile peeking from beneath his beard.
She couldn’t help but return the smile, warm and genuine.
He bowed exaggeratedly, offering his hand.
Her mother nudged her, urging her to accept.
She placed hers in his, and he guided her back to the dancers.
Despite his size, Gowan moved with surprising grace. He twirled her around the square with the ease of a man accustomed to physical labor but rarely indulging in such merriment. His laughter boomed above the music, infectious enough that she found herself laughing along.
He leaned close, his breath warm at her ear. “Ye seem to be enjoying yerself.”
“I am,” she replied truthfully, because in that moment, she was.
As he spun her again, Beitris let her gaze sweep over the crowd.
Torchlight glimmered off bright ribbons, children raced between adults, and all around her, the village pulsed with easy joy.
She searched instinctively for a familiar stride, a familiar auburn head.
Her brother. Keir was dutifully making his rounds, eyes sharp even on a night of celebration.
She worried about him, always so serious, so determined to protect everyone but himself.
When this dance ended, she decided she would drag him into the circle whether he wished it or not.
But then she found him.
Keir stood near the dancers speaking to someone.
Her breath caught.
Liam.
The sound of the music dimmed around her, muffled by the sudden rush of blood in her ears.
Liam stood tall beside her brother, the torchlight catching the angles of his face, casting his jaw in sharp relief.
Even across the crowd, she recognized the tension in his shoulders.
And then, oh heavens, his gaze struck hers.
He was glaring.
A hot spark of triumph flickered in her chest. Good, she thought savagely, allowing the corner of her lips to lift in a satisfied smile as Gowan twirled her once more.
Let him see. Let him ken she wasn’t going to pine after a man who’d dismissed her so easily, who’d left her heart bruised and aching.
Let him look and let it sting.
Because she intended to live her life, and tonight, she intended to dance.
Liam’s glare didn’t waver, even as the dancers spun between them. It pinned her like a thrown dagger, sharp enough to catch her breath. Beitris tore her gaze away, lifting her chin slightly as if that tiny movement might shield her from the sudden storm tightening her chest.
She pretended she didn’t feel it, that pull toward him she’d sworn she was done with. Pretended she didn’t notice the way he shifted his stance, as though fighting the urge to march across the square and drag her away from Gowan like some jealous fool.
Gowan, blissfully unaware, was grinning down at her. “Ye dance well, Beitris.”
She returned the smile, though it trembled at the edges. “And ye do as well.”
But even as she said it, her eyes betrayed her.
They slid back toward Liam.
He hadn’t moved. Keir spoke beside him, but Liam didn’t seem to hear a word.
His entire focus, intense and unwavering, was fixed on her.
She recognized that look, though she’d only ever seen a shadow of it before.
A look that held heat and confusion and something that set her pulse skittering like beads spilled across a stone floor.
The song ended in a burst of whistles and stomping feet, and Gowan released her reluctantly, wiping his brow with a broad forearm.
“Thank ye, Beitris. That was the most fun I’ve had at a fête in quite some time.”
She dipped a small curtsy. “Thank ye as well.”
People bustled around her, the music fading as the musicians retuned their instruments. Yet she stood rooted, her heartbeat thrumming wildly as she sensed, no, felt, someone approaching.
She didn’t turn right away.
She didn’t need to.
Her body knew him as surely as it knew the rhythm of her own breath.
His presence, warm and unsettling, drew nearer until the hairs on her nape lifted.
“Enjoying yerself, are ye?” Liam’s voice emerged behind her, low and edged with something that didnae belong at a cheerful village fête.
She inhaled slowly, smoothing her features into polite indifference before turning to face him.
He stood only a pace away, staring down at her as though she’d personally offended the saints by daring to smile tonight.
Torchlight flickered over the sharp line of his cheekbones, casting shadows beneath eyes that burned hotter than any bonfire in the square.
“Aye,” she replied, matching his tone with careful calm. “’Tis a festival. It would be odd not to.”
Behind him, Keir’s brow arched high. He glanced between the two of them, his gaze sharpening as if he’d walked into a conversation spoken entirely in sword strikes. After a beat, he cleared his throat.
“I’ll continue my rounds,” he said slowly. “Try not to kill one another.” And off he strode. Beitris wanted to call him back and make him dance with her so she could get away from Liam. She needed to be saved from what could be another time he hurt her feelings.
Liam’s jaw flexed. “Ye danced with Gowan.”
She blinked, feigning innocence. “Aye. He asked. I accepted. That is how dancing typically works.”
His mouth twitched, not quite a frown, not quite anything else. “Ye seemed to enjoy it.”
“Why should I not?” she challenged lightly before turning to look for Keir. “He is kind. Polite. And he does not scowl at me from across the square.”
“That’s not…” He stopped himself, jaw tightening again. A muscle feathered near his temple. “I was not scowling.”
“Oh? My mistake. Ye looked positively delighted.”
His breath left him in a rough exhale, somewhere between frustration and something far more dangerous. “Beitris…”
Her name, spoken in that tone, wrapped around her like a caress.
“Dinnae,” she said softly, lifting her chin an inch. “Dinnae speak to me as though ye have a right.”
“Perhaps I wish to.”
The words struck her harder than a blow. How dare he? She should walk away; otherwise, it would be tempting to kick him. It was his nature to charm, and she would not fall for it.
Before she could gather a response, the musicians began a new melody, slower this time, sweeping and warm, and couples drifted toward the center of the square.
Lamps flickered overhead, casting soft golden halos.
Everything around them felt suddenly quieter, closer, as though the night itself leaned in to listen.
Beitris swallowed. “I am going to find Keir.”
His eyes darkened, the tension in him shifting, coiling. “I would dance with ye. If I could.”
Her breath caught, startled by the honesty in his gaze. The longing. The confusion.
She forced herself to hold steady, though her pulse rioted. “Then perhaps ye should walk away.”
His throat bobbed. But he didn’t move.
Neither did she. And for one suspended heartbeat, every sound in the fête seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them, bound in a dangerous pull they both pretended not to feel.