Chapter 8
C omgall couldn’t wait for the grand feast to be over with. As if the last one hadn’t been bad enough. Now they had to do it all over again, but with dancing? He might go mad before the event was finished. But his mother insisted they needed a formal welcome for Eithne and, as ever, she was right. To treat his new betrothed as anything less than a visiting princess might gravely offend her family, and that was decidedly not the purpose of this match. They must do everything properly.
And this time, Comgall would not let his nuisance of a little brother disrupt proceedings. How Tomás had thought he could get away with his behaviour last night, Comgall had no idea. The nerve of him, treating a princess like that! He’d ordered Tomás to stay well away from her in future. Eithne might be from a family they all hated, but that did not give anyone free rein to offend her. She was to be Comgall’s wife - and queen - and should be respected accordingly. Tomás had rolled his eyes at Comgall’s lecture, but at least it looked as if he was obeying orders. He’d promised to find another pretty woman to toy with, and he certainly seemed very cosy with an attractive blonde on the other side of the hall.
Comgall sat stiffly in his chair at the high table. Eithne was in a chair beside him, but they had barely spoken a word to each other all evening. The meal had passed with interminable slowness. Comgall had often been called charming, even charismatic, but he struggled to make conversation with this woman who would be his wife.
“Did you see much of your parents, growing up?” he asked, in what felt like his hundredth polite question.
“Not all that much,” she said distantly, gazing out at the far end of the hall. “They were often busy.”
She had answered all his questions in such a way, effectively shutting down conversation. Was she so determined to tell him nothing of herself? Comgall gritted his teeth and searched for another question. He was to marry this woman, damn it. Could she not at least try to make herself agreeable? A lifetime was a long time to spend together.
Unfortunately, nothing came to mind. They sat in awkward silence until the last of the food was cleared away. Comgall felt a moment of relief - he had made it through the meal. Then the music started up, and he realised what came next. His heart dropped all the way to his toes. With a heavy sigh, he rose from his chair and turned to Eithne. He held out a hand to her. She took it and rose to her feet, looking confused. He led her from the table into the centre of the hall, where servants were hurriedly clearing away the lower tables to make space. Eithne dropped his hand as soon as they stopped walking. Her eyes were wide and flickered all around the room as if she feared attack .
“My lady,” he said, drawing her attention back to him. “We are expected to begin the dancing.”
He had not thought it possible, but her eyes widened even more.
“I do not know the steps,” she muttered, already breaking eye contact to look at the floor. “Please, don’t force me to make a fool of myself.”
Comgall struggled to understand. What princess did not dance?
“I am sure the steps are not so different in Ireland,” he said. “We will start with something simple.”
Everyone was watching them now. From the stiff way Eithne held herself, she clearly realised it too.
“I can’t do it,” she said, and her voice was tight with real fright.
Comgall sighed.
“Of course you can,” he said. “Step close to me. I will hold you like this.”
He rested one hand on her waist and another on her shoulder blades. The position pulled her body close against his. Her eyes flew up to stare at him, and he had a second to gaze into those rich brown depths before her gaze flicked away again.
“Just follow my lead,” he murmured, and began to gently guide her in the slowest, simplest dance he knew.
She picked up the steps with impressive speed - perhaps she knew how to dance after all, and it was simply fear of an audience that stopped her. In just a few moments time, Comgall was able to pick up the pace, and they danced across the floor in perfect time with the music. Eithne’s body, surprisingly soft and slender, pressed against his, and he found himself holding her tighter each time they turned .
At last, the musicians struck up a popular traditional tune. The floor filled with other couples, practically falling over their own feet for a chance to dance. A lively traditional dance began, full of stamping and whirling. Eithne pulled free from Comgall’s arms. He let her go reluctantly. She was snapped up by another man within seconds. Comgall couldn’t help but smile as she stumbled over the steps and laughed at herself. It seemed that his wife-to-be simply needed a little time to relax and adapt to the company. Perhaps she was shy rather than cold. He felt the beginnings of hope for this marriage.
Comgall himself danced with his sister, then a cousin, then joined in a series of group dances. He completely lost sight of Eithne for quite some time, although he did not entirely forget about her.
When he caught sight of her again, it was only for a second, as she slipped through a door in the wall. Cold suspicion knocked the laughter out of his lungs. What was she doing, sneaking about like that? Without even thinking about the decision, he went after her.
He followed his wife-to-be through the small door, ready to confront her - only to find her sitting on a chair in the darkness, moaning a little as she rubbed her feet. He could not help the chuckle that slipped from his lips.
“Sore feet, my lady?” he asked.
“I’m not used to dancing so much,” she said ruefully. “Not since before Matthew was born. My feet feel like they’re on fire.”
Comgall was not used to acting on impulse, but it seemed that his body did not need his mind’s permission. He crouched down beside her and reached for her foot. She gasped, a sweet, breathy sound, but made no move to stop him. Cradling her foot in his hands, he gently massaged the sole, marvelling at how soft and tender her feet were through the stockings. What kind of shoes did she wear, to keep them so protected? His fingers moved higher, massaging her delicate ankle before he switched to the other foot and repeated the process.
Even in the shadows of the small room, he could see her dark eyes fixed on him. He was torn between staring up at those wide eyes and admiring the slender legs right in front of him.
As he finished the second ankle, he straightened a little and looked up at Eithne - just as she bent down to him. Their faces were barely a hands’ length apart, and he couldn’t help himself. He reached up and kissed her. Just the barest brush of his lips on hers. For that second of sweetness, he could not remember why he hated this woman. Then he pulled himself away and offered her a careless grin.
For a second, Eithne just stared at him, and he felt his grin waver slightly. Then she seemed to come back to life.
“I- I must leave, my lord,” she stammered. “Good night.”
She tugged her foot free and rushed for the door, leaving Comgall still kneeling on the floor.
“Goodnight, future wife,” he whispered, just before the door slammed shut behind her.
He came to his feet and looked thoughtfully at the closed door. Well. He had not expected that. Of course, he could never love any woman from her family, but perhaps he could have found a worse wife. Marriage to Eithne might not be so bad, after all. But, no matter how much he came to like the woman, he must never forget about her brother. He must never forget about his revenge.
His cousin’s murderer must be punished.