Page 7

CHAPTER 7

As Jackson continued to clap, Gordon bowed his head to his unexpected dance partner. Anna smiled an irreverent smile and dipped into a curtsy, before beginning the reel.

It was the kind he hated above all, full of hops and leaps and complicated steps back and forth that threatened to tangle his legs into knots. Still, he wouldn’t embarrass himself in his efforts to spare her from embarrassment, racking his brain for the memory of the movements that he’d learned in boyhood.

He echoed her steps, mustering all the grace he possessed in a body that hadn’t been designed for elegance. After a minute, he settled into the memory of how to dance, his muscles taking over, much like they did when he was in battle.

Anna seemed disappointed, as if she’d expected him to make a fool of himself, but he was managing quite well.

“So, ye daenae like me adornments,” she said a moment later. “But what do ye make of the dress? I daenae think ye ever said.”

Gordon turned in a circle and swept toward her, the two of them mirroring one another with no more than a half step between them.

“It’s nay concern of mine,” he replied bluntly.

She frowned, frustration showing in the pursing of her lips and the narrowing of her eyes. “Ye daenae mind it?”

“Am I supposed to?” He dropped his gaze to the almost transparent panels, teased by that blurred writing once again.

“Nay, but I would hear yer opinion.”

“I’ve said it,” he insisted, seeing no need to repeat himself. But, clearly, she wasn’t satisfied with his answer.

She puffed out a breath as she hopped from side to side, blowing a lock of copper hair out of her face. “Would ye have me wear such a thing to an important gatherin’?”

It was something Laird Glendenning had said and Anna hadn’t liked the man’s answer. Nor had Gordon, in truth, deeming it beneath a man to trouble himself over a lady’s fashions and fancies. Surely, a woman knew better than a man what was appropriate and what would be of benefit in an important situation?

“I wouldnae tell me wife what she can or cannae wear, if that’s what ye’re really askin’,” he said, closing the gap a little. Dipping his head, he murmured, “Besides, I doubt there’s anythin’ that wouldnae look good on ye.”

Anna’s cheeks flushed with pink, her laughter soft and sultry as she raised her gaze to him, her green eyes shining. Her hand went to her heart, half-shock, half-intrigue. “I dinnae think ye were a rake, M’Laird, tryin’ to seduce me with compliments. Indeed, I already told ye I couldnae be wooed with seduction.”

“It wasnae a compliment,” he grunted, wondering if seduction was the only thing that mattered to her after all, since she’d mentioned it twice now. “Just the truth.”

“Ye think me dress looks good, then?”

He resisted the desire to roll his eyes. “I think it serves a purpose. The same purpose that would make it useful in an important gatherin’.”

“And what purpose would that be?” she said, her voice coy while her expression had tightened, suggesting she wasn’t satisfied with this answer, either.

“It’s intended to distract and to elicit conversation,” he replied flatly.

And I wouldnae mind stealin’ ye away to see what that writin’ says, where it’s nae covered up with that irksome fabric. It annoyed him that he couldn’t read the words, the way it would annoy him if he couldn’t read the contents of an important letter, soaked by the rain. He wanted to know what secrets she was hiding in plain sight, his fingertips itching to tear the panels to get to the mystery beneath.

Indeed, it was taking all of his discipline not to.

Infernal man.

Anna supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised, considering he was the Devil of the Highlands. But she hadn’t expected him to be so… frustrating, so implacable, so much like an immoveable block of stone, impervious to her mischief and her plan.

Indeed, she was rather furious with herself for laughing because of what he’d said about brigands, and furious that he’d agreed to dance, and was dancing quite well at that. He was supposed to be giving up, not advancing.

What would vex him? What would give him reason to depart the auction? What could I do to make him surrender? The questions swirled around in her mind as they continued to dance, Gordon matching her step for step with surprising proficiency. He wasn’t the most graceful dancer she’d ever seen, but he wasn’t making a fool of himself either, his movements solid and competent.

A few more garish dresses and Laird Glendenning will lose interest, but what of this man? This statue?

An idea burst into her mind, thrumming with mischief.

“Jackson, might ye hasten the pace!” she called out, having half forgotten that her family were watching.

Without hesitation, Jackson began to clap his hands quicker, joined by their mother and Laird Glendenning. Somewhat reluctantly, Ewan added his own beat to the rhythm, though Anna’s father didn’t involve himself, choosing to sip his wine and avoid looking at the scene entirely.

Anna altered the dance with no warning, whirling around, letting the swifter rhythm guide her in a far livelier reel. She thought she saw Gordon’s eye flicker with disapproval, but disapproval wasn’t enough; she needed him to be outright horrified, so much so that he’d leave before the rest of the Lairds even arrived.

I must dispense with them one by one.

Spinning around like she had been possessed by the spirit of dance itself, spurred on by the loud cheers of Jackson and Laird Glendenning, she didn’t halt when her forearm collided with Gordon’s chest. Nor did she retreat when her hand struck him again as she whirled into the next rotation.

Although, it took every ounce of determination she had not to gasp in pain: his chest was much harder than she’d anticipated, like striking solid rock.

“Have ye given up on the dance, M’Laird?” she taunted with a smile, as she leaped into a vigorous Sword Dance, minus any actual swords.

As she kicked out with a flourish of her foot on the first diagonal, her shoe caught him in the shin. A second later, she was leaping gracefully backward again, performing the robust dance with every bit of strength she had left.

Gordon hadn’t moved, his expression unchanged, showing no sign that he’d even felt her kick or strikes.

Is he truly made of stone?

Undeterred, she continued the dance, waiting until she leaped that first diagonal again so she might kick him in the shin a second time.

She was mid-air, ready to plant her foot and kick out—harder, this time—when Gordon suddenly darted forward. He moved so quickly that she had no chance of altering her course, the breath abandoning her lungs as he caught her around the waist and spun her around, ending her Sword Dance before she had managed to gain another hit.

The force of his arm against her ribs winded her, the spin leaving her dizzy, but he wasn’t at all done with her. As he whirled her around, his powerful hands settled on the curve of her waist and, before she knew it, she was in the air again, held up by the sheer might of his muscle.

“I ken what ye’re doin’,” he said quietly, as he turned around and around, holding her up like that as if it was nothing. His breathing hadn’t altered and there was no hint of strain upon his face, his demeanor almost relaxed.

Staring down at him in breathless shock, she feared he was punishing her, and wouldn’t let her back down until she apologized… or agreed to let him have her hand in marriage.

“I’m just… dancin’,” she wheezed, still winded.

“It willnae work,” he continued. “I’ve been to war, lass. Did ye think ye’d injure me?”

She blinked, unable to speak.

“Yer wee hits are like a kitten pawin’ at me,” he said, his arms bulging through the thin fabric of his léine. “It willnae bruise, and it willnae send me away. I dinnae come here to leave empty-handed.”

Anna swallowed thickly, reaching down to brace her hands against his impossibly broad shoulders. She needed to pretend that she was balancing herself, though he wouldn’t have let her slip; his grip was too firm, too solid. But it was better than feeling like a fish on a hook, held off the ground, writhing in… In truth, she couldn’t explain the sensation that coursed through her.

Part of her wanted to carry on doing everything within her power to chase him off, while another part of her was almost intrigued to discover what might happen if he stayed. And a tiny, whispering part of her was just a little bit curious to see if she could break his stony facade to uncover the man beneath.

“Put me down,” she gasped.

He lowered her slowly, bringing his arms in as he did, so her body had no choice but to brush against his as she came back down to earth. The fleeting contact struck a spark that crackled across her skin, making her flush with a sudden and feverish heat that left her twice as dizzy as all that spinning.

“ Never do that again,” she murmured, flustered.

He leaned in for a moment. “I daenae like bein’ told what to do.”

The tickle of his breath against her neck made it hard to breathe, the usual flow of air getting stuck somewhere between her mouth and her lungs. Indeed, the room was beginning to swirl.

Fearful that she might faint in front of this man, she glanced hurriedly at her mother and father. “If ye’ll excuse me,” she said in a rush to her family and Laird Glendenning, “I daenae feel so well, all of a sudden.”

Not daring to look at Gordon again, uncertain of what manner of blaze might burn across her skin if she did, she ran from the room, wishing she hadn’t insisted on a dance at all.