Page 19 of The Highlander’s Hellion Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #1)

19

“ E vander. Arthur,” Duncan barked as they approached the two Lairds.

Immediately, Laird Kincaid peeled himself away from the beam he had been leaning against. Arthur merely turned his shoulders so that he could face them head-on, his green eye regarding them with nothing more than mild interest.

“This must be the wife,” Evander grunted as they approached, and Duncan nodded.

Alison looked between the two men, eyeing them suspiciously but dropping into a shallow curtsy all the same.

“A pleasure to meet ye, Laird Kincaid, Laird MacDonnell,” she greeted, her tone more demure than Duncan had heard it since their wedding.

“We’ve met afore,” Arthur corrected, his tone cordial. “At yer weddin’.”

Color rose high in Alison’s cheeks. “Aye, but that was a long time ago.”

“That it was,” Evander interjected, before nodding his head toward the children, who were still playing. “Is that Rosie?”

Alison turned, her expression softening the moment she laid eyes on her daughter. “Aye,” she confirmed with a small smile. “She’s as wild as the hills of Scotland, that one.”

“Just like her faither,” Evander joked, causing Arthur to chuckle low in his throat.

Alison blinked at him, clearly shocked.

Duncan had seen people react to Arthur in a myriad of ways, few of which were good, and his brain began to scramble for a distraction.

“And her maither,” he corrected.

He had meant the words in jest, hoping to melt some of the iciness that was hanging between them. But since he was unfamiliar with jokes unrelated to the battlefield, the words fell like stones from his tongue.

Alison turned her steely gaze back to him, regarding him while tilting her head to the side—the same gesture Rosie made—then declared, “She is the best of both. Rosie has equal measure of yer spirit, looks, and wits.”

Duncan gaped at her unexpected kindness. “Thank ye for that.” He smiled at her in appreciation.

“Me Laird,” said an elderly woman who had approached them from the town square, lifting her plaid skirts slightly as she bowed her head. “The women of the village and I have been talkin’, and we would like to throw a feast in yer honor.”

Duncan’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“A feast?” he echoed.

The old woman nodded. “Aye. We’d like to celebrate yer return and the return of our lads.” Her eyes twinkled as a smile split her face. “The end of the war—that’s a thing to celebrate, to be sure.”

Duncan stared at the woman. She was the same one he had spoken with earlier, who had inquired about Fergus MacLoren.

It was not difficult for him to imagine what she had gone through over the last few years, waiting for word that her loved one was still alive while dreading receiving news that he would never come home again.

Could I deny these people an opportunity to celebrate?

“’Tis high time for a feast,” he agreed, giving her a quick, curt nod. “When would ye like to host it?”

She answered more quickly and exuberantly than he would have expected for a woman of her advanced age.

“Tonight!” she exclaimed excitedly. “When there’s reason to celebrate, ye dinnae want to wait.”

Duncan turned his head to look at his wife. “What do ye think, wife? Are ye up for a party?”

Alison seemed hesitant, glancing over at where Rosie had stopped running. She and the other children were now sitting on the grass, ripping up newly sprouted daisies and braiding them into crowns.

“Rosie,” she called.

The older woman waved her off. “The young lady can stay with the Tomlinsons, and we’ve already discussed readyin’ a room for ye and the Laird at the inn, should ye need it.” Her eyes swiveled to Evander and Arthur before she quickly amended, “We can have rooms ready for all the Lairds.”

“Rosie does stay with the Tomlinsons at least once a month,” Alison murmured, almost to herself.

However, she did not answer the woman right away. Instead, she turned around and called out to Rosie again.

Her daughter sprang up when she heard her, bounding across the square as quickly as her short legs could carry her.

“Maither!” Rosie yelled, throwing herself at her mother’s legs the moment she was close enough.

The hug caught Alison off guard, and she stumbled slightly. Duncan reached out a hand to steady his wife. Although she did not turn to look at him, he did not miss the color that crept up her neck the moment he touched her.

“What do ye need, Maither?” Rosie asked, peering up at Alison’s face with adoration, still clinging to her skirts.

“Would ye like to attend a feast tonight and stay with the Tomlinsons?”

Alison did not even have time to finish the question before Rosie nodded excitedly.

“Och aye! Aye, please.” The girl was grinning like mad. “We can have a lovely time. And I can teach Faither how to dance!”

“Teach me how to dance?” Duncan barked out a laugh. “Aye, I’ll have to show ye a thing or two, lassie.”

“’Tis settled, then.” The old woman clapped her hands excitedly, before turning and announcing to everyone still milling about in the square, “Tonight, we will have a feast.”

As a cheer filled the air, Duncan turned to see his wife watching him.

“Mayhap ye could also teach me how to dance,” he said in a low voice that he thought only she would be able to hear.

Evander snorted a laugh. “Look at ye, flirtin’ with yer wife,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder before turning to look at Arthur. “Now, why do we nae go see if we can help with this feast.”

The two Lairds said nothing else as they walked away, meandering across the town square to find someone who could put them to work. Rosie also took a moment to untangle herself from her mother’s skirts before she bounded back to the other children. No doubt she would tell her friend that she would be staying the night.

Duncan and Alison stood silently for a moment, watching as Rosie ran to a blonde-haired young girl and began talking to her excitedly.

It wasn’t long before Duncan felt Alison’s gaze on his cheek, and he turned his icy gaze back to her.

“Seems like we’ll be stayin’ at another inn,” she said, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Seems like we will.”

“Dinnae get any ideas.” Her words were harsh, but her eyes were twinkling as she looked at him.

Duncan wiggled his eyebrows suggestively but found that he had nothing he needed to say.

“Another whisky?” Sheena MacLoren asked for what seemed like the thousandth time.

Immediately, Alison shook her head. She already felt tipsy, having enjoyed more than her fair share of whisky throughout the night.

The feast had started hours ago, with everyone in the village bringing out tables to line the village square. A hog had been butchered and roasted, and everyone had come together to celebrate the return of the Laird and the end of the war.

Now, with a full belly and a happy mind, Alison smiled broadly at the old woman, who was still trying to convince her to have another glass.

“I cannae,” she said with a chuckle.

The old woman shrugged. “I’ll drink it meself then.” She immediately lifted the glass to her lips.

Then, she stood up and disappeared into the throng of merrymakers. There was a clearing in the center of the square, and men had brought out instruments of every sort. Bagpipes, a bodhran, and a flute came together, filling the air with alluring music.

Couples danced in the square, and children squealed with laughter.

For the first time in a long time, Alison’s soul felt light.

“Ye ken…” Malina’s voice drew her attention, and Alison turned to find her best friend plopping down beside her.

Malina’s cheeks were flushed with drink, and her eyes shone with happiness—an expression that Alison was sure was mirrored on her own face.

“That Laird of yers…” She pointed her finger across the square. “Ye should ask him to dance.”

Duncan was standing at the edge of the square, a glass of whisky in his large hand, deep in conversation with Laird Kincaid and Laird MacDonnell.

Immediately, Alison shook her head. “I cannae,” she whispered.

She was not quite sure why she was so adamant about keeping her voice low. She was talking about her own husband, after all. But she did not want anyone but her best friend to hear what she had to say.

“I cannae imagine him dancin’,” she continued. “What’s more, I’m certain he wouldnae want to dance with me.”

“Ye mean to tell me,” Malina said, pressing her glass to her lips, “that after all the fightin’ the two of ye did the other night, ye dinnae at least want to dance with him a little?”

Alison’s cheeks flushed red at her friend’s thinly veiled insinuation.

She tore her gaze away from Malina and looked across the square at her husband once again. She watched the way his arms flexed, exposing his bulging muscles as he gestured to his friends, the way his sumptuous lips moved when he spoke, and the way his fingers absentmindedly stroked the side of his glass.

Images of what they had done in the sitting room filled her mind. Suddenly, Alison felt like she no longer fit into her own skin. Her heart rate had quickened, and her tightly pressed thighs did nothing to ease her need.

“That’s what I thought,” Malina said with a knowing chuckle. “So go on, lass. Go ask yer husband to dance with ye. If ye dinnae, I’ll do it for ye.”

Alison’s mouth dropped open. “Ye wouldnae dare!” she gasped.

“I would.” Malina cackled. “I’m a good friend. I would do it so fast ye couldnae stop me. Look.”

She began to stand up, making a big show of peeling herself from her seat.

Alison’s hand shot out, immediately landing on her friend’s shoulder and stopping her in her tracks.

“Dinnae!” she squealed. “I’ll do it! I’ll do it meself!”

A satisfied smirk graced Malina’s lips. “What are ye waitin’ for, then?”

“I just need a minute.”

With the idea now planted in her mind, Alison’s breathing had become erratic with nerves while she contemplated how to ask Duncan to dance with her.

“Well, ye might nae have one.”

Alison’s gaze flicked to her friend, but Malina was not looking at her. Instead, her eyes were fixed on a point across the square, in the same direction her husband was sitting. Malina’s smirk didn’t falter, and Alison knew immediately what she would see when she followed her gaze.

Sure enough, when she turned her head, Duncan had risen from the seat he had been occupying and was walking in her direction. His piercing blue eyes were fixed on her, and she felt her cheeks flush even further as he approached.

“Wife,” he greeted. “Dance with me.”

It was not a request.

Normally, Alison would bristle at the demand, tell him no, and give him some kind of sharp retort.

Maybe it was the whisky or the music. Or maybe it was because she had spent the entire evening thinking that if her husband truly was home for good, she was going to have to make the best of it.

But whatever the reason, Alison found herself doing something she had not expected.

She nodded, holding her skirts in her hands as she pushed herself into a standing position. Her husband held out his hand to her, and she eagerly took it.

It was warm, just as she had known it would be. She reveled in his touch as he led her to the center of the village square.

Moving bodies flowed around her, all of them dancing to the music. Duncan lifted her hand, and in a motion more fluid than she thought possible, he spun her around.

Alison threw her head back and stared up at the sky, a startled laugh escaping her throat as she allowed herself to be twirled around.

Sometime during the past few hours, night had fallen. Torches had been lit, and the bonfire in the center of the village square was still more than enough to see by, but it could not diminish the shining stars above.

Duncan’s hand rested on the small of her back, and she stopped twirling, leaning in so her body was close to his. They continued to move to the music, dancing, swaying, and turning. Alison could feel the smile on her face widening with each passing second.

“I didnae think ye could dance like this,” she said, more than a little breathless.

“There’s a lot I can do that would surprise ye,” Duncan said, his tone dark and seductive.

A chill raced down Alison’s spine that had nothing to do with the cool night air.

“Ye seem to be in much better spirits,” Duncan observed after spinning her one more time. “Why had I nae kenned that I only needed to get some whisky down yer throat and ye’d be purrin’ like a kitten?”

“I’m nae purrin’,” Alison said with a chuckle, using one of her hands to lightly slap his chest.

It was strong and solid beneath her palm, and she allowed her hand to rest there for the briefest of moments before dropping it back to his arm. His muscles flexed as they danced, and it conjured up images of the way they had moved while he knelt between her legs.

“Maither! Faither!”

Rosie’s voice rang out over the music, and the pair broke apart. Their daughter was running toward them at full pelt.

Until just a moment ago, she had been busy playing with the other children. But now she held out her arms, signaling to them to take notice of her.

“I want to dance with ye!” she cried, throwing herself at her mother.

Alison’s reflexes, honed from years of raising the wild child that was her daughter, caught her easily. She lifted the girl into the air, eliciting a peel of high-pitched giggles.

“Ye want to dance, do ye!” she exclaimed, tickling her daughter’s belly.

“Aye!” Rosie squealed, curling in on herself as she dissolved into a fit of laughter.

By the time she finished tickling her daughter, Alison was panting. She put Rosie down, helping her find her balance, and held her hand. But it was Duncan whom Rosie was seeking out.

“Will ye dance with me, Faither?” she asked tentatively.

Duncan nodded, extending his hand toward the child. Rosie took it, and Alison sensed that she had been dismissed.

A bit glad for the respite, she took a moment to brush her hair from her face and catch her breath. She walked back toward the table where she’d been sitting earlier and dropped into her seat.

From where she was sitting, she had a clear view of Duncan and Rosie spinning around the dance floor. Duncan was a bit awkward at first, and she could tell he was worried about hurting the girl.

He’ll realize soon enough that bairns arenae as breakable as they appear.

She smiled to herself, remembering the first year she had been left to raise Rosie on her own. She had felt like she was constantly at risk of harming her, that if she moved the wrong way, the infant she was holding and had come to love so much might break into pieces.

But Rosie had not broken. Instead, she had grown tall and strong. Duncan would eventually realize the same.

If he stays, that is.

The thought had zipped through her mind faster than she could control it. Her smile faltered slightly, and she found herself wishing she had accepted the dram Sheena had offered her before she had gone to dance.

Evander moved into her view, and she watched as he marched across the square. He tapped Duncan on the shoulder and muttered something to him, before nodding his head in Alison’s direction.

Duncan nodded in return and bent down to talk to Rosie. Curiosity flared within Alison, but she did not have to wait long to find out what was being discussed.

Rosie immediately began to nod enthusiastically, taking Evander’s hand and allowing him to lead her into their next dance.

Duncan, his typical smirk now more smile than anything, crossed the square with his eyes fixed on Alison.

“Walk with me,” he demanded as he reached her.

His blue eyes shone in the bonfire light, and once again, the only thing Alison could do was nod, place her hand in his, and send up a quick prayer that they did not end up fighting.