by Darci Balogh
The violinist continued to play but his music faded as they moved into the Great Hall and toward the doors of the ballroom. They strolled past the entrance to the kitchen then past the weapons room. For a fleeting moment her memory of Shaun in the weapons room fluttered through her mind, then she pushed it aside. Tonight was not about reliving her past indiscretions with the unethical gardener. Tonight she would start fresh. Tonight marked the mid-point of their Scottish vacation and she had a feeling that it was more than that. This night was definitely a turning point of this trip, yes, but there was a strangeness in the air that made her think it was the beginning of something big. Having this experience was just the first adventure in a long line of adventures that was going to take her places she'd never imagined. She felt as if she was moving at a new vibration. Slow motion through the world.
They drew closer to the huge double doors of the ballroom. Tawnyetta had seen this room on her tour with Stewart, but it had just been a wide open space, unlit and uninhabited, echoing and lonely.
That was not the case tonight.
Music streamed out of the double doors as Stewart opened them with aplomb, finally drowning out the violinist in the distance and giving Tawnyetta her first view of the extravagant gala inside.
Chapter Thirteen
Great crystal chandeliers cast light that looked like so many diamonds tumbling down from the ceiling. The walls, nearly 30 feet high, held towering mirrors along one whole side of the ballroom. Windows on the opposite wall, the only outside wall in the room, looked out across the back of the estate that was lit with lamps along the pathways. The other two walls were covered with a golden wallpaper that had a dark green pattern of what might have been a family crest, Tawnyetta couldn't tell as it was just dark enough for the pattern to be seen with clarity. Wall mounted lights shimmered. Flickering candlelight behind their heavy cut crystal scattered the light across the gold and green walls and reflected on the massive mirrors so that droplets of light flew in all directions.
Stewart stepped through the doors and took up a position facing the crowd just to the left at the top of four steps that led down into the ballroom. All eyes turned toward them. From what Tawnyetta could see from her limited view behind all of the Prescotts, there might have been over a hundred people in the ballroom already.
Mr. and Mrs. Prescott, being the eldest, stood arm-in-arm next to Stewart. It appeared they had done this kind of thing before because they were perfectly calm as they looked out across the attentive crowd and waited for the butler to speak.
"Mr. and Mrs. James Prescott the second," Stewart announced in a booming voice that pushed its way into the room despite the orchestra's fervent playing.
Bridget squeezed Tawnyetta's arm and leaned over to whisper in her ear, "This is just like in the movies."
Tawnyetta nodded and smiled and tried not to be nervous, although the formality of everything was a bit overwhelming. Luckily, they were last in line and she had a chance to study the process as Stewart introduced each of the Prescott couples in turn and they moved down the steps into the waiting crowd. There, the other guests greeted them warmly and shook their hands.
Finally it was her and Bridget's turn. Since they did not have escorts, they were announced individually. Stewart indicated Bridget should step up next to him. So she did.
"Miss Bridget Long," Stuart boomed.
Tawnyetta watched the faces of the other guests as they gazed at Bridget in her form fitting pink gown and abundant blonde curls. They weren't used to seeing someone as unapologetically gorgeous, Tawnyetta realized. In fact, they looked literally stunned, which is why the word so often used to describe Bridget was 'stunning'. Tawnyetta could only see the back of her friend, but Bridget must have smiled at the crowd because several women and all of the men smiled back, some of them bowing their heads slightly in her direction.
Tawnyetta watched as Bridget moved down into the crowd. Now it was her turn. She threw her shoulders back and smoothed the green silk on the front of her dress. Taking a deep breath she stepped as gracefully as possible next Stewart. She smiled at him nervously. He caught her eye and tilted his head in an encouraging gesture.
"Miss Tawnyetta Campbell," Stewart announced, his voice pressing against the swelling waltz that filled the room.
Her nerves took over and she was unable to smile. She simply tried to make eye contact with as many of the guests as possible and not look afraid. Quickly, her moment in the spotlight was over and Stewart gave her the slightest tilt of his head to indicate she could join the others. With relief washing over her she turned to join the crowd and forgot about the four steps she had to walk down to get there. She took one great stride forward, but her foot didn't find solid ground and she hung in the air awkwardly, alarm shooting through her body. Her arms flew out as she tried to catch her balance. Despite this reflex and every muscle in her body straining to lean back and steady herself, Tawnyetta knew with sickening certainty that she was about to fall down the stairs.
A strong hand grabbed her elbow and pulled her to the landing. She glanced back to find Stewart holding her arm, still averting his eyes and acting as if nothing at all had happened.
"Watch your step," he said quietly.
She got her balance quickly and said, "Thank you." Turning to look over the crowd she saw that they were either politely ignoring the fact that she had almost fell on her face or they hadn't seen it happen. Deciding to focus on the latter, Tawnyetta stepped into the ballroom, gratefully taking Bridget's hand. Soon they were lost in the sea of music and people.
Voices rose around her in greeting. Some were definitely Scottish, some had British accents, but there were no other Americans that she could hear. It was difficult to discern exactly what people were saying to her over the music. But she nodded and shook hands when they were offered and tried to look as receptive and poised as possible.
Being in the midst of the ball was even more magical than seeing it through the doorway. Men in black tuxedos, some wearing kilts of various reds and greens and black tartans where their trousers would normally be, and women in bright, flowing gowns and glittering jewels, filled the room so Tawnyetta could not see the floor. The crystallized light from the chandeliers shimmered through the air over them. Tiny sparkles seemed to be floating on the sound of the music, moving with each note. The experience was all encompassing and Tawnyetta thought she might lift into the air on the energy in this room.
She felt him before she saw him.
Warmth on the nape of her neck like a hot summer sun burning into her skin. Air moving and trickling across her shoulders, sending a shiver along the length of her spine.
She turned and locked eyes with him through the crowd. He wore a short, tailored, black tuxedo jacket and vest, a crisp white shirt with a charcoal silk tie, and a grey and black kilt with a black fur and silver sporran positioned so that it hung several inches below his waist in the dead center of the front of his kilt.
The orchestra started a darker waltz with a deep rhythm. The heavy thrumming rippled through her body. Twinkling lights moved slowly in a circle over the walls and orchestra and crowd, as if pushed by the sound of the song, like they were riding on a carousel and there was no way to get off.
Tawnyetta held her breath and could not look away from those deep blue eyes that were glued to her own. Shaun. In a kilt. Moving toward her with the rhythm of the waltz as if they were already dancing. As if they'd never stopped.
Her heart beat madly, but she didn't move. There were too many people surrounding her for her to escape without pushing and shoving. Worse than that, she didn't want to escape. Curse him and the quiet upturn of his mouth, the damnable fullness of his lips, the mesmerizing twinkle of mischief in his eyes. How was she supposed to tame her attraction to this devilishly handsome man? His eyes captivated her. The voices around her disappeared and all she could hear was the dramatic waltz. All she could see was Shaun moving steadily toward her, his gait unbroken by the crowd. Tawnyet
ta must be imagining things because it seemed as if the crowd parted in front of him and the tiny floating lights swirled and danced more feverishly through the air as he got closer.
Then he was there, standing inches away from her, looking down at her with such intensity she was sure he was going to kiss her.
"May I have this dance, Miss Tawnyetta Campbell?" His brogue was low, rolling over his tongue. Another shiver went down her spine.
"You've met already?" Mrs. Prescott said, sounding slightly put off at the idea. She and Bea stood on one side of Tawnyetta, Bridget on the other. Bea's eyebrows were raised in surprise. Bridget looked both impressed at the sight of this tall, dark and handsome Scotsman, and confused at his attention to Tawnyetta.
Tawnyetta pulled back from Shaun, realizing that their interaction must look bad considering he was an engaged man. "Yes, we've met, in the garden," she explained.
"We haven't met, yet," Bridget said brightly. She shot Tawnyetta a teasing glance, silently berating her friend for not telling her about her escapades in the garden. Bridget extended her hand toward Shaun.
He tore his gaze away from Tawnyetta and stepped back. Gathering himself, he stood up straight and looked politely at the other ladies.
Then, taking Bridget's hand and bowing, he said, "Please forgive me for not introducing myself, m'lady. I am Laird Michael MacBrody."
Chapter Fourteen
Tawnyetta's mouth fell open, but the shock of his words only lasted for a few moments before she let out a guffaw of disbelief. Her laugh was so course and loud it drew the attention of many people around them. Shaun seemed surprised at her outburst as well, which was ridiculous. He knew it was a joke. But when Tawnyetta took in the expressions on the faces surrounding her she could see that they did not believe he was joking at all.
"He's joking," Tawnyetta made an accusing gesture towards Shaun. "Or lying," she added with a tinge of snipe. Nobody moved.
Bridget blinked several times switching her gaze between Shaun and Tawnyetta. Mrs. Prescott pursed her lips together in a silent reprimand of all Americans and their ridiculous outbursts. Shaun, still holding Bridget's hand, looked back and forth between the two of them, baffled.
"I thought you said you'd met?" Bea interjected, trying to restore decorum to the situation.
Shaun let go of Bridget's hand and turned back to Tawnyetta. "We have. Several times," he said.
Put out by the calm way in which Shaun was impersonating Laird Michael and how everyone seemed to be going along with it, Tawnyetta shook her head. "You're not Laird Michael." The words blurted out of her at a volume that she didn't intend.
Shaun's eyebrows arched and one side of his mouth twitched up. "Am I not?"
"Of course this is Laird Michael," Mrs. Prescott scolded her.
Bridget's eyes moved down Shaun's body to his strong, muscular legs showing under his kilt. She considered those legs for an instant then shot Tawnyetta a look that said everything. They had both seen those legs before.
"I–I–" Tawnyetta was at a loss for words. Her disdain for Shaun and his antics turned to confusion and then mortification. Heat rose in her cheeks and she clamped her mouth shut to avoid saying anything else. Shaun and Laird Michael were the same person?
Laird Michael seemed to find the entire situation amusing. He reached his hand out to her, palm up. "Perhaps we can clear this matter up while we dance."
Tawnyetta looked down at his hand, wide and calloused in places. For lack of any better way of escaping the strange looks she was getting from everyone else, she placed her hand in his. His fingers, warm and strong, wrapped gently around hers.
Immediately, Shaun–or Laird Michael–turned and led her through the crowd, which indeed parted for him as he walked. Tawnyetta blushed furiously at her misunderstanding. Of course they had made way for him before, he was the Laird and this was his castle.
When they reached the edge of the dance floor, he turned to face her, slipping one hand around her waist and lifting the hand he already held into the air in a waltz position. Tawnyetta silently thanked her parents for forcing her to learn how to ballroom dance. At the time she had thought they were ridiculous, but her feet found the steps easily and she was able to move with some modicum of grace across the dance floor. At least if everyone thought she was a fool, they wouldn't think she was a fool who didn't know how to dance.
Sha–or Laird Michael, kept his gaze on her, a half crooked smile on his face. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he watched her and she knew he was enjoying her discomfort.
"If I'm not Laird MacBrody," he finally asked. "Who is it that you think I am, lass?"
Tawnyetta clenched her mouth shut and jutted out her chin, holding her head up high. She averted her eyes from his amused expression and stared fiercely at nothing nearby.
When she didn't answer, he grinned and cleared his throat to try again. "I take it you don't wish to talk about it?
She snapped her eyes back to him and said, "I don't like being teased. And I don't like being lied to."
"Ho ho," he chuckled as he turned her expertly around the far end of the dance floor. "And what did I lie to you about, exactly?"
Frustrated, and slightly out of breath, both from the shock of her realization of his true identity and the dancing, Tawnyetta answered, "You never said you were Laird Michael. You never introduced yourself."
Once again his eyebrows arched in amused surprise. "But who else would I be?"
She scowled in frustration. He let her think about her next move as he guided them through a particularly busy section of the dance floor. She wondered how long this song was and if, perhaps, she could get out of telling him anything else by just staying silent for the rest of their dance.
In those long moments of silence they moved across the floor as if they had waltzed many times together. He was an excellent dancer. All she had to do was hold her form and keep her feet in time to the three-step rhythm of the music and he took care of the rest. By applying barely perceptible pressure with his hands, the Laird of Claymore Castle twirled her across the floor. Their bodies were perfectly in tune with each other. As he gazed down at her Tawnyetta slipped under the spell of his deep blue eyes. It was difficult not to. He was so handsome, and dark, and masculine, with his short trimmed beard and tuxedo jacket. Their bodies were very close, though not touching. Still, she could feel the warmth of him. He smelled good, too. Like spring run off in the Rocky Mountains and rich spices.
She sighed inwardly. May as well admit her mistake. "I thought you were the gardener, Shaun," she told him.
It took a few beats for this information to penetrate Michael's mind. When it registered, he asked, "The caretaker's assistant?" She nodded. Michael threw back his head and laughed out loud, gaining the attention of the others on the dance floor.
"Shh," she said, glancing around apologetically. "You don't have to make a scene about it."
"Oh, sorry," he said, a twinkle in his eyes. He wasn't sorry.
They made another turn around the floor while Michael pondered the situation and Tawnyetta tried to focus on dancing.
"I suppose you wouldn't expect to see the Laird of the castle working in the garden," he conceded.
"Exactly!" she exclaimed, delighted he understood. "That's what I'm saying."
Michael chuckled again and shook his head. "Shaun. He's a wee scrawny lad. I've not been mistaken for him before."
"Is he? I wouldn't know, I guess." Tawnyetta's brow puckered. "I don't think I've ever seen him." Michael laughed out loud again. "And," she added, "He’s engaged."
"That he is, indeed, to Anne." She could almost see the wheels in his head turning. He looked at her with sudden understanding. "Is that why you were angry at me yesterday by Artemis?"
She blushed again then nodded.
Michael MacBrody, Laird of Claymore Castle, laughed out loud for the third time during their waltz, an unequalled event in some people's eyes. But he wasn't paying attention to anyone's eyes except fo
r the amber eyes in front of him. He pulled Tawnyetta closer to him, just barely, so the chance of their body's touching increased tenfold as this song ended and the next began.
Four waltzes later he led her back to where he'd found her where Bridget and the others waited. Walking hand-in-hand, with the crowd once again parting to make way for them, Tawnyetta thought how odd it was that you could become so comfortable with someone after only 30 minutes. Dancing did that to people.
"Did you get everything straightened out?" Bridget asked. Her eyes flicked to their hands clasped together, then back to their faces.
Suddenly self-conscious, Tawnyetta slipped her hand out of his grip. "I think so. Apparently I mistook Laird Michael for the gardener." She shrugged as if this was an everyday occurrence.
"Get out!" Bea exclaimed.
"In her defense," Michael explained. "I do a lot of the outside work here. It relieves a wee bit of stress."
"I see," Bridget responded. Again her gaze switched between Tawnyetta and Michael. Tawnyetta felt uneasy, on the spot.
"Are you ladies enjoying the ball?" Michael asked politely.
"We are, thank you," Bea answered with a half curtsy. "My mother and father-in-law are burning up the floor."
Mr. and Mrs. Prescott could be seen moving stiffly, yet efficiently, across the dance floor.
"Have you had a chance to dance yet?" Michael asked Bea.
She flushed. Her face turned all red and splotchy under his attention. "Oh no, my husband is not one for dancing."
"I would be honored if you would dance with me." He held out his hand to Bea, whose splotches turned even brighter and a decidedly unladylike giggle bubbled out of her throat. Michael ignored her reaction and took her hand. "Please excuse us," he nodded to Bridget and then to Tawnyetta, holding her gaze for just a moment longer than was necessary.
