by C. J. Bahr
“My ring. I’m so sorry. Hang on.”
He must have slipped his finger out of the trapped ring, because his hand fell away, but a weight still clung stubbornly to her hair. She reached up and clutched it.
“Here, let me—”
“No, I’ve got it.” She took a few steps away and fiddled with her hair, when the ring suddenly released and plopped into her hand. She briefly met his eyes before staring down at her open palm.
A man’s ring, large, thick, and gold, ornate. The crowning piece a bright sparkling sapphire, faceted as an octagon. The jewel rested in a sharply riveted band of gold, almost looking like tight cogs to a watch. This was what had snagged, by evidence of a few wispy strands of her hair still caught between the small grooves.
“It’s a family heirloom.” Alex explained as he closed the distance and stood next to her.
“Is that writing?” She picked up the ring and held it up to her eye. Letters were etched inside the heavy band, nearly worn down, but still visible.
“Aye, Gaelic. Bi Tren.”
She looked up at Alex expectantly. He shrugged, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“Um, I don’t speak the Gaelic, well, only a little and only common small phrases.”
“You’re kidding, right? This is your family’s ring and you don’t know what it says?”
“Well, I’m sure someone did at one point.” He shrugged again.
“It can’t be hard to translate. It’s only two words.”
Before she could close her hand, Alex plucked the ring from her and slipped it onto his finger. “It’s not important, love.” His hand briefly caressed her cheek. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he paused, “and for getting a wee bit too enthusiastic. It was completely uncalled for.”
She swallowed and stared into his eyes, then shook her head. “It’s okay, but I really can’t stay. Beth’s expecting me, and I just barely have enough time to ride back, take care of Gale, and be ready for dinner.”
Laurel took a step away, creating a wider distance between them. “And I doubt I’ll be able to work on the research tomorrow. Remember the garden party? We’ll have to make it another day.”
“Right. I completely forgot, so I guess it’s off to the stables then.” He took her hand and led her from the room. “I have to admit that I’m crushed. I’m sure it would have been a fabulous evening and a grander morning.”
She gave a weak smile, embarrassed. “Alex, I—”
“No worries. It gives me something to look forward to.” He shot her a winning smile, “and the chance to improve my manners.”
Chapter Fourteen
Simon stared at the festively decorated Sinclair House which bore flickering torches lining the gravel drive, to the modern floodlights highlighting the House’s architecture, all set off in the Scottish gloaming. The dance was starting fashionably late in the now setting sun, allowing revelers to nap and recoup after the garden party earlier that afternoon.
He sighed, garden parties were a bore, but he absolutely hated balls. Oh, aye, he could dance, and he didn’t need to worry about the matchmaking since he had been all but engaged since the cradle. It was the superficialness he despised—the excessive politeness, the political posturing, and aye, the dressing up. It had felt fake when he was alive, and now he had over two hundred years worth of the sham.
At least his traditional ball had turned into a party, a costumed event. Making it much easier to blend in, and oddly, over the years, one of the rare places he felt nostalgic. After all, these people were mimicking the era where he had been in the prime of his life. It was ironic how an event he so despised in life became one he now cherished. Sinclair House hadn’t changed much over the years, just the people and he admitted, himself.
He stood off the gravel path and watched from behind the flickering torches, suitably historic, his ghostly presence unseen. The celebrants were arriving faster now, but the one person he searched for remained absent.
Strangely, he felt excited. Was he actually looking forward to meeting the lass again? She’d been trouble ever since he laid eyes on her—falling off cliffs, sleeping in his room, getting involved with MacKenzie. Yet, he hadn’t felt so alive since his death.
His eyes narrowed as he watched a Range Rover he recognized stop at the entrance. Grant, the current owner of his home, got out and took the valet receipt. A second attendant opened the passenger door, helped Grant’s wee wife, Beth, out, and then opened the rear passenger door.
He tensed as a silk encased leg emerged followed by the rest of the lass. His breath caught. She was stunning. She sparkled in the glow of firelight, a glittering gem among the flatness of pearls. He couldn’t make out the exact color of her gown, something golden. Bronze? Which ever it was, the torchlight complimented and highlighted her. The dress was authentic, an empire waist that displayed her breasts and a curve-hugging sheath that caressed down the tall length of her. With her upswept hair, she would have every male in the vicinity eyeing her.
He exhaled as he studied her walking behind Grant and his wife as they entered Sinclair House. Aye indeed, he would enjoy himself tonight. Smiling, he turned away and walked to the rear of the house, stopping in the shadows below the steps to the ballroom’s terrace.
With little effort, Simon willed himself solid, manifesting as his body particles bonded and reformed, giving him human appearance and substance once more. He stepped into the light and strode up the stairs to the landing. He was in his element. Everyone else was pretending tonight, but for him this was real, a part of his history. He sauntered through the French doors, and the room opened before him. The modern light was dimmed in exchange of the old-fashioned gas lamps illuminating the space, revealing the guests crowding the party.
He listened as the orchestra tuned, planning his strategy for the evening. His mouth curled upwards and Simon nodded. Aye, he was going to enjoy tonight.
****
Laurel’s gaze swept the ballroom as she stepped into the large room, just managing to stifle her sigh. The garden party this afternoon had been fun, but this? The white, cream, and yellow flower arrangements coordinated with fabrics artistically draped, and the beautiful old-style lighting gave the room a romantic element. It was all lost on her. It made her feel more awkward, and truthfully, dismayed her more than ever. As she heard the orchestra warming up, a boulder settled in her stomach.
She felt so out of place dressed in a costume gown and heels. She knew it was only a matter of time before she tripped and fell on her face. How had she let everyone talk her into this? She didn’t dance. Plus, the feeling beautiful she’d experienced in the store while trying on the gown had fled. She now felt like a gangly giraffe in pajamas. How could she make it through the evening?
Beth stopped and took her hand, giving it a squeeze. “Would you relax? Wipe off the ‘deer-in-the-headlights’ look. You look gorgeous so enjoy yourself.”
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Nonsense,” Beth frowned. “You’re being ridiculous. Have fun. You don’t know these people. No pressure. If you make an ass of yourself, you’ll never see them again. Well, you won’t once you’re back in Chicago.” She chuckled.
“Gee, Beth, you always manage to say the sweetest things.”
“Oh, lighten up. Again, have fun. That’s an order.” Beth paused, her expression thoughtful. “Your not thinking about Derek, are you?”
“No, of course not.”
“Well, good. Especially since you have a hot, hunky, Highlander interested in you.”
“Yeah, Alex is pretty hot…” She softly replied.
“Hey, wait,” Beth brows furrowed as she placed a hand on Laurel’s arm. “Is everything okay between you two? I thought I only imagined the tension at the picnic this afternoon.”
“No…We’re good…It’s just…” Laurel wasn’t sure what to share. She could tell Beth anything and usually did, but how could she put into words the uneasiness she felt last ni
ght in this house? Especially, true to his word, Alex was nothing but a perfect, wonderful, amazing, gentleman today. It made her doubt her conflicted feelings.
“What?” Beth asked.
“It’s nothing. It’s just this stupid ball. You know how I hate dances. I didn’t even go to most of the school events. How am I supposed to get through this evening?”
Beth gave her a quick hug. “You’ll be fine. Go find Alex. Let him sweep you off your feet.”
“Sure, as long as I don’t take him down with me,” She joked.
“Live a little. Turn that frown upside down,” Beth ordered. “Besides, I’m ditching you. Unlike you, I love a good parrrr-teee.” She turned toward Grant, who’d been chatting with another couple and called out, “Honey, let’s dance.”
Grant made his excuses then stepped to her side as he gave a sweeping bow with a large grin. He gave her a smoldering kiss, and to Laurel it looked like he reluctantly released her. Taking Beth’s arm, he led her to the dance floor.
Laurel watched them go. They were so in love. She was happy for Beth. But standing here alone, her nervous jitters made a reappearance along with her loneliness. She missed having Beth as her wingman.
What she needed was a drink. There had to be alcohol somewhere. She scanned the room and noticed a large gathering near one wall, mostly men, sent to get drinks for their dates, or just searching out some liquid courage of their own? Either way, the bar had to be located near the mob.
Finally finding a true smile, Laurel pressed into the room, threading her way through the crowd to reach the vicinity of the bar. She got no further because a wall of costumed men blocked her goal.
Damn. She could hear the clinks of glass and ice behind the human barricade. So close, yet so far.
“Laurel?”
Double damn. Turning around with a smile plastered to her face, she faced Alex. “Hey.”
“I’ve been searching for you.”
No doubt. “Well, you found me. So cleverly hiding by the bar.”
“Come my beauty,” Alex took her hand. “The opening set is about to start.”
“Alex, I told you I don’t dance. Or at least, not until I’m very drunk. Hence the bar,” she gestured behind her.
“No excuses. You’ll be fine. It’s simple. Just follow and do what everyone else is doing.”
As he dragged her to the center of the dance floor, she noticed while wearing heels, she was now a few inches taller than her escort. Maybe she could take him? Wrestle him off the dance floor? Or maybe she could pick a fight? No, she couldn’t do that to him. Besides, it was too late now, they had arrived on the dance floor, and she could clearly see two lines of people fanning out to face each other. All thoughts fled her head.
Dear God, what kind of dance was this? Please don’t let it be “period”. She couldn’t dance, not modern, and definitely not period. How the hell would she be able to perform the freaking minuet?
“Quit frowning, love,” Alex gave her hand a squeeze. Did people think crushing her hand would really make her feel better?
“It’s just a country dance. We always open the ball with something authentic.”
“News flash, Alex. I. Do. Not. Dance. Which I’ve mentioned about a bazillion times. And now I’m expected to figure out some ancient thing?” She might have been able to stave off her embarrassment dancing “Debbie-dumb” style, but not some real dance. There was no hope.
Alex halted when they reached the first line of people, and positioned her between two women. He stood in front of her, grinning, before giving her a quick affectionate kiss that just brushed her lips.
“It’s easy,” he said, backing away from her. “Just follow what everyone else is doing.”
“Great, I’m sure that’ll transform me into a ballroom dancer.”
Alex barked out a laugh and took his place in line opposite her. Separated by a mere six feet, it was easy for Laurel to catch his wink. She willed herself to relax and offered a small smile back to him. This was supposed to be fun. How hard could it be? Everyone kept telling her it wouldn’t be a problem.
Laurel took a deep breath as the orchestra began to play. After ten bars in four/four time, the women in her line all stepped forward. A beat behind, she joined them.
It went all downhill from there. She did everything late and backwards. It was worst than the Macarena which she’d been forced to attempt at her boss’s son’s bar mitzvah. Now when she was supposed to link arms with a partner and spin right, she reached for the wrong man and found a woman already on his arm. Then when she was supposed to take a step back, inevitably, she stepped forward or to the side. Any direction but the correct one.
Her dancing finally reached the level of absurd when she collided with a parading couple. She couldn’t help herself any longer and started to laugh. The startled couple linked arms with her, and they became a parading threesome.
All the dancers, and she assumed most of the audience, were laughing when the song came to an end. At least she thought so, until she spotted Alex frowning at her. Laurel barely noticed the fond farewells and congratulations of the departing dancers as she watched him approach.
She smiled brightly at him, and shrugged her shoulders. “I told you I didn’t dance.” She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing again.
Alex reached her. “I thought you were exaggerating.”
“Nope.”
“Well, let’s remove you from the dance floor before you cause any more carnage.”
He took her arm and escorted her off the floor toward the open French doors.
“I really am sorry. I did warn you.”
“I should have taken you at your word. No worries, there was little damage done, unless you count a few toes, some of which were mine.” He gave her a brief smile. “However, you’ll have to excuse me. I need to find a partner. As the host, I should be out on the dance floor. There’s one more country-dance, then a waltz, to finish the set. I won’t be gone long.”
“Please, go. Don’t worry about me. I’ll stay over here or at the bar and watch the action from a distance. Everyone’s feet will be safe.”
“You’re a good sport. See you later, aye?”
“Absolutely. Now, go.”
Alex gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before dashing off. He really wasn’t such a bad guy. A smile curled up her lips. She wouldn’t mind watching, especially knowing her participation was over for the evening. She could finally relax and enjoy herself. Alex was movie star handsome tonight in his indigo blue jacket, snowy white cravat, and tight black pants, which showed off some rather droolable assets. Laurel would have a fabulous view for the rest of the event, and with a good single malt scotch in hand, her night couldn’t get better.
Chapter Fifteen
Simon stepped out from behind the potted palm where he’d been lurking, keeping an eye on Laurel. The lass really was a danger to everyone around her. He had no idea anyone could possibly dance that poorly. Maybe he should leave her with MacKenzie, there’s a good chance with her klutzy, accident-prone streak, she may injure him.
But that was wrong. MacKenzie was like a cockroach, impossible to get rid of. Simon highly doubted she’d even be able to harm him. But MacKenzie could certainly hurt her, or something much worse. He needed to warn her, she didn’t deserve what the bounder was capable of doing. If she listened, and he thought that might be a big if—MacKenzie would lose the girl, keeping her safe. And foiling MacKenzie’s plans, fit perfectly within Simon’s world—anything to screw the fecker.
He prowled closer, careful as always to never reveal himself to the key players. It had gotten easier over the centuries as those he knew and loved died. He supposed he was lucky with even his portrait gone from Cleitmuir, no one on earth knew who he truly was—but he couldn’t fight the wave of bitter loneliness. Everyone thought him a greedy, cursed kin-slayer. The irony didn’t escape him that MacKenzie was the only one who knew the truth, and MacKenzie was the heir of his sworn enemy. Eve
ryone thought Simon long dead. His body had disappeared well over two centuries ago, and his spirit shredded by the intervening years. There was little left except the longing for peace.
He approached Laurel who shivered. The temperature change near him couldn’t be helped. There was always a chill when he materialized. With enough time spent solid, the levels evened out, but there would always be that telltale sign to herald his arrival.
Stopping directly behind her, Simon followed her gaze to MacKenzie, who was out on the dance floor with a vibrant red head. He cringed as time blurred watching this MacKenzie as he had the other with Fiona. What was it with MacKenzie’s and redheads? At least this lass before him had brown hair.
“Jealous, are ye?” Simon asked.
If she was startled by the sudden voice behind her, she hid it well. The lass didn’t move, except to turn her head and look over her shoulder. Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned.
“Excuse me?”
He fought to keep a grin off his face. He irritated her, which was fine, because she was a bothersome chit. Still, he couldn’t help teasing her. Her feisty responses and her willingness not to back down from him was a small light in his darkness. He rarely got to interact anymore and realized how much he missed the human contact. He’d make the most of it. “You were staring at MacKenzie,” he taunted. “Do you wish you were in his arms now?”
“For the love of—” She stopped herself, faced forward shaking her head. “For your information, I danced with Alex already.”
Simon snorted. “If you can call it that.”
She whirled around glaring. “At least I tried. I didn’t see you out there.” Then, like the sun breaking through storm clouds, she smiled up at him. “What the hell, I suppose you’re right. It was pretty horrific. I never could dance. You should have seen me at my senior prom.”
He stared at her, mesmerized for a moment. She was a lovely lass, especially when she was laughing at herself. A rare gift, indeed. “Maybe it’s not you? It does take two.”
She shook her head. “Not likely.” Her smile grew larger. “Why is it our conversations turn into arguments? I never met someone who pushed my buttons like you do, and I don’t even know you. You have a special talent.”
