by Deborah Hale
“Aye, something like that.” Ewan chuckled. “But louder and faster, with more to drink.”
“Will there be dancing?” From her fifteenth summer until the year he’d gone away, she had hoped with all her heart that Ewan Geddes would ask her for a dance at the gillies’ ball.
“Eightsome reels until yer feet ache.” He spoke in a coaxing tone that Claire would have found difficult to resist … if she’d wanted to. “Singing and stories and toasts. Piping and fiddling. Cakes and ale and maybe something stronger.”
This might well be their last evening together. Part of her wanted to spend it alone with him. Perhaps that was not the best course, though. With a crowd of other people around, she might not be so tempted to say or do something to betray her feelings for him.
“What do ye say, then?” Ewan winked and gave her hand a squeeze.
“You’re certain it won’t make your friends uncomfortable to have me there—the Lady of Strathandrew?”
This time she watched his face carefully, to make certain he was telling the truth. She’d cheerfully let him go without her rather than spoil the wedding celebration. Well, perhaps not cheerfully …
He mulled over her question, and she could tell what his answer would be. She steeled herself to insist he go without her.
“It might be a wee bit awkward at first,” he admitted. “I hadn’t given it much thought.”
Claire stifled a sigh. At least he hadn’t lied to her. She sensed he never would.
“But,” he added, “that’s apt to be as much on my account as yers. After ten years over in America, I’m a bit of a stranger in these parts, myself.”
“So you want me for company in case nobody else will dance with you?” She couldn’t resist teasing him.
“It’s not like that. Anybody who comes in goodwill is welcome at a ceilidh. After a few dances and a pint or two, everybody’s yer friend, anyway.”
That had a vastly appealing sound.
“In that case, Mr. Geddes—” Claire rose from their rock perch to bob a little curtsy “—I’d be honored to go with you.”
Ewan shifted his grip on her hand and brought the backs of her fingers to his lips. “The honor … and the pleasure … will be all mine, lass.”
“It doesn’t look like we’ve anything to worry about.” Ewan leaned over on the driver’s bench of the small pony cart to whisper in Claire’s ear. “The ceilidh’s already started. I doubt anybody will even notice we’re here.”
A spate of rain in the afternoon had given way to a fine, warm evening, so the festivities were being held out-of-doors. Lanterns hung from tree branches and perched on improvised tables, though it was not yet dark enough to need them. The hearty smells of fish, meat and bread wafted on the evening air along with the rollicking music of several fiddles, some tin whistles and a hand drum.
Since the bride’s father was the local brewer and tavern keeper, ale flowed freely, while two sets of dancers whirled through an eightsome reel. Ewan knew the men would pass around whiskey flasks to supplement the refreshments later on.
Most of the Strathandrew staff had already arrived and were taking an eager part in the festivities. Claire’s little Welsh maid was dancing with Jockie McMurdo, while Glenna spun around on the arm of Alec, the footman. When she caught sight of Ewan and Claire together, she shot him a knowing grin.
Clutching Claire’s hand, Ewan threaded his way through the crowd in search of the bride and groom.
“Ewan Geddes, we heard you were home from America!” Winnie pulled him down for a kiss on the cheek. “Is this just a visit, or are ye planning to stay?”
“I meant it just to be a visit, but now that I’m back … I don’t know.”
“Geordie, love!” Winnie reached over and tugged on the coat sleeve of her bridegroom. “Look, it’s Ewan, come all the way from America! Isn’t it good to see him again?”
“That it is, lass.” Geordie wrapped one arm around his bride’s hips, while extending his free hand toward Ewan. “We’re glad to have ye here to celebrate with us, Ewan.”
“I hope ye don’t mind. I brought a friend, Claire Talbot. I’m staying at Strathandrew as her guest.”
The newlyweds gave Claire a warm welcome, inviting her to have something to eat or join in the dancing.
“Aye.” Ewan almost had to shout to make himself heard above the fiddle music and the general hubbub. “Dancing sounds like a fine idea. We’ll work up an appetite for that good food. Geordie, ye’re a luckier man than ye deserve after the way ye tormented this poor lass while we were at school.”
He slipped a handkerchief out of his coat pocket, knotted to hold several gold coins. He wished he could give them more, but knew this would be all they would take without embarrassment.
“A wee something for a wedding present, Winnie.” He dropped the little bundle into her hand. “Don’t let this rascal put upon ye, now.”
The music came to an end on a long drawn out chord, after which the dancers applauded, then dispersed, flocking to the refreshment tables. The musicians each took a quick drink, then raised their instruments again.
Ewan nodded toward the broad, flat bit of ground where fresh eightsomes were marshaling. “Dance, Claire?”
“I should like that very much.” In the soft light of the setting sun, her smile took on a special glow. Did this dance mean something more to her than he knew?
He had no time to ask, for they were soon swept up in the spirited music and movement of one reel, then another. Every time his hand came in contact with hers, it felt different than the other lasses’. The skin of his palm tingled, as if warmed suddenly after coming in from the cold. When the steps of the dance separated them, his gaze followed her with jealous intensity. He begrudged every moment it took for Claire to find her way back into his arms.
When Captain MacLeod, the bride’s uncle, made bold to claim a dance with Claire, Ewan surrendered her hand reluctantly. Someone pressed a mug of cold ale into his hand, after which he retreated to watch from a distance.
“Ye look like ye’re having a good time.” Glenna suddenly appeared at his side, her voice barely audible above the music.
“Oh, aye.” Ewan tipped up his mug for another drink, not taking his eyes off Claire.
“I’ve never seen Miss Talbot so lively.” Something in Glenna’s tone warned Ewan she was making more than a casual observation. “She’s aye bonny when she smiles and her eyes get that sparkle.”
He nodded.
“I always liked her,” said Glenna, “for all she’s quieter than her sister. The way she speaks to the servants, ye get the feeling she respects what ye do, without making a big fuss.”
“And?” If the lass had something to say, Ewan wished she’d spit it out. This reel was almost over, and he wanted to be well placed to claim Claire again in case one of the other lads took a notion to dance with her.
“I’m thinking I should have kept my mouth shut about her being sweet on ye. I wouldn’t have said anything, but I thought ye must have known.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Ewan drained his ale, then handed the empty mug to Glenna.
She grabbed him by the shirtsleeve before he could get away. “Be kind to her, Ewan, ye hear me? Don’t go amusing yerself with the lady.”
Colm MacLeod’s ale was good and strong, and Ewan had downed his pint fast. His head and his heart felt full to the brim with froth.
“I promise, lass.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave a hearty squeeze. “I hope ye have no objections if I let her amuse herself with me.”
He didn’t stay to find out, for the reel was winding down to its final bars.
The captain bowed to Claire as the music ended. “Would ye care for another round, Miss Talbot? Ye step as light as thistledown!”
“Why, thank you, Captain.” Claire fanned her flushed face with her hand and answered in a breathless voice. “But I believe I must rest and have a drink before I do any more dancing.”
She turned toward the sound of his voice with a smile and a look that set him dizzy. “Cider please, if it wouldn’t be too much bother.”
“No bother at all.” He drew her away from the dancing toward the table where drinks were being dispensed.
Claire subsided against him. Ewan could feel her heart pounding, and it made his pound faster. “I haven’t danced like that in years. I’m so glad we came.”
“I’m glad ye came.” He had almost enough ale in him to ask the question that had been burning in his mind since last night. When Glenna had made him see his past … and perhaps his future, in a whole new light.
They finished their drinks in time to join the next reel. After another vigorous spell of dancing, they refreshed themselves with both food and drink. Then they danced some more.
“Ye’re just in time,” said Winnie’s sister awhile later, when she passed Ewan yet another pint for himself and a mug of cider for Claire. “After this next reel, they’re going to have the toasts, so save a bit of yer drink.”
Ewan promised they would. Then he found them an empty bench, under the broad boughs of an old oak tree, where they could rest their feet while they watched the festivities. Claire tossed back her cider so fast he was obliged to fetch her another for the toasts.
“Go a little easier on this one, lass,” he warned when he placed the refilled mug in her waiting hands.
“I’ll try.” She took a sip that lengthened into a substantial drink. “But I’m thirsty, and this is so refreshing!”
He could not gainsay her. The MacLeods had a well-deserved reputation as good brewers, and Ewan suspected they had put by a few kegs of their best ale and cider to celebrate their youngest daughter’s wedding.
“This isn’t like the mild stuff Rosie makes.” He tried again, for he feared one of them might need to keep their wits later, and it wasn’t going to be him. “It’s hard cider.”
Claire nodded and clinked her mug against his. “It’s fine hard cider. Remind me to buy a few kegs of it to take back to London.” A wee bubble of laughter burst out of her. “Perhaps this could be part of our business enterprise for Strathandrew!”
“Perhaps it could, lass.” Though at the moment, business was the very last thing on his mind.
Yes, indeed! This was fine cider and a fine night for a fine party. Unlike the social functions she’d been obliged to attend in London, Claire didn’t much care if she ever went home.
Another reel broke up. This time the fiddlers set aside their instruments to take up brimming ale and cider mugs instead. The groom got everyone’s attention long enough to propose a toast to his new in-laws for the grand ceilidh they’d hosted.
Claire was more than eager to drink to that.
Other toasts followed, some in English and a few in Gaelic that Ewan translated for her. It was a haunting, musical language, she decided, far more outlandish-sounding than French or German or any of the other foreign tongues of which she could understand at least a few words. A language for extravagant, poetic endearments, capable of seducing a woman without half trying.
“This is the last one,” said Ewan as Captain MacLeod rose and lifted his mug. “A toast to the bride and groom for their life together.”
The captain spoke a phrase of rolling, lilting words that everyone else present seemed to understand.
“May you hereafter be blessed,” Ewan whispered, “with plenty of fish in your net. Plenty of oats in your kettle. Plenty of peat on your hearth. Plenty of bairns in your cradle.”
The last bit sent a ripple of laughter through the crowd.
“And plenty of love in your hearts,” Ewan concluded.
Claire drank the toast with the rest, despite some reservations. Not that she begrudged the newlyweds any of those things. “Rather modest hopes for your friends, don’t you think?”
“Do ye reckon?” Ewan glanced down at her. “I’d say that old wedding toast covers the most important things in life. Enough to eat and keep warm.”
He lifted his hand to cup her cheek. “A family to love.”
Those impossibly sweet words sounded almost like an offer. Especially when accompanied by his chaste but intimate touch.
“Claire, I’ve got something to ask ye.” The intensity of his gaze excited and dismayed her in equal measure.
She wanted to brace herself for his question with one last drink, but she had emptied her mug after the last toast. “What do you want to know?”
He opened his mouth to ask, then hesitated and looked around. “This may not be the best place to talk about it. Do ye mind if I fetch ye home?”
And bring this night to an end one moment before she must?
“Couldn’t we stay for one more dance? It looks as though they’re getting ready to start again.”
One of the musicians had picked up his fiddle and was sliding his bow in a tentative caress over the strings.
“There’ll be some singing now.” Ewan glanced up into the darkened sky. “Besides, the wind’s changed. Clouds starting to blow up.”
Perhaps it would be best to start for Strathandrew. All that cider was going to her head. If she had any more, she was liable to say or do something to embarrass herself and tarnish the memory of her time with Ewan. Besides, she was curious to find out what he would ask.
“Very well, then. Home it is.” As she surged up from the bench, her head began to spin. She might have fallen if Ewan had not risen and slid his arm under hers to keep her upright.
“None too soon for ye, I’d say.” He chuckled as he steered her toward the spot where he’d left the pony cart.
“I can walk perfectly well, Ewan Geddes,” Claire insisted, though she made no effort to pull herself out of his arms. “I got up a little too quickly, that’s all.”
“Aye, and put down a load of hard cider too quickly.”
As they made their way toward the pony cart, Claire’s maid came running over to them. “Are you going home now, miss? Shall I come along to get you ready for bed?”
The little Welsh girl sounded willing, though perhaps not eager to leave. No more eager than Claire was to have any company but Ewan’s on the ride back to Strathandrew.
“I can manage on my own for tonight, thank you, Williams.” She waved the girl away. “You stay with the others and enjoy yourself.”
“Thank you, miss. If you’re sure?”
“I am quite resolved.”
Jockie McMurdo drew Miss Williams back to the party.
“Don’t worry about getting up too early tomorrow,” Claire called after them. “I’m certain I shall be sleeping in.”
“Come along, then.” Ewan tugged her toward the cart. “Before we both end up sleeping along the side of the road somewhere.”
Sleeping by the side of the road on a warm summer night didn’t sound like such a hardship, if it meant lying in his arms. Claire barely resisted the urge to tell him so. Perhaps it was that lovely cider at work. The reasons for keeping all kinds of secrets no longer seemed as compelling as they once had.
As she and Ewan drove away from the ceilidh, a Gaelic song wafted on the night air. Though Claire could not understand a single word, it was impossible to mistake the poignant edge of longing, for it struck an answering chord within her.
“So,” she said after they had driven a little way in silence, “are you going to ask me that important question? Or was it just a ruse to get me away from the ceilidh before I drank any more cider and made a fool of myself?”
Ewan shook his head. “It wasn’t a trick. I’m just wondering if it’s such a good idea to ask, after all.”
“You make it sound ominous.” Claire listed sideways until her head rested against his arm. She wasn’t sleepy … exactly. Just very, very relaxed. “I think you might as well, though. Otherwise, you’ll never know. Then you’ll always wonder about it and wish you’d asked when you had the chance.”
> “I reckon yer right, lass.” He gave a soft chuckle. “Ye talk surprising good sense for having so much of Colm MacLeod’s hard cider in ye.”
A giggle gushed out of Claire. The kind that would have set her teeth on edge if she’d been sober. “Sensible—that’s me. Even my stepmother says so. Sensible and unemotional. Almost as good as talking to a man.”
Her brainless giggle turned into a pathetic little hiccup of a sob. “Do you think I’m as good as talking to a man, Ewan? Is that why you’ve liked keeping company with me this week?”
“No, lass, no!” He pulled the pony to a stop, then twisted about to wrap his arms around her.
Oh, it felt lovely! The clouds had pretty much covered what was left of the moon. Still, Claire wondered if there was enough of its light to mix with MacLeod’s ale and make Ewan kiss her. Without any stupid glass to break this time, and bring him to his senses.
She felt his lips against her hair—a good start. She lifted her face.
Ewan didn’t kiss her, but he did press his brow to hers. “Much as it pains me to agree with Lady Lydiard, ye are a sensible person, Claire. I have enjoyed yer company and getting to know ye. But not because ye’re anything like a man!”
That was some comfort at least.
“Now,” he murmured. “About that question of mine …”
To hell with his question! How could she give an answer that made any sense with his lips so maddeningly close to hers?
“This business with Geordie and Winnie got me to thinking. When we were young and foolish, and tormenting the life out of each other, I don’t suppose ye ever … had a bit of a fancy for me?”
He sounded as though he found the notion preposterous. If she denied it, he might believe her, even as she clung to him.
“Congratulations, Ewan Geddes. You’ve finally figured it all out … ten years too late.”
“Ah, lassie.” He ran his hand over her hair until he cupped the back of her head, tilting her face a fraction of an inch higher. “Are ye certain it is too late?”
She parted her lips to answer. But before she could get the words out, Ewan kissed her, searing every sensible thought from her mind with the delicious heat of his mouth.
