The dancing had begun before the last guests arrived, but if Sara thought Colleen would wait until the end of the set to commandeer Gavin, she was mistaken. He had no sooner moved from his post then she uttered the heartfelt cry, “At last!” left her place in the line, and dragged him off to take the place of an accommodating young man who obligingly relinquished his place in the set.
“Looks as though we have both been deserted,” Sara said to the rejected man, hoping she didn’t sound as envious as she felt. She forced herself to move among her guests, speaking to the ladies, trying to fix their names in her memory, and keeping her thoughts off Gavin and the buxom redhead who was his partner. But her eyes continued to seek him out, and after her anger faded, she began to watch him in admiration. It was impossible not to be impressed by his looks or his skill at the dance.
Sara had never seen him in a kilt, but she decided she liked it. The glimpses of his powerful thighs as the steps of the dance lifted the skirt increased her body temperature. She could see why the Scots were a lusty race. They were dressed for it.
The dance came to an end, and Sara wondered where she could hide so that it wouldn’t be noticed when Gavin danced with someone else, but to her utter amazement, he crossed the length of the room to reach her.
“Come,” he beckoned to her. “We’re going to lead the next set.”
“But I don’t know the figures,” Sara protested, even though she would have been willing to risk life and limb in a totally unfamiliar dance just to be near Gavin.
“It’s a country dance,” he told her. “You could perform the steps in your sleep.”
“If you’re sure,” but Sara had already headed toward the floor.
“You didn’t take long to make up your mind,” he said, an engaging look in his eyes.
“No, I didn’t, did I?” she said, and the dimples appeared. Sara couldn’t resist a glance at Colleen as she took her place at the head of the double line.
“We’ve been playmates since childhood,” Gavin said, noticing the direction of her gaze.
“She’s no longer a child, nor do I think she’s thinking of children’s games,” Sara replied, the tartness of acid sounding in her voice.
“No, she’s very much a woman,” Gavin replied, irrationally annoyed at both women for catching him between them. This was something he didn’t know how to handle, but he soon forgot Colleen and the tension her presence was creating. Sara looked unbelievably lovely, her charm and grace did him credit, and she was proving herself a most skillful dancer.
“I must congratulate you on the success of your party,” Gavin said when the dance brought them together. “You seem to have emptied every house within miles.”
“Mary tells me they’ve had few parties of late, what with the war and the scarcity of money. I decided it was a good chance to use some of your London wealth.”
“You mean my father’s,” Gavin said bitterly.
“Or mine.” Gavin’s good humor fled completely at the reminder that he had turned Sara’s fortune over to his father. He had been feeling increasingly guilty about that lately, but no mere letter to his father would alter the situation. Sooner or later he was going to have to journey to London, and force the Earl to hand back Sara’s fortune. And quite frankly, Gavin didn’t know how he was going to do that.
The dance came to an end and Colleen made a spirited attempt to regain Gavin as her partner, but Sara was relieved to see that he proceeded to dance with a series of ladies, even though Colleen’s eyes unabashedly followed him around the floor. Sara’s guests were treated to the amusing spectacle of Colleen dancing with one man and staring doggedly at another. No one present seemed to take it amiss, but Sara could not master the feeling of irritation every time she saw those green eyes hungrily fixed on her husband. Sara had begun to feel very possessive about Gavin, and she resented Colleen’s proprietary attitude.
Sara’s temper wasn’t improved when Colleen finally snared Gavin for a Scottish reel. There was no possibility that Sara could have executed this intricate and highly complicated dance, but that was no reason why she had to enjoy watching Colleen dance her heart out, especially since her intent was obvious to everyone present. You shouldn’t let your rancor ruin your enjoyment of seeing such a dance well executed, she told herself, but she decided right then that she didn’t like the reel. It was vulgar. She wouldn’t be seen in public with her hair falling down and sweat on her brow.
Sara watched the swirling dancers with mixed feelings. She had worked hard to make sure no one was left uninvited, to prepare the foods they would most enjoy, and provide the right entertainment. From the shouts of laughter, the wail of the pipes, and the exertions of the dancers, she felt she had succeeded, but she had also succeeded in making herself feel more of a stranger than ever before. Though the music might stir her blood, finding an answering chord somewhere among her ancestors, she was more familiar with Bach and Scarlatti and the decorous behavior of Miss Adelaide Rachel’s Academy. The uninhibited drinking, dancing, and roistering good humor made her feel less a part of Scotland than ever before, and that was exactly the opposite of what she had intended.
She looked to where the bosomy redhead was leaning possessively on Gavin’s arm, and felt her heart ache. True, Gavin had not given her any encouragement, and it was also true that he had not spent more time with her than with others, but they were so comfortable together, so natural, so at ease, that Sara found herself resenting and envying their spontaneity.
It was a struggle for her to say just the right thing, to see that everything was done just as it ought, to learn more of Scotland, but it was second nature for that brazen redhead.
Yes, that red hair was part of it. Colleen Fraser was Clarice Wynburn and Symantha Eckkles all rolled into one, and Sara felt more inferior than ever before. And it didn’t matter how often Betty told her she was beautiful, or Mary told her she was making wonderful progress. She was doing it all for Gavin, and he seemed just as distant as ever.
“Tis a wonderful evening ye have given us,” Ian Fraser said, coming up to Sara’s elbow. With an involuntary exclamation of pleasure, Sara turned and welcomed him like a long-lost friend.
“What are you doing here? I thought you were still with the Prince.”
“I was, but we have just won a resounding victory over yer husband’s cousin, and the army’s moving North. I couldna pass without stopping.”
“How are the Prince and Lord George?”
“They’re no’ speaking at all just now, mostly because of that accursed Irishman,” Ian said furiously, “but they asked tae be remembered tae ye.”
“Ian!” A single ear-splitting cry was all the warning they received before Colleen and her flaming hair catapulted themselves into their midst. Ian staggered under the force of her assault, but he had braced himself instinctively at the sound of his name, and he didn’t end up on the floor as Sara fully expected.
“My dear cousin,” Ian murmured, “still the shy, quiet wee lass ye always were.” Colleen’s rich laughter ricochetted off the ceiling.
“What are ye doing here? Where have ye been?”
“I was explaining that when yer arrival interrupted me.” Colleen ignored his chastisement.
“Look, it’s Ian,” she called to Gavin as he approached his friend, a tepid smile of welcome on his lips. He had seen Sara’s face light up when Ian appeared, and he was stunned at the feeling of jealousy that descended on him like a bucket of cold water.
“It didn’t take you long to find us,” Gavin said. Those were not the words he intended to say.
“I couldna stay away,” Ian’s eyes twinkled, and he looked meaningfully at Sara.
“Ye mean ye didna come tae see me?” Colleen demanded. “He’s my cousin,” she said, finally recognizing Sara.
“I came tae crow over Gavin. We have won another victory, this one at Falkirk, at yer cousin Hawley’s expense.”
“Hawley is a fool,” Gavin said explosively, “and a co
ld, unfeeling brute.”
“His men think so. He hanged several of them for desertion.”
“What?” exclaimed Gavin.
“Claimed it was their fault he was defeated. Of course, he forgot tae mention he was warned twice and refused tae get up from the table until the charge had begun. He doesna have much opinion of Highlanders, ye see, and he didna think we could do him any harm.
“Ye still think we willna win?” Donald Fraser asked, taunting Gavin.
“Cumberland is not Hawley. You’ll see the difference much to your sorrow. He’s bound to return now that the threat of a French landing is over.”
“He willna find the Prince ready to do battle. He’s been taken ill at Bannockburn House, and is being nursed by Clementina.”
“Miss Walkinshaw?” asked Sara.
“The same,” replied Ian, “and he’s watched over like a child by O’Sullivan. None of us can come near him.”
“Is he seriously ill?” asked Sara. “He was so kind to me.”
“I’m afraid so, and his illness is making things difficult with the army. The clans pull in different ways, and only the Prince can untie them. It will be some time before he’s able tae leave his bed.”
“Then we can go back to dancing and forget politics,” said Colleen, who didn’t care who was king.
“I’m going tae ask Lady Carlisle tae play for us,” Ian said. “She hasn’t played already, has she? I most particularly wanted tae hear her.”
There were several “No’s” and a few “I didn’t know she played.” Ian would accept no denials from Sara. “She’s a marvel on the harpsichord. Her fingers go so fast they disappear.” At this the whole gathering insisted that Sara play for them.
Sara knew that as the hostess, she should play something modest, but she just couldn’t. She sat down and tore into the showiest Scarlatti sonata she knew. She might not be able to dance a Scottish reel, but she could play a harpsichord. It wasn’t the way she wanted to excel, but it looked like all she had. She had been pleased that Gavin’s eyes seldom left her all evening, but it had not kept him at her side, nor brought him as quickly as one smile from her brought Ian. Well, she could do more than win smiles from Ian. She would show him.
Sara had her reward in the thunder of applause that greeted the end of her performance. With Ian in the lead and others seconding his requests, she shifted to some Scottish songs, and finally a spirited step dance. By the time she finished, the whole room was dancing and singing merrily, and everyone viewed her in a different light. This is just like being with the army after Clifton, she thought suddenly. Now they all knew she was more than just another woman, and it was a pleasant change.
Gavin was looking at her in an entirely new manner, one of admiration and of hunger. Sara suddenly felt giddy with happiness. She had forced him to see her as something other than a retiring female, who could draw attention in the army because she was the only female there. Tonight she was surrounded by every lovely and important woman within a radius of fifteen miles, and she was still the center of attention. She swore she would never be self-effacing again.
Gavin watched as Ian and the others crowded around Sara, and felt himself fall victim of the first jealous rage of his life. He was so surprised he almost didn’t recognize what was happening. He had kept his eyes on her all night, he always did these days, but he had been proud of her and of the party. He didn’t know how she managed it, but there was no name left off, and no one present who should have not been there. The choice of food was perfect, and her entertainment also well chosen. He found himself looking at her with increased admiration and respect. He had been pleased with her recently, you might even say complacent, but that had changed the moment Ian arrived.
Ian had brought Sara to life in a way he never had. He was shocked and jealous, and somehow felt excluded. Why couldn’t he bring the smile to her face, the humor to her lips, the gleam to her eye?
He knew why. He didn’t have to see Ian’s unabashed appreciation of her loveliness or his pleasure in her enjoyment of the evening. He, Gavin Carlisle, was the reason she thought before she acted, weighed each word before saying it, could not relax in his presence, and he cursed the fate which kept him on the horns of this dilemma. He cursed himself for his own distrust of love. But most of all, he cursed himself for being afraid of being vulnerable.
Someone asked her to sing a Scottish love song. “Sir,” Sara replied, with playful downcast eyes, “surely it is not proper to sing such a song to any man except one’s husband.”
“Or one’s lover,” added Colleen.
Gavin roused himself abruptly from his reverie. “What if they are one and the same?”
“I doubt that’s possible,” Ian said, an infuriating smirk on his lips. “A lover must court his lady.”
“Who ever heard of a husband doing such a thing?” said Colleen, adding her mite to the stinging wound of Ian’s words. “What would be the fun in it?”
“That still doesn’t answer the question about my song,” complained the guest.
“Enough songs,” Gavin heard himself say. “Ian, I challenge you to a sword dance.” A roar of expectation went up from the crowd, and Sara saw a fleeting look of dismay scurry across Ian’s features. “Are you still up to it, or has playing with real swords stiffened your muscles?”
“I’ll match ye step for step as long as I can stand,” Ian vowed.
Sara looked baffled when two swords were laid across each other in the middle of the floor. Donald Fraser explained what was happening.
“Both men must execute a series of complicated and extremely difficult steps as they dance over the swords both at the same time. If yer foot touches or dislodges the sword, ye are considered the loser.”
“Ian ‘tis the only man alive who can best Gavin,” Colleen stated proudly. “I’ve seen him do this dance many a time, and never has he touched the swords.”
But Sara didn’t hear Colleen’s words. She was beginning to realize the difficulty of what the men were about to do. She had also just realized that this was a kind of competition, and that in some way she was at the core of it. Colleen realized this as well, and she looked even less pleased than Sara.
The men danced in silence. The sight of them, dancing so closely they almost touched each other, feet moving silently as they moved rapidly through the steps, knees raised high, hands over their heads, was something Sara was sure she would not soon forget. Imperceptibly the tempo quickened, Ian stumbled slightly and bumped into Gavin, almost causing him to lose his balance. Only by a supreme effort did he recover without a misstep or loss of his place. Sara didn’t fully understand it, but she knew she was witnessing a remarkable exhibition of coordination and physical endurance, as the men danced ever faster until they completed the dance without further mishap.
Their performance was greeted with piercing whistles and applause and loud stamping on the floor to the accompaniment of a wild tune played on the bagpipe at such volume that Sara winced in pain. It was a release of tension, a tension shared by the dancers and audience alike, and Sara could see they all felt a pride in what these men could do.
But it was nothing to the pride Sara felt for Gavin. It was not just that he was the best-looking man present, that his body caused Colleen to stray beyond the boundary of good taste, or that his performance represented a supreme achievement of skill and coordination. It was more than that. Somehow he and Ian had captured the spirit that was Scotland, had shown themselves to be leaders of men, and Sara was proud for them. This dance spoke of what it was to live in Scotland, to be Scottish, of a people proud of their heritage and determined to preserve it against all outsiders. It spoke of unbreakable loyalties, of unspoken allegiance, of the unalterable flow of Scottish history, much of it bloodied with tragedy. For the first time, Sara felt a part of the land that had given birth to and nurtured her parents, and she felt her eyes fill with tears of happiness. She wasn’t home yet, but Gavin had helped her to build the first bridge t
oward understanding.
Chapter 19
Sara was on edge. The Frasers had been the last to leave, and now she was alone with Gavin. After the wild swing of emotions he had experienced during the evening, she was nervous about which one would surface now that they were by themselves.
“Tired?” he asked, and his voice was like a caress.
“I’m still too excited to be tired. It was a good party, wasn’t it?”
“Superb,” he said, smiling at her in a way that made the corners of his eyes crinkle and caused her bones to go soft. “You are a wonderful hostess. I imagine you’ll be glad to get back to London.”
Sara fought to keep her spirits from collapsing. She had not had this party to prove that she was a capable hostess, and she had not done it to convince Gavin to let her return to London. How could she persuade him that everything she did, she did for him, that she wouldn’t care if she never saw London again?
“No,” she replied, much more calmly than she thought possible. “I have no desire to return to London. If this is where you feel happiest, then it’s where I want to live also.”
Gavin’s heart beat more quickly, and hopes he had 255 steadfastly refused to acknowledge soared within his breast, but he forced himself to respond carefully. He could feel the sand shifting beneath his feet and see the danger before him, but he could not overlook the chance that Sara might mean what she said, that she wasn’t merely saying what she thought he wanted to hear. “But you’ve always lived in London. All your friends are there. You must feel uncomfortable with the strangeness of everything here.”
“Yes. I do, but I’m Scottish nevertheless, and tonight I even began to feel a little Scottish. But that’s not why I want to stay here. I would go to London if you wanted. It doesn’t matter where we live. You remember that I said I wanted a home, to feel that I belonged somewhere. Well, I am your wife, and my home will be wherever you are.”
“And children?”
Sweet Temptation Page 22
