Page 48 of Desire of a Highlander

Before he could utter a word of protest, she dragged him into the circle of dancing. The fiddle struck up louder, faster now—joined by stamping feet and clapping that set a rough rhythm through the ground. The circle moved and they each stepped to the left, changing partners. Morag danced away to be replaced by Elodie.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she said with a grin. “I never took you as the dancing type.”

“I’m not. But try telling that to Morag.”

She laughed. “It’s easy. Just try to look like you know what you’re doing even though you haven’t got a clue. That’s my strategy.”

He felt himself grinning in response. He matched Elodie’s steps, caught her as she turned and gripped her hand when the dance called for it. Slowly, the crowd blurred into the background and Ronan felt the knot in his shoulders loosen a fraction.

Elodie pulled him into a faster step. “Keep up!”

Ronan huffed. “Ye just watch yer own feet, lass.”

He felt his awareness shifting away from the Steading, away from the people watching, and onto the woman in his arms. Dear God, she felt good. Her nearness, her presence. It felt better than good. It felt...right.

The music shifted, the pace picking up, and now the fiddle was accompanied by people clapping in a sharper rhythm. The dance changed—faster, more demanding. He knew the steps—he’d learned them as a youth—but it was clear Elodie didn’t. It was also clear that she didn’t care a jot. She stamped and twirled, stepped and spun, all the while grinning and laughing.

“Ye are going to fall,” he warned.

“Then you better catch me!”

He caught her hand and took the lead, guiding her through the steps in quick succession. They moved faster. Turned tighter. The world narrowed to the space between them, the press of her hand in his, the beat of the music.

Elodie made a sudden turn and nearly collided with his shoulder. He caught her without thinking, his arms catching her around the waist.

She looked up at him, breathless. “See? I knew you’d catch me.”

The dance surged again and the clearing erupted into movement—others joining, clapping, spinning, laughing. Ronan felt sweat beading his temples, the heat of exertion in his chest.

“Last round!” someone shouted.

“Oh thank God,” Elodie muttered.

Ronan laughed. The music hit its final, frantic burst. They spun together once, twice. The music reached its crescendo...and stopped.

Silence fell across the clearing broken only by the heavy breathing of the dancers. Elodie was clasped in his arms, her chest heaving, her eyes fixed on him and suddenly she was all that existed. Before he knew what he was doing, his hand reached up to cup the back of her neck. Then he bent his head and pressed his lips to hers.

The world went up in flames. He tasted the heat of her lips against his. He smelled the scent of her all around him. He felt the fierce way she kissed him back. Oh Lord, she was kissing him back!

His hands tightened on her waist, pulling her against him and her arms circled his neck, her tongue slipping into his mouth with a hot warmth that sent heat racing all the way to his groin. He pulled her tighter, not wanting this moment to end, wanting it to stretch forever—

“Chief!” The urgent shout rang through the clearing, loud enough to be heard above the music.

Ronan ignored it. Not now. Not now. Go away.

“Chief!”

With a growl, he broke the kiss and stepped back to find Eamon standing a few feet away.

“What is it?” Ronan snapped.

The young man wasn’t wearing his usual cocky grin. Instead, he looked worried. Something cold settled in Ronan’s stomach.

“Two of the scouts have just come in from a patrol,” Eamon told him. “They’ve found tracks.”

Ronan tensed. “Where?”

“Outside the valley. Looked like they were heading for the waymeet.”