Page 29 of Bound By Honor
“Very well,” said Angus and allowed Sorcha to lead him onto the floor where, as best he could, he copied her steps. The dance differed from the ones he was used to but that did not seem to matter overmuch. Soon, he was swept away with the music, the effects of the ale, and the girl’s joy as she danced, her green eyes never leaving him.
Many dances with Sorcha and other lasses followed when, exhausted, Angus begged a rest from his current partner.
Sorcha returned to his side and he told her, “I could use another tankard of that fine heather ale. The lasses of Glen Coe have worn me out.”
“I doubt that is true, Angus Macdonald. All of them wanted to partner with you and you were kind to accommodate them.”
“’Twas my pleasure,” he said, inclining his head.
She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. Angus knew a flirt when he saw one. “’Tis just having a new man about, especially one they have heard of. You are a curiosity.”
He smiled at that and left her to wend his way through those still dancing to the table where her father sat talking with Duncan. How long his cousin had been there Angus could not say but Duncan showed no signs of fatigue so he could not have been dancing for the hours Angus had.
He sat and talked with them as he drank another tankard of the ale but soon found his eyelids drooping. Setting down his empty tankard, he said, “’Tis time I seek my bed.” With good humor, he said to MacEanruig, “Your hospitality is most gracious, and I am your willing, if exhausted, guest.”
The chief laughed, a deep hearty sound. “Leave us if you must. I expect you will be fully restored in the morning, son of Angus Mor.” The jolly chief smiled as he observed his guests enjoying themselves.
With that, Angus wished them goodnight and climbed the stairs to his bedchamber, leaving Duncan drinking with their host.
In his chamber, Angus shed his clothes, thankful a fire burned in the hearth, and slid between the sheets, remembering to place his dirk beneath his pillow. Moments later, he was fast asleep.
Sometime in the dark of night, he was awakened by the sound of footfalls. He was not alone. Slowly, he reached his hand beneath his pillow and grasped the handle of his knife. Opening his eyes, he glimpsed a cloud of white moving toward his bed. The fire had burned down and the moon’s faint light cast the chamber in dark shadows.
Now fully awake, he sat up and lifted his dagger to face the intruder. “Who are you and why are you here?”
The white cloud, which he now realized was a linen gown, disappeared to be replaced by what looked like a naked woman, her face and most of her body hidden in shadow.
She spoke in a low whisper. “For such an important guest, the chief provides a woman to warm your bed.”
In the meager light, he thought he glimpsed full breasts and a slim waist. Before he could speak, she lifted the bedcover and slid in next to him, her warmth adding heat to his suddenly aroused body.
“Do you do this willingly, lass?”
“Aye,” she said, the whisper growing seductive.
A warm hand reached out to touch his chest, her fingers playing in the hair she found there. Still speaking in a whisper, she said, “You’re a handsome man, Angus Og Macdonald, and you have the air of a prince about you.”
“A prince?” He nearly laughed. “I am but a younger son.”
“Aye,” she said, sliding her hand beneath the bedcover and down his body, “but a younger son of the great Angus Mor.”
Angus still had hold of his dirk and was about to set it aside when she whispered again. “You can put away the blade. You’ll not be needing it this night.”
Never before had a woman boldly come to his bed and, though he lacked experience, he knew enough of coupling to take the lead. “I’ll not turn you away if this is the chief’s provision and you insist upon offering yourself.”
“’Tis my desire.”
For a servant offered to honored guests, he did not think her movements were very practiced but she made up for it in enthusiasm.
He slept little that night.
When he awoke for the last time, muted light streamed into his chamber from what had to be a gray morning. His head ached as he lifted it off the pillow. A movement drew his gaze to the door where a girl hastily donned a dark cloak over her white chemise and slipped out. But not before he glimpsed the long copper curls belonging to MacEanruig’s daughter.
Horrified, he hurriedly donned his clothes and splashed water on his face. Between the ale and the lack of sleep, his mind was slow to respond. But he could not help asking,Why?
He considered the possibilities. Were her actions designed to trap him into marriage? Would the chief man of Glen Coe demand retribution from the Lord of the Isles? Or, was Sorcha merely a rebellious daughter who wanted to defy her father?
In the hall, some of MacEanruig’s men and Angus’ crew were eating together. Angus greeted them and scanned the hall. Neither Sorcha nor her father was in view. Duncan stood at the open door staring out on a gray day with lightly falling rain.
