Elliot kissed her temple, his lips warm and quiet with the intimacy of afterglow. “That ye were beautiful. And warmed me like nothing I’d ever felt.
Juliana smiled. “What does that mean?”
“Will ye kiss me?”
Her smile widened. “Yes.”
She turned on the pillow, liking how his eyes were half closed and relaxed, like an animal in repose. Elliot kissed her softly, his lips parted, again with the warm intimacy.
“
She traced his cheek. “What is that one?”
Elliot closed his callused hand over hers, bringing her fingers to his lips. “Someday, I’ll tell you,” he said.
The midsummer ball went well until Mr. McGregor insisted he do a sword dance.
Juliana’s guests had come from as far away as Edinburgh, including the rest of the Mackenzie clan and Gemma, even the formidable Duke of Kilmorgan and his recent bride, Lady Eleanor. They were not all staying in the house, as only a few guest rooms were yet habitable, but McPherson had volunteered to put up most of them in his giant castle.
The ball was a full Highland party, with all the Scotsmen in great kilts. Pipers and fiddlers had come from Highforth and the next village; village men and women had volunteered to help Mahindar and his family with cooking and replenishing food and drink; and many of them joined in the dancing outside on the lawn in the long twilight.
Elliot looked much better when he at last came down. He’d donned his great kilt, the swath of plaid looped over his shoulder. Unlike the Mackenzie brothers, he wore no coat, and looked like a Highland barbarian of old.
The guests poured in, anxious to greet the McBrides, welcoming Elliot as part of McGregor’s family. It didn’t take long for the dancing to begin.
What always made Juliana’s heart swell about true Highland gatherings was that no one needed to be prodded to dance and have a good time. Partners were seized, circles formed, and dancing began.
As the newly married couple, Juliana and Elliot led the first reel. Juliana had only danced with Elliot once, at her debut in Edinburgh, where they’d done a stately waltz to the strains of Strauss. Now Elliot showed his true grace. He moved through the steps of the reel without missing a one, spinning Juliana and handing her off, and picking her up again without losing a measure.
The guests laughed and clapped, dancing around them. Daniel Mackenzie was the most enthusiastic, his youth letting him jump higher and swing ladies harder than his uncles, who were more absorbed in their wives. Only Ian Mackenzie didn’t dance, preferring to sit with his wife and his children or hold his son’s little hands when the boy wanted to dance to the music.
Mac Mackenzie joined his nephew Daniel in exuberance, his wife, Isabella, laughing at him, her color high and eyes sparkling. The duke, Hart, was quieter, but the look he gave Eleanor was so loving that Juliana’s eyes moistened.
She wanted to have with Elliot what the Mackenzie brothers and their wives had. They had full trust, confidence, love. They enjoyed being together and watching each other. Yet, they didn’t lose anything in each other, each of them having their own wants, their own enjoyments. But together, each couple seemed to be stronger than the sum of their parts.
Maybe, in time, she and Elliot could find that too.
The ballroom, still a bit barren with no drapes on the windows or pictures on the walls, resounded with energy. Music filled it with a wall of sound, the dancers’ laughter resonating over it. McPherson danced with all the ladies, matching Daniel for enthusiasm.
McGregor, well gone in whiskey, shouted, “Bring the swords!”
Hamish fetched them from who knew where, a traditional claymore and scabbard he set in a perfect cross in the cleared corner of the ballroom. Elliot broke from his two brothers and Gemma to move across the room to it. Before he could reach it, McGregor motioned for the pipers to play.
He started off well enough. Mr. McGregor knew the steps, if he couldn’t bounce very high, and touched his feet quickly and surely into the squares formed by the crossed blade and scabbard. But then the fiddlers sped up and the pipers followed suit, playing faster then faster.
McGregor roared as he tried to keep up, stamping to either side of the blade, jumping higher, the ribbon in his Scottish bonnet flapping. The guests applauded their approval.
Then his foot came down wrong, the sword skittered, McGregor’s legs split, and he fell flat on his back with a grunt.
Juliana ran to him, but Elliot was there in front of her. McGregor allowed himself to be helped to his feet, then he threw Elliot off. “Leave me be, nephew. I’m fine.”
But he did let Juliana lead him out of the ballroom, and when he reached the hallway, he began to limp. “Bloody sword. In my day, they were made so they didn’t move.”
Komal appeared out of the shadows to grab McGregor’s other arm. She started scolding right away in both Punjabi and the few words she’d learned in English.
Juliana relinquished him. McGregor didn’t seem to mind so much to lean on Komal while she led him down the hall toward the kitchen.
Juliana returned to Elliot, who watched from the doorway, and he put his arm around her to draw her back into the light and chaos of the room.
Debate had started about who should next attempt the sword dance. “Elliot,” his older brother Patrick’s voice rose. “You used to do it, and do it well.”
“A dozen years ago,” Elliot shot back, but the crowd took up the cause.
“Go to, McBride!” Mac Mackenzie shouted, and Daniel echoed him. Applause and yells urged him on.
“All right.” Elliot held out his hands, motioning them to stop. “Play it slowly,” he said to the piper.
The piper blew into the bag, filling the room with sound. When the musicians were ready, Elliot bowed, then he started.
He hadn’t done this dance in years, but it came back to him. He leapt left, then right, his arm coming up for balance. Around the four sides of the sword and scabbard, outside the cross at first, left then right, his leaps high, kilt moving. Then inside the cross, toe and heel, flat foot stamp and toe. In and out, front and back, left and right.
The guests clapped along, and the men shouted encouragement. Elliot let himself rest on the cushion of music as his feet did the work.
The mind was a strange place. He hadn’t done this in years, and yet, it all came back, steps learned long ago as a careless youth. His whole past was there, waiting for him to find it again.
The piper and the fiddler sped up. Elliot sped up too, to more applause and cheers.
Then the piper sped again. Elliot shouted, and he danced back from the swords, laughing and panting. “Enough!”
Juliana caught him as he backed away—what a fine feeling to yield to the softness of her. Daniel was pressed forward, told to show them what he could do.
Daniel made his bow, winked at the ladies, and proceeded. He began the dance as Elliot had, first outside the cross, then in between the blade and scabbard, his feet flashing back and forth. When the music sped up, so did Daniel, and Elliot joined the crowd in urging him on.
“Daniel does well,” Juliana said into Elliot’s ear as the piper played as fast as he could, and Daniel’s feet moved precisely in the complicated jig.
“He’s eighteen,” Elliot said. “I’m thirty.”
“Well, you did your best.”
Elliot looked down at her sly smile and sparkling eyes and kissed her. The guests whooped. At the same time, Daniel finished the dance, bowed, and flashed his grin at every young lady in the room.
