The eightsome reel was easy to grasp, and before Sam knew it, she’d relaxed enough to actually enjoy herself.
She had Duncan to thank for that. Every time they came together she had the sense she was flying, as if her feet had somehow left the ground and she was suspended by happiness alone.
“We should do this every week,” she said to him as they spun in tune to the lively music. “Make it a tradition.”
His smile was wider and more open than she’d ever seen it. “And what about when you’re seven months along? What then?”
“Then I’ll watch everyone else dance,” she said, laughing with the sheer delight of music and movement.
“You’re having a good time?”
“A wonderful time. In fact, if I—” She stopped as she realized he wasn’t listening to her. He was looking over her right shoulder in the direction of the path that curved up the hill to the castle. So were Old Mag and Robby and at least a dozen other people. “Duncan,” she said. “Is something wrong?”
He didn’t answer. She turned in time to see a small, curvy woman climb from a black car. The woman wore a pale blue suit that hugged her tiny waist and round hips. She walked toward them with the kind of feline grace that always made Sam feel big and clumsy. This time was no exception.
“Do you know her?” she asked. “Who is she?”
But he wasn’t listening to her. He dropped his arm from her shoulders and moved toward the woman in the blue suit.
“Duncan!” Sam started after him but Old Mag pulled her back.
“Don’t follow him,” the housekeeper said. “He will take care of the likes of her.”
A terrible sense of foreboding filled Sam’s chest. “Who is she, Mag?” she asked quietly, certain of the answer.
“Ach, lassie.” Tears filled Old Mag’s faded blue eyes. “That’s the one who broke his heart.”
“DARLING!” Lana walked toward Duncan with her arms outstretched. “It’s been so long.”
Duncan stopped short. He had no need of her touch. “Lana,” he said, aware of the curious glances all around him. “Why are you here?”
“Such a greeting.” Lana’s gaze swept the crowd, obviously seeking an adoring fan upon whom to hang her hopes. “I expected a much warmer hello than that.”
He refused to be pulled into that old and dangerous game. “Then you must be disappointed,” he said mildly. Not one of the party guests had made a move to say hello to his ex-wife.
She dissembled prettily, acting as if he’d greeted her with a kiss. “A party, is it?” she asked, tilting her dark head in the direction of the music.
He turned away from Lana and toward Sam, who was watching him with serious blue eyes. She stepped forward and took her place by his side.
“Duncan?” Lana asked, unable to mask the sharp note of curiosity in her voice. “What’s the occasion?”
Duncan took Sam’s hand in his. “Our wedding,” he said.
The color seemed to drain from Lana’s face, and he was not above feeling a certain satisfaction.
“Oh, dear,” Lana said, as her eyes slid over Sam then moved back to Duncan. “This certainly does complicate matters.”
Duncan felt an uneasy pinch deep inside his gut. “We’ll talk inside,” he said, pitching his voice low so only Sam and Lana could make out his words.
“I’m not alone,” Lana said. “Bryce is in the car.”
Duncan felt his jaw harden into concrete. “And Bryce is—”
Lana’s face glowed with studied brightness. “My love!” she said, opening her arms wide. “The man of my dreams.”
Duncan refrained from pointing out that she had felt that way about at least three other men, himself included. It didn’t matter to him whether or not she’d found the man of her dreams. All that mattered was getting this over with as soon as possible.
Lana motioned toward the car and a tall, lanky man with ginger-colored hair unfolded himself from the passenger seat and climbed out. He seemed all arms and legs as he ambled toward them.
“Do you have the car keys, darling?” she asked, all sweetness and concern.
The man shook his head. “I left them on the seat.”
“Well, no matter,” Lana said. But Duncan knew her well enough to see the signs of irritation that would later erupt into anger. She tossed her head, sending her dark hair drifting away from her face, then linked arms with the man next to her. “This is Bryce Stephenson.”
Duncan extended his right hand. “Duncan Stewart.”
“A pleasure.” Bryce clasped Duncan’s hand and the two of them stood there for a moment, locked in some kind of macho combat.
Duncan finally put an end to the stupidity. If he thought Duncan envied the man his future with Lana, then Stephenson was sorely mistaken. The only thing Duncan felt for the man was pity. He draped an arm around Sam’s shoulders. “This is my wife, Samantha.”
Stephenson’s long jaw opened then closed quickly like a marionette’s. He looked at Lana, who was observing all of them with spider-like interest. “His wife?” he asked.
Lana placed a slender hand on the forearm of her latest victim. “We’ll talk about it inside.”
“Duncan.” Samantha’s voice was high and tight, not her usual low, sweet drawl. “We have guests who would love to get back to that eightsome reel.”
Lana’s eyebrows arched at the sound of Samantha’s voice. “An American?” she asked, meeting Duncan’s eyes. “How interesting.”
The look he gave her stopped any further comment on her part.
He broke away from their group and called for attention. “Where’s the music?” he bellowed. “I’d say it was time to Strip the Willow, wouldn’t you?”
He motioned for the pipers to launch into their next song, and moments later the lawn was filled with happy, wildly dancing men and women.
He turned to Samantha, Lana and the ginger-haired man. “The library,” he said, then
