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The rather proud smile as he glanced around the room gave her a pang of guilt, but he seemed to enjoy the opportunity to show off his knowledge.
‘The couple talking to your father is the local constable and his wife. Colonel Berwick fought at Waterloo with the Black Watch.’
‘A brave man, then.’ Selina memorised the soldier’s face. A good wife paid attention to those who could aid her husband. And she would be a good wife. She was determined to keep her part of the bargain.
‘An unruly Highlander, more like,’ Dunstan grumbled. ‘They give the regiment no end of trouble.’ He was now staring at Ian.
Her blood ran cold. It was as if a chill wind had swept through the room. ‘What sort of trouble?’
‘Illegal whisky stills. Smuggling.’ His gaze narrowed.
If Ian was engaged in smuggling, he was more of a fool than she ever imagined. Without thinking, she noted the way his plaid grazed the tops of his socks as he sauntered with lithe grace to a group of guests not far from her chair.
Her heart hammered so loud she was sure Dunstan must hear it. Would he speak to her? Surely not. What would she say if he did? His words at their last meeting some nine years before had been horrid. Crushing. But more recently he had responded to a written request to call his brother home with a surprising alacrity. For that at least she owed him a debt of gratitude.
Now was not the time, however. With luck, Ian would pass on by.
Luck, as ever, was not her friend.
Annoyance crossed Dunstan’s face when Ian paused in front of them. Ever the gentleman though, Dunstan gestured to Selina. ‘Ian Gilvry, allow me to introduce you to Lady Selina Albright.’
Ian bowed. ‘Lady Selina, it is indeed an honour to once more make your acquaintance.’
The butter-soft burr of his highland brogue made her skin tingle the way the touch of his lips to hers once had. Or was it the feel of his hand on hers and the sensation of warm breath she could not possibly feel through her glove? Or was it merely his acknowledgement of recollection?
Heat flashed in her cheeks. He was the only man who had ever had the power to disturb her equilibrium. Years of careful training stood her in good stead, however, and she gave him her most brilliant smile. ‘Why, Mr Gilvry, I hardly recognised you after all these years.’
Bright blue eyes regarded her coldly. His mouth curved in a bitter smile. What did he have to be bitter about? It was her pride she’d ground into the dust by asking for his help for Alice. But the Gilvrys and the Albrights had always been enemies. Perhaps she was reading more into his expression than she should.
‘You have also changed a good deal, Lady Selina.’
His tone said he spoke out of mere politeness. Something to say.
Dunstan frowned, then his brow cleared. ‘Ah, right. You spent some time at Dunross Keep as a girl. You must have met then.’
‘Briefly,’ she said.
‘Once or twice,’ Ian said at the same moment.
She snatched her hand back. ‘No rocks in your pockets today, I hope?’
An unwilling smile curved his full lips. ‘None today, my lady,’ he said smoothly.
She arched a brow. ‘And how is all at Dunross? Your mother is well?’
His eyes darkened to stormy grey. ‘As well as may be expected under the circumstances.’ A muscle jumped in his jaw. ‘I understand you are to honour Dunross Keep shortly.’
Gossip abounded. But then the self-professed Laird of Dunross would know everything about the demesne he claimed as his, when it really belonged to her father. She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze without flinching. ‘I believe it is on our list of quaint points of interest.’ She smiled sweetly.
He stiffened slightly. Resentment flashed across his face, before it once more smoothed to bland indifference. ‘Do you have many quaint places on your list?’
‘A few. It is de rigueur to be in love with Scotland since Waverly came out. You have read Sir Walter Scott, I assume?’
This time real anger flashed in his eyes. ‘Why would I?’
Dunstan tugged at his collar. ‘I will also be visiting Dunross.’
‘How pleasant for you,’ Ian replied, his gaze never leaving Selina’s face. ‘I am delighted you Sassenachs find us poor Scots of such interest.’
‘La, sir, you make yourself sound like insects beneath a lens.’
He gave a hard laugh. ‘Touché, Lady Selina.’
This was getting out of hand. She turned to Dunstan. ‘Lady Albright is in alt with the country. And knowing Scotland as well as I do gives it a special charm.’
‘Some say familiarity breeds contempt,’ Ian said, before Dunstan could respond.
She raised a brow.
‘No need to be churlish, Gilvry,’ Dunstan muttered.
The orchestra struck up a reel. Ian inclined his head. ‘I see I should make amends. May I request this next dance, Lady Selina?’
The air left her lungs in a rush. That she had not expected. For a moment, she almost said yes. It might be her only opportunity to speak with him alone, to proffer her thanks for the service he’d rendered her friend. A dance was about as private as she’d ever dared be with Ian Gilvry. But dancing was out of the question. Did he know that? Was he taunting her, knowing full well she could not dance? It would be the sort of thing a Gilvry would take pleasure in. ‘I do not dance tonight, Mr Gilvry.’
His eyes remained wintry, giving no hint of his thoughts. ‘You will excuse me, then,’ he said softly. ‘I promised Miss Campbell I would lead her out at the first opportunity.’ He executed the slightest of bows, an arrogant inflection of his neck that said he bowed to no man or woman, and strode off, his kilt swinging with each long stride, his wide shoulders square.
The feel of her arms clinging to those shoulders for dear life teased at her memory. Although on that long-ago afternoon, they’d not been quite so breathtakingly broad.
She dragged her thoughts back to the present and watched Chrissie and her father take to the floor in another set. Despite the differences in their ages, they made a handsome couple. And she couldn’t help but feel glad for his happiness, even if it did mean she must depart his home.
Her gaze wandered to Ian and Miss Campbell. His whole attention was focused on his partner’s face. The girl blushed in response to a murmured word and a flash of a smile.
Something tightened in her chest. Jealousy? Certainly not. A pang of envy? Perhaps. It wasn’t surprising. Not because the girl was dancing with Ian Gilvry—about that she surely didn’t give a hoot. No. It was the dancing she missed.
A wry smile tugged at her lips. She was lucky it was only dancing she’d lost as a result of her recklessness. She could have lost her life.
She gave Dunstan her most brilliant smile. ‘I gather your colonel gave strict instructions with respect to entertaining the single ladies tonight and since I do not dance, I shall not keep you from your duty.’
His expression held relief. ‘You are gracious to be so understanding, my lady.’
‘A soldier’s duty must come first.’ And she really needed to be rid of him for a while. Her heart still raced uncomfortably fast after sparring with Ian.
‘I will escort you to supper, of course.’
‘I look forward to it. In the meantime, do not worry about me. I am well entertained.’
He bowed and departed and was soon leading out a handsome young matron. Strangely enough, Selina didn’t feel a smidgeon of envy as she watched him. Nor would she, she was sure, when he continued to dance with other ladies after they were married. It was the way of their world.
As the music finished, Lord Carrick took up a position on the dais in front of the orchestra.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, I have a special treat for you before supper. If you will please follow me out onto the terrace.’ A buzz of excitement circled the room and people moved towards the French doors at the far end of the hall.
Ian Gilvry, she noticed, left by way of the arch through which he had entered.
With no choice but to follow the rest of the company, she pushed to her feet.
Chrissie and her father joined her. ‘What is going on?’
‘I have no idea,’ Selina said.
A woman standing nearby turned to them. ‘It is a contest. The local lads will compete for a prize for our entertainment.’
‘Not boxing,’ Chrissie said with a shudder.
‘Och, no. Something better. Wait and see.’ She disappeared into the crowd.
The Albright party joined Lord Carrick, who indicated they should sit in the front row and guided Selina to a chair beside Chrissie.
Chrissie gave her a sweet smile. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Excited about the coming spectacle,’ she said, deliberately misunderstanding Chrissie’s true meaning.
Chrissie leaned closer and whispered something in her husband’s ear. Her father smiled down fondly, murmuring something that made Chrissie giggle.
Feeling like an intruder, Selina averted her gaze and pretended not to notice.
Lit by torches and a full moon, the flagged courtyard looked positively medieval. Lord Carrick seated himself on a thronelike canopied chair carved with symbols of his clan. Clearly he was to be judge and jury of the coming contest.
To the skirling sound of bagpipes five kilted men marched into the open area from beneath a shadowing arch, holding swords across their chests. Among them, taller than all of them, was Ian. Two of his three brothers accompanied him.
The men bent and laid their swords on the flagstones crossed at right angles. The music ceased.
Lord Carrick rose to his feet and the five men bowed. Their chief signalled for them to begin and the piper played the opening bars. The men were going to dance for a purse.
It was a magnificent sight. Strong young men in their plaids and white lace leaping lightly over their swords, jumping higher and faster in ever more complex patterns. Ian’s heavy kilt swung high, revealing strongly muscled thighs and … nothing more. Too bad.
That thought brought heat to Selina’s cheeks. How could she be so wicked?
But the sight of Ian dancing, the controlled wildness in his movement, the demonstration of his male strength and grace, called to something primal inside her. The iron control in the lightness of his feet caused her to hold her breath in awe and fear. A man touched his sword, knocking it askew with a clatter. He ceased dancing immediately, bowed and walked away defeated. She could scarcely bear to watch in case Ian also failed, yet could not look away.
The music’s tempo increased. Another man dropped out. And another, until only two of the older Gilvry brothers remained.
Ian and Niall. Of Andrew there was no sign. Ian leapt without effort, his feet so close to the blades he barely moved from the centre of the cross. What held her transfixed was his intensity, the hot blood of battle expressed in the position of his arms, the proud angle of his head and the fire in his defiant eyes.
Impossible as it seemed, she felt their eyes lock and in that moment, it was as if he danced only for her.
Nay, not for her, she realised. At her, rejecting all she stood for. War declared. The final leaps caused an indrawn breath from the assembled company. Yet they landed lightly, clear of the swords, each man holding position until the last note died away.
The connection snapped.
In unison the two men bowed and stood stiffly, waiting for their chief’s judgement while their audience applauded and cheered.
Even Chrissie and Father leaped to their feet, clapping.
Selina had no doubt Ian would win. Yet she still felt anxious until his chieftain beckoned him forwards. He ran lightly up the terrace steps, shook the Carrick’s hand and took the purse presented with an incline of his head. He did not once glance her way.
There had been no connection between them. He probably couldn’t see her on the terrace in the dark. It had all been her imagination. It wasn’t the first time she’d been mistaken in his interest. The only connection they had was one of mutual dislike.
Deep inside she felt a twinge of sadness. Perhaps because whoever he had danced for, he had expressed himself through movement—a freedom and grace she could never accomplish.
The two men spoke a few words, then Ian ran back down the steps and walked away. Only when he was out of sight did the sorrow inside her lessen.
She thought she had resigned herself to the future she’d charted, but for some reason, now she felt thoroughly unsettled. She rose to her feet with a slight wince.
‘Is your leg paining you?’ Chrissies asked.
Dash it all, the woman watched her like a hawk. ‘I am just a little stiff from sitting, that is all.’ And from the tension of watching Ian.
Chapter Two
Ian joined his clansmen clustered around the piper in the shadows of the gate leading out of the courtyard to the kitchens. His breathing had slowed, but his blood still ran hot—battle fever aroused by the music. There had been a time when he danced for the pure joy of it. Now he felt like little more than a performing bear on a chain performing for these Sassenachs. He swallowed the anger. It had pleased Carrick and the coin would bring much-needed relief to his people. Lord Carrick could easily have spent his money on entertainment elsewhere.
He emptied the prize purse into his palm, first paying the piper his due, then dividing the spoils equally. ‘Well done, lads.’
‘What is that?’ Logan, his youngest brother, asked, gesturing to the other pouch Carrick had slipped into Ian’s palm.
‘You’ve sharp eyes, young Logan,’ Ian grumbled. ‘Carrick wants us to make another run to France.’
‘I thought we had all the salt we need,’ Niall said, glancing up from the pamphlet he’d been reading by the light of the torch.
‘He wants brandy,’ Ian said. ‘He will have used up most of his supply by the end of this ball.’
‘Brandy is asking for trouble,’ Niall said. ‘It is bad enough running the whisky over the border to England.
Ian quelled him with a glance. ‘How could I refuse after all he has done for us? Besides, his money will help pay for this autumn’s barley.’
Niall shook his head. ‘Admit it, you like the danger.’
Did he? Long ago, he’d wanted to be a soldier, but when his father died, he’d shouldered the duties of Laird without a second thought. It was his responsibility.
Straying from that duty had never resulted in anything but trouble, for him or his family. And smuggling was a necessary evil. Part of the job, if he wanted the clan to survive. And he did, desperately. It was all he thought of, day and night.
‘What say we go down to the tavern and celebrate?’ Tammy McNab said, jingling the coin in his hand.
Ian jabbed at Tammy’s shoulder. ‘Would you spend your money on drink when your babes are hungry?’
A red-haired man of twenty-five who already had three children to his name, Tammy hung his head. ‘Just thought to have a wee bit of fun.’
