Highland Hope by Julie Johnstone
Five
It was clear that Royce did not like what Eve had to say. She shuffled back a step, used to being screamed at by Frederick, and occasionally hit when his vexation with her overcame him, but the giant Highlander in front of her did neither of those things. A crease appeared upon his very handsome brow, followed by incredulity that settled on his strong face.
“How am I the reason?” His deep voice rumbled from his very broad chest.
She could hardly believe she was having such a blunt conversation with a man she had just met, but her instincts told her that she would not keep this position if she didn’t, so she had to swallow her fear and force her tongue to work. “I believe they are trying to get your attention.”
The small crease between his brows turned to a deep one, and she had the urge to run a smoothing finger over the line to make it go away. Appalled by the impulse, she curled her hand into a fist by her side as he shoved a hand—a large one that looked like it could span the breadth of her back—through his dark, wavy hair. His right eye started to twitch as before, and she now recognized the reaction for the emotion that produced it. He was agitated. Her natural instincts to protect herself made her step back from him yet again.
“Stop growling.” His brother smacked him on the arm. “Ye’re scaring the lass.”
She shuffled back another step, unsure how Royce would react to his brother’s blunt words, but Royce said, “I’m all growl to my clan, Abigail.”
“And to others?”
Where in the world had that question come from? She had no right to ask, but when he smiled, it transformed his countenance from harsh to gentle, and a bit of her tension ebbed.
“To others,” he said, his depthless blue gaze finding and holding hers, “I am a man to fear only if they harm anyone under my care.”
She believed it. In fact, gooseflesh swept over her skin at his words, and for one breath, she wished she had a man like Royce MacLeod to protect her. But that was not her life. Her fate had been set, and she had no one to look out for her but herself.
“Tell me why, after such a short time with my daughters, ye think ye know them well enough to say what’s causing them to act as they are.”
Now she wished she had not spoken. The only way to convince him was to share the truth from her own life that made her able to see right away why his girls behaved the way they did. Yet, to do so could put her in jeopardy. Royce would likely send her back to Frederick if he knew she’d fled him. But there was little choice.
“My mother died when I was a young girl,” she started, “and I acted almost exactly as your girls are behaving to gain my father’s attention and to ensure he did not wed another and forget my mother and me.”
“And did it work?” Royce gazed intently at her, showing, it seemed, a great depth of concern.
She must have been so tired she was imagining things.
She was saved from answering as music suddenly began. When she looked to her left, she blinked in surprise to see all the tables had been cleared to the sides of the great hall and many of the clan members were taking to the middle of the floor to dance.
“Come on, Abigail,” Brus said, and before she knew what was occurring, one of his hands came to her back while the other took her arm as he moved her toward the dance floor.
The room suddenly grew incredibly loud and hot. Perspiration dampened her neck under her hair and the inside of her palms. “Please,” she said, attempting to tug away, but Brus would not let her. She couldn’t dance. She couldn’t. She didn’t really know how, and the last time she had tried was when she was ten summers. Her stepmother had taunted her and gotten everyone else in the dance hall that night to taunt her, as well. They’d called her graceless and laughed and pointed at her until she’d run out of the hall.
“I don’t wish to dance,” she said, trying again to break free of his hold. Brus simply dragged her along faster.
The quicker he moved her toward the dance floor, the harder her heart beat against her chest, so that by the time he turned toward her, grabbed her without preamble, and swung her up in the air, fear pulsed through her, making her shake and gulp in breaths. The moment her feet touched the floor, she backed blindly away from him, the noise around her buffeting her eardrums, the people becoming blurs. She turned, frantic, searching for a way out of the laughing, swinging, dancing people, but she kept running into people until they were giving her odd looks. She could hear them laughing. Or was that from her past?
She jerked to the right and stumbled into a couple doing a jig. She lost her balance and started to fall when strong hands suddenly gripped her under her arms and righted her, then turned her so she was face-to-face with Royce, no more than a hairsbreadth between them.
His concerned gaze probed her. “Abigail, are ye all right?”
She couldn’t get enough air to answer so she shook her head. Around her, heated stares burned into her. So many questioning eyes. “I cannot dance,” she whispered, her face flaming.
Royce’s eyes grew wide, then softened, and before she knew what was happening, he slipped his hand behind her back, ever so gentle, just a breeze against her skin so that she knew he was there but not threatening. Holding her gaze, he offered his left hand, palm up. “Place yer hand in mine, and I’ll lead ye in the steps.”
She hesitated, the memories of being taunted rising up within her.
“I’ll nae let ye make a fool of yerself, Abigail. I happen to be rather light-footed—or at least I used to be. My mother is a proper English lady, and she insisted Elena, Brus, and I learn all manner of dances. And if ye do nae take my hand,” he said, still whispering but tilting closer to her so that his scent of pine and sweat and woods surrounded her, “everyone here will think ye fearful or that there is something wrong in yer head. If they think either of those things, they’ll nae ever accept ye as part of the clan.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. She had to be accepted. She had nowhere else to go. She had to stay here.
Slowly, she set her hand in his, and his long fingers closed around hers. He seemed to know just how much pressure to apply to his hold so as not to scare her. “Follow my lead,” he said, the heat of his skin seeping into hers. She nodded, and he took a step to the right, then back, then to the left and forward. Then he did it again.
“Is that it?” she asked, amazed.
He smiled down at her, and she marveled that a man could look so gentle yet so fierce all in the same moment. “Aye, for now. I think simple is best, aye?”
“Aye,” she agreed, trying out the Scottish word, which made Royce throw back his head and laugh. It was a deep sound that rumbled from his chest and made her want to smile, and in fact, she could not stop her reaction. Her lips tugged upward until she was grinning and laughing with him as they moved left, back, right, and forward. “Was it that horrid of an attempt?” she asked when he stopped laughing.
“Och, nay, lass. It was perfect. It actually reminded me of my mam, who I’ve nae seen in a long time. Tell, me, Abigail, what stories have ye heard of Highlanders and from whom? Whatever ye heard has made ye fearful.”
She was fearful, but from what she could tell of the Highlanders she’d met so far, she didn’t think she needed to fear them. Oh, they looked frightful enough because of their sheer size and the large weapons each man seemed to have attached to his hip or thigh, but so far, they’d been kind. Yet, she knew how men could be. Whenever she’d done anything that displeased her father, her punishment had been no meals for five days, if she was lucky. If she was unlucky, she’d been thrashed upon the inside of her palms, so as to teach her a lesson but not leave scars that could render her less desirable in a marriage. And Frederick’s mistreatment of her was seared in her mind forever.
“Abigail?”
She blinked, and a blush heated her from her head to her feet. “I’m sorry.”
“The stories? Were ye thinking of them?”
“Yes. I had a—” She had to stop herself from telling him she’d had a companion. She was quite certain Summer Walkers did not have companions, given they were homeless travelers who cared naught for possessions or wealth. “One of the Summer Walkers told me that Scots would cut your tongue out if you ever dared to tease them.”
“Oh, aye,” he said, winking, “that’s true.”
“You sound proud to be barbaric,” she said, astonished.
“’Tis nae barbaric.”
He had a perfectly straight face, and she would have believed him except his eyes fairly danced with merriment. “You’re teasing me!”
“Aye,” he said, chuckling. “What else have ye heard?”
Florrie’s words on Highlander’s lustfulness danced in her memory.
“Ye’re scarlet,” Royce said. “Whatever did ye hear, lass?”
“I dare not tell you,” she replied. “It’s not decent.”
He flashed an infectious grin. “Well, now I’m afraid I must know.”
“No,” she said, giving a faint laugh.
“All right. I’ve secrets I keep, too,” he said, his voice teasing but his eyes serious.
Curiosity blossomed, but she squelched it. She knew he was only being nice to her, and she had to take care. She could not form an attachment to him, because whether she liked it or not, she was still Frederick’s wife.