Unwilling by Kerrigan Byrne

Author:Kerrigan Byrne [Byrne, Kerrigan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B008BJJT86
Publisher: N. Ainge
Published: 2012-06-12T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

The next night brought the first successful week of harvest market to a close. This was to be marked with festivities that would have invoked Mabon himself. Lindsay had strolled with Evelyn through fire jugglers and acrobats, bards and puppeteers, amusing herself despite the fact that she’d awoken to a dark mood. Distraction seemed to lift her spirits.

They wandered with the crowd toward the planks that had been assembled in a cleared field for dancing and carousing. The full harvest moon was bright enough to light their revelry and reflected off Loch Fyne with glittering brilliance. Long torches had been staked to the ground and lanterns corded around the makeshift plank floor casting dancing shadows about the night.

The evening was chilly, but hot food and free-flowing ale warmed the cheeks and blood of the Lachlan clan. Now they gathered about, their merry voices drifting through the night as the cheerful cacophony of tuning pipes, flutes, and fiddles rose in their midst.

As though drawn by an innate awareness, Lindsay immediately picked Connor out of the gathering crowd. He and Roderick stood at least a head taller than their kinsman who surrounded a massive barrel of ale perched on an oak table. Connor wielded a heavy mallet while Roderick steadied a tap at the base of the enormous cask, pretending to fear for the safety of his extremities. Riotous laughter ensued as Connor drove the tap home with a one-handed swing.

Lud! But his strength never ceased to astonish her.

Were they not afraid, these fierce highland warriors? Did they not worry that Angus might, even now, be plotting retribution? A tremor stole through her. What if she was the unwilling cause of a deadly quarrel of clans?

A brawny highlander handed Roderick the first tankard, congratulating him for his bravery with a hearty laugh. The next one was granted to Connor for performing the honors. He toasted his brother and tilted his head back and drank deeply.

Lindsay tried not to watch the cords of his neck work over the swallows, or notice the flex in his arm as he lifted the tankard to his lips. His impressive body was well displayed wrapped in a tartan and naught else but his boots. Across his chest, dark tattoos of knotted design spiked and wended through the cords of his flesh, branding him a chieftain in the old way. Likewise bands of knots encircled his biceps. They entranced her for a moment before she broke the spell with a blink. She resented her awareness of him and this vital, inescapable connection between them.

Evelyn linked arms with her and steered them toward the men as the music began in earnest. “They’re magnificent, aren’t they?” she purred. “I know you’re cross with Connor at the moment, but I wish you’d at least lose yourself in the festivities.” She cast Lindsay a suggestive look from beneath her lashes. “Berserkers are excellent dancers. It must be some primitive, innate rhythm they’re in tune with.”

“Indeed?” Lindsay didn’t dare to think about it.

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