Page 82 of Ruined By the Ruthless Highlander
“Well, I suppose we should go back down,” she muttered. “After all, we have come to a cèilidh.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“What is a cèilidh, exactly?” Marian asked as they made their way back to the Great Hall.
Lachlan looked sideways at her, his eyebrows rising slightly. “Ye truly daenae ken?”
A small frown creased her face at his tone.
“No, my Laird,” she admitted quietly, leaning into him so that no one around them would hear. “I was hoping you would tell me.”
Lachlan scoffed. The sound was faint, almost as though he was amused.
“Of course,” he said. He muttered something in Gaelic to another guest in the corridor before turning back to her. “Dancin’… Drinkin’… Certainly more noise than ye’re used to.”
Because I am English.
Marian nodded, looking away as they continued to walk.
The music grew louder as they drew closer to the hall, the melodious drumming echoing through the stone passage.
Marian hesitated for a moment before asking him another question. “And… am I expected to participate in this… dancing?”
Lachlan did not look at her. “’Tis up to ye, lass.” His gaze was fixed straight ahead on nothing in particular. “But I suppose someone might ask ye to dance.” A muscle ticked at his temple as his jaw tightened. “A gentleman, as ye English say.”
Marian’s eyes narrowed slightly.
I do not wish to dance with another man.
Her fingers curled faintly at her sides before she uncurled them, realizing that she had just considered Lachlan a man different from the rest.
“And if I refuse?” she asked, raising her chin just a fraction.
Lachlan looked at her again, his gaze lingering a moment longer than necessary. “Then ye refuse, Mairi,” he said quietly, though his tone was no longer light. “But I daenae think any man herewould be foolish enough to press ye if ye daenae wish it.” He paused. “Ye are with me.”
Marian swallowed at his words, grateful for the timely glow of torchlight as it spilled into the corridor. The sound of music and laughter rushed toward them as they stepped into the Great Hall, and her lips dropped open in awe.
Wonderful.
The Great Hall felt warmer than the other parts of the castle. She inhaled, taking in the atmosphere as Lachlan whispered something next to her.
He moved away before she’d had a chance to process his words, his long strides carrying him toward the far end of the hall, where most of the men were gathered.
Suddenly, she was alone.
She released a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding, looking around her to drink in every fascinating detail.
There was not much to the décor per se, and yet the hall felt so much livelier than any English ball she’d ever been to. The chaotic and yet surprisingly coordinated rhythm of the dance interested her.
Surely, I cannot make sense of it.
Her eyes widened at the way the people struck the ground with their boots in rhythm to the drums, and the loud, unrestrained laughter that followed every one of their movements, both men and women.
A couple nearly stumbled into her, and she stepped back quickly, a soft laugh escaping her lips as she regained her balance.
It struck her then how easily she had been drawn in by it all.
“Pardon me,” she said as she moved out of what had suddenly become a dance floor, though no one seemed to mind.
