The Highland Laird (Lords of the Highlands #8) - Amy Jarecki Page 0,3
“I daresay there will be dancing.”
“I cannot imagine a wedding feast without dancing.” Ciar’s knee lightly brushed hers as he shifted toward her.
The inadvertent touch made Emma gasp as gooseflesh rose across her skin. Rubbing her thigh, she pretended to be unruffled. “Tell me about the musicians.”
“The orchestra is up on the balcony, and the ceiling of the hall is vaulted, which makes the music resonate.”
She ran her spoon around her bowl just to ensure she hadn’t missed any sweet. “Ah, that’s why they’re so clear.”
“The musicians look to be a band of tinkers. There’s a scrawny fiddler and another who appears to be the cook’s trifle sampler.”
Licking her spoon, Emma grinned. “And the third?”
“Och, your ear is impressive. He’s a wee lad of no more than thirteen, but I daresay his bow work is effortless—though you’d be a better judge.” The footman removed their bowls. “I had to blink twice when I saw the bass fiddler.”
“Why?”
“’Cause the enormous rosewood contraption is being wielded by a wee lassie. The thing dwarfs her. I can’t be completely certain from here, but she must be standing on a box.”
“She’s keeping tempo.”
“Aye, and who wouldn’t with a drummer who looks like a stray dog.”
“Truly?”
“He’s the most ragged of the lot, from his moth-eaten kilt to whiskers that haven’t been groomed in a half year or more.”
“I wonder if he has a bird’s nest in all that hair,” said Robert.
Laughing, Emma rubbed her fingers along her jaw imagining the man’s beard tangling with his drumsticks. “And the flutist?”
Ciar’s shoulder bumped hers as he leaned nearer. “That fella’s almost as large as I am. ’Tis a miracle his fingers aren’t too thick. I think mine would end up covering multiple holes at once.”
“But his do not?”
“Mayhap he’s not quite as large as I.”
Tapping her lip with her tongue, Emma shifted her shoulder just to brush his once again. Her heart gave a wee flutter. “I do not hear a piper.”
“Because there isn’t one. At least not yet. But if I ken Lochiel, he’ll be saving the pipes for later.”
Something heavy screeched across the floorboards—several somethings. Emma clasped her hands beneath her chin. “They’re moving the tables!”
“Lassies and laddies,” boomed the steward. “The wedding party will now join Sir Kennan and Lady Divana in the first dance.”
As rustling filled the hall, a country tune with a three-beat rhythm began. “Is the wedding couple very bonny together?” Emma asked.
“They are stunning.” Ciar brushed Emma’s arm, making tingles tickle all the way up to her neck. “Have you met the bride?”
Emma tapped the place he’d touched, wishing he’d do it again. “Briefly. Janet and I visited her chamber before the ceremony.”
“Ah, then I suppose you already ken she has hair the color of fire.”
“Aye, my lady’s maid mentioned the radiance of Divana’s tresses. D-do men like fire-red?”
“Some do. Though there are fools who fear it.”
Emma wrung her hands beneath the table. She oughtn’t have asked Ciar if he liked red hair. It wasn’t polite and, by his tone, she already knew he did. Emma’s hair wasn’t exactly fire-red. Mrs. Tweedie, the housekeeper at Glenmoriston, said it was auburn. And Janet insisted it was the color of cinnamon. Emma had a strong sense of fire. It was warm and could burn if one drew too close to the flame. Fire was useful, necessary, and desirable. Conversely, cinnamon was a spice. True, it was pleasant-smelling and she loved the taste, but it was nowhere as dramatic as fire.
If only I were astonishingly dramatic, perhaps I might be more appealing to Ciar.
“Is something amiss?” Janet whispered in her ear.
“Not at all. Just enjoying the music.” Emma raised her chin, affecting the serene expression she’d practiced with her lady’s maid. Had her smile fallen? She mustn’t allow herself to appear fearful, aloof, or disinterested—according to her sister-in-law’s tutelage. It didn’t take a seer to realize Janet was eager for Emma to marry, though Robert seemed none too keen to boot her out of Moriston Hall.
“Is not the tempo of a country dance a bit fast for the bride and groom?” she asked.
“Not for them,” said Janet, lowering her voice and whispering again. “I only learned when we arrived that Kennan’s bride hasn’t enjoyed the benefit of dancing lessons as we have. In fact, she is fortunate to be alive.”
“Oh?”
“She was left for dead on a deserted isle. As it turns out, Clan Cameron is much in her debt. The lass saved Kennan’s life after his ship was attacked by pirates.”