A light tap on her shoulder stopped Syrena from contemplating a more violent action than a simple knock on his head. “My lady, come join us,” Beth invited, tugging her from her chair.
Syrena was tempted to demur, but her feet would have none of it. She caught the look of surprise in Aidan's eyes before she followed Beth into the midst of swirling gowns. After a self-conscious moment, she closed her eyes and allowed the sound of the music to take over, to envelop her in its seductive rhythm. The crackle of the fire, its warm amber glow, and its smoky scent were an intoxicating mix that fueled her excitement.
Her body mimicked the movements of the woman who performed for Aidan. But then her own natural instincts took over, her love of dancing. Although, when she danced in the Enchanted Isles, it had never been like this. She'd been afraid of what the others would say, afraid of their contempt, their laughter. But tonight, she didn't care, there was no one to impress. Like her, the other women simply loved to dance. Caught within the heated, spinning vortex of bodies, she gave herself up to the music.
She kicked off her slippers and felt the cool dampness of the grass beneath her feet. Laughing, she tossed her head back and twirled. The heavy weight of her gown caressed her bare legs, sending shivers of delight over her heated flesh. Her hips swaying to the music, she drew her hands over her curves to raise them in the air, the movements slow and sensual. She danced like a womanâa woman who wanted a man, and not just any man. She wanted Aidan.
She stumbled at the thought, and it took her a moment to regain the rhythm. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't deny her feelings for him. And wouldn't the Fae delight in her follyâfalling in love with a Mortal. A Mortal, if her brother was right, who would hold her in the same contempt as the Fae were he to learn her secret.
But tonight she was Lady Syrena, a woman, who despite her innocence sensed Aidan's attraction to her. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. It was apparent in the way he treated her, the way he touched her with his big hands and his warm skillful lips.
And just this once, for this one magickal night, she wanted to forget the Fae and Morgana, and be the woman he thought her to be.
The sound of clapping broke the spell. Syrena's arms fell to her sides, her toes curled in the grass, and she slowly opened her eyes, afraid she'd made a fool of herself. Heat suffused her cheeks. But the warmth in the smiling faces and laughing eyes of the women and men that now surrounded her belied the thought. They applauded her performance, and she beamed, happier than she thought she could be. Never had she felt so accepted, and not even the voluptuous redhead pinning her with a malevolent stare could take that away from her.
The music started up again, a raucous tune, and the men joined the women. Gavin popped up, swaying in front of her. Laughing, she tugged her hand from his. The man was too inebriated to stand let alone dance. To prove her point, he landed at her feet in a heap.
“Oh, Gavin.” She nudged him with her toe. He slapped her foot away then curled on his side, snoring.
She shook her head and sighed. Placing her hands beneath his arms, she tried to drag him to his feet, but he was deadweight. She searched the dancing couples for some sign of Donald, but found Aidan instead, weaving his way toward her. His rugged, masculine beauty stole her breath away. Then she noticed the harsh lines bracketing his mouth and felt a moment of trepidation, wondering if his anger was directed at her. The redhead attempted to waylay him, as did several others, but his long powerful strides didn't slow until he stood before her.
She chewed on her bottom lip, raising her eyes from the colorful plaid belted at his waist and slung carelessly over his shoulder. The marble white shirt that he wore clung to his broad chest, accentuating the bronzed column of his thick neck.
All sound and movement faded when she met his eyes. His gaze, a shimmer of heated silver, raked her from head to toe, searing her with its intensity, with his desire.
“Doona move,” he ordered in a low rasp. He cursed Gavin then, muscles flexing, tossed him over his shoulder and strode through the laughing crowd.
She stood frozen in place, her emotions in turmoil, unsure what it was Aidan was feeling. Had she embarrassed him with her wanton behavior? By Fae standards her dancing would be considered modest, and she didn't think her movements had been any more provocative than the woman who had danced for him earlier.
A giant of a man swung a giggling woman high in the air and Syrena managed to jump out of their way. But not far enough that his big foot missed hers.
She waved off the man's apology with a pained smile and searched the ground, hoping for a glimpse of her slippers. She didn't notice Aidan until he grabbed hold of her hand, tugging her after him. She stumbled. “Aidan, stop. My slippers, I need my slippers,” she said breathlessly.
He turned to look at her, and she lifted the hem of her gown to show him her bare feet. With a muttered oath, he swung her into his arms, ignoring the ribald comments their audience called out after them.
Syrena buried her burning face in his plaid, her arms wrapped around his neck. She felt the rhythmic beat of his heart against her chest and tipped her head back to look at him. His expression harsh, inscrutable, he stared off in the distance.
He slowed then stopped beside an ancient oak, far from the revelry. The heat of the fires a distant memory. A cool breeze lifted her hair, and she shivered, drawing his attention.
“Ye'll no' be cold fer long,” he murmured into her hair, pressing her back against the tree, her feet dangling above the ground. Placing his heavily muscled thigh between her legs, he anchored her to the trunk.
She swallowed a moan of pleasure as his heat seeped into her sensitive skin and pulsated to her very core. He cupped her cheeks with his big hands. Shafts of moonlight danced across his beautiful face. And his eyes, dark and fathomless, glittered like the stars above them.
“Tell me, Syrena, who were ye dancin' fer?” His voice was a deep rumble in his chest.
“Me,” she managed, her voice little more than a whisper. And then, tangling his silky, midnight-black curls between her fingers, she told him the truth, casting caution aside with one word, “You.”
He groaned, and capturing her lips with his, devoured her. His kiss, possessive and demanding, enthralled her. Creating a desire so strong she squirmed against his rock-hard thigh, needing release from the aching throb between her legs. “Aidan,” she whimpered against his mouth.
He pulled back, his breathing harsh, his eyes searching hers. “From now on, ye dance fer me alone.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she dipped her head. “You didn't like it?”
He tilted her chin with his thumbs. “Oh, aye, angel, I liked it all right.” His warm breath caressed her cheek. “Verra, verra much,” he murmured against her mouth.
Chapter 9
“I doona ken what has ye so riled, Aidan, the gatherin' was a grand success.”
Aidan glanced from his mug of ale to his brother's head. His fingers itched with the urge to douse the grinning fool.
“Aye, and the Lady Syrena seemed to enjoy herself, dancin' the night away as she did.” He caught the laughter in his cousin's voice and shot him an irritated look.
“Aye, 'twas a good thing the Widow Blackmore found her wee slippers,” his brother said, looking up from shoveling porridge into his mouth to frown at Aidan. “I canna imagine ye thought to find them so far from the celebration. I wouldna found ye if no' fer the widow.”
Aidan shoved a spoonful of porridge in his mouth before he said something he'd regret. Damning Lachlan and that blasted woman to Hades for interrupting him last night. He'd spent the entire evening in a state of frustration thanks to the two of them. And Syrena hadn't helped mattersâflitting from one man to the next, her bonny face alight with pleasure. Every time he'd heard her husky laugh, he'd downed a mug of ale. And if he could go by the pounding in his head, she'd laughed too bloody often.
“Aidan, ye have the look of a man sufferin' the effects of too much ale. 'Tis a shame I canna make you the concoction Aileanna is always forcin' down our throats when we've done the same.” Iain shuddered. “'Tis vile, but it works.”
“Aye, a real shame,” Aidan muttered, wishing the timber that appeared ready to fall from the ceiling would land on top of his cousin's irritating head.
“ 'Tis no' like ye to imbibe as ye did last night. Is somethin' amiss, brother?”
Aye, something was amiss all right. They'd interrupted him before he'd satisfied one iota of his desire for Syrena. One small taste was all he'd managed before the bumbling idiots had stumbled upon them. A taste that had enflamed his desire to a raging inferno, only to have his brother lead a blushing Syrena back to the gathering. And Aidan to drown his lust in ale and wonder at the fool he was making of himself over a woman.
“Nay. Now do ye think the two of ye could just break yer fast instead of babblin' like a couple of old maids?”
“Ye are . . . Syrena.” His brother's voice boomed across the hall. A broad grin creased his face as he waved over the object of Aidan's frustration.
In a demure, pink gown, she looked the picture of innocenceâa far cry from the alluring, provocative wench of last night. Aidan was thankful it had only been during the first dance she'd displayed a wantonness that fired his blood, or else he never would have been able to restrain himself. Bloody hell, he pinched the bridge of his nose. She was driving him mad.
Several members of the clan called out to her, and she stopped to have a wee chat before making her way toward them.
“Ye look about as happy as my brother, Syrena. What's the matter, lass?” Lan asked, holding out the chair between them.
“Thank you,” she murmured, giving Aidan a sidelong glance before taking her seat.
“Come now, what's troublin' ye?” his brother cajoled.
“Beth,” Syrena muttered. “She is very irritating so early in the morning. I wasn't even awake and she drew the draperies, crashing and banging about in my chambers. How is anyone supposed to sleep with the amount of noise she makes?” She thanked the serving girl who placed a bowl of porridge in front of her.
“'Tis no' what most would call early, Syrena,” Aidan commented dryly. She scowled at him, then flashed a smile at Iain, who passed her a pot of honey.
He met his cousin's amused gaze over her bent head. “Is it no' time fer ye to be headin' back to Dunvegan?”
“Tired of my company, cousin?” Iain drawled.
“Nay, no' at all, I'm just thinkin' Rory will have need of ye.”
Iain snorted. “Nay, I willna be headin' back to Dunvegan as yet. I'm headin' fer court. I'm thinkin' I'm due fer some adventure. Remember when we were lads, Aidan, how we talked about sailin' to distant lands, makin' our fortunes at sea?”
“Aye,” Aidan said quietly. He remembered it well. All his dreams had ended that night long ago on the cliffs when at eighteen he'd assumed responsibility for the clan. But truth be told, he never would have left Lan, not until he was old enough to protect himself.
His brother watched him closely as though he knew what it was he was feeling. Aidan cleared his throat. “Ye have somethin' in mind?”
“Aye, I've been talkin' with the McNeils. I'm thinkin' of investin' in their next venture.”
“What does Rory think?”
Iain shrugged. “I havena' discussed it with him, no' as yet.”
“I wonder . . .”
Syrena's quiet hum drew Aidan's attention. She savored her honey-drenched porridge with her eyes closed. His gaze tracked her pink tongue as it glided over her moist lips.
Lan chuckled. “At the rate ye eat that stuff, Syrena, we'll need a cartload to keep ye content.”
Her husky giggle shot straight to Aidan's loins. “I can't help myself. It tastes so good.”
Before he could stop himself, he reached over and wiped the golden droplet from her chin onto his finger. “Ye missed some.” His voice was a deep rumble.
Lan and Iain guffawed.
Syrena arched a brow, and Aidan shrugged, sliding his finger into his mouth. “Ye're right, 'tis verra good.” He could only think how much better it would be if he could lean over and lick it from her glistening lips.
Iain grinned then leaned back in his chair. “Well, lads, 'tis time I took my leave. My thanks fer the grand time. Syrena.” He took her hand in his. “A pleasure to meet you, and I shall tell my sister-by-marriage all about you. I'm certain she'll be verra interested, won't she, Aidan?” His amused expression turned serious. “I'll make yer inquiries while I'm at court, cousin. Doona worry, Syrena. Sooner or later we'll manage to find yer kin.”
Aidan didn't miss the surreptitious glance the lass sent his brother. Nor the reassuring one Lan offered in return. “Is there somethin' I should be made aware of, Syrena? Lachlan?”
Her cheeks flushed. “I . . . I'm . . . well . . .”
“What she means to say, Aidan, is every time she thinks on her kin, she gets an ache in her head and feels ill. I suggested fer the time being she doesna' worry on it, and that she's welcome to remain with us.”
“Is this true, Syrena?”
With her spoon, she moved the oats around in the bowl. “Uhmm, yes, if that's all right with you. I promise not to be any trouble.”
Not bloody likely. Having her under his roof these past few days had already overtaxed his restraint. Although if he were honest, he'd admit he didn't want her to leave, would have a difficult time letting her go. And if her kin finally came to claim her, he wasn't so sure he'd be able to. He'd claim her as his and marry the troublesome wench just so he could kiss her honeyed lips anytime he damned well pleased. Look upon her bonny face from sunrise to sunset. And bask in the laughter and warmth she'd brought to his home.
“Aidan?” His brother gave him an odd look, jerking his head in Syrena's direction.
He shoved his hand through his hair. “Aye, doona fash yerself, Syrena, we'll . . .”
A commotion at the other end of the hall drew his attention. Gavin, waving off the comments of the men who held their noses, strode toward them.
When he came to stand beside their table, Aidan gagged, and his eyes watered. “Bloody hell, mon, ye smell like ye rolled around in a pile of . . .” Catching himself, Aidan glanced at Syrena, who looked ready to retch, her sleeve pressed to her nose. “Go on, get yerself to the stable and have someone . . .”
Gavin glared at him, his eyes bloodshot. “'Tis where I have beenâsome fool thought it amusin' to leave me there fer the night. Only they didna bother to check what they were layin' me down in.” He turned to walk away, the remains of what he'd been sleeping on clearly evident on his back, saying, “And ye may wish to get yerself to the stables if yer of a mind to save Lady Syrena's wee pet.”
Syrena gasped, but before he could stop her, she'd shot from her chair.
Aidan groaned. His head pounded as he ran after her with Lan and Iain close on his heels. She might be wee, but she was fast, and he had a devil of a time catching up to her. He finally managed to snag her arm several feet from the stables.
Wrapping his arms around her waist, he held her to his chest. “Bloody hell, quit yer squirmin'.” He tried to ignore the curve of her rounded behind pressed against him, the slight waist he embraced, and the heavy weight of her breasts brushing his forearms.
“Enough.” He grimaced when her heel hit him in the shins. “I'll no' let ye go until ye settle down. Tom's liable to hurt ye.”
She tilted her head, her amber eyes flashing. “You promise you won't let him harm my deer?”
“Aye. Lan, hold on to . . .” Nay, no one would hold her but him. “Watch her.” He turned Syrena to face him. “And ye, doona move.”
He held his breath when Gavin came up alongside him.
His friend rolled his eyes. “Careful, he's armed.”
With a muttered oath, Aidan shoved the doors open. Old Tom, his white hair standing on end, was backed against the wall of Fin's stall, jabbing a pitchfork in the direction of the black stallion, who shielded Syrena's wee pet.
“Drop it, Tom, and get yer arse over here.”
“Are ye mad? That beast attacked me.”
“The deer?”
The old man scowled at him. “Nay, Fin. He bit me.”
Aidan rubbed the stubble along his jaw. Fin had a temper, but it did not usually show itself unless he'd been provoked. “And just what were ye doin' to make him react in such a manner?”
“Gettin' that creature out of his stall is what I was doin'. I doona ken who . . . her, it must've been her,” he shouted, pointing a trembling finger at someone behind Aidan.
He glanced over his shoulder. “I told ye to keep Syrena outside, Lan.”
“He tried,” his cousin said dryly.
“And I ken she's the one who knocked me on the heed, makin' me miss the gatherin'. Took me out with a tankard of ale, wastin' all my lovely brew,” he whined.
Aidan arched a brow in Syrena's direction.
“I did no such thing,” she protested, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
His brother coughed to smother a laugh, and Aidan narrowed his gaze on the two of them. Lachlan was notorious for his antics, and God help Aidan if he now had a partner in crime. He shook his head, trying not to smile at how hard the two of them attempted not to laugh.
He moved toward Fin, patting his hindquarters. “Protectin' the wee beastie, were ye? Ah, ye're a good lad.” He took the rusted pitchfork from Tom and nudged the grumbling old man from the stall.
Aidan glanced at Lan and Syrena, who were giggling like a pair of foolsâa pair of fools who looked as though they were kin. He rubbed his eyes. Nay, 'twas only on account of their similar coloring that made them appear so, he assured himself, a trick of the shaft of light penetrating the shadows.
“Take yer pet out of doors, Syrena. She looks well enough, and a walk will do her good.” The lass seemed happy to comply with his wishes. Making a wide circle of Tom, she came alongside Fin and gave him a quick cuddle. The big stallion nickered against her neck.
Aidan scrubbed his hand over his face. Aye, 'twas time for a ride, a good long one. “Lan, we'll see Iain off at the docks and then we'll take a ride down Harris way.”
He couldn't put it off any longer. He had to search for her kin. Mayhap if he was lucky, they would force his hand and he'd have no choice but to marry the wee beauty. Aye, she was making him daft, turning his long-standing objection to marriage on its head, working her way past his distrust with her sweet and gentle nature.
Syrena lifted a hand in farewell as Aidan, Iain, and her brother rode off. She wrinkled her nose when Gavin came to stand beside her.
“I doona smell
that
bad.”
“Yes . . . you do,” she muttered into her palm.
“Ah, well, I'll take myself off then. Doona wander too far afield. We wouldna want the Lowlanders to get a hold of ye again. The laird would have my head.”
Their concern for her, especially Aidan's, warmed Syrena with a sense of belonging. “I won't go far, Gavin, maybe just beyond the stables.” She pointed out the path she intended to take.
Guttural curses and a resounding crash came from within the barn and he winced. “Aye, 'tis a good idea.” Turning on his heel, he strode away, leaving behind a trail of hay and whatever it was that made him smell so bad.