Highland Barbarian Part 18

Jamie felt his cheeks redden as he picked up the lute and joined the musicians. At a nod from Brice he began to play. Within minutes he forgot his nervousness as the music flowed through his fingers.

"I have not danced since I left France," Mary said with a pretty little pout, "seeing that dancing has been forbidden here in Scotland, as has anything else that brings pleasure. But here in the Highlands," she said, brightening suddenly, 'that horrid John Knox cannot hear even a whisper of scandal about our adventures."

"Or misadventures, knowing you," Brice added with a smile.

"Hush. Now that I am once again gowned as your queen," Mary said with a glance at the burgundy hunting outfit that had been restored to her,

"I command you to show a little respect. Further, I command you to learn the latest dances from Paris."

"I am your obedient servant, Madame." Brice bowed over her hand and escorted her to the center of the room.

From her position between Angus and Holden, Meredith was forced to watch as the queen and her friends taught Brice and the others the latest dances.

It was almost scandalous to see the way the women directed the men to hold them close while the music played. Their feet moved in perfect rhythm, their bodies swaying gently. One shocking new dance even ended with a kiss.

Meredith watched in stunned silence as the queen lifted her face to Brice. Their lips brushed. The men and women around them clapped their hands and called out encouragement.

Young Jamie MacDonald watched in stunned silence. Brice was actually kissing the queen.

"Ah," Mary said, smiling.

"You have not lost your touch, Brice. You are still able to make my heart leap to my throat with a single touch."

"And you, Madame," he said with a smile, "are still the most outrageous flirt, as well as the finest dancer in all of France or Scotland."

"You flatter me."

"Nay, Mary," he said, offering his arm and leading her across the room.

"Your love of the dance is obvious. You move like a leaf in the wind."

"The heart of a poet beats in the breast of this warrior," the queen said to the others with a laugh.

"I believe it is my dance. Majesty."

The queen turned into the arms of one of the men from her hunting party and together they twirled away. Over her partner's shoulder Mary called,

"Dance with your hostage, Brice. I think it only fair that you teach her the dances of Paris."

Brice's smile remained in place until he turned away. At that moment Meredith saw the little frown of frustration that was gone as quickly as it had appeared. He held out his hand and Meredith was forced to accept it.

"I do not dance, my lord."

"Your queen has commanded it."

He saw her bite her lip as she moved into his embrace.

As his arms encircled her the feeling was swift, immediate. It was not at all a pleasant sensation.

Against her temple he growled,

"You might try smiling. Learning the dance is not quite as painful as a public flogging."

"Are you so certain? I did not see you smiling a moment ago." She tried to ignore the feeling that curled deep inside.

"I was thinking that I should first search your person to determine if you carried a knife."

She gave him an exaggerated, beguiling smile.

"If I did, my lord, it would not be in my hand. It would be in your back."

She felt his hand tighten at her waist as he led her through the intricate movements of the dance. Their bodies moved together, stiffly at first. But as the music of the harp and lute washed over them, they began to relax in each other's arms.

There was warmth along her flesh where his hand rested. Meredith could feel each of his fingers at her back, and was alarmed at the p.r.i.c.kly sensation his touch aroused. His breath was warm against her temple.

In the crush of dancers he drew her closer, until she could feel his lips pressed to a tangle of her hair. The hand holding hers was strong and firm as he led her with ease. She felt a trembling inside that had nothing to do with the fact that she was disobeying the law of the kirk by dancing. Nay, it was not the dance that was her undoing; it was the man holding her.

As Brice turned her, he was acutely aware of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s crushed against his chest. Her thigh brushed his and he felt the heat. Her hand, so small and soft in his, showed the bruises from his show of force the previous night. He felt a trace of remorse at the way he'd been forced to treat her.

"I had hoped to return to the Borders this day and finish this business between myself and Gareth MacKenzie. Then you could be restored to your people."

"Instead you dance to the queen's musicians."

"It cannot be helped."

"Aye. So many things, it seems, cannot be helped." Her eyes grew stormy.

"You could not help killing Desmond. You could not help taking me prisoner."

There was heat now of a different kind as Brice held her in his arms.

He was not proud of having mistakenly killed an innocent. Nor was he happy about having taken her hostage. She had hit a nerve. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to throttle her.

Meredith fought back the feelings that simmered inside her. She had hoped that by insulting him, by reminding herself who this man was, she could sweep aside this insidious reaction to his mere touch. But nothing, it seemed, could save her from her weakness.

"The dance is ending," the queen called.

"We must all kiss."

Meredith pulled away but she was no match for Brice's strength.

Brice bent, determined to casually touch his lips to hers. This was, after all, not really a kiss. It was nothing more than the latest silly fashion from Paris.

It was the merest touch of lips to lips. It lasted only the briefest moment in time. And yet, in that single second, she felt the fire and reacted as if she'd been burned. The moment his lips brushed hers, she flinched.

Brice felt it as well. He forced himself to absorb the shock with absolutely no expression on his face. The hands at her waist remained still as he commanded them not to draw her closer. But he could not control his pulse beat It throbbed at his temples, causing his blood to heat until it was a raging fire.

"Thank you for the dance, my lady." He lifted his head. "Angus." His voice was a low, angry growl.