soul.”
“Amen to that.” Janet flicked one of Emma’s curls. “They do make a lovely couple. Perhaps I’ll see you dancing with your groom one day soon.”
“Sh—do not speak of such things in mixed company.”
“Hmm.”
Emma wasn’t thrilled with Janet’s tone. She’d heard it before, and a “hmm” could be ever so meddlesome. Did Emma want to marry? Aye, more than anything in the world. She wanted a husband and children—lots of children. But she cared not to ever spend another day away from Glenmoriston, which posed quite a conundrum. Wives, especially daughters of esteemed lairds, generally moved to their husband’s lands. The mere idea was utterly terrifying. It was difficult enough to visit a new place for a fortnight, but to leave Moriston Hall and venture somewhere completely foreign frightened Emma to her toes.
As the music ended, she joined in the applause.
“Will you do me the honor of granting me the next dance, miss?” Ciar asked, lightly brushing her elbow.
“Me?”
“Aye, you, lassie. We’ve danced before. In this very hall, mind you.”
How could she forget? Dancing with the Dunollie laird might have been the most exhilarating moment in her otherwise unvaried life. Though Ciar looked upon her as a sister, deep in her heart Emma burned for him. In all these years he’d never feared her. Whenever he visited, it was as if the sun shone into every room and bathed her face in its warmth.
She tried very hard to not to sigh like a lovesick waif. “I shall never forget.”
He took her hand ever so gently, making a tingle shiver up her arm. “Then let us not delay.”
“Thank you.” Emma wrapped her fingers around his. She absolutely mustn’t ever mistake his kindness for anything more. Regardless of how much she desired more. He was the chieftain of Clan MacDougall of Dunollie and, though she was the daughter of a great clan chief, any woman afflicted with blindness, no matter how wellborn, had nary a chance to win the affections of a great Highlander the likes of Ciar MacDougall.
Nonetheless, she felt utterly secure as he led her to the dance floor.
Not only secure but filled with a sense of purpose. Filled with desire. Filled with a grand sense of belonging, even though dozens of strangers surrounded her.
“Are you ready?” he asked, squeezing her hands.
“Aye,” she chirped. If only she could wrap her arms around his neck and tell him how much it meant to dance with him—the most wonderful man in the hall.
When he left her in the ladies’ line, the orchestra played the introduction to a reel. Emma’s heart soared with the tempo, and she joined in with the clapping. The floor rumbled from the beat of the dancers’ shoes and the alternating tapping of their toes.
She skipped toward Ciar and joined hands, sashaying in a circle. But her chest tightened with unease when he passed her to the corner for a turn. Confusion from twirling caught her off guard as the caller said back to home.
“Not here, lass,” grumbled a gruff voice.
Gasping, Emma drew her fists beneath her chin. “Ciar!”
His confident hand took hold of her elbow. “Here we are.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not to worry,” he said, his voice filled with amusement as he twirled her around. “You’re doing remarkably well.”
Indeed? She felt as if she were bumbling with everyone staring at her. “That is kind of you to say.”
“Now we’ll sashay along the outside of the lines and I’ll grasp your hands at the end. All right?”
“If we must,” she replied, skipping along and tripping over her skirts. About to fall, she flung out her hands, only to have them caught by a pair of meaty palms. As soon as she inhaled she knew who’d saved her.
“This way,” whispered Robert, sashaying with her to the end of the row. “Dunollie is waiting now.”
Though she appreciated her brother’s help, Emma hated to be so reliant on others. She drew a hiss of air in through her teeth, vowing not to make another mistake.
As Robert guided her hands to the left, Ciar caught them—his scent, his gentle touch made her recognize him at once.
“There you are,” he said, his voice low and gentle.
“Saved by my brother.”
“Grant’s a good man.”
“As are you,” she agreed as they skipped through the tunnel of dancers.
The music ended, and Emma curtsied. “Thank you, m’laird.” She turned away, hoping Robert would escort her back to her table, but it was Ciar’s sure grasp that caught her elbow.
“I haven’t thanked you, miss.”
She smirked. “No need. I ken I was awful.