He leaned closer. “Mared, leannan,” he said, using a term of endearment as he touched her hand, “surely ye have gathered by now that I donna give a damn what any of them think. Dance with me.” And he smiled.
All right, then. There was simply no denying that magnetic smile—she was lost. The whiskey and the lure of the pipes propelled her forward, and against her better judgment, she awkwardly slipped her hand into his and felt quite helpless when he smiled warmly at her, as if they shared some intimate secret. He put her hand on his arm and covered it with his broad palm, then led her onto the crowded dance floor, boldly ignoring the many critical eyes that turned toward them.
True to his word, Payton seemed not to notice or care. He swept a low bow.
She curtsied properly, smiled when he put his hand steadfastly on her waist, took her hand firmly in his other. She might be lost, she reasoned, but she might as well make the most of it, and with a giggle, she put her hand lightly on his shoulder.
The music started up in earnest; Payton grinned, twirled her to the rhythm of the music, pulling her close to his body, his hand going around to span her waist. This close to him, she could smell his cologne, the musky scent reminding her of that kiss in Glen Ard, the feel of his mouth on her skin, and his thigh between her legs. Much to her horror, she blushed.
He smiled knowingly. “What are ye thinking?”
The question took her slightly aback—could he read her thoughts? Could he possibly know how vividly she recalled that day and that kiss? Flustered by his smile and the gleam that went deep in his gray eyes, Mared did what she always did when she felt threatened. She assumed a certain nonchalance.
“Can ye no’ guess? I was wondering why ye would have Lockharts to a silly ball. ’Tis no’ the Douglas way.”
“Aye, ’tis no’ the Douglas way, because the Lockharts, particularly when they travel in a pack, can be a wee bit…fiadhaich.”
Mared laughed, for the Lockharts thought the same of the Douglases—that they were a wild, unruly lot.
Her laughter pleased him, and he gave her a knee-weakening smile that somehow had her feeling completely outside of her body. In the glow of that smile, he pulled her closer, so that their bodies were touching.
She did not resist him but demanded, “What are ye doing? Ye’ll create quite a scandal dancing so close to the wretched daughter of Lockhart.”
“Hush,” he said low. “I enjoy the feel of ye in my arms. There’ll be no derision of ye tonight, no’ even from yer own lips. Let them think what they will, but let them know that ye will be a Douglas soon enough.”
A Douglas…Mared reacted to that by suddenly rearing back, pushing against the arm that firmly anchored her to him. “Let me go,” she said sharply.
“What is it, then?” he asked impatiently. “Do ye still foolishly deny what will be?”
“Stop it,” she said, looking away. “Ye willna provoke me into making a scene.”
“Bloody wee fool,” he muttered, and easily pulled her closer. “I’ve courted ye, I’ve tried my damnedest to make it easy for ye—”
“’Tis no’ a matter of trying,” she said angrily as a feeling of helplessness began to rise in her throat. “’Tis a matter of being forced against my will—”
“Then I suggest ye no’ be so free with yer word of honor, Mared.”
“Ye think I was free to give it?” she insisted incredulously. “Do ye think a woman is ever free? I do as every woman I know must do—I bow to the will of my father and my brothers!”
“For God’s sake, will ye stop yer complaining!” he said irritably. “Ye will do as yer father wisely decides because ye are too foolish when left to yer own devices! I offer ye a good life, but ye are too stubborn to see it.”
“Ye donna offer, ye command!” she shot back.
His expression grew dark, and he tightened his hold on her hand. “Donna provoke me, Mared. My patience is at an end and I’ll no’ stand for such impertinence or willful disdain as ye show me now once we are married.”
“Indeed? And pray tell, how do ye think to stop it?”
His expression turned even darker; he clenched his jaw tightly shut and yanked her closer. He refused to look at her, just twirled her one way, then the other, until the music thankfully drew to an end, and at last, he stepped away from her and bowed. She inclined her head and turned to walk stiffly beside him.
But he was not through with her—he put an unyielding hand to her elbow and guided her none too gently toward the doors that opened onto the terrace.
Mared opened her mouth to protest, but he quickly cut her off. “Ach, no, donna speak! Ye despise me, ye’ve made it perfectly clear, but ye are to be my wife, whether or no’ either of us can abide it,” he said tersely. “I’ve always thought ye a bonny lass, a bird with a bonny countenance, but this evening, I find ye shrill.”
She gasped indignantly and tried to wrench her arm free of his grasp, but he held firm. “Then let go of me!”
“Stop acting the child! I’ve a gift for ye, Mared. In a moment of abominable weakness, I had a gift made for ye.”