Helen never moaned—gritted her teeth and bore Aleck’s brutal thrusts, was more like it. Perhaps she was just one of those “frigid” women who would never enjoy copulation. She’d heard about that, too. Oh, the many things a lady of the keep overhears when supervising a bevy of servants.
She locked arms with Eoin and skipped in a circle.
“Are you all right, m’lady?”
“Of course.” She feigned a smile. “Why would you ask?”
“I thought for a moment you might be unhappy with the prospect of dancing with me.” He pointed to his feet. “As I recall, you were ten and six when you told me I’d never learn my left from my right.”
She laughed out loud—only Eoin MacGregor could pull her from melancholy and make her chuckle. “Oh my heavens, I was the most atrocious lass at six and ten. I acted as if I were the Queen of Sheba.”
“Not at all. You were right and I spent a fortnight practicing before I allowed your mother to talk me into partnering in your dancing lessons again.”
Oh, how many fond memories his words brought. “Dearest Mother. She always had a way of bending you lads to her will.”
“That she did.” They parted and continued to their respective lines. When they once again faced each other, he hadn’t lost his jovial grin. “You were about six and ten when I really first noticed you.”
“Honestly?” Helen thought back. “But hadn’t you started partnering with us years before that?”
He stepped in and clasped her hands. “Aye.” The look in his eyes grew dark.
She watched his face while they sashayed through the tunnel of dancers. Her mouth suddenly went dry and her midsection was attacked by a swarm of fluttering dragonflies. They had to be dragonflies rather than butterflies because the sensation was completely unnatural. She dare not question him about his meaning.
He hadn’t noticed me before I’d turned six and ten?
They exited the tunnel and parted. Helen clapped a hand over her mouth, the full significance of his words dawning on her.
All this time she’d believed the looks of longing across the hall were frivolous one-sided yens of a silly maiden. Had he actually returned her affections—even a little? Not that it mattered now, but to know they’d once shared something deeper than mere friendship. Helen’s heart thrummed. Perhaps that would make tolerating Aleck’s abuse a wee bit more palatable.
When she rejoined the line and faced Eoin, she didn’t have to feign her smile. Nothing in all of Christendom could wipe the grin off her face.
Again they joined elbows. “I believe dancing agrees with you,” Eoin said.
She took in a refreshing breath. “I think you are right. I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed it.”
He smiled down at her with eyes shining, just as she’d remembered him doing years ago. “I meant what I said. People of all ages should dance. ’Tis invigorating—makes the heart rush and one’s breathing speed. I think ’tis good for the soul.”
When the music ended, all of the dancers laughed and clapped. Helen held her hands out to the minstrels. “May we have another reel, please?”
The fiddler bowed. “Certainly, m’lady.”
She clasped her hands together and faced Eoin. “Do you think your heart can withstand another lively dance?”
“There’s no question about the power of my heart.” He grinned ever so warmly. “But are you up to another?”
“Me? Why I’m only getting started.”
He tugged at her veil. “Perhaps this time your matronly head covering might fly away in a spin.”
She touched her hands to her veil. “You jest.” She stole a glance to the dais. The chieftain wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention while he nuzzled into Mary’s ear—and the widow had again moved to Helen’s chair.
Why am I fretting about what he thinks?
She tugged the suffocating veil from her head and cast it to a nearby table. “There. Now we no longer need to worry about it.”
“Bravo, a woman with your beauty certainly needs no head covering.” Eoin’s gaze darted to the dais as well. He growled before he returned his attention to Helen. But this time, they danced in silence. Helen’s emotion ran the gamut—first to humiliation and anger that her husband was up on the dais fawning over his leman—then to exhilaration that she was dancing with unabashed fervor for the first time since she arrived at Mingary Castle. At last, she opted to revel in the moment. With her hair unbound and brushing her hips, she felt free and unfettered. It reminded her of the days when Helen and her sister, Gyllis, were still maids, running up the Kilchurn tower stairs and watching the guard spar in the courtyard while the wind blew through their long tresses.
Eoin had been one of the knights in the courtyard, as had Sean MacDougall, Gyllis’s husband.
When the music stopped, Eoin took her hand. “You look deep in thought.”
“Aye.” She sighed. “Just remembering the years at Kilchurn.”
The minstrels began a slow almain. Eoin grasped her hand, leading her in the stately dance as if it were second nature for him. “Fond memories?”
“Very much so. I miss my sisters. Gyllis especially.”
“Ah yes, the two of you were very close.” The rough pads of Eoin’s fingertips plied her hand while they danced in a circle. Step-hop, step-hop.
She smiled at him. “I love this dance.”
“Aye, it can be very stimulating with the right partner.”
She stopped. “I hope I am not keeping you from seeking out a more entertaining lass.”
He reached for her hand and pulled her step-hopping in the other direction. “Nay, m’lady. There is no other person with whom I’d rather be dancing this night.”
No? “Why have you not married after all these years?”
He chuckled. “Because either the king or your brother has me running sorties all over Scotland. I’ve scarcely had the time to think about it.”
“But you’ve been to court.”
“Aye.”
“I think we should find you a wife.”
He shot her a wee frown. “Pray Lady Helen, I’d prefer to find my own wife.”
The food churned in her stomach. “Have you someone in mind?”
“Not yet.”
She knew she shouldn’t press, but couldn’t help but ask. “Not ever?”
He shrugged. “No one who ever stuck.”
Good Lord, what did he mean by that?
They danced through one song after another and Helen never tired. At the end of a high-steeping reel, she dipped into a curtsey and fanned her face.
“Are you enjoying dancing with my wife, MacGregor?” Aleck groused from behind Helen.
Her back tensed as if someone had just run a block of ice along her spine.
Eoin straightened from his bow. “You would have been welcome to cut in at any moment.”
The two men regarded each other with leery eyes, but Aleck swayed—and smelled pickled. He faced the thinning crowd and clapped his hands while swaying in place. “The hour is late. Good m-morrow.”
He’s in his cups for certain.
Helen searched for Mary. The nasty widow was still sitting in Helen’s chair, watching them as if a spectator at the Highland games.