As High as the Heavens (18 page)

"That plain garb also fits well with yer claim of being
Janet's cousin, rather than the fine lady ye truly are."
He offered her his arm. "Shall we join the others? It
won't work-our little ruse, I mean-unless we share
the plan."

She looped her arm through his. "Nay, I suppose not,"
she said with a chuckle, before stepping out at Duncan's
side.

A few minutes later, with Duncan's parents and Beth
and Tavish informed of the change of identity, the group
entered the stone building. While Fiona, Beth, and Heather deposited the food dishes on a long expanse of
board set on trestles, the three men joined a gathering of
other Scotsmen around a keg of whiskey. Soon, all three
men were each lifting a wooden, two-handled quaich to
their lips, drinking deeply of the beloved water of life. Not
seemingly content to stop at one cup, Duncan, Malcolm,
and Tavish quickly refilled at the keg.

Watching them, Heather frowned. Fiona, turning from
the table just then, noted Heather's dark look.

"Ye can't keep a good Scotsman, be he High or Lowlander, from his aquae vitae, hinny. And ye might as
well not even consider trying." She took Heather by the
arm. "Come. Allow me to introduce ye to Dora Mackenzie. This is her and her husband Fergus's steading,
ye know."

"Nay, I didn't know."

Heather plastered on her best social smile and followed Fiona across a room already beginning to fill with
people. To her surprise, as she neared a small group of
women standing beside the raised platform and the two
fiddlers, Heather spotted Janet and Jean Mackenzie.
When their gazes met, the red-haired girl scowled.

Och, verra fine, Heather thought in dismay. She still
holds a grudge then, does she?

Fiona was quick to introduce Heather to Dora, taking
great care, as she spoke, to make sure both Janet and
Jean caught the modifications of the reason for Heather's presence in the Highlands. Instantly, understanding
flared in Jean Mackenzie's eyes. Janet's mouth dropped,
though, and only her mother's sharp elbow in the ribs silenced whatever comment the girl was about to make.

"We're verra glad to make yer acquaintance," Dora,
a stout, ruddy-faced older woman with silver hair, said.
"A new lass in these parts will stir the interest of all the
lads, and even more so because ye're so bonny."

At the compliment paid her cousin, Janet shot Heather
a scalding look. "Well, it'll do the lads no good in the end,
will it?" she muttered. "Being as how she's only here for
a winter's visit and all."

"Och, Janet, lass," Dora said with a laugh. "Don't be
going and getting jealous. Ye've still a few years before
ye can wed at any rate."

"True enough," Janet allowed, suddenly distracted as
she scanned the room.

Watching her, Heather knew the exact instant she
found Duncan. The petulant look vanished. Her eyes
brightened with delight.

Janet turned to her mother. "If ye please, I'll leave ye
here with Fiona and my dear cousin. I see Duncan over
by the whiskey keg and would like to visit a time with
him."

Jean smiled. "Of course, lass. Just be sure ye don't take
a sip of Duncan's whiskey while ye're there."

"Och, Mither," Janet said with a girlish giggle. "Dinna
fash yerself. Being near Duncan is intoxicating enough
for me." Then, with a sly look at Heather, Janet turned
and skipped off.

Foolish girl, Heather thought with a twinge of irritation, her gaze following Janet as she made her way
through the crowd to Duncan's side. If she imagined
her silly ways would ever intrigue a man like Duncan
Mackenzie, she was sadly misled.

Yet the truth of the matter was that Duncan must
someday wed, and soon if his parents had their way. A
marriage to Janet Mackenzie would be considered by all
as a definite step up in social class. The girl most likely
knew it too.

Not that who or when Duncan wed should be of any
concern to her, Heather well knew. One way or another,
she, as Janet had so succinctly put it, was only here for
a visit. All too soon, she must extract herself from this
place-and Duncan's life-and go back to the only one
she could ever live. No purpose was served in pointless
dreaming or even more uncharitable jealousy.

Fiddle music rose on the air, faltered an instant as
the two musicians found their timing, then swelled in
a rousing tune.

It was the ancient ballad "Sir Patrick Spens," Heather
well knew, a tale of the ill-fated journey of the knight to
bring home Margaret, "Maid of Norway," the daughter
of Eric of Norway and granddaughter and heir of King
Alexander III of Scotland. It was, as well, the signal for
the ceilidh to begin. All gathered around the fiddlers as
they played and sang, some of the people actually joining
in to sing the well-known and beloved ballad.

The songs went on for the next fifteen or twenty minutes before the ceilidh's host, Fergus Mackenzie, finally
called for the dancing to begin. Immediately, Janet, still
strategically stationed beside Duncan, grabbed the big
Highlander's hand and pulled him out to the middle of
the wooden floor. Other couples quickly joined them as
they lined up for a reel.

Heather turned back to Fiona. "I'm thirsty. I think I'll
fetch myself a cup of cider. Would ye like one, too?"

"Aye, a wee cup would set well wi' me." Duncan's
mother hesitated, then leaned close. "Ye must not begrudge Janet her time wi' Duncan," she said softly. "She
loves him, ye know."

"Aye, and has set her sights on wedding him."

"Would that be such a terrible thing, hinny?"

Heather met Fiona's steady gaze. She should lie or
at least dissemble a bit, Heather well knew, but then
decided Fiona might as well hear the truth.

"Nay, not for Janet leastwise," she said, even as she
knew that the girl would never have the kind of love she
was seeking. Still, she sensed it might well be enough for
her. "But for Duncan?" She managed a nonchalant shrug.
"Well, it isn't my affair, one way or another, is it?"

"Nay, hinny, it isn't. And best ye remember that."

There was no reply Heather could give to dispute such
a statement. Fiona was right.

"Well, I should be going to fetch our-" Before Heather
could finish, a strapping, ebony-haired young Highlander
grabbed her by the arm.

"Are ye dancin'?" Grinning broadly, the young man
asked the legendary question.

"Are ye askin'?" Heather replied with the required
response, knowing it'd be rude to refuse. Besides, she
loved to dance.

The dark-haired Highlander-whose name was Geordie, he promptly informed her-swung her out into the
middle of the floor. Though the more sedate court dances
were the norm for ladies of her station, Heather had
had Beth also teach her the lively country dances. And,
being naturally light on her feet, Heather soon picked
up the rhythm and steps.

Dance after dance, Heather was besieged by yet another man asking to be her partner. The attention, coupled with the wild abandon of some of the dances, was
exhilarating. Only occasionally, as one set ended and
before another began, did she have a chance to see how
Duncan was faring. Countless young women, she noted
with a jaded eye, were also taking their turns asking to
dance with him. This went on for almost two hours,
before Dora finally called for a halt in which to eat the
fine feast set out on the tables.

Flushed and damp from her exertions, Heather quickly
filled her plate then took a seat on one of the long, stout
benches shoved against the walls. Hungrily, she dug into her mutton stew. After a few succulent spoonfuls of the
savory dish, she paused to take a large bite of her buttered bread. At that moment, plate in hand, Duncan
strode over and sat down next to her.

"Ye seem to have wasted no time making yerself the
center of attention," he said without preamble. "It isn't
wise, ye know, considering the talk that'll rise because
of it."

Heather nearly choked on her bread. "Th-the center of
attention!" she managed finally to croak out. "Whatever
are ye talking about?"

Duncan rolled his eyes and shook his head. "In less
than two hours' time, ye've danced with every unmarried
man here and even a few of the married ones, for good
measure. Yet still they clamor for another and another
chance to twirl ye about the dance floor."

"And was I supposed to act the prim lady instead,"
Heather demanded, scooting around to glare at him,
"and refuse them? I didn't think such behavior would be
appreciated, considering the high value ye Highlanders
place on hospitality."

"Highland hospitality doesn't extend to loose behavior
in our women." His jaw tautened with anger. "Despite
what ye may think of us, our women are well-bred and
demure."

"And I'm not?" With the greatest difficulty, Heather
clamped down on her outrage. "Is that what ye're saying?"

Slowly, a dark flush suffused his striking features.
"Nay, I suppose I didn't quite mean it that way." Duncan
glanced away. "I just meant-"

"I know what ye meant, Duncan Mackenzie," Heather
snapped. "Ye're angry I wasn't clamoring with all the
other lasses to win a dance with ye. Ye think it's yer due,
being the strutting cock that ye are."

He swung back to her. "I am not a strutting cock! And
ye hold yerself in far too high a regard, if ye imagine I
care if ye dance wi' me-"

"With me," Heather automatically corrected him.
"With me."

Clamping his lips shut, Duncan just glowered.

"Here now," Janet said, appearing suddenly before
them, her own plate of victuals in hand. "I haven't seen
either of ye for two weeks now. Move apart and let me
sit between ye, so I can visit with ye both."

Glad for an excuse to put some distance between her
and Duncan, Heather slid down the bench, not even
pretending to want to talk further with either of them.
She fixed her attention on her food. Out of the corner of
her eye, though, she saw Duncan lean forward and glare
at her again before manners forced him to turn back to
Janet, who had immediately begun babbling away.