Seeing Beth this way made sharing her limited supply of shampoo and soap well worth the sacrifice. If she remained in this time for much longer, she’d apply herself to learning how to concoct something just as good. After all, all good bath stuff included some kind of plant life. Elaine and Lydia certainly glowed with cleanliness. They’d teach her.
“Lady Alethia, ’tis past time for a respite. A young woman such as yourself must long to dance, aye?” William said, approaching the dais where they played. “Let my nephews continue to play whilst you take a turn on the dance floor.”
“I’m fine, Laird.”
Elaine made her way through the crowd to stand next to her father. “Surely there are dances from your own land you’d be willing to share with us.”
Alethia glanced at the expectant faces surrounding her. Should she show them the way she and her friends danced when they went clubbing in New York? She smiled to herself. These good people would be entirely shocked by what was considered acceptable in the twenty-first century. Nope. Best keep it a cultural exchange, something she could share with pride.
“All right. If I could borrow a shawl from someone, I could show you a dance our women do.” A ripple passed through the crowd as a shawl was handed to her. She held it up to examine. Wool, with fringed edges, it would do nicely.
“Robley—there is a particular rhythm I need on the drum. You can play anything you want on the pipes, Liam.” She tapped out the beat of a powwow drum for Robley until satisfied he had it. She stepped down from the dais. “I need space. All of our dances are done in a circle.”
The crowd formed a wide ring, and Robley played the beat she’d shown him, improvising and adding more between the main rhythm. Half step, half step, back step, twist. Alethia extended her arms so the shawl resembled the wings of a large bird, a crane. Spin, step, step, dip. The bagpipes picked up the beat, adding melody. Spin, back step, twist, spin. She danced as the women of her nation had since the beginning of time, moving clockwise in a circle around the hall to the beat of the drum, the heartbeat of Mother Earth.
Intricate steps and spins came as naturally as breathing. Memories of contest powwows, of friends teasing and gossiping about the young men watching from the stands came to her in a rush. Soon, the faces surrounding her in the great hall changed to the faces of her family. Her mother and father, Gran, cousins and aunties, uncles and childhood friends all shadow-danced with her around the circle.
Joy turned to anguish as she realized the faces passing before her mind’s eye might be lost to her forever if she couldn’t get back to her own time. Homesickness and grief tore at her. She tried to swallow the lump forming in her throat and searched through the crowd of faces for Malcolm.
The moment she stopped dancing, bodies pressed close. She couldn’t see through them, and she couldn’t catch her breath. Where was Malcolm?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Malcolm returned to the great hall just as Alethia began to dance. She moved with provocative grace, drawing him like a moth to flame. Dark, silken tresses fanned out around her as she spun. He longed to run his fingers through her hair to feel its softness against his bare skin. Her exotic beauty charmed his senses and filled him with masculine pride.
Had he chosen Alethia as his bride? He hadn’t given it any serious thought until his mother put the matter to words. He let the notion take root, and a feeling of rightness settled over him. Watching her weave a spell over everyone in the hall, his body tightened with desire. Adjusting his sporran, he noticed he was not the only man to do so. His jaw clenched, and he reached instinctively for the dagger at his waist.
“Malcolm.”
“James.” Malcolm spared his friend a brief glance.
“I have heard it said you do double time in the lists. Do you expect trouble in your father’s absence?”
“I always expect trouble. ’Tis why I’m still standing.”
“Shall we train together on the morrow?”
“Without a doubt.”
“I would like to suggest a wager.” James’s eyes were fixed on Alethia.
“What prize do you hope to gain?” Malcolm hoped his friend heeded the warning in his tone.
“If you win the best two out of three bouts, you keep my favorite stallion. If I win, I take yon maid off your hands.”
“Nay,” Malcolm snapped.
“Do you fear losing?” James challenged.
“I fear doing you real harm at the end of my sword. ’Twould displease both our fathers.”
“Ah, like that is it?”
“Aye.” Malcolm frowned. Alethia’s expression changed from joy to anguish as she danced. He needed to get to her. The music stopped, and she was swallowed up by the press of his clan. He worked his way through the tangle to the center. Alethia’s face had gone pale, and her eyes were huge and bright. “The lady needs air. Give way.”