Page 45 of Wicked Passions

“Indeed,” he replied, looking a little surprised, before turning back to Callum and Alastair. “Sit, with my compliments. You have earned your wine this day.”

A servant took their instruments and then directed them to an empty, cushion-covered bench, and they sat down gratefully. Another servant brought goblets of wine and pastries, and they gulped down the light repast as Lord Spalding and his squire each fetched a lyre.

Callum’s spirits flagged a little when they played well together, although they rose again when Lord Hamilton of Arran and his squire performed poorly with the same instrument. Alas, then came Red, lugging a harp into the center of the Hall. While the squire played, Red sang an old Scottish ballad, and nearly everyone in the room had tears in their eyes as they stood to applaud at the finish.

“Sewer rat,” he muttered.

Alastair’s lip curled. “Your cousin did not play an instrument at all. Should be tossed out on his arse.”

“That would be too much good fortune. But here is Lord Ruthven of Perth. He and his squire both have lutes.”

What proceeded was rather like the performance of small children; great enthusiasm rather than talent, and from the expressions of those around them, the applause at the end was relief rather than appreciation.

The king rose to his feet. “Thank you for your efforts, my lord. Let us all pause for wine and entertainment, then the dancing shall begin. Lady Isla, I hope you are well rested, for you must dance with six men this day, in the same order as their musical performance.”

She curtsied. “As Your Grace wishes.”

The wine soon flowed in the Great Hall, a long procession of servants filling and refilling goblets until jests became more ribald and laughter even louder. Fortunately, more trays of food that could be eaten from a linen napkin rather than a plate or trencher came from the kitchens as well; soft white bread with butter, hearty pasties made with beef and venison, sliced wheels of cheese, and cherry tarts. Soon afterward, Peter the Moor, the king’s African drummer who often traveled the country with him, performed to thunderous applause.

After Peter bowed to the royal couple and departed the Hall, the minstrels in the gallery began to play once more, and the entrants and guests returned to their seats.

“Sir Leslie Hay,” said the king. “Dance.”

Callum gritted his teeth as the knight whirled Isla about the floor with confidence and skill. It seemed certain he would be one of the final four and when their music came to an end, the young man returned to his seat with a grin that near split his face.

Alastair leaned close. “Dance well, my laird. And find out what ails our lady.”

“I will.”

The king beckoned him forward. “Callum MacIntyre, Lord of Glennoe.”

When Callum joined Isla, she sank into a curtsy. “Glennoe.”

“Lady,” he replied, taking her hand and squeezing it.

A tiny shake of her head told him he’d erred, and his brow furrowed as the minstrels began a rousing and familiar Highland tune.

“I was discovered,” muttered Isla through a falsely bright smile as they held hands and stepped four paces right, then left. “My father and mother are watching for my lover…”

They broke apart, turning a full circle, before joining hands again.

“Did they hurt you?” he asked.

“Not really. Furious, though. My sire wants blood.”

With opposite hands clasped over their heads, they stepped toward each other then back, once then twice. “He knows it is us?”

“Not yet. Be careful.”

Callum’s heart swelled. “You care a great deal.”

“Aye,” she said, glaring at him as they broke apart and turned again.

“When we are wed,” he murmured as they skipped eight paces right, then eight paces left. “You’ll be free to choose. Clothing. Hair. Swords. A husband and a lover in your bed. This I swear.”

Isla deliberately stumbled against him. “I cannot visit this night. Win my hand. I beg you.”

The minstrels ended with a great flourish, and more reluctant than he’d ever been in his life, Callum let go of Isla and bowed. She curtsied with a cool smile, before returning to the dais.