Winter's End Part 11

"This is Emma," Lisa introduced. "Where have you been? You're all fl.u.s.tered."

"I am," Grace answered excitedly. "You won't believe who's here at the dance."

"Who?" asked Lisa curiously.

"Chris Cameron."

Lisa turned to the small crowd gathering in the further corner of the dance hall. She glanced at Emma, chagrin sweeping out the smile she once carried.

Grace and Belinda babbled endlessly with sheer excitement over the prospect of meeting a Hollywood star at the dance. Their jabber moved endlessly from the movies of the famous actor to his personality, his looks and his string of affairs among other gossip they had read of him. The men meanwhile rolled their eyes and continued a conversation of sport celebrities who rightfully deserved all that attention.

Lisa pulled Emma aside. "Tell me that wasn't your date?"

Emma winced, nodding her head.

"Is that why he's ditched you for his elite friends there?"

"We just met, Lisa. We hardly know each other." She didn't understand why she was defending him after his insults earlier.

"That's no reason, Emma," she sneered. "He accompanied you here. He should be here, by your side." She swallowed a mouthful of champagne. "Just goes to show that having money doesn't necessarily mean having good manners."

The music blared on stage. People swayed and rocked along with it. Chatter and laughter swept rife through the air.

Despite Emma's disappointing start to the evening, she was beginning to really enjoy the dance. Bill, Noah and Max were quite obliging as they took turns to jive with her on the dance floor. Grace and Belinda meanwhile offered their sympathies for her missing date.

Returning from the ladies, she saw her new found friends in the distance laughing at their table. She was glad she had come.

"h.e.l.lo there," someone said.

She turned. "Hi," she said. She didn't believe she had ever met him or she would have certainly remember that beautiful soft blonde hair.

"I'm Ethan Wells," he said, smiling. "I just wanted to say that I waded across a room of sweaty dancers and drunken fools to tell you that you look extremely beautiful in that dress."

She grinned. "I'm Emma," she said. "Is that the best you can do?"

He hiked a shoulder, shrugging. "It may be the worst pick-up line in history but it's the truth."

She laughed. "Well, you should know it is a terrible pick-up line. But I can't say that I have heard too many to rate it as the worst."

"That's encouraging. So do I still stand a chance to buy you a drink?"

"I don't drink. But I don't mind a gla.s.s of orange juice."

"Oh? Any particular reason you don't drink?" he asked, frowning.

"None other than my picky preference not to."

"How intriguing? A woman that doesn't drink and holds onto her principles even in a ma.s.s majority of charming drunks. You've just become exotic."

She laughed again. "Is that so? I'm going to a.s.sume that you say that to all women."

"Aah," he said, pretending to wince. "I admit that I admire all women, especially beautiful ones. But you're my first exotic crush."

"You are terrible," she said, chuckling.

He gave her a wide, one-sided grin. A little twinkle lit his cheeky eyes. "Yeah, I suppose I am. Usually it is women who drop the line on me. I, on the other hand, am terribly inexperienced and naive." He indicated to the bar tender for a gla.s.s of orange juice. The bar tender whipped it out and handed it to her. "So where are you from, really?" he asked her.

"Was it my accent that gave it away?" she said.

"No, not at all," he said, grinning. "It's the rarity of your beauty."

She sipped at her juice, hoping he wouldn't notice her reddening cheeks. "I used to live in London before I moved to Breakish about six months ago."

He pursed his lips, nodding thoughtfully. "An urban immigrant. What was it about the Isle of Skye that attracted you? The rural lure?"

"I suppose. And that I find it is one of the most beautiful places on earth."

"I concur absolutely. In fact, it has been voted the fourth best island in the world by the National Geographic's Magazine."

"Really?" she said, wonderment filling her eyes.

"Well, yes," he continued. "It certainly is magical. And I mean in it in the literal sense of the word."

"Like magic magic?" she asked.

"Like faeries. Legend has it that long long ago, the chief of the MacLeods Clan married a fairy wife. Soon they had a baby boy. When the boy was about an year old, the fairy wife was summoned back to her world and there was nothing the chief could say or do to keep her from going. He begged and pleaded for her to stay until finally she rose into the air and dropped the finest silk to the ground, landing it at his feet. "Keep this flag," she said. "Unfurl it whenever you are in a crisis. But be warned, you may only unfurl it twice. Should you unfurl it the third time, you shall be carried off to another world, never to be seen again." Well, as it is, the flag remains to this day, safely protected at Dunvegan Castle."

"So there really is such a flag?"

"Yes."

"Was it ever unfurled?"

"Yes, but only twice. No one has dared to unfurl it the third time."

"Wow," she said, speechless with amazement.

He gave a hollow laugh. "Actually, it has been said to be unfurled numerous times."

"So the legend isn't true?"

"I don't know. There are other legends but you've got to agree this one's quite magical, right?"

"So there are more rational explanations, I presume, to why they have the flag?"

"I won't deny there are. There are beliefs that the flag might even be a relic of a saint's s.h.i.+rt and pa.s.sed down to an ancestor of the MacLeods clan. However, it stands to this day that the MacLeods will not believe in anything other than it was gifted to them by the faeries."

"What do you believe?"

He shrugged his shoulders, uncertainly. "Probably it was given to them by the faeries. Sometimes it's good to believe in something so magical as that. It gives this dull world some life, don't you think? Besides, there are tales that there are still supernatural powers attached to the flag. Supposedly a MacLeod clan member survived his bombing missions over Germany because he carried a photograph of the flag in his pocket."

"How extraordinary," Emma said, captivated by his enigmatic narration.

"Yes," he said, nodding. "In Scottish Gaelic, the flag is known as Am Bratach Sith." He leaned closer to her, looking into her eyes. "Like I said, it still can be seen to this day in Dunvegan Castle. Maybe...if you had the time, I could show it to you?"

"I, er...," she swallowed nervously, mesmerised by his eyes.

"She can't," someone said hoa.r.s.ely. "She's with me."

She felt an arm around her waist, pulling her away from the man called Ethan Wells. She looked up in stunned disbelief. It was Christopher Cameron.

CHAPTER 11.

He pulled her roughly to the dance floor, almost dragging her off her feet.

"What do you think you're doing?" she said angrily, almost shouting it out above the noise in the dance hall.

"I escorted you here," he said. "I believe you owe me at least a dance."

"You abandoned me at the door. h.e.l.l, you were too willing to escape from me the moment you stepped out of your car. What makes you think I want to dance with you!" She tried to twist herself out of his clutches, but he gripped her wrist tightly.

"You looked willing enough to go on a day trip to Dunvegan Castle with Ethan Wells. I'm sure you can afford a dance with me." He held her tightly and began to sway to the now soft, slow music.

She looked around slightly embarra.s.sed when she realised that she was beginning to draw attention from onlookers and other couples on the dance floor. She bent her head, deliberately paying critical attention to the small logo on his blazer as the muscularity of his torso would unwillingly have melted away her anger. She despised this man, she reminded herself.

"Ethan Wells is a gentleman," she said firmly. Her spine stiffened, tensing the features in her face. "You, on the other hand, are the most abominable, despicable man I have ever met."

His arm at her waist bound her close to him, almost suffocating her. He leant into her ear.

"You should be grateful that I saved you from the likes of Ethan Wells," he said, his breath tingling her neck.

She writhed in his arms but the more she did, the tighter he clasped her. She caught his eyes. They had darkened and smouldering with anger. Shocked briefly, she stalled her fight for freedom. And when she did, so did his arms as they slowly began to ease around her.

"I need to go to bed," he said, suddenly. "Where are you staying in Dunvegan?"

"Aren't you returning tonight?" she said, panic seeping into her voice.

"No."

"We have to return tonight. I have kids," she demanded.

"Well, I'm not going back tonight. It's almost midnight and I will not risk driving back at such an hour."

"I can drive," she insisted.

"Not my car."

"But my kids..."

"Don't be too dramatic. They're with Grandma. And from what I've seen, they seem far fond of the old woman to be shaken over their mother's late date night. Give Gran a call and tell her we would be leaving tomorrow. Something tells me she won't mind it at all."

"But I haven't booked a room. I don't know if there would be one available at this hour," she said, worriedly.

"You didn't book a room?" His voice growled, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"I didn't think this was going to be a night's affair. I didn't expect to be staying in Dunvegan."

He dropped her hand and pulled away from her. "Well, you can always get a taxi back. Otherwise, I suggest you start looking for a place to stay."

"But where am I going to start looking at this time of the night?"

He gave a short, blazing glance and walked away from her leaving her standing, muddled in the middle of the dance floor.

She watched him vanish among the dancing ma.s.s once more. Close to tears and feeling abandoned, she dragged herself to Lisa's table. Her mind raced rapidly, sifting through her options. She prayed inwardly that Lisa would be returning tonight. She just might be able to hitch herself a ride with her. If all was well, she would be back in her own bed in a few hours. The possibility comforted her, giving way to further anger and hatred for Chris Cameron.

"But we've booked a room," said Lisa, concerned for her friend. "What will you do since every room is booked here as well. I'm really sorry, Emma."

"No, that's fine," Emma answered, dishearteningly. "It's my fault."

Lisa rubbed Emma's elbows in an attempt to comfort her. "I don't know what to say, Emma. I just expected that you would be arranging all this with your date or I would have advised you to reserve a room also. I really wouldn't have minded you joining us at all. But this is all too sudden. Oh, that beastly, detestable fellow," she snorted out angrily. "And to imagine women foaming at their mouths at the mere sight of him makes me throw up. How could he do this to you? How could he do this at all just makes me spin in b.l.o.o.d.y spitting amazement," she spat out with sarcasm.

"Lisa," Emma said, trying to calm her down. "It's fine. I'm sure I can work this out somehow."

"Oh, you poor thing," said Grace, sympathetically. "Such an awful man, he must be. I'd be happy to kick him in the groin for you, darl. Just point him out to me."

Emma smiled. If only Grace knew it was Chris Cameron's crotch she was offering to kick, she wouldn't be as keen as she had just sounded.

"Thanks Grace," she said instead.

"Why don't you girls share the bed?" offered Lisa's husband thoughtfully.

"You sure, hon?" said Lisa.

"Of course," Bill replied. "We can't leave Emma hunting a room at this hour in the night. I can take the couch and we'll all leave tomorrow together."

"Oh, thank you, Bill," said Emma, almost tearing now with joy. "That's if Lisa doesn't mind."