again.―You‘re still alive and dancing with me. You can go home anytime you like.‖
―Nay, Cat.‖ Carrick bowed to her as the waltz ended.―I canna. I dinna ken how to go home to 1746.‖
― There you are.‖ Olivia sat down on the bench next to Cat, the ocean breeze raising escaped tendrils from her hair‘s Highland bun.―I saw you dancing with Carrick, and then you disappeared.‖
―I‘m sorry,‖ Cat answered vaguely.―It was getting too close in there. I needed some air.‖
―Well you two certainly make a nice pair,‖ Olivia commented enthusiastically.―And he dances like a dream.‖
―Thank you, Miss Olivia,‖ Carrick said from behind her.―Had I kent ye were here, I wouldha‘ brought ye a drink as well.‖ He handed Cat a glass of champagne, which she received gratefully.
―That‘s okay, Carrick.‖ Olivia stood up and adjusted her dance kilt, a lovely blue Royal MacRae of Conchra tartan.―I have to go dance anyway. Not a good thing to dance with liquids in you.‖
―Aye, I s‘pose not.‖ He couldn‘t take his eyes off her kilt. ―Ye wear the kilt when ye dance now times? I canna believe it.‖ He shook his head in astonishment.―Lassies do Highland dance and they wear the kilt to boot.‖
―It must be a bit much for you.‖ Olivia laughed.
―A bit,‖ he agreed.―But I do admit ye look well in the kilt, Olivia. May I ask which dances ye will perform?‖
―I think I will start with the Sword, then maybe the Fling, then we‘ll see what I am up to after that,‖ she replied, straightening her velvet vest.―Am I all straight, Cat?‖
Cat looked her up and down critically.―You‘re fine, sweetie. Go knock ‗em dead.‖
―I‘ll try!‖ She laughed, turning to Carrick.―Do you know these dances, Carrick?‖
―I ken the Sword and the Fling, aye,‖ he answered.―But I am no certain it is the same today as when I danced it last.‖
―Well, come watch and let me know.‖ She started toward the door into the ballroom. ―Coming, Cat?‖
―Yes, of course.‖ Cat rose to follow and found Carrick‘s hand once again under her arm. It was a touch she had come to anticipate and enjoy throughout the evening. Carrick led her into the ballroom where everyone had assembled around the perimeter.
―Honored guests,‖ Hamish MacPhail began, a microphone in his hand. He was in the center of the room, about to introduce Olivia.―I am privileged to be with ye tonight, and even more so to introduce to ye my lovely granddaughter, Olivia MacPhail, the 2005 World Champion of Highland Dance.‖
Olivia came out from behind him, a dancing sword in each hand, carried with the points toward the ceiling. As Olivia ceremonially placed the swords in a cross on the floor in front of her, Hamish explained the dance.
―Olivia will now perform the Ghillie Calum, or the Sword Dance,‖ Hamish explained.―It is an ancient dance. Legend has it that the best dancer would perform it on the eve of battle. If the dancer didn‘t touch the blade, it was an omen that the battle would be won. If the blades were touched, well...no so good.‖ Hamish laughed.
―Let us see what kind of fortune Olivia can bring to us tonight.‖
Hamish stepped to the side as the piper adjusted his bagpipes. Olivia took position in front of the swords, hands on her hips, and bowed from the waist.
―She‘s verra good,‖ Carrick commented to Cat, not taking his eyes from the dance.―So much better than the way we dance it. Verra precise, this dance.‖
―Oh?‖ Cat looked at him.―More precise? In what way?‖
―The hi-cuts are verra sharp, and the angles of the legs are verra defined,‖ he critiqued.―The leaps are so high and confident. A stronger dance in evra way. No just thrown together, ye ken?‖
―I think I understand,‖ Cat answered, leaning toward him.―And you do this dance yourself?‖
―No as well as yer wee sister,‖ he smiled.―And the steps are...‖
―Different?‖ Cat filled in his sentence as Olivia completed
―Nay, Cat.‖ Carrick bowed to her as the waltz ended.―I canna. I dinna ken how to go home to 1746.‖
― There you are.‖ Olivia sat down on the bench next to Cat, the ocean breeze raising escaped tendrils from her hair‘s Highland bun.―I saw you dancing with Carrick, and then you disappeared.‖
―I‘m sorry,‖ Cat answered vaguely.―It was getting too close in there. I needed some air.‖
―Well you two certainly make a nice pair,‖ Olivia commented enthusiastically.―And he dances like a dream.‖
―Thank you, Miss Olivia,‖ Carrick said from behind her.―Had I kent ye were here, I wouldha‘ brought ye a drink as well.‖ He handed Cat a glass of champagne, which she received gratefully.
―That‘s okay, Carrick.‖ Olivia stood up and adjusted her dance kilt, a lovely blue Royal MacRae of Conchra tartan.―I have to go dance anyway. Not a good thing to dance with liquids in you.‖
―Aye, I s‘pose not.‖ He couldn‘t take his eyes off her kilt. ―Ye wear the kilt when ye dance now times? I canna believe it.‖ He shook his head in astonishment.―Lassies do Highland dance and they wear the kilt to boot.‖
―It must be a bit much for you.‖ Olivia laughed.
―A bit,‖ he agreed.―But I do admit ye look well in the kilt, Olivia. May I ask which dances ye will perform?‖
―I think I will start with the Sword, then maybe the Fling, then we‘ll see what I am up to after that,‖ she replied, straightening her velvet vest.―Am I all straight, Cat?‖
Cat looked her up and down critically.―You‘re fine, sweetie. Go knock ‗em dead.‖
―I‘ll try!‖ She laughed, turning to Carrick.―Do you know these dances, Carrick?‖
―I ken the Sword and the Fling, aye,‖ he answered.―But I am no certain it is the same today as when I danced it last.‖
―Well, come watch and let me know.‖ She started toward the door into the ballroom. ―Coming, Cat?‖
―Yes, of course.‖ Cat rose to follow and found Carrick‘s hand once again under her arm. It was a touch she had come to anticipate and enjoy throughout the evening. Carrick led her into the ballroom where everyone had assembled around the perimeter.
―Honored guests,‖ Hamish MacPhail began, a microphone in his hand. He was in the center of the room, about to introduce Olivia.―I am privileged to be with ye tonight, and even more so to introduce to ye my lovely granddaughter, Olivia MacPhail, the 2005 World Champion of Highland Dance.‖
Olivia came out from behind him, a dancing sword in each hand, carried with the points toward the ceiling. As Olivia ceremonially placed the swords in a cross on the floor in front of her, Hamish explained the dance.
―Olivia will now perform the Ghillie Calum, or the Sword Dance,‖ Hamish explained.―It is an ancient dance. Legend has it that the best dancer would perform it on the eve of battle. If the dancer didn‘t touch the blade, it was an omen that the battle would be won. If the blades were touched, well...no so good.‖ Hamish laughed.
―Let us see what kind of fortune Olivia can bring to us tonight.‖
Hamish stepped to the side as the piper adjusted his bagpipes. Olivia took position in front of the swords, hands on her hips, and bowed from the waist.
―She‘s verra good,‖ Carrick commented to Cat, not taking his eyes from the dance.―So much better than the way we dance it. Verra precise, this dance.‖
―Oh?‖ Cat looked at him.―More precise? In what way?‖
―The hi-cuts are verra sharp, and the angles of the legs are verra defined,‖ he critiqued.―The leaps are so high and confident. A stronger dance in evra way. No just thrown together, ye ken?‖
―I think I understand,‖ Cat answered, leaning toward him.―And you do this dance yourself?‖
―No as well as yer wee sister,‖ he smiled.―And the steps are...‖
―Different?‖ Cat filled in his sentence as Olivia completed
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