the dance and bowed to the crowd. Applause and whistles followed, as she grasped the microphone from Hamish‘s hand.
―And now,‖ Olivia began, looking straight at Carrick, ―we have a special guest tonight all the way from Scotland.‖ She breathed a little hard from exertion.―Carrick.‖ She beckoned to him.―Come and join me in the Fling. Laird Carrick MacDonell, everyone.‖
The applause began again as Carrick looked at Cat in astonishment. What do I do? his expression asked.
―Go, Carrick.‖ Cat squeezed his hand.―Enjoy it,‖ she encouraged.
―But I canna...‖ Panic shone in his eyes.
―Yes, you can,‖ Cat gently nudged him.―Go on. Impress me,‖ she teased.
―Oh, verra well then,‖ he relented, and started toward Olivia.
As the applause grew louder with cheers of approval, Carrick noticed a Culloden targe on the wall nearby. With a deft hand, he removed it and set it on the floor in front of him, next to Olivia.
Olivia recognized his intention to dance on the targe in the ancient style of the Fling, and raised an eyebrow in question. Carrick bowed to Olivia, took his position with her, and they bowed together.
As the piper began, each dancer did their own variation of the Fling. Olivia was a strong, nimble dancer, but Carrick‘s footwork was extremely intricate and unique. He performed the Fling on the targe, managing to avoid the center spike while remaining within the confines of the shield.
Cat was transfixed by Carrick. She couldn‘t believe he was actually dancing on the targe! She had thought it was merely legend that the Fling had been danced this way, but he was doing it with skill and incredible precision. And although his Fling was entirely different from Olivia‘s, it was stunningly familiar. So familiar, her blood surged wildly hot and cold simultaneously.
She knew the steps he was executing. She knew every muscle movement and gesture. It was as ingrained in her as if she had danced it a thousand times herself. Her muscles tensed in tandem with Carrick‘s as he danced the complicated choreography, each tendon strained and relaxed according to the step. Her vision began to overlap with a background of ancient stone architecture and long, oaken tables filled with guests.
She saw Molly, Carrick‘s mother, smiling at her from across the hall as Carrick, now in his great kilt and lace jabot and cuffs, danced with ease for the assembly.
She heard Ian whisper in her ear, ―Aye lass, he is the best of us,‖ as the memories of her life as Lady Jenny MacDonell flooded her senses and consumed her. It‘s true, she knew it now. It was all true. She remembered having been Jenny as if it were only a day ago. She wasn‘t crazy, and neither was Carrick. Her hauntingly vivid dreams had all been true. Recollections of a former life and love.
It was part of a magical, creative universe that joined them together when all was thought lost. And here he was, come back to her, to find her, to love her. The ecstasy of it overwhelmed her near to tears.
―Caitriona?‖ Carrick had finished the dance to much acclaim and was standing at her side.―Come, lass.‖ He slipped his arm around her and led her out onto the terrace. She numbly obeyed, legs weak with...fear? Joy?
―Cat?‖ he said again, turning her into his arms, concerned by her expression.―Are ye well, lass?‖
A glow filled Cat like an internal lantern. It suffused her body and face as she reached up and put her arms around him, a vibrant smile in her eyes as she met his gaze.
―It‘s true, isn‘t it?‖ she began.―All of it...it‘s true.‖
―Aye, Caitriona,‖ Carrick responded softly in surprise.―‗Tis true.‖
―Welcome home, Carrick.‖ She tightened her embrace.―My beloved husband. I dreamed of you so often! I am overjoyed that you found me, mo leannan ,‖ she said as she kissed him with the most explosive release of passion the universe could ever know.
Chapter Seven
Carrick kissed Caitriona with equal fervor and a
―And now,‖ Olivia began, looking straight at Carrick, ―we have a special guest tonight all the way from Scotland.‖ She breathed a little hard from exertion.―Carrick.‖ She beckoned to him.―Come and join me in the Fling. Laird Carrick MacDonell, everyone.‖
The applause began again as Carrick looked at Cat in astonishment. What do I do? his expression asked.
―Go, Carrick.‖ Cat squeezed his hand.―Enjoy it,‖ she encouraged.
―But I canna...‖ Panic shone in his eyes.
―Yes, you can,‖ Cat gently nudged him.―Go on. Impress me,‖ she teased.
―Oh, verra well then,‖ he relented, and started toward Olivia.
As the applause grew louder with cheers of approval, Carrick noticed a Culloden targe on the wall nearby. With a deft hand, he removed it and set it on the floor in front of him, next to Olivia.
Olivia recognized his intention to dance on the targe in the ancient style of the Fling, and raised an eyebrow in question. Carrick bowed to Olivia, took his position with her, and they bowed together.
As the piper began, each dancer did their own variation of the Fling. Olivia was a strong, nimble dancer, but Carrick‘s footwork was extremely intricate and unique. He performed the Fling on the targe, managing to avoid the center spike while remaining within the confines of the shield.
Cat was transfixed by Carrick. She couldn‘t believe he was actually dancing on the targe! She had thought it was merely legend that the Fling had been danced this way, but he was doing it with skill and incredible precision. And although his Fling was entirely different from Olivia‘s, it was stunningly familiar. So familiar, her blood surged wildly hot and cold simultaneously.
She knew the steps he was executing. She knew every muscle movement and gesture. It was as ingrained in her as if she had danced it a thousand times herself. Her muscles tensed in tandem with Carrick‘s as he danced the complicated choreography, each tendon strained and relaxed according to the step. Her vision began to overlap with a background of ancient stone architecture and long, oaken tables filled with guests.
She saw Molly, Carrick‘s mother, smiling at her from across the hall as Carrick, now in his great kilt and lace jabot and cuffs, danced with ease for the assembly.
She heard Ian whisper in her ear, ―Aye lass, he is the best of us,‖ as the memories of her life as Lady Jenny MacDonell flooded her senses and consumed her. It‘s true, she knew it now. It was all true. She remembered having been Jenny as if it were only a day ago. She wasn‘t crazy, and neither was Carrick. Her hauntingly vivid dreams had all been true. Recollections of a former life and love.
It was part of a magical, creative universe that joined them together when all was thought lost. And here he was, come back to her, to find her, to love her. The ecstasy of it overwhelmed her near to tears.
―Caitriona?‖ Carrick had finished the dance to much acclaim and was standing at her side.―Come, lass.‖ He slipped his arm around her and led her out onto the terrace. She numbly obeyed, legs weak with...fear? Joy?
―Cat?‖ he said again, turning her into his arms, concerned by her expression.―Are ye well, lass?‖
A glow filled Cat like an internal lantern. It suffused her body and face as she reached up and put her arms around him, a vibrant smile in her eyes as she met his gaze.
―It‘s true, isn‘t it?‖ she began.―All of it...it‘s true.‖
―Aye, Caitriona,‖ Carrick responded softly in surprise.―‗Tis true.‖
―Welcome home, Carrick.‖ She tightened her embrace.―My beloved husband. I dreamed of you so often! I am overjoyed that you found me, mo leannan ,‖ she said as she kissed him with the most explosive release of passion the universe could ever know.
Chapter Seven
Carrick kissed Caitriona with equal fervor and a
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