Enraptured by Candace Camp Page B

laughter increased. “Ah, nae, lass. Many a Scot will tell you, a dram makes the dancing easier.”
    He showed her the steps, then led her through them, with Sally and Angus offering their encouragement and conflictingadvice. Amazingly, with Coll’s hands at her waist, guiding her through the steps, Violet did not feel clumsy or ignorant, and her mistakes only made her laugh along with him. When he pulled her out onto the floor, she went easily, not caring whether she appeared clumsy or could think of nothing to say. Indeed, with the music and the sound of feet stamping and people clapping or laughing or calling out, there was no need to speak at all. Here, with Coll, dancing was not methodical, stiff, and boring. With Coll, it was . . . delightful.
    The rest of the evening whirled by for Violet, both literally and figuratively. She danced not only with Coll, but with Jack and Isobel’s cousin Gregory and several of the Baillannan crofters whose names she did not know. She spent a half hour chatting with Elizabeth and Isobel. Isobel introduced her to Coll’s father, a handsome man with twinkling blue eyes and a ready charm. It was easy to see where Coll had gotten both his looks and his smile.
    When Coll and Violet left the party, she was in a soaring mood. As they walked to the boat, she broke away to dance a few of the steps she had just learned. The trip across the loch held no fear for her this time. Violet, humming beneath her breath, pushed back her hood and let the air cool her flushed cheeks. Coll began to sing the words to the tune, and Violet wrapped her arms around her knees and leaned forward, losing herself in the sound. It was a sad, haunting song, but Violet did not care. All that mattered was the moonlight on his hair, the hush of the night, and the way his voice wound through her. Listening to Coll, she thought, she could not be cold.
    When they reached Duncally’s dock, Coll climbed outto tie up the dory, then reached down to help her up the wooden ladder to the platform. His hand engulfed hers. She had forgotten her muff when they left the party, and now she was glad, for his hands were strong and warm and the roughness of his skin against hers added to the thrumming energy inside her. When she reached the dock, Violet swung around, arms upraised and face lifted to the sky.
    â€œIt was a wonderful evening!”
    â€œCareful.” Coll reached out to steady her. “We canna have you tumbling into the loch.” He did not take his hands away.
    â€œI shan’t.” Violet smiled up at him, resting her hands on his arms.
    â€œI’m glad you enjoyed the party.”
    â€œIt was perfect. I learned dances; I heard stories; I met wonderful people.”
    â€œSo you did.” He smiled. “You also sampled the whiskey. Perhaps too much.”
    â€œNonsense.” She paused, tilting her head consideringly. “Though I do fear that after Old Angus’s ‘wee sip,’ my tongue may be forever singed.”
    Coll laughed, his fingers flexing on her waist. His thumbs began to circle slowly. “You are a beautiful woman.”
    Violet’s lips curved, and she swayed toward him. Taking his lapels in her hands, she gave a little tug. “I think you are the one who drank too much whiskey.”
    â€œNonsense.” He tossed back her answer as he bent toward her, his fingers spread wide, urging her gently toward him.
    â€œI am ‘wee’ and dictatorial.”
    â€œYou are perfect.”
    He lowered his head, and Violet stretched up to meet him. Then his mouth was on hers and his arms were around her, lifting her up into him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, every nerve in her body igniting. She clung to him as her world tilted, then narrowed to just this man, only this moment.
    The wool of his jacket was scratchy beneath her fingertips, his heat all around her, his lips like velvet and tasting faintly of whiskey. The night