His Judas Bride by Shehanne Moore

herself that even if it was toward her, panic swamped, surging from her toes all the way to her stomach, then higher, drawing tight bands across her chest. She found her need, not to be the evening’s chosen victim, was stronger than ever.
    “Well now, madam.”
    Kara’s heart lurched. Rolled so far down her ribcage she would not have been the least surprised if it clattered onto the stone flags. Except then she’d have been dead on the flags so she couldn’t have seen it. What she did see, unfortunately, was the pair of heavy brown brogues that had invaded the periphery of her vision.
    “Ah don’t believe Ah’ve had the pleasure.”
    Neither did she. Or that when it came to such matters as pleasure, it would fall into that category, which was why she could not possibly raise her chin. That would be to breathe the foul odor of sweat emanating from the folds and recesses of his clothes. Yet she knew she must speak.
    She licked dry lips. “The—the pleasure, my lord?”
    “What do ye say to a nice wee jug?”
    Not a great deal. What was there to say to a jug? Even less than to a jig, which she supposed he probably meant, except he slurred his words, so it was hard to tell what he meant. “A—a dance, my lord?”
    “Is that not what Ah said?”
    It was the very last thing she needed, him barking like that so heads no doubt swiveled her way. And one head in particular.
    “What Ah mean is—madam.” Ewen’s breath rushed down his nostrils, as if he was also aware of that fact and struggled to lower his tone. He was obviously terrified of the Wolf. Why else come over here? “Would you like to dance?”
    Yes. This tone was more reasonable, but she’d a horrible feeling the damage was done. His guests gaped. The serving girls gaped. Even the Wolf turned his head, his sea-green eyes glinting silver beneath his lowered brows.
    This wasn’t just a question of keeping her expression neutral. After his performance in this very hall the other day the last thing Kara wanted was the Wolf striding over here and taking further issue with her betrothed. Not when the notion he owed her the reprieve was one she only just clung to.
    When it was clear Ewen wanted to make a show, she must swallow her annoyance that the offer would never have arisen in the first place had the Wolf not waltzed in here, stand up, and take the arm Ewen McDunnagh now extended. But the crippling thing was that her father’s dungeon wasn’t the place for jigs. She had not danced in years.
    To stand out there on the floor was to expose that fact. A jug, she could not help feeling, would be so much better. At least a jug would not leave her looking like a damned fool when she was meant to have lived in Edinburgh for five years jigging nonstop. There must be something she could do that would prevent this.
    “The music is not to your satisfaction, perhaps?”
    Suppressing the desire to grit her teeth, she forced a smile. “Oh, no, not at all my lord, the music is lovely. Quite beautiful, in fact. And you do me very great honor. I could not help noticing though, the fine dancer you are, while I—I, how can I possibly say this—”
    “Something slower for my bonnie bride. She has been learning in Edinburgh and will show us the latest steps.” Ewen clapped his hands together before she could possibly say anything at all. Of course he would, although she could still scarcely believe it.
    Nor could she scarcely believe the abrupt manner in which the wild skirling, like rats trapped in the gutter, tailed off either. As for what floated out on the air, behind the second of stunned silence while dancers stood frozen in chaotic poses in the center of the floor, that was worse.
    Have two left feet was what she had been on the verge of saying. Now she saw that whether she had left feet or not, she was going to have to move them onto the floor, which had emptied now the lord and master had spoken. Even someone with three feet could dance to the slow lilting