Cassy, a few sheets beyond tipsy, did her best to be the life of the party. She went from one lap to another, asking men to dance. Many were all too eager to please. When a few of them pulled Tara into the mix, she shrugged them off to find solitude away from Cassy’s new friends.
Nursing the warm wine helped dull some of the strain as Tara wandered around and studied the people. She avoided conversations. The mix of accents made it difficult to understand what people were saying. Add to that the alcohol factor and the burrs became thicker and more butchered.
She attracted a fair amount of attention, even without Cassy at her side. Some of the stares had her looking down at the dress to make sure she hadn’t spilled something or to make sure her bra strap wasn’t showing. It wasn’t until the fifth man approached her Tara realized why.
“What do we have here?” He slurred then reached out to touch her hair. “So...the Gypsy let your hair loose.”
Drunken eyes took in the length of her body and rested on her chest. It was then it dawned on Tara, she might as well have worn a t-shirt saying, “I’m a virgin, come and get it.”
Disgusted, she stormed away from the sneering man, found a forgotten pencil, and quickly put the telling trusses in a knot on top of her head.
A quiet corner called out her name. It was almost midnight, the hour she told Cassy she’d turn in. With only a little longer to wait, the night would soon be over. One down, three more to endure.
Replacing the wine with water, Tara sat, closed her eyes, and counted down the minutes until she could leave.
Fin approached his brother with a smile that could only mean one thing. “Found one did ye?”
“Aye and she is a beauty, too.” Fin finished his ale. “Don’t wait up for me old man.”
“Ye know where I’ll be. Make sure she’s of age, Fin. We don’t want trouble while we’re here.”
“Ah. You worry too much. Best of luck to you, brother. It looks like there aren’t many this time around. Maybe tomorrow will prove more fruitful.”
Duncan watched his brother retreat outside the festival with a giggling lass on his arm.
Tired and wanting some quiet, Duncan noticed a dark corner where he might observe the people without the assault of another’s voice for a short time.
The sky had grown dark, the shadows long.
Fabric draped bales of straw made for the seating around the room. Years of training kept him from turning his back to the crowd. He backed into the seat, completely unaware someone already occupied it. Brushing his cloak aside, Duncan dropped his weight onto the bale. Expecting the feel of course straw and wool, he was shocked when the bale moved from under him.
Then the straw spoke.
“Son of a bitch.”
Duncan jumped aside, thinking the seat possessed. He swirled toward the offending chair and reached for his sword.
Heaving a sigh at the sight of a woman and not a foe, Duncan almost laughed at his reaction. She, on the other hand, was not quite as amused.
Her eyes captured his in fury. They changed colors in a split second. He realized his mistake when her gaze went to his hand on his weapon.
“Haven’t you done enough damage?” She muttered another oath under her breath.
Duncan straightened up to his full height, and let his sword arm fall to the side. Just a lass, he thought. Fiery red hair and a temper to match. Too bad she isn’t a maiden. I would have enjoyed her for a time.
“Damn it.” She found the hole in her dress and brought her hand up. It was covered with blood.
“Ouch!”
“You’re harmed.” He took her hand, but couldn’t get a good look at what was bleeding, so he tugged her toward the light of a torch.
The lass limped alongside him, cursing a streak all the way to the fire. Once there she raised her skirt well above her knee.
Duncan wasn’t sure why she was lifting her skirts in a room full of people, until he realized it wasn’t her hand that was cut, but her thigh.
Her skin was marred, but not dangerously so.
His ease was instant. He would never willingly take a knife to a woman, and still wasn’t sure how it happened.
“What are you smiling about?” the woman scolded. “Can’t you see I’m hurt here?”
“’Tis a scratch, nothing more.”
“Can you drop the accent? You cut me and you still put on a show.” She brushed away at the blood until it slowed, and then let her skirt fall back into place. “This place is full of freaks!”
“I did not cut ye. I sat on ye.”
“You sat on me, I sat on this.” She held out her knife, showing him the blood on its blade.
He glanced at the blade, noticed the blood, and then noticed the markings. “Celtic,” he whispered.
“Yeah, that’s what the con-artist told me.” Her eyes caught his and for one brief moment, held. As her gaze slipped over his form, the corners of her mouth tilted up to such a small degree, Duncan would have missed it had he blinked. Standing a little taller, he pulled back his shoulders and brought his hand up the edges of his cape. Her eyes slowly roamed up his form and settled on his hair, hanging between his shoulder blades. The lass pulled her bottom lip between her teeth before her eyes returned to his. Her softened expression quickly returned to annoyed.
A woman’s voice called out over the crowd, demanding the attention of the lass in front of him.
“Damn, McAllister, have you gone deaf?”
“What?” She pulled her attention away from him and glared at her companion.
“I asked, ‘Why is your hair up?’”
“Because I was tired of all the leering looks, Cassy.”
“But the Gypsy told you to let it hang loose.”
Cassy unceremoniously tugged the pencil out of the lass’s hair, sending a cascade of red down her back.
Duncan’s attention strained to find the meaning behind the words being said. At the same time, his mouth went dry.
“I don’t care what she said.” The wee lass grabbed the pencil and quickly tied her hair back.
Once again disguising her virtue. “I’m tired of all the drunks drooling on me. It’s disgusting!”
Cassy wobbled on her feet. The red haired maiden steadied her with a bloody hand.
“What happened?” Cassy asked.
Duncan felt the weight of the lass’s stare as her eyes traveled back to him. He stepped closer to help.
It was then the lady Cassy took notice of him. “Who’s this?”
“This...” The maiden pushed against his chest, attempting to put some space between them. “…is some wise guy, who sat on me, causing me great pain.”