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Knocknanuss.

Her body buzzed with adrenalin. Why did that name strike a chord?

She'd once learned something critical, but what had it

been?
 
Knocknanuss.

There was something that had happened in Knocknanuss.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Come on, you can tell me,” Haley said, enjoying the look of

discomfort on Rollo's face.

Since hearing the name Knocknanuss, she'd been upset.  She finally remembered it as the site of a famous battle, but who won, and how, still eluded her. There were just too many battles from that time period; she couldn't recall them all.

But she was finding sitting and talking with Will Rollo to be a welcome diversion. She asked him again, “James Graham is alive, isn't he?”

“A crowd of hundreds would claim otherwise,” Rollo replied

flatly. “Graham was seen hanged, after all.”

Rollo stared straight ahead, and Haley used the opportunity to study his profile. He was a large man. Not like MacColla with his massive height and brawn, but more movie-star tall, with fine, chiseled features. She eyed his sharp jaw and cheekbones, and the thick waves of chestnut brown hair skimming the nape of  his neck.

Though he wasn't all ferocious Highlander, Rollo didn't strike her as a courtly Lowland type either. He fell somewhere in the middle. Sort of how she imagined James  Graham.

“But MacColla all but said Graham is alive. He said you

were friends. Implied that you
 
are
 
friends.”

“I didn't hear MacColla say such a thing.”

She would've sworn she saw a smile glimmer for a moment in his eyes.

She looked back to the dance floor, considering the question of James Graham. She realized all of her theories and speculation just didn't matter anymore.

MacColla was all that mattered now.

She scanned the room, seeking him out. He stood on the edge of the dance floor, watching dancers reel to the skirling of the pipes. They might be far from Scottish shores, she thought with a grim smile, but leave it to the  MacDonalds to bring their piper wherever they went.

The set ended, and she heard someone call MacColla's name. She watched as he downed his ale in one long swallow. A man tossed him a broadsword. He grinned , catching it easily.

The pipes shrilled to life once more, and MacColla joined two men on the dance floor.

A sword dance.
 
Her heart thrilled at the sight of these big, glowering men, laying their swords crossed on the ground to begin one of the most ancient of rituals.

She felt so filled up at the sight of him. Glorious and exuberant, with a broad smile, already prancing to the music.

Someone began to slam his tankard on a table, keeping time to the music. He was joined by another, then by fists on tables and clapping hands, until a drumbeat sounded through the room.

Haley had considered MacColla to be the most magnificent of men. But seeing him dance she realized why songs had been written about him. Why history remembered him as more than an ordinary man. His charisma, his passion and delight, ignited the room. He was more than a man, he truly was an epic hero.

The men hopped and skipped about the blades, their arms raised high, plaids dancing with their movements.

She beamed. Such a simple and pure pleasure it was to watch him move. It thrilled through her, cutting the despair, and she knew then why the Scots turned to pipes and dance and ale, as she discovered some hidden glimmer of joy buried deep in her soul.

Her eyes cut briefly to Rollo, and she wondered what he thought of all this. His face was calm, his usual dourness replaced by some other, softer emotion. But she knew he would never be able to do such a thing as sword dancing.

The beat grew faster, and Haley clapped in time, her eyes drawn back to the men. One of them tossed off his bonnet

and the crowd cheered. MacColla loudest of all. He laughed  heartily, his feet moving rapidly in time, kicking and  hopping over steel.

His eyes searched the crowd. He found her and grinned.

Pain sideswiped her, stabbing her in the chest, and Haley clutched her hands in her skirts. Watching him, seeing such happiness, such
 
life
, seared her, pulling her lungs tight, dimming her vision.

We have to get out of here. Leave Ireland.

“Don't these people realize they're at war?”

Haley didn't realize she'd spoken until she heard Rollo's reply.

“A bit of revelry is good for a soldier. Many of these men  will return from battle a lifeless body on a bier.” He studied  the crowd, standing and cheering, clapping in time to the  music. “Such diversions aren't uncommon before battle.”

Diversion.
 
The word made her think of that ridiculous Lord

Taaffe. Taaffe had organized the festive evening, claiming his men were in want of diversions. Parliamentary forces were on the march, and still the man insisted on

diversions.

Things between him and MacColla had been strained from the moment they'd met. This lord had coin in his coffers, and she suspected he was of a mind to buy himself a little gallantry on the battlefield.

The song drew to a close, and MacColla walked off the dance floor, slapping his fellow dancers on their backs.

He was all she saw. Another knot of men took the dancers'

places, and Haley barely noticed as they arranged  themselves in a circle, each holding the tip of the next  man's blade.

Desperately trying to gather her emotions, she heard herself mutter to Rollo, “Only you Scotsmen would find a way to dance with your swords.”

She was startled at the man's laugh. And gratified too. She turned, and it struck he r how very dashing he was. Haley had never so much as seen the hint of a smile on Rollo's

face. She wondered what had happened to his legs, and

thought how very different his life might have been.

“Aye, Haley,” Rollo agreed. “Only we Scotsmen indeed.”

MacColla watched Haley where she sat. So lovely she was, despite the dark thoughts he saw continually returning to crease her brow.

He marveled. She was so fresh and bonny. The ways of women were a mystery to him. She'd appeared that evening in a clean gown, with her hair smoothed back tight. He had no notion of how women managed such things when men

were unawares.

Her gown bared her neck, and the lush swell of her breasts under lace kept drawing his eyes over and over again.

MacColla felt the now-familiar madness threaten to take

him, the wanting of her pushing all else from his mind.  They'd not had much time together, but he knew already

the taste and touch and smell of her better than any other

thing.

Shutting his eyes, he imagined he could feel those breasts, firm in his hands. He knew in his soul the feel of that tight flesh and muscle, hidden under blue velvet.

They didn't have much time remaining. His hands clenched at his sides. He and the Confederate army would strike soon, before the Protestants  had a chance to move first.

Her portentous words weighed on him. He'd never let her know how much. But of choices, he had none. It was fight, and fight more, until Campbell was destroyed. If his assistance in Munster earned him more men to take back

to Scotland, then all the better.

But what would become of Haley, of him? He had to hope that her presence changed the course of history somehow.  That she was wrong. That he'd fight, and live to fight another day.

Opening his eyes, he drank her in with the thirst of a dying

man.

She sat next to Rollo, talking easily. What did they speak of? One would never know the man was crippled, seated so. Few, in fact, would even realize his condition in battle.  The man managed it well. He was a grim sort, but  MacColla appreciated that. As one capable of hiding his own pain, MacColla recognized the lines on Rollo's face, knew they spoke to his discomfort.

Would she sit with Rollo all night, or come seek him out?

He watched as Rollo laughed, turned to Haley, said something that eased the tension on her face. Anger boiled suddenly hot in his belly, his mind humming with jealousy.

MacColla alone would bring his woman comfort. MacColla alone would have her by his side.

Without thinking, he strode toward the pair. The open smile she greeted him with assuaged his jealousy, but it did nothing to tamp down the fierce desire it had awoken.

“Good evening, MacColla.” Rollo instinctively drew back

from Haley.

“Rollo,” he said in greeting, the name rough in his throat.

He turned  back to Haley, reached his hand out to her, the whole of his attention only for her. He heard Rollo excusing himself, as if from a distance.

“Dance with me,
 
leannan
.” Her hand felt so small and cold  in his. He pulled her to standing, chafing her fingers.  “You're cold.”

“Of course I am,” she said, sounding despondent. Looking  around, she added. “What do you expect? I'm sitting in a  pile of stones, waiting for you to die.”

He laughed then, and when he saw the outrage in her eyes, he took her face in his hands. “I'm not dead yet, my love.

Come.” his voice gentled. “Dance with me. It will take our minds from these dark times.”

He scanned the dance floor. He didn't think much of Lord

Taaffe, but this was one small instance where the man had the right of it; Haley could use a distraction just then.

“I don't know how to dance,” she grumbled.

“You can fight, but you can't dance?” He tugged her toward

the floor. “You'll not get away so easy as that.”

They stood on the periphery, watching the current set reel

around the floor. The dancers held hands in pairs,  shuffling side by side, then grasped hold of the other  dancers to turn in a circle, the pipes skipping out a lively  tune all the while.

The song faded into another, slower one, and couples wandered from the floor to be replaced by other couples.

MacColla looked down at his woman beside him. He

decided to do what he could to clear the storm from those

gray eyes.

“Wha-?” Haley yelped, as he swung her onto the dance

floor, silencing her with a quick kiss.

A  blush rose hot on her cheeks and she looked around, making sure nobody had seen.

“So modest, are you?” he whispered in her ear. MacColla  pulled her close to lead her in the dance. Wrapping one

arm around her waist, he took her hand in his, savoring

the press of her breasts on his chest.

“I'd not known I had such a bashful maiden for a partner.”  He nipped at her neck. The salt of her on his tongue shot  life into his cock, and he hugged her closer to hide his  hardness.

She gasped, jerking her head up to look at him.

He gave an innocent shrug. “'Twould do no good to show all and sundry how much I want you at this very moment.”  Leaning back down to her ear, he added huskily, “Close those lips before I kiss them,
 
leannan
.”

Despite her protests, Haley could dance, and well too. They moved as one, circling around and between the others in their set.

MacColla was grateful for the slower tune. It gave him an excuse to press her tightly to him. They were stomach-to-stomach, and each small move she made was an agony.  Her every step chafed his tartan against his body, now piqued and raging hard under all that wool.

The song ended too quickly, and it took him a minute to gather himself, registering the shuffle of other dancers as the set changed.

He hugged her close for a moment more. He leaned down one last time to inhale the smell of her skin. “You are the

only one on this dance floor,
 
mo leannan
”

She looked up at him. Saw the intensity in his eyes, and it was all for her. It felt so good to hear those words, and yet she couldn't get past this turmoil that threatened to sweep her away on a tidal wave of helplessness and fear.

Instant clarity cut through his gaze, sharp on her. “I've still not taken your mind from this, have I?”

She shook her head mutely.

“Come  with me,” he said, putting his arm at the small of

her back.

“I know what happened the last time you said that.” She

tried to laugh.

“Ah. A fast learner.” He stroked his hand down to quickly

cup her bottom. “But it's no secret how much I want you.”

The  sound of his voice sent a shiver up her spine. She needed him. She would have him, keep him close for as long as she could now. Haley let him lead her to the door.

“But the others… ” She stopped short.