The Ciphers of Muirwood (Covenant of Muirwood #2)(67)

“Yes, of course!” Lady Murer exclaimed, coming to her feet, relieved that she could at last do something that pleased him.

He positioned his chair in the room, leaving an open space around it. “This will be our maypole. Not quite as tall, alas, and no streamers. Everyone dances the galliard now. We invented it in Dahomey, you know. But . . . we have a new dance there.” He dramatically cast his eyes around the room full of ladies, entrancing them with anticipation. “It is called . . . the Volta!”

Lady Murer’s eyes widened with growing dread. “Indeed? I . . . yes . . . I believe I have heard of it, but I do not know that one.”

Maia stared at Collier, trying to determine his true intentions and mood. She had never forgotten that one night at the Dahomeyjan inn, when he had taught her the Volta. That was the time—long ago, it seemed now—before she learned that he was not a king’s collier at all, but was the king himself. Her mouth went dry. It was the first time she had danced with a man since coming of age, and not for practice.

“You do not know it?” Collier demanded of the room incredulously. “It is quite famous in my country.” He let go of Murer’s hands and turned around, looking across the assembled girls. His gaze settled on Maia. “Do any of you know the Volta?”

His words hung in the air for a moment, his blue eyes searing into hers, demanding that she rise and join him. His hand lifted and reached out to Maia, singling her out.

Unable to resist, Maia stood wordlessly and approached him, causing a chorus of bubbling gasps to escape from the girls assembled. A small hint of a smile flickered on his mouth, such that she could tell he was pleased she had not refused him. Maia’s heart skipped irregularly, and she silently prayed his scheme was not to humiliate her through the dance. Joanna resumed playing the tune, and Collier’s head kept time to the rhythm. When their hands met, his palms were so warm they almost burned.

“Like before,” he whispered, winking at her, and suddenly they were dancing around the chair. She dared not look at anyone else, for fear of stumbling and humiliating herself. Collier was a confident lead as he pulled her along in the intricate dance.

The Volta was similar to the galliard except it included a lift and a turn. She could feel the music swelling to that point, and the memory of soaring through the air in Collier’s arms felt as immediate as if it had only happened the previous night. Her legs lost all their tiredness and a spark of lovely giddiness filled her breast. They went around the next turn and then suddenly Collier’s hands seized her waist and lifted her high. She planted her hands on his shoulders and pushed, staring down at him, studying the grooves of his face, the scar just below his eye.

His eyes—they pulled her in, almost unwillingly, like shimmering whirlpools. She stared at him, recognizing a look of respect and admiration. There were yet other emotions there that surprised her—tenderness. Protectiveness. The twirl ended and she was back down on her feet, moving to the rhythm once more. It felt like they were flying.

They continued the dance around the chair. The whirling motion of her skirts followed as she swayed to the rhythm.

Then came the next turn. She was ready for it, almost hungering for it when he swept her up again, giving her the same thrill as if she were flying. She felt her hair sweep across her shoulders as she pressed against him, her heart beating wildly. Her mouth was dry, her skin tingling down to the balls of her feet. The turn ended and they swept around the imaginary maypole once more. Everything stilled and slowed and they were the only two creatures who existed in that moment, forgetting the hostile gazes that were surely bent on them.

He brought her down a little slower that time, and their hands fumbled a moment to join again before the next round. She gazed up at him, her feelings overwhelming, yet so vulnerable. She felt as if she were a little bird, cupped in his lean, firm hands—easy to crush and kill or tenderly caress. The sound of the music was overwhelmed by the feeling of her feet skipping, their hands entwined, her pulse whipping inside her bosom with feelings stronger than the dance.

And she suddenly realized, to her horror and dismay, that her feelings for Collier had changed significantly over these months. She startled herself by how deep they were. She cared for him. She ached for his esteem. She loved him. And yet she trembled in fear that he would cast her away, an unwanted impediment to his ambitions.

Something connected between their gazes. Could he read her thoughts? His expression swiftly altered from mirth to seriousness. From triumph to warmth. She felt his hands again on her hips, ready for the last twirl. His muscles hoisted her up even higher, his feet slowing and breaking the rhythm as he suspended her above him. Her arms felt weak as she pushed against his shoulders. Her chin dipped as she stared down at him, her hair tickling her cheeks as it veiled her gaze from the others in the room.

Her eyes entreated him pleadingly, her heart in her throat.

The final end of the turn completed and she hung there, poised like a bird on a breeze, and then he slowly let her down. He stared at her as well, his eyes unveiled only to her—filled with a mute plea for her to never betray him again.

I will not, she responded silently, searing the unspoken promise into his eyes with her own.

The chords of music plucked to an end.

In the hush that followed, Maia could not bear to look at anyone else but Suzenne. The expression on her friend’s face was rife with emotion, her mouth parted as she stared in wonder, knowing—better than anyone else in the room—the state of Maia’s heart at that moment. That Maia had danced with her husband and no one knew it.