The Spirit Walker (BOOK ONE): The Ripple

Chapter Fourty-Three: Gold Velvet and Dry Leaves

"Was that dress really necessary?" Calum grunts, his eyes pointedly averted, his breathing harsh. His scent is potent- smoke and pine and pepper- it hangs thick and heavy in the air, and slips down my throat like warm whiskey, making my head cloudy and setting my veins ablaze.

"What's wrong with it?" I rasp, struggling to breathe.

Calum's arousal is a palpable thing. My body responds to it, against my will, the space between my thighs becoming uncomfortably slick. Calum lets out a sound that is half whimper, half groan. He turns to the wall, his hands clenched into fists, his shoulders rising and falling with the force of his breaths.

"You know exactly what's wrong with it," he growls once he seems to have regained some of his control, his eyes pointedly averted.

I run my hands down the soft, clinging gold velvet. Ness and Maise had strong-armed me into wearing it, despite my reservations. They had said that Euna would take this banquet as an opportunity to try to outshine me, and convinced me to beat her at her own game. The dress is elegant, but cups and clings to every curve and gives the illusion that my body is shapelier than it truly is. The neckline is daringly low and wide, and would be borderline indecent were it not for the heavy beading of Calum's mother's ceremonial necklace. The ropes of gold, moonstone, and cabochon sapphires are thick and wide enough that they obscure most of my cleavage and give only the sparest of glimpses of the flesh left exposed by the dress.

"Your ass looks good enough to eat," Ness had said as she'd circled me when I'd put it on, something uncomfortably predatory in her gaze.

I clear my throat and shift uncomfortably, silently cursing Ness and Maise for their insistence.

"Should I change?"

"No time." Calum strides ahead, and I struggle to keep up in the ridiculous heels I had been convinced to wear. Although I'd worn stilettos frequently before my time with Master, it has been long enough that I am wobbly on my feet.

I can't help but to compare this greeting from Calum to the one I'd received at the last gathering banquet. At Clan Maclean, Calum had greeted me with mischief and glowing compliments, had pushed me up against the wall and...

My breath comes short and my belly clenches- hard- at that particular memory. Ride the wave, I remind myself, struggling to breathe through it. Ahead of me, Calum stumbles and a stream of curses more foul than I've ever heard comes out of his mouth.

"Sorry," I whisper, once I pull the tattered remains of my control back together. Calum says nothing.

It is expected for me to enter the ballroom on Calum's arm, for him to escort me through the hall as he did in the MacLean lands.  This does not happen. Calum keeps at least three feet of distance between us, his hands clenched into fists at his side, his eyes focused straight ahead, as the bagpipes play the anthem of Dhaoine-TIr.

Around us, the crowd assembled bows respectfully, but it is hard not to notice the fugitive glances and hushed whispers that pass between them. My face burns.

Calum and I are both stiff as we exchange the same traditional oaths that we did at Clan Maclean, and it is a relief when we settle into our seats at the head table. The relief is short lived, however, when I realize that, against custom, Euna was placed at the seat beside me rather than Elder Vanora.

The sour expression on her lovely face almost makes the whole debacle with Calum over my dress worth it.

"You look very pretty tonight, Euna," I say, once the music has resumed and the crowd finds something better to do than gawk and gossip at the awkwardness between their Righ and future Bhanrigh.