“Mayhap,” Isolde countered with a pitying sigh, “Prince Gareth leftWyfyrnin Dafydd’s dungeon.”
Her eyes flashed with victory when Gareth swept his arm in front of him. “After you.”
“Prince Gareth dances!” Cian shouted, clearing a path for Gareth to take. Around her, Tanon heard some of the men offering sheep and geese to anyone willing to bet against the stealth ofWyfyrn, and win.
The air charged with excitement as Gareth and Isolde approached the other dancers with Cian racing on ahead, crying for all to make way.
“You’re scowling,” Madoc pointed out to Tanon, whose eyes were fastened on Isolde.
“She’s very beautiful,” Tanon drew her lower lip between her teeth, creasing the dimple in her cheek.
“So?” Madoc asked, bringing the cup he carried with him to his lips.
“So?” She turned an anxious look on the baleful warrior. “So, my husband is about to dance with her. I’ve heard many tales of how your people dance, Madoc.”
His gaze on her softened at the worrisome frown marring her features. “Your husband is going to dance, but not with her. For that, she must best him. And trust me, my lovely princess, that’s quite impossible.”
Tanon offered him a curious look, but instead of giving an explanation, he moved closer to the gathering crowd, turned, and crooked his fingers at her.
The dancers, including Hereward and Rebecca, made room when Gareth and Isolde entered the ring. The night grew silent as musicians paused awaiting Gareth’s order.
Facing Isolde, Gareth tossed his head back, clearing his golden hair away from his face. “Something spirited,” he commanded the players. Isolde nodded and folded her hands behind her back.
Drums pounded and boomed in Tanon’s ears as fiercely as her heart. Lute and viol picked up the tempo, and Isolde kicked up her feet.
“She thinks she can touch him with her feet alone.” Someone shouted directly behind Tanon. Others around her laughed. Madoc leaned closer to her so that she could hear him over the music.
“Isolde’s feet are quick, and she is well balanced. Shehasbeen practicing.” When Tanon glared at him, he laughed softly. “No one is as fast as he. But if she comes so close to strikingWyfyrn, imagine what damage she could inflict against a slower man who intends her harm. Watch, lady,” he whispered. “Imagine a spear or axe in her hands. She would have killed, or at least wounded her attacker by now. Everyone here has been taught to defend themselves through dancing, ensuring that this village will never fall to any enemy again.”
Understanding a little better now, but still not liking it one bit, Tanon looked on, twirling a stray curl around her finger.
Isolde advanced on him, her feet keeping perfect rhythm with the music as she kicked and spun, then kicked up her skirts again. The two appeared to be engaged in a feigned battle. The sinuous elegance of their dance blended perfectly with their complex maneuvers of striking and skirting. Gareth’s movements were purely defensive, avoiding Isolde’s touch with amazing ease. He coaxed her to kick faster, higher. He stretched his carved arms outward, daring her to make contact, his feet so light and quick that Tanon blinked to make certain he was touching the grass. Isolde clutched fistfuls of her skirts and lifted the hem to her knees. Gareth laughed and shook his head at her when her steps grew more complex, crossing one leg over the other in a blur that would surely have landed Tanon flat on her face.
Gareth arched his back with nimble grace when Isolde’s hand shot out before him, bending his legs to avoid a swipe to his head.
Mesmerized by their movements, Tanon began to recognize each fluid motion as the same Gareth had used at the tourney when he’d beaten eight of Roger’s men without losing one point. As swift as a fox, he eluded every blow, all the while moving to the lively pitch of the music. Entranced, Tanon smiled when he sprang backward, escaping a kick to his groin. He cast Isolde a teasing glare, and then swept past her before her offending foot touched the ground. Like molten gold, his hair shuddered across his shoulders, falling around his face, full and wild, while his feet traipsed the verdant carpet beneath him.
“Her defeat comes swiftly,” Tomas called out and the crowd shouted with agreement.
“Let his wife have a go!”
Tanon paled and turned to see who had shoutedthatridiculous suggestion. Someone else cheered and then the entire village joined in. Tanon shook her head and backed into Madoc’s side.
“I cannot dance like that.” She looked up at him, looking sick to her stomach.
“You won’t be dancing unless you touch him.” Madoc reminded her and gave her a gentle shove forward.
Tanon stood at the edge of the circle and looked at the sinfully seductive man who turned her insides to mud. Gareth’s breath came in short bursts, his hair tousled, and his smile challenging. He came toward her, pulsing with unleashed energy and a blazing fire from his eyes that made her insides tangle. She stood on a battlefield with the warrior who had first awakened her, close enough to touch his heaving chest, to smell his feral scent. She swallowed, thinking she could not bear being this close to him when he looked so untamed, so dangerously exciting.
He held his hand out to her, but when she reached for it, he snapped it back and flashed her a mischievous grin. Her feet felt rooted to the ground. Then he began to move, and the stars came undone. At first, Tanon could do nothing more than stare breathlessly at him before he danced behind her and bent to her ear.
“One touch and I am yours.”
She quivered as his hot breath parted her curls and fell against her nape. He appeared in front of her again, so close she could feel the alluring heat of his body. But she didn’t try to touch him. His smile widened into a sensual grin, his gaze seething with fierce emotion.
Tanon remembered that Gareth fought defensively. He was impossible to strike, and trying to do so was his opponents’ error. She had to make him come to her. She knew how to win, but she dreaded doing it. Still, she wasn’t about to chase him around a circle or stand here as still as a tree and have his people laugh at her anyway.
She backed away from him and carefully shielded her satisfaction when he moved forward with her. Now, how difficult could it be to spin on one’s heel? Tanon twirled, albeit not nearly as fast as Isolde’s practiced spins, and smiled at her victory. He was close, advancing cautiously now, his eyes sharp on her limbs, her eyes.