DanceoftheVampires by Cornelia Amiri Page A

so funny or why we had to leave
right when I spotted the pretty women in the pub.” Tavish kicked a stone with
his foot as he tromped through the grass with his brothers.
    “Because we are all drunk.” Lachlan’s body wavered, leaning
forward then back. “That is why the lassies started looking so bonny to you.
Those were the same ones you called old and ugly when they first came in, you
bampot.”
    “They were old, that was Liam’s mother and aunt.” Angus
grabbed Tavish’s head and jostled it back and forth. He ducked out of Angus’
way.
    “Ooch!” Ian jumped back.
    “What is wrong with you?” Malcolm set his hand on his hip.
    Ian pointed to the ancient mound of stones caked over with
dirt and grass. “I almost stepped on a fairy mound.” His stomach knotted.
    “Brother, are you afraid of a pile of old stones?” Calin
threw his head back and rocked with laughter.
    “It’s a cairn.” Ian’s heart still thudded from the near
miss. “Any who disturb it will be cursed.”
    “I dare you to knock it over.” Errol crossed his arms over
his chest.
    Ian stepped back, a horrified look on his handsome face. “I
will not.”
    “I will.” With long, sure strides, Tavish stepped toward the
ancient gravesite.
    “Do not do it.” Ian’s belly clenched even tighter, until he
felt sharp jabs of pain.
    Before the other six could stop him, Tavish drew back his
foot and crashed it into the sacred cairn with a hard kick. A loud, sharp gasp
from each of his brothers hung in the air. One lone stone rolled free of the
mound.
    Malcolm’s mouth dropped open. “You disturbed the fey.”
    “You’ve done it now.” Lachlan stepped back, attempting to
separate himself from the sacrilege.
    “He dared me.” Tavish pointed at Errol. “I had to do it, now
didn’t I?”
    “Errol’s a turnip-headed bampot,” Calin shouted. “You too,
Tavish.”
    “I do not like it.” Ian shook his head. “It’s sacred. It’s
cursed.” The knot in his stomach froze, growing as cold as ice.
    “This is bad.” Angus shook his head.
    “Let’s keep walking.” Calin slid his foot forward with a
confident stride.
    Malcolm bobbed his head. “We should hurry home before
something happens.”
    “We are,” Errol snapped. “We’re in this field taking a
shortcut, remember?”
    “Come on.” Malcolm headed away from the disturbed monument.
“Walk faster.” He took the lead as the others followed.
    “Look.” Ian came to an abrupt stop.
    His brothers froze as their gazes turned to where he pointed
his finger. Seven women, all in odd dresses of green tartan silk, stood beside
the cairn. Their lush, scarlet lips curved into smiles as seductive as warm
kisses.
    Ian’s pulse hammered.
    Errol stepped up to them, stopping right in front of the
fairy mound. “Why are girls as pretty as you wandering around McLeod’s farm
this late at night?”
    All seven answered in turn.
    “Something disturbed our sleep.”
    “So we came to look about.”
    “Then we got hungry and decided to pick up something to
eat.”
    “When we ran into you seven handsome men.”
    “Nice to meet all of you.”
    “We like to dance.”
    “Dance with us.”
    Ian gazed at the last woman who spoke. Her complexion was
radiant, skin as smooth and luminescent as alabaster. Every line of her body,
her long legs to her dainty feet, her ample hips to her tiny waist and
curvaceous bust, her long, firm arms, slender neck, and flowing raven hair,
reminded him of the lines that swirled and looped in Celtic tracery and
knotwork. She was a work of art.
    Her gown was a silk plaid, squares of vibrant green, like
the hills, crossed with stripes of beige and ivory, like the sea coast. As if
sculpted to her body, the dress enhanced her curves. Gathered at the neckline
with a round Celtic brooch, it was belted at the waist with a triple-corded
belt of gold. The flowing silk exposed the long calves and the slender ankles of
her creamy legs. She sauntered toward him with fluid