More horns came around now, brimming with the strange wine, and Nina sipped at it even as she realized that it was going straight to her head; that the music and the drumming and the noise of the wind in the trees was pumping in her bloodstream; and that although she knew it was just a fund-raiser for the village—an event, that was all—everything felt rich and wild and strange.

She found herself gradually separated from Lennox and borne off with the other women, all in white and some wearing masks; most with flowers and ribbons in their hair, which made it difficult to recognize anyone, and even when she did, there wasn’t time for more than the briefest wave until she was cast off again in the tide of people, laughing and dancing as children shrieked and ran in and out of their feet. She found herself making new friends and greeting old ones and being totally unable to tell the difference between the two; it was impossible, anyway, with the noise levels and the crackle of the bonfire, to make or hear a conversation, so there was nothing to do except follow the flow.

Then, bossed about by the green man, who wouldn’t take no for an answer, they all had to take hands in two great rings, one clockwise, one counterclockwise, and, to the beat of the drummers and the skirl of the pipes and the fiddles, perform a strange stomping dance, around and around the bonfire, faster and faster, until Nina was utterly breathless and dizzy, overwhelmed with it all but still laughing wildly and feeling unable to stop.

“Behold the rites of midsummer,” boomed the green man through a megaphone. “Behold the lads and lasses and the spirit of growth and renewal and the shortest night and the longest day, and we shall CELEBRATE it, Mother Earth, for the fruit and flowers of your bounty!”

And everyone yelled and clapped, and then the dancers collapsed on the grass in heaps of giggles but the musicians played on, their music wild and eerie on the sweet night air, with its heavy scents of lavender and wild thyme, rippling foxgloves and honeysuckle and buttercups and maidenhair and baby’s breath, for as someone had told Nina, with great seriousness and intent, she had to pick one of each type of flower, seven flowers for seven nights, and that would make her true love come. Once they’d all found them, the girls folded the flowers carefully into each other’s hair as coronets, sipping from the horns that kept on being passed around, and as soon as they were done, the men came forward again, laughing, and grabbed their hands and made them dance.

Nina was having a great time. The evening passed in a blur, until finally, after eleven thirty, when the twilight started to deepen and the night grew chill, tartan blankets were passed out and people huddled together next to the fire to watch the stars come out.

As the sky lowered to a deep blue—not black, not up here at this time of year—suddenly the drumming stopped and the music faded away to a mere light dance on a pipe, as if the god Pan himself was playing a haunting low tune many miles away.

And then even that died away, and for an instant in the cool air there was a tremendous silence, as if the earth itself was holding its breath. Then, in the very far east of the night, over the sea, there was just the faintest glimmer in the dusky blue, a pale green and pink so light and subtle it was like fingers running delicately over piano keys.

There was a collective gasp from the crowd. Then suddenly everyone was stomping and cheering, people jumping up from their blankets and trying to take photographs, which rather spoiled the moment, but Nina barely noticed. She was entranced, looking at the faint shimmering colors of the aurora borealis against the night sky. She had never seen anything so beautiful, so awe-inspiring, had never read anything quite so lovely.

Then the MC shouted, and the drums and fiddles kicked off again, louder than ever, quite extraordinary; but she didn’t hear them, or see everyone throw off their blankets and get up and start to dance once again around the bonfire; she was stuck still, gazing at the sky, as people celebrated around her.

Suddenly she felt a presence at her elbow, and whirled around. Standing there, tall, silhouetted against the darkening sky, was Lennox. He said nothing, simply followed her gaze to the sky above and nodded. Then he reached out and gently touched her hand.

It felt to Nina as though it burned like fire, and she snatched it away instinctively. He looked at her for a brief moment, then stepped back into the whirling crowd and was gone so quickly it felt like she’d dreamed it.

Hours later, Nina sat with a bunch of brand-new friends, watching the sun come up when it had barely gone down, still pondering furiously on what had happened, if anything had indeed happened, or if she’d misread it.

But her instincts had said: stay away. She’d been so recently burned, had thought she knew what was going on when she didn’t. She couldn’t get into that again. And despite the fact that that evening in the car was the first time they’d ever managed a civil conversation, she generally found him rude and curt, and she knew from what he’d told her that he was in the middle of something emotionally horrible.

She thought back to Marek’s big, sad, puppy-dog eyes and sighed. Wasn’t there somewhere out there some available guy who wouldn’t completely screw her over, who would be there just for her? Or was that something only for storybooks and fantasies?

Ainslee walked past. She was working there, Nina noticed, and she got up to say hello after Ainslee helped serve the utterly splendid breakfast that was included in the ticket price: great thick jugs of fresh creamy milk to stir into huge vats of porridge, with salt, sugar, or honey; slices of locally smoked bacon in rolls; square Lorne sausage; kedgeree or scrambled eggs with smoked salmon from the nearby loch; and enough tea and coffee to sober up even the midsummer crowd, although there were plenty still imbibing the pink fizzy mixture.

“This is great,” said Nina. “It’s an amazing party.”

“Aye,” said Ainslee.

“Is it fun working here?”

Ainslee shrugged. “No’ really. But I need the money.”

“Is everything all right at home?”

“Aye,” said Ainslee shortly, and Nina realized she’d had too much fizz and was going too far.

“Sorry,” she said.

Ainslee looked over her shoulder. “Who’s that grumpy guy over there?”

Nina glanced over. Lennox was standing by the bar, drinking whiskey. He turned back to his friends when he noticed her looking at him.

“Oh, just my landlord,” she said. “He’s a miserable old bugger.”




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