They were dancing. Not dancing as she knew it, with the harsh clack of heel on wood and a stiff upper body locked a respectable distance from your partner.
No, their dancing was more like the type the tenants did by the fires, when the harvest was in and the poitin flowed. The dancing her father forbid her to see.
This dancing was the shaken kiss of boot upon grass, a sound like the bailing of hay. They did not keep a respectable distance. They were intertwined with one another, they were indistinguishable. Like the ring they danced within, it was hard to tell where one ended and another began.
They had called to her. Made her leave the big house, seeking the sound of drumming and ululation and sweet pipes.
If her father knew about this he would forbid it. She knew she should pray. But she wanted to dance.
She wanted to dance forever.