Page 23

23: PANDEMONIUM

IVER EXHALED SLOWLY.

It was so quiet in the common room that Bonnie could hear the rasp of his breath, along with the rapid thud of her own pulse.

She’d expected her husband to reply, to throw an insult Malcolm Sutherland’s way.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he stepped over the bench seat and strode toward the clan-chief’s son, his long legs carrying him swiftly across the common room.

“No fighting in here!” the innkeeper cried, inserting himself between the two men.

“Take it outside!”

However, Sutherland merely shoved the lanky fellow aside and launched himself at Iver.

And just like that, pandemonium erupted.

Bonnie cringed against the table as cups and dishes flew.

Lennox and Campbell leaped to their feet and rushed forward.

Likewise, the Mackay and Campbell warriors abandoned their meals, meeting Sutherland’s men head-on as they surged inside.

Moments later, Glenardoch Inn’s common room was filled with brawling men.

Heart pounding in her ears, Bonnie got up and moved over to the wall, pressing up against it.

Wisely, the other patrons scrambled out of the way, many of them narrowly avoiding the swing of a heavy fist or the kick of a booted foot.

The innkeeper was shouting at Iver and Sutherland to stop, but both men ignored him.

They were slugging at each other, oblivious to anything else.

Meanwhile, Lennox had one of Sutherland’s men in a headlock and Campbell head-butted his opponent, breaking his nose.

The Lord of Glenorchy was grinning as he turned to face the next man.

Colin loved a good brawl, it seemed.

Bonnie didn’t share his delight.

Instead, queasiness rolled over her as the brawl continued.

How could anyone enjoy pummeling someone else with their fists?

Her attention shifted to her husband then—and there it stayed.

Iver was holding his own easily against Sutherland, yet when the clan-chief’s son kneed him in the stomach—he’d been aiming for Iver’s groin but missed—she clamped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from crying out.

God’s blood, can’t anyone stop them?

Unfortunately for the Sutherlands, the Mackay and Campbell party was larger than theirs.

It didn’t take Iver and Colin’s warriors long to overpower their opponents—and a short while later, Sutherland’s men lay groaning on the floor.

Meanwhile, Iver and Sutherland fought on.

Recovering from a blow to the jaw, Iver punched Sutherland in the mouth, sending the man crashing into the table behind him.

The sound of splintering wood rose above the grunts and curses.

Pressing his advantage before Sutherland could rally, Iver straddled the prone man and delivered two more hard punches to his face.

“My wife will have that apology now, Malcolm,” he grunted.

Sutherland glared up at Iver, blood trickling out of his nostrils.

However, instead of complying, he mumbled a further insult through split, bloodied lips.

And in response, Iver drew the dirk from his hip and leaned forward, placing the thin, wickedly-sharp blade to the clan-chief son’s throat.

“Ask. Her. Forgiveness,” he said, enunciating each word carefully.

A pregnant silence fell in the common room.

Bonnie’s breathing hitched, her stomach churning once more.

Sutherland had grossly insulted them both, yet she didn’t want Iver to kill anyone.

What had started out as a rambunctious brawl had just slid into something far more dangerous.

The edge to Iver’s voice warned he was just a moment away from slitting Malcolm Sutherland’s throat.

She knew it, and so did everyone else in the room.

As did Sutherland, for his big body stiffened and the arrogance drained from his bloodied face.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped finally.

“My wife’s name is ‘Bonnie’,” Iver replied.

“Address her when ye ask her forgiveness.”

“I’m sorry … Bonnie,” Sutherland repeated, each word tearing from his throat.

He didn’t look like a man used to being bested.

This would be a bitter gall to swallow indeed.

He didn’t glance her way as he apologized—didn’t dare move lest the dirk blade cut into his throat.

Bonnie watched Sutherland, her brow furrowing.

No, she didn’t like violence—and yet something within her sang at seeing this bully submit.

Satisfied, Iver withdrew the blade from Sutherland’s throat.

“Good,” he murmured.

“Now get out of here, Sutherland. Ye heard the innkeeper; this establishment is full. Find somewhere else to bed down tonight.”

“Ye’ve made an enemy for life there,” Lennox murmured as they watched the battered, bloodied, and bruised Sutherland party depart the Glenardoch Inn.

The clan-chief’s son was the last to leave.

Limping heavily, Malcolm cast a baleful look over his shoulder at Iver.

A moment later, the man was gone, swallowed up by the swirling snow and the darkness outdoors.

Iver pulled a face before reaching up and rubbing his bruised jaw.

“Aye … yet it couldn’t be helped.”

“Ye’ll get no quarrel from me,” his brother replied.

“Sutherland’s been owed an arse-kicking for a while.”

“That may be the case, lad,” Campbell agreed from behind them.

“However, when his Da hears ye pulled a dirk on him, he’ll want reckoning.”

“Let him take it up with Niel,” Iver snapped, resheathing his dirk.

He turned then to where the innkeeper was standing in the middle of the common room, looking around in dismay at the broken furniture and shattered crockery.

Frowning, Iver retrieved his coin purse from his belt.

He then emptied a handful of pennies onto his palm and approached the man.

“Sorry about that, Murdo,” he said, holding out the coins to him.

“This should help pay for the damage.”

The innkeeper nodded, although his mouth compressed into a thin line as he took the pennies.

“Aye, well, at least ye didn’t kill him,” he muttered.

“I don’t need any trouble with the local bailiff.”

Iver didn’t answer.

In truth, he’d come closer than any of them likely realized to slitting Sutherland’s throat.

Ever since he’d made his decision to marry Bonnie, the lass had weathered censure.

Colin’s snide remarks toward her during supper had caused Iver’s temper to quicken.

But Sutherland’s vile insults had severed his self-restraint.

And in the aftermath, Iver felt as if he’d awoken from a long sleep.

His blood was up. Every sense was blade sharp.

Only a fool would dare cross him right now.

His attention shifted then, across the common room to the wall near the hearth, where his wife stood.

Bonnie had watched the whole fight.

She’d seen him come close to killing a man.

Her face was pale and strained, her gaze wide, yet she watched him steadily.

One hand rested upon her chest as if to calm a racing heart.

Iver favored her with a reassuring smile, and she returned it with a tremulous one of her own.

Relief filtered through him then.

Aye, she’d had a shock, but there was no fear in her eyes.

“I’m sorry ye had to witness all that, lass,” Iver said as they mounted the stairs, arm in arm, to the rooms upstairs a short while later.

They’d left Lennox and Campbell by the fireside.

The mess had been cleaned up, and the common room was quiet once more.

Bonnie cut Iver a sidelong glance.

“Sutherland gave ye little choice in the matter,” she replied softly.

“He didn’t just insult my honor … but yers.”

In truth, the incident had shaken her.

Chambermaid slut wife.

Sutherland’s goading voice still rang in her ears.

Was that how others saw her?

Ainslie had tried to warn her that being accepted by the high-born wouldn’t be easy.

Nonetheless, Bonnie had never expected to be so grossly insulted.

The sneers and laughter that had followed Sutherland’s words had been an added humiliation.

Of course, Iver’s reaction wiped the smirks off their faces, but she wouldn’t forget their disdain.

She and Iver had broken the rules of society with their union, and people had noticed.

“Aye, but I tire of others voicing their opinions about ye, Bonnie,” Iver replied, gently rubbing his jaw.

She wouldn’t be surprised if he had a bruise there by morning.

“Sutherland might have the manners of a goat, yet Campbell also offended ye this eve.”

Bonnie pulled a face.

He was right, although Campbell’s comment paled into insignificance compared to Sutherland’s.

She remembered then, something else the Lord of Glenorchy had mentioned during supper.

“What was Campbell saying about his daughter?”

Iver’s mouth pursed.

“He offered her to me on the eve of the ball … and I refused. His sour attitude is likely because he’s taken offense that I chose another.”

“And a chambermaid with a hearty appetite at that,” she replied tartly.

“Aye, well … he’ll know now to mind his tongue in the future.” Iver squeezed her arm gently then, even as his voice hardened.

“I shall not stand for it.”

They reached the top of the stairs and made their way down a narrow hallway to their chamber.

Murdo, the innkeeper, had told them it was the last one on the left.

“I’ve asked for a bathtub to be filled for us,” Iver said then, meeting Bonnie’s eye once more.

His lips lifted at the corners.

“I don’t know about ye, but after all that excitement, I could do with soaking up to the neck in hot water.”

Bonnie smiled back, the unpleasantness in the common room fading just a little.

She’d never had a bath before, although she was shy to admit such to Iver.

Aye, she’d filled plenty for guests at Stirling, hauling steaming pails of hot water up and down the flights of stairs from the kitchens—but when she washed herself, it was before a basin of cold water in her loft.

They let themselves into their chamber.

It was the best one the inn had to offer—spacious and clean with scrubbed wooden floors, a large canopied bed, and a roaring hearth.

A huge empty iron tub sat before the fire.

Bonnie’s gaze traveled around the space, a sigh gusting out of her.

“Does the room please ye, wife?” Iver murmured.

She turned to find him standing before the closed door, his gaze upon her.

Their gazes fused, and Bonnie’s pulse fluttered.

“Aye,” she replied softly.

“I’ve never stayed anywhere like this, Iver.” Her cheeks warmed then.

After the awful incident downstairs, she was painfully aware of their differing ranks.

Suddenly, she wondered if he’d laugh at her.

After all, this chamber was likely humble compared to his broch.

She tore her gaze from his, lowering it to the floorboards between them, wishing she didn’t feel so uncomfortable.

Her belly twisted then.

What have I done? She’d been overjoyed to wed this man—and they seemed to be getting on so well—yet her new situation was much harder to deal with than she’d expected.

She’d hoped to take her new life in her stride, but now she was struggling.

Iver’s boots whispered on the floor as he approached her.

A moment later, his fingers gently took hold of her chin, raising her face so that she met his eye once more.

His expression was searching, tender, as he looked down at her.

“I know what just happened was upsetting, Bonnie … but ye need not worry. I shall always defend yer honor.”

Bonnie’s throat constricted at this vow, and she swallowed to loosen it.

“Thank ye.”

His mouth lifted at the corners in that sensual half-smile that he saved just for her.

His fingers left her chin then, sliding up so that his hand cupped her cheek.

“I’ve been looking forward to being alone with ye again,” he admitted, his voice lowering.

“God’s bones, how this day has dragged.”

Bonnie let out a soft laugh, even as nerves and excitement danced in her belly.

“It has?”

A knock intruded then, splintering the moment.

Iver stepped back, letting his hand fall away from her face.

His mouth then quirked once more.

“That’ll be the water for our bath.”