Page 33

33: NOTHING TO APOLOGIZE FOR

IVER REMAINED LONG enough in the barmkin to lock gazes with his mother.

Sheena stood as tall and proud as ever, her dark-blue eyes gleaming with victory.

“Ready yerself to kneel before my wife and beg her forgiveness,” he ground out, enunciating each word.

“For when I find her, that is exactly what ye shall do.”

Not waiting to see his mother’s reaction—for frankly, he didn’t care—Iver swiveled on his heel and followed Bonnie out of the barmkin.

Out on the causeway, he broke into a run, glancing around as he searched for his wife.

Moments later, he spied her.

She hadn’t followed the road west, but instead had scrambled down the rocks to the pebbly shore and was sprinting north.

Her footing was uneven, and she often stumbled, yet Bonnie ran with surprising speed.

She was already some distance ahead of him.

Cursing, Iver slid down the rocks and pursued her along the shore.

It took a while to catch up.

Bonnie’s work at Stirling Castle had kept her fit and strong.

She had considerable endurance.

Sweat slid down Iver’s back between his shoulder blades, and his lungs started to burn as the chase went on.

Nonetheless, yard by yard, he slowly closed the gap between them.

And finally, with his last burst of speed, he reached his wife.

Catching Bonnie by the arm, he pulled her up.

But to his surprise, she fought him, struggling in his grip, her small fists pummeling him as she tried to free herself.

“Bonnie!” he gasped.

“Stop this!”

His chest constricted as she shook her head frantically, tears streaming down her face.

The devil take his mother.

If she’d taken a dirk to Bonnie’s chest, it would have hurt less.

Pulling his wife hard against him, Iver wrapped his arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides, and letting her collapse against his chest.

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” he murmured as sobs wracked her.

“Let it out. I have ye.”

They stood like that for a while, their bodies pressed close while Bonnie wept into his gambeson.

A cold, damp wind that smelled of brine and seaweed snagged at them, yet Iver paid it no mind.

All he focused on, all he cared about right now, was the upset woman in his arms.

“There, my love,” he whispered, his throat tight.

“None of this matters. I don’t care who yer father is. Ye will always have a home with me, I promise … and ye will always be loved and cherished.” And as he spoke, he stroked her back.

He wasn’t sure if she heard any of it, so deep was her upset.

She’d had a shock. He couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to discover his father was a past king of Scotland.

He sensed her grief too—for a past she couldn’t change, and parents she’d never known.

It was as if a lifetime of tears had been storing themselves up—and finally, today, his mother’s revelation had broken the dyke holding them back.

Iver wanted to be able to soothe his wife’s hurts, to be able to change things so that she didn’t have to suffer, but he couldn’t.

He could only hold her while the storm passed.

Bonnie wept for a long while, until she was too tired to continue.

Slumped against Iver’s broad chest, held tight in the cage of his arms, she gradually became aware of her surroundings once more—of the cry of gulls and the crash of the waves against the pebbly shore where they stood.

She also realized her husband was gently stroking her hair and murmuring endearments to her.

Swallowing, Bonnie raised her face from his gambeson, where she’d left a large soaking patch upon the quilted material, blinking up at Iver through wet lashes.

“I’m sorry,” she croaked, her throat raw from weeping.

His midnight-blue eyes guttered.

“Och, lass … ye have nothing to apologize for.” He shifted his hand from where it now rested on her shoulder, to her wet cheek, cupping it gently.

“Instead, it is I who must ask yer forgiveness. My mother was insufferably rude.”

Bonnie swallowed once again.

“And yet she spoke the truth.”

“Aye … but there are ways of saying things.”

She nodded, drawing in a shaky breath, as the wind buffeted them.

“I can’t believe I’m half-sister to the king,” she murmured finally.

Indeed, even saying those words aloud made her skin prickle.

Iver’s mouth lifted at the corners.

“Aye … ye are a Stewart of royal blood. Something that no doubt both vexes and intimidates my mother.”

Bonnie gave a soft snort.

“I think she’s more concerned about the fact I’m a bastard.”

A muscle tightened in her husband’s jaw, and Bonnie felt a pang of pity for Sheena.

Her first born son wasn’t a man lightly crossed, even by his own mother.

“I won’t let anyone shame ye,” he said, his voice roughening.

“Ye know that, don’t ye?”

Reaching up a trembling hand, Bonnie stroked his cheek, feeling the rasp of stubble against her fingertips.

“I love ye, Iver,” she whispered.

“I wanted to tell ye so, back there in the barmkin … before yer mother interrupted me.”

Iver’s eyes gleamed, a wide smile creasing his face.

Staring up at him, it dawned on Bonnie that he’d been waiting to hear her say those words.

Iver Mackay appeared outwardly confident—and he was strong, determined, and protective—yet insecurities had plagued him over the years.

He’d loved and lost before and had learned to guard his heart.

Deep down, he worried that she too might not return his feelings.

Revealing his love for her had taken more than she realized.

And his relief that she felt the same way was palpable.

Cupping her face with both hands now, he leaned in, brushing his lips over hers in a tender kiss.

And when he drew back, his eyes glittered with unshed tears.

“I told ye that ye would never stand alone here … and I meant it,” he murmured.

“I know ye don’t want to see my mother again … and I can’t say I blame ye … but she owes ye a heartfelt apology. Shall we return to the broch and get this over with?” He paused then, his mouth quirking.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentler with her than I was with Sutherland.”

Standing in Dun Ugadale’s hall at Iver’s side, Bonnie surveyed the tall woman before the roaring hearth.

Sheena looked as proud as ever, even if her gaze was narrowed now, her mouth compressed.

A large brick of peat burned upon the fire behind her, the smoke creating a blue fug that hung beneath the heavy beams crisscrossing the rectangular space.

They weren’t alone with Iver’s mother.

His two younger brothers were also present.

Kerr and Brodie sat upon chairs flanking the fire, tankards of ale on their knees.

And judging from the way they were both looking at their elder brother, neither were impressed with him.

Did they believe Iver’s decision to wed a lowly chambermaid had shamed them all?

Meanwhile, Iver was staring his mother down as if she were his foe.

Arms folded over his chest, legs braced, he watched her silently for a few moments before inclining his head.

“Remember what I said to ye earlier, Ma?” he said eventually.

Sheena stiffened, and Bonnie wondered what words had passed between mother and son before Iver had followed her.

“It’s now time,” the laird continued.

“Go on … we’re waiting.”

Silence fell, drawing out while all gazes rested upon Sheena.

The crackle of the hearth filled the void, accompanied by the muffled sounds of voices and clanging pots from the kitchen next door.

And when it was clear that Sheena was content to let the silence continue, Iver’s jaw tightened.

However, before he could speak, Bonnie stepped forward, lifting her chin to meet the taller woman’s eye.

“Can ye not see past the circumstances of my birth?”

Sheena’s mouth pursed.

“I only want what’s best for my son.”

“No, ye don’t,” Iver replied.

“If ye did, ye wouldn’t have taken such vindictive pleasure at humiliating my wife earlier.”

Sheena’s face flushed at this rebuke.

“I should really thank ye,” Bonnie said after a pause.

She meant it too; in the aftermath of her upset earlier, she felt oddly calm, at peace.

“Ye have solved a mystery that has long eluded me. I’ve always wanted to know who my father is … and now I do.”

Sheena’s eyes widened; she hadn’t expected such a response.

But Bonnie hadn’t yet finished.

“Aye, I’m the bastard daughter of James the First … but does that make me unworthy of yer son?”

“No,” a gruff male voice interrupted them.

Bonnie glanced over at where Brodie still sat by the fire.

His expression was veiled, yet his hazel eyes were fierce.

“Ye are welcome here, Bonnie.” He set down his tankard and rose to his feet, crossing to where she stood.

And then, to her surprise, he reached out and took hold of her hand, squeezing it gently.

Brodie had strong hands, calloused and scarred from his work in the forge.

“I too know what it’s like to be born with a stain upon my name,” he said, while a few feet away, Sheena winced.

Ignoring her, Brodie continued, “Iver has weathered much over the years … and we’ve had our differences … but it brings me joy to see him smile again. Ye are welcome here, sister .”

“Aye.” Kerr also rose smoothly to his feet and crossed to them, taking Bonnie’s free hand.

“Brodie speaks for me too. If Iver is happy, then so am I.” He cast a veiled gaze over his shoulder at his mother.

“And I’m sorry for the poor welcome ye received earlier.”

Warmth suffused Bonnie’s chest at Brodie and Kerr’s words.

She’d feared they’d resent her as Sheena did.

“Yer apology is appreciated, Kerr,” Iver rumbled, “but unnecessary. Ye weren’t the one to insult my wife.”

Brodie and Kerr released Bonnie’s hands and stepped back, allowing their brother and his wife to face Sheena once more.

Bonnie’s breathing quickened.

Iver’s mother was bristling now; she chafed at being cornered like this.

“We can wait here all night, Ma,” Iver murmured after a pause.

“As long as it takes till ye admit ye wronged Bonnie … till ye ask for her forgiveness.”

Mother and son locked gazes then, a battle waging between them, before Sheena finally dropped her gaze.

“I was rude,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper, “and I apologize.”

“Ye can do better, Ma,” Iver replied, anger creeping into his voice.

Bonnie’s stomach twisted.

Her husband was relentless; he wasn’t giving up until his mother showed real remorse.

Pity constricted her chest then; she could see what this was costing Sheena.

Tension was vibrating off her body.

She was a proud woman, unused to humbling herself.

It struck Bonnie then that, even if she’d been a wealthy laird’s daughter, of respectable birth, they still would have locked horns.

Eventually, Sheena raised her gaze and met Bonnie’s.

A nerve flickered in her cheek.

“I’m sorry, lass,” she said huskily.

“I was cruel.”

Bonnie went to her then and took one of the hands that was still curled into a fist at her side.

Lifting it, she cupped Sheena’s hand between her own.

To her surprise, her mother-by-marriage’s palm was damp.

The woman did a fine job of appearing to have nerves of iron, yet this confrontation had gotten to her.

Sheena’s eyes widened then.

She hadn’t expected Bonnie to do something so bold.

Nonetheless, Bonnie held her eye, holding her hand firmly in her grip.

“I accept your apology, Sheena,” she said, her voice carrying in the silent hall.

“I don’t wish for us to be enemies.”