Page 75 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
Before Rhona could come up with a response that wouldn’t destroy what little remained of her dignity, Athol’s voice boomed across their corner of the tavern.
“Braither! The room’s spinnin’ like at top, and I cannae make it stop!” he said with a slightly nervous laugh.
Ian turned to see his brother swaying precariously in his chair while Olivia tried to steady him with one small hand on his massive shoulder.
“I think,” Olivia said with the careful precision of someone who’d also had more ale than was strictly proper, “we might need tae stay here fer the night.”
Ian looked out the window into the darkness that had fallen while they’d been talking, then back at his thoroughly intoxicated brother. “Aye. That might be best.”
Stay the night.Blessed saints preserve me!
After everything that had just passed between them, the prospect of spending the night in such close proximity to Ian Wallace felt like dancing on the edge of a precipice.
But as she watched him support his brother with patient affection, and saw the gentle way he steadied Olivia when she stumbled slightly, Rhona realized whatever had just happened between them, whatever he’d made her feel and understand about herself – there would be no escaping it now. No matter how much distance she tried to put between them.
The wager she’d been so confident of winning had somehow turned into something else entirely – a revelation that left her feeling exposed and uncertain, standing at a crossroads she hadn’t realized she’d been approaching.
What on earth have ye gotten yerself intae, Rhona?
Ian’s eyes found hers across the crowded tavern.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Come along then, braither. Let’s get ye sorted before ye fall down the stairs and break yer fool neck.”
Ian hoisted Athol’s considerable weight more securely against his shoulder as they navigated the narrow wooden stairs leading to the tavern’s upper rooms. His brother’s ale-sodden state made him a dead-weight – all loose limbs and muttered complaints.
“I’m nae drunk!” Athol protested with a hiccup, nearly pitching forward down the stairs. “I’m… appreciatin’ the fine craftsmanship of their barrels!”
“Aye, by emtyin’ every last one of them,” Ian replied dryly, adjusting his grip as they reached the landing.
Behind them, Rhona helped guide a swaying Olivia up the steps, her usual composure replaced by giggles and an alarming tendency to lean heavily against the wall for support.
“This is mortifyin’!” Olivia announced to no one in particular. “Maither would have me locked in a convent if she knew I was drunk in a village tavern.”
“Yer secret’s safe with us,” Rhona assured her, though Ian caught the glimmer of amusement in her voice.
The tavern keeper had provided them with two adjoining rooms – modest but clean chambers with narrow beds and small windows that looked out over the village square. Ian maneuvered Athol through the door of the first room, depositing his brother onto the bed with more care than ceremony.
“Will he be all right?” Rhona asked from the doorway, genuine concern coloring her features as she watched Athol sprawl across the mattress like a felled tree.
“Och, aye.” Ian said, pulling off his brother’s boots and loosening his belt. “He’ll sleep it off and wake with a head like thunder, but he’ll live. Though he might wish he weren’t, come mornin’.”
Athol mumbled something that might have been either gratitude or complaint – it was impossible to tell which.
“Come, Olivia,” Rhona said gently, helping the swaying woman toward the bed. “Ye need tae rest.”
Ian stepped back to give them room as Rhona helped Olivia remove her shoes and settle under the woolen blankets. Oliviawas asleep before her head touched the pillow, her breathing deep and even.
“They’ll be fine together,” Ian said quietly, noting the question in Rhona’s eyes. In the dim hallway the air between them charged with the same tension that had sparked during their conversation downstairs.
Rhona stood before the door to the second room, her hand on the latch, but she didn’t move. In the flickering candlelight, Ian could see the uncertainty flash across he features.
“Will ye be all right sleepin’ here?” he asked softly, stepping closer. “I ken ye struggle with confined spaces.”
Her spine straightened defensively. “I’ll be fine.”
But even as she said it, Ian saw her glance toward the narrow door with something that looked suspiciously like dread. He’d learned to read the signs – the way her breathing quickened slightly, the almost imperceptible tensing of her shoulders.
