Chapter 8 #2
He turned from her before she could continue to speak, anger and restraint warring inside him, and strode toward the tavern. Each step felt like dragging himself from something vital, something he wanted more than he dared admit. He got several paces away before stopping short.
Without facing her, he growled, “And ye can keep the damn bunny.” The words felt like surrender, but he did not care.
He heard her sharp squeal of delight behind him, light and bright as birdsong, and the sound twisted something deep in his chest. When he turned again, she was scooping up the rabbit, smiling as she hurried to follow him.
She fell into step beside him, clutching the bunny as if it were a treasure, her joy unmistakable.
Ian set his jaw and kept his eyes forward, reminding himself with every breath that this woman was dangerous to him in ways no blade ever had been.
Yet as they walked toward the tavern, her warmth close at his side, he knew with grim certainty that keeping his word would be far harder than he had imagined.
The tavern doors creaked open beneath Ian’s hand, and the low hum of voices within fell into sudden silence.
Warmth rolled out to meet them, thick with the scent of peat smoke, ale, and roasting meat, and the room glowed amber with firelight.
Villagers rose from benches and tables alike, bowing their heads in practiced respect as the Laird entered.
Ian gave a brief nod in return, his presence commanding without a word.
Long trestle tables lined the walls, scarred by years of use, and rough-hewn beams crossed the low ceiling overhead.
A hearth blazed at the far end, kettles hanging above the flames and a spit turning slowly.
The air felt alive, bustling even in its pause, and Ian sensed Arianna’s curiosity beside him.
He guided her toward a sturdy table near the fire.
The tavern owner hurried forward, wiping his hands on his apron. He was a broad man with thinning hair and a cheerful face, eyes bright with pride.
“Laird McGuire,” he said warmly, bowing low, “it’s an honor to have ye here, truly.”
Ian inclined his head, acknowledging the praise without fuss.
“Angus,” Ian replied evenly, knowing the man well enough. “Ye keep a fine house.”
Angus beamed at that and clapped his hands once, already turning toward the bar. “Ale for ye both, and food besides, the best we’ve got,” he declared.
They were soon set with thick wooden mugs of dark ale that smelled of malt and honey.
Angus returned with trenchers piled high with oat bread, roasted venison, and a stew thick with barley, onions, and herbs.
A wedge of sharp cheese followed, along with apples baked soft in honey.
The simple abundance felt comforting, grounding.
Ian watched Arianna take it all in, her eyes wide yet thoughtful. She seemed smaller here somehow, less guarded than she had been at the castle.
“Eat,” he told her quietly, pushing a trencher closer. “It’s good food.”
Before she could answer, Angus leaned in again, eyes dropping to the small bundle in Arianna’s arms.
“Well now,” he chuckled, spotting the bunny, “that’s a fine wee thing.”
Ian cleared his throat. “I’ll need a basket,” he said, almost gruff, “for Lady McGuire’s new pet.”
Angus’s grin widened, and he hurried off toward the kitchen.
Arianna looked at Ian, surprise softening her features. “Lady McGuire’s new pet,” she repeated, a smile tugging at her lips. “Ye sound as though ye’ve accepted it already.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “It seems I’ve nae choice.”
They sat in companionable quiet for a moment, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the clink of mugs.
Arianna finally spoke, her voice low. “So… this is our first outing,” she said, glancing around. “I didnae expect it to be a road journey and a tavern.”
Ian studied her over the rim of his mug. “Aye, well, I could’ve sent ye with Melissa and a few guards and been done with the dresses business,” he said. “But I didnae want just to meet the law’s demand.” His gaze shifted toward the window, beyond which fields and river stretched unseen.
“I wanted ye to see the lands,” he continued. “No as a guest, but as what they are now…yer lands.”
“That’s… more than I expected,” she admitted softly.
He grunted, uncomfortable with gratitude. “Best ye ken who ye belong to,” he said, then corrected himself with a frown. “What ye’re part of.”
Angus returned with a small woven basket with a lid, setting it gently beside Arianna. “There ye are, me lady,” he said kindly. “Safe and warm.”
Arianna thanked him, placing the bunny inside with care, and Ian watched the tenderness in her movements.
As the tavern slowly returned to its hum, Ian leaned back in his chair.
This had not been how he imagined their first day as husband and wife, yet it felt right in a way he could not name.
He glanced at Arianna, her attention divided between her food and the small creature at her side.
Against his will, he found himself hoping that this, too, might become something familiar.