Hamish released her and drew himself up to his full daunting height. "That’s enough."
The crowd parted, and Emily found himself staring at a wiry old man with a bald head fringed in a scruff of untidy red curls. His face was flushed bright red, and he clutched a tankard in one hand.
"Do I smell the stink of a Sassenach?" the man asked, weaving on his feet.
"No, it’s the stink of a man who can’t hold his liquor or mind his manners." Hamish glared around the crowd, but this time nobody shifted away. Emily couldn’t blame them. This was turning into the sort of evening that enlivened fireside tales for years.
Her husband released her and strode down the room to confront the drunken lout. "You will apologize to my wife for your rudeness. You call yourself a true Highlander, Rory Douglas, yet you treat a guest, and a lady at that, with rank discourtesy. I’m ashamed to call myself your kinsman."
"Aye, I’m a true Highlander, Glen Lyon. Truer than you’ll ever be, with your London ways and your braying English tongue."
Big Billy bunched his fists. "Do ye want a beating, man?"
"Leave it, Billy," Hamish said with unexpected composure. "I can handle him."
"Och, no’ from where I’m standing. It takes an army of Sassenachs to best a good Highlander, ye great fannybaws."
The crowd reacted with horror. Emily realized that the unfamiliar insult must be excessively offensive.
It might be funny to watch diminutive Rory facing down her powerful husband. Except Emily was sure that Rory was only saying what the other people in this room felt but kept to themselves. Now there was the added danger of Hamish losing his formidable temper. If he did, violence would follow. She couldn’t bear to think of anyone getting hurt on her account.
"In that case, it’s lucky I’m a good Highlander. Apologize to my wife, then go home and sleep off the whisky."
"I’ll never humble myself to that English bitch. The besom can go to hell, or she can go back across the border where she belongs. No’ that I can see much difference between hell and England."
There was an appalled gasp from the crowd, and all eyes fixed on Hamish. Even from behind him, Emily saw his muscles bunch ready for mayhem.
It was too much. First Fergus, and now this. For one wretched moment, she stared at her husband’s broad back, then with a broken cry, she picked up her skirts and fled the ballroom. Nobody tried to stop her. Everyone was too focused on the clash between Rory and Hamish.
Chapter 28
"You will speak of my wife with respect, or you will find somewhere new to practice your carpentry, Rory," Hamish said in an implacable voice.
All the guests turned to him aghast. Banishment from the clan was the worst punishment a laird could inflict.
"You think you’re such a big man in the glens, Glen Lyon," Rory said, clearly too intoxicated to realize the dangerous line he crossed.
"Aye, I’m a big man, Rory. Big enough to know you’ve had too much to drink and there’s no good to be had from you tonight." He glanced at Billy. "Take him home, and make sure he stays there. He’ll have a devil of a head tomorrow and hopefully a pennyworth of the sense he was born with."
"I’m no’ a bairn to be sent to bed with a smack on the bum and no supper. I willnae gae home, and I willnae apologize," Rory said, swinging at Hamish and missing by a mile.
"Glen Lyon, he’ll think better of his temper in the morning," Big Billy said, grabbing Rory in one brawny hand and keeping him a safe distance from Hamish.
"Aye, he will. And we can decide his future when he’s not half-pickled."
"You might get someone else to do your dirty work for ye, you bloody English bastard, but I willnae be silenced."
Hamish scowled at his troublesome kinsman. "Once you’re no longer in my house, you can make as much noise as you want." His voice hardened. "But you will apologize to Lady Glen Lyon, and you will swear your loyalty to my wife and to me, or I’ll have you off this estate faster than a hawk flies at a rabbit. On that you have my word as a proud Scotsman."
At last, his deadly serious tone penetrated Rory’s alcoholic haze, and the man drooped in Billy’s hold. "Glen Lyon…"
"Take him away," Hamish said wearily.
He faced the packed room and summoned a cheerful tone. "The surprise entertainment has come to an end. Apologies for the interruption to our revels." He waved to the band, who lifted their instruments and began to play. "Now let’s get back to having a good time. It’s not a real party at Lyon House unless the guests dance until dawn."
The jolly reel the musicians chose helped to ease the fraught atmosphere. With surprising speed, the chatter and laughter rose again. Rory’s tantrum mightn’t be forgotten, but it wasn’t going to ruin the rest of the night.
Hamish looked around for Emily. Last he’d seen her, she’d been with Fergus and Marina and he’d been all set to knock his best friend’s block off. He caught sight of rich red hair over the dancers and made his way through the crowd.