The Highlander's English Bride (The Lairds Most Likely 6)

"Hamish, not here," Emily said in an urgent tone.

So far her husband had kept his voice down, but a six-foot-five man seething with fury was sure to attract attention, however discreet he tried to be. More and more heads turned in their direction, and the couples around them had stopped dancing to observe the storm gathering around the laird and his new wife.

"I was giving your lady some well-meant advice on how to handle you." Fergus’s voice was steady and self-confident. Emily had a suspicion Fergus would sound self-confident standing naked in the middle of a hurricane.

"Giving her a lecture, more like," Hamish grated out. He lunged forward and pushed Fergus away from Emily, then he turned to her. "Are you all right?"

Emily was relieved to feel Hamish’s arm go around her waist and she sagged in his hold. After that vile exchange with Fergus, she dearly needed the reassurance of his touch. "Hamish, you’re making a mountain out of a molehill. Don’t spoil the party."

"Bloody Fergus, he always thinks he knows best. Whatever he said to you, ignore it."

"Tesoro, what have you done?" Marina asked, and the endearment sounded more impatient than loving, however much she might love her husband. "I said that you were better off leaving well enough alone."

Fergus’s color had risen, and he subjected his wife to a furious glare down the long blade of his nose. "I did what I thought best."

Marina sighed. "And created a disaster."

"I want Emily to understand what she’s cost Hamish. We all ken they married under duress. Now they’ve lived apart for months. I dinnae want his heart broken a second time, when she decides to flit back to England again."

Emily’s "As if I’d leave him flat!" coincided with Hamish’s outraged, "You can leave my heart out of it, chum. It’s in very good hands right now, and I’ll thank you to keep that damned big beak well away from my business."

Marina caught Fergus’s arm. "Il mio amore, you should know better than to interfere. Every marriage is a world unto itself. You can’t hope to understand what happens between Emily and Hamish."

"I willnae have Hamish hurt," Fergus said stubbornly.

"What in blazes sort of fragile blossom do you think I am, you overbearing sod?" Hamish asked with searing heat. "I don’t need you to protect me."

"He doesn’t need protecting from me either," Emily said in a rush. "It’s true – Hamish and I did start out badly, but we’re finding our way now."

Hamish’s grip on her waist firmed. "Yes, we are."

Fergus leveled a penetrating green gaze on him and some of the aggression leached from his tall frame. "Och, then that’s all I need to hear."

"You didn’t need to hear anything," Hamish snapped and swept a forbidding glance around the circle of eager onlookers. "I’m hoping you’ve all heard enough, too."

Their audience looked discomfited and most of them turned away. The band had continued to play throughout. As the whispers faded, the sweet silly tune of the waltz drifted through the room. Except it turned out something else was going on that Emily hadn’t noticed while she fended off Fergus’s criticism.

Fighting the urge to burst into tears, Emily turned her head toward where a scuffle

had broken out over near the supper tables. She craned to see, but there were too many people in the way. "What is it?"

"God knows," Hamish said, with what she thought was justified annoyance. This had been such a joyous gathering. Now it threatened to turn into a debacle.

"Och, I will speak. A Douglas is born a free man with a right to an opinion, God damn ye." The voice was loud and belligerent, and slurred enough to hint at the liberal application of spirits.

"That’s all I bloody need, Wee Rory opening his big mouth," Hamish growled.

As the music ended on a discordant clash of notes, a flurry of protest rose from the corner of the room. Above the hubbub, the tirade was clearly audible. "We’ve got to put up with a damn Sassenach laird who’s fool enough to think he’s a good Scotsman. But now he brings us a bloody useless Englishwoman as the Lady of Glen Lyon. Soon there willnae be room for a true Highlander to breathe in this glen. It will be nothing better than a wee England."

A storm of shushing followed, but the hectoring voice rose above the scandalized outcry. "No good Douglas will ever serve under the English. We should rise up and—"

"Shut your mouth, Wee Rory," Big Billy said, pushing his way through the crowd to the troublemaker. "Nobody wants to hear ye."

"I willnae shut my mouth, ye thick-witted yin. I’m only saying what every true Scotsman here tonight feels but is too chicken-hearted to say. Well, nobody ever called Rory Douglas a coward."

"Aye, but they often called him a ruddy great fool," a man called out.

Emily was cringing in Hamish’s hold. She didn’t dare to look at Fergus and Marina, for fear of seeing pity in their eyes. Pity – and the knowledge that while the man might be a drunken boor, he spoke the unwelcome truth.