Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

" E nough, Elliot," Ian chuckled, interrupting his friend's gaze fixed upon one of the ladies in the tavern. "You'll startle her. Imagine a man like you ogling a pretty woman like that?" He flinched playfully, eliciting a coarse laugh from Elliot.

"I do possess my own charms."

"If you say so. Personally, I think you may have had one too many drinks." Ian teased his friend and scanned the room, wondering where Murdoch had disappeared to with their next round of drinks. Noah and Avery had left not long ago, leaving just the three of them to continue their drinking. Spotting Murdoch struggling with a tray carrying three ales and three smaller whiskies, Ian stood up to lend a hand. "I'll assist Murdoch. Stay away from that poor lass, or I'll return to protect you."

"She does nae mind," Elliot insisted, winking at the lady across the room. Ian laughed and shook his head, making his way toward Murdoch. As he approached, he witnessed someone accidentally bump into Murdoch, causing two goblets to topple over.

Wait…that cloak.

Ian immediately recognized his own plaid cloak, distinguished by its deep navy and teal green hues. Some ale had splattered onto the fabric.

Ah, here she is again.

Ian could not decide whether he should feel a sense of warmth at the sight of Aila, annoyance that she had managed to infiltrate his thoughts once more, or anger at the fact that she had stained his cloak. Aila stepped back, her eyes widening as she looked at Murdoch.

Oh, nay . Ian realized he had another reason to be concerned as he observed her boldly gazing at Murdoch, full of anticipation. Murdoch brushed off the collision as inconsequential and righted two of the goblets without even meeting her gaze, fully engrossed in the task at hand.

That fool has nae even noticed Aila's presence since she arrived at the castle.

Ian feared what Murdoch might have said had he known that Aila was the author of that letter. He might have dismissed her curtly, unintentionally inflicting pain despite his lack of awareness.

"I am sorry," Aila repeated, her words now audible to Ian as he approached the pair, navigating through the crowded tavern. She blushed a deep shade of red and lowered her head slightly, seemingly nervous to meet Murdoch's gaze.

How can she act so innocent when she has spent her entire life in a brothel?

Ian's suspicions immediately heightened. It had to be an act. How could someone who had spent their life in a brothel blush so profusely from a mere glance?

"It does nae matter," Murdoch reassured her. "I am to blame."

"Nay, nay, it was my fault," she blushed even deeper, her face surely aflame. Ian's pace slowed as his suspicions transformed into genuine concern. The letter he had taken, addressed to Murdoch, felt as if it were burning a hole in his pocket. He resolved to end their interaction as soon as possible to prevent Aila from placing any more hope in a man who could never reciprocate her affections.

"I was wondering..." she paused, fidgeting with the edges of his cloak, "if you received my last letter?"

Och, I'll be found out!

Ian lunged forward, hastening toward them.

"What letter?" Murdoch inquired.

Ian accidentally bumped into Murdoch's shoulder, unsure of what else to do to divert their conversation.

"Whoa!" Murdoch reached out and grabbed hold of the nearest timber pillar for support. His shoulder collided with Aila, causing her to stumble and spill the tray of drinks. Ian scrambled to catch the falling tray but missed entirely, ending up knocked by Murdoch's other shoulder and landing on the ground. However, instead of hitting the flagstones, he found himself on top of Aila, his hands on either side of her on the stones. Her eyes widened, and their faces practically touched.

"Good evening once again," he said with a smirk, finding humour in the situation as she pushed against his chest.

"Ye fool," she muttered.

"Better to be a fool than a demon. At least I'm improving in your estimation." He pulled himself up, trying not to dwell on the sensation of her body beneath him. The spilled drinks had turned her skirts and his cloak into a sticky mess of whisky and ale.

"Ian, watch where ye're going," Murdoch called out, extending his hand to Aila at the same time as Ian. "Maybe I've had one too many," Ian shrugged, offering an explanation.

Aila took Murdoch's hand, completely ignoring Ian's outstretched palm. He tried to suppress the twinge of disappointment at her rejection.

"Ye're covered in ale," Murdoch observed, glancing at Aila's gown. "I'll see if the tavern keeper has something to clean it with." He walked away toward the serving hatch as the inebriated patrons around them jeered about men lacking the ability to hold their liquor. Ian simply smiled, turning his attention to Aila, feeling triumphant for averting the revelation of his secret.

She glared, folding her arms across her chest.

"What was that?" she demanded.

"I've had too much tae drink," he repeated. "I see ye've changed." He nodded toward her glimpse of the new gown she wore. The dark blue tartan hugged her waist perfectly, accentuating her slender curves.

"Well, did ye expect me to remain the same?" She waved a dismissive hand at him.

"It's a tempting thought..."

"No more flirtation," she interrupted, placing her hands on her hips and standing taller. Her attempt to appear intimidating only heightened his attraction. He mirrored her stance and moved closer.

"I was nae flirting, Aila."

"Then what are all these comments?" Her chin lifted defiantly.

"Ye know, yer effort to appear intimidating is actually quite endearing."

"Ah! And that is nae flirtation?"

"Nae at all. Would ye like me to show ye flirtation?" he asked, leaning closer and moving his lips near her ear. He acted on impulse, not considering the consequences, but what he did notice was that Aila didn't retreat from him. "As lovely as yer gown is, I must confess I preferred ye earlier this evening."

Aila tapped him on the arm, attempting to silence him. He chuckled deeply.

"So aggressive, Aila," he teased, feigning hurt with a mocking wince.

"Ye do nae appear drunk," she shook her head, her eyes scanning him. "Yet you stumbled into Murdoch as if you could nae stand straight. What are ye up tae?"

"Nothing. I simply lost my footing," he hurriedly explained. "Wait a minute." His eyebrows shot up as he realized their current location. "Why are ye out here, Aila?"

"It's a tavern. They sell drinks."

"They serve both good and bad men, some of whom may not be wise for ye to associate with."

"Are ye including yerself in that description?" she asked, a small smile playing on her lips. In response to that look, Ian raised a hand, pointing at her plump lips. "What?"

"Ye smiled."

"Did I?"

"Perhaps ye enjoy trying tae rile me, Aila," he teased, feeling someone bump into his back and moving closer to her, steadying himself against a timber pillar behind her.

"I think that's yer specialty. Do ye try tae antagonize everyone this way, or is it just me? Ye seem tae laugh and have fun with everyone else," she rushed to say.

"I'm laughing and having fun." He pointed to his own smile, then nodded towards her face again. "And ye just treated me tae one of yer own smiles, so I can nae be as bad as ye like tae think I am, can I?"

She didn't answer, but tapped her hips, still offering that challenging look with her narrowed blue eyes.

"I see I have no answer. What about my assistance to ye this evening? Has that not improved yer opinion of me?"

"Tearing open my gown is hardly an encouraging way to make me like ye."

"Even though ye begged me to do it?" he reminded her.

"Shh." She looked over his shoulder, clearly in Murdoch's direction. Ian followed her gaze, feeling a surprising pang of envy course through his body.

Murdoch was engaged in conversation with the tavern keeper, ordering more drinks and grabbing a cloth. Murdoch had never sought her favor and had hardly spoken to her at all.

How peculiar that she would long for the good opinion of a man who remains indifferent towards her.

Ian looked back, his eyes briefly scanning her figure as she tried to wipe off some of the sticky drops from his cloak.

"Ye ruined my cloak."

"Ye ruined yer own cloak," she retorted sharply.

He chuckled, though the sound abruptly fell silent as a man approached their side. He was drunk, shorter than Ian but taller than Aila. He swayed on his feet, clutching a tankard of ale in one hand while the other leaned against the wall behind Aila.

"Evening, lassie," he whispered to her, practically licking his lips.

"Look, a salivating dog," Ian remarked, nodding at the drunkard. Aila bit her lip, as if trying not to laugh at his words. He raised an eyebrow at her, indicating that he had noticed her struggle to suppress a smile.

"Speaking of dogs, is this yer guard dog, lassie?" the drunkard asked, nodding his head towards Ian.

"Nay," Aila replied. Ian offered her another challenging look, wondering when she would ask for help to escape this situation. The drunkard leaned against the wall beside Aila, and although she flinched away, the man was undeterred, leaning closer to whisper something in her ear. "Nay. Step away from me," Aila refused his suggestive proposition and turned narrowed eyes on him.

"Ye heard the lady," Ian said sharply, his tone turning dark.

"She has nae heard my full offer yet. That's all," the drunkard retorted, placing his tankard on a nearby table. The flickering flames of the tallow candles danced as he did so. He then wrapped an arm around Aila's waist and pulled her away from the wall and Ian.

"Hey!" Aila pushed against him. "Release me."

"Just another minute, lassie, and I can make ye beg me to take ye instead."

"I'd rather be taken by a spider."

"That's quite a statement coming from this lady," Ian interjected. Despite the attempt at humor, he couldn't find it in himself to laugh. His heart pounded in his chest as he witnessed the audacity of the drunkard touching her. He stepped forward, moving to intercept them. "Release her now."

"Release me," she demanded once more.

"One more minute," the drunkard leaned closer to her, his lips inching towards hers.

"Nay!" Aila pushed against him.

Ian's blood boiled as he grabbed Aila's arm, pulling her out of the man's grasp. She stumbled behind him as Ian withdrew his elbow and delivered a harsh punch to the drunkard's nose. The sound of bone cracking echoed through the air as the man fell onto the table behind him. A tallow candle dropped to the floor, extinguishing itself as ale spilled onto the flagstones.

"Hey there! A fight?"

"Who's placing a wager then, eh?"

"The soldier."

"Nah, drunkards never ken when tae stop."

Ian ignored the taunting voices around him and positioned himself firmly in front of Aila, determined to keep any man from approaching her again.

"A big man, eh? Think ye can just come in here and..." The drunkard struggled to finish his sentence as he swayed on his feet.

"Touch her again, and ye'll regret it," Ian warned, his voice strained with intensity.

When the drunkard attempted to circumvent him, Ian acted swiftly. He stomped on the man's foot, eliciting a roar of pain, then swiftly delivered a sharp elbow strike to the already wounded nose. Blood spurted as the man collapsed onto the flagstone floor, knocked out cold.

"Whoa," Elliot appeared at Ian's side, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him back.

"Ye looking for a fight, Ian?"

"He touched her after she said nay." Ian jerked his head in Aila's direction.

"Then ye should have done something worse," Elliot said approvingly.

"You might have tae yet," Murdoch's voice joined them as he appeared on Ian's other side and gestured forward.

One of the drunkard's friends was attempting to revive him, splashing ale and whisky on his face, while his other friends approached, armed with weapons and short dirks.

"Nay fighting in here!" the tavern keeper roared, but his words fell on deaf ears.

The first man lunged at Ian, and a chaotic brawl erupted. Ian dispatched his opponent effortlessly, as the man was so intoxicated that he could barely stand, let alone land a punch. Murdoch and Elliot handled their own adversaries with ease, while the tavern's patrons cheered on the spectacle, placing bets on the winners.

Ian stepped back, his gaze fixed on Aila as he noticed another man advancing toward her. With a swift motion, she revealed a dirk from beneath her cloak, warning him off. When he disregarded her warning, she deftly struck, nicking him across the cheek.

The cut drew blood, causing the man to press a palm against his cheekbone and stare at the smattered blood on his hand.

"Ye little whore!" he cursed loudly, seething with anger.

Before he could launch himself at Aila, Ian swiftly caught her waist, pulling her back and drawing his sword from his belt, brandishing it defensively. Aila yelped in surprise, stumbling against his chest.

"What are ye doing?" she questioned.

"What do ye think?" he whispered in her ear. "I'm stopping ye from getting hurt."

"But—"

"Not now, Aila." He made a decisive move, knocking the dirk from the man's hand with his weapon. Placing himself between Aila and the aggressor, Ian lunged once more, inflicting a minor wound on the back of the man's hand. The man hopped away, wailing as if the tiny cut were a mortal blow.

Ian, being a skilled swordsman, knew it was only a superficial injury that would heal in a few days.

Glancing around, Ian observed that Murdoch and Elliot had triumphed over their own opponents, and no one dared to challenge them further.

"Enough!" the tavern keeper appeared before them. "All of ye, out!"

"We did nae start it," Elliot objected.

"I do nae need soldiers beating up my regulars. Out!"

Without hesitation, Ian headed for the door, but he paused when he realized Aila hadn't followed him. She stood, staring down at the unconscious drunkard who had initially approached her. Ian reached back, taking her hand firmly and guiding her out of the tavern.

She followed, but once they stepped into the cold air, Aila released his hand and stumbled ahead of them on the road. Occasionally, she glanced back, her eyes shifting between Ian and Murdoch. Ian met her gaze, finding it difficult to look away.

"Ha! A bit of fun, eh?" Elliot said, wrapping his arms around Murdoch's and Ian's shoulders as they walked down the cobbled road. "At least ye had a fight to warm yer blood before ye walk back to the castle without yer cloak, eh?"

Ian paid no mind to the cloak or the bitter wind chilling his body. His anger still raged against the man who had dared to lay a hand on Aila.