Page 76 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire

“Rhona.” His voice was gentle but insistent. “After taenight, after what happened between us… dinnae try tae pretend ye’re unaffected.”

She lifted her chin with that familiar stubborn pride. “I said I’ll be fine.”

She pushed the door open and stepped inside, but Ian caught it with his hand before she could close it, their faces mere inches from each other. The room beyond was even smaller than he’d feared – barely large enough for the single bed and washstand, with walls that seemed to press inward in the candlelight.

“Are ye sure?” he asked quietly.

For a moment, she wavered. Ian saw the war playing out behind her eyes – pride battling with fear, the need to appear strong wrestling with the formidable terror that small, dark places held for her.

“If I said nay, where would ye sleep?” she asked, her voice small.

The corner of Ian’s lip twitched upwards as he nodded toward the ground below his feet. “Right here, lass. Keepin’ guard over ye.”

“Perhaps…” she began, then stopped, her voice barely above a whisper, “…perhaps it would be best if I weren’t’ alone.”

Relief flooded through Ian so powerfully that it surprised him. “Aye. I think it would be wise.

He stepped into the small chamber, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The room felt even more cramped with both of them in it, but Rhona’s breathing eased slightly in his presence.

“Better?” he asked.

She nodded, though he could see the lingering tension in her shoulders. “I hate that it affects me so,” she admitted quietly. “I still cannae bear tae be closed in. I wonder if I ever will.”

“’Tis nae weakness,” Ian said firmly, “What happened tae ye… any sane person would carry scars.”

Rhona moved to the small window, pushing aside the curtain to look out at the village below. Moonlight silvered her profile, highlighting the delicate curve of her jaw connecting to her neck.

“I used tae love storms, ye ken,” she said unexpectedly. “The wildness of it, the way the wind howls through the trees. I’d stand at me window and just watch the lighnin’ split the sky.” Her voice grew soft with memory. “Now, when thunder rolls overhead, all I can think about is stone walls echoing in that horrid place.”

Ian moved to stand behind her, close enough to catch the scent of chamomile and honey that clung to her hair. “What else dae ye miss?”

Och, foolish things,” she said with a self-depreciating laugh. “Mornin’ light streamin’ through colored glass… the sounds of me sisters arguin’ over breakfast… even me faither’s lectures.”

“They’re nae foolish if they matter tae ye.”

She turned then, and Ian realized he’d moved much closer than he intended. She was near enough that he could count the freckles scattered across her nose like miniature constellations.

“Ian,” she said softly, his name on her lips sounding like a prayer.

“Aye?”

“Earlier, when ye were describin’ what love looks like…” her cheeks flared pink. “Ye kenned it, didn’t ye? That ye were describin’me.”

“Aye,” he admitted quietly.

“Why?”

Ian reached up to cup her cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheekbone. “Because, I needed ye tae see what I see when I look at ye, Rhona. What I’ve been seein’ fer weeks now, even when ye seem stubbornly determined tae hate me.”

“I dinnae hate ye,” she whispered.

“Nae? What was it then?”

“Fear,” she admitted. “Fear of what ye make me feel. Fear fer wantin’ somethin’ that could never be.”

“And now?”

“Now…” her hand came up to cover his where it rested against her cheek. “Now I’m tired of bein’ scared.”