Page 11 of The Laird’s Vengeful Desire (The Highland Sisters’ Secret Desires #2)

Ian turned to find Tristan approaching, his advisor’s face thoughtful.

“They’re learnin’,” Ian agreed, rolling his shoulders. “Give them time, they might actually become dangerous.”

“Aye, well… perhaps ye won’t be as bad at this leadership thing as ye thought, me laird,” Tristan said, genuine surprise in his voice. “Twenty years I’ve been guardin’ these walls. Never seen recruits respond the way these lads dae tae ye.”

Ian raised an eyebrow. “High praise from a guard.”

“I mean it. Most lairds just bark orders, but ye actually show them what tae dae. Makes a difference.” Tristan shifted uncomfortably. “Me laird, there’s somethin’ else. About the prisoner.”

Ian’s stomach dropped. “What about her?”

“The men are talkin’. Wonderin’ what’s tae be done with her.” Tristan glanced around, then lowered his voice. “They think she should be… dealt with. Perhaps return her tae her clan…”

“What?”

“Well, the men are sayin’ her family will have questions. About where she’s been, what’s happened tae her.” Tristan looked genuinely uncomfortable discussing such matters with his laird. “I just… I thought ye should ken what the talk is.”

Ian stared at the guard. Even Tristan could see the impossible position they were in

“What would ye dae, if ye were in me place?” Ian asked quietly.

Tristan blinked at him. “Me laird? I’m just a guard, I–”

“Indulge me.”

Tristan looked truly startled at being asked for advice. He hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “If it were me choice tae make, I’d give her options, rather than decidin’ fer her. Seems… fairer that way.”

Ian nodded slowly. “Aye. Perhaps it daes.”

Evening approached with agonizing slowness.

Ian stood in his solar, staring out at the lengthening shadows across the courtyard, his mind churning with the weight of impossible decisions.

All the events from the past few days had left him feeling raw, frustrated, and dreading what the near future might bring.

They want me tae force her intae marriage.

His Council’s voices still rang in his ears – urgent, insistent, painting pictures of Wallace blood spilling across Highland soil if he didn’t find a solution soon.

The MacPherson raids would surely escalate, his decimated army could barely defend their borders, and every day that passed with Rhona MacAlpin unmarried in his castle was another step closer to the war that would destroy what little remained of his clan.

Ian scrubbed a hand through his dark hair, his grandfather’s teachings warring with political necessity.

He’d been raised to believe that honor meant protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves, not manipulating them for political gain.

Yet, here he was, contemplating exactly the kind of manipulation that his Council deemed essential for survival, but that would make his grandfather spin in his grave.

The irony was not lost on him that he’d have to propose marriage to a woman who had every reason to hate him – a woman whose own clan’s blood was dripping from Wallace hands, whose freedom they’d already stolen, whose trust he’d have to somehow earn while asking her to sacrifice her future.

Three months she’s been here. Three damned months her family’s been wonderin’ if she’s dead or worse. If I send her back now…

The political ramifications would be catastrophic.

Laird MacAlpin would never believe his daughter had remained untouched during such a lengthy captivity – especially not under the Wallace name.

Honor would demand retribution, regardless of the truth.

And with rumors of Isolde MacAlpin’s marriage to Laird Ciaran MacCraith, Wallace lands could soon face the combined might of two powerful clans.

Unless she agrees.

The very idea feeling like a betrayal of everything his grandfather had taught him about treating women with respect and dignity.

But what choice did he have? His Council had made it clear – marriage or war. The clan’s survival hung in the balance, and as laird, their lives were his responsibility. Every man, woman, and child depending on him for protection that would suffer if he chose sentiment over strategy.

She deserved better than this, Ian thought, remembering the intelligence and fierce fighting spirit that had burned in her eyes when she challenged him.

She deserves the right tae choose her own husband, her own future. Nae tae be cornered by a man who holds her captive.

A sharp knock on the door interrupted his brooding. “Enter,” he called, expecting another guard with yet another report bearing bad news.

Instead, Moira appeared in the doorway, her young face creased with concern. “Beggin’ yer pardon, me laird, but the lady… she’s been pacin’ her chamber like a caged wildcat. Hasn’t touched her afternoon meal, and she seems… troubled.”

Ian’s chest tightened. Of course she was agitated – she was intelligent enough to sense that something was brewing, that decisions were being made about her fate without her knowledge or consent.

“Perhaps…” Moira hesitated for a moment, then forged ahead with the boldness of someone who’d grown up in the castle. “Perhaps she needs tae ken ye’re thinkin’ of her welfare, me laird. She seems… wary.”

Wary.

The word hit a nerve somewhere deep inside him. After the smallest signs that she had begun to trust him, he now had the privilege of shattering it completely by bringing a marriage proposal that would serve his clan’s needs, rather than her heart’s desires.

“Thank ye, Moira,” Ian said quietly. “I’ll… I’ll see about dinner.”

The girl bobbed a curtsy and departed, leaving Ian alone with the weight of what he’d have to do – sooner rather than later.

He’d have to look into those fierce blue eyes and ask her to sacrifice everything for people who’d kept her imprisoned for months.

She would most probably assume that his kindness and protection were tainted by political necessity, even though he was genuinely concerned for her.

Maybe I can find another way, maybe if I approach it just right, explain the situation honestly…

But what honest explanation could possibly make this acceptable?

That he needed her clan’s consent more than hers?

That her value lay in preventing war rather than in her own remarkable spirit?

That the woman who carried herself with such self-respect despite what she’d been through was worth more as a political pawn than as a person?

God forgive me, p lease dinnae let me become exactly the sort of man I swore I’d never be.

Ian thought all this making his way through the castle corridors toward Rhona’s chamber. When he reached her door, he could hear the soft sounds of footsteps pacing, just as Moira had described. Ian knocked gently, steeling himself for what might be his last peaceful interaction with her.

“Come,” came her voice from within, though he could clearly hear the tension threading through it.

Ian stepped into the chamber, and immediately felt the weight of what he’d have to destroy. Rhona stood near the window, and when she looked at him, her blue eyes held a wariness that made his chest ache. She was already sensing the change in him, the burden he carried.

I cannae dae this now, I will dae it tomorrow, fer after that, she’ll likely never look at me the same way,. After tomorrow, I’ll just be another Wallace laird usin’ her fer his own ends, ‘till the day I die.

“Thought ye might be hungry,” he said, forcing his voice to remain steady despite the turmoil in his chest. He kept his tone carefully controlled, already practicing the careful distance he’d need to maintain tomorrow when he would have no other choice but to ask the impossible of her.

“Would ye like tae join us, or can I have somethin’ sent up here fer ye? ”

“Here, if ye please,” Rhona replied, and Ian caught the way she studied his face, as if trying to read his mind.

Ian nodded and spoke quietly to the servants waiting in the corridor, arranging for a proper meal. As they hurried away, he found himself lingering, torn between the desire to offer her comforting words, and the knowledge that tomorrow would surely bring the conversation he was putting off.

“Try tae rest well taenight, lass,” he said finally, his voice rougher than intended.

Something flashed in Rhona’s eyes – a shadow of unease that suggested she sensed the weight behind his simple words. But all she said was, “Aye. Good night, Ian.”

He stepped back into the corridor, closing the heavy door with deliberate care, already dreading what dawn would bring.