Page 12 of The Laird’s Vengeful Desire (The Highland Sisters’ Secret Desires #2)

CHAPTER SIX

“ W here is she?” Ian asked the guard stationed outside Rhona’s door, his stomach tight with dread after a sleepless night spent wrestling with his Council’s demands.

The morning had dawned gray and cold, matching his mood as he wondered how on earth he was supposed to propose marriage to a woman who considered him her captor and enemy.

The whole thing felt ridiculously absurd and manipulative – yet the alternative was war.

“The garden, me laird. Takin’ air with Moira. Two guards watchin’, of course.”

Ian’s heart had nearly stopped upon finding the room empty. She hadn’t escaped – she was simply outside. Still, his pulse didn’t settle until he reached the castle’s walled garden and saw her seated on a stone bench.

Saints above, she’s ravishing.

The thought hit him like a fist to the gut as he watched her from the garden entrance.

Even from this distance, he could see the graceful line of her neck as she tilted her head to catch the morning sun, the way her slender fingers traced patterns on the stone bench beside her.

The sight of her sitting peacefully in his garden, looking almost at home, sent an unexpected warmth through his chest that had nothing to do with politics or duty.

Rhona looked up as he approached, wariness flickering in those clear blue eyes She wore the same blue dress from the day before, and the morning light caught the fire in her hair, setting it ablaze like flames dancing in silk. Even with exhaustion shadowing her features, she was a striking beauty.

How the bloody hell am I supposed tae ask her tae marry me when I can barely think straight just lookin’ at her?

The thought made his palms sweat.

Focus on the clan. On duty.

“Me laird,” she said carefully, her voice neutral. “I hope ye dinnae mind. I needed some fresh air.”

“Of course nae.” Ian dismissed the guards with a single gesture, though Moira remained gathering herbs near the garden wall. “Actually, I wanted tae speak with ye.”

Rhona’s posture tensed. “About what?”

Ian took a deep breath, his mouth dry as sand. “About what’s best fer our clans. ‘Tis time we brought peace between our peoples.”

“Peace.” Rhona’s voice was carefully controlled. “And how exactly dae ye believe we can bring peace?”

Here it was. The moment that would change everything between them. Though for better or worse, Ian couldn’t tell.

“Marriage,” Ian said, the word dropping between them like a stone into still water. “Between us.”

The effect was instantaneous. Rhona shot to her feet as if she’d been burned, her face cycling through shock, disbelief and finally, blazing anger, which almost made Ian want to take a step back.

“Are ye completely mad?” she demanded, her voice rising dangerously. “Ye must be an absolute fool if ye thing I would ever agree tae that!”

“Rhona, please, just listen–”

“Listen tae what?” She began pacing like a caged wildcat. “More pretty words about protection and helpin’ while ye plot tae use me fer yer political games? I should have seen this comin’… keep the MacAlpin daughter comfortable, make her feel safe, then spring the trap.”

“’Tis nae a trap,” Ian said firmly, though her accusation strung because it held truth. “’Tis a solution that could benefit us both.”

“Both of us?” Rhona whirled to face him, her eyes blazing. “How exactly daes this benefit me, Ian?”

“Think about it,” he pressed on, desperate to make her understand. “This marriage could help us return tae normalcy, end the wars that have decimated both our clans.”

“ Normalcy ?” Rhona’s laugh was sharp, bitter. “Ye call forcin’ me intae marriage normalcy?”

“I’m nae forcin’ ye. I’m askin’.” Even as he said it, Ian knew how hollow the words sounded.

“Are ye?” Because from where I stand, it sounds more like a threat dressed up in clever, pretty words.” Her voice cracked slightly. “Marry the Wallace laird or else.”

Ian felt his own temper beginning to fray at her stubborn refusal to see reason.

“There are serious consequences tae this, Rhona. If I return ye tae yer clan unmarried, after three months of captivity, they’ll see it as an act of war.

More blood will be spilled. More families destroyed.

And yer reputation will suffer. Yers and yer family’s. ”

“So this is about yer conscience then?” Rhona’s voice turned cutting. “Marryin’ me tae avoid a war ye think yer clan cannae win? And tae save me reputation?”

“This is about savin’ lives!” Ian stepped closer, frustration boiling over. “Wallace lives, MacAlpin lives. Our marriage could forge an alliance–”

“Our marriage?” Rhona stepped back as if he’d struck her. “Listen tae yerself! Ye’re talkin’ about me life, me future, like I’m a broodmare tae be traded fer political advantage!”

“That’s nae–” Ian stopped, realizing how his words must sound to her. “This isnae about using ye. ‘Tis about finding a path forward that daesnae end in more bloodshed.”

Something flickered in Rhona’s eyes – acknowledgement, perhaps, of the attraction that simmered between them despite everything. But it was quickly replaced by renewed fury.

“Is it? Because right now, ye sound exactly like every other man who sees women as pawns tae be moved around fer their own convenience.”

The accusation hit him like a blow to the chest. “I’m tryin’ tae find a solution that saves everyone–”

“Everyone except me!” Rhona’s voice broke on the words. “What about what I want? What about me choice in who I wed? Or dae I not get a say because I’m just a prisoner?”

Ian felt something crack deep inside him at the pain riddled through her voice. “Ye have a choice, lass. That’s what I’m offerin’ ye.”

“A choice?” Rhona stared at him in disbelief. “Between marryin’ me captor or being responsible fer a war? That’s nae a choice at all, and ye bloody well ken it.”

The abrupt silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken truths and shattered possibilities. Ian watched fresh tears gather in her eyes and felt like the worst kind of bastard imaginable.

“There’s naething tae think about,” Rhona said finally, her voice cold as winter steel. “Me answer is nay. It will always be nay.”

With that, she swept past him toward the castle, leaving Ian standing alone among the dormant roses with the bitter taste of failure and shame in his mouth.

So much fer givin’ her a choice, he thought grimly, watching her retreating frame.

At least now I ken where I stand with her.

But even as disappointment settled in his chest, Ian couldn’t help but admire her fierce independence. Most women in her position would have seen the practical benefits of the arrangement, would have accepted marriage as the safest path forward.

But not Rhona MacAlpin. She’d rather face making things more complicated for herself than compromise her principles.

It was exactly what made her so captivating – and exactly what made this situation so impossible.

Hours later, Ian was still sitting hunched over his desk in the solar, trying to focus on the correspondence that had piled up during the morning’s training session.

Letters from neighboring clans, reports from his scouts about MacPherson movements, requests for grain from villages struggling through the harsh winter – all of it requiring his attention, his decisions.

But his mind kept drifting back to the garden, to the fierceness in Rhona’s beautiful blue eyes when he’d mentioned marriage, to the way her voice had cracked when she’d accused him of treating her like a broodmare.

Maybe she’s right, maybe I am just as bad as other men.

The thought sat poorly with him. He had been raised to believe that honor meant protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves, not manipulating them for personal gain. Yet here he was, contemplating exactly the kind of manipulation required, because it served his clan’s interests.

A sharp rap on the solar door interrupted his brooding.

“Enter,” he called, expecting one of his men with another report that needed his immediate attention.

Instead, one of Rhona’s guards burst through the door, his young face flushed with exertion and worry. “Me laird! Ye need tae come. Now.”

Ian was on his feet instantly, his hand moving instinctively toward his sword hilt. “What’s happened?”

“I dinnae ken, me laird. The lady… she screamed. Loud enough tae wake half the castle.” The guard’s words tumbled over each other in his haste. “But her door’s locked from the inside, and she willnae answer when we call tae her.”

Ice flooded his veins. “How long ago?”

“Just now, me laird. I came straight tae ye.”

Ian was already moving, pushing past the guard and striding rapidly through the castle corridors toward Rhona’s chamber.

His mind raced with possibilities – each worse than the last – as his boots clicked in a desperate rhythm against the stone floors.

Could someone have gotten into her room? Was she hurt? Sick?

He reached her chamber to find two guards standing uncertainly outside the heavy wooden door, their faces creased with concern.

“Anythin’ since ye sent fer me?” Ian asked quietly.

“Naethin’, me laird. Silent as the grave.” The older guard shifted nervously. “Should we break down the door? She could be hurt, or–”

“Step back,” Ian commanded, his voice carrying absolute authority. The guards immediately moved away from the door, giving him space.

Ian pressed his ear against the wood, listening intently. Nothing. No sound of movement, no indication that anyone was awake inside. The silence felt ominous.

He knocked firmly on the door. “Rhona? ‘Tis Ian. Are ye all right?”

Nothing.

“Rhona, I need ye tae answer me.” His voice grew more urgent. “The guards heard ye scream. I need tae ken ye’re safe.”

Still nothing. Ian’s heart began to hammer against his ribs. What if someone had managed to get to her? What if this was some MacPherson plot to–

“Rhona!” he pounded on the door harder. “If ye dinnae answer me in the next few seconds, I’m breakin’ this door down.”