Page 18 of The Laird’s Vengeful Desire (The Highland Sisters’ Secret Desires #2)

His fingers brushed hers as he took over the task, and both of them went very still.

One word from her, one sign of encouragement, and he would have turned her around in his arms and kissed her until they both forgot their own names.

Instead, he finished with the laces and stepped back, putting necessary distance between them.

“There,” he said, his voice rough. “Ready?”

Rhona turned to face him, and Ian saw his own struggle reflected in her eyes. “Ready.”

The ride back to the castle passed in comfortable silence, both of them lost in their own thoughts.

“Ian,” Rhona said suddenly as they dismounted in the courtyard. “Thank ye. Fer today.”

“It was me pleasure,” he said, and meant it.

They stood there for a moment, neither wanting to break the connection they’d forged at the waterfall. Then duty reasserted itself, and Ian cleared his throat.

“Ye should meet our healer,” he said. “Baird’s a good man, and I think ye’d find his work interestin’.”

Rhona’s eyebrows rose. “Why would ye think that?”

“Because I’ve seen firsthand the way ye go about healin’.” Ian smiled slightly. “And I thought perhaps it would give ye somethin’ tae dae while ye’re here. Somethin’ more than just… waiting’.”

“I’d like that,” she said softly.

Ian handed Aisling’s reins to a waiting groom. “Go get dry and warm. I’ll have Moira send ye up some hot tea. I’ll let Baird ken ye’ll be comin’ by.”

Rhona nodded and turned toward the castle, then paused. “Just so ye ken… today was the first time in months I felt like meself again.”

Ian opened his mouth to respond, but she was gone, disappearing into the castle’s shadowed corridors like an apparition. Ian stood in the courtyard for a long moment, her words echoing in his mind.

A s he made his way to his solar, Ian couldn’t quite shake the image of Rhona floating in the pool from his mind, with her face so peaceful and trusting, or the way how she had looked at those squirrels with such pure delight.

The afternoon sun slanted through the narrow windows of the castle’s lower corridors as Rhona made her way toward the healer’s chambers.

The healer’s quarters occupied a corner of the castle where morning light flooded the workspace, but afternoon shadows now danced across rough stone walls that were lined with shelves.

The sharp, clean scent of various herbs hit her as she stepped inside.

Rhona inhaled deeply, picking up what scents she could recognize.

There was dried lavender, crushed willow bark, and something else she couldn’t quite identify, but that made her think of Margot’s cottage back home.

A man, perhaps around her father’s age, looked up from a large wooden table where he was grinding something into a stone mortar.

“Ye must be the lass the laird mentioned,” he said, setting down his pestle. “I’m Baird.”

“Rhona.” She replied.

“Welcome tae me apothecary. Ian said ye might have an interest in the healin’ arts.”

“Aye.” Rhona moved closer to the table, noting the careful organization of his supplies. “I’ve managed tae learn a bit here and there.”

“From who?”

“Our village healer. She’s been teachin’ me since I was a wee lass.” The familiar ache of homesickness clawed at her, but she pushed it back down. “Though I’m certain yer knowledge goes far beyond mine.”

Baird’s weathered face creased into what might have been a smile. “Knowledge shared is knowledge doubled, as me old master used tae say. What can ye tell me about this?” He gestured toward the powder he’d been grinding.

Rhona stepped forward, leaning closer to breathe in the scent. “Hmm. Willow bark, fer pain and fever,” she paused, taking another sniff. “But there’s somethin’ else mixed in.”

“Aye?”

“Och… Meadowsweet, I think. ‘Tis sweet scented… white flowers?” When Baird nodded encouragingly, she continued. “Margot always said the two worked better together than apart. Gentler on the stomach.”

“Yer Margot sounds like a wise woman.” Baird moved to one of his shelves, selecting a small jar. “And what dae ye make of this?”

The dried leaves inside were silvery-green, with a distinctly bitter scent. “Wormwood,” Rhona said without doubt. “But it should be carefully measured. Too much and it becomes poison instead of medicine.”

“Exactly right ye are, lass.” Baird placed the jar with obvious approval. “Most healers are afraid tae use it at all.”

“Fear serves nay one when people are sufferin’,” Rhona said quietly. “Though respect fer dangerous herbs – that’s another matter entirely.”

Baird studied her for a long moment, then seemingly made a decision that pleased him.

“I’m ridin’ out intae the village tomorrow mornin’.

The blacksmith’s daughter burned her hand badly on one of her father’s tools.

The wound needs tendin’, and I could use an extra pair of skilled hands. Would ye care tae join me?”

Rhona felt her heart lift with something approaching excitement. “Aye. I’d be honored.”

“’Tis settled then. We’ll leave after the mornin’ meal.” Baird returned to his grinding with the satisfied air of a man who’d found exactly what he’d been looking for. “And Rhona? It’s good tae have another healer in these walls. The work can be lonely otherwise.”

“Thank ye,” she said softly. “Truly.”

As she made her way back through the castle corridors, Rhona found herself walking taller than she had in months.

For the first time since her capture, she would have something useful to do – something that might actually help people rather than simply sitting idle, marking time until her fate was decided .

The fact that Ian had noticed her interest in healing, that he’d thought to arrange something so perfectly suited to her – it touched her more than she cared to admit.

Most captors wouldn’t trouble themselves with their prisoner’s wellbeing, yet he’d gone out of his way to ensure she has something meaningful to do.

The afternoon stretched ahead with promise, rather than emptiness, and despite everything, Rhona MacAlpin felt something dangerously close to hope bloom in her heart.

Ian wasn’t entirely surprised to find Tristan waiting for him with a stack of reports and a grim expression when he entered the solar.

“Bad news?” he asked as he settled behind his desk.

“MacPherson raids,” Tristan said without preamble. “Three more farms burnt tae ash last night. Livestock stolen, grain reserves destroyed.”

Ian’s good mood evaporated instantly. “Casualties?”

“Nae this time, me laird. But ‘tis escalatin’.” Tristan leaned forward, his face more serious than Ian had ever seen. “Lachlan’s gettin’ bolder. Testing our defenses.”

“Or tyrin’ tae provoke us intae daein’ something foolish.

” Ian rubbed his temples, feeling the familiar worry and anxiety that had plagued him since taking on the title of laird.

He moved to his desk and retrieved a sealed parchment bearing his personal seal.

“I’ve prepared a letter tae the king about Lachlan’s false claims tae these lands. ”

“Aye, me laird” Tristan accepted the document with obvious respect for its importance. “Ye can trust me tae deliver it safely.”

Ian nodded gravely. “I’ve stressed the urgency of the situation and provided evidence of Lachlan’s unlawful raids. How soon can ye leave?”

“Within the hour, if need be, me laird.”

“Dae it. The sooner the Crown understands the situation, the better. And Tristan? See that it reaches His Majesty’s hands directly. Nay intermediaries, nay delays. Lachlan willnae stop with raids fer long.”

“Aye, me laird.” Tristan rose, then hesitated. “Forgive me boldness, me laird but, how did it go today. With the lass?”

An uncomfortable heat crept up Ian’s neck. “Well enough. She’ll be meetin’ with Baird soon. Perhaps learnin’ from him will give her a sense of purpose here.”

“Purpose, aye.” Tristan’s knowing look made Ian squirm like a scolded child.

“Say what is on yer mind, man.” Ian commanded.

Tristan hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath before continuing. “Just… be careful me laird. Politics aside, she’s under yer protection. People will talk if…”

“If what?”

“If it becomes obvious that ye have taken an interest in her.”

Ian’s jaw clenched so hard he that his teeth ground together audibly. “Whatever feelin’s I might or might not have, is me own concern.”

“Nae when ye’re laird, they’re not.” Tristan’s voice was respectful but firm. “Everythin’ ye dae affects the clan.”

“Aye,” Ian said, his voice deadly quiet. “I ken it well enough. And ye can trust me tae dae what’s right fer the clan, as I always have.”

He waved a hand at Tristan, dismissing him. Even after his footsteps had faded away, Ian remained at his desk, staring toward the forest where they’d spent the afternoon.

He’s right, of course.

Every action he took, every decision he made rippled through the clan like heavy stones tossed into still water.

The sound of the dinner horn echoing through the castle cut through his reverie. Tonight, there would be the Council to face, questions to answer, and the ever-present weight of leadership to bear.

But, for a few perfect hours by a hidden waterfall, none of that had mattered. And regardless of everything, despite the politics and the danger and the impossible circumstances, for the first time in a very long time, Ian found himself looking forward to what tomorrow might bring.