Page 19 of The Laird’s Vengeful Desire (The Highland Sisters’ Secret Desires #2)

CHAPTER TEN

“ Y e’re in fer a real treat tonight, me lady. Our cook’s quite talented with venison.”

Rhona looked up from her barely touched plate to find Fergus MacDougall, Ian’s senior advisor studying her with the predatory focus of a hawk eyeing field mice.

She’d known this moment would come eventually – the careful scrutiny, the weighing and measuring of her worth as a potential bride like livestock at market day. But she hadn’t expected it quite yet.

They’re all in on it.

She suddenly realized it with growing unease as she caught the meaningful glances passing between the older men – the same looks she’d seen exchanged between her father and his advisors when discussing advantageous matches for his daughters.

“Aye, ‘tis quite good,” Rhona replied carefully, though her appetite had vanished entirely.

Ian sat at the head of the table, deep in conversation with a weathered man she didn’t recognize, but she could feel his occasional glances He’d changed into his finest clothing for the evening – a shirt of cream-colored linen that emphasized the sharp angles of his face, and a kilt of deep blue and black plaid that marked him unmistakably as clan chief.

He looks like raw power wrapped in Highland wool.

Her pulse quickened at the sight of him.

“’Tis our good fortune tae have such accomplished company,” Duncan MacLeod said from across the table, his thin face creased in what might have been supposed to be a smile. “A lady of yer… talents… could bring much worth tae our clan.”

Something in his tone made the hair on Rhona’s neck prickle with warning. “Me talents?”

“Och, we’ve heard all about yer healin’ skills,” Hamish Fraser chimed in, leaning forward with the intensity of a hound on a scent. “Ye certainly seem tae have made an impression on Baird. He speaks highly of yer knowledge.”

“Aye,” Duncan chimed in. “And Baird’s nae one tae dish out compliments.”

“’Tis kind of him,” Rhona said, her voice growing cooler.

“Indeed,” Fergus nodded sagely, stroking his gray beard. “A lass with yer healin’ skills would be most welcome here. Quite valuable tae the right clan.”

“Valuable,” she repeated, the word sitting bitterly on her tongue.

Around the hall, conversations continued as normal – warriors sharing tales of recent hunts, servants moving quietly between tables with pitchers of ale, the comfortable sounds of a clan at dinner.

But here, at this table, she felt like prey being circled by wolves in Highland colors.

They’re not even tryin’ tae be subtle about it.

Rhona forced her expression to remain neutral while her mind reeled. She set down her goblet of wine with measured precision, her spine straightening as she prepared for battle. “Welcome, ye say?”

“Aye,” Duncan’s smile grew wider, though it never quite reached his eyes. “A place here. Permanent. With all the perks that come with it.”

From the corner of her eye, Rhona saw Ian set down his goblet carefully, his conversation ending abruptly, and now his full attention fixed on their table. Even without looking directly at him, she could feel the weight of his stare, could sense the sudden tension in his powerful frame.

“Perks,” she said aloud, savoring the way the word made Duncan shift uncomfortably in his seat. “How generous of ye tae think of me comfort.”

Hamish cleared his throat nervously. “We only mean tae say that a woman of yer… refinement… might find our clan more welcomin’ than she initially expected.”

“Refinement?” Rhona almost laughed at the absurdity of it. “Ye flatter me.”

“’Tis nae flattery when its truth,” Fergus said earnestly. “A lass with yer healin’ skills, yer intelligence…” his eyes flicked briefly toward Ian before returning to her face, “Such qualities would be… appreciated here.”

“What exactly are ye suggestin’?” she asked carefully.

The men exchanged glances like conspirators dividing stolen loot. Hamish cleared his throat. “Well, ye see, me lady, with the clan in its current… precarious state, we simply hoped ye might consider–”

“Gentlemen.” Ian’s voice cut across the table like an arrow, quiet but carrying absolute authority. “Perhaps we should discuss clan matters at another time.”

Duncan shifted nervously. “Of course, me laird. We simply thought–”

“Aye, I ken what ye thought.” Ian’s tone was firm. “And I believe the lady came here fer dinner, nae a council meetin’.”

Heat flared Rhona’s cheeks. “It is very thoughtful of ye all tae be so concerned with me… comfort,” she said, her voice carrying just enough edge to cut glass.

“We meant nay offense,” Fergus said quickly, clearly recognizing the danger in her tone.

“Of course nae,” Rhona replied sweetly. “Just as I’m sure ye meant nae presumption in discussin’ me future without consultin’ me.

” The tension at the table was palpable.

“Perhaps,” Rhona continued, rising from her seat with deliberate grace, “ye should remember that I am here as yer laird’s guest. And guests, I’m told, are free tae leave when a conversation becomes… inappropriate.”

Rhona swept the table with a gaze that could have melted steel, then turned on her heel and strode toward the massive oak doors with the dignity of a queen leaving her own execution.

Let them choke on that, she thought savagely as she pushed through the doors into the cool night air.

The castle’s walled garden lay just beyond the hall, accessible through an arched doorway that opened onto a world of moonlit paths and sleeping flower beds. Rhona took a deep breath, filling her lungs with air that didn’t taste of political scheming and masculine arrogance.

“Me lady.” The voice of one of her guards drifted from behind her. “Perhaps we should return–”

“Perhaps ye should leave me be.” Rhona said without turning around, moving deeper into the garden, where shadows offered blessed privacy.

She’d made it perhaps twenty paces when heavy footsteps on the gravel path announced another arrival

“That was quite a performance,” Ian said, his voice carrying a faint note of something that might have bordered on admiration.

“Was it?” Rhona kept her back to him, staring at a fountain that had been dry for months. “I hadnae realized I was meant tae be entertainin’ anyone.”

“Me Council seems tae think otherwise.”

“Yer Council,” she said, finally turning to face him, “can take their opinions and stuff it where the sun doesnae shine.”

Ian’s lips twitched with what looked suspiciously like suppressed amusement “Strong words fer men who were only tryin’ tae–”

“Tae what? Barter me away like Highland cattle at a clan gatherin’?” Rhona stepped closer, close enough to see the way the moonlight caught the strong line of his jaw. “Is that what ye call hospitality?”

“They were clumsy,” Ian admitted, “and completely out of line. I should have stopped them sooner.”

“Should have?” Rhona’s voice rose like a hawk’s cry. “Yer their laird ! If ye truly disapproved, ye would have silenced them the moment they opened their mouths. But ye didnae, did ye?”

“’Tis nae that simple, and ye ken it.”

She moved closer still, close enough to catch the scent of leather and sweat and ale that somehow made her pulse race despite the fury coursing through her veins. “Then explain it tae me, Ian. Explain tae me how keepin’ me here, forcing me tae marry ye serves anyone but yer own clan’s interests?”

Ian’s hands clenched at his sides, tension radiating from his frame as he fought for control. “Because the alternative is war,” he said quietly. “War that will decimate lives fer both clans.”

“So ye keep sayin’. But why should I be the one tae pay the price fer Douglas Wallace’s crimes?”

“I cannae believe that ye dinnae care about innocent people dyin’ if this goes wrong.” Ian stepped closer, his voice growing urgent. “Yer people, me people – all of them caught in the middle of somethin’ they didnae create.”

“Of course I care about innocent lives!” Rhona shot back, her voice breaking slightly. “But I also didnae create this mess!”

“Nae, and neither did I, but ye’re here now, and we have tae deal with the consequences.

“We?” she laughed, but the sound held no humor. “There is nay ‘we’ in this, Ian Wallace. There’s ye and yer clan’s survival, and there’s me bein’ sacrificed fer the greater good.”

“Ye think this is easy fer me?” Ian’s voice dropped to a rough whisper that sent unwanted shivers down her spine. “Ye think I enjoy kennin’ that the only way tae save me people requires trappin’ ye here against yer will?”

“I think ye enjoy it more than ye care tae admit.” Rhona shot back, thought even as the words left her mouth, she could see the pain that flashed across his features. “I think ye like havin’ a captive audience fer yer nobler sufferin’.”

“That’s nae–” Ian started forward, then caught himself, his hands curling into fists once more.

She stepped closer, close enough now to see the way his pupils dilated at her advance, close enough to catch the scent of something uniquely him that made her treacherous pulse quicken. “Then enlighten me, me laird. Tell me exactly how much ye’re truly sufferin’ from this arrangement.”

Ian’s jaw worked silently for a moment, his green eyes blazing with frustration and something deeper, more dangerous. “More than ye’ll ever ken,” he said simply, his voice dark.

“Then send me home,” she shot back. “And face me faither’s wrath like the warrior ye’re always claimin’ tae be.”

“And what precisely dae ye think those consequences will be?” Ian’s voice grew harder, more dangerous.

The question hit her like a physical blow, driving the breath from her lungs.

“Me faither will want answers.” She said, though her voice had now lost some of its fire.

“Aye. And when those answers dinnae satisfy him? When he decides his daughter’s honor has been compromised?” Ian stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “What guarantees can I give him when I wasnae even here tae witness what happened?”

“I could–”

“Aye, and who would believe yer word? Ye’d never admit tae bein’ compromised, even it if had happened.”

She lifted her chin, refusing to show weakness despite the fear clawing at her throat. “Then we’ll deal with it.”

“We?” Ian’s laugh was as bitter as hope turned rancid. “There willnae be ‘we’ when the MacAlpin army comes ridin’ over those hills, lass. There’ll be blood and fire and death, and nay amount of noble intentions will stop it.”

“So this is all about yer conscience then?” The words tasted like ash in her mouth. “Ye want tae marry me tae ease yer guilt over what yer uncle did?”

“How many times dae I need tae say it before ye truly hear me, Rhona?” Ian’s control finally cracked, his voice now rising to match hers. “If I get this wrong, good people, innocent people will die!”

“And what of me?” The question came out barely as a whisper, but the desperation in her voice seemed to echo in the suddenly quiet garden.

Ian’s expression softened fractionally. “I ken this isnae what ye want,” he said gently. “But Rhona… I’m askin’ ye tae consider that sometimes the right choice is the hardest one.”

Rhona stared at him for a long moment, seeing the weight he carried in the tight line of his shoulders, the exhaustion that hovered just below his remarkable eyes.

This isnae easy fer him either.

She could see that now. But understanding his position didn’t make her own any less impossible.

“What ye’re truly askin’,” she said finally, “is fer me tae stay trapped here forever.”

“Nae. I’m askin’ ye tae think about what matters more – yer freedom, or innocent lives.” Ian said bluntly.

“And what of me sisters?” Rhona shot back. “They think I’m dead, and ye refuse tae let me contact them. Me family is sufferin’ while ye–”

“Yer family will suffer far more when this turns intae open warfare.” Ian’s voice hardened.

“Then that’s yer problem tae solve, nae mine!”

“Aye, it would have been – if ye hadnae been daft enough makin’ it everyone’s problem by gettin’ yerself caught in the first place.” The words came out harsh and rough. “But here we are, and I’ll nae bring destruction and death tae me clan’s door because of yer whims.”

The word ‘whims’ cut deeper than any blade. Rhona stared at him for a long moment, seeing not the man who protected her, but the Highland laird who would sacrifice anything for his people’s survival.

“Och, I see exactly who ye are now, Ian Wallace,” she said quietly, then turned and walked away without another word.

Ian called her name, but she didn’t look back. There was nothing left to say.

The guards fell into step behind her as she made her way through corridors that felt more and more like a tomb with each passing step. When she finally reached her chamber, she dismissed them with a curt nod and closed the door with deliberate care.

Rhona stepped forward, moving toward the narrow window, pressing her palms against the cold stone as she stared out at the moonlit courtyard below.

Only then, with stone walls between her and the rest of the world, did she allow herself to acknowledge the awful truth that had been building in her chest like a gathering storm.

He was right, she thought bitterly, pressing her forehead against the cool stone of the window.

The admission felt like swallowing glass, but she couldn’t deny it any longer.

Her father would demand blood for her dishonor, and countless innocents would die for it.

And it was all her fault. Had she not gone to look for Isolde, none of this would have happened.

But that didn’t make her captivity any easier to bear.

That didn’t make Ian’s harsh words sting any less.

She was caught between two impossible choices, with no clear path forward.

Worse still, she was starting to grow fond of the man who held her captive – and that caring would surely be her downfall if she let it take root.

Think, Rhona!

She commanded herself, moving to stare out at the moonlit courtyard below. There has tae be another way… there’s always another way…

But as she stood there in the darkness, watching torchlight flicker across empty stones, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the walls of her cage were growing more confined with each passing day – and that time was running out faster than she dared to imagine.