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

CHAPTER ONE

“Four days, Isolde. Four bloody days without a word.”

Rhona MacAlpin urged her chestnut mare deeper into the borderlands, her voice lost to the wind that whipped through the ancient pines.

The forest stretched endlessly before her, shadows dancing between moss-covered trunks as pale morning light filtered through the canopy above.

Each hoofbeat carried her farther from the crumbling safety of her father’s keep, and closer to answers she prayed she’d find.

Where are ye, sister?

The familiar ache of worry twisted in her chest as she guided her horse along the narrow deer path.

Isolde had vanished after sneaking out to attend the forbidden masquerade at Castle Murray, chasing dreams of catching Laird Ciaran MacCraith’s attention.

Four agonizing days of pretending their eldest sister lay abed with fever while their father remained blissfully unaware of the deception.

Rhona’s gloved fingers tightened on the reins.

The other sisters – Lorna, Isla, and young Aileen – had begged her not to venture out alone, but someone had to search for Isolde.

Someone had to bring her home before their father discovered the truth, and their family’s precarious position crumbled entirely.

If she’s hurt… if something’s happened tae her…

The thought sent ice through Rhona’s veins.

She pushed it away, focusing instead on the rhythm of her mare’s gait and the crisp autumn air that bit at her cheeks.

Her long, dark ginger braid bounced against her back with each stride.

She’d dressed for travel in her plainest brown wool dress and worn riding boots, with her father’s old hunting cloak wrapped about her shoulders for warmth.

A flash of blue caught her eye through the trees ahead – the distinctive colors of Clan MacCraith. Rhona’s heart leaped with hope as she spurred her mare forward, weaving between the towering pines toward the glimpse of tartan.

“Excuse me!” she called out, breaking through the tree line into a small clearing.

But the space stood empty save for a torn piece of fabric caught on a low branch. Rhona dismounted, her boots crunching on fallen leaves as she approached the scrap of blue and silver cloth.

A twig snapped behind her.

Rhona swung around, her hand instinctively moving to the small dagger at her belt. Three men on horseback emerged from the forest, their faces hard as granite beneath shaggy, dirty hair. None wore clan colors she recognized, though their bearing spoke of warriors accustomed to violence.

“Well, well,” the largest man drawled, his scarred face splitting into a cold smile. “What have we here, lads?”

Rhona’s mouth went dry, but she lifted her chin with practiced defiance. “I was just–”

“Aye, what are ye daein’, lass?” The man’s eyes swept over her with calculating interest. “Out here, all alone, searchin’ fer somethin’. Or someone?”

“I’m simply returnin’ home from visiting friends.” The lie came smoothly, though her heart hammered against her ribs. “If ye’ll excuse me–”

“Nae so fast.” A younger man with a jagged scar running from his left ear to his right jaw, urged his horse closer. “Ye wouldnae happen to be a MacAlpin, lass, would ye?”

Ice flooded Rhona’s veins. These weren’t mere bandits seeking coin – they knew exactly who they were hunting.

“I dinnae ken what ye mean.” She backed toward her mare, measuring the distance with desperate calculation.

The tallest of the three laughed, his voice unnaturally deep as it rumbled through the morning air. “Come now, nay need fer games. Red hair, blue eyes, ridin’ alone in MacAlpin territory… I can recognize a MacAlpin sister when I see her.”

Rhona’s voice came out steadier than she felt. “I think ye have me confused with someone else.”

“I think nae.” The leader dismounted with malicious grace, his hand resting on his sword hilt. “Our laird’s been most eager to make the acquaintance of the MacAlpin daughters. Particularly the eldest.”

Laird Wallace.

The realization hit her like a physical blow. Douglas Wallace had been pressuring her father for months, demanding a marriage alliance that would give him control of their vast, but poorly managed, lands. Her father had refused repeatedly, so Wallace was clearly tired of negotiation.

“I told ye, I’m nae–”

“Aye. But ye are.” The man’s smile turned predatory. “The question is… are ye the eldest?”

Rhona’s mind raced. If they believed her to be Isolde, it might buy her sister time – assuming Isolde was even still alive to need it.

“And if I were?” She asked, surprised with her own boldness.

“Then ye’d be comin’ with us tae meet yer future husband.” The leader took another step closer. “Laird Wallace has been most patient, but his patience has limits.”

“I’d rather wed a diseased goat than Douglas Wallace.”

The sarcastic comment escaped before she could stop it, earning harsh laughter from all three men.

“Spirited,” the second man observed. “The laird will enjoy breakin’ that fire.”

Rage flared in Rhona’s chest, burning away the last of her fear. “Ye can tell yer laird that nay McAlpin daughter will ever willingly wed him. Our faither–”

The words escaped her before she could stop them, and ice flooded her veins as she realized what she’d just revealed.

Fool! Ye’ve just told them exactly who ye are.

The leader’s eyes sharpened with triumph, his scarred face splitting into a predatory grin.

“MacAlpin, is it? Well, well… Faither’s nae here, is he?

” the leader’s voice turned dangerously soft.

“Just bonnie old ye, all alone in the dangerous borderlands. Anythin’ could happen tae a lass out here by herself, mind. ”

Rhona’s hand closed around the dagger’s hilt as she continued backing toward her horse. “Me faither will hunt ye down like the dogs ye are.”

“All he’ll ken is that his daughter rode out alone and never came home.” The man shrugged. “Tragic accident, that. Wild lands these, filled with dangerous creatures…”

“Aye.” The tall one added with a leer. “Some even walk on two legs!”

Rhona’s back hit her mare’s warm flank. The horse shifted nervously, sensing the tension crackling through the clearing like lightning before a storm.

“Easy, lass,” the leader crooned, as if gentling a spooked animal. “Come quietly now, and no harm will come tae ye. Fight, and… well, the laird prefers his brides unmarked, but he’s nae particular about it.”

Like hell.

Rhona vaulted onto her mare’s back with practiced ease, her skirts billowing around her legs as the gathered the reins.

“Give yer laird a message from the MacAlpin clan,” she called out, her voice ringing clear through the forest. “We’d rather see our lands salted and barren than under Wallace rule! ”

She dug her heels into her mare’s sides, and the horse leaped forward with a burst of speed that sent leaves and dust scattering in their wake.

“After her!” the leader roared from behind her. “Dinnae let her escape!”

The thunder of hoofbeats exploded through the forest as all three men gave chase.

Rhona leaned low over her mare’s neck, urging every ounce of speed from the valiant animal as they wove between towering pines and ancient oaks.

Branches whipped past her face, catching at her cloak and hair, but she pressed on with desperate determination.

Faster, girl. We have tae reach the main road.

Her mare’s breathing grew labored as they climbed a steep ridge, foam flecking the animal’s neck. Behind them, the pursuit grew closer – these men rode destriers bred for war, not the lighter horses favored by MacAlpin women.

“There!” one of the men shouted. “She’s headin’ fer the old kirk road!”

Rhona’s heart sank. They knew these lands as well as she did, perhaps better. Every shortcut she might take, they would anticipate.

A crossbow bold whistled past her ear, burying itself in an oak trunk with a solid thunk. Her mare shied violently, nearly unseating her, and precious seconds were lost as Rhona fought to regain control.

“Take her down if ye must!” she leader bellowed.

So much fer unmarked brides.

Rhona yanked hard on the reins, sending her mare plunging down a steep embankment towards narrow stream. Icy water splashed against her legs as they crashed through the shallows, but the treacherous footing slowed their pursuers.

For a moment, hope flickered in her chest. The ridge ahead led to MacAlpin lands proper – if she could only reach the main road, there might be clansmen about, or at least travelers who would bear witness.

Then her mare stumbled. The exhausted animal’s front leg caught a hidden root, sending both horse and rider tumbling in a tangle of limbs and skirts.

Rhona hit the ground hard, the breath driven from her lungs as she rolled through damp leaves and moss.

Pain exploded through her shoulder where she’d struck a fallen log.

“Get her!” a triumphant shout echoed through the trees.

Rhona struggled to her feet, her head spinning as she fought to orient herself. Her mare lay nearby, sides heaving but apparently uninjured. Around them, the forest seemed to spin as the three men approached on foot, having dismounted to navigate the steep terrain.

“Foolish lassie!” the leader said, though he sounded more amused than angry. “Could’ve broken yer pretty little neck with a fall like that.”

“Perhaps next time ye’ll listen when yer betters speak,” the second man added.

Rhona’s hands found her dagger, and she drew it with shaking fingers. The blade caught the dappled light filtering through the forest canopy, though she knew it would do little good against three armed warriors.

“Stay back,” she warned, though her voice trembled with exhaustion and pain.

“Or what? Ye’ll prick us with that wee blade?” The youngest man laughed. “Come now, dinnae make this harder than it needs tae be.”

“I told ye. I will never go willingly.”

“Who said anythin’ about willingly?”