Page 21 of The Laird’s Vengeful Desire (The Highland Sisters’ Secret Desires #2)

Ian studied her profile for a moment, noting the exhaustion in the set of her shoulders. “Baird tells me ye did well today. With the healin’.”

A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “It felt good tae be useful again.”

“He also mentioned ye seemed… troubled. Are ye all right, lass?” Ian’s voice gentled with concern.

Rhona was quite for a long moment. “As well as can be expected, I suppose.”

Ian simply nodded. “I should let ye rest,” Ian said y, rising from his chair.

“Aye. Thank ye fer… fer checkin’ on me.”

Ian nodded and moved toward the door, but as his hand touched the latch, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, made him pause.

Perhaps it was the way she’d looked when she’d spoken of feeling like a ghost, or perhaps it was the sight of the untouched sleeping draught waiting patiently next to her bed.

“Ewan, Rupert,” he said quietly as he stepped into the corridor. “Take the night off. Both of ye.”

The guards exchanged confused glances. “Me laird? Are ye sure?”

“Aye. I’ll stand watch tonight.”

“But–”

“That’s an order.” Ian’s tone brooked no argument. “Go.”

They departed with obvious reluctance, leaving Ian alone in the corridor outside Rhona’s door. He settled against the stone wall, prepared for a long night of vigilance.

For the first hour, all was quiet. It was just past midnight when he heard the first sounds from within her chamber – restless movements, the creaking of the bed ropes, and a soft murmur that might have been words. Ian straightened his spine, every one of his senses on high alert.

Och, fer the love of all the Saints, she’s havin’ a nightmare .

The sounds were muffled but clearly distressed. He’d suspected for a while that she’d been having troubled sleep. All the signs were there – the shadows under her eyes, the way she sometimes seemed distant – but she’d never spoken of it directly.

His protective instincts roared from within as he realized how little he truly knew about what tormented her, and the thought of her suffering alone suddenly made his chest tighten with frustration.

The sounds grew more agitated. Bedclothes rustled as if she were fighting against them. Then, a low, whimpering moan made his blood run cold. He strained his ears, and then heard it, sharp and clear in the nightly silence – a gasp of pure terror.

Ian was ready instantly, his hand gripping the door latch so hard his knuckles turned white. “Rhona?”

No answer.

“Rhona, are ye all right?”

When she still didn’t respond, Ian pushed open the door, grateful that she had forgotten to lock it, and stepped inside. What he saw made his heart clench with sympathy and rage in equal measure.

Rhona lay tangled in her bedclothes, her face pale with sweat and her body rigid with terror, even in deep sleep. She was making small, desperate sounds – words too broken by fear to be understood, but clearly the product of some waking nightmare.

“Nay… please… cannae breathe… so cold and dark… let me out…”

Ian approached the bed slowly, his heart breaking at the raw terror in her voice. “Rhona,” he said gently, reaching out to touch her shoulder. “Ye’re safe. Ye’re nae there anymore.”

She jerked away from his touch with a cry of terror, her eyes flying open but seeing nothing of the present. “Nay! Dinnae touch me! Please, I’ll be quiet, I’ll–”

“Rhona. Look at me.” Ian caught her hands gently but firmly, anchoring her to the present. “Ye’re nae in the dungeon. Ye’re in yer chamber and ye’re safe.”

It took several minutes for recognition to dawn in her eyes, for the horror to slowly ebb and be replaced by mortification. She snatched her hands from his gasp, turning away as if ashamed to be seen in such a vulnerable state.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didnae mean tae.. ye shouldnae have…”

“Dinnae apologize.” Ian’s voice was rough with emotion. “Ye have naethin’ tae be sorry fer.”

“’Twas just a dream…”

Ian studied her trembling form, noting the way she clutched the bedclothes like armor and the haunted look that lingered in her eyes even now.

He’d seen this look before – in soldiers fresh from their first brutal campaign, men who’d watched their brothers fall beside them.

The telltale signs were unmistakable: the way her words had been so specific, the terror rooted in something far too real for mere imagination.

Years of warfare had taught him to recognize when someone was fighting ghosts that couldn’t be banished by the simple act of waking.

“Or was it a memory?”

The question hung between them, heavy with implication. Rhona’s silence was answer enough.

“How often?” Ian asked quietly.

“Every night,” she admitted, so softly he almost missed it.

The confession hit him like a blade between the ribs. For weeks she’d been reliving her captivity in dreams, fighting battles he couldn’t protect her from. And she’d been suffering in silence, too damn proud to show weakness to her captors.

“Ye shouldnae be alone with this,” he said somberly.

“I’m fine–”

“Nay, ye’re nae.” Ian’s voice was gentle but implacable. “And there’s nye shame in that. What happened tae ye… nay one should have tae bear that alone.”

Rhona looked at him then, really looked, and something in her expression shifted. It was almost as if the walls she’d built around herself wavered visibly, as if his simple acceptance of her pain had somehow made it safe to lower her guard.

“I keep thinkin’ I’m back there,” she whispered desperately. “In the cold. In the dark, with the walls closin’ in on me… sometimes I wake up and fer a moment, I cannae remember where I am.”

“But ye’re here now,” Ian said softly. “In a warm, comfortable room with a proper bed and air tae breathe. Ye’re safe.”

She nodded, though he could see the effort it cost her to believe it.

“Would it helped if I stayed?” The offer slipped out before he could consider the propriety of it. “Just until ye fall asleep again?”

Rhona’s eyes widened in surprise, and for a second, Ian thought she would refuse. Then, so quietly he almost missed it, she said, “Aye. I think it might.”

Ian settled into the chair beside her bed, close enough that she could see him in the dim light but far enough to preserve her modesty. “Try tae rest now, lass. I’ll keep watch over ye.”

“Ye dinnae have tae–”

“I want tae.”

Rhona settled back against her pillows, her breathing gradually steadying as the immediate terror of the nightmare faded.

“Ian?” she said softly.

“Aye?”

“Thank ye. Fer… fer seein’ what I need.”

“Rest now.” He murmured. “We can talk more tomorrow.”

Ian watched dutifully as exhaustion finally claimed her, her breathing deepening into the rhythm of natural sleep. But he didn’t move from his post. Instead, he settled in for the long hours until dawn, keeping vigil against the demons that threatened to disturb her sleep once more.

Outside the chamber window, the night sky was barely beginning to lighten with the first hints of the approaching sunrise.

But Ian barely noticed, his attention focused solely on the woman who slept peacefully at last, and with the certainty that whatever came next, he could never again think of her as merely a political pawn or a means to an end in his clan’s survival.

And somewhere in the quiet hours just before dawn, as he listened to her steady breathing and felt the weight of her trust like a sacred charge, Ian Wallace realized that somehow, somewhere between discovering her in that dungeon and this moment, something profound had changed between them – in ways that would make the choices ahead infinitely more complicated, and infinitely more important than he could ever dare to contemplate.