Page 24 of The Laird’s Vengeful Desire (The Highland Sisters’ Secret Desires #2)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“ I ken ye dinnae want tae hear this, me laird, but time is runnin’ out.”

Ian’s jaw clenched as Fergus MacDougall’s words echoed through the solar, where his Council had gathered for their evening meeting. The older man’s weathered face was grave as he leaned forward across the massive oak desk, his gray beard catching the candlelight.

“We’ve received word,” Duncan MacLeod added, his thin fingers drumming nervously against the wood, “that Isolde MacAlpin is wed tae Laird Ciaran MacCraith.”

The news hit Ian like a fist to the gut. “When?”

“A month past, by all accounts,” Hamish Fraser replied, his scarred hands folded before him. “The alliance between MacAlpin and MacCraith is now sealed in blood and matrimony.”

Ian stared at the flames dancing in the massive fireplace, his mind racing through the implications. With MacCraith’s considerable power now backing the MacAlpin clan, Rhona’s value as a political prize had increased dramatically. But so had the danger of keeping her.

“Ye ken what this means,” Fergus said quietly.

“MacCraith has resources we cannae match. Before the wedding, MacAlpin was financially crippled – nay real threat tae us even if they discovered the lass. But now… with MacCraith’s wealth and power behind them…

” he shook his head grimly. “If they come lookin’ fer the lass… ”

“ When they come lookin’,” Duncan corrected grimly. “And when they find her here, unmarried, after months of captivity…”

“They’ll use it as justification fer war,” Hamish finished. “A war we cannae win.”

Ian’s hands gripped the arms of his chair until his knuckles went white. “What would ye have me dae?”

“Marry her.” Fergus said without hesitation. “Before they get wind that she’s here. Make her Lady Wallace, and suddenly she’s nay longer a captive – she’s an ally who chose tae stay.”

“She’s already refused.” Ian said through gritted teeth.

“Then convince her otherwise,” Duncan urged. “Use whatever means necessary, me laird. Sweet words, pretty promises, if ye must. The clan’s survival depends on it.”

“I willnae force her.”

“Force?” Hamish leaned forward, his voice hard. “Me laird, with respect, she’s been our prisoner fer months. How much more forced can it be?”

The words stung because they held truth. Ian had been telling himself he was protecting Rhona, but the reality was far uglier. She was trapped there, dependent on his goodwill, with no real choices of her own.

“There has tae be another way,” Ian said, though even he could hear the doubt in his voice.

“There isnae,” Fergus replied bluntly. “Marry the lass, or watch our clan burn tae ash when MacCraith and MacAlpin come fer revenge. Those are yer choices.”

“And if she continues tae refuse?”

The three men exchanged glances, performing a silent communication that made Ian’s stomach turn uncomfortably.

“Then perhaps,” Duncan said carefully, “she needs tae understand the consequences of that refusal. Nae just fer herself, but fer everyone in this castle and fer everyone under her protection.”

“Ye’re talkin’ about threatenin’ her.”

“I’m talkin’ about survival!” Duncan shot back. “How many of our people are ye willin’ tae sacrifice fer one woman’s pride?”

Ian stared back at him, his grandfather’s words echoing in his memory.

Honor means protectin’ those who cannae protect themselves.

But what happens when protecting one person meant endangering countless others?

“I’ll handle it,” he said finally, his voice rough.

“How?” Fergus pressed.

“I’ll find some way tae make her see reason.”

“And if ye cannae?”

Ian met the older man’s eyes steadily. “I will, dinnae doubt it.”

The Council dispersed with obvious reluctance, leaving Ian alone with his thoughts and the weight of impossible choices. Outside, night was falling across the Highland landscape, painting everything in shades of gray and shadow.

There has tae be a way, some middle ground between force and failure.

But as he sat in the growing darkness, that middle ground seemed as elusive as Highland mist. His Council wanted him to use threats and manipulation – but the memory of his grandfather demanded honor.

There had to be something he hadn’t thought of yet, something that didn’t require him to become the very monster he’d sworn never to be.

If I am tae make her dae this, it willnae be through fear, it’ll be by showin’ her who I truly am.

The idea forming in his mind was risky, perhaps foolish even, but it was the only honest approach he could stomach. If Rhona was to choose him – truly choose him – it would have to be because she wanted to, not because she feared the alternative.

Time tae find out if there’s anything’ real between us . Time tae stop hidin’ behind duty and politics.

The weight of his Council’s expectations pressed down upon him, yet Ian found himself thinking not of clan survival or political alliances, but of the way Rhona had looked at him – trust warring with fear in her brilliant blue eyes, her hand warm and steady in his.

She’d begun to see him as more than just her captor, he was certain of it.

The way she’d defended his character, the way she’d trusted him to keep her afloat in the water, the peaceful way she’d fallen asleep when he watched over her – all of it spoke of something real growing between them.

Something that went far beyond the political machinations that had thrust them together.

But would that fragile connection survive what he might have to do, should all else fail?

What if he was forced to present marriage as the only choice, if circumstances left him no room for the courting he’d planned.

She would most likely see it as another manipulation designed to serve his clan’s interest rather than honor what was developing naturally between them.

The thought of breaking and losing her trust – of seeing that growing warmth in her eyes turn back to hatred – made his chest ache in ways that had everything to do with his increasingly complicated feelings toward the woman who’d somehow managed to capture his heart while he’d been trying to save his clan.

Evening fell across Castle Wallace like a tartan plaid, soft and enveloping, bringing with it the kind of restless energy that made Rhona pace her chamber like a caged wildcat.

She’d tried reading by candlelight, tried focusing on her notes from Baird, tried everything she could think of to settle her mind, but nothing seemed to work.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Ian’s chest rising and falling beneath her hands, felt the heat of his skin, remembered the way his breathing had changed when she’d touched him.

The memory was driving her to distraction, and she was beginning to wonder if, between that and the nightmares, she would ever sleep peacefully again.

A soft knock on her door interrupted her reverie. “Come,” she called, expecting Moira with the evening meal.

Instead, Ian stepped into the chamber, his presence immediately filling the space with that commanding aura that seemed to follow him wherever he went. He looked different somehow – less formal, more relaxed, as if he’d shed some of his lairdly responsibilities along with his formal attire.

“What can I dae fer ye?” she asked, proud that her voice remained steady despite the way her pulse had jumped erratically at the sight of him.

“I want ye tae come with me.”

“Where?”

“Bring yer cloak – ‘tis cool outside.”

Rhona stared at him, looking for some hint of his intentions. “And if I refuse?”

Ian’s lips quirked in a subtle smile. “Then I’ll have tae admit defeat and retreat tae me chambers like a wounded hound.”

The admission surprised her. “Ye willnae order me tae come?”

“I’m askin’, nae commandin’. There’s a difference.”

Is there?

But curiosity won over pride, and she found herself reaching for her cloak. “Where are we goin’?”

“Somewhere ye might actually be able tae sleep without nightmares.”

The words were an unexpected gift, hitting her deeply. He’d noticed her sleeplessness, remembered her struggles with the terrors that plagued her nights. The fact that he paid such close attention to her wellbeing sent a warm flutter through her that she tried desperately to ignore.

“Lead on, then,” she said, wrapping the cloak around her shoulders.

Ian guided her through corridors she’d never seen before, down servants’ stairs and through passages that seemed designed for discretion rather than ceremony. Finally, they emerged into the castle’s walled garden, where moonlight painted everything in shades of silver and shadow.

Rhona gasped at the sight that greeted her. In the center of the garden, Ian had spread a thick woolen blanket among the dormant rose bushes. Pillows had been arranged for comfort, and a small basket sat nearby, presumably containing refreshments.

“What is this?” she breathed.

“A place where ye can see the sky,” Ian replied simply. “I thought… if closed spaces seem tae be what’s troublin’ ye, perhaps the open air might help.”

The thoughtfulness of the gesture struck her speechless. When was the last time someone had gone to such trouble for her comfort? When had anyone ever paid such careful attention to her needs?

“Ian…” she began, but found herself unable to finish the thought.

“Lie down,” he said gently, settling onto the blanket himself. “Just look.”

Rhona hesitated for a moment, then slowly lowered herself onto the soft wool. The moment she tilted her head back, her eyes grew wide with wonder.

The Highland sky stretched endlessly above them like a vast, velvet tapestry sewn with diamonds, each star brilliant and clear in the thin mountain air. The moon hung full and luminous, casting everything in ethereal beauty that made the garden feel almost magical, like something from a fairy tale.

“’Tis bonnie,” she whispered.

“Aye,” Ian agreed, though when she glanced at him, she found he was looking at her, rather than the sky.