Page 26 of The Laird’s Vengeful Desire (The Highland Sisters’ Secret Desires #2)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“ A re ye certain ye have enough woundwort packed?” Rhona asked, checking the leather satchel one final time as the morning sun cast long shadows across Castle Wallace’s courtyard. “I heard young Brodie scraped his knee somethin’ fierce yesterday, and if it’s gone tae festerin–”
“Lass, I’ve been tendin’ wounds since before ye were a gleam in yer faither’s eye,” Baird replied with good-humored exasperation, though his weathered face creased in what might have been approval at her thoroughness. “I think I can manage a wee scrape.”
“Aye, I ken ye can.” Heat rose to Rhona’s cheeks at being caught fussing like an overprotective mother hen. “I just… well, I remember how quickly things can worsen if they’re not tended to properly.”
Baird’s expression softened. “Aye, that they can. And ‘tis good yer’re thinkin’ ahead – shows ye understand that healin’ is as much about prevention as it is about treatment.”
A warm flutter of pride bloomed in Rhona’s chest at the praise. The feeling of purpose that had begun to grow within her was strengthening with each healing session she completed – like a flame that refused to be extinguished despite everything that had tried to snuff it out.
“The lads seem eager enough,” she observed, watching the cluster of young soldiers adjusting their gear nearby.
Alec, Gavin, Rupert, Malcolm and Callum – a handful of young men who had shown genuine aptitude for the medical field and earned Ian’s trust for learning combat medicine to serve as medics.
“Och, they’re good lads. And they’ll learn somethin’ valuable today – that servin’ the clan means more than just protectin’ castle walls.
” Baird secured the last of his supplies to his horse, then paused, studying her face with those sharp healer’s eyes that seemed to notice everything.
“How are ye feelin’ about all this, lass? ”
The question caught her off guard with its gentle concern. “Grateful,” she said honestly. “More grateful than ye ken. This feels like…” she paused, searching for words that wouldn’t reveal too much of the aching loneliness that had been her constant companion. “Like comin’ home tae meself again.”
“Good.” Baird’s gruff voice carried a note of satisfaction. “That’s what I hoped ye’d say.”
The sound of approaching hoofbeats drew their attention toward the castle gates, where Ian rode into the courtyard astride his black destrier.
Even disheveled from what had clearly been an early morning ride, he cut an impressive figure, and those remarkably green eyes alert and assessing as they swept over the assembled group like a hawk surveying its domain.
Curse the man fer lookin so… so…
Her thoughts scattered like leaves before a gale as Ian’s gaze locked onto hers from across the courtyard. The now-familiar jolt of awareness that shot through her veins burned like whisky hitting an empty stomach, and Rhona had to muster all her strength to keep her composure.
“Me apologies fer keepin’ ye waitin,” Ian called as he dismounted with the fluid grace of a born warrior. “I wanted tae check the southern borders before we headed out.”
“Did ye encounter any trouble, me laird?” Baird asked, though his tone suggested this was more routine concern than real worry.
“Nae more than the usual. A few MacPherson riders have been testin’ our boundaries, but they scattered when they saw our patrol.” Ian’s expression darkened like storm clouds gathering over the loch. “Lachlan’s getting’ bolder, but he’s nae ready fer open confrontation yet.”
Rhona watched the interplay between the two men, noting how naturally Ian commanded respect without demanding it.
Even the young soldiers had straightened at his presence, their earlier nervous energy now channeled into focused attention.
There was something about his particular brand of leadership that drew people to him like iron fillings to a lodestone – a quality that made her wonder what manner of laird he would have become if circumstances had been different.
Like if he weren’t holdin’ me prisoner.
Though the thought felt oddly less convincing than it had before.
“Right then,” Ian continued, moving to secure his saddlebags. “Let’s be off. I want tae–”
His words were cut short by the thundering approach of a lone rider, his horse lathered with sweat and his face grim as a gravedigger’s shovel. The messenger’s Wallace colors were mud-splattered and torn – speaking of a hard ride through difficult terrain.
“Me laird!” the man called, pulling up sharp beside Ian and Dubh. “Urgent word from the northern watch!”
Ian’s entire demeanor shifted, his relaxed posture instantaneously giving way to sharp-edged alertness.
He took the sealed parchment with steady hands, but Rhona caught the way his shoulders tensed as he ripped at the wax seal.
She watched his face as he read, noting how his jaw tightened and his eyes grew cold as stone.
Whatever news the message contained, it wasn’t welcome.
“MacPherson?” Baird asked quietly.
“Aye.” Ian’s voice carried a note of grim resignation as he folded the parchment. “Lachlan’s requested a meetin’. Says he has information about clan movements that might be mutually beneficial.”
“D’ye believe him, me laird?” One of the young soldiers asked, his voice cracking like a twig underfoot.
Ian made a sound that might have either been a laugh, or an amused grunt.
“Most likely a trap.” He said, his strategic mind clearly working through possibilities like a chess master contemplating his next move.
“But the kind of trap I cannae afford tae ignore. If he truly has information about other clan alliances…”
Rhona felt something cold and hard settle in her stomach, like a stone dropped into still water. “Ye need tae stay.”
Ian’s green eyes met hers, and she saw frustration flicker through them briefly before being carefully masked again. “Aye. I cannae risk clan security on a village visit, much as I’d prefer tae be ridin’ with ye.”
The admission surprised her – not just his words, but the genuine regret in his voice, warm as honey despite the morning chill. When had his presence started to feel like safety rather than imprisonment? When precisely had she begun looking forward to their time together?
“Of course.” She said, forcing her voice to remain steady despite the unexpected disappointment settling in her chest. “We’ll manage well enough without ye.”
“I ken ye will.” Ian’s gaze lingered on her face as if he were memorizing it for a portrait.
“Baird will keep ye safe, and the lads ken their duty. But Rhona…” he stepped closer, lowering his voice until it was barely more than a whisper between them.
“Stay close tae the village center. Dinnae wander off alone, nay matter how safe things may seem.”
The protective note in his voice sent another wave of warmth spiraling through her even as his words raised new worries. “Ye think there might be trouble?”
“I think the timing’s suspicious. And I think ye’re too valuable a prize fer Lachlan tae ignore if an opportunity presents itself.” Ian’s hand moved as if he wanted to touch her, then stopped just short of her arm. “Promise me. Promise ye’ll be careful.”
“Aye. I promise.” The words slipped out before she could consider them, soft and sincere in a way that made her throat tighten.
When had his concern fer her welfare started tae matter so much?
Ian nodded, then turned to address the group with the authority of a man born to be a leader.
“Baird, ye’re in charge. Take the lads and see tae whatever needs dain’ in the village but keep yer wits about ye.
If ye see anythin’, or anyone who daesnae belong – any sign of trouble – send word immediately and get back tae the castle. ”
“Aye, me laird.” Baird’s tone was grave but confident. “We’ll nae take unnecessary risks.”
“Good.” Ian swung back up onto Dubh with practiced ease, then looked down at Rhona one final time. “Enjoy yer day, lass. And remember–”
“Stay close and be careful.” She finished with a small eye-roll and a gentle, teasing smile. “I heard ye the first time.”
Something flashed across Ian’s face – amusement, perhaps, or fondness – as he muttered something in Gaelic under his breath that sounded suspiciously like an endearment wrapped in exasperation. “ Bean cheanndàna .”
“Och, I’m nae less stubborn than ye, Laird Wallace.” Rhona replied without thinking, then felt her cheeks burn as she realized how easily the banter had come between them.
Ian’s smile was soft and wholehearted, transforming his face in a way that made her heart skin like a stone across water. “Ye’ll be the death of me, woman.”
Before she could come up with a response that wouldn’t reveal how much that statement affected her, he was wheeling his horse around, leaving her staring after him with a maelstrom of emotions she didn’t dare examine too closely.
“Well then,” Baird said dryly, shattering her thoughts. “Shall we be off then, or daes the lady want tae stand there moonin’ after our laird a bit longer?”
Rhona’s face flamed. “I was simply… thinkin’.”
“Aye, if that’s what ye want tae call it.” The healer’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he moved to mount his own horse. “Come along then, lass. The village folk are waitin’, and I’ve a mind tae see just how much of that healin’ gift ye can put tae good use.”
The ride to the village passed swiftly, with Baird sharing tales of his early training and the young soldiers adding their own stories of minor injuries and asking tentative questions.
Despite Ian’s absence, Rhona found herself relaxing into the rhythm of the journey – the steady clip-clop of hooves on packed earth, the gentle warmth of the morning sun on her skin, and the promise of meaningful work ahead.
This is what I was meant fer, nae sittin’ in stuffy castle chambers, but out here among people who need help.