Page 27 of The Laird’s Vengeful Desire (The Highland Sisters’ Secret Desires #2)

The village sprawled across the hillside, with perhaps thirty families gathered in the small market square at its heart, while fields stretched toward the forest’s edge.

Smoke drifted lazily from chimneys as the people went about their daily tasks – tending animals, working in kitchen gardens – living the simple, honest lives that made up the backbone of any clan.

“These are good folk,” Baird said, following her gaze. “Simple, hardworkin’ people. They deserve better than tae live in fear.”

“Everyone deserves that.” Rhona replied quietly.

As they rode further into the village, heads turned in their direction.

Children ran alongside their horses, calling greetings to Baird and staring at Rhona with open curiosity.

The soldiers had spread out in a loose protective formation, but their postures were relaxed – these were their people, and they were welcome here.

“Baird!” A woman emerged from one of the cottages, wiping flour-dusted hands on her apron. “Thank the saints ye’ve come! Morag’s been askin’ fer ye since dawn.”

“How’s she daein’ today, Agnes?” Baird asked as he dismounted.

“Well, considerin’. The bairn’s been kicking up a storm, and she’s eager tae see ye.” Agnes smiled warmly at Rhona. “Good tae see ye again, lass. Morag was hopin’ ye’d be returnin’.”

“’Tis good tae be back,” Rhona replied with authentic warmth.

The morning flew by in a blur of purpose.

Morag was indeed doing well, though nervous as a first-time mother.

Old Douglas’ joints responded well to willow bark tea and warm compresses, and Jamie’s horse-induced scrapes required careful cleaning, while Kenna’s burnt hand showed remarkable improvement due to Rhona’s previous treatments.

Between patients, Rhona also worked alongside the soldiers she’d trained, watching with satisfaction as they put their skills to practical use.

Gavin proved surprisingly gentle with children, while Alec showed real aptitude for preparing poultices.

Malcolm’s steady hands make him perfect for stitching, and Rupert’s calm manner soothed frightened patients.

“Now, Callum, remember what I told ye about honey and comfrey,” she instructed as the young man helped treat an elderly woman’s infected toe. “The honey prevents festerin’, while the comfrey speeds the healin’.”

“Aye, me lady,” Callum replied, carefully applying the mixture. “Like this?”

“Perfect.” Her students were proving themselves capable, gaining confidence with each patient they helped.

“Me lady?” A young mother approached with a toddler clinging to her skirts. “Me wee lad’s been coughin’ somethin’ terrible. Will ye take a look at him?”

“Of course,” Rhona said immediately, kneeling to the child’s level. The examination revealed a persistent, but not dangerous cough – honey and thyme tea would help, along with rest and warmth.

As the afternoon wore on, Rhona found herself moving through the village like she truly belonged there. People sought her out for everything from headaches to infected cuts, and she dispensed not just medical knowledge, but comfort and reassurance.

When the sun reached its peak, the villagers insisted on sharing their midday meal. The brought out fresh bread, stewed rabbit, and vegetables. The soldiers mingled easily with the locals, their weapons set aside in favor of wooden spoons and friendly conversation.

Rhona seated herself beside Baird, a steaming bowl of rabbit stew warming her hands as peaceful murmurs of conversation surrounded her like a gentle embrace. For the first time in months, she felt completely and utterly at peace.

“Ye look content, lass.” Baird observed.

“I am,” she said, surprised by the truth of it.

“It shows. The villagers trust ye already – that’s nye small feat in these troubled times.”

“Fear of the raids, I assume?” Rhona said quietly.

“Aye. Lachlan’s been systematically testin’ our defenses fer months – burnin’ farms, stealin’ livestock.

These people never ken when they might wake tae find their homes in flames.

” Baird’s weathered face darkened. “They need tae see that their laird cares, that there’s people willin’ tae help when trouble strikes. ”

“Ian does care.” Rhona said, surprising herself with how quickly she leaped to his defense. “I’ve seen how he is with the soldiers, how he speaks to people. He’s naethin’ like his predecessor.”

“Nay, he isnae.” Baird agreed with a knowing smile. “And I think ye might have some part in that.”

Before Rhona could ask what he meant by that cryptic comment, a commotion erupted from the forest’s edge.

Shouts rang out – harsh, violent sounds that sent ice shooting through her veins like winter lightning.

The peaceful afternoon shattered into a million pieces as armed figures burst from the tree line, weapons glinting in the sunlight like wolves’ teeth.

Raiders!

The villagers scattered in terror, overturning stools and crying out for their children. The young soldiers immediately sprang into action, drawing swords and forming a protective line, but they were outnumbered two to one.

Rhona’s first instinct was to flee – every fiber of her being screaming at her to run from the chaos and violence.

But then she saw him: a small boy, perhaps three or four years old, standing frozen in the middle of the square as armed thugs thundered toward him on horseback like the hounds of hell itself.

Without a second thought, she launched herself forward, scooping the child into her arms just as a raider’s horse pounded past where he’d been standing. The boy’s horrified sobs cut through the din of battle as she clutched him protectively against her chest.

“I’ve got ye,” she whispered to the trembling child, her heart hammering against her ribs. “Where are yer parents?”

The boy answered by wailing louder and clinging to her with desperate strength.

A crash of splintering wood made her whirl around. One of the riders was systematically smashing the villager’s market stalls, clearly intent on destruction rather than theft. Another group had cornered several families near the well, their intentions unclear, but undoubtedly malicious.

I have tae get the bairn tae safety, but where?

Her eyes darted back and forth until her gaze fell on a small stone building at the edge of the square – the village’s grain storage, with thick walls and a heavy door. If she could reach it, they could barricade themselves inside.

“Come on, wee dove,” she whispered to the boy, pressing a quick kiss to his hair. “We’re goin’ tae play a game of hidin’. Just ye and me.”

Keeping low, she darted between overturned things and scattered belongings, the sounds of battle growing louder behind her like an approaching storm. Steel clashed against steel somewhere close by, and she heard Baird shouting something above the chaos.

Please let them be all right, please…

The grain storage door stood open – someone else had clearly had the same idea. Rhona slipped inside, immediately pushing the heavy door closed and throwing the bar across it. The thick stone walls muffled the chaos from outside, but didn’t eliminate it entirely.

The boy in her arms had quieted into hiccupping sobs, his small hands fisted in her dress like anchors in a storm.

“There’s a good lad,” she murmured, settling them both behind a large pile of grain sacks. “We’ll just wait here until ‘tis safe tae come out, aye?”

Through a single small window, she could see flashes of the battle outside. The Wallace soldiers were fighting bravely, but they were clearly outmatched.

Where is Baird? Has anyone managed tae send word tae Ian?

Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the sound of galloping hoofbeats – but whether they brought salvation or damnation, she couldn’t tell. All she could do was hold the frightened child close and pray that help would arrive before it was too late.

The hoofbeats grew louder, thundering across the countryside like the very wrath of God himself, and Rhona held her breath, waiting to discover whether they heralded rescue or ruin.