Page 28 of The Laird’s Vengeful Desire (The Highland Sisters’ Secret Desires #2)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“ I dinnae like the sound of this, me laird.”
Tristan’s voice carried a note of unease as he stood before Ian’s desk in the solar, holding the crumpled parchment like it might bite him.
The afternoon sun slanted through the narrow windows, casting long shadows across the stone floor, but the light did nothing to warm the chill that had settled in Ian’s bones since reading Lachlan’s MacPherson’s message.
“Neither dae I,” Ian replied grimly, reaching for the letter again. The parchment felt heavier than it should, weighted with implications that made his jaw clench like a vice, threatening to crack his teeth. “But we cannae ignore it entirely.”
He read the message again for the third time, though he could have recited every word from memory.
Laird Ian Wallace of Clan Wallace,
I trust this missive finds ye in good health and high spirits. Word has reached me that ye have settled intae yer new role with admirable dedication, though I confess I was surprised by some recent developments that have come tae me attention.
I am aware that certain arrangements made by me late cousin Douglas may require reconsideration in light of changing circumstances. As ye well ken, Douglas and I shared many understandings regarding the future of our respective clans, particularly concerning matters of mutual benefit.
I believe we have much tae discuss regarding how best tae honor the intentions of those who came before us, while addressing the legitimate concerns of those who remain.
There are certain assets currently in yer possession that were intended fer different purposes, and I believe a meeting between us would serve both our interests well.
I propose we convene at the border stone between our lands three days hence, at midday. I shall bring only a small retinue fer protection and trust ye will extend the same courtesy. Surely, reasonable men such as us can find mutually beneficial solutions tae any complications that may have arisen.
I remain, with great anticipation of yer correspondence.
Lachlan MacPherson, Laird of Clan MacPherson.
The flowery language failed to disguise the underlying threat – or the suspicious timing of his request for a meeting.
The man wanted to discuss ‘mutual concerns’ and ‘beneficial arrangements’, but Ian would wager his sword arm that the real purpose had more to do with testing Wallace defenses than any legitimate desire for peace.
The words themselves made Ian’s skin crawl as if tiny insects were marching across his flesh.
Each carefully chosen phrase dripped with false courtesy, the kind of honeyed poison that ambitious men used when they wanted something they had no right to claim.
Lachlan spoke of things like ‘recent developments’ and ‘changing circumstances’ – as if Rhona’s presence at Castle Wallace was some political windfall rather than the result of his predecessor’s cruelty.
“Listen tae this,” Ian said, his voice thick with disgust as he read the letter aloud.
“‘It has come tae me attention that certain… arrangements… made by me late cousin Douglas may require reconsideration in light of recent developments.’ The bastard actually has the gall tae call her an ‘arrangement’.”
Tristan’s face darkened. “He speaks of her as if she were property tae be traded.”
“Och, aye, and that’s exactly what he thinks she is.
” Ian’s fist clenched around the parchment, crumpling it further.
“It gets better,” he cleared his throat dramatically before continuing, “‘Perhaps we might discuss how best tae honor the intentions of those who came before us, while adressin’ the concerns of those who remain.’ He’s makin’ it sound like there was some sort of formal arrangement when we both ken Douglas simply took her by force. ”
The very thought of it made Ian’s stomach turn.
Douglas Wallace had been exactly that callous – treating women as nothing more than political assets to be bartered and traded.
But hearing Lachlan speak of Rhona in the same cold terms, pretending that Douglas’s kidnapping and imprisonment was some legitimate arrangement to be honored – it made Ian’s blood boil with a fury that surprised him with its intensity.
And Rhona was away from the castle, he realized with a stab of anxiety, sharp as a dirk between his ribs. Just as Lachlan sent word about a meetin’.
“What are yer orders, me laird?” Tristan asked, his face creased with concern.
Ian set the letter down and moved towards the window, gazing out over the courtyard where everything appeared peaceful.
Guards walked their routes, servants went about their duties, and the afternoon seemed as tranquil as a Highland loch on a windless day.
Yet, underneath that calm surface, Ian could feel the beginnings stirring of a danger that pulled at everything he’d worked to rebuild.
But even as he watched the normal rhythm of castle life pass by, Ian’s mind was calculating distances and timing.
How long would it take riders to reach Kilcairn from MacPherson lands?
How many men could Lachlan field without attracting notice?
The questions multiplied like weeds in his mind, each one more troubling than the last.
“The timin’ of this message bothers me even more than its content,” he said slowly, his warrior’s instincts prickling with unease. “Lachlan kens our routines, our habits. He’d ken when our defenses might be stretched thin.”
Tristan’s eyes sharpened with understanding. “Ye suspect he’s been watchin’ us, me laird?”
“I dae.” Ian said bluntly. “I think he’s been watchin’ her. ” The words came out harsher than intended, but the truth of them settled in his gut like cold iron. “Every time she leaves the castle, I think it’s safe tae assume someone’s been takin’ note of that.”
Ian considered his next words with care, his fingers drumming idly against his desk.
“Double the watch on all approaches,” he said finally.
“And send word tae our allies. MacLeod, MacKenzie – anyone who might have intelligence about MacPherson movements. I want tae ken exactly what Lachlan’s been daein’ these past weeks. ”
“Aye, me laird. And the meetin’ he’s requested?”
Ian’s hands tightened on the stone windowsill until his knuckles went white. “We’ll consider it. But nae alone, and nae on his terms. If he truly wants tae discuss peace, he can prove it by withdrawin’ his raiders from our borders.”
The irony wasn’t lost on him – here he stood, trying to protect his clan from external threats, while the woman who’d become his greatest internal complication was beyond his ability to shield.
Rhona was out there in the village, vulnerable and unaware of the political undercurrents swirling around her like a riptide, ready to drag her under.
She should be here, where I can keep her safe.
But even as the thought formed, he knew it for the selfish desire it was.
Rhona MacAlpin had been more alive this morning than he’d ever seen her – eyes bright with purpose, voice warm with pure enthusiasm for the healing work ahead.
Keeping her locked away in the castle might protect her body, but it would surely slowly kill her spirit, and he’d rather face a dozen Lachlan MacPhersons than watch that light fade from her stunning blue eyes.
The memory of her that morning rose unbidden in his mind – the way she’d practically glowed with excitement as she’d packed her healing supplies, the gentle patience she’d show the nervous young soldiers, the quiet confidence that had transformed her from captive to healer.
She’d been finding herself again, piece by piece, and he’d been privileged enough to witness that transformation.
“She was so eager tae help out today,” Ian murmured, more to himself than to Tristan. “Like a bird finally allowed tae spread its wings.”
“She’s got a special touch, ‘tis true, me laird.” Tristan agreed, his voice carrying approval. “The lads speak of her with naethin’ but respect. Says she treats her patients like they matter, nae just as bodies tae be patched up.”
Ian’s chest tightened with an emotion he couldn’t quite name.
Pride? Affection? No – this was something deeper and more dangerous than that.
Rhona had won over his men not through political maneuvering or calculated charm, but through simple human kindness – the same quality that made him care for her despite every reason he shouldn’t.
“There’s somethin’ else, me laird.” Tristan’s voice interrupted his brooding. “The Council’s been askin’ when they might have another word with ye. About… clan matters.”
Ian’s stomach clenched like a fist. He knew exactly what ‘clan matters’ meant – marriage, alliance, the growing pressure to secure Rhona as his bride before political circumstances made such an arrangement impossible.
The council members had been circling him like vultures for days, each one convinced they had the perfect solution to the clan’s problems if only he’d listen to reason…
As if there was anything reasonable about forcing a woman into marriage against her will, no matter how much sense it made politically.
“They’ve been meetin’ without me?” Ian’s voice carried a note of weary resignation.
Tristan’s silence was answer enough.
“Plottin’, schemin’ bastards. What are they sayin’ now, then?” Ian asked, though he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.
“That ye’re lettin’ sentiment cloud yer judgement, me laird. That the MacAlpin lass has bewitched ye somehow.” Tristan’s voice was carefully neutral, but Ian knew him well enough to catch the undercurrent of frustration. “They think ye should assert yer rights as laird and be done with it.”
“Assert me rights,” Ian’s laugh was bitter. “What dae ye think, Tristan?”