Page 3 of The Laird’s Vengeful Desire (The Highland Sisters’ Secret Desires #2)

The leader lunged forward with startling speed. Rhona flung her arm around wildly with her dagger, feeling the blade bate flesh as the man cursed and jerked back. Blood welled from a shallow cut across his forearm, staining his sleeve crimson.

“Ye wee vixen!” He backhanded her across her pale face with stunning force.

Stars exploded across Rhona’s vision as she crashed to the ground, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth. Through the ringing in her ears, she heard the dagger clatter away into the underbrush.

“That’s fer drawin’ blood,” the man snarled, cradling his wounded limb.

“Careful,” the scarred man warned. “The laird wants her in one piece.”

“Aye, but a bruise or two willnae matter.” The leader grabbed Rhona’s arm, hauling her roughly to her feet. “She’ll learn to mind her manners soon enough.”

Rhona’s legs trembled beneath her as the world swayed dangerously. Blood trickled from her split lip, and her cheek throbbed where his had made contact. Still, she managed to lift her chin with the last dregs of defiance.

“Me faither will come fer me,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Aye, perhaps he will.” The leader’s grip tightened painfully on her arm. “But by then, ye’ll be wedded and bedded, and there’ll be naught he can dae about it.”

The crude words sent waves of revulsion through her, but Rhona forced herself to remain upright. She wouldn’t give these animals the satisfaction of seeing her crumble.

“Mount up,” the leader commanded his men. “We’ve wasted enough time chasin’ this wildcat through the forest.”

They hauled her toward their horses with rough efficiency. The tall man boosted her onto his destrier, climbing up behind her and wrapping one strong arm around her waist to prevent escape. The position left her trapped against his chest, his breath hot and foul against her neck.

Rhona tried memorizing their route as they began to ride. Every landmark, every turn – if she ever got the chance to escape, she would need to know the way home.

The journey passed in a blur of discomfort and growing dread.

Her captor’s grip never loosened, and the leader set a punishing pace that left no opportunity for rest or second thoughts.

They avoided the main roads, following hunter’s tracks and deer paths that would leave no trace for potential rescuers to follow.

As they rode on, the familiar forests of her childhood gave way to wilder, more desolate terrain.

This was Wallace territory – lands she’d heard described, but never seen.

Rocky outcroppings replaced the gentle hills of home, and the very air seemed to carry a different scent.

“There,” the leader pointed ahead with his uninjured arm. “Castle Wallace.”

Rhona’s heart sank as the fortress came into view.

Unlike her family’s crumbling keep, this stronghold radiated power and menace.

Massive stone walls rose from a craggy hilltop, their surfaces darkened with age and weather.

Banners snapped in the wind above the battlements, displaying the Wallace colors in stark reminder of whose domain this was.

God above help me.

The gates stood open as their small party approached, guards stepping aside with casual familiarity.

Clearly, this was not the first time these men had brought unwilling ‘guests’ to their laird’s attention.

They clattered into the courtyard, where servants scattered like startled birds.

Rhona found herself hauled down from the horse and marched through corridors that seemed designed to intimidate – high ceilings, cold stone walls hung with weapons and battle trophies, and everywhere the sense of barely contained violence.

“Wait here,” the leader commanded as they reached an enormous set of oak doors banded with iron.

Rhona stood between two of her captors, trying to project dignity despite her torn dress and disheveled appearance. Her shoulder ached from the fall, and she could still taste blood from her split lip, but she refused to show weakness to whatever monster awaited beyond those doors.

Suddenly, the door swung open with ominous creaking.

“Laird Wallace,” the leader called out as they were ushered into a great hall dominated by a massive fireplace. “We’ve brought ye a prize.”

The man who rose from the chair before the fire was nothing like Rhona expected.

Douglas Wallace was tall and lean, rather than brutish, with iron-gray hair and cold blue eyes that seemed to strip away pretense with a single glance.

He might have been handsome once, before cruelty had carved permanent lines around his mouth and eyes.

“Have ye now?” His voice was cultured, almost pleasant. “And what manner of prize have me faithful hounds retrieved?”

“A MacAlpin lass, me laird. Found her ridin’ alone in the borderlands, bold as brass.”

Those pale eyes fixed on Rhona with calculating interest. “And which MacAlpin daughter graces me hall?”

Rhona lifted her chin, meeting his stare with all the defiance she could muster. “I am Rhona MacAlpin, second daughter of Laird MacAlpin. And I demand ye release me immediately.”

Wallace chuckled, circling her slowly, like a predator evaluating prey. “ Demand ?” He jested, pausing directly in front of her. “I was hoping tae meet yer elder sister. The heir, as it were.”

“Isolde is–” Rhona caught herself before revealing her sister’s disappearance. “Isolde is well protected at our family’s keep.”

“Is she?” Wallace’s smile was winter-cold. “How disappointin’. I had such hopes fer a profitable marriage alliance.”

Relief flooded through Rhona. If he wanted Isolde specifically, perhaps he would simply release her as worthless to his plans.

“Since yer nae the bride I was expectin’,” Wallace continued, “I suppose ye’re of little use tae me…”

Hope flared in her chest.

“Still,” he mused, tapping one finger against his thin lips, “second daughters have their value. A backup bride, as it were, should something happen tae the first one.”

The hope died as quickly as it had bloomed.

“Take her tae the dungeon,” Wallace commanded with casual indifference. “See that she’s fed enough to keep her alive. We wouldnae want damaged goods, should I need tae use her as leverage.”

“Nay!” Rhona lunged forward, only to be caught by rough hands. “Ye cannae dae this! Me faither will–”

“Yer faither will negotiate reasonably fer his eldest daughter’s hand, or he’ll find himself with one less bairn to worry about.” Wallace had already turned away, dismissing her as easily as he might have done away with a bothersome insect. “Either way, the MacAlpin lands will be mine.”

As the guards dragged her from the hall, Rhona’s last glimpse was of Douglas Wallace settling back into his chair with the satisfied air of a man whose plans were proceeding exactly as expected.

The dungeon lay deep beneath the castle, accessible only through a maze of narrow stone corridors that seemed designed to crush hope along with the spirit.

With each step she took downward the air became cooler, taking her further away from light, from freedom, from any possibility of rescue.

The air felt damp and her breath misted in small clouds before her face.

“Home sweet home,” one of the guards said with mock cheer as he unlocked a heavy wooden door reinforced with iron bands.

The cell beyond was small and dark, furnished only with a thin straw pallet and a bucket that served purposes she preferred not to contemplate. A tiny, barred window high in one wall provided the only light – a dim gray square that spoke of approaching evening.

“Sweet dreams, lassie,” the guard leered as he shoved her inside.

The door slammed shut with awful finality, followed by the scrape of the heavy bar falling into place – sealing her fate. Rhona found herself alone in the dimness, surrounded by stone walls that seemed to press closer with each passing moment.

She sank onto the stone pallet, finally allowing tears to fall now that no one could witness her weakness.

Four days ago, her greatest worry had been Isolde’s mysterious absence.

Now her sister might be dead, and Rhona herself faced a future as either Douglas Wallace’s unwilling bride, or a bargaining chip in his quest for MacAlpin lands.

What have I done?

Outside her tiny window, the last light of day faded into darkness, and Rhona MacAlpin settled in to wait for whatever dawn might bring.