Page 31 of The Laird’s Vengeful Desire (The Highland Sisters’ Secret Desires #2)
“Aye, me laird,” Gavin replied, his young face tight with worry. “When the raiders came I saw her grabbin’ wee Thomas MacTavish – he was standin’ right in the path of the horses. She was headin’ fer the grain stores.”
Baird was right. And that was where the fiercest fighting had taken place. Ian’s blood ran cold as he imagined Rhona caught in the middle of that chaos, protecting a child with nothing but her own body as shield.
“That was the last ye saw of her?” he pressed.
“Aye, me laird. We tried tae follow, but the raiders were pushin’ us back. We held the line as long as we could, but–”
“Ye did well, lads.” Ian said as he moved onward. The grain stores stood at the edge of the village square, their thick stone walls blackened with smoke but still intact. The heavy wooden doors hung open, splintered and scarred from the battle, but there was no obvious sign of life within.
“Rhona!” he called, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “Rhona, where are ye?”
Silence answered him, broken only by the distant sounds of villagers beginning to clean up the aftermath of the attack. Ian’s heart clenched like a fist as he dismounted and approached the building on foot, his hand hovering instinctively over his sword’s hilt.
The interior was dim and dusty, filled with the scent of grain and the lingering smoke from the attack. Sacks of wheat and barley were scattered about, some split open where they’d been used as impromptu barricades. But there was no sign of Rhona or the child she’d supposedly been protecting.
“Me laird!”
The voice came from outside – one of his warriors calling from the square. Ian emerged from the grain store to find Callum running toward him, his face flushed with exertion.
“What is it, lad?”
“We’ve searched the entire village, me laird. Nay sign of the lady or the MacTavish bairn. But…” Callum hesitated, clearly unsure how to continue.
“But what?” Ian’s voice was deadly quiet.
“There’s a cart overturned near the furthest grains store, me laird. ‘Tis blockin’ the door completely. And…” the boy swallowed hard. “We thought we heard somethin’ from inside. Like someone callin’ out.”
Ian’s heart stopped, without another word, he ran toward the indicated building, his warriors falling in behind him like a pack of trained hunting hounds.
The scene that greeted them was precisely as Callum had described.
A heavy wooden cart lay on its side in front of the storage building’s door, its contents scattered across the ground in testament to the carnage of the afternoon.
The cart was large enough and positioned in such a way that it would be impossible to open the door from the inside – effectively trapping anyone within.
“Rhona!” Ian shouted, pressing his ear to the wooden door. “Rhona, are ye in there?”
For a moment, there was only silence. “Rhona!” he called again, harder this time. Then, faint but unmistakable, came the sound of his name being called from within. The voice was muffled by the thick wood, but Ian would have recognized it anywhere.
“Ian? Ian, we’re in here. We cannae get the door open.”
Relief flooded through him with such force that his knees nearly buckled.
She’s alive. She’s safe.
And from the sound of her voice, she was unharmed.
“Stand back from the door!” he commanded, then turned to his warriors. “Help me move this cart!”
It took six large men working together to shift the heavy wooden vehicle, their combined strength finally rolling it away from the door. Ian’s hands shook as he lifted the heavy bar and pulled the door open, revealing the dim interior of the storage facility.
And there she was.
Rhona stood in the center of the small space, her red hair disheveled and her dress torn, but her eyes were bright with life and determination. In her arms, she held a small boy – Thomas MacTavish, Ian realized – who was clinging to her like she was the only solid thing in a world gone mad.
For a moment, they simply stared at each other across the threshold. Then, as if released from a spell, Rhona was moving toward him, her face transformed by relief and joy.
“Ian!” she cried, and before he could react, she was throwing herself into his arms with such force that he staggered backward. The child was caught between them, but Rhona didn’t seem to care as she pressed her face against Ian’s chest, her body shaking with emotion.
Ian’s arms locked around her automatically, holding her close as something inside his chest loosened for the first time since he’d learned of the attack. She was safe. She was whole. She was in his arms, warm and alive and real.
For a long moment, they simply held one another, the rest of the world fading away until there was nothing but the feel of her against him, the scent of her hair, the incredible relief of knowing she was unharmed.
Then, as if suddenly realizing what she was doing, Rhona stiffened in his arms. Her hand, which had been clutching desperately at his shirt, slowly loosened its grip, and she began to pull away with the careful precision of someone who’d just realized they were standing on the edge of a cliff.
“I… fergive me,” she said, her cheeks flushing red as highland roses. “I didnae mean tae… that is, I was just…” she stepped back another pace, her arms tightening around the child she still held. “Thank ye fer comin’. We were… we were afraid nay one would find us.”
Ian stood frozen in place, his arms still extended where she’d pulled away from him, his mind struggling to process what had just happened. She’d run to him. When she’d seen him, when she’d realized she was safe, her first instinct had been to throw herself into his arms like… like…
Like a lass greetin’ the man she loves after battle.
The thought hit him with the force of a physical blow. Not gratitude to her rescuer. Not relief at being saved. But something deeper, more primal. The instinctive response of a woman who’d feared for her life – and his – and found salvation in the arms of the man who mattered to her.
But now, she was backing away. Her eyes were wide with something that almost looked like panic.
As if she, too, had realized the significance of what had just transpired between them.
As if she also understood that in that moment of desperate relief, they’d both revealed far more than either had intended.
The silence stretched between them like a bowstring drawn taut, filled with unspoken words and dangerous possibilities. Around them, the sounds of the village returning to normality seemed to fade into insignificance compared to the thundering of Ian’s heart.