Page 33 of The Laird’s Vengeful Desire (The Highland Sisters’ Secret Desires #2)

“Och, of course, me laird.” The woman’s eyes twinkled with mischief. She let the words simmer before shuffling away with a wink and obvious satisfaction. Her departure left an awkward silence in her wake, and Rhona could feel the curious glances of other villagers who had overheard the exchange.

Heat flooded Rhona’s face like wildfire. “She has nay right tae–”

“She’s nae wrong though, is she?”

Ian’s quiet words stopped her protest clean in its tracks.

When she dared to look up at him, his green eyes held something that made her heart stutter like a bird against glass.

There was heat in his gaze, but also a vulnerability that almost made it seem like he wanted to lay himself bare, offering her the chance to see him as he truly was.

“Ian, I–”

“We need tae talk about it.”

“About what?” She asked, doing her best to pretend not to know what he meant, but the words were a desperate attempt to postpone an inevitable conversation.

“About what happened earlier,” he continued, his voice low enough that only she could hear while the noise of celebration faded away, leaving only the two of them in their own private bubble of tension and possibility. “When ye came out–”

“I was grateful.” She said quickly, lifting her chin. “Nay more.” The lie tasted sour on her tongue, but it was much safer than the truth. Safer than admitting that her embrace had been fueled by something far more complicated than mere gratitude.

“Is that so?” He leaned slightly closer, and she caught his scent, which sent her treacherous pulse racing again. “Because grateful women dinnae usually–”

“Me laird!”

A booming voice interrupted whatever Ian had been about to say, and the two sprang apart like guilty children as a broad-shouldered farmer approached their table.

The spell was broken so abruptly that Rhona felt almost dizzy, as if she’d been pulled back from the edge of a cliff too quickly.

Her cheeks burned anew with embarrassment and something dangerously close to disappointment as she listened to the farmer thank Ian for his swift arrival and his concern for their welfare.

As Rhona listened, she struggled to regain her composure.

The old farmer launched into a detailed account of the raid and its aftermath, sharing the encounter first hand as if his laird had not been present.

Rhona tried to focus on his words, but her mind kept drifting back to the intensity in Ian’s eyes and the way his voice had reverberated through her when it had dropped to that intimate whisper.

The remainder of the afternoon passed in a blur of conversations and observations that left her feeling increasingly unsettled.

She watched Ian settle a dispute with Solomon-like wisdom.

She noticed him comfort a woman whose cottage had been ransacked, promising resources and manpower to help her rebuild.

She saw how the children approached this massive Scotsman without fear, and how their parents looked at him with respect rather than terror.

That was what a true laird looked like, she realized with startling and dangerous clarity.

When they finally prepared to leave, the sun was painting everything in soft shades of lilac and gold that made Ian’s eyes look like captured starlight.

“Ye’ve been quiet,” he observed as they mounted their horses.

“Och, just tired,” she lied.

The ride back passed in comfortable conversation that felt easier than it should have. It felt natural, this exchange of stories and dreams – like two people inexplicably drawn to one another discovering each other by choice rather than circumstance.

That was what courtship should feel like, she thought with a pang of longing so sharp it stole her breath.

“I ken I’ve said it before, but ye’re a natural leader,” Ian said suddenly.

“What?”

“Today. The way ye kept that child safe, took charge when needed…” his voice now carried undulated admiration. “Ye see what needs daein’, and ye dae it.”

“I was raised tae help where I could.”

“’Tis more than that.” Ian’s tone grew thoughtful. “Ye dinnae wait fer someone else tae take charge. That’s a rare quality, lass.”

As they rode onwards, Rhona caught herself stealing glances at his profile – noting the strong line of his jaw that carried a slight stubble and the way the fading light caught in his dark hair, making it look almost like polished obsidian.

Each stolen look felt like a small betrayal of everything she’d been taught about clan loyalty.

Ye’re out of yer damn mind, woman .

“We work well together.” Ian said suddenly.

Her heart stuttered. “What?”

“Dinnae tell me ye havenae noticed it. The way we… complement each other.” Something careful entered his voice, as if he were testing dangerous waters. “We make a good team.”

“I suppose we dae,” she said cautiously, thought her pulse quickened with anticipation and dread in equal measure.

Ian fell quiet for a moment, his gaze fixed on the path ahead with excruciating intensity. When he spoke again, his words were measured and deliberate. “Rhona, I want tae ask ye somethin’.”

And there it is.

Her hands tightened on the reins until her knuckles went white.

“Ye surprised me today…” he stopped, seeming to struggle with the words. “The way ye are with me people, the way they respond tae ye…”

“Ian, this is–”

“Let me finish.” His voice carried a note of quiet desperation. “Please.”

She nodded, not trusting her voice.”

“I want ye tae marry me.”

The words hit her like an arrow to the chest, stealing her breath and sending her world tilting sideways.

“Nae because the Council demands it,” he added quickly, as if afraid she’d interrupt. “Nae because it would solve political problems. But because… because I think we make a difference here. And because I truly think we could be happy together.”

Happy. Such a simple word, yet it contains multitudes of possibility and terror.

“I ken ‘tis presumptuous–”

“Presumptuous?” the word exploded from her like a released bowstring. “Ian, ye’re talkin’ about marriage like a business arrangement!”

“That’s exactly what I’m nae daein’.” His voice sharpened in frustration. “I’m talkin’ about partnership. About buildin’ somethin’ real and lasting together. Somethin’ that’s worth having.”

“And if I refuse?” The question came out again, more challenging than she’d intended.

Ian’s jaw tightened, but his eyes never left hers. “Then I promise I’ll dae all in me power tae find a way tae get ye back tae yer family. Even if it means the destruction of Clan Wallace.”

The magnitude of what he was offering – the sacrifice he was willing to make – left her utterly speechless. He was putting her happiness above his own, above his clan’s welfare, and her freedom above his own survival.

“That’s either the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” she said slowly, “or the daftest.”

“Probably both.” A wry smile tugged at his lips. “But I’m askin’ ye anyway.”

Ian…” her voice came out smaller than she’d intended.

“Take a week,” he added gently. “Think about it. Really think about what we might have together.”

As Castle Wallace came into view ahead of them, its towers outlined against the evening sky like a promise – or a threat – Rhona felt the weight of his proposal settling on her shoulders like a cloak woven from hope and terror.

One week.

One week to decide the course of her entire life. One week to choose between the safety of the familiar and the dangerous allure of the unknown.

One week, she thought again, stealing another glance at Ian’s profile as they approached the castle gates.

But even as the question formed in her mind, she felt her heart already whispering its own treacherous answer. The real question wasn’t whether she wanted to marry Ian Wallace – it was whether she had the courage to admit it.