Page 36 of The Laird’s Vengeful Desire (The Highland Sisters’ Secret Desires #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY

C astle Wallace

“Me laird! Me laird, ye have visitors!”

The excited cry from the courtyard below drew Rhona to her chamber window.

She pressed herself against the cool stone wall and peered down, careful to stay hidden behind the thick curtains.

In the yard, she could see Moira practically bouncing on her toes as she called up towards Ian’s solar window.

“’Tis yer braither, me laird! Young Master Athol has come!”

Brother? Rhona’s curiosity sharpened like a blade against whetstone. In all the time she’d been there, Ian had never mentioned living relatives, never spoken of anyone beyond those castle walls who might care whether he lived or died. She’d begun to assume he was as alone in the world as she felt.

Three figures dismounted near the castle steps, and even from her high window, Rhona could clearly see they were travel-worn. The first guest was a man with Ian’s build. His laugh carried up to her window – rich and unguarded in a way that reminded her painfully of her own siblings.

“… told ye this place would be…” His words drifted up, too fragmented to follow, but his tone held affection, tainted with something that sounded like concern.

The second guest was a woman, and Rhona found herself leaning closer to the window despite the risk of being seen.

A flash of blonde hair caught the afternoon sunlight like spun gold, elegantly arranged despite the rigors of travel.

Even dusty from the road, the woman carried herself with the unconscious grace of nobility – back straight, movements refined, every gesture speaking of careful upbringing.

A third person, a man that appeared to be a high-ranking servant of a noble household from hi clothing, helped her down from her horse.

“… so good tae see ye…” the woman’s voice floated up, warm and musical.

Who is she?

The question lodged itself firmly in Rhona’s throat like a fishbone.

A sister, perhaps? A cousin? But as she watched the woman’s delicate hand rest tenderly on Ian’s arm, as she saw how the woman’s face turned toward him like a sunflower seeking sunlight, Rhona felt something cold and unwelcome settle in her stomach – the unmistakable stab of jealousy, though she refused to admit it to herself.

After the passionate kiss they had shared a few days before, she wasn’t quite sure she could face Ian with any semblance of dignity. But watching these strangers who clearly knew him far better than she ever would, curiosity won over cowardice.

She would just pretend nothing had happened, though the memory of his luscious lips on hers made her pulse quicken treacherously.

Act natural. Be polite. Dinnae think about how he tasted like a Highland dram and danger…

Straightening her shoulders, Rhona made her way through the castle corridors toward the solar. She found herself moving with the cautious steps of someone approaching a battlefield, uncertain of what she might find, but utterly unable to resist discovering the truth.

The solar was occupied when she reached it, just as she’d expected. Ian sat near the hearth with two strangers, his dark head bent in animated conversation. He looked up as she entered, and those green eyes caught and held hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch.

“Rhona,” he said, and just the way his lips formed her name sent warmth spiraling through her chest as if her heart were suddenly made of honey.

Sweet, blessed, merciful saints… one kiss and I’m actin’ like a lovesick fool.

“I didnae mean tae interrupt,” she said quickly, already backing away toward the door. “I was just–”

“Nay, please.” Ian rose from his chair with that same fluid grace that always made her pulse flutter. “Come in. I’d like ye tae meet me braither.”

Rhona’s gaze shifted to the man beside Ian, and she could immediately see the family resemblance. Both men had the same mossy-green eyes, the same strong jaw – though this man carried himself with more lightness that spoke of fewer battles fought and fewer responsibilities shouldered.

“Well, well,” the brother said, rising with an impish grin. “Ian didnae mention he was entertainin’ such lovely company.”

“Athol,” Ian warned, though there was no genuine heat in his voice, only affection.

“What? I’m simply admirin’ yer… hospitality, braither.” Athol’s eyes danced with roguish playfulness as they flicked between Ian and Rhona. “Though, braither, I have tae admit, yer taste in guests has certainly bettered since we were lads.”

Heat flooded Rhona’s cheeks, and she was grateful when the third person in the room stepped forward with a gentle smile.

“Dinnae mind him,” she said, her voice carrying the cultured tones of nobility, “Athol forgets his manners when he’s excited. I’m Olivia.”

“Rhona Mac–” she caught herself just in time. “Rhona.”

But as Olivia smiled and moved closer to Ian, Rhona picked up on an undercurrent that made her stomach clench with an emotion she didn’t want to examine too closely.

There was something in the way Olivia’s eyes softened only when they rested upon Ian’s face.

They way she seemed to unconsciously lean toward him – like a flower turning toward sunlight, and the way her fingers brushed along his arm when she spoke to him.

Of course… she’s in love with him.

The realization hit Rhona like a physical bow, threatening to knock the wind right out of her. This beautiful, refined woman – who could only be a childhood friend who clearly knew Ian better than most people ever would – was completely and utterly besotted with him.

“So, tell me, braither,” Athol continued, settling back into his chair with obvious relish. “How daes it feel tae be laird of the same clan that threw us out like dogs all those years ago?”

Ian’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “They’re good folk, Athol. The past is the past.”

“Good people?” Athol’s laugh held a sharp, bitter edge. “These are the same wretches who watched us starve when Grandfaither was cast out. The same ones who turned their backs when we needed help and–”

“That was Douglas’s daein’, nae theirs, and ye ken it well enough.” Ian’s voice carried the weight of conviction. “I’ve lived among them now, worked and fought beside them. They’re nae monsters, just… innocent folk who got caught up in their laird’s madness.”

Rhona studied Ian’s profile as he spoke, noting the earnest intensity of his expression. He truly believed what he was saying, she realized. Despite everything his family had suffered through at the hands of Clan Wallace, he’d managed to find forgiveness.

How daes he dae it? How daes he just… let go of all that hurt and anger?

“If ye say so,” Athol said, though his tone suggested he remained unconvinced. “But I still say–”

“Och, hush now,” Olivia interrupted smoothly, her gaze shifting to Rhona with polite courtesy. “Who is this lovely lass, Ian? Ye havenae introduced us properly.”

Ian’s eyes met Rhona’s, and she saw something flicker through them – uncertainty, perhaps, or caution. “Rhona is… a guest of Clan Wallace.”

The words hung in the air like morning mist, neither quite truth nor lie. Rhona felt her cheeks burn anew at the careful neutrality of it. A guest. As if she were here entirely by choice, as if she could leave whenever she pleased.

Well, what did ye expect the man tae say? ‘Och, this here’s the lass I’m holdin’ prisoner – a captive bride-tae-be.’

“A guest,” Athol echoed, his grin widening with wicked delight. “How… fascinatin’. And what manner of guest are ye, bonnie Rhona? The kind who stays fer dinner? The kind who stays fer a week? Or perhaps…” his eyes danced with childish mischief, “are ye the kind who stays indefinitely?”

“Athol,” Ian’s voice carried a note of warning that his brother cheerfully ignored.

“What? I’m just curious.” Athol’s tone was innocent, but his meaning was crystal clear to everyone in the room.

Rhona felt mortification crawl up her spine like ivy on a wall. It was bad enough that she was trapped there against her will.

If his own braither thinks me tae be his… his paramour, what will others think?

“Perhaps,” Olivia said quickly, clearly sensing the awkward tension, “ye could tell us more about yerself, Rhona? Are ye from these parts?”

The question might have been kindly meant, but it only made Rhona’s situation feel more precarious. What could she say? That she was the daughter of Ian’s enemy? That she’d been trapped there for months? That yesterday he’d kissed her with enough passion to scandalize a tavern wench?

“I’m… temporarily between homes,” she managed, which was perhaps the most diplomatic way to describe kidnapping in the history of Highland Scotland.

“How fascinatin’,” Olivia mused, though her attention had already drifted back to Ian. “Ian, ye must tell us more about yer duties here. I imagine ‘tis challengin’, takin’ over such a large clan.”

And there it was again – that soft, hopelessly devoted look in Olivia’s eyes as she hung on Ian’s every word. The way she smiled when he spoke, as if everything he said was the most interesting thing she’d heard in her entire life.

Bloody hell, she’s completely mad about him.

The knowledge settled in her stomach like poorly cooked porridge. Not because she had any claim whatsoever on Ian Wallace, of course. He was first and foremost her captor, her clan’s enemy, and…

And the most incredible thing to ever happen to her, her treacherous heart whispered as she recalled their kiss from the day before.

“I should go and leave ye tae yer guests.” Rhona said abruptly, standing with such haste that her chair scraped against the stone floor. “I dinnae want tae intrude on yer family reunion.”

“Rhona, wait–” Ian started to rise, but she was already moving toward the door.

“Where are ye off tae?” he asked, and something in her voice made her pause despite herself.

“Tae the apothecary,” she said without turning around. “Baird said he had new herbs arrivin’ taeday that he wanted tae show me.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie – Baird had mentioned something about a shipment from Edinburgh – but mostly she just needed to escape before she said or did something she would no doubt come to regret.

“Of course,” Ian said quietly. “I’’ll… see ye after, then.”

She nodded without looking back and fled down the corridor like her skirts were on fire, her heart hammering against her ribs like a caged bird trying to escape.

Behind her, she could hear Athol’s voice picking up the conversation – something about old times and shared memories while Olivia’s musical laugh drifted through the door like silver bells.

Great. Ian’s childhood sweetheart has come tae visit, probably expectin’ a romantic reunion, and here I am – the inconvenient prisoner who melted away in his arms like honey over freshly baked bannocks.

The healer’s apothecary was mercifully empty when she arrived, Baird having gone to check on a farmer’s wife who was expecting her sixth child.

Rhona closed the door behind her and leaned against it, finally allowing herself to acknowledge the tight knot of tangled emotions that had been steadily building in her chest since the moment she’d seen Olivia’s face.

Look at ye. ‘Tis jealousy, Rhona! Pure, venomous, completely irrational jealousy.

She was jealous of a woman that had every right to Ian’s affection. A woman who’d known him since childhood, who shared his history. A woman who was free to love him without the complications of clan warfare and political intrigue.

God… what is wrong with me? I’m actin’ like I have some sort of claim tae the man… I have nay right tae be upset.

But the rational part of her mind was quickly being overpowered by the memory of yesterday’s kiss. The way Ian had looked at her when she’d accused him of being too controlled. The heat in his eyes when he’d touched her face. The desperate hunger in his voice when he’d whispered her name.

That wasnae the kiss of a man who thinks of me as a prisoner, or a man who holds affection fer someone else.

A soft knock on the door made her jump like a startled cat. “Come in,” she called, hastily composing her expression, expecting Baird. But it was Moira who entered the room.

“Beggin’ ye pardon, me lady,” Moira said with a small curtsy. “But the laird’s braither was askin’ after ye. He’s wantin’ tae ken if ye’ll be joinin’ them fer the evening meal.”

“I…” Rhona paused, torn between the desire to avoid more awkward encounters, and the realization that hiding in her chambers like a coward would not solve anything. “Tell them I’d be honored.”

“Aye, me lady.”

After Moira left, Rhona moved to the window and stared out at the courtyard below. She could see Ian and his guests walking toward the stables, Athol gesturing animatedly while Olivia walked close beside Ian, her hand resting lightly on his arm.

They did look well suited, Olivia and Ian. Both of them tall and elegant, both carrying themselves with the unconscious grace of nobility – ebony and ivory – with Olivia’s blonde hair the perfect complement to Ian’s darker coloring.

What were ye thinkin’? That one kiss could compete with years of friendship and affection? That little old ye could somehow win his heart against that?

The truth of it was – she’d allowed herself to hope. Despite all logic, despite the impossibility of their situation, despite common sense, she’d allowed herself to begin to believe that what was growing between them might be something real. Something worth fighting for.

But watching him with Olivia– seeing how easily they moved together, how comfortably they fell into old patterns – made Rhona realize just how foolish she had been.

I’m cannae compete with a woman like that . She’s everythin’ I’m nae – free, willin’, uncomplicated. She can give him what I would never be able tae – a peaceful future.

The sound of approaching footsteps in the corridor made Rhona step back from the window. She quickly busied herself with sorting through Baird’s herb collection, trying to look as if she’d been productively occupied rather than willowing in self-pity.

Outside, the afternoon sun was beginning its descent toward evening, painting the ancient stone walls in shades of gold and amber.

Soon, she’d have to go to dinner and smile politely while watching Ian reconnect with his past. She’d have to pretend that seeing him with Olivia didn’t feel like a dirk twisting in her chest.

But for now, in the quiet sanctuary of Baird’s apothecary, Rhona MacAlpin allowed herself a few more moments to mourn for something that had never really been hers to lose.