Page 39 of The Laird’s Vengeful Desire (The Highland Sisters’ Secret Desires #2)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“ T ell me the truth, braither – did ye bring us all here just so ye could watch me drink meself intae a stupor?”
Athol’s voice carried over the lively din of the tavern, slightly slurred but still cheerful as he gestured toward his third empty tankard.
The Red Boar hummed with activity – merchants arguing over grain prices, local farmers celebrating a successful harvest, and what appeared to be an impromptu celebration of someone’s impending wedding.
“I brought ye out here because ye wouldnae stop pesterin’ me,” Ian replied, though his eyes sparkled with suppressed mirth as his brother signaled the barmaid for another round. “Though I’ll admit, it’s been educational watchin’ ye try tae drink the casks dry.”
“I am nae tryin’ tae drink it dry,” Athol protested with wounded dignity, swaying slightly. “I’m simply... conductin’ a thorough evaluation of their ale.”
Across their small wooden table, Olivia laughed – a musical sound that made several nearby patrons turn to look. “Och, Athol! Ye havenae changed a bit. Still convinced that drinkin’ the most ale makes ye the most manly.”
“It daesnae?” Athol blinked in mock confusion. “Well, that explains why the lasses never seem properly impressed.”
“Aye,” Ian said dryly, “I’m sure it has naethin’ tae dae with ye singin’ horribly off-key ballads about their ankles.”
Rhona noted how Olivia’s entire attention focused on Ian whenever he spoke, how her blue eyes tracked his slightest movement.
But Ian seemed irritatingly, completely oblivious to the adoration radiating from his childhood friend. His attention kept drifting back to Rhona herself, creating a strange tension that crackled between them like lightning before a summer storm.
“Ian,” Olivia’s voice carried a note of sweet nostalgia that made Rhona’s stomach clench. “Dae ye remember how we used tae dance at the harvest festivals?”
“Aye,” Ian’s smile was warm, but distant. “Ye were always the best dancer in the village.”
“Was I?” Olivia’s cheeks flushed pink with pleasure. “Would ye… would ye like tae dance now? Fer old time’s sake?”
Rhona felt her competitive instincts sharpen like a blade being whetted.
Here it comes. She’s practically throwin’ herself at him.
Ian hesitated for a moment, his gaze flicking to Rhona with an expression she couldn’t quite read. Then he rose to his feet with fluid grace.
“Aye. Why not?”
Perfect . This should provide all the proof I need tae win our wager!
Rhona watched with grim satisfaction as Ian offered his arm to Olivia with courtly elegance
The small space that served as a dance floor was crowded with couples moving to the rhythm of a fiddle and drum.
But as Ian and Olivia took their places, other dancers seemed to drift aside, giving them room to move.
They made a striking pair – Ian tall and broad-shouldered in his dark wool tunic, Olivia graceful and lovely as can be in her pale blue dress.
They look like they belong together, like two pieces of the same puzzle.
Rhona observed, ignoring the sharp twist of something unpleasant in her chest.
She forced herself to catalog every excruciating detail, every shred of evidence of Olivia’s infatuation.
The way her delicate hand lingered on Ian’s shoulder just a moment longer than necessary, how she leaned closer during the turns of their dance – as if drawn by some invisible force.
And then, of course, there was the absurdly dreamy expression that settled upon her pretty face whenever Ian smiled down at her.
Surely he cannae be this bloody blind . ‘Tis obvious as daylight!
But watching Ian’s face, she found only polite enjoyment and friendship. His movements were skilled but reserved, his expression pleasant, but distant. When Olivia stumbled – cunningly on purpose – during a complex turn, he steadied her with gentle curtesy rather than intimate familiarity.
After three melodies, Ian bowed formally and escorted Olivia back toward their table. “That was lovely,” he said warmly. “Just like old times.”
“Just like old times.” Olivia echoed, though something in her voice suggested she’d been hoping for something other than nostalgia that night.
As they settled back at the table, Ian moved his chair closer to Rhona’s, angling it so they faced each other directly, rather than sitting formally around the wooded surface of the table.
The change brought him close enough that she could catch the faint scent of leather and something uniquely masculine that made her pulse quicken despite her determination to remain objective.
“Well?” he asked quietly, his green eyes holding hers with challenging intensity. “Convinced yet?”
“Convinced?” Rhona’s brows shot up in disbelief. “Ian, she practically threw herself at ye!”
“Did she?” Ian’s voice carried that maddening note of amusement that made her either want to kiss him, or throttle him – she hadn’t quite decided yet. “I must have missed it.”
“Fer someone with such lovely eyes, ye are remarkably blind.” She said, the compliment slipping out before she could stop it. She dropped her voice even lower, into an urgent whisper. “The way she held on tae ye? How she kept lookin’ up at ye like ye are the answer to all her prayers? The way she–”
“The way she danced,” Ian interrupted with infuriating calm. “Like an old friend enjoyin’ herself. Naethin’ more.”
Rhona stared at him in exasperation. “Either ye are much more dimwitted than I thought, or ye are just bein’ deliberately obtuse. Which one is it?”
“Neither. I’m simply nae convinced by what ye consider tae be ‘evidence’.”
“What more proof could ye possibly need then, Laird Wallace?”
Ian was quiet for a long moment, his gaze studying her face with an intensity that made her feel suddenly exposed and vulnerable. Then, with a swift movement he pulled her chair towards him, bringing her close enough that when he leaned forward his mouth was near her ear.
“If ye truly want tae convince me,” he murmured, his breath warm against her skin, “then ye need tae show me what true infatuation looks like.”
“What?” Rhona’s heart stuttered. “I dinnae–”
“I mean,” his deep voice dropped to a low rumble that felt like it was vibrating through her bones, “that if I’m tae believe she’s in love with me, I need tae see the signs. Real signs.”
“Such as?” The words came out breathier than she’d intended.
“Such as…” Ian’s lips nearly brushed her ear as he spoke, his hot breath grazing the delicate skin, “when she looks at me, I should see her excitement, so much so that she has tae look away because she daesnae want tae show me how much I affect her.”
Without conscious thought, Rhona found herself doing exactly that – her gaze flying to meet his before skittering away like a startled cat.
“And her heart should beat furiously faster when I’m close,” Ian continued relentlessly. “Fast enough that I can almost hear it in the way she breathes.”
Rhona’s heart hammered against her throat like a wild thing trying to escape.
“And… when she says me name,” his voice was pure velvet now, dark and rich with something that made her stomach flutter, “there should be music in it. Like she’s tastin’ somethin’ sweet.”
“Ian,” Rhona whispered, and even she could hear the way his name trembled on her lips.
“And she should smell different when I’m close – like flowers after rain, or honey warmed by the sun. Her very scent should shift with excitement fer me.”
Rhona was acutely aware of the warmth blooming across her skin, the way her body seemed to be responding to his proximity in ways she couldn’t control or understand.
“And most importantly,” Ian’s voice dropped to barely above a whisper, “I should be able tae feel that love coursin’ through her blood, makin’ her blush from her toes tae the tips of her ears, like she’s been touched by fire…”
Heat instantly flooded Rhona’s face. It was so sudden and intense that she felt dizzy. Her entire body seemed to be humming from the inside out, every nerve ending alive with awareness.
“Ian,” she said shakily, pushing her chair back with enough force to make it scrape across the wooden floor. “That’s enough.”
The tavern around them continued its cheerful chaos – Athol launching into an increasing slurred ballad about a farmer’s daughter, other patrons clapping along with varying degrees of musical accuracy while the fire crackled warmly it its stone hearth.
But for Rhona, the world had narrowed to the space between her and Ian, charged with a tension so thick that she could scarcely breath through it.
“Well,” Ian said quietly, his voice carrying a note of dangerous satisfaction. “That was… illuminatin’.”
Before Rhona could come up with a response that wouldn’t destroy what little remained of her dignity, Athol’s voice boomed across their corner of the tavern.
“Braither! The room’s spinnin’ like at top, and I cannae make it stop!” he said with a slightly nervous laugh.
Ian turned to see his brother swaying precariously in his chair while Olivia tried to steady him with one small hand on his massive shoulder.
“I think,” Olivia said with the careful precision of someone who’d also had more ale than was strictly proper, “we might need tae stay here fer the night.”
Ian looked out the window into the darkness that had fallen while they’d been talking, then back at his thoroughly intoxicated brother. “Aye. That might be best.”
Stay the night. Blessed saints preserve me!
After everything that had just passed between them, the prospect of spending the night in such close proximity to Ian Wallace felt like dancing on the edge of a precipice.
But as she watched him support his brother with patient affection, and saw the gentle way he steadied Olivia when she stumbled slightly, Rhona realized whatever had just happened between them, whatever he’d made her feel and understand about herself – there would be no escaping it now.
No matter how much distance she tried to put between them.
The wager she’d been so confident of winning had somehow turned into something else entirely – a revelation that left her feeling exposed and uncertain, standing at a crossroads she hadn’t realized she’d been approaching.
What on earth have ye gotten yerself intae, Rhona?
Ian’s eyes found hers across the crowded tavern.