Page 42 of The Laird’s Vengeful Desire (The Highland Sisters’ Secret Desires #2)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“ T he letter came by royal messenger this mornin’, me laird. And its… nae good news.”
Tristan’s young face was grim as stone as he closed the heavy oak door to Ian’s solar behind him. In his hands, he held a piece of parchment bearing the unmistakable crimson seal of the Crown – a sight that never failed to make Ian’s stomach clench with foreboding.
“How bad?” Ian asked, though the tight set of Tristan’s shoulders already told him everything he needed to know.
“Bad enough that the messenger was askin’ pointed questions about our guest before I managed tae send him on his way,” Tristan said carefully. “Questions that suggest His Majesty kens about things that should have stayed within these walls.”
Ian’s blood turned to ice in his veins. “Someone’s talked.”
“Aye,” Tristan said solemnly. “The messenger kept lookin’ around like he expected tae see somethin’ – or someone.”
Ian sank into the chair behind his desk, every muscle in his body coiled with tension.
After the perfect intimacy of the night before, and the tender way Rhona had looked at him as they’d ridden back to the castle, he had allowed himself to hope that perhaps they might find their way to happiness without the entire world conspiring against them.
I should have kenned t’was too good tae last .
“Let me see it,” Ian said, extending his hand.
Tristan hesitated for a moment, then placed the letter on the desk as if it were a venomous serpent.
Ian broke the seal with hands that remained steady despite the storm brewing in his chest. The parchment crackled as he unfolded it, and his eyes immediately went to the formal salutation that began every royal correspondence.
To Ian Wallace, Laird of Clan Wallace, from His Most Gracious Majesty, King Charles II of Scotland, England and Ireland.
It is with great displeasure and considerable alarm that I write tae address the disturbing reports that have reached me attention regarding yer conduct as laird of yer clan, and as a subject of the Crown.
Ian’s jaw clenched as he continued reading, each word hitting him like hammer blows.
I have received credible testimony from multiple sources regarding yer treatment of Lady Rhona MacAlpin, second daughter of Laird MacAlpin. It is alleged that ye have held this noblewoman captive in yer castle fer the better part of four months, subjecting her tae treatment unbefitting her station.
“Credible testimony,” Ian muttered with dark humor. “I wonder who His Majesty considers credible these days.”
Furthermore, it has been reported that what began as yer predecessor’s crude political maneuvering has developed into something far more unseemly under yer leadership.
Witnesses claim tae have observed inappropriate intimate behavior between yerself and Lady MacAlpin that suggest coercion rather than courtship.
Ian’s hands began to shake with barely controlled rage.
He thought back at what was being referred to.
Someone must have been watching them –must have seen their kiss after the village raid, witnessed the proposal that Rhona had rejected so vehemently.
But the way it was being presented to the King…
“Lachlan,” Ian said the name like a curse. “This has his stench all over it.”
Tristan nodded grimly. “Aye. He’s been bidin’ his time fer an opportunity like this.”
Ian continued, reading, his expression growing darker with each line.
I am compelled tae inform ye that this matter requires immediate resolution.
It has been determined that a royal visit tae Castle Wallace is necessary tae assess the situation thoroughly and ensure personally Lady MacAlpin’s safe return tae her family and shall arrive within the fortnight with sufficient escort tae guarantee her protection.
Ye will ensure that Lady MacAlpin is treated with the respect due tae her station until the Crown’s arrival. Any attempt tae relocate her from yer lands or otherwise interfere with the investigation shall be viewed as an act of defiance against the Crown.
I trust that ye understand the gravity of this situation and will conduct yerself accordingly. The consequences of failing tae dae so would extend far beyond yer personal circumstances tae affect the standing and future of yer entire clan.
By the Grace of God, King of Scotland, England, and Ireland,
King Charles II
Ian let the letter fall to his desk, his mind reeling with the implications. The king himself was coming to Castle Wallace. To investigate. To retrieve Rhona.
“What are we goin’ tae dae, me laird?” Tristan asked quietly.
Ian stood and moved to the window, staring out at the courtyard where everything appeared deceptively peaceful. Somewhere in the castle, Rhona was probably still recovering from their night together, perhaps even allowing herself to hope for a future that now seemed more impossible than ever.
“The king’s letter makes it clear that he believes I’ve been… compromisin’ her,” Ian said tactfully. “If he arrives and finds her here, unmarried, after months of captivity…”
“It’ll look just like Lachlan wants it tae,” Tristan finished.
“Aye. And it willnae matter whether she came here against her will originally, or that I’ve treated her with honor. All His Majesty will see is an unmarried lass who’s been livin’ under this roof fer months.”
Tristan was quiet for a long moment, then cleared his throat. “There is one obvious solution, me laird.”
Ian turned to face him, though he already knew what was coming.
“Marriage,” Tristan said bluntly. “If ye wed her before the king arrives, it changes everythin’. She becomes yer wife rather than yer captive. A love match rather than… what it’s been made out tae be.”
“And if she refuses?” Ian asked, though his heart was already sinking.
“Then we might as well start diggin’ our own graves,” Tristan said with the grim certainty of a condemned man choosing his last meal.
“Aye,” Ian agreed dryly. “If I force her tae marry me now, it will only prove the accusations true – that we’ve been holdin’ her captive and coercin’ her. The weddin’ would only work if she agrees willingly, otherwise we’ll face the very punishment we’re tryin’ tae avoid.”
Tristan nodded grimly. “Aye, me laird.”
“He could strip me of me title,” Ian finished. “Install someone more… suitable.”
“Someone like Lachlan MacPherson,” Tristan agreed ruefully.
Ian ran his hands through his hair, feeling trapped between a rock and a hard place. Every instinct he possessed screamed against forcing Rhona into marriage, against using her current vulnerability to secure his own position. But the alternative…
“She’s just begun tae trust me,” Ian said quietly. “If I force her now, I’ll lose whatever progress we’ve made.”
“But ye’ll both be alive tae work through it,” Tristan said pragmatically. “Me laird, we’ve all seen what happens when the Crown decides a clan leader is unfit.”
“Aye,” Ian said, turning back to the window.
“It daesnae end well fer anyone.” His mind churned through the possibilities.
It all made sense from a political standpoint – marriage would protect Rhona’s reputation and legitimize her presence at Castle Wallace.
It would prevent a fallout with both her clan and the Crown, and provide the king with a neat resolution that wouldn’t require him to take punitive action.
But it would also mean going against everything he stood for – forcing the woman he was coming to love into a marriage she would never have chosen freely.
“How long until the king arrives?”
“’Tis hard tae ken. I would guess at least ten days, perhaps eleven.”
Ian’s stomach dropped as he realized what little time they truly had. “But I gave her a week tae think about me proposal. After the village raid.” He ran his hand across his chin, thinking quickly. “That was what? Five days ago now?”
“Aye,” Tristan said grimly. “Which means ye have perhaps two or three days left before she must answer, and perhaps seven days before the king arrives.”
Two days to convince Rhona to marry him willingly. Two days to transform their tentative intimacy into something that could withstand royal scrutiny. Two days to save both their futures.
Or two days tae destroy it all.
“There’s another problem,” Ian said slowly. “Even if she agrees tae marry me, the king will surely want tae speak with her privately. He’ll want tae ken if she was coerced, if she’s agreein’ out of fear or desperation.”
“Then she’ll need tae convince him that she’s nae.” Tristan said simply. “That she chose this match of her own free will.”
“And if she cannae?”
Tristan’s expression fell even further. “Then we’ll all pay the price fer Lachlan’s schemin’.”
Ian stared out at the peaceful courtyard, watching his people go about their daily routines with no idea that their entire world might be about to collapse.
Guards walked their posts, servants tended to their duties, children played in the corners where their mothers scrubbed the washing.
All of them depending on him to protect them, to ensure their future.
Tristan looked as if he wanted to argue further, but something in Ian’s expression must have warned him off. Instead, he simply nodded. “What are yer orders, me laird?”
“Double the watch. Send scouts tae monitor the roads from Edinburgh. And prepare the great hall fer a royal visit.” Ian’s voice was steady despite the churning in his gut. “If His Majesty wants tae judge me conduct, he’ll find Castle Wallace ready tae receive him properly.”
“And the lass?”
Ian was quiet for a long moment, thinking of the woman who’d given herself to him so trustingly just hours before.
“I’ll speak with her,” he said finally. “She deserves tae ken what’s comin’. And she deserves tae choose her own fate.”