Page 9 of The Laird’s Vengeful Desire (The Highland Sisters’ Secret Desires #2)

“I wondered when ye’d finally piece it together,” she said quietly, though her voice carried a slight tremor. “Though I suppose I’m surprised it took this long.”

“Aye.” Ian’s voice was gentle, but implacable. “Second daughter of Laird MacAlpin. Me Council surmised who ye were from the moment Douglas’s men brought ye here.”

A shadow crossed her features, and she moved toward the window with deliberate slowness, as if buying herself time to think. “So ye’ve kent all along then,” she said, her back to him.”

“I didnae, but daes it matter?” Ian moved deliberately, slowly, as if approaching a frightened beast. “What matters is that I ken the truth now. And we need tae discuss what that means.”

Rhona’s breathing had gone shallow, rapid.

“This changes everythin’,” Her voice was barely audible.

“Ye ken what clan I’m from, what me faither…

” she pressed her hands against her stomach as if she might be sick.

“Sweet baby Jesus, me family. If word gets out that I’ve been here fer three months… the questions they’ll ask…”

“Have ye been dishonored? We can tell them the truth, everything that has happened.” Ian asked, his voice kind.

“It daesnae matter what’s true,” she said, her voice breaking slightly.

“What matters is what people will believe. A MacAlpin daughter, missin’ fer weeks, held by Wallace men?

” She pressed her hands against her stomach as if she might be sick.

“The rumors alone will be enough. Me faither will be forced tae defend our family’s honor, and me sisters…

even if me honor is intact, the scandal will follow them. ”

“Rhona–”

“And if ye dinnae let me go,” she looked up at him with dawning horror. “If ye keep me here now that ye ken who I am… this isnae about protection anymore, is it? This is about politics. About usin’ me.”

“I would never–”

“Wouldnae?” She pushed away from the window, pacing the floor like a caged wildcat. “I’m the daughter of yer enemy. Me clan and yers have been feuding ferever! Why wouldnae ye use me? Force some kind of alliance, or ransom or…” Her voice broke. “Or revenge fer whatever me faither did.”

“Rhona stop.” Ian caught her arm as she paced past him, his grip gentle, but firm. “Look at me, lass.”

She did, and the fear in her eyes made his chest ache. This was what he’d dreaded – the moment when she realized that him knowing her identity changed everything.

“I’ll admit, it complicates things,” he admitted. “But I’m nae going tae use ye fer revenge or politics. That’s nae who I am.”

“Ye expect me tae believe that?” she whispered. “How can I trust anythin’ ye say when ye’ve been lying tae me? Pretendin’ ye didnae ken who I was?”

“I only learned this mornin’. From me Council.” Ian’s thumb stroked gently over her arm, trying to comfort her through the thick wool. “And I came here immediately tae tell ye the truth.”

“The truth,” She pulled away from his touch. “What’s the truth, Laird Wallace? What daes yer Council want ye tae dae with the MacAlpin daughter ye’ve been keepin’ prisoner?”

Ian’s jaw tightened. How could he tell her they wanted him to force her into marriage? That some of his men saw her as a political bargaining tool and nothing more?

“They… they have suggestions,” he said carefully.

“What kind of suggestions?” When he didn’t answer immediately, her eyes narrowed. “What dae they want from me?”

“It daesnae matter what they want. What matters is what I choose tae dae.”

“And what’s that?”

Ian looked into her terrified, defiant face and made a decision that went against every piece of political advice he’d ever received.

“Help ye,” he said simply.

Rhona stared at him for a long moment, searching his face for deception. “Ye would dae that? Even kennin’ who I am? Even kennin’ what it might cost yer clan?”

“Aye.”

“Why?”

Because there is something deep inside me that feels drawn tae ye. I feel compelled tae ensure yer safety. The thought of ye being hurt or dishonored makes me want tae tear the world apart with me bare hands.

“Because it’s the right thing tae dae,” he said instead.

She was quiet for a long moment, tears glittering in her eyes. Then, as if a dam had burst, the words came tumbling out.

“Then help me. Me sister,” she said, her voice breaking. “Isolde. She went tae a ball without permission, chasin’ dreams of catchin’ some laird’s attention. She’d been gone fer days when I went tae look fer her, I was worried sick. I thought if I could find her quickly, we could avoid scandal.”

Ian’s chest tightened at the anguish in her voice.

“Aye. And I never found her.” Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. “How long have I been here? Since ye seem tae ken everythin’ else.”

Ian’s heart sank. In all the shock of her identity being revealed, he’d hoped she might not ask this question again, but she deserved the truth.

“How long dae ye think?” he asked gently.

“I think… weeks. Maybe two months.” But uncertainty flickered in her voice as she looked toward the window again, barely seeing the bare branches, the gray winter sky.

“Look outside, lass. Really look.”

Rhona turned toward the window, and Ian watched as the horrible realization dawned on her face. “The leaves… they were turnin’ when I left,” she whispered. “It was autumn.”

“Aye.”

“And now ‘tis…” she pressed her hand to the glass, her breath fogging it. “’tis winter…”

“Three months,” Ian said softly. “Ye’ve been here about three months, I reckon.”

Rhona went utterly still, the blood draining from her face as the reality hit her like a physical blow. Three months. Three months stolen from her life.

“Three months…” her voice was hollow.

“I’m sorry. Truly.” Ian said, watching her struggle to process the information.

“Me family…” fresh tears pooled in her eyes. “They must think me dead. And Isolde – what if she never came home? What if we’re both…” She stopped herself, refusing to voice the terrible possibility out loud.

Ian saw her hands clench into fists at her sides, watcher her spine straighten as she gathered her strength. Even devastated, she wouldn’t show weakness in front of him. “We’ll find out about yer sister,” he said quietly. “I’ll send me tae make inquiries.”

“And me?” She asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil he could see in her eyes. “What happens now?”

His throat tightened. How could he tell her his Council wanted to force her into marriage? That knowing her identity made everything infinitely more complicated than he had make it seem? She would not fall for another vague answer, Ian knew that much.

“The Council’s discussin’ it,” he said carefully. “But I stand by me word tae help ye. Ye’ll nae be harmed so long as yer here, ye have me word.”

“Protection again.” Bitterness crept back into her voice. “Pretty words fer captivity.”

“Rhona–”

“Nay.” She stepped back, angrily wiping tears. “If I’m a prisoner, just say so. If I’m a hostage, admit it. But dinnae insult me by callin’ it somethin’ else.”

“Ye’re right,” he said after a moment. “I’ve been softening the truth. Ye deserve better.” He met her gaze directly. “Ye are in captivity here, Rhona MacAlpin. But ye’re under me protection too, whether ye want it or nae. And I guarantee I willnae let anyone harm ye.”

The honesty seemed to catch her off guard. She searched his face, looking for something. “Why?” she asked quietly. “Why should a Wallace care what happens tae a MacAlpin?”

Ian’s jaw tightened. “Because ye’re innocent in conflicts ye didnae create,” he said. “Because ye’ve suffered enough fer Douglas’s crimes. And because I willnae be the kind of man who lets harm come tae those under his care, regardless of clan.”

Her expression softened slightly. “Even if it brings ye trouble?”

“Especially then.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken truths. “I should let ye rest,” Ian said.

“Me laird.” She stopped him at the door. “Will ye truly search fer news of me family. Fer Isolde?”

“Aye,” he promised. “Riders go out today. Whatever answers exist, I’ll find them.”

“Thank ye.”

“Ye’re welcome. ‘Tis the least I can dae. And please, call me Ian.”

Then he left, closing the door softly. In the corridor, he leaned against the cold stone wall, scrubbing his face with his fingers.

What a mess. He was in possession of a MacAlpin daughter whose very presence could spark war. His Council wanted a forced marriage, while his conscience demanded honor.

God help me, she’s like a splinter in me sword hand – small and sharp, diggin’ in exactly where I cannae afford the distraction.