Page 17 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
For a moment, Ian remained motionless, his head bowed as if carrying the weight of the entire world on his impressive shoulders. Then, as if sensing her gaze, he looked up directly at her window.
Even from that distance, the intensity of his stare made her breath catch. For a heartbeat, once again neither of them moved, the space between them charged with unspoken awareness. Then, Ian raised one hand in a gesture that might have been greeting or acknowledgement, and Rhona panicked, stepping back from the window, her heart racing.
He kent I was watchin’,but how long has he been aware?
The thought that he’d been performing his duties while knowing she’d been observing him sent an unexpected chill through her body. Had he been showing off for her benefit? The idea was both flattering and unsettling.
A soft knock interrupted her racing thoughts. “Come,” she called, moving away from the window.
Moira entered with a tray of bread, cheese and dried fruit. “Thought ye might be hungry, me lady. ‘Tis past noon.”
“Thank ye,” Rhona accepted the food gratefully, realizing she’d been so absorbed in watching Ian that she’d completely forgotten her own hunger. “The training looked intense this mornin’.”
“Och, aye.” Moira’s face lit up with enthusiasm. “The lads are already talkin’ about how different it is with the new laird.”
“He seems… capable.”
“Aye me lady,” Moira said firmly. “He’s givin’ those lads a confidence they never had before. Me braither, Allistair, is one of the recruits, and I reckon he’ll be comin’ home taenight standin’ taller than I’ve ever seen him.”
Rhona felt something constrict in her chest at the pride in the girl’s voice. It was one thing to acknowledge Ian’s skill as a warrior, quite another to see the genuine impact he was having on the people under his protection.
“Will there be anytin’ else, me lady?”
“Actually…” Rhona hesitated, then forged ahead. “Tell me more – just between us – about what the people think of their new laird. Honestly.”
Moira hesitated, then glanced toward the door and leaned closer as if sharing a confidence. “They’re hopeful fer the first time in years, me lady. Douglas Wallace ruled through violence and fear, but Laird Ian… he makes people want tae follow him. There’s a difference.”
After Moira left, Rhona returned to the window, though she kept herself partially hidden behind the curtain. The courtyard below was empty now, but she could still picture Ian moving among his men with that combination of strength and gentleness that seemed to define him.
What kind of man is he, really?
The question that had plagued since their first encounter felt more urgent now. Everything she’d been taught about Clan Wallace spoke of cruelty and ambition, yet the man she’d witnessed stepping into the leadership role now bore no resemblance to those tales.
The afternoon stretched before her with nothing but her own thoughts for company. She tried to rest, but sleep eluded her. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Ian’s hands guiding a young recruit’s sword work, or the way his shirt had clung to his vast chest, or the intensity in his green eyes when he’d looked up at her window.
This is madness.Ye’re a prisoner here, nae some lovesick maiden moonin’ over her captor.
But even as she tried to dismiss her feelings, she couldn’t forget the way he’d promised to help her. The way he’d spoken her name with such gentleness when revealing the truth of her captivity. The heat that flared in his eyes when he looked at her, as if she was something precious rather than merely inconvenient, or a pawn to be played.
“Yer form’s improvin’, lad.”
Ian’s voice carried across the training yard as he watched young Allistair execute a proper defensive stance. The morning sun glinted off the recruit’s blade, and Ian felt a flicker of pride at the transformation in these farm boys turning soldiers.
“That’s enough fer the mornin’,” Ian called out as the sun climbed higher. “Rest, eat, then mounted combat after noon.”
The recruits dispersed with grateful murmurs. Ian remained in the yard, wiping sweat from his brow as he surveyed their progress.
“Nae bad fer a bunch of farmer’s sons.”
Ian turned to find Tristan approaching, his advisor’s face thoughtful.
“They’re learnin’,” Ian agreed, rolling his shoulders. “Give them time, they might actually become dangerous.”
“Aye, well… perhaps ye won’t be as bad at this leadership thing as ye thought, me laird,” Tristan said, genuine surprise in his voice. “Twenty years I’ve been guardin’ these walls. Never seen recruits respond the way these lads dae tae ye.”
Ian raised an eyebrow. “High praise from a guard.”
“I mean it. Most lairds just bark orders, but ye actually show them what tae dae. Makes a difference.” Tristan shifted uncomfortably. “Me laird, there’s somethin’ else. About the prisoner.”
