Page 26 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
The vulnerability in his voice made her breath catch. For a moment, she saw past the laird, past the Wallace name, straight to the man who seemed as much a prisoner of his circumstances as she was
When she spoke, her voice was quieter, but no less determined. “Let me go outside.”
Ian blinked, clearly thrown. “What?”
“Outside. Really outside, nae just the garden with guards breathin’ down me neck like huntin’ hounds.” She gestured toward the window where the sun and the rolling hills of the Highlands beckoned. “Let me feel the sun on me face withoutstone walls around me. Let me remember what it’s like tae nae be caged.”
The request was simple, yet profound. Freedom – not permanent escape, but a taste of what she’d lost. The chance to feel human again, rather than a pawn moved around on some political chess board. Of all the things she could have asked for, this clearly wasn’t what Ian had expected. Rhona watched surprise flicker across his features, followed by something that might have been understanding.
“Ye want tae go ridin’?”
“I want tae go anywhere that isnae here.” Her voice almost cracked on the words, and she bit her lip. “Just fer a few hours. Let me pretend I’m nae something’ tae be bartered, nae a problem tae be solved. Let me pretend I’m just Rhona. And maybe… maybe I can stop treatin’ ye like me enemy.”
Ian studied her face, and Rhona held her breath. The smart thing would be to refuse. His Council would call him mad. Rhona’s skin prickled under that intense green gaze, feeling as if he could peer past all her carefully constructed defenses to the longing she dared not acknowledge.
“Alright.”
Rhona’s eyes widened. “Alright?”
“But I have conditions.” Ian held up a hand before hope could bloom across her face. “Ye give me yer word ye willnae try tae escape. Not because I doubt yer courage, but because I need tae trust that this gesture willnae be the very thing that destroys what fragile understandin’ we’ve built.”
“Me word?” She laughed, but there was no humor in it, only the bitter sound of someone who’d learned that promises were often worth less than the parchment they were written on. “What’s tae stop me from lyin’? What’s tae stop me from promisin’ anything’ just tae taste freedom again?”
“Because if ye lie tae me now lass…” Ian’s voice went soft, almost dangerous. “Then ye really are just another MacAlpin who falsely thinks all Wallace honor is worth less than Highland mud.”
The barb hit its mark, and Rhona’s cheeks flamed. But along with the sting came something else – a grudging respect for a man who understood that honor was not a luxury to be cast aside when convenient, but the foundation upon which all trust must be built.
“Ye fight dirty.”
“I fight tae win.” Ian’s smile was sharp as winter wind. “Dae I have yer word or nae?”
Rhona weighted her options, her fingers twisting almost imperceptibly in her skirts as competing loyalties warred within her. The smart play would be to lie, to promise anything for achance at freedom. But something in Ian’s eyes – hope, perhaps, or the fragile beginnings of trust – made the deception stick in her throat like ash.
She thought of her sisters, of the worry they must be feeling, of the empty chair at their father’s table. The thought of the dreams that had haunted her sleep those past months – visions of clear sky and the wind against her skin, and the feeling of being truly alive. She looked at the man standing before her, who somehow managed to be both captor and protector, enemy and… something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on just yet.
“Ye have it,” she said finally, the words feeling heavier than they should. “I willnae try tae escape. Today.”
“Today,” Ian repeated, and Rhona saw warmth flicker in his expression. “Careful, lass. That almost sounds like ye might be willin’ tae spend more time in me company.”
“Dinnae flatter yerself.” Rhona said, despite not quite being able to hide her own smile. Even as she spoke the words, she wondered about the truth of them. When precisely had his presence stopped feeling like a threat and begun to feel like… possibility? “I just want tae feel the wind in me hair again.”
“Then come on.” Ian gestured toward the door with something akin to eagerness. “Let’s get ye properly mounted before I can change me mind and remember all of the reasons this is complete madness.”
The moment Rhona stepped into the stables, her shoulders dropped and she drew in a deep breath that seemed to reach her very soul. The familiar scents of hay and leather and horses filled her lungs like a benediction, bringing memories of happier times at her father’s keep, when her only concern was which mount to choose for an afternoon ride, rather than which words might seal her fate. For the first time in months, she could breathe properly.
The warmth of the stable enveloped her like an embrace after eternal weeks of cold stone walls. Here, surrounded by the gentle sounds of horses shifting in their stalls and the soft fissile of hay, she felt something ease in her chest that she hadn’t even realized was clenched tight. The earthy scents of well-tended animals and fresh straw reminded her of simpler times in MacAlpin lands.
The stable was bustling with quiet activity – grooms tending to their charges, the soft nickering of horses, the rustle of straw underfoot. It was a world she understood, one where politics mattered less than the bond between rider and mount.
“Saints above,” she breathed, stopping dead as she caught sight of the massive black stallion in the nearest stall. “That’s nae a horse, that’s a bloody giant.”
Ian’s laughter echoed off the stable walls, rich and warm and utterly infectious – the sound of a man freed – however briefly itmight be – from the crushing weight of responsibility. “Ay, he’s big, I’ll grant ye that.”
“Big?” Rhona circled the stallion, her blue eyes wide with awe and appreciation. The beast was truly magnificent, all raw power and muscle and barely contained energy. “Ian, I’ve seen smaller cottages. He looks like he could charge through a castle wall and emerge without so much as a scratch. How the devil dae ye even get on him without a ladder?”
“Practice,” Ian said, moving to stroke the horse’s neck with obvious affection and the same gentle confidence she’d begun to associate with all his actions – controlled strength slightly tempered by unexpected tenderness. “And very long legs.”
“Show off.” Rhona quipped, but she was grinning now, the first genuine expression of delight she’d allowed herself since…
