Page 32 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
“Fear serves nay one when people are sufferin’,” Rhona said quietly. “Though respect fer dangerous herbs – that’s another matter entirely.”
Baird studied her for a long moment, then seemingly made a decision that pleased him. “I’m ridin’ out intae the village tomorrow mornin’. The blacksmith’s daughter burned her hand badly on one of her father’s tools. The wound needs tendin’, and I could use an extra pair of skilled hands. Would ye care tae join me?”
Rhona felt her heart lift with something approaching excitement. “Aye. I’d be honored.”
“’Tis settled then. We’ll leave after the mornin’ meal.” Baird returned to his grinding with the satisfied air of a man who’d found exactly what he’d been looking for. “And Rhona? It’s good tae have another healer in these walls. The work can be lonely otherwise.”
“Thank ye,” she said softly. “Truly.”
As she made her way back through the castle corridors, Rhona found herself walking taller than she had in months. For the first time since her capture, she would have something useful to do – something that might actually help people rather than simply sitting idle, marking time until her fate was decided.
The fact that Ian had noticed her interest in healing, that he’d thought to arrange something so perfectly suited to her – it touched her more than she cared to admit. Most captors wouldn’t trouble themselves with their prisoner’s wellbeing, yet he’d gone out of his way to ensure she has something meaningful to do.
The afternoon stretched ahead with promise, rather than emptiness, and despite everything, Rhona MacAlpin felt something dangerously close to hope bloom in her heart.
Ian wasn’t entirely surprised to find Tristan waiting for him with a stack of reports and a grim expression when he entered the solar.
“Bad news?” he asked as he settled behind his desk.
“MacPherson raids,” Tristan said without preamble. “Three more farms burnt tae ash last night. Livestock stolen, grain reserves destroyed.”
Ian’s good mood evaporated instantly. “Casualties?”
“Nae this time, me laird. But ‘tis escalatin’.” Tristan leaned forward, his face more serious than Ian had ever seen. “Lachlan’s gettin’ bolder. Testing our defenses.”
“Or tyrin’ tae provoke us intae daein’ something foolish.” Ian rubbed his temples, feeling the familiar worry and anxiety that had plagued him since taking on the title of laird. He moved to his desk and retrieved a sealed parchment bearing his personal seal. “I’ve prepared a letter tae the king about Lachlan’s false claims tae these lands.”
“Aye, me laird” Tristan accepted the document with obvious respect for its importance. “Ye can trust me tae deliver it safely.”
Ian nodded gravely. “I’ve stressed the urgency of the situation and provided evidence of Lachlan’s unlawful raids. How soon can ye leave?”
“Within the hour, if need be, me laird.”
“Dae it. The sooner the Crown understands the situation, the better. And Tristan? See that it reaches His Majesty’s handsdirectly. Nay intermediaries, nay delays. Lachlan willnae stop with raids fer long.”
“Aye, me laird.” Tristan rose, then hesitated. “Forgive me boldness, me laird but, how did it go today. With the lass?”
An uncomfortable heat crept up Ian’s neck. “Well enough. She’ll be meetin’ with Baird soon. Perhaps learnin’ from him will give her a sense of purpose here.”
“Purpose, aye.” Tristan’s knowing look made Ian squirm like a scolded child.
“Say what is on yer mind, man.” Ian commanded.
Tristan hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath before continuing. “Just… be careful me laird. Politics aside, she’s under yer protection. People will talk if…”
“If what?”
“If it becomes obvious that ye have taken an interest in her.”
Ian’s jaw clenched so hard he that his teeth ground together audibly. “Whatever feelin’s I might or might not have, is me own concern.”
“Nae when ye’re laird, they’re not.” Tristan’s voice was respectful but firm. “Everythin’ ye dae affects the clan.”
“Aye,” Ian said, his voice deadly quiet. “I ken it well enough. And ye can trust me tae dae what’s right fer the clan, as I always have.”
He waved a hand at Tristan, dismissing him. Even after his footsteps had faded away, Ian remained at his desk, staring toward the forest where they’d spent the afternoon.
He’s right, of course.
