Page 33 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
Every action he took, every decision he made rippled through the clan like heavy stones tossed into still water.
The sound of the dinner horn echoing through the castle cut through his reverie. Tonight, there would be the Council to face, questions to answer, and the ever-present weight of leadership to bear.
But, for a few perfect hours by a hidden waterfall, none of that had mattered. And regardless of everything, despite the politics and the danger and the impossible circumstances, for the first time in a very long time, Ian found himself looking forward to what tomorrow might bring.
CHAPTER TEN
“Ye’re in fer a real treat tonight, me lady. Our cook’s quite talented with venison.”
Rhona looked up from her barely touched plate to find Fergus MacDougall, Ian’s senior advisor studying her with the predatory focus of a hawk eyeing field mice.
She’d known this moment would come eventually – the careful scrutiny, the weighing and measuring of her worth as a potential bride like livestock at market day. But she hadn’t expected it quite yet.
They’re all in on it.
She suddenly realized it with growing unease as she caught the meaningful glances passing between the older men – the same looks she’d seen exchanged between her father and his advisors when discussing advantageous matches for his daughters.
“Aye, ‘tis quite good,” Rhona replied carefully, though her appetite had vanished entirely.
Ian sat at the head of the table, deep in conversation with a weathered man she didn’t recognize, but she could feel his occasional glances He’d changed into his finest clothing for the evening – a shirt of cream-colored linen that emphasized the sharp angles of his face, and a kilt of deep blue and black plaid that marked him unmistakably as clan chief.
He looks like raw power wrapped in Highland wool.
Her pulse quickened at the sight of him.
“’Tis our good fortune tae have such accomplished company,” Duncan MacLeod said from across the table, his thin face creased in what might have been supposed to be a smile. “A lady of yer… talents… could bring much worth tae our clan.”
Something in his tone made the hair on Rhona’s neck prickle with warning. “Me talents?”
“Och, we’ve heard all about yer healin’ skills,” Hamish Fraser chimed in, leaning forward with the intensity of a hound on a scent. “Ye certainly seem tae have made an impression on Baird. He speaks highly of yer knowledge.”
“Aye,” Duncan chimed in. “And Baird’s nae one tae dish out compliments.”
“’Tis kind of him,” Rhona said, her voice growing cooler.
“Indeed,” Fergus nodded sagely, stroking his gray beard. “A lass with yer healin’ skills would be most welcome here. Quite valuable tae the right clan.”
“Valuable,” she repeated, the word sitting bitterly on her tongue. Around the hall, conversations continued as normal – warriors sharing tales of recent hunts, servants moving quietly between tables with pitchers of ale, the comfortable sounds of a clan at dinner. But here, at this table, she felt like prey being circled by wolves in Highland colors.
They’re not even tryin’ tae be subtle about it.
Rhona forced her expression to remain neutral while her mind reeled. She set down her goblet of wine with measured precision, her spine straightening as she prepared for battle. “Welcome, ye say?”
“Aye,” Duncan’s smile grew wider, though it never quite reached his eyes. “A place here. Permanent. With all the perks that come with it.”
From the corner of her eye, Rhona saw Ian set down his goblet carefully, his conversation ending abruptly, and now his full attention fixed on their table. Even without looking directly at him, she could feel the weight of his stare, could sense the sudden tension in his powerful frame.
“Perks,” she said aloud, savoring the way the word made Duncan shift uncomfortably in his seat. “How generous of ye tae think of me comfort.”
Hamish cleared his throat nervously. “We only mean tae say that a woman of yer… refinement… might find our clan more welcomin’ than she initially expected.”
“Refinement?” Rhona almost laughed at the absurdity of it. “Ye flatter me.”
“’Tis nae flattery when its truth,” Fergus said earnestly. “A lass with yer healin’ skills, yer intelligence…” his eyes flicked briefly toward Ian before returning to her face, “Such qualities would be… appreciated here.”
“What exactly are ye suggestin’?” she asked carefully.
The men exchanged glances like conspirators dividing stolen loot. Hamish cleared his throat. “Well, ye see, me lady, with the clan in its current… precarious state, we simply hoped ye might consider–”
