Page 38 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
A pause, then, “Aye.”
He found her sitting by the window, still fully dressed despite the late hour. The sleeping draught Baird had provided sat untouched on the small table beside her bed.
“How was yer day?” Ian asked, settling onto the chair across from her.
“Good,” she said simply, though something in her voice suggested surprise at the admission. “Better than I expected.”
“Baird speaks highly of ye.”
A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “He’s a good teacher, and an even better healer. He’s patient with questions, willin’ tae share what he kens…” she paused, then added more quietly, “It felt good tae be useful again. Tae help, instead of just… existin’.”
The pain in those last words made Ian’s chest tighten. “Ye ken ye’re more than that, Rhona.”
“Am I?” she looked at him directly for the first time since he’d entered. “Some days I feel like a ghost in these damned walls.”
“I owe ye an apology,” Ian said carefully. “Fer yesterday. Fer what me Council said, and fer me part in it.”
“Dae ye?” she turned back toward the window, her profile etched in moonlight. “Which part are ye apologizin’ fer, exactly?”
“All of it. They had nae right tae speak tae ye that way, and I should have stopped them immediately.”
“Aye,” she said simply. “Ye should have.”
Ian studied her profile for a moment, noting the exhaustion in the set of her shoulders. “Baird tells me ye did well today. With the healin’.”
A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “It felt good tae be useful again.”
“He also mentioned ye seemed… troubled. Are ye all right, lass?” Ian’s voice gentled with concern.
Rhona was quite for a long moment. “As well as can be expected, I suppose.”
Ian simply nodded. “I should let ye rest,” Ian said y, rising from his chair.
“Aye. Thank ye fer… fer checkin’ on me.”
Ian nodded and moved toward the door, but as his hand touched the latch, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, made him pause. Perhaps it was the way she’d looked when she’d spoken of feeling like a ghost, or perhaps it was the sight of the untouched sleeping draught waiting patiently next to her bed.
“Ewan, Rupert,” he said quietly as he stepped into the corridor. “Take the night off. Both of ye.”
The guards exchanged confused glances. “Me laird? Are ye sure?”
“Aye. I’ll stand watch tonight.”
“But–”
“That’s an order.” Ian’s tone brooked no argument. “Go.”
They departed with obvious reluctance, leaving Ian alone in the corridor outside Rhona’s door. He settled against the stone wall, prepared for a long night of vigilance.
For the first hour, all was quiet. It was just past midnight when he heard the first sounds from within her chamber – restless movements, the creaking of the bed ropes, and a soft murmur that might have been words. Ian straightened his spine, every one of his senses on high alert.
Och, fer the love of all the Saints, she’s havin’ a nightmare.
The sounds were muffled but clearly distressed. He’d suspected for a while that she’d been having troubled sleep. All the signs were there – the shadows under her eyes, the way she sometimes seemed distant – but she’d never spoken of it directly.
His protective instincts roared from within as he realized how little he truly knew about what tormented her, and the thought of her suffering alone suddenly made his chest tighten with frustration.
The sounds grew more agitated. Bedclothes rustled as if she were fighting against them. Then, a low, whimpering moanmade his blood run cold. He strained his ears, and then heard it, sharp and clear in the nightly silence – a gasp of pure terror.
