Page 40 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
“I want tae.”
Rhona settled back against her pillows, her breathing gradually steadying as the immediate terror of the nightmare faded.
“Ian?” she said softly.
“Aye?”
“Thank ye. Fer… fer seein’ what I need.”
“Rest now.” He murmured. “We can talk more tomorrow.”
Ian watched dutifully as exhaustion finally claimed her, her breathing deepening into the rhythm of natural sleep. But he didn’t move from his post. Instead, he settled in for the long hours until dawn, keeping vigil against the demons that threatened to disturb her sleep once more.
Outside the chamber window, the night sky was barely beginning to lighten with the first hints of the approaching sunrise. But Ian barely noticed, his attention focused solely on the woman who slept peacefully at last, and with the certainty that whatever came next, he could never again think of her as merely a political pawn or a means to an end in his clan’s survival.
And somewhere in the quiet hours just before dawn, as he listened to her steady breathing and felt the weight of her trust like a sacred charge, Ian Wallace realized that somehow, somewhere between discovering her in that dungeon and this moment, something profound had changed between them – in ways that would make the choices ahead infinitely more complicated, and infinitely more important than he could ever dare to contemplate.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Right then, lads, gather ‘round close so ye can see properly.”
Rhona’s voice carried across the small training area behind the castle walls, where Baird had arranged for her to help instruct the young soldiers in basic wound care. The morning sun cast long shadows across the courtyard as nearly two dozen recruits formed a loose circle around her, their faces a spectrum of eager attention and nervous uncertainty.
Merciful heavens, they looked so young, she thought, studying the collection of farm boys and village lads who’d been conscripted into serving the clan.
Most of them probably havenae seen more blood than a pig bein’ butchered.
“Now, the first thing ye need tae ken about battlefield medicine,” she continued, settling into the rhythm of teaching, “is that speed matters more than perfection.”
“A quick, messy bandage that stops the bleedin’ is worth ten perfect ones applied tae a corpse,” added Baird.
A few nervous chuckles rippled through the group, and Rhona felt herself relaxing into the role.
“I’ll need someone tae act as our patient fer demonstratin’,” she said, scanning the eager faces. “Any volunteers?”
A sandy-haired lad of perhaps around seventeen stepped forward immediately, his chest puffing with pride at the possibility of being chosen. “I’ll dae it, me lady.”
“Excellent. What’s yer name, lad?”
“Alec, me lady. Alec Fraser.”
“Well then, Alec, if ye’ll just–”
“Och, I dinnae think so.”
Ian’s voice cut across the courtyard with the sharp authority of a newly sharpened blade, causing every head to turn toward where he stood near the weapon rack. Rhona hadn’t even noticed his approach, but now he dominated her attention like a force ofnature given human form. His green eyes were fixed on young Alec with a stare that could have frozen even the strongest of Highland streams in midsummer.
“Me laird?” Alec’s voice cracked slightly, confusion clearly written across his boyish features.
“Find someone else,” Ian said, his tone leaving no room for dispute as he stepped closer to their circle.
Rhona’s spine stiffened, her hands clenching at her sides. “And why exactly should we find someone else? The lad’s already volunteered.”
“Because I said so.”
The words drifted in the crisp morning air between them, loaded with masculine authority that made Rhona’s chin lift in defiance.
Och, ye arrogant arse…
