Page 45 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
“I’m talkin’ about survival!” Duncan shot back. “How many of our people are ye willin’ tae sacrifice fer one woman’s pride?”
Ian stared back at him, his grandfather’s words echoing in his memory.
Honor means protectin’ those who cannae protect themselves.
But what happens when protecting one person meant endangering countless others?
“I’ll handle it,” he said finally, his voice rough.
“How?” Fergus pressed.
“I’ll find some way tae make her see reason.”
“And if ye cannae?”
Ian met the older man’s eyes steadily. “I will, dinnae doubt it.”
The Council dispersed with obvious reluctance, leaving Ian alone with his thoughts and the weight of impossible choices.Outside, night was falling across the Highland landscape, painting everything in shades of gray and shadow.
There has tae be a way,some middle ground between force and failure.
But as he sat in the growing darkness, that middle ground seemed as elusive as Highland mist. His Council wanted him to use threats and manipulation – but the memory of his grandfather demanded honor. There had to be something he hadn’t thought of yet, something that didn’t require him to become the very monster he’d sworn never to be.
If I am tae make her dae this, it willnae be through fear,it’ll be by showin’ her who I truly am.
The idea forming in his mind was risky, perhaps foolish even, but it was the only honest approach he could stomach. If Rhona was to choose him – truly choose him – it would have to be because she wanted to, not because she feared the alternative.
Time tae find out if there’s anything’ real between us.Time tae stop hidin’ behind duty and politics.
The weight of his Council’s expectations pressed down upon him, yet Ian found himself thinking not of clan survival or political alliances, but of the way Rhona had looked at him – trust warring with fear in her brilliant blue eyes, her hand warm and steady in his.
She’d begun to see him as more than just her captor, he was certain of it. The way she’d defended his character, the way she’d trusted him to keep her afloat in the water, the peaceful way she’d fallen asleep when he watched over her – all of it spoke of something real growing between them. Something that went far beyond the political machinations that had thrust them together.
But would that fragile connection survive what he might have to do, should all else fail? What if he was forced to present marriage as the only choice, if circumstances left him no room for the courting he’d planned. She would most likely see it as another manipulation designed to serve his clan’s interest rather than honor what was developing naturally between them.
The thought of breaking and losing her trust – of seeing that growing warmth in her eyes turn back to hatred – made his chest ache in ways that had everything to do with his increasingly complicated feelings toward the woman who’d somehow managed to capture his heart while he’d been trying to save his clan.
Evening fell across Castle Wallace like a tartan plaid, soft and enveloping, bringing with it the kind of restless energy that made Rhona pace her chamber like a caged wildcat. She’d tried reading by candlelight, tried focusing on her notes from Baird, tried everything she could think of to settle her mind, but nothing seemed to work.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Ian’s chest rising and falling beneath her hands, felt the heat of his skin, remembered the way his breathing had changed when she’d touched him. The memory was driving her to distraction, and she was beginning to wonder if, between that and the nightmares, she would ever sleep peacefully again.
A soft knock on her door interrupted her reverie. “Come,” she called, expecting Moira with the evening meal.
Instead, Ian stepped into the chamber, his presence immediately filling the space with that commanding aura that seemed to follow him wherever he went. He looked different somehow – less formal, more relaxed, as if he’d shed some of his lairdly responsibilities along with his formal attire.
“What can I dae fer ye?” she asked, proud that her voice remained steady despite the way her pulse had jumped erratically at the sight of him.
“I want ye tae come with me.”
“Where?”
“Bring yer cloak – ‘tis cool outside.”
Rhona stared at him, looking for some hint of his intentions. “And if I refuse?”
Ian’s lips quirked in a subtle smile. “Then I’ll have tae admit defeat and retreat tae me chambers like a wounded hound.”
The admission surprised her. “Ye willnae order me tae come?”
