Page 47 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
“And then ye fixed it.” Ian’s voice held gentle amusement. “With skill that impressed even me, and I’ve seen plenty of battlefield healers.”
Rhona felt warmth spread through her chest at his praise. “What about ye? What were ye like as a wee lad?”
Ian was quiet for so long that she thought he might not answer. When he finally spoke, his voice carried the weight of old pain.
“Angry, mostly. After me faither died, I felt like the entire world had betrayed me.” He paused, staring up at the stars. “I was only twelve, but suddenly, I was expected tae be the man of the house. Tae take care of me maither and protect our lands. I was furious that death had stolen me childhood.”
“That’s a heavy burden fer such young shoulders.”
“Aye. Too heavy, as it turned out. When me grandfaither finally came fer me, I was more than ready tae leave.” Ian’s laugh held no humor. “’Course, that brought its own problems. Bein’ the grandson of a disgraced Wallace made us outcasts wherever we went.”
“Is that why ye hated the clan?”
“Partly. Me grandfaither told me about what they’d done, the cruelties they’d committed in the name of power. I swore I’d never be like them.” he turned his head to look at her. “Strange how fate works, isn’t it? Here I am, laird of the very clan I despised.”
“But ye’re nae like them,” Rhona said with quiet conviction. “Ye could have forced me intae marriage, or worse. Instead, ye’ve treated me with more respect than I expected from any Wallace.”
They fell silent again, but it was a comfortable silence now, filled with the possibility of understanding rather than the tension of conflict. Rhona found herself studying Ian’s profile in the moonlight, noting the steady way his chest rose and fell with each breath, the relaxed set of his shoulders that spoke of a man finally at peace, and the gentle expression that replaced his usually stern demeanor.
He’s beautiful.And kind. And all manner of things I shouldnae be thinkin’ about.
“Rhona?” Ian’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“Aye?”
“Thank ye.”
“Fer what?”
“Fer seein’ me as more than just me name. Fer believin’ I have a heart when I’m nae always certain of it meself.”
The words hit her with unexpected force, revealing a vulnerability in him that made her chest ache with longing. Without thinking, she reached out and placed her hand over his where it rested on the blanket between them.
“Ye dae,” she said tenderly. “A good one. I can see it in how ye treat people, how ye’re rebuildin’ instead of just rulin’.”
Ian’s fingers turned beneath hers, capturing her hand in his warm grasp. Dawn found them curled together like two puzzle pieces that had finally found their perfect fit, Rhona’s head pillowed on Ian’s shoulder, his arm wrapped protectively around her waist. The morning light painted them in shades of gold and rose, transforming what might have been scandalous into something achingly beautiful
Rhona woke slowly, awareness returning in gentle waves. Warmth surrounded her, solid and reassuring, and she found herself reluctant to fully emerge from the peaceful cocoon of sleep. It took several moments for her to realize that the warmth came from Ian’s body pressed against hers, that his arm held her so close that they’d spent the night together under the stars.
Saints preserve.What on earth will people think? What daes this mean?
Ian stirred beside her, his arm tightening momentarily before he too seemed to realize their position. His eyes opened, meeting hers with an expression of wonder and something else, something more dangerous.
“Good mornin’.” He said softly.
“Ian, we–” Rhona began, but the words stuck in her throat as she took in the sight of him in the morning light.
He’s magnificent.
His hair was mussed from sleep, his shirt wrinkled, and there was a softness in his mossy-green eyes that made her heart flutter against her ribcage.
“We slept,” he finished softly. “Naethin’ more.”
“But if someone saw–”
“They’ll see what they see.” Ian’s hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing across her skin with heartbreaking tenderness. “I willnae apologize fer the best sleep I’ve had in years.”
The confession sent heat flooding through her, followed by immediate panic. This was moving too fast, becoming too real, too dangerous to her carefully guarded heart.
