Page 49 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
Rhona watched the interplay between the two men, noting how naturally Ian commanded respect without demanding it. Even the young soldiers had straightened at his presence, their earlier nervous energy now channeled into focused attention. Therewas something about his particular brand of leadership that drew people to him like iron fillings to a lodestone – a quality that made her wonder what manner of laird he would have become if circumstances had been different.
Like if he weren’t holdin’ me prisoner.
Though the thought felt oddly less convincing than it had before.
“Right then,” Ian continued, moving to secure his saddlebags. “Let’s be off. I want tae–”
His words were cut short by the thundering approach of a lone rider, his horse lathered with sweat and his face grim as a gravedigger’s shovel. The messenger’s Wallace colors were mud-splattered and torn – speaking of a hard ride through difficult terrain.
“Me laird!” the man called, pulling up sharp beside Ian and Dubh. “Urgent word from the northern watch!”
Ian’s entire demeanor shifted, his relaxed posture instantaneously giving way to sharp-edged alertness. He took the sealed parchment with steady hands, but Rhona caught the way his shoulders tensed as he ripped at the wax seal. She watched his face as he read, noting how his jaw tightened and his eyes grew cold as stone. Whatever news the message contained, it wasn’t welcome.
“MacPherson?” Baird asked quietly.
“Aye.” Ian’s voice carried a note of grim resignation as he folded the parchment. “Lachlan’s requested a meetin’. Says he has information about clan movements that might be mutually beneficial.”
“D’ye believe him, me laird?” One of the young soldiers asked, his voice cracking like a twig underfoot.
Ian made a sound that might have either been a laugh, or an amused grunt. “Most likely a trap.” He said, his strategic mind clearly working through possibilities like a chess master contemplating his next move. “But the kind of trap I cannae afford tae ignore. If he truly has information about other clan alliances…”
Rhona felt something cold and hard settle in her stomach, like a stone dropped into still water. “Ye need tae stay.”
Ian’s green eyes met hers, and she saw frustration flicker through them briefly before being carefully masked again. “Aye. I cannae risk clan security on a village visit, much as I’d prefer tae be ridin’ with ye.”
The admission surprised her – not just his words, but the genuine regret in his voice, warm as honey despite the morning chill. When had his presence started to feel like safety rather than imprisonment? When precisely had she begun looking forward to their time together?
“Of course.” She said, forcing her voice to remain steady despite the unexpected disappointment settling in her chest. “We’ll manage well enough without ye.”
“I ken ye will.” Ian’s gaze lingered on her face as if he were memorizing it for a portrait. “Baird will keep ye safe, and the lads ken their duty. But Rhona…” he stepped closer, lowering his voice until it was barely more than a whisper between them. “Stay close tae the village center. Dinnae wander off alone, nay matter how safe things may seem.”
The protective note in his voice sent another wave of warmth spiraling through her even as his words raised new worries. “Ye think there might be trouble?”
“I think the timing’s suspicious. And I think ye’re too valuable a prize fer Lachlan tae ignore if an opportunity presents itself.” Ian’s hand moved as if he wanted to touch her, then stopped just short of her arm. “Promise me. Promise ye’ll be careful.”
“Aye. I promise.” The words slipped out before she could consider them, soft and sincere in a way that made her throat tighten.
When had his concern fer her welfare started tae matter so much?
Ian nodded, then turned to address the group with the authority of a man born to be a leader. “Baird, ye’re in charge. Take the lads and see tae whatever needs dain’ in the village but keep yer wits about ye. If ye see anythin’, or anyone who daesnae belong– any sign of trouble – send word immediately and get back tae the castle.”
“Aye, me laird.” Baird’s tone was grave but confident. “We’ll nae take unnecessary risks.”
“Good.” Ian swung back up onto Dubh with practiced ease, then looked down at Rhona one final time. “Enjoy yer day, lass. And remember–”
“Stay close and be careful.” She finished with a small eye-roll and a gentle, teasing smile. “I heard ye the first time.”
Something flashed across Ian’s face – amusement, perhaps, or fondness – as he muttered something in Gaelic under his breath that sounded suspiciously like an endearment wrapped in exasperation. “Bean cheanndàna.”
“Och, I’m nae less stubborn than ye, Laird Wallace.” Rhona replied without thinking, then felt her cheeks burn as she realized how easily the banter had come between them.
Ian’s smile was soft and wholehearted, transforming his face in a way that made her heart skin like a stone across water. “Ye’ll be the death of me, woman.”
Before she could come up with a response that wouldn’t reveal how much that statement affected her, he was wheeling his horse around, leaving her staring after him with a maelstrom of emotions she didn’t dare examine too closely.
“Well then,” Baird said dryly, shattering her thoughts. “Shall we be off then, or daes the lady want tae stand there moonin’ after our laird a bit longer?”
Rhona’s face flamed. “I was simply… thinkin’.”
