Page 53 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
“Assert me rights,” Ian’s laugh was bitter. “What dae ye think, Tristan?”
Tristan blinked, clearly caught off guard by the directness of the question. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, and when he spoke, his voice was gentle, yet firm. “I guess they see opportunity slippin’ away while ye honor scruples they consider… impractical.”
“Och, well… tell them I’ll meet with them later,” he said, though the words tasted like ash in his mouth. “We have more pressin’ concerns now.”
“Aye, me laird. Though… if I may speak freely, they’re getting’ restless. They think ye’re bein’ too soft about it.”
Ian turned from the window, his green eyes flashing with dangerous fire. “Too soft? They think keepin’ a woman from her family fer three months, holdin’ her prisoner against her will, and pressurin’ her intae marriage issoft?”
Tristan held up his hands in a gesture of peace. “I’m only tellin’ ye what I hear, me laird. They see the MacCraith-MacAlpin alliance and they worry about bein’ left behind. They think if ye dinnae act soon–”
“I ken what they think.” Ian said, the words coming out sharp and harsh before he forced himself to moderate his tone. Tristan was only the bearer of bad news, and a loyal one at that. “But I’ll nae force her intae anythin’. If she chooses tae marry me, it’ll be because she’s makin’ the choice freely.”
“And if she continues tae refuse, me laird?”
The question hung in the air between them, rancid like smoke from a funeral pyre. Ian had been avoiding thinking about that possibility too much, but it lurked in the back of his mind like a rabid wolf waiting to strike. If Rhona refused him, what then? Could he really just let her go, knowing it would most definitely mean war between their clans? Would he be able to sacrifice his people’s safety for one woman’s freedom?
When did her welfare start matterin’ more than clan politics?Since when is protectin’ one stubborn lass more important than years of careful strategy?
“Then we’ll face that choice head on when we come tae it, as we dae with everythin’,” he said finally.
A sharp knock on the solar door interrupted his dark thoughts. “Enter,” he called, grateful for the distraction.
Duncan MacLeod stepped into the room, his thin face grave as a tombstone. “Me laird, forgive the interruption, but we’ve received word from the village watch.”
Ian’s heart stuttered like a horse missing its step. “What kind of word?”
“Raiders, me laird. Attackin’ Kilcairn.” Duncan’s voice was carefully neutral, but Ian caught a flicker of something in his eyes – calculation, perhaps, or opportunity. “The messenger says they’re tryin’ tae burn the grain stores.”
For a split second, Ian felt only mild concern. Village raids were becoming depressingly common, and while he regretted any loss of life or property, his men could handle a simple attack. “Send a patrol,” he said. “Twenty men should be sufficient tae–”
“Me laird,” Duncan dared, his voice carrying a note that made Ian’s blood run cold. “As ye ken, Baird and the MacAlpin lass are in the village. They went this mornin’ with the healin’ supplies.”
Ian’s world titled sideways, as if the very ground beneath his feet had suddenly shifted like loose scree on a mountainside. He had become so distracted with Lachlan’s schemes and the Council’s ever-growing pressure that it had slipped his mind entirely that they had gone to the village.Rhona.She was there, in the middle of a raid, with only a handful of young soldiers and an ageing healer to protect her.
The realization hit him like a cannon blast to the torso. Every instinct he’d developed over years of warfare screamed of danger, but this was different – this was personal in a way that made rational thought nearly impossible.
“How many raiders?” His voice came out deadly quiet, the calm before a Highland storm.
“The messenger wasnae certain, me laird. Perhaps a dozen. Maybe more.”
A dozen men against six young soldiers.
The odds were grim enough to make Ian’s chest tighten with something approaching panic. This wasn’t a random raid for supplies or coin. This was Lachlan MacPherson making a deliberate move, using the chaos of battle to achieve what diplomacy couldn’t.
“The grain stores,” Ian said slowly, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. “They’re nae after grain. They’re after cover.”
Understanding dawned in Tristan’s eyes. “A distraction.”
“Aye. And a bloody good one at that. Set fire tae the stores, create chaos and confusion, then grab what they really came fer while everyone’s fightin’ the flames…” Ian’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. “Lachlan’s been plannin’ this.”
He means tae take her.
The realization hit Ian like an axe to the chest, stealing his breath and sending rage coursing through his veins like molten steel. Of course Lachlan would strike now, when Ian was distracted and Rhona was vulnerable and away from the castle’s protection.The bastard had probably been watching, waiting for exactly this opportunity.
“Tristan!” Ian barked, his voice cracking like a whip in the solar. “Gather every warrior available. Full battle gear. We ride immediately. And get me Killian!”
“Aye, me laird!” Tristan spun on his heel and raced for the door, recognizing the deadly urgency in his leader’s tone.
