Page 54 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
Ian was already moving, striding toward the door with such purpose that it made Duncan hastily step aside. “Send word tae the castle guard,” he called over his shoulder. “Full alert. If this is a distraction fer a larger attack…”
But even as he gave the orders, Ian knew his focus was fractured. Half his mind was on clan security and tactical concerns, but the other half – the half that mattered more than he cared to admit – was consumed with images of Rhona in danger, Rhona facing raiders with only her courage and stubbornness as weapons, Rhona calling his name as enemies closed in around her…
The images that flooded his mind were worse than any nightmare he’d ever had – Rhona’s eyes wide with terror, her hands bound with rope that bit into the skin, her calling his name in desperation. The thought of Lachlan getting his hands on her, of her being dragged away from everything she was just learning to trust, made Ian’s vison blur with a fury so pure it was nearly blinding.
Hold on, lass,I’m comin’ fer ye.
He took the stairs three at a time, heading for the armory. The next few minutes passed in a blur of controlled chaos. Ian strapped on his sword and dirk, grabbed his bow and a quiver of arrows, and checked his armor with the speed and efficiency of long practice. Around him, the castle erupted into activity as word spread – warriors arming themselves, horses being saddled, weapons being checked with deadly precision.
His robust hands moved automatically, but precise, muscle memory guiding him through preparations he’d made countless times before. But this time, his mind was elsewhere, weighing the odds that were stacked against them. Kilcairn was close to Castle Wallace, but a hard ride – would they get there in time, or would they find only smoking ruins and the tracks of horses heading toward MacPherson lands?
The thought of Alec Fraser and the other lads who’d gone with Rhona and Baird made his chest tighten with dread. They were barely more than boys, eager and well-meaning, but hardly seasoned warriors. They’d certainly protect her as well they could, but might pay with their lives against a dozen experienced raiders.
Through it all, one singular thought echoed in Ian’s mind like a war drum beating to the rhythm of his heart.
I should have stayed with her.
By the time he reached the courtyard, nearly thirty warriors were mounted and ready, their faces grim with the knowledge that they rode toward battle. Dubh stomped impatiently, sensing hismaster’s urgency as Ian swung into the saddle with ease despite the bulky armor weighing down his powerful frame.
The destrier’s muscles bunched beneath him, the animal’s own eagerness for battle matching his master’s need for speed. Around them, the other horses snorted and pawed the ground, their riders checking weapons one final time before they plunged forward into whatever hell awaited them.
“Me laird!” Killian called, guiding his mount closer to Ian’s. “What are yer orders once we reach the village?”
“Find her.” Ian said simply to his second-in-command
“And if MacPherson’s men have already taken her?”
Ian’s green eyes went cold as steel. “Then we follow them tae the threshold of hell itself.”
“Me laird,” Duncan called from the castle steps, his voice carrying clearly across the chaos in the courtyard. “What of MacPherson’s message? What shall I tell the Council about yer response?”
Ian’s hands tightened on the reins until the leather creaked in protest. “Tell them,” he said, his voice carrying the cold promise of violence, “that if Lachlan wants a meetin’ with the Wallace laird, he can find me on the battlefield.”
Without waiting for a response, he spurred Dubh toward the gates, his warriors falling in behind him like the shadow of the grim reaper himself. The afternoon sun caught the steel of their weapons, turning them into a river of deadly light flowing toward the village and whatever fate awaited them there.
As they thundered across the countryside, their horses kicking up a furious flurry of dust in their wake, Ian found himself praying to whatever gods might be listening for Rhona’s safety, for the chance to reach her in time, and for the strength to protect what mattered most to him in this world.
Let her be safe,let me nae be too late.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“There! By the grain stores!”
Ian’s shouted command cut through the thunder of hoofbeats as he and his band of warriors crested the hill overlooking Kilcairn. The village spread below them in a hellish scene – overturned market stalls, scattered belongings, and the acrid smell of smoke rising from multiple fires. But it was the cluster of armed men near the stone storage buildings that drew his attention like iron to a lodestone.
The raiders had clearly expected an easy victory over helpless villagers, but they’d underestimated the courage of simple Highland folk who were loyal to their laird. A ragged line of framers, craftsmen, and the young soldiers, had formed a protective barrier around the grain stores, wielding everything from pitchforks to hammers against the attackers. Their bravery was admirable, but Ian could see they wouldn’t hold much longer.
“Archers, take position on the ridge!” he commanded, his voice carrying the authority of a man born to lead. “Cavalry, with me! We hit them fast and hard!”
Dubh surged forward beneath him like a creature of legend, his powerful stride eating up the ground between hilltop and village. Behind Ian, twenty Wallace warriors followed him like the wrath of God himself, their war cries echoing off the stone cottages as they thundered toward battle.
The raiders turned at the sound of their approach, their confident expression shifting into alarm as they recognized the Wallace colors. These weren’t the handful of young soldiers they’d expected to face. This was a veteran war party led by a laird with vengeance burning in his eyes.
“Form up!” one of the raiders shouted, clearly their leader. “’Tis only twenty men!”
Only twenty, Ian thought grimly as he unsheathed his sword, the steel singing as it cleared the scabbard.
Ye poor fool. Ye have nae idea what ye’ve brought down upon yerselves.
