Page 59 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
Heat flooded Rhona’s face like wildfire. “She has nay right tae–”
“She’s nae wrong though, is she?”
Ian’s quiet words stopped her protest clean in its tracks. When she dared to look up at him, his green eyes held something that made her heart stutter like a bird against glass. There was heat in his gaze, but also a vulnerability that almost made it seem like he wanted to lay himself bare, offering her the chance to see him as he truly was.
“Ian, I–”
“We need tae talk about it.”
“About what?” She asked, doing her best to pretend not to know what he meant, but the words were a desperate attempt to postpone an inevitable conversation.
“About what happened earlier,” he continued, his voice low enough that only she could hear while the noise of celebration faded away, leaving only the two of them in their own private bubble of tension and possibility. “When ye came out–”
“I was grateful.” She said quickly, lifting her chin. “Nay more.” The lie tasted sour on her tongue, but it was much safer than the truth. Safer than admitting that her embrace had been fueled by something far more complicated than mere gratitude.
“Is that so?” He leaned slightly closer, and she caught his scent, which sent her treacherous pulse racing again. “Because grateful women dinnae usually–”
“Me laird!”
A booming voice interrupted whatever Ian had been about to say, and the two sprang apart like guilty children as a broad-shouldered farmer approached their table. The spell was broken so abruptly that Rhona felt almost dizzy, as if she’d been pulled back from the edge of a cliff too quickly. Her cheeks burned anew with embarrassment and something dangerously close to disappointment as she listened to the farmer thank Ian for his swift arrival and his concern for their welfare.
As Rhona listened, she struggled to regain her composure. The old farmer launched into a detailed account of the raid and its aftermath, sharing the encounter first hand as if his laird had not been present. Rhona tried to focus on his words, but her mind kept drifting back to the intensity in Ian’s eyes and the way his voice had reverberated through her when it had dropped to that intimate whisper.
The remainder of the afternoon passed in a blur of conversations and observations that left her feeling increasingly unsettled. She watched Ian settle a dispute with Solomon-like wisdom. She noticed him comfort a woman whose cottage had been ransacked, promising resources and manpower to help her rebuild. She saw how the children approached this massive Scotsman without fear, and how their parents looked at him with respect rather than terror.
That was what a true laird looked like, she realized with startling and dangerous clarity.
When they finally prepared to leave, the sun was painting everything in soft shades of lilac and gold that made Ian’s eyes look like captured starlight.
“Ye’ve been quiet,” he observed as they mounted their horses.
“Och, just tired,” she lied.
The ride back passed in comfortable conversation that felt easier than it should have. It felt natural, this exchange of stories and dreams – like two people inexplicably drawn to one another discovering each other by choice rather than circumstance.
That was what courtship should feel like, she thought with a pang of longing so sharp it stole her breath.
“I ken I’ve said it before, but ye’re a natural leader,” Ian said suddenly.
“What?”
“Today. The way ye kept that child safe, took charge when needed…” his voice now carried undulated admiration. “Ye see what needs daein’, and ye dae it.”
“I was raised tae help where I could.”
“’Tis more than that.” Ian’s tone grew thoughtful. “Ye dinnae wait fer someone else tae take charge. That’s a rare quality, lass.”
As they rode onwards, Rhona caught herself stealing glances at his profile – noting the strong line of his jaw that carried a slight stubble and the way the fading light caught in his dark hair, making it look almost like polished obsidian. Each stolen look felt like a small betrayal of everything she’d been taught about clan loyalty.
Ye’re out of yer damn mind, woman.
“We work well together.” Ian said suddenly.
Her heart stuttered. “What?”
“Dinnae tell me ye havenae noticed it. The way we… complement each other.” Something careful entered his voice, as if he were testing dangerous waters. “We make a good team.”
“I suppose we dae,” she said cautiously, thought her pulse quickened with anticipation and dread in equal measure.
