Page 64 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
Lachlan MacPherson’s grating voice carried across the military camp like a whip crack, silencing conversations around the scattered campfires. His brown eyes blazed with barely contained fury as he surveyed the lone rider who’d returned from the failed raid on Kilcairn, who stood before him like a whipped dog.
“One lass,” he continued, his tone deceptively calm as he circled the survivor like a wolf stalking wounded prey. “One wee Highland lass, and ye let her slip through yer fingers like water.”
Fergus MacMillian, weathered and battle-scarred, cleared his throat nervously. “She was hidden, me laird. By the time we found her trail, Wallace arrived with half his army.”
“Half his army?” Lachlan’s laugh was entirely devoid of humor. “Ye mean thirty men, of which most nay more than lads still sucklin’ on their maithers breasts? Against all of ye?” He stopped directly in front of the soldier, close enough that that the man could smell the whisky on his breath and see the cold calculation in his eyes. “Tell me, Fergus, what exactly dae I pay ye fer?”
“Me laird, we tried–”
“And failed!” Lachlan’s hand moved with viper-quick precision, backhanding the man across the face hard enough to send him staggering. “I dinnae pay ye tae try. I pay ye tae succeed.”
Two and a half weeks of plannin’.Two and a half wretched months of watchin’ and waitin’, patiently learnin’ routines, discoverin’ weaknesses…
The MacPherson camp sprawled across a hidden valley deep in the disputed borderlands, well away from prying eyes. Fifty of his best warriors were scattered about, armed and ready for war at a moment’s notice. Enough men to take Castle Wallace if he played his cards right. But subtlety was required now, not brute force.
“Me laird,” another voice spoke up – Roderick Murdoch, his second-in-command, and the only man brave enough to interrupt when Lachlan’s temper was running hot. “The raid wasnae a complete failure. We did gather some interestin’ information.”
Lachlan turned his calculating brown eyes on the grizzled warrior. “Och, this better be good… or so help me I’ll have all of ye flogged like the useless mongrels ye are!”
“The lass might have managed to evade the men… but ‘twas who came tae her rescue that matters.” Murdoch’s weathered face creased with something approaching satisfaction. “Ian Wallace himself, me laird. Rode hell fer leather with every available man the moment he heard she was in danger.”
“Did he now?” Lachlan’s anger began cooling, morphing into something far more dangerous – thoughtful calculation. “How… interestin’.”
“Aye. And when he found her, the way he looked at her…” Fergus said carefully, “t’was like she was a jewel stolen from his keep.”
Lachlan felt a slow, predatory smile spread across his features. Of course. He should have seen it sooner. Ian Wallace wasn’t just keeping Rhona MacAlpin as a political prisoner – he was falling for her. The honorable fool was letting his heart compromise his judgment – just the type of weakness Lachlan could use to his advantage.
“Tell me more about this… reunion.” He said quietly, his voice carrying a new edge of anticipation.
“After they let me go, I fled tae the ridge and waited fer them tae return tae the castle.” Fergus said eagerly, clearly desperate to redeem himself.
“And then?” Lachlan pressed.
“They rode back tae the castle side by side, talkin’ like old friends,” Fergus continued. “She was stealin’ looks at him when she thought he wasnae lookin’, and Wallace–”
“He proposed marriage right outside the castle, me laird.” Murdoch said, clearly wanting to be the one to share such an interesting tidbit with his leader.
Perfect!
Lachlan turned away to hide his triumphant expression. This was better than he had dared to hope. Not only was his cousin compromised emotionally, but he was making moves that could lead to his downfall just as easily as his success.
“And how did the lass respond tae this?” he asked, though he suspected he already knew.
“She let him kiss her,” Fergus said quickly. “Right passionate it was. Then, she fled from him like the devil himself was chasin’ her.”
Lachlan’s smile widened. Ian wasn’t just keeping a MacAlpin prisoner – he was seducing her. The king would be very interested to hear about his newest laird’s inappropriate behavior.
“Excellent work,” Lachlan’s praise made the man puff with pride. “And they had nay idea ye were watchin’?”
“Nay, me laird. Hidden well, I was.”
Lachlan nodded thoughtfully. Having a witness to Ian Wallace’s romantic fumbling would make his next move all the more credible. Nothing like firsthand testimony to add weight to accusations.
“Fergus,” Lachlan called without turning around.
“Aye, me laird?” The man’s voice was weary.
“Yer failure has cost us an opportunity. But perhaps…” Lachlan faced him again, brown eyes glittering with malicious intelligence, “perhaps there’s another way tae skin this particular beast.”
