Page 66 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
Lachlan’s hand paused, his quill in mid-motion as he considered. Rhona MacAlpin had undoubtedly become the key piece in this careful game, the catalyst that would bring down his rival. But, she was also a prize worth claiming in her ownright – beautiful, from a clan that owned vast amounts of land despite the fact that they had fallen on hard times, and now most conveniently compromised.
“Och, well… the lass will be in need of protection, aye?” he said finally with a wide smile that never reached his eyes. “She’ll need a hero tae rescue her from her compromised situation. A man of honor tae restore her good name through marriage.”
“And if she refuses?”
Lachlan’s laugh was as cold as winter’s wind. “After months of livin’ as Ian’s whore? Her reputation will be in tatters. She’ll have tae marry whoever offers her respectably. Grateful fer the chance.”
Lachlan carefully folded each letter, securing the parchment with his personal seal, the MacPherson crest pressed into blood-red wax. Three pieces of parchment with the power to reshape the political landscape of the Highlands, he thought devilishly.
“Fergus!” he called.
The weathered warrior appeared instantly, still eager to redeem himself in the eyes of his leader. “Aye, me laird?”
“Take three of yer fastest riders. I have urgent messages that must reach their destinations swiftly.” Lachlan handed over the sealed letters. “The first goes to the king at Edinburgh. Thesecond to Laird MacAlpin. The third to me cousins in the Western Highlands.”
“Aye, me laird.”
The game had begun, and Lachlan MacPherson held all the winning cards. Within days, messengers would be riding hard across Scotland, carrying poison-tipped words that would decimate everything Ian Wallace had tried to build.
And when the dust settled, when the accusations had achieved their goal and the alliances had shifted, Lachlan would emerge victorious – the loyal kinsman who’d exposed a villain, the honorable man who’d rescued a compromised woman, the rightful heir who’d finally laid claim to what should have been his from the beginning.
Perfect.Absolutely perfect.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Castle Wallace
“Me laird! Me laird, ye have visitors!”
The excited cry from the courtyard below drew Rhona to her chamber window. She pressed herself against the cool stone wall and peered down, careful to stay hidden behind the thick curtains. In the yard, she could see Moira practically bouncing on her toes as she called up towards Ian’s solar window.
“’Tis yer braither, me laird! Young Master Athol has come!”
Brother? Rhona’s curiosity sharpened like a blade against whetstone. In all the time she’d been there, Ian had never mentioned living relatives, never spoken of anyone beyond those castle walls who might care whether he lived or died. She’d begun to assume he was as alone in the world as she felt.
Three figures dismounted near the castle steps, and even from her high window, Rhona could clearly see they were travel-worn. The first guest was a man with Ian’s build. His laugh carried up to her window – rich and unguarded in a way that reminded her painfully of her own siblings.
“… told ye this place would be…” His words drifted up, too fragmented to follow, but his tone held affection, tainted with something that sounded like concern.
The second guest was a woman, and Rhona found herself leaning closer to the window despite the risk of being seen. A flash of blonde hair caught the afternoon sunlight like spun gold, elegantly arranged despite the rigors of travel. Even dusty from the road, the woman carried herself with the unconscious grace of nobility – back straight, movements refined, every gesture speaking of careful upbringing. A third person, a man that appeared to be a high-ranking servant of a noble household from hi clothing, helped her down from her horse.
“… so good tae see ye…” the woman’s voice floated up, warm and musical.
Who is she?
The question lodged itself firmly in Rhona’s throat like a fishbone. A sister, perhaps? A cousin? But as she watched the woman’s delicate hand rest tenderly on Ian’s arm, as she saw how the woman’s face turned toward him like a sunflower seeking sunlight, Rhona felt something cold and unwelcomesettle in her stomach – the unmistakable stab of jealousy, though she refused to admit it to herself.
After the passionate kiss they had shared a few days before, she wasn’t quite sure she could face Ian with any semblance of dignity. But watching these strangers who clearly knew him far better than she ever would, curiosity won over cowardice.
She would just pretend nothing had happened, though the memory of his luscious lips on hers made her pulse quicken treacherously.
Act natural. Be polite. Dinnae think about how he tasted like a Highland dram and danger…
Straightening her shoulders, Rhona made her way through the castle corridors toward the solar. She found herself moving with the cautious steps of someone approaching a battlefield, uncertain of what she might find, but utterly unable to resist discovering the truth.
The solar was occupied when she reached it, just as she’d expected. Ian sat near the hearth with two strangers, his dark head bent in animated conversation. He looked up as she entered, and those green eyes caught and held hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch.
“Rhona,” he said, and just the way his lips formed her name sent warmth spiraling through her chest as if her heart were suddenly made of honey.
