Page 69 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
I’m cannae compete with a woman like that.She’s everythin’ I’m nae – free, willin’, uncomplicated. She can give him what I would never be able tae – a peaceful future.
The sound of approaching footsteps in the corridor made Rhona step back from the window. She quickly busied herself with sorting through Baird’s herb collection, trying to look as if she’d been productively occupied rather than willowing in self-pity.
Outside, the afternoon sun was beginning its descent toward evening, painting the ancient stone walls in shades of gold and amber. Soon, she’d have to go to dinner and smile politely while watching Ian reconnect with his past. She’d have to pretend that seeing him with Olivia didn’t feel like a dirk twisting in her chest.
But for now, in the quiet sanctuary of Baird’s apothecary, Rhona MacAlpin allowed herself a few more moments to mourn for something that had never really been hers to lose.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“Ian, how is that magnificent destrier of yers – I am dyin’ tae see him.”
Olivia’s request pulled Ian back from his brooding thoughts. The solar felt suffocating after Rhona’s abrupt departure, the very air thick with unspoken tensions and his brother’s knowing looks.
“He’s well,” Ian began, already moving toward the door that Rhona had fled through.
“Och, come now, dinnae leave,” Athol stretched lazily in his chair, a satisfied grin playing across his features. “Take me and yer oldest and dearest friend tae see the famous Dubh. What manner of host are ye?”
Ian’s jaw tightened. Every fiber of his being wailed at him to follow Rhona, to corner her somewhere private and demand answers about the look that had crossed her face when she’dmet Olivia. That flash of something before she’d schooled her features into polite indifference.
What the devil was that about?
The memory of her stricken expression ate at him like acid. One moment she’d been composed, if perhaps a bit wary, and the next she looked like someone had struck her.
“Ian,” Olivia’s voice carried gentle persistence. “I ken ye have other responsibilities, but I promise,” she batted her lashes slightly, “I willnae keep ye long.”
Ian caught the expectant look on this younger brother’s face, and the way Olivia’s eyes held that same patient warmth he remembered from their childhood. They’d come all this way to see him, and here he was, ready to abandon them the moment a certain red-haired lass decided to bolt from the room.
“Alright,” he said finally, though the word felt like swallowing stones. “But quickly, I have pressin’ matters tae attend tae.”
The walk to the stables felt endless. Ian’s boots rang against the cobblestones with each deliberately measured step, while his mind raced like a caged mother wolf who had witnessed one of her pups being harmed. Olivia walked beside him, pointing out various features of the castle with the enthusiasm of someone genuinely impressed, but Ian barely heard her. His thoughts were consumed with flashes of fiery red hair and icy blue eyes and the memory of a pair of succulently soft lips that had kissedhim back with desperate hunger before their owner fled like he carried the plague.
Olivia cooed over Dubh while Athol spun tales that grew wilder by the minute. Ian nodded at the appropriate moments, but his mind was elsewhere.
He recalled a flash of something in Rhona’s eyes when she’d met Olivia and the way her spine had gone rigid when Athol made his jest about what ‘kind of guest’ she might be.
Surely she cannae think–”
“Such magnificent lines,” Olivia murmured, stroking Dubh’s neck with elegant hands. “Like Tàirneanach. D’ye remember yer grandfaither’s stallion?”
“Aye.” The single word came out rougher than intended. Thunder had been a legend among horses – black as midnight except for a white blaze like lightning on his forehead, an impressive beast capable of outrunning even the fiercest Highland wind. He’d also been dead for nearly a decade, another casualty of the violence that had destroyed everything Ian once called home.
“We rode him together as bairns.” Olivia’s voice turned wistful, carrying echoes of summers long past. “Simpler times, aye?”
Ian thought he caught something in her tone – a softness, a vulnerability that made him look at her more carefully. The wayshe watched him now, with those pale blue eyes of hers – so different from Rhona’s vivid sapphire.
Nay, it cannae be…
Olivia was like a sister to him. Always had been. They’d grown up together, shared childhood adventures and adolescent dreams. Whatever he was seeing in her expression had to be simple nostalgia, nothing more.
“Aye. Simpler.” He stepped back from Dubh’s stall, suddenly desperate to escape the weight of old memories and new complications. “Listen, I should–”
“I dinnae ken about ye, but I am craving some dram,” Athol declared, “What say we find ourselves some proper Highland whisky and toast tae old times?”
“Actually,” Ian seized the excuse like a drowning man grasping at driftwood, “somethin’ urgent has come up.”
“Urgent?” Athol’s brows shot up, and Ian noticed the sharp look his brother aimed at him. “Ye’ve been with us fer barely–”
“Nevertheless, unfortunately a laird’s duty never ends.” Ian was already moving toward the stable entrance, his long stride eating up the distance with ease. “Make yerselves comfortable, aye?”
