Page 72 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
“Aye,” he echoed, his thumb tracing across her knuckles in a caress so light it might have been entirely accidental.
The charged moment was shattered by the sound of boots echoing in the corridor outside, followed by Athol’s voice bellowing Ian’s name with the enthusiasm of a man who’d discovered the castle’s wine stores.
“Braither? Where the blazes–”
Ian stepped back from Rhona with obvious reluctance, the spell between them shattering. “In here!”
Athol appeared in the doorway moments later, with Olivia in tow. Both looked slightly windblown from their extended visit to the stables, and Ian even caught the faintest scents of horse and hay clinging to their clothes.
“There ye are!” Athol’s eyes flitted curiously between Ian and Rhona, taking in the scattered herb fragments at their feet and the lingering tension that seemed to ebb in the air between them. “We thought ye’d fallen intae a dungeon.”
“Och, just helpin’ the lass with supplies,” Ian said smoothly, though he could feel a sliver of heat creep up his neck.
“What d’ye need?”
“Well, we’ve been talkin’,” Athol’s face lit up with the kind of enthusiasm that in Ian’s experience usually preceded terrible decisions. “Fer old time’s sake, we should go tae the village taenight. Find a proper tavern with decent ale, and a bit of music!”
Ian’s first instinct was immediate refusal. He had reports from the border watches to review, correspondence with allied clans that couldn’t wait, and a dozen other pressing matters demanding his attention. But then he caught sight of Rhona’s face and saw the sharp-edged interest with which she was studying Olivia’s every expression and gesture.
She means tae prove her point taenight.
The realization sent a cocktail of anticipation and dread coursing through his veins. Whatever Rhona thought she’d observed about Olivia’s supposed feelings toward him, Ian was confident she was completely mistaken. But, watching her try to prove it… now that promised to be an evening full of fun… and complications.
“I dinnae ken. The roads are dangerous after dark, and I’ve go–”
“Och, please Ian.” Olivia interrupted, her voice carrying that same gentle, pleading note he remembered so well from their youth. “It would be so much fun. Like when we were bairns. We shall figure out a way to leave me chaperone at the castle, just like the ‘ole days. Surely ye can spare one evenin’?”
Ian noticed the way Rhona’s eyes sharpened at Olivia’s tone, her gaze flicking between them with calculating precision.
She’s already buildin’ her case.
“Come on, braither,” Athol added, swaying slightly on his feet. “When last did ye dae anything’ fer enjoyment? All work and nay play makes fer a very dull laird, ye ken.”
Ian found himself wavering. The truth of it was, he couldn’t remember when he’d last done anything purely for pleasure. Every moment of every day since he’d taken on the title of Laird Wallace was consumed with the weight of leadership, the endless responsibilities that came with trying to rebuild a clan from the ashes of its own mistakes.
“Aye. I’ll go.” He said finally, surprising himself with the words. “But only if Rhona joins us.
“Me?” Rhona’s eyes suddenly went wide with what looked like genuine panic. “Nay, I couldnae–”
“Nonsense,” Athol waved her protests away with the casual dismissiveness of a man already well into his cups. “The more the merrier!”
“Aye.” Olivia added, though Ian caught something flickering across her features – a certain tightness around the eyes that spoke of less than complete enthusiasm at the suggestion. “Dinnae leave me alone with these two ruffians, please Rhona?”
Rhona looked trapped between politeness and legitimate reluctance. “I… I should stay. Baird might need–”
“Baird can manage just fine.” Ian’s voice carried the weight of a direct order. “Besides, how else will ye prove yer point about… chamomile?”
The reminder of their wager made Rhona’s competitive spirit flare like kindling touched by flame – clear for everyone to see. “Och, very well. I suppose one evenin’ wilnae hurt.”
“Excellent!” Athol clapped his hands together with enough force to make Olivia jump. “An hour? Daes that give the lasses enough time tae prepare?”
“An hour.” Ian agreed, though his eyes never left Rhona’s face. “This should be… illuminatin’.”
As Athol and Olivia departed, chattering about their evening plans with the enthusiasm of children planning an adventure, Ian lingered in the doorway.
“Cold feet?” Rhona asked, correctly interpreting his hesitation.
“Nay. Just wonderin’ if I’m about tae make a terrible mistake.”
