Page 79 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
“Ididwant tae murder ye,” she protested with a laugh. “Ye were infuriatingly kind when I wanted ye tae be a monster.”
“Sorry tae disappoint.”
“Ye didnae disappoint,” she said softly, her fingers tracing one of his tattoos. “Nae once. Ye terrified me instead. Because ye made me feel things I thought I would never experience.”
Ian’s hand covered hers, stilling her gentle exploration. “And now?”
“Now…now I’m grateful ye’re nae what I expected. Though, I suspect ye’ve successfully ruined me fer any other man.”
“Good,” Ian said with possessive satisfaction. “That was the point.”
They lay entwined in the narrow bed, hearts gradually slowing, skin cooling in the night air. Ian pulled the woolen blankets over them both, creating a cocoon of warmth and intimacy that felt like the safest place in the world.
“Nae regrets?” he asked softly.
“None,” Rhona murmured against his chest. “Though I suspect we’ve complicated matters.”
Ian chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Aye. Just a wee bit.”
They lay quietly in the darkness afterward, until sleep finally claimed them both. Ian woke just as dawn’s light began to filter through the small window, Rhona still curled against his side like a content cat.
For a moment, he allowed himself to simply enjoy the peace of it. But reality intruded with the growing light, bringing with it the knowledge that they would have to return to the castle and face whatever consequences awaited them.
“Rhona,” he said tenderly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “We need tae get ready. The others will be wakin’ soon.”
She stirred sleepily, then tensed as full awareness returned. “Mmm,” she murmured contentedly, “I could stay like this forever.”
“So could I,mo gràdh,” Ian said softly, pressing a tender kiss to her hair. “But we should get dressed before Athol comes lookin’ fer breakfast.”
They dressed quickly and quietly, stealing glances and small touches as they help each other with laces and boots. By the time Athol and Olivia emerged from their room – both looking considerably worse for wear - Ian and Rhona were having breakfast downstairs.
The ride back to Castle Wallace was subdued, Athol nursing his headache and Olivia maintaining a dignified silence. But Ian was acutely aware of Rhona riding beside him. He could almost physically feel the new understanding that had wrapped itself around them like a golden thread.
As they approached the castle gates, Ian spotted a familiar figure waiting in the courtyard. Tristan stood near the main entrance, his expression grim enough to make Ian’s stomach clench with foreboding.
“Braither,” Athol said, finally noticing the tense set of Ian’s shoulders, “That daesnae look like a man bearin’ good news.”
They dismounted quickly, stable lads hurrying forward to take their horses. Tristan approached with swift strides; his face set in hard lines.
“Me laird,” he said without preamble. “We need tae talk. Immediately.”
“What’s happened?” Ian asked, though he was already dreading the answer.
“News from the south,” Tristan replied grimly. “It cannae wait.”
Ian glanced at Rhona, seeing his own concern reflected in her eyes. Whatever had brought that look to Tristan’s face, it boded ill for them all.
“The solar,” Ian said curtly. “Now.”
As they strode toward the castle entrance, Ian caught Rhona’s confused and worried expression. He wanted to go to her, to offer reassurance, but Tristan’s urgency made that impossible.
Whatever news awaited him, Ian had the sinking feeling that their brief interlude of happiness was about to be irreparably shattered by forces beyond their control.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“The letter came by royal messenger this mornin’, me laird. And its… nae good news.”
Tristan’s young face was grim as stone as he closed the heavy oak door to Ian’s solar behind him. In his hands, he held a piece of parchment bearing the unmistakable crimson seal of the Crown – a sight that never failed to make Ian’s stomach clench with foreboding.
