Page 28 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
The path was barely wide enough for their horses, winding between massive trunks. Ferns carpeted the forest floor, and somewhere high above them, birds called to one another like gossiping village women at market day.
“How much farther?” Rhona called, though she found herself feeling reluctant for letting this peaceful interlude end.
“Patience,” Ian called back, though she could hear the excitement in his voice. “We’re almost there.”
The sound of water was growing much stronger now, no longer a distant whisper, but a steady rush that spoke of something significant up ahead. Rhona’s mare pricked her ears forward, stepping more eagerly as if she too sensed they were approaching something special.
“Ian,” Rhona called suddenly, her voice filled with wonder as the sound grew even clearer and more musical. “What on earth is that?”
“Ye’ll see,” he said, turning in his saddle to flash her a smile that was equal parts mysterious and pleased. “Trust me.”
And despite everything – despite the horrid circumstances that had brought them into each other’s worlds, despite the impossible situation they found themselves in, despite all the reasons she should be wary – Rhona realized with startling clarity that shedidtrust him. At least in that. At least for that moment. If only for that day.
The trees began to thin ahead, and she could see brightness beyond the forest shadows, could hear then unmistakable sound of falling water growing ever closer. Whatever Ian wanted to show her, they were almost there.
CHAPTER NINE
“Ian, this is–” Rhona breathed as they emerged from the forest.
“Wonderful’?” Ian finished, though he found himself watching her face rather than the waterfall that tumbled down moss-covered rocks into the crystal-clear pool below. The awe in her expression was worth more than all the gold in his treasury.
“’Tis like a place touched by the fae,” she whispered, sliding from Aisling’s back without taking her eyes from the falls.
Ian dismounted and began securing both horses to a nearby tree. “Aye, that it is. I started comin’ back here when I first came tae claim the lairdship and needed escape. I was so angry at havin’ tae take on a legacy I’d spent years despisin’.”
Rhona moved toward the pool of water and Ian followed her, noting how the mist from the falls caught the afternoon light in her dark ginger hair as he continued. “Me grandfaither alwayssaid some places were too beautiful fer anger tae survive in them. It was only when I found this place again that I truly understood what he meant by it.”
“Did it help?” Rhona asked as she moved toward the water’s edge, her steps careful on the moss-slick rocks.
“Aye. Somewhat. Eventually.”
Rhona knelt by the pool’s edge, trailing her fingers in water so clear she could see the smooth stones at the bottom. “’Tis freezing!” she said with a laugh that sounded like silver bells.
“It always is. Even in summer.” Ian settled onto a fallen log, content to watch her explore the very place that had become sacred to him. “But refreshin’ after a long ride.”
“The water’s so clear,” Rhona mused, edging closer. “Like lookin’ through glass.”
“’Tis deep enough fer swimmin’, if ye’re brave.” Ian watched as she peered into the depths. “Though, fair warnin’, it’s cold enough tae steal yer breath.”
Rhona glanced back at him, something mischievous sparkling in her brilliant blue eyes. “Are ye challengin’ me, Laird Wallace?”
“Would ye rise tae such a challenge if I were?”
“I might.” She stood, brushing moss from her skirts. “But I’m afraid ye’d have the advantage.”
“How so?”
A deep, red color crept up her neck. “I cannae swim.”
Ian blinked, genuinely surprised. “Ye cannae swim? A MacAlpin lass who cannae swim?”
“Dinnae look so shocked,” Rhona said defensively. “Our lands are mostly mountains and moors. Not exactly overflowin’ with ample swimmin’ holes.”
“But surely there were lochs–”
“Aye there were and me faither made certain we stayed well away from them after…” she trailed off, something shadowing her elegant features.
Ian didn’t press, recognizing the look of old grief. Instead, he rose from the log and began rolling up his sleeves. “Well then, it’s time ye learned.”
