Page 94 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
Ian’s counter attack nearly opened the man’s throat, but Lachlan leaned back, barely escaping. “She was never yers!”
“Douglas promised her tae me!” Lachlan snarled, his composure finally cracking as he barely deflected Ian’s blade. “A marriage tae seal our alliance!”
Their swords locked at the hilts, bringing them face to face. “The truth,” Ian growled, “is the ye are a lyin’, schemin’ bastard who’ll never get yer hands on her!”
He broke the lock with brutal force, sending Lachlan staggering backward.
“Douglas was weak!” Lachlan spat, recovering his stance. “He had every advantage and still managed tae get himself killed!”
“And ye think ye’re any better?” Ian’s next strike came close enough to split hair.
“I would never have been so idiotic,” Lachlan whispered as their blades met again, “tae fall fer a lass’s pretty face. I would never risk power fer anythin’ as ridiculous! Especially love!”
He spat the last word like a curse, then launched himself at Ian with renewed fury. But Ian was ready for him, and his bladefound its mark, opening a deep gash across Lachlan’s sword arm.
“Yield!” Ian commanded.
“Never!” Lachlan responded with a wild swing that Ian barely deflected.
But the blow left the MacPherson laird overextended, and Ian’s counter-strike was swift and brutal. His sword hilt caught Lachlan across the temple, sending him staggering backwards without his sword.
“’Tis over,” Ian declared, his blade nipping the skin at Lachlan’s throat.
But Lachlan’s eyes held one last gleam of desperation. Before Ian could react, the man rolled backwards, coming up with a dirk in his hand. In two quick strides, he was behind Rhona, hand outstretched to grab her – but Ian was faster.
The Wallace steel in his strong hand caught Lachlan’s wrist before he could reach her. They grappled for a moment, strength against strength, until Ian’s superior position won out. He spun Lachlan away from Rhona and pressed his own dirk to the man’s throat.
“Now ‘tis truly over,” Ian said grimly.
The thunder of arriving hoofbeats cut him off as riders wearing MacAlpin and MacCraith colors burst through the tree line. At their head rode Laird MacAlpin himself, his weathered face grim with paternal fury.
“Perfect,” Ian breathed, tightening his grip on Lachlan, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “Now they’ll see exactly what kind of man ye are.”
“Faither!” Rhona’s voice rang out clear and strong from where she was still bound to the post.
Allistair’s eyes took in the scene – his daughter threatened, the battlefield strewn with dead bodies, and none other than Ian Wallace, the supposed captor of his daughter, holding a blade at his ally’s throat.
“Rhona!” He exclaimed, tears in his eyes. Then he turned. “Release me daughter,” he commanded with a tone that brooked no argument.
“Of course, me laird,” Ian said, never taking his eyes off Lachlan. “But first, perhaps ye should hear what this snake had planned next fer her.”
“Lies!” Lachlan gasped against the pressure of the blade. “Irescuedher from this usurper’s dishonor! I offered marriage, protection–”
“The bruise on her face tells a different story,” Ian said coldly, pressing the dirk a fraction deeper.
“The only lies here are yers,” Rhona said firmly. “Faither, Ian Wallace saved me life in more ways than I can count. He showed me that love was still possible even in the depths of me despair, that I could be more than just a political pawn or a victim of men’s schemes. If…” her voice became quiet, softening significantly as she looked over at Ian, “If ye’ll have him, I would be honored tae call him husband.”
The silence stretched taut as a bowstring before Laird Ciaran MacCraith’s voice cut through it. “Then the choice seems clear as rain.” With a single nod of his head a dozen MacCraith warriors moved with practiced precision, their weapons suddenly trained not on Ian, but on the remaining MacPherson forces.
“Wait!” Lachlan’s voice was shrill with panic. “Ye cannae dae this!”
“This man,” Laird MacAlpin said with noble authority “has earned me daughter’s trust and love through honor, nae force. That counts fer more in me book than any of yer pretty words about claims based in hearsay.”
Lachlan’s eyes darted wildly between the assembled forces, calculating odds that worsened with every heartbeat. His eyes found his remaining men, who were already laying down their arms.
“This isnae over,” he whispered, though his grip on the dirk had loosened slightly.
It was all the opening Ian needed. He moved swiftly, striking like lightning, his hand closing around Lachlan’s wrist. The dirk clattered to the ground as Ian spun him away from Rhona, his own dirk finding the gap between Lachlan’s ribs.
