Page 14 of Taken By the Ruthless Highlander

“Cohen.” Ryder gritted out, as if the name was a curse.

He didn’t like the way Cohen had spoken to him at the altar, nor the way the man eyed Morgana. It was almost enough for him to cause a scene.

“Ye’ll watch that waggin’ tongue of yers. I dinnae care where she comes from, but she was good enough for my faither—ye think she’s nae good enough for me?”

“I was merely sayin’ that I thought the very idea of marriage displeased ye. What was it that ye said? Ye swore ye’d never take that oath. Do ye remember? And yet here we are. I find it rather odd to be, havin’ this sort of conversation with a man who should have just let the lass be.”

“Morgana’s status irks ye that much, does it nae? Because she comes from a poor family?”

“Yer faither found her on the streets,” Cohen said through gritted teeth.

“And it bothers ye that she’s nae of gentle breeding, does it nae?”

“Aye, it does,” Cohen said with a strained smile. “But ye’re the Laird, and ye will do as ye please.”

Ryder arched an eyebrow and studied Cohen as he poured whiskey from the decanter, filling his cup to the brim. “Tell me, how is yer wife? I dinnae see her around. In fact, I havenae seen her since the fire.”

“She’s well. Her hands were a bit burned, but nothin’ some lavender salve willnae fix,” Cohen answered.

Ryder nodded as he pushed aside the memories of the fire that scarred him. Before the thoughts could become too intrusive, he turned his attention to Morgana. He couldn’t help but admire the way the beads on his mother’s dress sparkled in the sunlight.

“I see ye had yer bride wear yer maither’s gown,” Cohen remarked suddenly. “She wears it well.”

“Aye, that she does,” Ryder agreed, doing his best to keep the ire out of his voice.

After all, this was a celebration, and he didn’t want to ruin it for Morgana. Not when she looked so happy dancing with her brother. In the corner of his eye he noticed Nathan approaching.

But he was through with this conversation.

Without a word, he rose to his feet, making a beeline for Morgana. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as a thrill coursed through his veins. He wasn’t looking for a fight, but he certainly wasn’t about to let such a thing happen.

“And just what do ye think ye’re doin’?” he snapped, curling his fingers around Nathan’s arm to pull him away from his wife.

“My Laird, what are ye doin’?” Morgana asked, inching closer to him as confusion creased her brow.

“Ye’ll take yer hands off my wife,” Ryder growled, his eyes never leaving Nathan. Every word was laced with warning.

The hall fell silent as all eyes swiveled to them. Ryder felt the heat radiating from Morgana’s body seeping into his left side.

“I meant nay harm,” Nathan said as Tormod rushed to his sister. “After all, where’s the harm in a dance?”

“Morgana, bid yer braither farewell. He’s leavin’ at first light,” Ryder announced through clenched teeth. “Tormod, ye’re more than welcome to visit.”

“Tormod.”

“I think it would be best if we bid our farewells elsewhere,” Tormod suggested, nodding subtly to Ryder.

There was no way for Ryder to hide the rage brewing within him, not when Nathan had so rudely overstepped the boundaries.

“Then I shall see ye out,” Morgana said, trepidation lacing her tone.

Ryder waited for her to take her brother’s arm and leave before rounding on Nathan. There was no doubt in his mind that Nathan had purposefully made a spectacle, a mockery of Lady McKenzie.

The man’s audacity only made Ryder’s ire burn hotter.

“My Laird, I was merely askin’ Lady McKenzie for a dance,” Nathan explained quickly, his bravado cracking under the scrutiny of the guests.

“I see ye learn manners quickly, so ye’ll have nay problems learnin’ this next lesson even faster,” Ryder muttered.