Page 4 of Taken by the Ruthless Highlander (Taken by Highland Devils #6)

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R yder shifted his weight from foot to foot before tugging down his vest, ensuring the wrinkles were smoothed out. He stood at the altar, his limbs numb as if he’d spent the entire winter hunting and there wasn’t a fire hot enough to get his blood pumping again.

“I still cannae understand why ye’re goin’ through with this weddin’,” Cohen whispered beside him as they waited for Morgana to make her entrance. “The council doesnae like this. Nae one bit.”

“The council is gettin’ exactly what they want from me,” Ryder hissed, trying not to draw the priest’s attention. “I’m marryin’ to give them an heir.”

“But Morgana? Surely ye could find another lass? Ye ken Nathan willnae rest until he proves to ye that she murdered yer faither.”

“Ye willnae speak of him in my presence ever again, is that clear?” Ryder said calmly. He didn’t have to raise his voice to get his threat across.

“Aye, of course. But I’m just sayin’ that Nathan is on the council, and he willnae stop. He’s like a hound. Once he’s on the trail of somethin’…”

“He’s loyal, but to the previous Laird.”

“I still dinnae think ye ken the sort of pot ye’re stirrin’ by marryin’ her.”

“I’ve made my bed, and I’ll lie in it,” Ryder said. “I’ve picked her, she agreed—there’s nothin’ more that needs to be said.”

“Are ye sure this is who ye want to be tied to? What if she turns out to be the killer and takes yer life in the middle of the night?”

Ryder chuckled darkly as he turned to face Cohen. “We are talkin’ about the same Morgana, are we nae? The same lass who’s nay bigger than a pony? The lass I can hoist over my shoulder and carry away if I want? I dinnae think I need to worry about her.”

“Yer faither was a large man, and still, she’s rumored to have killed him.”

Ryder narrowed his eyes as he noticed the priest pointedly feigning disinterest in the conversation. The pleasant smile he had plastered on his lips vanished.

“And tell me, how did she dispose of him? Please, I’d like to ken. After all, now is the perfect time to bring up such things,” he drawled, sarcasm dripping from each word.

“I’m merely speakin’ my mind,” Cohen mumbled.

“And when I’m interested in what ye have to say, or think, I’ll ask. Until then, ye’ll keep yer mouth shut, and ye’ll steer clear of my wife,” Ryder warned.

He clenched his jaw and glared menacingly at the man-at-arms beside him.

Cohen’s eyes flickered with a fear that Ryder understood well. It wasn’t an admission of guilt, but fear of the consequences of disobeying his orders.

Before Cohen could protest further, music filled the courtyard. Ryder’s eyes drifted to the open space between the rows of seats. The congregation was small, but what did he expect? It wasn’t like this was the wedding of the century or anything.

And yet, suddenly, Heaven opened the sky, separated the clouds as if God himself was moving them out of the way. Beams of brilliant light flooded the spaceand there she was. His heart stopped.

Morgana drifted down the narrow aisle toward him as if she were on a cloud.

For a brief moment, Ryder thought he had seen his mother’s ghost walking behind her.

“Ye’re enchantin’,” he whispered as he took her hand and drew her closer to the priest.

“Thank ye,” Morgana said, her electric blue eyes flicking to the bundle of white heather and wildflowers.

“Shall we begin?” the priest asked, smiling.

And with four short sentences, two drops of blood, and a pledge, Morgana was officially Ryder’s wife.

The fact sent an unexpected wave of pleasure through him. After all, he had returned to reclaim his birthright, not to become shackled by some vows of a hastily arranged marriage.

But as he guided her through the crowd, presenting her as his wife, he couldn’t ignore the sharp glares and whispers from his clansfolk. Their veiled threats grated on his nerves and only kindled the flames of his protectiveness.

Morgana was his now—the clan wouldn’t dare touch her.

Despite the title ringing strong and true, Ryder couldn’t ignore the irritation festering within him.

“Congratulations,” Tormod offered as Ryder pushed through the dangling wreaths of flowers and ferns. There was a tinge of anger in his voice that put Ryder on edge.

“Thank ye, Braither,” Morgana said as she stepped through the wreaths.

“And where did ye get that dress?” Tormod asked, giving her a once-over.

The scrutiny and judgment in the lad’s eyes only added kindle to Ryder’s irritation.

“It was the late Lady McKenzie’s,” Morgana answered, much to her husband’s surprise.

Whatever insult he had planned to hurl had been shelved away. How did she know about the dress?

His chest tightened as he felt her gaze linger on him—not with frustration or shame, but with a tinge of nostalgia.

“Is it nae lovely?”

Ryder watched as her hands trailed down her curves. The thought of running his hands over her overshadowed all else.

He no longer cared about the celebration or the traditions. What he wanted was for his wife to satisfy his carnal needs. After all, what was the point of being married if he couldn’t enjoy the marriage bed?

“It is,” Tormod answered with a smirk as he took his sister’s hand. “And if it’s all the same to ye, I was wonderin’ if I could have the first dance?”

Morgana glanced up at Ryder, and the hope in her eyes broke his resolve. Had he expected her to sit by his side the whole time?

“Go on,” he answered with a nod of his head.

“Ye’ve got some explainin’ to do,” he overheard Tormod grumble the second he turned his back to them.

As much as he wanted to put Tormod in his place, he restrained himself. This marriage wasn’t just for him; Morgana had a part in it too. And Ryder was a patient man.

As soon as he took his seat, servants rushed to fill his plate and cup. But it wasn’t food Ryder wanted. He wanted to taste his wife’s sweet lips.

How easy it was for the fantasy to play out as the music shifted into a livelier beat.

Ryder’s attention lingered on Morgana. He envisioned undoing each of the buttons on the back of her dress. His body tingled at the thought of exploring her nakedness in front of everyone.

He let out a long sigh as his body responded to the visions he was toying with.

“Ye look pleased with yerself.” Cohen’s voice raked through Ryder’s fantasy like a machete cutting through the vast, wild moors.

“Of course. With a bride like Morgana, why would I nae be?” Ryder replied, looking up at him.

Cohen furrowed his brow. There was something about his expression that was off-putting.

“I have to admit, I am still shocked ye went through with it. Ye are aware where the lass comes from, are ye nae? Surely, there is another lass out there who could suit yer needs better.”

“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.

His hand shot out, his fingers curling around Nathan’s neck like the talons of a vulture. With sheer brute force, he forced Nathan into a bow.

“That is Lady McKenzie, and she will be respected as her title demands, is that clear? Ye’ll nae so much as look at her the wrong way, or else I’ll see ye put in the stocks for a month, and I’ll strip ye of whatever lands my faither gifted ye. Do I make myself clear?”

“Aye,” Nathan answered through gritted teeth. Ryder’s grip tightened on the man’s neck, his nails digging into his skin. “I understand yer wishes, My Laird.”

“Ye’ll nae lay a hand on my wife,” Ryder added, before releasing him.

Nathan stumbled forward as murmurs of shock and surprise rippled through the crowd.

Ryder scanned the faces around him, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Morgana?” he boomed over the music.

His gaze fell on Cohen, who lifted a finger and indicated the direction his wife went.

Without another word, Ryder made a beeline for the castle, leaving the wedding feast in a flurry of rage and irritation.

“I will see ye again,” he overheard Morgana say.

The sound of her voice was like an angel’s touch. It was far too soothing and comforting. Regret jabbed at him as he lurked in the shadows. He hated the fact that her family was splitting up, and watching them say their goodbyes made his heart ache.

“I dinnae trust him,” Tormod muttered in a skeptical tone that grated on Ryder’s nerves.

But he held back, lurking around the bushes as he watched Morgana lean closer and pull her brother into her arms.

“That’s neither here nor there. He is my husband now,” she declared as she pulled away. “I will honor him as such. And ye shall too.”

“Can ye really trust that he’ll keep Poppy and Eloise safe here?” Tormod asked, craning his neck to look around her.

For a moment, Ryder thought that the lad had spotted him.

But as he was about to step out of the shadows, Morgana interjected, “I dinnae want the twins to be in yer way if ye have to go somewhere they cannae follow. Besides, Ronnie will be here as well. The only one I’m concerned about right now is Feya. Ye must find her.”

Ryder’s breath caught as more questions popped into his head.

Who was Feya? What relation did she have with Morgana? Who exactly had he just married?

“I will. I swear to ye, I’ll find our sister,” Tormod vowed as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Morgana’s forehead. “Take care of yerself, Sister. I will pray for yer safety.”

“And I will for yers. Godspeed,” Morgana returned.

Ryder watched her wipe tears from her eyes as Tormod disappeared into the shadows of the forest.

“There ye are,” he huffed as he stepped out of his hiding place. “I have been lookin’ for ye.”

“Here I am, My Laird.”

“Please, dinnae do that,” Ryder said, shaking his head. “Yer condescending tone willnae win ye any favors.”

“Favors? Such as?” Morgana asked as he took her by the arm.

“Did I nae let yer family join us for this joyous event?” Ryder reminded her.

He knew his tone was snarky, but there was nothing he could do to quell his tongue.

“Only to have me push my braither out the door before the first blessin’, and I havenae even seen the others,” Morgana grumbled.

She had a point. Ryder had been hasty, but he wasn’t about to let Nathan get away with disrespecting her.

“What do ye want from me? Shall I go fetch him, only to have ye tell him to leave later? What’s done is done,” he argued as he led her to the castle doors. “As for the others, I havenae given orders to keep them away. But I can say that I dinnae ken where they are either.”

He noticed the longing in her gaze as her attention drifted to the music and merriment in the courtyard.

“Would ye like to go and search for them? Or I can have the servants do it. For it seems to me that ye would rather spend yer time elsewhere.”

Morgana raised her eyes to his. He hated the fact that there was no place she could look that didn’t showcase the scars on his face.

“I will go where my Laird wants me to go.”

Her response sent heat through his body, igniting his passions and turning his irritation into frustration.

“Is that so?” Ryder murmured.

What kind of woman are ye that ye get under my skin so? Do ye nae see what ye do to me? Och, this willnae stand. I willnae be undone by such a pretty face.

“Ye, Sir, are lookin’ at me as if ye’re about to eat me,” Morgana said breathlessly.

“Maybe that’s exactly what I want to do,” Ryder replied as he corralled her to the shadows and pressed her against the stone wall of the castle.

Morgana let out a whimper as he pressed his palm to the stone wall right behind her slender back.

“Laird McKenzie, people are watchin’ us,” she warned, her voice muffled against his chest.

How small she was. It would be far too easy for Ryder to hoist her over his shoulder and carry her to his chambers.

As he let his desires take hold, fear flickered in her eyes. He recoiled the instant he noticed it. She looked like prey expecting certain death. He pressed his lips into a tight line as his body stiffened. Without a word, Ryder recoiled from her and moved swiftly to the door. He didn’t look back, nor utter a single word as he pulled open the door and disappeared into the darkness.

“Excuse me,” Morgana called after him. “But just where are ye goin’?”

Ryder paused and took a deep breath, trying to suppress his ire and frustration. He rolled his shoulders back and slowly turned to face her. Arching an eyebrow, he moved like a predator.

“What was that?” he asked, the question hissing through his lips.

Morgana’s body trembled as he closed the distance between them, leaving her no place to run.

“I wanted to ken where ye were goin’,” she repeated.

The tremor in her voice rattled him.

“And here ye are, nae even an hour into our marriage and already breakin’ the rules,” Ryder whispered. “What did I tell ye about askin’ questions?”

“I just thought—” Morgana started, but he had had enough.

With his frustration going through the roof and his desire for her wreaking havoc on him, Ryder had to get away. He pressed his finger to her lips, silencing her.

“That’s the first problem—ye thinkin’. It’s just goin’ to lead to all sorts of trouble,” he uttered, trying to keep his voice light. “What ye need to be doin’ is goin’ to bed. It’s late.”

“B-But,” Morgana sputtered as he stepped away.

The delicious aroma of smoked meat and ale hit Ryder the moment he walked into the castle. Yet, not even the lure of such things was enough to brighten his mood.

Something had shifted the second Nathan tried to coerce Morgana into a dance. What had flared inside him to cause such a response?

It was something Ryder had to sort out.

He climbed up the stairs to his chambers, tuning out the sound of the festivities as he tried to understand why the desire to protect Morgana burned so fiercely within him.

I fear the fates have devised a cruel torment for me… and her name is Morgana.