Page 10 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold (Kilted Kisses #4)
She took a small bite, chewed mechanically, and tried not to notice how Colin continued his conversation about border defenses as if she weren't there.
"The music is lovely," she said to him during a brief lull, gesturing toward the small group of musicians in the corner.
"Aye," Colin replied without looking at her, his attention already shifting to Niven, who was approaching with some urgent message.
"Dae ye want tae dance?"
Colin continued his conversation. Either he hadn't heard her, or he'd chosen to ignore her request.
Morag felt her cheeks burning. She glanced around her but thankfully, no one else seemed to have noticed Colin ignore her.
She forced her smile to remain, until her jaw ached from the effort of maintaining it.
She cut her meat into smaller and smaller pieces, pushed vegetables around her trencher, and nodded pleasantly whenever someone addressed her.
All the while, her new husband sat an arm's length away, as unreachable as the moon.
When one of Colin's men asked her about MacDuff customs, Colin didn't even glance over. When she laughed at Jamie's jest about Highland weather, Colin continued eating without pause. When she reached for the salt and her sleeve brushed his arm, he moved away as if her touch burned.
“This is me wedding day,” she thought, watching Colin discuss grain stores with the same attention he might have given matters of life and death. “And me husband acts as if I'm nae even here.”
What a fool I was, tae think one moment of connection meant anything at all.
The wedding feast continued around her, a blur of voices and forced merriment. Morag sat beside her new husband, in silence.
"Are ye all right, me lady?" Jamie leaned over from his seat beside her, his kind eyes full of concern.
Morag began to nod automatically. "Aye, I'm—" But she stopped mid-sentence as something occurred to her.
Why should I sit here like a wilting flower?
The thought struck her with sudden clarity.
If Colin wants tae be grumpy and ignore his own weddin’ feast, that's his choice. But he willnae make me miserable.
A spark of defiance flared in her chest. She was Lady Armstrong now, and she'd be damned if she'd cower in the corner while her husband conducted business.
"Jamie," she said, turning to face Colin's cousin with newfound determination. "Would ye care tae dance with me? It seems me husband is far too occupied with clan management tae remember he has a wife."
Jamie's eyes widened, darting nervously between Morag and Colin, who had his back almost fully turned toward them as he spoke earnestly with Laird MacBride about border defenses.
"I... are ye certain that's wise?" Jamie asked uncertainly.
In response, Morag lifted her cup of ale and drained it in one long swallow, feeling the liquid burn down her throat and fuel her rebellion. She set the empty cup down with a decisive thud and stood, pulling Jamie up with her before he could protest.
"Come on," she said firmly. "If the laird is too busy fer his weddin’ celebration, then we'll have tae make our own entertainment."
The musicians, seeing Morag walk toward the dance floor, struck up a lively Highland reel.
Morag felt the familiar rhythm flow through her as she stepped into the dance, her body remembering the steps her brothers had taught her years ago.
She moved with fluid grace, her skirts swirling around her ankles as she spun and stepped in time with the music.
Soon, clan members began to notice. Hands started clapping in rhythm, voices called out encouragement, and more couples joined them on the makeshift dance floor.
Morag threw herself into the dance with abandon, laughing as Jamie spun her around, her earlier melancholy forgotten in the pure joy of movement and music.
The sound of enthusiastic clapping finally drew Colin's attention. Morag caught sight of him as he turned from his conversation to see what was causing the commotion. His face darkened like a storm cloud when he saw his bride dancing with another man.
His thunderous expression gave Morag a wicked surge of satisfaction. Instead of being intimidated, she danced with even more energy, spinning faster, laughing louder, making sure every eye in the hall was on her.
That was Colin's breaking point. He strode across the hall with predatory purpose. Without a word, he stepped between Morag and Jamie, taking over the dance with the smooth confidence of a man who'd been born to command.
His hands found her waist, pulling her close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the leather and his soap. When he leaned down to speak, his breath was warm against her ear, with a tinge of ale.
"What dae ye think ye're daeing?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
"Dancing," Morag replied sweetly, not missing a step as they moved together. "Having some fun. Perhaps ye've heard of it?"
"Ye're me lady," Colin said through gritted teeth, spinning her perhaps a bit more forcefully than necessary. "Lady of Clan Armstrong. How dare ye dance with another man at yer own wedding feast?"
Morag tilted her head back to look at him, noting the muscle ticking in his jaw, the way his eyes had gone dark with something that looked suspiciously like possessiveness.
"Dinnae tell me me dear husband is jealous?" she asked with a knowing smile.
Colin's steps faltered for just a moment. "I... of course nae. Dinnae be ridiculous. Ye should dance with only me."
"Well then," Morag said, her voice light but her eyes flashing with challenge, "if ye dinnae want other men taking over yer duties as me husband, perhaps ye should perform them yerself."
With that, she pulled away from him and walked back to the table, her head held high and her heart pounding with the thrill of having gotten under the Iron Laird's skin. Behind her, she could feel Colin's eyes burning into her back, and she allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction.
Let him think about that for a while.
After that the dancing quietened down, when the guests finally began to disperse, Morag slipped away to her chamber, grateful to escape the suffocating pretense of marital bliss.
Sheena was waiting in her chamber and helped her out of the heavy silk wedding gown and into a soft linen nightshift.
It was white as fresh snow and embroidered with delicate blue flowers at the neckline and sleeves.
It was modest but feminine, falling to her ankles and billowing slightly around her slender frame.
"'Tis tradition fer the bride tae wait fer her husband on her wedding night," Sheena whispered gently, settling Morag before the mirror and beginning to brush her hair with long, soothing strokes. until the strands gleamed like dark honey in the candlelight. "He'll come tae ye when he's ready."
As the brush moved through her hair in a hypnotic rhythm, Sheena's voice took on a dreamy quality. "Ye ken, me lady, we used tae dream about the Iron Laird when we were young lasses. All of us who lived and worked in the castle—we'd whisper about how handsome he was, how strong and noble."
Morag glanced up, surprised. It had never occurred to her that some women might find Colin handsome. Not that he wasn’t; it was just that the way he shut himself in infuriated her. She watched Sheena's reflection in the mirror, noting the soft smile that played about the maid's lips.
"We kent the truth, ye see," Sheena continued, her brush never pausing.
"Behind all that sternness, he has the most tender heart.
When me little braither fell from the stable roof three summers past, the laird himself carried him tae the healer.
Sat with him half the night, making sure he was all right.
Never said a word about it tae anyone, but we all kent. "
"Did he now?" Morag murmured, surprised despite herself.
"Aye, and there were other times too. Widow MacLaughlin's roof after the winter storms, young Yohanne's fever when his maither was beside herself with worry.
.." Sheena's eyes grew bright with memory.
"We used tae say how lucky his bride would be, tae have such a man.
We'd imagine what Lady Armstrong would be like—what kind of woman could soften that iron exterior and make him smile again. "
Sheena paused in her brushing to meet Morag's eyes in the mirror. "And me lady, ye are exactly everything we thought the laird deserved. Kind, brave, beautiful. I ken he will grow tae love ye, truly love ye, once he lets down his guard."
Morag felt warmth fill her chest and threaten to melt her carefully constructed defenses. The affection in the young woman's voice when she spoke of Colin was unmistakable, genuine in a way that made Morag question her own perceptions.
Perhaps there really is more tae him than what he shows the world.
But then she remembered the cold ceremony, his military business on their wedding morning, the way he'd barely looked at her during the feast except to glower when she'd danced with Jamie. The flutter died as quickly as it had come.
Nay. I've seen how coldly he treats me, how little I mean tae him beyond what I represent fer his clan. I willnae be fooled by servants' tales and wishful thinking.
"Perhaps," she said aloud, her voice carefully neutral. "We shall see what time brings."
But even as she spoke the words, Morag couldn't quite banish the image Sheena had painted—of a man who carried injured children and sat vigils over the sick, who might indeed have a tender heart hidden beneath all that steel.
After Sheena left, Morag sat before the small mirror, drawing the brush through her hair in long, soothing strokes, trying to calm her nerves about what the night might bring. The door to her chamber opened without so much as a knock, and she spun around, clutching her brush like a weapon.