Page 11 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold (Kilted Kisses #4)

Colin stood in the doorway, but instead of his usual commanding entrance, he simply... stopped. His dark eyes traveled slowly from her face, that she knew was framed by loose waves of hair, down to her nightshift. For a moment that stretched like eternity, he simply stared.

Then his jaw tightened, and the mask slammed back into place.

"What dae ye think ye're daeing?" he demanded, his voice rougher than usual.

"I... what?" Morag blinked, still clutching the brush. "What am I doing? Ye're the one who just barged into me chamber! I'm preparing fer bed!"

"Preparing fer bed. In the wrong room," he said, stepping inside and closing the door with deliberate force.

"The wrong room?" Morag's heart began to pound as understanding dawned. "But Sheena said... the tradition is fer the bride tae wait..."

"The tradition," Colin said, moving closer, "is fer the bride tae wait in her husband's chamber. Nae hide away in her maiden's room like this marriage is something tae be avoided."

Heat flooded Morag's cheeks.

"I wasnae hiding! I was simply... preparing meself. As is proper."

"Proper would be daeing so in me chambers." His eyes swept over her again. "Unless ye truly believed this would remain a marriage in name only."

The way he said it made her pulse quicken with something that wasn't entirely fear.

"I..." she began, then stopped, her courage faltering under his intense stare. "Colin, I dinnae ken what's expected of me. Nay one explained... that is, I thought perhaps we might discuss..."

"What's expected," Colin said, his voice low and controlled, "is that ye come tae me chamber. Now."

But there was something in his tone. It was not quite gentle, but not the harsh command she'd expected either. As if he too was uncertain about how this night should unfold between two strangers bound by duty rather than desire.

"But... but..." She felt her face burning with embarrassment and indignation. "Ye cannae possibly expect me tae... on our first night as... I barely ken ye."

Colin's eyebrows rose slightly. "Surely ye cannae be that shocked, lass. Ye dae ken what passes between a man and his wife, dae ye nae?"

"Of course, I dae!" Morag snapped, though her blush deepened. "I'm nae a child! But we are man and wife in name only. This marriage is political, naething more!"

Something flickered in Colin's dark eyes—surprise, perhaps, or intrigue. "Name only?"

"Aye, name only." She crossed her arms, trying to project a confidence she didn't feel. "Ye made it quite clear today that this union means nothing tae ye beyond securing whatever political advantage ye needed. So dinnae pretend now that ye have any... personal interest in me."

Colin studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter but no less commanding.

"I will nae force ye tae dae anything ye're nae ready fer," he said finally. "But ye will spend the nights in me chamber from now on, even if the only thing ye dae there is sleep. That is nae negotiable."

"That's ridiculous! Why would?—"

"Because ye're me wife now, and wives sleep in their husband's chambers. It's expected."

Morag opened her mouth to argue further, then closed it again. She could see the implacable determination in his face, the same expression he'd worn when dismissing his men's objections to his orders.

"Fine," she said through gritted teeth. "But I'm nae happy about this arrangement."

"Noted," Colin replied dryly. "Get yer things."

The walk to Colin's chamber felt like a funeral march. When he opened the door and gestured her inside, Morag stepped into a room that was unmistakably masculine with dark wood furniture, weapons mounted on the walls, and a massive four-poster bed that dominated the space.

The bed. The one, enormous bed.

"How exactly dae ye intend fer me tae sleep here when there's clearly only one bed?" she demanded, pointing at the offending furniture.

"The same way anyone sleeps in a bed," Colin replied, moving to light additional candles.

"I am nae sharing a bed with ye!"

"Ye willnae be. At least, nae immediately." Colin's tone was maddeningly reasonable. "Ye can have the bed fer ten days. I'll sleep on the floor."

Morag blinked. "Ten days?"

"Aye. That should give ye time tae... adjust tae the situation. After that, I'll be sleeping in me own bed again.”

"Ten days," she repeated, her mind racing. Surely in ten days she could convince him to let her return to her own chamber. Or perhaps she could find some way to make the arrangement so uncomfortable for him that he'd give up this ridiculous insistence.

"Fine," she said finally. "Ten days."

Colin nodded and moved to a small table near the window where several bottles sat in neat rows. He selected one containing a dark liquid and poured a measure into a small cup.

What are ye drinking?

She watched him gulp down the liquid and when he put down the cup and turned to her, she turned away and busied herself arranging her few belongings.

But she found herself stealing glances at him as he drank the potion, wondering what demons kept the Iron Laird awake at night that required such measures.

Ten days, she told herself as she settled into the unfamiliar bed.

Ten days and surely this madness will sort itself out.