Page 14 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold (Kilted Kisses #4)

CHAPTER EIGHT

C olin found himself watching Morag more than he was supervising the fair preparations.

She moved through his people with an ease that both pleased and unsettled him—laughing with the women as they worked, accepting tokens from the elderly with genuine warmth, even kneeling to speak with shy children who approached her with wide eyes.

His chest tightened with something uncomfortably close to pride. She was everything a Highland lady should be—gracious, kind, unafraid to dirty her hands alongside his people. The villagers clearly adored her already, and that approval meant more to Colin than he cared to admit.

But when a young lad approached Morag's with an armload of flowers, his face flushed with obvious admiration as he stammered something to her, her delighted laugh at whatever he said sent an irrational spike of jealousy through Colin's chest.

Ridiculous . She's merely being polite tae a lad barely out of leading strings.

When a man closer to Colin's own age joined the conversation and made Morag laugh again, Colin's jaw tightened again.

The rational part of his mind knew he was being completely unreasonable.

These were his own people, men he trusted, and Morag was simply fulfilling her role as their lady.

But watching her easy interactions with everyone except him stirred something dark and possessive that he didn't care to examine too closely.

The musicians had begun playing, and couples were forming for a traditional Highland reel. Colin made his decision before he could think better of it.

He crossed the square with purposeful strides, ignoring the surprised looks from his men as he approached the group surrounding Morag.

"Me lady," he said formally, extending his hand. "Would ye honor me with a dance?"

Morag looked up at him in surprise, her cheeks still flushed from laughter. "A dance? Now?"

"We never had a proper wedding dance," Colin said quietly, aware that their conversation had drawn the attention of nearby villagers. "Morag, I apologize for me behavior on our wedding day. Perhaps ye will allow me remedy that today."

Uncertainty flickered in her blue eyes. But she placed her hand in his with the same grace she'd shown all afternoon.

"Of course, me laird."

The moment his fingers closed around hers, Colin felt the familiar jolt of awareness that seemed to strike whenever they touched. He led her onto the makeshift dance floor, acutely conscious of how small her hand felt in his, how her skirts brushed against his legs as they took their positions.

This lass has affected me more in the few days she's been here than any other lass ever has . He stared at the way the torchlight caught the gold in her hair, making it gleam like spun silk.

The music began as a slow, lilting melody that required the dancers to move in close formation. Colin's hand settled at Morag's waist, pulling her closer than propriety strictly demanded, while his other hand maintained its hold on hers.

She was close enough that he could smell the lavender scent she favored, could see the way her pulse fluttered at the base of her throat.

As they moved through the steps, the space between them seemed to shrink until they were barely a breath apart.

Colin found he couldn’t turn his gaze away from her upturned face, his eyes on her lips and the way they parted slightly as they swayed together, the way her eyes had darkened to the color of a Highland loch at twilight.

When she stumbled slightly on a turn, he caught her closer, their bodies pressed together for one heart-stopping moment.

Heavens help me, Colin could feel her soft curves against him, the way she didn't immediately pull away but seemed to melt into his embrace for just an instant.

He could feel her rapid breathing, see the flush that had crept up her neck, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to lower his head and taste those tempting lips.

"Yer people are nae how I imagined them," Morag said softly, her voice barely audible above the music, though he noticed how breathless she sounded, how her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly in his.

"How did ye imagine them?" Colin asked, his own voice rougher than he'd intended.

The way she was looking at him at that moment, like she could see straight through his carefully constructed walls, made his pulse race.

"Much less... fun," she admitted, a smile tugging at her lips that made him want to trace their curve with his thumb. "Less welcoming. I thought they'd be as stern and unbending as their laird."

Colin was acutely aware of how her breath warmed his throat when she spoke, how she unconsciously moved closer during the turn as if drawn by the same magnetic pull he felt.

Colin forced his mind to focus. "Because of the rumors about me, ye mean."

She didn't deny it, and Colin felt something cold settle in his chest even as his body burned from her nearness. He could see the conflict in her eyes, the way she seemed to be reassessing everything she thought she knew about him.

"Aye, I suppose. The Iron Laird who rules with a heart of steel—that's what they say, isnae it?"

If me heart were truly steel, it wouldnae be hammerin’ like a blacksmith's anvil every time ye look at me like that.

They continued to move together, the intimate dance allowing Colin to speak without being overheard by the watching villagers, though the physical closeness was causing him to fight desperately against the urge to pull her even closer, and to see if her lips were as soft as they looked.

"There's truth tae every rumor, lass. But if I'm harsh, it's because me clan's survival depends on it. "

He watched her face carefully, noting how her expression softened, how she seemed to be studying him with new understanding rather than the wariness he'd grown accustomed to.

"I... I understand," Morag said softly, her eyes never leaving his face, and something in her tone made Colin think she might actually mean it. The way she was looking at him at that moment, like she saw the man rather than the mask, made him want things he had no right to demand for.

The ride back to the castle was quieter than their journey out, but the silence between them crackled with unspoken tension.

Colin found himself hyperaware of Morag's presence beside him—the way she sat on her horse with unconscious grace, the way the afternoon light caught the gold threads in her hair, the memory of how she'd felt in his arms during their dance.

Hounds of hell, that dance.

His hands tightened involuntarily on the reins as he remembered every moment of it.

The warmth of her waist beneath his palms, her body as she moved against him, and the smell of her that had driven him nearly mad with wanting.

When she'd tilted her head back to look at him, her lips slightly parted.

.. he had imagined what it would have felt like if he'd lowered his head only a few inches and kissed her.

Colin shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, grateful that his cloak hid his body's reaction to the memory.

Every few minutes, he found his gaze drawn to her profile—the determined set of her chin, the way she worried her lower lip when lost in thought.

Once, she glanced over and caught him staring.

Their eyes met for a charged moment before she looked away, a flush creeping up her neck that made him wonder if her thoughts were traveling down the same dangerous path as his.

The sway of her body as she rode seemed designed to torment him. Each movement reminded him of how she'd felt pressed against him, the way her curves had fit perfectly against his harder frame.

If ye dinnae want other men taking over yer duties as me husband, perhaps ye should perform them yerself.

Her words echoed in his mind with an entirely different meaning now than they'd had in the moment they had been spoken.

Colin's jaw clenched as he tried to banish the images her challenge conjured—images of exactly how he'd like to perform his husbandly duties, of claiming her as thoroughly and completely as the primal part of him demanded.

When Morag's horse stumbled slightly on a loose stone, Colin reached out instinctively to steady her. Their hands brushed for the briefest moment, but it was enough to send fire racing through his veins. He saw her breath catch, saw the way her pupils dilated before she pulled her hand away.

The rest of the ride passed in a haze of want and restraint, Colin fighting a losing battle against thoughts of what would happen when they reached their shared chamber. By the time they arrived at the castle, his control was hanging by the thinnest of threads.

When they reached the chambers, the evening routine that had become familiar over the past few days resumed.

Colin arranged his blankets on the hard stone floor, while Morag prepared for bed.

But every movement felt charged with possibility, every glance weighted with the memory of their bodies moving together in perfect rhythm on the dance floor.

Frustration made Colin spread the wool blankets with more force than necessary

"Bloody hell. I cannae even sleep with me own wife on the same bed," Colins grumbled.

"What are ye mumbling about?" Morag asked, settling onto the edge of the bed to remove her shoes.

Colin glanced up at her, his expression rueful. " I cannae wait for the moment when I nay longer have tae sleep on this damned floor."

"Ye can keep wishing," Morag replied, though there was less heat in it than there might have been a few days before.

"Ah, but we had a deal, remember?" Colin straightened, stretching his back with obvious discomfort. "Ten days, ye said. We're halfway through now."

"Halfway?" Morag's eyebrows rose. "That's... optimistic counting."

"Five days down, five tae go," Colin said with something that might have been amusement. "I've been keeping careful track."