Page 15 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold (Kilted Kisses #4)

"Have ye now?" Despite herself, Morag found her lips twitching. "And what makes ye think I'll honor this so-called agreement when the time comes?"

"That ye're a woman of yer word," Colin replied simply, moving to the small table where his bottles stood. "And because this floor is destroying me back."

"Perhaps ye should have thought of that before insisting on this arrangement," Morag said, but her tone was more teasing than sharp.

"Perhaps I should have," Colin agreed, pouring his usual measure of the dark liquid. "But then, I've been accused of nae thinking things through properly."

Morag watched him lift the cup, curiosity finally overcoming discretion. "What is that potion fer? Are ye sick?"

Colin's hand stilled halfway to his lips, and the easy atmosphere between them shifted. His expression closed off, the familiar mask sliding back into place.

"Ye must be tired, lass." His voice was softer than it would normally be. "Go tae sleep. It's been a long day."

The dismissal stung, especially after the tentative connection they'd shared during the dance. Morag bit back the dozen questions that rose to her lips and turned away, pulling the bed curtains closed with perhaps more force than necessary.

She lay awake for a long time, listening to Colin's careful movements as he settled onto his makeshift bed, wondering about his potions and demons.

Morag stirred awake to the sound of dripping water. She turned in the bed, expecting to find Colin still asleep, but instead caught sight of him emerging from behind the privacy screen, wearing only his linen braies.

She froze. Water droplets still clung to his broad shoulders and chest, and his dark hair hung damp and loose around his face in a way that made him look younger, less forbidding.

The early morning light filtering through the window cast shadows across the defined muscles of his torso as he moved with unconscious grace toward the clothes laid out on the chair.

Why are ye handsome as the devil himself? Ye make everything harder fer me.

Even with the realization that she was staring, Morag was unable to look away from the play of muscle beneath his skin as he reached for his shirt. There was something intensely intimate about watching him in this unguarded moment, seeing him simply as a man rather than the Iron Laird.

Colin must have sensed her gaze because he turned, catching her watching him with unconcealed interest. She swallowed, and for a moment, their eyes met and held, the air between them crackling with unspoken desire.

His gaze darkened as he took in her tousled hair and the way the morning light played across her face, and she could see the effort it took for him to maintain his composure.

Colin took a step toward the bed, his eyes never leaving hers. The intensity of his stare made her pulse race, and she could see the way his hands clenched at his sides as if he were fighting the urge to reach for her. The space between them shrunk with possibilities.

Morag felt heat rise in her cheeks and cleared her throat, forcing herself to speak before she did something foolish like reach for him. "Where are ye going this early?" she asked, sitting up and pushing her hair back from her face.

The question seemed to break whatever spell had held Colin frozen. He stepped back abruptly, running a hand through his damp hair before reaching for his shirt.

"Patrol," Colin replied, pulling the linen over his head with perhaps more force than necessary.

She noticed the slight roughness in his voice, the way his breathing had quickened.

He checked his weapons with practiced ease.

"There've been more reports of Fraser men crossing our borders.

Cattle missing, grain stores raided. Small harassments, but they're growing bolder.” The casual way he mentioned it made Morag's chest tighten with concern.

"It sounds more dangerous than the way ye say it."

Colin paused buckling on his sword belt, glancing at her with something that might have been amusement flickering in his dark eyes. "If I didnae ken better, I'd say me new bride was actually worried about me safety."

Before she could respond to his teasing observation, he continued more seriously. "Everything's dangerous these days, lass. But I've got good men with me, and we know these lands better than Fraser ever will."

"How long will ye be gone?"

"As long as it takes." He moved toward the door, then stopped. "Stay within the castle walls while I'm away. Dinna give Duncan or Niven cause tae worry about yer safety."

And then he was gone, leaving Morag alone with the lingering scent of leather and steel, and the uncomfortable realization that she was genuinely worried about her husband's safety.

Morag waited for five minutes, in case Colin forgot something and came back for it. When the hall outside the door remained silent, she flung back the heavy woolen coverlet with determination.

This was her chance—with Colin gone on patrol, she could finally discover what that mysterious potion was that he drank every night.

The way he’d deflected her question, the careful way he measured it out, the almost ritualistic manner in which he consumed it—it all pointed to something deeper than mere medication for a headache.

She dressed quickly and made her way through the castle corridors to the healer's chambers. The stone passageways were empty, and Morag found herself quickening her pace as if urgency alone could provide the answers she sought.

Tasgall looked up from his work grinding herbs as she entered, his weathered face creasing into lines of polite attention. "Me lady, how may I serve ye this morning?"

"I wanted tae ask about the potion ye prepare fer me husband," Morag said, trying to keep her voice casual despite the hammering of her heart. "The one he takes each night before sleep."

The old healer's hands stilled on his mortar and pestle. "What potion would that be, me lady?"

"Dinnae play games with me," Morag said, her frustration bleeding through. "I've seen him take it every night since our wedding. A dark liquid in a small vial. What is it fer?"

Tasgall's expression became carefully neutral, the kind of practiced blankness that came from years of keeping his laird's secrets. "I'm afraid I cannae discuss the laird's private medical matters, even with his wife."

"Exactly! I am his wife," Morag pressed. "Surely I have a right tae ken if me husband is ill or?—"

"Me lady," the healer interrupted gently but firmly, "if the laird wishes ye tae ken about his treatments, he will tell ye himself. It isnae me place tae break his confidence."

Morag stared at him for a long moment, seeing the resolute set of his jaw, and the way his eyes remained steady on hers. Whatever Colin was hiding, it was serious enough that even his healer wouldn't risk betraying the secret.

"Fine," she said curtly, her voice tight with disappointment and growing worry. "But if something happens tae him because I didnae ken, that will be yer fault."

Knowing the threat was empty, she turned and left the healer's chambers, her mind churning with darker possibilities about what Colin might be concealing from her.

Morag spent the entire day straining to hear the sound of Colin returning to the castle. She'd tried to occupy herself with castle duties, but her mind kept wandering to thoughts of Fraser ambushes and her husband lying wounded somewhere in the heather.

By late afternoon, she could bear the uncertainty no longer. She made her way to Colin's office, hoping that he'd returned while she wasn't looking, but the room stood empty, his chair pushed back from the desk as though he'd stood up only moments ago.

Enough of this, she decided, her jaw setting with determination. What kind of patrol took an entire day? And why didn't Colin let his men perform that security duty? If Colin was up to something else, or seeing someone while on ‘patrol’, she'd find out for herself.

The stables buzzed with activity as men tended to horses and equipment. Morag approached one of the younger soldiers.

"Where did the laird go today? I must find him."

The young man looked uncomfortable. "Me lady?—"

"Where is he?"

The soldier glanced around nervously before lowering his voice. "I rode out with him this morning for patrol, but since we didnae see any Frasers, he asked some of us tae return tae the castle The group is by the old watchtower ruins. But me lady, it isnae safe fer ye tae?—"

Morag was already moving toward Storm's stall, ignoring his protests. "Ye yerself just said ye didnae see any Fraser men. I’m sure I’ll be with me husband before I encounter any trouble." But me lady, ye cannae just?—"

Morag entered the horse's stall and reached for the saddle. Her hands moved with practiced efficiency as she threw the leather over the mare's back, her brothers' training serving her well despite the soldier's increasingly frantic objections.

"Please, Lady Armstrong, the laird will have me head if?—"

"Then ye'd better not tell him ye helped me, hadn't ye?" Morag said, tightening the girth strap with determination. She led the horse from the stall, the soldier backing away helplessly as she swung herself into the saddle with fluid grace.

"Me lady, please reconsider?—"

Despite the soldier's protests, Morag was soon riding hard across the moors, following the path he'd reluctantly described. The wind whipped her hair loose from its pins, and the threatening clouds seemed to mirror her churning emotions.

She found Colin's men first, a small group stationed near a cluster of ancient stones.

When she asked after the laird, they pointed toward a secluded alcove among the ruins, even though their expressions clearly disapproved of her presence.

Nodding in gratitude, Morag dismounted the mare and handed the reins to one of the men.

She walked several paces, but as soon as she rounded the trees, she sighted Colin sitting alone on a fallen stone.

His back was to her as she approached, but instinctively, he turned, his hand drawing his sword before he saw who it was.

Morag saw genuine surprise flash across his features before it was replaced by something harder.

"Morag? What in God's name are ye daeing here?"

She strode toward him, her anger and relief warring for dominance. "Ye cannae just leave and go wherever without letting me know where ye are!"

The vehemence in her voice made Colin's eyes narrow. "I told ye I was going on patrol."

"That was this morning!" Morag shot back, her hands clenched at her sides. "It's nearly evening now, and I had nay idea if ye were lying dead in a ditch somewhere or... or..."

"Or what?" Colin moved closer with that predatory grace that always made her pulse quicken, until only inches separated them. "I told ye I would be here fer as long as it took."

Morag's gaze lingered on his lips, and she swallowed a couple of times before she forged ahead. "Or if ye were off somewhere with... with someone else."

The words hung between them, and the cold expression on Colin's face softened. "Someone else?" He leaned forward, so close that Morag could just reach out and stroke his hair backward behind his ear. But she restrained herself. "What someone else would that be, lass?"

His hand came up to stroke her cheek, the calloused pad of his thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone. Morag gasped as his other hand buried itself in her loose hair, his fingers tangling in the golden strands.

"Tell me," he murmured, his voice dropping to a rough whisper that made her knees weak. "What woman did ye think I was with? And why daes the thought of it make yer eyes flash like fire?"

Morag felt heat pool low in her belly as his thumb traced the curve of her lower lip. She could see the way his own eyes had darkened, the slight flare of his nostrils that spoke of barely leashed desire.

"I... I heard..." she stammered, her thoughts scattering as he leaned closer. "About ye and Kirsten McKinley. That everyone expected ye tae marry her, and I thought maybe ye still..."

Colin's laugh was low and genuinely amused. "Kirsten McKinley?" His hand tightened slightly in her hair. "Lass, ye have nothing tae worry about there, I can assure ye. Kirsten couldnae hold a candle tae ye."

"What's that supposed tae mean?" Morag asked breathlessly.

But Colin had already stepped back, his expression growing serious again. "It means ye shouldnae have ridden out here alone. These lands arenae safe, especially fer ye. We need tae get ye back tae the castle. Come on."

The abrupt change left Morag reeling, her body still humming from his touch while her mind tried to process his words about Kirsten.

What did he mean she couldn't hold a candle tae me?

As Colin led her back toward the men, Morag found herself more confused than ever about her enigmatic husband and the feelings he stirred within her.