Page 25 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold (Kilted Kisses #4)

Colin's arms went around her waist, holding her tight as if she might disappear. His voice was muffled against her nightgown when he spoke. "But I should have anticipated Fraser's attack, I should have been more vigilant. Should have?—"

"Should have what? Stayed awake every night fer the rest of yer life?" Morag's voice was gentle but insistent. "Colin, ye can't protect everyone from everythin’. That burden will destroy ye if ye let it."

"I couldnae bear it if something happened tae ye because of me weakness," he whispered against her skin.

"Needing sleep isn't a weakness," Morag said firmly, her fingers continuing their soothing motion through his hair.

"It's human. And those nightmares... they're not weakness either.

They're proof that ye loved yer sister, that ye still carry her with ye.

Ye're the strongest man I ken," Morag whispered, pressing her lips to the top of his head.

"Nae because ye never feel pain or fear, but because ye carry so much and still find ways tae care fer others.

Ye're nae that helpless boy anymore, Colin.

Ye're a man who commands armies, who protects his people, who risked everything tae save his wife. "

Colin pulled back to look at her, his eyes searching her face in the moonlight. For the first time since he'd begun his confession, she could see hope flickering there alongside the pain.

"How can ye be so certain?" he asked quietly. "How can ye look at me and nae see the failure?"

"Because I see the truth," Morag replied simply. "I see a man who's spent his whole life tryin’ tae make up fer something that was never his fault tae begin with. I see someone who's been carryin’ guilt that belongs tae the monsters who hurt ye both, nae tae the child who loved his sister."

A wall crumbled between them as the words settled into the space around them. When Colin leaned forward, she met him halfway, their lips coming together in a kiss that was desperate and tender and full of everything they couldn't yet say aloud.

Their lips crashed together with all the desperate longing they'd been holding back.

Colin's hand tangled in her hair, pulling her closer as Morag's fingers dug into his shoulders.

The kiss was hungry, almost fierce, born of shared trauma and the raw honesty of the night.

She could taste the salt of tears on his lips, feel the tremor in his hands as they framed her face.

When she parted her lips, Colin groaned low in his throat, the sound sending heat coursing through her veins.

His mouth moved against hers with increasing urgency, as if he were drowning and she was his only salvation.

Morag pressed herself closer, wanting to erase every nightmare, every moment of pain he'd endured.

It was Colin who finally pulled back, his breathing ragged, his forehead resting against hers.

Morag felt her cheeks burn with the realization that if Colin had not stopped, she would have continued kissing him.

For some reason she felt ready for the next stage of their marriage.

And the way Colin looked at her—like she was something precious and dangerous all at once—told her he wanted it just as much as she did.

"Morag," he whispered roughly. Her name sounded like a prayer on his lips.

She could feel the tremor in his hands where they cupped her face, could see the hunger burning in his dark eyes. The air between them crackled with tension, heavy with want and the promise of what could be.

"Colin," she breathed, her fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer even as he fought for control.

His thumb traced the curve of her lower lip, and she couldn't help but part her lips slightly at the touch. The small action made him groan low in his throat, a sound that sent heat spiraling through her entire body.

"Ye're going tae be the death of me, lass," he said roughly, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he lowered his head again, capturing her lips in another kiss that was deeper, hungrier than the first.

Morag's hands slid up to tangle in his dark hair. When his tongue traced the seam of her lips, she opened for him without hesitation, earning another of those delicious groans that made her pulse race.

Colin's hands moved to span her waist, his thumbs brushing just beneath her ribs in a way that made her arch against him. The thin fabric of her nightgown seemed to burn away under his touch, and she could feel the heat of his palms through the linen.

"God, ye taste sweet," he murmured against her mouth, his voice thick with desire. "Like honey and fire."

Morag's response was lost as he kissed along her jaw, finding that sensitive spot just below her ear that made her gasp and clutch at his shoulders. His lips were warm and soft against her skin, but there was nothing gentle about the way he was claiming her, marking her as his.

"Colin," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "please..."

The plea seemed to snap him back to reality. With visible effort, Colin pulled back, his breathing harsh and uneven. His eyes were nearly black with want, but there was something else there too—concern, tenderness, and an iron will that was fighting against his baser instincts.

"Nay," he said quietly, though his voice shook with the effort. "Nae like this. Not when ye're still recoverin'."

"I'm fine," Morag protested, reaching for him again, but Colin caught her hands gently in his.

"Ye nearly died three days ago," he reminded her, bringing her knuckles to his lips for a soft kiss. "Ye're still weak from the poison. I willnae take advantage of that."

"It wouldn't be taking advantage," she said, frustrated by his nobility even as she admired him for it. "I want this, Colin. I want ye."

"And I want ye," he replied fiercely, his grip on her hands tightening. "More than I've wanted anything in me life. But when we take that step, I want ye strong and sure, nae recovering from an ordeal."

He shifted slightly, pulling her down to lie beside him on his makeshift bed on the floor. His arms came around her, holding her close against his chest, and she could feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palm.

"Rest now," he murmured into her hair, his voice still rough but gentle. "Let me hold ye while ye sleep. That's enough for now."

"Colin," she whispered, tilting her head up to look at him in the moonlight.

"Aye?"

"When I'm better... when I'm strong again..."

"When ye're strong again," he promised, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, "I'll show ye exactly how much I want ye. But fer now, just let me take care of ye."

Morag settled against his chest with a soft sigh, feeling safer and more cherished than she ever had in her life.

As sleep began to claim her, she was dimly aware of Colin's hands stroking through her hair, of the gentle rumble of his voice as he whispered endearments in Gaelic that she felt in her very bones.

The next morning, Morag slipped from their bed early, her heart still racing from the revelations of the night before. She needed air, needed movement, needed something to occupy her hands while her mind processed everything Colin had shared with her.

She found plenty to keep busy with in the great hall, where many of the displaced villagers were still recovering. Morag threw herself into organizing their care, distributing food, and ensuring everyone had clean bedding.

Later that morning, Morag found herself drawn to the training yard by the sound of laughter. She stepped outside to see Colin working with a group of village boys, his shirt discarded and tossed over a nearby fence post.

The sight made her breath catch. Sweat gleamed on his broad shoulders as he moved, each muscle clearly defined beneath sun-bronzed skin.

Dark hair dusted his chest, tapering down to a lean waist that spoke of years of hard training and battle.

When he raised his arm to demonstrate a sword position, Morag found herself transfixed by the play of muscles across his back, the way his body moved with fluid grace despite his size.

"Nay, Jim, keep yer guard up like this," Colin said, adjusting the boy's wooden sword.

His voice was gentle, patient—so different from the commanding tone he used with his men.

Morag watched, mesmerized, as he crouched down to the boy's level, the movement causing his muscles to shift and flex in ways that made her mouth go dry.

"Like this, me laird?" the boy asked eagerly.

"Aye, much better. Now try it again, but slower. Speed comes with practice."

When Colin straightened and turned slightly, Morag caught sight of his profile—the strong line of his jaw, the way his dark hair clung damply to his forehead, the sheen of perspiration that made his skin gleam in the morning light.

She found herself remembering the feel of those shoulders beneath her hands the night before, the heat of his skin, the way he'd trembled when she'd touched him.

Her eyes traced the line of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his trews, and she felt heat pool low in her belly.

Emotions born from their earlier kiss flooded her senses.

This was her husband—this magnificent, powerful man who could be so gentle with children, so vulnerable in the darkness of their chamber.

After several minutes, Colin's gaze found her across the yard.

Something flickered in his eyes—awareness, memory of the night before—and he straightened.

Even from this distance, she could see the way his chest rose and fell with his breathing, could see the slight flush that had nothing to do with exertion spread across his skin.

"That's enough fer now, lads," he called out, never taking his eyes off Morag. "Go get some water and food. We'll continue this afternoon."

The boys groaned in disappointment but obediently gathered their practice weapons and headed toward the castle. As they passed Morag, she heard them chattering excitedly about sword techniques and battle tactics, but her attention remained fixed on Colin as he slowly approached.

He reached for his shirt but didn't put it on, the linen hanging loose in his hand. Morag's eyes followed the movement, drawn to the way his arm muscles flexed, the way drops of sweat traced paths down his chest.

"Did ye come tae watch me make a fool of meself with children's swordplay?" he asked, his voice slightly rougher than usual.

Morag felt heat creep up her neck as she tried to keep her eyes on his face rather than the expanse of his chest, but it was a losing battle. "Ye're good with them. They respect ye."

"They're eager tae learn. Makes it easy." Colin took another step closer, and Morag could smell the clean scent of his sweat mixed with leather and steel, could see the way his pulse beat at the base of his throat. "About last night?—"

"Oh, that," Morag said quickly, her cheeks flaming red as images from their kiss flooded again—the feel of his bare chest against her palms, the taste of him, the way his hands had tangled in her hair. "There is naething tae talk about... I mean, it was just... the emotion of the moment and..."

Colin's lips twitched with what might have been amusement. "Just the emotion of the moment?"

"Aye, exactly!" Morag said a bit too loudly, then immediately looked mortified at her own enthusiasm. "People dae all sorts of things when they're... emotional."

"Dae they now?" Colin stepped closer still, close enough that she could see the individual droplets of sweat on his skin, could feel the heat radiating from his body. "And what sorts of things might those be?"

Morag's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, her gaze helplessly drawn to the way his chest rose and fell with each breath. "I... well... ye ken... things."

"Things," Colin repeated solemnly, though there was definitely laughter lurking in his voice now.

"Aye, things!" Morag crossed her arms defensively, which only made her more aware of his state of undress, of how close he was standing. "And so there's naething more tae say...."

"Naething at all?"

"Naething," she said firmly, then immediately contradicted herself. "Except that we shouldnae... nae that I'm thinking about..."

Colin leaned against the fence post, clearly enjoying her flustered state. The movement displayed his body to even better advantage, and Morag found herself staring at the way his muscles shifted beneath his skin.

"What is it ye're nae thinking about, exactly?"

"I have tae go," Morag announced abruptly, spinning around so fast she nearly lost her balance.

"Where?" Colin called after her, straightening with concern.

"I have tae help around!" she called back without turning, her pace quickening as she headed for the castle.

Colin watched her retreat with a mixture of amusement and something much more heated. "Help around where?" he shouted.

But Morag had already disappeared through the castle doors, leaving him standing shirtless in the training yard, grinning despite himself for the first time in days.