Page 27 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold (Kilted Kisses #4)
CHAPTER TWELVE
T hat night, Colin found himself finishing his duties earlier than usual, his mind already turning toward the bedchamber and what awaited him there.
The memory of the previous night lingered in his thoughts—the taste of Morag's lips, the way she'd felt in his arms, the trust she'd shown him when she'd shared his makeshift bed on the floor.
Ten days . The agreement was fer ten days, but after last night...
After the previous night, everything had changed. The way she'd kissed him back, the way she'd curled against his chest as they slept, had awakened something in him that went far deeper than their original arrangement. But even as anticipation quickened his pulse, guilt gnawed at him.
He knew the terms of the marriage contract—knew that the full dowry would only be delivered once the union was truly consummated. Every step closer to Morag's bed was a step closer to securing his clan's financial survival, and the knowledge sat like lead in his stomach.
Am I daeing this fer the clan or fer meself ?
The question had been tormenting him since he'd woken with her in his arms.
Dae I want her in me bed because I need the gold, or because I'm half-mad with wantin’ her?
The truth was messier than he cared to admit.
Yes, his clan needed the resources that marriage would bring.
But after the night before—after holding her while she slept, after feeling her trust and vulnerability—the political necessity felt increasingly hollow compared to his genuine desire for her.
She deserves better than a husband who might be usin’ her but God help me, I want her.
Colin entered their bedchamber with deliberate calm, though his heart was beating faster than it should.
The room felt different now, charged with the memory of their shared intimacy.
He began his usual evening routine—removing his belt, setting aside his weapons—but instead of moving toward the corner where his bedroll waited, he remained near the bed.
Morag was at the washbasin, her hair loose around her shoulders as she prepared for sleep.
Colin tried not to stare at the way the candlelight caught the golden strands, tried not to remember how soft that hair had felt in between his fingers the night before.
When she glanced at him over her shoulder, there was a new awareness in her eyes, a flush to her cheeks that spoke of shared memories.
Ye're thinkin’ about last night too. I see how it affectin’ ye.
The realization sent heat coursing through his veins.
"What are ye daein’?" Morag whispered, as she noticed he wasn't preparing his usual sleeping arrangement. But there was something else there too—anticipation, perhaps, or hope.
"Getting’ ready tae sleep," Colin replied evenly, sitting on the edge of the bed to remove his boots. "In our bed."
"Colin… " she said softly, uncertainty flickering across her features.
Colin looked at her sharply. "Dae ye want me tae go back tae the floor?"
"Nay," she said quickly, then blushed at her own eagerness. "I mean... it's been ten days. We made a deal."
"Aye, we did." Colin stood slowly, crossing the small space between them. "But this isn't about the deal anymore, is it, Morag?"
The question hung between them, loaded with the weight of everything that had shifted between them. The night before had changed something fundamental in their relationship, and they both knew it.
"Nay," she whispered. "It's nae about the deal."
And once we're truly man and wife, the MacDuff gold will follow. The clan will be saved.
But looking at Morag's face, soft with memory and anticipation, Colin found himself hoping, knowing, that money wasn't his primary motivation anymore.
That the way his pulse quickened when she was near, the way she'd trusted him with her vulnerability last night, meant more than any political alliance.
"Tell me these ten days have meant something," Colin said quietly, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. The words came from someplace deeper than political calculation, someplace that desperately needed to know her feelings were real. "Tell me last night meant somethin’ tae ye."
Please dinnae let this just be duty . Please let what I feel fer her be real.
Morag's eyes met his directly this time, no longer skittering away. "Last night meant so much tae me," she said simply, and the honesty in her voice made his chest tighten with emotion.
Colin smiled slowly, relief flooding through him. Whatever else this marriage might be, whatever political necessities had brought them together, there was something genuine growing between them. Something that had nothing to do with dowries or clan alliances.
"Then come here," he said softly, extending his hand to her.
When Morag moved toward him, there was no hesitation, no nervous energy. She placed her hand in his with quiet confidence, and when he drew her close, she went willingly into his arms.
Let tomorrow worry about tomorrow . Tonight, I'll just be a man with his wife, building something real between us.
They settled into bed together, Colin's arms encircling her as naturally as if they'd been sharing a bed for years rather than having slept together for the first time just the night before.
The familiar space felt completely transformed, charged with new intimacy and the memory of stolen kisses in the darkness.
Morag nestled against Colin's chest, her head finding that perfect spot on his shoulder where it had rested the previous night.
She could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palm, could smell the clean scent of his skin mixed with the faint trace of leather and steel that always seemed to cling to him.
For a few precious moments, she felt perfectly content. This was what she'd been craving since waking that morning—the warmth of his arms around her, the security of his presence, the growing connection between them that made everything else fade away.
But as the minutes passed, contentment gave way to restlessness.
The memory of last night's kisses burned in her mind—the taste of him, the way his hands had felt in her hair, the desperate hunger in his touch.
Her body remembered every sensation, every moment of awakening desire, and now lying so close to him, feeling his warmth but holding back, felt like torture.
She shifted slightly, trying to get closer to him without seeming too forward.
"Comfortable?" Colin asked softly, his voice already heavy with approaching sleep.
"Aye," she lied, even as she shifted again, her hand moving restlessly against his chest.
Colin's arms tightened around her slightly, and she felt him press a gentle kiss to the top of her head. "Sleep now, me love. Ye need yer rest."
But sleep was the furthest thing from Morag's mind.
Every nerve ending seemed to be on fire where their bodies touched.
She could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his skin through his nightshirt, the way his fingers absently stroked through her hair.
It was wonderful and maddening all at once.
She tried to lie still, to be the good, patient wife who was content with gentle affection. But the memory of last night's passion made her body ache with want. She shifted to her left, then her right, trying to find some relief from the restless energy coursing through her.
"What's wrong?" Colin's voice cut through the darkness, no longer heavy with sleep but alert and concerned.
"Naethin’," Morag said quickly, forcing herself to stillness even as her heart raced.
But within minutes, she was moving again—adjusting her position against him, her leg sliding restlessly against his, her fingers tracing small patterns on his chest. The memory of last night's kisses, the feeling of his mouth moving against hers with such desperate hunger, made it impossible to simply lie there and pretend to sleep.
"Morag." His voice carried a note of understanding now, as if he could sense the true nature of her restlessness.
"There's naethin' wrong," she insisted, even as she turned in his arms to face him, their faces now inches apart in the darkness. "I just... I can't seem tae settle."
In one fluid movement, Colin rolled over and used his arms to cage her beneath him, his weight supported on his forearms as he pinned her in place.
"If naething's wrong," he said, his voice rough with something that definitely wasn't sleep, "then stop twisting and turning. Ye're making it impossible fer me tae sleep."
Morag went completely still beneath him, acutely aware of his body hovering over hers, of the way his breath stirred her hair, of the heat radiating from his skin, even through their nightclothes.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, Morag asked, "Is me twistin' the only reason I'm keeping ye awake?"
The question hung in the air between them, loaded with meaning. Colin's arms trembled slightly where they bracketed her head, and she could feel the rapid beat of his heart where his chest nearly touched her back.
"Morag," he breathed, her name a warning and a plea all at once.
She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. The space between them seemed to crackle with tension, with want, with everything they'd been trying so hard to deny.
When Colin lowered his head, she didn't pull away.
Their lips met in a kiss that was nothing like the desperate, grief-stricken one from the night before.
This was slower, deeper, full of the tension that had been building between them for days.
Morag turned beneath him, her hands finding the fabric of his shirt and fisting in it as if she needed something to anchor herself.
Colin's weight settled more fully against her, and she could feel the rapid beat of his heart through the thin linen of his nightshirt. His thumb traced the line of her cheekbone as he kissed her with a thoroughness that made her toes curl.