Page 40 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold (Kilted Kisses #4)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

T he canvas flap of the massive pavilion tent was yanked aside with violent force, and Morag was shoved stumbling into the richly appointed interior. Her bound hands made it impossible to catch herself, and she fell hard to her knees on the thick rugs that covered the tent floor.

"Here she is, me laird," growled the leader of her captors, wiping dried blood from his broken nose. "Armstrong's precious bride, delivered as promised."

"She gave us more trouble than a wildcat in a sack," added another man, sporting fresh scratches across his cheek. "Nearly escaped once, the little hellion."

Morag lifted her head defiantly, her hair wild around her shoulders, her blue eyes blazing with unquenched fury.

The tent was larger than some cottages she'd seen, furnished with carved wooden chests, silver goblets, and tapestries that spoke of wealth and power.

But her attention fixed immediately on the man rising from behind an ornate camp table.

Ronan Fraser was taller than she'd expected, broad-shouldered and imposing in rich armor that gleamed in the lamplight.

His graying hair was pulled back in a warrior's knot, and his face bore the weathered lines of a man who'd spent decades in warfare.

But it was his eyes that made her skin crawl—cold, calculating, completely devoid of warmth or mercy.

"On yer feet, men," Fraser said sharply, his voice carrying the authority of absolute command. "That's nay way tae treat a lady, regardless of the circumstances."

He moved around the table with fluid grace, extending a hand toward Morag. "Me lady Armstrong, allow me tae help ye."

"Dinnae ye dare touch me!" Morag snarled, scrambling backward on her knees.

Fraser's eyebrows rose slightly, but his expression remained coldly amused. "Such aggressiveness from a noblewoman. Yer faither clearly failed in yer education."

"Me father taught me tae recognize evil when I see it," Morag shot back, finally managing to get her feet under her despite her bound hands.

Behind her, the men who'd brought her shifted restlessly. The leader cleared his throat. "About our payment, me laird..."

Fraser's gaze never left Morag as he reached for a leather pouch on his table. "Fifty silver pieces, as agreed." He tossed the bag to the men without looking. "Now get out. And spread the word—anyone who harms a hair on this lady's head will answer tae me personally."

The men bobbed quick bows and filed out, leaving Morag alone with her captor. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant sounds of the camp settling in for the night.

"Please, sit," Fraser said pleasantly, gesturing toward a cushioned chair. "Ye must be exhausted from yer journey."

"I'll stand, thank ye," Morag replied icily. "I'd rather nae accept any hospitality from a man who has innocent blood on his hands."

"Innocent blood?" Fraser moved to pour wine into two silver goblets. "I assume ye're referring tae yer escort. Regrettable, but they chose their fate. They could have surrendered."

"Ye murdered them in cold blood!"

"I eliminated obstacles tae achieving me goals," Fraser corrected, offering her one of the goblets. "There's a difference."

Morag glared at the wine with undisguised revulsion. "I wouldnae drink if I were dyin’ of thirst."

Fraser shrugged and set the goblet aside. "Suit yerself. Though I must say, yer husband's taste in wives is... spirited."

"Me husband will be here soon," Morag said, lifting her chin defiantly. "Colin Armstrong daesnae abandon what's his. And when he arrives, he'll cut ye down like the rabid dog ye are."

Fraser's smile was cold as winter stone.

"Oh, me dear lass, that's exactly what I'm countin’ on.

Did ye truly think this was about ye?" Fraser laughed, the sound sharp and unpleasant.

"Ye're merely the bait, me sweet. The lure tae draw that iron-hearted husband of yers exactly where I want him. Though I would enjoy breakin’ yer spirit meself after all this is over. "

He moved to the tent's entrance, pulling back the flap to reveal the sprawling military camp beyond. Hundreds of cook fires dotted the valley, and Morag could see armed men moving between the tents with purposeful efficiency.

"Two hundred men, me dear. All waitin’ fer Colin Armstrong tae come chargin’ tae the rescue like some knight from the old stories." Fraser let the flap fall closed. "By this time tomorrow, when Armstrong and every man loyal tae him is dead without a trace, ye'll be beggin’ me tae make ye me wife."

"Never!" Morag spat, her whole body trembling with rage. "I'd rather die first!"

"Oh, I dinnaae think so," Fraser said with maddening calm. "Ye see, I've studied ye, Lady Armstrong. Studied yer family, yer loyalties, yer weaknesses. Ye're far too noble tae choose death when ye could serve a greater purpose."

"What purpose could I possibly serve ye?"

Fraser's eyes glittered with malice. "The MacDuff alliance, of course. With Armstrong dead and ye widowed, a new marriage could be arranged. The trade routes I need, the lands I require—all of it could still be mine through ye."

"Me faither would never agree tae such a thing!"

"Yer faither is a practical man who wants his daughter alive and his clan prosperous," Fraser replied smoothly. "Though I must admit, I'm somewhat... concerned about acceptin’ Armstrong's used goods."

The crude phrase hit Morag hard, causing her cheeks to flood with heat, but her voice remained steady.

"Then I suppose ye'll be disappointed when Colin arrives with half the Highland clans at his back.” Fraser laughed again.

"Half the clans? Me dear girl, Armstrong is barely hangin’ on by his fingernails.

His lands are poor, his coffers nearly empty.

His voice turned bitter with old resentment.

"Dae ye even ken that yer faither had already agreed tae wed ye tae me?

Months of negotiations, terms settled, contracts nearly signed.

Then yer precious Colin came crawling tae MacDuff lands with his desperate offer, stealing what was rightfully mine. "

Fraser's eyes glittered with malice. The only thing of value he ever possessed was that dowry yer father provided—and even that came at a price that may well destroy him. A price he was willing tae pay tae steal ye from me."

Morag's mind raced, processing his words. "What price?"

"Did he never tell ye?" Fraser's expression grew slyly pleased. "The terms he agreed tae secure yer hand? The promises he made tae outbid men far wealthier than himself?"

"I dinnae believe ye."

"Believe what ye like. But know this—yer precious husband sacrificed lands, trading rights, even some of his people's future prosperity just tae possess ye. Tell me, was it worth the price he paid?"

The words hit harder than any physical blow. Morag felt her knees go weak as the implications sank in. If Fraser was telling the truth, then Colin's desperation to marry her had cost his clan far more than she had thought when she had confronted him.

"Ye're lying," she whispered, but doubt was already creeping into her voice.

"Am I? Ask yerself this—why would a struggling laird like Armstrong outbid men like meself or Robert Campbell? Men with armies, wealth, power? What could he possibly offer that they could nae?"

Morag's silence seemed to please him immensely.

"But perhaps," Fraser continued, "we're being hasty in our judgments. After all, beauty such as yers shouldn't be wasted on the dead. Once Armstrong falls, ye'll need protection, guidance. A strong husband tae shield ye from the harsh realities of Highland politics."

That broke through Morag's shocked silence like lightning through clouds. She moved towards him but before she could hit him, his hand rose as if to strike her, his eyes blazing with sudden fury.

Fraser's smile was sharp as a blade. "Very well.

Since ye clearly need time tae adjust yer perspective, let me provide additional motivation.

" He moved to the tent entrance again, but this time his voice carried the deadly promise of a man accustomed to being obeyed.

"When I destroy Armstrong tomorrow, I think I'll send a few men north as well.

Clan MacDuff has been entirely too comfortable in their Highland stronghold. "

Morag's defiance crumbled into horror. "Ye wouldnae dare."

"Wouldn't I? Yer faither's castle is strong, but nae impregnable. Yer maither's gardens would burn beautifully, I imagine. And yer braither..." Fraser's smile grew wider. "Young Ruaridh is brave, I'm told. It would be interestin’ tae see how long that bravery lasts."

"Monster," Morag breathed, her whole body shaking with rage and terror.

"Pragmatist," Fraser corrected. "Yer cooperation will save a great many lives, me dear. Yer family's, what remains of Armstrong's people, even some of the men currently preparin’ tae die fer yer rescue."

He moved closer, and Morag forced herself not to step back, not to show the fear that was clawing at her heart.

"So think carefully tonight, Lady Armstrong. Think about whether yer pride is worth the lives of everyone ye've ever loved. Because tomorrow, when the battle is won and the dead are counted, I'll ask ye again—will ye be me wife willingly, or shall I begin with yer maither's screams?"

The tent fell silent except for the distant sounds of the military camp. Morag stared into Fraser's pitiless eyes and saw her own reflection—small, defiant, and utterly at his mercy.

"Guards!" Fraser called suddenly.

Two armed men entered immediately, their hands resting on their sword hilts.

"Take care of Lady Armstrong," Fraser commanded. "See that she's comfortable, fed, and watched at all times. She's valuable cargo—treat her accordingly."

As the guards moved to flank her, Morag lifted her chin one final time. "Colin will come fer me."

"Aye," Fraser agreed pleasantly. "Once again, that's what I'm countin’ on."