Page 46 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold (Kilted Kisses #4)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

T he ride back to Armstrong lands felt like a triumphant procession. Word of their victory had indeed traveled swiftly, and as they crested the final hill before home, Morag gasped at the sight that greeted them.

The entire village had turned out to welcome them home.

Torches blazed in the gathering dusk, and the sound of pipes and drums filled the Highland air with ancient rhythms. She could see the gleam of the great war pipes, their drone rising and falling in the traditional victory song her grandfather used to hum.

"Listen," Colin said softly. "They're playing 'The Laird's Return.'"

The melody was haunting and beautiful, telling the story of a Highland chief who'd fought impossible odds to protect his people. As they rode closer, Morag could make out the words the villagers were singing in Gaelic, their voices rising together in the old language:

"Thig an tighearna dhachaigh gu sàbhailte,

Le claidheamh geal agus cridhe làidir..."

"They are singing tae ye." Morag gasped, even as she listened to the emotion in their voices.

"Aye. 'The laird comes home safely, with bright sword and strong heart,'" Colin translated, his voice rough with emotion. "It's the song they sang fer me faither after the Battle of Glen Morven."

Young children ran alongside their horses, laughing and shouting, while older folk stood with tears streaming down their weathered faces. Morag saw women clutching babies, pointing at Colin and speaking in hushed, reverent tones.

"Math fhèin, Tighearna Iarainn!" an old woman called out. "Well done, Iron Laird!"

"Tha thu làidir mar na diathan!" shouted a young man, raising his fist in salute. "You are strong as the gods!"

The crowd parted before them like the waters of the Red Sea, moved by love, respect, and overwhelming gratitude. These people knew Colin had risked everything to keep them safe.

As they reached the village square, Morag saw that tables had been hastily assembled and laden with food. The women must have been cooking since word of the victory arrived. Oatcakes, roasted meat, wheels of cheese, and jugs of ale covered every surface.

The village and castle healer were both already waiting by a table to treat the soldiers returning from battle. As there were men more in need, Colin went to pick up ointments, bandages and a bowl of water to tend to Morag’s wounds himself.

“The Lady Armstrong needs tae clean up,” he said taking her by the hand and leading her to a quieter area by a fire. "Come, wife. I think we've earned. I can see ye favorin' that wrist."

Morag glanced down at her injured hand, surprised he'd noticed such a small thing amid everything else. "It's naethin' serious," she responded.

Colin leaned close to Morag's ear, his breath warm against her skin.

"Let me be the judge of that." Colin's voice carried the gentle authority she was learning to recognize—not the Iron Laird giving commands, but a husband concerned for his wife.

"Come. Let's get ye cleaned up and those wounds tended properly. "

"Sit," Colin said gently. "Let me see that wrist."

Morag watched his face as he carefully examined the cut from the window glass. His touch was infinitely gentle, but she could see the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes darkened when he saw how she'd been hurt.

"This could have been much worse," he said quietly, cleaning the wound with careful strokes. "What were ye thinkin’, trying tae jerk free of yer bounds?"

"I was thinking I needed tae escape," Morag replied honestly. "I just wanted tae get away from those horrible men. I love ye, Colin."

"Love," Colin repeated softly, his voice wondering. "Yer love fer me keeps growing, even after everything with the dowry, and ye would have never been taken by Fraser if I hadnae made ye so angry."

"Especially after that," Morag said firmly. "Ye risked everything tae save me, Colin. Ye came into an enemy camp greatly outnumbered, fought through an army, killed Fraser with yer bare hands. A man daesnae dae that fer political convenience."

Colin finished bandaging her wrist with careful precision, but Morag could see his hands trembling slightly. "There. That should heal clean now."

"Me turn," she said, standing and moving toward him with purpose.

"Morag, ye dinnae need tae?—"

"Sit down," she commanded, using the same gentle authority he'd shown her. "And let yer wife take care of ye."

Colin obeyed, settling with obvious reluctance. Morag began unlacing his bloodstained shirt, her fingers working carefully around the tears and stains.

"Ye're hurt worse than ye let on," she said, seeing the extent of his injuries as she peeled away the fabric. Cuts crisscrossed his chest and arms, some shallow, others deeper. "Colin, why didnae ye say anything?"

"They're just scratches," he said dismissively, but his breath hissed when she touched a particularly nasty gash along his ribs.

"Scratches don't bleed this much." Morag dipped a clean cloth in the warm water and began washing away the blood and grime. "How many men did ye fight tae reach me?"

"I didnae count."

"Colin."

He sighed, some of his legendary control cracking under her steady gaze. "A dozen, maybe more. I stopped keepin' track after the first few."

Morag's heart clenched as she imagined him fighting his way through Fraser's camp, outnumbered and alone, driven by nothing but desperate love. She worked in silence for several minutes, cleaning each wound with gentle care.

"And another four plus Fraser. Hold still, this one's deep," she said, examining the cut on his ribs. "It needs proper binding."

As she wrapped clean linen around his torso, her hands moving with surprising skill, Colin found himself watching her face. She was completely focused on her task, her brow furrowed with concentration, her touch infinitely gentle despite the gravity of his injuries.

"Where did ye learn tae tend wounds like this?" he asked.

"Me maither. She said a Highland woman never kens when she might need such skills." Morag's fingers traced carefully around a bruise on his shoulder. "Though I never imagined I'd be using them on me husband after he'd destroyed an army."

"I didnae destroy an army. I just killed their leader."

"And nearly died daeing it." Morag's voice caught slightly. "Colin, what if ye hadn't made it? What if Fraser had killed ye? I would have—" She stopped, unable to finish the thought.

"But I did make it," Colin said gently, catching her hands in his. "We both did. We're here, we're alive, we're together."

"Aye, but at what cost?" Morag's composure finally cracked, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Ye could have been killed because I was too proud and stubborn tae listen tae reason. Because I rode off like a spoiled child instead of staying safe like ye asked."

"Morag—"

"Nay, let me say this." She pulled her hands free and continued her ministrations, though her vision was blurred with tears.

"I was wrong. About everything. About the dowry, about yer motives, about what our marriage meant.

I let me hurt pride nearly destroy the best thing that ever happened tae me. "

When she finished bandaging his wounds, he caught her face gently in his hands, forcing her to meet his eyes.

"Listen tae me, me love," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "Ye were right tae be angry. I should have told ye about the dowry terms from the beginning. I should have trusted ye with the truth instead of trying tae protect ye from it."

"But ye were trying tae spare me feelings?—"

"I was being a coward," Colin interrupted firmly. "I was afraid that if ye kent the full extent of what I'd promised yer faither, ye'd think I married ye just fer the gold. And initially..." His voice cracked slightly. "… it was true."

Morag's eyes widened at his admission. "Colin..."

"I need ye tae understand something," he continued, his hands still framing her face.

"When I first agreed tae the marriage, aye, it was about the alliance and the dowry.

Me clan was desperate, and I was willing tae dae whatever it took tae save them.

But the moment I saw ye—stubborn and fierce and beautiful—everything changed. "

"Ye dinnae have tae say that?—"

"I dae" Colin's voice was firm, though she could see the vulnerability in his dark eyes.

"Because I love ye, Morag Armstrong. Nae Lady MacDuff, nae a political prize, nae a means tae an end.

Ye. The woman who argues with me, who challenges me, who throws dirks at me enemies and rides intae danger tae save me.

I love ye more than me clan, more than me lands, more than me own life. "

The simple words hit Morag with devastating force. She could see the truth of them written in every line of his face, hear it in the way his voice shook with emotion.

"I love ye too," she whispered, her own voice breaking.

"I tried tae convince meself it was just attraction, just gratitude, but it's so much more than that.

Ye're everything I never knew I wanted—strong enough tae protect me, but gentle enough tae let me be meself.

Honorable enough tae risk everything fer what's right. "

Colin pulled her closer, resting his forehead against hers. "Can ye fergive me? Fer the deception, fer nae trusting ye with the truth, fer being too proud tae admit I was falling in love with me own wife?"

"Only if ye can forgive me fer being too stubborn tae see what was right in front of me," Morag replied, her hands coming up to cover his. "Fer nearly destroying us both because I was afraid tae trust me own heart."

"There's naething tae forgive," Colin said firmly. "We're both learning how tae dae this—how tae be married, how tae love each other, how tae build something real together."