Page 8 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold (Kilted Kisses #4)

"Ye are." She stepped closer still, studying his face with uncomfortable perception. "What are ye nae telling me, Colin? What part of this agreement is it that I am forbidden to ken?"

For a moment, Colin considered telling her everything—about the desperate position his clan was in, about the impossible promises he'd made to secure her father's alliance, to ensure that she would become his along with a substantial dowry, about the way her very presence here painted a target on her back that grew larger with each passing day.

Instead, he retreated behind the cold mask that had served him so well.

"The terms are set and sealed," he said with finality. "I suggest ye focus on tomorrow's ceremony rather than questioning arrangements that are none of yer concern."

With that, he turned and strode toward the armory, leaving Morag standing alone in the courtyard.

Colin made his way through the darkened corridors toward the kitchen, his stomach growling in protest. The day had been a blur of meetings—checking weapon stores, reviewing patrol schedules, and avoiding the endless stream of wedding preparations that seemed to have consumed every corner of his castle.

Somewhere between discussing defensive positions and arguing with the steward about expenses, he'd forgotten to eat entirely.

The kitchen should be empty at this hour, the fires banked but still warm enough to heat something simple. He pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside, only to freeze at the sight of a slight figure bent over the hearth.

Morag stood with her back to him, a pot of milk warming over the coals, her dark blonde hair loose around her shoulders and covered only by a thin wool shawl.

She looked softer somehow, and Colin felt that familiar twist in his chest. It felt like part attraction, part something dangerously close to protectiveness.

A floorboard creaked under his weight, and she spun around with a startled gasp.

"Oh!" Her hand flew to her throat. "Ye frightened me."

"Me apologies," Colin said, staying near the doorway. "I didnae expect anyone tae be awake at this hour."

"I couldnae sleep," she admitted, then seemed to remember herself. "But what is the laird doing in the kitchen? Surely ye have servants tae fetch whatever ye need?"

Colin's mouth quirked slightly at her formal tone. "The laird forgot tae eat today and thought he might find something simple without waking the entire household."

Surprise flickered across her features, followed by something that might have been sympathy. "Ye forgot tae eat? The entire day?"

"It happens when there's a lot tae dae." He moved cautiously into the kitchen, noting how she tensed slightly at his approach. "Tae add tae it, wedding preparations seem tae require a great deal of... coordination."

"Aye, they dae," she said softly, then seemed to make a decision. "Would ye like some warm milk as well? It might help ye sleep."

The offer caught him off guard. After their tense conversation in the courtyard, he'd expected coldness, not kindness. "If it's nay trouble."

"None at all." She reached for another cup from the shelf, her movements graceful despite her obvious nervousness. "And there should be some bread and cheese in the pantry if ye're truly hungry."

Together, they gathered what they could find—a wheel of sharp cheese, oatcakes left from the day's baking, some preserved apples, and honey in a small clay pot. It wasn't a feast, but it was more than Colin had eaten since dawn.

They settled at the long wooden table where the servants usually prepared meals, the warm milk and simple food between them like a peace offering.

"This reminds me of something," Colin said, surprising himself by speaking the thought aloud.

"Oh?"

"When I was a lad, perhaps seven or eight, I used tae sneak down here with me maither." The memory came unbidden, warm and bittersweet. "She'd claim she couldnae sleep and needed warm milk, but I think she just wanted an excuse tae raid Cook's stores without being scolded."

Morag's expression softened. "That sounds lovely. Did ye get intae much trouble?"

"Never. Me maither could charm her way out of anything, and Cook was half in love with her anyway." Colin found himself almost smiling at the memory. "She'd tell me stories while we ate—Highland legends about brave warriors and clever lasses who could outwit dragons."

"Me braither, sister and me used tae sneak tae the kitchens too," Morag said, relaxing slightly.

"Though we were far less charming about it.

Poor Cook would find evidence of our raids—crumbs everywhere, honey fingerprints on everything.

She would always ken it was us, but Da thought it was funny, so we rarely got more than a scolding. "

Colin studied her face in the firelight, noting the way her features softened when she spoke of her family. "Ye miss them."

"Aye," she admitted quietly. "More than I expected tae."

The silence that fell between them was comfortable rather than tense, filled only with the quiet sounds of the dying fire and their shared meal. For the first time since her arrival, Colin allowed himself to truly look at the woman he was about to marry.

When they'd finished the simple meal, Colin found himself reluctant to let the evening end.

For the first time since Morag's arrival, the tension between them had eased into something that felt almost..

. comfortable. She'd laughed at his story about getting honey all over his mother's best shawl, and he'd found himself genuinely smiling at her tales of childhood mischief with her siblings.

But the hour was late, and tomorrow would bring ceremonies that would change both their lives forever.

"I should return tae me chamber," Morag said finally, rising from the table and smoothing her nightshift. "Tomorrow will be..."

"Long," Colin finished for her, standing as well. "Allow me tae escort ye back."

She looked surprised by the offer, but nodded. "Thank ye."

They walked through the darkened corridors in companionable silence, their footsteps echoing softly off the stone walls. When they reached her chamber door, Colin found himself hesitating, searching for words that had never come easily to him.

"Morag," he said finally, her name feeling strange but not unpleasant on his tongue. "I'll see ye tomorrow."

She turned to face him, her blue eyes unreadable in the dim light from the wall sconce. "Aye."

"And I..." Colin stopped, then forced himself to continue. "I owe ye an apology fer me coldness today. When ye asked about the marriage terms, I was... less than courteous in me response."

Something shifted in her expression—surprise, perhaps, or a cautious softening. "Ye were protecting something," she said quietly. "I may nae ken what, but I understand that much."

Her perceptiveness unsettled him, but he didn't retreat behind his usual mask. "Even so. Ye deserved better treatment than I gave ye."

For a moment, they simply looked at each other, and Colin felt that same dangerous stirring to reach out, to touch her face, to offer her some comfort beyond mere apologies.

Instead, he stepped back, putting safe distance between them.

"Goodnight, Colin," Morag said softly, her hand on the door latch.

"Goodnight, lass."

She slipped inside her chamber, leaving Colin alone in the corridor with the unsettling realization that tomorrow he would marry a woman who was proving to be far more complex—and far more appealing—than he'd prepared himself for.