Page 18 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

" C hrist almighty!" The words exploded from him as he surged to his feet, ignoring the sharp pain that shot through his side. "Ye've been sitting on this knowledge and ye didnae think tae tell me before I married ye, or even after we wedded?"

Iona flinched at his tone, but her chin lifted with familiar defiance. "Ruaridh?—"

"Nay!" He began pacing the small space, his movements sharp with fury.

"Ye let me walk intae this marriage blind, let me bring this threat down on me entire clan without warning?

What kind of woman—" He stopped abruptly, turning to face her with eyes that blazed with betrayal. "Or was this the plan all along?"

"What?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Yer faither." His voice was deadly quiet now, more dangerous than his shouting had been.

"Eoin MacNeill has been nursing grudges against half the Highland lairds fer years.

What better way tae bring down his enemies than tae marry his daughter tae a powerful clan and let her doings destroy everyone he's ever hated? "

The color drained from Iona's face. "That's nae—ye cannae think?—"

"Can I nae?" He stepped closer, his green eyes hard as winter stone. "A convenient marriage tae get his daughter out of danger, and as a bonus, he gets tae watch Murray MacNab and his allies burn? Maybe even take down a few MacDuffs in the process?"

"Stop." The word came out sharp, desperate. "Just stop. That's nae what this is, and ye ken it."

"Dae I? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like I've been played for a fool by the entire MacNeill clan.

" His voice carried a bitter edge. "How long have ye been planning this, lass?

How long have ye been sitting there, watching me make promises tae protect ye, knowing that the real danger comes from the secrets ye're hiding? "

Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks now, but her voice remained steady. "Me faither kens naething about the letter, Ruaridh. Naething."

"Ye expect me tae believe that?"

"It's the truth!" She stepped toward him, her hands reaching out as if to touch him, then dropping when she saw the coldness in his expression.

"Me faither only kens about the assault, about Murray's threats.

I told him what I found in Murray's study but nae about the letter.

He was trying tae protect me, naething more. "

"And the letter? Where is it now?"

She swallowed hard. "Hidden. In me belongings."

"Here? In me castle?" His voice rose again. "Ye brought evidence of Highland-wide treason intae me home without telling me?"

"I couldnae leave it behind! If Murray found it?—"

"If Murray finds it here, it makes me clan complicit in whatever schemes yer faither might be hatching!" He turned away from her, running his hands through his hair. "Sweet Mary, Iona. Dae ye have any idea what ye've done?"

"Me faither has nothing tae dae with this," she said, her voice breaking. "I swear tae ye on me maither's life, Ruaridh. He daesnae ken about the letter. I never told him what I discovered."

"And why should I believe—" He turned back toward her and stopped mid-sentence.

The terror in her eyes was real. Raw and desperate in a way that couldn't be feigned. She stood there trembling, tears streaming down her face, looking like a woman who'd been carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders for far too long.

Christ. She's telling the truth.

All the fight went out of him in a rush, leaving behind only bone-deep exhaustion and something that might have been shame. She wasn't a conspirator or a manipulator—she was a frightened lass who'd stumbled onto something too big for her to handle alone.

"Iona..." His voice was gentler now, uncertain.

"I ken I should have told ye," she whispered.

"I ken I should have trusted ye with the truth from the beginning.

But when we met ye were so cold, I didnae recognize ye.

And I was afraid—so afraid that if ye knew what kind of danger I carried with me, ye'd send me away. And I had naywhere else tae go."

The naked vulnerability in her voice hit him like a physical blow. Without conscious thought, he crossed the space between them and cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears on her cheeks.

"Hush," he said softly. "Ye're safe. Ye're here, and ye're safe."

She leaned into his touch like a flower turning toward sunlight, her eyes closing briefly as if savoring the simple comfort of human contact.

"I'm sorry," she breathed. "I'm so sorry fer bringing this danger tae yer clan. Fer nae trusting ye with the truth."

"Ye were protecting yerself the only way ye kenned how," he said, his voice rough with understanding. "I cannae fault ye fer that."

When she opened her eyes again, they were still bright with tears but also with something that looked like hope.

"What happens now?" she asked.

He studied her face—the fear that still lingered there, in the way she seemed to brace herself for rejection or anger. Something fierce and protective stirred in his chest.

"Now I keep me promise," he said firmly. "I told ye I'd keep ye safe, and I meant it. And if getting rid of Murray MacNab is what it takes tae make sure ye never look this terrified again, then that's what I'll dae."

"Ruaridh..."

"Nay more secrets between us," he said, his hands still framing her face. "From now on, we face whatever comes taegether. Understood?"

"Understood." She nodded, fresh tears spilling over. "Understood."

For a moment, they stood there in the quiet of their chamber, her face still cradled in his hands. Then reality crashed back over him like cold water.

"This cannae wait until tomorrow," he said abruptly, dropping his hands and stepping back. "If Murray thinks that letter is in this castle, we need tae ken now. I have tae question Dougal tonight."

"Ruaridh, nay." Iona reached for his arm as he moved toward the door. " The interrogation can wait a few hours, Ye need tae eat, and get some rest?—"

"It cannae wait." His voice carried that edge of authority again. "Every moment we delay gives Murray more time tae plan his next move. If he's coming fer that letter..."

"Ruaridh, please?—"

But he was already gone, the door closing behind him with a soft thud that echoed through the chamber like a death knell.

The dungeons beneath Castle MacDuff were carved from living rock, their walls weeping with moisture that never fully dried. Torches flickered in iron sconces, casting dancing shadows that made the narrow corridors feel like the mouth of hell itself.

Ruaridh made his way down the winding stone steps, each movement sending a sharp reminder through his injured side. The bandages were holding, but he could feel the pain with every breath.

Just get the information ye need. Then ye can rest.

The MacNab bastard sat chained to the wall of the deepest cell, his head still bandaged from the blow that had taken him down during the fight. Blood matted his dark hair, and his face was swollen on one side, but his eyes were alert and filled with defiance.

"Well, well," Dougal said as Ruaridh approached the cell. "The great MacDuff heir, come tae visit his prisoner. How generous of ye."

"I'll ask ye once, and once only," Ruaridh said, his voice deadly quiet. "What was yer mission? What did Murray send ye fer?"

Dougal's laugh was harsh, bitter. "Ye think I'm going tae tell ye that, dae ye? Think a few hours in chains will break me?"

"I think ye're going tae tell me because ye're smart enough tae ken that cooperation might be the only thing standing between ye and a very unpleasant death."

"Threats, is it?" Dougal spat at Ruaridh's feet. "Ye MacDuffs were always better at talking than fighting."

The crack of Ruaridh's fist against Dougal's jaw echoed through the stone chamber. The prisoner's head snapped back, blood spattering from his split lip.

"We fought well enough yesterday," Ruaridh said, his voice still dangerously calm as he flexed his knuckles. "As yer dead companions can attest. Now, what did Murray tell ye about yer mission? Did he say what ye were looking fer?"

Dougal worked his jaw, spitting blood. When he spoke again, some of the defiance had left his voice. "He said tae bring back the MacNeill bitch, alive, because she had something of his..."

"If ye call me wife names one more time, I'll break yer teeth." Ruaridh's voice was soft but carried the promise of violence. "What kind of something?"

"Didnae say. Didnae matter. Murray's business is his own."

Another blow, this one to the man's temple, left Dougal dazed and blinking. "Wrong answer. Try again."

"I dinnae ken!" Dougal's voice cracked slightly. "He never told me what she took, just that he wanted it back, with her. I swear it!"

Ruaridh studied the man's face, looking for signs of deception. But Dougal seemed to be telling the truth—the men didn’t know about the letter or its contents and maybe neither did he, although that didn’t mean he didn’t know what Murray was up to.

"How many more attacks are planned?" Ruaridh asked.

"As many as it takes," Dougal replied, though his earlier bravado was gone. "Murray's nae the kind tae give up easy. He'll keep coming until he gets what he wants."

"And what happens if he daesnae find what he's looking fer?"

Dougal's smile was cold but shaky now. "Then he'll burn yer castle down rather than let it stay hidden."

Ruaridh grabbed the man by his shirt, yanking him forward until the chains went taut. "If Murray comes fer me castle, if he threatens me clan again, I'll make sure ye live long enough tae watch me drag his entrails through the courtyard. Dae we understand each other?"

Terror flickered in Dougal's eyes as he nodded frantically.

"Christ!" The word exploded from him as he pressed his hand to the wound. The violent movements had torn his stitches loose, and blood was trickling through the bandages.

Behind him, Dougal slumped against his chains, bloodied and beaten into silence. The interrogation had yielded what information it could—Murray was desperate enough to risk everything, but his soldiers knew little of the true stakes. But he imagined his cousin knew all about his plans.

He made his way through the dungeon corridors with measured steps, each movement carefully controlled to avoid further damage. The torch flames seemed to waver with each heartbeat, and he could feel cold sweat beading on his forehead despite the chill of the underground chambers.

The stone walls pressed close around him, their dampness adding to the oppressive weight of everything he'd learned. Murray wasn't just coming for Iona—he was coming for complete destruction rather than risk exposure.

By the time he reached the main corridor, his breathing had grown labored. The climb up the stone steps to the castle proper stretched ahead of him like a mountain, each step a reminder of his body's limitations.

But even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew he'd make the same choice again.

But every moment they delayed gave Murray more time to plan, more opportunity to strike. The information Dougal had provided was limited but crucial—Murray would never stop, would burn everything rather than let his secrets survive.

There was no time for regrets. He had to get to the healer before he lost too much blood, before the wound reopened completely.

The healer's chamber had never seemed so far away.