Page 28 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I ona woke to the steady rhythm of Ruaridh's breathing beneath her ear, her head pillowed on his chest where she could feel the strong beat of his heart. The chamber was still dim with pre-dawn light, but she'd been awake for some time, her mind turning over thoughts that wouldn't let her rest.

She traced lazy patterns on his chest, feeling the raised lines of old scars beneath her fingertips. Each mark told a story of battles fought and survived, reminders of the strength that had saved her life more than once.

"Ye're awake," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep. "Have ye been up long?"

"A while." The weight of what she needed to say pressed down on her chest. "I've been thinking."

"About what?"

She gathered her courage, knowing this conversation would be difficult but necessary. The words had been building inside her for days, growing heavier with each passing hour of confinement.

"I cannae spend the rest of me life trapped in this castle, Ruaridh."

She felt him tense beneath her, his breathing changing rhythm. He'd been so protective since the garden attack, watching over her with the intensity of a man guarding his most precious treasure. But the walls that kept danger out also kept life at bay.

"Iona—"

"I ken it's me fault," she continued quickly, before he could argue. "I ken there are enemies all around because of the secrets I carry, because of what I took from Murray. But I cannae live like this forever, always looking over me shoulder, always waiting fer the next attack."

His arms tightened around her, and she could feel the conflict in his body—the desire to protect her warring with understanding of what his protection was costing them both.

"It's nae yer fault, lass. None of this is yer fault."

"Isn't it? If I hadnae stolen that letter, if I hadnae discovered Murray's schemes?—"

"Then he would have continued his blackmail and treachery unchecked," Ruaridh interrupted firmly. "Ye did what was right, even knowing the cost. That takes courage, nae blame."

His words were meant to comfort, but they couldn't change their reality. "But that doesn't change our situation. Murray will never stop, will he? Not as long as I'm alive to threaten his secrets."

The silence that followed was answer enough. She felt him wrestling with the truth they both knew but hadn't spoken aloud.

"Nay," he admitted reluctantly. "He willnae."

"Then what dae we dae? How dae we end this without me spending the rest of me life as a prisoner in me own home?"

She could practically feel him thinking, his mind working through possibilities she'd been considering for days. When he finally spoke, his voice carried a new resolve.

"Perhaps we stop fighting defensively and take the battle tae him."

"What dae ye mean?"

"I mean perhaps it's time to write tae the king. Tae present him with that letter ye took and expose Murray's treachery officially. Gain the crown's protection and authority tae end this threat permanently."

Hope fluttered in her chest, followed immediately by fear. "Ye think the king would listen? Would act on our word against Murray's?"

"The letter ye took—daes it contain proof of treason? Evidence that would be difficult to dismiss or explain away?"

She thought of the damning correspondence hidden in their chamber, the careful records of Murray's dealings that could destroy him completely.

"Aye. Communications with English contacts, agreements to provide information about Highland defenses in exchange for gold.

" She paused, voicing the fear that had kept her awake.

"But Ruaridh, if we dae this, if we expose him publicly. .."

"He'll have nothing left tae lose," Ruaridh finished grimly. "Aye, I ken. He'll likely come at us with everything he has left. But at least then we'd be fighting with the king's authority behind us instead of trying tae defend against an enemy in the shadows."

The logic was sound, but the risk was enormous. "Dae ye think it would work?" she asked quietly. "Dae ye truly think the king would move against him?"

She watched his face carefully, reading the uncertainty he was trying to hide. When he spoke, she was grateful for his honesty rather than false reassurance.

"I'm nae sure," he admitted. "The king has larger concerns than Highland feuds, and Murray has been careful tae maintain his public facade. But with solid evidence of treason..." He shrugged. "It's worth trying. What's the alternative? Living under siege fer the rest of our lives?"

"And if it daesnae work? If the king chooses nae tae act, or if Murray strikes before we can reach him?"

"Then at least we'll have tried something other than waiting fer the next attack." His hand found her face, his touch gentle despite the steel in his voice. "Iona, I won't lie tae ye—it's a risk. A significant one. But I think it may be our best chance at a real future together."

A real future. The words painted pictures in her mind—walking freely beyond those walls, traveling to neighboring clans without fear, perhaps even having children who could grow up without the shadow of Murray's hatred hanging over them.

"I'm tired of being afraid," she whispered, the admission torn from somewhere deep inside her. "Tired of living in the shadow of that man's hatred."

"Then we write the letter," he said firmly. " And we send it with our fastest rider."

"And then?"

"Then we prepare fer whatever comes next. Taegether."

She nodded slowly, feeling something shift inside her chest. For months, she'd been running from Murray's threats, hiding behind walls and the protection of others. Perhaps it was time to stop running and start fighting back.

"Aye," she said, her voice growing stronger with each word. "Let's dae it. Let's end this, one way or another."

As dawn light began to creep across their chamber floor, Iona felt a change settling over her.

She was no longer just a woman hiding from her past—she was ready to take control of her future.

Whatever came next, she would face it as Lady MacDuff, with her husband at her side and the truth as her weapon.

Much later in the morning, Iona surveyed the collection of gifts that had accumulated during the festivities. Wooden boxes, cloth-wrapped bundles, and ornate chests crowded the table, each bearing the seal or colors of visiting clans.

"Sweet Mary," she said, hands on her hips as she took in the sight. "Did every clan in the Highlands bring us something?"

"Appears so," Ruaridh replied, though she caught the way his eyes moved carefully over each package. Even surrounded by wedding gifts, he was still watchful, still wary.

Gordon's walked in.

"Good morning love doves. How about some breakfast and an appetite fer gossip about yer gifts."

"Sounds perfect," Iona called, grateful for the distraction. Gordon's easy humor might help chase away the lingering tension she could see in Ruaridh's shoulders.

A servant entered with warm bread, honey, and ale, his eyes immediately drawn to the impressive display of presents. "God's bones, ye've made quite a haul. Though I suppose that's what happens when ye invite half the Highlands tae yer celebration."

"Half the Highlands and their gift-giving obligations," Iona said with a laugh. "I'm not even sure where tae start."

"Start with mine," Gordon declared, setting down the tray and pointing to a modest wooden box near the center of the table. "I'll have ye know I traveled tae three different markets tae find something worthy of the newly wedded MacDuffs."

Ruaridh raised an eyebrow. "Should we be worried?"

"Only if ye dinnae appreciate fine craftsmanship and impeccable taste."

Iona picked up Gordon's gift, feeling the smooth weight of carved wood beneath her fingers. Inside, she found a pair of silver goblets, their surfaces etched with intertwining Celtic knots that caught the morning light.

"Gordon, they're beautiful," she breathed, turning one of the cups to admire the intricate work.

"Figured ye needed proper vessels fer toasting yer happiness," he said with satisfaction. "Though knowing Ruaridh, he'll probably check them fer poison before letting ye drink from them."

"That's nae funny," Ruaridh muttered, but Iona caught the slight twitch of his lips.

"It's a little funny," Gordon insisted, then gestured to the remaining gifts. "Come on, let's see what other treasures the clans have bestowed upon ye. I'm particularly curious about that silver box from the MacLeods—they're kent fer their peculiar sense of humor."

They settled into a comfortable rhythm, with Gordon providing running commentary on each clan's likely motivations while Iona unwrapped and Ruaridh maintained his careful vigilance.

Most gifts were exactly what she'd expected—fine cloth, ceremonial daggers, ornate candlesticks, and other tokens appropriate for a new marriage alliance.

"The Camerons certainly went all out," Gordon observed as Iona lifted a beautifully crafted silver mirror from its velvet-lined box. "That's easily worth a horse or two."

"It's lovely," she agreed, though she noticed Ruaridh examining the mirror's handle with particular attention, checking fer hidden compartments or irregularities.

"And here's something interesting," Gordon continued, reaching fer a small, unassuming wooden box that bore no clan markings. " How mysterious."

Gordon lifted the lid. The spring-loaded blade shot out with a sharp snap , missing Gordon's face by mere inches as he jerked backward in surprise.

The mechanism was cleverly concealed, designed to trigger the moment the box was opened, and if Gordon hadn't possessed quick reflexes, it would have taken him in the throat.

The cheerful atmosphere in the room died instantly.

"Christ almighty," Gordon breathed, staring at the gleaming steel that protruded from what had appeared to be an innocent gift. "That was meant tae kill whoever opened it.

Iona's blood turned to ice as the implications sank in. Someone had sent them a weapon disguised as a wedding present, had sat in their great hall the night before and smiled while planning murder.

"It was meant fer me," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ruaridh was already moving, his face hard as granite as he began examining the other unopened gifts with new intensity. "Dinnae touch anything else. Gordon, can ye see any other markings on that box? Anything that might tell us who sent it?"

Gordon carefully maneuvered the deadly gift, his usual easy manner replaced by grim focus. "Naething. Whoever sent this covered their tracks."

Iona wrapped her arms around herself, watching Ruaridh systematically examine each remaining package. The joy of the morning had evaporated, replaced by the familiar weight of fear and the knowledge that even their most intimate moments weren't safe from Murray's reach.

"He was here," she said, the words tasting bitter. "Last night, during the celebration. Either Murray himself or someone working fer him sat at our table, drank our ale, and smiled while planning to murder us."

"Aye," Ruaridh said grimly, not looking up from his careful inspection. "And if we hadnae decided tae open gifts together this morning..."

The sentence hung unfinished, but they all knew how it would have ended. If she'd opened that box alone, if Gordon hadn't been there to reach fer it first, if any number of small details had been different...

"I need tae question every servant who handled these gifts," Ruaridh continued, his voice carrying the cold authority of a man pushed beyond his limits. "Find out how this got past our security, who had access?—"

"Ruaridh," Iona interrupted softly.

He looked up at her, and she saw the moment when the full weight of their situation hit him. The realization that no matter how strong he was, no matter how many guards he posted or walls he built, he couldn't protect her from an enemy willing to corrupt even wedding gifts into weapons.

"He'll never stop," Ruaridh said quietly. "Nay matter what we dae, nay matter how careful we are, he'll keep finding ways tae reach ye. We have tae stop him."