Page 33 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

T he ride back to the castle should have been exhausting after the long day in the flooded village, but Ruaridh found himself energized by something he couldn't quite name. Beside him, Iona swayed gently in her saddle, mud-stained and weary but somehow radiant in the fading light.

When did she become so beautiful? When did strength become more attractive than any physical grace?

He'd watched her throughout the day, seen her move through the chaos with a natural authority that had surprised even him.

She'd knelt in the mud to comfort frightened children, organized relief efforts with the efficiency of a seasoned commander, and somehow managed to make every displaced family feel like they mattered.

"Ye're staring," she said without looking at him, though he caught the slight smile playing at her lips.

"Aye, I am." He made no attempt to deny it. "I'm trying tae understand when ye became such a natural leader."

"I wasnae leading anyone. I was just daeing what needed tae be done.

"That's exactly what leadership is, lass. And ye were magnificent at it."

They rode in comfortable silence for a while, the horses picking their way carefully along the muddy track. The village was behind them now, but Ruaridh could still see the glow of cooking fires in the temporary shelters they'd helped erect.

"We should stop," Iona said suddenly, pulling her horse to a halt near the old stone well that marked the halfway point between castle and village.

"Are ye tired? Dae ye need tae rest?"

"Nae, it's just..." She dismounted and moved toward the well, her movements thoughtful. "I want tae remember this moment. This feeling."

Curious, he followed her example and swung down from Storm's back. The evening air was cool and clean after the rain, carrying the scent of wet earth and growing things. In the distance, the castle's towers rose against the darkening sky like guardian sentinels.

"What feeling?" he asked, moving to stand beside her at the well's stone rim.

"The feeling that I belong somewhere. That I'm nae just Iona MacNeill, the scandal-ridden exile, or Lady MacDuff, the political necessity." She looked at him with eyes that seemed to hold starlight. "Taeday I felt like I was just... meself. And that was enough."

The simple honesty of her words hit him harder than any declaration of love could have. He'd seen her transformation throughout the day—from uncertain bride to confident leader—and it had stirred something in his chest that he was only beginning to understand.

"It was more than enough," he said quietly. "Iona, what ye did today... the compassion ye showed those people, the way ye gave of yerself so freely... I'd forgotten people could be that kind."

"Ruaridh—"

"Nay, let me finish." He turned to face her fully, needing her to understand. "Since the war, since everything that happened, I've been so focused on threats and enemies that I lost sight of something important. I forgot that most people are good. That kindness exists in the world."

She stepped closer, close enough that he could see the mud smear on her cheek, the exhaustion around her eyes, the strength that seemed to radiate from her very being.

"Ye haven't lost that part of yerself," she said softly, her hand coming up to brush a streak of dirt from his own cheek.

Her touch was gentle, warm against his skin.

"Ye had just buried it tae survive. But I saw it today—the way ye helped pull that cart free, the way ye made sure the children got tae safety first, the way ye worked until yer hands were raw tae help people ye barely knew. "

Her fingers lingered on his face, and he found himself leaning into the touch despite the public setting.

"That's the man I see when yer walls come down," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "The one who remembers that strength isn't just about protecting what's yers—it's about lifting up everyone around ye."

The words settled into his chest like healing balm on an old wound. For so long, he'd defined himself by what he'd survived, by the darkness he'd experienced. But here was Iona, mud-stained and weary from a day of selfless service, showing him that he could be more than his scars.

"How dae ye dae it?" he asked. "How dae ye see good in everything, even after what ye've been through?"

"Because the alternative is letting the darkness win," she said simply. "And I refuse tae give Murray MacNab or anyone else that kind of power over me life."

Standing there in the gathering twilight, with the promise of stars beginning to appear overhead and the woman who'd somehow become his anchor touching his face with infinite gentleness, Ruaridh felt something fundamental shift inside him.

She was right. He hadn't lost the capacity for kindness—he'd simply forgotten how to let it show. But today, working alongside her to help their people, he'd remembered what it felt like to build instead of merely defend, to hope instead of merely endure.

"Thank ye," he said, his voice rough with emotion he no longer tried to hide.

"Fer what?"

"Fer reminding me who I used tae be. Fer showing me who I can still become."

Her smile was soft and knowing, full of understanding that went deeper than words. "We're still becoming, both of us. And that's all right."