Page 9 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

CHAPTER EIGHT

" E asy, lad. That's it." Ruaridh's voice was soft as he worked the curry comb through Storm's dark coat, the familiar rhythm soothing his frayed nerves. "At least ye dinnae argue with every word I say."

The stallion nickered in response, shifting slightly but remaining patient under his master's ministrations.

The familiar scent of hay and leather surrounded them both, and here in the quiet of the stables, Ruaridh could almost forget the morning's council meeting.

Almost push away the weight of leadership and the endless arguments about borders and threats.

"Can ye believe I had tae keep me knickers on fer hours of their bickering?" His strokes became more vigorous. "Hours of the same complaints, the same fears. Sometimes I think ye'd make a better council member than the lot of them."

The stable doors creaked open behind him, but he didn't turn. Probably one of the grooms coming to check on the other mounts.

"Ruaridh?"

He froze at the sound of Iona's voice. When he glanced over his shoulder, she stood silhouetted in the doorway, her MacDuff blue gown making her look every inch the clan lady she now was.

Her auburn hair caught the afternoon light streaming through the doors, and for a moment she looked so much like the girl he'd once known that his chest tightened.

"Iona," he forced his voice to remain neutral, turning back to Storm's grooming. "What brings ye tae the stables?"

"I was looking fer ye." Her footsteps were soft on the straw-covered floor as she approached. "I hope I'm nae intruding."

"This is the only place in the castle I can get some peace and quiet." The words came out more like an accusation.

"Well, then ye'll have tae make an exception," she said, stepping closer. "Because I have questions that need answering, and I'm nae leaving until I get them."

Her boldness caught him off guard. He turned to find her chin lifted and her eyes sparkling with something that reminded him exactly why Highland lasses were known for their fire.

This wasn't the trembling bride from last night—this was the girl who'd once faced down three older boys to defend his honor. He braced himself for what was coming.

"Why did ye marry me?"

The direct question caught him off guard. He set down the curry comb and turned to face her fully. "What?"

"Why did ye marry me?" she repeated, her chin lifting with a defiance he remembered from childhood. "If peace is what ye wanted, then surely ye could have found a wife that daesnae bring ye so much danger. So why me?"

The bluntness of it stirred something hot in his chest. His eyes narrowed. "Ye think I married ye on a whim? That I didnae consider the consequences?"

"I think ye married a woman ye barely remember out of some misguided sense of duty, and now ye're regretting it!"

"Barely remember?" He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous level. "I remember plenty, Iona MacNeill. I remember a lass who once dared me tae climb the highest tower in me faither's castle. I remember someone who defended me and never asked fer anything in return."

She blinked, clearly not expecting that response.

"When I heard of yer predicament," he continued, his voice gentling slightly, "I wanted tae help. We hadnae seen each other since we were children, aye, but we had once been friends. That means something tae me. It holds... weight."

"But surely?—"

"Nay one else would step up," he said simply. "Ye were left vulnerable tae that pig's actions. Nay one else was willing tae take the risk. So I did."

The silence stretched between them, filled only with the soft sounds of horses moving in their stalls and the distant clatter of castle life beyond the stable walls.

"I see," she said finally, her voice small.

Dae ye? Dae ye see that I couldnae bear the thought of ye facing that monster alone?

Instead, he picked up the curry comb again and turned back to Storm. "Is that what ye needed tae hear?"

"Aye. Thank ye fer yer honesty." Her voice was steadier now. "And thank ye fer remembering how I liked me milk. It was... thoughtful."

"I'm glad ye still like it that way." The words slipped out before he could stop them. He tightened his jaw.

"Some things havenae changed," she said softly. "Dae ye still hate carrots with the same passion ye did as a boy?"

Despite himself, a smile tugged at his lips. "I tolerate them now. In stew, at least."

"And dae ye still sneak honey cakes from the kitchen when ye think nay one's watching?"

"I'm a grown man, Iona. I dinnae sneak anything. I order what I want." But there was amusement in his voice, and she caught it.

"So ye order Cook directly now?"

"Something like that." He found himself almost grinning at the memory of speaking to Cook just that morning and grabbing a honey cake while her back was turned. He'd shoved it into his mouth just in time for Cook to turn and ask him about the crumbs on his lips.

Then just like that she laughed, and the sound hit him in his chest. It was the same bright, infectious laughter he remembered from their childhood, and for a moment the years fell away completely.

But then he caught himself looking at her lips as the laughter died into a smile, wondering what they would taste like, wondering if they were as soft as they appeared. The thought came so suddenly, so intensely, that he had to turn away.

She's nae that lass anymore. And clearly, ye're not that boy.

The smile died on his face as reality crashed back down. This wasn't some carefree reunion between childhood friends. This was a marriage of necessity, a political alliance born of desperation and duty.

"Ruaridh?" Her voice was uncertain now. "What's wrong?"

"Naething." He focused intently on Storm's coat, though it was already gleaming. "Ye said ye'd be a good wife. What daes that mean tae ye?"

"It means I'll support ye as laird. I'll dae me best tae be an asset tae this clan rather than a burden." Her voice grew stronger, more determined. "It means I'll stand by yer side and speak me mind when I need clarification or when I think ye're making a mistake."

He turned sharply. "I'm soon tae be laird of this clan, Iona. Ye dinnae question me decisions."

Her eyes flashed with fire. "And I'm the future Lady MacDuff. I'll support ye with me life, but I'll nae be silenced when I have concerns. If ye wanted a meek, biddable wife, ye chose poorly."

"Aye," he said, stepping closer until he could see the gold flecks in her hazel eyes. Those gold flecks he remembered so clearly. "I'm beginning tae realize that sharp tongue of yers is going tae bring me naething but trouble."

"Good," she said, not backing down despite his proximity. "A laird who's never challenged grows complacent. And a marriage without honesty is nay marriage at all."

They stood there for a moment, close enough that he could smell the lavender scent of her hair, could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. The air between them crackled with something he wasn't ready to name.

God help me, what have I gotten meself intae with ye?

"Is there anything else ye need to ken?" he asked, his voice rougher than he'd intended.

"Just one thing." She took a step back, creating distance between them. "Dae ye regret it? Marrying me?"

The question hung in the air like smoke. He could have said yes—it would have been easier, cleaner. Could have told her it was just duty and nothing more.

Instead, he found himself saying, "Ask me again in a year, lass. When we both ken what we've made of this arrangement."

She nodded slowly, as if that was answer enough. "Then I'll dae me best tae make sure yer answer is nay."

With that, she turned and walked toward the stable doors, leaving him alone with his horse and the uncomfortable realization that his new wife was going to be far more dangerous to his peace of mind than any enemy army.

That night, Ruaridh dragged his sleeping mat closer to the bed—not by much, perhaps two feet, but enough to honor his promise. Each night a little closer, he'd told her. Each night until she could bear his presence without fear.

The memory of their confrontation in the stables still burned in his mind.

The way she'd stood her ground, demanded answers, refused to be dismissed.

And that moment when she'd laughed—Christ, when was the last time he'd heard laughter like that?

Pure and bright, exactly as he remembered from their childhood.

When was the last time she had laughed like that?

Dangerous. She's dangerous tae yer peace of mind… but then again, what peace of mind?

She came out from behind the changing screen just as he spread his blankets on the hard floor.

"The mat's moved," Iona paused, before moving to sit by the window, brushing her auburn hair in long, hypnotic strokes.

"Aye." He kept his voice matter-of-fact. "Still too close?"

Her hands stilled for a moment, considering. "Nae. It's... it's fine."

He settled onto the mat with a quiet grunt, his back already protesting the hard stone floor. But he'd slept in worse places—much worse. At least here he wasn't chained to a wall, wasn't wondering if each dawn would be his last.

Dinnae think about that.

"Ruaridh?"

He fought hard to keep his voice neutral. "Aye?"

"Thank ye. Fer being patient with me. I ken this arrangement isnae what ye expected."

Her words caught him off guard. What had he expected? Certainly not a wife who challenged him, who looked at him with those knowing eyes that seemed to see straight through his carefully constructed walls.

"Nay. It isnae what I expected at all, but this is where we are, lass, ye dinnae need tae keep thanking me."

When he glanced toward the window, she was looking at him with an expression he couldn't quite read.

In the dim candlelight, she looked ethereal, like something from the old stories his mother used to tell.

Her hair fell in waves over her shoulder, and her nightgown was modest but couldn't hide the graceful lines of her form.

Stop looking at her like that.

"Tomorrow," he said, needing to break the spell she was weaving without even trying, "we'll be saying goodbye tae me sisters. They'll be returning tae their own homes."

"So soon?" The disappointment in her voice was unmistakable. "I'll miss them. They made me feel... welcome."

"They care about ye," he said simply. "And they worry about me. Having ye here gives them hope that I might..." He caught himself before he could finish the thought.

That I might become human again. That I might remember how tae laugh, how tae feel something other than emptiness.

"That ye might what?"

"Naething. It daesnae matter." He turned away from her searching gaze, pulling the walls back up where they belonged.

"Will ye be lonely without them?" she asked.

"I'm used tae being alone." The words were harsh, but they were true. Loneliness was safer than connection. Isolation hurt less than betrayal.

"Ye dinnae have tae be," she said quietly. "Nae anymore."

Her words hit him like a physical blow. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it might be like—truly sharing this space with her, talking through the long Highland nights, feeling her warmth beside him instead of sleeping on cold stone.

But imagination was dangerous. Hope was dangerous. Better to keep his distance, keep his expectations low.

"Get some rest, lass. Tomorrow will be a long day."

"Goodnight, Ruaridh."

"Goodnight, Iona."

He listened as she settled into bed, acutely aware of every rustle of fabric, every soft sigh. She was so close he could hear her breathing gradually slow and deepen as sleep claimed her.

What have I gotten meself intae?

He'd thought this would be simple—a marriage of convenience, a political alliance to protect an innocent woman. He hadn't counted on the way she made him remember who he used to be. Hadn't anticipated the fierce protectiveness that surged through him whenever she was threatened.

And he certainly hadn't expected to find himself lying awake at night, fighting the urge to cross those few feet of space between them and discover if her lips tasted as sweet as they looked.

This lass is going tae be the death of yer carefully ordered world.

But as her breathing settled into the rhythm of deep sleep, he found himself oddly comforted by her presence. For the first time in months, he wasn't entirely alone with his demons.

What he didn't know was why that felt just as dangerous.