Page 26 of The Highlander’s Iron Hold

CHAPTER EIGHT

Colin found himself watching Morag more than he was supervising the fair preparations. She moved through his people with an ease that both pleased and unsettled him—laughing with the women as they worked, accepting tokens from the elderly with genuine warmth, even kneeling to speak with shy children who approached her with wide eyes.

His chest tightened with something uncomfortably close to pride. She was everything a Highland lady should be—gracious, kind, unafraid to dirty her hands alongside his people. The villagers clearly adored her already, and that approval meant more to Colin than he cared to admit.

But when a young lad approached Morag's with an armload of flowers, his face flushed with obvious admiration as he stammered something to her, her delighted laugh at whatever he said sent an irrational spike of jealousy through Colin's chest.

Ridiculous. She's merely being polite tae a lad barely out of leading strings.

When a man closer to Colin's own age joined the conversation and made Morag laugh again, Colin's jaw tightened again. The rational part of his mind knew he was being completely unreasonable. These were his own people, men he trusted, and Morag was simply fulfilling her role as their lady. But watching her easy interactions with everyone except him stirred something dark and possessive that he didn't care to examine too closely.

The musicians had begun playing, and couples were forming for a traditional Highland reel. Colin made his decision before he could think better of it.

He crossed the square with purposeful strides, ignoring the surprised looks from his men as he approached the group surrounding Morag.

"Me lady," he said formally, extending his hand. "Would ye honor me with a dance?"

Morag looked up at him in surprise, her cheeks still flushed from laughter. "A dance? Now?"

"We never had a proper wedding dance," Colin said quietly, aware that their conversation had drawn the attention of nearby villagers. "Morag, I apologize for me behavior on our wedding day. Perhaps ye will allow me remedy that today."

Uncertainty flickered in her blue eyes. But she placed her hand in his with the same grace she'd shown all afternoon.

"Of course, me laird."

The moment his fingers closed around hers, Colin felt the familiar jolt of awareness that seemed to strike whenever they touched. He led her onto the makeshift dance floor, acutely conscious of how small her hand felt in his, how her skirts brushed against his legs as they took their positions.

This lass has affected me more in the few days she's been here than any other lass ever has. He stared at the way the torchlight caught the gold in her hair, making it gleam like spun silk.

The music began as a slow, lilting melody that required the dancers to move in close formation. Colin's hand settled at Morag's waist, pulling her closer than propriety strictly demanded, while his other hand maintained its hold on hers.

She was close enough that he could smell the lavender scent she favored, could see the way her pulse fluttered at the base of her throat. As they moved through the steps, the space between them seemed to shrink until they were barely a breath apart. Colin found he couldn’t turn his gaze away from her upturned face, his eyes on her lips and the way they parted slightly as they swayed together, the way her eyes had darkened to the color of a Highland loch at twilight. When she stumbled slightly on a turn, he caught her closer, their bodies pressed together for one heart-stopping moment.

Heavens help me, Colin could feel her soft curves against him, the way she didn't immediately pull away but seemed to melt into his embrace for just an instant. He could feel her rapid breathing, see the flush that had crept up her neck, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to lower his head and taste those tempting lips.

"Yer people are nae how I imagined them," Morag said softly, her voice barely audible above the music, though he noticed how breathless she sounded, how her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly in his.

"How did ye imagine them?" Colin asked, his own voice rougher than he'd intended.

The way she was looking at him at that moment, like she could see straight through his carefully constructed walls, made his pulse race.

"Much less... fun," she admitted, a smile tugging at her lips that made him want to trace their curve with his thumb. "Less welcoming. I thought they'd be as stern and unbending as their laird."

Colin was acutely aware of how her breath warmed his throat when she spoke, how she unconsciously moved closer during the turn as if drawn by the same magnetic pull he felt.

Colin forced his mind to focus. "Because of the rumors about me, ye mean."

She didn't deny it, and Colin felt something cold settle in his chest even as his body burned from her nearness. He could see the conflict in her eyes, the way she seemed to be reassessing everything she thought she knew about him.

"Aye, I suppose. The Iron Laird who rules with a heart of steel—that's what they say, isnae it?"

If me heart were truly steel, it wouldnae be hammerin’ like a blacksmith's anvil every time ye look at me like that.

They continued to move together, the intimate dance allowing Colin to speak without being overheard by the watching villagers, though the physical closeness was causing him to fight desperately against the urge to pull her even closer, and to see if her lips were as soft as they looked.

"There's truth tae every rumor, lass. But if I'm harsh, it's because me clan's survival depends on it. "

He watched her face carefully, noting how her expression softened, how she seemed to be studying him with new understanding rather than the wariness he'd grown accustomed to.